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atinylittlepain · 6 months ago

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Prologue

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 1.8K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | thank you folks for your patience while I was being a little worm about this. Very excited to kick off this series, and I'd love to hear what you think <3

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There is the after, and there is the before. This is the before. In the before, there is a town nestled down in the purple-blue belly of a mountain, all shade and damp, cool green. A small town, everyone knowing everyone and everyone knew everyone as far back as history could reasonably stretch. And in this town sits a house at the end of a string of houses, sidewalk curling up in waves under the old force of tree roots, wrought iron gates and sleepy porches. Kids dare one another to step through the gate of this house. Only the bravest make it up to the porch, a quick clambering tap to the front door, wanting, but not really wanting, to see who might answer. All but one child, that is. She has no problem walking through the gate, but she’s learned to be quick in getting through the front door and slipping it shut behind her. The other kids like to throw rocks if she lingers, so she doesn’t. But there is always a sweet suspension of disbelief on the walk, before the gate, and the porch, and the slip through the front door. How nice, to have all her classmates walking her home after school.

“Did you get into any trouble today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, always another chance tomorrow.” It’s just enough to coax a smile out of her, her aunt and all her tuts and tsks, turns of her nose and we need a brownie before we do your homework, little choice but to follow after her into the kitchen, warm and sticky, the smell of fresh yeast and something richer. Even now, even in the first gasps of Summer, a pot always boils on the stove, spoon stirring lazy inside it.

Her aunt moves like a bird she thinks. But not the delicate kind. She saw a blue heron once, at the lake outside of town. Like that, she thinks. Graceful but sharp, big and sweeping, the tails of a linen shirt, and the braid woven gray and black that hangs between her shoulder blades. All so familiar, she can’t help but sigh, cheek propped in the clammy cup of her hand.

“Something happened today.”

“You don’t say.” Her aunt, always knowing before she can tell her, sometimes even before she knows herself. She picks a chocolate chip out of the brownie split between them, holds it on her tongue and lets it melt.

“Andy Nichols broke his arm. He said there’s pins in his bones.”

“Is he the one who–” She nods before her aunt can finish her question. Yes, the one who never threw rocks at her. Yes, the one who would sit with her at lunch, not because his other friends dared him to, but because he wanted to. The one who, last week, sitting on the bleachers during recess, pressed a quick, there and gone kiss to her lips, all shy, all sweet, wings fluttering fierce in her chest. Yes, that one.

“Now he won’t even look at me. All his friends are saying I did something to him.”

“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. People can be, well, people suck, to speak plainly.”

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Did I?” And the silence is enough of an answer, isn’t it? Her aunt’s eyes melt a little, lips pressed in a thin frown. Her aunt, who is as tired as she is, though she may do a better job of hiding it. After all, while she lost a mother, her aunt lost a sister. And the thing, that thing, this thing, that is threaded like a dark cancer through the sinew and snapping pulse of their hearts, contagious, careful or you’ll catch it. Everyone in town knows not to fall in love with a Campbell woman, a long history pocked with strange deaths, unexplainable misfortune. Her father wasn’t from town though, the first mistake of many.

‘It’s best if you don’t think on it, hmm?” Quiet and close in the kitchen, she does her best not to cry, feeling weak, a little wilted. One of those hugs that presses all the air out of her lungs, she needed it, breathing in deep, soap and sweat and soil and my little witch, we have work to do.

Homework doesn’t really mean homework in their house. Not the paper she’s supposed to be writing on the civil war, not studying for the math test she has on Friday. Homework means her and her aunt in the greenhouse, and her aunt quizzing her on the plants they tend to. What is what, what does what.

Lemon balm for stress and sleep. Also used to treat cold sores.

Echinacea for immunity.

Peppermint for nausea and headaches.

Belladonna for sleep, handle with care.

It comes easily to her, the same way that knowing things comes easily to her aunt. Plants, she thinks, make more sense than people do. It takes them a few hours to work through the greenhouse, night coming on in a swath of orange that smolders purple, cool shadows filtering in through green glass. They prune, they water, they propagate, and her aunt must think her extra pitiful tonight because she offers to teach her a few new tricks. The offer falls flat, however, when the prickled sound of scratching shivers up her spine. She knows it well, imagines that she could hear it from all the way across town at this point. The back door, nails skittering over its window panes, face pressed to glass, smeared shame, or maybe just a secret. All that’s needed, a look shared between them, no words. She stays in the greenhouse, closes the door behind her aunt, but leaves it cracked. She shouldn’t, but she likes to listen.

What she hears is always the same. Variations of desperation, I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need, him, him, him, her, her, her. How badly? So badly. Anything? Yes, anything. She’s watched a few times, peering around the doorway into the kitchen. All kinds of ways to meddle, to tangle threads, cut them loose, pick your poison, pick your pleasure. Her aunt tries to keep her away from it, the dark, crawling things, the needles, the wax dolls washed in smoke plumes. But she knows. Love is an ugly thing.

She doesn’t watch tonight, hardly listens either. Something else on her mind, in her hands. She plucks rose petals, lavender, rosemary, fills her hands with the rumpled things, says what she planned to say.

He’ll ride horses, talk to them too.

He’ll work with his hands.

There’ll be a streak of silver at his temple.

When we’re together, he’ll be able to stop time.

“Are you casting impossible spells again?” Her aunt catches her just as she’s stepping out into the backyard, damp grass and cicada thrum and the moon.

“I hope so. I hope it’s impossible.” They stand in the cool, damp grass, all that heat dropping down into a low mist around their ankles. And her aunt knows exactly what she’s doing. Afterall, she was the one who taught her this. Somewhere between a love spell and a prayer, though she hopes hers is more like a curse.

“There’s no taking something like this back, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?” She nods, says yes, and it’s enough for her aunt to stand down, giving her space to finish the rest of it. Intention, energy, that other word that people like to throw around She focuses on the words and the words become something other than words, and the petals and leaves lift from her hands. The moon takes care of the rest.

“I hope I never fall in love.”

The thing about spells is they always find somewhere to land, even the impossible ones. And somewhere in the before, that impossible spell found its target. Cupid’s arrow bent and broken, though still able to sting sharp. Somewhere in the before, a boy in another town in another life, young knees working hard to make the thin tires of a bike spin, already late heading home for dinner in the cooling night.

The boy’s mother hears him before she sees him, big, hot tears and ribs shaking with sobs she doesn’t often get to hear anymore, getting older, trying to get braver. The boy is bleeding, the boy is crying. The soft round of his palms scraped and stuck with gravel, and his knees no better, all down his shins, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t want to cry, but walking the rest of the way home, wrestling with the crooked handlebars of his bike, the feeling and the pain got too big, and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Oh honey, what happened?” His words come out in stops and starts, little stuttered gasps. I fell, gets strung into a few extra syllables, already ushering him upstairs and into the bathroom, the sharp smell of this’ll sting, cotton gauze getting stuck in the blood.

In the before, still young, the boy is a soft thing. He cries easily, and he doesn’t like that. Cries when he’s angry, when he’s hurt, when he’s frustrated. Cries harder when he cries because he wishes he wouldn’t cry, even if the words for such a feeling are still too old for him. Somewhere along the way, the boy will lose that. The boy will lose so much. But for now, his mother is making all the big and little hurts better, box fan humming in the cracked window in the bathroom, his brother, even younger, watching through the slivered opening of the door.

For now, the boy lets his eyes close, sticky with salt and the last wandering tears, and he wonders if he really saw what he thought he saw, what stunned him so snappingly that he flew head over handlebars onto the still-simmering asphalt. A blurred vision, blink and miss it, though even so, he’s still sure of what he saw. A rose bush, a sudden burst and bloom and flashbang, nothing and then something and then everything. Blooms that unfurled their skirts as fast as he was riding by, until what had been only green was blotted out entirely by heavy white petals. The boy will lose this memory with time, reasoning it away as an impossible imagining, something from a young mind that will no longer be his. But while the boy is still young, still a soft thing, he will think to himself with a kind of secret wonder that whatever he saw that night, it had to be magic.

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taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #apothecary gv

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afewfantasies · 7 months ago

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🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Chapter III

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Misc references & details

Summary: A threat to Lorena's safety leads to Gales assessment and acknowledgement of his complicated feelings for Lorena. Lorena tries her best to make peace with her past and what she's willing to accept in her future.

Pairing: Gale Cleven x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings: Spiking of drinks and gender based dangers relevant for the times.

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love

Word Count: 2K

Chapter III - In Care of Gale Cleven

Another month has passed....

“Hey boss?” Kurt asks as Gale reviews the ledgers. “I think we have trouble, some guys came in flirting with Lorena pretty hard. They look like bad news” Kurts words alert Gale.

“Who’s in there now?”

“Jeff and Andy” Kurt responds as his boss grabs a pistol. He knew bad news and a beautiful unmarried woman in the middle of nowhere would be easy pickings for some. Locking up his ledgers he heads into the Lodge. He finds Lorena behind the bar like they’d practiced just in case of emergency. All four pigs are hanging on her every word they look and smell like trouble. Gale gives Kurt a hand signal telling him to call in the guys in the case of more trouble and sits to the bar not as an owner but as a patron. It gets the attention of the patrons and Lorena who gives him a soda. Gale never looked for fights but since the war sometimes he found himself seeking them out. Men who rejected the notion of peace needed to know some horrors and he would be the one to hand out that dose of reality for them.

“You alright?” Gale asks Lorena just above a whisper.

“Yeah” she nods. “Brown hat has a knife and denim jacket has a pistol” she whispers. A shrill whistle cuts through the air.

“Come on back over here darling, leave old blondie alone” One of the four trouble makers shouts.

“She’s no dog you don’t whistle at a woman!” One of the regulars says from his table as Jeff rids it of his dishes.

“Mind your business senior” One responds and the others laugh.

“Just apologize, you don’t whistle at women” Lorena says topping them back up.

“Sorry love more whisky” the loser in denim winks. Nodding she heads into the back feeling the promise of a brawl. Rose had taught her the unethical practice of drugging certain patrons. Reaching the glass viles she pours the necessary drops into the bottle of whisky swishing the bottle around. When she emerges more familiar faces have taken their seats. She pours four fresh whiskeys and in ten minutes the trouble makers are knocked out on the pine.

Gale takes point leaving Jeff with Rose and Lorena. He and the guys rid the troublemakers of their possessions getting their identification and car keys. He loads them up onto his flatbed truck covering them with a tarp like their dead men. Kurt and Rainey hop in the two cars they arrived in. Gale is in lead driving to the other side of the mountain. They’d wake up lost and with a serious headache. When he’d purchased the lakehouse from Rose she’d been forthcoming about all the dangers about being away from civilization. The sleeping drafts had been something her mother suggested after her and her husband had been attacked. He’d been engaged then to his dream girl. It was only supposed to be a cottage then. Rose and her boys would run it but then the war came and he left and when he returned home single he couldn’t bare to frequent the places he once had with his fiancé. He couldn’t stomach the noise and bustle of the city. He needed peace, he needed quiet and a simple life. The mountains weren’t without issue but simplicity served him well. Arriving at his favourite spot to dump miscreants he pulls into a cliff. Kurt and Rainey behind him. They put the guys in the cars leaving the keys in the ignition. They leave a can of petrol for them and one bullet in the chamber of their gun. They were so far inland that they could drive in any direction for an hour before finding a way out. That’s what Gale was banking on.

In five months Lorena had come to belong to him in a sort of way. She was his responsibility, she lived in his home, under his roof and anything she needed he provided. They shared breakfasts together and he checked on her every night before settling in. Whatever she wanted she got, he’d spent the equivalent of days chopping down trees and using wood to make her custom furniture for her books and her plants and for shelving. Her’s was the only room in his home expertly decorated. So much so he could hardly recognize it. Although he grumbled often about her frilly ways he enjoyed nothing as much as her smiling and happy. Nothing he hated more than her melancholy. With every new letter came a day of tears and sulking. No matter how he tried to consider the facts he couldn’t fathom a scenario where leaving Lorena for another woman would be feasible. The way she handled patrons he could tell she would make a fine mother and wife. After what Egan had said he knew Lorena had loved her ex-husband more fiercely than most men could imagine and she was still loyal to him.

Gale found himself thinking about her on some nights. Thinking of heading into her room and holding her all night and studying her soft features in the morning light. Waking up bathed in the scent of her perfume with her in his arms and not spending the dreadful hour before she woke up downstairs waiting to hear her footsteps pad across her bedroom into the bathroom. But she never looked at him the way the other women did. She didn’t stare longingly or even coyly. She’d never let looks linger with desire and he’d never heard her call a man like him handsome, although everyone else seemed to think of him that way. He thought of what it would be like to come home to her regularly and since their trip into the city he’d been unable to solicit discreet widows for carnal pleasure.

They’d make a handsome couple he thought often but she would never be his in that way. So he put the thoughts away as quickly as they came and his charge would be her protection and preservation like anyone else under his care. If he had to dump four scoundrels in the middle of bear country in the summer he would. Without regrets or remorse because nothing would ever happen to Lorena under his watch.

Back at the lodge he heads up to Roses place and finds supper has been prepared. Lorena sits on the sofa mending one of his shirts as she hums along to the record playing. He watches her in the doorway.

“All settled?” Rose asks.

“Mhm” he nods looking back to Lorena.

“She’s fine they were talking to her filthy but she’s not shaken up” Rose explains.

“Good, I’ll need more of those sleeping drafts” Gale mumbles.

“Mail came after you left” Rose notifies him. He swallows puzzled. Looking at Lorena it’s easy to see she’s in good spirits and not in her usual funk.

“She read the letters?”

“No, one from the ex that was pretty thick and one from the sister” Rose discloses missing nothing even at her old age. Nodding Gale looks up to see Lorena is now aware of his return. She snips a thread and stands draping his shirt over her arm.

“Everything alright, no one was hurt right?”

“No” Gale affirms looking her over.

“Come here, let me see it” Rose says holding up the shirt. Gale smiles seeing the rip gone but a mangled stitch replacing the gaping hole.

“Lorena” Rose tsk’s disapprovingly.

“It’s wearable still” Gale defends with a mocking smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow sweetheart” Rose tiptoes kissing Lorenas temple.

“Tomorrow” she nods following Gale back to the house. They walk side by side as he uses a torch to light the way. “Thank you” Lorena whispers.

“You don’t have to thank me”

“I do you all take great care of me, let me do as I please and don’t judge me for it” she whispers sticking close. “Only loose and abandoned women work” she says as her mother and other society ladies did.

“Well you’re neither” Gale corrects in a clipped tone.

“Next month would be my sixth wedding anniversary” Lorena confesses slightly over the sound of gravel under their feet. Gale can’t make out more than her figure in the darkness. “My sister Fefe, has spent the day with me since the war. Last year we threw this big dinner party since Reggie was home. I got a letter from both of them today. I bet Fe wants me to come home” Lorena says sounding solemn.

“Why can’t Fefe come here?” Gale asks making her smile. He was a man that didn’t do nicknames ad the silly childhood moniker sounded silly coming from a grown man.

“Felicia” Lorena corrects. “She’d tell daddy who’d come here and make a big stink about me living in the woods with a man. He’d say he didn’t pay for my education and indulge my interests in fashion and hosting to have me stay here” Lorena explains.

“I see and my colour won’t help either will it?” Gale asks.

“My folks aren’t prejudice, maybe my daddy is a little but that’s cause his grandfather was a Native American” Lorena explains.

“So they want you remarried?” Gale asks.

“They do but all the suitors remember me as this happy young beautiful person. The young woman I was before the war” she whispers in reflection.

“Lorena I think anyone would be happy to have you as their wife” Gale says frankly.

“Gale I’m spoiled” she swallows heading up the stairs to their home.

“Why’s that?” He asks lighting the home as he looks down at her.

“I’ve already been in love, I know that that’s like. I’ve had a loving marriage.” She says. “I know what’s like and I’d know the difference and it’d haunt me” she confesses leaving Gale to nod I understanding. “And you and the guys spoil me rotten, there’s nothing you all wouldn’t do for me and you want nothing in return” she smiles. “I can imagine having to bat my eyes and be sweet for some pocket money or a new dress. Or sing the praises of a man who feels he owns me because of the marriage certificate” she says having thought through her options throughly. Raking his hands through his hair Gale thinks a moment horrified by the prospect himself.

“Any son of a bitch mistreats you I want you to send a letter here about where he spends his days and nights. I’ll take care of it for you doll” he says seriously. Lorena often wondered how such a gentle man found violence so natural to him. Smiling she shakes her head.

“It’s better I stay so I don’t damn either of our souls” Lorena smiles. Gale does too reaching out for her. She walks into his arms appreciating the hug and his care of her.

“Tell your sister to meet you in the city and I’ll drive down with you and bring her up here. You can have the house”

“My room is big enough for Fe and I”

“Well if Felicia’s a respectable woman her husband may not like her sleeping in the same house as a single man” Gale concludes.

“He isn’t like that, Felicia can do as she pleases. But I’ll send for her, thank you Gale” she says heading upstairs. It went without saying Gale was beginning to arrive at the place where there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Lorena safe and comfortable. Stopping halfway up the flight of stairs Lorena turns around stopping him in his tracks.

“Really, thank you” she smiles getting only a smiling nod in response. “Take me shopping tomorrow?” She asks only to receive the same gestures. “Goodnight Gale”

“Goodnight Lorena” he says and she pauses before finishing the ascend and heading to his room. Her smile had been infectious since the first day he’d seen it. Lorena had been laughing at Jeff’s clumsiness, the fool had been half performing for her attention but as long as anything wasn’t too broken Gale let it go on appreciating the unfamiliar sounds of woman’s laughter as he sat in his corner numb to it.

Authors Note: Thank you for reading :) Let me know if you all want this to continue. The next Chapter has Lorena's older sister coming into town. She doesn't hold back and see's Gales feelings for Lorena.

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x black reader #gale cleven x oc #gale cleven #major gale cleven #masters of the air #masterlist #black authors #austin butler x oc #austin butler fanfiction

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lambsouvlaki · 1 year ago

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For the Hell of It - Anniversary

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, no warnings.

Word count: 1,800

Summary: After two years together, Jason takes her out somewhere special for their anniversary.

Masterlist

It was mid morning when Jason called.

That was deeply unusual, this month especially. He had been so busy lately she barely saw him except for the days she got up and found him dead to the world on the other side of her bed.

Idly cataloguing the possible reasons for the call, Andy turned down the radio and stepped away from her laptop.

A serious injury? Unlikely, that call typically came from Alfred and would have happened three hours ago. Location compromised, maybe? Pretty good chance, although it wasn’t usually a call but an emergency alert telling her to get her ass out the door. Maybe he was loopy on fear-toxin antidote again and needed to hear she was still alive.

Most likely situation was Jason calling to tell her he was leaving the country, or the planet, or possibly the universe. Given the timing, it would be… well. Not crushing, but disappointing.

Two years into this relationship, she knew better than to get too precious about calendar dates.

“Hello?” she said with a jaunty tilt of her head. No pre-emptive sulking, she refused.

“Hey beautiful,” Jason’s voice came through the little speaker. It was warm and low. “I’ve missed your voice.”

Her eyebrows rose and relief lit up her face. “Did you just? I’ve got a presentation tomorrow that needs some rehearsing, want to listen to my dulcet tones talk about community support funding?”

He laughed. “I would actually, but I’d rather hear the whole story from the beginning. Are you free this saturday?”

“Hmm, am I free this saturday?” she drawled. “On our anniversary?”

“Yup, that saturday.”

“Why, yes, baby, I think I am. Why do you ask?”

“You’re not free anymore. I’m calling dibs.”

“Oh?” She dared to feel not just relief but anticipation.

“8pm. I’ll come get you.”

“Alright. How am I dressing? Steel capped boots? Running shoes? Ballet flats?” She had learned the vital importance of this question since going out with him. Jason’s plans were best faced prepared.

“Heels,” he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “Wear that slinky red number you hide at the back of the closet.”

She paused. Of course he’d seen it. “I’ve… never actually worn that before.”

“What did you get it for then?” he asked, teasing.

“Oh, you know. Maybe I’ll get invited to the Oscars.”

He laughed, low and promising. “I’ll make you feel like you did.”

She bit her lip. She was grinning like an idiot, alone in her own apartment. Two years in and she could still melt her with a word.

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you Saturday, sweetheart.”

They hung up and she drifted to her closet, eyeing up the dress.

He couldn’t make their first anniversary. The planet was under an invasion while Bruce was off-world dealing with some other, separate invasion, so Jason and Dick split up cowl temping duties. Dick went to go play Batman with the Justice League and Jason stayed to play Batman in Gotham.

He was more than capable of it and the average criminal didn’t even realise there was a different guy under the cowl. They just thought Batman was feeling extra mean this month. But it more than doubled his workload.

It didn’t blindside her. They were both disappointed but didn’t make a fuss, they had a system in place for these things. Both made compromises and extended grace to the other, and their relationship was stronger for it.

All the same, when Saturday night rolled around and she heard the purr of a car rolling up outside, excitement fizzed in her chest like bubbles in champagne.

She put on her finishing touches and went out to meet him.

Jason waited for her in a perfectly tailored black suit. He didn’t fancy himself up very often, or ever, in fact. Having him dressed up was more of a luxury than the McLaren sports car he was leaning against.

She drank in the sight of him. He looked like he could put Brucie Wayne to shame. The smirk on his face completed the ensemble.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said.

She wore her floor length evening dress, with a halter neck and the most indulgent plunging neckline she had ever worn, to say nothing of the split in the skirt. It was also bright red. She felt a little shy in it, but it wasn’t a dress for hiding in. She had towering black stilettos on her feet and a lazy swing in her hips. She wanted him to look his fill.

His eyes roamed over her with open appreciation. They were shortly followed by his hands, settling on her hips. He pulled her to him.

How was he still so much taller than her?

He kissed her, slow and deep and hungry. She leaned into him. He luxuriated in her.

Her night was off to a wonderful start.

Once they could bring themselves to part, he helped her into the car, and drove them off into the night. She put her hand on his thigh. He interlocked his fingers with hers and drove one handed. Gotham’s lights flashed by as they left their native little corner of the city behind. They wound through the Diamond District.

They slowed to a stop in the courtyard of a softly glowing restaurant. There was a cellist playing in the foyer. She recognised the name in a looping font over the door. She’d read it on some list of world best’s.

“You did not get a booking here on Wednesday. Did you?”

“I booked a year ago.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to miss it twice.”

She squeezed his hand. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t encapsulate just how much it meant to her. She knew the case he was working on wasn't wrapped up yet. He lifted her hand and kissed her palm.

She looked out the window at the people getting out of cars ahead of them. Doubt niggled at the back of her head.

“I may not actually be fancy enough for these people,” she confessed.

Jason scoffed. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna put everyone else here to shame.” He killed the engine and turned to her. “They should be grateful for the privilege of seeing you. I know I am.”

She smiled, ducking her head a little. He tilted her chin back up and looked into her eyes, leaning down towards her.

“You know these windows are tinted?” he said.

She snorted a laugh. He snatched a kiss.

“If you smudge my makeup, so help me.”

“Sweets, you know that’s a challenge.” He tipped her chin higher and kissed her neck, expertly dodging where she had blended her foundation into her skin.

She sighed. She loved this ridiculous man so much.

A valet tapped his window and Jason drew back with a sly grin.

He got out and came around to open her door for her. It was a necessity given how low the seats and how tall her heels were, but she was happy to lean into the fantasy as he took her hand.

Doubt was for behind closed doors. With the world watching she stepped out into the courtyard in a flutter of red silk and her chin held high. Jason slung an arm around her waist, resting low on her hip. They walked like they belonged because who the hell was going to tell them they didn’t?

They were welcomed in by the maitre d’ and led across the packed restaurant floor. Jason caressed the curve of her hip without shame.

She spotted the empty table their path led them to. Jason stiffend at her side.

At the table directly next to it sat another couple, presumably also on a date. Bruce Wayne and a gorgeous brunette with a pixie cut, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

Bruce glanced their way only briefly, and his expression froze.

Dread broke through his public persona for just a moment, a look perfectly mirrored on his son’s face. The collision course was set. Jason walked like he was approaching the gallows.

The brunette noticed the hiccup and looked back, revealing Miss Selina Kyle. She looked at Andy and rolled her eyes in commiseration.

“Actually,” Andy said, tossing her hair back and stopping in place.

The maitre d’ paused in his path.

“I would love to sit on the mezzanine floor. With the wall of flowers? It must be so beautiful.”

She ruthlessly silenced her internal scream over making a fuss. She was not surrendering her evening to Wayne bullshit. She got waxed for this.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am, the orchid display isn’t currently available, we are preparing an exciting new display for the spring after Poison Ivy-”

“It’s what I want,” she said pleasantly.

“Of course.”

The maitre d’ redirected them with perfect poise. He whispered in a passing waiter’s ear, and led them to the stairs.

Jason took her hand and squeezed it in silent thanks. The tension seeped back out of him. She squeezed back.

The mezzanine was comparatively quiet, with a giant print of Monet’s water lilies erected to cover some construction works. It had a lovely view of the rest of the restaurant however and the glinting chandeliers hung down over the main floor.

Table settings were arranged for them with a swiftness and subtlety even Alfred Pennyworth would approve of. Jason got to sit with his back to a wall and with sightlines over the entire pace, which always made him more comfortable. The table was small, they sat very close together, making it feel more intimate and private.

There were no prices on the menu and she didn’t grasp what the minimalist dish names actually meant. For a moment it filled her with a mute panic. Jason gave her a calm look and played with her hand on the table.

“We’ll have the chef’s menu, and the paired champagne for the table,” he said.

She was more than happy to be swept along. And she could pronounce the champagne better than the waiter, which calmed her fear of making a fool of herself. Jason managed to look exactly as at home here as he did while having a smoke on top of a dumpster in the Alley.

The food was all delicious, albeit in tiny portions on very large plates.

Below the table Jason ran his hand up her bare thigh, his fingers sneaking under the split in the dress.

She made eye contact as she licked the last of a creamy sorbet off her spoon. He watched with unadulterated focus. She ran her bare leg against his briefly, tastefully, and then retreated. He smirked at her. It was the smile of a man who knew exactly where his evening was heading.

He lifted his glass, with the last of its golden liquid in it. “To another year, beautiful.”

Next>>

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #for the hell of it #my fanfic #dc #fluff

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libbytwq · 3 months ago

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♡》 Bonjour fellow mortal organisms :] 《♡

-♡♡♡-

♡》 Welcome to my blog! 《♡

》 You can call me either Lore or Libby :] 《

》 she/her/any 《

》 🎂 Oct 4 (currently 17) 🎈 《

》 bi/ace, genderfluid 《

》 Maryland, USA 🇺🇸 (I am the white baby that shouldn't be talking like that) 《

》 Artist, Animator, Writer, Composer, Theatre Kid, Marching Band Kid 《

》 I make art, animation, and music! But mostly art and animations (I also sometimes write things) 《

》 Lately I've been on an SMG4 hyperfixation, so thats gonna be mostly what im posting about until im normal again (which will not be anytime soon) 《

-♡♡♡-

♡》 Things I Enjoy 《♡

》 Shows • "SMG4", "Murder Drones", "The Amazing Digital Circus", "Sonic Prime", "Ramshackle", "Lackadaisy", "Atlas and the Stars", "Hazbin Hotel", "Helluva Boss", "Don't Hug Me I'm Scared", "The Owl House", "Stranger Things", "Chikn Nuggit" 《

》 Movies • "Sonic the Hedgehog", "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?", "Chip n Dale: Rescue Rangers", "The Lego Movie" 《

》 Video Games • Minecraft, Frog Detective, Sonic the Hedgehog, Five Nights at Freddy's, Cuphead, Amanda the Adventurer, Andy's Apple Farm 《

》 Plays/Musicals • "The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals", "Black Friday", "Nerdy Prudes Must Die", "Hamilton", "Ride the Cyclone", "The Addams Family Musical", ""Les Miserables", "Puffs, or Seven Increasingly Eventful Years at a Certain School of Magic and Magic", "Mean Girls", "Twisted", "Firebringer" 《

》 Musical Artists • AJR, Tally Hall, CG5, Caravan Palace, Miracle Musical, Chappell Roan, Tom Cardy, Mystery Skulls, Jakeneutron, Jack Stauber 《

-♡♡♡-

♡》 Ref Sheets 《♡

》 Lore ref sheet 《

》 Main OCs ref sheets masterpost 《

》 SMGL:E ref sheet 《

》 speaking of SMGL:E, heres a masterpost to all their lore! 《

-♡♡♡-

♡》 Boundaries 《♡

》 DNI: MAPs, pedophiles, proshippers, groomers, racists, homophobes/transphobes, misogynists, nsfw accounts, porn accounts, anybody who promotes general hate speech 《

》 Please keep in mind that I am a minor. If you are a legal adult, please don't thirst for any of my personas or any of my minor OCs. (I rarely even draw thirst art for this characters, im not sure why you would do that-) Also do not request me to draw blatant NSFW. 《

》 If you violate these boundaries, you will be blocked. 《

-♡♡♡-

♡》 Inbox 《♡

》 Inbox will be closing November 24 and reopening once I get through all the asks. Thank you! 《

》 Feel free to ask me things in my ask box! About my characters, my interests, art requests (maybe.... heavily depends on the request), or any general comments you feel the need to tell me! Just don't ask me weird shit. 《

》 I may be a teensy bit slow with asks but i promise i see every single one! I will try and get thru every one of them, just be patient with me! <3 《

-♡♡♡-

♡》 Socials 《♡

》 My Reblog/Rant/Writing Account: @libbys-braincell-loss 《

》 My Carrd Website 《

》 YouTube 《

》 Scratch 《

》 DeviantArt 《

》 Wattpad 《

》 Unvale 《

》 ArtFight 《

》 Webtoon 《

》 Tapas 《

-♡♡♡-

♡》 My Main Tags 《♡

》 General Tags 《

》 #lore reblogs -- anything I reblog on this account, mostly @'s and fanart of my characters/AUs. 《》 #lore has the answers -- answers from my ask box! 《

》 SMGL:E (SMG4 OC/AU) 《

》 #smgl:e 《》 #smgl:e x karen + #smgloren 《》 #smgl:e ignatius 《》 #smgl:e x ignatius 《

》 Libby The Wolf Queen (My own original storyline/OCs) 《

》 #libby the wolf queen 《》 #libby campbell ltwq 《》 #haco lotus ltwq 《》 #inu quicksilver ltwq 《》 #ceecee skies ltwq 《》 #parca ltwq 《》 #ahren miller ltwq 《》 #taiyo soterios ltwq 《》 #nikki drossel ltwq 《》 #kuma nanuk ltwq 《》 #river lotus ltwq 《》 #ingrid drossel ltwq 《

-♡♡♡-

♡》 thanks for reading, have a swell day :] 《♡

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miharuki · 1 year ago

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𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖊/ 𝕾𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝕬𝖖𝖚𝖎

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:hi, I'm miharuki or just uki, and I make fanfic requests, my English isn't the best but I do it in English and Portuguese (Eng/ptbr)

𝐏𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐀̃𝐎:oi, eu sou miharuki ou só uki, e eu faço pedidos de fanfic, meu inglês não dos melhores mas eu faço pedidos em inglês e em português (Eng/ptbr)

𝕬𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖘:

★Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

★Tate no yūsha no nariagari/The rising of the Shield hero

★Tensei shitara slime datta Ken/that time i got reincarnated as a slime

★Jujutsu kaisen

★Dr. Stone

★Tondemo Skill de Isekai Hourou Meshi Online

★Blue Exorcism

★Kimetsu no Yaiba/Demon Slayer

★Tokyo revengers

★Mashle:Magic and Muscle

★Uramichi Oniisan/Life Lessons with the Uramichi Oniisan

★Saiki kusuo no psi-nan/The disastrous Life of Saiki kusuo

★Death note

★Hypnosis Mic

★Kaiju no 8

★Diabolik lovers

★Hunter x Hunter

★Marginal #4

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ────── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ──

𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘:

★The legend of zelda (linked universe)

★Genshin impact

★Undertale

★Omori

★Yandere aimulator

★Sally face

★Yanderes games

★Amor doce/My Candy Love

★ the kid ind the back

★ 14 days with you

★The Coffin of Andy and Leyley

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ────── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ──

𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖘:

★The owl house/a casa coruja

★Miraculos

★Hora de aventura/Adventure Time

★South park

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ────── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ──

𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒/𝕺𝖚𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒:

★Creepypasta

★Happypasta

★Vocaloid

★Yanderes

★Crush boyfriend

𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊/𝕽𝖊𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖘

•I don't do characters x characters/eu não faço personagens x personagens

•I don't make smut content about underage characters /eu não faço smut de personagens menores de idade

•I don't do any underage characters, the maximum will be between (Teen only (12+)/eu não faço personagens menores,o máximo será adolescente (12+)

•I only place orders in private /faço pedidos somente no privado

•Yandere characters are different from ocs yanderes or boy/girl yanderes/personagens yanderes são diferentes dos yanderes ocs ou yanderes garoto/garota

•I don't do fem x fem (I don't have much experience with that)

•Orders may take time due to me studying/os pedidos podem demorar por eu estar estudando

•I WILL NOT make fanfiction about characters from series or films/actors or etc., I don't do that and I will refuse to do any kind /•NÃO farei fanfics sobre personagens de séries ou filmes/atores ou etc., não faço isso e me recusarei a fazer qualquer tipo

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ambasingresident · 7 months ago

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Decided to draw the OC's of the THSC community on Tumblr as characters from the TNO universe (THSC x TNO)

I drew the oc's present in the post based on the artstyle of each blog (or at least how I interpret it) and the theme I gave to each oc. Hope ya'll like and enjoy it. I'll probably draw a second batch of THSC oc's x TNO art if I can find any oc that I can draw, if you want to be included then just dm me (or don't).

@yunaisky 's Andy Postman and Frederick Cedric x The Red Poppy Movement

"The Tyrant-Fighting Boyfriends of Roue"

@bluetorchsky 's Accordion and Violin x The Humanist

"The Music Dragons of Shostakovich"

@rarestdoge, @smoresthehalloweenqueen, and @mai-mai-lim 's ABC Trio x Siberian Black Army

"Be Gay, Do Crime!"

@caruskie 's Carus x Free Aviators

"The Witch of the Urals"

@capturecharlesau 's Danny Felizima x Governorate of the Levant

"Capitano Luce Stellare del Levante (Captain Starlight of the Levant)"

@ceresfromnationstates 's Calvin Perez x South African War (US Inteevention)

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING SOUTH AFRICA!!!!!!!!!"

@m1mk1d 's Max and @itz-candikin 's Lexi x Buryatia

"Le Holesom Mutineers of Sablin"

(Tbh I had fun drawing all of these, will look forward in making a project like this)

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tildeathiwillwrite · 2 months ago

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Tag Game: Writeblr Interview

Thanks to @cowboybrunch for the tag, this looks fun!

Long post incoming.

----------

Short stories, novels, or poems?

I find I end up with novelette/novella-length stories more often than not. I've written plenty of one-shots and short stories for prompt events, and I like doing that especially when I'm doing fanfiction or nameless characters. When I write with ocs though I tend to stretch stuff out and what had originally started as a one-shot or short story ends up becoming a novella.

Don't get me wrong I have plenty of WIPs planned out to be novels (like Trials of the Six), but the first drafts of The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure and The Legend of Orian Goldeneye were both novella-length and will probably stay that way or end up being longer. My Hero x Villain series ended up being a novelette, so basically I can't plan for how long a story's gonna be lol.

I've written a little bit of poetry (heck, I wrote one for The Legend of Orian Goldeneye that may or may not get cut), but it's not my favorite thing to write because I way overthink things. But when I do compose poetry I usually do limericks.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Fantasy, no contest. And within fantasy, usually High Fantasy with a lightcore or hopecore focus. I read some gritty stuff, but I find they tend to have elements I don't really like more than the ones I do.

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

Both? I like having an idea of where the story's gonna go, and I plan that out either before writing or while writing, so I don't get stuck. But it's really loose and gives plenty of room for the characters to go feral. I'm in the middle, but I lean more panster than plotter.

What music do you listen to while writing?

Soundtracks, usually from videogames or movies. I really should start organizing my two writing playlists by vibes other than calming music and boss fight-type, but I'm pretty happy with how I have it now. I also have some seasonal aesthetic playlists which match the vibe of the current weather.

Field Music Playlist (calming background soundtracks)

Boss Fight Playlist (pump-up, more exciting soundtracks)

Seasonal Aesthetics: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter

Favorite books/movies?

Oh goodness.

Uhhhh. UHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

My knee-jerk answer for favorite movie is and always will be The Princess Bride. But I also really like Back to the Future, The Martian, and Clue.

With books I tend to separate them into categories. For fantasy I would say it's a tie between Dragonlance: Dragons of Autumn Twilight by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, The Death Gate Cycle: Hand of Chaos by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson, and Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynn Jones.

For sci-fi it's The Martian by Andy Weir, followed closely by Skyward by Brandon Sanderson.

My favorite classic is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, followed by Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin.

And for nonfiction I like Stuck by Justina Van Manen, The Healing Imperative by Mike Aquilina, and Beautiful Holiness by Kathleen Beckman.

And of course the Holy Bible and the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Any current WIPs?

This post is getting long enough already, I talk about my WIPs here and they're all linked in my pinned post in one way or another.

Create a character description of yourself:

Quiet, and keeps to herself. Never without a book, never without a rosary. Her brown hair is long, reaching nearly past her waist, and often kept up in a ponytail or a braid. She dresses mostly in dark colors, black jeans or skirt and a shirt or blouse that is black, navy, or gray, but occasionally wears a bright shirt. She wears little to no makeup unless she feels like being extra fancy. She always has a ring on her right hand, and usually a bracelet that matches her outfit, both of which she fiddles with. Her friends are few but she loves them dearly, and they are often on her mind. Though she may be quiet most of the time, she never hesitates to speak up for what she believes in.

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Eh... not really. I know my own thoughts and experiences much better than those around me and I wouldn't wish a lot of the stuff I do to my characters on the people I know so it just feels kinda weird to me.

Are you kill happy with your characters?

I find I like to bring my characters to the brink of death and back again rather than just killing them unless I want to write about grief. I'm more kill happy with immortal characters for the same reason.

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Usually just water, but if I can get my favorite iced coffee drink than I'd be happy to drink that.

Slow or fast writer?

It varies depending on the amount of research I have to do in a scene, but I think I write pretty fast. I haven't measured my words-per-minute in a while but it was pretty good if I recall correctly.

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

I'd love to be a guide of some kind, part of the group enough that I won't get killed off. I'm pretty good with navigation and maps, and I'd like to have powers (minor ones, not overpowered) but that would depend on the fantasy world.

Most fav book cliche:

Scoundrel with a heart of gold. I eat that up like a starving woman. Han Solo, Mat Cauthon, Ifan Ben-Medz, etc. Draven Cozenson, Diana Ozborne and Korfel Domin are two oc examples.

Least favorite cliche:

Love triangles. Frustrates me to no end, especially how most of them are resolved and how they really only seem to drive wedges in the fandoms (Keeper of the Lost Cities fandom, I'm looking at you.) I have no love triangles in my stories and I never will. I have minimal romance anyway but in the two I got there is no competition.

Favorite scene to write?

*evil grin* Love writing the whump or hurt/comfort scenes, all my ocs get whumped in some form or another, and I have fun every single time.

Reason for writing?

Creative expression, love for my ocs, with a dash of "I maked these :D"

In all seriousness, it's a hobby that I love. It sparks joy and it's a craft that I continuously improve upon and the more I write the better I get at writing. I also occasionally fantasize about publishing one day and my books having fandoms of their own. Maybe that will happen someday.

----------

This was fun! Tagging @fourwingedwriter @phoenixradiant @thewritingautisticat @writingphoenix @somethingclevermahogony

@agirlandherquill @happypup-kitcat24 @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife @geode-crystal @pluttskutt and open tag! :D

Blank list under the cut:

Short stories, novels, or poems?

What genre do you prefer reading?

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

What music do you listen to while writing?

Favorite books/movies?

Any current WIPs?

Create a character description of yourself:

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Are you kill happy with your characters?

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Slow or fast writer?

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

Most fav book cliche:

Least favorite cliche:

Favorite scene to write?

Reason for writing?

#writeblr #tag game #writeblr tag game #writeblr interview #writeblr interview tag #writerblr interview #writblr interview #about me #long post #creative writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #fantasy writer

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f-cat · 6 months ago

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Hello!

I just wanted to remind you all who are following up on requests that I genuinely can’t get to them all, only maybe a few at a time. I see them and am not responding because they get removed if I do.

I can’t do them all. :)

I’m not a full-time artist and have a regular career, so please excuse me if I can’t get to yours. Just to prove I’ve seen your requests, here is everything from my inbox so far in no particular order:

Ms. Marvel

Warcraft Elf Feet

Lara Croft

Magik

Jubilee

Storm

Ahsoka X

Bo-Katan

Rio Morales (Game)

Rio Morales (Movie)

Rogue X

She-Hulk X

Supergirl X

Powergirl X

Powergirl being tickled

X-23

Shanna the She-Devil

Jill Valentine X

Claire Redfield X

Atom Eve

Sif (God of War)

Ashelin

Elena Fisher

Chloe Frazer

Honey Lemon

Gogo Tomago

Aunt Cass X

Rapunzel

Padme Amidala

Princess Leia

Raven

Starfire

Blackfire

Myself / FCat X

Gwen Stacy (Comics)

Gwen Stacy (Movie)

Spider-Gwen (Movie)

Mary Jane (Game)

Mary Jane (Comics) X

Captain Marvel

Black Widow

Bishop

Andi X

Marika

Ulf (OC) X

Shadowheart (again)

Karlach (again)

Panam Palmer

Judy Alvarez

Songbird

Hera Syndulla X

Jinx X

Vi X

Rinoa (Final Fantasy)

Quistis (Final Fantasy)

D.Va (a lot of requests)

Kiriko (also a lot)

Ana

Mercy (3 of her)

Widowmaker

Mei

Brigitte (A lot)

April O’Neill (Fortnite)

A bunch of other models from Fortnite (3)

Ellie (The Last of Us Part II)

Yotsuyu (FFXIV)

Random woman

Elsa X

Anna X

Nani (from Lilo and Stitch)

More Wonder Woman

Tsunade

5 different anime characters (I can’t do these)

Superhero OC (1)

OCs from friends (2)

Ysh’tola Rhul

Gentiana

Lunafreya

Bayonetta or Samus Aran

Korra

Asami

Princess Zelda (Twilight Princess)

Princess Zelda (Breath of the Wild)

Princess Zelda (Skyward Sword)

Princess Zelda (Tears of the Kingdom)

Princess Zelda (My choice, apparently)

Darth Talon

Scarlet Witch being tickled by Agatha Harkness

Tifa Lockhart being tickled

Smothering Room Shenanigans

Old Tickling Renders

Do you RP - No

You’ll likely recognize yours. Thank you for being patient with me.

#feet #tickling

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atinylittlepain · 9 months ago

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Split Seam

steve harrington x f!oc

part of the girl boy series

18+ allusions to smut, stuffy family dynamics, overall just a fun time tho

a/n | marriage done the standy way, this was fun to write :')

...........................................

It’s raining in Philadelphia and chocolate hearts are on sale at the CVS down the block from his apartment. Valentine’s cards too, pink and purple and red and everything must go. He buys a bottle of seltzer and a chocolate rose. When he gets to the station he unwraps the red tinfoil and takes a large bite out of the bloom. He’s starving, didn’t get lunch at the office today with the usual end of the week scramble of numbers and numbers and suits and numbers. But he’s only got an hour and change on the train. He can hold out, Hershey’s aside.

He’s done this train ride sixty-two times now. This is number sixty-three, but he’s not keeping track. All he knows is that it still feels like relief when he’s seated and the train starts moving. It’s always felt like a relief to be moving in the same direction as her again.

They’ve gotten this right, he thinks. As right as they possibly could, at least. The first year of what Andy called moderate-to-long distance was hard. Awkward phone calls with long swaths of silence, calls that were missed altogether, crossed wires, cataclysmic blowouts that were and weren’t about the things they argued about. But they’ve made it this far, nearly two years of this perpetual back and forth ache that’s only soothed with train rides, with closing that gap.

There’s been three apartments in New York, and he’s pretty sure he likes this last one that she’s in the best. Greenwich Village, old brick and pock-marked sidewalks and tall windows that wash warm over lightwood floors, and he likes being the one making this trip because he likes getting to see her in a space that feels like her. And he likes this too, the same as the first sixty-two trips, she’s waiting for him at the station, that brief moment, miracle, within which he sees her but she doesn’t see him. Checking her watch and running a hand back through her hair, in her brown leather coat, sharp and smooth and too cool for a banker from Philly, but she’s here for him, smiling big, smiling everything when her eyes finally catch his.

This always the same too, a soft, sweet rejoining, her hand curling at the nape of his neck, other arm slung over his shoulder and here, here, she presses her lips to his cheek, her nose sliding in line with his and hi, baby, another kiss, quick, and he’s home.

“They have you staying late again, don’t they? Or did you get all dressed up just to see me?” Little tug to his tie as they thread through throngs of people, out into the cool damp night in as close of a tangle they can be without getting heckled for it on the street.

“Catch-up from the holidays, or at least that’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Right, right, crunching numbers and murdering secretaries American Psycho-style?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Little squeeze to her hip, little mean as they continue their walk back to her place. Her grin gets lit up by the neon creeping into the oncoming night.

“Kidding, your colleagues however, well, yeah.” Well, yeah, Andy had come into town right before Christmas to go to his company holiday party with him, and had gotten into not one, not two, but three verbal altercations with his co-workers about the invisible labor of women, as well as the recession. Not that he would admit it, but he had been impressed, and maybe a little flustered, watching her hold her own amongst the suits. They had left early on account of said flustering, as well as the little snap he had given to one of the suits who told him something about needing a muzzle for that one. The partition in the company-ordered limo was raised when they got back into it, the green velvet of her dress hiked up and up and up exposing sheer black nylon and skin, and they both had forgotten all about the suits and the snap by the time they got back to his apartment. He still gets a little hazy, sweet gauze in his mind when he thinks about it.

“How are the feminists this week?”

“Oh you know, angry, hairy, generally awesome and oppressed. I turned in my third draft on Wednesday.”

“That’s amazing, honey. It must feel good to be almost finished.”

“It feels good to finally get my advisor off my ass. Bigger and better things, et cetera, et cetera.” He knows not to ask after bigger and better, having made the mistake once of asking if she had heard back from any of the PhD programs yet. She had smiled a watery thing, and promptly dissolved into a pool of sound and tears, too much, don’t ask. She’ll tell him when the news comes in, he knows, though there still remains a selfish slice of him that hopes and hopes and hopes UPenn comes back with a yes, and she answers with a yes too. But for now this is enough, here, and stopping her on the stairs up to her apartment to press a curved kiss to her mouth, so proud of you, honey. She beams, scoffs, thank you, and it drips with sheepish sweetness, her eyes rolling up to hide the truth of it, but he still catches it, lets her believe he doesn’t when she tugs him into her apartment.

It’s true what they say about absence and fondness, at least in the case of Sylvia, who lately has been greeting him with a desperate peel of cries, twining around his legs with such a fervor that he has to try hard not to trip over her. No petting though, she still likes to scratch if it isn’t on her terms.

“Nice flowers.”

“Thank you, someone sent them on Valentine's day.” A veritable flame of roses sits preening in a vase on her kitchen counter. He had asked for the biggest, the best, no expenses spared because he’s making money now, real money, and any gifts for her have to be a sneak attack because of it.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm, you better watch out because it looks like you have some competition from another suitor.” She lays the accent on thick, her family’s accent, soo-tah, throws in a waggle of her fingers, ring glinting for good measure. The ring, and the whole ordeal of it. There had been no family heirlooms left to ask Frank and Kitty Broder permission for, just a nervous conversation the day after Thanksgiving, the one before last, sweating hard beneath his collar and hands shaking. Because while Andy is anything but traditional, Steve picked up pretty fast that this was not quite the case with her parents. A fiance of the second oldest had clued him in on as much the first time Steve was brought home to meet the family, summer break and a big reunion, plenty of hands to shake and names to forget. And the second oldest’s fiance had sidled up next to Steve with a sloshing glass of prosecco and the grin of someone who had figured this whole production out. Somewhere between the mafia and the Vatican, you do the math, man.

Frank was unmoved, tolerant of the idea at best, considering him over the dark rims of his Buddy Holly-esque glasses, a stylish man, tall and thin man with a slick of gray hair and a thick gold ring that could blind you if it flashed the wrong way. He only had one question for Steve which, mercifully, he could answer correctly. Yes, he told Frank, raised Roman Catholic, though he left the non-practicing part out. Meanwhile, Kitty was already designing the invitations in her mind.

And that wasn’t even the hard part. Because yes, hasty by some judgements (Eddie’s), and unlikely by other judgements, given Andy’s views (Robin). But he knew, he knew, spent a few months looking for a ring in the evenings when he’d get off work. When he did find one, he didn’t even wait a week, letting the black velvet box burn a hole in his pocket on the train ride to New York that very same weekend. And the proposal itself was simple, no fuss or fanfare, if not a little nerve-wracking. He spoke honestly, plainly. He spoke love. And he’s never known relief like he did when she smiled and told him there’s no one else I’d ever say yes to, baby. So maybe it’s hasty, and maybe it’s all skewed a little unorthodox. But it’s theirs.

“They better act fast then, got that appointment tomorrow and all.”

“Did you bring all your documents?”

“Driver’s license, social security number. We’re set, honey.”’

“I’m still not changing my last name.”

“No, I know, I don’t care about that.”

“My mother is pissed about it, apparently so is yours.”

“I think when all this is said and done, those two are gonna leave their husbands and move in with each other.”

“God, that’d be good for them, or maybe terrible.”

“Little of both, probably.” One of the stranger outcomes of this whole wedding thing, the alliance that’s formed between Diane and Kitty. Though maybe not that strange, he thinks, certainly plenty of common in between them. At the very least, this wedding wouldn’t be happening next month without the pair of them leading the absolute battle charge of planning they’ve accomplished. Kitty’s words, knowing my Miranda, she’d be happy with a shotgun wedding in Reno, and Andy hadn’t disagreed, happy to leave all the cake and the flowers and the tulle up to their mothers. Steve was more than happy to stay out of the fray too.

“You didn’t eat lunch, did you?”

“How can you tell?”

“Steve, you never eat lunch. I ordered Thai before I left to get you,Tom Kha Gai and egg rolls, the usual. It should be here soon.”

And the rest of the evening is very boring, very mundane, a third-floor window lit up warm, and framed inside of it, them on the couch with a smattering of takeout boxes. His tie undone and hanging loose around his neck, top three buttons of his shirt popped as well. Warmth and salt and sour sating him, he goes slack when she tries to teach him how to properly hold his chopsticks, moreso enjoying the feeling of her hands fidgeting with his fingers, her careful concentration. He goes right back to using a fork when she’s finished, grinning at the roll of her eyes. And afterwards, stomachs full and eyes heavy, worn weary from their respectively long weeks, they get into the shower, all kind touch, simple pleasure, her fingers kneading back along his scalp and his hands soaped and slipping over her skin, working into the spots that he knows ache, satisfaction in her sighs.

Soon, he thinks, hopes, this won’t be a thing they have to ration, all this touch, all this sense, all this closeness. This will simply become the thing they do every night, getting into bed together and talking about things that don’t really matter while their bodies relearn one another. He wants these things in a near dizzying way, big, bold, brazen want that simmers and sighs in her presence, tired kisses, and it’s enough, her hand in his hair, and it’s enough.

He wakes up the next morning bleary-eyed with want, eager for this early morning appointment at the county clerk’s office, because this is another step, big step, making it even more real step. They both seem to feel it, quiet over the rims of their coffee mugs, smiling, and what? What? What’re you smiling about? It’s a big day, isn’t it? Yeah, nervous? No, you? Not at all, no. And he means that when he says it. There are few things in his life that he has been so certain about.

And yes, maybe they had a romantic idea of how this would go, but it really is just paperwork in a dimly lit cubicle, and signatures here and here and yes, wedding will take place within sixty days. Steve tries to make a joke about cousins, and is only met with a blank look from the clerk, and a swift side-eye from Andy.

But when the paperwork is signed and there’s a manilla envelope with their wedding license in his hand, there is a lightness, a lift, a giddy kick, like kids getting away with something when they leave the office. Tucked in close to each other, a little oblivious, and maybe a little obnoxious, and a man walking the other way lets them know as much, bumping right into Steve’s shoulder and watch it! And without missing a beat, Andy’s head whipping around and hey, fuck you, we just got married! Which, well, technically not, but it still makes them both laugh a breathless thing, wild, wind-bitten smiles. And they’re still running on all that flare and fluster when they get back to her apartment, open-mouthed kisses and greedy hands and she has to hold him back by the lapel of his coat to grin an awful thing and you wanna see the dress?

“You have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, here, right now?”

“Yes, Steve, it’s been fitted and everything. Locked and loaded and ready to blast me off into marital bliss with you, et cetera, et cetera. Now, do you, or don’t you, want to be the first, the very first, to see it on me in all its matrimonious glory?”

“Isn’t that bad luck?”

“Baby, please.” She groans, pressing her forehead against his, and really, he’s just giving her a hard time, because he knows what this means to her, beneath all the snark. The first to see it before anyone else, before the rehearsal, and the aisle, and all the family that neither of them really care to have present. A moment for them, just for them, and no one else.

“You really want me to see?”

“Mmhmm.” Quiet, crackling murmurs, whispered between smiles.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’d like to see.”

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll be right back.” And so he does, a little shake in his hands, a little burst and batter of his heart against his ribs. Nervous now, and he’s not sure why, the ticking of the clock pulling taut and loose all over like melted taffy. And then, and then, the padding of bare feet, and the hard rush of blood in his ears, and the sweet exhale when he does finally see her.

“Honey.” Bordering on pained, the word is said with a sigh, and he’s not going to, no, no, just a little flush of heat behind his eyes and in his throat and Andy’s baby, don’t cry makes him sniff hard and swallow, his hand settling on her hip when she steps closer between his legs. Smooth white silk and simple, and her hair is still gathered in the clip she tucked it up into this morning and she’s still wearing a smear of Vaseline on her lips and she’s the best thing he’s ever seen, he thinks. Tells her as much and she smiles big, chin tucked down and her thumb stroking along the column of his neck where her hand is loosely curled.

“Well, thoughts?”

“Wow, just wow, yeah, no other thoughts.” He knows she’s going to start wilting under any more compliments, never one for them, a warbly Steve that makes him smile, squeezing at her hip, coaxing her to c’mere, c’mere, even as she resists his pull.

“If you fuck up this dress we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Not gonna fuck it up, just come a little closer. I wanna, uh, look at the stitching.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Even as she says it, her smile is starting to slip and spread, another shuffled step closer as his hands splay across her low back, and lower, and lower, and a squeeze that’s just a little mean, making her laugh while he starts to hike all that silk up and up into his hands.

A few weeks later, when he’s met with the sight of her in that dress in a very, very different context, all he can think about is that afternoon. No one will ever know that he got to see her first in that dress, before anyone else. Nor will they know that they spent the rest of that afternoon splayed on her living room floor with the fabric of her dress bunched up around her hips and his hands curled into the plush of her thighs and his mouth, open and taking, watching the dip and fold of fine fabric, the arch of her back, pleasure for pleasure’s sake. No one will know that in the after, his hips stilled and flush against hers, both of them panting and preening into each other’s kisses, they found the smallest tear at her hip, and that she couldn’t be mad about it, not even a little, when he sunk back down between her legs and laid his apology at the open hinge of her hips.

He’ll find that tear again, when the vows are said, and the family and friends are clapping, and they’re walking down the aisle together, his hand on her hip. He’ll find the tear then, the perfect secret shared between them in a quick glancing smile.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington au #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington series #steve harrington story #girl boy

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elmith-art · 8 days ago

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Here it is, a drawing I started at the beginning of September. Sorry for the delay, I didn't have the motivation to post my finished drawings.

Thanks to the two people who offered me their Ocs, so I drew them with 7 of my Oc (6 of my 8 main Ocs + Sasha side Oc from my Elmyre's story).

There's no Irene and Andrea (two other of my main Ocs) because I hadn't created them yet when I started drawing.

I have to admit that I had no idea about the background and that this rainbow is ugly!

Pink hair: Kagura (oc from @akiravarts )

Nasa sweater: Ellyn (my oc)

Light red hair: Sasha (my oc)

Underneath: Elise and Judith (my ocs)

Black hair : Daisy (my oc)

The two with brown hair: Eurielle and Elmyre (my ocs)

Black and red hair: Andy (oc from @delavegaalisson on Instagram)

Elmyre and Sasha: Supernatural OCs

Eurielle : Band of Brother oc

Elise : Resident Evil oc

Judith: Jericho Oc

Ellyn: The Agency x Driven crossover Oc

Daisy: Three Blind Saint Oc

#chibi art #original character #digital art #supernatural oc #oc art #original art #elmithartoc #friendsoc #girl power #fanart #dessin #drawing #ocs #resident evil oc #band of brothers oc #jerichotvshow oc #threeblindsaintoc #the Agency x Driven crossover oc

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lambsouvlaki · 1 year ago

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For the Hell of It - Rescue

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: T, brief description of violence.

Word count: 990

Summary: Red Hood comes to her rescue.

Masterlist

She woke slowly, sedately, to the touch of Jason’s fingers trailing down her cheek.

Eyes shut, she leaned into it.

The hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up. There was no light scrape of rock hard calluses against her chin. The skin was smooth.

Andy’s eyes snapped open.

Black Mask looked down at her.

She recoiled. Or tried to. Her body responded slowly, groggy and jerky, against hard metal restraints. She was bound to a chair.

“Red Hood’s squeeze, hmm? Lucky find,” he said. He wasn’t talking to her. He tilted her chin back the other way to look her over. “I knew he was just a man under that helmet.”

A large man covered in tattoos stood behind him to his right. He looked down at her in disdain.

“Anything you want to tell me, Miss Wright?” Black Mask drawled.

She kept her mouth shut.

The second man hit her on the face. Her head rocked back. Her ears rang.

“He asked you a question.”

She bit her tongue to stop her pained whine.

“He doesn’t know you’re missing,” Black Mask said. “And he won’t, not for days. No masked maniac coming to rescue you. Your chances of getting out of here start and end with not pissing me off.”

She looked at the nasty grins on the face of the two hulking enforcers standing by the door. The uncaring menace in the man who hit her. The mocking glint in Black Mask’s eyes.

“You’re not letting me out alive anyway,” she said, with mounting terror. It churned in her gut.

Black Mask barked a hoarse laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll wring every last secret out of you before I do you the favour of letting you die.”

One of the enforcers turned his head, his brow furrowed.

Something rattled onto the floor, then blinding white exploded everywhere. Her vision blanked out entirely, one final image burned into her eyes: Red Hood standing behind Black Mask, with his gun pointed at his head.

She was thrown sideways in her chair and landed hard on the ground. Guns fired with deafening reports, too loud for her to tell where or from who. Blind and still reeling from the impact, she felt the tattooed man grab her hair. He was ripped violently off of her a second later, and she went skidding sideways across the ground.

Everything got lost in the chaos and noise, before a blow to the head knocked her out.

-----

Andy woke to Jason’s hand in her hair.

Her heartbeat picked up, foreign alarm she couldn’t name or understand in her throat, until she registered the familiar calluses against the small of her neck. Strong hands, scarred and rough, massaged her skin with all the gentleness in the world. She breathed out in relief, and her eyes fluttered open.

Her head lay in Jason’s lap. He was reading a book, his wrist propped up against her shoulder. A gun sat on the bedside table. They were in a safehouse. She didn’t recognise it.

She felt perfectly safe. It took her a moment to process why that mattered, and why her mind even presented it as meaningful.

Her brows pinched and the side of her face stung at the movement. She brought up a hand, and felt butterfly strips across her brow.

Patchy memory filtered in.

Jason turned a page with his thumb, calm and measured. He radiated fury. It wasn’t at odds with the gentleness of his hold on her. His calm methodical rage was so dangerous it could burn Gotham to the ground if he loved it any less.

“What happened?” she asked. Her voice was raspy and her throat sore. She had the vague idea she might have been screaming during the scuffle.

“Black Mask’s second in command launched a coup and murdered his Boss,” Red Hood said, still looking at his book. “He’s trying to pin it on me to keep the support of Sionis’ loyalists. Nobody believes him.”

She remembered, sudden and clear as day, burned into her mind against the pure white of a flashbang grenade: Red Hood pointing a gun at Black Mask. A fan of blood and viscera, in a frozen still, exploding out behind the black skull.

She sat up. She stared at him.

Jason hadn’t killed anyone in years. He wasn’t allowed to, or Batman would run him out of town.

The enforcers, any witnesses, they’d know what happened, they would have to be– he couldn’t have just walked out with her, she was dead weight, had he really–? Had he– For her?

A quiet, hard thought cut through her muddling.

There had been a good reason Jason didn’t kill Black Mask during his initial rampage, and it wasn’t lack of opportunity. He had plans, counter plans, acceptable losses, and goals he wouldn’t bend on. Necessities balanced on delicate scales sometimes called justice but more accurately called reality. The power vacuum hadn’t been worth it.

And he’d done it anyway. He’d killed Black Mask, in the middle of Batman’s city, for her.

He looked back at her, unflinching.

She lay back down, putting her head in his lap.

He ran his hand over her again, carding it through her hair and burying it deep beneath her curls.

Those men, however many it was, died for her sake.

Did their blood stain her too? Did it stream down from his hands onto her head, dripping through her hair to streak across her face?

They would have tortured his secrets out of her, that hard voice said in the back of her mind. She was alive because Jason killed them first.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He curled over her and looked into her eyes. The hard fury cracked and she saw the desperate storm in his gaze.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

I love you.

Next>>

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #for the hell of it #my fanfic #dc #angst #dramatic rescue #Red Hood is a killer #don't fucking touch Jason's girl #Jason never says I love you #Jason is saying I love you every moment of every day

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