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thisisourlovestory · 1 year ago

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Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.1k

Please bear in mind that this is my first fanfic. It will be multiple chapters but release dates are uncertain as I am fairly busy and also procrastination is my best friend. I am open to constructive criticism if you have any. Thanks and enjoy!

Prologue:

The moment President Snow said those words I froze. I couldn’t breathe. Because I could be going back in. Back into the arena. My breath came in short gasps and I leaned against the wall. When I finally gathered the courage to go out the others were already there, Annie, Finnick and Mags. Huddled together in the centre of victor's village, Annie’s face red with tears, Mags opening and closing her mouth in what could only be anger. And Finnick holding himself together, just barely but managing it, holding Annie tightly in his arms as if she was the only thing stopping him from breaking.

I stood on the porch, leaning against the wooden frame of my house, arms crossing my body. None of them noticed me, I was invisible to them. I was the victor they didn't need, I was just a pretty thing for the capitol to put on display every night. Most of the time I stayed away from victor's village and none of them ever made any attempt to get to know me, I guess I just faded into the background for them. It's not really their fault, they didn't expect me to survive my games, no one did, I was just another tiny thirteen year old in the 68th Hunger Games, no allies, no weapons, no food and no hope. Just a pair of worn ballet shoes and a small bag I had nicked to keep them in. I would have died in the bloodbath had a tribute from 10 not stepped in front of an axe meant for me. I remember the blood splattering across my face as he fell onto me, I had pushed him off, grabbed his bag and ran into the forest.

I barely managed to survive, the frozen wasteland was unforgiving, animals were scarce but there had at least been enough water. At the end of the first day there had been eight cannons, the second three, the third five, the fourth two, the fifth another two. There were four of us left, the others all career tributes who had plentiful supplies and an alliance. I was able to hide from them for five more days before they had found me. Their leader, Arion from district 2, had shot me in the arm as I tried to get away, I fell and my blood painted the crystal white snow red. They weren't smart now that I think about it, they wanted to play with me; that was their mistake. I killed the girl first, hit her over the head with my ballet shoes, the hard box disorienting her long enough for me to slit her throat with her own knife, the cannon sounded and I killed her district partner as well, piercing his heart with the same knife. That had only left Arion.

I avoided him for a few days but he found me again, probably following the trail of blood I left behind. Except this time I was ready for him. I struck first, flinging my shoes through the air, hitting him on the temple, a trickle of blood falling from the cut formed. He reacted quicker than I expected, swinging his sword wildly, but I was small and fast- like a little bird my mother always said- I threw the knife in a practised motion, letting go of the handle, spinning it slightly, my hand following the line as it hit him dead centre in the chest. He had stared at me. In shock and disbelief that I'd been able to best him. The final cannon went off and I had won. I was the victor of the 68th annual Hunger Games.

For a while it was okay, chauffeured around, fussed over and doted on by my stylists, I was living the dream of every child. But it got old, I became used to people cooing over me, patting my hair, asking me questions. And then I discovered that even if you get out of the arena, you never truly win, you always have to give back something of yourself, a repayment of sorts. You get to live and we get you was how it sounded when President Snow made me the offer. Except it wasn't an offer, it was an order; that's how I found myself as a Capitol slave at the age of fourteen, performing night and day for the rich, barely getting a second's rest. Dancing until my toes bled through my shoes, smearing red across the delicate satin. Singing until my throat was raw and I coughed up the same red my shoes now were.

The only person who ever offered me some comfort was Finnick. About a month after my games had ended I started having nightmares, I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night and he would hear me and come over to make sure I was okay. We formed a kind of friendship, me thirteen and traumatised, him seventeen and still carrying on. He would fall asleep watching over me, reassuring me that I was okay, I got out. We fell into a routine and by the time I was fifteen the nightmares were a rare occurrence. Then Annie won and it all changed. She became the priority for him, the priority for everyone, she had been broken in the arena and her mind never seemed to fully return to her. I thought he would come back to me, but as I woke up screaming one night and there was nobody there to hold me while I cried, as another scream pierced the air; a door slammed open and I saw Finnick running across to Annie's house, I knew I had lost him. I had lost the one person who I had loved and who truly seemed to care about me.

I watched them grow closer to each other. He built her up again brick by brick, unknowingly tearing me apart again piece by piece until I was nothing but an empty shell. He stopped her nightmares, whispering soothing words to her as I tossed and turned, eventually I would wake up, sweating and screaming, eyes wide and frantic as I clutched the knife I kept by my bedside. But no one ever came. I couldn’t blame Annie, she was the kindest person I knew and it wasn't her fault Finnick loved her, it wasn't her fault he didn't love me.

So I dealt with it. I swallowed the pain that welled up in me and buried every thought I had ever had about him deep in my memory, never to see the light of day again. And it worked, I got on with life, going about my daily routine, dancing, singing, eating, sleeping, then doing it all again. I attended parties in the Capitol, laughing and smiling at people, agreeing with their every word. I wasn't happy, but I didn't need to be, I just needed to be alive.

So that was how I found myself after the announcement of the Quarter Quell, watching Mags, Annie and Finnick from the sidelines. My face blank as they comforted each other, not sparing me a second glance. They had all but forgotten I existed. I waited for them to go inside before I ran out of the large gates separating us from the rest of District 4. I ran along the cliffs, wind whipping my hair into a tangled mess. I reached the edge and stood still, staring out at the roiling ocean, grey waves crashing against the shoreline, foam spraying the cliff face. My heart was pounding in my ears, drowning out the sound of the sea. The air grew cold around me as my chest constricted and I gasped for breath. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.

Tears poured down my face as I sank to my knees and cried. Guttural sobs tearing from my throat, my chest heaving with each one as I clutched the grass beneath me. Fingers digging into the wet soil, clenching and unclenching in time with the beating of my heart as I tried to ground myself. Gradually, my heart slowed and I pulled my hands out of the ground. I breathed shakily, dirt trapped under my nails as I scratched at the skin on my wrist. I lifted it up so I could see the mark laying there. Stark black against pale skin. Forever inked on my body. A trident and a flower, interwoven with each other.��

It was a soulmark. It appeared when I turned 17, as they did for every other person. The person with the same mark is my soulmate, they could be anyone. But I already know who it is even if he doesn't. I saw it one night and then when I got mine I knew immediately but by that point it was already too late. He was already in love with Annie. I stared at it, it wasn't very noticeable, easy to hide from people; pretty as well I suppose, then again they say it's the most beautiful things that are the most dangerous. And this mark, this tiny little mark held the power to destroy me if the wrong person so much as caught a glance of it. I let out a soft laugh, how pointless it all seemed now that everything I had could be taken from me again. I had worked so hard to build up this facade, pretending everything was fine and with a few words it had all come crashing down.

I shook my head and stood up, giving a last look to the sea as I turned and walked back the way I had come. People talking about the announcement anywhere I pass, I paid them no mind, holding my head high as my feet hit the cobblestones with sharp thwacks.

“Who do you think will be reaped?”

“It's such a shame really.”

“We only have three victors anyway.”

I ignored them all, they pretended I didn't exist and I'd do the same for them, it's not as if they cared. I finally reached the small gathering of houses the victors lived in and stood outside the gate. The metal tarnished from years of standing in the elements, wooden stakes seeming to wilt under my heavy gaze. I reached out a shaky hand and pushed the metal forwards, opening it only slightly so I could slip in without making the usual clanging sound. I slowly walked towards the fountain in the centre of the square and sat down on the edge, trailing my fingers in the water as my gaze focused on the centrepiece. A mermaid, carved from marble, her hair flowing in the current, tail curving up to the sky, each scale distinguishable. A steely expression was painted on her face, that of a commander, a leader. An odd message from the Capitol, to show the mermaid as being powerful, to show us as powerful, and yet hidden in the water below the statue, in the basin of the fountain, laid a golden net. A message that we had won, but we would always be theirs and we could never escape.

My hand ran through my hair as I hummed quietly to myself, my other hand drifting along the water as I sat cross legged on the edge of the fountain. My eyes wandered across to Mags’ house where they had all decided to go. They were talking amongst themselves, Mags placing a reassuring hand on Finnick's shoulder and him muttering calming words to Annie. I felt sick, all the feelings I had locked away bubbled back to the surface because why could it not be me? Why was it her? What had I done wrong? My eyes watered slightly as I tried to hold back tears at the sight of them being so sickeningly perfect for one another. Not that it should've been me in his arms but it would be nice to know someone cared enough to check up on me, help me through the hard moments in life. Once upon a time I had thought he was that person and look where that got me, in deeper pain than I had been before.

I sighed deeply, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, and started up the steps to my house, the front porch, a few small plants in ornate pots, wisteria growing up the trellis, light purple blooms adding a little something to the otherwise grey picture. I took a last look at them across the square, smiles on their faces as if they had forgotten the news we received earlier. I guess that's what happens when you have people you can talk to, who understand and try to help. I twisted the doorknob, stepping inside, closing the door behind me, leaning against it for support. I didn't notice the eyes that watched me. Or maybe I just didn't want to.

#finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick odair x reader #angst #the hunger games #catching fire #fanfic #finnick odair x you #thg x reader #thg series #implied Finnick x Annie

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feelingdozy · 2 years ago

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I love your writing omg <3 it's MARVELOUS I'm so jealous!! could you do finnick odair flirting with a shy!gn!reader? Like he calls them cute and they just freak out and hide into their shirt or a blanket, etc etc? And he just keeps flirting until reader just covers his mouth and they make eye contact and it's a HUZZAH moment before finnick just kisses them?? sorry if this is really specific!! thank you if you fulfill this request <3

A Little Shy

Finnick Odair x Reader

Hunger Games Masterlist

Summary: you go out to town to find some supplies for fishing as it's the perfect season. You find yourself inexperienced with tridents, and someone comes along to help you find the perfect one to fit your needs.

Note: this is a super cute request and will probably take awhile to post because I want to make sure it is absolutely perfect, also thank you!! I try my best to write as nicely as possible

Warnings: mention of death and killing, slap (hand over mouth)

You had wanted to go to the market in district 4 for awhile, wanting to see what there was to offer at this time of the month. It was the prime time for fishing, so a lot of people had been stocking up.

You stayed for a few hours getting the basic supplies, making your way over to the tridents. You had never been a pro even as a district 4 victor, but had always admired people who were able to use a Trident so easily.

You looked around slowly at all they had to offer, wondering at that point if maybe you should get your own and try it out.

"that one's nice, huh?"

You jumped at the voice that came from behind you, quickly turning around. You should've recognized the voice, of course it was Finnick.

Naturally, you got shy knowing how much you admired his Trident skills as he'd won with them as the youngest in the arena. You hated the games, but loved the skills of the weapons that came with it.

"are you good at using a trident? I've never seen you use one"

He was watching you? I mean he was your mentor back then, but you were really a nobody. You thought your win was a bit sad compared to other people who had won with skill. It was the career in you talking, quickly coming back to realize the horror that came behind it all and that you were lucky to be standing here alive right now.

"not really, I'd love to learn though.."

Your voice was quiet and faded off as you glared at other ones surrounding the two of you.

"how about you come down to my house later and I'll teach you a few tricks y/n?"

You turned to him, his charming smile placed on his face as he found your eyes.

"sure"

A blush found your cheeks, a little intimidated to be taught to use a trident by the Finnick Odair. Even though you should've learned how to use a Trident in the training for the games, you focused on your hand to hand combat and nature tips and tricks then the main weapon of your district. It made you feel a little more reassured that you wouldn't die by accidentally eating the wrong type of berry.

You picked out a trident fitting to your hand, comfortable in your hold. Then it was time to start walking to the victors village that was surrounded by ocean. Their backyards went out to a beautiful beach, and then water. Constant, neverending water leaving room to do anything you aspire to.

The walk was peaceful, as usual. The weather was hotter than usual so if you were going to be in the water, why not change into a bathing suit? You quickly went home and put on a bathing suit beneath your clothing, hiding it before you got to his house.

You knocked on his door, his footsteps getting closer and your heartbeat faster. The anxiety hit as he opened the door. You just now realized his height compared to yours and how shy you were. It's the Finnick Odair. How could you not be a little scared?

"come in"

He said with the same charming smile as before, gesturing for you to sit anywhere you'd like. His place was nicely decorated, ocean themed items around you at every turn. Tridents sat on the wall, some framed and some just hung as a decoration.

He had gone to the kitchen, his back turned towards the living room. You looked at his hair that always looked amazing and you wanted to ruffle it and run your hands through it- wait. We're you actually thinking of.. no. This was Finnick Odair. Loved by the capitol, loved by the people in his district and by the other victors. He was an amazing person despite what he had gone through, most not being able to handle it all.

He brought out some cookies and sat them on the table in front of you. He sat down, the couch dipping with the new weight beside you slightly pulling you toward him, slowly sliding. Your cheeks now had a light blush again from simply being in his presence. His eyes glistened in the light of his house, his hair fluffy and his face charming and cute. You thought Finnick Odair was cute. The Finnick Odair.

He stared at you for awhile before breaking the silence.

"soo, you've never picked up a Trident before y/n?"

You nodded your head no. He sort of knew when he was training you many years ago, just a year older than you, wondering why you didn't pick up a trident. He admired your other abilities back then, knowing how to identify different leafs or berries and hand to hand combat were great abilities in general, but especially because you got put in the arena where you'd need just those skills, like it was almost fit for your win.

It's funny because you were by far the shyest tribute he had ever seen, you didn't talk much or make a fuss like many other tributes had done, but instead listened and took any and all information and tips and tricks from the past victors that only wanted to help. Why did people go out of their way to make a fuss?

Your head was turned down from his, scared to actually make eye contact with him no matter your past relationship.

"you can look at me y'know. I don't bite?"

He laughed, your head hesitantly turning upwards, scared that you'll reveal the layer of red forming on your now heat-radiating cheeks.

"no need to be nervous, y/n."

He said, and you swear he was teasing you at this point. You looked into the distance again, seeing him taking in your facial features from your peripheral vision. His eyes widened a bit before his classic smile appeared on his face that he always wore, except it seems a little more.. genuine than before.

"you're cute."

Your eyes then met with his again, and now greatly flustered in front of the man. He memorized your face in the moment, how your cheeks gained more color and your eyes widened. You couldn't even make words come out of your mouth, your heartbeat pounding too loud and mind too fuzzy to make a coherent sentence.

"huh-?!"

Was all that came out of your mouth. He slowly lifted himself up to where his arms were to the side of your face. You quickly pulled up your shirt, covering your slowly reddening face to where you might've been radiating heat, heat that he must've felt through the fabrics that layered because it was so warm.

"You're so cute. Shy hm?"

Your heartbeat pounded louder and louder within your chest as you once again admired the man who was above your sitting, now laying form. You buried yourself even deeper within your shirt before he could see even more obvious and powerful hints of red on the rest of your face.

"look at you. So red. You like me calling you cute sweetheart?"

A slap echoed in the room as you couldn't handle it anymore. You put your hand over his mouth, your heart not being able to take anymore of his flirting. You could feel his signature grin form under your hand as he put his hand on your arm. His hand slowly slid up til it reached yours, taking it and kissing the outside of your palm.

Your eyes met with his sea green. His other hand creeped onto your cheek, his head slowly getting closer to yours.

his lips collided with yours with a deep need to feel your lips for the first time. He deepened the kiss, his soft lips feeling amazing on yours. You couldn't believe your first kiss was with the Finnick Odair. Part of it because you were already in your twenties and you had never kissed anyone before, not having any partners when you were younger. But mostly because it was him.

You let him take the lead, not knowing what else to do. You let go as you had to take a breath even though you never wanted to let go of his soft lips, feeling like you had been in another world while kissing him.

"promise me you won't explode if I kiss you again?"

He laughed as you nodded, going in again for another kiss that had sucked you in, captured you.

You had just kissed Finnick Odair. Twice.

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months ago

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False Confidence: Chapter 4

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, mild physical violence, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Aaaaa!!! After the lengthy process of reposting all my old work, I can finally post an update and treat y’all to something new!!! Welcome back, y’all and thank you for rejoining me on this journey with the SDDU and specifically with Javy and Roadie 💚💛🩶

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You try to still your restless hands as you sit in the parking garage of the Dogfighters’ arena. Javy had texted you directions to the staff parking section and now you’re currently working up the courage to get out of your car and go inside. You’re turning your phone over and over in your hands, debating texting Javy to ask him to meet you so you don’t have to try to navigate the unfamiliar building alone worrying about bothering him. You’d texted him an hour ago to let him know you were on your way but now you’ve suddenly lost your nerve. As you’re stuck against your mental roadblock, a knock on your window makes you jump so hard you feel your seatbelt chafe painfully at your neck. Your neck whips to catch sight of your attacker as your hand curls around the pepper spray attached to your keys. It relaxes slightly as a scowl crosses your face, replacing the wide-eyed panic as you catch sight of Javy, leaning an arm against the top of the window frame and smirking through the glass at you. You have a good mind to pepper spray him anyway.

Instead, you settle on shoving the door open, aiming to put him off balance but it seems you’ve underestimated exactly how big hockey players are. The door barely budges. You shove again, scowl deepening as Javy’s smirk spreads into a grin as he realizes what you’re trying to do. His laugh echoes off of the walls of the parking garage and when he throws his head back shifting his weight off the door, you give a particularly hard shove and the combination sends him stumbling back a few steps, and you feel a grin tug at the corner of your mouth, but you stifle the urge to smile as you hurry out of the car before Javy can go back to leaning against the door.

“Good to see you too, Roadie.” He says with a smirk as he straightens back up. “I was wondering what happened when you said you were on the way an hour ago and the drive is only thirty minutes.” Your lips part in surprise. “You okay?” He asks and you watch his carefree smirk morph into something else, his gaze firmer as he scans over your body like he’s looking for an invisible injury or ailment. You shake your head, dismissing his concerns.

“I’m fine.” You twist your hands around the strap of your purse and your eyes drift down to watch the repetitive motion.

“Well then,” Javy clears his throat awkwardly. “Shall we?” You nod, not letting up with the twisting until Javy’s hand enters your field of vision, held out in silent offer.

“Uh, you probably don’t want to,” you murmur, finally releasing the purse strap to attempt to wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans. “Sweaty,” you hold your hands up, heat rising to your cheeks as you explain and Javy gives you what you almost convince yourself is a fond smile before he takes your hand in his.

“I’m sweaty too, that makes two of us.” It’s like a cold bucket of water dumped on your nerves and you feel your lips part slightly in surprise as Javy leads you by your linked hands towards the door. “Come on,” he says as he holds open the door for you, not letting go of your hand. “The guys are going to love you,” he says, flashing that roguish grin at you that makes your heart thump as you momentarily forget exactly who he is.

The four-letter word is still pounding in your ears as Javy leads you down winding hallways that you know you should be committing to memory but you’re too distracted to pay attention to right now. Then he turns the corner and you’re standing in what looks a lot like the teacher’s lounge. There’s a group of twenty-some grown men of varying ages sprawled across couches and chairs. A few look up when you enter with Javy and he squeezes your hand encouragingly.

“Hey guys,” Javy says loudly and you feel the weight of dozens of eyes focus on you and you feel the desperate urge to sink into the ground and disappear.

“Roadie!” An excited shout draws your attention to where Jake’s chatting with a larger player who’s now watching you curiously, dark brown brows drawn together in a scrutinizing frown. Jake’s grinning as he waves at you before making his way to the front and wrapping you in a hug that takes you by surprise. It’s over before you can fully register it and then Jake has a hand on your back, beaming at the rest of the room. “Guys, this is Roadie, Javy’s girlfriend!” There’s an awkward silence as Jake’s audience tries to gauge whether he’s lying before the man Jake was speaking to earlier speaks up.

“FAKE girlfriend.” He clarifies and you feel the fire in your cheeks burn even hotter. He’s glaring and it takes you a moment to realize it’s not at you, but at Javy. Jake does his best to disperse the tense moment, saying something to the rest of the team that you don’t hear because you’re focused on the man who spoke up. Before you know it, most of the guys are clearing out of the space and Javy’s letting go of your hand to cross his arms across his chest.

“You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you Bradshaw?” His voice is hard and you can hear the irritation in it. You shift uncomfortably next to him as the other man pushes off the wall where he’s been standing and comes over to the two of you. Jake watches on silently, ready to step in if needed. You can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on a conversation that you have no right to be a part of.

“I can’t? What about you, that’s the reason she’s in this situation in the first place, isn’t it?” You hear it then, the fierce streak of protectiveness in his voice. His gaze drops to you then and all the animosity leaves it as he extends a hand out to you. “Bradley Bradshaw, nice to meet you.”

You take it nervously and he shakes it with a firm grip that somehow manages to ease your nerves. “You already met Bradley’s girlfriend, Zam.” Jake pipes up, doing his best to dissolve the tension still hanging over the room.

“Oh!” You do your best to help Jake out. “She’s really nice.” You do your best to make the compliment seem as genuine as it is, but something tells you it isn’t working. Bradley smiles at that and there’s a wistfulness in his eyes that transforms his face from the harsh presence he’d seemed before.

“That she is.” He says mostly to himself before he straightens. “Good to meet you, Roadie, but I’m late for a meeting.” He pushes past you and Javy and you let him go but Javy doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.

***

“Bradshaw, what the fuck!” Javy snaps at the older man’s back as he follows Bradley down the hallway. He almost crashes into the back of his teammate as Bradley stops suddenly. The door to the break room swinging shut with a muted bang behind him. Bradley rounds on Javy, shoving him against the wall with a swift movement before he gets up into Javy’s space.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bradley snaps and Javy’s caught by surprise. When he doesn’t answer immediately Bradley pushes again. “Look, I know I’ve never said anything about your, quite frankly disgusting, behavior before now but that’s because you were just being irresponsible. But this? This is just plain cruel.” Fury starts to stain Bradley’s cheeks with splotches of angry red. Bradshaw’s always had a temper but Javy hasn’t had many occasions of facing it's brunt. “Now you’ve pulled that poor girl into your mess and she’s going to get hurt.” Javy bristles at that, shoving back against Bradley’s hulking form that’s keeping him pinned to the wall. Sure they both play the same position but Bradley’s built like a brick wall while Javy’s always tended to be on the more slender side so he doesn’t manage to move the older man much.

“She won’t get hurt.” Javy snaps, irritation crackling in his voice like lightning. “I won’t let that happen,” he insists, brows furrowing in frustrated determination.

Bradley answers with a barked laugh of haughty disbelief. “You know I already told Zam she’s crazy for even entertaining this but she seems to agree with you. You’re lucky I trust my wife.” Bradley snaps and Javy’s eyebrows rise in mock curiosity.

“Your WIFE?” He asks in a way that he knows is dangerously teasing. “Something you want to share with the class, Bradshaw?” Sure he’d promised Zam that he’d do his best to stop riling up Bradley but in his defense, the older man had started it. Bradley’s cheeks flush for a different reason this time and Javy feels his grip loosen.

“My girlfriend, you know what I meant.” He snaps but his voice lacks the bite it had earlier.

“Planning on popping the question, Bradshaw?” Javy asks, tilting his head slightly mockingly and Bradley reddens even more.

“That’s none of your business, Machado.” He straightens, releasing Javy from his grasp, and scowls at him. “Mind your own business, and for the love of God, don’t fuck this up. She deserves better than that.” He doesn’t give Javy a chance to respond before he stalks off in the direction of Zam’s office. Javy catches his breath as he uncurls the tight fists his hands have been in. As angry as he is, he can’t blame Bradshaw for his concern because he’s right. You DO deserve better. But unfortunately for you, he’s the best you’ve got right now.

***

Javy invited you to stay and watch practice so you’re perched in a row of seats a distance you’ve deemed safe from the glass and you’re tapping away at your laptop as you review lesson plans for the week and do your best to rework them to make sure Javy can make it to Octopus Stew Day. You’ve been at it for about twenty minutes when you look up to the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs up to where you’ve set up camp. Natasha gives you a wave as she approaches and you close your laptop, smoothing your hands over the top to clasp them in front of you.

“Hey there Roadie, can I join you? I had to finish up a couple of things but I wanted to chat if that’s okay?” You nod and she scoots past you to drop into the seat next to you. “How’re you handling things so far?” She asks, raising a knowing eyebrow at you. “I’ve known Javy for over a decade so bullshitting me isn’t going to work.” Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve really known him that long?”

She nods. “We met in high school back in New Orleans. He played for the boys’ hockey team and I played for the girls’. Though we became friends because we were in the same homeroom together. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s probably one of my best friends.” She looks down towards the ice where the players are running drills with a rueful smile. “So,” she turns back to you. “How long have you been a hockey fan?”

You blink back at her stupidly until you realize she’s serious. “I’m not.” You stammer out. “Josie’s been begging me to come to a game with her all season because she thinks I need to get out more, but I don’t know anything about the sport.” Nat doesn’t criticize that but simply adopts a thoughtful expression while she carefully looks you over.

“Do you want to?” She asks, finally, and your brow twists in confusion.

“Do I what?”

“Do you want to know anything about the sport?” She asks simply. “I could teach you if you want. It’s not exactly a necessity per se for a hockey WAG but it certainly doesn’t hurt.”

“What’s a hockey WAG?” You ask, feeling slightly stupid for not knowing, but Nat dismisses that immediately.

“Oh, sorry! A WAG is short for ‘wives and girlfriends.’ You’re a WAG now, technically so you should probably get used to the term. Josie can show you the ropes, she’s got more experience than the rest of the staff girls like Zam and Bugs. She’s the unofficial head of the Dogfighters’s WAGs. I wish I could tell you more about how it all works but that’s not really my wheelhouse, sorry.”

You nod, making a mental note to ask Josie about it later. “Thanks, and yes I’d love to know more about it. That way I’ll have something to talk to Javy about on our date later today.” You’d been trying not to think about it since Zam had mentioned it. She was setting up a press ambush tonight at a restaurant Javy had chosen for your first date.

Nat looks like she’s going to ask you more about that but decides against it and she turns towards the ice, motioning for you to join her. You pull out a notebook and pen from your bag and see Nat smile slightly as you open them, ready to take any notes. “So let’s start with the basics, the things you already know. There’s two teams, two goals, and one puck. The objective is, of course, to score on your opponent’s goal. Now let’s talk about the lineups. Each team is made of four offensive lines, three defensive pairings, and two goalies. The offensive lines and defensive pairings will take turns playing what we call shifts on the ice. At any one point, there should be six players on the ice for each team. One offensive line made up of a center, and two wingers, right and left. One defensive pairing made up of two defensemen. And of course one goalie. Usually, only one goalie plays per game unless the coach decides to swap them out if things are going south or they get injured. The second goalie still gets suited up in their gear and warms up to be ready to swap in for any reason if necessary.”

“Javy is a defenseman,” she adds. “He and Bradley are in a pair together.” She clocks your surprised expression. “I know they don’t exactly get along but it’s been getting better since Bradley started dating Zam. She basically told them they needed to knock it off. If she saw the shit Bradley pulled today she would have given him a dressing-down for sure.” She pauses with a small grin before she sobers again. “He’s not all bad, he’s just got a bad temper and a lot of baggage. He used to be a lot worse but I think he’s finally started healing.” You give an understanding nod.

“Anyway, back to the nitty gritty. Defensemen are, as their name suggests, in charge of defense and preventing the other team from scoring. The offensive players are the center and wingers. The center is usually in the center of attack formations and focuses on the middle of the ice. They pass more than any other player. That’s the position Jake plays,” she explains and you nod as you watch the scrimmage on the ice below you. The wingers support the center and they’re pretty versatile. Some are the goal-scoring types and others excel in playing near the boards and digging the puck out there. Reuben and Mickey are wingers. The goalie, of course, defends the goal, and that’s Bob. I’m not sure if you’ve met him yet.” You shake your head no.

“So those are the positions. It takes a while to get used to watching the lines change, there’s a lot of bodies moving around but I think the next thing to cover would be penalties. There are all kinds of ways to draw penalties but most of them involve physical play. When a player gets a penalty, they have to go into the penalty box. They spend 2 minutes in there for a minor penalty and 5 minutes for a major penalty. While they're in the box, their team must play short-handed. That’s called a penalty-kill for the penalized team since they're trying to kill the penalty by ensuring the opposition doesn’t score, and called a power play for the opposing team since they have the power advantage by having one more player on the ice. There’s also misconduct and game misconduct penalties that work differently but let’s just start here and hope you never have to learn about those.” She gives you a rueful grin and you smile back, nervously.

“I think that’s enough for lesson one. Next time we can talk about the offside rule. If you have any questions you can ask me,” she reaches over to take the pen from your hand scribbles her phone number into the margin. “Of course you could also ask Josie, Javy, or anyone else around here. And, of course, there’s always good old-fashioned Google.”

She settles next to you and the two of you watch practice and Nat explains what’s going on down on the ice and you interrupt with questions when you have them. You may not be able to follow a game yet, but you think you’ll be able to hold a conversation over dinner. So far, Javy has mostly focussed on asking you questions and you’re hoping to return the favor tonight and make sure you’re prepared to field any personal questions that are sure to be thrown your way at work as your colleagues continue to investigate your newly-unveiled relationship. You’re hoping the photos that will come out tonight will sate their interest but if you know anything about them, it’ll just feed the fire of curiosity. You need to get ready for war.

A/N: Who’s ready for their first date??? What kind of shenanigans do we expect to ensue?

#san diego dogfighters au #San Diego dogfighters #San Diego dogfighter hockey au #false confidence // goldenseresinretriever #fc // goldenseresinretriever #javy coyote machado x you #javy machado x you #javy machado x reader #javy coyote machado x reader #javy coyote machado #javy machado #coyote x you #coyote x reader #top gun maverick hockey au #top gun maverick #top gun #TGM #no use of y/n

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misshoneyimhome · 7 months ago

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voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir I Simon Benoit 🖋️⚡️

Requested? Yes / No

Summary; The arrival of a new player on the team has drawn your attention, and in your role as a content creator for the Toronto Maple Leafs, you must proceed cautiously to find out whether you've also captured his interest.

I know, I'm terrible with summaries...

Other notes; Babes! We need to put on warnings when your requests introduce me to players with cute accents! 😂 I don't know why, but I've got a soft spot, alright (seriously got sucked down the rabbit hole while watching videos of him😅) 🤍 Anyway, so here is my very first smutty Simon Benoit fic - and I just hope you enjoy it 😊

Tropes & Warnings; sort of secret love; 18+ smut; fingering, protected penetrative sex (p in v);

Words counts; 4.2K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny @justwanderingbutneverlost

・✶ ｡ﾟ

“Strength does not come from physical capacity - it comes from an indomitable will” - Tattoo on Simon Benoit’s chest.

Simon Benoit was nothing short of extraordinary. At least in your opinion.

Being part of the Toronto Maple Leafs community meant you were no stranger to the inner workings of the hockey world and the turmoil it brought every single day. From game nights filled with cheers and adrenaline to quiet moments of support and camaraderie, you'd seen it all from your perspective as a social media content creator.

And when Simon Benoit joined the team for the 23/24 season, he immediately caught your eye.

You weren't entirely sure what it was, yet there was simply something about the Quebecois defenceman that intrigued you from the start. Perhaps it was his effortless grace on the ice or the way his determination shone through every move. Or the way he battled at every opportunity, not accepting when things weren’t right or fair. Regardless of what it was, you found yourself drawn to him in a way that was both exciting and intimidating. His large frame, both in height and in width, made you seem like a small mouse compared to him, even in your heels. Yet his demeanour was nothing but friendly and soothing, which quickly evaporated all the harsh exterior.

But as much as you wanted to get to know Simon better, it wasn't easy, as his focus on his career and athletic performance left little room for anything else. You rarely crossed paths outside of the arena, and when you did, he was usually surrounded by teammates or lost in his own thoughts.

Despite the challenges, you couldn't help but admire his dedication and drive. Watching him on the ice, in the weight room, or on the training field, it was clear that he poured his heart and soul into every game and anything he did, leaving nothing behind but sweat and determination. And while it made getting close to him difficult, it only added to the allure.

Every day, you found yourself stealing glances whenever he was on the ice, marvelling at his skill and tenacity as you captured pictures and videos of the team for the social media platforms. And when the opportunity arose to interact with him, even in passing, you treasured every moment, no matter how fleeting.

Yet deep down, you knew that if you wanted to truly get to know Simon Benoit, you'd have to find a way to break through his walls and connect with him on a deeper level.

It wouldn't be easy, but then again, nothing worth having ever was.

Navigating the workflow with the Leafs wasn’t always easy, but most of the time you felt like you had it all under control. You knew you were good at your job, and most of the staff members of the company recognised your work and effort.

You weren’t particularly shy by nature, nor were you the most extroverted person. You had your small, close group of friends and occasionally went out. However, your work took much of your time, especially when the managers wanted you to travel with the team, so you didn’t exactly party or live the crazy life in the city. Instead, you kept your life rather chill and easy-going, focusing on various ways to improve your skills and just enjoying being in your early to mid-twenties.

And to the team, you were simply a nice person, hanging around and making funny videos from time to time. You didn’t particularly spend much time with them outside of hockey, yet you felt like you had a nice bond with most of the players and their partners.

In a way, you were content with your life. Sure, it was busy and sometimes overwhelming, but it was also fulfilling and exciting. The only person you were truly interested in knowing more about was Simon.

Naturally, you made efforts to insert yourself whenever the media team wanted to interview him, but you also wanted to maintain an air of nonchalance. So, you played it cool.

Well, as cool as possible, until it came time for his turn in the Blue Room session.

You found yourself unable to suppress your smiles and giggles at each of his responses. He effortlessly delivered humour, exuding relaxation and authenticity. It was akin to witnessing a more intimate side of him, one unmasked by his athletic prowess. And as he spoke, you hung onto his every word, enchanted by his charisma and genuineness. It was in these moments that the desire to know him beyond the confines of the hockey rink intensified.

And to your surprise, Simon seemed to take notice of you too.

"That's a cute laugh," he remarked suddenly as the session drew to a close, causing you to glance up from your phone, taken aback by his boldness.

"Oh... erm... thanks," you replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice. "I mean, I've always hated it..."

Your heart raced as you found yourself in close proximity to the defenseman, the two of you lingering amidst the team's clean-up efforts after his milk-guessing antics.

But to your relief, Simon didn't seem to pick up on your nerves. Instead, he simply chuckled.

"Why hate it?" he inquired, his charming French-Canadian accent adding to the allure.

You couldn't help but blush. "Oh, I don't know," you admitted softly. "It just feels a bit... loud and weird..."

"So?" Simon chuckled again. "You should embrace it. It's cute."

You were left speechless. Simon Benoit found your laughter cute? You felt like a schoolgirl, standing there, blushing under his gaze as he offered a compliment.

This wasn't like you. You were usually confident in your interactions with guys. You knew you were pretty good-looking, had a pleasant demeanour and got along well with most people. Yet, this hockey player had you feeling flustered, your stomach aflutter with butterflies, and your mind in a whirl.

You wanted to say something. Perhaps even suggest grabbing coffee together. But before you could gather your thoughts, Simon was called back to re-join the team's training session. And as he flashed you a friendly smile on his way out, a twinge of disappointment washed over you. Had you just missed your chance?

Luckily, that wasn't your only chance.

Although conversations between you and Simon remained limited post-Blue Room filming, there were frequent exchanges of glances and smiles in the hallway or aboard the plane.

Whenever your camera was in hand, Simon would flash you a smile, his gaze lingering a tad longer as he greeted you with a warm "hi." You reciprocated the gesture. It was a subtle dance of silent, discreet flirtation, or perhaps not entirely flirtatious, yet there lingered an unspoken connection beyond mere friendliness.

And while on the road, shortly after Simon inked his three-year contract with the Leafs, you were on the brink of discovering if there was indeed something more between you.

Amidst the whirlwind of travel chaos and the players' hectic schedules, you settled into your seat on the plane, laptop in front of you, attempting to unwind for the flight ahead.

Meanwhile, Simon couldn't help but steal occasional glances in your direction. Your focused expression, the way you nibbled on the end of your pen while engrossed in your laptop screen, didn't escape his notice, eliciting a smile from him.

You were so incredibly beautiful, and your laughter was nothing but contagious. Yet Simon knew he had to tread cautiously. He didn't want to come across as the new guy making moves on the women of the team. Moreover, his primary focus was on his career. Despite its ups and downs, his love for the sport remained unwavering, and he was determined to prove himself and relish every moment.

So, he attempted to maintain a slight distance from you. Tried, being the operative word. You seemed to be around all the time, and he couldn't ignore the subtle sparks you ignited within him. No matter how hard he tried to keep his focus solely on the game and his professional trajectory, there was something about you that made it challenging to keep his distance. Perhaps it was your laid-back demeanour or the genuine warmth that exuded from you.

Nevertheless, Simon found himself drawn to you, even as he strived to uphold a level of professionalism. In the tight-knit world of hockey, he was wary of stirring up any unnecessary drama within the team. Yet, as the flight progressed and the hours slipped away, he couldn't shake the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something worth exploring between the two of you.

The match against the Bruins proved to be a challenge, resulting in a disappointing 4-1 loss for the Leafs. However, redemption came swiftly with a hard-fought 3-2 victory against the Montreal Canadiens two days later.

The locker room reverberated with cheers following the intense game, where the captain had sealed the win with the third goal. Yet, amidst the jubilation, it was the smiles of a certain defenseman that caught your attention.

Though Benoit hadn't seen action on the ice tonight, his joy mirrored that of his teammates, his eyes occasionally finding their way to you at the back of the room as the managers urged the players to simply enjoy in their triumph.

Instead of heading straight home to Toronto, the team had opted to stay overnight, given the upcoming days off. So, while the players ventured out for some well-deserved fun, you decided to retreat to the hotel to tackle some work.

It was nothing too taxing, just some photo editing from the evening's events. You even brought your laptop to the bar, indulging in a glass of white wine while putting the finishing touches on the social media content.

However, suddenly, a voice broke through your focused reverie.

"Hey, I thought we were supposed to be having fun, not working," Simon chuckled as he sidled up next to you at the bar.

Startled by his sudden appearance, you nearly choked on your drink, momentarily at a loss for words. "Oh, erm... yeah, I just needed to, um, wrap up some media stuff," you managed, flashing him a sheepish smile.

"And you're drinking while working?" he teased, his laughter filling the air once more.

"Gotta make work a little more enjoyable, right?" you quipped back with a playful grin, before shaking your head slightly. "By the way, I never got the chance to congratulate you on the contract!" you steered the conversation towards a more professional and friendly tone, prompting Simon to casually lean against the bar, his smile unwavering.

"Oh, yeah, thanks! It's... it's good to have that one in place," he replied, his tone carrying a hint of relief.

"I can imagine," you replied gently. "Dealing with contracts always seem to be quite the challenge."

"Definitely... it's been a bit nerve-wracking, but also exciting," he echoed your soft tone.

"So, I guess it's time for everyone to get to know more about Simon Benoit then," you attempted to maintain a light-hearted tone.

"Yeah, maybe... so, if you ever feel like it, you can just... interview me, or something..." he chuckled softly.

"Maybe I will…” you smiled back.

There was a brief pause as you silently pondered why he was suddenly engaging in this spontaneous conversation with you.

"Wait, why are you here, Benny? Shouldn't you be out with the boys?" you finally asked.

"Oh, I was, but we were just a few who wanted to head back early before things got too monkey like," he explained, his smile serene as he stood close, the scent of beer subtly lingering around him, his tall frame nearly matched your seated position on the highchair.

"Monkey-like?" you couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Yeah, you know, some of the single guys wanted to flirt with girls, so... Cap and a few others preferred to head back and chat with their partners instead," he explained.

You smiled, relishing the closeness and the opportunity to converse with him like this. Yet, his words lingered in your mind. "And you... you have to call your... girlfriend too?" you asked, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of hesitancy, not wanting to appear too nervous or disappointed by his potential response.

Simon met your gaze for a moment before shaking his head gently. "Nah, no girl waiting for me at home," he replied simply and casually, prompting a soft sigh of relief and a smile to form on your lips.

"But you didn't feel like flirting with anyone else either?" you chuckled lightly, a blend of playfulness and nervousness.

Simon remained calm and collected, offering you a soft glance before speaking softly. "Why would I bother flirting with strangers when there's a perfectly beautiful girl right here in this bar?" he said, his tone laced with flirtation, a smile playing on his lips. His words sent warmth coursing through you, leaving an undeniable impact.

He was smooth, undeniably so. And you found yourself falling for his charm.

Desperate to maintain your composure, you took another sip of your drink, then smoothly licked your lips as you considered your response. "You certainly have a way with words, don't you?" you remarked, a playful smirk gracing your features. “Knowing how to impress a girl…”

"Well, that depends... is it working?"

As you glanced at the dwindling contents of your glass and then back at him with a suggestive smile, you felt a surge of desire.

"Maybe..." you replied coyly, your heart racing with anticipation. “Yes…”

When you first joined the club as a content creator, getting involved with players was the last thing on your mind. In fact, you had mentally resolved never to entertain any romantic entanglements with the team. And so far, it hadn't been a challenge. While the players were undoubtedly attractive in their own right, there had never been a spark with any of them. That is, until Simon joined the team.

So, downing the last drops of your wine, you rose from your seat, gathering your phone and laptop before making your way to the lift, with Simon following closely behind.

Nothing was rushed. It was all happening at a rather slow pace as neither of you wanted to seem too eager. Yet the build-up tension between you was evident. The longing for each that had been lingering for months was hanging thick in the air. And it wasn’t until you were stopping outside your hotel room door, you locked eyes with his.

Pressing your lips together, you struggled to find the words you longed to speak. "I, uh... I've got my own room... I mean, I'm not sharing it with anyone..." you murmured softly.

And that was all the encouragement Simon needed. Closing the distance between you, he captured your lips with his own, pressing you gently against the door in a fervent kiss, igniting a passion that had been simmering between you for months.

It was everything you had imagined and more. The kiss was perfect—gentle yet passionate, fulfilling the fantasies you had long harboured. Simon's hands on your jaw, his fingers delicately threading through your hair as he drew you closer, felt like a dream. His tongue, a subtle yet insistent invitation, prompted your lips to part, eagerly meeting his in a dance of desire. There was no mistaking the mutual longing that enveloped you both in that moment.

Managing to locate your key card amidst the haze of desire, you gently pushed open the door, inviting him into your small hotel room.

The dimmed lights cast a romantic glow, heightening the intimacy as you both explored each other's bodies with slow, tender caresses. Simon's size and strength made it effortless for him to lift you into his arms, carrying you to the bed without breaking the connection of your lips.

And your kisses remained fervent as you slowly undressed each other, shedding shirts and trousers until you were both clad in nothing but underwear. Heels were kicked aside, forgotten in the heat of the moment, leaving you lying on your back in lacy lingerie with the hockey player hovering above you.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, a hint of concern in his voice, mindful of any boundaries that might exist between a hockey player and an MLSE employee.

But in that moment, you didn't care about titles or roles. You were simply two individuals consumed by desire. So, with a light smile, you nodded, giving him the silent permission to continue, letting go of any rationalisations or inhibitions that might have held you back.

And just like the night had been so far, his touch was tender, each movement deliberate as he slowly removed your lacy knickers, exposing your core to him. His fingers traced along the skin of your thighs, sending shivers of anticipation through you as they inched closer to your centre. And when his digits finally made contact with your sensitive flesh, you couldn't help but gasp, your fingers finding his strong arms for support.

Simon then gently pleasured you, and small moans escaped your lips, betraying the wonderful feeling coursing through your body. And iIt didn't take long before those moans turned into sweet cries of ecstasy as his fingers pressed against your entrance, stretching you as they eased their way inside.

His fingers, much like the rest of him, were long and thick, and you couldn't shake the awareness that your colleague was just next door as Simon stimulated your walls, his movements deliberate and eager to bring you pleasure. Yet, your soft moans and cries only spurred him on, each pump of his fingers eliciting a delicious sensation as he curled them upwards, seeking out that particularly sensitive spot.

"Oh, fuck," you exclaimed as he hit the mark perfectly, his movements growing quicker in response to your cries, your fingers digging into his skin in a desperate grip. "Yes... right there..."

And he understood his mission completely, pumping his fingers with precision to drive you towards the brink of climax. And as he kept on going, his determined motions sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your vision to blur as you arched your back and reached the pinnacle of ecstasy.

"Oh, yes..." you panted, gasping for air as the rush of pleasure washed over you, your toes curling as you reached your high.

Gently the man above you then pumped a few more times through your orgasm, as he simply enjoyed the wetness he had caused between your legs, before withdrawing his fingers.

"Shit, every sound you make is so fucking amazing," Simon murmured under his breath, his hardness pressing against him, aroused by the stimuli he had provided you. Your moans, much like your laughter, were nothing but music to his ears.

So, without hesitation, he crawled back to discard his own boxers, before covering his length with the condom you tossed him.

"Gotta be responsible, right?" you smiled, flashing him a flirtatious, confident wink as you took pride in being prepared. And Simon simply chuckled in response, returning to the mattress and kneeling between your legs, before he then pulled you close to him, wrapping your legs around him as he lined the tip of his cock with your entrance before slowly pushing in.

It was no secret that Simon was a large man. Standing at 6'4" and weighing 205 lbs, he was undeniably substantial, and his hard member only reflected that. He knew he had to go slow, taking his time as he controlled the movements of his hips perfectly from this angle.

So, with a firm grip on your thighs and hips, he gently stretched your walls inch by inch, eliciting soft sounds of pleasure from you, causing you to grasp onto the pillow behind you as he reached your depths.

"Oh yes, ma puce," Simon hummed under his breath, relishing in the tightness of your smaller frame around him, before he then began to pull out and push back in, settling into a slow and steady rhythm to ease into the experience.

"Mmm, oh," you moaned softly, the sensation of his movements sending waves of pleasure through you, your legs trembling in response to his deep penetration.

The pace was a perfect blend of slow and steady, each thrust filled with deep passion. You found yourself panting for air as he gradually increased the intensity, feeling your muscles adjust to accommodate his size.

Yet, though he tried to maintain control, Simon couldn't deny the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him as your bodies melted together. With each movement, you pushed him closer to the edge, fuelling his desire for more.

However, resisting the urge to push harder and faster, he instead leaned over your petite form and captured your lips in a hungry kiss. He then took a strong hold of your body, urging you to wrap your arms around his neck as he lifted you from the mattress, positioning you to straddle him as he leaned back on his heels.

It wasn’t exactly an easy position to master at first, but as you sank deeper onto his cock, a loud, uncontrolled moan escaped your lips. And almost instinctively, you grabbed onto his brown locks and began to bounce on him.

“Oh yes, mmm baby, that’s it,” he encouraged seductively, his hands guiding your hips as you moved your core up and down his shaft. Cries of pleasure slipped from your tongue and lips, the intensity overwhelming any attempt at connecting in sloppy kisses, while pearls of sweat formed on your skin as you moved in sync, lost in pure pleasure.

“Mmm, god, it feels... so good,” you softly whined as you found a rhythm, your thighs controlling your motions while his strong embrace kept you in place. Your grip in his hair tightened with every passing moment as he stimulated you from within, and soon, you couldn’t hold back your eagerness to reach the impending second orgasm.

And Simon sensed your urgency as your muscles clenched, your panting uncontrolled, and your motions fervent. “Yes, ma puce… come for me, come on my dick,” he encouraged seductively, his hands guiding your hips to move faster, before he allowed his thumb to seek out your clit, and give you the final push.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Bouncing a few times more vigorously, you let out a deep moan as you pushed yourself to your second climax, resting your head in the crook of his neck as you shut your eyes.

Barely able to hold your own body upright, Simon had you secured as you let the rush of pleasure take over. And you couldn’t ignore that your legs trembled as your core pulsated around him, this being one of the most intense orgasms you’d experienced in a long time.

Breathing became close to difficult, but you managed to refill your lungs with air as you collected yourself, slowly coming out of the euphoric state.

Simon gave you the time you needed to come down from the high, yet he felt his own climax approaching. With the tightness of your core around him, it was increasingly difficult to hold back. So, as he sensed you were back to reality, your satisfied smile indicating your pleasure as you leaned back and opened your eyes, he crashed his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss while pressing you back down into the mattress and picking up forceful thrusts.

Driven by nothing but primal instincts, Simon then pounded vigorously into you, the echoes of your moans ringing in his ears. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the noises of your bodies colliding with force filling the room. And you knew your neighbour was likely to hear you, but you didn’t care. Your mind and body had surrendered to the team’s new defenceman, and you did nothing to stop him from pushing himself closer to his own climax, thrusting with every bit of energy he had in him until he let out a deep grunt, accompanied by a few French curse words, as he released himself into the condom.

You could barely move as Simon rested on top of you, both of your breaths deep and eager. None of you spoke as the high slowly faded, and it was only with care that Simon withdrew himself, offering you a quick kiss before he went to discard the condom.

Your body still tingled from the latest orgasm, as if months of silent flirting had finally found release. Catching your breath, you couldn't help but smile as the hockey player returned to the bed.

Naturally, you both knew he couldn’t stay the night; no one should know he’d been the cause of your loud moans. However, during breakfast, neither of you could resist sending glances across the room. And during the plane ride back to Toronto, you shared only secret messages, trying not to draw attention from your teammates.

Yet that only lasted a few days before Max caught on to the sexual tension between you, and with his big mouth running, soon everyone on the team knew.

Initially, you felt a little embarrassed. However, as you overheard Simon talking about how good it felt to finally give in to his desires and wanting to find a way to ask you out, you felt a level of pride and warmth within you.

And fortunately, it didn’t take long before you finally went on your very first official date.

#18+ smut #simon benoit smut #simon benoit imagine #simon benoit x reader #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl hockey smut #nhl hockey imagine

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reaper2187 · 3 months ago

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Alexa bliss x wrestler female reader

The backstage area of the WWE arena was buzzing with activity as wrestlers and crew members moved about, preparing for the night's matches. The air was thick with anticipation, the crowd's excitement seeping through the walls and into the veins of every performer. Among the chaos, Y/N — known to the WWE Universe as the Reaper — leaned against a wall, quietly observing the flurry of activity around her. She was dressed in her usual ring gear: a black sports bra that showed off her muscular frame, cargo pants, and combat boots adorned with chains. A skull bandana wrapped around her arm, and her face bore the familiar skull markings that had become synonymous with her name.

Despite the frenzy around her, Y/N remained calm, her sharp eyes scanning the room. Her reputation as a fearsome and unyielding competitor preceded her, and most people kept a respectful distance. It wasn’t fear, exactly — though she knew she was intimidating — but rather an understanding that Y/N wasn’t the type to engage in casual conversation. She was all business, especially on a night like this.

Tonight, Y/N had her sights set on a match that had been brewing for weeks. She had been thrust into a rivalry with Alexa Bliss, one of WWE’s most enigmatic and unpredictable superstars. It had all started innocently enough, with Alexa making sly comments during one of Y/N’s promos, but it quickly escalated into something more sinister. Alexa’s mind games had always been her forte, but Y/N wasn’t easily shaken. Still, there was something about Alexa — the way she moved, the way she spoke — that got under Y/N’s skin in a way no one else ever had.

A part of Y/N respected Alexa for that. After all, it wasn’t often that someone could rattle the Reaper.

As Y/N continued to watch the backstage area, she felt a presence beside her. She didn’t need to look to know who it was; the air seemed to shift whenever Alexa was around. The smaller woman had a way of making herself known without saying a word.

“Ready for tonight?” Alexa’s voice was light, almost teasing, as she leaned against the wall beside Y/N, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

Y/N turned her head slightly, meeting Alexa’s gaze with her own. “Always.”

Alexa smiled, a hint of something wicked playing at the corners of her lips. “Good. I like when you’re ready. It makes it more fun.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Is that what this is to you? Fun?”

Alexa tilted her head, considering the question. “Maybe. But I think you’re having fun too, even if you won’t admit it.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing as she studied Alexa. The truth was, there was something thrilling about this rivalry. Alexa was unpredictable, constantly keeping Y/N on her toes, and in a way, Y/N found herself looking forward to their encounters. But there was something deeper beneath the surface, something that Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on. Alexa wasn’t just trying to get under her skin — she was trying to get into her head.

And Y/N wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“Be careful, Bliss,” Y/N finally said, her voice low and warning. “Playing with fire usually ends with someone getting burned.”

Alexa’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I like the heat.”

With that, she pushed off the wall and sauntered away, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.

The match that night was nothing short of chaotic. The crowd was on their feet as Y/N and Alexa clashed in the ring, their styles contrasting in a way that made the match a spectacle to behold. Y/N’s brute strength and relentless aggression were met with Alexa’s cunning and agility. Every time Y/N thought she had the upper hand, Alexa would slip out of her grasp like smoke, delivering a swift kick or an unexpected counter that kept Y/N off balance.

But Y/N wasn’t one to be outdone. She powered through Alexa’s mind games, using her sheer force to wear down her opponent. The crowd roared as Y/N delivered a thunderous clothesline that sent Alexa crashing to the mat. For a moment, it seemed like Y/N had the match in hand.

But Alexa, ever resourceful, wasn’t finished yet. She played possum, waiting for Y/N to get too close before springing up and delivering a wicked DDT that stunned Y/N and brought the crowd to their feet.

The match raged on, both women pushing themselves to the limit. Alexa’s resilience surprised Y/N — she had underestimated just how tough the smaller woman could be. But Y/N was determined to end this once and for all. She hoisted Alexa onto her shoulders, preparing to deliver a move that would seal her victory.

But as she did, something unexpected happened.

Alexa, rather than struggling to escape, leaned in close, her breath hot against Y/N’s ear. “You’re stronger than I thought,” she whispered, her voice soft and almost… affectionate?

The words caught Y/N off guard, her grip faltering just enough for Alexa to slip free. Before Y/N could react, Alexa delivered a quick roll-up pin, using her momentum to catch Y/N off balance. The referee’s hand hit the mat three times before Y/N could break free.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the match, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Alexa’s music hit the speakers as she rolled out of the ring, a triumphant grin on her face. Y/N was left on her knees in the ring, a mix of frustration and confusion swirling in her mind.

Alexa had beaten her, but it wasn’t the loss that bothered Y/N. It was the way she had lost — the way Alexa had gotten inside her head at the last moment, just enough to throw her off her game.

As Y/N watched Alexa celebrate her victory on the ramp, a strange feeling settled in her chest. It wasn’t anger or resentment. It was something else, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to acknowledge.

But one thing was certain: this wasn’t over.

Backstage, Y/N paced the locker room, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and confusion. She was angry with herself for letting Alexa get the better of her, but more than that, she was unsettled by the emotions the match had stirred up. She wasn’t used to feeling this way — off-balance, uncertain. It wasn’t like her.

The door to the locker room creaked open, and Y/N stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing as Alexa Bliss stepped inside. The smaller woman closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a satisfied smile.

“You’re upset,” Alexa observed, her tone light but with an edge of something more.

“What do you want, Bliss?” Y/N’s voice was clipped, her patience running thin.

Alexa took a step forward, her eyes never leaving Y/N’s. “I wanted to see how you were doing. You seemed… bothered.”

Y/N clenched her fists, trying to keep her emotions in check. “What’s your game, Alexa? You’re always playing games. What’s this one?”

Alexa stopped in front of Y/N, close enough that Y/N could feel the warmth radiating from her. “Maybe I like playing games with you. Maybe I like seeing what makes you tick.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all this is? Another mind game?”

Alexa’s smile softened, and for the first time, Y/N saw something in her eyes that wasn’t mischief or cunning. It was something more genuine, something almost… vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” Alexa admitted, her voice quieter now. “You’re different, Y/N. You’re not like the others. You don’t scare easily, and you don’t fall for my tricks. It’s… intriguing.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the honesty in Alexa’s words. This wasn’t the Alexa Bliss she was used to. This was someone else, someone who was showing a side of herself that few people ever saw.

“What are you saying?” Y/N asked, her voice softer now, the anger from earlier dissipating.

“I’m saying that maybe I don’t want to just play games with you,” Alexa replied, her eyes searching Y/N’s face. “Maybe I want to know you. The real you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. This was uncharted territory for her. She was used to dealing with opponents, with threats, with battles. But this… this was something entirely different.

“Why?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alexa hesitated, as if unsure of her own answer. “Because I see something in you. Something that I don’t see in anyone else. And maybe… maybe you see something in me too.”

Y/N was silent, her mind racing as she tried to process what was happening. She had never expected this, never imagined that she and Alexa would be standing here, having this conversation. But as she looked into Alexa’s eyes, she realized that maybe she had seen something in her all along. Something that had drawn her in, even when she didn’t want to admit it.

Slowly, almost tentatively, Y/N reached out and took Alexa’s hand. The smaller woman looked up at her, surprise and something else — hope, maybe — flickering in her eyes.

“I don’t know what this is,” Y/N said, her voice steady but gentle. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Alexa’s smile returned, softer this time, without the usual edge of mischief. She squeezed Y/N’s hand, a silent agreement passing between them.

“Me too,” Alexa whispered.

For a moment, they just stood there, hands intertwined, the weight of their unspoken agreement settling over them

. There was no need for words, no need for explanations. Whatever this was, it was real, and it was theirs to explore.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions for Y/N. She and Alexa didn’t talk about what had happened in the locker room, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. They were no longer just rivals in the ring; there was something deeper connecting them now.

Y/N found herself thinking about Alexa more often than she cared to admit. She thought about the way Alexa had looked at her, the vulnerability in her eyes that she usually kept hidden behind a mask of bravado. It made Y/N want to protect her, to keep that side of Alexa safe from the world.

But Y/N also knew that Alexa was more than capable of taking care of herself. She was tough, resilient, and sharp as a tack. It was one of the things Y/N admired most about her. Alexa didn’t need anyone to protect her — but Y/N couldn’t help wanting to.

Their interactions changed subtly. Alexa would seek her out backstage, sometimes just to talk, other times to share a quiet moment before their matches. Y/N found herself opening up in ways she hadn’t before, sharing pieces of herself that she had kept guarded for so long.

In the ring, their chemistry was undeniable. Their matches became even more intense, each move charged with a new kind of energy. The WWE Universe couldn’t get enough of it — the rivalry that had turned into something more, something no one had expected.

One night, after another grueling match, Y/N and Alexa found themselves alone in the locker room once again. They were both exhausted, sweat dripping from their bodies, but there was a sense of satisfaction in the air. They had pushed each other to the limit, and the crowd had loved every second of it.

Y/N sat on the bench, catching her breath as she peeled off her gloves. Alexa sat beside her, a small smile on her lips as she looked over at Y/N.

“You’re getting better,” Alexa teased, nudging Y/N with her elbow. “I might have to start trying harder.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “I could say the same about you. You keep me on my toes.”

Alexa’s smile softened, her gaze lingering on Y/N’s face. “I like that about you. You don’t let me get away with anything.”

Y/N looked over at her, their eyes meeting. There was something in the air between them, something that had been building for weeks. Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke, but the tension between them was palpable.

Finally, Alexa reached out, her hand resting on Y/N’s cheek. Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding as she felt the warmth of Alexa’s touch.

“Y/N…” Alexa whispered, her voice barely audible.

Before Y/N could respond, Alexa closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to Y/N’s in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, Y/N froze, her mind reeling. But then, instinct took over, and she kissed Alexa back, her hand sliding to the back of Alexa’s neck, pulling her closer.

The kiss was slow, gentle, and filled with all the emotions they had been holding back. When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other.

“I didn’t expect this,” Y/N admitted, her voice rough with emotion.

“Neither did I,” Alexa replied, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek. “But I’m glad it happened.”

Y/N smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Me too.”

They sat there for a moment longer, just holding each other, the weight of what had just happened settling over them. There was no need for words, no need to define what this was. It was enough that they were together, that they had found something real in the chaos of their lives.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt at peace.

The weeks that followed were a blur of matches, travel, and stolen moments between Y/N and Alexa. They kept their relationship private, not wanting to invite scrutiny or gossip from the rest of the roster. But when they were alone, away from the cameras and the fans, they were free to be themselves.

Y/N found herself falling for Alexa in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just physical — though the attraction between them was undeniable. It was deeper than that, a connection that went beyond the ring. Alexa understood Y/N in a way that no one else did, and Y/N found herself opening up to her in ways she never had before.

They spent their free time together, talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories from their pasts, and dreaming about the future. Y/N had never imagined that she would find someone like Alexa, someone who could see past the tough exterior and understand the person beneath.

One night, after a particularly brutal match, they found themselves in Y/N’s hotel room, sitting on the bed, exhausted but content. Alexa was curled up beside Y/N, her head resting on Y/N’s shoulder, their fingers intertwined.

“I never thought I’d find this,” Y/N admitted, her voice quiet in the darkness. “Not in this business.”

Alexa looked up at her, her eyes soft and full of emotion. “Neither did I. But I’m glad we did.”

Y/N smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Alexa’s head. “Me too.”

They sat there in comfortable silence, the weight of the world slipping away as they held each other close. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she had found a place where she belonged — not just in the ring, but in Alexa’s arms.

And no matter what challenges the future might bring, Y/N knew they would face them together. Because they weren’t just rivals anymore — they were partners, in every sense of the word.

The Reaper had found her match, and she wasn’t letting go.

#lesbian #wlw #wlw post #wlw fanfic #alexa bliss x reader #alexa bliss #wwe #x fem reader #x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #x masc reader

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clementine-thedestroyer · 5 months ago

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Ummm- Hunger Games AU with mentor!Price and quarter quell tribute!reader from one of the richer districts, probably 1, 2, or 5.

Warnings for typical Hunger Games stuff and a bit more.

For the quarter quell, the “twist” on the games is that the age range is bumped up, so instead of 12-18 year olds being sent to the games, it’s 19-25 year olds being sent. Sort of as a “oh, you thought you were safe? Well fuck you.”

So, there’s no careers, no one’s ready for it. Even the people who wanted to be careers aren’t in any sort of shape to volunteer as tribute, they were long past 18, they’d missed their chance. They’d probably also grown a bit older and had a moment to reconsider the whole very-likely-dying thing.

Price wasn’t from your district in the first place. He’d was originally from one of the poorer districts, maybe even 12. But he’d upset the capital enough for them to pay attention- either with how he won the games or what he did after (i.e.- definitely tried to organize a resistance). So they’d moved him, cutting him off from all his friends, family, and contacts back in his own district. They’d framed it as a reward or honor, he’d done so good competing in the games/coaching tributes that they’d brought him all the way to whatever district they had him on house arrest in.

It was a richer one- where peacekeepers did more than threaten, tessera rates were low, and most importantly, one where they were able to keep a good eye on him. They kept his communication heavily monitored- something he figured out after one too many letters were delivered torn open, with others seemingly getting “lost in the mail” anytime he mentioned something too honest about his situation.

After a while, he’d stopped writing. The handwriting on the returning letters started looking a bit too unfamiliar. (Or maybe that was just his paranoid. Had Simon always written his A’s slanted? Was he just in a rush?) He couldn’t bear the thought of them being dead and him never knowing- continuing to write to people playing off his hope and pretending to be his dead friends. so he’d simply assumed them so. The incoming letters had gone ignored even as they dwindled to nothing, left to pile under his mail slot and be crumbled against the wall by the door on the rare occasions he left the house.

He couldn’t bring himself to move them- either to throw them away or read them through. To trash them would be accepting his friends’s deaths, but to read them would be to reopen his mind to the gnawing of uncertainty over whether it was really ever them in the first place.

Price has more or less turned into a recluse. He’s paranoid- sure that there’s a peace keeper or someone from the capital following him at every turn (the fear’s not unfounded. He’s caught them enough times that he knows they’re there).

He’s beaten down. Everyone he knew and loved is dead. When he’s called up to mentor tributes, it’s never ones with any chance of winning. It’s never careers- always some poor 12 or 13 year old who’s name was drawn on a year where there didn’t happen to be a career that would take their place.

And they always die. And he always watches. And he always mourns.

If you really want to throw in the angst, we could say that Gaz was either the first tribute he mentored, back before he was taken out of district 12 or he was one of the only ones Price had managed to make himself try with. We could say that he put his whole heart into preparing Kyle for the arena, that he thought this would be the start of the poorer districts actually standing a chance in the games. Kyle was his prodigy, but it didn’t matter. Kyle did everything right, he ignored the cornucopia, just grabbed a hunting knife that was somewhat on its outskirts, but it didn’t count for anything. A career hit him in the back with a throwing knife. One of the first kills of the game. John had braced himself for death, no matter how much he thought Kyle had a chance, but it was all for nothing. He didn’t even have a chance to try to survive, taking his life took no more than the flick of someone’s wrist.

Then, comes you. He’s never happy when he’s called up to mentor a tribute, and this time is no different. When he’s called up to mentor one of the tributes for this year’s games, he doesn’t let himself get hopeful, you don’t stand a chance.

You’re not a career, simple as that. He’s only going through the motions, doing what he can for you even though he knows it’s pointless, just waiting to be allowed to return to his empty house back in victor’s village.

He’s stand-offish to you, barely puts any effort into training you beyond telling you which stations in the training hall will help you the most. He’s not really mentally there. In a way, he hasn’t been for years.

During and before the tribute parade, he’d hardly present. You’re left terrified, always glancing behind you, looking to the man who’s supposed to be your mentor for reassurance and finding him dissociating half the time, and not there the other half.

If you’d prefer the non-angsty route, we could say that Kyle and/or Johnny were your stylists, and that they were doing everything they could to try and make you comfortable.

Johnny was cracking jokes, adjusting to your level depending on your age but still trying to just get you to laugh and have a moment of fun, to act like a 16 or 17 year old again and laugh at his dumb, crude jokes and make cruder ones back.

Then Kyle was being sweet too. (we’ll say he was the one doing costumes, while Johnny was doing more hair and makeup stuff.) He’d sat down with you and showed you the costume ideas he’d had for the tribute parade, coaxing you into giving him feedback- even getting you to choose one of the designs and telling him what you’d want to change about it if you could (which all gets done, naturally. He isn’t going to let you go out there without loving what you’re wearing).

He also explains all the designs to you- letting you why he chose the pieces that he did, how each of the elements somehow represents district two. With district two being the district of masonry and weapons manufacturing, the most common costumes were of Roman generals (not quite sure why really but… okay.) So your options actually end up being pretty okay.

All of this is happening, and John is acting like a zombie. And all of this goes on until the first day of training, when you find him during a lunch break and break down crying. You’re sobbing at his feet, blubbering about how you don’t want to die, you want to live- you know he doesn’t believe in you, but you don’t want to die, please.

(And if you’re going with the extra angst version, then god, you reminded him so much of Kyle in that moment.)

So Price picks himself up. He says “Okay, you want to live? We’re going to make you live.” And starts training the living fuck out of you. Every morning, he has you waking up before and staying up later anyone else. He has you learning survival skills, practicing fighting him, he makes you learn to skin/clean animals and how to use nearly every weapon there might be.

He’s determined. He’s going to make you survive, he’s going to get you through this.

And the entire time you’re in the arena, he’s on the edge of his seat. Alternating between being nauseous from anxiety and watching 24 hour coverage of the game like a hawk. He nearly has a stroke when he watches you narrowly avoid some scrawny guy from district 7 right at the edge of the cornucopia, and he cheers (probably stands up and screams “THATS MY GIRL!!”) when you manage to hold your own in a hand-to-hand fight against a guy a head taller than you long enough to make a break for it. (And god, he’s so proud of you- of how smart you are for recognizing battles you can’t win and focusing on survival)

Even when you end up having to leave all your supplies behind to escape that tribute, you’re immediately sent more. You’d somehow amassed an army of sponsors. Public support within district 2 had originally started skewed towards the male tribute (a 19 year old career who never got a chance to volunteer for the other games- not sure how volunteering works, but I assume it’s first come first serve)

But by now, more and more people were cheering for you as an underdog, even people in the capital. So when it gets out that you’d manage to fend off a much larger opponent like you did and that you’d lost all your supplies in the process- the gifts start (literally) flying in.

And the gamemakers and higher-ups in Panem love you too. You’ve got that typical underdog appeal that can be so popular while still being from a “good” district- that’s why they let you get as far as you do.

And lo and behold, you manage to make it out, winning in a gruesome fight between you and the last surviving tribute that somehow ends up with you both on the ground- throwing punches, tearing hair, clawing at skin.

And when you’re brought out of that arena, you’re a mess. Chunks of hair matted or missing, improperly treated wounds, dehydrated, and probably with a concussion or something of the sort.

But John is the first one by your side, he doesn’t let them keep him back while you’re being put back together. He’s running along side the stretcher the doctors have you on, squeezing one of your hand with both of his as he sobs because you did it- you did it- you did it.

And you’re already so loopy from whatever drugs are in your system that all you can say back is I did it- I did it- I told you I was going to live and I did it.

Afterwards, it’s like the two of were trauma bonded. John stays with you for your entire victory tour- every second of it. He refuses to let you sleep in any room without checking it for cameras or bugs, and he’s always right behind or beside you. You yourself aren’t much better- you end up sleeping in his room more often than not. You can’t stomach the thought of being alone, not when you wake up thinking you’re still back in the arena. You guys end up with a little routine- you knock on his door some time after everyone else is asleep, he lets you in and wordlessly takes a blanket and pillow to curl up on the couch- or, when it’s really bad, he builds a pallet for himself right next to where you’re asleep in his bed, just to give you both the peace of mind that you’re safe now. (No way was he letting you sleep on the floor or couch, no when you’d been in the arena no more than a month ago.)

The touring gose on for a bit over a month, but when you two finally do get back to district two, your house in Victor’s Village never even gets moved into, the two of you stay holed up in John’s house for weeks as you recover mentally and he helps you with processing the PTSD you undoubtedly develop.

And over time, you two become so heavily reliant on each other that separation would kill you. It’s not a healthy relationship- John’s paranoia and trauma of having his entire family and life ripped away once before plays off of your issues- but you two find your a balance.

Depending on how you want to read this, things could stay platonic, but even if they do, it doesn’t look that way. The Capitol sees you moving in with John, they see you curled up in his lap having a flashback or panic attack and interpret it as you two are together- which isn’t exactly a good look for them. Having their victor so obviously traumatized during public events and your victory tour was bad enough, but now the middle aged man refusing to leave her side and constantly glancing around like he’s going to make a break for it is even worse.

They see an older man who was in a position of power over you at some point and say “Oh, yeah. We’re not going to show that to the public.” So they quietly retire you and John as mentors, leaving you two to your own devices once they’re done parading you around.

If things ever do go beyond platonic with you two, it wouldn’t be for a long while. Maybe the lines blurred at first, when it became easy for you two to simply exist in each other’s space- just sitting together for hours holding each other as you try to process that you’re really here- that you really made it out. Years are devoted to simply trying to heal- not just for you, but for John too. He’s terrified the Capitol will try to take you from him like they did with his friends and family back in district 12, and he never truly gets over that fear.(how could anyone, really)

But he does get better- mostly with his depression and general hopelessness. It’s definitely not a healthy relationship, but you two aren’t healthy people. You’ve both been through hell and back, and the fact that you’re still alive is enough of a miracle on its own.

#fem!reader #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #fem reader #Hunger Games AU #yeah he’s basically haymitch here

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islwyn-the-heartless · 8 months ago

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The Call to Battle

A/N: Just a little something... A while ago I was thinking about him and wrote an izzy fic of him killing someone when he was still a gladiator

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Title: The Call to Battle

Summary: Islwyn Blackrock is a gladiator known for his ruthless fighting style. He enters the arena to cheers from the crowd and is determined to keep his place.

Words: 2,461

CW for violence, and izzy literally killing someone ig

The deafening roar of the crowd echoed through Islwyn's thoughts as he strode onto the arena floor. Coarse sand crunched beneath his sandals, sending trails of dust swirling around him. Towering stone walls rose high above, their monolithic forms casting long shadows that stretched across the expansive battleground. Islwyn let his gaze wander over the faces in the stands, taking in the mix of emotions flickering across spectators from all walks of life.

Some watched with gleaming eyes, practically vibrating in their seats with pure excitement. For them, the arena was more than just entertainment - it was primal, it was visceral. It allowed them to escape, if only for a moment, from the rigours of everyday life in a rapidly changing world. Others observed with practised nonchalance, as if the violence on display meant little more than a distraction from tedious matters of politics and commerce. A few among the nobility even looked bored, regarding the proceedings as little more than primitive savagery unworthy of their scholarly minds.

And scattered throughout were those whose frenzied anticipation bordered on bloodlust, hanging on the warriors' every clash of steel with a hungry fixation. Islwyn felt a pang of disgust at their unbridled thirst for mayhem, but he brushed it aside. This was his arena, where he had built a reputation as one of the deadliest fighters to ever grace the sands. Today, that reputation would be put to the test like never before.

The metallic screech of gates being drawn open pulled Islwyn's attention back to the matter at hand. His opponent had arrived, and by the escalating roar of the spectators, this was no ordinary challenger. Muscles tensed in anticipation, Islwyn turned to face the shadowy entranceway, bracing himself for what was to come.

A hulking silhouette emerged from the gloomy passageway, its sheer mass blocking out what little sunlight filtered in from overhead. Islwyn stiffened as inch by inch, the figure stepped into the light - and it was all he could do to stop his hands from trembling at the sight. This warrior wasn't just legendary, he was downright monolithic, a veritable mountain of corded muscle and scar tissue.

Grimmjaw the Ruthless lived up to his moniker, radiating an aura of brutal prowess that caused even the boldest onlookers to shrink back in their seats. A bristling mane of dark hair framed a face that was all harsh angles and cruel sneers, bearing the marks of countless violent encounters. And in his massive palms rested an axe the size of a grown man, its chipped edge glinting hungrily.

If the roar of the crowd had been deafening before, it was now approaching apocalyptic levels. Men and women alike screamed themselves hoarse, some calling for Grimmjaw in savage devotion while others remained loyal to Islwyn's cause. Money and jewellery changed hands wildly as last-minute bets were placed, gambling on which warrior would emerge the victor from this epic clash.

Islwyn took a deep, steadying breath as Grimmjaw joined him in the centre of the combat zone. They circled slowly, sizing one another up while thousands of rapt onlookers hung on their every motion. Islwyn's eyes roved over his hulking adversary, analysing every inch for potential weaknesses to exploit. But Grimmjaw was a perfect specimen, without any discernible flaws to target. His rugged physique rippled with coiled power, giving the impression of a wild beast barely kept in check by its own flesh and sinew.

Their eyes met, and Islwyn saw nothing but cold calculation behind Grimmjaw's predatory gaze. Whatever humanity may have once existed in the man had long since been beaten out of him, leaving only a remorseless engine of destruction hungry for bloodshed. Grimmjaw's lip curled in barely restrained malice, as if daring Islwyn to make the first move and hasten his demise.

Islwyn schooled his features, refusing to give his opponent the satisfaction of seeing fear. He knew Grimmjaw, like any true warrior, fed off the vulnerability of others. But Islwyn had faced too many challenges, endured too much pain, to crumble under mere intimidation. His hands tightened around the shaft of his morningstar, fingers calloused and thickened from countless battles. This would be his greatest test yet, but fall he would not.

The deafening clamour of the spectators swelled like a physical force, pressing in from all sides as the warriors continued their tactical gauging. Behind Grimmjaw's impassive mask, Islwyn sensed a well of simmering violence barely contained, the primal urges of a killer through and through. But underneath the facade of ruthless ferocity, he glimpsed another emotion - one that caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably.

Loathing, bare and vengeful, simmered just below Grimmjaw's cold eyes. Whatever personal history lay between them, matters of past wrongs and perceived slights, it lent an extra layer of toxicity to their imminent duel. This fight would be about more than pride or victory - for Grimmjaw, it was personal.

And in that moment, Islwyn knew true fear. Grimmjaw fought not just to win, but to destroy completely. Any mercy or restraint would be nonexistent in the barbarism to come. Only one of them would walk away intact, while the other left broken and defeated. Yet despite the terror writhing in his gut, Islwyn straightened to his full height and stared his foe down, letting no weakness show. This was it - the moment of truth before an onslaught that would test his limits like never before.

The two combatants tensed, coiled springs waiting to unleash pent-up violence. Breaths slowed as focus intensified, tuning out the screams and cheers of the bloodthirsty audience. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl, the whole arena holding its collective breath. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, some unseen signal passed between grizzled opponents.

As one, they lunged with savage grace, Islwyn whirling his spiked flail while Grimmjaw swung his mammoth axe in a punishing arc. The impact shook the arena to its foundations, a colossal BOOM that silenced even the rowdiest spectators in stunned disbelief. Then pandemonium erupted as their gleaming weapons sang in a lethal dance, carving arcs of silver through the muggy air.

Blow met block in a cacophony of clanging steel, the force of each collision jolting bone-deep. Islwyn pivoted and spun in a graceful whirlwind, morningstar lashing out with the speed of a striking snake. Grimmjaw lumbered behind his shielding axe, meeting each strike head-on with shocking resilience. Their battle was a skillful display that enthralled the masses, two masters pushing each other to new limits through violence alone.

Blood began to flow as nicks and cuts accumulated, sprinkling the sands below in droplets that darkened the ground. Islwyn felt a sting along his ribs that heralded the first touch of Grimmjaw's axe, slipping past his guard for just a moment. A strangled grunt escaped at the sharp sting, but he didn't slow, retaliating with a two-handed swing that jolted Grimmjaw's shoulder with an audible crack.

The larger man roared in pain and fury, a blood curdling sound that lifted the hairs on Islwyn's nape. Pure animosity radiated from Grimmjaw's bulging frame as he redoubled his assault, axe moving with inhuman speed. Islwyn retreated step by step, parrying and weaving around the barrage as best he could. Sweat poured in rivulets down his corded muscles from the concentrated effort, making his iron grip slippery.

Their dance of destruction carried them across the ring, tracing chaotic patterns through the dust. Grimmjaw crowded Islwyn towards the chain link fence separating spectators from combat, manoeuvring to pen him in. But Islwyn proved as agile as any cornered animal, using the barrier to launch himself sideways in a spinning manoeuvre. His morningstar whistled through the air and slammed into Grimmjaw's unprotected flank with a meaty crunch, tearing scarlet furrows in his flesh.

Grimmjaw bellowed in agony, features twisting into something downright demonic. Blood streamed from the ragged gashes, already staining the sand crimson beneath his boots. Yet through sheer force of will, he refused to fall, counter attacking with a two-handed overhead smash meant to cleave bone. Islwyn snapped his weapon up just in time, the jolting impact sending spikes of pain shooting up both arms.

Locking eyes, they saw only merciless reflections of themselves - savage killers intent on spilling the other's lifeblood, no matter the cost. This wasn't a simple battle any longer, but a clash of wills, a test of which held the firmest grip on survival. Around them, the spectators were reduced to an incomprehensible din, their frenzied vibrations blending into the primal rhythm dictating the warriors' movements.

Time and again steel met with ear-splitting clangs, a blistering exchange that left no room for rest or recovery. Battered and heaving, Grimmjaw and Islwyn poured all their strength, skill and concentrated Islwyn and Grimmjaw continued their brutal clash, pushing past surging waves of fatigue as their limbs grew leaden. All reason had fled in the throes of battle madness, primal instincts taking over completely.

Grimmjaw snarled and snapped like a feral beast, crimson spittle flying from his lips with each crazed swing. His muscles spasmed and buckled, yet still he fought on through sheer willpower alone. Across from him, Islwyn panted heavily, vision tunnelling down to Grimmjaw's form. Every jarring impact left him reeling, yet he could not - would not - back down.

Their circling footsteps traced a frenzied spiralling pattern through the sand-strewn arena floor. At the centre, spatters of blood mingled amid the dust to form a macabre whirlpool of violence. Spectators screamed themselves hoarse with each blow exchanged, some standing on precarious perches atop the barrier walls to get a better view of the savage spectacle unfolding below.

Gambling fortunes changed hands faster than ever amid a dizzying blur of activity. Nobles shouted colourful insults and encouragement down at the fighters, caught up in carnal thrills untouchable in more civilised circles. Common folk waved banners and tossed coloured powders into the air, representing their favoured warrior in a riotous display.

Through it all, the combatants plunged ever deeper into a private hell forged from steel and sweat, every remaining shred of thought drowned out under an overwhelming flood of instinct. Survival itself had become the sole motivating force, primal directive screaming louder than any rational voice left in their frayed minds.

Something had to give. After what felt like an eternity, Grimmjaw slipped - just slightly, a twitch of his boot sole in drying sand. But it was all the opening Islwyn needed, summoning his last vestiges of strength for a decisive counter. His morningstar whipped through the air in whistling arcs, all his remaining weight behind the swing. It connected with a nauseating crunch, bone splintering under the force of multi-pronged metal.

Grimmjaw reeled backwards with an agonised roar, dropping his axe to clutch his blood-spurting skull. Islwyn snarled and followed through, swinging his spent weapon again and again in a brutal onslaught. Each hit struck like thunder, pulverising Grimmjaw's massive frame. The larger man wavered on his feet, bulk trembling on the verge of collapse.

Then finally, after one last devastating blow, Grimmjaw's knees buckled. He crashed face-first into the pulpy sand, still as death. An unnatural stillness fell over the arena in his abrupt cessation of movement, shock stealing words from thousands of throats at once. Islwyn stood over the prone form, heaving for breath as his morningstar slipped from nerveless fingers.

For a suspended moment, nobody dared make a sound. Then as one, the spectators found their voices once more in an explosion of noise that nearly shook dust from the rafters high above. The roar was deafening - part hysteria, part admiration, colliding into an overwhelming din that lifted Islwyn's fatigue if only for an instant. He tossed his head back and let loose a primal howl of triumph, claiming victory in the only language that truly mattered within these bloodstained walls.

All around, cheers rang out with abandon. Betting sums exchanged hands at breakneck speeds, fortunes made and lost on this singular battle's outcome alone. Colourful celebratory powders rained down in hued torrents, bathing Islwyn and the still form at his feet in bizarre rainbow hues. Hands pounding against the barrier walls sent vibrations through solid stone like thunder without end.

Islwyn drank it all in, fatigue burning away under exultation's glow. This was what he lived for - the thrill, the adrenaline, the savage glory of emerging on top against impossible odds. Nothing compared to standing in triumph over a seemingly unconquerable foe, with thousands chanting your name in awe and fervour. Here, in this arena, he had truly lived.

As the adrenaline began to fade, weariness swept over Islwyn in a crushing wave. His battered muscles trembled with exertion, knees threatening to give out at any moment. Only his iron will held him upright as the deafening cheers of the crowd washed over him.

He took a final moment to bask in the adulation, letting the roar of the spectators rush through his veins like the richest vintage. Victory was as sweet as the finest nectar, reaffirming his place at the pinnacle of the gladiatorial world. But now, the time had come to exit this brutal stage.

With an almighty effort, Islwyn dragged his morningstar from the ground and lifted it high, eliciting another surge of hysterical cheering. Sand peeled away in grimy flakes as he turned to take his leave, the effort staggering on legs that wanted only to buckle. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, and dark spots swam before his vision. Only decades of hard knocks kept him moving forward through sheer force of will alone.

Finally, blessedly, the entrance gates loomed ahead like the gates of paradise itself. Islwyn stumbled through with a last surge, immediately sagging against the stone walls of the passage beyond with a grunt. Shadows embraced him kindly, masking his weaving form from thousands of still-baying spectators. But the roar followed, echoing endlessly down the tunnel long after the massive gates rumbled closed, sealing him in privy silence at last.

In the dim light, Islwyn allowed his façade to crack, slumping fully against the wall. His heaving breaths echoed raggedly off lacquered stone, mingling with the throbbing din inside his skull. Every muscle screamed for respite after the brutal ordeal, wracked with tremors that betrayed his humanity laid bare once more. Blood seeped from various abrasions to stain his tanned skin, glistening wetly in shafts of sunlight.

How long he remained thus, Islwyn couldn't say - time held little meaning squeezed within the passageway's womb-like embrace. But slowly, his harsh pants eased to a less laboured rhythm. Shudders subsided, leaving him limp and drained yet somehow at peace. Victory's afterglow suffused his weary flesh with a comforting warmth, dulling the sharper pains that clamoured for attention.

#seras campaign #islwyn blackrock #islwyn the heartless #islwyn/killing a man #fanfiction #one shot #short story #seras posting #mine

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sleater-cunty · 3 months ago

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Why Trap (2024) works (essay/review)

A/N: i was really inspired to write about this film and how much I love it. i did a post on my substack where you can read it properly but there's a tumblr version under the cut <3

words: 1303

This week I had the pleasure of rewatching M. Night Shyamalan’s new film Trap (2024) for a second time. I was inspired to make this trip to the cinema after watching a particularly mouth-watering TikTok edit of Josh Hartnett last night (here’s a link).

I think we tend to stereotype Shyamalan as the “twist guy” and while that’s not entirely incorrect, I think that moniker diminishes his talents. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t love all his films––The Village (2004) was mediocre, Old (2021) was fun but dumb, and Knock at the Cabin (2023) was frankly horrible but I had a lot of fun watching The Visit (2015), and Split (2016) has some pretty cool moments. Nonetheless, he’s still an acclaimed and skilled director, even if his dialogue sounds pretty alien.

Trap, to me, is probably Shyamalan’s best film so far––and before you say anything, I haven’t watched the Sixth Sense (1999) (it’s been spoiled so much that I haven’t found the motivation to bother with it) or Unbreakable (2000) or Glass (2019). Anyway, Trap is awesome and I’m gonna talk about it now.

It was incredibly difficult to focus on this watch of Trap because I was sooo distracted by the absolute dilf that Josh Hartnett is. Regardless, I wrote some stuff down during my viewing which stuck out to me. Major spoilers ahead.

Trap might be one of the most well-shot mainstream films of this year. You don’t see Shawn Levy pulling out the big guns for the new Deadpool movie––by big guns, I mean cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom. It’s funny to think that M. Night was watching Call Me By Your Name one day and thought, ‘I need this guy’.

“Sayo lights very naturally, and he understands film … He knows how to expose it just right … He's very good with colours … It was the boldness of his choices that really drew me to him” –– M. Night Shyamalan on Cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom. https://www.picturehouses.com/blog/m-night-shyamalan-on-trap-interview

Working with Mukdeeprom was probably the best decision he’s made in his career thus far actually. I was in awe during this rewatch about how great this film looks (aside from daddy Josh Hartnett okay I’ll stop).

Mukdeeprom takes the name Trap literally. Many of the shots are framed in a claustrophobic manner, putting the viewer in the eyes of the characters.

Our protagonist Cooper is constantly seen confined within the frame with various objects and walls framing him inside the scene. The architecture of the concert arena is filled with leading lines and angular shapes which enhance the feeling of confinement. One scene specifically that made me go insane was when Cooper went into the bathroom near the beginning of the film. The stall doors are this brilliant shade of red, a color that is constantly used as a motif and is seen throughout the entire film.

Cooper is center frame and walks in a straight line toward the middle stall. The red stall envelopes him, only letting the top of his head peeking out. This detail is important because Cooper is very tall and that becomes apparent in every single scene he’s in with other people. He stands out in a crowd of short teenage girls and other concert-goers. There’s a cut where the camera shifts to an overhead shot. For once, Cooper is seen from the top down, this being a rare sight considering every close-up of him is shot from a low angle. In this top-down view, the red doors trap him in.

Any wannabe art student knows that the color red represents passion and anger, two movies all too common with serial killers. Whenever the color red is prominent in the frame, it always is representative of Cooper being trapped. He’s trapped in the bathroom stall, he’s trapped in a concert stadium, and, during one scene while walking down a very gray hallway, a red fire alarm and a red exit sign are highlighted.

A later scene shows Cooper’s phone, it’s red with a black case, symbolizing how his anger is being shielded from his family because of the two lives he’s living. There are also multiple shots where only half of Cooper’s face is seen, adding to the idea of a double life.

Cooper’s linear approach to the movement is a constant during the film. He’s revealed to have OCD which explains his methodical behaviors. Whenever Cooper is walking from between locations, he is almost always centered in the frame and walks in straight lines. The leading lines of the stadium’s architecture only enhance this precision of movement.

Cooper isn’t the only one trapped, however. Lady Raven, while on stage, is always seen through some sort of frame. The giant screens behind her while she’s performing confine her. Lady Raven’s stage design also features three large box-like structures in which she and her backup dancers perform within. This conveys the film’s main theme of being trapped in more than one way. In the literal sense, Lady Raven is trapped in this concert, being used as bait for a serial killer. One can also say Lady Raven is trapped by her fame (yes I know, phone bad book good, very deep). One scene shows her standing backstage before the encore visibly stressed.

Another motif featured in the film is Cooper’s relationship with his mother. He occasionally has visions of his mother. One of my favorite shots in the entire film is the only split-diopter (I’m a slut for split-diopters). Throughout the film, Cooper is always seen as the largest figure in the frame, always taller than his surroundings, always standing out. However, in this split-diopter, the FBI profiler lady is in the foreground, dwarfing Cooper for the first time. This shot is just *chef's kiss*. Cooper’s mommy issues are put on blast as this older authoritative woman commands the frame, regressing him back into a frail little boy.

Another similar frame from this film comes from this same scene. During this scene, Cooper is on stage watching Riley perform as Lady Raven’s ‘Dream Girl’ –– Cooper is positioned in the bottom corner of the frame, making him smaller than the giant magnetron behind him showing Riley. This frame, I think, exemplifies Cooper’s redeemable qualities. Stay with me for a second, I mean, besides being a serial killer, he’s a really good dad. He got seats in row 44 for Lady Raven!!! He takes extra care to not mix his “work” and his family. Cooper during his breakdown near the end of the film even says “Never let the two lives touch”.

He goes out of his way to protect his family. I genuinely thought Cooper had killed his family during the bathroom scene near the end. The camera holds on the bathroom door with the back of Lady Raven’s head obscuring the middle of the frame. Everything suddenly goes quiet and then Cooper finally opens the door. I fully expected him to be covered in blood. Another detail about this scene that I liked was how Cooper, a very strong and sexy fireman, could have easily broken down the door but, due to this OCD, he chose the more neat option of fetching the key.

Trap is such a feast for the eyes, and I’m not just talking about Josh Hartnett. But, beyond that, it’s Shyamalan’s love letter to fatherhood. You can call Saleka the ultimate nepo-baby and that would be true, but, does it matter? M. Night made a movie for GirlDads™, why wouldn’t he cast his daughter? To everyone who doesn’t like this film, why do you hate fun?

Why did I write this? Was it because I’m horny for Josh Hartnett? Yeah… Here’s another edit, thanks for reading (if you did).

#trap #trap movie #trap 2024 #cooper adams #cooper adams trap #m night shyamalan #lady raven #josh hartnett #saleka shyamalan #film review #film analysis #substack #substack article #horror #horror movies #horror review #horror reading

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alder-reid · 3 months ago

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Part 3 // Substance

There was a small window in this cell.

Alder tracked the days in the glacial drift of the shuttered square of light across the floor. It was too high up to look out of to see what was happening beyond in his hometown, but if he angled himself right, he could see the sky between the iron bars. Of course, this time of year it was usually clouds and rain, but if he was lucky, sometimes they’d take enough shape to keep him entertained for an hour or two.

When the light finally died for the day, he let himself dig another notch into the wooden frame attached to the wall with a chain that supported a mattress so hard a slab of granite would have been kinder. He’d then curl up as far away from it as he could, the glass pane thin and letting in a draft that he swore put his second Arena to some shame.

Of course, he’d, at first, sworn to every Tarren who tried him that he’d never give any information up. The Capitol had already done it all to him, he’d thought– torture in the physical, psychological, and emotional senses. What could they possibly do to him that the Snow regime hadn’t done?

It was the wrong question to ask. The Tarrens were brutal and efficient, and the man, who he’d figured out was called Saska, was especially so. It was only the third day when they gave up on more traditional methods of information gathering and dragged in the small girl they’d seen him helping after the attack.

At first, he was confused. Then Saska unwrapped the bandage around her hand, and asked the same questions they had been trying Alder for for three days. When he refused to answer, he dug his thumb into the deep cut across her palm. Her cries of pain shot through him, and within moments he was begging them to stop, that he’d tell them whatever they wanted, just let her go.

For several weeks, it went on like this. Every time Alder denied information or they thought he was lying, they dragged in another member of his community, ready to torture them instead.

He did his best to hold back, to deny them a full picture of the Vox or their new, fragile Panem. Sometimes he managed to pull it off. Sometimes, they were able to sense he was hiding something and went even harder than usual on him, on his former friends. Those were the days he hated himself most; the ones where he couldn’t do the right thing for everyone. No matter what he did, he was betraying someone. He wouldn’t be surprised if the community torched his house with him inside it after all of this.

Food and water came twice a day, morning and night. Barely enough to eat and stay functional, though Alder wasn’t sure if it was another act of Tarren deprivation or out of scarcity, considering there was very little to eat even before their arrival. He started making a mark on the floor with his fingernail at the edge of the box of light when food came and then when they came to interrogate, and he found it to be a fairly accurate idea of when the guards would visit. There was some drift in the marks as the days shortened, but it was routine. Saska ran a tight ship, it seemed.

The thought occurred to Alder as he sipped at it from his plastic cup and stared out the window, thinking to himself that the bars reminded him of the iron fire poker he’d accidentally left outside in a storm after it was his imaginary sword for an evening had been abandoned for dinner. In a short couple of weeks, the iron had rusted and ruined it from what it once was, and it never really was the same after that.

He paused mid-drink, setting down the cup and getting to his feet. He couldn’t get a good view of the bars from the floor, but he quickly determined once he scrambled up to balance on the edge of his bed frame, he had a decent view of the whole sill. The bars were sunk into the concrete, but it looked like it had been there for a very, very long time. Maybe even Dark Days long time. Around the bars, there were divots in the concrete from years of condensation off the poorly-sealed window sliding down the metal and wearing away at the rock.

Already, he could see the beginnings of rust there– all it would need was a little more encouragement.

There was no way the cell had surveillance. This settlement had never been important enough, and again, the jail barely used except for odd jobs. This was confirmed after two days of Alder pouring his daily water into the window sill, particularly around the bars, and there was no mention of nor punishment for such odd behavior.

Day after day, he did this, sparing as little water as he possibly could for himself to stay alive, and dumping the rest into the window. He was paranoid he’d be caught checking when another round of interrogations happened unannounced, so he only allowed himself to check on the progress by standing on the edge of his bed once every few days, despite the constant temptation.

At first, what happened was disappointing. Things were maybe a little slimier than usual, and all he had a consistent, pounding headache to show for his efforts. But as the days passed, an unmistakable coating of orange rust crawled up the bottom of the bars. A couple of times, there was a little salt on the top of his meal, which he tried to scrape off and add to the water pools to speed things up.

Now, he was able to walk up to the bars and stick his finger up against the bottom of a bar. He could withdraw his hand and see how far the residue went up his finger. It was difficult to not let out a celebratory whoop of excitement the day it reached his first knuckle. It was working.

It wouldn’t be enough to bust himself out, it was still iron. But it was a start, and he didn’t know how long he’d be here. Months? Years?

He did not have to wait that long. His settlement was used to tight rule, and they were used to shirking it, too. He should have expected it, really. They had nothing to lose, and they had plenty of practice organizing themselves the past few years.

He thought at first that the sounds were the Tarren again. Yelling, explosions, gunfire. He stood up on the edge of the bed to crane his neck and peer out the window. He couldn’t see much, but the pops of light below the sill confirmed something was going on.

Alder fell off the bed when the window glass shattered, startled and catching himself in an awkward position against the concrete. His mouth fell open when a head peeked up above the ledge, through the bars.

Waverley grinned widely at him.

“He’s in here!” she called over her shoulder, then turned back to Alder. “We’re gonna get you out. Any idea who has the keys?”

“I have a better idea. Does anyone have a truck?”

***

Alder knew they would, some transport trucks had been stolen and hidden by the Vox, and he imagined some would have been tucked away now, too, just in case. Sure enough, they’d rolled them in for their own coup against the Tarren. It didn’t even take much– a chain wrapped around the iron bars and a whole lot of gas. Where the bars had rusted out at the bottom, they popped free, bending wide enough for Alder to shimmy out.

He could have cried with relief when his feet hit the frozen ground. It was cut short by a pop of gunfire nearby. Both he and Waverley jumped and crouched down on instinct.

“What’s going on?” he asked, leaning back against the concrete side of the building. “How can I help?”

“You’re not going in,” Waverley dismissed immediately, frowning at him. “You’re running.”

“Running? No I am not fucking runn–”

“You’re running,” she insisted again, shifting a bag off her shoulders and pushing it into Alder’s arms. “Don’t question me, you don’t have time. Even if we win here, you might not be okay. Not everyone’s happy you came home, some think you invited the attack. Others are unhappy you gave up information.”

An icy chill ran down his back. It felt stupid to have thought word wouldn’t have gotten out about that, but of course it had. Dozens of people watched him do it.“But I–”

“I know!” she cut him off impatiently. “I know. We don’t all feel that way, but you’re still not safe here.”

Another explosion. Yelling. It sounded close. They both flinched and pressed tighter to the wall.

Waverley took his hand and squeezed it, meeting his eyes in the dark. “I’m sorry, Alder. You have to go.” She paused, then added, quietly. “Your mom and dad would be so proud of the man you grew into.”

His throat felt tight. Someone his family had known since before he was born, someone who had watched him grow up, after everything she knew, everything she’d watched him do, she still felt they’d be proud. “Thanks,” he managed to choke out. It didn’t feel deserved.

With a nod, she let go of his hand and reached for something in her pocket. There was the telltale jingle of keys as she removed it, already moving toward the truck. “I’ll distract for a few minutes so you can get to the treeline. Go south, follow the main road but stay out of sight from it. Don’t stop until the leaves are still changing, that’s about as far as the Tarren have managed to get, then Settlement 56C shouldn’t be far. That’s the nearest Vox outpost. Good luck.” Alder had a thousand questions. He hadn’t stopped to consider that they’d already taken other settlements. Already, though, Waverly was opening the truck door and putting the keys in the ignition.

He turned and ran, leaving the sound of Waverley’s truck tires screeching and crunching into the gravel road behind him.

#self para #ah136

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rootvegetableboy · 4 months ago

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cm dev log #9 - july 2024

i think july might’ve been my most productive month yet! i really surprised myself with how much i achieved. it’s really satisfying proof that development is only getting faster & smoother the longer i go on :]

some really really exciting stuff implemented, including but not limited to…

new mechanics!

a surge/dodge mechanic has been added! press the spacebar to avoid incoming attacks! you can use this both directionally for a boost of speed, or while standing still to become invulnerable to damage for 15 whole frames. woah!!!

healing flask!! fuck everything else i’ve said in every log, good game design is all about beautiful potions. like all good potion ui, you get a little visual of your flask emptying:

reworking older systems!

i’m currently in the midst of reworking my save/load system! i’m not going to say too much, because… it’s one of the main hooks of my game… but it’s going real swell. i only have to do one more thing before this is in a workable state, which is:

i need to create a new in-game menu system from scratch =_=

this is something i’ve known was coming for a while, but i find coding UI pretty annoying sometimes, so i’ve been putting it off. the current in-game menu isn’t up to par with the artistic style of everything else, so i want to re-do it. i also plan on separating out the save/load menu from the in-game menu.

HOWEVER! i was able to do a successful collisions/hitbox rework this month in its entirety! this is huge, it’s an issue i noticed in january and has been bothering me all year!! it’s kind of hard to explain this one, so let me whip out some visual aids:

the dark rectangle around her feet is her collision box; when i write code that references a collision with the player, it’s checking for a collision with that box. such as… collisions with walls! or furniture! having it just around her feet is what allows me to fake a 3D look with only 2D art, so she can stand/walk in front of walls and objects and it doesn’t look horribly strange.

if her collision box included her head, she would stop moving as soon as the top of her sprite touched the bottom of the wall.. it would look and feel very odd!

but, you can immediately see where this becomes a problem when enemy bullets are checking for a collision with the player. she would get shot in the head and just like, be fine, it would go right through her…

i had the same problem with one of the enemies i’ve implemented, where i wanted to figure out a way to have both the collision box that comes with the sprite and a differently shaped hitbox. i hunted through a lot of forum posts for the best way to do it, but ultimately decided on what i personally thought to be the most “elegant” solution:

an entirely separate invisble object that follows all of the player’s exact movements and handles all of the player’s health and taken damage. (that’s all it does: the player object got to keep all its other code.)

i actually have no idea if this is optimal! but it works, and i got it working with minimal effort. it was a little trickier figuring out how to apply this concept to enemies, but i was able to write a little script so that every enemy i place in a room will spawn its own hitbox object. task complete!! the 3D illusion is secure and i can still maintain expected combat logic.

actual game content!

ah, finally…! after 9 months of development, the first miniboss is here…!!!

like a lot of things in game dev, you never really think about how much goes into a boss fight until you make one… but i had So Much Fun crafting this. im absolutely buzzing with ideas for future fights!

so, this all included: a small arena, pre-fight dialogue that automatically triggers when walking into said arena, barrier objects that appear during the fight so you can’t escape, and associated save/load scripts so that the boss doesn’t respawn if you leave the room and go back in. as for the miniboss herself, she gets her own special health bar with her name attached, and a state machine that cycles through three different attacks until she dies. (i haven’t coded player death yet lol)

youtube

some miscellanious stuff!

you may have noticed if you watched the video above, but i’ve changed the aspect ratio from 4:3 to 16:9. i like the nostalgia of a 4:3 but… i think with the way combat is emerging, the experience only benefits from the added screen space. you get a lot more room to see, and thus more time to react.

i’m finally starting on implementing music!! it’s getting atmospheric, babey!!! i’ve also got a little list of sfx that needs doing and i’m stoked to get started on it. video above doesn’t contain any sound because, i have not written a boss theme for her yet, and i didn’t want it to just be the shooting/damage sounds… i promise i am thinking a lot about sounds. and i can’t wait to dive into vcv rack to whip some up!!

i finally set up a github source control. files are secured. every other hobbyist dev should do this way earlier than i did

i’m proud, i did a lot! ^_^ i really want people to be able to playtest the miniboss fight soon—currently i plan on having one available to those interested in a couple of months! i have no idea how hard it actually is and i need some different eyes on it asap, so please let me know if that’s something you would be interested in :]

signing off for now… have a good august, everyone!

#cmdev #indie dev #game dev #gamemaker

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alekgray · 1 year ago

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@destinedgray location: Rome's Ruins notes: sometime after the explosion hehe

Black veins lined his arms as they throbbed with the blood that pulsed through the lycan's body. The pale skin of something long dead, an alpha's fangs in the place of where a man's teeth ought to be. Incensed by the dark, putrid rot that twisted with him, patches of fur littered his hardened, bloody frame. A volatile at the head of an army of lycans, a city that burned around him, and Zahrya's ambrosia firmly fixed at the center of his being. Mania and shadow clouded his mind, Alek had been fighting the violence that lurched within for months, darkness sewn by The Eye that was meant to be under his control. Nights where he'd dream of blood under his nails were just dreams, even if he'd awake somewhere from his bed with the fragmented memory of iron on his tongue.

Alek still remembered the screams that had come from the farmhouse, the brutality of The Eye's arena, the taste of lycan meat and ichor as it swam past his gums. A truth: Sanem wasn't the monster, he was. A spiteful kid that made every wrong decision and stomped on anyone that disagreed with him, the cruel smile of pragmaticism worn over the facade of someone who only cared for his own opinion. Rome would burn. The Eye would burn, the Lupo were family but family was fleeting and in the end they were just the means to claw his way to the top.

Now with the drow coursing through his veins Alek saw his true self so clearly, he glistened under the black sun as a boot kicked off the low wall that had fallen on him when the Pyramid fucking exploded. An eladrin drew their sword, a construct of fire and magic while summer's heat rolled off of them and with one deft hand he gripped the blade and grinned as it drew blood from his hand. The other tore out the creature's heart, its blood running down his chin, splattering his chest as it muddled with every other life he'd taken. A secret? Volatiles, like chimeras, could consume a soul once they knew how. Interesting messaging from the drow, those he devoured would stay dead.

"You're late, brother." Alek grinned, the lycan's sharp senses could hear the sound of screaming coming from all around them. The panic as friends looked for lovers and families scrambled to put themselves back together. Lambs for further slaughter, the army of lycans still ran wild and if Lycaon hadn't joined them yet then it was only a matter of time. Claws from his partially transformed hand raked at his neck as he dragged long lines across his skin, scratches into his thick hide that healed almost instantly. All this power: trades and bartering, it was easy to find powerful allies that hated Rome, Lilith, Remus, The Mad King and his Court. Never again would the city recover from the ashes of its defeat, and all the world would come to fear the era of the wolves and the devastation they wrought under the black sun. "Looks like we managed just fine without you."

#andreas #andreasstarter #senatus.theend

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incaensio · 1 year ago

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setting : hospital, around day ten after the arena breakout with : finnick odair @seasaltsurvivor

she's had a bad bout of nightmares this afternoon, during an attempt to sleep for the first time in three days; the sleep comes with exhaustion, but the flashes of people she kills — tributes from her games, people from twelve, chandler, cinna, peeta — makes her wake up screaming, crying until her chest aches, her head following as she squeezes at it in despair, sobbing pitifully into her cot. she only notices reality again when the door swooshes open, and her mother and sister walks in. it must be four and something, the one free time slot allowed. she makes a poor show of being asleep, eyes shut tightly; she feels prim's weight on the bed, her little sister's arms going around her frame. katniss sobs harder, though she makes the effort to burrow her face into the pillow. primrose's hold is not the one that keeps the darkness away from her, but her little sister's embrace is the only one katniss can not deny.

eventually, she sleeps again. it's not a restful one, but katniss only notices when she's awoken, and she can feel pain everywhere — her eyes, her head, her stomach. she can't tell the time, but her family must be back at the hospital, because she's alone in the compartment and suddenly her chest begins to ache too because she's suffocated by this district, these walls, by her mind and the never ending pain. she needs something to dull it; the usual crutch, peeta's presence, is not an option. besides, she needs something quicker. the silverhorn lady must have noted on her file about the sedations, about how they should stop, but katniss doesn't receive much pushback when she asks for something to make her sleep; she isn't sure if it's how disheveled and miserable she looks, or that her mother certainly must have kept these people filled in on her insanity, or her privileged status as the mockingjay, but what matters is that she's soon being herded to a room, where someone finds a vein and pushes in a steady drip of something that will make her feel hazy. hazy is better than in pain. it's better than anger. it's better than crying, too.

it takes a while, though. there's a few moments when she's trapped between the placebo and the true effect of the drugs, moments she's hyper aware of everything: the lumpy mattress she sits, the dim lights of the room, the bed next to hers, the frame that sits on it, the soft cries the person lets out. he needs a bigger dose, katniss almost wants to say, press on the button to call someone to do that and make them stop. she doesn't need a reminder of pain right now. katniss glances at her fluid bag, trying to measure how long it would be until she would feel numb, if it would be longer than the time the nurse would take to sedate her temporary roommate. in the end, she's impatient enough to take matters into her own hands, pushing away the curtains from her side of the bed first, then his.

the drugs must be coming down fast, because she remains expressionless as she stares at finnick odair's pitiful form. or maybe she's just used — to herself, who had taken his same posture just a few hours ago, or to this version of finnick odair, whom she is told, in almost two weeks, haven't been able to leave the hospital because he's always on the brink of an episode. that's what people call when they lose their minds here. "what d'ya even have to cry 'bout?" her voice is rough in all senses, the words purposefully barbed, though, in way back in her head, there's truly a question. "you asked for this." he had been with the rebellion for years, so she is told; every few interactions between the two of them had been purposeful. when he asked to be friends, it wasn't katniss he wished to befriend — it was the mockingjay who should be good and join their cause. is he so spoiled by the capitol he is somehow this put-off by this place?

#— 𝐾. 𝐸. : written.#eventideevent04 #drug use tw #drug abuse tw #drugging tw #ptsd tw #night terrors tw #u cant tell thru the screen but im boinking her head rn like GIRL

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69why-am-i-doing-this69 · 2 years ago

Text

Someplace Quieter

Aesop Sharp x OC

Description:

An American auror transferring to the British Ministry of magic for some peace of mind. She first has to undergo supervision under oath of not meddling in the British affairs. It was only a benefit to the ministry to place her under the supervision of the former auror now potions professor.

Notes:

He's here

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 – A Pleasant Conversation

The Gala was the last event from the exhibition, only those tied to the auror division could attend. It was a way to mingle with other aurors and to allow the new recruits a way to relax after their demonstrations. It started at the break of night, which certainly came to once my battle with Maria was concluded. It was all a blur really, I don’t exactly remember how I manage to squeeze in this dress so fast, hair fixed into an updo, and face primed for a fancy event. I didn’t even get to look at myself in the mirror until it was almost finished. All I had left to do was to put on the crimson gloves that went to my forearms, but I got distracted by my appearance. My hair put into a lower bun with two strands that framed my face. Red dahlias and perennials littered throughout my hair, vibrant with the contrast of my black hair. Very fitting. I wonder if they were familiar with my firearm. My dress certainly matches but with a subtle red bordering on pink with golden accents mimicking flames. It felt more like I was promoting my house colors than my affinity. After I felt enough time has passed, I put the gloves on, paying close attention to my injured hand to lessen as much pain as possible. With a final glance in the mirror, I exit the changing room to be met with Derrick leaning on the wall, waiting.

“It’s the woman of the hour. You looked wonderful out there.” He smiles at me, bouncing off the wall to extend his arm, which I gladly took. His sweater vest was exchanged for a three-piece suit. Looking regal suited him best.

“Thanks to your Pepper Imp no less. What made you think of that?” I grin back. His smile always tends to spread in others.

“Well, after the whole dorm incident and scouring through each line in the rule book and every asterisk in the margins, I didn’t see anywhere that restricted a nice snack before the arena. Your use of it in battle was just as a surprise to me as everyone else” he jests, earning himself a quiet laugh from me while I brought my gaze to the floor. It probably caused a stir for my opponent.

how’s Maria?” I look up him as we walk to the ballroom. All I got from his initial response was a pained expression.

“She made quite a fuss, trying to disqualify you to no avail but she won’t pass up the gala, or any gala in that matter,” He sighs. I quickly took note to avoid her during this event. A silent pause took its course as he instantly tries to rectify it. “Don’t mind her though, it’s not going to do you any good to worry about her. Use this event to relax, socialize with your peers” he reasons which was met with my eyes rolling at him.

“That’s your thing Derrick, I’d rather be back in my apartment” Dreading of the forced small talk with other aurors.

“To what? Talk to your plants? Is your Moly is sulking again?” he chuckles. I flicked his arm that had no effect on him as we reach the ballroom. It was decorated according to my affinity due to the outcome of the event, each piece of decor sporting some kind of red. At our entrance, the guests immediately raise their glasses to me, except for one. Maria dawned her light blue colors, which made her stood out from the sea of red. It really suits her. She was adorned with multiple silver accessories; it even had silver encrusted hair net. If only I could wear such things without it harming me. her eyes me with her powerful glare. I grinned back at the guests nodding my head towards them with acknowledgment, shooting Maria an apologetic smile. The crowd then continues with their own activities as Derrick withdrew his arm lingering to hold my wrist. “I mean it Nani; I don’t want to go find your hiding spot when you meet with Professor Kim tonight to meet the president later” he commands before turning to mingle with other guests.

I did what I was told, forced smiles, small talks, meaningless conversations that I couldn’t be bothered to remember; hell, I’m unsure if I remember their names and faces. I didn’t know how long it took but if it weren’t from the arena battle hours prior, socializing really drained me. Looking over to the bar, I would’ve killed for a glass of Ogden’s fire whiskey but it’s a risky idea with my affinity paired with my nerves. It’s too warm, too loud with everyone here, I wanted to leave but it would be rather rude of me. Instead, I opt to go to outside, the cool breeze and the lack of people surely would calm me down. I open the balcony doors, walking towards the balcony occasionally separated with tall columns and large bushes growing on top. Peering below, you could see the city of New York, it was pretty, but anything looks as much with a cloudless night sky. With Absent mind, I lean on the column next to me counting the stars above.

Derrick would be disappointed if he found me here, not that I care really. It was the usual banter of our friendship. He would tease me for my lack of social lifestyle just as much as I would for his incessant ramblings to people. It was amusing at times, hearing him recount many of his stories during his time at Ilvermorny the amount of times that I have, it was a funny joke to recite it in its entirety before he could.

My distracted thoughts dissipate as three men in a joyful conversation took place at the fence next to mine, only blocked by the column I was huddling next to. A shock of panic went through me as they had no idea I was there. It immediately struck me that they were from the British Ministry gave away quickly from their accent. I can clearly hear what they’re talking about, but I didn’t want to be thought as if I was eavesdropping on them. I didn’t know if it was wiser to remain in place or to quickly take my leave. I glance at the doors leading back to the ballroom but immediately grimace at the idea of more small talk. Instead, I gather my dress will be pressing myself to the column waiting for these men to finish before going back to my prior position.

I did my best to not hear what they were saying, directing my attention back to counting all the stars in the sky. Their conversation was rather dull, focusing on their current matters in the United Kingdom. It dawned on me how little I knew of the wizarding world and how much more I wanted to know about it.

My hands throb from the constant thorns stabbing me as I pick the strawberries off their stems, lightly tossing them on the mound of strawberries in a basket fiddling with my fingers to soothe them before my next task. I groaned in pain trying to lift the basket weighing almost just as much as myself. I didn’t mind but I also didn’t have a choice to. I would get some bread with the money from this job tomorrow since I snuck some strawberries for myself. It was wrong since they weren’t mine but at least I didn’t have to starve today or tomorrow. Heaving the basket in the vast strawberry farm, I was greeted with a spotted owl sat firmly on a strawberry bush with a letter in its mouth. “weird” I thought to myself slowly placing the basket back down on the ground, not daring to break eye contact with the owl. “Is that for me?” I asked, pointing to myself with the owl hopping in response. I hesitantly walked towards the owl that remained stationary on the bush, slowly removing the letter from its beak. Once it came into my grasp the owl quickly flew away. Looking skeptically at this letter I got, I chose not to mind it as I had to finish picking these strawberries; stashing it in my pants as I lifted the basket again with a grunt.

The day was over and paid the little money I could get. I had nothing better to do other than to sit on the dock and count the stars, but my mind was focused on other things. Pants rolled to my knees as my burning feet dipped into the cool lake. I turned the letter over and over before I finally gathered the courage to rip open the neat covering. I opened the folded letter to see a peculiar logo and bright letters that said Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A school for witches and wizards? I never heard such a thing. I continued reading.

Dear Miss Davis,

With great honor, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We await your owl no later than July 31st. Please find the enclosed list of all necessary books and materials.

Term begins on September 1st.We very much look forward to receiving you as part of the new generation of Ilvermonry’s heritage.

I looked at the next parchment, reading all that was listed. I have no clue what this even means or what these objects are. I huffed in annoyance, putting the contents on my lap while mindlessly swirling the water below me with my feet. I don’t even have an owl, so what do I do now?

My attention is brought back to the situation next to me as I hear a couple steps walk away from my position. Thinking they have left, I removed myself from my tight position by the column. Leaning back to peek at a pair of men entering the ballroom. I glance back at their previous spot only to be met with a man’s stare while he leaned on the fence. His stern look making me jump back behind the column out of his sight.

“Oh my,” I gasp. Quickly gathering myself to explain this situation and peering over the column again. “I promise I wasn’t listening, swear on a thunderbirds back,” I defend myself, making a surrendering gesture with my hands. His stare softens into a low chuckle.

“Never heard that one before” He responds, with a low-pitched English accent. I went stiff with how soothing it was. I took a moment to gaze at his features, brown hair that fell to his neck with bushy eyebrows that gave him a stoic look. Merlin, was it alluring. If his face and voice wasn’t enough his attire certainly is. I start flush at the revelation. He clears his throat before continuing, “Aren’t you supposed to be in there?” He motions to the ballroom.

“I was told to make an appearance given that it was in my honor, and I technically have an appointment here” I shyly peep. My hands found solace in each other, soothing the burned hand to ease the nerves I was feeling. “Banquets and ballrooms are not my kind of leisure” I finish, leaning on the column next to me. He accepted that response turning his focus back down of the city.

“It isn’t mine either, but I got convinced to come and my peers wouldn’t live down my absence to an extraordinarily rare event. I wouldn’t have either to be honest.” He moves slightly, opening a spot for me to stand next to him.

“It was that big across seas?” I didn’t know how interconnected the wizarding world is.

“Given the odds, it would be a shame to miss it. A lot of the quidditch debates around pubs switched to this.” My eyebrows furrow hearing that. Quidditch debates involved a lot of player stats, broom quality, and quidditch plays. It would be difficult to make a tangible argument with the very little information about us.

“I’d like to hear their arguments,” I grin, “I’m sure their logic behind it was structurally sound.”

“If so all of our bridges would collapse,” he rebuts, causing me to laugh. His gaze averts from the city to me.

“Who was favored?” I question. He took a minute to ponder the thought.

“It was half and half really, but I’m sure your half is relishing at the news of your win” He answers, flashing me a slight grin which I returned gladly.

“A stroke of luck” I quip, resting my elbows on the fence holding my face in my hand while peering down the city alongside him. “And maybe a pepper imp,” I added, glancing at his face. My face couldn’t resist a smile from his chuckle.

“Give yourself some more credit, your abilities in combat can’t only be derived by luck.”

“But the pepper imp saved my ass in the end,” I confess dejectedly. Even though I was declared the winner, I still feel like my skills are unprepared for the field.

“And that didn’t contribute to your winning?” He tried to reason.

“I guess it does,” I relent to him.

“A bit unorthodox I must say but very clever.”

“Living to the thunderbird house name,” I laugh.

“And your opponent? She surely spent no time trying to rally against you with her entrance,” he took a glance back inside the ballroom.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from her, it’s quite typical reaction between a Wampus and a Thunderbird,” I respond. His somber face turns quizzical from my lack of context. “Our houses,” I add rashly,” We have a bit of a rivalry when it comes to quidditch and duels”. His expression softens a little, still unsure of the situation.

“How so?”

“Ilvermorny houses are determined by which aspect of ourselves that calls out to them. For a Thunderbird it’s the soul, which students tend to have a more adventurous personality while Wampus favors the body, which attracts warriors,” I pause trying to piece together centuries of the rivalry history. “Given our different approaches in these subjects, Wampus focusing on practicality while Thunderbirds are bolder in their tactics. I’m sure you can imagine the discourse it causes” I explain, recalling the many debates I’ve heard during class. “There isn’t a year that goes by without a controversy in quidditch about a particular thunderbird strategy,” I finish, trying to contain my grin, relishing those memories back in Ilvermorny.

“I can certainly see why,” he smiled back, “it’s a slight contrast to the Hogwarts for sure, how exactly are students placed?”. I can feel my face brighten when trying to recall memory of being sorted. I never felt so amazed that such a thing could exist in this world.

“Of course,” I beam turning my entire body so my side leans on the fence with one elbow resting on it, facing him completely. “In the entrance hall, there’s a slightly elevated circle in the center of the room and all the new students would gather at the bottom of the steps of it, the upper classman will stand on the common areas above them”. I start using my hand to shape a scaled-down size of the room using one of my hands to encircle the spot in the middle. “There would be a gordian knot engraved on the surface with four pillars of our house mascots carved on top. Each student would stand in the middle and wait for a pillar react to them and they all do different things”. I glance at him while recounting the sorting process. He listens intently while grinning at me, the New York breeze brush through his hair. With that, I lost my train of thought, wriggling my fingers in attempt to find my place. “Thunderbird would flap its wings, the wampus would roar, the horned serpents crystal would shine, and the pukwudgie would raise it’s bow” I finish. That was the entire process but quickly, I remembered the most interesting cases of students being housed. “Oh,” I exclaim, his eyes unwavering, “every year there’s at least one student that causes multiple pillars to react, there’s even an urban legend that goes around about a student getting every pillar,” I finally conclude, rubbing my hands together.

“And what happens then?” Invested in the whole thing. Mimicking my posture, now facing one another though he rests his chin on his hands while mine accentuate what I’m saying.

“They get to choose what house to go to,” I say, “It’s a rather long process, especially when those happen. It’s an honored tradition that all the upper classman would skip class for the day. Friend groups would even pull sticks, the short end of the stick would be the one to grab food from the cafeteria.”

“How long did it take you to be housed?”

“It didn’t take long at all to see the thunderbird flap its wings; I’d say less than a minute. The longest I’ve witnessed was maybe an hour and a half, he was a nervous wreck the entire time, but both the horned serpent and thunderbird wanted him,” I say, smiling at the memory. My smile fades as I realize how much I’ve been talking. “But enough about me, how about Hogwarts?” I turn to him with elation to know more about the wizarding world.

“Ah, not as visually appealing, but each student wears a talking hat” he said simply. My face flinches, disheartened at the lack of detail.

“Just a talking hat?” I pitifully ask.

“Well, no. he sang a song before the sorting ceremony. A new one each year” he adds, my face lightens at the thought.

“How lovely, I’m sure music would’ve been nice for our nerves during in our opening ceremony,” I say to him envious. “How are your houses separated?”

“It’s not determined by a certain part of our bodies for sure but by the traits you value most.”

“And yours?” waiting eagerly.

“The Slytherin house is ambitious,” he trails,” and Gryffindor brave, Ravenclaws are intelligent, and Hufflepuff are loyal,” he finishes explaining. “Though I’m a bit impartial to my own.”

“And why’s that?” flashing him a smile.

“Our house resides in the dungeons,” My face scrunch. Dungeons are usually a sad dilapidated place. “But our windows were submerged from the lake so we’d get to see the marine life, occasionally a giant squid would greet us,” he notes, his hand that was resting on the fence outstretched towards me. My mouth went agape.

“Giant squid? How big is giant?” I ask, mindlessly grabbing his hand with both of my own.

“Students had to be weary on their brooms, just in case the squid stretched his tentacles,” he responds just as clueless.

“Maybe I should accept a position at the ministry,” I humor him.

“For Hogwarts?”

“For the squid,” I laugh, he follows along with me. Once our laughter has settled, his face turned pensive.

“You haven’t accepted anything yet?”

“It’s up in the air. Given my little quirk, I can go anywhere really. I’ll most likely be heavily recommended to stay here as it’s where the headquarters is located plus my former defense professor is pulling an arm and a leg for me to meet the president,” I answer, unsure of what other thought I had on the matter. “What’s it like in the ministry?” wanting to know more about his work.

“Not as publicized for certain, though I can imagine it’s similar everywhere,” his heads tilts to recall. “The only big thing is that guns are prohibited.”

I roll my eyes at him, “of course not but-,” I was cut off short.

The sound of the door opening made both of our head’s snap. There stood Professor Kim, making no move forward, waiting for me to take action. My face went blank laced with disappointment. “Professor,” I acknowledge turning back to the man next to me. “It appears that I’m needed,” I whisper to him. Only now noticing my hands wrapped around his. I let go of them, anxiously rubbing together.

“I should probably find my partner. If I were to guess, he’d be emptying an entire barrel of whiskey” He jokes, causing me to laugh quietly. I held out my hand for him to shake.

“I hope to see you again at these things Mr.…” I trail, a flash of an embarrassment through my entire body. I never even got his name.

“Sharp, Aesop Sharp,” he says, gently shaking my hand.

“Mr. Sharp,” I acknowledge “Nani Davis.” Withdrawing from each other as we both walked to the doors. I stop in front of Professor Kim, not hearing a word he’s saying. My attention solely focused on Aesop’s figure disappearing from the into the crowed and from my sight.

#aesop sharp #professor sharp #aesop sharp x oc #hogwarts legacy

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