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farfromstrange · 11 months ago

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Austin: Prologue [Owen Sleater x F!Reader]

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read Me on AO3

Chapter Summary: You receive an ominous letter from Enoch Thompson. It brings back memories of your past, memories you would much rather forget because they could get you into a lot of trouble, and you find yourself backed into a corner that you have to find a way out of.

Chapter Warnings: Murder, blood, canon typical violence, assault (not sexual), alcohol consumption, organized crime, flashback

Word Count: 6.4K

A/n: About damn time I started writing for Owen. I fell in love with him from the moment he first appeared on screen. This idea was a lot more complex than a simple One Shot in my head, even though I thought about writing one first, so now you're getting a series. Because I just can’t help myself. The Boardwalk Empire fandom seems fairly small, but I hope my fellow Charlie-obsessed people on here appreciate this story regardless.

Set from Season 2 episode 9 onward!

This series is rated E for explicit! 18+ only!

The evening sun relentlessly burns down on the cemented sidewalks from the magenta skies above. Not a cloud is to be seen. Cars roll over the paved asphalt roads leading through the city, past the many pedestrians peeking through the many storefronts, always looking for something new to buy.

Every once in a while, a swarm of birds breaks free from the trees and wanders to the next. It’s a small glimpse of nature that lies behind the city center of Austin, Texas, but a small glimpse is better than none.

Each dollar bill that slips through your fingers feels like paper gold. In a patriarchal society, all everyone ever sees are men sitting in their ivory towers and spitting at those who dare to threaten their position. They can’t imagine themselves to fall lower than the rest.

You are far beyond any of that. You’re not insecure in your power. You don’t need to show it off to know that you have succeeded. Your anger may burn brighter than the force of a thousand suns, and you may be far more powerful than any man could ever fathom to be, but you would never see yourself above anyone else.

One thing almost all men seem to have in common, you have come to realize, is that they underestimate the power of a woman scorned. And that is a very dangerous thing to do.

The windows in your office are open, allowing a gentle breeze to cool down the summer heat that has stuck itself to the walls. As you count the money in your hands, you can’t help but watch the sun slowly set over Austin.

You take another sip of Whiskey. The label on the back of the bottle reads Mr. Austin’s Finest. Only about a quarter left.

You trace the condensation with a finger along the crystal of the glass. The brown liquid shimmers in the fading sunlight. You will have to supply your own office with another shipment soon enough, but for now, you have enough to enjoy the flavor just a little longer—the one flavor that will always remind you of being a little girl in a small town in the middle of nowhere, who made it to the city of Austin against all odds. It tastes like home, in a way.

To you, Austin is more than a city. It’s more than your mother’s hometown, more than the capital of the State you were born in and have never left for more than one week at a time, and it’s more than the home of the most valuable business you could ever run. It’s who you are. It may have been a name of convenience, and not even a very creative one at that, but it saved your life.

Your eyes scan the books spread out before you. Production. Distribution. Expenses. Profit. Names. Two notebooks, three tables, five columns. You count each dollar bill with precision, fold the stacks into neat packages, and wrap them up with porous rubber bands from the first drawer in your desk. The rest, you place into an envelope.

The floorboards creak, and you divert your attention from your work to the doorway. “Beth,” you say.

She offers you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss, but I just received a letter from you that wasn’t with the earlier correspondence,” she says.

Elizabeth Brown. She was the only person in all of Austin who, when you first got there, showed you that she understood the real meaning of discretion. Now, you would trust her with your life, and you value her opinion more than that of your associates. There is something about a good heart worth so much more than ruthlessness, even in a business that requires your heart to be made out of ice so you won’t get hurt.

But even Beth has her secrets.

You exhale audibly, swallowing the last sip of your drink before setting the glass down on the deep brown Mahogany.

“That’s unusual,” you state. “Where’s it from?”

Beth takes another step into your office, her heels transitioning from the wooden floorboards to the soft carpet. “Um,” she holds out the envelope in front of her, “It’s from Atlantic City. I haven’t opened it yet, so I don’t know if it’s important. I can still put it with the others if you’d like.”

You carefully observe her body language. She isn’t lying, merely confused.

“No.” You pat your desk. “Leave it here.”

She crosses the threshold and places the envelope next to your hand. “Is there anything else you need, Miss?”

Looking up at her, you shake your head with a smile. “I want you to finish up and take an early evening. Go home, see your children,” you tell her. “You shouldn’t waste your time in this office when you could be with your family.”

Something about the way her face lights up with the gratitude that wraps her fragile heart in a warm hug makes you feel a little better about yourself.

“Thank you so much,” she says. “You really are incredibly generous.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. You’ve been working so hard, you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

She sighs happily. With a gentle, “Have a good night. And thank you again,” she turns on her heel and makes her way out of your office to gather her things in the foyer.

You are well aware that her job—working with you and getting caught up in whatever criminal chaos you engage in—puts her future at risk every day, and yet every day, she comes back to work.

Not that she has much of a choice, anyway. You loathe yourself for being incapable of offering her one. Beth stays because she believes that she owes you, and that alone adds another hundred tons of weight to the bricks that are already weighing heavily on your heart.

You reach for the envelope. The paper feels expensive underneath your fingertips. You turn it around to see who sent it, and the name strikes a chord before it has even been fully processed. Your body knows that something isn’t quite right. The sense of doom that fills you hangs over your head like the blade of a guillotine, ready to separate your head from your body.

Enoch Thompson.

“Fuck,” you curse.

He is a man whose reputation precedes him. County treasurer. Bootlegger. The man who used to run the city. And definitely, a man who knows how to make a dime or two in ways that leave even the actions you had to take in the past year shaking in their boots. You may be a quiet contender, but you always have your eyes and ears everywhere.

The letter itself feels just as fancy as the envelope. You put down the blade you used to open it. Never before had someone rubbed their wealth in your face quite like Enoch Thompson just did.

With a heavy heart, you begin to read his delicate handwriting. It seems shaky, in a way, as though his dominant hand was injured when he wrote it.

Dear Mr. Austin,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. You may not know me because so far, we haven’t had the pleasure to make each other’s acquaintance. From what I’ve heard, your reputation precedes you, and I went to great lengths to find a way to contact you.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Enoch Thompson, and I have reasons to believe that we were both once acquainted with the same man.

Seeing your late father’s name on paper, your blood runs cold. The oxygen escapes your lungs and refuses to return. You skim over the letters over and over again until your head is spinning.

I was deeply saddened to hear about his passing. And I was even more saddened to hear that his only living relative—a daughter, for all I know—passed away suddenly a year later. That family left a great legacy behind.

Your vision blurs. With every line, with every statement, and with every well-concealed jab, you feel like you are being led to the slaughterhouse.

I remember him well, though it has been many years. He came to me in Atlantic City with a dream, and I couldn’t help but invest in him. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw his name on the back of a bottle of Austin’s finest rum. A fine spirit, I must say.

I am glad to see that his legacy has found a way to live on in a great mind such as yourself.

In your father’s journal, he always portrayed Nucky as a trustworthy ally. A friend. After moving to Austin, you studied every word he wrote, and the few times he mentioned Atlantic City, he never lost a bad word about Enoch Thompson, which, considering his reputation, always surprised you, but you had never felt the need to doubt your father’s judgment of his friends.

Now though, you are slowly coming to realize that you may have underestimated the secrets he took with him to the grave—that his judgment may not have been as infallible as you thought it was—and your veins flood with pure, unbridled fear.

Fearlessness is a myth, but you usually have better control over your emotions than this.

I understand that you are a man of influence in the southern regions, and your business ventures have not gone unnoticed. In light of recent events here in Atlantic City, I believe there may be an opportunity for us to help each other. You see, due to recent events, I have chosen to step down from my position as treasurer. The landscape of this city is changing rapidly, and I could use a man of your resources and capabilities to help me rebuild.

I know you prefer to keep a low profile, and I am aware of the risk involved in such endeavors, but I assure you, a meeting would be of great benefit to both of us. Besides, I would love to finally meet you in person, Mr. Austin.

One hand washes the other. It’s a concept as old as time, but it is also incredibly fragile. In a case such as this, a chance of leaving even a speck of dirt behind remains, and then one person is bound to lose. You have seen it happen more times than you can count.

You ought to be careful, playing with fire; Enoch Thompson could bring on an inferno that you may not be able to counter with your own.

I encourage you to think about my offer, and I hope I will see you soon in Atlantic City.

Yours sincerely,

Enoch Thompson.

The force with which you rise from your chair causes it to slide a good few inches back against the wall.

“Beth?” you call out into the silence. Into the darkness.

For a moment, it seems like she has already left, but not even half a minute later, she pokes her head into your office.

“Miss?” she answers.

You let out a sigh of relief. “I know I said you can leave early, but I need you to call Leo and tell him to find out as much about Enoch Thompson as he can and bring it to me,” you say. “Tonight. I don’t care what he has to do to get the information, I need it in the next five hours.”

“Of course. Right away. Do you want me to ring Mr. Johnson as well? It sounds rather urgent.”

“No, I’ll take care of Anthony. Right now, I just need Leo. Can you do that for me?”

The desperation in your voice leaves no space for arguments. Beth nods, and she quickly turns away to tend to her new responsibilities with careful urgency. When the storm in your eyes becomes visible, she knows that no one in your vicinity is safe.

Another silent curse passes your lips. You reach for the bottle of Mr. Austin’s Finest again. It was your father’s recipe; you merely adjusted it to fit the needs of the general public. This particular brand was his idea, his legacy, as much as the rum was.

If someone hadn’t tried to steal all your family stood for, you wouldn’t be standing here, but right now, you are not so sure if it is something you should be happy about. You made mistakes, and if there is even the slightest chance that he know, you are beyond fucked.

The desk almost splinters underneath your fist when you land it on the tabletop.

You touch your neck. Most physical bruises don’t last for longer than three months, but as you place your hand against your throat, you can feel the blood pulsing underneath your fingertips. You can still feel the indentation of his fingers that faded a long time ago. And you can still feel his hands around your throat, applying an inhuman amount of pressure to your fragile windpipe.

Every breath you take burns like a thousand wildfires, rivaling the adrenaline that is threatening to burst your veins.

You can see him clearly when you close your eyes. It’s not liquor. You are not drunk. The letter on the desk before you triggered a chain reaction of memories, and you are not strong enough to tune them out.

You remember that his blood stuck to your skin like corn syrup, running through your fingers and onto your dress, painting the wooden floorboards a deep maroon. You could have sworn you could even smell the faintest hint of copper in the air. But your senses weren’t that powerful.

He was just lying there—a man you’d known since you were a child in a pool of his blood with a golden pocket knife buried deep in his chest while you were cowering in the corner as if the knife had never been in your shaky hand in the first place.

Your father raised you to be an independent woman in a world where women have always been seen as property. You made peace with the fact that you would never be able to take over the family business because at least you knew that your father believed in your ability to fight your own battles. Still, he died, and a few months later, the Prohibition Act took what little you had left at that point away from you.

You had never planned to come back to your little Texas hometown. You’d had a good job working for a good family, saving up to leave the country behind for good; you had always wanted to go to Paris.

The only thing your father had left you was your childhood home, and you cherished it with all you had. Until the father of the family you worked for lost his job, and they had to let you go. You were no longer able to pay the expenses of the house, so you had to let it go. It took only a few days for your entire life to crumble. You had been miserable, but the thought of killing a man had never crossed your mind until it happened.

You had come back to your hometown to say goodbye. To clean out your childhood home and start anew somewhere with what little money the house would have brought you. But Henry Boyd had other plans that night.

One moment, you were on your way to the only speakeasy in town, wanting to check out what it was all about, and the next you found yourself at home with bruises around your neck and blood on your hands.

“I want to thank you all for being so patient with me,” he had said as he stood high on one of the tables in the golden establishment. “It is an honor to be here today, with you all, and announce that your favorite brand of whiskey and rum is officially back in business!”

As blurry as the night is in your mind, you still vividly remember watching him lift the bottle with the emblem that had become so eerily familiar to you because you grew up seeing it on every bottle on your father’s shelf. But the bottle in front of you had someone else’s name on it—someone who promised you that he would keep what he knew in confidence after the government shut down the business your father left him—and it dawned on you like a gray cloud threatening to break down on you in strikes of lightning.

The crowd around you erupted in applause. And from that moment on, your entire world started to blur. The anger that consumed you was new, unbridled, and before you knew it, you were storming out of the building into the crisp night air.

How much can a person possibly bleed after having their throat slashed? You had never asked yourself that question up until that point. To be fair, six pints in a human body don’t sound like a lot until all six pints are right in front of you.

Six pints of blood on your living room floor, and in it, the corpse of Henry Boyd.

He came to your house. He threatened you. You had known this man for over two decades before that, and he still disappointed you because once it benefitted him the most, he turned his back on you and your late father’s legacy as if it had never meant anything to him other than means to make money.

You had no choice. Your father gave you his favorite pocket knife with the golden handle when you were sixteen, telling you to always carry it with you in case you would ever need to protect yourself.

“You never know when you need to stab a man, kid,” he told you. “You should be able to defend yourself. I won’t always be around, and you shouldn’t have to rely on anyone other than yourself.”

You had to do it. You had to kill Henry. If you hadn’t, he would have killed you.

When the realization settled over the fog, it was like someone slapped you across the face and injected you with cocaine.

You remember rising to your feet. Every step you took squelched with the blood stuck to your soles. It is a well-known fact that blood doesn’t easily wash out of clothes. You never thought it would be the same for skin.

You scrubbed your hands wildly, but the water kept turning redder and redder. It has settled underneath your fingernails and the depths of your cracked knuckles.

A sob broke out of your throat when you caught a glimpse of Henry’s body in the living room, and it hit you again, stronger this time. Like a jolt of electricity.

He had promised you to keep your father’s legacy safe after they shut down the factory. He had promised he would tell the truth, always because you were your father’s daughter, after all. He had promised, then turned his back on you and betrayed you anyway.

You couldn’t let them arrest you. You couldn’t allow them to put you in prison. And you couldn’t disappoint your father like that, not after all that happened and the things you had to do.

In a split second, you made a decision that would haunt you for the rest of your life, but it was the only right one at the time. You had to burn your bridges if you wanted to make it out of this. You already knew back then that you were going to hell one day; you could confess your sins another time.

Reading books and educating yourself all of your childhood taught you a thing or two about how to deal with a seemingly impossible situation.

Your dress landed together with your undergarments next to the body. In the bath, you scrubbed yourself down until not a trace of Henry’s blood was left on you. By the time you were done, your skin was red and breaking out into hives, but at least you were clean.

There was nothing left holding you there. Everything you once held dear had gone with the wind. Died. Passed on.

You were never destined for this kind of life. Always the only child despised by everyone but her own father because she never acted appropriately enough. Because she had never been girl enough. Because she refused to conform to what was expected of her. Because her father had not cared about anything other than raising a smart young person who could fend for herself.

You cleaned out the hidden compartment in your father’s bedroom that held all the journals he kept on the business. You were the only one he ever told about it. And you took the bottle of Whiskey you hid underneath the mattress together with all the money Henry had on him when he came to you.

You felt like you had somehow violated his corpse by stealing from him—you remember the feeling as clear as day—but you just followed mere instinct that night. You had to do whatever it took to survive.

You tipped the bottle of liquor and poured it over Henry’s lifeless frame. It mixed with the blood, liquifying it again. You could barely feel it, even as it stained your fingers for the millionth time that night. You were going to scrub it off again, and then you were going to burn this last bridge for good.

You didn’t want to have another choice. That was the terrifying part. Part of you liked what you did. You truly believed, for the longest time, that the devil had possessed you that night. You could not stand idly by and watch your castle crumble down at the hands of a man who had never dared to think about anyone but his miserable self.

The lighter in your hand clicked. Your nose filled with the scent of gasoline. One advantage of living in the countryside was the visible distance between the houses. If there had been a fire in the neighborhood, it would have taken hours until someone reported it, and by then it would already have been too late. You used that to your advantage.

For Henry, it had been too late ever since you slit his throat, but he wasn’t the only bridge you had to burn.

“Forgive me, Father,” you remember whispering, but not to God or a priest; you were saying it to your father’s lost soul, in the hopes he would be listening.

The lighter slipped from your fingers with a little push, and the liquor on the floor reacted instantly with the spark of flames. As your childhood home burned to the ground, you turned your back on the past. You turned your back on your sins and all you had ever loved, and you built a wall around your heart that you swore no one would ever be able to get through again.

“I’d like to purchase a ticket, please,” you told the man behind the counter at the train station the same night. Well, it was early morning by then.

“Where to?” he asked.

The postcard in your coat pocket had a very distinctive postmark on it. You still keep it locked in your desk. It was the first letter your mother ever sent to your father.

“Austin,” you said, looking up from underneath the hat you were wearing. “I’m going to Austin, sir.”

“Really? You have business there?”

“You could say that.”

But, looking at the letter Enoch Thompson sent you, now, eighteen months later, the small flicker of hope that reignited when your train rolled into Austin that night burns out in front of your weary eyes.

“Boo!”

Your head snaps toward the doorway again. “Jesus, Leo!” You press a hand against your chest. “You just scared the living daylights out of me.”

The fourteen-year-old boy smirks at your reaction. “Since when are you this jumpy?” he asks.

“I’m not jumpy,” you retort. “How about you learn how to fucking knock?”

He raises his arms in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I just thought that, since you asked me here, you would be expecting me.”

“I gave you five hours. And don’t call me ma’am.”

You don’t usually smoke, but when your pulse is racing and you feel sick to your stomach like you do know, it is all you can do to get your mind back in order. You grab the pack from a drawer in your desk, instantly overwhelmed by the stench of tobacco, but you light it anyway.

Leo approaches you. He’s a lot more confident than Beth is. She always acts as though she were stepping into a lion’s den, and maybe in a way, that’s true. Leo sees himself as part of the pack. A cub. He’s a teenager with too big of an openness to getting in trouble. You would call him a rebel, but even that would be an understatement. He’s much more than that, with a good head on his shoulders.

“It only took me two. Not that it matters,” he says. “As it turns out, a lot of people have opinions about Nucky Thompson that they have just been waiting to share with someone willing to listen.”

You frown, looking down at the watch on your wrist. “It’s already been two hours? How?”

“I don’t know. I don’t study the way time works. I haven’t even finished school yet.”

“Did I ask for a smartass answer?” you snap, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

“No?” Leo pouts. “At least I don’t think you did.”

“Then don’t give me one. Jesus! How long have we known each other now?”

“Long enough to know that you only get mad like that when you’ve had a rough day.”

You scoff. “Rough is an understatement.” Another breath of nicotine fills your lungs. The words you’ve said repeat in your mind, and your heart cracks a little. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, kid. You’re just here to do your job.”

The cigarette lands in the ashtray on the top right corner of your desk, your tongue still filled with the bitterness it tainted your body with. Walking over to your mini bar to replace the empty bottle of Whiskey with some rum in your glass, you clear your throat and decide to change the subject to what concerns you.

“So, Enoch Thompson. Nucky.” You open the fresh bottle of rum. “What did you find out about him?”

“Well, he’s one of the leading powers of the liquor trade down there, but you probably already knew that. Or well, he was. That’s the important part. Apparently, the people he used to work with have turned against him, and he had to step down as County Treasurer.”

“I’ve heard as much through the grapevine. What would interest me is why he did that.”

You finish pouring your glass.

“May I have one of those?” Leo asks and points at your drink.

“When you’re older,” you answer.

“So your employees don’t even get to taste the, uh, merchandise anymore?”

You roll your eyes. “They do when they’re older than fourteen. Now, answer my question.” You turn back toward your desk and take a sip. “Why did Nucky Thompson step down as treasurer? Surely there is a reason his…empire started turning against him.”

As you sit back down, Leo steps in front of you. He isn’t very tall, but what he lacks in height he makes up in attitude.

He reaches out and takes the glass from you, completely ignoring your previous words. You’re so taken aback, you can’t even be mad. You’re not his mother, after all.

His features contort at the taste, but he still swallows it. “Ugh,” he grunts. “The, uh, District Attorney’s office filed charges against him. And not just for bootlegging.”

You take your glass back, straightening up with a sudden spike of curiosity. “Do tell,” you press on.

“Violation of the Eighteenth Amendment under the Volstead Act, voter fraud, solicitation, and—hold onto your seat!—murder. They think he killed his current…let’s say lady friend’s husband–” he looks down at his little notebook, “His name was Hans Schroeder or something. The lady’s name is Margaret. Two kids. Irish.”

“So, he went for the woman whose husband he killed or had killed. Wow.”

Leo’s eyes switch between you and his notes. “Well,” he says, turning back to the subject at hand, “US Attorney Esther Randolf is looking to prosecute Nucky Thompson, and it seems she has very compelling evidence that might put him in prison for the rest of his life.”

The realization settles over you like a dark cloud, and lightning strikes you as the only pillar in an empty field. “That bastard,” you mutter under your breath.

“I know, right?” Leo scoffs. “Can’t even do his job right. Thank God he ain’t our problem.”

He’s about to sit down, but you raise your hand with a warning look. “Don’t push it.”

He stops in his tracks, nodding. “Right, sorry.”

“You’re my informant. Your job is to inform me. And everyone who’s connected to what we do in any way can become our problem, don’t ever forget that.”

“There is something else,” he says.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you ask, and it sounds a bit more sarcastic than you intended.

He doesn’t take your attitude to heart. Leo knows you well enough by now to know that you are not an irrational person.

Connecting the unveiled truth to the letter you received, it all makes a lot more sense now, and you almost want to applaud the man for his audacity to pull all possible strings to get out of whatever hellhole he dug for himself. Almost. Right now though, you’re fuming, and you’re scared, and for the first time since coming here, you are not quite sure what to do or what choice to make.

Enoch Thompson can rot in hell for all you care, but your father’s words won’t leave your head and the looming sense of doom that is threatening to rain down on you like a guillotine continues to consume you.

Who knows; if you were in his shoes, maybe you would have done the same with the people you know who might be able to wash your hands in return for something else. The world of trading liquor for profit has become a dangerous game in America ever since Congress passed the Volstead Act.

There is a reason that legally, you don’t exist anymore. Legally, you’re dead. You burned alive in your childhood home, the one you set on fire. No one believed that you could have been cruel enough to orchestrate such a thing, and you are glad it ended that way. The town mourned you. It was sad. But you found a way to salvage all of what Henry ruined.

You may have killed a man in self-defense—you may have committed murder, stolen from his corpse, and burned your life to the ground to fake your death and start anew somewhere else like a criminal and as a criminal—but at least you didn’t stand idly by and let a man far worse than you ruin everything you had left. You know you’re not innocent, and you’re no angel either, but the ice that surrounds your heart makes it easier not to let it break you.

Mister Austin was born out of spite, but spite is as good a reason to claim the power of an undeserving man.

The things that need to be done are not always something you can be proud of, but your options are zero to none. To make money, you have to bend the rules a little. And sometimes, you have to break them clean through. You learned that the hard way.

You stop tapping the brim of your glass when Leo calls your name. Looking up, you meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, what?” you ask.

He clears his throat. “I said that his brother is in protective custody,” he says. Again, Leo checks his notes. “Eli, that’s his name. And I heard that James Damody has taken Nucky’s place. He used to be his protégée or something. I don’t know.”

“Hm.” You empty what little rum that’s left from the portion you poured yourself.

The sticky liquid is eerily similar to the consistency of fresh blood. You rub it between your middle and index finger, and for just a second, your eyes make it look like it’s scarlet.

In your peripheral vision, you can see Leo moving his hat back onto his head. “Well, that’s all I have. Not everyone hates Nucky Thompson, and not everyone loves gossip as much as old ladies peeking out of windows in Atlantic City.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, reaching for the envelope with the leftover dollar bills from earlier. “That helped a lot.”

“Hey,” he shrugs, “that’s my job.”

“You’re right, but I’m still giving you an additional fifty to buy something nice for your mother.” You count the bills that fit his rate, sliding them over to his side.

The boy takes them with a smug grin on his face. “So you’re giving my mother a raise but not me, the one who’s actually doing the dirty work for you?”

Rolling your eyes, you add another twenty. “Don’t waste it on something useless,” you warn him. “Our last deal may have been a financial miracle, but I can’t go around giving bonuses to everyone every week.”

Leo counts the money you gave him, and he seems rather satisfied with the fruits of his labor. “I’ll take it,” he says.

As he makes his way to the door, your eyes flick between the envelope, Nucky Thompson’s letter, and the telephone. You’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble, but you have reached a dead end. He forced you into a corner that you could only get out if you faced him. All the scenarios in your head end with a disaster. The only point of escape is the one Nucky forced you through.

You should think this through, but every second you spend thinking is another second closer to losing it all.

“Wait,” you stop Leo in his tracks. “How much would it take for you to look after the farm for…let’s say a week?”

He raises his eyebrows. “A week?”

“Yeah. Feed the cattle, take the horses out, make sure the chickens don’t starve, that sort of thing.”

“Twenty bucks an hour,” he says.

“Fifteen,” you counter, “and you get to take all the eggs.”

“Nineteen.”

“I’m not negotiating with a child.”

“Eighteen and the eggs.”

“Fine. Seventeen. Last offer.”

Leo’s lips curl up. “I guess your animals won’t have to starve after all.”

“I’ll tell Beth to make sure you get your money on time,” you state. “And I’ll let you know if my plans change.”

You pick up the receiver of your telephone, pressing the button to connect you with the operator.

“Where are you going, anyway?” he inquires.

The line rings into your ear with every breath you take. You know it’s a decision you shouldn’t make. You shouldn’t run toward danger without knowing what you’re getting yourself into, but there is nothing you wouldn’t do to assure the safety of the life you’ve built for yourself.

“Atlantic City,” you finally answer, and it dawns on Leo at the same time the weight becomes a reality on your shoulders.

The operator asks to know who you are calling for, and you repeat the number that is more than familiar to you back to her. Again, the line rings as it starts to connect.

“You’re going to Atlantic City to meet with Nucky Thompson, aren’t you?” Leo asks again.

He’s too curious of a child for his own good. Sometimes, you want to curse him for it.

The lump in your throat feels significantly bigger than it did five minutes ago. You nod, but that’s all you can do.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

With a bitter chuckle, you shake your head. “I wish I did, but no,” you say. “I have no fucking clue.”

Leo flips his hat back onto his head. “Well, at least try to stay safe out there,” he tells you.

“I will. Thank you.” But you know that it’s a lie.

The line finally stops ringing and clicks when the door has fallen shut behind him.

You tear your eyes away from the empty spot before you and focus on the piece of paper on your desk. Enoch Thompson’s name sticks out to you like a million candles on a pitch-black midnight.

“Andrew,” you greet him. Your fingers fiddle with the envelope. “It’s me. Listen, I have to tell you something, and I hereby ask you not to murder me.”

You’re going to Atlantic City to meet with Nucky Thompson, that much you have decided, and there is nothing in this world anyone could do that would stop you from doing what you believe is right.

Tag List: Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series! Starting after this chapter!

#owen sleater x reader #owen sleater x you #owen sleater x f!reader #owen sleater #boardwalk empire #owen sleater imagine #boardwalk empire x reader #charlie cox #female reader #owen sleater angst #owen sleater fluff #owen sleater smut #reader insert #x reader series #lizzi writes: austin

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nemo-of-house-hamartia · 5 months ago

Note

Hello again!

Thank you so much for welcoming me into your corner of the internet (it really feeds into my Ac obsession, as if I needed more of that lol, but really it’s nice to see other ppl that like some side characters ahem *likeFedericoand Greencoat*ahem). And thank you for your answer abt Feducia as well, I’m glad you liked the library gifting idea for I have another one : Imagine if the library had secret alcove(s) and/or passage(s) and one of them lead to a small balcony. Do you think Federico would stand below said hidden balcony to read poetry/Lucia’s favourite pieces while she stood up there and admired him from above ? (A bit like the infamous balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, the inspiration came after reading @giuliettaluce’s seriously adorable fanfic “Upon their holy act, the heaven smiles”)

Oh! I also really like your Aranea x Mephisto ship and I’m so excited abt your new(?) OC Tatiana Volkov bc I seriously thought the Flables/The Wolf Among Us fandom was dead when I arrived late as usual 😂 And I love both ships dynamics, I think it just suits them very well

Hope you had a good day and keep going, xx

(Ps Im sorry abt the long long asks I’m just excited to share my ideas with you)

Hello there again, Nonnie!!!

Please, do partake in coffee that I just made (wish I could truly offer you one through the screen)!!

AND OMG YES. PLEASE, DO ALLOW ME TO ABSOLUTELY FEED INTO THE HYPERFIXATION FOR ASSASSIN'S CREED.

I myself have been going strong for almost 5 years, AND AM STILL GOING STRONG.

THE OBSESSION IS REAL

So please, do sit tight and enjoy the ride!

AND OMG YES. YES.

FEDERICO AND GREENCOAT ARE MY BEBE.

Like, I still get super SUPER salty about the fact that Federico has met his end basically 5 minutes in the game (infact, around here, we absolutely throw canon out of the window, and Fede is alive, well and living his best life with his love, somewhere in Italy - in my particular case, in the Kingdom of Sicily with Lucia. Trapani has never been more beautiful than when they lived there!).

To say *absolutely* nothing of HOW SALTY I AM ABOUT GREENCOAT. 2 MINUTES OF TRAILER, AND UBI HAS NOT DEIGNED TO GIVE US A *GLIMPSE* OF WHO HE WAS, WHAT'S HIS REASON WERE, HIS PURSUITS, NOTHING.

BUT.

As salty as I am about that, I am also immensely grateful, because if the Baguette Bois were full-fledged NPC, then I would have never created my Mathias, and as you will see now that you are here, he is my most beloved brainchild alongside my darling Dorothea <3.

SO YES.

WE STAN THE TERTIARY CHARACTERS THAT ARE BASICALLY OCS!!

Now, onto your question:

YES.

TRIPLE YES.

I *absolutely* believe that Federico would stand below said balcony and recite Lucia's favourite poems ( probably the Canto 5 passage of Paolo e Francesca from Dante's Commedy, her most favourite AMONG ALL).

I can envision it so well, with Lucia just beaming and listening to him as he recites those poems, waiting for him to just climb up her to her balcony (because she KNOWS he would do that. Man cannot stay away from climbing around, as much as he likes to make it believe that it's becasue he needs to follow Ezio and make sure he's not going to fall face first lolol).

AND OMG YES, JUST LIKE ROMEO AND JULIET. ABSOLUTELY

(it kinda helps that my FC for Lucia is the beautiful Olivia Hussey as Juliet from Zefirelli´s movie).

AND I KNOW RIGHT??? @giuliettaluce IS THE *ABSOLUTE* PROFESSOR WHEN IT COMES TO ROMEO AND JULIET, AND HER WRITING IS JUST SO IMMENSELY BEAUTIFUL.

Seriously, she wrote for me the Federico/Lucia one-shot based on Romeo and Juliet that was EVERYTHING, and she wrote for me a one-shot about Mathias/Dorothea that I have never shared, but that I reread truly often and it melts my heart each time. She is such precious friends and beautiful person, it warms my heart SO MUCH knowing that you appreciate her writing <3 she deserves ALL THE PRAISE.

ALL THE PRAISE.

AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

MY MEPHISTO/ARANEA AND BIGBY/TATIANA.

they are my "dark pairings", so to speak, because while I love to dwell in FLUFF galore, and this is something that I generally explore with my Assassin's Creed pairings (though, there is a certain dose of darkness there as well), with Mephisto/Aranea and Bigby/Tatiana I LOVE to explore the darker side of the relationship between two lovers (though, tbh, Mephisto/Aranea take the crown in this, but that's easy because Bigby and Tatiana are still very much decent people altogether, while Mephisto is a freaking Archdevil and Aranea is his Warlock/Consort, so they are bound by their own character alignment - which is firmly on the evil side).

AND OMG, LISTEN, NO FANDOM IS TRULY DEAD UNLESS I AM DEAD, TRUST AND BELIEVE.

I AM STILL HERE, WRITING AND DRAWING STUFF FOR FFXII, AND IT HAS BEEN ALMOST 20 YEARS SINCE ITS RELEASE.

So trust and believe, no fandom is ever truly dead, and you are MORE THAN WELCOME to discuss whichever fandom you fancy at present! :)

(and please, do not worry about sending me long asks. I *ADORE* reading them, the longer the better. GIMME A DOORSTOPPER ASK OR GIVE ME NOTHING LOLOL I am kidding of course! always feel free to send asks as long or as short as you prefer, at your own convenience <3 just know that they are always welcomed! <3)

WISHING YOU A PLEASANT, BEAUTIFUL DAY NONNIE.

HERE, TAKE SOME LASAGNA I MADE AT LUNCH.

*gives lasagna in tupperware*

--Nemo

#nemo #replies #nonnie #Ship:Mephistea #Ship:Feducia #Ship:Bigbiana #Ship:Mottie

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christotokos · 18 days ago

Note

💫 🤍 🕯️☯️ 🧿

💫 what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

play-by-play comments and/or long comments/reviews. i like hearing how readers felt at certain times, but i also love a carefully composed, long comment/review. even if it has some "i don't like x" i like hearing an explanation as long as it's not just being negative. i like these bc it gives me insights on how readers things, on how my writing is and i like observations.

i know not everyone's into them but these kinds of comments are things i'd like to print out and put on my fridge.

🤍 what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

hard to say. i think my readership now understands me a lot more than when i started out but there is certainly a subset of readers who are very upset that i don't have soda/steve as anything close to endgame 99% of the time whether they get angry that soda/ivy is happening — going so far as to comment to me telling me that ivy's barely there presence in chpt. 40 was making the fic "unreadable" — to being annoyed that i usually have soda/sandy happen. and i don't understand why they express this to me in ways that are increasingly rude or don't seem to understand that i view sandy like almost anyone else and that's not ever going to change.

🕯️ was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn't think it would take you?

trap au. i'm still working on the next part, but i had no clue that writing dallas as an active serial killer would be so... interesting in how he views things? making things omegaverse certainly brings about a change in things, but making it omegaverse in this way brought to the forefront ideas around prey drive and hunting, and how dallas' viewpoint while fucked up... makes more sense if you think of him as a feral alpha who's been repressing more of those feral instincts and once they're allowed to really metasize, he winds up violent in a different way and in a way that if he expressed it almost makes sense if you view him as a wild animal.

he's a wild animal who's been forced not to, essentially, hunt the way he's supposed to. and now that he is doing it, ofc he's healthier. but it's also insanely, you know, harmful.

☯️ how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?

honestly, and i'm guilty of this at times myself, being on tumblr is not a good fandom experience for fandom in general but in particular, this fandom bc not only is it small but many corners of this fandom encourage surveilling others or at least having to know what's going on or else you'll suddenly be hit with waves of harassment out of nowhere. either you don't engage on looking at others and then i suddenly have anons calling me the n-word and trying to call me a pedo bc i wrote something they didn't like and someone with obvious mental problems will make escalatingly alarming posts about me though we've never interacted or interacted years ago once or twice or i keep an eye out but find myself reading hurtful comments about me, people i know, and blocking a lot but it still makes for misery at the end of the day.

i don't like it. it brings out the worst behavior for everyone involved, and i wish we could go back to forums. (and i mean. i do have one.)

i do however, think ask games like this, posting in a small group on discord or tumblrs like this, kudos and comments should be curated more and be healthier. i think comments really encourage conversation, being able to talk to friends in small groups help. i don't enjoy fandom being this fractured but frankly, until there's some sort of control exerted so less people under eighteen and less people who've solely been socialized on line occurs, it's all we got.

🧿 what steps do you take to not take things personally if a fic doesn't do well, or if your writing/posting/sharing experience isn't going how you'd like it to?

take a break, block people, whine in private (having a public sideblog or posts with a dedicated tag where you whine in public is not a good idea. that's not private.), keep my cool in public as best i can and move on. things also have a weird shelf life online; it's shocking to me that my main soc au fic, while i've stopped receiving comments (you guys can comment completed fics!!!!!!) it receives consistent kudos to the point it's close to my #2 fic. so you really never know.

#robinaltieri #asks #ask games

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sonyanightmare · 7 months ago

Text

This is a multi-fandom story I been working on and off on for a long ass time lmao!

But if your interested in me writing more of it, lmk pls, the encouragement helps a lotttt

(Things that are highlighted are mostly for myself to help keep in mind of the timeline and when/where certain events happen but yous can go by them too if yall want)

-Btw none of these images belong to me, credits go to original creators/artists-

Immortality vs Love: Which do You Choose

Keep in mind about the timeline era

Team Fortress 2 takes place in 1968, and the storyline extends up to 1972.

Cold War: March 12, 1947 – December 26, 1991

Tf2 started and ended in the middle of the Cold War according to the actual historical event and the game itself: TF2 official comics help know what happens

Random storyOc x Sniper +18 content: includes possible sexual themes, detailed gore, etc., multi-alternate universe crossovers (cringe-worthy)

!Read at your own risk!

(most likely going to be an unfinished story anyway, haha)

More research to one of few of my main OC story timelines where she takes place during the Vietnam War/Cold War, so that some characters will come from the Call of Duty franchise, specifically the Cold War.

• TF2: 1968-1972

• Historical Vietnam War & Cold War: Vietnam; 1955-1972 CW; 1947-1991

• Call of Duty Cold War/Vietnam War: 1968(during both wars)-1980s (atomic Bomb tensions) might be mentioned

Love Over Immortality

“Ya bloody wanka!” Sniper had woken up from his nap to the feeling of his hat being taken off his face, where he had placed it to shield any possible shine from the afternoon sun.

The Aussie should have known better, for the only woman on their team would always do something like this to the Marksman. She and the Sniper were close, though their bond was so tight the rest of the Mercenaries were getting irritated that neither of the two made a move. It was obvious that they liked each other but damn the annoyance that the team even tried to help them get together, from leaving the two alone at the base while the rest went into town to mixing up their sitting spots at the dinner table so that they were sitting next to each other. But enough about the impossible couple to happen.

The woman that caught the Assassin’s heart was Sonya Nightmare, and it’s now the second year she has been with the R.E.D team. The team is close to her, although the team doesn’t know her painful past and secrets. They were so close to her, yet they knew little to nothing about her. That doesn’t stop her from enjoying as much time with them as their mortal lives will allow.

Sniper had gotten up from the chair he was napping on as he saw Sonya look at him with that adoring smile as she placed her free hand on the wall side where a door could be. With the other hand that held his hat, she teasingly shook it behind her back as she turned the corner and ran, hearing the familiar sound of boots clicking the wooden floor as they ran towards her, not even close to catching up with her. She giggled the whole way, turning corners sharply as she let Sniper catch up to her now and then, looking back to see a tripping friend trying to do those sharp turns. This continued until she arrived at the destination of her choice; it was Snipers’ tower. Sonya thinks she has lost Sniper, so she climbs the ladder to try and hide her cornered self. But the sound of those boots was getting louder and louder. She backed up as much as possible, hitting her back on the small table in the shadowy corner.

The window nearby may be boarded, but it gave off enough lighting in the room to see a possible shadow below if the sun was high enough. The Sniping from the window was perfect from enemy fire. But the two were in danger because they ran outside the base and into the battlefield, on their side at least; who knows if neither their Spy nor the B.L.U enemy Spy was near.

Sniper finally made it up the ladder, plastering a playful but sinister grin on his handsome face. Sonya played around with her bottom lip as she giggled with a speck of pink that was dusted on her face. His forehead was littered with scraps of sweat, and his breath was raspy; he must have been exhausted chasing her throughout R.E.D’s side of the battlefield.

“You’re a real pain in me arse, love.” Sniper led out a breathy response as he walked long strides toward Sonya. Biting her bottom lip with a smirk, she backs up as much as she can, hat still in both hands behind her back.

“Am I too much for you to handle, Mundy sir?”

“Ya know bloody well you are, Shelia.” Sniper was almost chest-to-chest with Sonya, her question lingering in their small space. Standing straight, Sonya was only an inch or two shorter than him, but he didn’t seem to mind as he tried to distract her by leaning dangerously close to her face. She’s seen this trick before and got out of the mini trap she was in, and the marksman was playing a game of ‘try and catch me as the long-haired woman and himself chased each other around the sniper towers’ space. Finally, Sniper caught her and pinned her to the boarded window, not realizing their position.

Mundy had pinned Sonya’s wrists with the left on top of her left and his right on top of her right, his chest touching her slightly arched back, and his private area sat firmly on her curvy bottom. Sonya’s hitched voice made him realize their awkward position, but he didn’t say a word to her. They looked at each other for a moment, Sonya breaking contact first as she quickly looked down, then back to him, then to his slightly chapped, parted lips. Without warning, Sonya arched her back, pressed her firm ass more onto his pelvis, and started to grind slowly and roughly. Letting out a deep breathy grunt, Sniper began to do the same and pressed up against her body. Both let out occasional moans as the man rested his head on her shoulder; neither looked at the other as they started getting rougher in their grinding. Mundy let go of one of her wrists and placed his now free hand firmly on her hips, Sonya reaching around and holding his neck as she leaned back and went directly onto his ear, letting him hear her delicate moans more clearly.

Mundy then let go of her other wrist and onto the other side of her hips, forcing her to grind more. Mundy started to lightly kiss and lick at her neck and earlobe, causing her to let out more shaky breaths and moans and hold onto one of his hands that grabbed her hips, dropping the hat. He made Sonya turn relatively fast, almost impatient. He lifted her, her back against the boarded windows, and they continued to grind on each other, a prominent bulge causing friction between the two of them, creating a symphony of moans. Their faces were close, but neither pulled the other closer, letting their hot breaths run all over their flushed faces. Sonya grabbed Mundy’s vest and pulled it off him as he carried her to the small table not far from them. Sonya was laid out for him as they grew closer to one another’s faces; her struggle with his belt left him in a breathy laugh, and he started to take it off. The belt was off, and the pants were loose enough on him that they were beginning to slide the faster they ground. Sonya grabbed the sides of his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her, and they could not stop staring into each other’s eyes. As Sonya was about to pull him in for a kiss, they were interrupted by none other than the Engineer himself.

“Sniper Sonya, y'all up there?” Mundy almost ignored him and was about to kiss her, but she stopped him by placing a singular finger on his lips. He knew Sonya was too kind-hearted towards the Texan to ignore.

“Y-yeah, we are Dell. We’ll be down in a moment.”

“Alrigh’ then darlin’. All I wanted was to know ‘cause dinner’s ready.” The sound of his boots distancing from the two started to fade.

“Bloody hell Sonya, that was too close. I’m sorry, love.” Mundy finally spoke as he grabbed his belt, then the vest and hat.

“Oh, do not worry yourself, Mundy. It will pass by momentarily, so do not be so paranoid.” Mundy was confused as he watched her fix her silky, smooth black hair and set her kimono. She had already finished going down the ladder as she waited for Mundy. Once he was down, they started walking towards the home base as they walked and chatted the whole way to Dell’s delicious dinner.

Sonya had always been such a mystery to Mundy, the whole R.E.D and B.L.U teams. Coming to the hidden base in the mountains without a record of any sort, she’s a ghost to them. All the team knows they are the slight hints she says in her stories or when she was a part of some critical and dangerous military group (must be Special Forces, they all thought). Spy could not find even her military records, nothing under a Codename Altair or her actual name, anything! All the Frenchman found were photos willingly taken with a specified group, the time during Vietnam, but that war is still ongoing. Even if they have a lead from Spy, how would they know where to look for one of these two men? One looked rough and beaten but still could kill, and the other, despite all the cuts and dirt, had slick black hair with the eyes of a sharpshooter. Only one person knows, and she sits right next to their Marksman at the dinner table.

Dated flashback; 2 years, seven months ago

Day 1 at R.E.D

The car ride to base was quiet, even a little too soft for Ms. Pauling's taste. Now and then, Ms. Pauling would look from her driver’s seat to the woman in the passenger's seat, wondering if she should say anything. Being a woman experimenting with relationships, she wasn’t sure if what she was feeling towards the woman in the kimono was a little crush or something else. Ms. Pauling wasn’t sure what her increasing heartbeat was from, to begin with, not from the tense atmosphere or from the attractive woman that sat next to her.

“So, Ms. Pauling.” Sonya started, breaking the silence.

“Oh, uh, yes, dear?”

“What is the team like?” Sonya turned her head from the window to look at the woman in purple.

“Well, from what you told me, you’re used to being the only woman on a team, right? So this is a mercenary group of men.”

“Hmm, so nothing new I have to worry about then,” Sonya said, smiling kindly toward Ms. Pauling.

When the woman in the driver’s seat looked at Sonya, she couldn’t help but blush at how kind she was, especially when she smiled so nicely.

The drive was quiet as it was long, and even the small conversations were still awkward, but it helped the two become closer, hopefully in a future friendship.

“So, Ms. Pauling.” Sonya started as she looked over at the woman in purple.

“A-ah er, yes, what it is?” Ms. Pauling responded, looking at her with a smile and then back on the road, awaiting her question.

“What are these men like, might I ask?” Sonya questioned, looking outside through the driver’s seat window to avoid the awkward silence lingering in the vehicle.

“Well, most are foreign men. I should warn you if the accents are too much-” Ms. Pauling started ”-One comes from Russia, the deep snowy mountains; one’s a German medical scientist; one comes from Boston, the marksmen come from Australia, and the last is a french man who’s stealth is as skilled as his flirts for women -womanizer- that you should try and avoid, in my opinion.”

“Ah. A German Scientist and a French Spy?” Sonya sounded irritated and almost displeased when she looked at the woman in the passenger seat.

“Well, the German is nice, but he is sorta out of it- a psycho when on the battlefield, and the French man, he’s known for his actual skilled fighting compared to the others, and he can make you fall for such careless charms so please be careful around that one.” Ms. Pauling answered, sounding worried near the end.

Sonya smirked at the thought, “Oh, Ms. Pauling, please, I don’t fall for careless charms and those trying to earn my hand. Besides, you know very little about me; you have no idea what I’m capable of...”

_____

When the two arrived at the base, Ms. Pauling pulled their little truck into a small but perfect spot in the shade of the trees around them; Soya was greeted with the fog-like aura of nature. The sun settled low enough that the bottom barely grazed the distant mountains. The slight squeak of the car as the truck door reared opened and finally stepped out for a well-deserved stretch of relief. This base location was very different from the desert Valley one Sonya was for sure going to until he met with Ms. Pauling. 'Hardwood' was this locations name. It was a nice area, and Sonya was most for sure going to enjoy this future battlefield experience.

"Hopefully the team is waiting behind the volt doors for us; as I made it clear to them, by calling twice yesterday, they should be eager to introduce themselves to you." Ms. Pauling sounded a bit agitated at the 'calling twice' part.

'Must be something that happens often,' Sonya thought holding back a chuckle as she followed behind the woman in purple.

___

"Agh! How long we gotta wait for Pauling to get 'ere, huh?" Scout was walking around, waiting impatiently for the two to show up.

Spy then sighed in annoyance and shook his head, leaning against the wall a freshly lit cigarette rested between his lips. Medic was seated on the couch trying to ignore the Boston man as well. Heavy was with Pyro, Demo, and Engineer in the kitchen helping set up a small variety of the food presentable for their new addition to the team. And the only other member of the team was most likely hiding away in his camper or room within the base that he basically never uses coincidentally right next door to the room their new Mercenary will be sleeping in. We'll not for a long while for the poor quarters is still under deep cleaning of useless stored items and decor, trying to find somewhere to put these items at.

"Zhe more jou complain, nerviges kind, Zhe more agitating jou get Scout." Medic was finally able to speak up after trying to make sure what he was going to say to their newbie about sleeping arrangements. He had the small Hospital beds in the Med Bay, he just hopes that will do for now.

"Well, what 're ya gonna do about it, huh, doc?" Scout taunted, spreading his arms out in a 'come at me stance' towards the German.

"Zhat's it!" Medic grabbed his bonesaw not far from where he stood and started at the Boston.

Scout was running and tripping around the room, dodging a few of Medic's swings and managed to trip just out side the exit area and startled the two women, Scout almost hitting at the bottom of Sonya's Kimono.

Sonya instinctively moved in front of Ms. Pauling blocking the commotion but nothing of danger happened other than the Boston man grunting on the floor from the impact.

Oks das it lol 🤷🏽‍♀️🙃😂🖤

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penvisions · 1 year ago

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dev gets introspective

Seeing all of the end of the year posts and the accolades being praised. And I wanted to put in my two little cents as well:

I moved away from a life that was suffocating me at the beginning of the year. I had been forced back to CA and my family house (of 8 people) due to the pandemic. And it took me three years to recover enough to move back out on my own and back to a city I had fallen in love with and created a life in. I worked my ass off for two years at two full time jobs, while taking care of both younger and older family members alongside online classes.

I didn't know who I was if I wasn't at work or being useful or busy and it takes a toll on people. Little joys and hobbies and shows fell to the side and I slept when I had any amount of free time. I hung out with friends, yes, but not nearly enough to sustain that part of myself.

I struggled when I moved back here to TN, on my own after three years of a crowded house and endless responsibilities and tasks. I felt lost like I did back when I first moved here at 18, not knowing who I was or what brought me peace.

Back in February, after a letdown of a birthday, I decided to watch TLOU. I had been a fan of the game, but as with a lot of things from my early teens / early twenties it got lost or forgotten in the fog of depression. It invigorated me, this fandom here on tumblr. And I will forever be grateful for playing any small part in it. I'm not new to fandom life, with One Piece and ATLA, Supernatural later on, fic a common use of free time and only dabbles in writing beforehand.

This year I flourished in a way I hadn't expected to. Writing has given me a sense of who I am and what I am capable of that I had lost. I'm glad to have found it with y'all here in this little corner of the internet. And while sometimes there is negative stuff and discourse occurs, I am grateful for the sense of comfortability I have found here after feeling untethered for so long.

I'm thankful to have found a job, after what seems like enduring terrible ones all throughout the year, that allows me enough free time to enjoy my evenings, to spend my time writing and creating and reading with you all here on this godforsaken website (affectionately). Is it silly, yeah, but it brings so much to my life.

Thank you, for all the bad and stress and heartbreak of this year, I am thankful for the space curated here for people to enjoy. ♡♡♡

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reikunrei · 2 years ago

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if i may be embarrassing for a minute here (beware: gushing about things and people that make me happy in my miserable life ahead)

the last 4 or so years of my life have been hell. and especially the last 1.5-2 years have been awful and i’ve never been in such a dark mental space. lots of sudden physical health problems (many of which are just sorta like “shrug idk just wait it out”) and a continuous downward spiral of my mental health (bc of the physical health stuff but also long-lasting financial issues, gender dysphoria, being stuck living with family which makes me wanna kms, etc.), all of which also makes it difficult or impossible to perform my regular hobbies (writing, drawing, video games, all of them are physically painful due to tendinitis) so my free time is always either unfulfilling or literally hurts me to do

and i’ve had lots of friends over the years who’ve made me laugh and smile, and I’m forever grateful to them and love them all dearly (to those of you who will see this bc you follow me here, hi, ily. to those who won’t see it bc they don’t follow me here, I’ll have to drop into those group chats and say a quick ily too)

but i’ve also begun interacting with a lot of new people in the last few months and I’m very grateful for y’all too. most of you are on here. probably all of you are on here. if you’re reading this, hi. what’s up. anyway

it just made me glad that i can still meet new people and get along well enough with them, even meet people i solidly call friends bc we started talking semi-regularly (hi sam!!! i hope you’re not drowning in your busy life lol). like, i have trouble making and hanging onto friends bc it’s just not my strong suit, and i like being by myself, but i do crave community just like any other human. and i haven’t had a community as active as this one ("this one" being my current corner of the st fandom) on this website in a while

i had to leave one community last year bc of one of my health issues that made it so i couldn’t interact with them very much, and just sitting there silently for months was too stressful for me, so when that went quiet i sort of… didn’t have a super active corner i was in, and it kind of made me super miserable

so i’m just glad I found this spot. a new spot for me to shimmy into on this website, where i’ve been jumping from community to community for the last decade. i feel like i haven’t been this into something and this into a community in a long time. and it feels good. really good

like even if there’s a lot about my life right now that i absolutely hate, there’s still a lot of things that i can be happy about. and a lot of love to find and share. so i may as well focus on that despite everything else. and i know this all sounds silly and embarrassing but i just have to remind myself that there are good things for me to look forward to, and good people to surround myself with, and i may as well put that thought out there on the off chance that someone who has made me smile recently might see it and know i appreciate them immensely. i can look forward to the future as much as i want, but at least i have folks right now who bring me joy, even if it’s small or sounds silly to say

so thank you to everyone who’s made me feel welcome. who’s given me presences to enjoy and people to admire. who’s been kind enough to interact with me and say nice things about the stuff I create. and really just to allow me to participate in a wacky fun corner that brings at least one smile to my face every day, but realistically, it's more than that

thanks :3

#i say things #watch me proceed to completely forget i posted this and get scared when it gets notes

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bradleysbradshaws · 1 year ago

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I keep thinking about what the anon had said about the Roosmav server having its own "corner" in the Roosmav fandom. But...compared to where else?

I don't know if they are aware that they have a monopoly on all of the creativity and conversation in this fandom. It may seem like a small corner to them because Roosmav itself is a very niche, concentrated fandom, but it's all there is to the Roosmav fandom. There is twitter, but really...those are kindergarten-grade takes on Roosmav that I am never going to be satisfied participating in. Just people making the same babygirl/MILF jokes. And while I think that was the conversation I had primarily participated in while I was on the Roosmav server, it certainly isn't the only thing I am here for now.

What I want to say is that I'm in Roosmav for all of it as much as everyone else. Underage omega!Bradley, included - it still isn't my personal nut, but it's something I have no problem at all reading or discussing and finding the thematic merit of. I have been planning, writing, and drawing bottom!Bradley for over twice as long as I had been complaining about it last year, and honestly, that is going to be a large part of me going forward, no matter what. Bella reposting her old fics really did throw me back nicely to the strict dynamics that I had loved for Roosmav last year, but I think I've commented the most on her omega!Rooster fic out of all of them this time. This is the type of brain exercising that I have found that I enjoy doing.

I wish they would know that we exist on the exact same wavelength, albeit on parallel paths. This isn't by my own choice, as what I sincerely dream most of doing would be to be able to contribute to the Roosmav server again - it truly was the honor and joy of my life to be able to draw those little dick!Rooster pics - but I respect their feelings and know it won't happen. I just hope that they can allow me to try to form as fulfilling of an experience for myself as I can in the place that they had explicitly told me to go. Me trying to make potential friends is not competing with the Roosmav server. I have no other choice if I want any sort of meaningful engagement or conversation about them again.

I keep saying this, but we are on the exact same side and doing the same thing - creating for and contributing to Roosmav. Please let me find friends in the future to do it with.

#R00smav

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twiceasfrustrating · 2 years ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where you make your self insert have some well deserved rest. >:)

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: NB/M/M

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Relationships: Simeon/OC, Simeon/Solomon, Solomon/OC

Characters: NB!OC, Simeon, Solomon

Additional Tags: fluff, Original Character(s)

Summary: Naomi has a habit of staying up too late. When they get tired, they pass out on top of their boyfriend.

A/N: Naomi isn't actually a self-insert. I just use their name online. I know, it gets confusing. I guess it gets more confusing because they were that OC that got traits back when I was trying to figure myself out. Though some of those traits remain, they are their own character now. They've been my OC for… almost 10 years now. Sheesh

Word Count: 968

Naomi stood over the kitchen stove, lazily flipping the omelet in the pan over and finishing it up to slide it out onto the plate next to them. Hopefully, that would be enough food for everyone today, because they didn’t think they could manage to make anything more; omelets, sausage (turkey just for Solomon), and a shake made and ready to go for their cute girlfriend’s long day (because she never had time to sit down for a full meal when she had to work).

They set it all aside and covered it properly to keep it warm for when everyone eventually got up. Now it was time for them to crash after a full night of working and a full morning of cooking.

They stepped out of the kitchen intending to head up to their bedroom, only to pass through the living room and see a head of brown hair facing away from them on the couch.

“Simeon?” they yawned as they spoke. “I didn’t realize you were up already.”

He turned his head back to look at them, smile brighter than the sun. “I would have said good morning, but you don’t like being disturbed when you’re cooking.”

“Unless you and Solomon secretly switched bodies, you’re allowed to go into the kitchen. In fact, breakfast is ready.”

“Oh? Thank you, as always. Although,” he paused for a moment as he examined their tired eyes, “maybe you’d like a moment to relax. I’m sure getting up early to make breakfast for everyone is tiring for night owls like you.”

“I didn’t get up early…” But relaxing for a little bit sounded like a good idea.

Naomi crawled onto the couch next to him, almost immediately flopping over onto him as they spread out like it was their bed. They curled up with their head in his lap and their knees pressed against their chest as the sweet promise of sleep led them into temptation. His fingers twisted around the curls of their green hair as he watched them take slow, uneven breaths; the kind you take when you notice yourself breathing and can't stop thinking about how to do it normally. The small scrunched-up corner of their eyebrow told him they were not pleased with their efforts.

"Are you just now going to bed?" He felt the need to ask, but he wasn't looking forward to the answer. He already had a sneaking suspicion of what it would be.

"Mhm," they hummed as they buried their face against his stomach.

"Naomi-"

"No," they pouted as they pressed into him more. "It was important."

"What's more important than making sure you actually get some sleep?" he asked but received no reply as Naomi had fallen asleep in his lap.

He sighed as he looked down at their calm, relaxed expression. It really must have been a long night if they fell asleep that quickly after putting their head down.

He figured it was in the boyfriend code not to jostle them, so he stayed where he was and let them rest. Although, he did admit that it would be inconvenient once he has to get up to go attend some other business. Still he enjoyed being their makeshift pillow when they needed one and he would be content to stay as one for as long as he could.

Until Solomon came into the living room, anyway. The mockery started as soon as he walked into the room, sauntering up to the couch where he lifted up Naomi’s legs and slid into place next to Simeon.

He wrapped his arm around Simeon’s shoulder. “The living room is a little public for PDA, don’t you think?”

Simeon looked at Solomon judgementally, as if the man’s first action wasn’t to also perform an act of so-called PDA. “They’re sleeping.”

“Sleeping in your lap? How demure,” he mocked.

“They couldn’t even make it to the bed.”

“So you let them use your lap instead? What a good boyfriend.” As soon as he said that, his face twisted in discomfort and he grabbed at his stomach. “They kneed me in the gut. I thought they were asleep.”

“Some things transcend consciousness it seems.” Simeon laughed just behind his hand. “But you do realize we’re both trapped here now.”

“I can teleport away.” The benefits of magic and being able to fling it around without a care.

As if on cue, Naomi’s hand reached out and grabbed onto his cape, pulling it over their waist like a blanket and nuzzling against both of them.

“....” Solomon went silent as he looked down at them and flicked his hand with a silent sigh. There was crashing and banging in the kitchen before two plates of food came flying out. Thank goodness Naomi always set the food in the same place or else it would be mildly inconvenient to do this blindly.

Simeon gave him a knowing smirk.

Solomon didn’t say a thing as he picked up a sausage link and bit into it.

“You know, it’s acceptable to be kind to our partner without acting like you’re being forced to.”

“But I am being forced,” Solomon said. “Imagine what they’ll do to me once they wake up if they find we didn’t eat anything. My stomach already hurts enough for the day.”

“Of course. I understand.” It was almost too amusing to watch the two of them live in denial. He supposed it didn’t matter as long as it made them happy.

For now though, it was time to let Naomi rest in peace. And to ignore the stomping coming down the hall as their other girlfriend seemed to be rushing downstairs so she could go to work. Maybe Naomi would finally be awake by the time she came home and they could go out. Maybe.

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me fanfic #mine #request #i am actually a little shy to write about Naomi but here you go #oc naomi #fluff #obey me fluff

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Caught Red-handed

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Struggling with migraines

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having suffered from migraines all their life, Y/N knows better than to give them much attention or let them hinder their work too much. However, their boyfriend is a lot more worried than they are and has taken it as his personal duty to ease their pain as much as he possibly can.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to get to it, write and post it, but here it finally is and I hope you come across it and read it! I’ve never experienced migraines nor have I known someone who has so if I’ve misrepresented or written any misinformation, anyone who catches it, feel free to let me know either in the comments or in my inbox/messages! Love, Vy ❤

The first time I got a headache was in the middle of math class in eighth grade. I remember it so distinctly because I had never before experienced such sudden and such intense pain. I got to go home early that day and spent a good portion of the day trying to sleep it off but to no avail.

Since then I’ve grown used to having to deal with a pain so strong it renders me unable to function for a whole day about two times a month. Sometimes, I even try to be stubborn with it - I try to push through as much work as I can despite the migraine, but that never works out for a long time considering it ends up crippling me in the end. That’s never kept me from trying over and over again though!

Now, to contrast my nonchalance and even annoyance with these pesky attacks, is my boyfriend Corpse’s concern over them. I’ve tried explaining to him that I’ve grown used to them and that I try not to let them bother me and that he shouldn’t stress over them so much but I may as well be talking to a wall because all he has to do is see me squint my eyes or cringe and he enters concerned-mother mode. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it to no end, I just don’t want him worrying over something so small. Also, a minor convenience: if the migraine doesn’t hinder me from tending to my tasks, Corpse will. He’ll make sure I’m off the task I’m working and transported into bed in an instant.

That’s why I’m now clenching my jaw, struggling to maintain a poker face as I work on an important project I have to send to my boss by the start of next week. I’ve got plenty of time, but I like to stay on top of my work so it doesn’t pile on top of me, you know what I’m saying. Corpse is sitting on the couch next to me, casually glancing at me every now and then while remaining quiet as to not disturb me. So far so good, he hasn’t noticed anything and, if I didn’t know any better I would sigh in relief. There’s nothing to trigger the pain to arise any further - the lights are dim, I’m staying hydrated, and I downed two painkillers in the bathroom about an hour and a half ago - so I’m sure I’ll be in the clear at least until dinner.

“Wanna watch a movie when you’re done?“ Corpse asks, “Unless you’re tired or anything...“

I flash him a grateful smile, giving his knee a squeeze of reassurance, “I’d love to, babe. But I can’t promise that I won’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I know you’ve got a tendency of doing that.” Giving me a side-glance he adds, “It’s cute.”

I roll my eyes, already sensing a blush creeping up on my cheeks and neck which I hide by turning to face my laptop screen. One thing I can’t hide though is the wide grin that’s spread across my face as I mutter: “Shut up.”

Just then, a particularly sharp jolt of pain courses through my head, testing that ability to maintain a resting face. Thankfully, Corpse is turned in the opposite direction, searching for his phone, so I allow myself a brief cringe at the discomfort.

Guess the painkillers are dying down on me, I think to myself, a second away from sighing exasperatedly at the thought that I have to down two more. It was wishful of me to think I could enjoy the luxury of a dull ache until dinner, now the migraine is straight up mocking me.

I quietly stand up from the couch and make my way to the bathroom so I can take another dose of aspirin because I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on my work for very long if it keeps hitting me with this intensity. Opening the door to the small cabinet above the sink, I automatically reach out for the bottle of pills but stop when I see a surprise.

Directly in front of the bottle stands a note written in, you guessed it, Corpse’s handwriting.

‘Already losing effect, huh? When are you thinking of coming clean?‘

Well shoot, am I that transparent?

I sheepishly exit the bathroom, walking back into the living room where Corpse greets me with the same stance as a parent greeting their kid who’s gotten home past curfew: legs crossed, arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow raised, the whole nine yards.

“Yeah, they’re already losing effect.“ I admit, a small apologetic smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks burning with an embarrassed blush. “And I wasn’t gonna tell you at all.” I hurry to add: “Please don’t be mad though.“

Corpse shifts slightly, his gaze giving me a onceover as he contemplates how to pursue the case. I’ve already got several arguments/defenses ready - the perks of working for a lawyer - but I know he’ll dismiss all of them no matter how strong they might come off as in court. Bottom line: even statements that would fly in court can’t fly with Corpse sometimes. Especially when my health and well-being are the topic of observation.

“What have we said about lying?“ He finally asks, causing me to cringe and ball my fists in guilt.

However, I still have my arguments ready: “You never asked me so I never technically lied.” One might say I have quite the audacity to plead not guilty right now, even though I’ve been caught red-handed, but what can I say, I’m stubborn in nature. And Corpse knows this, he’s just testing me for his own amusement.

“Poor excuse, Y/N.“ He says with disapproval, shaking his head and fully embracing his disappointed parent persona. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. So, as punishment for hiding the truth from me, you are to ditch that project you’ve been bugging yourself over and come cuddle and watch a movie with me. Bonus points for you if you fall asleep.“

I needn’t be told twice - not only will it wipe that look off his features but it’ll also get earn me a movie night with the additional benefit of cuddling with my boyfriend? - how could I refuse?

I can’t help it, I just gotta push my luck here and poke the bear with a stick, “If the punishments are so sweet I might start being dishonest more often.“

Corpse rolls his eyes, scooting on the couch and tapping the space he’s freed up for me, “I said I was feeling generous, don’t bet on it happening often though.”

Alright, enough luck-pushing, I should be grateful for this generosity instead. I should be using it to the max.

So, what’s stopping you from doing just that?

Good question, brain, good question.

Head still pounding just not as intensely, I slip under the thin soft comforter to find myself not only wrapped in it but also in Corpse’s arm, his warm embrace bringing me instant comfort, walking me on the tight-rope of falling asleep right away.

“Sneaky bastard.“ I attempt to mutter, yawning halfway through.

I feel his lips on the top of my head, placing a quick and gentle kiss in my hair before he says, “You’re welcome, babe.”

Count your lucky stars, Y/N. You’ve got one of the good ones.

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intheticklecloset · 3 years ago

Text

Scarves and Necklaces (Kamisama Kiss)

Summary: Nanami and Tomoe exchange Christmas gifts a bit early and have a few giggles along the way.

A/N: My very first Kamisama Kiss fic! This anime is so beautiful; I wasn't sure about it at first but I really got into it when I gave it a second try. I love Tomoe and Nanami's relationship so much. It was fun to explore it with my own flare here! I look forward to writing more fics for this fandom in the future. Enjoy - and Merry Christmas Eve! <3

Word Count: 953

~~~

Nanami poked her head around the corner. “Tomoe?”

The familiar had his back turned to her, but he replied, “What is it, Nanami?”

“I have something for you.”

“What is it?” When she didn’t reply immediately, he turned to see her standing in the doorway to the kitchen where he was preparing dinner. In her hands was a blue box with silver ribbon wrapped around it. He blinked at it, then at her. “Is this…a Christmas present?”

“Yes.” She held it out to him, smiling nervously. “I wanted to get you something but I wasn’t sure what you’d like, and the holidays kind of came out of nowhere this year, so…”

Tomoe set down the knife he’d been wielding and gently took the box from her. “This is…very thoughtful of you, Nanami. You did not have to go through such trouble.”

Nanami gave him a smile. “I wanted to. I hope you like it.”

Truthfully, Tomoe was surprised. Nanami had never given him a gift before. He hesitated for a moment, then carefully unwrapped the ribbon and removed the lid. Inside was a pure white scarf. He brushed his fingers over it, then removed it from the box and let it unfurl.

“I appreciate it,” he said sincerely, feeling its softness.

“Do you think it’ll fit?” Nanami asked, reaching for the opposite end of the scarf and tossing it around his neck. “Let me see.”

Tomoe tensed, shuddering a little when her fingers brushed across his collarbone in her efforts to wrap him up in her gift for him. He gently pushed her away. “I am perfectly capable of putting it on myself.”

“R-Right.” Nanami smiled at him as he adjusted the material snugly around his neck, soaking in the warmth it provided. “It looks good on you.”

Tomoe gazed at her for a long moment. Then he reached into his kimono and pulled out an even smaller box than what she’d given him – small enough that it fit in one hand. “I have gotten you a gift as well. As it appears we are exchanging them early…” He held it out to her. “Here.”

Nanami’s eyes lit up. “You got me something, too? Aww, Tomoe!” She unwrapped the present quicker than he had, though when she saw its contents she froze, completely stunned. “Tomoe…”

The violet purple pendant sparkled as Nanami lifted it from the cushion it was nestled in, the silver chain draped gently over her fingers. She stared at it lovingly, unable to comprehend for a long moment that Tomoe – her stubborn, infuriating, no-nonsense Tomoe – had gotten this for her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said at last, lifting her eyes to meet his, surprised to find that he looked uncertain. “Thank you, Tomoe.”

He let out a tiny sigh and nodded. “You’re welcome. Merry Christmas, Nanami.”

“Merry Christmas.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close for a long moment before setting the necklace’s box aside and fussing with the clasp.

Tomoe carefully took it from her. “Allow me.”

Nanami smiled and lifted her hair from her neck while he laced the chain around it, hooking the clasp in the back. He absentmindedly brushed his thumb against her skin when he was finished, but when she scrunched up her shoulder and giggled softly his immediate attention was earned.

“Nanami?”

She let her hair drop back over her shoulders as she turned to face him, fingers splayed against the pendant as she continued to admire it. “I love it. Thank you.”

“What was that sound?” he asked, distracted now. “Why did you laugh?”

“I didn’t laugh,” she replied, cheeks turning pink. “I…giggled. There’s a difference.”

Tomoe gave her an annoyed look.

“It’s nothing, Tomoe. I’m just happy.” Nanami smiled up at him, hoping he’d brush it off as one of her eccentricities, but instead he narrowed his eyes at her, reaching a hand up to brush against her neck once more. She flinched out of the way and covered up with both hands. “Okay, so I’m a little ticklish there. So what?”

He blinked. “Ticklish?”

For a moment Nanami wondered if his confusion was genuine. Did he know what tickling was? Surely he did, with as long as he’d lived…

Then he gave her a haughty smirk and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close to him, pressing his thumbs into her hips. “Are you ticklish anywhere else?”

“Eeek! Nohoho!” she giggled, squirming in his strong grip, pushing at his chest. “Tomoe, stohohohop!”

“Why should I? This is valuable information, Nanami.” The fox grinned at her, refusing to let her go as he increased the pressure of his probing tickles. “It is my duty to know everything about my lady and mistress, is it not? As this is uncharted territory I must learn everything I can.”

“Oh yeheheheheah? W-Well…!” Nanami quickly shifted defense strategy from pushing at him to sliding her hands to his ribs and digging in. “Are you tihihicklish?”

Instinctively Tomoe grabbed her waist even harder, resulting in a squeal and renewed efforts from Nanami to push him away. Encouraged by the bright noises she was making (as well as determined to make sure she didn’t try that again), he took both of her wrists in his and raised her arms above her head, scribbling unhindered at her sides and belly.

Nanami shrieked with giggles and struggled uselessly against him, her new violet pendant complementing her rosy cheeks beautifully. “Tohohohohomoe! Lehehehehehet me gohohohoho!”

Tomoe had long forgotten about dinner at this point. Still grinning mischievously, he kept tickling and declared, “I’m sorry, Nanami, but I simply must know everything there is to know about you. I wouldn’t truly be your familiar if I didn’t, now would I?”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #kamisama kiss #nanami momozono #tomoe #nanami x tomoe #12 days of ficmas #christmas #gift exchange #fluff #cute #romantic #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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lonslibrary · 4 years ago

Text

3 moments between the crow couples during their time at hogwarts

1. an unknown part of wylan and jesper’s somewhat disastrous amortentia story comes moments after jesper pulled wylan in for a kiss by his tie, causing the rest of their classmates to erupt in cheers and applause so loud that professor snape’s “boys! in the hall, now!” went unheard. minutes later, when they had actually been led out of the classroom to wait for their punishment, wylan finally worked up the courage to meet jesper’s eyes, his face almost as red as his hair. jesper’s grin was radiant. “so. butterbeer and my cologne, huh?”

it took all of wylan’s nerve to not sink into the ground where he stood. “i didn’t know today’s lesson was on amortentia,” he muttered, feeling himself flush again.

it took all of jesper’s will not to kiss the younger again right there where he stood with the way the redhead was looking up at him from beneath his long lashes.

“well, what about you?” wylan demanded, rolling his eyes. “let me guess. cards, pumpkin juice, and galleons?”

“no, actually.” jesper replied, spinning his wand in his hand. “i smell grass. gunpowder. and...”

he took a step closer to wylan who stood still, holding his breath. “...and?” the third year asked quietly.

“exploding elixir.”

wylan’s mind shut down.

“the entire room was filled with the same smell from that day we singed snape’s hair,” jesper snorted. “of all things, we had to mess up the potion that smelled like burnt-”

it was wylan who pulled jesper down this time, reaching up on his tippy toes to meet jesper’s soft lips, the ones that had captivated him from the moment he had walked into the potions classroom and saw his new lab partner for the first time.

“fahey, van eck!” snape burst into the hallway. “does it seem possible to keep your hands off of each other?”

“sorry, prof.” jesper winked, eyes still trained on wylan’s mouth. “guess you can say we’ve got...chemistry.”

wylan couldn’t even bring himself to care about detention.

2. nina stifled a laugh, trying to keep a straight face as she watched matthias scan the inside of zonko’s joke shop. she had just gotten matthias to admit that he enjoyed a drink as sweet as butterbeer, hours earlier at the three broomsticks. “you look like you’re inside the shrieking shack, not a joke shop.” nina snickered at the way matthias perked up.

“whatever the shrieking shack is, i think that there’d be more dignity in such a place than...this.” matthias dropped a dungbomb he had picked up like it had personally offended his grandmother.

“why?” nina giggled. she shook the box in her hand. “not a fan of ton-tongue toffees?”

matthias made a face that looked like he was more than just not a fan. “if it’s anything like those jelly beans you fed me on the train, then no.”

that only made nina laugh harder. “i swear you picked the worst ones! you should’ve seen your face when you tried the rotten egg flavor.”

matthias cracked a smile, relaxing a little amongst the colorful store and his girlfriend’s laughter. he picked up another product, a pink bottle corked at the top. “what does this one do?”

nina lowered her voice, gesturing for matthias to come closer, as if letting him in on a secret. “that one’s a love potion. one drop of it in someone’s drink and they’re yours,” she whispered. “they’ll think about you all day.”

matthias jerked away, putting the bottle back on the shelf. “you can’t be serious. love can’t be made like that!” he sputtered.

“i don’t know, durmstrang,” nina teased. “what if i bought one and slipped some in your pumpkin juice tomorrow at breakfast?”

matthias only crossed his arms, continuing to grimace. “well, that wouldn’t work at all.”

“why not? zonko’s is pretty reliable when it comes to their products.” she said pointedly, looking at the extendable ears on sale.

“because i’m already in love with you.” matthias stated simply.

nina froze, turning to her boyfriend. during her time dating matthias, the hufflepuff had proven to be narrow minded and straightforward as a broom doing any and every thing. it was moments like these she was reminded that this included during his expressions of affection, and nina couldn’t love him more for it.

“i’m in love with you, too.” she declared, slipping her hand into her boyfriend’s. she had always liked...brooms. “now, come on. i want to see if we can get kaz to fall for a trick wand.”

3. all inej had wanted was a quiet place to study that wasn’t the library. she liked to practice with her wand for transfiguration, and magic wasn’t allowed in the library. she had been wandering the school for an empty classroom or quiet corner when the room of requirement had appeared at the end of a hallway, exactly moments before she was about to give up and return to the gryffindor common room. she was only half surprised when she opened the door and saw kaz, but like always, kaz hadn’t seemed surprised at all when she entered. he sat on top of a desk with his cane leaned against it, wand out, in the middle of a silent spell. inej let her eyes trail over his robe perched on a chair, his gloves off and set aside in a rare moment, and his uniform sleeves pulled up to his elbows.

“first time here?” kaz asked, not looking up from the book in his lap. his rough voice echoed slightly in the large room as inej scanned her surroundings. the room was empty besides a couple of desks and chairs in one corner, a cluttered pile of objects in another, and a big wardrobe that looked ages old. a fireplace on the wall kept the room warm, and a small chandelier hung above inej’s head.

“guess i didn’t require much until now.” inej shrugged, pulling a desk and chair of her own towards the center of the room. “you?”

kaz closed his book, finally looking up at inej. “i come and go when i want.”

inej wanted to know more about what had revealed the room to kaz in the first place, but she redirected the question away from kaz himself, knowing it was unlikely he would answer. “get anything out of it?” with kaz, it was all about gain.

kaz drummed his fingers on his desk. inej tried not to stare. “some crying first years with who miss their mums. i think i’ve witnessed a bit of every couple in the school’s snogging.” he pulled out a handful of extendable ears from his robe pocket. “snape’s planning something. don’t know the details yet, but something big.”

inej nodded. part of her expected kaz to leave, speak with his silence as he tended to do, but he continued to sit and look at inej, book in lap. inej knew him well enough to recognize that while it wasn’t exactly an invitation, kaz wasn’t saying no to a conversation. she could’ve started with a less risky question about snape’s plans, or asked for the names of the couples in their year, just to know, but inej was curious about other things.

“and how did you find this place, kaz?”

“the de kappel painting.” he said casually. “i needed a place to hide it.”

inej froze, taken aback by kaz’s answer. or more accurately, his willingness to answer. “so it’s true?” she questioned, hoping her voice didn’t give away her surprise. “the gringotts vault rumor.” she had half believed them to begin with, knowing kaz’s abilities but never his motives. still, kaz had never confirmed it with anyone as far as she had known.

“true enough.” kaz reopened his book, attention back on the page. inej inwardly sighed. the satisfaction of knowing kaz trusted her enough to confirm the gringotts rumor didn’t last long. figures kaz wouldn’t want to talk much about himself.

“but that’s a story for next time.” kaz flipped a page, the slightest start of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

next time, inej turned over in her head. she tried not to smile as she opened her own book. she could work with next time.

author’s note (pls read!) this is my first time on tumblr so idk how to use it too well but i’m overwhelmed by all the nice responses so thank you all so, so much. i see everything!! idk if there’s like poll mechanisms and stuff on tumblr (argh help) but i wanted to gauge what everyone would like next—im deciding between six of crows x pjo or shadow and bone x harry potter, so comment below what you’d like to see first (: i’d also love to hear abt any personal requests so my dms (is that what they’re called here?) are open for suggestions. no promises, but lmk if there’s something you want to read. feel free to get as niche as you want, respectfully! ok ik this is super long god bless your soul if u actually read the entire thing but finally, i just wanted to introduce myself—i’m lynn, this is my library and i dabble in most fandoms! my goal is to get at least one piece of writing out every month, so if you’d like to read what i write, follow along! OK im finally done, i swear. thank you again for the tremendous support. unbelievable. happy reading!

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