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its-a-ittle-bit-cold · 9 months

Text

I traveled fifteen hundred miles to meet you

Maverick x daughter!reader

series masterlist

my masterlist

summary: you begin training and quickly make a name for yourself

a/n: soooo I decided to get rid of the hangman romance that I was gonna put in, and kind of wrote over the scenes as hangman x phoenix (sorry) I didn’t wanna get rid of a whole section ..

ps : sorry for the wait :’( i’ve been swamped with life stuff

warnings: PTSD, child abuse (mother- daughter), feeling unwanted, violence ? canon typical mostly, death, loss of a loved friend

The drill is simple in theory.

Shoot down Maverick, you win.

But, like your unfortunate lack of skill playing eight ball, the execution is getting there. The first team to go in is too cocky.

He gets them, easy.

Hangman and Phoenix give him a run for his money, but not by much. You’re up next, with Hangman as your wing man.

Strapping into your jet feels almost surreal. It’s an awesome feeling to be back.

It’s not until you’re in the air that the flashbacks start.

You and Hangman take off, having decided pre-exercise that you were going to try to divide and conquer: one of you as bait, the other lying in wait for Maverick to take it. You, as the pilot with the best evasive skills and maneuvers, drew the short stick as the bait in the experiment.

you know that Hangman is notorious for leaving his wingmen behind, so you’re going to be looking for chances to give him a little of his own medicine.

“Ready, team?”

You’ve become more comfortable with the notion that Maverick is your dad.

It hit you, while you were lying awake last night, that maybe you should be mad that he left. Your mom always had been angry at him, but could you really blame him for leaving the crazy woman who gave birth to you?

the answer is no, because you did the same.

“Ready when you are cap’n.” You flick on the proper controls and Hangman gives you a Shaka sign, signaling his okay.

And then you’re off.

The rush is exhilarating. It’s not until you can hear Maverick behind you and Hangman warning you that he’s on your tail and you need to shake him that the flashbacks start.

You grunt, forcing your jet up and over in a backwards barrel roll to escape Maverick’s targeting system. You begin a classic evasive maneuver, the realize he’s not even on your tail anymore.

“Majesty! he’s on me!”

“Shake him, then!”

But you follow your radar to where Hangman’s getting chased in a high speed game of tag, and readying your targeting system.

“Majesty, where are you?” Hangman shouts into the comm. You hear the familiar beeping.

He’s done.

You’re on your own.

Majesty! Keep moving! there’s still a mission to complete!

the rough voice of your former commander rings in your ears as you pull up in a steep climb, about to try a new maneuver.

(Y/n). I’m sorry. Duchess’s vitals aren’t looking good.

You metaphorically slam the breaks in your plane (which you can’t do because there are none) and let yourself free fall. It’s a special trick that you and Tae always practiced.

“What the fuck kind of maneuver was that?”

Maverick’s rough voice breaks the comms. You click your targeting system on and hit him. The beep over the comm would be music in your ears if you weren’t stuck in the past.

“Wake up! Y/n, we need to go fly before training starts!” Tae, your best friend and wingman (wingwoman?) has always been an early morning productivity person. You always joke about her absolute inability to sleep in, even when you’ve stayed up till three the night before engineering new tricks and stunts to try the next morning. “I have an idea!”

“Uh oh,” you say through a yawn, already tossing on your uniform and tying your hair back. Tae rolls her eyes, then practically sprints out of your dorm room, you got on her heels.

she collected me, up off the ground where you abandoned things

“That was some damn good flying out there,” Hangman tells you. He’s bought you your first mocktail of the night - a fancy-looking ombré concoction that Penny’s cooked up for you. “If only I’d been alive to see it.”

“Don’t you worry,” Phoenix butts in. “We all saw it, and we also all saw her hang you out to dry!” her tone is just a little too gleeful. “Now that’s something to toast to!”

“You wound me, Trace.”

You toast with Phoenix, then excuse yourself from the pilot’s table, seeking some fresh air. You’d snapped out of your flashback, but Tae’s laugh still rings in your ears. You make your way out to the deck and lean on the railing overlooking the beach and the ocean.

“You’re one helluva pilot.”

You rub your nose with your forearm.

“That’s what I keep hearing.” You close your eyes, wondering if you should confide in him or not. Probably not. He’s your instructor, not your dad.

I mean, he’s also your dad.

“whatcha drinking?” You steal a glance at your drink, which has faded to a dull pinkish orange. Maverick’s holding a bottle.

“Some kind of mocktail Penny came up with.” you take a sip of it. “I don’t drink,” you add after a moment.

“Well, you’re better than all of us, then.”

You grin and shake your head. Looking out over the water, it’s easy to forget why you’re here and be transported back to the past.

“Now that,” Tae begins, setting down her gin and tonic on the table and admiring the multicolored mocktail Penny concocted. “That is what I call a mocktail.”

You take a swig.

“See, Duchess, Apollo was wrong. Mocktails can be fun!”

“I never said they weren’t!”

This is the last night you have at top gun, and, appropriately, you’re a spending it at the Hard Deck, which is a newer bar that just opened. You’ve made fast friends with the owner and her daughter - Amelia.

You glance outside and gasp, standing up.

“Come on! look at the sunset!”

You rush out to the front deck, wide eyed and giddy at the pure beauty of the sunset. Tae trails behind, watching you watch the colors paint the evening sky.

“Can you believe it’s over?” You ask her. “No more coming to the Hard Deck, no more Apollo or Clipper, and pretty soon we’ll be deployed on the other side of the world.”

Tae sighs.

“You know what I think? I think this experience will stay with us forever. I’ll always remember the pranks we pulled on the guys and the late night beach walks. It’s like graduating high school. or the academy. This chapter of life is over, and we need to move on.”

You give her a wry smile.

“You know, you may be a dumbass ninety five percent of the time, but you do give some damn good advice.”

“Want another?”

you nod.

“You’re a damn good pilot. You’re top of the class for a reason. Don’t you ever forget that.”

you meet her eyes.

“Duchess-“

“Hey. You with me?”

Maverick snaps his fingers in your face, trying to snap you out of your daze. you shake out your neck.

“Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was telling you I’ve never seen a plunge like that executed correctly, and then you zoned out on me.”

You focus your gaze on a spot on the horizon.

“Yeah, uh, I was just remembering.. something.”

He looks at you, doing a once-over, face skeptical. He almost looks.. concerned? Again, you wonder, if you were in another life, would he be worried for you, his daughter, instead of you, his pilot.

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Yes. You’ll understand. You’re probably the only one here who would.

You smile sadly.

“Goodnight, Captain.”

he filled the holes that you burned in me at six years old

The next morning, Maverick sends you all an email to wear “beach clothes you can run around in”, so you, Phoenix and Halo all put on your shorts and sports bras, and Halo puts on a t-shirt. The email also ordered you to meet in front of the Hard Deck, so that’s what you do.

You leave significantly earlier than the rest of the group specifically to see Amelia, who you still haven’t seen since coming back to the base. You tap your knuckles on the doorframe, drawing her attention. She looks at you, looks again, gasps and sprints towards you in some kind of flying tackle- hug.

“Hey!” You exclaim, squeezing her tight and spinning her around in a circle. “You got big!”

Amelia giggles into you.

“Mom told me you were back. I almost didn’t believe her.”

“Well, I couldn’t just never see my favorite tea party partner again, now could I?”

Amelia pulls away, observing you. Her eyes brighten as she remembers your tea parties from when you were in Top Gun.

“I’d forgotten about those! And Tae would bring those little cucumber sandwiches!”

Her face falls in a frown.

It’s like a sneak attack, having someone mention her in passing. You’d been up almost the whole night before trying to calm the memories that have been resurfacing since your return to Miramar.

“I miss her.”

Sometimes you forget that Tae was almost as close to Penny and Amelia as you were. She would always come with you to watch Amelia and hang with Amelia and Penny on the slow nights.

“Me, too.”

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” Penny comes over to you from the storeroom and hugs you. She then holds you at arms’ length and looks you up and down. “Now, I know you’re busy, but tomorrow isSaturday, and I’d love for you to come for dinner like we used to.”

The unspoken with Tae beats down on you. You glance out of the window to see the rest of the squad gathered there in varying forms of swimwear. Most of the guys are wearing obnoxiously printed swim shorts, obviously wearing no shirts.

“That sounds… great. I’ll be by. Text me, okay? I have to go.” You give Amelia another squeeze and beeline out of the bar, joining the group of your fellow pilots.

Maverick’s the last to get here, wearing a white shirt and a pair of jeans, holding two footballs.

He introduces the game: dogfight football, offense and defense at the same time. It doesn’t really sound like there are very many rules in the game, only that you get touchdowns occasionally.

He also divides the teams. You and Phoenix are together, Bradley too.

And then you’re starting and you have actually no idea what you’re supposed to be doing; you never were adept at playing football.

You’ve been paired up with Hangman, who must be going easy on you, because you get past him every time, even scoring a touchdown once. About half and hour in, he strikes a deal with Phoenix.

“Okay, Trace. Here’s the deal,” he says between plays. “The next touchdown, if it’s your team, I’ll buy a round for everyone the next time we all go out.”

“okay,” Phoenix glance at your team. You’re all looking pretty skeptical, as you should. “What’s the catch?”

“I my team gets the next touchdown…” he drags out. He leans in and whispers in her ear. Her face breaks into a cautious smile.

“Deal, Bagman, but I’m just warning you, that’s an awful deal on your part.”

He shrugs, flashing you a perfect smile.

The next touchdown goes to Halo, who’s on Hangman’s team, and everyone turns expectantly to him, wondering what the bet was. He walks up to Phoenix, dips her and presses his lips to hers.

You let out a wolf whistle. She breaks the kiss and flips you off before pulling Hangman in for another one.

Coyote’s making a point of covering Bob’s eyes. Rooster has a hand over his mouth, pretending to retch and you jog over to him, patting him on the back, face splitting in a smile.

Penny shares a look with Maverick as they watch the two young people kiss. She’s smiling, and that makes him smile.

“What do you think of her, now that you’ve flown with her?”

She nods at the pilot in question.

There’s so much he can say about her: smart, confident, thoughtful. Reckless and sassy and a little bit too stubborn. She’s talented, anyone can see that, maybe even the best on the squad, but she’s holding back.

She’s hesitant to fly with anyone but herself, even leaving her comrades out in the open in favor of shooting down the enemy, which is surprising, considering her most recent deployment.

Her deployment. He finally got around to looking into that, the incident that sent her into leave for more than half of the last year.

The report had been brief: routine patrol, they had gone to investigate a distress signal, not enough ammo or fuel. Someone detonated a missile too close. Duchess went down. Majesty took down three bandits in the span of five minutes before her aircraft was too damaged to continue flying.

There had been no saving duchess. she was waterlogged and impaled with a scrap of metal before Majesty was even there to save her.

Very, very traumatic.

It reminds him of Goose.

he’s surprised she’s even willing to fly at all after that.

“In all seriousness?” Maverick looks out over the game. She’s awful at football. Can’t throw a spiral. “She’s a good kid. Even better pilot. She’s been the closest to finishing the course out of all of them.”

She glances over at the two of them, waving to penny before jumping for the ball.

“She reminds me of you,” Penny tells him. “You’re more similar than either of you know.”

Admiral Kazansky, AKA Iceman has been a mentor to you since the beginning. He’d taken a liking to you and your reckless flying when you’d first joined the Naval academy. Said you reminded him of a friend of his. You’d always thought he meant his wingman, and he had, but more recently, you’d realized that his wingman was the one and only Maverick, AKA Pete Mitchell, AKA your dad.

You knock on the door and his wife lets you in. Her eyes are red and puffy.

“Sarah…” you say, hugging her. “It’s back?”

she shakes her head.

“we don’t know. he can’t even talk without the pain coming back.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Maybe I shouldn’t-“

“He’s in his office,” she tells you gently. “You know he always wants to see you.”

You purse your lips, smiling tightly.

“Thanks, Sarah.”

You ease the door to Ice’s office open, He turns to face you. He’s paler, gaunter, and wearing an overcoat and a scarf. you know enough to know he’s not doing well.

“Hey, Ice.”

He points at the seat across from him.

Right. He can’t talk.

“I had to see you.” You sit down and reach into your purse. “Kevin sent me this.”

You pull out the wrinkled, folded photograph and hold it out to him. His shaky hands pull it taut as he squints at it. You hold your breath, waiting for some kind of surprise to show on his face. Something, anything.

“Did you know? Is that why you kept me around?”

Your voice shakes uncontrollably. Like most things recently, you want to be angry, but you just don’t have the strength or conviction anymore. You just want to know.

Ice hands you the photo back and types on the computer.

Yes.

No.

your breath catches.

“How long?”

Since we met.

You sigh shakily.

“Why? why didn’t you tell me?”

Ice stares at you.

You stare back.

“How long did the doctor say you have?”

Weeks.

You gnaw at your lip.

“I don’t want to lose you, too.”

You’re not going to.

You shake your head, wiping under your eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Losing Ice hurts. He’d always been there for you when you needed to talk. Even now, when he can’t use his voice.

He clears his throat.

“Tell… him.” His voice is raspy and wet. It grates on your ears like it must on his throat.

you nod vigorously.

“I will. I just… I want him to like me, you know? before he feels obligated to, I mean.” you stare at the picture of the two of them on Ice’s desk. “I don’t even know if he’d be happy to know.”

He will.

there’s a soft knock on the doorframe. It’s Maverick. Of course it is.

You grip Ice’s hand.

“Looks like your next appointment is here.” Your laugh is wet. “Bye, Ice.”

You nod to your father as you leave. his brow is furrowed in confusion, but he nods back.

Penny and Amelia’s house is one thing in North Island that’s always stayed the same. the smell of candles burning constantly, amelia’s artwork hanging on the walls, (which, admittedly, has gotten a lot better over the last few years) and the little bits of clutter scattered around the house.

You’ve dressed up a bit, put on some makeup and washed all the gel out of your hair for the occasion. when you get there, Amelia drags you to her room almost before you can say hello to penny.

“Okay. Where’s the fire?” You tease, once the door is shut and you’re sitting on Amelia’s bed. She’s giddy in anticipation to tell you her news.

“I have tea,” she whispers conspiratorially. You lean in.

“Lay it all out for me.”

“Mom had Mav over last night.” her tone is smug. She’s obviously very happy to be able to tell you this news. “He tried to sneak out but I caught him. And,” she looks around and lovers her voice even more. “He’s coming over for dinner tonight!”

“No!”

“yes!”

“That’s crazy.”

It’s crazy that you literally keep running into him. It’s not like you’re avoiding Maverick, per se, but you still don’t know how to break the news to him.

Hey man, great lesson today. Oh, by the way, I’m the daughter you didn’t even know you had because my mom ran away when she found out she was pregnant. Yeah, I know it’s fucked up. If I was on good terms with her I would ask why, but she only calls me when she’s drunk.

That’d go over well.

Amelia crosses her arms.

“That’s my tea. Now, tell me yours. Tell me about Top Gun.”

You look around her room. She repainted the walls a shade of yellow that you love. There are pictures hanging on the walls. One, a big one over her desk, is your favorite picture: a selfie you took of you, Amelia and Tae when you took her to Malibu to learn to surf.

“I love that picture,” you admit. Amelia nods, getting up to remove it from the wall. “Top Gun’s… not the same without her. Nothing is.”

Amelia’s always been wise for her age.

“I see her everywhere. I mean, I know I don’t, but I do.”

You smile tightly.

Grief sure is strange. Even Amelia feels the loss of Tae heavily.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Girls! dinner!”

“What were you two talking about in there that was so important I couldn’t be part of the conversation?” Penny asks over the steak she’s prepared.

“Oh… nothing…” you take a sip of water.

“Just how Y/n’s in looooooooove,” Amelia singsongs.

You shoot Amelia a dirty look.

“We were actually talking about how the two of you have been canoodling.”

Maverick stops, his fork hanging in midair. Penny’s expression is priceless.

“Yeah, I mean why else would Mav be invited to Saturday dinner?” Amelia asks. You nod along with her sagely.

“This used to be a girls night,” you explain to him. “When Duchess and I were in Top Gun.”

“ah,” is all he says.

You pat your pocket, remembering the gift you had brought for Amelia and Penny.

“Actually, we were just talking about how Tae and I would take Amelia out on the weekends,” you tell Penny. “And I just remembered I brought this for you guys.”

You take the strip of photos from your pocket. It’s a photo booth strip from a long weekend taken to Disney. All four of you are smushed into the booth, wearing matching Minnie ears, leaning into each other and grinning.

“I have a copy, so you keep that.”

Penny admires it, sad smile forming on her lips. Amelia peeks over her shoulder, grinning. You avoid Tae’s eyes. They used to pierce you. The still do.

“I’d like to toast.” Penny raises her glass, setting the strip down. “To new beginnings.”

“to new beginnings,” you agree.

You don’t get very far into dinner before your phone rings. You decline the call. five seconds later, it’s ringing again.

Decline.

“Do you need to take that?” Mav asks (he’s gotten you to stop calling him sir, finally.) and you shake your head.

“It’s my mom. Hang on.”

Penny and you share a look. She raises an eyebrow. you shake your head.

Nothing to worry about.

You’re suddenly very hot as you excuse yourself from the table. you’re not quite out of the kitchen when you pick it up.

“Mom?”

“Y/n? Is this my disappointment of a daughter?”

you sigh into the phone, staying silent. Her jab sends tears welling up in your throat. Spending time with Amelia and Penny has always reminded you of the mother you could’ve had.

“Where’s your deposit? Where’s the money you owe me for giving you life and a roof over your head?”

You hurry to ease the door shut. The deposit. Goddamn. She’s sober enough to remember it. Ever since you moved out, you’ve been wiring her deposits every month to make sure she keeps living. You’d hoped it was enough to send her to rehab, but she refused to go.

“The deposit?” you say faintly, heart dropping.

Her voice gets thin and screechy over the line. You can’t bring yourself to pull the phone away from your ear as she spits barbs at you. You cover your mouth to muffle the wet sobs escaping your throat.

“You never wanted what’s best for your family! You left me for the Navy. You’ve never done anything right and that girl - Tae - died because of it.”

She’s never gone there before.

And you’ve never had anyone lay it out for you.

“Mom. mom. mom, stop!” You gasp out. “Everything I’ve done if for you! The money, the house, I stayed. For you!”

You don’t hear the porch door swing open.

“I didn’t owe you anything! I never did! I didn’t ask for you to have me!”

Your mother begins to argue with that, that you forced her to have you. You cut her off with a gut wrenching cry.

“I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME!”

You tear the phone from your ear and slam your thumb on the red button.

“Y/n.”

Penny.

You drop your phone, defeated. Penny reaches out hesitantly and uses her fingers to wipe your cheeks.

She’s hugging you and you’re crying before you can even know what’s happening.

To new beginnings.

begged you to want me, but you didn’t want to.

“Rooster.”

he’s pissed, drinking his second bottle.

“Rooster.”

You sit down next to him.

“What do you want?” he snarls. You gingerly put your hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He leans into your hand. You sigh.

“Phoenix and Bob are gonna be okay. I went to see them before I came here. They’re not injured. Just shaken up.”

He slams his bottle on the table. You finch away.

“Did Maverick send you?”

“what? No.”

Surprisingly, it had been Hangman who told you that Rooster was sulking in the Hard Deck. He’d seemed worried about him, so you went to check up on him.

“He likes you, you know. Thinks you’re a good pilot.”

“I am a good pilot.” You nudge his shoulder. “But so are you. So are Phoenix and Payback and Coyote.”

“He pulled my papers, you know. So he must not think I’m that good.”

You hesitate. this has always been a sore subject for Rooster. Saying the wrong thing could result in making it worse- not better.

“He flew with your dad, right?”

Rooster rubs his face and takes another swig from his bottle.

“Yeah. But I’m not my dad. He thought I’d-“

“Maybe he was just scared, you know? Maybe he cared so much for you that he didn’t want to lose you.”

If he had known that you were his daughter, would he have pulled your papers, too? Or would he have wanted you to be like him, be a pilot in the Navy?

“whose side are you on?” Rooster snaps. “You’re saying the same things I’ve heard my whole career. No one thinks the great Maverick could make a mistake, I guess.”

“that’s not what i’m saying, Bradley!” you take a deep breath. “Like it or not, he cares about you. You’re the closest thing to a -“

You cut yourself off, because, strictly, Rooster isn’t the closest thing he has to a child that he has. You gulp back the words.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Can I… tell you something? But you have to swear not to tell anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Rooster promises. You hold out your pinky, and he stares at it. You raise your eyebrows at him. he looks around, no doubt making sure there’s no one who would make fun of him for pinky swearing, and interlocks his pinky with yours.

You reach into your pocket, retrieving the wrinkled, folded picture and hand it to him.

“That’s my mom,” you say, pointing to the woman. “and that…”

“That’s Maverick!” Rooster looks triumphant in his revelation. “So, what, Mav dated your mom?”

“No! Well, yeah, but that’s not what i was trying to tell you. Look at the date on the picture.”

Rooster squints and brings the paper closer to his eye.

“Wait. That’s..”

“twenty six years ago, and ten months after that was taken, I was born.”

Rooster drops the picture, mouth falling open. He’s staring at your face, no doubt picking out features reminiscent of Mav’s. You shift uncomfortably.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“I know!”

“Does he know?”

You hesitate. He might. There’s been a lot on his plate, though, and your last name could be forgettable if they only dated a couple of months twenty some years ago.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Roosters eyes widen.

“Wait so I can’t tell anyone?”

he groans when you nod.

“Y/nnnn you can’t just dump this on me and tell me I can’t tell anyone! That’s too much pressure!”

You snap your fingers in his punting face.

“You listen to me, Bradley Bradshaw. If you tell a single person I will hunt you down and slice you into tiny pieces and then cook you and let Hangman feed you to his horses.”

You cackle at the pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes. “That’s right. I remembered your deathly fear of horses, bitch!”

He’s pale, but his face breaks into a smile.

“I’m glad you’re back to normal, Majesty. You had me scared there for a second.”

You know what he means. Since Tae died, for a while, you had no will to do anything or see anyone- in other words, you were super duper depressed. Lately, you’ve felt lighter, like you can laugh and smile again without feeling guilty.

Here’s to new beginnings.

disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about how planes work or flying or anything like that

#top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick hangman #maverick x reader #maverick x daughter!reader #tw: death #tw: abuse

119 notes · View notes

harrywavycurly · 1 year

Note

Hi Sarah! I’m just wanting some convos between reader and her friends about husband Eddie. I know she gossips about their relationship to maybe Nancy and Robin? 😂🥰

Hiii babes!!! Oh yes of course she tells Nancy and Robin details about Eddie and their relationship! I hope you enjoy these😂💖

-find all things husband Eddie here✨

-I put a 💕 next to the convos that are with Nancy and ✨ means it’s a convo with Robin

*Robin wants all the details on your wedding night but instantly regrets it*

✨ “wait wait…you mean to tell me Eddie Munson did all that? No fucking way…” “you’d be surprised what he’s capable of.” “But he’s just…such a pushover…” “I mean yeah but that’s…outside of the bedroom.” “So what as soon as the lights go out he turns into this assertive dominant…man?” “Why did you say man like it was a question?” “Because i’ve always thought he identified as like a string bean but what you’re describing is…well no vegetable I know can do all that.” “You’re so annoying.” “So it was good then? Like better than it was before marriage?” “Oh totally better than before we were married…I don’t know why…maybe something about getting to call him my husband or something?” “I always knew you two were freaks.” “You’re the one who asked how it was.” “Yeah…I shouldn’t have done that.”

💕 “I’m going to kill him.” “What did he do now?” “He ate the last fucking bag of hot Cheetos and I don’t have a back up like I normally do because he’s making me lay off them for a bit.” “He’s making you take a cheeto break? Why?” “Fuck if I know! Something about it’s not good for me or some shit.” “I can tell you’re really mad…want to see if I have any?” “No…I just want you to tell me if it’s okay if I kill him or not.” “No you can’t kill him…you’d miss him the moment there’s a spider in the shower.” “That’s true he is good at killing spiders…damn him.” “You can always tell Wayne that Ed is being an asshole…” “i can’t use Wayne for everything…besides Wayne will be on his side he hates my hot Cheetos addiction.” “Those Munson men…what assholes.” “Right? So rude…and can’t even kill them because they’re so useful…so damn annoying.”

✨ “I’m sorry you said he did what now?” “He almost caught his hair on fire using the stove.” “Like…on fire on fire? Or it just got singed a bit?” “Oh it got singed a bit and set the smoke alarm off.” “I bet it smelled like ass didn’t it?” “It did…so from now on he has to have his hair up if he’s using the stove.” “And here I thought Steve was a fire hazard with all the product he has in his hair but turns out it was Eddie I should’ve been worried about.” “Steve keeps his hair short for a reason” “oh that makes so much sense! So it doesn’t combust!” “Exactly.” “That’s your man though…brunt hair and all.” “Yup that’s my man…gotta love him.” “I mean I don’t have to…but I get what you mean.”

💕 “Nancy! Guess what Eddie just got.” “A new hair mask?” “No…he does need one though his hair is looking a little blah.” “I liked the one he used to make his hair all shiny.” “Same it was nice…but it’s not hair related.” “Uh…new seat covers for the van?” “I fucking wish…the cracked leather is so annoying to sit on but he’s stubborn and super picky so sadly that’s also not it.” “Okay…a new guitar strap?” “God you’re not good at this…it’s a tattoo.” “Oh of what?” “He got my initial on his ring finger.” “Shut up no he didn’t.” “Oh but he did….” “Holy shit that’s…kinda romantic?” “Right? At first i was like what the fuck is wrong with you? But the more I was looking at it…it’s growing on me.” “Yeah? You gonna get his?” “Hell no…I already have a bat that matches his…that’s about all he’s getting.” “Let me see the font he used for your initial….oh that’s cute…yeah I like it.” “Yeah he said it’s mainly because he doesn’t like to wear his ring while at work so this will help keep the bitches away while he doesn’t have it on.” “Keep the bitches away? Does Eddie…get bitches?” “I mean he got me didn’t he Nancy? Edward James Munson would shock the shit out of with how many chicks are actually interested in him…so yeah he has to keep the bitches away.” “Well whatever works…is that the only one he’s getting for you?” “He has my name on his side…but yeah I think that’s it.” “I forgot about the name one…didn’t he get that when you two were broken up?” “He doesn’t like to talk about it…but yes.” “Right I forget he’s sensitive about that time in your relationship.” “He’s a sensitive little metal head.”

#eddie extras #husband eddie munson #eddie munson series #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x wife!reader #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #Eddie Munson #my little dungeon master baby

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weaselle · 2 months

Text

actually after adding this story to another post i got so mad i'm making it a separate post

when i was a kid in a musical production of Peter Pan I got a largish role which was awesome, but i was already self conscious about my voice and during rehearsals for one of the songs the director came up onto the stage squinting like he had a mouth full of lemon juice and stalked up and down in front of us until finally he zeroed in on me and had us all stop singing and then had just me alone sing a couple lines and nodded and said "yeah, you don't sing anymore, just mouth the words silently" and then told the kids on either side of me to sing a little louder to cover it...

and no amount of knowing logically that he was wrong for doing that has helped me overcome my fear of singing in front of people after that

and there have been some other times people (looking at you, mother) have said things to similar effect

the real hell of it is, i'm like... i have a lot of songs in me. i'm constantly writing original songs that i'm too afraid to sing for anyone

here are a few. they each have a specific melody.. I wish you could hear them

i don't feel like complainin' 'bout my life today and i ain't got a lot to brag about so i'm just usin' this music to keep movin' and i don't mind if i'm a part of your show so look at life all over and it can be rough if gettin' is your goal you won't get enough but i got me and i'm free an' warm spinnin' and grinnin' in the eye of the storm

i don't need to be winnin' while i'm gamin' and i don't feel like a losin' man no winnin' or losin' i guess that leaves playin' and i don't mind if i'm a part of your band

they say this race of rats is crazy it's dog eat dog they need a sheep to be a workhorse and go whole hog well i'm no genius most of the time but at least i can be nobody's fool but mine

at least i can be! nobody's fool but mine

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I don’t care … I don’t care if this minute is our last you can bet I’ll be living it before I let it past

(repeat)

Plan in command like a band with a marching tune, dooming our duo when you go embarking soon, damn I’m just glad that we had this hot interlude, hoping we’ll pause and not stop ‘cause I’m into you! checking the phone when alone for the text – that gives me this feeling I’m reeling I’m blessed – the sex is appealing for real but the rest of the sum of your parts makes my heart beat its chest

I don’t care … I don’t care if this minute is our last you can bet I’ll be loving it before I let it past

(repeat)

a decade ago we met lost and were friends christened our roads and then crossed them again we played and we dated like it ain’t a thing but lately our hook-up is more than a fling the two of us truly unduly effected - direction of goals that we hold gonna wreck it but check it I’m with it I’m livin’ it reckless to be where you’re breathin’ is leavin’ me breathless

I don’t care … I don’t care if this minute is our last you can bet I’ll be loving you before I let it past

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

I went to bed lonely, found waking I’d only held dreams of you… In Dreamland I dwelt, but those feelings I felt still seem so true… I dreamt you still wanted me, that’s what’s still haunting me deep in my heart… though awake I believe in the many good reasons we’re keeping apart…

I cry diamonds! I weep songs of may never be I cry gemstones! each one a good memory each action taken, all of the fine bad and more I’d never trade them, these tears are my dragon’s hoard

I’m happy to see you, I knew that would be true our love never could end… I would swear an oath, this is best for us both and you’re still my good friend… but some nights my soul just doesn’t feel whole when I’m not by your side… so I add to and hold, all the jewels and the gold that I’ve already cried…

I cry diamonds! I weep songs of may never be I cry gemstones! each one a good memory each action taken, all of the fine bad and more I’d never trade them, these tears are my dragon’s hoard

So I’ll seek out adventure, eventually enter a time. when. I… leave this treasure heap, spread my wings and leap into the sky… I’ve dreams I believe in but please know that even when I. reach. them… I’ll visit these memories, loving and tenderly holding each gem..

I cry diamonds! I weep songs of may never be I cry gemstones! each one a good memory each action taken, all of the fine bad and more I’d never trade them…

these tears are my dragon’s hoard

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

i wanna go off… i’ll go on the run- i wanna go big… go off like a gun they tell me come on just do as i’m told stop dreaming of hot find joy in this cold but i want the heat (oh yes) i want to feel warm! don’t want to repeat (this mess) don’t want to conform

still i pay my taxes i jump through the hoops it never relaxes: life lived in a loop

I want to go off… go off like a gun! a bright shooting star- as hot as the sun

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

my best my best is what i give i never rest i never live but i don’t die i try to grip this liquid life inside my fist is this a test what must i learn if this is hell oh well i’ll burn and use my body as a meal is this what godly beings feel?

so come the worst i’ll curse and taaaake it if i don’t try this life is waaaaasted I’ll struggle puzzled cold and naaaaaaked and hold to hope that i will maaaake it and if i don’t then may my bones out in the garden over-grown be turned into some little home for those as lost and as alone

the stars all wheel over head it’s always heal or be dead i must i know let go of dread and trust my questing steps instead

the day will play and i will daaaance it i’ll set my bet down and i’ll chaaaaance it with danger hurtful flirt romaaaaaaantic make my own wish, insist i graaaaant it

my best my best is what i give i never rest but do i live still i don’t die i try to grip this liquid life inside my fist…

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

i said i'm a tramp hobo and bum an' one mean son an' that's okay i said i'm a tramp i know but lovin' keeps on comin' my-y way

some times i'm just a drifter who's down on his luck but a smile from the Lady tips my own lips up!

down and out i ain't got nothin' but my laugh and my tough an' my-y name down and out my main skill bluffin' it's enough in thi-is game

my rhymes are just a whistle i'm hummin' along but with some help from the Lady i can sing this song!

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

maybe i'll find a singer or some musicians to partner up with

#song #songs #song master list #poem #poetry #all songs are poems i guess

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selfdestructivecat · 5 months

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I’ve seen quite a few posts in response to Thomas’ recent video, specifically his year in review. In this video, he discusses the setbacks he’s faced the past few years — such as the quarantine, Joan’s departure, and his own personal doubts and insecurities — and how they impacted the production of Sanders Sides.

And I truly sympathize with him. No, seriously! It’s already difficult to create something this big almost entirely on your own, but I’m sure this year only made things even more difficult. I know I’ve definitely felt insecure to the point of feeling sick when it came to things I created, so I can empathize with the enormous amount pressure he must be feeling.

However, many posts I’ve seen following this video are saying things along the lines of “If people still criticize Thomas after this video, then I’m going to lose it” or “Not that people who criticize Thomas even care, but Thomas really struggled this year. I’m with him all the way!”, or even “I bet SaSi critics will still demand the finale even after this. I doubt they’ll even watch the video!”

I want to clarify that this is obviously not everyone who doesn’t like ts criticism. People who block criticism blogs and/or the tag, who ignore criticism in general, or who feel upset when they see criticism of something they love: this is not about you. You are absolutely valid and entitled to feeling the way you do, and I hope you have a lovely day. Feel free to block me if that would be good for your mental health. Please take care of yourself. /gen

But to those vocally condemning ts critics, I want to make several things clear.

First of all, you are lumping everyone who criticizes the show in with people who demand the finale with no regard for Thomas’ well-being, for the well-being of his crew, and for basic common sense. While many people are upset that the finale isn’t out yet, we aren’t specifically mad that we don’t have a completed video to watch; rather, we are frustrated with what this says about the SaSi crew, their work ethic, and how they treat fans of the show.

We aren’t upset that we can’t watch the finale right now. We are upset that we’ve gotten very few updates about the show during this period between canon episodes. This video provided wonderful insight into why the finale has been delayed, and we would have loved something like this years ago. Obviously it didn’t have to be a 20 minute video, but maybe a Twitter thread? Something small that made us feel heard?

Hell, even announcing an official hiatus would have satisfied the vast majority of critics (myself included), instead of throwing SaSi into this limbo of “Oh it’s going to be finished this year, we promise- oh whoops, never mind! Next year for sure!” It’s been a constant chain of broken promises, and we were more than happy to give the crew some grace the first few times, but after a while, a repeated mistake becomes a pattern. And this pattern is not pretty.

We are upset that the crew seems incredibly disorganized (going back to the lack of updates, and of course taking into account how we haven’t gotten even a single part of the finale in five years), which could affect the quality of this series we all love so dearly. beauty-and-passion has spoken about this a lot (and is a lot more eloquent than me lmao, please go check out their stuff!) The most recent Christmas video seems to demonstrate that the series may be on the right track, and I will admit I was wrong in regards to this video, but the Inside Out video is a mess in so many ways. Even if this doesn’t prove a decline in quality, it certainly indicates a lack of consistency, which can be just as damning for a series.

We are upset that, while SaSi is in this limbo, Thomas seems to have been focusing on his other projects without telling us about this change in priority. He is welcome to pursue other projects, obviously. I’m thrilled that he is having fun with Roleslaying with Roman and My Roommate is Hades. But these new projects have come at the cost of Sanders Sides content, which also points towards a lack of organization. Some clarity towards which projects Thomas chooses to focus on would have been wonderful and greatly appreciated, so that we know not to expect something we won’t receive. And hey, maybe if we knew not to expect SaSi content until much later, maybe we wouldn’t have been constantly asking why we weren’t receiving SaSi content?

(And this is not an excuse for aggressively demanding content, obviously. But I feel like people who are confused and frustrated at not receiving something promised to them are justified in these feelings.)

And maybe we’re jumping to conclusions in many regards. I won’t pretend that we are prophets who can peer into Thomas’ mind and know what he’s thinking and feeling at all times. But it’s pretty damn difficult to say that NONE of the above could suggest that Sanders Sides isn’t held in the same regard as it once was. Hell, Thomas even admits in the video that he doesn’t feel as connected with these characters as he once did.

Second, many people attacking critics are also quick to drag their character. We are impatient, greedy, selfish, and cruel. We don’t care about Thomas; we only care about the end product! More Sanders Sides at any cost! We don’t like critical thinking, since we obviously didn’t watch the video; we only want to find mean things to say about Thomas and the show! We don’t like engaging in civil debate with our fellow Fanders who may disagree with our opinions; we only want to make other people feel bad, and to make others hate the show, too!

Well, guess what? You’re doing to us exactly what you think we’re doing to Thomas: you’re assuming the absolute worst of us and looking for any reason to drag us down.

We are critics. We analyze media (media that we love, mind you) and we acknowledge that it isn’t perfect, that the creators aren’t perfect, and we point it out. But we still love it anyway, because to truly love something is to love it with its flaws, to know that it could be better, to brainstorm how it could reach its true potential, and to keep doing so because you believe in this potential.

We aren’t trying to take away the joy you feel from Sanders Sides. So please don’t try to take away ours.

#ts criticism #ts critical #sanders sides criticism #my ramblings

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midwestmade29 · 1 month

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Here For You ❤️

What a sweet request 🥺 I loved it! Thanks for sending it in. I hope you like how I used the prompts 🖤 Word Count: 746 Divider by: @saradika-graphics *GIF is not mine

Original Request from @judgementdaysunshine: Can I have Adam Copeland x Fem reader with the prompts “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what” + “You’re one of the best people I know”

Disclaimers: None! 100% fluff 🙂

When you're going through a rough patch, Adam Copeland is there to help you through it...

Lately you’ve been down on your luck, most days it feels as if nothing goes right. There was one incident in particular that you felt set things in motion though. During Dynamite a couple weeks ago, you had a title match against the TBS champion Julia Hart. Everything was going well until the last few minutes when you slipped on something in the ring, causing you to stumble and mess up the move you were trying to land on Julia. In the end, both of you ended up getting hurt. Julia suffered a shoulder injury, and you sprained your ankle.

While slipping wasn’t your fault, there were several fans and even a few coworkers that blamed you for everything. The number of hateful comments and posts you were tagged in on social media took a toll on your psyche, really hurting your self-esteem and mental health. You already felt terrible about the injuries you and Julia both sustained, but the added hate you were receiving made it that much worse.

You were still traveling with AEW, even with your ankle in a boot and walking with crutches. You saw the way some of the people backstage looked at you making it clear that they were still skeptical or upset about the incident. You had turned off notifications for all your social media accounts and stopped checking it as often as you used to. One night during Dynamite, you were standing off to the side backstage watching on a monitor when you heard a familiar voice call out to you, “There’s my girl!” If it weren’t for Adam, the last couple of weeks would’ve been so much worse than they already were. While you were falling apart, he was there for you every step of the way. He was your protector and confidant, the giver of the best bear hugs. The weight of the world didn’t feel as heavy when you turned slowly and took in the sight of his bright smile, releasing a sigh of relief when he wrapped you in his arms. “I’m glad I found you, I’ve been looking everywhere. How are you?” Adam spoke softly with his cheek resting on the top of your head. You nuzzled in closer to him, enjoying the safety his arms provided from the world around you. “I’m fine, just glad you’re here now,” you replied timidly. Adam pulled back a little, not letting you go completely before he called you on your bluff, “That’s not very convincing. What’s wrong?” You tried reassuring Adam that you really were fine, but he knew better. He probably knows you better than you know yourself! He invited you back to his locker room so the two of you could talk more, and you happily agreed after getting a dirty look from a production team member.

Adam closed the door behind him before taking a seat next to you on the couch. “So, what’s up? And don’t say nothing because you know I won’t let that slide,” he prompted. You took a deep breath and began explaining everything you had been feeling recently. “I just can’t believe anyone would think I would hurt Julia on purpose! That’s not my style or how I do things. It’s like no matter what I do or what I say, no one believes it. I talked to Julia about everything and she’s not even mad at me. It was an accident, but it feels like I’m guilty until I can prove that I’m innocent, you know?” Adam sat back and listened to everything you had to say, not interrupting you once or acting uninterested as you carried on. He knew that letting all your thoughts and emotions out would be therapeutic, so he didn’t want to say anything until you were finished. “The people who really matter know it was an accident Y/N. It’s easier said than done, but you just gotta ignore the hate. It’ll all blow over eventually and things will get back to normal. You’re one of the best people I know! You’d never hurt anyone on purpose,” Adam spoke gently. Your conversation continued for a while longer, and by the end of it you felt so much better. You thanked Adam for listening to you and for his advice, earning a warm smile from him in return. Before the two of you left the locker room, he reminded you of one last thing, “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what…”

#adam copeland #adam edge copeland #adam copeland imagine #aew #all elite wrestling #fanfiction #aew fanfiction #fanfic #adam copeland fanfic #adam copeland x reader #adam copeland fanfiction #edge wwe #rated r superstar

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the1975attheirverybest · 1 year

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Can I ask for a blurb when reader and Matty haven't had sex in a while because they have been busy and she has been stressed. Maybe he has tried to initiate it a couple of times but as soon as he gets that she's not into he dropped of course. So she realise it has been a while and she apologises and feels guilty but he's super nice about it.

Sorry once again trying to heal my trauma through fiction. 😅

Hope your having a nice day💕

Of course, babes! Sorry about the delay. Looks like my writing is going through another shitty phase. I hope this helps in some small way. Remember that if anyone treats you with anything less than complete respect, then they don’t deserve you or your trust. Love you. 🥰

—

Monday.

It was already a busy week for both of them. Matty had spent most of the weekend in the studio, alone, with George, working out the production on a song they’d written and revised a thousand times. He’d come home really late Sunday night and found her asleep already, sliding into bed next to her as quietly as possible and going to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. So, when she woke up this morning, well before his alarm went off, she decided not to wake him, simply giving him a quick kiss on the forehead and dashing out the door to get an early start to the work week.

She waited around for him that night. Or tried to, at least. She’d cooked them a quick dinner, and set out a plate for him, but he never came. When she texted him, he replied, 39 minutes later, sorry, babe. Another late night. Enjoy dinner though. See you at home?

She wanted to see him. She missed him. So, she tried to stay up late, watching tv , snuggled up on the couch and counting down the minutes until she could hear his car pull into the driveway. But, she’d had a long day herself. Work had gotten wiped her out. Making dinner and taking a quick shower was just about all she was capable of after that. So, she ended up falling asleep right there on that couch. Well before Matty got home.

She had a vague memory of Matty carrying her up the stairs and into their bedroom, tucking her in, and giving her a kiss that tasted like toothpaste and smelled like cigarettes. So, he must have been getting ready for bed too, but she doesn’t recall seeing him change out of his clothes, or get into bed. She was out like a light.

Tuesday.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Matty grinned down at her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“H-how long have you been standing there…watching me sleep?”

Matty laughed and shook his head. “Please, I’m not that creepy. I was just setting down your breakfast on the night stand. Did I wake you?”

She propped up her pillow and sat up, looking to her side, where Matty had, indeed, left a cup of coffee and a pastry. “Oh, thank you, baby. When did you-“

“Woke up early to grab them. Wanted to spend some time with you before we both went off to work. Feel like we’ve hardly seen each other since….Friday?”

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink, and letting the comforting taste of her coffee order wake her up gently. “You’re an angel, you know that?” She reached out her hands, pulling Matty back into bed to kiss him.

“Don’t think angels would do what I wanna do to you right now…” he mumbled against her lips as she kissed him.

“Oh, babe, not that I wouldn’t love to, but- I have to get ready for work soon, and- I just, I don’t think it’d be fun to rush through it-“

“Oh, of course. Yeah.” She felt his hold on her loosen immediately as he pulled away.

“Sorry! Please don’t be mad! It’s not that I don’t want to- it’s just that work has been crazy, I’ve actually been going into the office early to catch up on stuff and I don’t think the mood-“

“Hey,” he cupped her face with a gentle touch. “Listen to me, it’s okay! You don’t have to explain yourself. Alright? I understand.” He smiled at her reassuringly as she studied his face for any signs of secret resentment.

“A-are you sure?”

“Course I am, babe. Just take your breakfast with you. You can pass on this body” he pointed jokingly to his torso, “Won’t have you skipping meals for work, though…”

“You’re the best.” She gave him a quick peck before springing out of bed and into the bathroom.

Wednesday.

“Matty? Honey? You home?” She called out from the entryway, frowning at the noise in the kitchen, as she hung up her keys and kicked off her shoes. She hadn’t expected him to be home before her tonight. So, she was a bit thrown off.

“Hello, my love!” He chirped, a carefree smile on his tired, sleep-deprived face. He gave her a greeting kiss. “How was you’re day?”

She let him help her take off her coat as she gave him the highlights, “what’re you doing home so early?”

“Finally finished that song that’s been bothering us for weeks. Thought I’d call it an early night and come make us dinner.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s great news!”

“You wanna hear it? I’ve got it on my phone, actually!”

She loved being his private audience. He always played her incomplete songs and ideas for melodies whenever he had them and he respected her opinion immensely. She was always humbled and flattered by the way his eyes would watch her carefully to gauge her reaction to any new music and she loved that he actively sought out her input and took her feedback seriously.

Much of their dinner conversation was, naturally, devoted to that song and what he might do with it. They discussed their favorite parts of it, Matty told her about how he came to write it, what George had done with it, and why it took so long to “get just right.” The conversation carried on, and strayed in several different directions as they cleaned up the kitchen and settled into the living room, with her in his lap, flipping through several streaming services for something to watch before bed.

“Or, we could just-“ Matty dipped his head down to kiss her, his hands traveling to her waist. She’d missed him. His touch. His scent. The feeling of his soft lips on hers. She really wanted this. She did. But, she didn’t want it to go any further. And, it was clear by how eagerly Matty had re-positioned himself on the couch to be on top of her, that he did want to go further.

She closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t let her. It’s fine. This is fine. She loved Matty. And sex was fun. And they hadn’t done it in a while. So, this’d probably be good. She’s not entirely into it now, but should get herself there. Eventually. If she kept going, right? All couples compromise at some point. So, what if she wasn’t feeling it. Worst case scenario, she’d just wait for him to finish. It’ll be fine.

“Everythin’ alright, darlin’?” Matty’s voice interrupted the small whispers inside her own mind.

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

Matty gradually withdrew, sitting up straight and getting off of her to give her some space. “I was just asking if you’re okay. What’s the matter, love?”

“Oh! Nothing’s the matter. I’m fine. Why?”

“Well….you seem…distracted. Pretty sure I felt you tense up a bit. Just makin’ sure you’re okay….”

She hadn’t realized that she’d clutched onto the couch reflexively when Matty’s arms began to run over her body. He was right. She was feeling stiff.

“I- umm, yeah, I’m fine. I just- well-“ the small flutter of anxiety that that had been moving through her now settled into real panic. She had no idea what to say that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

“Hey, what’s wrong, baby? Did I- god, have I hurt you?” Matty looked at her, concern in his eyes, he was absolutely clueless.

“No, no! Not at all- it’s not - you’ve done nothing! I promise. It’s not you-“

“Well, what is it then? You can tell me…did you- do you not want this right now?”

Her throat ran dry at his words, she felt tongue tied. Too overwhelmed to speak. Matty watched her, expecting a response. Eventually, she shook her head.

“Oh, I see. That’s okay! Why didn’t you say anything?”

They way she looked up at him with surprised and confusion utterly baffled him. Like it hadn’t even occurred to her that it was an option to simply let him know.

“Well, you know, we…umm- haven’t slept together in a while, and…yesterday, I did. When you tried, I said no, cuz I had to go to work, and stuff…so, I just figured-“

“You figured what? You’d let me have it even if you’re not into it?” Matty smiled in disbelief, shaking his head.

“Sounds silly when you put it like that.” She looked down at her feet, feeling dejected and foolish.

Matty jumped from his side of the couch over to her, pulling her into a hug, immediately. “Listen to me, and listen carefully, you are NOT obligated to give me sex. Like ever. I don’t care how long it’s been, I don’t care how many times you’ve had to say now, I don’t care if we’re right in the middle of things, and I’m standing there, lookin at you with my fuckin dick out. If, at any point, you suddenly decide, you’re not feeling it, you just say the word and we’ll stop.”

She shook her head, “but that sounds so selfish!”

“Not as selfish as me ignoring all your cues. Letting you put yourself through something so personal when you’re not enjoying it just so I can cum for the night. Does that seem fair to you? Would that be right?”

Something about the way he’d described it matter-of-factly made the decision seem like a no-brainer. But, in the moment, it didn’t feel that way at all. “Nope.”

“I never want to take advantage of you. I never want to taint our relationship. You don’t owe me anything. Just because you’ve agreed to be in this relationship with me, it doesn’t give me the right to just expect sex from you. Any time it happens between us, we both have to be into it. Meaning, every. Single. Time. We have to make it an active choice. Yeah? Besides, it’s not nearly as sexy or enjoyable for me, if you’re not into it! Do you see what I mean?”

“…yeah, I do. Thank-“

“Fuck no. Not havin’ you thank me for being, like, a normal human being. That’s the bare fuckin minimum. If anyone’s ever made you feel like that’s something you have to be grateful for, then they’re the twat, not you. And if I haven’t made that clear enough until today, then that’s a failure on my part. I’m going to fix it. Starting….well, now! May I kiss you?”

“Yes, Matty. You may.”

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sherifftillman · 1 year

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busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader

A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.

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Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, drug content, penbury is a fanon surname

Word count: 14.2k

A/N: Jesus. H. Christ. Thank you for your patience. This chapter broke me. Goodnight.

(Also please note there is a new content warning in the tags! There is slight drug use in this chapter.)

PS i know, it's a lot of angst, and you guys are here for the cute fluffy timey-wimey boy. i promise next chapter is far nicer, i just didn't want it to get boring, is all. <3

It had been so long. He’d been doing so well. You thought you could just happily leave Ralph at home and he could stay out of trouble. But several missed calls from your friends alerts you to the incident that the group chat were talking about:

With a heavy sigh, you text your co-manager, asking them to cover for you so you could leave for what you call a “family emergency”. Thankfully, you’ve had to do it often enough in the past that they just assume you’ve got a really chaotic younger sibling or something, but it still gets a little frustrating that it’s his third month of living with you and you’re still having to be on call 24/7 for him. Surely by now, he could have googled whether it was safe to microwave a whole egg. And how on earth do you accidentally go live?! There are steps to it, it’s not as though it’s a button he can accidentally press. Only Ralph, honestly.

Still, you can’t stay mad at him. Not when he’s sat on the kitchen floor, muttering to himself in exponential anguish as he reads every cleaning product label to try and determine which one is best for the task at hand.

You spot his phone still resting on the counter and look at the screen in confusion. “How are there still three and a half thousand of you watching my wall?!” You ask into the camera.

Ralph sits up on his knees to look at his phone, too, and you hold back laughter at the camera’s shot of just his hair and eyes above your kitchen counter. “What do you mean, watching?”

“You’ve been broadcasting for hours, mate. Say goodbye to your followers!” You chirp as you hover over the button to end the feed.

Ralph sinks back to the floor with a defeated, “Oh, fiddlesticks,” and you stop the livestream.

You look at the bottles he has surrounding him and hold your hand out, “Here, gimme the green one.”

He hands it over to you, and gets up quickly, moving over to sit on the sofa in silence. You sigh in resignation, looking over at him as he hugs a cushion to his chest. Quickly wiping down the inside of your microwave, you tidy up the rest of the kitchen after him and sit on the other end of the couch, cross-legged. “Hey.” You crane your neck to try and catch his gaze, but he refuses to. “Hey. You know I’m not mad at you, right? It’s just all the stuff I’ve had going on today all balled up into one big outburst. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

“I suppose you shall be on your way back to work now,” he mutters into the cushion.

You shake your head, “Nah, already forfeited the rest of the day as unpaid because the other manager’s covering. Usually I’d swap it for another shift, but we’re going away next week, so…” You shrug. “No chance there.”

Ralph looks up, the pillow obscuring everything but his sad puppy-dog eyes. “G-going away? Wher- who wi- how lo-”

“Where, Brighton,” you tap one finger. “Ever been?” He shakes his head. “Ah, you’ll love it.” You tap another finger, “Who with, please, like I have any other friends,” you scoff, “so don’t worry, you won’t be meeting anybody new -”

Ralph’s eyes widen in a double take. “Wh- I’m going, too?”

“Well, I clearly can’t leave you here with me, can I?” You ask pointedly, jerking your head behind you towards the now clean microwave. “At least the sofa in the Brighton house pulls out into a proper bed size. How long,” you tap a third finger, “we leave here tomorrow afternoon, leave Brighton next Saturday morning.”

Ralph suddenly finds all his energy, “And just when were you planning on letting me know to start packing?!”

“Well, tomorrow morning, I thought, it’s just a case of shoving some clothes in a bag for a week. It’s not like we’re going to the Ritz or anything,” you shrug. “But we’ve got time to get a head start now if you really need it.”

“If I need -” Ralph scoffs at you as he leaps off the sofa and into the bedroom. All you can do is sigh as you watch him sprint across the room.

~~~

You probably should have figured out, with six of you taking three cars, that it wasn’t going to just be six of you. Grace’s new boyfriend - who you barely recognise yourself until Ralph, of all people, informs you that they’d met on his first night out with you all - and Scott’s partner, who Ralph is thrilled to be reunited with.

It does raise some questions to you about everyone’s sleeping arrangements, since usually Grace and Anna share the biggest room, leaving the three other bedrooms in the house for the rest of you. You’re about to suggest that you sleep on the sofa here, too, to give Ralph the bedroom, when instead you watch Connor throw his bag down on it.

You frown, “Oh, I was gonna stay down here to give Ralph a-”

“No, no, absolutely not,” Anna interjects, shaking her head. “I already worked out, it’s better if you two take the biggest bedroom, the two couples share a bedroom each, and then I tried to fight my case for the sofa, but Connor insisted on it.”

“What a gent,” you comment jokingly. You wonder if Ralph saw it that way, but daren’t look in his direction, in case he takes that the wrong way and assumes you want him to react.

“So - so this bedroom that we’re staying in, is - is there -?” Ralph stammers, his eyes squeezing shut and opening at a rapid pace. You’ve been able to recognise that as a nervous reaction of his.

“Pretty sure there’s one bed, yeah. But if that’s too scandalous for you, I’m sure I can get a fold-out or something,” you explain, but Ralph’s eyes quickly look around the room before he shakes his head. He can’t quite make eye contact with you.

“No, no, it’s quite… Nothing wrong with being bedfellows, right?”

You shake your head, “Sure, whatever you say. Let me take our bags up - Connor, since yours are there, why don’t you show the newbies around the house and the rest of us can get our rooms set up?”

Connor agrees and you sling the strap of your duffel bag over your shoulder and pick up the suitcase Ralph’s using to take them both up the two flights of stairs to the biggest bedroom in the house.

You really should make work on unpacking yours and Ralph’s clothes for the week, or at least getting your toiletries out, but the bed calls to you like a siren from the deep seas. Throwing the bags on the floor, you launch yourself onto the bed. Oh, sweet spongy mattress! An actual duvet that covers all of you and then some! Pillows without an armrest digging into the back of your head!

The drive down was tiring enough that you can feel your eyes getting heavy. You try to get up again, to fight the urge to sleep too early and miss out on your first night traditions.

You’re awoken by a gentle pressure shoving your wrist down into the bed. And then your elbow. And then your shoulder. You eventually figure out that the sound that accompanies it is Ralph calling your name. “Ah, you’ve awoken! Welcome back.”

You sit up suddenly, “Oh Christ, I’m so sorry! I didn’t want to do that, oh god, what time is it?!”

“Not to worry! Everybody is waiting to go to dinner, they said this is the time you all go anyway,” Ralph assures you. You notice that he’s stood bolt upright, but with his head turned almost upside down to look at you. You let out a sleepy chuckle as you start moving out of the bed, and Ralph quickly darts out of the room. You try not to read into that too much.

You’re greeted with a chorus of, “Alright, sleepyhead?” “It lives!” “What time d’you call this?!” You flip your friends off and fake going back up the stairs before running ahead to the front door.

Once you’ve all got your food, you sit where you always do - a bench that overlooks the pier, all its illuminations making it obvious against the dark sea beneath it. Knowing you’re finally on holiday, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, in your most favourite place, enjoying one of your favourite traditions as your lap cradles the bundle of warmth that is your portion of fish and chips as you hear the gentle crashing of waves. Knowing that all your troubles are currently almost a hundred miles away. You feel a sense of contentment, a rare zen moment. You can’t remember the last time you felt this calm.

And then, ironically, a voice laced with disgruntlement interrupts your train of thought. “Is this really any way to spend a night? You can barely see anything, this is by far the least dignified way to eat, and I fear I may come down with pneumonia before the night is through,” Ralph complains.

“Eat quicker, you’ll warm up quicker,” you prompt him. “This is why I wanted to get you a hat, but you didn’t ‘trust me’,” you mock with a smirk.

“That’s ’cause I’m your favourite to shop with, innit, Ralphie?” Connor calls from further down the bench.

“The guy who bought him clothes that feature an Angry Birds and Star Wars crossover does not deserve bragging rights,” you scoff, to laughter from most of the others.

“Ignore that lot, mate, here, have mine for now!” Connor takes his hat off and puts it on Ralph’s head. There’s something rather endearing about Ralph wearing a hat with ear flaps, but even more so when they’ve folded back on each other enough that they stick out to the sides.

“Are you quite sure?” Ralph asks, eyes wide and pleading.

“Yeah, shoved my hand in my pocket earlier and realised I had a beanie in here, too,” Connor grins as he puts another hat on his head.

“You’re such a twat,” Grace laughs, and Connor acts offended.

“Excuse you! I was merely looking out for my best mate here!” Ralph’s face lights up at those words.

Trying not to focus on how cute that is, you grin, “Did you wanna share the bed with Ralph, then?”

Connor’s mood shifts at that. He suddenly shakes his head and goes quiet as the others hurriedly change the subject. They tell Ralph about how you’ve all hired out the same house from Airbnb for years now, how the tradition of visiting every year came to be, asking Ralph if he’d ever been to a beach before. He vaguely recalls going to “a sandy beach” when he and his sister were very young, for a few years. You’ve had a few heart-to-hearts with Ralph about his father’s death and his mother’s admission to rehabilitation, but he doesn’t bring it up to the group. You still give his hand a gentle squeeze, to let him know that you understand if he’s getting upset. He wriggles his hand against yours until your fingers interlock, and he squeezes back, using his free hand to pull the ear flaps of his new hat down to cover his.

You keep hold of Ralph’s hand as you walk back to the house, just to let him know that you’re still there for him - though you’d be lying if you weren’t also letting yourself indulge in the idea of you both taking a romantic late-evening stroll along the beachfront, just a little. Of course, usually when you allow yourself these small delusions, it ends up warping the little grievances the two of you have into something far more infuriating than they probably actually are - something’s got to bring you back to reality, after all. But you can’t see any reason why you’d possibly get far enough to snap while you’re on holiday.

Once you’re back to the house, and you and Ralph are making your way upstairs, you tell him to get himself changed in the bedroom while you do so in the bathroom. You grab some pyjamas from your bag, as well as your washbag, and head in to get yourself ready for the night. A quick silent pep talk with your own reflection to remind yourself that your walk back with Ralph was strictly platonic, and you’re ready to go back out to the living room for some games with your friends before bed.

As you step out of the bathroom, you hear a short, shrill shriek. Your eyes dart immediately to Ralph sat on the side of the bed who, despite the fact that he is wearing an undershirt, still censors his chest from view with his pyjama shirt, staring at you with wide eyes.The shade of his ears is unusually deep compared to when he’s usually surprised. Assuming you’re paying far too close attention to such a minor detail for no reason, you snort out a laugh, tell him to meet you downstairs and go to meet the others.

Though Ralph doesn’t understand a lot of the games you all play that rely heavily on pop culture knowledge, he’s a big fan of those that rely on skill and/or general hilarity, since his cluelessness usually helps him there. You advise that he take a backseat upon the suggestion of Jackbox, much to the others’ chagrin - you just feel as though he isn’t quite ready for that, yet. You’re proven right when he constantly asks you for clarification on just what makes a particular answer funny, or when his ears burn up at a particularly racy answer. Connor had expressed interest in showing Ralph the ropes when it came to some games, and you tried to encourage him to go over there, but Ralph insisted on you being his teacher. You assume it’s because you know better than anyone how to explain things to him, but internally your imagination is playing a very dangerous game.

When you awaken in the bed the next morning, Ralph is still sleeping soundly next to you. He’s almost at the edge of his side of the bed, back turned to you. You slowly make your way out of your side and sneak past him, out of the room and down to the kitchen.

“No Ralph?” Scott asks as you walk in.

“Hello to you, too,” you jokingly flip your friend off and he smiles sweetly in return. “Nah, he’s still sparko. Dunno why.”

“Didn’t he sleep well?” Anna frowns.

You shrug. “Couldn’t tell you, I slept like a log!”

Ralph stirs from all the way upstairs, assuming from the open door that you’d already left the room but still staying still just in case. He slowly starts to roll around to look, allowing himself a sigh of relief as he sprawls out on the bed. He’d only slept once he’d finally exhausted himself from trying to stay as deliberately far away from you as possible.

His mind would wander, of course. How peaceful you must look when you sleep. How wonderful it would be to awaken with his face a mere touching distance from yours. On occasion, he’d hear you take an extra deep breath and he’d get giddy at the realisation that he was breathing the same air as you!

That’s when he’d rein it in. Stupid Ralph. That’s exactly what scared Lauren off. It’s been months since that week, and still he hasn’t learned. In the present moment, Ralph pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and bares his teeth in frustration at himself. Desperate to think of anything other than the thought of waking up next to you just as the sun shone against you in the most perfect of ways, making you appear even more radiant than usual. Of your eyes slowly opening as you wake. Ralph finally gives into temptation and indulges himself in the idea of your sleepy smile, in this dream universe where you’d be happy to wake up to see him. And what a perfect sight that would be.

He takes himself to the bathroom, picking up his razor and twirling the handle around between his fingers and thumb, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He’s already shaved his facial hair clean off on several occasions. It keeps him remembering who the real Ralph Penbury is. You and your friends always complain when he does it, though. They tell him that he’s not Our Ralph when he looks like that. He’d love nothing more than to be Their Ralph. Especially to you. What was the point of being the other Ralph? Going back to a penniless, friendless, loveless, overall fruitless life?

But you’re always reminding him, this isn’t his era. This isn’t permanent. You’re always preparing him to go back to his own time at any point. A part of Ralph - the stupidly optimistic, nay, deluded part - hopes that it’s simply a fear of the unknown, that messing with time in such a way could cause devastating effect. Though what a stupid thing to think, in what universe would Ralph have such a massive impact?!

With a heaving sigh, he tidies his facial hair up to a minimum while keeping it intact. A part of him still hesitates, still debates going further. It's what you'd want. Except also it isn't, because you always tell him he looks better with it. Ye gods, you're a confusing one.

Ralph gets himself dressed and makes it downstairs in just enough time to catch breakfast being dished up. You whisper something to Scott as soon as Ralph approaches, and Scott hands him a plate with a warm smile alongside everyone else eating, before setting everything up to make another portion for you. Ralph wants to frown, but he doesn't want to draw attention to himself, either. Why would you immediately sacrifice your breakfast for him, when he's the one who came downstairs later? Why would you see him being fed first as more important? Why not let him make that decision? He would have been happy to wait.

You feel Ralph's eyes boring into you as he scarfs his eggs down, but the one time you try and look back at him he acts as though he's trying not to get caught. You wonder what he could possibly be thinking, until Anna starts talking about the day's itinerary. This is good, this is distracting from the awkwardness, this is what the holiday is all about.

All wrapped up for a brisk November morning, you all head out to the pier, as per tradition. As Ralph gets face to face with the rides, he looks up at them, horrified, and you frown. "Are you scared of rides, or something?" He looks back down at the pier floor, watching the waves crash beneath a gap in the planks, with more fear in his eyes. "Hey, hey," you soothe, "eyes up." Ralph eventually tears his gaze away to look at you. "I promise it's all safe. It's not like those travelling funfairs where everything gets wheeled in and out, everything's built to stay here. Alright?" He still seems distracted, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "Wanna hold my hand again?"

Stupid. What happened to not feeding the delusion? What happened to distancing yourself? What happened to being realistic? You know exactly what happened. Those damn baby-cow eyes. Hopefully Ralph'll say no. It'll be too scandalous for him to hold hands in public with people all around, surely.

But no. His fingers very carefully slide between yours yet again as he squeezes your hand gratefully. You keep both of your hands relatively tucked away from the others' view - they've already got you two sharing a bed, the last thing you need is having to constantly try to convince them all that you and Ralph aren't an item. Despite the fact that it would certainly be a good thing for you, a constant reminder to you that it can never happen, you know your friends well enough by now to know that they’d only take it as denial. That they’d keep pressing to ‘uncover’ whatever they believe you’re hiding. And you’ve gone this long keeping your one big secret from them, what if they keep digging until they find that out?!

Your train of thought is interrupted by a loud giggle from Ralph. He sees the photo op cutout of a cop and robber chase scene and he’s delighted by it. “Wanna pose?” You let go of Ralph’s hand to take your phone out and hand it to one of your friends as you both run behind the photo stand. Ralph finds the resulting picture absolutely hilarious.

“I always wanted to do one of those,” he muses as the pair of you hang back for him to once again hold your hand, to your own chagrin. Why couldn’t you have offered to link arms? That’s friendly enough. Can’t really be misconstrued. His smile, small but contented, melts your frustrations away, if only to add to them later on as you’re walking with him.

“Did they not have people taking your photo for you, even, in those days, then?” you ask quietly, so as not to be overheard.

Ralph half-shrugs, “There were cameras, you know. Far bigger than those little pocket ones everyone has now!”

“Yeah, I think I know of them. Big box things, someone would have to stand under a curtain and hold out a thing to press to take it, right?” you ask.

Ralph holds back his laughter as he replies with amusement, “By a thing to press, do you mean a button, by any chance?”

You pull a sarcastic face at him. “I’m leaving you stranded here,” you joke, tugging him in a particular direction to show him you’re not serious. “You’re spending too much time around me, I think. Starting to sound like me and everything,” you shake your head.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Ralph asks in a small voice.

Trying not to overthink what else that could mean, you shrug, “Well, I s’pose if I’ve a part to play in you being able to tell your sister to shove it, then not really. But using my own brand of sarcasm against me?” You tut, again shaking your head. “I’ve created a monster.” Ralph laughs gently at you as everyone stops at their first ride: the Turbo roller coaster.

Everyone laughs at the shade of green Ralph turns. “I promise you, mate, it’s far scarier down here than it is up there,” Connor tries to reassure him, but Ralph is fixated on the loop in the track.

“Honestly, Ralphie babe, that is the tiniest loop you’ll ever go on. It’ll be over before you even know it, and by the time it is over, you’ll love it, promise!” Grace holds her little finger out to Ralph, who stares at it with fearful eyes for a few beats before linking his own, to everyone’s cheers.

You allow your hands to be a little less obscured, under the guise that Ralph is only scared of the ride and so you are providing a temporary comfort. Anna also rests her head against Ralph’s arm, and Scott places a comforting hand on his shoulder, at your invitation. “The more of us that comfort him, the better, right?” you explain. “Plus, if there’s any… Prying eyes…” You look around anxiously. “At least they can’t assume that Ralph and I are dating just ’cause we’re stood together,” you roll your eyes exaggeratedly. “I don’t need that sort of attention, it’s bad enough on socials.”

You don’t see Ralph’s change in demeanour. What was a quiet excitement mellowed amongst the fear of the ride, turns to full-blown dejection. Of course you’d be embarrassed to be associated with him. Who wouldn’t be? No matter what era he’s in, he’s still Ralph.

Anna interrupts his train of thought by rubbing his arm, “You alright, Ralph?” He nods, pushing a smile up his cheeks. “Nervous?” She asks, and he nods silently. She hugs his arm tight. “Honestly, there’s nothing to it.”

“Yeah, you’ll be a thrill-seeker like the rest of us in no time!” Scott grins before nudging you and Ralph each. “You two should get a photo on the Crazy Mouse for the flat!”

You shake your head, “Come off it, like either of us would want a photo of us being flung around like that! Right, Ralph?” Again, he nods without saying a word. Your brow furrows, “Are you okay? Did you want to sit this one out?” He shakes his head. “Sure? We can just go get food if you would rather watch this lot go round first and then we can go later,” you offer, but he shakes his head again.

“Besides, it’s not like it’d be the worst photo of him out there,” a completely strange voice from the other side of the queue barrier makes you jump.

“Excuse me?!” Scott exclaims.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you all! We just saw Ralph, and then you, and really wanted to get a photo, if that’s okay?” They ask you. They seem innocent enough, just asking for a picture, but you still can’t help but stand there awkwardly.

“Oh, I’m not really into that side of things, I only got my socials to make sure people are being normal about him,” you shrug them off before adding, “and to reward you all with some extra content if you’re all behaving!” They laugh, and you turn to Ralph. “What do you say, do you wanna take a photo with some of your fans?”

Ralph approaches the barrier and leans over it to pose for the photo, pressing his lips together into a smile as he holds an arm around his first in-person fan. “My friends and I just think you’re absolutely hilarious!” They smile up at him.

“Oh, please,” he laughs, flustered. Though he has his new hat on, you can guess what’s happening beneath it. “My lack of knowledge of technology doesn’t necessarily make me hilarious, anyone could do that.”

“Nah, there’s a sort of… Natural charm about you. Plus, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re really cute. Even in that photo that’s going around.”

Ralph sputters nervously as the rest of you exchange glances. You manage to hide your seething rage from your friends, though you feel it boring through your eyes as they fixate on this person. “Ah, don’t be so silly! You’re far too kind. Um, is that your friend over there waving you away?” He asks as someone approaches, thankfully dragging their friend away while talking about spotting a Twitch streamer as they head in the direction of some poor sod wearing a black and white face covering. You wonder whether that’s their ‘thing’ or if they’re doing it to avoid detection. You wonder if you’ll have to do that with Ralph at some point. His internet fame is becoming less and less of the laugh it first seemed to be with every day.

“You alright?” Anna again checks in with Ralph, who looks slightly bewildered still.

“Should I have responded differently there?” He asks.

You’re quick to answer, “No! No, I think you did the right thing, there.” You then hurriedly follow it up with a, “I mean, dating fans is never a good idea, right?”

“Yeah, not gonna lie, that made me uncomfortable,” Connor cringes. “You handled it way better than me, mate.” Ralph feels a sense of pride at his words. The line starts to move and soon enough, you’re all getting into carriages yourself.

You make sure you and Ralph are in one near the middle, so he feels safer. Once you’re all strapped in, and the attendant is sure Ralph is, too, you see him already squeezing his eyes half-shut in anticipation. You poke him gently and hold your hand out again. “It’ll be here if you need it, okay?”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, I wouldn’t want to be a -” Ralph starts, but as the coaster jolts into motion he quickly grasps your hand tightly.

Ralph’s half-laugh/half-scream serenades you throughout the whole ride, especially at the loop. Once the ride brings you back upright again, you look over at him. “Was that so bad?”

“Boy, that was exhilarating, wasn’t it?!” He beams, and everyone else cheers for him from their own seats.

“You did it, Ralphie!” “We’re so proud of you, babe!” “Reckon we’ve awoken the thrillseeker in you?” Ralph’s too giddy to answer any of those.

You can barely get him to stand upright without his legs turning to jelly, unless you get him to hold your arms while you hold his. He falls into your arms with a giddy laugh, and you gently shove him onto his own gait. “Easy, tiger!” You giggle. “God knows what you’re gonna be like on the other rides.”

Once he sees the Crazy Mouse coaster in action, that green hue in his skin returns, so you decide to build his courage up a little more. His face simply turns white when he sees the ghost train. Scott notices and rolls his eyes, “Oh my god, Ralph, don’t even worry about it, this is literally the least scary ride on here.”

His partner pipes up, “Yeah, there’s scarier creatures on the merry-go-round than there are in there!”

“I wonder if they’ve put the face back on that animatronic from last year or not?” You ask, before looking over to Ralph, who looks horrified. “It’s unintentionally the scariest thing there, and it’s not even that bad. Trust me. Remember?” You hold your hand out, wiggling your fingers. “If you need it.”

“What if… People assume?” Ralph asks, trying not to spit the word out with the venom that wants to follow it.

You shrug, “I think your face justifies your need to have someone hold your hand. If you’d rather, you can sit with Connor or Anna, I was just suggesting -” He takes your hand again in silence, and you walk him over to queue up at the ghost train.

The moment the ride takes you into a dark hallway, Ralph buries his face in your shoulder, and you pat his cheek comfortingly. However, as he starts to see the quality of the animatronics (“Was that one being held up by -” “Duct tape, yes.”) and experience how poorly timed the “jump scares” are, he relaxes far more.

You take him on the twister next, which only ends up throwing your body into his at every convenience, a consequence you’d forgotten in the year since you’d last been on it. Still, he seemed too invested in the adrenaline rush that came with being thrown around in circles to notice your proximity.

After a quick pit stop to eat, and reassurance to Ralph that you weren’t going straight back onto any rides, you go into the arcade. Ralph’s face lights up along with all the games as you explain what ones are. He excitedly tells you that he recognised the fortune teller machine and a strength tester game from his own youth.

You let the others go on ahead as you and Ralph pay for a go on the fortune teller. It tells you, “A smile is worth a hundred frowns in any market!” You look at Ralph with the biggest smile you can muster, and he returns with one of your favourite expressions of his, the big fake animatronic-style smile that could rival the fortune teller. “And lucky for you, the great Zoltar sees much happiness ahead for you!” You bite your lip at the irony. Does that mean Ralph's happiness, that he’ll be returning home soon? Your happiness, that he’ll be staying? Or is it just a randomly generating machine?

It prints off a fortune and you read it together: You may be riding the winds of change. Things may at times seem to be out of touch. Soon they will come to a better order. As the blessings of health and fortune have a beginning, so they must also find an end. Everything rises but to fall. To make sense of all this, you will find the answer is to be found in how well you relate to people. Looking at the big picture will help shape your long range plans. If things are not always smooth remember that he who could foresee affairs but three days in advance would be rich for thousands of years.

You blow out a long breath of disbelief at how weirdly on the nose that seems to be for you both and quickly pocket it to find the others. Grace is trying to get her new boyfriend to win her a stuffed toy on the cranes. Scott is trying to finesse a coin-pusher game while his partner and Connor play a dance mat game behind him, and Ralph leaves you to watch in awe as Anna plays a pinball machine. She tries to explain the mechanics of it all to him, but it seems to be going entirely over his head.

You play your favourite game for a while, trying to win as many tickets as possible, when Ralph soon joins you as well. “Any luck with pinball?” You ask, and Ralph shakes his head.

“I wasn’t sure how to play it, I didn’t really seem to be doing anything, rather just pushing an awful lot of buttons for the sake of it,” he answers.

“Sounds like you were playing it right to me!” You laugh. “What do you wanna do now?”

“Well,” he says, excitement obvious in his voice. “I saw one of those photo booths around there…”

You gasp, “Yes! Let’s do it!” before looking around with disappointment. “Ugh, how are we gonna fit everyone in, though?”

“Perhaps we can get individual ones with people across the week?” Ralph suggests.

“Alright,” you nod. “Wanna get some practice in, just us?” Ralph nods back at you, and you both head into the booth.

Once you’ve paid for it, Ralph asks, “Now how does it all work, again?”

“Right, it’ll tell you when - oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groan as it takes a photo of you mid-sentence, and Ralph stifles a laugh. “Okay, quick, when’s it taking anoth- ahh!” Another snap takes you by surprise, and Ralph doesn’t attempt to hide his amusement this time. You throw your hands up in disbelief, “Well, this is a waste now, isn’t it,” before collapsing into laughter yourself.

“I am sorry,” Ralph frowns at you once all four are taken, and you wave him off.

“Don’t be! I should have set us a game plan from the beginning.” You decide on your poses: a normal, smiley one; a goofy-grinning one; one with both your tongues sticking out; and one where you kiss his cheek. You promise him that it’s not at all scandalous to pose in this way, and that between Grace and Scott, at least one of them would want a photo with him like it anyway so you’re simply getting him geared up for that. You’re promising yourself that more than him, if you’re being honest with yourself.

You end up posing for the first one with your heads touching as you smile gently into the camera. He’s not giving his usual uncomfortable smile, or his disappearing-lip act. It’s just a nice, natural smile. Which is immediately replaced with a fake smile so big, he has to hold himself up on the bench with both of his hands to hold himself at an angle worthy of the grin on his face, which you mirror. When you tell him, “Tongues out!” yours pokes straight out towards the camera, but he lets his loll out to show off the flat of his tongue to the camera instead. You remind him to look ahead for the last one by pointing at the screen, and then holding the cheek furthest from you to push it closer to you, feeling his freshly trimmed down stubble scratch at your lips as you feel them press against the warm flesh of his cheek beneath.

Once all four are done, you quickly get out to make sure both strips are still there to collect. Thankfully, nobody else has seen them, and you pick them both up to study them. You try not to focus on the bottom photo of the second strip, instead looking at the total disaster that is the first strip. Most of them are blurry and far from flattering, but the final one. What is it with the last photo with you two?! You’re laughing, as is Ralph, but the way Ralph is angled, you could just as easily fool yourself into believing that he’s looking at you as though he’s madly in love with you.

As he emerges, he asks, “So, were those first ones completely unusable?”

Quickly tearing off the bottom photo to pocket it, you crumpled up the remaining three and throw them in the bin. “Yeah, pretty much! Here, hold onto these ones, though, and we can put them on the fridge when we get back home.”

Home. Do you mean that to mean your home is Ralph’s, too, or are you speaking on your own terms? Neither of you know, to be honest.

Your friends reconvene around you, and you tell them of yours and Ralph’s plan for each of them to get a mini photoshoot with him, what with it being his first time on this holiday with you all. Everyone happily accepts getting their own photo ops in with Ralph, and you love watching how everyone poses with him. Your personal favourites are Anna teaching him how to throw up deuces as they pull funny faces, Connor teaching him how to make hand horns as they stick their tongues out, Scott and his partner both kissing each of Ralph’s cheeks, and Ralph’s feigned disgust as Grace drapes herself over her boyfriend.

After all that excitement, you decide you’ll return to the rides another day. Instead, you find a nice little Italian place to eat that’s taken over an old cafe you had used to love coming to, but this new restaurant has an even better vibe than its predecessor. That, and Ralph learning how to eat spaghetti through trial and error is hilarious, especially when he decides that the best way is to simply find the ends of as many strands as possible and slurp them all up. The rest of you make a game of picking a strand each and seeing which one lasts the longest.

On the way back, Ralph gets recognised again. Thankfully, this person knows better than to flirt with a total stranger, though Ralph still seems astounded at the whole experience. This fan says something about being able to replace their icon from “the explosion photo”, and so, remembering the one from earlier mentioning an unflattering picture, once you’re all back at the house you look through Ralph’s follower list and burst into laughter.

It seems as though his fans have taken a screenshot of his disdain after microwaving the egg and made it their profile pictures. Some have left it as is, with your kitchen in the background. Some have added further explosions and other phenomena in the background. Ralph is the only one who doesn’t see the funny side, the disappointment returning to his expression.

With a sigh, you promise him, yet again, that there is no need to be upset. You’re not upset with him, the flat was easily cleaned, the microwave remains functional. You understand that this comes from years of being raised poorly, but having to constantly remind Ralph that you aren’t mad at him, is ironically the thing that frustrates you the most about him.

The next day, after again waking up to Ralph practically on the edge of his side of the bed, you decide to go to the Lanes to explore some of the vintage shops. Mostly, for your own amusement, you want to watch Ralph react to what is considered “vintage”, but you know you’re going to have to rein it in around everyone else. The day flies by in a montage of trying on ridiculously old clothes, ones that even Ralph turns his nose up at, trying to find the most cursed old toys in every shop, and Ralph trying desperately to stifle his excitement every time he recognises something from his own time period. Ralph gets recognised again by a young, tall blonde boy and his shorter brunette friend, though those two soon get accosted themselves, which allows you to get Ralph away to the safety of a quieter shop.

After your shopping excursion, you return to the pier to play some more games, this time from the attractions around the pier. Thankfully, Ralph seems far more confident walking on it, so there’s no need for you to offer any hand-holding services - although it does already feel strange walking around with both hands empty. You manage to win a stuffed animal on a throwing game, and Ralph decides his skill set is best utilised playing hook-a-duck - though he throws the person running the game off of their rhythm when the prize he asks for is to keep the duck itself, as Ralph personally has no use for stuffed animals. The person running the game, totally baffled, ends up letting Ralph keep the rubber duck, which he seems thrilled about, placing the hook over his finger and letting the duck swing from it with great delight.

“I think I get why cats like him so much,” Connor comments from where he’s stood just behind you as you watch Ralph. “You know how you can buy them all the expensive toys they want but they just wanna play in the box?” You snort with laughter in agreement. “He’s just one of them.”

While Ralph insists on everyone referring to the duck by its name, Clarence, he apparently draws the line at your joke of offering to pay for him to shoot a photo booth reel with his new friend. He looks at you with disapproval at that one.

You still utilise Clarence in his own way, though. Everywhere you go from that point onwards, you take a photo of the duck in that area, and then post it to Ralph’s Instagram story for him, though you only do so once you’re no longer in that place, for obvious reasons.

That evening, at the house, Connor tells Ralph he’s got a surprise for him, and to close his eyes and hold his hands out. Your heart swells when you see that Connor, who had excitedly spent the best portion of an hour in a music shop, has bought Ralph his own ukulele. Ralph looks close to tears at the gift. “Oh, Connor, I couldn’t possibly -”

“None of that, you can and you will,” Connor states simply while pointing at him, and Ralph shrinks down in defeat, opting instead to look at the ukulele with marvel. You all spend the night listening to Ralph play his chords, everyone occasionally offering lyrics to the tunes he was playing. God, he fits in so well with you all. It’s going to be so heartbreaking to tell them all when it’s his time to leave.

You wonder if the window of opportunity will only be open while you’re away. It’s a risk you’ve had to take to make sure he stays safe, since he literally only proved days ago that he still can’t be trusted unsupervised. What if you miss it? Would he resent you? Would it cause some insane rip in the time-space continuum? There’s really not a lot of solid research into this whole time travel business.

The next morning, you’re shocked to awaken to Ralph’s face dangerously close to yours as it rests on the inner half of his pillow. You could count his eyelashes, they were that close. You could connect his freckles, they were that close. His lips twitch ever so slightly in his sleep as you’re studying his face. His face that’s so close to yours. His lips that are -

You quickly take yourself out of that trance and practically throw yourself down the stairs, you’re that quick to leave the room, and those thoughts.

Ralph awakens, sadly, from a dream where you’re happy to have him in your arms to find himself near enough in the middle of the bed. He wonders exactly how he got there. You’re already awake, because of course, you always are. You don’t lie awake for almost an hour every night trying desperately to stay as rigidly far away from the centre of the bed as possible.

When Ralph arrives for breakfast, the group have already decided that today is more of a lazy day. They’ll go out later, of course, but there’s no rush. Just a day spent at the house, playing more board games and listening to both Connor and Ralph playing the ukulele as Connor teaches him how to teach himself actual songs. You even post Ralph’s first photo dump to his Instagram account:

As fun as it is to get out and experience another city, especially getting to do so with Ralph for the first time, you make just as many memories on this rest day. Memories like Ralph not only playing Jackbox for the first time, but somehow winning several games. Memories like watching Grace and her boyfriend playing board games as if they’d been married for years, even though she wrongfully accuses you and Ralph of playing the same way.

In the last hour of sunlight, you realise something. “I haven’t found my rock for this year, yet!”

Ralph looks at you strangely. “Your what?” Before answering his own question. “Do you mean that shelf full of stones in the bedroom has a purpose?”

“Yes! Every year, I find myself a cool-looking rock to take back. It’s tradition,” you explain with a gesture. “Plus, it gets us all out of the house at least once.”

“W’re all goin’ out la’er,” Connor groans from where he lays across the sofa he’s been sleeping on, beneath a mountain of crisps he’s been making his way through.

“At least twice then, lazybones,” you comment, but almost everyone else is happy to stay home.

Everyone except Ralph, who hurriedly gets his shoes on. Of course, it’s just you and Ralph. Alone. Far away from home. Nothing could possibly go wrong, here.

Thankfully, you’re on a mission, here. You can distract yourself with the task of finding the best looking rock on the beach. It can’t just be the first cool rock you see, oh no. It has to be the best one. That’s always been your rule.

Ralph tries to help, but honestly, a puppy would be less excitable. He keeps grabbing the first rock he can, running up to you to ask, “Is this useful?” to which the answer is almost always “no”, and so he simply throws it back to the ground and looks again. There are three separate occasions where he shows you ones he’s already asked you about. But he’s having fun, and he looks adorable, and maybe tonight you’ll be able to delude yourself into a happy little dream where Ralph’d be happy to do anything for you. Though perhaps not quite anything, that sort of dream would have to be reserved for a time when you’re not sharing a bed with him.

You thump the side of your head with the heel of your hand, as though you’re trying to knock the idea out of your brain. There is absolutely no time and place for those kind of thoughts.

At one point, Ralph sees a young child throwing rocks one at a time into the sea, with great delight. Ralph also seems highly entertained by it, and when the kid looks over at him, he decides to join in by grabbing a whole handful of rocks and throwing them all into the water at once. The kid thinks this is the most hilarious thing they’ve ever seen before. Ralph seems happy enough to keep doing it until the kid’s parents take them away. You’re happy to just sit back on the ground and watch Ralph, taking photos and videos of this moment.

Ralph soon joins you where you sit, laughing breathlessly. “Oh, what a joy that was!”

“You certainly looked as though you were having a blast,” you simper. “Though if you threw away the ultimate rock amongst all of that, I may never forgive you,” you add in a sarcastic deadpan.

“I would completely understand,” Ralph nods back, unable to keep up any monotony for any amount of time before snorting with laughter. He looks out at the horizon, pointing out how the sky looks now that the sun is starting to set. “Don’t see that very often in London,” he frowns.

You shake your head, “Nah, it’s usually too cloudy. Not that different here, we’ve just caught a good moment. Looks nice, doesn’t it, all reflecting on the water and that?” You cock your head to the side and sigh happily. “Could sit here for hours watching it.”

Ralph tenses up, trying desperately not to think of how your head just rests against his arm, the weight of it still pressing down on the padded sleeve of his coat enough for him to feel it. He swallows hard, “Yes, it’s too bad that the sunset doesn’t last long at all, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” you add with a soft smile before sitting up. “That’s why I wanted to try and get to the beach now, to get to see it at least once. ’m glad you came with me,” you muse before suddenly realising you’re treading into dangerous territory here. To save yourself, you quickly add, “Y’know, so that you get to see it too, while you’re still here. Since you were saying you haven’t been on a holiday like this since you were a kid. Maybe you can go on more of them once you’re back.”

“Maybe,” Ralph replies emotionlessly.

You sit in relative silence as you watch the sky together. You get a “golden hour” selfie with Ralph, mostly to teach him about it, though he says that he doesn’t see much difference between that photo and most of the others you’ve taken in the past. After realising that he’s brought it with him in his pocket, too, you spend a good few minutes laughing along with Ralph as you try to find the most photogenic angle of Clarence the duck to add to his photo collection.

Once the view stops being quite so aesthetically pleasing, you stop off at the pier again to buy some sugared doughnuts to share with Ralph as you make your way over to the pub that you plan to meet your friends at. You love this pub as another of your holiday traditions, because Wednesday nights are karaoke nights. You wonder whether Ralph’ll feel confident enough to sing along to any modern songs. The mental image of Ralph taking to the mic to sing along to Taylor Swift with his entire chest is enough to make you laugh out loud, which confuses Ralph, but you opt to not tell him, merely shaking your head and covering your mouth instead.

To your disappointment when you get there, the pub no longer does karaoke, but Wednesdays are now pub quiz nights. You still stick around for dinner, and after a couple of drinks, you end up signing up for the quiz, for a laugh. None of you expect to get very far, but Grace’s boyfriend really pulls through with sports questions, and even Ralph ends up answering the question that ultimately wins the whole quiz for you, one about a specific style of shoes that had rendered the rest of you clueless.

Everyone ends up watching your group celebrating Ralph. The leaders of the second-place team, an older blonde man and a dark-haired woman he refers to as his wife, even join in with their own congratulations.

A pair of young women offer to buy Ralph a drink, to which Connor starts encouraging Ralph to go with them. You very quickly make conversation about the rest of the week’s plans with Anna and Grace to distract yourself, but Ralph doesn’t seem interested, much to your confusion. You look around at your friends, who all seem to be exchanging their own looks to each other, but none of them seem to want to look at you. You shake your head and make your way to the bathroom, scoffing indignantly at the two men who barge past you to get to the door next to you.

After a few minutes of silent pep talk to remind yourself that you have no right to feel bad if Ralph expresses interest in someone else, Anna comes in specifically to find her. After promising her a full eight times that you’re absolutely fine, you both head back out to the group, where Scott had brought along a game from the house that you can all play together. You notice Ralph isn’t there, but you don’t bring it up. You’re not his keeper, after all.

~~~

“Ah, ladies, this is quite an honour, obviously, but I am out with friends and it would be rather impolite to just leave them!” Ralph explains hurriedly to the two women who have approached him to congratulate him on his efforts.

“I dunno, your mate there seems pretty keen for you to come over,” one smirks in Connor’s direction.

“I must insist, I could never live with myself for taking advantage of such generous women as yourselves, though I am deeply grateful that you should wish to spend your night in my company! I’m afraid I’m very much not from around here, and so I would get frightfully lost without my friends to guide me home,” Ralph blabbers, getting more and more flustered.

“Maybe you can come back to mine, then?” The other asks, looking suggestively at him as she touches his arm. It’s a gentle contact, but it electrifies Ralph at high voltage as he yelps, pulling it away.

“Truly flattered, but I am a gentleman first and foremost and so I simply must decline such an offer, and I shan’t be staying long enough to court you appropriately, but I wish you both very well in your endeavours!” Ralph practically shouts as he turns on his heel and quickly makes his way to the toilets.

Ralph walks in on quite a sight. Two men, reasonably bigger than himself, bent double over the sinks. “Pardon me,” Ralph calls out, with the intention on simply throwing some water on his face as a wake-up call of sorts, but the men jump up in surprise at the sound of his voice.

“Ain’t nothing to see here, mate, jog on,” one says, trying to square up against Ralph.

“Sorry, gents, just wanted a quick go at the sink, and then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise!” He smiles brightly, completely oblivious. He catches sight of a line of white powder along the counter and chuckles to himself as he recognises it as cocaine, thinking back to previous parties he’d held at Penbury House.

The first man growls, “Find something funny?”

“Oh, just reminiscing. It’s been a while since I’ve seen… You know,” his eyes flash over to the substance on the counter. “Just fondly remembering old times.”

“Oi, ain’t no way this toff’s a user,” the second man shakes his head.

The first one snarls with a smile, "You a copper?"

"Heavens, no!" Ralph laughs. "Not to worry, gentleman, I'm no telltale, your secret is safe with me!"

"I'm not buying it," the second one looks at Ralph with an upturned nose. "I reckon he's a snitch."

"Well, only one way to prove it, innit," the first one grins uncomfortably at Ralph as he gestures towards the counter. "Care to join us?" he asks in a voice that mocks Ralph's.

“Well, if you insist, I - straight from the counter?” Ralph asks in disgust, but the chorusing snarl answers him quite adequately. “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers!”

Just as he finishes the first line, he’s interrupted by a loud, “RALPH! Fucking hell, get your head out of there! What the fuck is wrong with you two dickheads?!” Connor grabs Ralph by the back of his jumper and throws him back. “You alright? How much have you had?”

“Oh please, it was barely even a full line, it’s nothing,” Ralph insists, to both Connor and Scott’s baffled expressions.

“We don’t have time to unpack that right now,” Connor throws Ralph in Scott’s direction at the emphasis, causing Ralph to trip over his own feet through both of the steps it takes to get there, and Scott catches him, trying to get a good look at his eyes. Connor turns to the two men. “Alright, look.”

“Don’t know that I feel up to much talking,” one snarls.

Connor pulls a sarcastic expression. “Oh yeah, beat a guy up in the same room your coke’s still out for the world to see, good one(!) Shut the fuck up, yeah? We didn’t see anything, neither did you. Just - I mean, what the fuck were you thinking, giving your shit away for free, to him?!”

The man shrugs, “Had to call his bluff, innit? Thought he was a narc.”

“Well, you thought wrong, didn’t you,” Connor sneers, remaining sarcastic as ever. “Just… Clean up and get the fuck out of here, yeah? C’mon,” he gestures for Scott and Ralph, who’s already starting to bounce on the balls of his feet, to get out.

~~~

Once you finally see all three boys re-emerge from the bathroom, as you’d asked the other two to check on Ralph, you notice something off amongst them. Ralph seems in far higher spirits than the others. You get up to meet them halfway and notice something white and powder-y on the edge of Ralph’s nostril. “The fuck is that?!” You ask incredulously.

Scott looks over and quickly pulls his shirt sleeve down to wipe at Ralph’s nose with it. “Nothing!” He lilts, though his expression as he flashes his eyes at you confirms your worst fears about it. Scott mutters, “We need to get him to a hospital.”

“No!” You and Ralph chorus loudly. You shush the man and hurriedly lie, “No, you’ve not seem him in a hospital, he’s fucking useless, faints the second he gets in, he hates it all, honestly. Give him here, just - I’ll take him back to the house, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I promise you all, I am fine, I’ve done far more than that in my years!” Ralph states. “Can we please just return to our night?”

“Respectfully, mate, you don’t know what this shit’s been laced with,” Connor warns. “I’m with Scott, I think hospital’s the best place.”

“And I’m telling you, it really fucking isn’t,” you hiss back at them. “He just needs to get back home so he can’t make any more bad decisions.” Ralph frowns at your words, but you ignore him.

“Alright, we’ll pack up,” Scott starts, but you stop him.

“No, no.” You sigh, “Look, it’s still your holiday, too. I’ll take him back, I’ll keep you guys updated, but you lot just enjoy the night without us, okay?”

“We really don’t mind,” Connor shakes his head, but you persist.

“Honestly. Just…Hang on a second.” You return to the table, spinning a tale of how Ralph’s got a migraine and so you’re going to take him home as you put your outdoor clothes on. Everyone still at the table calls out well-wishes for Ralph as you make your way back to him, informing the boys of what you’ve said, and you lead Ralph out of the door into the brisk evening air.

You walk in silence, not knowing what to say. You’re concerned about Ralph, obviously, but you’re also just so mad at him for doing something so stupid. Who accepts some rando’s offer of coke off a random pub sink?! What the fuck was he thinking?! And now, everyone else is enjoying their holiday while you spend it the way you spend every single day - babysitting a 25 year old man who acts without consequence because he doesn’t bear them, you do. You may as well be at home with him.

“You know,” Ralph finally breaks the silence as you walk up the street that the house is on, “I’m not a child. I knew what I was doing.”

You sigh, “Free drugs is a massive red flag, Ralph. You could have gotten into some serious shit.”

“Well clearly not if we’re just going straight back to the house,” he points out.

“Okay, Ralph, what do you want me to say when we get to the hospital? ‘Hi, I’ve got a man here who needs drugs pumped out of his system. Name? Ralph Penbury. Date of birth? February 1st 1901. Oh, what’s that? You’ve got him marked as being dead for the last 96 years? Then what’s he doing stood here?!’” Ralph goes quiet up until you get to the front door, where you press your hands into your face and groan. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Ralph. I shouldn’t have snapped like that, that wasn’t fair. I know you can’t help… That bit. But you can say no to drugs, surely?!” More silence. With a sad sigh, you unlock the door and let Ralph go ahead. “Want me to make you a cup of tea?” You ask, and he nods before running up the stairs.

You kick yourself internally for upsetting Ralph before then arguing with yourself. Why should you be apologising? You were right. It’s your holiday, too, and he should have thought more carefully. You have every right to be upset, yourself. But you’ll forgive Ralph for that, the way you always do, because you already know you’re going to lose him at some point, and that’s going to be painful enough, and if you can put it off for as long as possible, you’re going to.

He pads back into the kitchen in his pyjamas, looking at you with his big doe eyes as you hand him a hot mug full of tea. “It seems to be the ordinary stuff,” he states, “because it’s only just about affecting me. Same way it always does.”

“Did you… Do it often?” You ask slowly. “To cope with stuff?”

“Heavens, no, it’s no coping mechanism!” He shakes his head. “Cocaine’s always been a staple at Penbury socials. It’s… Acquiring and using it was always the thing people liked having me around for,” he explains quietly as he takes a big sip from his mug. “It barely affects me these days, just makes me… More likeable, I suppose.”

Of course there’s a dreadfully sad story to go along with this. Just more fuel for you to feel bad about snapping at him. You walk over to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders as he continues drinking. “You know how much we all like having you around the way you are, Ralph. I mean, we might be able to make a citizen out of you yet if we just claim you as Scott and his partner’s adopted child!” You joke, and Ralph lets out a small, breathy laugh.

“It’s… Hard to believe, still. Sometimes. Sorry,” he mutters, leaning down to rest his head against yours.

“You have to trust us, Ralphie,” you squeeze him gently, “that’s part of having friends. You like having us around, right?” He nods violently. “Right! So part of making sure we stay around is knowing we want to. If you don’t trust that people wanna be your friend, they’re gonna assume you don’t want them to be.”

“Is that what Scott and Connor will think of me, now?” he asks sadly.

“Well no, because they don’t know… That, what you’ve just told me.”

Even more quietly, he asks, “…Do you -?”

“Are you really asking me if I want you around?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at him. “Have I not done enough to prove my case there?!”

“More than,” he admits, still quiet. He takes another long sip and asks, “Does the TV here have all the films that we would have back at home?”

“Wanna watch Little Shop of Horrors while you come down?” You ask, amused, as Ralph nods in response. You let him curl up to lay his head on your lap as you both watch the film from the sofa Connor’s been sleeping on, Ralph’s foot tapping against the arm of it along with each song.

The rest of the gang return just before the movie ends, and they’re all happy to see that Ralph looks in relatively good condition. The pair of you retire to the bed soon after. Too tired to change out of your day clothes, you simply crawl into your side and sleep, forgetting to wish Ralph goodnight in your exhaustion.

You all decide that Thursday shall be another day on the pier, with Friday being a packing-up day due to the night out you have planned, so that you don’t have to worry about packing with a hangover and can head back as soon as you’re feeling well enough to on Saturday.

You start the day out in the arcade again, firstly making sure that you, Anna, Grace, Scott and Connor get your annual photos in the booth as per every year for as long as you can remember. You show Ralph and the others photos you have on your phone of reels from years past, to which they take great delight in seeing you all in younger years. “It’s nice to have friends that last,” Ralph smiles, and it makes your heart sink. Comments like that help your brain to justify keeping Ralph around regardless. He needs to be here, with his friends, with the people he loves and who love him. There’s been no major consequence so far. You start to wonder if there ever would be.

You quickly pull yourself from that train of thought, instead opting for the certainty of being out with your friends. Grace pulls Ralph towards the dance mats, itching to teach him, and you allow yourself to stand back with Grace’s boyfriend to watch them. Ralph may stomp on each arrow with such force that the ground shakes beneath you, but there’s no way you can comment on that when his face is lit up that much.

You lose track of him when Connor pulls him away to show him a shooting game, instead opting to go for one of the coin-pushers yourself. It seems as though Ralph also didn’t last long with that particular game, nor does he have the patience to wait for your tactical plays as he starts grabbing coins from your pot and placing them in the slots from behind you excitedly. You giggle uncontrollably as he keeps putting coins in and smugly adding the occasional, “See?” when a whole pile drops.

It’s only when you feel your back collide against his chest that you’re brought back to your senses, and you tug at his arm until you’re standing beside him instead, trying to keep your tone playful with an, “Alright, then, if you wanna play that way, don’t let me stop you!” as you find another game that’s easy ticket fodder.

Eventually, you tell Ralph that it’s time for him to face his ultimate fear, that you’re all going to ride the Crazy Mouse roller coaster. He nods, still agreeing to go on it with you all, though he remains quiet. Once you’re in the line for it, you try and brush your hand against his again to let him know you’re there for him, but he makes no attempt to hold it. You hope it’s because he’s getting braver, but his stoic expression doesn’t exactly give you that impression.

Since today is warmer than the others, none of you had really decided to wear hats today, which makes the state you all end up in after being spun and thrown around the roller coaster track all the more hilarious. Ralph’s curls especially are in full force, sticking up in all directions, which the fans who recognise him today point out a lot. You notice there are more today than ever before and check his name on Twitter to see your suspicions confirmed - people are starting to publicly announce sightings of Ralph in the wild, which is leading to people congregating with the sheer hopes of seeing him out in the wild. You’re not sure how many more of these appearances you can take.

You return to the hook-a-duck stall so that Ralph can proudly show off Clarence to the man running the stall. A young man with a mullet pouts about how he was told that he wasn’t “allowed” to keep a duck, even though it matched the red beanie his friend is wearing even today. The man behind the stall simply explains that Ralph was more charming, to the hat-wearer’s amusement.

You go back to playing more games until the people working the arcade inform you that it’s nearly closing time. All of you band your tickets together and divide them fairly to redeem a prize each, though Ralph insists that he doesn’t get a share. He is more than happy with Clarence alone. If only you’d known sooner that the best way to placate Ralph would be to stick a hook in a rubber duck’s head.

Connor picks a box that contains fuzzy car dice, “for a laugh”. It certainly does raise a lot of laughs when he opens the box to find that the ones he’s ended up with are pink, but he shrugs it off. Scott and his partner pick out as many Pokémon cards as their tickets will allow them to, Grace gets a toy monkey with magnets in its hands and feet while her boyfriend picks out an inflatable guitar. Despite having already won a rather large teddy at the can game the other day, you take pity on another soft toy that clearly looks like it got into a fight with the manufacturer and came out losing, opting to take it home with you. Ralph looks at it fearfully, and you shake it at him jokingly.

Friday holds the weight of being the last full day away. Everything feels as though it's happening in slow motion, that it isn't in real time. It doesn’t entirely help that the day is filled with the mundane act of packing until the real thing to look forward to later tonight, which now feels eons away.

When it finally reaches lunchtime, you talk the others into getting delivery. “Whatever happened to the ‘we should get out of the house, lazybones’ mentality, eh?” Connor teases.

“Do you feel up to being there while Ralph gets accosted by fans again?” you ask bluntly. “Besides, you should see Twitter today, it’s obsessive,” you pull a face of disgust as you scroll through posts to show your friends.

“These people need Jesus,” pipes up Grace’s boyfriend.

“You said it, babe,” Grace herself adds. “Surprised they haven’t realised he’s staying here and started camping out.” Scott tentatively looks out of the window, but nods in relief to confirm that nobody’s waiting out there.

You decide to make it the feast to end all feasts, each of you ordering food from different places and all sitting amongst your plethora of food to talk about your highlights of the whole trip, compare photos and overall just enjoy each others’ company. Even Ralph seems to perk up, which you’re glad about. He’d been pretty reserved all morning, which makes sense given how dull the day’s events have been, but you’re glad to see that there isn’t something else keeping him quiet.

Finally, the night is upon you. Everyone’s promised that they’ll all be on watch in case anyone tries to approach Ralph, either weird fanatic or potential danger, so that you can just switch off and enjoy your last night before returning to London.

You feel as though you may get to really enjoy it when you catch the attention of a man who’s far from unattractive. He keeps making eye contact with you from where he’s stood at the bar and flashing his eyes in invitation. After a few pep talks with the girls, who seem a little hesitant at first but soon warm to the idea of you having a night where you finally get to flirt and be flirted with, and just get to feel special for a night. And who knows, maybe that’ll be all it is. Maybe you won’t even spend your last night back at the house. After all, what’s a holiday for if not to live totally differently to how you would at home?

When you finally approach the bar, he smirks, “Look who finally made a decision!”

“Look who’s already blowing their shot!” you reply in the same lilted tone, making him laugh. You exchange names and he offers to buy you a drink. This is everything you’ve been needing to fill your confidence gauge - mostly banter, with the occasional ice-breaker question and the more than occasional compliment thrown your way. And honestly, the way he already matches your wit without you constantly needing to explain yourself, or reassure that you’re joking, just makes him even more attractive in the moment.

Ralph watches on from a distance, absolutely seething. Of course, you deserve to be happy. He knows that. He knows that you clearly wouldn’t be happy with him, and that’s why you’ve been keeping him at arm’s length, constantly putting the time travelling situation between you and him. But Ralph absolutely cannot stand to see it happening in front of his eyes. And so, with nothing stopping him, he marches over to you and taps your arm. “Hello!”

Not expecting any interruptions, you jolt, “Jesus, Ralph, you scared the shit out of me! Uh, yeah, this is Ralph, my - flatmate,” you explain.

“That’s right, we live together back at home as well as here!” Ralph beams falsely at the other man. “So, what are we talking about?”

The man laughs awkwardly under his breath as he shuffles in place and you say through gritted teeth, “Uh, Ralph, do you think maybe Connor wants to talk to you?”

“Oh, heavens, no, he’s got a pair of young women on the go himself, the dog!” Ralph scoffs.

“Seems as though two is an awful lot of people for just one of him to manage. Think you could take one off his hands?” you ask, again trying to make it very obvious that you want him to leave.

He doesn’t seem to be taking the hint, though. “Oh, I’d only interrupt them!”

“How terrible that would be.” You deadpan, before addressing the man you’d been talking to. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” he tips his glass to you. “Don’t forget, it’s your turn to buy the next round!”

You shoot him a flirtatious smile and grab Ralph’s wrist to tug him away. “Listen, Ralph, mate, I think maybe… You should spend tonight more around one of the others, than with me. Yeah?”

“But what if I slip up and mention something about… The situation at hand?” he asks, gesturing at himself.

You tut exasperatedly, “I dunno, then maybe… Just really try not to bring it up? It’s not that hard, you haven’t done it yet. I just… I really needed this, Ralph. Please?”

“Are you going to leave me in the bed alone tonight?” he asks quietly. Sadly.

You sigh. “I dunno. Maybe? We’re all adults here, Ralph, you’ve spent long enough being able to sleep in my bed by yourself, I’m sure someone else’s won’t be too different.” You find Grace, who’s with her boyfriend and Anna, and park Ralph with all of them before returning to your date for the evening.

Ralph’s only half-listening to whatever everyone else is talking about. His attention is laser-focused on that man. His hair is the same colour as Ralph’s, and it’s curly just like his, but there’s more of it. His eyes are the same colour as Ralph’s, but they’re obscured with glasses. He’s taller than Ralph, and he makes you laugh more than Ralph does, and if the cup he’s holding was made of anything other than glass, Ralph would have certainly squeezed it out of shape by now, if not broken it entirely.

While the girls take a momentary bathroom break, Grace’s boyfriend nudges Ralph. “You alright, mate? You look like the nerves are taking over. Wanna do a couple shots with me? It’ll take the edge off.”

Ralph agrees, hoping that perhaps the blanket of numbness over his brain that only alcohol causes will keep it quiet. Grace’s boyfriend has already paid for the shots when Ralph looks at them in horror. The last time he saw a shot glass filled with clear liquid, it resulted in all kinds of emotions. Still, perhaps it’s another clear spirit. Perhaps it won’t make Ralph feel the way he did that night.

Or maybe this is also vodka, and once both the shots that Ralph takes hit, perhaps he’s on his way back over to you. “Hello, again!”

You look at your date with resignation. He looks back at you with sympathy. It’s him who regards the new third wheel in the conversation, “Alright, mate? Ralph, isn’t it? How you doing?”

Ralph pays him no attention at all. “I fear I have once again gotten myself into a predicament,” he tells you.

“You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can get yourself out of it,” you flash warning eyes at Ralph to get back to literally anyone else.

He shakes his head, “No, no, it’s, um. It’s something you had explained to me. What are the different drinks that make me feel different things, again?”

You hold your hand to your head. “Ralph, mate… Do you feel as if something’s been put in your drink, or…?”

“I’m not sure what that would feel like,” he frowns, “but you know these things better than I do!”

“Here, look,” the man you’d been talking to stands up straight. So tall. “This has been great. Really great. But I think your flatmate needs you tonight, so… I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You shake your head dejectedly. “We literally go back to London first thing in the morning.”

He frowns at you sympathetically. “You’ve got a phone though, right?” You take it out to find that it’s out of battery.

You curse internally, “Knew there was something I forgot to do tonight. I’m so sorry.”

“Well. Perhaps in another time. It was lovely meeting you.” He looks Ralph up and down with a slight look of jealous defeat. “You too, mate,” he adds to Ralph through gritted teeth before stroking your arm once more, letting it linger for as long as possible until he walks away.

Something in you finally snaps. Every part of you is just… So done with Ralph right now. And he has the audacity to perk up again once it’s just the two of you?! “What the fuck was that about, Ralph?!”

“Well, I was just going to say that Grace’s… Gentleman friend had bought me some of those shots and I think they’re the sort that have the effect on me that you remember better than I,” Ralph explains with a slight shrug.

You shake your head. “Nah, nah, there’s more to it than that. I made it very clear that I was hitting it off with him, and I just wanted a night where I could -” You cut yourself off, but Ralph feels the tension, soaking it in himself.

“Oh, go on and get it over with, won’t you?” Ralph asks, once again playing the sad card. “It’s obvious there’s things you want to say to me, just say them to my face, please.”

“Okay, you know that’s not fair when you pull that shit, because then it makes me feel bad when I am allowed to be pissed off at you!” you snap. “You want me to say it to your face?! Alright, how’s about this, then. Having you at my ankles 24/7 is fucking exhausting, Ralph. I can’t even go on one night out and talk to one person that isn’t you, I - I didn’t sign up to be some random guy’s mother -”

“I do not see you like I would Mother!” Ralph defends, offence very obvious in his expression.

“Then why am I the one always cooking for you, always cleaning for you, always fucking working overtime because I’m paying for your bills and your food and your clothes -”

“Because, as you keep telling me, I’m not a real person here!” Ralph hisses through his teeth.

“It’s not just that, though, it’s the attitude that comes with it. You are so used to your little rich boy life that you don’t see how much I’m going through. My back is in constant fucking agony from months on that godawful sofa. I don’t get a single day off to myself anymore. I mean, fuck, you’ve had more dates than I have since you got here! I supported you putting yourself out there, even though it was one of the stupidest risks you could have taken -”

“Well, it’s a good job that didn’t work out then, isn’t it? Because once again, nobody wants anything to do with Ral-”

“Here it is again. I can’t just feel something, you have to also be feeling it twice as hard so that you’re the focus here, I - I can’t have anything for myself anymore!” you shout exasperatedly. “Not even one night where for once, I get to feel wanted. I - y’know, everyone fucking falls at their feet for you, you’ve even had people ask you out while we’re here! And nothing was stopping you if you wanted to! But the moment I want to indulge in the idea that maybe someone out there would show an interest in me -”

Ralph scoffs, “That man was only interested in one thing to do with you, and it’s much too vulgar. You deserve to be courted in the appropriate -”

“We’re not in the 1920s anymore, Ralph!” You press your fingers to your temples. “It’s not a bad thing for someone to just… Want you like that. And even then, let’s hash this out. Let’s say I could have been courted by him. You think someone like that is gonna think I’m worth sticking around for when I’ve got another man constantly in my shadow, fighting for my attention? I mean, fuck, what are you gonna do without me when you go back, eh?”

“Ah, again with the going home!” Ralph’s voice is audibly slurring by now. “It’s all you ever want to talk about with me, just tell me the truth already, it’ll hurt less. Tell me you can’t wait to be rid of me.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ralph, I don’t want you gone! Far fucking from it! But I’m not gonna mess with shit we know nothing about, and putting everything back where it was is logically the best thing to do.”

Ralph looks on the verge of crying. “So, that’s it, then. I’m not even worth a -one, I’m just a -thing now.”

“No, that’s not -” You take a deep breath. “Look. We’re going off on tangents that don’t even make fucking sense now. I’m going back to the house. To the bed, don’t worry your fragile little head, I’m not gonna go stand on a street corner like the harlot I am,” you pull a face, blinking back your own tears. “Thank you for ruining the one week a year I actually look forward to.”

You storm away from Ralph, though you find most of the group congregated together at the bar. You stop by them to explain that you and Ralph got into a fight, that you don’t want to talk about it but could they please just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. They promise that they will, and so you head out of the bar, straight into one of the parked taxis and finally let yourself cry as it drives you back to the house.

next chapter

#ralph timewasters #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph timewasters fanfic #ralph timewasters imagine #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x reader #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury fanfic #ralph penbury imagine #ralph timewasters fluff #ralph penbury fluff #bsbl #fic: bsbl #*myfics

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steffigraf · 4 months

Text

warning for a clearly anxiety-ridden oversharing freakout below the cut. sorry. i’m too sensitive and i’m unfortunately acutely aware of it.

tldr; im being a drama queen. gonna take a tumblr break for a week or two. to my mutuals, feel free to dm for my insta. i’ll be active until i wake up tomorrow morning and then i’m gonna zip

gonna preface this by saying this is in no way directed to the people whom i actually talk to constantly on here like you lot were lovely and im just dealing with a lot of demons in my head :(

anyway. sometimes i feel more like a product manufacturer than a person on here. and idk. i know most of you guys are really just following me for gifs and content and whatever but. yeah. idk. i guess the things i say don’t matter to anyone unless it’s funny. or if people want to call me out. not that im mad abt that exactly btw i do appreciate when people respectfully call me out for my own mistakes but. sometimes. i feel like im in a fishbowl and you’re all just waiting for me to say something wrong and cancel me. or then again, maybe most of you already think im a shit person and you just stay for the gifs. or maybe you guys think i’m a loser who has nothing to do but spend all day on this goddamn website.

and i know, somewhere inside me, that that’s not true and that it’s clearly the anxiety talking. maybe it’s just me maybe i’m making this up in my head i dunno. but i’m just kinda tired right now. too tired to battle the anxiety like usual at least. and i don’t really feel wanted outside of the content i produce, beyond the notes of my gifs or my fun posts. which ik shouldn’t matter but. i’m a pathological people pleaser etc etc.

(god, seeing this all typed out, i can’t even fucking blame you guys if you actly don’t like me cause. i kinda wanna shake myself by the shoulders and tell myself get a grip girl the world doesn’t revolve around you shut up shut up shut your damn mouth—)

i’ve been trying to manage by unfollowing and blocking a few people (which btw, if i did that to you and we used to be mutuals, it’s probably nothing personal i mostly just kept people i’m a bit closer to). but i’m still not really settled. and considering how i’m posting like every other day about feeling like shit, you guys probably figured that out lmao.

and well. on a separate note. seeing that rat’s name alone is too much for me sometimes. i couldn’t watch his game with carlos. i spent hours in his match with daniil turned away from the television, wearing noise canceling headphones while trying (and failing) to talk myself down from a full blown anxiety attack. i’ve said this before but the way people talk about him, both the fucked up silence and the justified outrage, it reminds me way too much about a family problem i have right now. hits uncomfortably close to home. prior to this i kinda thought i’d made my peace with the whole family situation but no apparently not. had he won the semis, i wasn’t even sure if i would be able to stomach cheering for jannik if it meant having to watch that man play.

so. idk. between the way actual tennis has been making me feel and the way tennisblr in general has seemed for me lately, i figure i need some space.

long story short ive been spending way too much time on tumblr this ao. and its gotten really bad for my mental health i guess. so i think i need to take maybe a week or two, to clear my head. watch tennis without opening this app every other point. spend time with people i love. get back to therapy. try to be a functioning adult.

(this is so fucking dramatic for a goddamn week of no tumblr i know that and i want to smack myself upside the head because why am i like this why do i make things snowball why why why—)

anyway. yeah. that’s it. if you actually read through all of that then. thanks. if not it’s okay too.

to my mutuals, the ones whom i’ve had at least some form of friendly interaction with in replies or dms, you can ask for my insta account btw. not that i’m crazy active on there but like. if you guys wanna be friends beyond the anonymity of this yknow. no pressure though.

#sorry to get all sad again #been editing this on my drafts all day #ive not been in a good headspace lately #*

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fangirleaconmigo · 2 years

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omg for the can't believe it's not fanon: sharing beds & clothes I am fucking DROOLING over this

Hey there! Thanks for your vote. :D Alright, let’s make this ask my next installment off...(drumroll please)

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Fanon

Otherwise known as,

Facts that sound like Geraskier fic writers made them up, but are in fact, book canon.

Today our topic is:

Bed Sharing and Clothes Sharing

So, if there is one thing that Jaskier and Geralt will always do in a Geraskier fic, it’s share a bed in a roadside inn. Sometimes it’s due to not having enough money. Sometimes it’s a ‘just one bed’ situation. Sometimes they are Just Like That.

There is also a whole subgenre of fics where they share clothes. Usually it’s Jaskier borrowing Geralt’s clothes. But sometimes it’s the other way around.

You might wonder whether all of this is a product of the fevered imagination of Geraskier fanfic writers. In TWN we do see Jaskier bathe him in the iconic ‘and yet here we are’ scene, but don’t actually see them share a bed.

Well, never fear, I am here to put these questions to rest. (sorry I’m tired and loopy tonight, so if I sound drunk that’s why). Ok, so as I’ve said in other posts, in canon, these boys are a domestic unit. I’ve already talked about how they pool their money and manage it jointly.

So if you’ve been following this series, you won’t be surprised to learn that....

Yep, it’s canon.

This post is about two times Geralt and Dandelion are described as sleeping in the same bed, (featuring an implication that this is a common arrangement) and one time when Geralt is mad at Dandelion, so Dandelion sleeps with someone else. (gotta watch your back, Geralt, folks will swoop in on that bard fast) Oh, and the clothes sharing. I’ll do that too.

Scene One. Bed Sharing. Sword of Destiny. So, in this short story, Geralt and Dandelion are staying at a merchant’s home, because Dandelion has been hired to play at a wedding. Geralt has gone to bed first, while Dandelion comes into their shared room a bit later.

The scene begins with a snarky Geralt “feigning” surprise that Dandelion has come back to their room for the night.

“Oho,” the Witcher said, feigning surprise. “So you’re here? I thought you wouldn’t be back tonight.”

Right away, it’s pretty hilarious. Well, look who decided to show up back at home. Look what the cat dragged in. Dandelion hangs up his lute and sits to remove his boots.

“And why,” asked Dandelion, removing his boots, “did you think I wouldn’t be back tonight?”

“I thought,” the Witcher lifted himself up on an elbow, crunching bean straw, “you’d go and sing serenades beneath the window of Miss Veverka, at whom your tongue has been hanging out the whole evening like a pointer at the sight of a bitch.”

LMAO if Geralt doesn’t sound like a jealous wife here. You were drooling over that bitch all night, you dog. Dandelion is unperturbed (as usual).

“Ha, ha,” the bard laughed, “but you’re so oafishly stupid. You didn’t understand anything...move over.” Dandelion collapsed on the palliasse and pulled the blanket off Geralt.

So, to summarize, in response, Dandelion roasts Geralt. Then, he bosses him around, plops down right next to him on the bed, and steals his blanket. That sounds about right.

Next, Dandelion explains his strategy with the women, saying he was just showing Veverka attention to get the interest of someone else. Geralt does not enjoy this.

“Geralt, feeling a strange anger, turned his head towards the tiny window...”

Dandelion notices how pissy he is, so he challenges him.

“Why so huffy?” the poet asked. “Does it bother you that I make advances to girls? Since when? Perhaps you’ve become a druid and taken a vow of chastity? Perhaps...”

So at this point, this chapter sounds literally exactly like a Geraskier fanfic. Now, of course, Geralt is pissy in the narrative because he embarrassed himself with Essi. But it still shows a lot of domesticity and emotional intimacy between the two of them for their friendship, and of course it is rich territory for a shipper. You can take a lot of things from that passage. You can hold that up to the light and take a long hard look at it.

Anyway, next, Dandelion starts to wax philosophical about women. In response, Geralt implies that these arrangements are not unusual.

Geralt groaned softy, as usual, when Dandelion was assailed by nocturnal talkativeness.

So, according to this passage, Geralt is very familiar with Dandelion’s nocturnal habits, which implies they usually sleep together or at least very close to one another.

Now, I’ve established that they sleep in the same bed in this scene, which is the point of this post. However, before I move on to scene two, I’m going to keep going with this one just a little longer, because Geralt continues to sound like a jealous wife and it makes me laugh.

Dandelion continues talking about women and kissing them. He notices Geralt grinding his teeth.

“...why are you grinding your teeth, if I may ask?”

Geralt could easily just say, I’m tired. Shut up. But no. Oh, no. He goes on another rant about what a whore Dandelion is, and folks, he’s got jokes.

“You’re incredibly boring, Dandelion. Nothing but palliasses, girls, bums, tits, incomplete happiness and kisses interrupted by dogs set on you by your lovers’ parents. Why, you clearly can’t behave any differently. Clearly easy lewdness, not to say uncritical promiscuity allows you musicians to compose ballads, write poems, and sing.”

The next part is his lil joke, which makes me laugh. He goes in for the kill.

“That is clearly-write it down-the dark side of your talent.”

Look, Geralt hooks up with women nonstop, so this is just hilarious. It makes him look really bitter like he’s having a tantrum.

Anyway, that whole scene is really rich for their dynamic, and they go on to argue about Geralt’s ‘otherness’ which is one of my favorite Dandelion passages in the books. But I’ll be talking about that in future posts, so I’ll try to stay focused on the ‘sleeps in the same bed’ topic at hand.

Clothes sharing scene one.

In that same short story, Dandelion borrows Geralt’s shirt. He doesn’t ask, he simply informs Geralt of this. Geralt isn't bothered at all. Feels like a routine thing.

“I must go,” Dandelion suddenly said. “I’ve got a rendezvous with Akaretta. Geralt, I’m taking your jerkin, because mine is incredibly filthy and wet.

“Everything here is wet,” Little Eye said sneeringly, nudging the articles of clothing strewn around with the tip of her shoe in disgust....

“It’ll dry off by itself,” Dandelion pulled on Geralt’s damp jacket and examined the silver studs on the sleeve with delight.

p228

I love that Dandelion is delighted with Geralt’s clothes. Geralt cares more about clothes than people give him credit for.

Ok. This second scene is one I haven’t seen people talk about on tumblr.

Bed Sharing Scene Two

In TIme of Contempt (pg 236) Dandelion has successfully made a terrifying journey into Brokilon forest to check on Geralt after Thanned. This scene begins the first morning after his arrival.

Dandelion awoke, and realized he had probably fallen asleep during the story, dropping off in mid-sentence. He shifted and almost rolled off the pile of branches. Geralt was no longer lying alongside him to balance the make-shift bed.

So, the first scene they slept together because the merchant wouldn’t give them two rooms. But there was the implication that they sleep together often. And here in the forest, they sleep together again on a makeshift bed of branches. Presumably, Brokilon is a big enough place for them to sleep on separate makeshift branch beds.

ETA: Also, Dandelion fell asleep mid-sentence, meaning they are, again, talking late into the night sharing a bed.

More sharing of personal items.

So next, Dandelion is catching Geralt up on all the politics post-Thanned. Dandelion refers to the political strife as a ‘game’. Geralt becomes upset.

“Enough,” Geralt said. “Not another word. When I hear the word ‘game’ I feel like killing someone. Oh, give me that razor. I want to have that shave at last.”

His beard has been bothering him. He hates having a beard. Dandelion protests that it’s too dark to shave.

“Now? It’s too dark.”

Geralt replies.

“It’s never too dark for me. I’m a freak.”

I FUCKING LOVE that scene, for so many reasons. First, just like Dandelion grabs Geralt’s blanket and clothes whenever he wants it, Geralt just demands Dandelion’s razor.

But while we're here, I'll also say this about Geralt calling himself a ‘freak’ resentfully. As bad as I feel for Geralt with all of his self worth problems, I love that he is able to just say it out loud without feeling self conscious about it. That shows a lot of trust in Dandelion.

You see, Geralt is actually very emotionally insightful, and he’s almost a century old! He knows he sounds petulant when he gets like that. It’s just like the previous story I was discussing, where he was like ‘Dandelion you’re such a whore and I hate you’ lmao it was so absurd. Geralt knows this. But when he is with his best friend, he can let his moods just hang out. He can just be as emo and bratty as he wants. Dandelion will just lovingly tolerate him and occasionally tell him he’s being a dumbass.

Their friendship is just so comfortable and I know I keep saying domestic, but they really do act like partners. They are both so secure and safe being themselves, (though I think Dandelion couldn’t be anything else if he tried) and it warms my heart.

Ok, here's the third scene.

Geralt yells at Dandelion, who then sleeps with someone else.

This takes place in Baptism of Fire, where Geralt is upset. He is probably more miserable, both emotionally and physically than he has been the entire saga up unto that point. He’s physically wounded, he’s beside himself with worry about Ciri, he’s sleep deprived, and he’s a giant mess. Not shockingly, Dandelion is getting on his last nerve.

Geralt has asked him not to tell people his mission to find Ciri. He wants to do this by himself. But Dandelion thinks they need friends and support, and he trusts Zoltan and his crew right away. (This is a big theme that book. Geralt refuses to let people help him and they bully him into accepting help.) So, Dandelion tells Zoltan the mission against Geralt's wishes. Geralt is livid. He yells at Dandelion. It goes a whole lot like that vine: “I should have left you on that street corner where you were standing. Butcha didn’t.”

Then, they drink a lot of moonshine at Regis’s place, and Dandelion sleeps with Zoltan instead of Geralt.

Zoltan and Dandelion lay in each other’s arms on a pile of mandrake roots, snoring so powerfully that they were making the bundles of herbs hanging on the wall flutter.

p145

Watch out Geralt, Zoltan is Mr. On My Way to Steal Your Bard. He's also crotchety with a heart of gold, so, just Dandelion's type.

Ok, I hope you guys enjoyed this installment of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Fanon. Let me know if you have any requests for further posts.

Past Posts:

Geralt Is Protective of Jaskier(and why he’s so devoted to him)

Jaskier Is Protective of Geralt (Geralt is his specialest boy)

Geralt rescues Jaskier from kidnappers (and slaughters them all)

Geralt doesn't know Jaskier's real name or the fact that he is a Viscount until he learns from a third party in a hilarious way

Geralt can smell lust

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #gerlion #the witcher books #i can't believe it's not fanon #canon or fanon

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spacemonkeysalsa · 1 month

Text

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

or read Chapter Four below the cut

He spied the bride to be and her groom, and wondered if he could get away with neglecting to pay his respects to the host. Surely, the only people who would really mark his entrance were those who wanted to fuck him, or make a deal with him, or do him harm. As far as he knew, the Eltans didn’t number among any of them.

Some of their guests, however... He saw Baron De Cloyo—who had been all three at one point or another. The last time they spoke was when the Baron interrupted his solitude in the middle of the night to complain about Astarion not having murdered Isolde. As though he’d disobeyed a direct order.

Astarion had actually been fascinated by how his investment in the relationship utterly vanished in that moment.

“You know what they say about thine enemy’s enemy,” someone murmured to him, Astarion resisted the urge to tilt his head around and see who it was, waiting instead for the speaker to step around, bow, introduce himself like a civilized person. “Well met,” Baron Horrold eventually fell in line with public decorum and Astarion inclined his head in return.

“You’ll have to remind me,” Astarion knew it would be rude to immediately excuse himself, but Astarion and Horrold had never been officially introduced, so it would also be the kind of thing that could ensure they never did have any productive interaction.

“My take away was always that they present a fine opportunity—something I believe you know how to recognize?”

“Oh, I’ve some experience on the matter, but I do rather enjoy when it’s explained to me,” Astarion lied, but did so smoothly, inviting. Let Horrold show his hand first. There was nothing in particular that Astarion wanted from him, but like any powerful elite in the city, there were always things he could get from him, if he could make the relationship work.

Perhaps Horrold realized his approach had been too eager already, because his cheeks went a little pink. “I just wonder what you did to De Cloyo; seems he dislikes you even more than he dislikes me. Impressive.”

“Oh, I hurt him,” confessed Astarion. “Inadvertently, but there it is,” He caught a waiter and snatched up a glass, draining it more to have something to do than to quench an imaginary thirst. “It wasn’t even about him—but then again, would that make you feel better?”

“No,” Horrold raised an eyebrow at Astarion, expression pensive for a moment, “I’ve never known it to not be about me.”

He sounded so sincere that Astarion had to refrain from releasing a bark of genuine laughter.

Obviously, he wasn’t depressed. If he was, he couldn’t possibly take so much amusement in the Baron’s complete lack of self-awareness.

“Is it still Baron then, or are we back to calling everyone by their family names only and referring to them as patriars? I rather fell asleep during the missive,” Astarion confessed.

“I like Baron,” Horrold smirked, “even if the Duke did want us to go back to the old ways, I think it would stick as a nickname, if nothing else.”

“Yes, true enough. Policies like that can lead some prick to calling himself ‘The Emperor’ and everyone following suit.”

“I suppose,” Horrold seemed rightly baffled by the comment, but recovered quickly by getting back to his own point, “And nothing can displace my family from the pedestal I’ve carved for them in the city elite. Baldur’s Gate needs us.”

“I’m sure,” Astarion was not sure.

“Your place is curious to me. I’d like to know more. I’d like to be involved.” Horrold kept his voice low, which in their present setting actually made him seem more conspicuous.

But Astarion wasn’t entirely put off. He could be a valuable ally. But he needed to be trained. Better to begin things in a more controlled setting. “Why don’t we arrange something later in the week? I don’t believe I’ve had you in my home before, seems a dreadful social oversight on my part.”

“You’re forgiven, and your invitation accepted,” the Baron gave a curt nod. “I’ll see what my man has on the schedule and arrange something with yours.”

“Excellent.” A bit of an exaggeration, but at least the evening was shaping up to be a productive one. Astarion released the Baron back to the party and forced himself to seek out a few others. Menotuous, tedious conversation followed in much the same vein as what had proceeded, and by the time midnight rolled around, he was drained by it all.

This kind of thing used to be relaxing for him. Social gatherings of the more banal type didn’t give him energy the way a more raucous event might, but it hadn’t felt like work since…

Since it hadn’t been his choice.

Was that the problem? Was that what had robbed him of his passion, his appetites?

He could do whatever he wanted now, so why did it feel like he was following directions from some unseen master? Someone very boring who he none-the-less had to take direction from?

The simplest answer was that it was because he was doing quite a lot, and none of it felt like his idea anymore. Maybe it never had been.

At one time, the prospect of finally having the freedom to find out what he wanted had kept him from total, intentional self-destruction. But, at some point, he’d taken it for granted. No one was telling him what to do any longer. He could do whatever he wanted.

And he still didn’t know what that was.

He was just doing what… he used to do, minus a few atrocities and diabolical schemes.

Old habits had him slipping into the seams of the party, finding the quiet, intimate places purposefully structured into the Eltan house to allow for tucking away with someone. Not even to make love just out of sight in a public place—though that had its appeal—but just to have them all to himself for a moment, to hold them and watch them watch him and savor every little interaction. All his.

Even when it was meaningless. Just a bit of fun, or even something more tragic. It was the part when he felt the pain and the pleasure heightened.

Assuming he felt anything.

The Eltans had opened their home to the great and the good of Baldur’s Gate, but that was apparently a broad category of persons because the manor house was overburdened with bodies. It took a hike into the next wing to find any isolation. Someone had clearly planned for and enabled the possibility that some of the guests might wander to find some privacy, because the candelabra were still lit, all the way into the more deserted halls.

The library seemed like a quiet place to find a comfortable lounge. He needed a moment to clear his head before he went back to that place that didn’t feel like home, though he’d lived there for centuries.

What did he want?

When was the last time he was sure he’d done something he really wanted to do? It could be something small, he just needed to think.

Astarion wasn’t the only person who had been looking for a little privacy in the crowded party, however. He entered the softly lit library, only to find it occupied. The couple didn’t notice him come in, right away.

They were propped up on a writing desk that was a little too dainty for their purposes. The woman had her legs dangling on either side of her partner as he seemed to struggle with her bodice between them. They clearly hadn’t quite gotten to the act yet, but at this rate Astarion doubted that they would, and couldn’t help but evaluate the whole scene and find it wanting on a few levels.

Gods, the man was doing it all wrong and the woman did nothing to help. Absolutely no support to any part of her body, she was just sitting there, trapped against the wall behind the desk, pinned in such a way so she couldn’t even use her hands. Then he saw the woman’s eyes over the man’s shoulders.

It was Isolde.

And, she wasn’t exactly fighting her partner off, but it was obvious in the stiff way she held her limbs that she didn’t want to be there.

He waited until she saw him, her gaze widened but she didn’t say anything, just stayed frozen and trapped where she was.

Astarion spared the immediate area a glance and noticed a crystal glass vase on display on its own shelf on the wall. Something to divide the otherwise relentless rows of dusty books. With an undisguised shove, he toppled it to the ground, expecting it to shatter on the polished wood floors.

To his disappointment, the vase bounced, ringing loudly from the impact, but it was fully intact still.

The man pawing at Isolde broke away from her with a yelp and whirled around.

“Gods, how embarrassing,” Astarion swanned along the nearest bookshelf, “had no idea anyone was in here.”

The man was quite good at buttoning up his own trousers quickly, even if his other movements could use some polish. He righted his waistcoat with a tug, but didn’t spare Isolde a look. His face was quite red, but aside from that, didn’t betray the slightest reaction. He eyed Astarion, but whatever judgment he passed on him didn’t reach his lips, instead he simply said, “No one is,” and quit the room.

Melodramatic, even for a patriar.

Astarion watched the man’s back as he slunk into the hallway, then turned to face Isolde, unsure if he’d be met with gratitude or wrath or relief or—

She looked distraught. So much so that it actually stopped him mid stride as he approached her. Isolde righted her skirts, and put her feet back on the ground, but was facing her shoes even as his shade fell on her. He was just about to ask her whatever was the matter, when she recovered.

He blinked and the shame on her face was replaced entirely.

In its place she wore a placid mask. “You’ve saved me again, My Lord.”

“You didn’t appear to be enjoying yourself,” he remarked with what he hoped was a particularly casual version of his most elegant shrug. “I do hope the manner in which I interfered was the right choice for the situation. I suppose I could have offered to educate the poor fool on his technique.”

“It didn’t break,” Isolde indicated the vase, still on the ground where Astarion left it.

“Ah, so it would seem,” Astarion returned to the discarded vase and picked it up, “no harm done, but then again—” he dropped it a second time, this time putting a little force into it. The Vase shattered in a satisfying rain of sparkling crystals that sprinkled across his fine boots. “There. A little wedding present for the Eltans. Nothing better than curiosity, is there? I wonder who they’ll blame?”

Isolde regarded him with eyebrows slightly raised. He thought it looked a little like she was resisting the urge to laugh. Why resist? He found he rather liked making her laugh. “Wicked of you,” she indulged in only a smirk, her attention briefly flitting back to the front of her bodice. She appeared to be wearing the same gray silk gown that she’d had on when he saw her at Wyrm’s rock. It was one of those items designed to be appropriate for day or night, and probably the nicest thing she owned, but all the same, suggested a certain level of neglect that her Lady let Isolde be seen in it twice in such quick succession.

“You seem a touch dour, or is it just the disappointment left by an inadequate lover?”

“I’m elated, honestly,” she said in a voice so unconvincing he half expected her to burst into tears the moment after she said it. “My Lady will be the one disappointed. But I think I can endure it better than I could endure him.”

“Your Lady? What’s it to do with her?”

“She was quite set on rewarding his aid to the family with whatever he wanted, and he wanted me,” she revealed simply.

Astarion felt an old pain, deep in his empty gut.

Her expression changed when she looked at him, like she’d seen something unexpected. She checked her hair with her fingers, trying to tame where he’d kneaded at her carefully coiffed hair, bringing it down in messy curls where it was meant to be pinned back.

“Allow me?” Astarion motioned to her hair, waiting for her to allow him to touch her.

For a moment Isolde looked like she didn’t understand, but then she lowered her hands and nodded, straightening out her neck and leaning in so he could work with what she had left.

Isolde wore a thin band just above her hairline and tucked under the nap of her neck, mostly hidden as she’d braided and pinned the curls into it to create an elegant, gradually elongating fall of dark hair that flowed down the back of her neck. It was loose, which didn’t seem to be the original intent in the work. Astarion tried to find where it was fixed to her scalp, perhaps it simply needed to be tightened.

Being this close to her again caused him to reflect on the night they met, and how she’d clung to him. Her pulse was speeding up again, and he hoped she wasn’t thinking about that. Reflecting on the night one almost died couldn't be much better than reflecting on the night one did die. She didn’t seem upset though, and the way her heart raced didn’t suggest that she was thinking about running for her life, it was the familiar, nearly dancing rhythm of increasing body heat and arousal.

Her face was serene, her breathing even. He liked being close to her, liked feeling how she liked it too, but he didn’t want to find himself mistaken. He shouldn’t assume. Even if she did want him, which he was fairly certain she did, he was too well versed in these matters to dismiss the reality that surely, some part of her was waiting to be rescued from him.

“Hywel won’t bother me again,” she exhaled slowly, but still he didn’t think her nerves were those of someone who wanted him to get as far away from her as possible. “You probably didn’t get a good look at his face when he realized we weren’t alone. He was furious. Like he suddenly remembered how worthless I am and—he’ll deny he ever wanted me. As I said. I’m saved.”

“Worthless?” That gave him a little pause and Astarion sighed. “Oh dear. This probably isn’t the kind of thing I can offer much of a counterpoint for, sweet one.” The band pulling her hair together wasn’t just loose, it was broken. The brute must have snapped it. Astarion realized if he tried to return even one more lock of hair back to its place, the whole thing would probably fall out, so he took a moment to assess the task.

“I’d ask for none,” but she said it with such a heavy sigh that it was clear she had been hoping for some soothing word.

From Astarion, of all possible monsters.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t have the highest regard for the sanctity of any life, nor for the individual.”

“I suppose you couldn’t,” Isolde observed, “that would interfere with…”

“Sustaining my existence by consuming others? Somewhat, yes,” Astarion straightened up and walked around the side of the writing desk, trying to get a better look at the back of her head. “We may need to rethink strategy on this, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh no, is it hopeless?” Isolde started to reach for her hair again, but the smart girl stopped before she made it worse, looking at Astarion out of the corner of her eye. “Help. Please.”

“All is not lost. Give me a moment.” Astarion rested his chin on his hand, taking in the whole image of her. The goal needed to be to find a way to style her hair that looked effortlessly elegant and not like she had just haphazardly attempted to restyle it without a mirror after being amorously groped in a dark library. “Permission to start anew?”

“I knew it. I’m hideous. Do what you must.”

“Oh, yes. Repulsive,” Astarion gave her a lecherous glance that he was quite pleased to see caused her face, neck and chest to all turn bright red. He slipped the tie from her hair and let the last of the curls fall. “Turn your neck. Good girl.”

Half-up would suit her, he just needed to decide on the height and the type of braid and how to plait it.

Surely, Isolde didn’t really hold herself in such poor regard. She was just hoping to inspire some sympathy in him so he would pay her compliments. But then he thought back to that night again, and how she hadn’t fought for herself.

It would have been so easy to despise her for such despair and cowardice. Maybe he ought to.

Giving all the way up on herself like that, what could one expect? If she didn’t care about herself, why should anyone else?

“Worth is often measured in comparisons,” he mused, loosening the braid with deft fingers as he decided it was too tight, better to look soft with the rest of her curly mane. “But. I have seen gods, celestials, inscrutable fey, and devils fall as ignominiously as any poor mortal wretch. In the end, we’re all equally worthwhile, and all equally worthless.”

Isolde already looked better. He was quite good at this.

“Take that for what comfort you can. You have just as much a right to live, and be a nuisance, and take others for your prey as anyone.”

She snorted, and he couldn’t tell for a moment if she was once again denying him the pleasure of hearing her laugh, or trying to hold something else back.

“Apologies,” he smoothed out the fall of her hair, tucked the frame back behind her cute stubby human ears and admired the results. “Not for the hair, that looks incredible. I’m very good. But, I do apologize that nothing I have to say can be of particular comfort. Especially given the fact that I’m a reminder of the worst night of your life.”

She did laugh, finally. A sharp, nearly bitter sound. “My Lord, I testify, that night was not even the tenth worst of my life.” All humor gone, but she did look lovely.

“I’m genuinely distressed to hear it. But you're in good company, at least.”

“For the moment,” he wasn’t sure what sparked the feeling, it might have been the soft smile and evasive blush when she faced him and the way her entire body seemed to relax when their eyes met again. For the first time in a long while, he felt the stirring of hunger. It wasn’t so strong as to compel him to lean in and bite down, but warmth spread up from the pit of him into his jaws and he felt his mouth salivate. It was a pleasant feeling, actually. He used to agonize over the constant hum of hunger. He used to personify it as a second tormentor, but removed from his old fears and weaknesses, it transformed into something different, though no less dangerous.

He didn’t need to feed. His elevated state kept him strong even after long fasts, and spare feasts, but the sweet savor of strong blood was an intoxicating memory that he’d managed to connect with after a few dull years of dissatisfaction. He knew in that moment that if he did bite her, he would finally feel that rush that had eluded him. But, if he went too far, he’d regret it.

For a moment, Isolde regarded him with bemusement, but he saw understanding starting to light her face, and tension returned to her neck and shoulders. “You’re… thinking about killing me again, aren’t you?”

“No,” he insisted, partly honest—he’d only thought about it long enough to confirm that he wouldn’t. “No,” he put a hand on her forearm, letting his thumb caress the inside of her wrist. “No, but I was thinking of asking something rather impertinent.”

“Oh, I adore impertinence.” Isolde pressed into his touch, fingertips finding purchase on one of the fine silver buttons on the front of his waistcoat. Her knees began to part, shuffling the fabric of her dress and making space for him to wade into her touch.

She would have made such a fun spawn. Perhaps she still could.

He grabbed her jaw, more firmly than intended, but she didn’t flinch and he lightened his touch to ghost his fingers down her throat. That throbbing quickened, and he felt it glide to keep pace with his own rhythm. “You entice me. May I?” It wasn’t fair, probably, to wait until his lips were brushing the soft skin just beneath her eyes to ask.

What chance did she have? Indeed, he felt her breath already coming in ragged.

“Just a taste,” he punctuated with a light kiss over her racing artery. “And you can say no. Forget pertinence. the titles, the traditions of the Gate, the fine rooms in old houses. Some day, our Duke, your masters, will be dead as any rat that drowns in the Chionthar and all with burn, and maybe while wandering the fugue plane they’ll realize they made it all up and it was pointless. What matters right now, is what you want, and what I want. So, tell me yes, or tell me no. Do you want to be tasted?”

“Astarion,” she said in a soft gasp, “please.”

“Say that again,” he purred into her throat, letting his teeth brush her flesh.

“Yes. Astarion, please.” Isolde pulled at him, encouraging him to press in more firmly against her, though it already felt like he was falling on top of her.

Astarion pinched the soft skin of her neck between his teeth, but didn’t break through just yet, he could smell the blood, but wouldn't drink yet. He enjoyed the sensation of her shivering anticipation under his breath. He cupped her head, to keep her from collapsing away from him, his other hand finding purchase at the very center of her neckline, gently brushing her flushed and heaving chest.

“Oh, God,” she whispered when he finally bit down. Her grip on him tightened, and he could feel blood and breath coursing through her, into him. The warmth of her spilled into his mouth. She tasted better than he’d imagined, but the yearning lust for her couldn’t be satisfied with a mouthful. He wanted more of her. Her blood, her body, and more of that voice crying his name.

If you take more, you could lose her. Just like you lost everything else. Astarion stopped, but kept his mouth pressed against the seeping marks as she rocked her hips against his, her legs straining to embrace him. The rush of warm blood seemed to flow straight to his cock. A sharper, more desperate gasp ripped from her throat. “Astarion, I—” she covered her mouth, falling to pieces in his arms as thousands had before. He held her close, hands pressing into her back and sliding downwards to her hips, encouraging her to grind into him, a titillating whine escaped her lips.

He forced himself to release her and leaned back. All things considered, the bite was clean and she barely seemed woozy. Instead, Isolde’s eyes were wide, sparkling, she shook her head in disbelief, “I can’t believe—tell me that’s normal, please?” The heat in her face had caused her to break out in glistening sweat in her hairline. “I’m mortified,” she confessed.

“Can’t say I’ve ever made anyone come just from biting them before,” Astarion wiped his mouth, with the blade of his thumb, not wanting to waste a drop. “At least not so enthusiastically. You’re delicious, my dear.”

Mortified accurately described how she looked. He tried not to betray a level of amusement that would embarrass her further, but Gods, it was funny. If she wouldn’t laugh, then he could make her cry out again. The moment of ebb had actually made him harder, and he started to gather her skirt up in his fists, but the look on her face gave him pause.

“Isolde. What’s the matter?” He heard the way concern sounded so sharp in his voice, and took a small breath, trying to tame it, trying to soften the words. “You’re all right.” He let go of her dress, letting it fall, and laid his hands over hers, cautious, and she managed a steady exhale that seemed to calm her. Though she still looked a little lost through her pretty face.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. There’s no need to feel…” what Astarion wanted to say twisted in his throat. He realized he didn’t actually know how she felt. He knew how he used to feel. He knew why he used to feel that way. It was tempting to project onto her, but then he’d probably just end up being wrong. He hated being wrong. “Are you still afraid of me?”

Was that all? Some conflict in her soul? Some distant voice of self preservation telling her to run from the predator?

Gradually she nodded, but then said, “It’s not what you think.”

“Tell me what I think,” he challenged.

“I don’t believe you’ll hurt me,” Isolde started, and the tender way her sparkling black eyes rested on him tugged at some buried moment. “Or, I don’t believe you want to hurt me. Rather… this is all just fun for you, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean anything.”

Well. Fuck. This again. He’d hoped she wasn’t so tender-hearted. It was easy enough to fane a little sincerity to preserve her feelings. He’d done it hundreds of times and had perfected the smile, the gentle delivery of exactly what she wanted to hear; “of course it means something. Of course I care for you. In my way.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, to wear the mask again, even if it was in an attempt to make her feel better.

“No, Isolde. It doesn’t mean anything.” Astarion didn’t know if he was being cruel or kind. He’d always struggled to evaluate such things in the first place. He’d simply landed on the understanding that he didn’t have to lie to her, and he didn’t want to. “At least, it doesn’t mean what you want it to.”

She was looking down at their hands, folded over one another in her lap. Was she more disappointed in him or in herself?

“Precious few people have ever let me feed off them. Most of the time, my diet of strong blood comes from the very unwilling. When I do get the rare chance to share in a moment like that one… I realize it’s a gift, and I am grateful. But. I cannot give you what you want in return. No matter how much I might want to. I’m not sure I’m capable.”

“I know that,” Isolde sounded steady enough but still wouldn’t break her intense study of her own lap and their hands clasped together there. “I do. And, I didn’t expect otherwise. It’s not really a gift otherwise,” she shrugged. “I just… I also didn’t expect to like it so much,” her voice sharpened to a whisper, “and I think for a moment I got a little carried away. Forgive me.”

“You got rather carried away is what happened,” Astarion corrected her with one raised eyebrow, “And I too, liked it much more than I expected.” He didn’t want to let go of her hands just yet, but he did want her to look up at him. He leaned it to tease a kiss, letting the tip of his nose touch her cheek. It worked, and her head shot up, mouth listing for his own, eyes fluttering.

He pulled back, “As I said, you did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to forgive.” In this one way, he didn’t have to be measured, didn’t have to hold onto some part of himself for control. He captured her mouth with his own. His coaxing was effective, in that she seemed to forget her sadness, or maybe she was using it. She reciprocated, eager, sloppy even, she slipped her hands free from his, and her fingers found their way to the back of his neck, working into the hair at the nap of his neck.

She delved deeper with her tongue, her legs tightening around him again. If he let her take control, what would she do? Although there was something decidedly inexperienced about some of her smaller, flailing little movements, he was tempted for a moment to let her guide him, and see where she took them. She broke away with a gasp, short of breath already.

Breath was something he didn’t actually need, which made certain acts so much easier for him. Her eyes were glassy, but alight, the rush of red through her face and chest intensified as she looked at him, seemingly unable to articulate her desire, or her question, or maybe any words at all as she swallowed and took another steadying breath.

He’d have to spare her again, it seemed. She was simply in no condition to be coherent.

Astarion slid to his knees between her spread legs, gathering the silk skirts up to her hips again with her latent, but eventually frantic help. In the low light, he couldn’t see much, but he slid one hand up the inside of her thigh, just ghosting the trembling flesh until his fingers pressed into her. Her underwear was soaked, her cunt throbbing just on the other side. He hooked his fingers through the fabric. She let out a small gasp, her legs instinctively coming together a moment as he pressed into her wet, sensitive clit before beginning to pull the underwear off.

She gasped again, but this one was different—Isolde shot up from the table, pushing her skirts back down, and Astarion released his grip on the underwear he’d managed to work down to the middle of her fat thighs. She was looking past him, eyes wide at the doorway.

This library must be cursed.

Astarion swiveled his head around, and wasn’t terribly surprised to see a pair of young ladies—he didn’t recognize them, but they were dressed fashionably enough that they could easily be the daughters of some patriar families. They looked surprised to see him in a way that suggested, that they did, in fact, know him.

He stole a sideways glance at Isolde, still as red in the face as ever, though the context was suddenly sheepish. Mortified. He remembered her saying just minutes ago.

Their encounter wouldn’t recover from this. He could probably carry on, but Isolde? She’d been caught in a compromising position for the second time in a single night. Maybe she’d had too much to drink. Maybe she was the source of the curse. Maybe, now was a good moment to rethink everything.

He sighed internally and then released it, and approached the women at an angle, blocking his would-be partner from sight, to give Isolde another moment to pull herself together. “My apologies,” he gave a small bow. “Alas, you have indeed thwarted a terrible rake. The poor woman’s virtue remains intact, thanks to your timing.”

He thought he heard something like a laugh coming from Isolde, but he could have been imagining it.

“How scandalous,” one of the girls giggled behind her hand.

“Oh, quite,” Astarion agreed with another drawn out sigh. “But, they’ll be other days and other unoccupied libraries. This one is all yours,” and he gathered up every inch of both of them in a searching look, “For. Whatever it is you need it for. The two of you.”

The two young women gawked up at him, mouths open. “Oh—ah, no,” one of them finally protested, “I was just going to show her a book—”

“Yes. Charming books in here! I assume,” Astarion let out a chuckle. Isolde appeared by his shoulder. Her hair still looked excellent, and she’d gotten cinched up tight rather quickly. He wondered if she’d abandoned her underwear, somehow situated it back into position that quickly—or if the garment was still constricting her thighs right where he’d left it, just a few soft inches below that delicious little wet cunt.

“Excuse us,” he shooed the ladies aside and ushered Isolde through the doorway without a backward glance, though he heard a scoff from one of them. He didn’t bother to wait until they were out of earshot before he said to Isolde, “well, if they weren’t going to fuck before, they should now.”

“You think so?” Isolde cleared her throat. She was still flushed, still obviously quite overwarm and underworked, but he knew better than to think they would get another chance now.

“In my experience, most people just need an opportunity and a suggestion.”

“Oh,” was all Isolde had to say to that.

He checked his buttons with the tips of his fingers but everything was still perfectly in place; Figaro had such an admirable understanding of the need for a waistcoat that hid one’s erection.

It had felt like such a long, wandering path through the Eltan estate’s dark hallways to get here, but as the two of them marched back, it seemed like they were woefully close to the rest of the merriment and the crowd after all. He stopped her, taking her by the arm and bringing them both to a halt before they could come back into the glow of the party, just at the mouth of the last deserted turn of the hall.

Isolde melted into the pressure of his touch, turning back to face him, eyes trailing along his lips back up to his eyes. He wondered if some part of her hoped to be stolen away into another deserted room to finish what they started—or perhaps she’d even submit to him right here.

“I want to take you home, and tie you to the bed, and keep you there to do with as I like,” he traced the backs of his fingers down the side of her face, watching his words shiver through her. “I am not certain Horrold would approve. But there’s easy ways around that. I can be patient. If I send for you, will you come to me?”

“I want to,” Isolde swallowed, something bubbling up in her breathless words. A similar reluctance to what he’d seen in her before. Was she sure she wanted this? Was she frightened? Yes. That was probably it.

“What are you afraid of?” It was something besides what she’d said before, he could tell. The fact that he was just looking for a good time and she was in danger of getting hurt was a risk she was clearly willing to assume, when it came down to it.

“I do not want to be a spawn,” Isolde said firmly.

Astarion let out a single note of a laugh; dismissive and cruel his voice sounded, he felt a slight twisting in his gut. “I know. I remember. You’d rather die. No worries, my dear. I have no intention of trying to change your mind.” A lie. Perhaps, the kind that was so obvious it would barely be called a lie, but still. “And how could I? I saw for myself that your desire to be free outweighed even your desire to live.” Her full, swollen mouth was so close and still so warm and soft from their encounter. He stole one more kiss, brief and teasing under the conditions. “What other desire could possibly be stronger than that?”

Isolde responded with a sharpening stare, and finally a shrug.

Astarion could have laughed at her again, but resisted the urge. “I’ll see you later darling, I’m sure.”

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