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crescenthistory · 1 day ago

Note

hiiii, i love ur writing sm especially barty

i wanted to request the prompt "when did you realise you love me/her/him?" and barty basically feels insecure something like that so he wants reassurance from reader

thank youu

thank you for being patient with this one babe, it's one of my oldest requests:,) i have hijacked it into poly!bartylus but the main focus is still on comforting barty my babyboy

Prompt: B.13 "When did you realise you love me/her/him?"

Words: 2k

Warnings: fem!reader, not proofread, established poly relationship, heavy allusion to the terrible crimes of barty crouch sr (also known as implied abuse), freeze mode, mental health struggles, hurt/comfort, reg and reader teaming up, flirting and bickering in french and romanian

Note: this is very much cradling-y and soft. i love them, your honour.

It was always either or with Barty.

It was either the wicked grins, the booming laughter, larger than life presence with a silver tongue and tactile hands – or the impassive face, stoic demeanor, quiet voice. Either the big swings or the straight spine. Mad or measured.

It was absolutely lovely to be with him on his 'either' days, but it was the 'or' days that truly solidified your love for him. Making him understand as much was part of the challenge, but never straying from one was part of what brought you together.

It didn’t hurt that you now had backup.

“Did you hear what she said, amour?” Regulus murmured into Barty’s hair.

The three of you were huddled up in the corner of the common room sofa where your extended friend group had decided to spend their evening. Throughout the day, Barty had been growing quieter, mask around his features tightening in a way you always envisioned was physically painful.

He sat by the armrest of the sofa with you half in his lap while Regulus was perched on that very armrest. Originally the latter boy had been immersed in his book, planning on ignoring the lively chatter and disappearing into his own world – his version of unwinding. You had been ignoring the chatter as well, except it was in favour of coaxing Barty – your Barty, the one you knew was being hidden away – out of his shell. When you realised it was particularly hardened tonight, you lightly knocked into Regulus’ knee with your ankle from where it was perched across Barty’s lap.

Luckily one glance with the boy was enough to make him catch your drift; a practiced dance you more than happily fell into.

“Hm?” Barty’s voice was distant, absentminded.

You continued stroking patterns over his heart, your finger separated from his skin only by the thin material of his shirt. Repeating movements, grounding movements. “I asked if you wanted to head back to your dorm?”

He didn’t meet your eyes, training them on the fireplace instead. “Not tired.”

“Mhm, me neither darling. Just want to be with you alone.”

He tensed almost imperceivable beneath your hands. “Why?” he asked in a careful, measured voice.

“Miss you,” you whispered, pressing a firm but gentle kiss to his cheek. “Want to be with you. Is that okay?”

By now you knew that when Barty was disappearing into the rabbit hole that was his mind, short, affirming sentences were the way to go. Eliminate any possibility of worry before it could arise, all while giving him space to pull away should he feel too spooked.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

He made no move to get up, but that was alright by you. After carefully detangling your limbs, you reached out your hand for Barty to take. Relief washed over you when he did, immediately letting your thumb stroke over the back of his hand.

Regulus bid the others goodnight while you and Barty went ahead. You knew he would be quietly communicating to Evan that you three would need a moment alone and that you would most certainly be spending the night.

When Barty was in a crumbling state, he reverted to automatic movements, and thus his descending the stairs went quickly. You almost had to run to keep up with his long legs, but while you other days would have jokingly chastised him for it, maybe even send a stinging hex his way, you only made your best efforts to keep up with him.

Once, you could not have imagined how soft you would become around him. Perhaps undeservedly, you had not considered yourself capable of complete love, always suspecting there must be some inherent selfishness in you that would shine through and ruin whatever good you tried to claw at. Barty had been the first to prove that wrong in you; when he struggled, it was like a calm softness washed over you and there were no hesitations, no ego, just him.

You had not had the time to close the door to the boys’ dorm before Regulus slipped through it with his own soft smile that seemed to tell the exact same story as yours.

Hand still in Barty’s, you led him to Regulus’ bed, knowing he usually felt more comfortable there. Sliding in, you made yourself comfortable and formed the perfect Barty-sized spot beside you, but not tugging him in. His autonomy was the most important in these moments.

“Do you want to lay down, B?” you asked gently.

He looked between you and Regulus, and already you could see more of himself in his eyes, though they were clouded with an anxiety no one but you two could recognise. “Don’t you want to lay down, Reg?”

“I do. After you, though.”

“It’ll be more comfortable without me. I can head to mine.” His voice was void of emotion, but his eyes betrayed him.

Regulus met him head on. “I would not be comfortable knowing you were two metres away and not cuddling with us, love.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Why?”

You sighed, but did not let your reassuring smile drop. “If you want to lay down my love, please do. I want you here.”

Barty shifted his gaze to yours and you could visibly see his resolve crumble. He shucked off his uncomfortable trousers and slid under the covers beside you, tense body all hard edges against your own. Almost gingerly, he placed his head beside yours and you reached up to cradle it – he immediately leaned into your touch.

Regulus easily laid down beside Barty, the three of you having the method of how to comfortably fit on the dorm beds down to a T. “Mind if I hold you, Barty?”

“You don’t have to,” he whispered.

“Do you mind if I do?” Regulus’ voice was dripping in affectionate patience.

You could barely hear Barty’s no, but you both did. Regulus let his arms slide around Barty’s middle, shifting him so he laid more sideways and could be pulled closer to Regulus’ chest. In turn you nuzzled further into his front, cocooning him between you where you knew without a doubt that he would be safe and loved. All you wanted for him

“Do you still wonder why?” you asked after a minute of silence and settling into each other.

Barty actually met your eyes, though there was hesitance there. “What do you mean?”

“When Regulus said he loves you, you asked why. Now that we’re comfortable, do you still wonder?”

Barty nodded, almost imperceivably. You tilted your head upwards to press a soft kiss to his chin as it moved.

“Then let me first ask you this,” you said with practiced ease. This strategic layering of love and affection was your favourite way to ease him back into himself, to replace the harsh voices in his head with softer ones – preferably yours and Regulus’. “When did you realise you love Regulus?”

To your glee, the corners of Barty’s lips quivered into a small smile. “First year. He tried to help me change the sheets on my bed and was blabbering on in true Regulus fashion. It should have been annoying, but he was so cute.”

You snuck another kiss to his chin. “And me?”

The smile continued to grow, though his voice remained low. “After about a month of knowing me, you claimed you knew me. I checked you on it and turned out you actually did. You listened. I didn’t think you would.”

“You didn’t have to think at all about that. It just came to you,” you observed with a mirroring smile. Regulus hooked his chin over Barty’s shoulder to watch you deconstruct it for him, placing a firm hand over Barty’s heart to help ground him as you spoke. “It’s no different for us. There is no need to think or consider or wonder; we just do. We just love you.”

Barty’s face gave nothing away just yet, but he was softening beneath your touch, tension seeping away and into the mattress with each spoken word. “I love you, Barty, because you’re Barty. On your loud days and your quiet days, in your confidence and in your insecurity.” You began tracing his face with your index finger carefully, taking his lack of flinching as a positive sign. “There is no reason for it and there are a hundred. You contain multitudes and I love each and every one.”

“And,” Regulus added in a conspiring whisper. “You happen to not look half-bad.”

At last, a small laugh escaped Barty, though it sounded painfully choked. You nuzzled into the underside of his jaw with a sigh. “I realised I love you Barty when you had just made some awful move at me – I think you asked if I got a permission slip from Dumbledore to ‘burn the school down with my hotness’. And despite it being cheesy and silly, I liked it. I laughed. Because it was you.”

“‘S not awful,” Barty murmured then, looking at you with an incoming cheeky glint in his eye. “I was just speaking the truth.”

“And see, even now when I am being so sweet, you are silly, and yet I have no complaints.”

“Because you love me?” Barty asked carefully.

“So much.”

His eyes flickered over your face, settling for a moment on your smiling lips. You took the opportunity to lean forward and kiss him firmly – grounding him with your lips, pouring your love into him through the slow, careful movement.

You leaned your forehead against his as you pulled away and felt your heart settle when he returned the touch in full, weight lax at last. Regulus’ curls teased your nose as he kissed carefully along the back of Barty’s neck.

“Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement, mon chéri, tu dois le savoir.” Regulus whispered against Barty’s skin, and you saw how the latter melted into him at the words despite you having no idea what they meant – apart from the first ones. You had both heard enough je t'aime’s to sustain you for a lifetime, yet you always wanted more.

“No fair pulling out your French to make me feel loved, it’s literally a romantic language,” Barty complained half-heartedly, fooling nobody.

“What’s romantic is that you learned French for me,” Regulus mumbled against him with a knowing grin. “Another reason to love you.”

Barty scoffed. “I didn’t learn French for you, I learned it because of you. Couldn’t have you knowing a language I don’t.”

“Of course, that would just be abhorrent,” you teased, to which Barty just hummed in agreement, as if that was plain obvious.

“Multumesc, iubirile mele,” Barty whispered then.

“Had to one-up Reggie on the use of foreign languages in bed?” You lifted your eyebrow at him, but stroked along his cheekbone carefully in case it was too soon to joke.

“It’s not difficult, the sod only knows two.” Clearly not too soon to dish out jokes at least.

“Hey!” Regulus stage-whispered in faux offense, lightly nipping at the side of Barty’s neck. The squeal and subsequent giggle sealed the deal of cracking open his shell. “Here I am trying to take care of you, and what do I get for it.”

“Endless love and adoration.” Barty tipped his head back to kiss Regulus lightly on the lips, the latter humming against him. You snuck another one for yourself, feeling warmth spread to your fingertips.

“I said thank you,” Barty said then. “In romanian.”

“There is nothing to thank us for, B.” You kissed along his cheek, unable to hold back any of it now that you were sure he was conscious enough in his body to be okay with you touching him like this. Though he often reminds you he is always okay with that.

“Oh, Dragă, while I hate to tell a beautiful girl that she’s wrong; you’re absolutely wrong about that.” This time he chased your lips for a searing kiss. “There are endless things to thank you for.”

“Settle for another kiss?”

“Gladly.”

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harrygoeswest · 14 hours ago

Text

Secret Santa

At your yearly Secret Santa draw at work, you draw Harry's name.

Terms and conditions (TWs): a lot bit sweet and a little bit spicy. Penetration not included.

Word Count: 7,999

A/N: Hello hellooooo. Look at me posting a Christmas fic on the 1st December! I've been feeling very Christmassy this year so if I can get my shit together there will hopefully be another, totally unrelated, one in a couple of weeks time. Love you all, and thank you for always coming back when I decide to post something <3

~~~

“Alright, everyone gather ‘round.”

I look up over the top of my cubicle to the common area. Charles, the office manager, is standing on the coffee table—that is unlikely to hold his weight for much longer—with a plastic bowl in hand and a cheap Santa hat on his big bald head. It’s not even the end of November yet.

And yes, we do have to call him Charles. Not Charlie, because ‘adding one extra syllable is stupid and unnecessary for a nickname’.

“It’s that time of year,” he says, grinning like a buffoon.

Trying to shove down my sigh, I push away from my desk and wander around the other cubicles to where the rest of the team is congregating by Charles.

“Are we all here?” he asks impatiently.

We’re not a very big office—ten of us total, including our illustrious leader, and a supervisor.

Looking around, it seems the supervisor himself is the only one missing.

Izzy, my partner in crime in this corporate hellhole, nudges my hip with her own from beside me. I bump her back.

“Are we doing secret Santa?” she asks.

“Certainly looks like it,” I mumble, and start picking at my nails.

“Why are we only nine,” Charles muses, doing another head count. “Oh—Harry! Come on!”

“Sorry!” Harry, the missing supervisor, calls back from some hidden place in the office.

“Time is money, mate!”

I rub a hand down my face, failing to hide my weariness.

A second later, a lanky frame hurries to join the group, wearing form-fitting pressed grey trousers and a black cable knit jumper. Something is different about him where he stands a head above the rest of us. Something I’m trying to hide my shock at.

“Oh my God, Harry—,” Izzy blurts, “where’s your hair?!”

The group titters with laughter at Izzy’s shrill horror. Even I let out a snort.

Indeed, Harry’s once voluminous curls have been shorn to a neat buzz cut. Annoyingly, while I never would have pegged him as a sexy bald, he wears it well. What I’m struggling with is why he’d choose to do it in winter.

“I’ve made a hairshirt out of it,” he deadpans.

From the practical cricket noises following his declaration, I’ll assume no one in our office knows what the fuck a hairshirt is.

hair shirt

in American English

NOUN

1. a garment of coarse haircloth, worn next to the skin as a penance by ascetics and penitents

2. self-imposed punishment, suffering, sacrifice, or penance

“It’s now hanging pride of place in my lounge.” Charles grins. “Anyway, we’re doing secret Santa for our Christmas meal this year, which is on the fifteenth of December. Times are tight, I know,” spoken like a man who has never known what it’s like to be clawing his way to payday to make ends meet, “so the cap is a tenner. It’s just a bit of fun, alright? Let’s go.”

He holds the bowl out, and one by one we pluck out a folded scrap of paper. I’m not last, which means there’s still a selection of three by the time I get there. I pick one at random, sure to hate whoever I get.

I know I won’t be lucky enough to draw Izzy again like I did last year, but I suppose as long as I don’t get Charles, I’ll be satisfied.

HARRY

Motherfucker.

I’ve already started moving back to my desk so I can’t feign innocence and try and swap the name. The second-worst name I could’ve drawn—that of the supervisor. And a more-than-occasional object of my affection.

Is it inappropriate to have a crush on your supervisor? Not really. I’m sure lots of women fancy their seniors in the workplace. I’m all for women in senior positions, but there is something inherently attractive about men in power—not including Donald Trump. Ew. Add to the fact that said man is already hot shit and (I’m talking about Harry again), well, it’s a lost cause. Never mind the fact that we were both asked to interview for the supervisor role when the last one left and I turned it down.

Harry and I used to be cubicle neighbours who shared coffee breaks and threw scrunched-up notes to one another over the wall. Once we had a cat GIF email chain going that spanned 134 emails over twelve days. Now he sits at the other side of the floor in a private office where the door is always closed and we don’t make coffee for each other anymore. We definitely don’t send endless cat GIFs to one another.

I add the slip of paper with his name on it between a document I’ve finished with, and stick the whole thing in the shredder.

Later that afternoon, around three o’clock—when I hit a motivational wall and have to take a walk around the office for a change of scenery—I’m standing at the photocopier scanning an abhorrent amount of paper. I really wish the people who worked here could learn to be a little greener.

“So, who’d you get?”

I look up from my scanning to find Harry leaning over the printer, looking boyish and handsome all at the same time. There’s a delighted little gleam in his pretty green eyes, and I have to wonder when I last saw him looking so… mischievous.

“Wouldn’t telling you defeat the entire purpose of a secret Santa?” I retort.

“Yeah, but this is me. I can’t keep secrets and I’m bursting to tell someone mine.”

“Please don’t tell me who you have, Harry. Not again.” Because he told me who he’d drawn last year and then Izzy also let slip who she had as well, and by the end of the day I’d worked out who everyone had. “Also, if you’re so rubbish at keeping secrets, I’m definitely not telling you.”

He pouts. “You’re no fun anymore.”

I try not to let it show how much that comment bothers me. Especially that it came from him. “Apparently not.”

“Is it me?”

“No.” I say as calmly as I can manage. Of course he’d choose himself first, and the name I happen to have picked out.

“Izzy again?”

“No.”

Harry then proceeds to list off every name in the office, to which I pointedly reply with no, each and every time.

“But I’ve said everyone’s names.”

“Exactly.”

He sighs. “Fine. Do you know what you’re going to get for yours?”

“No.” And it was a painful truth. A year ago, if I’d have picked Harry’s name out I would have been over the damn moon. Now, it feels awkward and weird to be buying for the good-looking supervisor who used to be my friend. “Do you?”

“I have a few ideas for mine.” He grins.

Lucky for some.

“Well, that’s good,” I answer noncommittally.

I start to move away from him, but I’m stopped by a hand around my elbow.

“Hey,” he coaxes, and I meet his frowny gaze. “You good?”

If this were my friend of a year ago, I’d tell him it’s Friday, I’m bored and want to go to the pub to start my weekend early. But because he’s my supervisor now and I don’t know where to draw the line, I decide to keep the line very low and say, “All fine. Just tired.”

His frown doesn’t ease when I make a poor attempt at a smile. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, yeah?”

Nope. “Yeah, of course.”

“Alright,” he releases my arm. “Well, if you’re really stuck on what to get your secret Santa person, you could look in the magazine I’ve left on your desk.”

I raise a brow at him and he grins again, all white teeth and dimples.

Ugh.

“Is it inappropriate?” I ask, feeling nervous.

He feigns offence. “Of course not, that would be very wrong.”

I narrow my gaze but start to move back to my desk again. “Yes, it would. But I appreciate the help.”

“Any time!”

In my cubicle I find a company magazine on my desk, tabbed two-thirds of the way back. The page opens to a website specifically for Secret Santa gifts. With a sigh, I follow the link and start mindlessly scrolling through the options. There’s everything from oversized mugs to slippers and swear socks, whiskey cubes to coffee table books, candles and incense to bath sets and body creams. I am not short on options.

None of this really feels appropriate for Harry.

Still, since I’m bored out of my mind and have nothing better to do, I waste a good thirty minutes more scrolling mindlessly. Even though I’m struggling to find something for Harry, I do manage to find a present for Izzy—bed socks with cats all over them—and for my mother—a Lazy Susan.

I’m about to give up my search for something fun for Harry and think I’ll just stop by the crafty beer place down the road from my flat—he said he liked a certain one once—when I spot it: The Holy Grail of Secret Santa gifts.

I don’t even hesitate, adding it to my online basket before I can talk myself out of it. It’s only a couple of quid, so I can get him something else as well.

I spend the rest of the day feeling oddly smug, and when five o’clock rolls around I snatch my things up and head straight for the shop that sells the craft ale Harry likes. Then I walk to the pub to meet Izzy.

Our office Christmas meal is held in a tapas restaurant around the corner from the building we work in a couple of weeks later. I’ve never particularly cared where we eat—I’ll always find something—but I do struggle to marry up Spanish cuisine with the festive period. Apparently the general consensus was that no one really wanted a traditional Christmas dinner because they’d be getting that on the 25th December. I’ve always just thought of it as a roast dinner on acid but what do I know?

Our dress code for this year is ugly Christmas jumpers, so our table is crowded with colleagues wearing everything from traditional 70s muted-tone cable knits to Charles at the head of the table in a bright red jumper with a light-up Christmas tree on it. I do have a little giggle every time I look at him. It’s awful.

I’m somewhere in the middle of the long banquet-style table, sandwiched between Izzy and Craig, the new guy in marketing. He only started on Monday, has spent the entire week looking like a startled otter, and is already dangerously close to crossing the line from tipsy to drunk. He doesn’t look old enough to be tipsy but I keep that to myself. I’ve been subtly adding more food to his plate anytime it looks close to empty and I don’t know if he genuinely hasn’t noticed or is too polite to say anything because he just keeps on hoovering it up. Also, the dangerous thing about tapas is you always think you’ve eaten more than you actually have, and end up hungry again when you get home. Or, I do, anyway.

“Are we all about finished?” Charles’s voice booms from the end of the table.

There’s ten of us here in all, so his volume also attracts the attention of every other patron in the restaurant.

As if we’re not raucous enough already.

A chorus of mumbled yeses echoes around the table.

Charles claps his hands together. “Excellent! Harry, bring the bag.”

Pink-cheeked, Harry manoeuvres his way out of his seat directly opposite me—I’ve been avoiding looking at him for most of the night in favour of Izzy—and locates the bag with everyone’s Secret Santa gifts inside.

When we got here, Charles was waiting by the door with a large gift bag—you know the ones children get on Christmas morning? This one’s got Peppa Pig on it, which was comical in itself—that we were promptly instructed to leave our gifts inside as subtly as possible.

Harry places Peppa Pig on Charles’s chair and waits like a faithful servant for his next instructions.

The next five minutes are spent watching Harry flit up and down either side of our long table as he drops presents into laps, a true Christmas elf.

“Nicely wrapped,” he comments as he places mine in front of me.

I pull a face while Izzy chuckles beside me, and inspect it for a moment. It’s two presents taped together—one tiny and solid, no bigger than a credit card. Hey, wouldn’t that be a nice gift. The other is bigger and heavier—a cubic box. I desperately want to shake it but it feels like it could be breakable.

Izzy just has one—short and cylindrical and, again, heavy. But it’s slightly smaller than mine. I don’t know why that makes me smug. Bigger doesn’t always mean better. In most circumstances anyway. I’m not sure anyone has ever said that about a penis.

“Alright everyone,” Charles barks when the last gift is given out, “start unwrapping.”

A little shiver runs down my spine.

Here’s the thing about me—I love getting presents. Whoever decides to marry me one day needs to be a giver, because I get a little thrill any time I open up a gift. I think I’m equally as generous, but this is exciting for me.

What’s not exciting is that attention keeps flicking around the table. I don’t like being the centre of attention. A hard line to balance. Basically, I’m sitting here slowly picking apart my gifts while trying to keep the joyous little smile my lips are itching to make off my face.

I open the big present first, which seems to be the opposite of what everyone else does. I’m also trying to be subtle about watching Harry open his gifts.

God, this is torture.

The big present evokes a barking laugh out of me.

It’s well-known in the office that I’m a lover of Tesco, in any form. Primarily a Big Tesco or a Tesco Meal Deal. The big gift is a mug that just says ‘Tesco Value Secret Santa Mug’ in the supermarket’s old branding.

“Nice,” I mumble. I’m grinning like an idiot. I genuinely love that mug.

“Someone knows you well,” Izzy says with a nudge.

She’s already opened her gift—a candle that apparently smells like mashed potato.

It’s disgusting.

“Someone doesn’t know you at all,” I say, nodding at the glass jar with a cork lid in front of her.

“Or they know me well enough to know I hate these candles and find it funny,” she retorts.

I snicker and pick open the wrapping on my smaller gift. I tug it out from the opened end, and with every new inch revealed, my mouth opens a little further.

I look up at Harry, whose expression is the mirror image of mine.

“You are joking,” Izzy says, and follows it up with a loud cackle.

Approximately 1 Year Earlier…

“Are you sure you don’t have me for Secret Santa?” Harry asks, pouting at me around the edge of our cubicles.

“Yes, Harry, I’m sure.”

I picked Izzy this year, who is the best person I could’ve possibly got as my favourite work colleague. Harry is a very close second, but I’d never tell him that.

“But you know who does have me,” he says matter of factly.

I do. In an office of ten people, I have managed to work out exactly who has who, only because Izzy told me who she has, and Harry has already told me he picked out the woman in Human Resources. I’ve deduced from there everyone else’s picks, including that I must be Charles’s. I suppress a shudder at the thought of what he might give me.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I know what I want from them and I need you to subtly suggest it to them.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I mutter. “What is it?”

Harry rolls his chair around the cubicle partition, phone in hand. “Funny you should bring up Jesus, actually.”

He puts his phone on the desk in front of me, and at the same time he rests his chin on my shoulder.

He.

Rests.

His.

Chin.

On.

My.

Shoulder.

I try not to outwardly react to it, even though it’s setting off every single butterfly living in my stomach. I haven’t had sex in far too long if the simplest thing has me heating up this way

Christ.

Anyway, I finally look at Harry’s phone, and it makes me laugh.

Hysterically.

Honestly, I can’t stop.

I’m crying by the time I recover.

“Grow Your Own Jesus?” I sputter out, still tittering.

“Yeah!” He sits back and grins.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I kinda feel I’m lacking a little faith in my life.” He shrugs, but that toothy grin is still all there, along with his dimples and shiny green eyes.

How this man is single, I don’t know.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Just drop a hint for us, yeah?” He starts rolling away, but not before he drops me a little wink.

A wink.

I’m in so much trouble.

I stare at the ‘Grow Your Own Jesus’ in my hands, then at the matching one in Harry’s.

“You remembered?” Harry asks, clearly fighting a smile himself.

“So did you,” I accuse.

“Well, I just kind of hoped if you didn’t want yours that I could have it.”

I gasp and hold the small cardboard box to my chest. “No. He’s mine.”

“Wait,” Craig pipes in from beside me, “did you two get the same thing?”

“They got each other the same thing,” Izzy corrects. “The same weird thing.”

“It’s an inside joke—you wouldn’t get it.” Harry pretends to flip his now non-existent hair.

Izzy sticks her tongue out at him.

“I’m going to grow him in my Tesco mug,” I decide.

Harry quips, “At work, I hope.”

“Obviously. Pride of place on my desk.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he says proudly.

“And what about yours?”

“Oh,” Harry pats the box on the table, “he’s coming to bed with me.”

A laugh bubbles out of me.

“Ew.” Izzy’s nose wrinkles.

After dinner is settled, we head out of the restaurant and to a pub near Soho Square. A couple of people drop off and head home, but Craig is still soldiering on, bless him. He’s more stable when in motion than when stationary, and as soon as we find a group of tables together, we shove him in the corner.

Charles offers to buy a final round before he heads home for the night, and when Craig asks for another beer, I make sure Charles comes back with a non-alcoholic one.

“Why are you so protective over the new kid?” Harry asks as he sandwiches himself between me and another colleague.

“I’m not,” I retort. “I just don’t trust anyone else to look after him if he’s too plastered to get home by himself.”

“That still seems quite protective,” he argues.

“Well, put yourself in his shoes for a second. It’s your first real job, you’re young, you have one too many drinks on a night out with your new colleagues and you’re left to your own devices when everyone decides to call it a night. Maybe you take a walk along the river to sober up, and the next thing you know, you’re toppling over the wall and drowning in the Thames.”

We’re silent for a moment. Harry is just…staring at me, probably wondering where that came from. To be honest, so am I.

“That escalated quickly,” he says after a bit.

“But am I right?”

“I doubt it.”

“Ugh, go away.”

“I don’t want to go away.”

“Well, don’t ask stupid questions. We should be looking after him as the newbie. He won’t come back if we treat him like shit. You, as the supervisor, should recognise that.”

Harry lifts his hands in defence. “Alright. Point taken.”

“Are Mum and Dad fighting?” Craig asks loudly, sitting on the other side of Izzy now.

Izzy pats his arm. “I’ve heard Mum and Dad fight, Craigy-boy, and it doesn’t sound like this.”

“We’re not fighting,” I assure him, although I’m not sure how I feel about being referred to as Mum next to Harry’s Dad. “We’re having a discussion.”

“Sounds like you’re fighting,” Craig mutters and sinks further into the corner of the bench we’re crowded on.

I take a sip of my drink just to keep my hands and mouth busy. Harry nudges me with his elbow, and when I meet his gaze he winks at me.

Winks.

At.

Me.

I’m not sure if the dreams that wink is sure to feature in will be welcomed, or if they’ll be nightmares.

Charles eventually calls it a night, with a shiver-inducing parting comment that he “needs to give his wife the good lovin’.” The rest of us thankfully don’t dissolve into chaos—I’m not drunk enough to be patient over making sure multiple people make it home alive and safe.

It’s only just gone midnight by the time I decide to call it quits. It seems no one else has been keeping an eye on Craig’s drinking habits, because the poor kid can barely stand or keep his eyes open.

“Alright, Craig, where’s home?” I ask as Izzy and I bundle his lanky frame into a particularly nice wool coat.

He mutters something inaudible and I let out an impatient sigh. “Say again?”

He repeats himself, and I think he says Lewisham. “Lewisham?” I clarify.

Craig nods.

“Couldn’t be a little closer, aye?” I grumble.

“You’re not taking him home, are you?” Harry asks, a little tug between his brow.

“I’m not leaving him by himself, H,” I remind him. “I wanted him to sober up and no one else listened, so yes, I’m going to make sure he gets home safe.”

“How? The tube is closed and the bus will take hours.”

“Well, I’ll just have to get an extortionate taxi and deal with it on Monday, won’t I?”

“Don’t you live in Tulse Hill?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Lewisham is farther out of the way than Tulse Hill.”

“Not really,” I argue.

“I’m coming with you.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not being daft,” he insists. “By the time you manage to find a taxi willing to take you that far and actually get there, it’ll be close to two o’clock. And then you’ve got to get home from there. That’s pushing three in the morning. And while I admire your determination and independence and your incessant need to help the new kid, I am not willing to let you travel around London alone on a Friday night, whether you like it or not.”

We’re all quiet for a second—I actually think Craig is asleep on my shoulder now—and then Izzy very quietly whispers, “Damn.”

Sensing defeat, I release a pent up breath. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Harry concedes, “I’ll search for a taxi, shall I?”

“If you want,” I mutter.

We start walking, if only to find somewhere for Craig to sit down while he snoozes, and then say goodbye to Izzy, who’s boyfriend is waiting nearby to pick her up.

It’s cold and a little windy tonight. My cheeks feel frostbitten and my nose is painfully numb. I pull my woolly hat down lower to cover my ears and my scarf up higher to my nose, so all that’s visible is my eyes.

I catch Harry’s gaze, and he offers me a tentative smile. I smile back but I’m not sure if he can tell.

A taxi pulls up some minutes later, and we wake Craig up only so he can tell the driver his address. He falls straight back to sleep again, head pressed against the window.

I’m sandwiched in the middle back seat between the two men. Harry is somewhat bulkier than Craig. I can feel his thigh against mine. It’s warm, which is nice. I feel like I need the body heat.

The drive is relatively quiet, except Harry makes light conversation with the driver while I am also trying not to pass out on someone’s shoulder.

When we finally arrive at Craig’s house, the streets are eerily quiet. Harry makes me stay in the car while he wrangles Craig into his home. I move over into Craig’s vacated seat and watch out the window, a little entertained by the sight.

“Am I dropping you off somewhere else, love?” The taxi driver asks, breaking the quiet.

“Yes, it’s in Tulse Hill, is that okay?”

“No problem at all.”

“Do you know approximately how much it’ll be? And do you take card?”

“By the end of the journey, when I’ve dropped your friend off in Battersea, it’ll probably be over a hundred. But your mate has settled it already.”

“Wait, you’re taking Harry to Battersea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I thought Harry lived in Brixton. Battersea is an even longer journey.

I rub my tired eyes.

Harry slides back into the backseat and eyes the empty middle seat now I’ve moved over, but he doesn’t say anything.

“When did you move to Battersea?” I ask quietly once the car is moving again.

Harry clears his throat, “Few months ago.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

He turns a look on me that I can’t decipher, so I decide to let it go. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

We’re quiet again, and I decide this time around I hate the silence in the car. I hate that Harry and I don’t talk about our lives with each other anymore now that he’s in a more senior role. I hate that he doesn’t really feel like my friend anymore. And I especially hate that this is mostly my fault because I don’t know where the boundary line is.

I lean forward and ask the driver, “How long will it take to get from my house to Harry’s?”

I can feel Harry’s eyes on me but I ignore him.

“Another half an hour, probably?”

I can’t help it, I grind my teeth together as I slump back into my seat. I’ve been avoiding looking at the time, but I look now, and it’s nearly half-past two.

My bones feel tired.

“It’s fine, you know,” Harry’s voice is like whiskey when he speaks, all low and honeyed.

“It’s not fine. You could be home and in bed by now.”

“So could you if you didn’t have the need to mother everyone.”

I don’t know what possesses me to do it—whether it’s the weariness or the level of alcohol in me—but I don’t retort with words.

I just stick my tongue out at him.

Harry laughs and shakes his head at me, turning that smile on his lap.

It’s that smile that forces me to say it, because no matter how much we bicker, I can never really be mad at him. “Why don’t you just stay at mine and go home in the morning when the tube is open again?”

His gaze snaps to me again. “Seriously?”

I don’t know where my confidence has come from. “Do you think I’d offer if I didn’t mean it?”

“But…your flat is tiny. Last I remember, you don’t even have a sofa.”

“I don’t,” I admit. “But I have a king bed. I can erect a pillow wall.”

He gives me a funny look. “I am not sober enough to listen to you use the word erect right now.”

I snort. “Seriously though. It’s so late and I’m tired and I don’t like this already, and for the sake of all our bank balances, just…just stay.”

He stares at me for a while. “I don’t have anything to wear to bed.”

I look at him, in his silly jumper and slacks and woolly hat. “I’ve got a big t-shirt I wear on my lazy days. You can borrow that.”

“How big?”

“Like, triple-XL.”

He purses his lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on, Harry. I’ll put it in the dryer real fast to warm it up, and I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning.”

His mouth twitches again, nostrils flaring as he wards off another smile. “Why are you pushing this so hard?”

“Because you didn’t have to come out all this way with me and you did it anyway.”

“Of course I did, I’m not leaving you alone with a drunk kid and a taxi driver.” He glances at the driver. “No offence, mate.”

“None taken,” he replies.

“Is there still a charge if we cut the journey short?” I ask him.

“No, you’re on a meter. If it helps make your decision any easier, I’m going home straight after this job.”

“See!” I gesture at the poor bloke in the front who we’ve subjected to this torture. “Let the man go home to his family, Harry.”

I can see the driver’s shoulders shaking, but he never says a peep.

“Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll stay at yours.”

“Good.”

Great.

Excellent.

Harry is staying the night at my place.

In my bed.

I hope I didn’t leave the flat in a mess.

By the time we’re dropped off at my flat, I’m a practical zombie.

I let us inside, feet like lead, and Harry follows with just as much enthusiasm. Locking the door behind us, I dig through my drawers for the t-shirt I promised and toss it in the dryer for a few minutes. I clean my teeth, and then give Harry the t-shirt. While he changes in the bathroom, I quickly change into a matching festive jersey pyjama set. Feeling sexy is the last thing I’m trying to achieve. If anything, I just want to be warm—the flat is freezing.

Once changed, I set about making that pillow wall I promised.

When Harry emerges, I’m midway through taking my makeup off.

Looking at him, I can’t help but giggle.

“When you said you had a triple-XL t-shirt, I thought you just meant a plain one. Or, like, one with some generic wording on it. Not this,” he points at his chest.

I admire him in my pink t-shirt, which depicts Salem from Sabrina the Teenage Witch surrounded by cake and the words ‘I eat when I’m upset’. “I think pink suits you.”

Harry’s eyes narrow at me, and he moves around the bed to the side I’m not perched on. He studies my pillow wall for a while. “Do you think I’ve got the lurgy or something?”

“The lurgy?” I chortle. “No, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think it’s me we need to worry about being uncomfortable here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist with a grin as I finish the last of my makeup removal, “as long as you stay on your side of the wall.”

“I would also be fine. I don’t think we need the wall at all.”

“And why is that?” I ask, tossing my used wipes in the small bin next to my bed. I slip under the covers, and Harry, with his hairy, toned legs, does the same. It’s still weird seeing him with a buzz cut.

“Because it’s half an inch tall. You couldn’t stop an ant from getting over it.”

I gasp, and reach over to smack his arm. “How dare you. Ants can vertically climb.”

“Are you sure?” Harry retaliates by smacking me too, except he completely misses and ends up whacking my boob instead.

“Ow.”

He’s already pulled his hand away and is covering his mouth, eyes wide with shock. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be!” I hiss, rubbing the assaulted breast in question.

“I didn’t mean to. I was aiming for your arm.”

“Well, your aim is terrible.”

He rolls onto his side, giving me his best puppy dog eyes. “I really am sorry.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am! But this does prove my point that the wall is useless,” he reasons.

“Fine.” I snatch the cushion at the top of the pile and toss it at the foot of the bed. “Collapse the wall if you must.”

He grins, all pretty and green-eyed, and tugs the next pillow down the row up underneath his head. “Much better.”

Sighing, I say, “Go to sleep, Harry.”

“Yes, boss.”

I shut my eyes, burrowing into the pillows, and wait for sleep to claim me.

And I wait.

Unfortunately, I am far too aware of Harry’s presence beside me.

I’m thinking about the fact that he’s currently wearing my favourite t-shirt and the shameful part of me probably won’t wash it for ages. Maybe an even worse part of me will put it on as soon as he leaves my flat tomorrow.

Fuck this crush.

Why did I think it would be a good idea to let him stay here? In my bed? In my t-shirt?

I really hate myself sometimes.

“I can hear your brain whirring,” Harry says into the silent space between us.

“It worked overtime today, the fans are cooling down.”

He snickers, and then it’s quiet again. “Can I tell you a secret?” He asks after another minute.

I open my eyes to find him watching me. It’s a little unnerving but I can’t say I hate the attention. “A secret?”

“Yeah. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

I study his face in the dark room. “Okay.”

He wets his lips with his tongue first. “I gave my notice today.”

“What? You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“End of January.”

I can’t be sure, but I think I might be about to enter crisis mode. Harry is leaving. Harry, who I’ve seen almost every day for three years, is leaving.

I let him tell me about this new job—how it’s the same position but more money in a bigger company with better benefits.

For a second I don’t know what to say, but I eventually manage to come up with, “Well, congratulations, H. Sounds amazing.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. “Are you going to miss me?”

I pretend to think about it. “No, probably not.”

He gasps. “How rude.”

I giggle. “Of course I’m going to miss you.” Probably too fucking much. Like, crying into my cornflakes every morning for the foreseeable future. That much.

“Good. I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I have missed you.”

I frown. “What do you mean? We see each other everyday.”

“It’s not the same, though.”

I know what he means, but I’m too much of a wimp to admit it. Or maybe I just want to hear it come out of his mouth, because it’s been swirling around my head for months and months. “How?”

“We used to go out together, you know, me and you and Izzy and her bloke. We had a good friendship going, right? And I think I kind of fucked that up by taking that supervisor role this year.”

“Yeah, but your career is your career, Harry. You did what was right for you.”

“Maybe, but I still hated knowing I’d drawn a line somewhere.”

Funny. I thought I was the one who’d drawn the line. “Well, we’re not going to see you at all now.”

He frowns. “Don’t say that. We can still have Friday night pub time.”

“I’m not sure, H,” my tone is teasing, “you’re joining the big boys now. You’re more important than we are, you’ll forget about us in a month.”

“Don’t,” he whines, throwing me that puppy look again. “I won’t.”

“Sure.”

“I’d never forget you.”

“I’m sure you say that to all your old work friends. Soon it’ll be new ones with new pubs to visit on a Friday night, and we’ll just be a minor blip in your career path.”

“Stop iiiiit,” Harry growls, and the next thing I know, he’s reaching across the divide we made and wrapping himself around my waist, his face in my neck.

I don’t know how to immediately react, stunted into stiff silence.

“You are not a blip,” he insists, squeezing me closer to him.

“You say that now,” I mutter.

“You’re not,” he snaps, then a second later asks, “Why aren’t you hugging me back?”

Tentatively, I loop my arms around his shoulders. I don’t know where to put my hands initially, but one ends up on the back of his neck and the other between his shoulder blades.

“Better,” he says, face still shoved into my neck.

We’re back to silence again for a moment, but my mind is racing. This is not how I expected to end my night at all. Not with a man in my bed and definitely not hugging said man. Who I’ve happened to fancy for far too long.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s a good thing that Harry is leaving. Maybe now I can take time to get over the stupid crush I have on him and start behaving like a normal woman in her late twenties, rather than the perpetually single saddo that I’ve become.

Yes. I’m determined to turn it into a positive.

There will be no crying into my cornflakes.

“This is nice,” Harry whispers.

“Yeah,” is all I can come up with.

“You’re very comfortable.”

Seriously? I want to roll my eyes. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to move.”

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. DON’T. PANIC. “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah?”

I swear there’s something blaring in my head. “Sure.”

With that ringing endorsement, he snuggles closer and pulls me flush against his front.

This is fine. Absolutely fine. Nothing to worry about here. No siree.

Except, then, his hand finds the back of my thigh, and he pulls it over his. With a pat for good measure, he lets out a satisfied sigh.

“This might be the most comfortable I’ve ever been.”

Great. “That’s nice,” I squeak.

And it is nice, in a way.

It’s nice to be held in the embrace of another warm body.

It’s nice not to spend the night alone.

It’s nice to feel someone else’s breath on my neck that isn’t just my own reverberating back into my face from my pillow.

The tantric tickle of Harry’s fingers on the back of my legs is nice, too.

Really nice.

It’s so nice, in fact, that I…

I fall asleep.

I wake up plastered to Harry’s chest. Harry’s chest, that is still covered in my favourite t-shirt. God, that’s pleasing.

It’ll smell like him now.

#winning

I think I’m the first one to rise, which means I have the opportunity to sneak off and start breakfast, but then I feel a warm palm against the skin of my lower back, circling, and I realise I’m not the first over the finish line into consciousness. I also feel a slight chill against my sternum and I think one of the buttons on my pyjama shirt might have popped open, which means there’s definitely the potential for a peep at some boobage.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Harry’s voice sounds like gravel.

“Hi,” I choke out.

“Sleep well?”

I slept amazingly. Dare I say it’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Maybe even months.

Fuck it, it’s the best sleep I’ve ever had.

But all I actually say is, “Yep. Did you?”

He hums, his hold on me tightening. “Like a baby.”

I like that far too much. “That’s good. How…did we get like this?”

“You on top of me?” He asks and gives me another squeeze. “No idea.”

“I am not on top of you.”

“You kind of are. But I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’re comfortable?”

“I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. It’s like when you have a cat on top of you—you don’t move the cat.”

I look up at him for the first time, then. He’s still sleepy-eyed, but he’s more awake than I am and he looks so soft, and so happy. “Do you need me to move, Harry?”

“Absolutely not.” He follows this comment up with a lazy grin that has my insides turning to mush. He’s always been a little bit infectious, like a good drug, and so I can’t help but smile back at him.

He lifts a hand to my face then, still holding my gaze, with his finger under my chin while he gingerly wipes his thumb in the corner of each of my eyes in turn. When I throw him a questioning look, he responds with a simple, “Eye goo.”

I want to be disgusted by that, but I’m not. Not in the slightest. If anything, it’s making this crush I was so determined to get rid of yesterday even worse. And, because I can’t help myself, I gingerly reach my hand up to his face and do the same thing, wiping the dried moisture from the corners of his eyes.

We stay like that, staring at each other with lingering touches on each other’s faces. I don’t know what we’re doing. I’m terrified and nervous and excited all at once.

My heart is telling me he’s into this the same way I am, but my head is telling me I’m overthinking it and it doesn’t mean anything.

Now, call me fucking crazy, but people who aren’t into each other don’t touch one another the way we are.

I tell my head to shut the fuck up.

Tipping my head back slightly, it causes Harry’s light grip to adjust, until his hand all but swallows my cheek.

He lowers his head, and I know, I just know I’m not imagining the pull between us anymore. My breathing becomes laboured, chest heaving with every inch his mouth gets closer to mine.

When our mouths meet I’m dizzy, but I hold onto the shred of sanity I have left, if only to enjoy the moment while it’s here.

It’s exploratory at first—a simple taste of one another. Harry’s mouth is soft and gentle. He takes his time, like he’s learning me. His hands are doing the same thing, cautiously roaming my face, my arms and my back.

I don’t know what to do with my hands, because I want to touch him everywhere. Start with his chest, and for the first time ever I wish for the absence of my damn t-shirt on him. Move to his arms just to trace the definition of his muscles and the lines of his strong veins.

He’s so…delicious. Always has been, hair or no. And the permission to touch him in any capacity has me feeling drunk. I feel more out of sorts now than I did last night.

Harry’s grip moves to the back of my legs, and he drags me over his body so that I’m straddling him.

The new position has trepidation rendering my limbs frozen, and I have to force myself to move, to keep touching him. I can feel his length between my legs—not completely hard but certainly working its way there.

“Is this okay?” Harry asks against my lips, voice hushed but still loud in the quiet room. His hands dance over my hips and thighs, like he wants to touch other places but is worried of crossing that line.

“Yes,” I breathe in answer.

He resumes his ministrations, becoming braver now with the use of his mouth, and in turn I do too.

My hands finally slip underneath the cotton t-shirt to feel the taut skin of his abdomen, fingertips following every dip and curve. In return, Harry slides his up my shirt, taking the weight of my breasts in his hands.

“They’re so soft,” he comments, and for some reason I like that so much that I kiss him deeper.

Our tongues are involved now, licking and nipping and tasting the other where we can.

“I want to take your shirt off,” I admit.

“You mean your shirt?” He teases, and moves into a sitting position with absolutely no effort.

“Both,” I tell him.

He grins, kissing me again while I ease the cotton up his body, until we have to break apart so I can remove it completely.

Harry’s body is…perfect. I knew it would be—toned lines, masculine, pronounced muscles. I want to lick it.

I’m kissing him again, if only to stop myself from lapping at his golden skin.

I’m kissing the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—ever known.

I can feel him toying with the buttons on my pyjama top, slowly coaxing each one free. When the last one is done, he slips the garment over my shoulders until we’re in matching states of undress. His large hands cup my boobs, thumbs rubbing against my nipples.

A sharp bolt of pleasure zips through me, straight to the pulsing core between my legs. With an involuntary rock of my hips, I moan into his mouth.

“Oh, shit,” he groans, “did you like that?”

I can only nod, and then whine when he does it again. Helpless to the taste of him, I loop my arms around his neck. Our bodies are flush together, tongues tangled, and my centre is lined up right over his cock. His cock that is now fully hard.

I start rocking my hips in a rhythm if only to find some friction for the need growing in my lower belly.

Harry’s grip moves from my tits to my arse, squeezing tightly and encouraging my movements. “If you keep doing that I’m going to embarrass myself and make a mess in my boxers, but I don’t want you to stop.”

“Please don’t make me stop,” I beg.

“You better not stop.”

So I don’t. I keep rocking, keep kissing, keep touching.

Every roll of my hips is ecstasy and I can feel the bubble growing inside me, pushing to the surface. The heat in my body expands, not just inside me but across my back and my arms and my chest. I haven’t had any physical contact for a while, and the intimacy of this, with Harry, is setting off every single one of my nerve endings.

“I want to see you come,” he tells me.

I grip the back of Harry’s neck, and for the first time since we started kissing, he moves his mouth. He kisses my cheek, then my neck, my throat, my chest, and then he finally pulls my nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking while squeezing my breast, and, well…

I go off.

My orgasm crests in the least subtle manner—loud and hard. My core is pulsing and my legs are shaking. My body is on fire—in fact, I’m sure I can feel a bead of sweat dripping between my cleavage.

Harry’s mouth is on mine again, warm and wet and sultry, and I cling to him like I’ve got nothing else in the world.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry whispers against my lips.

My face flushes, as if I’m not already burning up, but I still manage to say, “So are you.”

He kisses me hard but chaste. “I’ve wanted to see you like that for a while.”

“Like what?” I ask, still panting.

“Undone. By me, specifically.”

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “What?”

He laughs, and his thumb strokes my cheek, “I’ve always thought you’re sexy as fuck.”

“No you haven’t.”

“I bloody have,” he insists. “I thought you knew that.”

I scoff. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I’ll keep telling you until you believe me. Now, I’m pretty sure I was promised breakfast?”

I give him a questioning look. “But what about…you?” I ask, and throw a pointed look at the space where our crotches meet.

“I don't believe in transactional pleasure,” he tells me, then kisses me again. “I just hope we can do this again.”

“What, sleepover?”

He laughs. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But I was also hoping there might be some dating involved.”

I gawk at him. “You want to date me?”

“Indefinitely.”

Well, shit.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles writing

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fantaatix · 2 days ago

Text

"i have no home now"

i remember a while back when this episode was still being highly anticipated people were debating whether or not stolas would be stripped of his title and powers, maybe even hired by blitz, and why that might be a bad thing

i'll just rip this straight from the post i found in my likes:

"Saying that Stolas needs to abdicate so their relationship can be healthy implies that a commoner really CAN'T be with royalty"

the thing is that i don't think that's necessarily what the show is trying to imply. i'll give them some credit, they posted this in august, i forget when exactly apology tour came out but i think there was a general acceptance that they'd be back together by the end of the season

i don't think that's the case either and here's why;

i think one of the overarching themes of this season is how blitz simultaneously ruins and saves people--whether or not these are his intentions varies from person to person

for example, those he believes he's ruined are his sister, fizz, his mom, and verosika

verosika is an outlier because of the fact that a) the three prior were close enough to be considered family, b) the three prior can all be pinned down to the same event, and c) i feel like he definitely meant to at least piss her off, as a means to push her away

you don't "steal their car, run three rings to wrath and max my credit on shitty horse-riding lessons" because you think it'll brighten someone's day

those he's ruined mostly want nothing to do with him, or keep themselves at a distance; barbie wants nothing to do with him, verosika hates his guts (used to, rather), and while they definitely care about each still, his friendship with fizz is not what it used to be

but now, with IMP, he seems to be on a trend of making a life for himself and giving others a new chance

these images are always paired together as like, "before and after" and i'm sure it's been mentioned dozens of times, but again--there is an outlier, and i think in this case it's moxxie

with millie and loona blitz identifies their struggles himself

with loona, he sees how rough she acts on the outside but sees the soft interior and recognises himself--he wants to give her a real chance at a life, free of judgement

with millie, it's essentially the same deal, except millie straight up tells him about her struggle to make a living and he offers her a job

but with moxxie, there is no "identification", at least not to the specifics. he's in jail, moxxie's in jail, things suck regardless. if anything, maybe blitz figured that being incarcerated was "the struggle", which is probably fair; i don't think you're gonna get "my dad is a sociopath, my mom left/died and my boyfriend left me for dead" first try

moxxie was not special to him in this moment; blitz didn't recognise some divine struggle or empathic connection, they've known each other for 30 seconds and know literally nothing about each other. blitz is looking to break out and see his daughter, that is his goal here. the question was not, "what is this guy's struggle?" the question was "can this guy work a gun?" and the answer may or may not have been yes

and you can tell, like...just by the way blitz looks at him after. it is so possible that he just planned to ditch him after they both got out but ended up not doing so for whatever reason. like, "oh wow, that definitely meant more to him than it meant to me"

that seems to be the case with all of the people he's helped in one way or another; he can't even see that he helps. it's confirmation bias, all he sees is the bad. he needs people to reel him back into reality, people like millie or fizz or maybe possibly stolas later on cough cough

but now back to the point i'm trying to make (and what brought this post to life);

first off, the face blitz makes once he is confronted with the idea that people would actually miss him if he was gone:

and secondly, these two lines:

blitz: you need a ride home

stolas: i...have no home now. everything i have is gone.

this is stolas at his most vulnerable. he has no powers, no home, his daughter is in custody of his Bitch Wife, and he has no lover.

you could argue a few of those things in western energy but in this moment he has absolutely nothing to fall back on, he is alone.

and then blitz invites him to stay with him because that's what he does, he helps people at their most vulnerable moments. he gives them a home.

that is the point here--this isn't about their relationship right now, this about blitz having an irresistible urge to protect people he cares about and acting on it, because like it or not that's his job for the time being. he's not a bodyguard but he'll be playing that role until he dies or stolas gets his powers back.

he can finally actually protect stolas now, maybe even feel fulfillment in doing so, not having to fall back on things like "i didn't think you could get hurt" and seemingly forgetting to mention the fact that "oh yeah someone's plotting to kill you you should maybe look into that"

this is where they learn trust in each other. trust and devotion.

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thrashkink-coven · 2 days ago

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Okay. Lots to unpack here. I’m gonna hit them all one by one because I’ve already explained most of this.

1. Abortion as a concept is different than murder as it is regarded in the law. To say “God didn’t HAVE to address it” is ridiculous because abortion was incredibly common place. God specifically outlines laws for kidnapping, but he already has laws about “treat others how you would like to be treated” doesn’t that automatically imply no kidnapping? Yes, but…. it was significant enough of a thing for God to make specific laws about it. God doesn’t say “thow shall not drown your kids or shoot them in the head”, but a living breathing independent child is established as a person, and so to kill them would be murder. A fetus is not a person independent of its mother. If the mother dies, the fetus dies. Murder is applied to individual people, not parasites, cancer cells, sperm cells, eggs, or fetuses. A murder is the unlawful killing of a person, fetuses have not even begun to be people.

2. “Before you were formed in the womb, before you were born, I sanctified you”

God also knew the sons of Egypt before they were formed in the womb. God knows every single soul before they are even conceived, this doesn’t speak anything to whether or not a fetus is a person. God is simply saying he knows all things and all people before people were even a thing. God knew every stillborn baby and every person who was never born. This literally proves nothing and speaks nothing about reproductive rights. It’s a reference to a special plan for one man rather than a general approach to biology and reproduction, a reference to the vision of God and the importance of Jeremiah and his mission. It’s also biblical hyperbole, written in a language that constantly uses rhetoric and poetry to make a particular point. You yourself say “just because it’s said in one context doesn’t mean it’s true for all people”. Take your own advice. Again, twisting the text. Bearing false witness

in Psalm 139. “For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.”

Again, what is being said? This passage is surely about God’s power, but it doesn’t say anything that is at all specific or exclusive to the fetus. The Christian belief is that God knows all, knows us, knows who and what we are.

When it describes movement in the womb of Elizabeth, this is a reference to people who are not ordinary, not usual, not as the rest of us. This is a poetic illustration of the link between Jesus and John, a scriptural ballad telling of what is of the eternal, the humanizing of salvation. It’s not a guide to female reproduction.

3. God makes the distinction between people, completed humans, and fetus’ when he says that the punishment for causing a woman to miscarry is a fine. That’s also something you blatantly misrepresented. “Further harm” was in reference to the woman, the mother who is a person. An eye for an eye, a life for a life, if the mother suffers harm, if the woman is to miscarry the punishment is a fine. This is stated very clearly and yet you’ve somehow found a way to twist it around lmao. If a woman is hurt in a struggle and then has a miscarriage, the penalty is a fine, a mere financial payment. But, if there is further harm, likely meaning the woman has long-term and serious injuries or even dies, then the culprit could be killed. In other words, the life and well-being of the woman, the mother, is of much greater significance than those of her unborn child.

“Here is Exodus 21:22-24 from the New JPS Tanakh:

22When men fight, and one of them pushes a pregnant woman and a miscarriage results, but no other damage ensues, the one responsible shall be fined according as the woman's husband may exact from him, the payment to be based on reckoning. 23 But if other damage ensues, the penalty shall be life for life, 24 eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot...

And here is Jeffrey H. Tigay's annotation in The Jewish Study Bible:

22: Other damage to the woman. Based on reckoning: perhaps reckoning the age of the fetus, but both this translation and the alternative "as the judges determine" are questionable. Halakhic exegesis infers that, since the punishment is monetary rather than execution, the unborn fetus is not considered a living person and feticide is not murder (d. 12-14 n.); hence, abortion is permitted when necessary to save the mother (Rashi and Yad Ramah to b. Sanh. 72b; see also Gen. 9.5--6 n.).

Also, please note that laws in Deuteronomy (Deuteronomy 4:41-43,19:1-7) allowed for "cities of refuge" to which someone who committed an accidental killing could flee to escape an "avenger of blood" seeking revenge for a death. No such allowance is made for accidentally causing a miscarriage, which is further evidence that a fetus was not considered a person.

The LXX of Exodus gives a different translation, which centers solely on the fetus:

22 Now if two men fight and strike a pregnant woman and her child comes forth not fully formed, he shall be punished with a fine. According as the husband of the woman might impose, he shall pay with judicial assessment. 23 But if it is fully formed, he shall pay life for life, 24 eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot...

The LXX seems to recognize that a fetus that is not "fully formed" is not a person, but one that is "fully formed," i.e. at a stage of development such that the fetus looks like a baby, should have its death adjudicated as if it were a living person. However, even the LXX's interpretation is incompatible with the common fundamentalist view that a fertilized egg is a person.

And this makes sense. Obviously these laws cannot and do not apply to every situation. Abortion is a nuanced topic that is vastly different for different people. Late term abortions are unethical in some situations. We cannot use a couple lines of text written and translated thousands of years ago to dictate the lives of every vagina having person on the planet. It doesn’t make sense.

4. “even if you were correct about what the passage says it would be a stretch to infer that means God's just across the board ok with abortion in cases of infidelity. Those instructions were given at that specific time to those specific people. They were not intended to be used by all people forever. The happenings in the New Testament make those practices no longer necessary.”

😃

you’re so close. You’re so close to getting it. The irony is killing me.

5. I agree that the bible does not outwardly support abortion. But it also NEVER at any point condemns it. There were many opportunities to do so, the women of Egypt and Canaan were regularly practicing abortion, Hebrew women themselves were practicing abortion. It’s not mentioned or condemned likely because it was considered a necessary medical procedure at the time in certain contexts. It simply would not make sense to draw a firm line either way.

Tldr: Even with all these examples we’ve spoken of, the bible never directly addresses abortion in general. Talks a ton about literally all other aspects of pregnancy, menstruation, sex and marriage, never anything about the ethics of fetal life. If you think abortion is murder, cool, you do not understand the basic definition of murder, and would be condemning all women who lose their fetuses through medically necessary procedures. You’re super free to have that opinion. But that is only your opinion, not a law sent by God or Jesus Christ.

most frustrating thing I’ve learned recently as i continue to read the bible

yeah so the bible literally never, at any point condemns abortion. Jesus never condemned abortion. In fact :) the bible actually provides instructions on how to properly have one. seriously. Look into it. Christianity takes its ethical base from Judaism, and Judaism says that you're not a person with a soul until you draw your first breath.

so :)

hahaha :) there’s literally no reason :) why Christians want to deny women and afab people healthcare :) besides the obvious, to control our bodies.

like :) there’s literally no reason :))

guys 🙏 absolutely NO scripture. :) condemning abortion even once. :)))))))

i’m about to lose my fucking MIND.

#pagan #paganism #religion #abortion #pro life #pro choice #witchcraft #demonology #demonolatry #witch community

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vivirtualangel · 2 days ago

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First Time

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pairing: cedric diggory x m!reader

genre: fluff, smut, romance

warnings: top!Cedric, bottom!reader, dom! Cedric, sub!reader, a lot of kissing

summary: you and your boyfriend, Cedric, sneak out of class to make out and have your first times together

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Your boyfriend drags you by the hand, racing up the moving stairs to sneak you into the Hufflepuff common room. The two of you skipped your herbology class, knowing the room would be empty, all of the other students in class.

He brings you over to his dormitory, taking off his robe, leaving him in his white button up and tie, and he sits on the bed. You take a moment to observe the space that your other half occupies when he's, unfortunately, not with you. You take note of the books on the nightstand, where his clothes lay, and the green blanket on his bed that doesn't match the Hufflepuff-colored room.

"What are you doing, babe?" he smirks out, pulling you close to him by the arm and bringing you into a quick smooch. You pull back, and, a mere inch away from his face, stare Cedric in his eyes, smiling and giggling almost like a lunatic, because you cannot believe that the Heartthrob of Hogwarts is who you - and only you - call your boyfriend.

"What's so funny?" he asks in response to your giggle, matching grin forming on his face.

"I just love you so much" you reply, pushing yourself forward to greet him in a wet, sloppy tongue kiss. Your saliva mixes, tongues collide as you press him against the window behind his headboard. It's a good thing that the common rooms are so high up, or else someone would be able to see the two of you from outside. Not that either of you would've minded that, though.

You passionately kiss for a few minutes, only stopping to breathe before you break away. Cedric looks at you with big, wet, puppy dog eyes, like he desperately needs more. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off when you begin to nape and suck on his neck, forcing a sort of moan out of the taller man. You pull back, revealing a tender, bright red hickey on your boyfriend's neck.

Turning around, you slump down and rest your head on your boyfriend's shoulder, ridiculously smiling at the fact that you've marked him for everyone to see tomorrow, when suddenly you catch Cedric adjusting the waistband of his pants.

"I saw that!" you exclaim, half-joking. "Are you seriously hard right now, you perv?"

"I, um... maybe?" He responds, turning beet red from embarrassment. "You're just so hot and so good at kissing, I can't help it..."

"Well then..." you reply, sliding your hand up his shirt to rub his toned abdominal. "Maybe," you turn your head and lightly kiss his jawline, "maybe it's time we do it... make love".

Cedric turns his body so your faces are opposite another and gently places his hands behind your head to pull you into a kiss. "Are you sure? Are you ready?"

"Of course, babe," you reply. The truth is, internally you're desperate to make this step. After almost a year of dating, the two of you had never gone past giving eachother handys in the bathroom or occasionally sucking one another off if you were ever able to sneak off for half an hour. "I'm ready if you are."

"It's just... I don't really know what to do. I've never done it with a boy. Or anyone, really." He looks down, almost ashamed, and you cup the brunette's face. "It's okay, me neither. We can figure it out together."

He smiles, and puts a hand around your neck, pulling you in to a sloppy kiss. With your eyes closed, you begin to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt, mildly struggling because you've overtaken by the make-out session. Cedric grabs you by the waist, sitting you on top of his lap, without breaking the kiss, and begins to undress you from your shirt as well. The two of you, shirtless, continue making out, your tongues dancing, while you begin to grind on your boyfriend's still-clothed crotch, causing him to break away and let out a stifled moan.

"Fuck, baby," he says between moans. "I need you so bad."

"Say less," you respond, moving your kisses down his sternum, to his chest, and taking the time to kiss around his pink nipples, all the while you're unbuckling his belt. He throws his head back, wincing at the pleasure as you kiss his toned body and pull down his trousers and underpants, revealing his rock-hard cock. You grip his cock, which was around 7 inches and thick, the perfect size, at the base and lick the underside of it, circling the head with your tongue.

"Fuuuuckkkkk-" he moaned, gripping your hair but not pulling.

You felt him stiffen up more as you put his tip in your mouth and begin slowly throating his length. With every motion, you feel his balls twitch, and he whimpers at a whispering volume. You knew he was close, and were determined to egg him on as long as possible. You begin to stroke his wet, saliva-covered cock, flicking your wrist at the tip when you come across it. Cedric starts moaning heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hips thrusting into your hand. You feel his cock pulse and twitch, desperate to cum, and remove your hand, ruining his orgasm.

"Babe, fuck, I-" You cut him off. "You can't cum until you fuck me, baby." Cedric, with puppy dog eyes, pleads: "Baby can I please fuck you now?"

"Not yet," you say, crawling up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek, "I need you to prep me first." "Prep?" He asks inquisitively. "I'm not a girl, you can't just stick it in with no preparation."

"I see..." he says, grabbing you in the crevice of your armpits. "May I?" You nod and he flips you over, so you are on your back and your head is towards the foot of the bed. Cedric sucks on his fingers, coating them with clear, thick saliva. His cold fingers make contact with the outside of your hole, causing you to wince and tense up. Slowly, he pushes his middle finger inside of you, making your back arch. He romantically shoves it in and out of you before sticking another in and making a scissor motion to loosen you up. Eventually, he presses up against your g-spot, causing you to release a loud echo-y moan. "There, baby? Does that feel good?" the brunette asks seductively. Overcome by a feeling of pleasure, the most you can stifle out is a "mmmfgh, y-yes, baby, m-more..."

Cedric continues fingering you, your own cock becoming the hardest it has ever been and leaking a large amount of precum. You reach down and grip his other hand, which has been resting near the side of your body on the bed, and arch tour back as you feel your climax about to occur. But, your boyfriend pulls his fingers out before you can and slides up to your ear- "You can't cum until I fuck you, remember?"

You let out a moan as he kisses you and begins to position himself on top of you, making eye contact with you the entire time, only turning you on more.

Suddenly, you're brought back to the day he started to call you his. It was after the Triwizard Tournament, and, although Cedric had not won, he made it out alive. You had spent the duration of the tournament helping him figure out the challenges present, cheering him on when he fought the dragon, you being the one who had suggested he take a bath when he couldn't figure out the enigmatic egg. You spent time in the library trying to find a spell book that could help him figure out a way to breathe underwater, and you hyped him up before the final challenge.

A week or so following the end of the tournament, Cedric dragged you out of dinner to talk privately in the hallway.

"Is everything okay?" you said, with genuine concern in your tone. As much as you liked him, he was your friend first and you were focused on making sure he was okay, because that's what friends are for.

"Listen," he said, "ever since the tournament ended I haven't been able to- I keep having dre-" he sighs, unable to say what he wants to. "I keep thinking, what if had been you under the water during the second challenge instead of Cho?"

"It wasnt though. But what-"

"Not the point," he cuts you off. "And whenever I would think that I would get this weird feeling in my stomach and I just-" He loosens his necktie like there's something obstructing his airway. "I just realized it means-"

"What, Cedric? What are you-"

He cut you off by grabbing the back of your neck and pulling your mouth to meet his. "It means that I like you, y/n, like, a lot," he says retracting. "And I don't know what- I've just never felt this way about a boy before." His cheeks were flushed rose, Cedric clearly feeling somewhat embarrassed.

You pulled him into a warm embrace, rubbing his back. "It's okay. I like you too, like, a lot" you say, playfully mocking him.

"Really?" he said, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Does that mean... do you wanna... would you be my boyfriend?"

"Of course," you said, pulling him out from the hug. "We should head back to dinner now, people are probably starting to worry, boyfriend." You put an arm around his shoulder and walked back to the dining hall, a big toothy grin on your face, his cheeks redder than they've ever been.

And now, you two were here, you laying on your back, in his bed, your boyfriend hovering above you, his necklaces drooping over your neck, the tip of his cock poking at the entrance of your hole.

"Are you ready?" he asks, stroking the hair by your ear. "Always," you respond. He grabs the base of his cock and slides it inside of you, him letting our a satisfied grunt and you a muffled moan. Slowly but surely, he pushes himself in and out of you, hips colliding with your ass repeatedly. He lowers himself down and starts to kiss you as he fucks you, the both of you moaning into each other's mouths. His hand rests on yours and you grip it, holding eachothers hands passionately as he fucks you.

Suddenly, you let go and arch your back, as his cock pushes against your g-spot. You let out a long moan, and he begins to leave a hickey on your neck. The pleasure feels so good, you can feel your hole tighten around his big dick, making him harder. Cedric stops sucking on your neck and starts heavily breathing into your jaw, letting you know he's close. He continues pounding inside of you, brushing against your prostate while your own cock stiffens and twitches. "Cedric- I'm-" Unable to get the words out, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and tap on his back to announce your climax. You let out a grunt as ropes of white cum plait your chest, your hole tirelessly convulsing and tightening, which only helps him get closer too. With one last pump, he whimpers into your ear and his cock twitches, releasing a huge, hot load inside of you.

"Holy shit, babe." He says, pulling out and laying next to you. "That was the best I've ever felt." He pulls you towards him and whispers in your ear: "I love you."

"I love you too," you say, taking it all in before the two of you eventually have to clean up and return to your daily activities.

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a/n: hi guys i've actually developed such a huge celebrity crush on Cedric/Robert Pattinson in general it's generally starting to negatively affect me but this man is so mf FINE! i hope you enjoy this one, it's been my favorite out of all the ones i've written (incl. drafts) 😇 lmk if you like it, leave a follow, + as always suggest more fic ideas!

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coffeegnomee · 18 hours ago

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the more i think of it the more this kab conflict does parallel eclipse. idk how i feel about that conclusion but-

Because Zam: Zam has chosen a role to play, but that's the extent of his character planning.

But Kab approached it as pure acting, inclusive of planning out the tears and the karma shift.

And this story, despite how much it is Not eclipse, has, inadvertently, hit on the same theme: Zam learning a life skill that he really really wasn't good at before. In s4 it was communication and not just going along with the plan when he really hated the plan. s6 it's having boundaries and holding people to them.

Which tbc is literally why I loved eclipse: how it became a story about real communication issues. Things you could look at and go, damn, that's real life not planned out. That's them actually struggling to get on the same page. That's meta conflict.

ZAM: “kab i just sat here for an hour to cheer you up and now you're doing this to me. Now you're doing this to me. Like are we serious?” KAB: ”I'm sorry do I owe you something?” ZAM: “do you owe me something? YEA COMMON DECENCY MAN! COMMON DECENCY. Come on!”

This unironically feels like when he realized he was trying to make everyone happy, even chat. He's said so many times this season that nobody talks to him like he's a real person. And he's finally insisting that they do.

Kab spent the hour trying to pull emotions from him, get him to promise, get him to feel sympathy. All to get him to feel indebted to her to go along with her plan. It's a planned arc. The tears were planned, the karma shift was planned.

To me it feels like Kab approached that stream thinking she could pull some emotional beats and zam would go along with them and at the end he would be teamed with her and it would set the stage for angst later on. That he would yes-and within her proposed story.

But what she got instead was a princezam who has actually learned from s4 and has learned from s5 and can now communicate and for the first time in his lifesteal life is putting up boundaries. And he is not going to just go along with it because he's afraid of stepping on your lore and messing it up.

And that's when he stopped her cold. that's when she had to drop the karma evil talk and go back to trying to convince him. that's where she ended the stream exactly where she began.

Because the eclipse conflict wasn't about going along with the lore for the sake of an emotional moment of betrayal, it was all in opposing the lore for the sake of learning how to stand up for himself.

I just think that's really interesting.

#lifesteal spoilers #gnome rambles

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3hks · 2 days ago

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How to Write Vivid Descriptions WITHOUT Overloading

Are you the type of person who describes a setting by using an intimidatingly huge paragraph that just rambles on and on and on because you're told to be specific but don't quite know how to do it correctly? If you've been struggling to detail settings, you've come to the right place! I'll reveal how to effectively describe a setting without having to use one big chunk of text and shoving it at your reader!

~ LINK IDEAS TOGETHER

As writers, we hear "show, don't tell" quite often, and the same applies when writing settings. But for some people this tip does little to help because, well, it's a bit of a vague concept.

With that being said, "linking ideas together" is a great way to describe the setting without having to explain the location! What do I mean?

Let's say there's a green field and I'm trying to depict it. This method is to find another subject that could connect with the setting to further describe it. What else is green? What reminds the character of the field? What's something similar?

Ex: The field in front of him reminded him of a photo he once saw long ago as a boy. His parents were standing in a lush, grassy area void of people, hugging each other tightly and smiling brightly at the camera under the bright blue sky.

In that example, I linked the field to a picture the character found, and by using his memories, I was able to paint a rough image of the location while setting the tone!

Ex: She'd been there before. She was there when the building still stood tall. When the streets were filled with people bustling about and the air smelled like cigarettes. Now, there is no tall building, but instead a pile of debris. She hasn't seen anyone in thirty minutes, and any smell of cigarettes would've surely been washed away by the rain.

This time, I connected the present location with the past one. But instead of showing the similarities, I contrasted them to emphasize the changes and abandoned state of the area!

~ LITERARY DEVICES

The most common literary devices I see regarding setting are similes, metaphors, and personifications!

It's similar my previous tip, where you connect two ideas together, but more general. The similes and metaphors don't have to be based on a specific experience of the character, but instead something more universal so everyone can connect with it!

Personification, on the other hand, can be used to substitute verbs.

Examples:

The stars shone like glittering jewels.

The road carved into the mountain.

The flowers waltzed along the music of the wind.

These devices allow you to describe something quickly and elegantly!

~ USE ACTIONS

Arguably, the most common tip provided when describing a setting is to use the five senses: sight, smell, touch, hearing, and taste. If you're like me, though, and have NO clue on how that's supposed to help, let me break it down!

Instead of thinking about the senses directly, use ACTIONS that correlate with the senses.

Instead of saying "the wood felt tough", say "he touched the wood, marveling at the toughness of the material".

Instead of saying "the air smelled like candies", say "she sniffed the air, inhaling the aroma of candies".

Instead of saying "the city was bright", say "they stare at the city, admiring how the lights illuminate the buildings and roads.

Do you see how your description suddenly blends in with the text now that there's an action and separate subject involved? You're still effectively describing the scene, but you're not pushing it at your reader. This also makes it far easier to build onto the depiction of the moment because you're not limited to adjectives!

By utilizing these three concepts, you can build an evocative description of the setting that won't overwhelm nor bore the readers!

Happy writing~

3hks :D

#writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #creative writing #writing inspo #writing tips #writing advice #how to write settings #how to write setting #how to describe setting #how to effectively describe setting #tips on writing setting #advice on writing setting #writing setting without overwhelming #writers on tumblr #writers community #writers life #writing life

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the-rodent-gentleman · 22 hours ago

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Wait no, this actually makes a lot of sense!

Because for one you're right. The sort of issues Satan and the other Sins present are way too big to tackle in Helluva Boss, simply on the basis that the show's scope is too small for that. Cuz there, the struggle focuses on the hellborn, the commoners like Blitz and Loona and the higher-class demons aligned with them like Stolas and Beelzebub, fighting from the bottom up.

But there also needs to be clashes from the top down too, so that everything and everyone meets in the middle and real change can finally take place.

And who's more top than the Morningstars themselves?

Plus, yeah Charlie's gonna be the one leading Hell one day, so it only makes sense that she'll need to learn to work with the other Sins since Lucifer's gonna have a lot of catching up to do due to his absence on top of the whole deal with Heaven, who by the way I do not see taking Adam's death in the Season 1 Finale lightly, especially with Lute still around.

And there's still Roo, who we still haven't seen hide or hair of.

In other words, Charlie's gonna need a lot more backup than just the hotel - and I can tell Satan's gonna be among the biggest obstacles to that.

Side note: Charlie and Vaggie on a road trip through Hell to smack some sense into the Sins and royals, complete with possible Helluva Boss cameos? Sign me the hell up!

Pun intended by the way.

Okay so a few things I think are worth discussing about Lucifer’s very noticeable non-presence in Mastermind, and how it is very much NOTED by the narrative:

For one, I think this pretty firmly sets Helluva Boss, certainly the show up to this point, as taking place BEFORE Hazbin Hotel, or at least the events of the first Season. As in, Lucifer is clearly still a hyper-depressed shut-in spending all day making rubber ducks.

Which brings us to the next point; concerning the hints we seem to be getting this episode that Satan is taking advantage of Lucifer’s absence to try and rule Hell in his stead.

The thing is, I’m pretty sure this is a plot point that will NOT be resolved in Helluva Boss, but rather in Hazbin Hotel. As in, the dealings and power-plays of the Seven Deadly Sins are well outside the scope of characters like Blitzo, Moxxie or even Stolas, yet are EXACTLY the sort of thing we could expect CHARLIE to be dealing with.

Basically, I think this stuff with Satan this episode, not to mention the brewing conflict between Asmodeus and Mammon that got setup in the midseason special, are essentially setting up plotlines for Hazbin’s future seasons.

As in, Season 2 or 3 of Hazbin will have Lucifer, and more notably Charlie, working to unite the seven rings of Hell, aka putting Lucifer’s old band/theater troop back together, aka Charlie having to deal with all her wacky, dysfunctional aunts and uncles.

In particular, I think it’s especially interesting to consider CHARLIE having to do all this, possibly due to Lucifer being otherwise occupied by goings-on in Pride (say, negotiating with Heaven).

For one, it gives us a potential ‘Charlie and Vaggie taking a road-trip through the seven rings’, but more notably I think it’s easy to imagine this providing Charlie with a whole arc about Charlie growing into a leader. Specifically, the future leader of Hell.

I mean we’re already throwing around ideas of Lucifer dropping in to smack Satan back into line, but what if instead it was CHARLIE? It makes perfect sense, right? Charlie is at first trying to play nice and get her aunts and uncles to help, and while Ozzie, Bee and maybe Belphagor might be sympathetic, Mammon, Leviathan and Satan are just as quick to shoo her off and ignore her.

Until Charlie has had enough of this shit, gets her next-level power-up and kick’s Uncle Satan’s ass.

#charlie morningstar #satan #lucifer morningstar #the seven deadly sins #mammon #asmodeus #belphegor #leviathan #beelzebub #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #theory #also Charlie going demon senshi on Satan is too good a concept

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darkdemeter · 1 day ago

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☾ phases collection issue #5 FULL MOON IS CALLING

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Male Werewolf!Reader mature 18+ — depictions of killing, violence, blood, gun combat, adult language, previous sexual benefit dynamic and frenemies/lovers and possessiveness — I think that's it? ✎ 5k She decided to pull this stunt of hers in on the full moon of all fucking nights. Damn that scarlet witch for doing this... she's going to pay for this, even if it's the last thing she will do for you.

✎ There will be no smut for issue #5 and #6 (issues 7 and 8 will) I don't feel like rambling on about the why and because in the author note... But overall, I didn't want to completely abandon the line and leave ya'll with absolutely nothing after waiting so patiently. Regardless, enjoy readers. <3

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

"I said get out of my way."

"And I said no."

"I won't tell you again, dog."

"Not that it'd make much of a difference. You're not going."

All she wants is one night. On the full moon no less. The worst night of the entire month she could be pulling this shit on. The highest peak where triggering your wolf side is as simple as breathing too loudly.

Her eyes thin with a narrowed glare, dangerously ringed with the scarlet glow of her magic, her dark stained lips pull tautly - fresh applied lipstick - sticking out like a sore thumb on her.

Well, maybe not so sore when you can't help but ogle at the way her dress hugs her body so voluptuously, pushing her bust up to form a defined cleavage that just dares to steal your attention.

But this banter and back and forth, it's like you can't stop. You're enemies.

When she tried to casually float past everyone in the common area with an airy farewell, you were already putting yourself in her way. Her eyes trailed up the wall that was your body, having to push aside the momentary fluster that caught her off guard, but it was a little hard when you wore a shirt that made your muscles bulge.

"Y/N—" she tries but you quickly cut her off beneath a bared snarl. "I said no. Tony's away on business and he's told me to keep an eye on you."

She scoffs at that, her eyes rolling madly off to the side. With a shake of her head, she lightly laughs out with a note of dried sass, "So you're being a good lap dog?"

She sees the crease in your brow furrow, deepening. You had... issues with that term. Yes, Tony allowed you to stay here and join the Avengers -- all at the behest of Fury -- but still, that didn't mean you and Tony were any form of close.

He could hardly stand you but he found you were rather useful when it came to interrogations and locating things or people that didn't want to be found. He just found it hard to compete with your territorial behaviour.

But being called a lap dog flipped a switch in you. The wolf, stirring, is held back just barely.

'Not now. Not here.'

As if you need to even glance in the direction of your company to know that they were tensely prepared to intervene if you so much as coiled your spine.

"It's not safe for you to be out there," you tell her, voice cold and stern as you slowly close what gap remained between you both. You're so close now that you breathe in the other's orbit. One wrong, soft hitch of her breath and she'll have you pinning her against the wall.

You wipe that triumphant smirk off Wanda's face the moment she tries to walk past you. You sweep her up and hoist her over your shoulder, earning a barrage of kicks to the ribs and smacks to your back, each one eliciting a mere grunt or growl in response and fueling the conflict of that internal drive. Sam and Steve step out of your way lest they receive either a nasty heel wound to the face or worse; your aggression.

'struggling prey.'

'If she doesn't quit it, I'll give her something to writhe and cry about.'

'No. We can't do that.'

"What are you doing? Put me down! Put me down right now!" Wanda's voice shrieks down the hallway as you carry her back to her room, tossing her unceremoniously down on her bed before you storm out.

You ignore the way she makes to run at you, sputtering curses at you in that Sokovian tongue of hers that rings along her accent in a way that has your hackles raised; your wolf alive and stirring.

This woman is fucking dangerous to you.

Your eerie quietness is her answer as the door shuts and locks behind you, leaving Wanda to bang against the barrier enough to shake it. You can feel the pounding deep through your palms and your claws squeeze out from the beds of your fingers, causing your grip to turn into tightly bound fists.

All the blood is rushing south and there's little you can do about it. Not with the mental image of Wanda in that tight little dress, forcing less than tame images to flash in your wolfish imagination and to practically salivate.

'Fuck this full moon shit...'

"Hey, Wolf," Bucky calls from down the hall. you only just see the trigger of a flinch when you meet his eyes, brows furrowed into a wrinkled snarl. He cocks his head back towards the common area, towards the upstairs just as a loud hum of music beats to life. "Wanna come play some pool?"

Grumbling and noticing that Wanda has stopped her brutal rampage against the door, you gruffly retort as you begin walking towards the ex-Hydra assassin. "Yeah."

You need your mind off of the full moon. It's driving you crazy. You have to get Wanda out of your mind. She's driving you fucking insane.

With a single strike of your stick, you drop several of the rolling balls. A series of defeated groans come from your competitors, to which you smirk with a roll of your brows while you take a swig from your beer. Awful stuff that made your head drown with a dizzying ache and left a gross froth in the back of your taste, but at least it tamed your mind by some measure.

"So what's the deal behind you and Wanda?" Sam asks, applying a new coating of the chalk. The casual essence of the question is lost to you, instead you take a moment to really consider the secret agenda behind his curiosity. Was it that obvious that there was tension there?

An unresolved, explicit tension? Surely it can't be labelled as chemistry. Shrugging your large shoulders, you adjust yourself to take your next shot. You're avoiding any form of eye contact with either him, Steve or Bucky.

"Nothing."

Your gruff retort does little to hide the suspected mystery. Something happened between you both if the way you're each at each other like cats and dogs was any indicator. Through your nose you take a breath to stabilise yourself, to concentrate on sinking another ball.

"Doesn't sound like nothing. C'mon, we're all guys here, you can tell us," Sam says, "Did you guys sleep together or something?" Bucky shoves into the Falcon's shoulder roughly, jerking him and earning a crooked, confused brow in response.

The inquiry was the final nail in the coffin for you tonight. The air feels thick, laced earnestly with an ominous cloud. The colour of your eyes become illuminated by that bright, burning amber hue. Sam is compelled under the ire of your glare to raise his hands in surrender.

The ball you aimed for remained unmoving against the green canvas and your stick dug a ragged scratch deep enough to scratch the wooden panel below.

"You made me miss my shot," is what you say instead. What you really wanted to say — to do — would have landed you and the Avengers all together in the wary graces of the government.

Sensing something greatly amiss in the air, Steve procures a hand to Sam's shoulder, both urging him with a single glance of those America's blue to reign himself in and then towards you, warding you off whatever you planned to do.

The sound of a dry chuckle chokes in your throat, caught halfway that it comes out as more of a snicker. You toss the stick aside with a sigh. "I'm calling it quits there, guys."

None of their imploring works to change your mind when you begin heading out towards the balcony, beer bottle in hand. Right by the moon's clockwork, you get a cramping twitch that locks in the muscle of your neck. You hiss sharply and use your other hand to massage against it, pawing at the tender spot that barely dullens the pain.

Natasha watches you leave, noting the very soured expression of an agitated animal and she follows after you.

You've barely made it to the railing, your weight slouching over it before you hear the glass panel door whizz with a polished glide and shutting.

Your shoulders slump with another sigh. "What now..." you mutter to yourself.

"So no shirtless moping tonight?" Natasha begins with a teasing purse of her lips, her voice light to feign an air of disappointment. You chuckle as much at her attempt to cheer you up at least, no matter how futile it may be.

"Sorry to disappoint."

She shrugs, hand rolling her own bottle around in her grasp. "It's whatever anyway. I don't think Wanda wouldn't like it if someone else was eying up her guy anyway,"

Your canine grin turns southward and a small rumble of a growl claws its way up your throat, ending with a low chuff. "We're not—"

" —Anything, I get that," she cuts in smoothly, catching you off guard that it makes you pause suddenly in your silent stun.

With a closed, puckered smile, she continues, "She did look awfully pretty tonight. Shame you locked her up in her room like a bad, bad girl."

"Okay, stop that," you grumble softly and she laughs. You can't help but let the smallest of smiles grace your own features too.

"Still, there is the mystery behind it all. Did you guys sleep together?"

"I— I don't... really want to talk about it, Nat."

She slaps her hand across your shoulder and tsks her tongue at you, scolding and venomous. "We've known each other for years now. Come on, you can talk to me."

Silence takes its place between you both for some time then. You polish another few sips from your drink before rolling it between your palms, palms tracing anxiously over the smooth surface, your mind running a hundred miles an hour. The moonlight beats down on you with a ferocious spell, it's a force so powerful that it makes your skin emit with this residing heat.

With a shaken surge of breath, you exhale out. "Wanda and I... it wasn't a one off thing. It happened a few times. She was- y'know, she was lonely, Vision had just cut things off with her and she was fucking devastated over it."

Natasha doesn't say anything and you're not sure if you're relieved or worried. Either way, you continue on. "A-and it just happened. All of a sudden we were in bed together, over and over again, and I never really got to process it until afterwards."

"You walked out on her."

Your head falls forward with a solemn exhale. "Yeah."

"And now she's hell bent on getting the better of the wolf."

You only hum in response. It could be the only reason why you've suddenly become so hostile towards each other. Natasha takes another swig of her beer, finding a breath of reprieve on the passing breeze, she squeezes your shoulder with an affectionate poke to the ribs.

"Then maybe set that wolfish pride aside and actually do something about it. I see the way you look at her still, it's obvious you wanna be with her."

"I can't- we can't..." Tony's words bounce around the chamber of your head, each time a sharp ring against the gilded cage that keeps your other half in check, but it only brews a stirring of inner chaos; of that inner rage you take into the field with you.

"Enough excuses, Y/N," Natasha says firmly with a narrowed glance. Her gaze is commanding, a predator about to pounce on you if you don't heed her advice.

"If you wait around, you'll really miss your chance. And if I know anything about your kind, you can become insane fuckers when you're rejected."

Your chin ducks down and if the wolf was out, your ears would be straightly pinned back along your neck, a quiet whimper making itself free involuntarily. Natasha retreats inside with a confident saunter and you watch after her like her very words are a radiant force around her but when she's gone, you turn back to watch over the expansive lawn of the compound. A short level of your beer remains in the bottle, swirled endlessly around as you search your feelings and think over Natasha's words.

She wasn't wrong about what she said. You've kept your heart suspended in the air long enough. From day one you've remained in this distance place that keeps you from forming any real attachments, even to Natasha despite your past in Hydra together. The only one you've even come close to scraping that surface of attachment with was Wanda, and now you've gone and fucked that up on purpose; neglecting the consequences thereafter.

It's no wonder that the moon's influence has become stronger over you. You're a freight train of rage and carnage waiting to happen.

'It's for the best', is what you try to reason by as you raise the bottle to your lips, soured in your expression and furthermore in your foul mood.

'Maybe. But you forget, we are companion creatures.'

"We've been alone before for ages now. It's not different.'

'We weren't in love before her.'

Such an internal confession almost brings you to drop your finished drink, the bottom of your tongue twitching that it sends a surge of vibrations through your jaw, causing it to tremble.

That word: love.

Your body shifts to stand taller and you're about to turn on your heel to head back inside when the door slides open, almost flung off its hinges when you see the panic in their faces. Your skin erupts with this flurry of sickly heat dwindling into a sticky coolness, fur just beneath the surface cutting against the layers like knives.

"Wanda's gone!"

She's pissed you off real bad this time.

"Shit! Y/N, slow down," Natasha growls, pulled by the gravity of force as you suddenly twist the wheel and burn the tires out just to turn a simple corner, ignoring the blaring red lights of traffic.

How she managed to give everyone -- give you -- the slip is beyond you, all you do know is that Wanda has buried herself six feet deep with this one.

All you can think about as you twist and wind around the corners, half focused on Natasha strictly because she's tracked Wanda's location, is that Hydra is out there. They could be anywhere. They could be with her right now.

Ignoring the stern bellow of car horns, you speed harshly around one corner.

Sam's voice cuts in through the comms. You barely register it. "Guys, Bucky's taking an alternative route. He'll provide cover on the outside if things get dicey."

"Wow, she's acting like the wild cat tonight," Natasha all but mutters to herself. You don't know exactly why but your eyes flick to her screen and what you see makes your blood boil and your foot drops flat to the accelerator.

You'd hate to imagine what the guy in the photo is thinking seeing Wanda in that skimpy, tight little dress, lips pursed with a coy smirk as she poses with another girl who's taking the photo.

Found myself a new girlfriend, yaaaa'll. Ain't she cute??? <3

"Y/N—" Natasha tries to reason. She can see it in the visible stiff of your side profile that you're beyond human reason. This is wolf reason. No, this is territorial.

'I'll kill him, I'll kill him, I'll kill him...'

'I'm going to kill someone tonight...'

'Calm down, Y/n!'

The wolf is so close to the surface that the amber glow in your eyes no longer came in waves of pulsating rage, instead remaining aglow and your canines having grown to the point that it hindered your speech. Whatever you were trying to say fell on deaf ears. Natasha could only hear the feral growls and sounds of a viscous and apex predator.

In record timing and many ran red lights, you arrive.

Before you know what's happening in your own mind, your own body, you're storming your way inside and past the bouncers, shoving hard at them when they try to stop you. Natasha, Steve and Sam are hot on your trail as you're set on the straight and narrow path.

You pay little mind to the eyes that wander after you either in momentary intrigue or confusion when you all but brush them aside.

Your senses are seeking her out, your nose follows after the mark her scent leaves behind and like a hound, you're on it in a matter of seconds and find a sight that has the veins in your neck straining and all restraint it takes to not let the wolf out.

Before Natasha or Sam can grab you, you march towards Wanda, aggressively shouldering the guy you'd seen in the picture off her.

"Get your fucking hands off her," you growl venomously, tone barely audible beneath the bass of it and the loud music. Wanda stumbles slightly on her heels, eyes wide and frantic to search you out as if unable to believe you'd actually found her.

"Y/N, he was—"

"Hey, dude, lay off!" the guy interjects with a sneer, scoffing as he begins to size you up, trying to ignore the way you easily tower over him. With a haughty roll of your shoulders, something cracks in your neck. Perhaps the first bone or muscle of your shifting.

"I'll lay you six feet under instead."

Wanda, sensing what is about to transpire between the telltale signs, she steps in front of you and pushes her hands against you. Her touch is enough to hold you back for now, a force compelling by the power of her scarlet magic, able to temper the beast within, yet still; it doesn't keep that dangerous aura of amber to emit from your heated glare.

The guy, face now pale and his intoxicated ego submit with a downward tilt of his head and aversion of his gaze. "Okay, I get it. I'll back off."

You snort.

‘That’s right.’

"Y/N," Wanda says your name again like she's beckoning a regular canine to heed her call. You take a stern moment to watch the man back off into the crowd and likely to pounce his unwanted advances elsewhere. Finally, you acknowledge Wanda under the steered head of your eyes. Teeth clenched hard that your jaw visibly quirks with tension, you seethe at her, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Though she intends to make her case known, you do what you always do; you don't let her. Already you begin to drag her away and her heels dig with feral determination into the floor riddled with sticky spill stains and other grotesque mistakes of people's nightly lives. She tries - she really does to fight you off - but she can't. Your grip's too tight around her arm.

"I'm a grown woman, dog," she sneers. You bite back an offended whine and growl lowly.

"Grown woman my ass, sweetheart. You're acting like a rebellious teenager."

"And you," she says, her lashes flinching thinly, "are acting like a selfish, insecure and egotistical asshole!"

You turn to face Wanda, ready to face her down before Natasha swiftly moves in, already trying to pry your grip from Wanda. "Guys, we don't have time for this—"

Bullets spray around you and all you can do is follow instinct. Your body pivots sharply to cover both Wanda and Natasha, Steve and Sam already locked in combat with the agents.

Screams and chaos erupt in the club with civilians running in every direction.

"Get Wanda out of here!" Sam yells. He ducks quickly to avoid a wide swing before launching a jab upward into the agent's jaw, kicking his leg down on his thigh and then finally delivering a final punch that downs him.

It's not like you to turn tail and run but Natasha is already pulling at you, urging you and Wanda to follow her. And so you do. You grab hold of Wanda by her wrist and begin to drag her along with you, keeping her out of Hydra's direct line of fire. You begin to head towards the back exit, using the flight of stairs to the balcony above as cover from a blast of bullets with a sharp racket bouncing off the metal.

You pin Wanda to your front in order to shield her from any damage and for once in a long time, she let's you hold her closely.

Her body melts into you, clings to you. At least she isn't putting up much of a fight now that your very lives are threatened. "This way," Natasha says with urgency. A new scent hits your senses and before you know it, you're yanking hard on the back of Natasha's jacket, saving her barely from getting her body slammed into the wall by a battering ram.

Another Hydra agent, and a bulky sonofabitch at that, rams into the wall with a heaved grunt and you step out in front while Natasha takes your place in securing Wanda.

You'd much rather not turn here but the moment the agent turns and drives the battering ram into your ribs, you're on the cusp of ripping this man to shreds. The meaty crunch of your chest being brutally caved in causes Wanda to scream out to you and you flinch. You can tell that there's some internal damage there but you push through it. He takes another swing, higher this time but you wrench yourself back and out of reach. He swings once more and you do the same thing, keeping you between him and the girls and then you strike just as he prepares to ram the giant tool downward at you.

Beneath a curvy, deep growl, you grab hold of the battering ram and use it as a pole to pin the guy up to the wall by his chin, keeping him suspended in the air to let the girls pass. Your don't even give him the dignity of taking a bullet to the grave. instead forcing the metal tool to choke him, you force it and sharply angle his chin to expose his jugular and your fist has enough strength — enough rage behind it — that you gut the man’s very throat.

Your body rolls back and you just manage to catch your weight on the wall behind, a hand cradles against your ribcage where the dull sting is, each time your breath catches with a pained wince.

'have to push on.'

'have to keep... Wanda safe.'

That's good. Keep your mind sane, keep it occupied. The last thing you need is to give the media more reason to despise the Avengers because they couldn't put a leash on a wild animal. Because you couldn't keep control.

Natasha and Wanda have made it out to the alleyway, a haze of thick smog making for good cover until you get to the car. You take point in leading with Natasha covering behind you, her pistol out and aimed for the dark, looming mouth of the alleyway.

"C'mon," you growl, dragging Wanda out of the alleyway and sprinting for the car, only slowing halfway to ensure that the female assassin is not far behind. In the car, Natasha throws it into gear and speeds off down the street, avoiding the splash of bullets that rain after you.

"Guys, where are you? Is Wanda okay?" Steve is speaking over the comms and Natasha raises her fingers to the piece tucked in her ear. Her brows are pressed hard, glaring in concentration.

"She's safe. We've taken the car but our guys have wheels of their own."

Your eyes move from hers to the mirror the moment she says that, eyes wide and blinded by the bright haze of white light bouncing off the reflection. Several wheels it would seem.

Your eyes then catch Wanda's in the mirror. You see the tinge of fear in them, the watery seams of horror. Her regret. She's telling you with a single glance that you were right.

She should have listened to you.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me..." you mumble, words rolling with a reverbed octave.

"Don't," Natasha warns. She's aware of what you're planning to do next. "Let Bucky handle them."

"Yeah, he’ll be of great help when he’s fucking on their side!” Your growl causes Natasha to look into the rear view again more closely.

“Shit…,” you catch her mutter. You see a flicker of a shadow in the reflection and your eyes widen despite the light that hovers in the mirror. “Wanda get down— argh!”

The rear window shatters and Wanda yelps, covering her head and ducking behind the cover of the seats as something sharp and long penetrates through your seat and shoulder, ultimately pinning you in place.

Natasha swerves the car under the sudden duress, the tires screeching against the road with each aggressive turn she makes. The pointed spear that the Winter Soldier fired had a toxic tinge to its scent and you grumbled low under your huffing breath, “Fucking… sil-silver…”

“What?” Wanda gasped and Natasha curses under her breath. The spear point is slick with your blood, your hand slipping down it every time you try to grasp hold of it and try to rip it out. Even trying to break it off only caused the damn thing to twist and mince your flesh furthermore, your veins showing in the strain of your rage and agony.

“Sam, Steve, we could really use your help here! I have to get Y/N and Wanda out of here, the wolf’s been injured. Silver.”

“Go! We’ll get them off your tails!” Sam says over the comms.

You grunt when your hand slips, pushing the spear against the muscle of your arm socket. “Don’t,” Wanda warned, her voice dipped with a stern edge. “You have any fucking ideas then?” you hiss back.

Wanda, with a steeled look of determination, raises herself to sit up and lifts her hands. The scarlet hue of her magic emits from her fingers like misted smoke, limbs of magical tendrils that await her command. “I have one…”

She spins and shoves her hands forward, the two lead cars that pursue you turn upwards suddenly, compelled by the force of her magic.

Their engines roar with ire and the metal of their bodies scratch and crumble against one another, combusting into a heap of flames. You scoff. “Nice going, little witch. But that only solves one problem. The other being this fucking spear—”

Natasha rolls up to the safe house, the engine low and rumbly, overworked. “Okay. We ready?”

Your nose wrinkles and the bristle of your fur brushes against your skin underneath. “Let’s get this over with…”

Natasha turns to look at Wanda who in turn sits there, reserved and glaring at you. When neither woman made no move to help you, you have to ignore the press of the metal embedded through your shoulder, hissing at them.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

This was going to hurt like a bitch. Your hands grip hold of the elongated metal pole and for a moment you finalise your grip, making sure it would come out swiftly and in one swift motion. It isn’t as simple to pull it back through the way it came. Not with the arrowed head on it. No, you were going to have to pull it out the other way.

“This night couldn’t get any worse,” you growl and with a deep breath coursing through your nose, you pull. Wanda’s breath stifled in her lungs, coming out as a trembled gasp as her head snapped away, unable to watch. Natasha’s face contorted, grimacing from the sound of your pained yelp and the hollow puncture of the now gaping wound in your shoulder. Immediately your hand covers it as blood bubbles and trickles down your front.

With the spear prompt removed, you shift your way out of the passenger seat, hand gripping with a white knuckled hold to the door as your body slumps slightly against the car.

“C’mon, little witch.”

Wanda wasn’t fond of the idea of sharing a safe house with you while Natasha ensured that Hydra hadn’t followed you guys all the way out here. The safe house was secluded deep in the woods, perfect for laying low and your natural habitat. You’d know if something was wrong simply by the way the leaves shifted.

Your strides were long to reach the front porch quicker, procuring the key and unlocking the house before you gesture for Wanda to walk inside before you, though the two of you shared neither a glance of appreciation nor care for the other.

You growl under your stiffened breath when she made an audible hum and cocked her head in a way that slashed her hair across your face.

With a final glance back at Natasha, she waved you off to usher you inside before she took off.

How fun it was to be locked up during a full moon… no really, it drove you fucking insane, you think to yourself as your back saddles against the door and lock it behind you. The stump of her heels clicks across the tiled floors.

It will be so fun spending the full moon locked up in a safe house… with the one woman who despises you after you told her that she couldn’t have you.

“So… here we are.” Her voice is cold. Venomous and bitter as her posture statures with a rigid pose.

“Here we are. And not a lot of time left for me… So how about it? ” you say and your tone trails off into a low and dark drawl. You’re a dead dog walking with this silver coursing through you as you speak. Time was of the essence and fuck, you were already feeling that familiar swell and the tight constriction of your pants around your cock.

You see the lines and curves of her exposed skin constrict with a certain tension.

That of prey being watched. By you.

That of being stalked. By you.

That of it being a full moon, and at risk of being fucked raw and hard one last time. By you.

#headlinesxcomics publishing #wanda maximoff x reader #werewolf reader #x reader #marvel #wanda maximoff #male reader #wanda x werewolf reader #slight dark!reader

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letteredlettered · 2 days ago

Note

Hey! I really enjoyed reading your comments on feedback and fanfic this week and would love to get your input on something similar-ish I’ve been struggling with. I’m recently back on Tumblr (lurking) and writing fanfic (secretly) after quite a few years away from fandom spaces. I’ve never posted my work on AO3 before but I’ve been considering pulling that trigger lately. I’d love to share my writing with anyone else who might enjoy it and admittedly I do dream of finding some community by putting myself out there like that. However, so intimidating to put myself out there like that. Do you have any advice for someone thinking of posting their fics for the first time? Anything you wish you knew before posting yours? Truly any perspective you can share would be very much appreciated :)

I posted my first fanfic probably about 24 years ago, so I don’t know if I’m the best person for these questions, but I’ll address what you’ve asked. At length, it seems.

1. I guess the first thing I’d say is search elsewhere than AO3 to fulfill your dream of finding community. As I said in this post, AO3 was built as an archive for community that already existed, and it doesn’t have robust community-building tools.

2. I’ve tried. I have literally posted fics partly to ask where the discord was, a question I have put in the A/N that was eventually answered but not without numerous follow-ups. I have often posted my tumblr handle in A/Ns, asking people to come scream with me about a fandom. While a flattering number of folks over the years have sent me asks and chats saying they really liked my fic, there have been striking few who have come to scream at me about the canon.

This is my fault, not theirs. I’m bad at starting conversations; I’m of an unsocial, taciturn disposition unwilling to speak unless to say something that will impress the whole room. But I am also a pretty popular writer, and I have made precious few connections this way; I think it should tell you something.

3. To fulfill your dream of finding community, as I said in the above-linked post, I don’t actually have great solutions. Since discord is basically hidden, the only way I know of to actually find community is to start cold-messaging people you vibe with through asks and chat on places like tumblr.

4. Re finding community through writing fic, @reads8hoursperday made an interesting addition to that above-linked post here, pointing out that in the journaling days of fandom, it was very common to write fics in the comments or even on your journal. They didn’t get archived and in that way were effectively ephemeral. While it’s nice to have a permanent archive, they were pointing out that the permanent nature of AO3 contributes to the feeling that there is some kind of status associated with fic.

One way to a) deal with nerves posting fic for the first time, b) shatter the feeling that your first fic must accrue beaucoup stats, would be to post on one of the other platforms first. If you post somewhere like discord, it feels less like a presentation and more just like part of a conversation you want to have: hey, what do you think about this fic? Is it good? Does it need work? Should I post to AO3? The folks there can help encourage and cheerlead you to post somewhere more intimidating, like AO3.

But okay, you also said you wanted to share your fics, and AO3 is an excellent place for that, and imo, the best, so here are some further ideas about how to post fic on AO3 without feeling like you might die of stage fright:

5. Title your fic something you would want to read. Write a summary for your fic that would make you want to click on it. Do not title your fic something you think the most people will click on. Do not write a summary you think will entice the most people. Giving your fic the title and summary that would attract you is setting up the expectation, for yourself, that this fic is for you, and maybe, a little bit, readers like you—instead of for a big audience that will accrue the most stats.

I say this as someone whose fic summaries have been endlessly mocked and derided. I’ve literally had people come into my comments angry at me because my summary wasn’t “eloquent” enough to let them know my fic was “good” and so they “missed out” on reading it for far “too long.” It’s a wild world out there, let me tell you.

But my summaries have also been complimented. They have been what made someone click. In the end I’m putting this out there for someone who likes what I do, and it’s been really liberating to say to myself, “You know what? I would read this. And the people who wouldn’t? Maybe they’re not the readers I’m interested in.”

6. I think setting both hopes and also setting expectations around that kind of audience—an audience who wants to hear what you have to say—rather than stats, is important. Ultimately, if you’re writing to be popular, or to attain a certain number of comments or kudos, you’re going to be disappointed. But if you’re sharing what you’ve written because you want to reach people who like what you have to say, if you don’t get comments and kudos, then the problem is that those people haven’t found you, not that what you have to say is worthless.

And I think bearing that in mind can soothe a lot of the heartache around posting a fic that doesn’t do well.

I posted a fic in a fandom that was new for me two years ago. It was the juggernaut pairing in a megafandom, the kind of fandom where even new authors get over a hundred kudos and a decent number of comments. But my fic was a little darker than what seemed to be the norm for the pairing on AO3; it didn’t have porn, and it didn’t have a very strong plot with an ending.

This fic tanked, stats-wise. But my conclusion is that the people who would’ve liked this fic didn’t see it, or even that the people who would’ve liked this fic aren’t even in the fandom, because they saw how much fluff there was on AO3, or the canon is too light-hearted for them. I didn’t conclude my writing sucked or that it was a bad story. Some people might think that! But what I told myself was I just didn’t find my audience.

You might say it’s easy for me to say that because I am a pretty popular author who does have an audience with most other things I write. I would agree I am a very confident writer, but I do think, even if you don’t have my kind of confidence, going into it knowing that not everyone’s going to love it can really help.

7. Relatedly, I think that loving what you’ve written, working on it and editing it and creating something that you care about and adore, something that is exactly what you want, can help with feeling proud no matter what. You might think that if, then, you don’t get a lot of comments and kudos also adoring it, it can feel demoralizing, and it can. It can definitely feel that way.

But there is something really liberating in creating a thing that makes you happy. And if you honest-to-god wrote something that you love, I guarantee someone else will love it. They might not find you on AO3, which can be really disappointing. But think of how many times you’ve loved something strange or unusual you thought no one had ever even thought about before, and then you read a book or saw a post or a video and realized there was a whole world out there that loved it too. There is a whole world out there, and they’re there for you. You’re sending a signal out there to the world. Maybe it can really touch someone.

8. Since I’m suggesting that the trick is really “finding your audience” some people conclude that what they really need to do is market their fic, really sell it to people, link it every chance they get, beg authors they like to read it, etc. I really recommend against this. People will think it looks gauche, but who gives a fuck what they think. What’s really detrimental about it is that if you go hawking your wares like that and you’re still not getting the attention and validation you’re craving, you’re going to be even more disappointed, and it’s going to feel really bad.

I’m not saying “let the universe do its work,” or anything mystic. Fic does require a certain amount of signal-boosting so people know what’s out there. Certainly, post a link to your fic on tumblr, mention it in discord, tweet it on bluesky, or wherever. My wife even tells me I have to reblog my fic posts on tumblr a few times so people don’t miss it in their feed. All of that is fine. But if you are giving your whole self to “finding your audience” and you don’t find it, it’s going to leave you raw and unwanted.

9. All right, so you’ve written the fic you love and you’ve prepped yourself for the idea that you’re just looking for readers to love what you love—and yet, somehow, you’re still concerned about stats. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Almost everyone is concerned about stats. It’s impossible not to fret over it in this economy environment.

People think I must never be concerned about getting a little kudos because I get a lot. I really think people think there’s some kind of popularity threshold where people must feel they have “arrived,” where they no longer care about being popular. I’m not sure where they are getting this idea. It’s just not true. Everyone wants praise and attention; they don’t stop because they get it.

So yes, I think about stats. I think about them a lot, and you probably do, too. That’s okay. Here are some more things you can do:

10. Set expectations around this too, and set them very, very low. One thing that people don’t understand about expectation-setting is that it requires some real time and imagination. Don’t just tell yourself, “I’m going to get two kudos” and that’s all. Imagine your timeline. Imagine looking at your fic’s stats. And imagine how you’re going to feel when you see that stat.

For instance, if I imagine two kudos is all the attention my fic will ever get, I don’t imagine that one minute after I post, I’ll see it got two kudos. I imagine that a week later, I will be looking at my fic, and I will see that it has two kudos. I check in with myself--how does it feel? A little disappointing, maybe. I thought more people would read it. What will I do next? Maybe I’ll go out for a fun coffee with my wife. Ah, it’s not that bad, really. It’s too bad only two people kudos’ed it—but in the end, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Now, imagine I set my expectations at two and I got three kudos—well, that feels spectacular! And if I get my two kudos, well, okay, maybe it feels a little worse than I imagined, but it’s still not that bad. But imagine if I was expecting five and only got two—I think I would be crushed.

11. I will make this a separate point because I think it’s important—really, imagine how your email will look. There’s a thing we do with our phones, where we get hopeful someone has messaged us, or we get hopeful that there will be something new for us, that someone will have paid attention to us in some way. Then we look at our phone and there’s nothing for us. It’s crushing. The chemicals in your body cause your whole being to plummet. And then the next time you look at your phone they cause you to anticipate, to get tense and stress again, and then when your phone has nothing for you, you’re that much more depleted.

You are putting your body through a roller coaster. Many people’s solution is not to look at their phone, but I don’t actually think this is a great idea for many people, because they will fail. They will fail, be crushed by whatever attention they didn’t receive on their phone, AND they will feel bad that they failed to stay away from their phone.

Meanwhile, if you say to yourself: what am I hoping to see when I look at my phone? What can I realistically expect from my phone at this moment? How will I feel when I see it? What will I do after that? Then you can manage these expectations much more easily.

12. Relatedly, I would suggest you have an activity planned that will start the moment after you post your fic—an activity that takes you away from your computer and, if possible, your phone for four to eight hours. Going to the cinema is a great idea for a few of those hours, because most people are really able to keep their phone off for the duration. I like to go out with friends after I post a fic, but I am not someone who really looks at her phone during social engagements.

I remember once I posted a fic and went directly to an anti-Dobbs protest; the friend who had informed me about the protest and met me there was a fandom friend. She said, “Did you really just post porn and then come to a demonstration about the right of a woman to choose?”

I said yes. This is the best way to do it. So here is my final advice: post on AO3 and then allow people with a uterus the right to choose.

#answer to an ask #long post #fic #fandom

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