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woodsdyke · 5 months ago

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hi. forgot i posted this on ao3 so here it is cross-posted (u can read it there or below the cut).

She spends the quiet, calm mornings on the trail, untangling the messy web of her thoughts like she’s repairing a barbwire fence. It bites and draws blood like a cornered animal, holds fast and stubborn as you try to force it to behave, like you ever had a chance, like it would ever stop fighting.

She thinks about the town in North Dakota that disappeared overnight more than she probably should. She thinks about a herd of deer she’d seen up in the mountains last week, eyes shining pink in the dark, too many pinpricks of light against the flickering red and orange of her campfire.

She thinks about the man with his face on fire, standing in a prairie burn scar and looking at her with eyes long melted out of his skull like wax down the side of a candle.

It’s been a few years since she decided to leave Illinois for good. The city was never for her, the streets of Chicago too narrow, constricting, the factories and warehouses taking over the fields and forests like a sickness that can’t be treated nor cured. At first, she kept coming back, took trips west and north until the trail brought her back one way or another. She fell in love with Montana, quiet, rolling fields and sharp, jagged peaks on the horizon. Rushing rivers the wild horses drank from when she sat really quiet on the bank in the early hours of the morning.

She used to head back to rest up, catch up with the few folks in town she found herself missing, and then she was off again. After her parents die, heading home doesn’t feel important anymore, like the obligation to do so died with them. It’s not like she and her brother ever saw eye-to-eye, and even now, Arden meets the city halfway like an old friend, arms outstretched, while Dani turns and runs from it like a rabbit chased by a pack of dogs with fresh blood on their tongues.

So, one day she leaves and knows she’ll never be back.

A pristine estate in the suburbs of Chicago isn’t home – never was, when she stops to think about it, stop seeing home as the place you grew up rather than the places and the people you love. Home is the mountains, the prairies, the red sand and hot sun and those big sandstone arches in the Utah desert that cast long, strange shadows. Home is a little farm in the woods in western Colorado that she’ll make it back to if it’s the last thing she does, come hell or high water.

---

She stands in her camp at the edge of a stream and watches the sunrise turn the Wyoming peaks a split of orange and muted purple, the line slowly descending as the sun climbs higher into the dusky sky. It’s a sort of beauty that can’t be described, only experienced.

A deep sense of grief soaks into her bones like melting frost. It’s an ache that spreads out from a central point like a barely healed burn or a puncture wound. She feels it in her chest and behind her eyes like those first few moments waking up from an accidental nap. It’s always there, at the back of her mind, unobtrusive, like that little twinge in her hip she’s had as long as she can remember, right up until it isn’t.

Maybe it’s always been there, but now she’s let it loose.

She’s not sure what she’s grieving. She hasn’t put in the time to think about it much.

But she lets herself feel it, something she’s never done before. She lets it pull her down with its weight, because she’s always needed something to ground her. Any port in a storm.

---

Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, she looks up at the stars and thinks about graves in the woods.

Maybe she buried her grief and it dug its way out. Maybe that’s what happens when you ignore things and hope they go away. They go bitter, like a cup of tea steeped too long, like the crab apples left under trees, their sickly-sweet scent of rot hanging in the air –

- Like the tongue of a woman who hasn’t gotten the peace promised to her, since it might as well have bled to death on that expensive carpet, too.

There’s an empty hole in the dirt somewhere in the woods that she can’t stop thinking about and maybe that’s a sign that she knows she should be in it. People die and they stay dead and here she is, grappling with the weight of survivors’ guilt when she didn’t even have the decency to survive.

She tosses some more logs on the fire and watches as sparks spiral away overhead into the inky dark sky.

If nothing else, she’s a dead woman who can still feel the warmth of a campfire. She’s a dead woman who still has that twinge in her hip, still has a few wayward streaks of gray in her hair and the first stages of arthritis in her hands that she only feels on a crisp winter morning. She’s a dead woman who got that boot hill burial she always joked about, shook the dirt from her shoes, then clawed her way out of the grave and kept walking.

---

Dani remembers the voice in the woods, that day. It had sounded so sad.

Oh, little witch, what have you done? it had said, in a tone that seemed to pull her into a soft embrace, as Dani took off her ruined coat and held it in trembling hands, dried blood and dirt caked under her fingernails, seeped into her skin like cigarette stains,

this was supposed to be your final resting place.

#forest writes #original fiction #oc: dani lovelace

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isaacapatow · 1 year ago

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ISAAC "IKE" APATOW | COUNCIL MEMBER Age: 58 Born & Raised: North Washington State Hometown when virus was released: Brooklyn, NY Town Job: Supply Scouting & Procurement (raiding. It's raiding) Previous job: GM at a recovery step-down

~ || ~

Ike grew up with trouble, only he didn't know it; in the tiny unincorporated settlement of Ark, isolated in the woods of the Pacific Northwest, it took till he turned twenty to realize that the rest of the country didn't live that way. Not in a place with a total of eight families who intermarried and believed they were descendants of the Apostle Matthias, who lived strictly off the land, who revered the Holy Bible but were only allowed a curated collection of the Relevant Words.

Some things happened, the sorts of secret and terrible things that isolated religious cults are built on, and Ike found he didn't have the stomach for what he was intended to be to his clan and the community. He struck out from Ark -- alone and in secret, and hitched his way across the country to get as far as he could. It wasn't an easy transition. The world rushed in fast and he wasn't used to independent autonomy, and first liquor and then drugs helped with that, and the whole time, sex. The best and fastest way to make things make sense or get what he needed, except it never resolved into anything more even when he thought he could handle a relationship. He probably had kids. He didn't know how many, or where they were. A lot was lost, those years on the street or in dingy SRO housing.

But he turned it around and got gainful employment at the Good Apple halfway house in Brooklyn he passed through a few times on detox step-down, managing to make it all the way up to general manager. Still no luck on the lasting relationship front, but Ike didn't sweat it. He never lacked for companionship if he wanted it, and the folks in his charge kept him busy.

When the virus hit, the marginalized population that Ike lived and worked with saw its effects hard -- and got blamed for it, of course. He almost felt vindicated when it spread and upstanding outstanding folks kakked it too, without the sin of a needle in their arms or fucking for money. But then it kept on spreading, and people started dying in droves. And then coming back. Ike took stock of what he had in Brooklyn to stay for, and he decided, one more time, to get out.

Alone, again; only this time he didn't only have to navigate a strange and dangerous world, but he was actively having to not be killed. Ike was capable of plenty, and he knew it, but the trek out to West Virginia gave him experiences and knowledge of himself that he'd never wanted. Had buried since the days in the Ark.

Eventually, wrung-through and on his last thread of stamina, Ike fell in with a gang of scavengers calling themselves the Reavers who had a plan. Some huge farming compound headed by a bunch of suckers who didn't know what a good thing they had. It seemed plausible and Ike didn't protest ... until they got to Redwood. And they were given shelter, and he looked around him and saw one of the few lingering bastions of human community and cooperation. The Reavers launched their attack and Ike didn't stand with them. He fought on the side of Redwood.

Rebuilding wasn't a time for suspicions, especially since Ike had got good and bloodied during that battle, and he pitched in with a sense of relief. All the ugly, rank things he'd done between Mid- and Redwood, he hammered them away and kept them locked down tight. A Council member of Redwood couldn't waste time regretting the survival that brought him to this place. There was too much living to do.

[ additional info ]

~ || ~

#tfh.intro #written by: maggie

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renoxvated · 8 months ago

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name: Roy Novac Sullivan

nickname: Sully, Courier, Courier Six, Six (for friends & partners only) are the most commonly used nice nicknames.

relationship status: Single. (but good luck getting him 2 mingle)

gender: Cisgender Male

romantic orientation: Bisexual (although he kind of fears sexual intimacy to a degree but he definitely has them urges) He leans towards men over women but still likes women plenty and is more verbal about that. He often doesn’t talk about his attraction to men but mostly because he tries to have this sort of social construct macho-ness about him.

preferred pet names: Baby (this one is a lowkey favorite and he would DIE before admitting it because he's not a BABY!!!! but it makes him MELT) also Six feels weirdly intimate because most just call him Courier Six if they use the term and few folks know him by the distinction of Courier Six, as most would just say Courier or The Courier even, so it being shorthand for that just seems like a nickname of an already less used nickname.

opinion on true love: Roy has never felt it from a person, never had people to watch that have either, so to him it’s a foreign concept. That was until he walked into Freeside for the first time, until he passed through The Strip— until he watched a Mojave sunset with his best pals shooting shit off in the distance. Until he actually had something other than his life worth losing and until he lost that and found it all again and again

Until he cradled a dying dog back to life who’d already lived more lives than he’d ever had. Until he pulled the bottle away from a woman who was drowning in it. Until he gave a man revenge before his own and tried to fix those broken little pieces after it was all said and done. Until he found a friend in an old ghoul who he had helped find life and worth in those old bones again.

Until he found family in a super mutant that lost herself, but found him and that was enough for her. Until he fixed up a little robot that became his reason to trust them all together... so many more folks he’d met and so many more he’d still see.

The Courier believes in true love in a different sense because his heart belongs to The Mojave, to New Vegas, to its people— first and foremost. Roy would die for them but more importantly he would live for them too, that’s what true love was, right?

opinion on love at first sight: He doesn’t think it’s real, thinks it’s mumbo jumbo right up there with the Mothman, because how would you know if you loved anyone that fast? His parents couldn’t love him at first sight so how’s a stranger gonna? He does however believe in lust at first sight, thinks that’s kinda obviously a thing some folks just have with one another even if they don’t admit it.

how ‘romantic’ are they?: He’s surprisingly very romantic, mostly because he’s pretty observant when his shuts his mouth. He’ll remember the little things and his love language is both acts of service and gift giving. He isn’t much for being very verbally vocal but he’ll bring his partner little things that remind him of them all the time and he’s always willing to do things for them. The latter to an arguably unhealthy degree.

ideal physical traits: someone who can hold their own in a fight but it’s not like a deal breaker or anything just a turn on.

ideal personality traits: He likes people who take action in some way, he doesn't like people who sit on the sidelines if they can help someone. It doesn't have to be in a fight, Roy respects all sorts of ways people can show kindness. He's pretty easily swayed to those who do the bare minimum of being a decent human being, if we're being honest, so it wouldn't take a lot to impress him with a halfway decent personality.

unattractive physical traits: None, Roy thinks he looks ugly regardless of that being true so he’d NEVER judge someone else by looks.

unattractive personality traits: He HATES when people treat him like he’s stupid, or make him feel like a child. He doesn’t like being talked down to, like he’s less than because of where he comes from and how he was raised.

ideal date: Roy is a VERY simple man, he’ll go anywhere and do anything with his partner and be perfectly fine. He might make comments if it’s something classy, because he’s far from a classy guy, but he’s still happy to trot alongside his partner. His ideal date is usually whatever they want to do, that being said if he’s picking for serious, he’s a let’s take the robots (dog and eyebot variety) out for a walk and get into fist fights with raiders sorta guy.

do they have a type?: He does, although he’s unaware of what that type is. When it comes to both men and women, he likes people who know what they’re doing and can take control.

Often Roy’s violent tendencies and crude nature come from him wanting to be the one with power, be that to keep others away or make him feel stronger like he can’t be hurt emotionally, due to the lack of control he never had as a child. He needs someone that can rein him in and ground him, by making him feel secure in his place in his partner's life. So basically his type is someone who can be assertive.

average relationship length: N/A

preferred non-sexual intimacy: Head scratches, face touching, eye contact, telling him he did a good job at things. Roy is very needy when it comes to romantic intimacy, non sexual or otherwise. He likes to feel like he’s wanted and needed (which unfortunately makes him easy to manipulate in some ways despite his usual bark about personal freedoms).

commitment level: Monogamous. He is very loyal, to a fault. It’s probably one of his biggest character traits, that is if he cares about you. He doesn’t have a problem with other folks and lack of Monogamy but he’s very keen on it.

opinion of public affection: He will do it to get a rise out of people once he’s comfortable in the relationship but at first he’s very much lowkey nervous about it, mostly because he’s scared of any physical intimacy at all.

past relationships?: None, Roy has never been with anyone. He almost got with a ‘lady of the night’ once when he was younger but he fumbled the bag from getting flustered by being touched and not knowing what he was doing so he left and never tried anything else since then.

writers note: also i feel like i should mention that while roy has never been with anyone romantically or sexually and prefers people who can take charge. that doesn’t necessarily mean sexually and means more romantically and as a person. he's pretty hard to pin down into a relationship over all because he doesn't like to verbally express romantic attraction or attachment, and to be honest would have a hard time believing anyone actually like him like that. roy would probably be a pretty dominant person (although he’s very versatile to his partners needs and will step down on that trait of his just not without some shit talking probably) once he knew what he was doin’ because that’s just how he is if (u feel me) and man’s got a strength of ten he gonna HOIST his partner up if they want it lmao okay anyway back 2 ur scheduled programming.

TAGGED BY: general tag everyone.

TAGGING: whoever wants to!

#re: do you know what you bargained for yet ; memes #re: how cruel is the golden rule ; headcanons

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stillsolo · 2 months ago

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𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙴 , 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙴. 𝙸𝚃 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽’𝚃 𝙺𝙽𝙾��. good. a promising sign, serving as yet another indication his reputation on coruscant wasn’t as notorious as he’d initially assumed. not that han had done anything particularly worthy of incarceration recently. well, nothing too serious by his standards, anyway.

of course, giving someone the runaround was child’s play for a guy like him, irrespective of who they were or the factions they belonged to. however, not everything worked the same way in the deep core. the speed at which word traveled across the outer rim was as inconsistent as it was unpredictable. in the core worlds, information zipped through societies at breakneck speeds, its timing dictated entirely by those with enough credits to grease the wheels of delivery… on second thought, it didn’t hurt to keep watching his step.

❝yeah, i’ve got one.❞ the hint of pride creeping into his voice was involuntary. ❝his name’s chewbacca. you’ve probably seen ’em around.❞ or maybe not. han had noted early on that turner frequented club kasakar sporadically, usually for a drink or two on alternate evenings, sometimes skipping out altogether, and the club hadn’t become han’s preferred spot for scouting potential clients until after chewie decided to return to kashyyyk for a while. timing, as always, was everything.

❝big hairy guy, doesn’t say much—unless, y’know, you speak shyriiwook.❞ the captain pulled up one shoulder in a half-shrug, doubling as an acknowledgment of the ever dwindling subset of folks who could communicate with a wookiee these days. the sad, grim truth was that since the republic’s sudden collapse, wookiees had become a rarer sight. the empire had gone full genocidal with kashyyyk—enslaving the wookiees, bombarding the hell out of the major cities, then hunting down whatever stragglers attempting to escape as though they were nothing more than seasonal game. ❝one helluva pilot and engineer. he’ll fix just about anythin’ you throw at him ’n teach ya a thing ’r two about life while he’s at it,❞ han added, blowing out an amused snort that bespoke of personal experience.

when the processor buzzed—more like rattled—with a series of violent sputters that sounded halfway between “done” and “about to explode,” han slapped it motionless, then reached for one of the bowls, ladling out steaming hot xachibik stew: thick chunks of meat, some kashyyykian herbs packing serious heat, and spices that hit the spot and lingered, especially after too many days trapped in the frigid, sterile void of hyperspace. best yet, unlike most kashyyykian cuisine, it didn’t come with the usual risk of melting a human’s internal organs. han cast a sidelong glance at turner, sizing him up. he looked like the type who could take a spicy kick to the face without batting an eyelash… then again, pretty faces were often the most deceptive.

❝hope you’ve got a tolerance for hot stuff. chewbacca made this batch,❞ han said as they settled into the cramped galley table, steaming bowls and mugs between them, and didn’t wait for a response before tucking into his bowl. ❝so, what’s a guy like you plannin’ to do all the way out on sriluur? got family out there or somethin’?❞ turner certainly spoke like an outer rim native; his faint accent was a dead giveaway. but he didn’t carry himself like a native. not by a long shot.

Clutching onto his supplies and bag, he went over to a bunk and settled to the one furthest from the cockpit and the main entrance. One could never be too safe. Anakin was always cautious and so was Jaxxson. They both had to be. Seven hours was more than he needed to relax before he was back at his homestead and among the familiarity of the heat of the suns. It was hot enough to make anyone go crazy after a while. Skywalker had taken comfort in the memory of Tatooine. Something he never thought he would ever do again. The memory of his mother and coming home to her was always on his mind. Everything then was simple. He had not been an outcast as much as he was now.

He had heard of Solo's reputation before he approached him. Which was exactly why he had come to the bar to search him out. He knew if anyone could get past the Empire it was him.

Sriluur had been a logical choice for him when on the run with younglings in his presence. He had to protect them first and foremost. Now the last of the younglings had left and he was alone. Alone with the thoughts that swore to drive him completely mad. Padme's memory crept to him sometimes. How she died so bravery that day when the Empire came crashing down on everyone. His friends were all but gone. Obi Wan was a distant memory like her.

Getting his clothes together in his pack, he left his belongings there and settled for the scavenger clothes that he wore on Sriluur so he could blend in more easier than the wear he had for Coruscant. Stepping in the refresher, he undressed and toss his clothes to the side, but carefully put his saber he kept hidden on his being aside. He would clean them later. Allowing the water to wash off the dirt and grime, he placed a hand on the shower wall. The heat from the water was enough to relax his muscles that were ever tight from being vigilant this whole time. Once he was cleaned, he dressed, then put his saber in its hiding place and stepped out.

"No, I haven't." He lied as he put his other clothes in his bag quickly. Truth was he had visited the planet where the stew was famous and had it fresh. It was fairly tasty to him and was way better than his dried bread and ration packs he normally had. Saying yes would be dangerous. As a Jedi he had been all over the galaxy. As Jaxxson, he had only been to his home planet and now Coruscant.

"You have a co pilot?" He glanced over his shoulder and then turned to him. Raising a brow, he wasn't certain of another. Han was alone. So where was his partner? That left a question for him as he moved to go to the table to sit and as he did, moving the poncho out of his way, a gesture he couldn't break from him wearing robes as a Jedi.

#forcenexus #˒ *｡:･ 001 : ( v : main ) *･ﾟ✧ ⎸ 𝙶𝙾 𝙰𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳‚ 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙼𝙴.#˒ *｡:･ 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁’𝚂 𝚂𝙴𝚃 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙽 𝚃𝙾 — *･ﾟ✧ ⎸ ( queue )

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labarch · 4 years ago

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Witch Hats and Prejudice Part II

<-- Part I

Olruggio, my love, my man, I’m sorry your proposal to Qifrey in chapter 40 didn’t go as you hoped, let’s sit down and discuss your workaholism, temper issues and saviour complex, yes? Yes. It’s couple therapy time at last, we’ll have a look at Qifrey and Olruggio’s relationship and at chapter 40 in particular through the following points:

-Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

-Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

-Help as a collaboration between equals (spoiler: they haven’t made it to that stage yet)

-What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

The conversation in chapter 40 is never framed as a happy reunion. If we reuse the analysis of the panels from Coco and Qifrey’s conversation I made in my previous post, we find the same markers of unease between Olruggio and Qifrey. Most of the panels are narrow, and get darker and darker as night falls. Qifrey and Olruggio rarely share a panel, and even when they do, they rarely make direct eye contact: Qifrey looks down, or Olruggio walks away from him, or they are curled in on themselves or standing on a slope at different eye level. For a while Qifrey is up in the air and mostly talking to himself. Oh yeah, and there’s a hat that gets in the way at some point.

It gives the sense that they are having two separate conversations, and that they never truly achieve the connection that we saw between Qifrey and Coco. On top of that, while the conversation is supposed to be about comforting Qifrey and earning his trust, Olruggio never manages to get a smile out of him, except for wobbly, miserable little grimaces. So what’s going through both of their heads, and why are they failing to meet halfway?

The chapter has an outward pull to it. The scene takes place on a slope that leads away from the atelier. The chapter opens with a herd of dragons flying away and into the night. Then Qifrey takes flight to look into the distance, while giving a very contradictory speech about how fulfilling yet dull his life is here, how happy yet trapped in an illusion he feels. He has to hold on to his cape as it flaps in the wind. It brings those dragons back to mind, like they are a metaphor for the side of him that wishes to escape. Qifrey’s migration season is just starting folks, it’s a confusing time for him okay.

In contrast to Qifrey looking ahead into a dark wilderness, Olruggio in this chapter is almost always looking back. He walks away from Qifrey to talk to him over his shoulder, or he looks back towards the atelier. In the only scene where he faces Qifrey full-on, the past is so present on his mind that he de-ages them both. It’s interesting, because it adds a caveat to his pledge of listening to everything Qifrey has to say: he is not so much trying to adapt to Qifrey’s new situation as he is trying to bring them back to the childhood stage of their friendship, when they were always together and kept no secret.

This whole looking ahead / looking back dichotomy brings me back to the mentality of the Great Hall, a society obsessed with keeping itself in an insulated bubble, wrapping itself in good intentions and noble ideals, and ignoring its own inner darkness and complexity. Qifrey, because of his inability to be content and stay in place, threatens that delicate balance. That sends the other witches around him into such a state of panic and outrage that even those who genuinely love him end up lashing out at him with uncharacteristic brutality.

Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

I have described in my previous post how vicious and oddly personal Beldaruit got in his attacks against Qifrey in chapter 36, but you can make the same case for Olruggio, especially since the two scenes run in parallel. There is something excessive about the violence with which Olruggio confronts his friend. For one, he is choosing a hell of a time to do it: the girls are safe, there is no urgency to press Qifrey for answers right this instant – except if he is hoping to shock Qifrey into honesty while he’s disoriented. Qifrey has just woken up from a three-day coma; he is half-naked in a place Olruggio knows worsens his nightmares; his scar is exposed; he is half-blind because Olruggio has taken his glasses; Olruggio is literally an angry dark blob looming over him. I’ve often heard it say that Qifrey is manipulative towards Olruggio, but in return Olruggio isn’t above using intimidation tactics against him, consciously or not.

There is also the staggering lack of empathy of the approach: what started this whole thing is that Olruggio learnt about Qifrey’s impending blindness. And his knee-jerk reaction was to attack Qifrey about it. Like, um, my dude, your friend almost died, he is going to go blind and lose his job, you wanna try being sensitive about it? (Note that Qifrey running after the Brimhats didn’t trouble Olruggio that much at first: after his interview with the Knights Moralis he is mainly concerned with “getting his story straight with Qifrey”; it’s only later on, when we see him staring at the glasses he’s just repaired, that he starts voicing his doubts about Qifrey’s intentions). He may be right to suspect that Qifrey is hiding things from him, but there’s a pretty big leap between “you are keeping secrets” and “you are wilfully using your own child as bait”.

This whole suspicious climate, that makes Olruggio jump straight to the ugliest conclusion possible, is once again a feature of the Great Hall mentality. The mind of a person who has been in contact with forbidden magic is forever corrupt, and his actions are forever suspect. Had Qifrey been anyone else, he would probably have been given the benefit of the doubt for losing track of his students while he was, you know, extremely concussed and suffering from blood loss. Interestingly, Olruggio’s concern – whether, when faced with a chance to go after the Brimhats, Qifrey would choose his quest over his students’ safety – is addressed as early as chapter 22: after an instinctive movement to rush into danger, Qifrey pulls himself back and takes measures to keep Coco and Tetia safe, and even plans to call Olruggio and the Knights Moralis as reinforcements to help rescue the others. Then he gets hit in the head by a giant snake golem, and the rest is history.

In general, Beldaruit’s and Olruggio’s accusations that Qifrey is using Coco as bait without caring for her wellbeing just don’t hold up. First, all the attacks by the Brimhats so far have occurred in completely mundane, teaching-related settings with other adults present (at the stationary shop, or during an exam), so pushing blame onto Qifrey clearly comes from prejudice rather than evidence. Second, if Qifrey’s sole aim was to get clues on the Brimhats, he would pressure Coco into taking the Librarian test as early as possible, but we keep seeing the opposite: he encourages her to take breaks and to enjoy her training rather than be laser-focused on her goals. Hilariously, out of the two tests Coco passed so far, Qifrey gave his approval for none, thinking it was too early for her (extra-hilariously, Beldaruit is the one who speed-ran Coco through her second test). I’m just saying, if Olruggio hasn’t noticed any of this and can’t take it in consideration before bringing out the accusations and threats, maybe he’s not doing that good a job as a Watchful Eye.

Another thing about this climate of suspicion, added to the power imbalance between Qifrey and Olruggio, is that it prevents them from having a healthy fight. Olruggio invokes his duties as Watchful Eye to berate Qifrey whenever he steps out of line, but when Olruggio lets his temper carry him too far and misuses his own power (when he drags Coco out to the Knights Moralis even though she had already been officially accepted as an apprentice in volume 2, or when he accuses Qifrey of using Coco as bait in volume 7 without proof), Qifrey never criticises him for doing so. It’s not that he is shy about speaking up to power – he is more than happy to yell at Beldaruit and Easthies when they mistreat his students. But when it comes to Olruggio, Qifrey is compelled to shoulder as much blame as he can, and seems almost afraid of saying anything negative to him.

It would have been justified for Qifrey to start chapter 40 by getting mad at Olruggio for his earlier accusations: Olruggio had been insensitive, unhelpful and completely out of line. But instead Qifrey pretty much encourages Olruggio to attack him again: from his “I thought you might be mad at me” to frantically denying that Olruggio might have ever done anything wrong. In return, there is something defensive in Olruggio’s delivery during the “I’m angry that I wasn’t someone you could trust” segment: he walks away from Qifrey as he gives the non-apology, and it comes out sandwiched between criticisms of Qifrey for being reckless and a long speech of Olruggio praising himself, and how everything would be alright if only Qifrey behaved himself and relied on him more. It’s an issue that this old distribution of roles is so well-entrenched between them, with Olruggio as the golden student and Qifrey as the eternal problem child.

Qifrey’s exaggerated gentleness and praise towards Olruggio participates in the feeling of wrongness that weighs on chapter 40. The memory erasure scene is framed like a kiss, and Qifrey keeps complimenting him even after sending him into an unnatural sleep. It would come across as condescending and manipulative, except for how fervently Qifrey seems to want to believe that Olruggio is perfect, and that any dysfunction in their relationship has to come from him.

Qifrey, focused as he is on his own dark secrets, is utterly unwilling to see any darkness in Olruggio. It makes sense when you consider that Qifrey has also been absorbing the prejudices of the Great Hall: he thinks very little of himself, and has probably been looking up to Olruggio as a moral compass ever since Olruggio took him under his wing as a child. He must also comfort himself with the thought that, when/if his quest drags him away from the atelier, Olruggio will be a perfect teacher for the girls. Having to come to terms with Olruggio’s flaws must be terrifying to him. But what about Olruggio’s perspective in all this?

Olruggio is an example of how even those who materially benefit from an elitist, close-minded society are damaged by it in some way. He grew up in the Great Hall as a bright-eyed, idealistic genius, and even as an adult he clings to the principles of that society like a mantra: “bring the blessings of magic to the people”. He is successful and respected by his peers, popular with the nobles and well-liked among the commoners. Yet somewhere along the way he became a ragged, workaholic hermit.

I have mentioned in previous posts that I suspect Olruggio of grappling with his own, deep-seated fear of being unwanted and left behind. He betrays that fear in the way he is attacking Qifrey: his concerns about Qifrey’s treatment of Coco aren’t based on evidence, and underneath that veneer he is mostly complaining that Qifrey is neglecting him. “Be straight with me”, “Don’t lie to me”, “You wouldn’t even tell me about it”, “You took her as a student without a word to me first”. There again, Olruggio is being a bit hazy on how far his influence goes as Watchful Eye: from what we know, Watchful Eyes are meant to ensure that students don’t get mistreated, but they don’t get a say in who teaches whom: it’s the disciples who choose their masters. Olruggio grumbling about Qifrey adopting more and more children behind his back is cute when we treat them as a couple. But from the perspective of their professional relationship, Olruggio is claiming the right to veto Qifrey’s students and take them away from him without any evidence of abuse.

The problem is that Olruggio is very bad at expressing his feelings without using his job, and therefore his authority, as a crutch. It’s endearing when he uses it to explain away his gifts to the girls (“I just want them to test a prototype”) or his marks of affection and care (“Drying your hair so you don’t catch a cold is part of my duties as Watchful Eye!”). However, it adds a layer of threat to his arguments with Qifrey, because he is constantly dangling that authority over his head, even when he is urging Qifrey to trust him. In his more agitated moments, it turns into a one-man good-cop / bad-cop performance (“Step out of line and I’ll report you” / “Why won’t you confide in me? I’m your best friend!”). Sure, he is willing to side with Qifrey against the Knights Moralis when he deems it appropriate, but here’s the catch: Olruggio gets to decide where the line in the sand lies, and that line seems to shift depending on how hot his temper is flaring at any given time.

It’s no wonder their conversation lends them in a dead-end when it is so one-sided. Thourghout the manga, and in volume 8 in particular, the author explores the idea that help should be a collaborative effort between equals, that encourages both parties to grow and learn more about themselves. Trying to unilaterally “save” someone is almost guaranteed to miss the mark and come across as condescending; it might even cause further harm.

Help as a collaboration between equals

Therefore, Qifrey and Olruggio can’t really come to any connection unless they make it clear that they are helping each other, not just endlessly acting out their roles as the golden student who knows all the right answers, and the problem child who must be saved from himself.

Aside from the framing, help as an equivalent exchange is the other key difference between chapter 40 and Qifrey and Coco’s dialogue earlier in the volume. In order to counter Coco’s doubts and growing self-hatred, Qifrey reinforces everything he admires about Coco: from her social skills and capacity for teamwork to her practical skills and her straight lines. He reminds her of all the things that she achieved so far. He also strongly hints that her fight is his fight, too, and that they should hold onto hope for each other’s sake. Finally, he makes a (pretty dramatic, unnecessarily literal and definitely unsafe, but still awesome) leap of faith by letting her decide what direction she wants to take next. His support isn’t conditional on Coco making the “right” choice, but freely offered. In return, Coco makes a display of saving Qifrey as well, saying she wants him right by her side while she figures out her path. The rescue itself is symbolic (it would actually have been safer for Qifrey to go back on his own), but Qifrey’s gratitude is genuine, because Coco made him feel valued, irreplaceable, just as Beldaruit and Olruggio were making him doubt his place as a teacher.

By contrast, Olruggio’s speech of friendship contains a grand total of ONE compliment, served in such a back-handed way that it sounds almost like a warning: “To Coco, you are a good teacher, so don’t betray that trust”. This is weighted against a slurry of criticisms about Qifrey’s recklessness, and heaps of self-praise. Olruggio is making a case for why Qifrey needs help and why Olruggio is best-qualified to deliver that help, like he is making a sales pitch to a client. It’s probably not a coincidence that Olruggio is remembering his successful bout of diplomacy in chapter 39 as he gears himself for his conversation with Qifrey. Olruggio, look, I get that you have more faith in your professional persona than in your regular self, but you can’t talk to your best friend like you are doing customer service, it just doesn’t work that way.

The help that Olruggio offers leaves no room for Qifrey’s input: once Qifrey has confided everything and laid himself bare, Olruggio will pick apart “where he needs the help” and “when he is about to do something stupid”, and either support or stop him as he judges appropriate. It reinforces Qifrey’s inferiority complex and interiorised guilt, by implying that his moral compass can’t be trusted. It also places the blame for Qifrey’s rash actions solely on his lack of judgement, rather than on having to grapple with complex, life-threatening situations and being caught in a pincer between a terrorist group and an oppressive system. There’s no mention that the definition of what’s “lawful” and “responsible” and “just” has gotten a bit messed up lately, and that Olruggio himself has had to compromise with his duties to cover for the kids. Olruggio fakes confidence in his capacity to fix everything, and pretends that things can go back to the way they were, but it would have been more honest of him to ask Qifrey to work with him so they can form a united front to face their new, complex reality.

Instead, by claiming that he is helping Qifrey out of a sense of duty, as Watchful Eye and as a friend, Olruggio reinforces the feeling that Qifrey is a burden to him. This gives Qifrey more incentive to keep his friend away from his investigations, and to see himself as expendable. In that light, since their friendship brings Olruggio so much trouble and so few benefits, betraying him and stealing the memories that relate to Qifrey’s secrets start to look like the lesser evil.

The only way that the conversation in chapter 40 could have gone well is if they both freely admitted to needing each other. However, it is too early in Olruggio’s character arc to be honest about his own feelings and worries. And it is too early in Qifrey’s character arc to see past his own self-loathing and recognize that his “perfect” friend also needs support and guidance. Yet, when they do, it is hinted that Olruggio can draw inspiration from Qifrey, and help Qifrey in a more meaningful way by highlighting how Qifrey matters to him, letting them reach this stage of true collaboration.

What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

I think Olruggio is repressing a sense of disillusionment about his work, the fairness of the system, and his usefulness as a witch. We see glimpses of his anxiety in chapter 39 notably. While he says that his true role is to help the commoners, circumstances keep reminding him that like it or not, his main function is decorative. He gets dragged in on short notice to be yanked around by petty nobles and arrange light shows at weddings; he has to act in secret to help the destitute, and even then can only do so much before the rules of magic society get in his way. So far he manages to keep his head above water, using his talent for diplomacy and showmanship to keep the nobles appeased, and finding small, creative ways to help commoners without breaking any law. But it leaves him with the feeling of being trapped in an increasingly constraining role, and is slowly pushing him towards a burn out.

He seems to feel a kinship with princess Mia, who like him is used as a tool in petty squabbles between nobles. He even metaphorically puts himself in her shoes: after likening her situation to being trapped in the spotlight in a dance she doesn’t want, he applies the same metaphor to himself and his inability to act outside the narrow constraints of witch rules, of being constantly watched and judged. And then, adorably enough, Olruggio actually brings Qifrey into the metaphor. He muses that Qifrey, who has gone against established rules before, might be the key to escaping that dance.

For all that the “problem child” / “star student” dichotomy has been weighing on Olruggio and Qifrey and warping their friendship, there is a flip side to it as well. As a prodigy who always pressures himself to perform perfectly (to the point where he will work himself to a zombie-like state and then hide behind a mask to look perfect and pristine in front of his clients at parties, Olruggio no), Qifrey provides a chance at escapism. For all that he berates him for causing trouble, Olruggio seems to fondly remember their old adventures. It’s possible that he valued the opportunity to do rebellious, forbidden things without having to jeopardise his reputation. His fear of being left behind by Qifrey is then also a fear of losing his hope that, when the pressure of being the perfect witch becomes too much to bear, Qifrey will be there to break him free.

In summary, Olruggio wants Qifrey to be his rebellious prince who breaks him free from the ballroom, and we respect him for it. Qifrey had his reasons for not being able to confide in him, and they both have a lot of character development to do before they can reach a stage of actual collaboration and trust. But I don’t dispute that taking his memories was a dick move. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#witch hat atelier #witch hat meta #qifrey #orugio #olruggio #orufrey

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manonblaqkbeak · 3 years ago

Text

Midnight Cravings

so, i actually wrote most of this in july but never finished it and decided to fix it up for todays prompt bc i was feeling a lil lazy lol. and i think its one of my faves, especially the ending.

2.2k words

cw: none

enjoy!! :)

It was just past two in the morning and Aelin was wide awake. Not due to a mountain of paperwork, or a nightmare or one of her kids needing her. Aelin was wide awake because she was absolutely starving.

The type of starving it felt like she'd never eaten a day in her life. Like her stomach was going to eat itself.

Her stomach growled again, louder than before, and beside her, his voice muffled, Rowan asked, “Is that your stomach or the wind outside?”

“Shut up,” Aelin mumbled, as her stomach continued its song. Gods, why was she so hungry? She practically devoured the fruits in the fruit bowl just before bed, she had a healthy serving of dinner, and a large slice of chocolate torte for dessert.

But here she was, close to eating her damned pillow to sate her starvation.

Aelin glanced over towards her mate, his back to her, and she shuffled closer, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Rowan,” she started to say, but Rowan cut her off.

“I'm not going to the kitchens.”

She pouted, although he couldn't see her. “Please?” she knew that if she used her manners, then he would do just about anything.

But it didn't work. Not just yet. “There's some fruit in the bowl.”

“I ate them all.” He sighed heavily, knowing that he was losing this conversation. “Please? I am your mate, your wife, the mother of your children.”

Rowan snorted. “Really? I was starting to suspect that the three silver-haired children were Lorcan's.”

Her hunger nearly disappeared at the thought of that. “Don't be gross.” Reaching over, Aelin kissed the tip of his ear, smiling as he shuddered in pleasure as she nibbled on it. “Please?”

Rowan sighed heavily, knowing that he lost, and Aelin barely hid her smile. “I'll go,” he said. “But only if you join me.”

Her smile did disappear at that. “But the bed is so warm.”

“Exactly. If I have to leave it, so do you.”

“Fine,” she mumbled reluctantly, but quickly perked up, realising that she would be getting food. Rowan was a much better cook than her. Aelin used to have basic cooking skills, but with being Queen and then becoming a mother, she never cooked anymore and really had no need to; not with multiple cooks under the palace roof. She did try a few years ago as a treat for her family, but everything turned into a crisp and wasn't even suitable for the dogs in the kennels.

Scrambling out of bed, the Queen and King of Terrasen tied on their robes and put on their slippers. Aelin loved the sight of Rowan looking so domestic, it was ridiculous how much she loved it.

Since Isolde was only six months old and far too young to be left behind, Rowan put her in the wooden carrier to take with them into the kitchens, their movements silent as the grave as they transferred their youngest from her crib and into the crafty carrier—Isolde was the only one of their children that slept soundlessly through the night at such a young age, and loathed to be woken up. As Rowan did that, Aelin checked in on Alder in his room, their son a little over three years old, but he slept like a log and Aelin knew that he wouldn't wake up at any point when they were gone.

As they left their chambers, Aelin nearly ruined all their good work and almost woke up their other children when she bit out a curse at the sudden leg cramp that shot up her right calf. Rowan glanced at her, asking if she was okay, and after a moment she was, although she was left a little dazed at the suddenness of it all.

Aelin's legs had been cramping randomly of late, but she didn't notice anything of concern. If it continued, she would go to Magnolia and see if anything could be done about it. The last thing Aelin needed was to fall ill, she had far too many things to do with winter arriving in a few weeks. She did know that if anything was wrong with her, that she could rely on Rowan completely.

Aelin's stomach growled for the umpteenth time, the sound lasting for a good minute before it settled. Isolde fidgeted in her sleep, but did not wake.

“I think your stomach was just trying to talk to me.”

“It was,” Aelin agreed. “It said that we need to hurry the hell up or it's going to disintegrate.”

“We better do as it says then. It'd be cruel to subject Terrasen to a hungry Queen. No one should suffer as I do when you're starving.”

“You make me sound horrible.”

“You are,” he said, humour dancing in his dark eyes. “And not just when you're hungry.”

Aelin mumbled under her breath. Rowan decided to pretend not to hear her, even as he fought a smile.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the kitchens, Rowan placing Isolde onto the counter closest to them. Aelin rushed towards the bowls of fruit, grabbing an apple and a pear, eating the fruits simultaneously. She missed the small, private smile Rowan gave her as he went to the pantry, asking her what she was in the mood for, one eye on their child. But still, she slept and Rowan for a moment, wished that all of their children had been like that, but knew that there was no point in complaining when they all slept quietly now.

“Something filling,” was all Aelin could think of to say. But after a moment decided on an omelette, filled with bacon, mushrooms, onion, red bell-peppers and carrot. As she and Rowan prepped the ingredients—with Rowan wanting his own omelette—Aelin contemplated in silence, her brows furrowed as she chopped up the carrots.

“What are you thinking about, Fireheart?” Rowan asked when he noticed his wife's expression.

“Just trying to remember the last time I was this hungry. I've been like this for at least a week and a half.”

“I've noticed. You haven't had this big of an appetite for a good number of years.”

She didn't comment on that, lost in her own world. “And my legs have been cramping lately too. I haven't injured myself. Have I been sleeping in strange positions?”

“No, you're sleeping just fine.”

Her frown deepened. “Maybe I'm just stressed for the winter preparations.”

“Possibly, I know that you worry a lot for the people during winter.” They both did, as the winters in Terrasen were brutal. Each year there was always a small number of people that passed due to the cold for a number of reasons. When those lists made their way in Aelin's hands, it always hit her hard, her guilt a palpable thing, even after Rowan would tell her that it was in no way her fault.

But that wasn't the reasons for her consuming hunger and leg cramps—Rowan had noticed the change in her scent weeks ago and when he noticed, he thought that Aelin would too. But she was completely oblivious and he didn't want to spoil the surprise, although it was getting harder each day not to say something.

However, he couldn't help but count back the weeks to the day of conception. He was fairly certain that it was when Aelin had been reading a particularly steamy novel on the window seat in their sitting room and jumped on him like they had never had sex before when he had come to ask if she was joining him in bed.

It would fit in with list of unusual places they have conceived their children. Elentiya had been in the library (either in the archives or in Aelin and Rowan's private nook, neither were sure), Norrin against an oak tree (which they discovered after they have calmed down that the Little Folk had watched the entire encounter, with Aelin becoming stuck between wanting to laugh or hide under a rock), Alder against one of the many palace chimneys, and Isolde in a linen closet.

Maybe one day they would conceive a child in their bed like most people did.

They got to cooking, with Rowan standing behind Aelin and guiding her with the wooden spoon and plating their midnight meal before it burned into a crisp. Isolde babbled in her sleep as the sounds of cooking reached her, but still slept. It wouldn't be long, however, until she woke up to be fed. Aelin placed their youngest by her feet as they sat down at the small dining table in the far corner of the kitchen where the workers took their breaks.

The smile on Aelin's face as she bit into the fluffy omelette was certainly worth being woken up in the middle of the night.

However, her fork stilled in mid-air when she was halfway done when realisation dawned on her.

Finally.

“I'm pregnant,” was all she said, her Ashryver eyes growing wide. Rowan didn't bother to hide his smile. This was why he didn't say anything. It was always worth it when she revealed those beautiful words to him. “Rowan, I'm pregnant. The last time I was this hungry was when I was pregnant with Alder and the leg cramps are from Norrin's pregnancy. And all the fruit I can't stop eating is just like when I was pregnant with Isolde. How haven't I noticed anything?”

“You've been busy,” Rowan said, reaching over to take her hands in his and kissed her fingers.

“You knew, didn't you?” Aelin asked, her eyes narrowed just slightly.

“I may have noticed.”

“You should have told me.”

“I like it better when you come to the realisation yourself,” he said simply.

Aelin shot out of her seat and sat on his lap, a pretty smile gracing her face as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers playing the the hair at the nape of his neck. Rowan wound his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheeks, the tips of her nose, the corner of her lips and then her mouth.

Aelin hummed contentedly and kissed him back. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.

“We're insane.”

Rowan laughed deeply at the sudden statement. “What makes you say that?”

“We're having a fifth baby. Lorcan and Elide only have three and I always thought that they'd have at least a dozen, but they don't and we're about to have five. That's insane. We're insane.”

“We are, but I like that about us,” he said, kissing her again. Her face was open and soft, her eyes dancing with happiness, but he still found himself asking, “Are you okay with it?”

“Of course I am, buzzard. More than words can say.” Aelin kissed him to emphasise that fact, his hand reaching down onto her belly and was content to stay like that forever. She couldn’t believe how lucky she was. She always thought that she’d just have one child, maybe two, but to have five was something she never dreamed of.

Isolde finally decided to wake up and scream her displeasure at being hungry. Aelin was off him in an instant, cooing at their daughter as Aelin sat back in her seat and fed not just herself, but Isolde at the same time. His mate was spectacular at multitasking like that.

They couldn't wait to meet their fifth child.

X X X X X X

Rowan was surprised that his children hadn't kicked down the doors to the bedchamber with how excited they were. Even little Isolde was a ball of energy and she was by far their most quiet child. Rowan lead them to their mother, reminding them that they had to be quiet and gentle, because mama had just gone through a long process of bringing in their new sibling into the world.

They entered the bedchamber and Aelin greeted them with a tired but loving smile telling them to come meet their new sister, the kids went onto the bed, surrounding Aelin and the baby, happiness and wonderment in their eyes as they took in the little bundle of joy, her silver hair stark against her lightly tanned skin. She had opened her eyes briefly during her first feeding and Aelin had groaned playfully when she spotted that they were pine-green, muttering how of course I labour for a whole day to give birth to another you. But he knew that she didn't care if she was born with green hair and yellow eyes, Aelin loved her immensely.

“What's her name, mama?” Elentiya asked softly, carefully trailing a finger down her sisters cheek.

“Elowynn-Yrene.” Rowan would never forget the pure joy in Yrene's eyes when Aelin asked if the healer would give them her blessing to grace their child with her name, as a thank you for all the years of coming down and helping Aelin, for eradicating Erawan, and for being a great friend to both of them. It had taken them a few minutes to convince their friend, citing that the honour was far too much, but Yrene eventually said "yes".

“That's pretty,” Alder supplied, a wide smile on his face. Aelin kissed his temple and thanked him for his kind words.

Aelin moved her eyes from Alder to Rowan, smiling as her mate stood there, taking them in.

His family, their family. Never did he think he would be so blessed to have this.

His and Aelin's children; the most beautiful thing Rowan had ever seen.

Rowan went and joined his family on the bed, the smile on his face one of Aelin's favourites.

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #my work

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imherongraystairstrash · 4 years ago

Note

I know you write about relationships in TLH and TID that are rarely/seldom touched on in the books or extras, but I wanted to know if you would consider a Christopher and Thomas Lightwood fic. Maybe the first time they are both in the lab and Thomas experiences the first of the many explosions which Kit unintentionally created. You could follow it up with another scene: Thomas pointing out to Christopher what had led up to the explosion (a misidentified component or measurement).

Of course! I absolutely adore the Lightwood cousins! I put a tiny bit of all of them in this fic, but it's mostly focused of Thomas and Kit :)

Thomas and Kit:

Thomas’ sisters have been giggling for what felt like days. Not only giggling, but they kept pestering him, asking about what men fancied the most in women.

Oh, Tommy, do men like shorter hair or longer hair?

Do men prefer a woman who speaks softly or says what’s on her mind?

Thomas would always say the same thing: I don’t know.

Because, really, he didn’t. He’d never thought of women in that way, though the angel knew he’d tried. He simply couldn’t. His mind told him to like one thing, but his heart said otherwise. It was frustrating. And very confusing.

“Why can’t you just be yourselves?” Thomas said. “Who cares what the men think?”

They giggled again, which made Thomas furrow his eyebrows.

“Don’t you understand, Tom? You have to lure them in by attracting their attention, and then, once you have them wrapped around your finger—”

“Then, you can show your true colors.” Barbara finished.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Thomas said. “You’re just wasting your time.”

They both shook their heads in perfect synchronization.

“He’s too young.” Eugenia said.

“And innocent.” Barbara replied.

Thomas rolled his eyes as they giggled again, and began discussing possible bachelors.

Thomas could only tolerate two minutes before he felt suffocated and stood up, frustrated.

“Wait, we still need you.” Eugenia said.

“Where are you going, Tommy?” Barbara asked.

“Out.” He snapped, taking his coat from the hanger and tugging it on. He let the door close behind him, ignoring his urge to slam it, and quickly made his way down the steps of his house.

The cold air bit into his skin and made its way to his neck and down his back. He silently cursed his sisters for making him leave in such a rush that he forgot to take his scarf.

Thomas walked down the streets of London, letting movement cool his head.

He was tired of the world. Angry at it. The way his sisters embraced it and tried their very best to be a part of it. The way it would force him to live his life differently, with someone he could never truly love.

He wished it would disappear, leave him alone, and yet it was always there, floating over his head like a shadow.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and briskly crossed the street.

Most days, Thomas missed Idris; walking barefoot through the forest and simply being outside in the clean, rich air. In Idris, if he wanted to be alone, he could. He could lay on the grass and fill his lungs with it’s wonderful scent, or climb a tree and hum melodies of his own creation. Of course, he liked the fact that in London, he could be with his friends, but there are some things even friends can’t quite help with. His friends could calm his mind the way the soft breeze that ruffled his hair or singing of birds could.

Thomas didn’t realize where he was going until he was standing in front of his Aunt and Uncle’s house.

He knocked on the door, and when nobody answered, he shrugged and opened it.

He made his way through the house, poking his head in certain rooms, trying to find one of the residents. It was usually quiet today. He looked into the parlor and found Cecily with her back to him. She was swaying back and forth, her hair falling from it’s bun.

“Hello, Aunt Cecy.” Thomas said.

Cecily turned, and smiled when she saw him. Her eyes had bags under them, as she and Uncle Gabriel were very tired these days, the reason for which was soundly snoozing in Cecily’s arms. Thomas’ new baby cousin, Alexander (whom Kit had informed Thomas was very loud) apparently has lungs of steel. Cecily had said she looked like a raccoon these days, but Thomas thought she still looked as pretty as always. “Oh, hello Thomas. Have you come to see Christopher?” She asked, rearranging Alex’s blanket.

Thomas nodded, “is he here?”

“In his room. He’s been awfully quiet today.” She said, simply. Then she furrowed her eyebrows, as if realizing what she’d just said.

“Do make sure he's not partaking in something foolish while you’re there, Thomas, would you?”

“Yes, Aunt.” Thomas said, making his way up the stairs.

He hadn’t wanted to come any closer to his baby cousin, for fear that he’d wake him, and Aunt Cecy would have to put him to sleep again.

Thomas waved at Uncle Gabriel as he passed him in the study, as he walked down the hall. Gabriel waved back half-heartedly, as if the life had been sucked out of him.

When Thomas opened the door to Christopher’s room, he found him bent over the table in his room.

“You’re going to hurt your back if you stand like that.” Thomas said as a way of greeting.

His cousin looked up immediately.

“Shut the door,” he hissed.

Surprised and confused, Thomas did so, and Kit straightened.

“What ho! How wonderful that you are here, Tom. I was working on something fascinating.”

“Is it related to science in any way, because last time you tried something like it, you blew up one of Henry’s walls.”

“That was because I made a simple mistake.” Kit said, with a wave of his hand. “This time it’s different.”

Thomas wasn’t very convinced. He noted Kit’s askew cravat, his tousled hair, his glasses that sat crooked on his nose and his wide-eyed gaze and concluded that his cousin has officially lost his head.

“Why did you look like I’d committed the largest sin on the planet when I left the door open?” Thomas said, deciding to change the subject.

Kit scowled. “Alexander.”

Thomas blinked. “You’ll have to be a little bit more specific than that.”

“Any small amount of noise and Alexander will cry for hours.” Christopher said, scrawling something on a paper. “At least this way I don’t have to hear the racket so much.”

“Oh,” Thomas said.

“I don’t know why Mum and Dad even wanted another baby. They’re demonic creatures.”

“I thought you liked Alex.”

“When he didn’t cry so much.” Kit said, rather darkly.

Thomas had never seen his cousin so…gothic? Not only was he strangely gothic, but he has also thrown himself into science experiments, which didn’t settle well with Thomas. It was as if he were a mad scientist and Thomas, who’d read Frankenstein, didn’t think those two words were ever a good combination.

He cast an uneasy glance at Kit, who was biting his bottom lip as he combined two solutions.

“Kit, what are you even trying to accomplish?”

“Oh, erm, actually, I don’t know. I’m just observing what will happen if you combine— Oh, that’s not good,” Kit said.

“What’s not good?” Thomas asked, just as a large explosion answered the question for him.

“What the Hell was that?!” They heard Gabriel’s frantic voice call from the hall, just as Alexander began wailing and Cecily let out a noise that started out as frustration, then became something halfway between confusion and worry. Christopher, covered in soot, simply stared, dumbfounded, at the place where the vial had once been.

“Erm…” Thomas said, unsure of how to answer the question his uncle asked.

Not that it mattered, as Gabriel burst into the room a few seconds later. Much like his son, he blinked and just stared at the explosion site for the moment it took Cecily to come inside with a red faced Alexander in her arms. The latter was rubbing at his puffy eyes with his small fists, clearly not happy to have been woken up from his nap in such a way.

“Christopher Gideon Gabriel Lightwood, what in the name of Raziel have you done?” Cecily said, not hysterically, like most parents might ask, but more so weary, as though she wasn’t entirely surprised by the fact that there was an explosion in her residence on a Sunday morning.

Kit shrugged, still staring at the explosion site.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thomas said, “but are these chemicals toxic? Shouldn’t we be evacuating?”

And for the first time in Thomas’ life, he saw his Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Cecily exchange a wide-eyed expression before Cecily ordered them all out of the room and briskly led them down the hallway.

She knocked on Anna’s door as they passed it. “Cariad, make haste, we’re evacuating the house.”

“Why?” Anna asked in a bored and strangely breathless voice, as if she were dancing.

“Your brother caused an explosion. Did you really not hear it?” Gabriel said.

“Oh, that’s what that was?”

“Yes, now come outside before you start glowing in the dark from the toxic fumes.” Cecily said firmly.

Anna groaned. “Alright. Let me get dre— I mean, I’ll be right down.”

Cecily sighed and continued down the hall.

…

Thomas waited outside with the Lightwoods, Anna climbing out of her window a short while later, not bothering to straighten her simple dress as she landed. If either Gabriel and Cecily were by any means surprised by Anna’s exit, neither remarked upon it. Nor did they mind that Anna was barefoot or that her wavy hair was unbound, waving in the wind like an ebony banner.

Gabriel and Cecily were simple folk, in that sense. They didn’t waste time trying to make their children conform to society, they just let them roam free.

Well, except for now, as they were scolding Kit, Cecily forbade him from any sort of experimentation within their house. They may differ from parents in many ways, but they were still parents, regardless.

Anna slumped down beside Thomas, watching the house.

“Another day, another dollar in the Lightwood residence.” Anna said mournfully.

Thomas just stared blankly ahead.

“One of these days, Tom, I’m going to get my own flat.”

Thomas nodded.

“And you can have my room here.” Anna said.

Thomas snorted. “Your room is pink. Very pink.”

Anna pressed her lips together. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

When Kit was done being scolded, he came over to them. Anna patted the grass next to where she was sitting and Kit plopped down beside her.

“How angry are they?” Anna asked.

Kit just frowned.

“At least they’re not disappointed.” Anna said, ruffling his hair.

Kit just pressed his lips together, identical to the way his sister had done shortly before. Anna and Kit looked very alike, despite their coloring. They always denied it, of course, just as Thomas always denies it when others say that he looks like his sisters.

“Well, you two are a dull bunch.” Anna said, getting up. “If neither of you are going to talk, I might as well leave.”

They watched her go to her father, most likely making a joke as she walked and despite everything that happened, Gabriel chuckled.

Kit scooted closer to Thomas, who put a hand on his cousin’s back.

“Maybe next time, you should study the chemicals better.” Thomas said, “see how they react to other chemicals. I don’t think spontaneity is something scientists encourage.”

Kit looked up.

“And maybe don’t do it in your room?” Thomas said.

Christopher nodded.

Thomas looked straight ahead, and they sat in a comfortable silence.

“Do you really hate Alex?” Thomas asked after a while.

“Not really.” Kit said. “He is just vexing sometimes.”

Thomas huffed a laugh. “I feel the same about Genia and Babs sometimes, if that makes you feel better.”

“I still like Alex, though.”

Thomas hummed. “Yes, I still love my sisters too.”

Thomas leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. He may not be in Idris, but at least he still had his family. He may be different and the rest of the world might shun him, but at least his parents would still love him.

At least he was alive, and though sometimes it wasn’t always perfect, life was still good.

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @readersconfessions812 @nightshade3465

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#thomas lightwood #kit lightwood #christopher lightwood #tsc fanfic #tlhfanfic #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #alexander lightwood #gabriel lightwood #anna lightwood #tlh

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pagingdoctorbedlam · 3 years ago

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Hello again! Now that I know who you write for, I'm back with a request! Can I please suggest Sanji x Reader (if that's okay) with the following summer theme prompt? I'm actually really curious to see your take on Sanji. 😳

“some asshole left their dog in the car in the blistering heat and we both noticed and are debating on what to do” au

Thank you so much for doing this! 🥰

Hi Luxi, and thanks for bringing me my first-ever askbox fic prompt! (the prompt list is here for anyone interested)

The idea for this fic sprung into my head soon as I read the prompt, so I hope you enjoy...

"Dog Days: A Sanji x Reader Fic"

You hadn't even made it halfway to the store when you noticed the dog. Not that it was hard to ignore; the poor mutt surveyed the entire parking lot from the window of a jacked-up pickup, and its baleful barks escaped the tiniest crack in the window. The day was hot enough that you were sweltering soon as you stepped outside; you couldn't imagine how bad it must be for a fuzzy dog, much less one trapped in a truck.

Soon as you heard the mutt, all plans derailed. You couldn't just leave it there, and who knew how long the owner might be gone? You racked your brain for a plan, but you had to think fast. The dog's whimpers were already getting weaker.

When you strode up to the car, someone else had the same idea. A tall blond strode up to the opposite side of the truck, eyes so narrowed they looked about to shoot lasers. The truck was large enough that it had running boards to reach the doors, but he hopped right up with a water bottle. The dog shuffled over at the sight of a human, and as the stranger dripped cool water through the crack in the windows, the dog eagerly lapped it up. Its tail still barely wagged, even that exertion too much in this heat.

"This dog can't stay in here," you said as you stared at the locks. The truck didn't have a keypad, thank goodness...and as a matter of fact, it had one of those manual locks on the inside, the sort you pulled up to unlock the car. Which would've been perfect if you weren't wearing sandals. "Hey. Weird question, but are you wearing shoes with laces right now?"

The blond looked at you through the truck window. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"I think I can get the truck open, but I'll need to borrow a shoelace."

You figured the guy would refuse, or at least ask questions as to why you needed his darn shoes. Instead, he hopped down from his side of the truck and ambled over to you. He was a handsome guy, now that you got a good look at him. Tasteful button-down shirt and slacks even in this weather, slick blond hair with bangs that covered half his face in a way that looked more mysterious than old-school emo...the curly eyebrow was a little odd, but in a quirky way. Made him more handsome, in an odd way. Especially when he put one foot up on the running board and unlaced his shoe, sliding the string out and handing it to you with a determined nod.

You formed a small lasso with the shoestring, then slid it into the crack in the window. All you had to do was lower it onto the lock, tighten the loop, and pull.

"You happen to be a master thief or something?" The blond asked, simultaneously curious and impressed.

"Nothing so fancy. I'm just real bad about leaving my keys in my car. Keep an eye out in case the owner comes back, okay?"

The stranger nodded and hopped back onto the running board to peer over the top of the truck. Meanwhile, the mutt inside crawled up to the front seat, curious at this new development. It thankfully seemed smart enough to recognize that it was being saved, and didn't bat at the string. Just a little more, and...there! You tightened the loop and pulled the lock up with a satisfying click.

Three things happened at once.

You pulled the door open.

The mutt leapt into your arms with such force, you fell off the running board.

And the car alarm blared with the fury of a thousand hornets.

You clutched the mutt tight to your chest and prepared to hit the pavement, but you instead fell into a pair of sturdy arms. The wind hit your face as you opened your eyes; the blond was bolting full-tilt through the parking lot with you and the dog in his grasp.

"Where's your car?" He shouted.

"Left it home! I took the bus! Where's your car?"

"I walked!" His shoes slapped against the pavement, and you belatedly realized that the shoestring had been left behind in the chaos, still looped around the lock in the still-open door of the truck. Your imagination ran wild with cops somehow tracking down your prints from the shoestring and chasing you down for kidnapping a dog.

"Are we being chased?" You asked.

"Don't know! Not looking back. But if I ever see this dog's owner, I'm kicking his ass!" The blond took a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding a collision with a gaggle of college students. "I'm taking us to my work. There's food and A/C there for the dog, and we can figure out what we're doing from there."

You couldn't think of a better plan, and you wouldn't abandon the mutt at this rate, especially as it licked your face in appreciation. So you nodded and wondered where this bizarre day would take you next.

You'd heard of the Baratie, never had a chance to eat there. Not for lack of funds or interest; it just never came up. So imagine your surprise when you found yourself at the local favorite restaurant before opening, sitting next to a mutt happily lapping up water, the blond stranger humming nearby as he cooked up a meal in the kitchen. Because when he said "get the dog food", he didn't mean ordinary dog chow, but serving up the dog a homemade feast to make up for the ordeal it had just endured.

You had no idea what the dog's name was, or if it had one at all. It had no nametag, just a cheap metal choke-chain you'd swiftly removed. The dog seemed healthy enough, but there were patches in its fur and the scrapes of a rough life outdoors. You decided that, even on the off-chance that someone chased you down for dognapping, you'd refuse to give the mutt up. It deserved a far better home than the one it came from.

Still. "I can't believe I just stole a dog with a random stranger," you said aloud.

"Well then, let's fix that," the blond said as he wandered out with a pair of plates. "I'm Sanji, and here's lunch. Can't be strangers with a name and a meal together, huh?" He set one down in front of the dog, who happily immediately dug into a feast of meat, brown rice, and assorted canine-safe veggies. The other, he set on the table in front of you. You blinked; he'd asked you off-hand questions about your food preferences when you'd arrived, but you hadn't expected him to actually cook for you too.

"I...thank you. And nice to meet you, Sanji." You gave him your name, and his entire face brightened as if it were music to his ears. "Look, this is really sweet, but I don't have a huge amount of cash on hand."

"That's fine. This is on the house, for your heroism and quick-thinking." Sanji took the seat opposite you with a soft smile. "If you hadn't come along, I don't know what I would've done. My only plan was to break the window, but that might've hurt the dog."

You took a bite of your meal. A medley of flavor danced across your tongue. "You know, reasonable folks would've...I dunno, gone inside and had customer service call over the intercom. Or called the cops. Made it someone else's problem."

Sanji shrugged. "Maybe. Think I would've stuck around anyway, saw it through to the end. Had to know if the little guy was alright." There was a softness in Sanji's eye as he looked down at the dog, who chowed down on its meal as if it had never seen food in its life. It was a look of understanding, the sort that came with a history one didn't ask about lightly. Made you curious about this handsome stranger, one who'd drop all plans and leave behind his own shoelaces in order to help someone in need.

You said, "Thank goodness for the unreasonable people of the world, then. Speaking of which...what're we going to do with the dog? I could try to smuggle it into my apartment, but the owners don't allow pets, so I'd have to be careful."

Sanji's gaze flitted up to the ceiling. "My apartment's right over the restaurant. I can keep the dog here."

"Your landlord won't mind?"

"Not if he wants to keep his best chef around. Besides, he's a sucker for underdogs. If the old owner comes back for this little guy, Zeff will toss the guy out by his ears." Sanji winked and turned to the dog. "What do you say, huh? Wanna' stay here with me? Fresh food every day and no choke-chains." The mutt barked in approval, tail wagging at full speed.

Sanji turned to you again. "You're free to visit, if you'd like. I mean, I can't take the dog out during work hours...but like, on breaks, or before we open?"

You smiled at this handsome stranger, with his heart on his sleeve and a sparkle in his eyes. You realize that yes, you'd be more than happy to see him again. "I'd love that. Besides, I'm pretty sure I owe you a new pair of shoelaces..."

#bedlam writes #opfanfic #sanji #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #modern AU #summer au prompts

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

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OHHHH WE NED SOME OREO SMUT!!! PLLLEEEEAAASSEEEE !!!!

Anon 1: Could u do Cap fucking Loops? Pretty pls with a cherry on top! 🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

Anon 2: Pls do one with Regulus walking in on coops lmao

Ask and ye shall receive! We haven’t done smut in a while...

Side note: I LOVE the term Oreo smut and would like to clarify for folks that this is the evening/ night after Jules left in the babysitting fics series! Coops certainly earned their Oreos! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut, praise kink, showering together

They barely made it to the couch. Remus’ mind was too foggy already to even consider the living room windows—he whined when Sirius broke away to reach up and close the blinds, and pinned his shoulders back down as soon as the sunlight dimmed. “Come on, come here,” he panted between biting kisses, cupping Sirius’ jaw in his hands and grinding down until he made him moan. “There you are.”

“God—fuck—Re, I want you.” Sirius’ hands pressed hard into the muscle of his back and he shivered as a wave of tingles washed over him. Three weeks and they had only managed a single rushed blowjob before their game. It was a miracle neither of them had popped a blood vessel.

“Lube’s upstairs.” Remus hitched the hem of Sirius’ shirt up and threw it to the side, immediately running his palms down the warm, smooth skin. He bent down to bite along Sirius’ collarbone.

“Off, off.” Sirius had his shirt halfway over his head before Remus could blink and he reached back to tug it away, drawing a harsh exhale from Sirius’ chest.

“What?”

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” A broad hand closed around the back of his neck and pulled him back down as Sirius wrapped his other arm around his waist and rolled his hips, making them both gasp. “Sweetheart, please.”

The nickname raised a million goosebumps across his whole body and he nodded, fumbling Sirius’ belt off before attempting to get his button undone with clumsy fingers. “I’m so horny I can barely think right now, holy fuck.”

Finally, the button came free, and he yanked Sirius’ jeans down his thighs as two warm palms slid down the back of his pants to cup his ass. “I missed you.”

“That’s so not fair.” His grip tightened and Remus arched into the feeling; the front of Sirius’ boxers was already turning dark with his arousal and the clear outline of his dick pressed against the tight fabric. “I love you so fucking—”

The front door flew open and someone stumbled in. “Am I late—oh, shit!”

All three of them shouted in alarm; in a flash, Remus was on the floor, disoriented and wincing as his tailbone smarted with pain. “Regulus, fuck off!” Sirius spluttered as he held the knit blanket over his entire front.

“What the hell are you doing here? Close the fucking door!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Regulus didn’t take his hand off his eyes as he stumbled backward and shut the front door. “I promised I’d say goodbye to Jules, but my interview ran long and—”

“Get out!” Sirius and Remus shouted at the same time.

“Sorry!” He blindly felt for the doorknob and ended up bumping into the end table, which he apologized to as well.

With an infuriated huff, Sirius stood up and grabbed the back of Regulus’ shirt collar, wrenching the door open and carefully guiding him onto the porch without showing the entire neighborhood his underwear. “I love you, Reg, but I’m confiscating your key if you don’t learn how to knock.”

“I did knock!”

“Knock louder!”

“Jules already left, I assume?”

Sirius closed the door and locked it. “Uncover your eyes before you walk down the steps, they’re slippery!” he called through the wood.

“Thanks!” came Regulus’ muffled reply.

Sirius trudged back to the couch and flopped facedown into the pillows with a groan. “I love you, but I’m going to murder your little brother,” Remus said from the floor as he stared at the ceiling.

“Be my guest.”

“Are you still horny? Please tell me you’re still horny.”

Instead of responding, Sirius stood up and grabbed Remus’ hand, hauling him upright into a bruising kiss that turned his knees to jelly. “Upstairs. Right now.”

Remus stuck his lower lip out and rubbed his tailbone. “My ass hurts.”

“I can fix that.” Sirius reached down and swept him off his feet into a cradlehold. “Voila.”

“Careful, I might get used to this,” Remus teased, draping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders and leaving lovebites on his neck as he walked up the stairs; they both winced when his shin hit the bannister and Sirius carefully maneuvered them through the bedroom door before dropping Remus unceremoniously on the bed.

“Distracting me while I’m carrying you up a staircase may not have been the best idea, mon coeur,” he said as he pressed his mouth to Remus’ sternum and worked his pants down his legs.

Remus smiled and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ve got faith in you.”

“For someone who was just scolding me for fairness—” A quick squeeze of his hipbones made him gasp. “—I would hope you’d be less hypocritical.”

“Lucky for me you like it, hmm?”

“I guess so.” Warm weight pressed Remus into the sheets as Sirius finally reached his face, pulling him closer until their noses bumped. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“How’s your ass?”

Remus shrugged. “I mean, nowhere near as great as yours, but—”

“I meant are you okay?” Sirius laughed, pinching his ribs lightly. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“I’ll live,” Remus assured him with a brief kiss, licking into his mouth a bit. “Now hurry up, handsome.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows and propped himself on his elbows, just out of kissing range. “Hurry up? After three weeks of chastity? Hell no, sweetheart, I’m taking my time with you.”

A thrill raced through Remus’ belly and he ran his hands down Sirius’ sides. “Okay.”

“Yeah, you like the sound of that.” He grinned, leaning down to suck a hickey on the hinge of his jaw. “Want me to take my time? Go nice and slow?”

Remus angled his chin upward, but Sirius pulled away and he made a grumpy noise. “Not that slow.”

“Turn over.”

Captain voice!!! A small portion of his brain began throwing confetti and whooping, and he slowly turned onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms. Sirius waited there for a moment, straddling Remus’ waist and tracing patterns over his back; can’t make it too easy for him, he thought as he ground his hips upward.

Sirius smacked his thigh lightly. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You know what you did.”

“Do I?” Remus craned his neck to look over his shoulder and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You always know what you’re doing. Are you going to be a brat today?”

Remus quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

His gaze darkened into tarnished silver and he snapped the band of Remus’ briefs before sliding them off and dragging open kisses down his spine, vanishing from his sightline. Remus gasped as his hand dug into one side of his ass and his teeth sank into the other. “You’ve got a bruise on your tailbone.”

“Sirius,” he warned.

“I know.” The light bite turned into a gentle kiss. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t. Just relax.”

Relax. I can do that. Remus settled his shoulders back into the pillow and exhaled slowly as Sirius littered his back with kisses and small bites, rubbing his thumbs in the divots on his lower back. “We haven’t been like this in a while,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

He felt Sirius smile against his shoulder blade. “We haven’t. I still want to see you, though.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Good boy.” The unexpected praise sent a jolt down Remus’ entire body and he shuddered; Sirius’ chest hitched. “That was fun.”

Remus definitely did not whine, and anyone who tried to claim otherwise had no proof. “Come on, baby.”

“I’m savoring the moment, sweetheart,” Sirius said with a smile in his voice as his breath ghosted past Remus’ ear and made his eyes fall shut. “Are you going to melt on me that quick?”

“I might.”

“Then turn over, I want to see how pretty you are.”

“I love it when you call me pretty,” Remus sighed, stretching his back as he rolled over again. His knees bracketed Sirius’ hips and he gave him a playful squeeze. “Nobody else has done that before.”

“Then everybody else is missing out.” Sirius took a deep breath as Remus drummed his fingers on his ribs and ran a palm down to slip under the elastic waistband of his underwear.

“These have been on too long. Off.”

Sirius gave him a look, but removed them all the same. “Who’s in charge here again?”

“I guess we’ll have to find out.” From the look in his eye, Remus could tell Sirius knew he was messing with him. He pushed upward in challenge, as if he was going to flip their positions, and Sirius firmly pressed his hip back down.

“It’s me.”

“Yes, Captain.” Remus bit his lower lip and saw Sirius’ eyes track the movement with a steady stare.

“You have done so much these past couple weeks while your family was here,” he said while he retrieved the lube from their nightstand. “And you were amazing with Jules, as always.”

Remus reached up and tucked a stray curl into its proper place. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Maybe. But right now, your only job is to lay there and relax, alright?”

“So I get to be a pillow princess tonight?” he laughed.

“A pillow prince,” Sirius corrected as a grin tugged at the side of his mouth. “A pillow lord. I’ll get you a crown if you want one.”

“But I like doing things for you.” Remus ran his thumb under Sirius’ eye, and he leaned into the touch, kissing his wrist. “And doing things to you.”

Sirius hummed in thought, settling onto his elbows as he uncapped the lube. “Let me rephrase, then. Your only job is to lay there and take it like a good boy for me. Think you can manage that?”

Remus tilted his head back and swallowed down a moan. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to be quiet for me,” he said, making his way down the column of Remus’ throat; his hands gently guided Remus’ thighs apart and first finger slid in after a moment of resistance. Teeth scraped against the long scar on his shoulder. “Just like that, sweetheart, you’re doing so well.”

“Yeah?” Remus breathed.

“Yeah. You can get a little melty if you want, I don’t mind.” Sirius moved his finger slowly, crooking it only once before resuming his steady presses. Remus almost missed the second and pushed back into it with a low noise of approval. The heavy warmth faded from his torso and neck as Sirius sat up—one of his palms wrapped partway around Remus’ thigh, pushing it back toward his chest and using his side as a brace to keep it there.

Remus’ eyes flashed open and he gasped; his hand flew over his head to grab the headboard as his other twisted in the sheets at the new angle. Sirius added a third finger and, after a minute of adjustment, began prepping him in earnest. “Fuck, that’s good,” Remus groaned, pushing back onto his fingers.

“Easy, sweetheart, no need to rush.”

“But I want to.” Remus pried his fingers off the headboard and pulled on Sirius’ shoulder. “Come on, fuck me already.”

“Not with that attitude.”

“Please, baby?” He made eye contact with Sirius and pouted his lower lip a bit; not enough to be true puppy eyes, but just on the right side of needy that it would catch his attention.

“You’re adorable.”

“And you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” A lazy smile spread across his face when Sirius hit his sweet spot and he arched into it, pressing his knee into the side of Sirius’ ribs. Thank god for flexibility, he thought. “Yeah, like that.”

“Like that?” Sirius pushed a little higher and Remus’ jaw went slack with a huff. He nodded, feeling desperation seep in, and Sirius’ lips twitched up. “Ready?”

“Been ready for fifteen minutes, but—oh.” Remus gripped Sirius’ forearms as he began to push in; between the lube and his special talent that still drove Remus half out of his mind, the glide was smooth. “Oh, fuck, I missed this.”

“Remember to breathe, mon coeur.” Sirius’ voice sounded tight and Remus took a shaky breath that turned into a whimper when he pulled out again.

“Wait, no, come back.”

Sirius laughed, a little strained as he dropped to his elbows and pressed their foreheads together. Remus wove his hands in the soft locks on pure reflex. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s so good with you every time.” The last few words came on a punched-out exhale as Sirius’ dick grazed his prostate; his leg spasmed at the feeling and he wrapped it around Sirius’ mid-back, doing his best to keep the other from sliding up as well.

“Are you sure?”

“Every time,” Remus said, firmer. “Every time, because it’s you oh my god keep doing that.”

“This?” Sirius pressed the pads of his fingers into the muscle of Remus’ lower back and ground into him, pulling a soft cry from his throat. “Good job. And you kept your leg up, too?” Remus nodded, breathless. “You’re doing so well. Remember, sweetheart, all you have to do is take it. That’s it.”

“Useful,” Remus panted. “Wanna be—wanna be good for you.”

“You don’t have to be useful to be good for me,” Sirius said softly, guiding one of his hands out of his hair to kiss his pulse point. “I always think you’re good.”

Remus gave him a playfully skeptical look. “Always?”

“Most of the time.” Sirius smiled and laced their fingers together, pressing his hand into the mattress by his head. “But you do that on purpose.”

“Looks like you’ve got me figured out.” He turned his head to the side as the next thrust made his vision speckle with black. “Need to get some new tricks.”

“Hmm.”

The pressure on his palm increased as Sirius transferred his weight and wrapped his hand around Remus’ shaft, giving him a quick tug that drew a strangled noise of surprise form him. His straight leg kicked out and nearly connected with Sirius’ ankle. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright, I know you didn’t.” How the fuck does he keep his voice so even? Remus shuddered and squeezed Sirius’ waist between his thighs. “God, you’re strong now.”

“ ‘m I hurting you?”

“Nope.” Sirius kissed him, gentle in contrast to literally everything else he was doing that made the bed creak and Remus unravel. “I like it. I love you.”

The words made Remus feel all syrupy, like molasses replaced the blood in his veins. “I love you, too.”

“We’re getting married in five months, sweetheart.” Sirius mouthed along his neck and jaw, paying special attention to the edges of his scars and the freckles that had mostly faded throughout the winter. “Do you know what the best part of that is?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll get to tell everyone how amazing my husband is. How pretty, and strong, and talented, and wonderful.” Remus’ chest prickled with a blush and Sirius shushed him softly, skimming his thumb over the crown of his dick until he whined. “It’s the truth, mon coeur. You always get so flustered, it’s so cute.”

“Sirius—Sirius, baby, I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” Remus gripped his hand and slid his thigh along his side, unable to stop the trembling in his torso. Sirius’ hand was tight and quick around him and the pressure—fuck, the pressure—was deep enough that Remus could practically feel it in his throat. “Sirius, Sirius, please.”

“Any time you want, Re,” Sirius said, though his voice had become breathier. “Any time. You deserve it.”

Remus came with a gasping moan, pressing the side of his face into the pillows and flexing his fingers around Sirius’ as he arched his back. Sirius stroked him through it like the absolute sweetheart he was, and after taking a moment to collect his scattered thoughts, Remus pushed him onto his back.

His hip was a bit sore from holding his leg up for so long, but not so sore that he couldn’t ride out the aftershocks and bring Sirius over the edge as well. He ground down slowly, bringing one of Sirius’ hands up to kiss his wrist between heavy breaths. “You with me yet?” he asked into the sweat-salted skin. He pulled off his dick and laid on top of Sirius’ chest, running a hand through his hair.

Sirius muttered something unintelligible and draped his arms over Remus’ back, pulling him close enough to hug. “We rocked parenting this week,” he said after a few heartbeats of comfortable quiet.

“Damn right we did.”

“We totally deserved the last…” He cracked an eye open to glance at the bedside clock. “Hour of activity.”

“Except Regulus.”

“Except fucking Regulus, mon dieu,” Sirius laughed. “I really am going to take away his house key.”

“I think he’s going to need therapy,” Remus snorted and tossed the lube into the drawer again.

“He didn’t see anything terrible, it’s fine.” Sirius closed his eyes with a smile and tucked his face into Remus’ neck. “Hmmm, goodnight.”

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re showering.” A truly spectacular pout made him laugh. “At least, I’m showering, and you’re welcome to join me.”

The pout disappeared into a puppylike grin and Remus clambered out of bed, pulling his ridiculous fiancé along by the hand as they stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the water.

“We’ll need to buy more lube soon. We’re almost out,” Sirius said, snagging Remus’ shampoo off the bathtub ledge.

“You know that’s mine, right?”

“Yup. Turn around.”

“Every now and then I get a little bit nervous, that the best of all the years have gone by,” Remus sang under his breath as Sirius’ carefully ran a hand through his hair.

“Turn around.”

“Every now and then I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes!”

“Turn around!”

“Every now and then I fall apart!” they half-sang, half-shouted together.

Remus closed his eyes as shampoo began running down his forehead. “And I need you here tonight!” he belted with far more drama than strictly necessary. “And I need you more than ever!”

“And if you only hold me forever…?” Sirius trailed off slightly.

“It’s ‘and if you only hold me tight’,” Remus said, mock-exasperated. “God, Sirius, it’s like you don’t even want to be Bonnie Tyler.”

“My bad,” he laughed, kissing the back of Remus’ shoulder. “Ugh, I got soap in my mouth.”

“Thanks for washing my hair.”

“Thanks for correcting my lyrics.”

“Anything for you, love.” Remus leaned in for a kiss, making sure to keep his face out of the shower spray. He was pleasantly sore and absolutely exhausted—a good night’s sleep sounded like well-deserved perfection right about now.

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its-warm-in-here · 3 years ago

Text

Playing Pretend

I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.

Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.

~2080 words

Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.

He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.

First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.

Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.

---

"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you. Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!

You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.

You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.

And immediately deleted it.

You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village. You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.

The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.

You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you. They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.

Ugh.

The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.

Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself. If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.

And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.

"The fuck?"

That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."

For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"

The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."

"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."

He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”

You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" He repeats.

You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."

"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."

You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."

" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."

"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.

"But they don't matter."

"No?"

"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"

You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you. "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.

"On what?"

"Anthropology."

He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"

"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.

"I could get you back in."

You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...

“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.

“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though, the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."

"But what good does that-"

He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.

You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."

He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"

"Oh, (y/n). You?"

The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.

#Karl Heisenberg #Re8 #re8 heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #Ill keep this going as long as i can #wow creativity is hard #karl can be nice if he tries

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt: Dani and Jamie's second time. Or first time post Bly/post "do you want company?" It seems like there'd be interesting emotional ground to cover there: Dani, still Pretty New to This (being with a woman, sure, but also with someone she actually has romantic and sexual feelings for), but also on the heels of a MAJOR trauma. And Jamie, who had every intention of giving this thing time and space to take root between them, but has suddenly had to go all in, all at once. (1/2)

So there's all that baggage, but also, you know, the thirst. Anyway, I think it would be interesting in the hands of someone with your knack for using sex as a vehicle t explore character dynamics/emotions. (2/2)

It’s not planned. Not that the first time was a plan, Jamie thinks. The first time was less a plan, more a tumble--a leap--a decision. You’ve shown me yours, it’s only fair, she’d thought, with the dizzy exhilaration of making a choice you might very well regret come morning. Dani had spent so much time walking through the dark alone, not a hand to grab, not a light to shine. It had only seemed right, for Jamie to meet her halfway.

And tumble they had--into Dani’s bed, into this thing Jamie hadn’t been looking for, but hadn’t quite been able to look away from, either. They’d fallen onto the mattress, every move fresh and new and exhilarating. Jamie hadn’t done this in years; Dani, not at all. And there had been something to it, something nearly immaculate that Jamie had almost felt unworthy of--the way Dani muffled laughter against her skin, the nervous skid of her voice pressed into Jamie’s neck as she’d stood there in jeans and damp hair. It had been soft, and careful, Dani gently folding her jumper and setting it aside, Jamie stretching every new beat out as long as she could stand until it was clear--more than clear, certain--that Dani was ready for the next.

It had been lovely, and almost simple, and for all the nerves in the world, it had felt like stepping into the light for the first time.

And then, not a day later, everything changed. Change is good, Jamie knows; organic and expected, even if not exactly predictable. Change is right, Jamie knows; a world without change isn’t natural. Still, she’d thought--hoped, maybe foolishly--that they’d get time before the change swept in. That it would be a gentle shift over months or even years, rather than a sudden assertion of new facts.

Facts like: there are things in the world neither of them are prepared to handle.

Facts like: those things have grabbed hold of Dani in ways Jamie can’t reach.

Facts like: even now, outside the gravity of the manor and the life they’d begun there, the shadows are darker than she could ever have comprehended.

Truths, every last one, and Jamie has never been one to argue against truth. The world is set by laws and regulations--one season drifts into the next, the weather speaks for itself, no one can stop the spread of roots beneath the earth. These are good things, true things, rational things she has based her adult life around.

And still, she wishes. Wishes she could have had more time with Dani’s nervous skidding laughter. More time sitting back, her favorite shirt on the floor, watching with amusement as Dani gently folds her own top and sets it aside. More time making it all as easy as she can for Dani to learn.

Instead, they’re both learning--and it’s not the kind of thing any past relationship can prepare for. Not for the way Dani disappears into her own reflection sometimes, gazing for hours into the passenger mirror as though unable to keep her eyes from searching for something Jamie can’t see. Not for the quiet uncertainty of Dani’s smile, so unlike the bright, hopeful expression she’d worn when Jamie had kissed her that night. They can’t prepare for eyes that change color without warning, for beasts lurking unseen, for a promise made without fully understanding the consequences.

They can’t prepare. But they can walk into it together. That matters.

At first, Dani hadn’t seemed to want to touch her. Or hadn’t seemed able to touch her, maybe; she’d hugged herself close, put her hands in her pockets, kept her distance. But, slowly--as they’d made their way through England, as they’d bought plane tickets and planned for adventure across the pond--that had dissolved. Slowly, she’d come back. One day at a time, a little nearer. Brushing Jamie’s hand on the flight over. Her shoulder pressed lightly to Jamie’s in the car rental office. Her body sliding past in a hotel room.

Small touches. Glancing, testing, experimental touches. Nothing big. Nothing like what they’d already uncorked in a bedroom back in Bly.

The weeks unfold, and every night, Dani curls a little closer. Sometimes, Jamie finds herself unable to sleep at all, with Dani’s head on her chest. Sometimes, it feels so much like playing champion that she feels too small, too fragile, unworthy of the honor. Dani, groaning in her sleep, clutching at Jamie’s shirt like she’s in danger of sliding away, seems not to notice. Dani is fighting her own battles, and she’s doing so without letting Jamie so much as hand her a weapon.

The weeks unfold, and the air between them seems ever to tighten. Every time Dani catches her eye and holds. Every time Dani takes her hand without looking. Every time Dani stands, swaying, her body leaning forward as she had in a hallway once upon a lifetime ago.

And still: nothing. Jamie doesn’t push. Jamie can’t bear to see the crease in Dani’s brow, the flinch from an unexpected touch. Dani is not fragile, she is sure; Dani Clayton is still so much stronger than either of them could have imagined, she knows. Still. Still, she can’t be the thing to break any part of Dani open.

Dani has to come to her.

And, without plan, without intent, Dani does.

They’ve been on the road for almost a month, two people learning one another without the easy fall-back of sexual intimacy. It is unlike any relationship Jamie’s ever had--though, in fairness, she supposes she figured that out about Dani before she even knew they’d wind up here. Before she could even guess. Dani has always been different.

In a past life, she would be building the blocks of their future on physical touch. On hands sliding into clothes, on lips tracing and tongues tasting. She understands that much very well--that a person can give so much up without meaning to, can have so many trunks unlocked by simple virtue of getting naked. It’s easy, watching people, learning what they need. Easy, if you’re willing to pay attention.

But it’s easy, in its own way, learning Dani this way, too. Learning how she leans into uptempo pop-rock, and turns up her nose at twangy folk-country. Learning how she claims not to be hungry, only to steal half the food off of Jamie’s plate. Learning how to read the serious cast of her eyes when she’s thinking, how it’s different from the purse of her lips when she’s about to spiral into panic. It’s easy in every way, as she’d never expected it to be.

Except for this. Except for the electricity. She can’t for her life find a way to read that--because it’s always there. Always between them, this intangible heat springing up at a moment’s notice. One minute, they’re laughing--Jamie bending to pat a retriever who has bounded across the park to make a new friend, Dani chatting idly with the middle-aged woman apologizing for the dog’s exuberance--and then:

Then it’s like they’re back there, back at Bly, back in that bedroom. Back with Jamie’s arm looped gently around Dani’s waist, Dani’s hands framing her face, all warm breath and lips not quite touching. That same heat, that same lightning-in-a-bottle irresistibility, punching up between them.

It’s in every shop, the aisles so slender, they find themselves pressing tight as they inspect wares. In every diner, Dani leaning nearly out of her seat into some unseen gravity Jamie can’t seem to help producing. In every hotel room.

Every single hotel room.

It’s hers, Jamie thinks, even as her heart pounds and her fingertips seem to go numb with anticipation. It has to be hers. Dani’s choice. Dani’s willingness to, once again, tumble with her into something new.

It’s hers, even as Dani seems to burn on the other side of a bathroom door Jamie has left cracked open while she showers. Dani’s choice. Dani’s willingness to want this with her, for her own reasons, and not simply because they’ve done it once before.

It’s hers, even as Jamie slides into bed with the quiet uncertainty of yet another night not quite there. Not quite ready. Dani’s choice. Dani’s willingness to set aside the thing she insists is watching her, waiting to pull her under.

The air seems especially fraught tonight, somehow--she thinks maybe it’s the August of it all, pushing in through the cracks in the windows. August in the American Midwest is hotter than she anticipated, a deeper heat than she’s felt in a long time. There’s a thick quality to the humidity she doesn’t like, and she finds herself wishing for the affectionate chill of autumn.

Especially now, with Dani stretched out beside her on the sheets. It’s too hot for much; Dani had looked almost apologetic, stepping out of the bathroom in a long t-shirt and underwear. Jamie, who’d spent the previous night tossing and turning in an ill-advised pair of sweatpants, tried to look easy shrugging.

“S’too bloody hot for anything else, right?”

There had been relief in Dani’s eyes, but slipping between the sheets had felt like stepping into a house without turning on the lights. The air is simply too heavy to be allowed. The bed is simply too small.

Dani is simply too close and too far at the same time.

It has to be her, Jamie thinks again, a constant mantra against her own desires. It’s a personal doctrine, a requirement. It has to be--

Dani is breathing in the dark, slow, hitching breaths that sound almost like a nightmare. She’s laying on her side, facing Jamie, two people curled not quite to meeting, and every time Jamie opens her eyes--Dani is gazing back. In the dark, it’s hard to make out the mismatched colors. In the dark, she can almost believe both of those eyes are still blue.

Dani, breathing deeply. Saying nothing. But one hand, Jamie realizes, is moving. One hand, drifting almost like a dream, resting lightly along Jamie’s hip.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t close her eyes. Only shifts, slowly, her legs straightening against the warm rustle of stiff sheets. Dani’s hand remains where it is, a fixed spot in a room which seems suddenly to be adrift.

Jamie, slowly, raises a hand to match. A light brush of fingers, curling around until Dani exhales and lets her own body inch nearer.

Dani, who seems so far and so impossibly close.

Has to be, Jamie thinks, the only words coming to mind as the hand on her hip drifts up, slowly sliding along her ribs. Dani’s palm is warm, her fingers trembling, slipping up under the cotton t-shirt. She rests there, halfway up a ribcage which seems suddenly too brittle to hold the crash of Jamie’s heart, waiting.

Jamie, slowly, matches her.

This will be, she is sure, as far as it goes. Dani is pushing her own boundaries tonight in ways Jamie hasn’t let herself even think about, but it’s so hot, and the air is so heavy, and there is simply no way--

Dani’s legs, bare and smooth, are brushing her own. She drags in a breath, aware Dani can feel it beneath her hand, and can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed. Not with the way Dani is curling closer, the bed--already so small--shrinking to nearly nothing.

Dani, who has been close, but hasn’t looked at her quite like this in weeks. Dani, who has been so distracted by her own reflection, by the monster she senses beneath the waves. Dani, who seems now, for the first time since leaving England, to see only her.

“We don’t have to,” Jamie hears herself breathe. “We don’t--”

Dani makes a noise: maybe a laugh, maybe a bid for silence. Her hand is sliding higher, her fingers tracing the underside of Jamie’s breast with the barest contact. Jamie swallows the next words, her own hand flexing in response.

Dani is nearly on her pillow, she realizes. Her head lifts slightly, her eyes searching Jamie’s, and there is a moment where Jamie thinks, She’ll run now. She’ll flinch back. She’ll do it again, and it will hurt again, and there’s nothing I can--

Dani is kissing her, and if Jamie had feared a loss here--if Jamie had feared Dani might forget how to do this, or how to want her--there is no point entertaining that fear any longer. Not with Dani’s lips pressing gently once, twice, then harder. Dani, banishing the rest of the distance in a single fluid motion, sliding across the mattress and pressing Jamie down onto her back.

It is not planned, she can tell--from the heady breath catching in Dani’s chest, from the dark glaze in Dani’s eyes as she gazes down at her. Dani is as surprised as she is, even pressing her body down, her hips rocking against Jamie’s almost accidentally. A flush rises in Dani’s cheeks, her lip pulling between her teeth.

Jamie nods. Words, she senses, will break the spell--whatever it is Dani needs to do here, to prove to herself here, does not need words. Consent, though. Consent requested and freely given. That much feels right.

Dani presses down to kiss her again, even as Jamie is arching up to meet her, and it isn’t gentle this time. Isn’t easy and slow and stretched carefully out, each beat elongated until crashing hearts can level into something sustainably enthusiastic. This is a month of waiting, a month of electricity, the sweat-slide of muggy August air pressing down around them. This is Dani leaning out of the grip of whatever she most fears and into the desire she’s been fostering since a kiss in a greenhouse.

This is Dani’s hand’s exploring, her fingers in Jamie’s hair, tracing Jamie’s jawline, pulling Jamie’s shirt up over her head. This is Dani’s mouth at her ear, gasping in surprise when Jamie’s hands close around her hips and jerk her down against one bent thigh. This is Dani rolling to meet her, one hand fumbling beneath her waistband, fingers searching and finding and stroking until Jamie’s breath is a hot spike in her chest.

It’s the kissing, she thinks, she’s missed most. No one has ever kissed her like Dani does--not like a secret to be hidden away, or a private scorn to look back on later, or even a hot glee no one should ask to understand. Dani kisses like she wants to be here. Dani kisses like she never wants to be anywhere else. Dani kisses her in this hotel, in this bed, with her fingers curling and her hips grinding mercilessly, with exactly the same excitement as in a hallway--in a grove--in a greenhouse. Every time, no matter what Dani Clayton carries, she kisses the same way.

She believes, in some part of her, that Dani will build those walls again when her hands have finished their pleasing work. That Dani will roll off of her, lay on her back, stare blankly at the ceiling as she waits for her beast to rise up.

Dani doesn’t. Dani makes soft, urgent noises against her upturned jaw, kissing and sighing as Jamie’s back bows off the mattress, and Jamie has barely found equilibrium again--legs trembling, hands buried in Dani’s hair--when she slides not off, but down. Down the mattress, kicking aside useless sheets, dragging the underwear off Jamie’s hips as she goes.

“You don’t have to,” Jamie begins, but Dani is looking at her around the almost leisurely kisses she trails down a shivering body, just looking at her as her mouth explores still-new territory, and Jamie sees no point in arguing. Not with the way Dani is sliding half off the small bed, her hands insistent and hopeful as they guide Jamie’s legs up over her shoulders.

No words, Jamie decides again, letting herself sink into Dani’s kiss. Letting herself rock against Dani in slow, easy rhythm, she grips the sheet in one hand and Dani’s hair in the other, guiding her with gentle pressure. Dani hadn’t done this, the first night. Dani had, in fact, spent much of that night on her back, shivering all over with excitement and trepidation and pleasure. Teach me, she’d said in a voice half-shy, half-brazen, and Jamie had complied with the joy of one who knows this kind of education can take a lifetime.

Teach me, Dani had said then, but now, it seems to be a different instruction. Let me, maybe. Let me learn. Let me want this.

Far be it from me, Jamie thinks dazedly; her mind may worry about going too far, about pushing Dani out of her comfort zone, but her body is familiar with this ride. Her body is all too delighted to find Dani picking up the signals of what she likes, Dani testing with soft kiss and rough lick to find what works best.

And maybe now, Jamie thinks with a mind wiped nearly blank, Dani will pull away. Maybe now, Dani will vanish on her without warning. Maybe.

Except, no--Dani is curling against her once more, one thigh draped over Jamie’s hips, moving against her with slow, indulgent thrusts. Her hand curls around Jamie’s shoulder, her breath coming in fast little puffs as she picks up speed, and it’s all Jamie can do not to flip her over and take the wheel. All she can do, to curl her fingers around Dani’s thigh, digging in as Dani presses against her, slides away, presses against her. It does not feel, she recognizes, as though Dani is trying to reach a conclusion of her own. It feels only as though Dani is desperate to feel her, to keep herself present, to make absolutely certain neither of them can forget she is in this bed.

No chance of that, thinks Jamie, weariness and arousal making the strangest bedfellows. All night, Dani could keep this up--all night, with sweat running down her back, with her lips tracking every inch of Jamie’s skin, drawing her tight and shattering her control. She wouldn’t mind. It’s too hot to sleep, anyway.

“Okay,” Dani says, her voice half a coiled groan, as she eases a hand down to tease at Jamie once more. “We’re okay. We’re here.”

“We are,” Jamie agrees, turning her head, kissing Dani with what she hopes is all the long, steady promise of a bedroom and an offer to keep company. Whatever that means. For however long Dani wants. “We are absolutely fine.”

For the first time, she’s pretty sure they both believe it.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #this was requested here but also like. forty years ago. glad to finally have found the words for it

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haravath0t · 4 years ago

Text

A Step Into The Light

Pairing: Loki x Reader (female reader)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning(s): angst, fluff, a comforting Loki!

Hello, everyone! We are going to kick off the 200 followers celebration with our first fics from gifs prompt sent in by the lovely @tomholland-96 !! This is my second Loki work so forgive me, as I’m trying my best to emulate my characterization of him! If you want to take part in the 200 followers celebration, please take a look at the pinned post on my page so that you can see the details! It may be slow until the 20th because the Spring Semester is becoming close to its end, so we are grinding till we reach the finish line folks! Enjoy reading my lovelies! HERE WE GO!

(Gif used not mine)

Prompt: “Loki listens to reader rambling about something and realizes that he loves her.”

Loki spends most of his days and nights to himself, burying his nose into the pages of old books whenever he possibly can. He would sneak off in the middle of the night in order to place himself near shelves of books, finding solace in the simple calm of the night that came alongside the pleasing sounds of pages being turned. The night he had first talked to you was no different, as the beams coming from the moon shone through the glass window and into the room, reminding him of the same nights that he had done this back on Asgard.

This quick remembrance of his old home was then pushed aside as he made himself comfortable, wanting to delve into the work of the highly recommended William Shakespeare. Tonight he had opted to read Romeo and Juliet, a recommendation from the brooding super soldier with the metal arm. Bucky, he remembered. Halfway through Act 1, his gaze averted from the page for the first time tonight, hearing the sound of a book dropping, a book that surely was not from his pile beside him. He heard a tiny curse from the next room, causing his eyes to furrow before he stands up cautiously, quietly walking towards the direction of the voice.

“Sorry, that was all me,” you say, popping up from the wall next door, eyes tightly shut in humiliation that you were easily discovered by the god. “I… I was just on my way to return some books, that's all.” You managed to squeak out, opening your eyes and immediately keeping your gaze onto the floor.

Loki had seen you around the compound before. You were quiet, shy to new people, yet he was also able to see how you were through familiar friends which had caused him to take a quiet interest in you. Despite your fiery persona during missions, he had seen you to be quite the opposite in the compound. He saw the extra care that you had put in everyone, as if you knew what they all needed. He’d see the way you’d bring coffee to Tony while he worked away in his lab, or how you would wake up in the morning to run with Steve, Bucky, and Sam (despite your tired state coming back). He’d also see how you would willingly cook meals for everyone during the times when you were available, surprisingly even remembering him. Thor had brought him a plateful of dinner his first night in, saying that you had offered this to him in case he felt hungry. Much to his surprise, he quite enjoyed it. Despite his unwillingness to join the team for times such as these, he would often consider to go against his usual routine for the sake of seeing just how you would act towards him. However, it secretly had hurt him to see your current state, your gaze towards the ground as your back was slightly hunched in intimidation. It reminded him of the image that had been held by him.

“Are you going to return the books or not?” He hears himself say. He immediately regrets the tone he had spoken in, watching as you slightly twitch at the tone.

“Oh, yeah… mmm… sorry. I’ll make this quick.” You quickly squeak before you shyly go around him, unaware of the way he watches you carefully put away the handful of books that were in your arms. Regret had hit him harder as your eyes met, for your eyes were not filled with hatred as he suspected, but guilt and embarrassment instead. Why could you be so embarrassed, he wondered. You offered him a slight smile when you spotted Romeo and Juliet open on the chair where he sat.

“Oooh, Romeo and Juliet… it’s a nice read. I hope you enjoy,” you softly say, the last part of your sentence slowly trailing off before you make your way at the door. However, before you head out, you freeze. “Oh, I also want to apologize. I didn’t wanna give you too much trouble, I didn’t realize you were still here.” You blurt out, embarrassed once again at your awkwardness.

Loki only raised an eyebrow at you, his body now facing yours. “That I’m still here? What makes you come to this reasoning?”

You point to the clock, your tiny attempt to justify your reasoning. “Oh, this is the normal time I come to read. I know you like to read alone, so I tend to go in after you that’s all. It’s okay though! Romeo and Juliet is a nice read! It was a nice introduction to Shakespeare-“

Loki couldn’t help the small smirk that appeared on his face hearing you talk about your experience on reading Romeo and Juliet. However, you quickly stop yourself, smiling shyly as you straighten yourself up. “Well, I don’t wanna end up spoiling you, but it’s actually good! I promise!” He did not have any time to respond as you quickly bolted out of the sitting area without looking back. He concluded to himself to come in later than his usual time.

It took a few months before you loosened up around the god of mischief, finding yourselves meeting up at night to stay in each other’s company. From reading the same books, to taking night walks around the compound, Loki had begun to slowly ease into your company. Thor had taken notice of his brother becoming less tense, more tolerable, and even more present in the compound. Thor’s suspicions have been answered when he heard a laugh outside his window. As his curiosity had led him to peek out the window, he saw his own brother walking beside you. He was carrying a soft smile on his lips as you and him conversed. Thor had not let go of it since that night.

“Is there something about you and Y/N that I should know, brother?” He asks Loki, a wide grin on his face as he walks with his brother from sparring in the gym. Loki’s eyes widen at the bold question, his eyebrows immediately furrowing.

“I know you two hang out and all, I assumed that there’s something going on between the both of you that’s all.”

“Bold assumption, brother. Even for me. No, there is nothing going on, just being friendly that’s all.”

Thor scoffed at this, shaking his head as he lets out a chuckle. “I don’t think whatever I saw you both doing was just friendly.”

Loki cocked an eyebrow, visibly lost at the words of his brother. “I don’t understand. We walk, talk, and read. Like any normal friend would. How is that past friendly?”

“Don’t talk like that, brother. I know what you are trying to do. Have you seen yourself around us? You avoid the team so often, yet when she invites you to do something with her, you do it willing-”

“How do you even know this?” Loki hisses, interrupting the blond from his statement and taking a step backwards. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing going on. Her and I are merely partners in reading. You don’t understand at all. There will be nothing more than what we have.”

Loki only looked at Thor in surprise when he let out a boisterous laugh, brows furrowing as the god had an even wider grin than before. “You listen, brother, listen well. I think you are in denial. You are afraid to get your feelings hurt because of her. You are afraid anything more than this will drive you away.” Thor starts, pointing a finger at the confused god. Before he interrupts, Thor continues. “You shouldn’t have to fret brother. We both know that even a mischievous god like yourself deserves someone like her. I think she’s a fine lady. Balances you out quite well. One day, I know you’ll realize this, and I’ll tell you ‘I told you so.’ ”

Loki can only watch his brother retreat back to his room that night, standing in bewilderment before opting to end the night.

Loki had stirred the next morning to a gentle knock, wondering who could wake him up at the crack of dawn. He padded his way to the door, surprised at the sight of you, hair messy, baggy pajamas, and a notably tired face.

“Why, isn’t this a surprise,” He starts, his form visibly relaxing at the familiar face, his voice also softening. “What is it, my dear?”

“Sorry, I know you don’t like company, but you’re the only person I really trust at this point.” You say with a shy smile, your bed voice apparent.

“Surely Rogers or Barnes and all may be better help-”

He stops the moment you shake your head, tears immediately welling up as you hug yourself, his heart breaking at the sight. “Oh petal…” he sighs, not hesitating to wrap a protective arm around you to lead you inside.

You had begun to burst into tears as he led you to his bed, Loki sitting the two of you down as your emotions ran free. Loki silently encouraged you as you let your tears fall, showing no signs in wanting you to stop. He hesitantly raised a hand, slowly bringing strands of your hair out of your face and tucking them behind your hair as he watched. His heart broke once again that morning, not used to seeing your normally upbeat and optimistic self broken and helpless. It felt like he was seeing a part of himself in you, a part he hated to see and recognize. However, seeing this in a person like you made him all the more closer to you. There possibly was a place where you two understood each other more.

It had led him to gently wiping your tears with a gentle touch of his thumb. It was hesitant, but the touch alone made you relax, reminding you of the reality that there was someone beside you who could possibly ground you, who could possibly offer you some perspective. The god continued to wipe your tears as the wave of emotions had died down to sniffles and a quiet thank you.

Why of all people did you come to him? What had concerned you so much to have led yourself to his room? He couldn’t help but ask the question. “If I may, what has happened to have brought you here to me?”

You sighed and leaned into his body, your body tired from the crying. “Bad dream…” you start off. “Loki… what do you do when... When you feel like you’re not enough? When you feel like you don’t really have earned your place into this team?”

Loki furrowed his eyebrows and nodded in understanding, very familiar with the new condition she had provided him. “Well, from what Thor tells me, I should be aware that I am more than what that part of me thinks I am. More than what other label that others have put on me,” he starts, looking at the floor in thought. “But…. we don’t truly move on from that easily, don’t we?” He questions, his eyes now directed to yours, surprised that they’ve been attentive, as if holding onto his every move, every word that has slipped from his lips. You shake your head.

“No… it’s been a little while since I’ve felt this way, but this time it came back in my sleep. I can’t help but feel doubtful. There are more capable agents out there in our facility. Why me? What have I done to earn this place?” You confess, shifting your weight on the bed side to side nervously, afraid that you are slowly driving the god away. Afraid you are saying more than he wanted to say. However, the reassurance you were having is his attentive gaze as well as the hand that was now holding yours.

“Petal, I assure you, from what I have seen of you, your work ethic exceeds all others. You are talented and gifted. One thing that had taken me a while to realize… I still struggle with it as well… it is not only the advantages that we hold that define who we are, but it is also our struggles, what we do with these struggles and hardships… those have equal value into defining who we are. And from how the team sees you? I believe they know that you have used it for the good and the betterment of others. It doesn’t go unappreciated.” A small beat of pause fills the air before he continues.

“I…. personally am grateful for your company. I am grateful that you have been good to me. I’m glad to be...friends… friends with you.”

He had tried his best to ignore the feeling of his heart leaping when the hint of a smile had graced your face.

“You think so?”

Loki’s lips tempt to curl up into a smile as he nods. “I know so. Now, what do you do to relieve yourself from your troubles?” He inquires, having this urge to keep taking part in making you feel better. It grants him a sense of satisfaction when your smile widens.

“Snacks in bed while I watch some videos of my favorite place.” You reply, which made Loki immediately sit you both in his emerald green blankets, adjusting the pillows as they become a makeshift headrest for your heads. You gasp in surprise as he had made ice cream appear with a green glow beside you both as you set up the TV.

“Gee, my favorite flavor,” you gasped in awe, looking at Loki gratefully. “Thank you.”

Loki can only chuckle and shrug as you resume your search on YouTube. “I have taken note of it one night. I’m glad I was correct.”

You pulled up a video of a ride from Disneyland, smiling as you ate ice cream and watched the familiar ride take its course.

“So what’s special about this place?” You hear the god question. You didn’t hold back the smile that graced your face.

“Oh, it’s the most amazing place! You see, Disneyland is this theme park- oh I want to ask Tony so bad, but there you-”

It made Loki smile, watching your eyes light up as you went on talking about something you took interest in. He managed to make you do it again. It was a refreshing sight.

Loki never really appealed to many people in the compound. He hated watching Stark’s prideful personality take the reins of meetings or even dinner. He hated how Rogers’ surge of righteousness always oozed out, whether it was from his little “monologues” or even from the way he had walked around the facility. He’d easily find a way to block their voices out of his head. However, you were a different case.

He admired how often you rambled. He found it amusing that you found so much love and passion for almost anything and everything you saw or heard. He found it pure that someone who had an excellent ethic out in the battlefield had this love for living. It made him think that perhaps living on Midgard would not be the worst thing. However, he realized one thing as you paused to eat some ice cream before rambling on. He could not be able to step into Midgard with this mindset without you. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to fully discover what Midgard can hold without you. He was proud to admit to himself that he knew you on a level that was different from how others knew you. He saw you as a quiet, yet powerful force to have walked on Midgard. Yes you were quiet and shy, even self-cautious, but your empathy towards everyone, even to a person like himself, had made him realize, maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe there was a chance to be out of this dark corner that he had been placed in. He felt like it would only happen if you were willing to hold his hand through it all.

You blushed when you realized you were rambling, immediately halting your thoughts and words. “Sorry, I must have bored you.”

He smiled at your consideration for his side. “Not at all, petal.”

“Hey… you think we can go there one day together? I’d love to have you as a riding buddy.”

The way your eyes lit in excitement and expectation alongside your joyful smile made him reciprocate your joy with his own lips.

“It would be a great honor, petal.”

Thor was right. Maybe indeed there was something more that Loki had yearned for when it came to you. He was uncertain of how it would turn out, but he was willing to see how it would unfold as long as it meant you would be around.

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v3nusaphr0d1t3 · 4 years ago

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i’m in love with a stripper

crossposted on ao3: <3 rating: mature warnings: strip club environment, suggestive themes (no actual smut tho) gender neutral stripper!reader x hawks. afab implied but can be read either way.

your job was to look good, feel bad, and entertain. in the most literal sense.

life as an ‘exotic dancer’ wasn’t nearly as glamorous as movies and shit made it out to be. your body ached constantly, you had nearly fought about 4 people in the past two weeks, and you came home in the morning smelling like alcohol and sweat and some random cologne. the pay wasn’t amazing on its own, so you had to rut yourself against old men to pay your rent.

and yet, it was addicting in a way you couldn’t exactly explain. you had wanted to work in the entertainment industry since you were little, a star up on the big screen. this was sort-of similar. you had eyes on you at all times, and it was your job to put on a great show. but instead of red-carpets it was party favors and gross back-room carpeting.

it was good workout, and you knew you looked good enough to taste, so that was always a plus. tonight, you were all dolled up, one of your more femme looks. your shorts were riding low on your hips, yet still stopped so high on your legs that it could be considered more of a belt than a pair of shorts. your thong straps framed your hips, bright red in comparison to the blue jean shorts. you had a red bikini top on, and a crop top that was yet again just another shred of fabric framing it. your shoes were red and tall enough to make you feel like you were on top of the world.

you had gotten used to the sashay and drama of all the bullshit presentation, perfected your sultry stare, and polished your pole skills. yes, you could use work. but so could everyone, it was an art that you were still constantly trying to learn more about.

so as you walked your way out on stage on a busy friday night, you could tell that tonight would be a good tip night. first off, there was MUCH more security than normal, which meant that someone important was probably in attendance for some kind of ‘special night’. they got bachelor parties and birthday parties all the time, but usually they weren’t this… guarded?

it was strange, but you instead focused on feelings the rhythm in your bones as you strutted your way up to the pole, starting to go into one of your choreographed routines that you knew like the back of your hand. though you supposed you could throw in some more risky moves, for whoever was currently paying for your console gaming subscription. being in the air was always exhilarating, but you were always worried about flashing too much. you knew that it would happen eventually, but you would still prefer for it not to.

you spun too fast on your way down and got that wobbling feeling in your stomach as your heels hit the stage a bit too hard to be ‘graceful’. oh well, you thought as you moved to the more floor-based part of your routine. you brought your hands up, running them over your body and pulling at your crop top, pulling it off and throwing it further back on the stage to be retrieved when you were done with your set.

you made it slow, teasing, swaying your hips to the beat of the song and running your hands back down, under the strings of your thong to snap them against your hips. it was effective, but it was hard not to wince in annoyance. you were too salty to do this shit. it was a lucky thing that you were so good at acting. you slid further onto your knees, back arched as you looked some random guy that was halfway decent and crawled forward. that was something that always racked in tips. it made folks feel engaged with the whole experience. the guy held up a 20 and you stuck it under your thong strap, moving to collect more of the money that had been thrown at you.

you were honest with yourself when you said you loved the attention that this job brought. there were many people out in the crowd that wanted you, that sat in their chair or stood amongst the sweaty crowd with a white-knucked grip and lust in their eyes, and you ate it up. you loved being wanted, it was one of the worlds wonders.

eventually, you finished your set, hair tousled from flipping it, back of your knees and your hands sore from gripping the pole, but ultimately you felt invigorated. energized. like someone had wound you up like a toy. and now you had to pounce on someone in hopes of attention and the money you needed to buy that new game you had been saving up for. comical.

you could tell a bunch of the dancers were anticipating the party that was in tonight. it was obvious they were important, and important people had money. so the dancers that weren’t on the stage currently were prowling around the VIP area, looking to advertise themselves.

you decided to do the charity work and tend to the rest of the forgotten crowd. you knew from experience that eventually the richer guests would get tired of giving their money away and eventually leave. and the rest of the crowd was just sitting there, so you slipped your way in to the seats that were closer to the stage (shitty stripper etiquette, but some of thesen dancers were fuckin’ shady sometimes) and found some dude who looked wimpy enough to play the whole deity act with.

you walked your way around the chair, placing your hands on his shoulders and beginning to rub them, your hand making it’s way down his chest as you whispered a greeting in his ear. you used your other hand to run through his hair, plucking the bill in his hand out of his hand and into your g string on your hip with the rest of them. you moved back around the chair and plopped down on his lap, feigning interest and asking him about his day, making him feel special with the whole shebang. you eventually were able to make quiet some money from that guy, surprisingly. and you left him alone and unsatisfied when the lights dimmed between sets.

now, to find someone else out of sight of the first guy. you were on your way to do that when something caught your eye. a glimmer of gold, no- not metal, someones eyes. you were momentarily mesmerized before you realized that the person attached to those honey irises was staring at you. at you. from the VIP booth. while you were in the middle of the crowd. you were never flustered, so it was new when you felt a heat in your cheeks.

you quickly put your act back on, throwing him a wink. he made a ‘come here’ motion with his finger, but you gave him a playful grin and a little teasing wave of dismissal. you had no idea what came over you to do that, but you decided to stick with this little ‘hard-to-get’ persona, and you disappeared into the crowd.

not 10 minutes later you were grinding on some guy through your shorts, just to work that 50 out of his hand. he was one of the assholes that would promise and never give. it was hypocritical for you to think that way, you supposed, but it was your job. either way, you got it from him by nosing up his neck (too much cologne) and giggling in his ear. and he put the bill in your g-string himself. gross.

you slid away from him between sets like you always did, and once again felt the heat of eyes on you. this was different, however. it wasn’t like the usual eyes on you, the gazes you had grown to crave and expect. this was predatory. you were being watched like a hawk. you spun around to find him staring at you again, this time split off from his little friends and instead sitting in a chair further back from the stage. he gave you a certain look and raised his hand, waving a bill in his hand. like bait! that was hotter than it should have been.

still, decided to make your way over to him, stopping in front of his chair, towering over him in your platform heels as he sat in the chair. he didn’t seem too physically imposing, but his energy was cockier than shit and you could tell he was bulked up. you usually didn’t fuck with these types, but something about him was just magnetic. it was insane. he leaned back in his chair, obviously insinuating that he wanted the same treatment as the others. you instead took a singular finger and raised his chin up to meet his eyes as they ran you up and down.

and that was when you realized, under the dim lights, that you were a complete and total idiot. you hadn’t even realize that the man in front of you was hawks, number two pro hero and the man too fast for his own good. you tried not to make a face, but you knew he could most definitely see in your eyes the minute you put the puzzle pieces together. what the fuck was he doing in a place like this?

“what the fuck is someone like you doing in a place like this?” you asked, coming out of your mouth before you could really stop yourself. he only chuckled, grinning as you felt his jaw tense against your finger. the main reason you didn’t recognize him is because there was a lack of giant red wings.

“what anyone else is tryin’ to do. have a good time! it’s my friends birthday, i have a life outside work, you know?” his voice was barely heard over the pounding of the music and the bass rattling under your feet.

“what about your reputation? i’m surprised there isn’t a line to gag on your dick at this point,” you held no filter in speaking to him. you never had it with anyone else, really, and what was so special about him? he was just another dude in the club, so you did what you always did and slid into his lap, pressing your bodies together in all the ways you knew did the best. you watched something flash in his eyes as he bit his lip for a moment. he looked back up to meet your eyes again.

“well, how long did it take you to recognize me? and you’re sober, aren’t you?” hawks brought a sculpted arm up to wrap around your waist, and you slapped it away as you worked your hips against his to the beat.

“no comment. and no touching, unless you want to pay for that too.”

“i might just have to. what’s your name, gorgeous?” his face was too smug for a man who could buy the building, yet completely in the the eye of the public had a semi hard-on for a stranger in some daisy dukes.

“i don’t know, what’s yours?” you asked, raising your eyebrow. you didn’t know his real name, no one did. it was a mystery highly speculated about online, not that you checked or anything.

“fair enough, fair enough. pick one before i blow a couple hundred on getting free roam to touch you.” he said, rolling his hips up to meet yours. this shocked you, catching your breath, and you knew he had noticed by the shit-eating grin he wore.

you gave him your stripper name. it was sufficient enough to add another layer of mystery, because even though you were in his lap, you wanted to keep up this game of cat and mouse. predator and prey.

the thought of that made you tingle. you told him your rates, and he forked it over quite a fuckin’ bit. you stood up from where you were sat in his lap (thought the loss was more upsetting than you would care to admit). you took his wrist (his hand was big) and started to drag him back to one of the more secluded areas.

you had to pass the VIP area to do that, and when you did, you heard a shout. it scared the shit out of you for starters, but hawks seemed to recognize the voice. it was coming from a woman with white hair and rabbit ears, currently cheering hawks on.

“fuckin’ get some, dude!” she said, and her voice was strangely familiar as hawks flashed an award-winning grin and a thumbs up. you winked at her and pulled hawks on with you.

you pulled him into a pseudo-room in the back. not cut off by doors, but isolated and split off by room dividers. you pushed him back onto one of the booth-like seats lining the wall.

the music was quieter back here, and it was easier to hear yourself think. the lights were dim and the bass was still thumping through the floor. there was no one back here, just you and him.

“ ‘kay, so i’m technically not supposed to let you touch me, but you just paid for my groceries and they don’t really check the cameras here. also, you’re cute.” you rambled off, more genuine and clearer now that the music wasn’t so intense in the middle of the madness. and then, catching the beat, you started your ministrations, rolling your hips against his and hearing his breath catch as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“so i’ve been told,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“don’t let it go to your head, princess.” you said, and he didn’t reply, too focused on oogling you.

his hands came up to hold your waist, and he put his effort into moving along with you, and his grinding did not go unnoticed. or unappreciated, for that matter. with his hips at your waist, he raked his thumbs under your thong straps and snaps them against your hips like you had earlier. it earns a breathy chuckle from you as you watched his pupils pin. you pulled back, standing and watching his face sour as his hands were pulled from your waist. but you decided to give him a little show, just ‘cuz you had a case of the hots for him and the way he was looking at you was much appreciated.

you now stood in front of him, towering above him as you toyed with the waistband of your daisy dukes. he simply bit his lip, practically eye-fucking you. it was exhilarating. you enjoyed the lustful gazes from customers, but this was on a different level. you felt truly alive, and yet like you were melting all the same. your insides felt gooey but you kept your perfected expression hard, movements practiced, sex appeal seasoned to flawlessness. and now you unbuttoned your shorts, pulling them down to reveal your bright red thong, hips, legs and torso all one long line. he looked at you like dinner and you were fucking living for it.

you kneeled inbetween his legs, laying your head on one of his thighs in the way you knew drove people crazy.

you heard a small “god damn,” exit his mouth as he looked at you, entranced as you caught his t-shirt on your way up his body with your teeth, pulling it up and dropping it back down, promptly standing up to slide backwards into his lap. you roll your ass where you know it’s appreciated and hear his breathing speed up behind you. you can practically hear his heart pounding to match your own, like a drum to the beat. your body laid down the bass, your eyes were the melody and he was drowning.

and when it was all over, poor guy walked out of the club with his fellow semi-disguised pro-heros with a raging hard on.

and later on, when you were pulling all your money out to count it, you caught a piece of paper rolled up along a $100 bill. it was his number. a pro-hero gave you his number. that was risky, especially in the type of place they were in.

you liked the risk he took. you put his number in your phone.

#hawks #bnha hawks #bnha x reader #bnha x gn reader #hawks x reader #hawks x gn reader #takami keigo #keigo x reader #keigo x gn reader

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