Snowflake Challenge #11
Jan. 22nd, 2024 08:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
potentiality_26In your own space, create a fanwork.
Last time I did the Snowflake Challenge, I put out a call for prompts for this one. I think I even answered at least one, but this fic was left almost-finished and never posted. So I've finished it now.
One thing I've been missing about Tumblr was getting writing prompts and just posting the story with the ask, then waiting a week before putting it up on AO3. It would give my followers a kind of preview, and also buy me a week before I had to come up with tags, a summary, a title, etc. I'm trying that here.
Prompt fromstonepicnicking_okapi:
Fandom: Raffles
Pairing/Characters: Bunny Manders/A.J. Raffles
Prompt: Quite right or worse than wrong
Rating: PG
Length: Short (1,097 words)
“Forgive me, Raffles,” I said. “I was wrong.”
“Worse than wrong, my dear Bunny,” my friend replied with rather too much gusto for my liking. “You were gullible.”
I nodded dismally. I had been horribly taken in. I had recently remade the acquaintance of an old schoolmate, from after Raffles’ time. He had not been an especial friend to me in those days, and further time in his company did not convince me that he should become one in the present. It was no particular rudeness on his part — he was, if anything, overly solicitous — only a general unease which I had carried with me regarding him from boyhood. It was no excuse to rob the poor man, except that Raffles had recently brought to my attention that we were in need, and the man in question had so arrayed himself with what Raffles termed ‘masculine jewelry’ that it seemed to me one or two pieces would hardly be missed. Luckily for me, Raffles took the time to inspect these gems when they were introduced at my club and determined they were paste. And so we were safely at the Albany that evening, instead of burgling a man for nothing on my say so.
“It is odd, though,” I said. “Why should he take such trouble to lie to me, after all?” He had lied to me specifically, deliberately, going on about his inheritance, gesturing expansively with ringed fingers, pointing out his jeweled tie pin, flashing his brilliant cuff-links, and making such an elaborate display of himself that I could not but be fooled.
“Why indeed,” Raffles said, as if he knew.
“Do you suppose it was a trap?”
“A trap, Bunny? For us, you mean?” He chuckled. “You are grown suspicious. I shall make a hardened criminal of you yet. No, I don’t believe we need fear any such conspiracy. You may, for your motive, look somewhere closer to home.”
“Where?”
“Bunny. He was trying to impress you.”
“Why?” I asked, but Raffles — stood by the fire before me — had a look on his face that even I found difficult to misunderstand. “Ah.” I sat heavily on the sofa and reexamined my memories of my old schoolmate through the lens of his liking me rather more than I had ever liked him, now and perhaps when we were boys too. I felt no increased warmth, but some pity. Some kinship.
“Ah,” Raffles repeated. Then, after a while, he added, “Well — what do you say, Bunny?”
“I shall have to avoid him now, shan’t I?”
Raffles laughed again, something uneasy in it. “I suppose you had better,” he said, “or he should have to be warned off.”
“Why should he be warned off?” I bristled. I didn’t quite know — for I had never desired the man’s interest, and would put myself on rather dangerous ground with an infinitely dearer soul than he if I allowed it to be thought that I did — except I disliked his tone. If anyone had earned some right to meddle in my affairs it was Raffles, and yet the thought of this meddling put an angry flush to me that I could not conceal from either of us.
“Besides the fact that you never liked him and probably never shall?”
“Yes.”
“Besides the fact that he is a liar and a braggart?”
“Yes.”
“Besides the fact that in the face of several good reasons not to be you are in love with me and, knowing your constancy, unlikely to become otherwise in the near future?”
“Ye— what?” I felt, and sounded, as I suspected I would if he had moved suddenly to toss me out the window.
“Well, Bunny,” he said, strangely difficult to read just then — strangely, because I had never looked at him so carefully nor seen so much on his face, yet still could make nothing of it. “Is that a fact? Or am I too worse than wrong?”
Raffles was right, of course. I am not much of a liar, but I had lied to save his life and mine before and — assuming that after this interlude he would keep me near him — would again. But in this, in that moment, I could not. “No,” I said softly. “No, you’re quite right.”
He turned from me suddenly, busying himself pouring drinks for us both. I had rarely seen him so fitful, or so plainly desperate for something to do with his hands. The sight gave me something like courage.
“But you knew that,” I said.
“I… suspected. I have been uncommonly afraid to put it to the test.” He turned again, smiling tightly, and gave me a glass. I merely held it and watched as he drained his own.
“All right,” I said, finally, when he did not speak again. I discovered an unusual calm in myself. “Why, besides all of those things, should he have to be warned off?”
He went back to the decanter. “Because, for all the good reasons in the world, I love you too. And, constancy aside, I hated to see him try to buy you with paste. And if those jewels had not been paste — had they even been worth the expense of the trip — I should have cheerfully robbed the man blind.”
I examined the line of his back, that calm spreading through me and warming me exceedingly. I fancy I had not felt such peace in years, if indeed I ever had. “Not afraid to be right, then? Afraid to be wrong?”
He nodded. I saw it in his shoulders and his dark head, though he did not look at me. “Afraid to be wrong.”
“Well, then, as I said. You weren’t.” I set my glass down and stood, put a hand between his shoulder blades as I had too often thought of doing. His back was so warm and strong beneath my fingers. “So there is no need to chase him off. Not,” I added, “that I expect to see him again, at all.”
“Ah,” Raffles sighed, and turned. He took my face in both hands. “My Bunny.”
He kissed me. The simple pressure of his lips, so warm, so sweet, so dear, took me out at the knees. Raffles followed me, holding me, to the sofa where I landed and he landed beside me, still kissing me, deep enough that I could taste the drink on his mouth. “Yours,” I told him, when he finally drew back.
Clever fingers smoothed over my forehead and through my hair. “Quite right,” he said, as I had, and kissed me again.
Post your answer to today’s challenge in your own space and leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
Last time I did the Snowflake Challenge, I put out a call for prompts for this one. I think I even answered at least one, but this fic was left almost-finished and never posted. So I've finished it now.
One thing I've been missing about Tumblr was getting writing prompts and just posting the story with the ask, then waiting a week before putting it up on AO3. It would give my followers a kind of preview, and also buy me a week before I had to come up with tags, a summary, a title, etc. I'm trying that here.
Prompt from
stonepicnicking_okapi:Fandom: Raffles
Pairing/Characters: Bunny Manders/A.J. Raffles
Prompt: Quite right or worse than wrong
Rating: PG
Length: Short (1,097 words)
“Forgive me, Raffles,” I said. “I was wrong.”
“Worse than wrong, my dear Bunny,” my friend replied with rather too much gusto for my liking. “You were gullible.”
I nodded dismally. I had been horribly taken in. I had recently remade the acquaintance of an old schoolmate, from after Raffles’ time. He had not been an especial friend to me in those days, and further time in his company did not convince me that he should become one in the present. It was no particular rudeness on his part — he was, if anything, overly solicitous — only a general unease which I had carried with me regarding him from boyhood. It was no excuse to rob the poor man, except that Raffles had recently brought to my attention that we were in need, and the man in question had so arrayed himself with what Raffles termed ‘masculine jewelry’ that it seemed to me one or two pieces would hardly be missed. Luckily for me, Raffles took the time to inspect these gems when they were introduced at my club and determined they were paste. And so we were safely at the Albany that evening, instead of burgling a man for nothing on my say so.
“It is odd, though,” I said. “Why should he take such trouble to lie to me, after all?” He had lied to me specifically, deliberately, going on about his inheritance, gesturing expansively with ringed fingers, pointing out his jeweled tie pin, flashing his brilliant cuff-links, and making such an elaborate display of himself that I could not but be fooled.
“Why indeed,” Raffles said, as if he knew.
“Do you suppose it was a trap?”
“A trap, Bunny? For us, you mean?” He chuckled. “You are grown suspicious. I shall make a hardened criminal of you yet. No, I don’t believe we need fear any such conspiracy. You may, for your motive, look somewhere closer to home.”
“Where?”
“Bunny. He was trying to impress you.”
“Why?” I asked, but Raffles — stood by the fire before me — had a look on his face that even I found difficult to misunderstand. “Ah.” I sat heavily on the sofa and reexamined my memories of my old schoolmate through the lens of his liking me rather more than I had ever liked him, now and perhaps when we were boys too. I felt no increased warmth, but some pity. Some kinship.
“Ah,” Raffles repeated. Then, after a while, he added, “Well — what do you say, Bunny?”
“I shall have to avoid him now, shan’t I?”
Raffles laughed again, something uneasy in it. “I suppose you had better,” he said, “or he should have to be warned off.”
“Why should he be warned off?” I bristled. I didn’t quite know — for I had never desired the man’s interest, and would put myself on rather dangerous ground with an infinitely dearer soul than he if I allowed it to be thought that I did — except I disliked his tone. If anyone had earned some right to meddle in my affairs it was Raffles, and yet the thought of this meddling put an angry flush to me that I could not conceal from either of us.
“Besides the fact that you never liked him and probably never shall?”
“Yes.”
“Besides the fact that he is a liar and a braggart?”
“Yes.”
“Besides the fact that in the face of several good reasons not to be you are in love with me and, knowing your constancy, unlikely to become otherwise in the near future?”
“Ye— what?” I felt, and sounded, as I suspected I would if he had moved suddenly to toss me out the window.
“Well, Bunny,” he said, strangely difficult to read just then — strangely, because I had never looked at him so carefully nor seen so much on his face, yet still could make nothing of it. “Is that a fact? Or am I too worse than wrong?”
Raffles was right, of course. I am not much of a liar, but I had lied to save his life and mine before and — assuming that after this interlude he would keep me near him — would again. But in this, in that moment, I could not. “No,” I said softly. “No, you’re quite right.”
He turned from me suddenly, busying himself pouring drinks for us both. I had rarely seen him so fitful, or so plainly desperate for something to do with his hands. The sight gave me something like courage.
“But you knew that,” I said.
“I… suspected. I have been uncommonly afraid to put it to the test.” He turned again, smiling tightly, and gave me a glass. I merely held it and watched as he drained his own.
“All right,” I said, finally, when he did not speak again. I discovered an unusual calm in myself. “Why, besides all of those things, should he have to be warned off?”
He went back to the decanter. “Because, for all the good reasons in the world, I love you too. And, constancy aside, I hated to see him try to buy you with paste. And if those jewels had not been paste — had they even been worth the expense of the trip — I should have cheerfully robbed the man blind.”
I examined the line of his back, that calm spreading through me and warming me exceedingly. I fancy I had not felt such peace in years, if indeed I ever had. “Not afraid to be right, then? Afraid to be wrong?”
He nodded. I saw it in his shoulders and his dark head, though he did not look at me. “Afraid to be wrong.”
“Well, then, as I said. You weren’t.” I set my glass down and stood, put a hand between his shoulder blades as I had too often thought of doing. His back was so warm and strong beneath my fingers. “So there is no need to chase him off. Not,” I added, “that I expect to see him again, at all.”
“Ah,” Raffles sighed, and turned. He took my face in both hands. “My Bunny.”
He kissed me. The simple pressure of his lips, so warm, so sweet, so dear, took me out at the knees. Raffles followed me, holding me, to the sofa where I landed and he landed beside me, still kissing me, deep enough that I could taste the drink on his mouth. “Yours,” I told him, when he finally drew back.
Clever fingers smoothed over my forehead and through my hair. “Quite right,” he said, as I had, and kissed me again.
Post your answer to today’s challenge in your own space and leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
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