#Shakespeare after dark with e | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

axieta · 1 year

Text

Hungry eyes

Chapter 8

Henry Winter x reader

|An eye for an eye|

I never got to know what real love feels like. Not in the empiric, soul-bonding way some of us do. I never fell in love, never threw myself into the emotion with hunger and abandon Shakespeare would want to describe, nor did I find my other half, and my appreciation of physical beauty had never developed into the admiration of a soul, not really. But I got to know what it looks like.

I watched it simmer like a small coal in the slowly dying fire, blazing like the wild fires of Mount Olympus, engulfing but at the same time strangely warming. Heating smiles and cheeks, glimmering in the throwaway glances. Or blooming slowly, spreading its soft, petals, blushing delightfully in the warm array of feelings that fertilised it.

I saw it in the pale hands conjoined, twisted, one inside of the other, when their proprietaries thought no one was looking. I saw it in the soft, quick pecks on lips, on cheeks, on foreheads, and in the rushed adjustment of crooked glasses by a hand too small and too slim to be their owner.

I heard it in the hushed giggles, soft and melodic like the thawing creaks of Parnassus, and the murmurous baritone going lazily through the passages of Argonautica Orphica.

I knew it was love, despite never experiencing it myself. How could I not? One look at those tangled hands, flushed cheeks, relaxed figures… one note of those soft laughs… one glance at the creatures of my interest, children of Helios, dreadful idols with lovely hair and human voices, and there was no denying it. No matter how deep down they pushed it, how well they thought they were covering their tracks. I was the hound thirsty for all that, feral for just the slightest morsel of that warmth, seeking them and constantly on the look-out.

And what I had discovered is that L-O-V-E is not an emotion in itself, rather it is a state one might find themselves in. A complicated arras of emotions, behaviours and interactions woven larger and tighter by those tangled in its threads. It is happiness, elation, impatient expectancy, worry, idyllic calm. And that is the good part of love. After all, all good cannot exist in its purest form alone. To every good notion, there is its bad counterpart. Even in love. Dialectical monism, some may call it. I call it life. So, soon enough, the other emotions – wrath, anger, despair, hurt – they all followed suit. After those, I discovered that love, this crystal pure tapestry I admired so, can get ugly, and that to love truly, and most ardently is to endure this engulfing darkness and stop your loved ones from crossing one too many lines. It is the worry for them that keeps the flame of love alive, that gives it the gas-stained, blue tint. To let the fire completely consume you and be wholly miserable afterwards. My two friends unfortunately taught me that. Their love soured, rotted, bitten and diminished by the things Henry had done to keep it alive. It was not my pain to hold, and yet the hurt that comes with the thought of that sorrowful affair, drabs me with tiresome regularity. It died, that love, the second Henry decided what to do with Bunny. But for some time, for those few blessed weeks I was content to watch and soak in the exuberant light of purest, most delicate kind of love.

In the weeks following our excursion to the beach I witnessed some secretive behaviour from both Henry and her. Suddenly, the two of them were too busy to do anything. Sunday dinners at Charles and Camilla’s? No can do. Studying together at the library? Sorry. Quick visit at Francis’? We’re preoccupied. And always that damned ‘We’. Never singular ‘I’ from those two, always plural and unified.

It had become so excessive that we, as the whole class, saw them only during the lessons with Julian. And even then, they seemed quizzically distant. They kept to themselves, going as far as to cunningly changing places, Forcing Francis out to the back of the class, and only working with each other. Inseparable, the two of them seemed even more unachievable, unapproachable for us than ever before. There was this unexplainable glow about them, as if their hair became lighter, their eyes brighter, minds clearer. As if for hundred generations they had been walking the world, drowsy and dull, idle and at their ease, until they stumbled upon that beach and suddenly, like in Symposium, they came to be one, humans before they became humans. Four arms, four legs, and no faces for us to see, for they always stayed turned towards the other.

One time, when I was walking to the class, I saw them. Two dark blurs against the backdrop of white. Rare, in those weeks, the sight of them. Like a pair of white ravens glimmering amongst trunks of a forest. So, I had to stop, take a look at them. Safe in the cover of arches of loggia I was strolling through, I hid myself amongst the shadows, an undetectable spectator.

The weather was harsh. The biting cold ready to freeze off any uncovered parts of human body. In my case, it was the nose that suffered the most. Red, furiously maroon, only after a couple of minutes on free air. Not even the sharp, white light of the winter sun offered any respite from all that cold. It seemed to be mocking all the people beneath it, it shined, brighter and stronger that in any other day. And the sky was clear, a sharp blue of a polished sapphire, not a cloud staining its Persian tile. In the parabolic curves of the outside corridor’s arches, it might’ve looked like a silky fabric spread flat between the darkened stones. The ground beneath it seemed to be moving, as the sun flexed in the white, waved surface, bejewelling the snow with a trembling spark of diamonds. The beauty of that landscape, the wonderful colours of regal jewels and the absolute, charming waviness of it all should indicate a temperature fitting for such a charming view, closer in its degrees to the feeling it evoked in the chest of an observer. But no. the cold bit with a ferociousness comparable to the ninth circle of hell.

But Henry and she, they did not seem to be bothered at all by all that. Neither the cold nor the ascetic landscape reigning over them could ever scare them away, discourage from doing whatever they were doing. Not when heat came off their bodies in heaps of white vapour, swirling around their bodies, their breaths mingling as one in the still air. The fume coming off her lit cigarette almost indistinguishable amongst the white haze of their delighted whispers.

They were hopping over ice ridges, swift and agile, cutting through the white plain of the field, kicking up the powdery snow. She led the two-man procession, dragging Henry behind her, black, thick scarf hanging from her extended hand. I could not see Henry’s face, but judging by his swooping, resilient walk, every fibre of his body was hell-bent on catching up to her. He shouted, out of breath in his pursuit after her. Oddly enough, I could not hear any trace of contempt or irritation that would usually accompany him. More than anything, the words that came out of his mouth flew in a clear tone of amusement.

‘Oh, you little minx! How stubborn can you be? Come, put it on this instant!’

‘Like hell you’ll force me to do that!’

Volatile as ever, she jumped out of his grasp and right into a frozen cap of snow. White powder flew up and glimmered in the noon sun like thousands of tiny diamonds, though I could swear on my life, that her feet had never touched the ground. It must’ve amused her, because she carried on through the knee-high, white barrier, kicking her feet high, high to her chest, giggling deliriously while doing so. Soon enough, the floating snow settled onto her, clung to her loose hair and the dark wool of her coat, and if anyone cared to look her way in that moment, they would probably think that a small yeti somehow got onto the perimeters of Hampden and the tall, limping fellow chasing after it was some kind of crazed scientist, persistent to drag the creature to his laboratory.

And far from crazed Henry wasn’t. Covered in a thin sheet of snow as well, he tore through the infinite white after her with a mad grin on his lips. His teeth shined dangerously as he screamed after her in Spanish, profanities, even I do not feel comfortable sharing. Finally, he caught up to her, after all it was not as if she really tried her hardest to get away from him, and with a ferocious, triumphal yelp he threw himself at her, tackling her to the plush hills of snow. The tackle was in every bit of it, professional. Not like I would see on the small field stretched before my old high school, no. It carried impact, stile, technique. The way he tensed before the jump, and then loosened when hitting her body with his, not to hurt her too much. Or the way his arm wrapped skilfully around her waist, and then the other, just around her neck, the palm of his hand cautiously protecting her cranium, as if he had done that move a hundred times before. Oh, and the fall! How he landed not on her, but rather chose to lighten the fall with his knees, ending the whole sequence hovering over her. It all screamed effortless beauty. Well, it would, if moments after, she wouldn’t manage to tilt him over, and onto his back. Now she howled in victory, saddling his chest like an experienced jockey. Henry huffed and leaned back into the snow, resigned, as she waved the scarf, still in her hand, before him, its fringes teasing his nose.

‘Never gonna win with me! Never gonna win! Never, ever!’ She laughed in a sing-song voice. Henry only rolled his eyes, like one might roll their eyes at a petulant child, and with no effort he sprung up, sending her once again to the ground. ‘Oh, come on, you brute!’

And then, with a terribly delighted shriek, she disappeared underneath the dark folds of Henry’s coat. He covered her with his whole body, engulfing her shrill form into himself as if to introduce her into his system. Henry made sure that she didn’t lay in snow for too long, wrapping the flaps of his coat around her, cocooning her further. Laughter shook this newfound dual species of man, as her legs kicked the tail of his coat up in a miserably unspectacular show of defiance. Only her hand managed to slip out of that smothering mass of Henry and like the last wave that a man drowning throws into the air, she swung the wool scarf far away from them. It swayed in the air and then plopped on the snow, not even disturbing its white, parabolic surface. But that only made him laugh even harder. Sliding down the twisted spiral of giggles, his arms snaked around her torso and with one hard push he sent them both sliding up, and forward. His nimble hand swiped it right out of the reach of her outstretched fingers. Quick and precise like the hand that deals with cards he wrapped one end around his wrist and then proceeded to swirl it around her neck. She never left the safe confines of the cocoon, nor did a singular snowflake fall on her, that’s how he was careful with her.

‘Listen here to me! I’ve just heard that someone died in the city! A student! Frozen to death during the night! If you’re not careful you might end up just like him!’

One, two, three loops around her neck he spun, until the scarf covered completely and tightly all off her neck and a part of her mouth, so her screams of protest came out inaudible and muffled.

‘No! No! It scratches!’

She tossed and turned as if possessed, and to be honest, they made a brilliant match in that department, because he as well, giggled like a madman.

‘Better to be scratched a bit than to freeze to death, now don’t be stupid and keep it on! Or do you want Khione to bite your ears off?’

She struggled then some more but with no certain conviction.

‘No, no. Stop, ahhh, you scooped in snow with it.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

His nose, mindlessly circling her cheek and temple, drafting small arches over her brow seemed to make her docile, good. Frost kissed their faces and glossed them, over with shimmering, rosy colours.

‘I, personally, like you better alive.’ His boyish, thin lips lingered for a while on her brow. ‘And warm.’ Then on her nose. The motion of that mouth was languid, decelerated, sure of possessing all the time in the world, not even bothered to purse and grace her skin with a full-fledged kiss, just with slow feline nudges. ‘And healthy.’ His arms travelled up to her head. They encased her from above and successfully shielded her face as he, and I was sure of it, dipped down to capture her mouth with his. ‘With ears.’ She giggled slightly into the kiss, as did he, their lips smoothing over each other, gazes bore into the depth of the other.

I stared at them from my agreeable distance. My mind completely numb, soaking in that dreamy imaginary. I studied their bodies, their hands, the subtle play of light and shadows breaking over Henry’s coat. The giggle that his fingers elicited from her when he rubbed her earlobes between index and the thumb was like the purest symphony to me. Carmen of all laughs.

But I was too scared, or maybe too timid to come even an inch closer. That was an intimate, although a public moment, and watching it like that, from deep within the shadows gave me a strange, unnerving feeling. It settled on my nape like dew and dripped from my pits, down my arms in cold streaks of sweat. I backed away, one step after the other, very slowly, not to make any noise. I found out, more than a week before, that stealth was my biggest asset and greatest friend. I managed to escape without a hitch, blended back into my solitary, murky reality, to my arches and cold stone. But as soon as I averted my gaze I instantly longed for their light. For the warmth they shared between each other, and the smiles dedicated only to the other, impossible to see for an outsider. So even though I felt ashamed of snooping on them like that, spying even, for nothing more than my own pleasure, there was this pathological need, burrowed deep inside of me to continue my, as she called it many times before, Tom-peeping, or peep-tomming, I forget. I just needed to… I don’t know… see them, I guess.

From that moment on the thoughts of them plagued me day and night like an infection, inflamed, festering wounds in my soul they kept me up, sweaty, with my brows furrowed as I laid tangled in my bedding. It physically hurt to long for them so, even when they did not long for me at all.

There was no remedy for my strange illness. No antidote, but them.

Them, them, them. That plural, inseparable pronoun rattled about my skull all the time. And I couldn’t help myself. I started following them.

Once I had spent close to forty minutes lurking outside of her lecture halls, hunched over, tucked into myself on one of the benches like a hen perched in her coop, anxious with the anticipation of my foxy executor. Not once in the span of those forty minutes did I question my actions, not once had the thought occurred to me that what I was doing bordered on insane or stalkish. In all truth, I hadn’t thought at all. Without them, without their proximity, their stark image together, I was non-existent, vacuous in my whole demeanour. Suspension overtook me in detail and overview. And only when she emerged from the building, a gemstone in the grey, muddy mass of other, rather dim-looking students, and he, right behind her, a shadow, I let out a breath I had no apparent idea I was holding in. I sunk into the darkness of the eve, as they passed me by and then followed their careful steps with a longing stare. Sunken into the shadows I was invisible to them.

Contrary to that snowy morning, on which I spotted them in the commons, the evening was gloomy and dark, covered with an ashen layer of drizzle. The day before was quite warm, at least in the general perception of winter, and some of the snow happened to melt. In the night the temperatures dropped drastically, and the thaw froze over the cobble-stoned paths of Hampden. The thick, misty shell of ice held on strong throughout the day and when the drizzle came, the already slippery surface turned murderous. I had already seen a few people trip and fall on the section of the pavement. I had heard many shrieks of pain and unflattering nosegays of curses already, but it never occurred to me that one of them could ever succumb to the fate similar to our peers. After all, in my mind, the both of them, at all times glided at least half an inch over the surface of the earth. All that conviction crumbled to the ground with a singular slip of her feet. Suddenly, the air broke with a miserable squint of her soles on the ice. With face frozen in utter surprise and a scream half-dead on her tongue she swung back, her body bending as if boneless. Horror befell me, but before I could do anything, anything at all, Henry stepped in. The unmovable force that he was, he caught her elbow half-swing and yanked her up, into a standing position. He didn’t even look in her direction, as if what he did just then was but a non-emphatic activity, a slip of a mind. A natural, almost tired gesture. She slid towards him with the forced of his pull and stopped just at his side. His hand fell from her elbow to tether into hers.

‘Videte,’ I heard him huffing a small laugh. She just shook her head at that, but I could see the relief slowly blooming on her features. The whole affair, short and in that shortness, terrifyingly dangerous, seemed to have no effect on them whatsoever, as if the act – of her slipping, falling to the ground, and him catching her without a hitch – was a simple regularity in their lives. That made me think, her limpness when she fell stood as a testament of her sure helplessness in that situation, or rather pure sureness that no matter what happened, he was there to catch her. Maybe it was not something practiced between them, but a natural reaction in the closeness they shared. The trust that they build and felt allowed her to fall like that, unpreoccupied and carefree, as well as it forced him to react. I was sure, if he was the one to slip, she would sure as hell try and uphold his towering figure.

‘It’s those new shoes. God damn it, I need to finally break them in.’

Henry did not let go of her hand as they went on, clearly unsure of his footing as well now, he opted on anchoring himself on her, as she did on him, and supporting one another like that they carried on forward with tiny, penguin steps. Their hands joined together pulsed slowly one in the other, swayed to the rhythm of their steps like a little, pale heart.

There is this painting – Nighthawks – if I remember correctly. Edward Hopper was the painter’s name, I think. I don’t remember much from the modern art class I took in high school. Truth be told, I only attended that particular lecture, simply for the fact that, as I had heard from someone, the professor handed out credits as if they were fresh buns. And that was true. All you had to do, was attend the class, and bam! – a credit. I never paid much attention to the classes having no deeper interest in contemporary art as presented, I usually took the extra hour as an opportunity to do my overdue homework, or study for upcoming quizzes. But during one of those dull lectures, the professor showed us that painting. Nighthawks. I remember raising my head then, disoriented and compelled to do so by some foreign, unknown force, and zeroing in on the old, yellow wall, on which he was projecting his presentation. Dark mass of bottle green and copper red stared back at me, illuminated with a strange, fluorescent beam of light coming from the presented diner. The light in that painting was sharp, man-made, but did nothing to swallow the overwhelming darkness swarming in the corners of the canvas. The diner stood out from that obscure scenery like the last stand of hope amongst the waves of anguish. Four people sat inside: two men, a woman in red and a waiter. I think one of the men, the one sat beside the woman was barely stroking her hand. The woman might’ve been smoking or talking to the bent-over waiter. the latter man sat alone, surrounded by empty bottles and glasses. The painting was so utterly gloomy and strangely lonesome, yet I could not bring myself to tear my eyes off it. Beaconed to it, like a seafarer seduced by a siren, I stared and stared completely disconnected from whatever facts and history was the professor gracing the class with. All I could focus on were those four figures. How together, and yet, strangely lonesome they seemed. The maybe’s and perhaps’s that my brain created while looking at them – ‘they might be holding hands’, ‘maybe they know each other, maybe not’, ‘they might leave the diner together, and never speak to each other again’. The series of near misses and suppositions got me so hypnotised, that it was only after a good chunk of the lectured passed by, and I noticed that the oil diner had no way of entry… and I thought how strange it was how we, the viewer, were left alone, in the dark, wholly cut off from the saving grace of the diner, with no way to enter. How we could only observe, never interact. I remember walking out of that class numb and disoriented, a foreign craving forming somewhere deep inside of me, right next to the pancreas. I had forgotten about that lonesome, swallowing feeling, right up to that point. But when I saw the two of them – tall and lithe, surprisingly standing out against the background of the grey mass of our peers, them, the only two figures reached by the warm light of campus lanterns I felt that craving nudging at me anew.

I waited a bit before getting up. I figured it would be best not to bump into them on my way to the dorm. I much preferred the solitary designation of an observer, to a distasteful intruder. But the air was getting colder, and my nose more and more red. Finally, I had no other choice but to get up and go, especially because a few other students started to throw concerned looks my way. I thought I had perfected the art of invisibility, but no. I think there must’ve been something in my face, in my eyes that alerted them so of my existence, a certain wetness. But it felt uncomfortable to be like that, seen, judged, so I scrammed.

On my way down to the dorms I walked past by a particularly pretty blonde. She walked with a furious verve, a warrior’s glint in her eyes. I think it was Camilla, but I couldn’t say for sure. It was dark out, and the girl’s face was so scrunched up with anger, it could’ve been anyone. In the distance swayed two figures, hand still together, despite the fact they reached the more frequently used, iceless path.

I tried dabbling into sketching. Something I had never done before, seeing as I possessed no artistic spark, nor presented any inclinations of a hidden talent in that department. But I found it hard to force words out of myself and onto the paper, as I did many a time before, and I had to find some kind of an outlet, otherwise I felt I would combust. The then ever-present memory of the Nighthawks sparked an idea in me, one I could not forget or ignore. The subject of the dreaded ‘them’ pushed at my guts terribly now with every breath that I took. Where before words flooded my notebooks, now an array of hasty, shaky scratches appeared. Black little blurbs, primitive depictions of trees and little silhouettes pacing underneath them and blank surfaces imitating snow appeared, as did crooked walls of library and miniature books with random titles squeezed into their outlines. And as a centrepiece of every sketch – two people. A woman, sometimes with curly, other times with straight or frizzy hair, and a man, never changing, constantly clad in a dark, long coat. Drawing Henry was quite simple, elementary even. But with her I always struggled. It was improper in my mind to capture her likeness, so no matter how many times I tried, and what I intended to draw, she always appeared as a faceless woman, back turned to the frame of the sketch. I found my drawings cathartic.

Still, I sometimes gave them titles, or scribbled something on the margin, there was no method to it. But I had never sketched alone. Never, ever. Only when I could see them, under no other circumstances. Otherwise, the drawings would come out soulless, boring and ugly.

One day I followed them into the campus library. As they sat in the window niche and pulled out their books and notes, I situated myself strategically almost opposite to them, slightly to the right. Crammed between the bookshelves I stalked them through the gaps left by rented books and with the greatest abandon I scratched with a rough image of them. First, the window, large, arched and a bit yellowed with age. Its shape on my paper was simple, angular, and so was the concrete frame of it. Then the shelves on both sides of it. Dark oak appeared as nervous jagged strokes of black, and the books were just a bunch of vertical rectangles, although their edges appeared so wobbly, I doubt anyone would have the courage of calling them that. The checked floor and a few lamps witch glossy-green domes, the light coming from them accentuated as, again, mostly straight rays, like the ones presented in imagines of sun oh so often seen in kids’ drawings. And then, enter them. Sat on the windowsill, books in their hands, ancient scripts threatening to fall apart and turn into dust at any given moment. Henry sat with his back against the wall of the niche, one leg outstretched on the windowsill, the other hanging freely from it, slightly bent at the knee. His pant leg hitched a bit and I could see the impeccably white sock peaking slightly above his Oxfords. His chin resting idly on her head as he gazed to the side, where he held his book with one hand. Dark ring shimmered on his middle finger. His face, sharp, and stern as always lost its marble hardness, when her silky hair framed it in a gilded halo. Lost in thought, then, even more than in any other situation, he looked strangely alive. That was easy to draw. One straight line here, the other there. The perspective might’ve been a little bit off, but it didn’t bother me much, as I knew I was no skilled artesian. Problems came about when I moved on to her. Lodged between his legs, I could not tell where she began, and he ended. Her dress bunched somewhere around her raised knees and fell over his thighs. His hand resting on her stomach brought to my mind a faint memory of a smell – a delicate, sweet fragrance that spun around my skull, something like home, or even more domestic. And yet there was something so inherently lewd, so breathtaking in her pose that I found my breath coming short and all the blood in my body flowing to my head with a constant, roaring contentment.

Lightheaded I studied the curve of her nose, the dome of her forehead and the attentive glare she tasked the book resting on her knees. She held the pages with her thumbs, while the rest of her palms supported the cover from the back and her head angled slightly downwards to gaze into the contents of the book. Her slender hands so white against the crimson cover. Every fold of her dress was like discovering a new world to me. Subtle greys and blues, the tones hidden in its delicate white seemed like folds, pocket dimensions to the blurry outline of her legs when the sun shined through them. In my picture it appeared much cruder. While drafting those long, doe legs I pressed my pen a bit lighter to the paper, keen on giving them that ghostly pseudo-presence. But nothing could compare to the original. It was then, when my gaze fell onto her face, soft, thoughtful, and cloudy between her pulled brows, that I realised I could never be an artist. Breath escaped me as I tasked the slight curve of her nose, the round edge of her rose cheek, and even though she was not looking my way, even though I was the one who first had cast my gaze, I was struck dumb, like deer in headlights I fell victim of those swirling irises. Like the first time she looked my way, I found myself unable to tear myself from them, skimming quickly from left to right along the text. Seeping, indirect light hypnotised me and I fell deaf to my surroundings. Next few seconds, or minutes, or even a century passed me unnoticed, because what little sunlight peaked into the niche seemed to cross her eye directly, encasing it in pure, liquid silver.

I was so completely immersed into her, that I did not even hear the swooping, murmurous steps progressing behind me. A new, sharp, manly smell replaced that sweet fragrance I had been smelling, and I haven’t noticed that either. She turned to henry, intentionally tracing her nose against his neck. A pale smile graced his lips when she whispered something into his ear. He shook his head, as if disappointed, but reluctantly pushed off the precipice of the windowsill and jumped to the floor with her still in his arms. Red with withheld laughter they stumbled forward and then broke apart. She reached into one of his pockets, Henry did not protest, despite his slightly gloomy expression. There must’ve been something saddening in the way she dug up some tabaco from a white-green bag with her nimble fingers and sprinkled it onto a rectangular piece of paper. Or in how quickly had she rolled it – three steps and the ciggy was rolled and done. What saddened me most, was the loose of my subjects, for my drawing had not yet come into completion. I intended on following them outside, and maybe finishing my sketch based on what I saw there, or starting a new one, but then, a slim hand surrounded with that masculine, strong smell caught my shoulder and held me in place with an unexpected force. That newfound, seemingly immovable force made me quiver in my steps, filled my throat with a blood-chilling scream, that died out once the copper main swung over my field of vision. Soft lips pressed onto mine swallowing what was left of my panic. Stunned I froze. That was a kiss. Filled with a smell of a man, grace with soft frills of white cuffs on my cheeks. ‘Francis,’ I mustered. The redhead laughed with his whole chest, unconcerned with the general rules of the library. I cringed towards the bookcase, to check if that fit of laughter attracted the attention of my subjects, but to my relief, the were already gone. The only evidence of their presence – the abandoned bags and books abandoned on the windowsill. relief washed over me, immediately chased with venomous irritation. ‘Francis! What are you… You can’t just go around kissing people!’ Francis, still holding onto me with a desperate grip, lunged into another fit. Through his giggles he managed to cough up a simple ‘You’re not supposed to go around stalking people…’ another giggle and then a final stab ‘And yet you do.’ I shrugged his hand off, infuriated with that accurate observation, as I had nothing to say in my defence. I just stared at him, offensively happy in his fits, with my hand pressed protectively to my lips, as if scared that he might try and kiss me again. And he did, that crazy ginger bastard leaned in again, clutching onto my shoulders and pulled me closer, terrible grin still gracing his pales lips. I wretched myself out of his confines and jumped away as quickly and as far as possible, which gained me another salve of laughter from him.

‘Oh, come one Richard,’ he’d said once he managed to push through the unimaginable barrier of amusement. ‘Richard, darling, come on, don’t walk away! You’re packing already? I thought you had a sketch to finish! They’re going to be back any minute, you don’t want to pass that opportunity!’

I pushed my notebook close to my chest, suddenly very anxious and protective of its contents. I did not bother to wonder how did he know what I was doing, just scared he might pull it out of my grasp and start going through each and every pathetic excuse for a drawing, studying them and finally, arriving at the terrifying conclusion of the scope of my mania. Red-faced, with my gaze pinned onto the creaking floor I pushed right through him, bumping my shoulder into his. Francis, however, did not seem to be bothered by my ostentatious show of disrespect in the least bit. Eagerly he followed my footsteps, meandering through an endless labyrinth of bookshelves and racks. Never had I imagined the library to be so endless and hard to get out of.

‘Why are you following me, Francis?’

Finally, I had reached the point of irritation that was too much to bear for my jittering body. A crease of annoyance scared my forehead as I spat at him over my shoulder.

‘I’m not following you at all, Richard Papen, dearest.’

That made me stop right in my tracks. Francis, as agile and graceful as ever, didn’t even stutter in his steps, lightly passing me by and spinning around so that he could face me, a foxy grin plastered onto his pinkish lips. His arms swayed around his waist as if weightless and completely independent from the rest of his body when he spun.

The sight of my raised brown, as high up as possible, mixed with the grimace of discomfort must’ve amused him to no end, because he gave up the rest of the information without his usual mockings and jests.

‘I was actually looking for them, you know. Henry and that devil-woman. But then I saw you, creeping around the corner, and I could not help myself! You know? Had to scare you a little!’

I scoffed, irritated more than ever.

‘And? You had already found them. Go, get them. And leave me alone.’

‘So you could creep some more one innocent bystanders?’

‘Exactly. Go, now.’

There was something so utterly amused in his foxy face, that even in my state of highest vexation, I could not help but crack a little smile. My voice came out squished and bubbly, not sharp and authoritative, as I meant it.

‘Don’t you at least want to know, why I was looking for them?’

I rolled my eyes at his relaxed stance, the easy flex of is arms, when he bound them behind his back, surely bending his palm backwards in the other hand.

‘Come on. Shoot,’ I mused.

‘I was to ask them for an outing. A small gathering of all of us, you know. In that bar, what’s it called, Cherry, or something like that. The winter break is coming in and I thought it would be fun to just let loose for a bit. You should come as well. Actually, you should definitely come. Be there at nine. Sharp.’

And then, with another swirl and a short giggle, he was off, running, skipping, along the bookcases, his pale, long fingers skimming along those backs of the books. I was once again left alone, just as I wished, and suddenly, the grave trench opened in me at the sight of the Nighthawks so many years ago felt so, so much deeper than ever before.

I went to that bar. Cherry flavour was the name, but I found it, no problem. It was not the murky directions that Francis had given me a few hours before that had led me to be there half an hour late, but my desperate need not to seem… well, desperate. In all truth, I shouldn’t have even bothered, because as is crossed the threshold, the sorry imagine of only Francis and Bunny staring silently at their pints greeted me in full swing of sadness. I walked towards their table, every step ringing in my head loud and clear like a church bell. The air there was muffled, silvery with smoke, just like in her apartment, although the space felt solemnly impassive, even with the music booming from the jukebox, and the chatter of the many patrons. Without her, there was no point in squinting my eyes and flaring my nostrils at the unpleasant smell, fore there was no one in my surrounding who would even notice my ministrations. No one to point them out and poke fun at me for them.

Through the thick veil of it I could see how Bunny nursed, with utmost carefulness and greed, the piss-coloured pint, and the orange-red curve of Francis’ cigarette, as he explained something to the other boy, swinging his arms around with a gusto. They did not notice me however in all that awful racket, and I was lucky enough to her a snippet from their conversation, or rather, Francis’ monologue. His voice soared over the idle chatter of crowd mixed with music and the clang of glass hitting glass, somewhere in the background, as a group of rather young fellows raised a toast to something one of their friends just did.

‘You see, it is not the matter of whether you’re prepared for it, or not my friend, it’s just that the things of this kind of nature always come biting you in the arse. It’s just the way it is. You bet on a wrong horse, now it’s time to choose another. Like that Shelly girl from my French poetry class, you know the one…’

His cigarette soared up to his temple, very carelessly, and some of his short coppery hair sizzled away from the butt.

The floor boards squeaked beneath my feet, and I bit my lip, anxious not to make too much noise. My ears twitched eagerly, to hear the rest of the conversation uninterrupted. While strutting through the bar I tasked it with a more detailed glance now that I was closer to it’s centre than in the first minutes of my entry. My eyes slid over the faces of the patrons, some of which I knew from Hampden, some completely new. There were old and young people alike, all of them swarming around the bar squeezed into the back of the locum, old and kind of dirty looking with a single bar tender flexing and running behind the counter, swaying back and forth, confused as to what he was supposed to put his hands into first. Copper handles and crystal glasses shimmered in the dim light of the bar. The many bottles filled my vision with an array of colours and blur before my eyes into a kaleidoscopic mirage. They turned and swirled in the unsteady grip of the bartender, sweating profusely when the hot air breathed from the many a gorge of the patrons settled on their cool surface. Carlsberg, Heineken, Budweiser, and a few other, oval icons sat perched on the edge of the counter beaconing me to them with their moist and cool glint. I sensed that my mouth was going dry but the sight of the swirling perpetually forming and curving queue successfully deterred me from the bar.

‘I’ve already introduced the two of you, I’m sure of that. She’s the sappy one, she likes Sapho.’ Francis laughed at his own words, gaining no response from his partner.

Bunny stared at him blankly, no thought behind his glossy eyes. His hands wandered up and down the glass filled with, what I could only assume, was beer, his mouth agape, mind clearly someplace else, as if it was not a glass, his hands had been exploring, but completely something else. It was clear, that nothing more was going to come out of that one-sided exchange, as Francis dipped his head down, into his glass and rested his cheeks on the rim, exhaling a pathetic sigh, as if it was not the first time he has been ignored by Bunny like that. I cleared my throat, just to be polite and warn them of my presence and put on a slight smile.

‘I see how it is gentlemen. But correct me of I’m wrong, Bunny already has his dark horse, doesn’t he? Marion is the name?’

The boys jumped as if poked with white-hot rake.

‘Jesus Christ, you scared the crap outta me!’ Were the first words that Bunny has spoken to me, and judging by the offended look Francis threw him, first words of the evening. His voice was raspy, slurred with the kind of drunken tune you hear at dodgy gas stations in the middle of the night, when you should be safe and sound asleep in your bead, but instead you’re desperately trying to convince the acne-riddled clerk that yes, you are indeed twenty-one, and yes, those two six packs of beer are indeed, just for you and no one else.

‘Not Jesus, just Richard,’ I pulled my lips into a thin, awkward line, as Francis’ laugh roared over the vocals of some sorry fellow whining from the jukebox. A few patrons of the bar turned to us, that’s how loud he laughed, but quickly they averted their gaze, maybe because of Bunny, who stared daggers back at them. That night, he seemed more in a mood for brawl than any other, his usual sunny disposition gone completely and replaced with something more spiky, unpleasant. Strangely gloomy and dark, with his back hunched and a grimace plastered on his face he looked almost serious, almost adult, and almost dangerous. Almost. And I recognized that frown on his face. Deformed, softer and lacking, but if expressed by someone else, let’s say a bit taller, more stoic and with a frame of hair and eyes a few tones darker than his, the look would be deadly. And then a realisation came through my mind, the scope of which made my hair stand on end and blood to run cold. Bunny was mimicking Henry.

‘Oh, you see Richard Papen, the thing with our dear Edmund is that he always seems to want whatever he cannot have.’

The blonde’s head snapped back to him, face twisted in a parody of what Henry sometimes threw his way, when he thought that Bunny deserved a reprimand.

‘Will you ever shut up; you ginger cu- ‘

But before he could finish, Francis interrupted his in a very timely fashion. With a holler he jumped out of the booth the boys had been sitting in and waved his arms like a madman. I could hear a sharp exhale coming from my right, where the frustrated blonde sat. I could not be bothered to check, what kind of expression did he make this time, because, as I heard a small, honeydew voice resounding right behind my back, I was completely torn from reality. It was the voice of Charles that came to me first, but something in the back of my mind, something very slimy and cunning told me that right where that melodic, soft voice appeared, another, a bit more nasal and deeper, but still a twin to it would follow. I spined around just to see Charles draft a deep bow.

‘The scum of the earth, I believe?’

And Francis responded with the same curtsy, his fox-like face widened and elongated by a sly smirk.

‘The bloody assassin of the workers, I presume?’

Somewhere behind Charles a melodic snort announced the arrival of my soft-lipped goddess. Her hair was like always combed thoroughly and kept from her high, white forehead with a black bow. Her eyes squinted most magnificently in the dim light of the bar, and I could see something like crow’s feet forming right at the line of her cheekbones, something like the thin veins running on the surface of otherwise impeccably milky marble. Her clothes were neat, although a bit too big for her, the shirt she was wearing clearly had seen better days and I thought that it was an item she either snugged from her brother or was gifted it by him. But no matter what she was wearing, she looked heavenly to me. Her cheeks bore a slight tint of pink, as if she was walking for a while in the snow, and automatically, like a chameleon, my own cheeks tried replicating that shade on my skin, only slightly more furious, and burning.

‘You two are so unserious…’ she said it like it was a reprimand, but the crack of her lips betrayed her amusement. Her lashes fluttered gracefully, like the wings of a butterfly, when she rolled her eyes deep into her skull.

‘I’m here to serve, my queen.’

Francis huffed a laugh at her and leaned in to give her a quick peck on the lips.

‘Hi Richard,’ she greeted me, although with slightly less enthusiasm she had with the redhead. Her brother just nodded my way and then squeezed right past me to sit down in the booth with the boys. I followed him and Camilla, too embarrassed to excuse myself, and to enticed by the small lady’s beauty to even speak.

‘By the way…’ Francis lit another cigarette, I didn’t even see when he rolled it, I guess on that, that is chain smoking, he agreed with my Diogenes wholeheartedly. ‘Have you seen the two hell spawns on your way here?’

Charles snorted, clearly entertained by that nickname, Camilla just scrunched her nose and let her head fall a bit forward. Her smile was now strained, as if she was trying to swallow something, a bone stuck in her throat, as she was speaking.

‘Yeah, we saw them. Right outside the bar. They run into a bit of a scuffle, but they should be here any second.’

It was as if with those words Bunny suddenly came back to life.

‘Scuffle? What scuffle?’ Charles waved his hand dismissively.

‘Nothing really, just a bit of a shoe problem.’

The white, almost translucent brows soared high on Bunny’s forehead. The ex-jock opened his mouth, likely to question the poor twins further on the matter that interested him the most, but right then, as if on que, the door opened, and Henry stepped through. His dark hair flopped around his face, partially covering his wet, fogged-up spectacles. Snow fell from it, as well as his shoulders with every crooked, wobbly step he took. His cheeks were red with effort, and his pale slender hands kept and unnatural shade of almost cold mauve. But there would not be anything different or weird in that dishevelled look. In all honesty, sometimes I would encounter him in the campus library, hunched over some old book looking a thousand times worse than that. What made his entry stand out was the girl he was carrying in his arms. Small, in comparison to him, red-faced as well, with her feet, clad only in white socks, dangling right from the crook of his arm – her. She was grinning wildly, sparks coming from her eyes like little flexes of stars, and a pair of dark leathery boots had been dangling from her stretched out hand leaking onto the floor before them generously with residues of snow, marking, where Henry’s next step was going to fall. It seemed as if he was whispering something to her, something soothing, or humorous judging, by the slow movement of his index hinger on her arm. Like he was calming her down or indulging her slightly. I had never though Henry to be a person with an exceptional sense of humour, but in her case, it seemed to be working. Her eyes, big like saucers kept digging into his jaw, the only thig in her field of vision, as he squeezed her hard into his chest, sparkled and glimmered with a feeling I could not read properly. All I knew is that the way she looked at him, in that moment, when he crossed the squeaky floor in his swooping steps, clogged my airways and crushed my chest with a force of thousand suns.

‘What are they doing, what’s happened?’ Bunny’s face turned equally red at the sight of the two of them, locked in an embrace. For the first time this evening he had risen his head fully, right to the point of strain in his neck, and suddenly I saw that his eyes were sunken, circled with dark shadows and rimmed with a wet, red frame. He must’ve fought with Maron over some stupid little thing again, so no wonder that the sight of Henry and her, snarking amiably at each other, aggravated him to no end.

‘Beats me.’ Camilla scoffed, rather impassive that impressive entry. It seemed to me, like the temperature in the bar had dropped drastically, while the two of them exchanged those little remarks. Goosebumps climbed up my spine and my stomach swirled in an uneasy feeling, that forebode that nothing positive could come out of that evening.

But they came up to the table unbothered and giddy, as if there was nothing strange or enigmatic in their arrival, and the knot that has tied itself in the pit of my stomach suddenly loosened by the magic glint of her sharp teeth. Their presence, their proximity hit me like the fanfares in the 94. Symphonia G-dur. Soft steps crept up on me like the slight tugs of strings at the beginning of the piece. Isolated and slow, deep with their lightness, beautiful on their own, even if those were just steps, just the rhythm, just the beginning of a symphony. But then the clarinettist came, high-pitched, joyous in how she dangled her feet in the air, how she tilted her head up to gaze into his eyes. Him – steady and slow, careful with the type of tune he carried, and her – rather sprinkled across his melodic line, but oh so needed to bring the stave out of a standstill. My whole body buzzed in anticipation, not yet sure for what and why but my feet, hidden under the table, tapped unconsciously to the melody of pure steps and the hum of clothing. The composition overtook me. I didn’t even notice the key changing and getting slightly louder. Only when they came closer, when I could smell the warm, domestic scent that filled my heart with longing and pain, when I felt the tail of a dark coat brushing against my knee, I felt the music explode in me, slash me across the face with an abrupt bang! of every instrument suddenly coming into a synchronized crescendo.

‘What on the sweet feet of baby Jesus happened to you? Have you lost the feeling in your legs?’

As soon as they reached the table, the shoes she was holding dropped to the floor with a miserable smack, and, as if to complete their misery, got kicked away, under the table, by the exceptionally vigorous feet clad in black Oxfords. The air absolutely knocked out of my lungs, I stared at them in what I could only assume, was the most wide-eyed, incredulous expression of awe.

She poked her tongue at Francis, as Henry carefully set her on the edge of the couch. His pulled brows, the true, unfabricated grimace, so, so different from which Bunny tried to pull, bared an alarming dose of worry, despite the slight curve of his lips, as if he was trying to mask a heavy, foggy block of anxiousness resting on his shoulders with a bit of humour. He kneeled, not without a struggle to inspect the, what I now could see clearly were, blood spots on her socks. They climbed up her heals and came blossoming down on the side of her feet where the big toe started, giving the socks an artistic, flattering look of a freshly sprouted carnation. While he was hunched over, ducking under the table she tried to lighten the atmosphere with a lough and a cheeky response to Francis.

‘You wish, red. Nothing of the sort, it’s just those damn shoes! I can’t seem to break them in, and now they had chaffed me to the bone it seems.’

Charles ducked under the table with an interested whine but could see nothing beyond Henry’s hands. He covered the object of Charles’ interest as soon as the twin announced his fascination to us with a delighted squeal. The blonde boy hissed in disappointment, but Henry ignored him, his eyes steady on her legs, studying the red rim of blood. His slim fingers run carefully over the fabric, pealed it off, just to throw a glance, at the skin beneath it, and then exhaled a breath through his teeth. What he saw must not have been as bad as he let on in the first place, because his only response was a grim huff of laugh.

‘Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a minor graze nothing more. If you had listened to me and bought a bigger size, nothing like that would have happened.’

Her eyes skipped around landing on each and every of our faces, seeking refuge in any of us from the stern, disappointed tone of Henry, but no one was brave enough to stand up to the stormy cloud of a human that he had turned into. Finally, after some strained small talk, Henry emerged from beneath the table, his face slightly looser.

Somehow I felt the pair of pale blue eyes staring at me, no at them, from across the table. I looked around to seek the source of the discomfort poking at my neck. I did not have to deal long, for it was obvious, who the proprietary of the biting stare was. Bunny wasn’t discreet, I don’t think he minded if anyone saw how he clean he’d his teeth so hard that a small vein popped out on the side of his jaw, or how he could not tear his eyes, his hateful, red rimmed eyes, from the ethereal mirage that was the two people hanging on the edge of couch right beside me.

‘It should be fine, the blood stopped running. It should be fine now, okay?’ He smoothed her hair with a quick swipe of his hand and then scooted over on the edge of couch. Everyone moved to the side in a synchronised clockwise move, not even thinking about mentioning all the space that had been left vacant on the opposite side of the table. Francis chose to ignore all the swooning over her that henry seemed to be revelling in and came smoothly to recommending what types of beer we should pick for the night.

‘I think that we should start with beer. Me and Bunny are already ahead of you, so, we’re going to skip the first round. But after that I think we should go more into tonics. Oh, and don’t order any sorts of fancy cocktails here!’ He threw accusatory look towards Camilla. ‘They’re awfully pricy and don’t taste half as good as you’d expect them to.’

What seemed like useful information to me, was obviously something redundant and boring to Henry. We all knew, what he was going to order, whiskey, most certainly not whisky, on the rocks, and there was no coaxing him out of that decision, so it hasn’t surprised me much to see him lean over to her and start whispering in her ear. I was the closest one to them, her sitting on my right, and him squeezed into her, the length of her body being our only border, so I did not have to struggle much to hear what he was mumbling into her ear. I focused my eyes on whatever seemed most natural and listened in, thirsty for information like never before. I watched Bunny’s fingers running up and down his pint, smearing the swat of the glass all over his palms. His fingers run taunt, almost mechanic, as if pulled by great pain or fury. In the corner of my eye swayed the real object of my interest.

‘Are you cold? Are your feet cold?’ His voice returned to the stoic preoccupation I had heard some time ago, when they were leaving the lecture hall. He swayed forward, as if to embrace her, or better yet, scoop her into his arms and run out of the bar as soon, as he manages to hoist her up, but he stopped himself midway and just stared at her with deep thoughtfulness.

‘No, Henry it’s really all right. Thank you though.’

Henry, despite her clearly cutting the subject short, simply shook his head and continued with his hushed monologue.

‘Your feet are cold. We sit here long enough, and you’re going to catch something.’ And then, before she could react in any sort of way, he kicked his boots off.

‘Henry what are you doing?’

My eyes jumped, just for a second, beneath the table, to be greeted with the sight of his slightly less deft fingers, now rose with the heat of the bar, tying neat little bows with the shoelaces of his own shoes, now on her feet. The dark leathery Oxfords were fat too big for her, and so he had to tie them really hard, so they would not fall onto the floor the second he pulled out his knee from beneath her heal, that now served her as some kind of purchase.

‘They might be too big for you, but at least, your feet won’t freeze off. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Now, straighten that face.’

‘What is it with you and frostbites?’

She scoffed and folded her arms on her chest, but did not oppose further, when He once again ducked beneath the table and slipped his shoes onto her feet. His voice came from down below, a splash of humour resounding in it, filling her cheeks with the brightest shade of pink.

‘It’s not just frostbites. I’m simply worried about you, in general. I should not have let you walk around in those ill-fitting shoes in the first place, I feel responsible.’

I could swear, that at the sound of those words, she melted into the back of the cough and kicked her feet, making the all-too-big shoes flap around her ankles. And in turn, I can swear I saw him cracking a smile at that, when he took back his seat right next to her.

Personally, squished between Camilla and her I felt like I was going to suffocate. Disoriented and scared to the bone I stared into my palms placed neatly on my thighs, not knowing whose warmth to absorb, who’s smell to inhale and who’s heartbeat to sync to. I was dazed, speechless, overstimulated.

‘And how is your leg, Henry? Does it hurt?’ I think he shrugged, but I couldn’t tell, because at that point I tore my eyes from the wet drops sliding down Bunny’s glass and onto Camilla’s side profile. She was chatting with Charles, I could see her mouth move, but all I could think of were those few strands of hair that slipped from beneath her ribbon and curled neatly on her forehead. All I wanted to do was to push them back, tuck them behind her ear.

‘Nothing that I can’t handle, so don’t preoccupy yourself with that, little dove.’

Every move they made, every little shrug, or laugh they huffed soared through me with the untamed power of lightning. I jumped every time one of them breathed. And I must’ve been so consumed by that dual anguish of my position, that I had tuned out the conversation that had barely started, even the little, intimate conversation playing on my right. A nudge of an elbow to my ribs woke me up from my stupor.

‘Richard Papen! Hello! Earth to Richard!’

‘Wha- I… what?’

‘What will you be drinking?’ Her bright eyes stared at me, so, so close, that I could feel her breath fanning my cheeks. With that proximity, an image flashed before my eyes, a sketch that I drew a few days before, the only one in which I did not use her as a live model, rather drafted her from my memory. A quick sketch of her bent over backwards over the table, eyes shut, mouth agape with a silent scream of pleasure frozen on her mouth. Blood rushed to my head with a steady but abrupt pump. Acutely aware of the still purple with cold hand resting on her shoulder I did not find the words right away, so they came out in a disarranged stutter. I blabbered some incoherent phrases, before finding my voice.

‘I’m not drinking tonight… I don’t have any money.’ She let out a pearly laugh.

‘Don’t be ridiculous Richard. It’s on Francis! He dragged us all out here, so he’s buying!’

‘That’s the first time I hear about it.’

She threw him one of her deadliest looks, as if saying – come one, don’t be a twat – and I heard no further protests from him. Encouraged and coaxed by all the people around the table, I finally decided on Guinness, the same as her. Francis got up with a resigned sigh, repeated everyone’s orders and then he disappeared for almost forty minutes. And when he came back, carrying two trays stocked with pints and meandering amongst the drunken crown with no problem, he was greeted with round of applause and whistles of approval. He distributed the beers equally and then sat with the look of absolute agony on his face.

‘Oh, I’m never going back out there, sorry but there is no way I can stand in that queue alone and pushed around by those twats for one more second.’

She giggled when he passed her the designated Guinness.

‘How much was it? I’m not planning on paying you back, just curious.’

Francis shrugged, rather not bothered by her blatant declaration.

‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not really good with money, so long I have it.’ He took a long pause to gulp down some of his old beer, truthful to his previous words, he had not bought himself a new one. ‘Matter of fact, I don’t get money at all.’

Charles cleared his throat, uneasy, as if that topic was one of a constant concern in their circle, Francis continued, nonetheless.

‘I simply cannot understand, what is so special about it. It’s just paper! It’s imaginary! If I wanted to, or if I needed, I could just get myself a machine and print out some more! Better yet, we all could. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.’

My eyes darted to the side to meet the same perplexed look in her eyes. Her jaw tilted to the side, but she kept silent, and so did I, taking it for a sign, that if we let Francis talk, soon he’d be out of his brilliant ideas, and we would be free from that topic. Well, Bunny clearly didn’t get the memo.

‘We can’t print more money, idiot, how many times do I have to tell you?’

Francis threw him a wounded look and pressed a fisted palm to his chest. But the sly smile on his lips betrayed that in all truth, he enjoyed that someone, especially Bunny, had indulged him.

‘Why not?’

Bunny’s so far hooded and glossy eyes, now popped out dangerously, coming to resemble in their shape and size a pair of saucers. His lips pulled downwards in an ugly, angry grimace.

‘That would cause and inflation, a hyperinflation, if you’d be really lucky, and soon you, mister Bretton Woods, would be able to buy matches, for the same price you would buy a home a few days earlier.’

‘Yeah, sure, inflation but why though?’

The twins did not bother to pay attention to that ridiculous exchange of words, surely because they had heard it already, in a myriad of variations, many a times before, nor did Henry, but she was surprisingly enticed by how exasperated Bunny got. She stared at him with utmost fascination, a thing, that did not escape him, and in turn seemed to spur him on further.

‘There is a certain amount of gold- ‘

‘Gold? Where from? What?’

‘It is stored in the treasury of every country… Don’t change the subject you ginger minx! We have the gold which value must cover the amount of money we distribute. If we don’t have the gold, and we start printing more money the total value of the gold would have to be divided amongst the amount of the money distributed equally, hence devaluating it.’

‘Okayy…’ Francis’ hand soared up to his lips pushing another roll-up into it, as he stared into the ceiling, as if he was processing Bunny’s words. Mindlessly, he passed another one to her, and she nodded her head in a quiet show of thanks. ‘Why gold?’

Bunny growled, a real-life growl, and smoothed his hand over his face. I noticed, that on my right, she had pushed her hand against her lips and now she was shaking uncontrollably at the performance taking place right before her. I cracked a smile as well.

‘Because it is a r a r e material.’

He’d said, the drunken, slurry undertone more prominent in his voice, now more than ever.

‘Uranium’s r a r e r.’

How beautiful did Francis pronounce that ‘rarer’. Every ‘r’ resounded sharply and rattly over his tongue. But his interlocutor did not seem to be impressed by his logopedic skills.

Bunny jumped suddenly onto his feet, slamming his palm into the table with a deafening bang, that made Camilla squeak in her seat. Bunny, making nothing of it pointed and accusatory finger at Francis.

‘I’ve got half a mind to beat you into a pulp right now.’

Bunny’s face turned bright red, and for the first time ever I could see his brows clearly drafted, like two clear, solid white arches, on his forehead. And for the first time, his fury bore water. I had never seen him so aggravated, so serious and straightforward with his announcements. Sure, he tackled me once or twice to the ground, and his threats were nothing new to us, especially after he had something to drink, but those were just harmless jests, stupid jokes we tied to weight to. However, in that bar, a new sheet of peril mixed with anger had wrapped himself around him, giving him, and his irrational outburst depth and dimension. His feverishly jumpy eyes added to the whole picture a deranged readiness to harm, and that scared me to no end. I looked to my right, past her and at Henry, the only person, concluding from the stories I heard about him, capable of restraining the ex-jock if the push came to shove. I expected Henry to come out as a hero, as always. Instead, I was greeted with the sharp glint of her malicious smile and his indifferent, passive frown.

‘Well, you’ve got half a mind, that would be about right.’

She snarled at him, empty glass tipping dangerously in her hand, ready for any sort of action. A deep chill run up my spine at the sight of the strained muscles of her neck, of the pulsing vein running in parallel to her larynx. What scared me more, was the calmly placed hand of Henry, her supposed protector, hanging on the backrest of the couch, not even bothered to assume a defensive stance. Maybe he knew that Bunny wasn’t half the man he portrayed himself to be. Or in that moment, he already knew that he would never harm her. In the conventional way, at least, Henry seemed so sure that no harm would be done to her, either by her own resourcefulness and skill, or Bunny’s incapability and unwillingness to damage her in any sort of way. Why he had believed that I couldn’t tell. In retrospect, that was the moment we all should have banded together against Bunny. Berate his pathetic attitude, his utterly senseless reasoning, rage against him, his nature, fall into a trans and reap him to shreds, limb by limb, no mercy, and when all would settle down, bash his head in, so it could not mutter another word. Maybe that would stop him from drafting the line that would soon cross out the 94. Symphony out of existence.

My eyes soared back to the emotional bundle of fury and helplessness that was Bunny in that moment. His eyes squinted in an expression of utter betrayal at her words. That was the look that should have uncovered it all to me, help me connect the dots scattered amongst the quiet conversations I listened in on, and finally see the bigger picture. But at that point, I was halfway down my pint, and my brain had already lost most of it’s sharpness.

‘Et tu Brute? You are defending… You are defending that deft son of a bitch? How can you? Does it not bother you how oblivious to the world he is? You out of all people should understand my frustration with him! He wouldn’t know the rational state of current things even if they hit him in the face!’

She shrugged, not seeming to be bothered at all, although she had not let go of the glass yet. The white ash at the end of her ciggy became longer than the factual cigarette.

‘So what? He doesn’t understand money. Big deal.’ Her hand drafted a neat circle in the air with the glass. ‘It’s not like you know everything Bunny. Bah, I don’t think I know everything. Nor does Henry. For gods’ sake, you heard him the other day, interrogating Richard about the moon landing and whatnot.’ Charles giggled at the reminder of our first dinner together, but quickly slotted his hand over his mouth, chastised by the scorning glare of his sister. ‘Matter of fact, you could not conjugate a simple verb two classes ago. Please, don’t frown like that. Audiverim instead of audivissem? I beg you pardon?’

The tips of Bunny’s ears turned a few shades darker, but he no longer looked furious. Under her never-missing, dry delivery of criticism, he shrunk slightly, hung his head down and tucked his chin, as if trying to hide his head between his shoulders.

‘Frankly, it wasn’t your best performance and yet I did not beat you into a pulp. What’s more, I’ve never threatened you, never, especially over something so small and insignificant.’

No one dared to interrupt the steady flow of her words. Not even Camilla had attempted to roll her eyes, simply mesmerised, just like the rest of us, with how unbothered, almost lazy and unwilling she seemed while delivering her soul-crushing, humbling truths to Bunny.

‘It is beneath us, to treat and speak to another person, a friend, like you just did. Now stop frowning and marding, just sit, have a drink, cool down.’

‘Yes, Bun, sit down. We’re not without a flaw, after all. It’s not a big deal.’

Camilla sent a warm smile across the table, not towards Bunny but his assailant. She responded with the same kind of grin, a warm, sunny stretch of mouth that would melt the strongest and coldest man.

‘Remember when Charles said that the French Revolution wasn’t that big a deal and she nearly lost her mind?’

Then she snorted, and my accomplice gasped in exasperated shock. A quick, playful smack on the hand of the blonde, little lady was dealt as she exclaimed ‘Cami! Now’s not the time to bring up past mistakes!’ The girl giggled, although her pearly laugh was overwhelmed by Francis’ snort.

‘Oh god! I remember that! I really though she was going to kill him! Jesus, I really believed that on that day we were going to say grace over the cold corpse of Charles Macnally.’ As the ginger boy wrapped his arms around his midriff, to somehow ease the sudden throws of unadulterated joy that shook his body, Bunny slid quietly into his previous seat, relief, that he was no longer the subject of the discussion painted on his face.

‘Come on guys! It was so long ago! I would never do anything like that now…’

She stirred in her place beside me, pouting like a displease child, which roused Francis even more. Camilla too, wasn’t immune to the giddy atmosphere.

‘Oh honey, I know you never wished any real harm onto Charlie. It’s just so funny to recall you screaming bloody murder at him…’ Camilla did not finish her thought, instead, overtaken by laughter, splayed herself across the table trying to catch the quickly regressing fingers of the other girl. Her arm brushed right past mine, but she didn’t notice that, totally absorbed with the vigorous battle at grabbing and tugging away of hands, she was conducting, and clearly loosing, due to the constant spasm of laughter that shook her body, tossing her unregularly across the wooden surface. Her opponent wasn’t much better, trying to disguise her laugh as furious puffs of hot air and scrunching her whole face up, not to let a single pressing smile pass. That frown she made, with much effort and a raised chin that help her in keeping the giggles deep in her stomach, gave her an uncanny likeness to non-other that Mussolini.

‘I don’t know… it felt real to me, when you chased me around the kitchen, swinging a knife around and screaming’ Charles began his sentence and paused dramatically, tilting his head up and spreading his arms over his head like a preacher in a cathedral, only to be joined by everyone at the table, spare for me and Bunny, in an unison, theatrical chant ‘How about I take away you privileges and basic human rights, let’s see, how unimportant the French Revolution was then!’

The whole table fell into laughter, a shimmering cascade of giggles and snorts, surprisingly, dominated by the baritone hum of Henry. My friend turned beetroot-red and, just like Bunny before her, strained her shoulders up to hopefully hide herself between them. First to break off was the violine-led light motif in the person of Henry.

‘Cut her some slack! It’s not like she almost killed a professor, whose name I shall not evoke, with her car and then proceeded to try and charm him out of suspending her with the, what was it, ah, yes! The hypnotic sway of her luscious hips.’

A unison protest of Charles and Camilla overtook whatever Henry intended on saying next, as they recoiled in mock horror. Camilla shielded herself with the coat of her brother as he latched onto her head, trying to close her ears to that slander.

‘Why must you all recall all of my most painful memories.’ Charles screamed over the roaring crowd of the bar. ‘It’s not like I did anything to you! You’re all monsters, monsters, I say, not people!’

Then Francis, dangerously maroon on his face chimed in, bringing forth another story, one of botched boeuf de Bourgogne and Julian, politely munching on it’s charred remains. Since that moment, it came down like and avalanche. Stories, insults, and ashamed protests along with some foreign profanities thrown in together begun swishing over our heads like heavy ammunition, all in a delightful halo of barked laughter and whistles. In the meanwhile, the poor bartender must’ve called in for help, because the crowd of patrons started to loosen around the bar area, and a new, visibly taunt and tired looking waiter became roaming the floor and picking up the orders from table to table. Strangely enough, he came around our space more than the others and soon enough pints and glasses, the martini, vine, red and white, gin and whiskey even the dreaded cocktail glasses piled over our table. Slowly but steady, once again the floor swooped from beneath my feet and my head turned heavy, sprouting with a thick sheet of wool. I did not realize I had been dangerously tilting to the right, arching my whole body to bend it into an almost horseshoe shape until I felt her arm slipping from underneath mine, and slowly smoothing over the wrinkles of my shirt. My world tilted alongside me and then straightened right after when hot breath fanned my ear, a tint of sun and hop carried with it.

‘You made my hand fall asleep.’

I jumped, because the voice tore through the featherbed of alcohol induced confusion, like hot knife cuts through butter.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, making a bubbly laughter erupt from her lips.

‘It’s no problem at all dummy, none at all. But you need to let go off my wrist right now.’ I followed her gaze down to our laps, where I saw my hand wrapped just around her pulse, my fingers so, so unremarkable against her silky-smooth skin. Jumping once again I let go, a huge block of ice mixed with something utterly pathetic dropped into my stomach. A terrible stutter befell me and I struggled through a handful of rushed apologies, but she only swatted her asleep hand at me. ‘Told you already, it’s no problem! I just need to go.’ And then she leaned in and added, in a hushed conspiratorial tone, ‘To the ladies room.’

A dumb smile sprouted on my face as I watched her drunkenly unwrap herself from Henrys half-limp embrace and then clumsily step off the booth couch and onto the packed middle ground of the bar. Stunning, it was, to watch her manoeuvre between a bunch of people so much drunker and less coordinated than her. Her steps, although wobbly and off her usual light rhythm, coveted a lightness of a ballerina, as she ducked and avoided all the swishing hands and swirling bodies.

Henry watched her go as well, his eyes deep and dark like two black holes, hungrily swallowing the small sway of her steps. They slid down, right to the base of the column of her spine, her thighs, calves, and then a tiny, almost satisfied smile cracked his rigid lips, the eyes, mine and his, took in the stupidly cute way she raised her feet a little too high, placed them on the ground a bit too far apart, like a little duck to accommodate the comically big Oxfords. And Henry seemed almost proud of that. I wanted to open my mouth, speak to him, comment somehow on the sparks circling his irises, but my train of thought was interrupted by Bunny’s ostentatious grunt.

The blonde boy looked absolutely horrible, with red spots and blemishes blooming on his cheeks from the excess of alcohol and his eyes, puffy, even more swollen than when we started drinking. He still bore that ridiculous frown, which by that point gave into more damage, got watered down with every gulp of beer he had forced into himself, only to become a reduced cadaver of gloom floating in his murky, blue eyes.

‘Excuse me ladies, imma get me some beer,’ He slurred.

Camilla pouted, extending her arms towards him simultaneously closing and opening her palms, as if to rope him into hugging her and then anchoring him to stay at the table. Something in the way he stood up, I don’t know, maybe a stray button of his shirt that reflected the light in the wrong way, or the horizontal blue-and-white straps on his blazer, now waving hypnotically around his bulky form, made my gut churn and all that I drank and ate during the day came up my throat in waves of nausea. I closed my eyes, tilted my head back and inhaled deeply. Once, twice, three times.

‘Come on Bun, the waiter is going to be here any minute, why go to the bar, all the way there. Sit, come, just sit.’

Another grunt and then a series of clumsily misguided moves echoed my brain. On the camera obscura of my eyelids my imagination showed a pretty hilarious picture of Bunny struggling to get out of the booth over the wasted, folded body of Francis.

‘No can do. I feel like I have the Sahara Desert in my mouth. I ain’t waiting for no waiter.’

However humorous the remark, his voice resounded strangely gloomy and hollow, but I could not care for that much at that point. Too busy counting from hundred to zero, I used all the mindpower I had left not to bend over and puke right onto the table. On my right Henry swayed softly and hummed alongside the tune somehow still getting through him all the way from de jukebox.

I must’ve gotten around to negative seven hundred fifty, when it finally dawned on me that something was wrong. Our area of the table suddenly got quiet, too quiet and I couldn’t shake the unpleasant, fuzzy feeling creeping up my spine. With no small fit of effort, I managed to glue open one of my eyes, then the other.

Hellish landscape of decadence greeted me with a sharp toothy smile. Francis laid passed out face first on the table, Camilla leaned over him with the full weight of her body, swishing a glass of gin in her hand, the liquid swirling in it like a miniature whirlwind, and Charles, always the one to get utterly pissed, perched himself on the couch, and with an absent stare, followed the infinity signs drafted in the air by his sister’s glass. Every now and the he’d add a small ‘swoooosh’, when she took a particularly sharp turn in the trajectory of the drink. I tore myself from that image, my head rolled over to the right, guided by the wooden, polished headrest. Henry was there. Slightly decomposed, but holding up better than the rest of us, nursing a small, steaming cup – tea? No, coffee. Black and sugarless.

‘Hey, Henry?’ My mouth burned as I opened it, chapped, dried up skin tore at that unusual activity and if I were any bit more sober, I would wince at the pain it had brought me to speak. He turned halfway towards me and raised one brow in a silent question. I stayed silent for a second, trying to accumulate all the ideas swirling around my disoriented head, arrange and put them into words, to somehow explain my sudden uneasiness to him. ‘Where do you think they went? They’d been gone for quite a while, don’t you think?’ A slight frown, then a look across the table, and finally a bright spark of understanding sparked across his face. ‘Bunny and…’ However anxious I felt, I think it was nothing, compared to the chill expression of pure horror that slid over his taunt features. Henry lunged himself up before I could even finish my slowly processed concern, and sprung forth, towards the bar, towards the toilets cramped right next to it, as he was, barefoot, limping and thoroughly terrified. I raced right after him, all of a sudden, sober as if not a drop of alcohol had entered my blood stream during that night. His fright climbing and latching onto me like a parasite, sucking all the air from my lungs, urging my blood to flow faster, stronger in order to keep my brain alive. I did not know, I could not comprehend what made him so… stressed, so pressed, but the look on his face, the half of it I saw while struggling to equal oust pastes, forebode nothing pleasant. And that image, of Henry totally panicked, mixed with my previous remark on her…

Getting through the crowd of the drunken, screaming people was no easy fit and I wonder how she had made it look so effortless. And Henry, he as well got through the thicket with no problem, although not thanks for his natural grace, but rather the utter disrespect and disregard of anyone that stepped in his way. He pushed through people, stepped on their feet, swatted away their arms, not even looking back when they screamed after him, and I followed his trail to that warzone, squeezing through the narrow he had cut up for himself. Henry kept himself composed through all of that, not a single scream, not even a word or a twitch. He was cold, a stalker, a wolf bound on the hunt for his prey. The scared frown on his face reforged into something more sharp and determined. And I was hot, fuming, the heatwave of alcohol mixed with anxiety rushed to my head heating me up like a furnace. I felt my pulse quickening, heart straining in a hopeless effort to keep me up. Yet, I put all of my effort into keeping up with him, as he seemed to have had connected the dots I did not have the skill, or correct disposition to connect, and he did not seem to notice me. Not even at all. It looked like, in that moment there was only one thought going through his mind, preoccupying him, mandating him his actions and goals. Only one thought that willed his heart into a steady beat – finding her. Finally, we got out of the worst cluster of now whining and crying out in pain students, when the door to the woman’s bathroom burst open and Bunny emerged from the forbidden depths. He was slightly crouching, as he paced with small, careful, but overall, quite rushed steps onward, pressing a hand to his face. But nothing, not even his big hand of a seasoned quarterback, could cover the red imprint cutting across his face, likely a result of something, or someone, hitting him in the face with full force. His eyes darted across the room, scattered and skittish. When they came to task us with their gaze, Bunny squealed and rushed right past us, drafting a big, round arch, only to push against the exit with the full force of his body and run into the cold night outside. He did not even take his coat with him. He just run away.

I stopped, partially to the shock I just had experienced due to that bizarre occurrence, but mostly because of Henry’s sudden indecision. If it were up to me, I would carry on straight forward, where my legs desired to bring me, until I’d have had reached the unpassable barrier of the door dividing the room and the women’s restroom. But he was not as drunk, or as disoriented as I was, because for a second, he halted, leaned to the direction of the exit, as if eager to chase down the runaway bunny, then swayed back, as if torn apart by some inner dilemma I was not privy to. Thankfully, he had not have to choose, for from the bathroom emerged another person. She was similarly to Bunny red on her face, although when his red seemed to root itself in a valiant assault, hers was a deep shade of effort and distress. Now, the direction was clear to Henry, he rushed towards her, opening his arms as if to gather her into them, but no, to my biggest surprised she jumped to the side and slid right past him, only to mix into the crowd. She threw him a rather strained ‘I’m leaving.’ And then dove into the swarm of bodies. Henry wasted no time and lunged back into the already irritated with him people. Only this time, he seemed to care about them even less, and seeing that they stopped screaming at him, and just opened themselves before him, like the red sea. But he was screaming, beaconing, calling her name, only for it to hit and bounce off her turned back. She was fast, even in those too-big shoes, Henry had trouble keeping up with her, least to say I, who out of us three, was probably the drunkest and the least athletic. After that quick cavalcade through the terrified flock, we arrived at our starting point, the table. In the far looser space, Henry caught up to her and yanked her small body towards him. She was feisty and full of fire, but in an open struggle, not in a play-pretend, she had no chance against him. The sheer force of his arms pulled her forward, as if she was but a rag doll. Her whole body shook, but not with the impact of his body engulfing hers, or shock that came with the sudden contact, but something far more pressing, something she tried to, with all her might, to push down and keep inside of herself. But her lower lip wobbled. A sorrowful display of utter helplessness, that little wobble, paired with the tears evoked the memory of the ‘Nighthawks’ in me. I balled my fists by my sides, now not only overtaken by sadness and the feel of disunity, but also fear. Gut-wrenching, blood-chilling, hair-standing fear. Because, when Henry pulled her in and caged her between his arm, when he brought her to him despite the slight resistance of her trembling arms against his chest, I saw her neck, craning upwards. And the four furious smudges running horizontally on her throat, pinkish imprint of fingers coming together into a palm just about where here larynx should start. That’s going to become a bruise, give it a few hours, I thought. Her jaw unclenched and, as Henry submerged her into himself, I saw her stutter something out. Her voice too small for me to hear over the booming of the bar, but I did not have to, least to say, the murderous tilt of Henry’s head confirmed to me what I already had suspected. He did not move, but I saw his reflection in the window placed right above out booth. The lines around his mouth deep like scars, appeared to deform his face, elongate like sabre teeth when he spoke to me, commanded.

‘Richard, go outside, find Edmund.’

Without thinking or sparing a single more glance I rushed to the exit, spurred on by the sharpness of his tone. All of my, my being, my soul, by body, they screamed in furious agony, in rage and in guilt. I let him go, I heard, I felt that something was off when Bunny stepped away from the booth and yet I let him go, too intoxicated to do anything. But what tore at me the worst was the fact, that when I run out, the last image that flashed before me were her eyes, those usually bright, intelligent orbs, now dusted with silver moist, dimmed, and lifeless.

The night air hit me in the face the second I stepped out of the bar, sudden realisation of how stuffy and hot the interior was coming onto me in a sobering wave. Everything before me, the neon signboards of other dodgy bars, the lanterns, the cars parked in the driveway, blurred before me and I had to cross my eyes to focus. My feet stumbled across the uneven pavement as I searched the perimeter like a starved coyote, teeth bared looking for the slightest hint of blonde hair swishing in the dark. But I saw nothing, no one. The street was quiet and desolate, blinking at me in utter bewilderment with her yellow lanterns. The spins came back to me with a doubled force, I had to support myself against one of the cars. The air was filled with a strange kind of glow, a tension that I could not explain, and when I looked up, I saw a full moon, hanging directly above the curve of the street.

Behind me, the door to the bar opened, swung, and then opened again, only to shut behind the exiting people with a thundering smack. Two pairs of feet crunched on the virgin snow, one pasted light and quick, like the crescendo of flutes, the other, long and deep, similar to the drag of a bow against the string of a violin.

‘Come on, baby, come back inside, I’ll take care of this, please, it’s so cold out, you’ll catch a cold.’

Henry begged as he desperately tried to hold onto her hand. Once again I observed how they mixed together, two dark spots against the backdrop of the luminescent snow, from the side-lines. But she broke off, shook her head, as if unable to muster any words. Her face shined in the natural light of the night, but not as I was used to, not with the internal, sweet, warm, internal glow, but the reflected light of the surroundings. Her face was wet, pulled and cold.

‘Don’t. Just don’t. Stop it Henry, I need to go. I need to go alone.’ Her voice was shaky, packed with emotions I could not untangle and determine. ‘Stop it, don’t touch me right now.’

She pulled her arm from his embrace, pushed at him to stay in place and strode off. His fingers floated in the space she had occupied just seconds before, mindlessly grabbing at the phantom threads of material. The coat she had on, flapped as she strode away, quicker, and quicker, swooshing in the cold air with no particular rhythm like the broken wings of a bird, so desperate to take into the skies. He stopped, obedient to her wishes, but I could see the worry painted in his face.

‘At least change back into my shoes, those will hurt you!’

She waved at him, her back steadily turned towards him, head hung low, but she gave no response.

As she walked away, up the street, her silhouette came against the gargantuan moon and suddenly I had this feeling of solemn loneliness gripping at my heart, convincing me that she was not walking, but floating up, alone far away and straight up the silver strands of moonlight into the unknown Space. Henry stood there, leaning forward as if fighting with his thoughts, his urges, until she was too small and too far away for him to see.

We styed there for a second longer, in silence, until he pulled out a red pack of cigarettes out of his coat and lit one. His eyes bore mindlessly into the ground and the lighter he held illuminated his ghostly, foreign face with an orange glow.

‘Don’t worry Richard. He’s going to show up sooner or later.’ Hoarse screech was all that came out of his mouth, vicious, venomous, sure. ‘And then, we’re going to deal with that swine accordingly.’

His eyes darted to me, and a shiver run down my spine, for I hand never seen such cold and biting rage frozen into a steady, calm face like that. Fear crossed me, when he inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and not a single muscle on his face moved.

‘Oculum pro oculo.’

#bunny corcoran #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #francis abernathy #henry winter #henry winter x reader #richard papen #the secret history #afab reader

130 notes · View notes

incorrectmarvelquotesss · 1 year

Text

— night’s kisses —

Warnings: strong language, slight mentions of bullying / rape / death / car crash / suicide / pregnancy (nothing graphic), talks of PTSD (Bucky's mostly), fluff, angst, sexual themes/innuendos

Summary: Steve and you are working on a project together: Project Restore.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: ~9.2k

A/N: SECOND ONESHOT IN A WEEK AND THE LONGEST ONESHOT I’VE EVER WRITTEN. Honestly, I don’t know when I started this (oops) and where I was supposed to go with it. Halfway through I decided to become like Shakespeare or something and it ended up a lot longer than it should’ve been. Anyway, I hope you guys like this! ( Also I feel like a genius for coming up with a good title and then the ending <3 )

You knew how the world worked and how people treated each other from a young age. Your parents had told you everything from the beginning, not believing in sugarcoating anything. You knew that people could pass a crime scene with zero emotion and spread rumours that could end in serious consequences. You knew that people lurked in the dark, waiting to prey on innocent souls. You weren’t stupid and knew how the world worked.

You saw everything unfold in front of you as you got older. The way students would gossip about the younger and more vulnerable kids while their friends laughed with them. You heard the whispers pass among the halls about the boy who peed his bed in grade four. You saw him leave the school in tears, trying and failing to stop the rumours from spreading in the school. You heard the whispers in high school about the girl who slept with the jock and ended up pregnant. You saw her casket lower to the ground and the police announced it was suicide.

You left your home to live in Manhattan, hoping to make the world a better place by working with Stark Industries and the Avengers. Your parents always told you that you had an eye on everything good in the world. They told you it was what made you a good person. But you always kept an eye on the bad, thinking of what could be done to make it disappear. It wasn’t that you didn’t see the bad, you just saw everything more clearly than others.

The boy who peed his pants had been in a car accident, resulting in a concussion in his brain. That concussion deprived him of doing regular, day-to-day activities. You knew because you had talked to him after everything that had happened and he was glad that someone was listening. He moved, but you were happy to get his side of the story.

The girl who committed suicide was raped and that ended in her getting pregnant. Her parents had told you everything about her; her excellent grade, her hobbies, her friends and family. They were glad that you listened to them and trusted them. When you asked about what the police did to the jock, they told you that they didn’t have the proof. The jock was arrested a few days later and the parents were glad their daughter got justice. They didn’t need to know that it was you who got evidence against him.

“Miss Y/S?” FRIDAY spoke into the room. You hummed, burning two wires together and turning to face the computer again. “Captain Rogers is waiting for you in the lounge to discuss Project Restore.”

“Tell him I’m a bit busy right now,” you said absentmindedly, the response almost automatic now. You and Steve were trying to restore Bucky’s memories—Shuri got rid of the trigger words and Steve had told her that that was enough. In an attempt to restore Bucky’s past memories, you had told Steve you had to recreate the chair.

There was no other way the conversation was going to end. Steve argued and argued, throwing everything right at your face while you listened with a stoic face. You knew Bucky would be petrified of the chair, but you were hoping he would associate it with something better. Something like getting his past life back. Maybe Bucky would look back at the chair and smile slightly because it gave him the old memories back. But Steve was having none of it, even if Bucky had given the green.

“Captain Rogers insists that you come up now,” FRIDAY said after a few seconds. You shook your head, typing in codes and glancing at the robot you were working on. It was supposed to help with young children’s mental health by listening and analyzing their behaviour and giving the reports to doctors.

“Tell him I insist I’m busy.” You started retyping the code, seeing that the robot had knocked a few things down.

“Captain Rogers is persistent.” FRIDAY seemed tired of passing messages among messages between the two of you. You shrugged and didn’t reply back, focusing on the codes rather than the captain. He had to get his head out of his ass if he wanted to talk to you. “Captain Rogers has requested access to Project Restore files.”

“Access denied,” you deadpanned, hearing the loud swearing and footsteps coming down to your lab. You held back the smirk as you turned your chair around and watched Steve punch in the code you had given him all those months back, stalking in with a scowl on his face. “Need something, Rogers?”

“You know exactly why I’m here,” he hissed, pulling out a chair and taking a seat at a table full of prototypes. You hummed and crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair as you studied his posture. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, sinking down in the chair more. “I wanna say sorry for how I acted. I just—I really want to protect him and giving him back to the chair…” Steve shook his head and sunk further down, making himself look smaller. Something tugged in your heart.

“I know,” you whispered, getting up and starting to organize some things. You looked at him again, patting his head as you moved past him to put some files on the shelf. You saw him glance at you in surprise at the gesture, but you ignored it because you did that to almost everyone in the compound. He just wasn’t ever at the receiving end.

“If you knew, why did you suggest it?” Steve asked when you sat back down at the computer and started to save and delete things.

“I want him to remember just as much as you do, Rogers,” you replied, swinging your legs so that the chair faced him again. “He’s a friend. And a human, like the rest of us. I know he’s been through a lot and that includes the chair. I’ve seen him here with cuts and bruises, telling me that the medical wing reminds him too much of that time. He hates the white coats, the needles, the tubes, and the smell of medications. I know what you know, Rogers. Maybe, just maybe, a bit more.”

“So,” Steve started, taking a bit of a calculated breath, “you mean that you did that on purpose?” You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Sometimes the best way to get rid of your fears is to be exposed to them,” you said, intertwining your hands and placing them on your lap. “It might not always work, but Barnes wants to try. So who are we to say no?”

“He’s stubborn, Y/N,” Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s so stubborn that he’ll have a panic attack instead of asking you to stop.”

“I never said we need to tell him everything about the procedure.” You shrugged innocently, a glint in your eyes. Steve raised an eyebrow. “It’s unethical, but it’ll keep him safe.”

Steve thought about it for a second before he said, “Fine. What’re you thinking?”

“We’ll monitor his heart rate and anytime it seems like he’s going to have a panic attack, we stop.”

“Won’t he figure it out? He’s not stupid.”

“Not if we tell him it could overpower and fry his brain.” Steve started laughing at your mischievous tone. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing as well.

“Thought you were a doctor.”

“Unethical, but practical. At least I think so. After all, I am a human first.”

“I’d hope so.” Your eyes narrowed at the response, making him chuckle and shake his head. “I didn’t mean it like that, doc.” You only hummed in response, shrugging and turning around to continue working on the robot. You cut a few wires apart and connected them with one another and then checked your coding, trying to figure out why it was swinging its arms. You felt Steve’s warm breath on your neck, a tickling sensation making you want to sigh.

“What’s this?” He pointed at the robot, an amused tone coming into your hearing. You turned to look at him, feigning an offended look.

“It’s you! Doesn’t it look like you?” You started pointing at the bug-like cameras for eyes and the O-shaped speaker for a mouth. “Look, it has your eyes and mouth. And the rectangle-shaped face too!” You turned your head to look at him with an innocent expression etched on your face.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” he said sarcastically, an unamused face that would make anyone think that he didn’t find it funny. But the glint in his eyes told you that he absolutely loved your sense of humour.

“It’s for all the kids' hospitals. Designed to keep an eye on their vitals and performance so if there’s even the slightest change in anything, the doctors will be notified right away with an app or this watch.” You picked up the watch, waving it slightly, and shrugged. “Hopefully it’ll save some lives.”

“It will.” He said that statement as if it was a fact. It wasn’t. Logically speaking, the robot prototype would take another year or so to be finished and then another year or so to manufacture more if this one worked properly. But you decided to keep his hope up by nodding.

“It’ll work eventually, but until I figure this out,” you started, closing the window and opening up Project Restore, “we can work on this.” You grinned when a groaned fuck escaped his lips.

“I mean, this is crazy,” his voice came out breathy and a hint of something like pride was intertwined with it. You ignored your heart for the moment being.

“If it gets you to swear, Cap,” you teased, flicking through the blueprints and mechanism that you still needed to get. Hopefully, you could call in a favour with Okoye. She owed you from the one time you upgraded her spear—Shuri seemed like she was about to kill you for giving Okoye a reason to poke fun at her.

“I swear,” he said, licking his lips when you turned your head to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, fine, I swear sometimes only. But, jeez, can ya blame me? You’ve really got an eye for these types of things.” He shrugged, a pink tinge blossoming on his cheeks as he averted his eyes from you.

“If that’s what—” you opened up a file with the power source blueprints— “floats your boat, Cap.”

“Please,” Steve started, “call me Steve. I’m not technically a captain if you really think about it.”

“What d’you mean?” You opened up a software and started on the 3-D model of the chair. You honestly didn’t think that Steve would agree to throw Bucky back on the chair, even if it meant that his memories would be restored. The tragedy of James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t unknown in your world, you knew exactly what had happened on the chair from the beginning. Because of that, you hadn’t made a model yet.

“I just went around punching things until they called me captain because of the dumb mascot I was before that.”

“And now that dumb mascot symbolizes America,” you added nonchalantly, earning you a funny look from him. You shrugged again. “I say things the way they are, Steve.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re real, y’know?”

“I’m a ghost,” you deadpanned, head-butting him lightly, almost affectionately, when he scoffed at your statement and rolled his eyes.

“You might be a vampire,” he retorted, yawning as he checked the time on the corner of your computer screen. It was nearly three in the morning and he wondered if you ever got a full night’s rest in the last couple of days. By the looks of you, you didn’t. The way dark circles were forming around your eyes and the way your shoulders slumped, he knew you didn’t. He was determined to get you to sleep before sunrise.

“You saying I suck the life outta you?” You didn’t falter with your quips and he found delight in it, but his mind didn’t sway. Not when it came to your health.

“I think you might be suckin’ the life outta yourself, darlin’.” Your hands stopped ever so slightly before going on to the coding you were working on. “Get some sleep.”

“How about no?” You kept going.

“How ‘bout I just lift ya up ‘n carry ya to your room, huh?” He twisted your chair so that you had no choice but to stop and look at him. “‘S nearing three in the morning.”

“So?” You crossed your arms and moved back, leaning against the chair as your eyes drooped shut for a moment too long now that your eyes weren’t focused on the computer screen. He smirked. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“Nah, darlin’.” Something about the way darling was rolling off of his tongue made you look at the man in front of you, trying to force you to go rest for your own good. Surely he wasn’t really looking out for you, he was just making sure your mind was in the best place when figuring out the chair for his best friend. It had nothing to do with your health. It was just coming in the way of his best friend’s progress so he had to care for you. Right?

“I’m fine,” you seethed, a gut-churning feeling making you want to scream at Steve, but it wasn’t his fault you didn’t know how to accept help. Especially when it was staring right back at you in the face with baby blues that could melt your heart in mere seconds.

“No, you’re not,” he whispered gently, placing his hands on the armrests and trapping you between his body and the chair. “You need to rest, Y/N. Your body is literally begging for you to sleep and rest, but you keep working. I get that you’re doing amazing things for others, the robot design is awesome, but you need to look after yourself. And, like I said before, I’m ready to carry ya, darlin’.”

“I don’t think so—” You squealed when Steve effortlessly picked you up bridal style. You instinctively wrapped your hands around his arms before swatting at his chest when he grinned smugly. Then you yawned and he stifled his laughter. “You’re not getting away with this, Rogers.”

“Thought you were gonna call me Steve.” Now if you knew better, which you did, you would say he downright pouted at hearing his last name escape your lips.

“You’ve lost the privilege,” you huffed as he started for the stairs. He grinned boyishly and you ignored the slight skip of your heart. Emphasis on the slight. He looked down at you once more, giving you just enough time to fall into his eyes. Maybe it was the green army jacket you were wearing, but his eyes never looked this green to you. Maybe you just never noticed it. You had never noticed the flecks of green that littered the inside of his irises, making his eyes look a light shade of green when there was more green around.

“Do you always stay up so late?” His eyes were back in front of him as he reached the top of the stairs, walking down the hall to get to your rooms. You cleared your throat and mind before you spoke again.

“Maybe. Maybe I just wanted a ride,” you replied easily, the remarks being the only reason you survived through high school and university. “And what’s a better ride than Captain America himself?” Your unintended innuendo slipped past him and you were glad for that for once. You hadn’t thought about it fast enough to catch your slip-up until you said it out loud. Even if Steve caught onto it—which you kind of doubted since he was a man from the 40s—he didn’t let on.

“You’re a menace.” He shook his head, corners of his lips curling to form a soft smile. He knew you were lying. Sort of. You hadn’t answered him completely, but your maybe meant that you hadn’t been getting too much sleep and your little joke there meant you wanted to avoid the conversation. Steve was happy to oblige, leaving the topic and moving on to the other.

“The chair might be ready in a week or two,” you started, eyes darting down to his neck where your hands were. He could feel them moving nervously, a tick that he had noticed before this moment, back when you were new to the facility. “We need a few things. I’ll order them tomorrow since you insist I sleep before working. I’ll also need to talk to Barnes about the machinery, see what he’s comfortable with and not. I think that the chair doesn’t need to look exactly the same, but the similarity between the sketches I’ve made and the sketches of Hydra’s chair are too similar. I need him to be sure that he could handle it.

“Then I might need to get Shuri’s opinion on the amplifier on the power source and check some routing issues that might occur. She also has this AI that allows her to create artificial trails and using that we’ll find out if the machine would work or not. And if so, what the percentage rate of this working is. Then I also need Stark’s to help with the technical building part of it. Not that I’d mess up that badly, but it’s good to have a second pair of eyes. Plus, he’d get a kick out of it. And he’s good at what he does.”

Abrupt silence made his stomach drop slightly, missing the sound of your voice and the vibrations running down his arms at each syllable you spoke.

“Anything else I should know?” Steve asked once you went quiet. You almost looked sheepish when you glanced back up at him, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

“No, I’ve blabbered too much already,” you whispered, your bedroom door and his coming into view. His eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown appeared on his lips as he slowed his pace a few metres away from your bedrooms. You raised an eyebrow at his sudden gestures.

“There’s probably more I need to know,” he said, shaking his head in what seemed like dismay. “I know there’s more, Y/N. Tell me what I’m missin’. Please.”

“You don’t wanna hear me rambling about the boring technical stuff,” you mumbled, tapping your thumb against the hollow of his throat. The gesture made tighten his grip on you, one you could feel through the rough material of the jacket.

“Darlin’, nothing about it was boring,” he reassured you, coming to a stop in front of your bedroom. He didn’t let you down just yet, even when you squirmed as a hint. “I’m serious, Y/N. You do amazing things, and helping Bucky is just one of many, so if I get the chance to hear you talk about it, I’ll hear it. I hear you.”

He slowly lowered you down when you evidently had nothing to say to him. You, for the first time, didn’t know what to say and he was okay with that. A bit surprised, but okay. He realized that his words might have meant nothing to you or maybe, just maybe, meant more than he knew.

With your feet on the ground, you had no reason to have your arms slung around his shoulders. There was no reason his hands should have stayed around your waist to keep you close enough to smell each other’s scent. There was absolutely no reason for you both to stare at each other as his last words lingered in the air and echoed in your head over and over and over again. There was no reason for your hearts to be beating this fast and no reason for your head to spin as you both drew in a deep breath.

But it all happened, all at once in that one moment of time. Everything felt like a fever dream and you both could pretend that it was normal. Normal for you both to be holding onto each other, this close, and having your head spinning and heart beating fast. You both let it happen for that moment.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you breathed out, breaking the second’s silence and letting your hands slide down, lingering slightly as they came down to your sides. His hands lifted off as soon as yours did, but he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm on your cheek. You shivered ever so slightly and watched him move back, a slight smirk on his face as he nodded at you, walking backwards to lean against his door. You blindly reached for your doorknob and twisted it before turning and swiftly entering, breaking your eye contact with the blond who had left you this flustered. You locked the door out of habit and lifted a hand to your chest, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart.

It wasn’t like you were the only one with a heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest.

Steve was still out in the hallway, watching your door close with a click and another click following, indicating that your door was now locked. His eyes dropped to the ground, staring at the scruff on his left shoe and wondering about how he had the confidence to go ahead and kiss you goodnight. Sure it wasn’t on the lips, but it was still a kiss and, back in his time, it meant a whole lot more. You did look surprised or shocked, but you didn’t look like you hated him for it or didn’t want him to do it again.

He didn’t plan on doing it anytime soon again, confidence having left him immediately after the unintended kiss on the cheek. He was sure that the confidence wasn’t coming back for a while.

———

A few days passed after that impromptu kiss and your dynamic with Steve was the same as always. It had changed, but not enough for you two to notice. It was tiny changes that led to the noticeable ones—to the team at least; you two were basically in your world.

It started with the excuse of Project Restore. Steve would bring up that anywhere he didn’t want to be. Usually, it was at those meetings that Tony called for the team for team building exercises, which consist of regular activities like Jenga and Monopoly. Those games were intense and, more likely than not, were the reason the team fought. Steve absolutely loathed Monopoly with a burning passion. Anytime Tony brought up the meetings, Steve would run off to meet you in your lab with the excuse of the project. Needless to say, Tony tried to get you involved, but you beat him at Monopoly so he stopped.

Then he would start spending more time with you in your lab than at training with the excuse of lifting heavy parts that you couldn’t. You couldn’t deny the extra help and he could use the lifting as his training. He started teasing you when you couldn’t lift something and he could. You would roll your eyes at him, say something snarky with a glint in your eyes, and smirk as he fumbled with his retort. The glint in your eyes always had him fumbling and flustered. Some days Bucky would drop in to help with the parts and Steve would have to put his teasing on a halt.

The one time he teased you with Bucky around, you pouted and it just about knocked the breath out of him. He knew he was falling for you then, but knew that you couldn’t feel the same. Not with the way you shook your head at him when he did something wrong and told him he was an idiot. Sure, there was a smile on your face, but there was no way you liked him back. You were way out of his league and he was sure that you knew that. That’s why you swatted his hand when he touched your shoulder when you seemed frustrated or gave him a look when he placed a hand on your back while walking upstairs.

Despite all that, he still wanted to be at least your friend. So he started spending even more time around your lab as the process of building the chair came to. He made up the excuse of wanting to be around in case something went wrong or still helping with the larger parts. He had the excuses built up and he was spouting them off whenever someone asked why. He noticed the little ticks that he hadn’t already noticed while you were working. The way you pressed your tongue to your cheek when you wanted your hands to be steady. Or the way you wrinkled your nose when something went wrong or when you laughed too hard.

Your laugh was one of his top three noises. Along with your giggles and voice. You liked to ramble when you didn’t know what to do. Sometimes the answer would be hidden inside your rambles and you would light up when you found the solution. Sometimes you smacked your head with your palm and giggled at your own stupidity, still mumbling about whatever. He always smiled and shook his head, assuring you that you aren’t stupid, far from stupid.

When Shuri gave you back the results, you beamed so brightly and giggled when you flipped the page and showed Steve, starting to ramble about the percentage being 96.87% and way higher than what you thought it would be.

“I knew you could do it, darlin’,” he said, watching you grin widely at him and pull the paper down from his face. He knew he would never get used to the way his heart skipped a beat at your smile. Happiness was literally bursting out of you, seeing the way you glowed at his compliments. You were taking his compliments better now too.

The first time he had complimented you on your work, you had shrugged and said something along the lines of it could’ve been better if it were someone else, maybe at least. He shook his head and insisted that you were amazing at what you were doing, gesturing to the robot and blueprints of the chair along with the new AI you had started. You had merely shrugged again and went back to sketching another model of the chair. You had made three models of the chair before, each carrying the same sort of foundation and structure. You had shown Steve each model, but you wanted him to be the one to show Bucky them.

When Steve had asked why, you simply told him that he was basically Bucky’s brother. He would trust him a bit more than you. Just a tad bit more, but more you had added with a quirky smirk and the same mischievous glint in your eyes. Steve almost leaned down to kiss your smirk away, but caught himself when you turned away with a shake of your head. There was no way you wanted him, not with the way you acted.

“I wonder if I can recalibrate—” You went ahead and started telling him of what you could do to one of your abandoned projects for it to be recycled. That’s something else that he liked about you. You always tried to give something that was thrown away another chance at working for something else. It could be some wires, some boards, or even a giant metal piece, but you always looked through those bins to find something. He liked that a lot about you.

“And can you ask Barnes if this model seems fine?” You finished ranting and turned to look at him with slight disarray and a bit breathless. You licked your dry lips like you always did after talking for a while and shoved a rolled-up blueprint towards him. “It seems the most different out of all the ones we designed.”

We? he wanted to ask. You were the one who did all the work. He merely listened to your carefully instructed orders and made sure to complete them with the highest amount of efficiency he could achieve, which wasn’t as high as he expected you would be able to achieve. He really wanted to stop you from putting yourself down, reaching for what seemed to be the littlest and least important and trivial things and picking them apart for your own negativity. He suspected it was so that you didn’t get too high over your head and stayed more humble than not. Even when you said you were the best in the world or universe at this stuff, anyone could catch onto the joking tone you reserved for statements like those.

Before he could protest against your self-depreciation or even reply to your question, you had moved on to another topic. A topic he didn’t know about really, something to do with your coding and wires and electricity watts. He could have helped you if he was Tony or Shuri, but he was a man out of this time and information. His knowledge of electricity and technology only had advanced so far. You kept going on your little ramble, lips moving at a rapid speed and hands gesturing in the air, emphasizing on a few things on the computer screen. Even though he heard everything you said, and appreciated your voice, it didn’t necessarily mean he understood it. But he made sure to listen and try.

“What do you think?” You asked, looking up at him with eager eyes. He gave you a look because you had asked him this exact question before and it had ended in him red in the face and you falling off your chair in hysterics. You smirked and turned back to the screen, seemingly knowing exactly what he was giving you the look for.

He sighed and nodded, replying, “I actually think you’re the smartest person I know.” And that was true. You had corrected Tony over twenty times while he was working, evidently getting on his nerves when he gave you a glare the twenty-first time you decided to chime in and correct him. Even Shuri seemed to be duller next to you, having declared you extreme success with Bucky’s new chair and obsessively discussing gadgets together before you helped her finetune her new electromagnetic claws with some of your own ideas. She told Steve that he had to bring you to Wakanda the next time he came to visit.

“Oh, I know I’m smart,” you quipped, the teasing tone in your voice not going unnoticed by the blond.

“You’re also the nicest, kindest, and most genuine person I know,” he added, making you whip around and smack a hand over his lips, effectively sealing his mouth. His lips grazed the inside of your palm and he felt his neck heat up, no doubt a red hue had seeped into his cheeks.

“Hey! The walls have ears and I have a reputation to maintain,” you scolded playfully, looking around as if someone would pop out of the wall—Vision was the most likely to do that. Steve rolled his eyes overdramatically so that anyone in a mile radius could see the action as it happened. You giggled and pulled your hand away, only to pinch his cheek so that it would turn a brighter shade of red. He happened to find out you showed physical affection to anyone you really liked, and learned it after that night in the lab, and now wondered how he lived without having your hand graze his arm and pat his head while walking by.

“Seriously?” He deadpanned, watching you light up as he grinned when your hand dropped from his face. He unconsciously leaned towards you, something he became aware of when your eyes flickered around his face. He cleared his throat and moved back subtly, watching you carefully so that he could decipher some sort of emotion or reaction to his closeness, but you were a hard one to read. Your face was almost always stoic, save for when someone talked to you or caught you off-guard.

“I think that you should go show those to Barnes—” You stopped, eyes trailing over his shoulder and watching some movement. Steve looked over his shoulder too, seeing Bucky punch in the code and walk into the lab, holding a bag of take-out. “Speak of the devil.” You gave Bucky a smile, but showed more interest in the take-out bag when you held out your hand for it. Bucky rolled his eyes, smirking and handing it over to you.

“There’s enough for the two of you,” Bucky said, giving Steve a friendly pat on the shoulder as a greeting. You had taken out some burgers—one for you and three for Steve, mumbling about his metabolism and super-soldier serum—and a basket of large fries—you didn’t eat too many as Steve had noted.

“How much do you two even spend on groceries? With both your metabolisms and appetites, you guys have to spend at least a thousand a week just on groceries.” Steve knew you weren’t looking for a response, but Bucky answered before Steve could give you a proper sass-filled comeback.

“Around there, yeah.” Bucky proceeded to shrug and pull out a chair so that he could level with the two of you. “Lucky for us, Tony’s fucking loaded.” You let out a snort, unwrapping your burger and fixing some of the strands of lettuce that had fallen out. Steve grabbed one and unwrapped it a bit at the top before biting into it. You let out a moan at your first bite and Steve found himself choking on his bite, making Bucky hit his back a few times and you to hold out a can of soda. He took the soda with a mumbled thanks, still coughing and clearing his throat as he tried to get that moan echoing through his head to leave him alone. It seemed impossible when the echo grew louder.

“You good?” You asked, gently rubbing his bicep and leaning towards him just as he had done before. You had leaned closer though, face mere inches away from his when you scooted your stool closer to his, a leg between his.

“Yeah,” he whispered out, taking a large gulp of his soda and cringing when it burned his throat slightly. “What the fuck is this?”

“Root Beer, punk,” Bucky replied with a shake of his head, looking between him and you. He was trying to figure out what was happening and Steve had never despised the fact that his best friend was a trained spy and assassin more than in that moment. “That shit was worth like two or three bucks back in the 40s.”

“That’s about seventy bucks now,” you mumbled, calculations already finished in your head. Steve had once complained about some costages and you had quickly searched up how much one dollar back in the 40s was worth now. He reckoned that you remembered the numbers from that quick search just so you could convert the numbers to understand him. He pondered on the fact that he could do some searching of his own to understand you.

“Shit.” Bucky raked a hand through his hair, looking down at the blueprint that Steve had placed down when taking his burger. It had opened up, revealing the white lines that made up the chair’s outlining. Bucky winced at the sight of the chair and your face fell ever so slightly. Steve knew you were hoping that you wouldn’t have to let Bucky deal with a chair that looked exactly like the other one.

“Is—is this one okay?” You looked at Bucky with expectant eyes, flitting over to glance at Steve. He would have been surprised to see the worry building in your eyes if your stutter hadn’t outed you to him. Every little tick of yours was known to him now, even the way you drummed your fingers on your thigh when you were nervous.

“Yeah,” Bucky choked out, getting up suddenly, startling you. “I’m gonna—I’ve got to get to bed. I’ll see you two later.” You and Steve watched him leave the lab, stiff shoulders and posture too straight giving everything he thought about the chair away.

“On that happy note,” you started, turning to him with a smile on your face that looked more like a grimace, “we need to construct another model.” Steve finished his last burger as you opened up another file, not bothering to look at the time. Steve, nevertheless, caught the time and he shook his head. It was nearing nine at night—no wonder Bucky had brought them food—and you had been up before him, before five in the morning.

He didn’t know how you managed to get up earlier than him and he wasn’t going to question it either. You would probably reply with something like mad I beat you, old man?. He didn’t want to test his theory either, not wanting to be wrong and get another smartass comment from you instead. One that would make him hold back a proud grin and maybe even a fit of laughter. He leaned over you, grabbing the garbage and pouring it into the take-out bag before dumping that into the bin near the entrance.

“Come on, darling,” Steve said, the endearment becoming something like a habit now. Not a forced habit, not one bit, but a habit, nonetheless. When you refused to turn to at least acknowledge him, he strode over and put his hands on your shoulders, making you groan and throw your head back to look at him. He stifled his chuckles.

“No,” was your only retaliation to his pointed look. He smirked and let his hands trail down, earning a harsh glare from you before you shivered when his fingers brushed a speck of skin between your shirt and sweatpants.

“I’ll just carry you again, Y/N,” he stated with a shrug. You seemed to glare at him harder then, eyes narrowing slightly and bottom lip jutting out slightly. God, you were pouting at him. Although he would do anything if you asked with that pout on your face, your health wasn’t something he was going to negotiate, even with that adorable pout on your face. “It’s up to you: you walk or I carry.”

You sighed and leaned into his chest, making his heart flutter in a way that it hadn’t in a long time and it was all because you leaned back into his chest. You pressed your back into his chest and rested your head on his shoulder, groaning softly when you stretched your arms and legs in front of you. Your elbows and knees cracked and Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You giggled slightly, poking Steve’s cheek as he looked down at you to see you grinning mischievously.

“Carry me, peasant,” you teased, arms flying backwards to hold onto his neck as your body shook with fits of laughter. Steve couldn’t help but laugh along with you, a voice deep inside of him telling him that you didn’t laugh as much as he wanted you to. He liked it when you laughed, nose scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the sides. He had to admit though, he didn’t laugh as much as he should either, except when he was with you. Even the smallest jokes or quips from you sent him into fits of laughter that took almost always an hour to reduce to snickers. His record, as you liked to call it, was three hours, falling into this loop of chuckles and full belly laughs because of a stupid joke you had muttered under your breath.

Coming back to the present, Steve realized that you were absolutely exhausted as he gripped your hip to help you stabilize yourself when you almost toppled over on the stool. Your eyes were trying to close on their own, shutting for a few moments too long for his liking. He knew that everyone on the team had trouble sleeping, but he didn’t expect you to have trouble too. It wasn’t nightmares that plagued you in the middle of the night; it was your own thoughts, the ones that would never leave your head. You had told him so with a shrug and dark circles forming under your eyes. It was why you kept working through the night.

“Turn around, brainiac,” Steve ordered softly, making you drop your arms from his neck and twist around so that he could see your face clearly. Lifeless skin and pale lips were just about tearing his heart into pieces as he cleared his throat. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You hummed, tapping a finger on your chin as you pretended to think over it for a second before nodding and saying, “‘Kay.” Steve grinned, pleased by your little fuss and helped you tidy up a bit before extending a hand for you to take. You ignored it and opened the door for the two of you, letting him go through first, even though all his instincts were telling him that it was just wrong to not be holding the door for the lady. His gentlemanly manners were screaming at him as the two of you ascended the stairs, telling him that he was wrong for not holding the door for you.

Before he could dive more further into it, you swayed and stumbled backwards right into his chest. His reflexes were fast enough to wrap an arm around your waist and make sure you weren’t going tumbling down the stairs. When you twisted around and gave him a slightly sheepish smile, he realized that his heart had dropped to his stomach and stayed there as you started mumbling an apology to him for crashing into him.

“No, it’s okay,” he started, hands still gripping your waist. “I’m just glad I was here to break your fall.” He glanced down the stairs, trying so hard not to imagine you laying at the bottom with your limbs sprawled around at odd angles like he had seen one too many times. You seemed to notice his panic and placed your hands on his chest, smiling up at him with a mischievous glint back in your eyes—something Steve was not expecting.

“I think that’s interference, Rogers,” you slurred, not really your best retort, but he could see the drowsiness on your face and your whole body was basically sagging against him the longer you both stood there on the stairs.

“I’m gonna carry you now, darlin’,” he said eventually. He had felt your hands slide down his chest slowly, stopping on his stomach when he finally spoke up and snapped your attention back to reality. Before you could protest—he knew you were going to—he bent down and slipped an arm behind your knees and across the middle of your back to pick you up. You seemed to decide not to argue with him, squirming just a tad bit and then relaxing as he started to walk.

At some point during the pathway from your lab to your rooms, your head lolled to the side and rested against his shoulder, deep and regulated breaths making your chest rise and fall. He tried not to stare at your peaceful face for too long, feeling like he could probably get lost in your beauty and lose his focus on his surroundings and crash into the wall or something. That would be embarrassing and he would probably hear it for the rest of his life from you, non-relenting from teasing him for it. He could hear your voice in his head, poking fun at him for running into a wall.

He chuckled underneath his breath as he rounded the corner into the hallway where both of your rooms were situated. When he reached your room, he debated on waking you up and leaving you to find your way in and get set for bed, but something didn’t let him do that. He carefully opened the door with the hand under your knees and went in, leaving it slightly open behind him. You hadn’t stirred so Steve whispered your name.

“Y/N? Hey, darlin’. Wake up.” Your head left his shoulder, letting cool air hit the warm spot as you blinked and recognized your room. His hands tightened on you as he lowered you down and let you keep an arm on him to steady yourself when you swayed in fatigue.

“You should’ve woken me up the second I fell asleep, Rogers,” you mumbled, eyes trained on the unmade bed and rumpled papers on it. He hadn’t had the chance to look around properly, taking a quick glance around. The room was neat and tidy, omitting your bed. Everything seemed to be in their respective places and you seemed to have a place for every little thing, from the tiniest eraser to the biggest 3-D model. The layout of the room was similar to his, with slight differences in the placement of the furniture.

“You could use all the rest you can get,” he replied with a shrug, walking backwards to the door. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“No kiss tonight?” You teased quietly, eyes still on the bed as if you had never seen it before. The question made him pause and ponder on your actions from the last few weeks. You had shrugged him off each time he tried to come close to you, ignoring his hand or shoving it off every single time, so why did you want a kiss from him? Sure, you had that teasing tone in your voice, but he had heard the slightest frustration behind it. As if you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t made another move for another kiss on you.

And it irked him. Not because you had withdrawn yourself from him—he knew how to take a hint—but because it was getting confusing.

He scoffed and said, “Feels like you don’t want anything to do with me, to be honest, Y/N.”

“What?” You turned around to face him clearly, eyes telling him that you were just as confused as him. You crossed your arms over your torso and tilted your head in that cute way of yours, eyes trailing over his figure to examine his body language. It wasn’t the first time you had tried to figure his emotions out with his body gesture. You had done it multiple times with his reactions to models and drawings of the chair, along with some inappropriate jokes you had dared to pull off in front of him.

“I mean you hate when I touch you—”

“I don’t hate it when you touch me,” you whispered, not even caring to hear the rest of the sentence. His eyes darted to yours, trying to catch a trace of a lie in them and seeing if you were telling him the truth. Even if you didn’t hate it, you had to dislike it, right? There was no other reason for you to pull away as if he had burned you every time he found the courage to graze your hand with his.

“Then why—”

“Because I don’t need the help,” you huffed, letting your arms drop to your sides and fist your hands when they shook a bit. Steve knew that little tick of yours; your hands would shake when you were trying to find the right words. Maybe you just needed the right question for the right answer.

“What if I want to help you?” He asked, taking a step closer to you when you refused to look at him and instead stared at the wall behind him. His guts were telling him to abort the mission and run the other way as they had that day in Germany and the day in Wakanda, but those had turned out okay. He still had Bucky and half of the universe was safe.

“I wouldn’t want to be a burden on you, Steve.”

You called him Steve. That had to mean something since you outright ignored everyone’s first names and went straight for their last names. Maybe it was out of habit now, calling him Steve as he called you darling, but there was still a chance that you meant something by it and Steve was going for that chance. No matter how small or big it was, he was going to push luck like he had never before.

“You could never be a burden on me, Y/N,” he murmured gently, stepping closer until you were within arm’s length. He extended a hand to you and you hesitantly slipped yours into his, soft skin against a calloused palm. He tucked a stray hair behind your ear with his other hand, pulling on your hand to make you step a bit closer to him.

“You might not think so now, but later, when you get bored of this, of me, you’ll be running the other way,” you said, quietening down so much that he had to strain all of his focus on hearing you. He was going to hear you no matter what.

“I wouldn’t.” His heart was beating in his chest and just about had started to hurt his ribs. “I wouldn’t be able to, darlin’. I’m either all in or all out, you should know that by now.” That dragged an airy chuckle out of your pretty lips he had been eyeing without realizing it and his heart started to calm down before it broke his bones.

“You say that now—”

“I’d do anything to prove it.” And he was ready to get down on his knees to beg for you to hear him. You studied him for a few moments, silence ringing in the air as he squeezed your hand for his own grounding. The next few seconds were the longest seconds he had spent looking at you—though the view was as pretty as it could get. He let you take a step back, heart skipping a beat or two, and then two steps forward so that your bodies had mere inches left between them.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, “properly or I won’t believe you.” You already did believe him. He knew you believed him with the way you had stepped forward twice, the kiss was just a formality. You closed your eyes when his hand came to your chin to tip your face up slightly to relish the moment just as he wanted to, watching your body shiver when his hand slipped behind your neck and the other came to the small of your back to pull your body to press on his.

Then he slotted his lips against yours and let out a groan at the taste of you. Your hands moved on their own, sliding up his chest to entangle in his hair and thumb grazing the small hairs on the nape of his neck. His lips moved slowly and gently, not wanting to chase you away with a wrong move, but once you dragged your tongue on his bottom lip and nipped at it, he let you be the one to deepen the kiss. You had initiated it, but Steve had no problem taking over, both of you fighting for domination before you submitted and let Steve run the show. Once the breath in the two of you had run out, you both pulled away, panting and resting your foreheads against each other.

You let out a small giggle as Steve grinned and tugged you impossibly close to him.

“You’re, uh you’re good at that for an old man,” you teased, making him roll his eyes playfully and nip at your bottom lip as you had to his. You bit down on your lip when he dragged his face away to look at you clearly, preventing the smile that was trying to break out on your face. Steve let his thumb pull out from between your teeth and grinned when he noticed the flustered state that little action left you in.

“I’m a lot better at other things, too, darlin’,” he mumbled, feeling the adrenaline that was keeping you awake start to drain out quickly. You were holding yourself up with your hands on his shoulders now, leaning against him as your eyes darted to the door in front of yours. “But I don’t think now’s the right time to show you.” You snorted and flitted your eyes back to him.

“I’ve still got a few moves on you,” you retorted, putting your forehead on his chest and yawning. Steve rubbed your back and kissed your forehead, embracing you tightly.

“Get some sleep and we’ll argue about it tomorrow,” he suggested, a lightness to his tone that made you look up at him and smile sleepily.

“Sure.” You pressed your hands to his chest, pushing slightly to nudge yourself straight. “Then you can admit I’m the best.” Still, that teasing tone remained in your words as you glanced towards his door again and, this time, he caught the hidden message.

“Want me to come back?” He asked, making sure he had read everything right this time. He was wishing and praying to whatever god there was that he had read your eyes right this time, that he was hearing you right this time. When you looked at him, eyes shining a bit brighter and lips tugging a bit higher, he knew he had read you right.

“I can’t ask—”

“Ask me,” he cut in, raising an eyebrow and smirking softly. “Ask me to come back.” You observed him for a second, hesitancy was clear in your eyes, but he knew it wasn’t that you didn’t want him now. It was hesitancy to ask him for more than you usually received. You licked your lips and sucked in a breath.

“Come back to me,” you blurted, hands fisting the fabric stretched across his chest. “You make it quiet.” Steve was caught slightly off-guard by that statement, not realizing what you were referring to until a few seconds later. His hands tightened on your hip and he let a soft smile grace his face.

“You make it quiet for me, too.” He squeezed your hip once before adding, “I’ll come back tonight as long as I get woken up with kisses.”

“You’d be crazy to think I’m not kissing you again.”

There were murmured whispers that night again, but these ones lulled you both to sleep, having your fair share of the night’s kisses. It was safe to say that this wasn’t the last night this routine happened, but that’s a different story. A story for another night.

80 notes · View notes

k-marzolf · 1 year

Text

Monsters in the Dark #8

Dark themes, mentions of Billy’s abandonment by his mother, dark fluff, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

&&&

It was quiet that evening. You both laid on his living room floor, Billy lost in his thoughts, watching you read Shakespeare while he played with your hair.

He shook himself from those thoughts, knowing they were growing dark, thinking of all the ways he was sure you’d eventually leave him.

The ways he’d drag you back. But stopped himself, knowing if you truly wanted to leave, he’d let you go.

Even if it made his chest fucking ache.

“Read to me,” Billy murmured, lips brushing your head.

You shuddered, enjoying Billy’s touch, and began to read;

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.” You recited, softly. Your fingers played with the edge of the paper.

Billy watched you, admiring you, and kissed the corner of your lips. He was the Devil, but for you? He was Godly vengeance on your enemies.

You loved Billy at his darkest. But you didn’t seek to save him. You knew you could not, instead you stayed in the darkness with him.

Like Persephone had chosen to stay with Hades by eating the pomegranate.

He stroked your cheek, “I’m damning you.” He spoke, startling you.

You shrugged, a smile played on your lips. “It’s my choice, Billy. It’s not on you. A God who is supposedly for free will but punishes you for not choosing Him is maybe a God I don’t wanna choose.” You told him, leaning into his touch.

“You’d choose me over heaven?” Billy asked, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“I don’t wanna go to a place I can’t follow you.” You said earnestly. “You cut off someone’s fingers for me just because they threatened me. What has God done but watch my father abuse me? My mother had to step in, and He didn’t defend her, either.”

Billy was a selfish bastard. He rarely cared about anyone but Frank and himself, but he fucking ached at the thought of you suffering eternal misery for him.

He grunted as you pushed him back, discarding the play, and climbing on top of him. You laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, thighs on either side of his hips.

Silence reigned, but it was comfortable, the clock ticked over the TV, and New York bustled below the penthouse.

He remembered Curtis bringing you over, a fragile woman, scared of so much, shaking the first night at the door to his bedroom, begging to let you sleep with him.

How he’d been hooked the minute you’d crawled in, fingers clutching his shirt. You reminded him of the boy he’d been. How he’d cried at the fire station, wondering why his mom had left him there, and when she was coming back.

He’d marked you as his since then, and swore to protect you, swore that no one would ever hurt you again, after hearing from Curtis the tales of your father’s abuse.

Billy gripped your hips, angry thinking about it. He wanted to drag your father from his grave, and burn the bones. No. No one would ever hurt you again.

If only he knew, you felt the same way about him.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader

60 notes · View notes

lottiecrabie · 7 months

Note

As a recent lottiecrabie enthusiast and longtime feral consumer of a certain M Healy related writings, I saw something about a tutor!au. Here are my dreadful, frankly illegal thoughts. Do whatever you will with them, Lady Lottie. Your works kill me in the sweetest, sexiest way and resuscitate me harshly back to life.

1. You're a maths student , year two in the university. He's the newly joined English TA that's been developing a bit of a reputation for his longwinded rants in class and his unconventional assignments.

2. Like what the fuck is "Write about being an influencer in a dystopian world where you have to sell a graffiti eraser for VR devices after artists are actively vandalising the metaverse"

3. Anyway, hallway whispers about how attractive he is find their way to you but you're wholly unconvinced because pfft, really now, this is a cliche. One drunken evening at the local bar and you're jostling shoulders, he's ordering a long island iced tea just because and eyeing your whiskey on the rocks. He's really as pretentious as you thought he was - a dark mop of curly hair, crisp linen shirt and this dense, buttery jacket scented with menthol, marijuana and bergamot. He has a delicious rasp, holding court with his little circle of friends about how fullstops have come to mean something completely different when people text each other in the present day. There's not much you think of it - except one night after you break things off for good with your boyfriend who asks if you've come five minutes. into sex.

4. That night, you find yourself wondering if his neatly filed nails would leave red crescent commas on your skin, if your moans would be the em dashes between his consecutive thrusts. You imagine him seeing you at work, chalkboards filled with a haze of numbers and letters, you're arguing about why pure math PhDs and English PhDs are really two sides of the same coin, languages to explore the textures of the world.

5. You realise you're irrevocably fucked.

The annual debate between your college and the rival one is announced and you want to take part, as you always do, except this time it's a whole series of complex themes that require you to be assisted by someone else. Guess who you're assigned as your mentor.

6. You can't think straight, but you want to impress him so much. He's pretty much unfazed - logically unfolding his stances like an origami blossom. His mind entices and frustrates you : how can you possibly read Shakespeare today and a bunch of e-girl tweets the next and use both of these in your speeches?! Good lord. The longer you resist the urges, the worse they become. He dances in circles around you. Sleepless nights. Scattered sheets and unfinished drafts. Smoke breaks across the campus. Joints rolled with thin paper you bum from the art department, you sit blowing plumes at each other one orange afternoon. He reveals himself in delicate slices - a flash of a tattoo on his taut abdomen, soft voiced calls to his mother, Heroin by Velvet Underground playing from his tinny earphones.

7. He's dissatisfied - there's some verve and rawness that's missing from your stage presence. you're not emoting enough. He jokingly wonders what the cause might be - the lack of sleep, or the lack of sleeping together? Wait, you haven't had sex in months? There it is.

8. He says that sex sells. In order to convince the audience, you need to have seduce them with your mind.

Prove it, you say.

9. He finds May I Feel by e.e cummings and decides to walk around you as you take turns to recite it. By the fifth line, you've had enough. His knees are behind to yours, his skin branding into your stockings. He places his fucking mouth close, so close to your ear - warm enough to entice you with the possibility of a kiss, but instead he takes it away just as swiftly.

10. "let's go said he

not too far said she

what's too far said he

where you are said she" (side note - I recommend listening to the Tom Hiddleston version of the poem!)

You laugh, because it's so bitterly on the nose. He wonders aloud if he's really too far - too far away from you, that is.

His first kiss is like a wine tasting. He sips and nibbles your lips, sweetly parting it with his inquiring tongue. His fingers snake across your body, a low laugh caught in his throat when his hands brush your guilty nipples. Dilated pupils, and filthy promises. His kisses are poisonous, intoxicating.

11. Rutting mindlessly over his desk. Panting, whining in back seat of your car. Wet kisses in a darkened theatre. Hand jobs in the library, leaving the both of you a shivering mess. He is relentless, rendering you feverish for more. He refuses to have sex until he's satisfied his desire to explore you enough.

12. You try to take matters into your own hands and dress in a tiny skirt, with the smallest scrap of lace covering your soaking cunt. You end up over his lap, his handprints still warm on your back.

13. He worships you. He spits in your mouth. He ties your hands to the bedframe. He calls you sweetheart, baby, my darling. He doesn't stop edging you. He makes you read poems and eats you out, with the threat of stopping if you stutter even a little. He makes you think, he makes you dream, he makes you laugh.

14. You don't care about the debate anymore.

oh my god this was so lovely!! love when u guys leave me blurbs like this to read i feel like I’m the one getting bedtime stories for change. you have such a vivid and imagery way of writing it’s so beautiful. the prose is so delicate and effective; i can so clearly Feel and See the moment. i especially love ‘his first kiss is like a wine tasting’ and ‘you sit blowing plumes at each other one orange afternoon’. get on tumblr mama start writing there’ll be a spot opening up soon✊

although this is a lot more professor!matty than tutor!au🕺 (the tutor!au staples are weird loser virgin nerd with cool popular bitchy experienced girl) you actually kinda knocked it out of the park for professor like yeah that guy is making her read poetry while eating her out. yes ofc they’re making out on his desk. well yeah he’s debating you and only getting you more worked up for him

#THANK YOU FOR THIS but seriously pick up the google doc bae #LOVE YOU #professor!matty #tutor!au #ask

27 notes · View notes

broomsticks · 1 year

Text

fic rec list: 15 het Remus rare ships

aka not remadora, not gay remus, but a secret third (fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh) option

okay so i totally played myself here: this started out as a cracky spite reclist, but i should have known better… i may now have fifteen new ships.

seriously, they’re legitimately good. SO many good reads.

the list: remus/hermione, remus/lily, remus/minerva, remus/trelawney, remus/poppy, remus/petunia, remus/narcissa, remus/bellatrix, remus/fleur, remus/pansy, remus/cho, remus/luna, remus/ginny, remus/lavender, remus/andromeda.

bonus: several remus HP poly ships, and several excellent buffy the vampire slayer crossovers: remus/jenny calendar and remus/faith lehane.

---

1. remus/hermione

look. i don’t just have a fic rec for this. i have a rec for a ship manifesto (original link | wayback machine) and rec list (LJ comm het-reccers | wayback machine)

Because of the slim canon interaction and the many obstacles to writing the pairing, it’s often done badly. But I think when it’s done well, it’s done very well; a writer who can keep the two characters true to the Remus and Hermione that we know and still write a convincing relationship between them tends to be a good writer. Consequently, there are some real gems among the fandom. In conclusion, yes, this is difficult to write and indeed to get your head around. But done well, it can be challenging, thought-provoking, fluffy, angsty, dark and hot. Often all at the same time. And in a fandom that ships cephalopods, this can only be a good thing.

first entry on that reclist is a ~10k E-rated fic titled after a shakespeare sonnet, and the rec begins:

This is by far my favorite fic in any fandom or ship. It's a beautiful story that depicts how these two characters slowly weave into each other.

the second entry has implied past wolfstar, and there’s fic by both setissma and musesfool on the list.

2. remus/lily

holy fuck this ship blindsided me with the angst and tragedy!! mwpp era writers, why are you Like This.

The Day After by violet_quill (1k, E). canon compliant, november the first, 1981, adultery. the repeating motif of street trash hurts me.

He doesn't think about how he doesn't like coffins anymore than he likes bars; he doesn't wonder who has the worse fate. He tries not to remember that he will be the only one left to put flowers on the graves. He doesn't think about James either.

bonus shoutouts to:

No Harm, But No Certain Good by victoria_p (musesfool) (1k, M), hogwarts era secret relationship, uhea as fuck

The Bowl Of Lilacs by copperbadge (12k, M), first war to eventual remus raises harry au, more plotty/remus-centric than shippy, but the remus/lily is both on page and significant

3. remus/minerva mcgonagall

two excellent poa fics:

The Ten Month Career of Professor R. J. Lupin by pauraque (3k, T):

He raised his hand to knock, but stopped halfway, caught in the shadow of decision. All during the long, hazy summer he'd thought of this, of what he should say, of how he should act.

god, i love this remus. the reminerva and sevinerva (yes, i did just invent these) love triangle is so beautifully woven!

A Year In The Life by copperbadge (41k, T): what a love affair! loved exploring a faculty romance through the eyes of these two, and the ending was so painfully drawn out! the Rent lyrics!!!

4. remus/sybil trelawney

two more POA with perfectly characterized dramatic trelawney, who Sees and is completely, hilariously wrong with her interpretation -- i adore this trope sm.

The Baby in the Pumpkin Patch & Other Stories by @evesaintyves: Chapter 3: The Seer, the Bell Jar, and the Packet of Crisps (~2k, G)

Black With a Tail by @paulamcg (500, G)

5. remus/poppy pomfrey

Take Care of Yourself by @patriceavril (8k, M), a lost years/pre-POA remus/poppy. so soft and tender, the little peter HC and the briefcase HC :') never gets old!

6. remus/petunia

A Different Fate by lordhellebore (6.5k, T): remus and petunia raise dudley and a disabled harry au, in 65 x 100-word drabbles. fluffy, angsty, a surprisingly wholesome take on this pairing!

7. remus/narcissa

Disparities by @puuvillaa (2.5k, M). first war fic, yummy hatesex, who is using who?

Fallen Stars by @siriusly-sapphic (4k, T): hogwarts-era alternative sorting slytherin remus au is such a good setup for this pairing!

8. remus/bellatrix

lots of intriguing takes on this pairing!

Bellatricked by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee) (800, E): dark remus lupin, er, snuff.

What the Moon Revealed by Maria_de_Salinas (2k, E): can’t go wrong with a good first war hatesex!

Before the Veil by Donna_Immaculata (4k, E): more snuff fic hahaha. implied wolfstar, established snupin

worth mentioning that this pairing is not ALL snuff fic -- there’s a surprising amount of soft!bellatrix -- but tbh i liked these better.

9. remus/fleur

before marrying bill, fleur wants to make sure she is… Riding The Real Thing by snapealina (2k, E).

there’s also an interesting muggle art camp counselor/camper au (5k, M)!

10. remus/pansy

Pruddy's Inn by littlealex (2k, E): post-canon au, ahhh gorgeous '00s era fic.

Pansy's legs disentangle themselves from around Remus' shoulder and arm, and Remus collapses on top of her, unable to support his own weight. She sighs contentedly and threads her fingers through his hair, her eyes still shut firmly against reality. What good is reality, she muses, if I can just pretend to get what I want?

11. remus/cho

The Heart by bloodsugarlove (7k, T). teacher/student told from teacher pov is always fascinating and the prose in this one is unique and lovely! note: doesn’t warrant the underage warning, no whiff of underage sex anywhere.

It's something of a scandal that Cho is seeker for Ravenclaw; many girls appear threatened by this, though they can't deny that is is rather decent at the position. Boys think it is fascinating, and Chang herself is arrogant in the most charming way. Not that Mr. Lupin really thinks so, mind you; it's a collective opinion, and anyway he has had quite his fill of arrogance. He has had quite his fill of a lot of things. He would really rather think of something else.

12. remus/luna

Stubby Boardman and the Cacao Bean by kestrelsan (2k, G), a remix fic!!! loved the original drabble and it was so cool to see it expanded into this oneshot.

honestly this is a real quality ship! in addition to all the delicious smutty kink fic that’s all over the ship tag, there’s also:

this postwar perfection -- he was learning what was real: like Heliopaths and Snorcacks and love! -- Bearing Fruit by @paulamcg (2k, M),

this creaturehunting mission fic, with multiple pieces of fanart, created for @hpdrizzle fest 2017: The Naturists by hikorichan (9k, T)

and this lovely post-canon get-together -- Anytime by @nanneramma (1k, T) -- the seasonal pacing works so well for this nature-connected pairing!

13. remus/ginny

The Meaning of Restraint by Darsynia (4k, M): caught in a club and i’m not even underage! stellar vibes and dynamic here.

open my heart (let it bleed onto yours) by @lunapwrites (~20k (wip), E) -- a fascinatingly, wonderfully explored postwar marriage law au!

14. remus/lavender

Big Teeth/Little Red by PacificRimbaud (5k, M): oh my god this was utterly delightful. it’s a library meet-cute and a halloween party and the age differences, hahaha. a ton of age gap pairings here -- harry/pansy is the only one that is not, iirc.

While he tugs at the cap, he wonders at the audacity of living one’s life as Sirius Black. What must it be like: to understand the line between being a man who has bad ideas, and being a bad man? To gleefully ride along the edge of it, to toss away all but your own discernment, to simply do what you would like to do so long as no one’s being harmed, to not worry about what your desires say about you, to call your godson’s half-dressed former girlfriend a bad idea to her waggishly smiling face at your kitchen table and to let yourself bask in the fallout, sated like a wolf that's helped itself to a lamb. A— …big bad wolf…

15. remus/andromeda

Shelter at Your Door by starfishstar (13k, T): an andromeda doesn’t elope, marries and later leaves lucius au. the r/a relationship in this au is so well-written, their compatibility is so lovely, and although tonks is never born in this au, the r/t echoes are deliciously haunting!

"So," she said softly, pressing down against him, and Remus, following instinct at last, arched to meet her. "Are we doing this?" "Yes," Remus agreed, a whisper in her ear. "We're doing this." Careful not to sound judgemental about it, Andromeda asked, "Have you done this before?" With Remus and his insistence that everything about himself was dangerous and not to be allowed, it was difficult to know. He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. Couple of times." "Oh?" she teased, still gentle. "What happened to being too dangerous for anything beyond friendship?" Remus' mouth made a wry twist. "It found itself on a collision course with being nineteen years old and horny, that's what happened to it."

---

a bonus: if anyone's taking notes, i couldn’t find fic for:

remus/olympe maxime,

remus/myrtle warren,

remus/the grey lady

remus/parvati or remus/padma patil,

remus/rita skeeter in english,

remus/angelina aside from the remus x gryffindor chaser sandwich,

remus/millicent bulstrode that was not a crossover,

remus/rose weasley or remus/victoire (there's a bunch of remus/lily luna all written by one author)

not to mention literally any creaturefic at all -- remus/basilisk? remus/nagini? remus/mrs norris? remus/hedwig? y’all, i’m disappointed. there was one remus/crookshanks [chapter 21].

---

bonus recs:

remus/hermione/ginny/luna, a nice lovely fluffy fun (E-rated) romp

remus/pomona/hagrid: "You see, I was thinking if you fucked this plant in werewolf form, we could get a beautiful crossbreed for dear Ru's birthday next month."

bonus bonus recs:

+1. remus/jenny calendar from buffy the vampire slayer

Weighed Down With Good Intentions by Thistlerose (8k, M):

"And your friends? Come on, Remus. You had to have had some. Outgoing, personable guy like you." Her tone was light, the kiss she pressed against the corner of his mouth playful. "They're dead too," he said, his smile fading. "All of them. There were never many," he added when she looked at him, her eyebrows raised. "Three. Four. One turned out not to be a friend after all." "And he – or she – " "He." "Is he dead too?" "Prison," Remus said. He closed his eyes and saw Sirius's face instead of Jenny's. Rough black hair, storm-colored eyes, lightning smile. Grease under fingernails. How many different kinds of lightning had he discovered that summer?

jfc this is GENIUS. the references to both BTVS and HP, the intertwining of both stories — it’s canon compliant to both, afaik, except for the bit where remus survives the second war to have that very last conversation — and holy shit that very last cameo!!!

+2. remus/faith lehane from btvs/ats

The Intent To Be Lost by voleuse (1.5k, T), post-Chosen, an encounter with a stranger.

"You could meet me again." She raises her eyebrows, leers a little. He rises from the floor, his body casting a lean shadow on the carpet. "Perhaps," he murmurs, idly running his fingers around his wrist. Faith shrugs again, but pauses before she exits. "You should," she hesitates. "You should be careful out there. At night." He's strong, but she's not sure if he's that strong, and he's starting to look a little pale. "It can get rough after dark." "Indeed," Remus says, but he smiles almost politely. "See you," Faith replies, and she tries to shut the door quietly behind her.

impeccable characterization sells a good crossover every damn time.

#remus lupin #hp fics #fic rec list #my fic recs #hp rare pairs #p.s. no prizes for guessing how many ships i saw 'moonflower' used for #mostly because i can't remember #the answer: way too many

59 notes · View notes

likeclarabow · 1 year

Text

2023 Books Read

Our Wives Under the Sea - Julia Armfield (Dec 31-Jan 2)

See You Yesterday - Rachel Lynn Solomon (Jan 2-Jan 3)

All Dressed Up - Jilly Gagnon (Jan 4)

She Gets the Girl - Rachael Lippincott & Alyson Derrick (Jan 5-Jan 6)

Ready Player One - Ernest Cline (Jan 6-Jan 10)

Jamaica Inn - Daphne Du Maurier (Jan 10-Jan 13)

Greywaren - Maggie Stiefvater (Jan 14-Jan 16)

The Ballad of Never After - Stephanie Garber (Jan 17-Jan 22)

By the Book - Jasmine Guillory (Jan 22-Jan 24)

Portrait of a Thief - Grace D Li (Jan 25-Feb 4)

Pride and Prejudice (reread, audiobook) - Jane Austen (Jan 31-Feb 6)

Macbeth (reread) - William Shakespeare (Feb 6-Feb 10)

Normal People - Sally Rooney (Feb 18-Feb 22)

All the Dangerous Things - Stacy Willingham (Feb 23-Feb 25)

The Diary of Mary Berg - Mary Berg (Feb 17-Feb 27)

The Witch Haven - Sasha Peyton Smith (Mar 4-Mar 11)

Americanah - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Feb 26-Mar 12)

The Witch Hunt - Sasha Peyton Smith (Mar 19-Mar 22)

Jonny Appleseed - Joshua Whitehead (Mar 19-Mar 28)

The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie (Mar 25-Mar 29)

Last Violent Call - Chloe Gong (Mar 30-Apr 1)

Beartown - Fredrik Backman (Apr 1-Apr 4)

People We Meet on Vacation (reread) - Emily Henry (Apr 5-Apr 7)

Notes on an Execution - Danya Kukafka (Apr 8)

Kiss Her Once For Me - Alison Cochran (Apr 8-Apr 10)

If You Could See the Sun - Ann Liang (Apr 11-Apr 15)

Murder at the Vicarage - Agatha Christie (Apr 15-Apr 19)

The Appeal - Janice Hallett (Apr 19-Apr 20)

The Black Spider - Jeremias Gotthelf (Apr 20)

Molly of the Mall - Heidi L.M. Jacobs (Apr 21-Apr 22)

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein - Kiersten White (April 23-Apr 25)

Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen (April 26-Apr 28)

Happy Place - Emily Henry (Apr 29)

Us Against You - Fredrik Backman (Apr 30-May 3)

The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald (May 3-May 5)

Juniper and Thorn - Ava Reid (May 6-May 10)

Meet Me at the Lake - Carley Fortune (May 11-May 12)

Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell (May 12-May 19)

Anne of Green Gables (reread) - L.M. Montgomery (May 19-May 22)

Anne of Avonlea (reread) - L.M. Montgomery (May 24-May 26)

Anne of the Island (reread) - L.M. Montgomery (May 26-May 30)

The Winners - Fredrik Backman (June 2-June 6)

Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier (June 7-June 8)

Peril at End House - Agatha Christie (June 9)

The Many Lives and Secret Sorrows of Josephine B (reread) - Sandra Gulland (June 11-June 12)

Tales of Passion Tales of Woe - Sandra Gulland (June 13-June 14)

The Last Great Dance on Earth - Sandra Gulland (June 14-June 15)

Frankenstein in Baghdad - Ahmed Saadawi (June 15-June 18)

Crooked House - Agatha Christie (June 22-June 24)

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen (June 20-June 30)

I Must Betray You - Ruta Sepetys (June 30-July 1)

Pageboy - Elliot Page (July 2-July 4)

This Time It’s Real - Ann Liang (July 6)

The Last Word - Taylor Adams (July 6-July 7)

The Fiancée Farce - Alexandria Bellefleur (July 7-July 8)

The Guilt Trip - Sandie Jones (July 8)

Camp Zero - Michelle Min Sterling (July 8)

The Berry Pickers - Amanda Peters (July 8-July 9)

Family of Liars - E. Lockhart (July 9-July 11)

The Last House Guest - Megan Miranda (July 11-July 12)

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride - Roshani Chokshi (July 14-July 21)

Rolling in the Deep (audiobook) - Mira Grant (July 20-July 21)

Wunderland - Jennifer Cody Epstein (July 21-July 23)

The Stationary Shop of Tehran (July 24-27)

Yellowface - R.F. Kuang (July 27-July 29)

These Violent Delights - Micah Nemerever (July 29-Aug 3)

Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë (Aug 3-Aug 5)

Begin Again - Emma Lord (Aug 6-Aug 8)

Medicine Walk - Richard Wagamese (Aug 8-Aug 12)

419 - Will Ferguson (Aug 16-Aug 19)

Harlem Shuffle - Colson Whitehead (Aug 21-Aug 24)

Ballet Shoes (reread) - Noel Streatfeild (Aug 25-Aug 26)

Songs for the Missing - Stewart O’Nan (Aug 28-Aug 31)

You’re Not Supposed to Die Tonight - Kalynn Bayron (Sept 1-Sept 2)

I’ve Got Your Number - Sophie Kinsella (Sept 2)

The Adult - Bronwyn Fischer (Sept 3)

Nine Liars - Maureen Johnson (Sept 4-Sept 6)

Small Things Like These - Claire Keegan (Sept 6)

The Honeys - Ryan La Sala (Sept 15-Sept 19)

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne (Sept 12-Sept 20)

Beowulf - Unknown (Sept 8-Sept 21)

The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side - Agatha Christie (Sept 21-Sept 25)

Better Than the Movies - Lynn Painter (Sept 26-Sept 30)

Annihilation - Jeff VanderMeer (Oct 4-Oct 7)

And Don’t Look Back - Rebecca Barrow (Oct 7)

Hallowe’en Party - Agatha Christie (Oct 8-Oct 9)

Cannibal Island - Nichlolas Werth (Oct 9-Oct 22)

The Final Gambit - Jennifer Lynn Barnes (Oct 17-Oct 22)

Stalin’s Nomads: Power and Famine in Kazakhstan - Robert Kindler (Oct 16-Oct 24)

Six of Crows (reread) - Leigh Bardugo (Oct 25-Oct 30)

Crooked Kingdom (reread) - Leigh Bardugo (Nov 3-Nov 7)

Sadie (reread) - Courtney Summers (Nov 9-Nov 10)

The Invisible Man - H.G. Wells (Nov 6-Nov 13)

Hamlet - William Shakespeare (Nov 6-Nov 13)

A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder (reread) - Holly Jackson (Nov 11-Nov 15)

Good Girl, Bad Blood (reread) - Holly Jackson (Nov 15-Nov 18)

As Good as Dead (reread) - Holly Jackson (Nov 20-Nov 23)

Red White and Royal Blue (reread) - Casey McQuiston (Nov 25-Dec 5)

The Secret History - Donna Tartt (Dec 18-Dec 22)

The Day of the Jackal - Frederick Forsyth (Dec 24-Dec 25)

Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries - Heather Fawcett (Dec 25-Dec 27)

Murder in the Family - Cara Hunter (Dec 28)

Three Holidays and a Wedding - Uzma Jalaluddin, Marissa Stapley (Dec 29)

The Book of Cold Cases - Simone St James (Dec 30-Dec 31)

#2023 books

73 notes · View notes

dramioneasks · 4 months

Note

Hii, I was hoping you could help me find a dramione fic? Voldemort wins AU, Hermione is a soldier, Draco has a dragon called Narcissa, its mostly set in malfoy manor after shes abducted on the battlefield, background astoria/blaise, there's a graveyard in malfoy Manor with daphne buried there, theo was a total lunatic (there were graphic depictions of torture and battlescenes while he recites shakespeare), guns were a whole thing, draco changed side in the end they all went looking for the last horcruxes, there were visions of a church being destroyed?

Totally recommend this fic too, any help is rly appreciated thankksss

Secrets and Masks - Emerald_Slytherin - E, 75 chapters, Words: 465,554 - 9 years after the battle of Hogwarts, the war still rages on and everyone is much changed since their days at Hogwarts. Hermione is the most lethal soldier in The Order, spending her days on rescue missions to free captured Muggleborn slaves and fight on the front line. For years, she’s been meeting in secret with a spy within Voldemort’s ranks to exchange information. But, when she’s captured and made prisoner at Malfoy Manor, of all the dark and evil ways she’d envisioned Malfoy would torture her, she never quite imagined anything this horrific. (I just wanted to make it abundantly clear that I was originally inspired to write this fic after I read the masterpiece that is Manacled, so I would like to thank SenLinYu for her amazing work! The memory searching aspect of Manacled is what inspired me, and although I have adapted that, (and also made Draco head Death Eater, because… ya know… we all love it when he’s Voldemort’s right hand man 😅😉), Secrets and Masks will be a very very different fic all together.)

-Lisa

#anonymous #au #voldemort wins #dark fic #character death #muggle fighting #memory modification [hermione]#dragons #tw: torture #master/slave #draco: death eater #tw: rape #non con #kidnapping and imprisonment [hermione]#magical creatures #astoria #blaise #theo

11 notes · View notes

house-of-mirrors · 3 months

Text

@vonlipvig answering on this blog!

4. How easy is it to earn their trust?

Answered here for Orsinio but I'll talk about Samuel! He trusts everyone until he doesn't, and he mistrusts everyone until he does. "Well yes, but actually no." You understand. No one is barred entry from his bar, but if you cause problems, you get physically removed, no strong feelings, simple as that.

15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

Orsinio is talkative and impulsive, inclined to speak without thinking first. He can come up with words quickly on the fly, exhibiting a cleverness in arguments and verbal fights. If he has a more serious emotional thing to talk about, he plans out a scripted response but rarely actually winds up using it before breaking to a more spur of the moment thing. When he's stressed, it's common for him to lose speech, so sometimes he does not talk at all. A quiet O means there has been devastation.

Similarly, a Samuel who is talking means there has been even more devastation. Normally, Samuel tries to say as little as possible, unless he's telling a story, and he never phrases anything as a question.

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

I, the author, struggle to explain the difference

Well, almost none of my ocs experience romantic love! Lucretia is the only one that does and is still demiromantic. Aro spectrum for the win.

40. How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Orsinio is almost always introspecting. He's gotten better with time but still will dwell on mistakes or times he could have done or said or felt something better. He can have a black and white approach to morality at times. Obsesses over things and knows when he's in too deep but can't stop. Considers mental health issues to be a flaw because of the time period and blames it on "a weak constitution." Has a hard time letting people help. Orsinio is very hard on himself. Flaws he forgives in others are not forgiven in himself. He's really trying to get better though, especially since not studying the discordance and getting a handle on the grief process after nemesis. The Neath doesn't have therapy but does have cosmic horror vibe checks.

D. Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

When I first started playing, Orsinio used to have brown hair. He wore goggles everywhere and then his design got spectacles for outside the lab. I imagined him in adventurous gear, like belts and pouches and things, before switching to the more elegant outfits of the late 19th century, though he's always had a cloak. It was part of his character arc when he got a cane, when he got white streaks in his hair, and when he started to dress in heavier layers. In the future, he'll get a beard, and as he recovers from trauma will gain some weight. I've been seriously struggling with health since I started playing in 2020 so there's a bit of projection there but yeah. He deserves healing. Dilf Orsinio is endgame.

Everyone else has pretty much stayed the same! Orsinio was my first when I didn't know a lot about the game or how I wanted to roleplay, so he went through the most changes.

E. Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

We would be able to relate on disabilities and love for literature and music, but I'm not sure we would be able to get on more than that. Orsinio would annoy me with his lack of self awareness and reluctance to get help. I have self preservation instincts. We can both be stubborn and inflexible in thinking at times. If we were just meeting for an afternoon in a coffee shop, sure we'd get along. A passionate discussion about Shakespeare and astrophysics, and then I tell him about the marvels of the MRI.

Miles is a no, absolutely not. Ignoring all the robber baron things and dark magic, they have a social media influencer personality. They would dislike me for shopping at thrift stores and I'd make them wash one dish and they'd cry.

Samuel yes, totally. I sit at the bar and talk for an hour while he nods and provides interesting drink recipes. Great time.

Captain Min, sure, I'll be a space adventure story side character and can be very useful doing ledgers and maps

Lucretia is one I'm not sure how to answer. We're both pretty reserved. I think I could have a friendship with her like I have with some of my friends from grad school who are >25 years older than me. Pleasant and encouraging on both sides with a strong awareness of me being young for her to be my parent slakdsfdls

#thanks for the ask #oc: orsinio #oc: samuel #<3 #oc: miles #oc: lucretia #oc: the captain #new oc tags

5 notes · View notes

hamletthedane · 2 months

Note

I’m a big Hamlet fan and I am curious as to what your favorite movie/for screen rendition is? I’ve been working my way through a lot of them, gone through about 7, so far Hamlet at Elsinore with Christopher Plummer is my favorite. I was just curious what yours is !

What a great question!!

Hamlet at Elsinore is definitely my favorite filmed version of the play. I feel that Christopher Plummer does a fantastic - and frankly critically underappreciated - job of portraying the more nuanced and complicated aspects of Hamlet's character while still giving a straightforward performance that's highly accessible to any audience. Notably, he doesn't treat the performance as his ~*~epic, defining role of a lifetime~*~ or ~high artistic theater~ (*cough* Branagh and Jacobi), but instead focuses on telling a deeply compelling, very moving story about the complex nature of grief and revenge. I also like that this version embraces the more "postmodern" elements that exist in the written text of Hamlet: the complicity of the audience, the inevitability of the outcome, Hamlet's genre-awareness and genre-defiance, etc.

[Not to keep hating on Branagh, but in contrast: Branagh's Hamlet in particular seems to go out of its way to avoid including the more interesting proto-postmodern thematic elements of the play - at times not seeming to recognize that they're even there. He instead focuses his time and energy on inserting new cinematography-based visual themes that go nowhere and at times stand in OPPOSITION to the actual tone and themes of the original text. Because apparently Hamlet the play is too boring and instead of lame elements like "themes" and "compelling characterization," we need a swinging chandelier sword fight scenes and Freudian weirdness. Truly the Joel Schumacher Phantom of the Opera adaptation of Shakespeare films. But I DIGRESS-)

Plus it doesn't hurt that everybody aside from Plummer in Hamlet at Elsinore is also fabulous. Obviously, Michael Caine's Horatio is the single best and most definitive version of the character in film, but I also love Robert Shaw's Claudius and Muller's Ophelia.

If we're talking favorite filmed versions of the STORY of Hamlet though, that's Asta Nielsen's silent film from 1921. It's so beautifully filmed and wonderfully told. She's what I picture when I picture Hamlet.

Other than that....I like Tennant and Stewarts' RSC filmed version well enough. It has a number of very strange choices and I don't love the re-ordering of the scenes, but Tennant does a great job with the character and I think it's a very approachable performance. A few other filmed stage versions are also excellent, though with a few similarly weird elements - I'd put Maxine Peake's version on the same tier as the RSC version. I do NOT like Branagh's version at all (if you couldn't already tell...). Jacobi's and Gibson's are slightly better, but they're still too focused on the prestige of the performance rather than the actual story being told imo. I think they fall under the same criticism as Holden Caulfield's scathing review of Laurence Olivier: "more like a general than a sad, screwed-up type guy." (Yes I know this line is an in-text authorial critique of Holden himself but also: he's right and he should say it.)

If you haven't already, I do highly recommend listening to the BBC Radio 4 audiodrama version of Hamlet, starring Jamie Parker. Despite being a audio version of a stage play, it somehow blows every filmed version of Hamlet (except maybe HAE) out of the water. I listen to it at least once a year.

Finally, my actual favorite versions of Hamlet have ALWAYS been those I've seen live (or seen bootleg filmed stage performances of lmao). If it's ever playing live near you, definitely go and see it. The play was meant to be seen on a live stage in front of you, and many of the jokes and themes only make sense in that context. In my opinion, the medium of live theater elevates the play so far beyond what a movie could ever achieve.

...sorry this answer is so long 😅 Really, it doesn't matter what my opinions on Hamlet films are. If any version of the play really speaks to you - even if it's the accursed Branagh version - that is so awesome and makes me really happy people are engaging with the play in that way! (But since you're saying that HAE is your favorite so far, I will add that you have excellent, discerning taste ;))

#hamlet #willy shakes #'not to keep hating on Branagh-' I say like it's not been the leitmotif of my blog for over a decade #I cannot help myself. any opportunity I am throwing down.#shut up e #shakespeare after dark #should we bring that tag back? I feel like we should bring that tag back

46 notes · View notes

ariel-seagull-wings · 6 months

Text

@faintingheroine

@themousefromfantasyland @princesssarisa @the-blue-fairie @tamisdava2 @softlytowardthesun @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales

@angelixgutz

@adarkrainbow

""Grandma, who invented people’s color?"

I asked this because I had learned that some are yellow, others white and others red. She said:

"I'll only answer if you tell me who invented the names of people's colors.""

(Histórias da Preta, Heloisa Pires Lima, 1998)

So, I read your text saying that casting a brown skinned latina diaspora actress to play a character named Snow White can be a shot on the foot because it can bring colorist implications, and I get the well meaning intention, but I will say that actually the question of naming someone after colors and racialization is way more complex outside of places like France and the US, to the point that this question of the Snow White name and casting becomes really not a big deal.

Here is turkish actress Zeynep Değirmencioğlu playing Snow White in a 1970 unauthorized turkish TV movie adaptation of the 1937 Disney Movie. Bear in mind that in Turkey, ethnic conflicts and discrimination manifest due to nationality/ethnic ancestry, but skin colour is not really a big deal in that problem.

Here is a character from a 1990 brazilian telenovela called Vamp, who was named Branca, played by black brazilian actress Aída Leiner

Two black Biancas from a 1990 and 1995 production of Othello, played by Marsha Hunt and Indra Ové

An episode of the 1995 HBO animated anthology series Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales For Every Child, about retelling european tales set in non european culture, where the Grimm's Snow White was retold with native american characters from the Southwest of the US, naming the main heroine White Snow and taking inspiration from some native systems that call the child after the first thing the parents sees in nature when they are born.

The voice actors were also Native American actors.

The main female character from a 2000s brazilian TV Show called Pedro e Bianca, about two teenager twin siblings called Pedro, who was white, and Bianca (played by Heslaine Vieira), who was black.

The FX TV Series Pose, from 2020, set between in the 80s and 90s ballroom culture of the trans comunity, where a group of trans woman of collor presented the Once Upon a Time Category, and a brown dominican character was named Blanca (played by M J Rodriguez) and was who walked the ballroom as Snow White.

You can see that people in latin american cultures have been naming brown and black women with Bianca, Branca or Blanca (all meaning white) as no big deal.

And Shakespeare plays have started a long tradition of color blind casting that have been critically aclaimed.

And when it comes to variants of the tale and how they treat beauty patterns regarding racialization... the Grimm's Snow White is surprisingly one of the least racialized variants there is. The main princess is only named Snow White, and praised as beautiful, but there is no dark skinned character to be mocked as ugly in contrast to her, or mentions of an ethnic minority that is put down as uglier while Snow White can be presented as "an example of anglo saxon, aryan beauty."

If you mean to specifically search for Brothers Grimm where race is a deal, The Jew Among Thorns is right there for your suffering read.

In case of other fairy tales that talk about "white skin = good and beauty, while dark/black/brown skin = evil", you can choose several variants of The Love of Three Oranges.

As for specificaly variants of Snow White with the weight of racial prejudices included in their narrative, you can read Marigo and the 40 Dragons, The World's Beautiful Woman, Romana, The Little Sister of the Giants, The Maiden with a Rose in her Forehead and Udea and Her Seven Brothers.

So the Disney Company is least likely to get in controversy over colorism for casting a mixed latina diaspora actress into the role of a princess named Snow White who is considered the fairest of them all.

They can get in controvery over other things (mainly bad marketing choices), but not over this.

Resuming:

Sometimes colors are just the name we give to them;

Not every racial conflict in the world emphasizes skin colour discrimination, in fact this can be considered a recent adition to pre existing problems of racism in certain countries, specially in the west;

Culturally, black and brown women received names like Blanca, Branca and Bianca as a common name in Latin American cultures;

There are other international variants of Snow White where racialized beauty standards play an important role, but the Grimm's fairy tale is not really one of them;

Disney can get trouble for their Snow White remake being a cash grab with bad marketing, but casting a latina actress for a character named Snow White will not really be a big deal for panic over colorism.

In fact, HBO's Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child experimented in 1995 with keeping the name while portraying the character as a brown native american woman, and it worked with great aclaim that makes the series a cult classic to this day.

#snow white #snow white and the seven dwarfs #fairy tales #folklore #race and representation

17 notes · View notes

bookgeekgrrl · 7 months

Text

My media this week (29 Oct-4 Nov 2023)

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

🥰 A Night In The Lonesome October (Roger Zelazny) - got a bit of a late start, but did the a-chapter-per-day read thing. Such a fun story and it'd probably been 20 years since I last read it.

😊 with all my skin and bone (unicornpoe) - 54K, stucky no-powers, SHIELD agents, enemies-to-lovers, fake marriage AU. a fun reread for stucky bookclub

😍 A Marvellous Light (The Last Binding #1) (Freya Marske, author; David Thorpe, narrator) - reread in prep for final book, loved picking up on all the hints and clues that make sense from book 2 this time around!

😊 Can't Stop the Grrrls: Confronting Sexist Labels in Music from Ariana Grande to Yoko Ono (Lily E Hirsch) - Solid read but I found I had to parcel it to a chapter every couple of days bc of the rage.

😊 call me sunshine, send me to space (steddieas_shegoes) - 89K, guidance counselor!steve goes to tattoo artist!eddie for his first tattoo and then INSTALOVE! (I love instalove in fic!)

💖💖 +68K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

this is the road to ruin (ghostinthelibrary) - The Witcher: Geraskier, 31K - great worldbuilding to answer the question 'what would Witchers be like in modern day?'

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Hot Ones - Julia Louis-Dreyfus

Hot Ones - Cardi B

Hot Ones - Flea

QI - series T, e3, 5-8

Shakespeare & Hathaway - s1, e2-4

Whitstable Pearl - s1, e3

D20: Burrow's End - "Protect The Light" (s20, e5)

D20: Adventuring Party - "Big Emotions Are So Fun" (s15, e5)

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

Switched on Pop - Rerecording Taylor Swift's 1989s, Dark Side of the Moon, and Demi Lovato

Re: Dracula - October 29: Something is Going Out

You're Dead to Me - Medieval Ghost Stories

Re: Dracula - October 30: Council of War

⭐ The Sporkful - Sohla El-Waylly Went To Culinary School To “Prove Everyone Wrong”

Re: Dracula - October 31: Latest and Truest Thought

Re: Dracula - November 1: Instinct with Resolution

Vibe Check - That Damn Spooky Yoga Class

Today, Explained - Pope friction

Re: Dracula - November 2: Deadly Peril

Outward - Bob the Drag Queen's Gay Barz

Welcome to Night Vale #237 - Frown Night

⭐ Decoder Ring - Mailbag: The Recorder, Limos, and “Baby on Board” Signs

Ologies with Alie Ward - Neuroparasitology (NATURE ZOMBIES) with Matt Simon

Re: Dracula - November 3: Go On

Dear Prudence - My Friend Tried to Bring Her Kids to A Winery. Help!

What Next: TBD - Biden Goes After AI

Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals - S01E01 The Tale of the Frankenstein

Re: Dracula - November 4: My Jonathan

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

Heavy Metal Halloween

DANSE MACABRE [Duran Duran] {2023}

Nightmare Before Christmas (Special Edition) [Various artists] {2006}

Nightmare Revisited [Various artists] {2008}

@door's 'spooky' playlist

Trackula: Psychobilly & Horror Punk

A3/Alabama 3

Yummy Yummy Sugar Sugar

Journey

Presenting The Clash

Presenting David Bowie

Fleetwood Mac

Essential Glam Rock

7 notes · View notes

peakyblinders1919 · 2 years

Text

Teach Me

Congrats once again to @zablife for reaching another milestone! I hope you enjoy

Warnings- NSFW, 18+, dark!Alfie, masturbation, dirty talk, etc.

The library was her favorite room in the house. It always had been; vaulted ceilings that didn’t seem possible in a city like Camden Town, a transparent ceiling made of glass and framed with iron letting one see right to the stars, and dark Mahoney wood paneled bookshelves on every wall from floor to ceiling. Often empty, as master Solomons preferred to complete the majority of his work in the study, it was a sort of safe haven for her.

Young and naive, isolated from the truths of life, she had only known a life of servitude. When she wasn’t able to do anything else, the head maid taught her how to start a fire, poke it and keep it fed in the hearth in the library since its solitude was befitting for such teachings. Shaky at first, she learned quickly what angle to light the match most efficiently. So efficiently, in fact, that after a while she couldn’t stay and read the books that lined the shelves while making others believe she was still fighting for flame.

Sometimes she was able to slip away and still enjoy a bite of Shakespeare, a review of Plato and Descartes, a poem by Keats. Why Master Solomons owned some of these titles, she did not know, for her understanding of him wasn’t tinted rose, nor niave. She had a good understanding of what he did locked away in his study late at night, she knew the bakery he fled to on weekdays wasn’t the kind that sold bread, but it wasn’t something to be discussed. The maids whispered but never about what Master Solomons’ did. She had learned early in this household; you do as your asked and you keep your mouth shut.

And still, knowing all that she knew, she figured she needed to read the books more than he did. They taught her things about people, about the world. She educated herself with the dried ink of intelligent men before her, and she entertained herself on occasion as well, allowing herself to pretend she was anything but a lowly chambermaid who’d never had much of a life with friends at school or at big parties. Sherlock Holmes became a favorite of hers quickly, but she only allowed herself to get lost in the pages of mystery on special occasions. Otherwise, she stuck solely to facts, textbooks, essays (even the dull ones).

Now three years in the house, her routine was the same; before dawn she entered the library with her basket of wood and matches, started the fire, found her next book on the shelf, smuggled it out amongst the scraps in her basket, kept it hidden under her pillow, and read it at night when she had some time to herself after dinner. And if it was a book that had particularly piqued her interest, she’d find herself reading all through the night into the morning after having lost all track of time.

“You’re going to get caught one day. Either you’ll sleep in late, or someone’ll see your lamp on at night in the window, or he’ll caught you red-handed while returning it.”

“So what? What’ll happen if I am?” She countered her roommate, a girl a few years her elder with a tight blonde chiffon who had learned long ago to sleep with the light on.

“Well,” her voice lowered, leaning together, “Master Solomons prefers to take matters into his own hands. I don’t think he’d be very understanding… or unforgiving with you.”

The maid beside her giggled, though Y/N didn’t find what she was insutinating humorous at all. There was an unfamiliar feeling in her core, a sensation impossible to ignore that left her feeling hot, bothered, and writhing in her own skin.

She caught sight of him stepping into his car. Aflie Solomons, a man with a reputation that precedes him, most known perhaps for his fluid way with words than his appearance. But she took notice; beard like a copper penny, shoulders broad and strong like an ox.

It was the unexpected chorus of celebratory cheers from the other maids and houseworkers that had her tearing her eyes away from the man below. She joined them in the excitement, trying not to feel guilty that the very thing they were all celebrating was their employers business trip, meaning the place would be free of Master Solomons for a whole week. It was very clear that their duties and housekeeping were not to stop, but the new sense of freedom was felt like electricity in the air.

That week she didn’t hide her books in her basket, she didn’t read only under the darkness of night and the covers of her bed. She dared sit on the velvet settee in the corner of the library once her duties were done. She raced through two, three, even four books a day, falling asleep on a few occasions in the back of the library under the starry sky. She laughed for the first time in what felt like a long time as she played one of the footmen in chess, and lost miserably. She danced while someone played a quick song on the piano.

It was different. It was a good sort of different. But soon she found something unexpected, a feeling in the pit of her stomach. An empty, hollow feeling, more than the one the day Master Solomons left, that needed to be filled. It occurred most days when she hoped to see him in his study or at the dining table but he wasn’t there. And it occurred most days when she was reading romance novels such as Pride and Prejudice by Austen. It was books like Pride and Prejudice and A Letter to the Women of England and The Natural Daughter that taught her about the feeling in her stomach and the need to respond to it.

It was near two in the morning. She couldn’t put the book down. The only light in the library was from the full moon outside. She cranned to finish the words. She relaxed on the chaise. She laid out. She reread that part about seeking pleasure. She studied it. The pit in her stomach grew hot and heavy. She felt sinful as her hand creeped down towards her core, where the heat was strongest. She spread her legs open, explored herself like the books described. It didn’t feel normal at first, not sure what she was looking for, or hoping to find. She experimented. She applied more pressure. She cleared her mind of all doubts and “what ifs”. Her free hand flipped through the pages. Her eyes fluttered closed. She sucked on her bottom lip. She extended herself on the settee, her legs opening a little wider. She pulsed her fingers in circles until it didn’t feel unnatural anymore. Her breath hitched in her throat.

She must be doing it right, even though it felt so wrong.

Pleasure blossomed in her stomach like spring, wanting the roots to solidify themselves in the ground and stretch off in all directions until it was standing tall, powerful, and strong. Every touch was more sensitive, feeling it in her core and working to curl her toes. Harder. Faster. Sweeping circular motions. She kept at it. Even when it seemed to be too much. Especially when it seemed to be too much. She moaned lightly, a breathy moan that allowed air to enter her lungs. It was overwhelming. It was hard to breathe. Maybe it was that lack of air that made her see things, made her see Master Solomons behind closed eyes even as she tried to clear her mind. He was still there, dressed in his formal dinner whites, licking the liquid from his drink off his lips. She purred at the thought; the memory. Every touch after that was hotter.

Intense. Needy. Satisfying.

The sensation was only growing, the sounds flowing from her lips louder. She lost all control. She was getting the hang of it. She has never felt so good. She pressed harder, moved faster, the knot in her stomach so tight it was ready to explode, she was ready to explode, she was seeing stars even though her eyes were closed, forgetting everything else momentarily, the whimpers falling from her lips with animalistic instinct suggesting she was close, so close, that she was almost to her ecstasy, when it suddenly all stopped.

“Excuse me?”

She screamed, she shrieked, she scrambled to sit up, close her legs, use her hands to hide behind.

“Oh my god, m... m…. Master Solomons, I… oh…” First and foremost, she felt sick. Was this what it felt like to be caught in sin? “I’m so so sorry. Please forgive me. I… I’ll pack my things and-“

“What were you doing?”

“Excuse me?” Perhaps she had assumed, like herself, that he would feel shame and embarrassment for walking in on such a intamite gesture, but the look in his marbled eyes and the tone of his words suggested the opposite. “You…you’re home earlier than anticipated…” she hung her head, did she really just say that?

“Did you finish?”

“What?“ She questioned, eyebrows creased in infusion.

“I said, did you finish?” The words dropped from his lips like molasses, sweet and slow and sick. He sat down across from her in a wingback chair, folding his hands contemplatively. She shook her head.

In his presence, she felt the size of an ant. A flea. Insignificant. She tried to make eye contact but it was impossible, seeing him in a different way, remembering how visions of him were what spurred her on. She rolled her lip between her bottom teeth, afraid that with one look from his eyes, stare tantalizingly cold and gripping, he could read all of her immoral, sinful thoughts. She worked to shield herself from him completely.

But Master Solomons had other plans.

“You’ve never done that before?” He phrased it like a question, but he wasn’t asking. He already knew the answer.

She shook her head again. She felt the tight knot in her stomach again. She felt the undeniable pull again.

“Well… don’t let me rain on your parade. I’m not here to ruin your fun, by all means. Continue.” The way he sat back was intimidating, his eyes downturned as he looked at her. He wasn’t just looking at her, he was staring through her, his gaze meaning more than his words. “Finish. Unless, you require some assistance to get you there.”

“This isn’t… professional.” She found the courage to squeak out.

“No. Nothing about this is professional. Need I point out you shouldn’t even be here. Maids don’t belong in the library. Pleasuring themselves while the Master is away.” She swore she saw a gleam in his eyes, one so bright she swore she’d never seen him that way before. So dark, so brooding.

So attractive.

As if… no. Maybe? As if… he was interested in this, in her, his words and his look in his eye directed towards her quietly begging her to continue.

“Are…are you sure?”

“Quite.” She watched as he got comfofrtable, leaning back even further, the dull light from the sky outside casting half his face in shadow. It made him look animalistic. It made him look like he was going to sit and watch while she finished. The simple nod of his head edged her on, legs parting slowly, hands magentically finding her sensitive spot. She began moving her fingers in a circular motion, applying pressure. She locked eyes with him and instantly her cheeks reddened.

Everything about this was wrong.

The way he relaxed, he watched with intense eyes, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, a sharp intake of breath.

Was he… turned on? Surely not. No. Not by her, the invisible maid who stoked the fire in the library every once in a while, with features she deemed forgettable. Yet, his eyes never left her body, leaving her feeling more dirty than before and a bit as if maybe this wasn’t as sinful as she thought.

She couldn’t handle watching him while she touched herself, watching him bite on his lower lip as if he was imagining what it felt like, what she tasted like. Closing her eyes, instead of seeing a black abyss, she saw him, copper, sorely beard and teeth digging into the plump skin of his kissable lips and all.

She found her groove quickly, picking up right where she left off. She was slick with sin and impure thoughts, making the motion earlier. She relinquished control, head tilted back, soft whimpers falling loosely and freely from her lips.

“Mmh, that’s it,” Alfie’s hum came from across the room, reminding her of his presence. The growl was deep in his throat, and suddenly she was more sensitive knowing that those sounds of him were all because of her. “What a little vixen you are, touching yourself like that, in front of me. What’re you thinking of, hm?”

The feeling was indescribable, every touch intensified by twenty. She was intoxicated by his low voice, that’s why the truth was able to slip from her lips.

“You Master Alfie.”

His grunt of a response suggested he wasn’t expecting that. It was all starting to make sense; why she felt comfortable in this house, why she refused to leave, why she felt weak and dizzy whenever she was around him. Not because she was intimidated, rather infatuated. It was lust hot and creeping in her stomach, not butterflies.

“Thinking about me, are you? And what are you thinking about? How wrong it is for a maid and her master to be together?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “You. Always… thinking about… you…” She squirmed against her own fingers, trying to find the sweet spot that would push her over the edge.

Breath hitched in her throat at his low guttural grunts in response to her words. Opening her eyes, she saw him touching himself too, his cock hard and longer than she imagined (though it was hard for her to admit to herself that she had imagined it, cursing those books she read and her imagination). He pumped himself, and then they locked eyes.

“Like what you see babygirl?” Her cheeks reddened. He had stolen her voice; she bit her lip and nodded. “Much better than just imagining it in your head, hm? Bet your wondering what it would feel like…”

This was dangerous. This was wrong. This wasn’t how an employee and her employer were supposed to be. It was dangerous because he was Alfie, and she was just herself, and they were doing the unspeakable in the not-so-hidden corner of the library. Had her mind not been so foggy, occupied with her own lust and pleasure, she’d have worried what would come of all this had someone else walked in.

Instead, she focused on her words, on the growing heat between her legs, the sound falling from his lips and into the air, hot and sticky with the suggestion of sex and something more between them.

“I wanna see you finish. Wanna see you push yourself over the edge, watch that pretty little mouth of yours and all that it can do. It’s quite the sight.” What she heard was “you’re quite the sight” and her dilated pupils settled on him. All of him, stroking himself slowly while his eyes roamed her body. Her touch was severe, every inch, every milimeter sensitive to her touch. She moved her hands a little faster, needy for something more; a release, him, anything.

“I… I…”

“That’s it. That’s it. When it feels like you want to stop, you’ve got to keep going. Can’t help you with that. Not yet.” His voice was low and soft, yet all-knowing, all encompassing to that point that she swore he was next to her, words whispered straight into her ear. Was that his breathe on her neck? She wasn’t sure when she’d closed her eyes again, though it seemed to cancel out all distractions and spur her on faster. She was afraid if she opened her eyes she’d see him, right next to her, watching. Wanting.

“I don’t know-”

“You’ll know. They always know. It’s undendiable, it’s indescribable. Your close. I know you are, I can tell. Your getting antsy. Want me to help you?”

“Yes.” She breathed though she knew no matter how hard she begged she wouldn’t get what she wanted. “I want you to touch me.” Unaware of the power Master Solomons held over her until that moment, she caught herself. She felt a hand ghost hers. She moved quicker with an endgoal in mind, allowing to fully submit to the feeling bubbling inside her chest. Her hips bucked against her fingers, her body wanting more than she herself could offer. Though imagined, the extra pressure she felt splayed across her core was not only her doing.

His hands weren’t on her, simply resting over hers showing her how to do the work. Now it was unmistakble that his lips were barely there, the words fanning over her lips.

“I want you to fucking finish. And I’m going to watch you come hard like a good little girl, come all over yourself. Feel yourself and all your capable of. Taste yourself. And then maybe I’ll allow you watch me do the same.”

Was it an offer or a promise?

She didn’t care about being quite, letting pretty noises fall freely as she got closer and closer until she caved, an explosion of fireworks leaving her hair matted to her forehead, her chest rising and falling quickly, her legs shaking, her core aching for more.

“That’s it. That’s it. And how’d it feel?”

Resting her hand behind her head and strecthing a little longer, more conscious now of all that he could see up the skirt of her uniform, she didn’t seem to mind. After all, hadn’t he not already seen the most intimate parts of her?

“Good. But I something that would feel better?”

“Tut tut tut, not yet my pet. Baby steps, hm?” He still refused to touch her, though she suddenly pushed her chest out and towards him, a way to lure him in. He was occupying her space, breathing the same air, a finger leaving goosebumps on her arms as it just grazed her chin, blown-out pupils locking. “You’ve just come for the first time. You couldn’t handle all this yet. But… I can see that your eager to learn. And I’ll teach you my pet, in time. When your ready. I think that’s all for tonight.”

She frowned. He raised an eyebrow, his cock hard and full and aching for realease. “Oh, worried about me, are you?” She was, but she couldn’t say it, wouldn’t say such a thing. “I need to come, don’t I? Where should I do it, hm? The flower pot?” The crud laugh hit her ears, all her hair standing on edge at the sound. Still new to this life, this whole unexplored world, still naive, still shameful, she felt like she knew what to do.

“I’m here for you Master Solomons. To use as you wish.”

#alfie solomons headcanon #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagines #zablife600

67 notes · View notes

negative-speedforce · 9 months

Note

detailed oc questions for Siv, Jay, Gina, Hailey, and E-2002 Eobard #s 1, 2, 6, 10, 11, 40, & 41 :)

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything?

Sivonne Alessandra Thawne; Sivonne- misspelled version of Siobhan, I thought it worked so I kept it. Alessandra- Defender of men (it's more ironic than accurate).

Jason Luca Barron; Jason- means "healer", also mythological hero. Luca- form of Luke, means "Light". Name chosen because it fits Jay to a 'T'.

Regina Maria Rivera; Regina + Maria = Queen of Bitterness/Suffering, fits Gina's story arc.

Hailey Tuyet Laurence; Hailey- means "Hay's Meadow" in old English, Tuyet- means "snow" in Vietnamese. Names were chosen based on vibes.

Eobard Claudius Thawne; "Eobard" and "Thawne" are from canon, but I added the name "Claudius" as a reference to Hamlet's murderous stepdad from Shakespeare's Hamlet.

2: Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

Siv: Dark Streak: Their hero title, named for the black blur that people see because of her suit. Euphoria: The name that she uses when they're half-Siv half-Negative Speed Force, from the drug-like high that "going Eldritch" gives them.

Jay: Zephyr, named for his ability to control wind.

Gina: N/A, but would have gone by "Psyche" if she lived long enough to unlock her full abilities.

Hailey: Phantom, because, y'know, she's a ghost?

Eo-2002: "Reverse-Flash" for obvious reasons, but he's also been referred to as "Thanatos" by Cassandra's team before they knew his identity, as a reference to the Greek god of death. (we all know which name is better)

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Siv: Only managed not to get expelled for fighting because her dad gave some VERY generous donations to the school. They excelled in all forms of Math, Science, and History, but they had trouble with Ethics and English. Unfortunately, she was erased from existence the week before her graduation, and therefore did not receive their diploma.

Gina: Was known as the "good girl" at St. Florian's, because she got good grades, never tried to sneak out of Mass, didn't get in trouble, etc. She died a few months before graduation, but she excelled in Language Arts, Choir, and Art, but Math and Science were her weak spots. She loved school, and her friends there, and most of the other students loved her just as much. If she hadn't died early, it is likely that she would have had a chance for Valedictorian or Salatutorian.

Jay: You went to high school? Jay went to school high. Somehow, he managed to graduate with A's and B's (no one knows how- he didn't even cheat!). He graduated high school, and went to college for an accelerated Engineering program, which he graduated from with his Bachelor's in less than two years. Jay excelled in all his classes except P.E. and Music.

Hailey: Hailey went to an extremely strict, extremely upper-crust military school. She did not have a good time, being bullied for her feminine mannerisms and personality (spoiler alert: she's a girl). After graduating, she went straight into the Marines, mostly to get away from her strict family. In school, Hailey excelled in History, Political Science, and all/any foreign languages she took, but she struggled when it came to writing.

Eo-2002: Excelled at everything to a creepy extent. Was the weird quiet kid who everyone's kinda scared is going to become a serial killer. Graduated with high honors from High School, College, and Grad School, where he recieved dual doctorates in physics and biology.

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect?

Siv: Despises children, probably because they pretty much skipped the early childhood phase. Kids are usually kinda scared of her. However, if they were to be in charge of a child, the kid would probably go home with knowing about 50 new curse words, a stomach full of absolute junk, and having seen movies that were VERY age-appropriate.

Gina: LOVES children, and they love her. Would be the best mom, kinda strict but not overbearing, and would sing the prettiest lullabyes.

Jay: Loves children, but they usually think he's kinda stupid. He would love to have kids, and him and Cassandra do eventually have a kid, Reggie. He's a really good dad, really into "gentle parenting" and other such techniques.

Hailey: Is good with kids, but doesn't really like or want them. If she was put in charge of a child, they'd probably be sent home just as healthy as when they left, though Hailey would probably just park them in front of the TV playing PBS Kids all day because she doesn't know what to do with a kid.

Eo-2002: Doesn't like children, terrifies children, doesn't want children. Somehow, he ended up with two. With his own kid being a speedster and him having a "Jessica Wells", he assumed that he could have a small army of speedsters to take down Barry if he kept them both alive until adulthood. As a parent, Eobard was very detatched, chosing to let Esme raise Siv rather than actually doing that much parenting himself.

11. Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Have any allergies?

Siv: Is lactose intolerant

Gina: None

Jay: Vegetarian, unless it's free food.

Hailey: Lactose intolerant

Eo-2002: None

40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert?

Siv: Drinks energy drinks because she likes the taste, not because they affect them in any way.

Gina: Enjoys coffee and green tea

Jay: Drinks energy drinks, is a sugar addict

Hailey: Is British. She drinks a cup of black tea with cream and sugar every day.

Eo-2002: Drinks coffee, it doesn't affect him.

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

Siv: Is a lesbian. She likes girls who are taller than her, curvy, and are both competent and confident. What they mostly need in a relationship is someone who can both match their wit and comfort them when they break down.

Gina: Is a lesbian. She likes feminine and androgynous women, with athletic body types, though that's more a preference than a definite "type". She likes someone who is brave, protective, and has a big heart, and in a relationship, she mostly just needs a friend, someone to share all her thoughts and ideas with.

Jay: Is pansexual. He doesn't really have a physical preference, but he likes people who have strong morals and are brave in the face of danger. In a relationship, Jay needs someone who can back him up, and can confirm that he's doing the right thing.

Hailey: Is asexual and biromantic. She's pretty much exclusively attracted to masculinity (masc women and enbies and masculine men), and she likes someone protective, confident, and open about their emotions. In a relationship, she needs someone supportive, who can make her feel alive even though she technically isn't.

Eo-2002: Is gay. He likes men who challenge him, both mentally and physically. His type is Barry Allen, but he'd never say that out loud. In a relationship, he needs someone who can hold him back from doing something hasty and irrational, and who can support him through... whatever the fuck's going on in his head.

#ask revan #oc shit #vexic :D

3 notes · View notes

legolasbadass · 2 years

Text

Office Hours, Part 10

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 3.9K

Rating: E

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I was struggling with one particular bit of this chapter! I hope you all enjoy this very smutty chapter😈

Also, if you recognize what I’m referencing with that Shadow Dancing moment, we are automatically friends. I don’t make the rules😉

Read on AO3

“The Canterbury Tales.”

“You’re so predictable,” Richard teases and squeezes my thigh, his eyes fixed on the road. “Coriolanus.”

“I didn’t know plays were allowed.”.

A few minutes ago, I proposed a game to pass the time on our way to Bath, where each of us has to name book titles starting with every letter of the alphabet. If one person hesitates, the other person wins and we move on to the next letter. It’s a silly game, but the fact that he embraces my silliness and agreed to play brings a warm, fuzzy feeling in my heart.

“Of course—why wouldn’t they be?”

“Hm, alright. The Crucible, ten.”

“Good one. The Comedy of Errors.”

“The Changeling!”

“Cymbeline.”

I hesitate for a moment. “Uhhh—ah, fuck,” I groan in defeat, then say, “Ok, new rule: no Shakespeare. It gives you an unfair advantage.”

“You’re free to use those plays, too, you know?” he replies with a teasing smile.

“You think I could think of Cymbeline on the spot?”

He laughs, then as he checks his blind spot and merges onto the M4, he says, “Fine. No Shakespeare—but no Tolkien, either.”

“Oh, alright fine,” I concede, then get back to the game. “David Copperfield.”

“I was going to say that!”

It’s my turn to give him a teasing smile. “I knew you were.”

“Dubliners.”

“The Decameron.”

“Dracula.”

“Dune.”

It’s Richard’s turn to hesitate.

“Ah! I win this time!”

“Isn’t the winner of the last round supposed to go first, anyway?” he muses, then shakes his head. “Cheater.”

“You should’ve been faster if you wanted to go first!” I reply teasingly.

Already more than familiar with my competitiveness, he only chuckles and shakes his head in response. With a smile on my face, I watch him intently for a moment. He looks absolutely edible today, a dark green suede jacket tight over his strong shoulders, the collar pulled up, drawing my attention to that alluring beard streaked with grey and the soft brown curls at the back of his head. Under the jacket, a pale grey turtleneck clings to his chest. It makes him look so cozy, like a warm cup of tea on a cold winter morning, and all I want to do is curl up against him and never let go.

“I don’t want to play anymore, though,” I say as I gaze back to the road ahead to avoid getting car sick.

“How about I put the radio on?”

“Sure.”

Richard flicks through a few channels—the news, classical music, 80s pop—before I gasp and force him to stop when I recognize Andy Gibb’s Shadow Dancing, causing him to send me an incredulous look.

“Seriously?”

“I loved this song when I was younger,” I explain, then start to sing and dance, slowly waving my hands in front of me to the rhythm. “Do it light, taking me through the night. Shadow dancing, baby you do it right. Give me more, drag me across the floor. Shadow dancing, all this and nothing more.”

“Andy Gibb? Really?” he says, now laughing at my ridiculous dance moves.

With a smile, I lean in toward him. “I need that sweet sensation of living in your love. I can’t breathe when you’re away, it pulls me down,” I continue to sing, but my laughter forces me to stop when Richard begins to imitate my dancing.

After a long moment, I finally catch my breath, and with a wide smile, I reach out to caress his hair. “This is already the best weekend. Thanks for inviting me.”

Richard smiles, his eyes still fixed on the road as he raises the hand that rested on my thigh to grab my hand and bring it to his lips, sending tingles up my spine. “Thank you for coming.”

***

I’ve never been to Bath in autumn before, and it takes my breath away. Every street, with its cobblestone pavement and grand Georgian buildings, makes me feel as if I am walking through a Jane Austen movie. The fading orange and red of leaves falling to the ground imbue the city with warmth despite the chill in the air, and with Richard’s hand holding mine as we walk away from his car, everything feels so romantic. The street is deserted, but still, being outside together without the fear of being discovered brings a smile to my face and makes me feel giddy.

Richard booked us a room at the Queensberry Hotel, and I can tell by the impressive lobby, with its chandeliers and lavish tapestried walls, that it must have cost him a pretty penny. We are greeted by a lovely woman with the most cheerful voice, and after a quick check-in, she gives us our keys, and we make our way up the narrow stairs.

Our room is bathing in the warm glow of the setting sun when we step inside. Two tall Georgian windows fill the far wall, overlooking the quiet street. It’s getting dark, but I’m sure that the view will be more than enchanting in the morning. A large king-size bed occupies one side of the room, the dark wooden canopy contrasting with the pale sage panelling. Facing it on the opposite end of the room is a fireplace, and through the door next to it, I catch a glimpse of the bathroom and the large shower with its green metro tiles.

Resting my bag on the desk in the corner, I turn to Richard, smiling as I say, “You’ve outdone yourself, mister.”

“You like it?” he asks, making his way toward me to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me flush against his chest.

“I love it.” Three other words reveal themselves to me from deep within my heart as Richard continues to gaze at me tenderly, his lips curled into a half-smile, and suddenly the whole room seems to spin around me. But then Richard speaks.

“We should probably go and get dinner.” Yet even as those words leave his mouth, he leans in to capture my lips with his in a kiss that renders me breathless. His beard is coarse against my burning cheeks, but the feeling makes me smile, which causes him to pull away.

“What is it?” he asks, his features mirroring mine.

I shrug. “Nothing I—I’m happy. I’m happy with you.”

His smile widens as he rests his forehead against mine, his deep cerulean eyes filling my vision. “You make me happy too, Lorelei.”

We share another soft kiss. Then, as I pull away, I chuckle. “Wow, that was cheesiness worthy of Nicholas Sparks.”

Richard shrugs. “We have our moments.”

As it’s getting darker and colder outside, I reach for my scarf and throw it over my trenchcoat. Richard, on the other hand, remains standing near the door.

“You sure you don’t want to wear a warmer coat? It’s cold out.”

“I’ll be fine,” he answers, smiling softly as he grabs my hand.

When we step outside, the sun has disappeared behind the tall buildings, leaving behind a crisp, chilly night that makes me grateful for my scarf and the warm hand holding mine. Fortunately, we don’t have to walk far before coming across a pub, and since neither of us is in the mood for something fancy, we gladly step inside. Despite the cacophony of conversations that surrounds us, the atmosphere inside is warm and cozy, and as Richard and I find a seat in a somewhat secluded corner, I find that there is even a certain intimacy to it. I’m reminded of the last time we were in a pub together, on that cold October night—the night we shared our first kiss.

Richard rises and goes to the bar to order, and when he comes back, I can’t help but chuckle as I see the two pints he’s holding. He, too, was thinking of that night.

“Cheers,” I say as he sits down before bringing the pint to my lips. At that moment, my phone buzzes, and I see a message from Natasha about a conference we are planning at the college. After sending her a quick reply, I offer Richard an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that was Natasha.”

“Speaking of Natasha…” Richard says suddenly. “Remember two days ago, in my office?”

Heat rises up my neck at the memory. I came into his office to ask him a question about possible interpretations of a line in Macbeth—completely professional—then next thing I knew I was sitting on his desk, books and notes scattered all around us as his mouth devoured mine and his hands caressed my curves in a most unprofessional manner.

“Uh, yeah, I remember,” I reply, then take a sip of to cool down.

Richard chuckles at my flustration and reaches for my hand to squeeze it tight. “Well, after you left, Natasha came to see me. Only I hadn’t had time to clean up the mess.”

“What?”

“Yeah. She saw it and jokingly asked who I’d been making out with.”

“Oh my God.”

Richard squeezes my hand once more. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t have a clue. She was just joking around.”

Only then do I find it in me to laugh at the situation, though some uneasiness remains. “What on earth were you waiting for to tidy up?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I was just waiting for the boner you gave me to go away.”

“Richard!” I exclaim and playfully slap his arm. Then we notice the couple closest to us eyeing us disapprovingly and burst out laughing. A few moments later, while we are still giggling like children, the waiter arrives at our side.

“Alright, here you go,” he announces as he places our food on the table. “Enjoy your meal.”

I thank him, then turn back to Richard. “So … you excited for tomorrow?” I ask as I taste my chips.

“I’m a bit nervous, actually.”

“Oh, you still get nervous?” I ask, lifting my hand to squeeze his bicep in what I hope is a reassuring gesture.

“I’m always nervous about these things—I don’t really like talking in front of people like that,” he explains. “I enjoy conferences and sharing my research with others, I just wish I didn’t have to stand up and have everyone watching me as I did it.”

I offer him a soft smile. “Well, you know what they say: just picture everyone in the audience naked.”

Richard, who was just about to take a sip of his beer, chuckles and shakes his head. “I can’t do that—you’ll be in the audience. And if I start picturing you naked…”

I laugh, shaking my head while he chuckles. Then, a sudden thought appears in my head, and biting my lips seductively, I lower my hand to caress his upper thigh. “What if you start picturing me naked?”

Richard’s eyes darken immediately. “Lorelei,” he growls, unwittingly inviting my hand to slip higher toward his inner thigh.

“Yes?” I say in the most innocent voice I can conjure as the warmth of his skin seeping through his jeans travels through my whole body.

Slowly, he leans in toward me, his warm breath fanning my cheeks. “You naughty girl,” he whispers with a smirk, sending shivers down my spine.

His lips brush against mine, tantalizingly slowly, and despite wanting nothing more than to deepen the kiss and let him take me right here and now, I pull away.

“I want you, Lorelei,” he whispers against my lips.

I smile triumphantly. “How about you stop kissing me and finish your dinner so we can back to the hotel sooner?”

I turn my attention back to my plate, only for Richard to bring his lips to my ear and squeeze my thigh with one of his large hands, sending a pool of heat to spill at my core. “You tease,” he growls before biting on my earlobe. Thank God we are in a relatively hidden corner of the pub.

With a smirk, I turn toward him once more, gazing back into his eyes through my eyelashes. “You’re the one who started to imagine me naked, might I remind you?”

“Can you blame me?” Comes his playful reply, and this time I know that arousal is not the only thing to blame for the increased beating of my heart.

***

We stumble through the door to our hotel room, our limbs intertwined as we giggle and chase the taste of salt and beer that lingers on our lips. Richard’s hands are tangled in my hair, creating a dozen passion-fuelled knots that he will later disentangle when we will float in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Then, one of his hands trails down the curve of my back to squeeze the flesh of my behind, causing me to whimper against his lips. That familiar heat begins to build deep inside me, and as I reach for the hem of his shirt to caress his skin with my still cold fingers, causing him to groan, I know that same feeling is simmering inside him, fuelling his careful exploration of my body.

Between two languid kisses, I realize that both our coats and my shirt are now lying on the floor, but I cannot recall how or when the garments slipped through my arms, the alcohol and arousal in my veins causing everything but Richard’s overwhelming presence to become a blur. With trembling fingers, I urge him to take off his shirt, then caress his broad chest and feel the heart that, at this moment, seems to beat only for me. Then, Richard leans toward me once more to attach his lips to my neck, closing in on that sweet, sensitive spot below my ear, and when I let my head fall back, the whole room seems to spin around me.

“Richard…” I whine, bringing my hands to hold his head against me and tangling my fingers in the dark waves of his hair.

Smiling against my skin, Richard lowers his hand to unbutton my jeans and hurriedly drags the fabric down my legs before allowing me to do the same with his trousers. Then, leaving one more kiss on my neck, he lifts me into his arms and urges me to wrap my legs around his waist. I moan as his growing arousal presses against my aching core, then again as he sits on the edge of the bed, holding me so that I straddle his lap. My hips roll against him almost of their own accord, and heat pools between my thighs, soaking the lace of my knickers. When I repeat the movement, Richard groans, then mumbles something I can’t quite make out as he reaches for my bra clasp. A shiver runs down my spine as he drags the lace off my body, then gazes at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Oh, Lorelei,” he whispers huskily as he covers my breast with one of his large hands, “do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

A shy giggle escapes me, but it soon turns into a low moan as his mouth closes in on my nipple. I’ve never really thought of myself as beautiful, but with Richard? He doesn’t even need to say it; just the way that he looks at me and lavishes every inch of my skin with kisses makes me feel beautiful. Desired.

It makes me feel loved.

Sparks of pleasure burn through my body and settle in my core as he flicks my nipple with the tip of his tongue. I move against him, desperate to alleviate the growing pressure between my thighs; he knows how much I want him—how much I need him—but he merely holds me tight and continues his slow, teasing caresses until I am shivering and whimpering hopelessly in his arms. After what feels like an eternity, as his name falls from my lips in a hoarse, throaty moan, he lowers a hand between our bodies and gently pushes the fabric of my knickers aside to brush my heat.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against my breast as his fingers slide up my folds, “always so wet for me.”

My fingers once more find their way to the back of his head, then tighten around his soft hair as he circles my clit, my “Richard,” a desperate, breathless cry that causes him to smile.

I force myself to gaze back into his deep blue eyes, and the softness I find blazing there takes my breath away. I feel more connected to him than ever before, and as he slides two fingers inside me, I rest my forehead against his and attach our lips, hoping my kiss will be enough to convey those three words I do not yet have the courage to speak.

Richard strokes me gently but with just enough pressure that it sends stars across my vision. As he does so, he finds that sensitive spot inside me and caresses it, each stroke more delicious than the last. My muscles clench around him, begging him not to let go, and I can’t help but rock against him. His own arousal presses into my naked thigh, impossibly warm through his briefs. With a shaking hand, I reach down to slip my hand beneath the fabric to stroke him. His responding moan echoes through the room and causes a new wave of heat to spill from me. Richard’s eyes flutter close, but I continue watching him, mesmerized by the pleasure playing out on his face as I wrap my fingers around him and pull. He is the most handsome man in the world, and words truly can’t describe what it feels like to see him possessed by such a deep yearning for me that his whole body shivers and arches toward me, his muscles tense beneath his burning skin.

“I need you,” I manage to whimper between breathless moans as I sweep my thumb over the head of his member. “I need you inside me.”

Richard’s eyes flutter open, and he offers me a wide smirk that makes my muscles clench around him once more. “I won’t say no to that.”

I giggle as I lean in to press a kiss onto his lips, then whimper as Richard eases his fingers from me. He groans as I move away from him to grab a condom, his intense gaze burning into my back. When I turn back to face him, I meet his eyes and smile softly while slowly dragging my knickers down my legs. He swallows heavily, then stands up to discard his briefs, and I can’t help but lick my lips as I take in the sight of his naked body.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Richard says huskily, offering me a hand as he sits back on the edge of the bed.

After rolling the condom over him, I come astride him once more and he offers me a tender smile as he guides himself toward my opening. I moan softly as he fills me slowly, sending heated tingles up my spine. I can feel him stretching me, but there is no discomfort, and soon I rock my hips, desperate to experience the sinfully sweet pleasure only he can bring me.

I hold onto his broad shoulders as he moves against me, each of his thrusts deep and teasing. Then, he wraps his arms around my waist, hugging me tight against him so that my breasts are pressed flat against his chest. Those familiar knots tighten deep inside me, everything but his deep blue eyes gazing into mine a blur as we share our breath. Each time our thrusts meet, sparks erupt in my core, and I squeeze my thighs against him to alleviate some of the burning pressure that comes with being so close to my release.

But then he stops moving.

“What are you—”

I cling to him as he rises and turns us around to climb into bed, holding me tightly as he moves to rest my head against the pillows. Then, with a playful wink, he takes hold of my legs—which had been wrapped around his waist—and lifts them onto his shoulders. A low deep moan escapes me; the new position sends him deeper inside me than ever before, and my entire body throbs from the intensity of the sensation. Never tearing his eyes from me, Richard presses a tender kiss onto my ankle, then he begins to move, remaining frustratingly slow and careful.

“Are you alright?” he asks breathlessly, and his consideration sends a smile to my lips.

“Oh, yes,” I reply in an equally breathless voice.

His next thrust is hard and fast, and I can’t help but sob from the bliss of it, my hands fisting the sheets as I move against him, meeting him halfway on the road to ecstasy. Through heavy eyes, I stare at his broad chest, covered in a thin layer of sweat, then lift my gaze to his handsome face, which is now marked with a determined frown, his mouth half-open to let out the most beautiful moans. The bed squeaks in time with each powerful thrust, and within no time at all, I feel Richard tense inside me. I, too, am close, and it takes only the lightest brush of his thumb against my clit to shatter me.

My back arches off the bed as I cry out, my core molten and hot as my whole body trembles from the intense pleasure consuming me. A moment later, Richard shudders, crying out my name as he reaches his own peak, then sinks against me, his strong, trembling body crushing me in an oddly reassuring way. Unfortunately, being ever so attentive and thoughtful, Richard quickly reaches between us to pull out and sinks onto the soft mattress beside me.

For a long moment, the room is silent but for our loud, uneven breathing. Then a soft, airy giggle escapes me.

“Fuck, that was … that was amazing.”

Richard’s responding laugh is equally breathless as he turns his head toward me and says, “You’ll be the death of me, Lorelei.”

With a chuckle, I turn onto my side to face him just as he bends down to caress my lips with a gentle kiss. I lift a hand to caress his bearded cheek, the tips of my fingers brushing against the damp hair at his temple. Slowly, Richard pulls away just enough to watch me, his eyes filled with such raw tenderness that I’m now sure the light spinning of the room has much less to do with the alcohol I drank earlier.

“I love it when you do that,” he suddenly murmurs, leaning closer still so that our foreheads touch, my hand still caressing his beard.

“Then that makes two of us,” I reply, a soft smile on my lips.

Reluctantly, Richard shifts away to go to the bathroom. When he crawls back into bed a few moments later, he pulls me tight into his arm and covers us with the duvet. We share myriad languid kisses as I bring my hand to his bearded cheek once more, and slowly, Richard’s eyes flutter close, and a content sigh falls from his lips.

“Good night,” I whisper as I continue to brush my fingers over his cheek. I hesitate at the ensuing silence, but Richard is already asleep, so I merely press a kiss onto the top of his patrician nose and rest my head in the crook of his neck, following him into sleep.

—

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @mcchiberry @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist or added to future chapters!

#richard armitage #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #rpf #richard armitage fanfic #office hours

31 notes · View notes