#it might be connected to their community manager getting laid off though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mortemoppetere · 8 months ago

Text

TIMING: pre-ireland LOCATION: wicked's rest community center PARTIES: @honeysmokedham & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: when the judge of a local talent show is convinced someone is out to kill her, axis investigations is on the case! CONTENT: mentions of child death

Axis got a lot of stupid cases. If you asked Emilio, most of them were stupid, though one might say he was a biased party. Still, it was hard to deny that this case, more than most, was a goddamn nightmare.

Shelby Peckman was positive someone was trying to kill her. Over a talent show. In all honesty, Emilio had zoned out of the conversation fairly early on, because it turned out Shelby talked a lot and he didn’t have the patience to listen, but he got the basics. Shelby was a judge at the Wicked’s Rest Community Center’s annual talent show. Shelby was positive one of the contestants was going to murder her and had made several attempts to do so already, though she didn’t know which contestant it might be. And Shelby refused to quit the voluntary position because it was her ‘duty’ or some shit.

This town was the fucking worst.

But, on the bright side, Nora seemed interested. And Nora had been through a lot lately, had been down because of it, so Emilio was willing to work a stupid fucking case with a stupid fucking client if it might make Nora feel a little better.

He did, however, have some objections to her chosen method.

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbled. “I don’t see why you think I need to be involved here. You could do this by yourself. I don’t want any part of this.”

—

Robin Banks laid upside down on the couch engrossed in a TikTok video. One two three four. The instructor said over the video as Nora did her best to memorize the dance moves. Did Nora want to get on stage and dance in front of a whole room of people who believe talent shows should extend past the age of five? Of course not. But she did want to see Emilio do it. “I can’t do it alone.” Nora responded. Van was going to love this. She would probably tell Van to show up and watch. “Or do you want Shelby to die?”

That was a stupid question to ask. Of course, Emilio wanted Shelby to die if it meant he could get out of getting in front of judges and displaying his “talent.” That talent was still being decided by Nora, who’d recently picked up the job title of Axis Talent Manager. She was fluctuating between two songs, Dancing Queen by ABBA or Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo. Both had an appeal that sang along the lines of Emilio would hate it. Eventually Nora decided on Vampire. To her, it was funny to get Emilio dancing and singing to a song titled Vampire when he was a slayer.

“I really shouldn’t be going on stage at all. What if they recognized me? You’ll have to take the lead on all of this.” Nora slid off the couch, got to her feet, and connecting to the bluetooth speakers, thank god for Teddy being in the 21st century. “Alright learn the lyrics while I teach you the dance.” Who knew that years of forced dance class would come in handy? “Five six seven eight.”

After a few hours of whatever they were doing, which couldn’t be qualified as practice to any intelligent person, Nora clapped her hands together. “This is it.” She declared. “We are talent show ready. Should we go to work?”

—

“Shelby is annoying,” Emilio deadpanned, which both was an answer and wasn’t one. He didn’t want Shelby to die. If Shelby died, he wouldn’t get paid. And Shelby had kids, and Emilio didn’t think kids deserved to lose their mom just because that mom thought God had personally bestowed upon her the sacred duty of judging a bunch of grown ass adults in a talent show whose prize was a $30 gift certificate to a pirate-themed restaurant.

There were, of course, other ways to keep Shelby from dying. Emilio had pointed this out, more than once. But Nora seemed pretty dead set on this as a solution, and part of him wanted to let her do whatever might make her a little less heavy than she had been lately. She hid it well enough, but he could tell she was still rattled by what she’d seen on that ghost tour, and by the plethora of shit that had come her way before it.

“What if they recognize me?” He shot back, though the argument wasn’t nearly as good as Nora’s. Emilio was only recognizable to a very small number of people. And, sure, that small number of people would like to see him dead, but it still wasn’t the same sample size Nora had to deal with. He groaned as she continued playing the songs, hating both of them with an equal ferocity.

Learning to dance was something he, naturally, protested. “You know my leg doesn’t work, right? If I start dancing, I’m probably going to fall on my ass. Or I’ll be feeling it for a week. What if my talent is throwing knives? I’m already very good at that.”

Of course, his protests didn’t do much. Nora was perhaps one of the only people in the world who was just as stubborn as Emilio was. He learned the moves she drilled into him — which were easy enough on his leg, even if he grumbled and pretended they weren’t — and complained about the lyrics as he memorized them. It was a miserable few hours. Emilio would have preferred physical torture — and he said that as a man who had experienced it.

At least the talent show was a one time thing. They’d do it, then it would be over and he’d get paid. And he’d buy so much whiskey. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, holding on to that thought to keep him sane. “Let’s get to the show.”

—

There was something cathartic in inflicting the same pain she grew up with on someone else who hated it equally as much as her. Luckily, the stakes weren’t nearly as high as a multi-billion family business, which meant she didn’t feel that bad. One day. That was simply a fun side-quest. Fun for her, again, just to clarify. She didn’t think any of this would be fun for Emilio. Dance moves and memorizations, Nora even had the brilliant idea to add knife throwing into their chirography after Emilio exclaimed that he’d rather do that. This is the twenty-first century after all. They could have it all. “Wait. I almost forgot.” Nora pulled out two plastic bags from her backpack. “Costumes.”

And that is how the universe conspired against Emilio, setting him up on stage dressed and made up as a knock off member of KISS with Nora, standing beside him in similar garb. As she had been plastering on her makeup she gave Emilio a dead-pan stare with the simple explanation “Did you really think I’d give them the chance to notice me?” It was cases like this that reminded her why she wanted to be a private investigator. It was more than helping people, it was about hindering the people in your life. At least, that’s what she learned from watching Emilio’s self-destructive habits.

The lights burnt Nora’s skin as she stood in them, their heat threatening to break sweat. Sweat would wipe away the bright white make-up. That would be no good. Why did they need these lights anyway? As she squinted into the audience she could see about thirty dark figures in them, surely the majority of them were other contestants trying to figure out who they’d be fighting for the gift card. Then there was Shelby, bright and cheery. Her smile was so wide and white that her teeth could have been one of the bright lights staring them down. “We’re Axis Rock, and this is Vampire.”

The performance was, well, it was one of the performances of all times. It happened. Nora had even paid for someone to record it so they could send it to Teddy. There was a brief moment while they were on stage, knives being thrown, dance moves being badly executed by both parties, and song being sung extremely offkey and unenthusiastically that Nora forgot everything. The bad things of this town, the fact that Shelby was probably going to die despite their best efforts, that this town would do anything to dig its claws into all who lived there and drag them into the depths of hell. It was just a town. Full of people she cared about deeply, and there was fun to be had.

But moments like that don’t last. Especially not when the performance ends and you’re stuck standing in front of a panel of judges, chests heaving with the physical effort, and waiting to be read for filth.

—

Costumes. Emilio stared at Nora blankly for a moment, needing a drink more than he ever had in his goddamn life. “This is Hell,” he said flatly. “I’m in Hell. I always knew I’d end up here, but I thought I’d at least remember the dying part. I thought, hey, at least that part might be fun! Maybe I go out in a big blaze of glory, yeah, get everybody talking. Instead, I just end up in Hell without knowing how I got here. And Hell has costumes. Oh, no puedo creer que esto esté ocurriendo. I thought there’d be fire, at least.”

Despite his dramatics, Emilio did make some effort to learn what Nora was teaching him. She’d worked pretty hard on this plan, and she did seem to be enjoying herself in a way he thought she deserved to. At least she let him throw some knives. It looked ridiculous and felt even weirder, but there was some quiet comfort in the familiar sensation of a knife gripped between his fingers.

He hated everything about standing up on stage. He hated the lights, he hated the people looking at him, he hated the fact that he could feel people behind him watching from backstage. His eyes darted through the silhouetted figures in the crowd, trying to determine which of them was out to kill Shelby Peckman over a $30 gift certificate, but the lights made it impossible to actually see any of their faces or expressions. His eyes landed on Shelby herself, who looked excited and cheerful and way too happy to be someone in danger of being murdered. Everyone in this town was a fucking idiot, Emilio thought. Himself included.

The performance was terrible. Emilio spent most of it wishing that the lights at the top of the stage would fall and crush him, but he’d never been particularly lucky. Tragically, he survived the entire ordeal with his leg aching and his chest heaving, all his knives sticking out of the target across the stage. (All his throwing knives, at least. He’d managed to sneak a few extra knives into his costume, though not as many as he’d have liked. Nora had chosen a particularly tight getup.)

With it finished, he and Nora faced the four judges. Shelby clapped her hands. “That was terrible!” She said happily, writing in her notebook.

“I feel I’ve lost something,” lamented the man beside her, his head in his hands. “I feel I’ve lost something I can never get back. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

“I wish you’d thrown one of the knives at me,” the third judge chimed in, shaking her head.

Three heads turned to the final judge, who sat silent with their chin propped on their hands. Emilio blinked. Shelby cleared her throat. The final judge stood, bringing their hands together in a slow clap. “I loved it,” they said earnestly. “I don’t know what everyone else is talking about. I think it was the best one of the night! I’m using my veto to move you on to the next round.”

Emilio was definitely in Hell.

—

The lack of applause, the audiences clear distaste for what was happening, the uncomfortable energy in the room. Someone in the back, after a knife flew a little too close to their head, was having a full blown anxiety attack. Fear radiated off of him in tasty waves that gave Nora a burst of energy. This was what performance was all about. Forget making the crowd happy, the slack jaws, glassy eyes and uncomfortable round of applause was worth it. For the fleeting moment Nora could understand why anyone would want to do this. It was hilarious.

The judges' critiques were right until the last one got it wrong. What the fuck was a veto to get them to the next round? They weren’t supposed to get to the next round. They were supposed to hang around backstage and solve a mystery. And if that person wanted the worst act to precede forward, well there was no nicer way to say it, that was the person sabotaging this whole thing. Nora slid that piece of information into her back pocket. “Wow.” She deadpanned the word in her monotone, her affect one of a bored teenager who could really be anywhere else right now. “Sick. It’s been Inigo Montoya’s dream to win a talent show his whole life.” Nora glanced at Emilio, his body language was screaming fed up with this shit. “It was his father’s dream. And his fathers before him. Prepare for us to win.”

The judge that liked them clapped, the other judges sat there in bewilderment, the audience member having the anxiety attack was crying so hard they decided to leave. Nora was going to miss her little snack. The crowd applauded with hesitation, each person looking at their neighbors. A susurration of whispers ran through them, disbelief or disdain. Nora didn’t care. She left the stage, making her way back to the green room for talent acts that were allowed to go on. “That was great.” She told Emilio, stopping halfway between the stage and the green room. “I think we should search that judge’s makeup room.”

Not bothering to wait for his idea, Nora was off, tracking down the door that read Taylor Finch. It wasn’t locked, and since this production was small, it turned out that all judges shared the same backstage space. Nora’s hands were instantly prying through purses and backpacks and she searched for anything that had a blue paw print designating it a clue. “This show is so bad, I get why Shelby couldn’t give it up.” Nora noted, eating a granola bar snack she just pulled out of a bag. “Did you see the act before us? Ventriloquism. In 2024. Fucking asshole.”

—

There was something undeniably unnatural about the judge who enjoyed their terrible performance. Emilio scowled at them, trying to will them into taking back their veto — what the fuck was a veto? — and dismissing ‘Axis Rock’ from the show. But the judge only maintained their too-wide smile, hands still clasped together in some strange ghost of their excited applause. Shelby met Emilio’s eye and shrugged, clearing her throat. “All right, Axis Rock!” She said. “You move on to round two! Congratulations!”

Emilio decided to double her rate. No, actually, he would triple it. He’d make her give them a kidney or something.

He glared at the judges even as Nora began to speak, nostrils flaring with irritation at her monologue. He should have never let her pick his alias for this job. He was sure he’d never agreed to make her pick a backstory, because he’d been pretty certain he wouldn’t need one. It was supposed to be a pretty simple gig. Go in, perform, get voted out, and spend the rest of the show in the audience observing reactions. He couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out where they’d went wrong. But he knew it went back to that fourth judge, somehow. There must have been a motivation there. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Emilio shot one last glare at the judges’ table before following Nora offstage and into the backstage area. He shot her a glare, too. “That was the worst thing I have ever gone through,” he retorted. “I’m not doing it again.” They’d find another tactic if they had to, but there was no way in hell Emilio was putting on a repeat performance of that. He nodded at Nora’s plan. “Yeah. You’re right.” Even if the judge wasn’t a suspect — which, as far as Emilio was concerned, they were — he’d like to ruin their day just a little by fucking with their shit.

He followed Nora, who he knew would find the makeup room without much trouble. Once inside, he began rifling through things. “Shelby is an idiot,” he replied. “You know she isn’t even being paid? It’s a position they sign up for. Posición voluntaria. They’re all here because they wanted to be. I don’t understand it.” He yanked open a draw with a particularly violent slam, sifting through… a pile of fast food sauces. He took one out, holding it up for Nora to see. “It’s orange,” he said flatly. “Who eats something this orange?” Figuring it might, somehow, come in handy, he slipped the package into his pocket. “Is that the puppet? Or the, uh, the one who sat on the stage with the plastic cups?” He had no idea what ventriloquism was, and he hadn’t been paying nearly enough attention to know which act went on directly before them.

—

“You’re being dramatic.” It was funny. This was a shit experience. Nora loved it. People who wanted to do this constantly were freaks. Good for them. “You’ve been like stabbed and shit. Would it make this experience better if I stabbed you on stage?” ‘Audience in Shock; Bloody Mishap at Talent Show’ would make for a very amusing title. But, Nora vehemently did not want to land in any newspaper article ever again in her life.

“Lots of people eat orange things. Like oranges. Naranja. And people who eat.” The last part was a pointed comment. Nora cracked her neck, going through people's things was hard work for the pointed down position. “The puppet. The plastic cups was weird. I thought they were going to pull a Pitch Perfect. In 2024. Asshole.”

Private investigator work as invigorating. Nora loved her work. She loved an excuse for breaking into people’s belongings and snooping into their life. She loved that it meant something, a mystery would be solved, a puzzle piece would fall into place and the world would change around them because of what they discovered. Drawers flew open around her, papers and make-up scattered around, the mystery of what was wrong with mysterious judge number three was solved when Nora found a magazine full of unicorns in heavy metal glam. Only a freak who liked that could like Axis Rock.

Nora’s leather pants cricked and creaked as she turned to throw the magazine at Emilio. “Mira esta porquería.” A laugh tinted her monotone voice. By now the room was a mess, and Nora wasn’t sure any clues had been found. “These judges are brave for not having weapons. Anyone crazy enough to go on stage here is crazy enough to attack a judge. Do they not believe in self-defense?”

—

“I would rather be stabbed,” Emilio replied flatly. It was true, too. Being stabbed hurt only for a moment or two. The knife went in, and there was pain. The knife came out, and there was more. But after, it faded. It ebbed out, it went away. Even if someone recorded it on their stupid phone, it wouldn’t hurt the same when you watched it back later. This experience was one that Emilio was pretty sure was going to haunt him until the day he died. “Do you want to?” If she stabbed him on stage, at least it would be funny.

Nora pointed out the existence of fruit, and Emilio wrinkled his nose. “Don’t trust it,” he said, pulling a face. He ignored her pointed comment, going back to rifling through the

drawers instead. They had much more pressing concerns than his occasional aversion towards food. The sauce did look gross — there was no way Nora could pretend it didn’t. “Right. A pitch perfect.” He had no idea what it meant, but he figured Nora was probably right on them being assholes. Most people were assholes.

This judge was certainly no exception. Emilio found a few more things that raised some eyebrows, from pens with fluffy pompoms on top to DVDs with incredibly bloody cover. What kind of person were they dealing with here? He glanced over at Nora’s find, something warm flowing through his chest as she called his attention to it in Spanish rather than English. He kept his expression neutral, knowing she’d probably prefer it that way. “Can’t get a good read on them,” he admitted, wrinkling his nose. None of the shit they’d found seemed to go together. The puzzle pieces didn’t fit.

He moved behind the desk, idly checking the back of the mirror. “People always think they don’t need them,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Like nothing can touch them. But nobody is untouchable.” Not hunters with decades of experience under their belts, not little girls safe in their own living rooms. “Anybody can be…” He trailed off, something catching his eye. He flattened himself against the wall shoving his hand behind the desk and reaching around until he got a good grip on it. He yanked it out, holding it up for Nora to see.

It was… a wig? A wig that looked… a little bit like Shelby’s hair. “This is weird,” he said. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

—

“You realize, if I stabbed you, you would still have to sing and dance the rest of the song.” As much as Nora liked to torment Emilio, there was a protectiveness that lived inside her. The one that wanted to help those important to her. Emilio was important to her. Her friend. Her mentor. Her - Well. He mattered. She didn’t want to hurt him. It was all big talk when it came to breaking his kneecaps, and never a shred of follow through. “You’d just be extra grumpy.” Nora threw in an eye-roll, for the showmanship.

“You don’t trust anything,” Nora added. “Oh. Maybe it’s extra hot sauce. And when Shelby put it on her food, it would burn her to death.” Stranger things had happened in this town. That was a fun feature of Wicked’s Rest. Things that shouldn’t happen, kept happening. “Pitch Perfect is a movie. It was acc-nnoying” Nora could feel the disgust rising in her just for saying it. Was there a video on the internet of her doing the cup song? Yes. Did her fathers insist on it? Yes. Was it one of the biggest shames in her life and take fifty-thousand takes to make, half of them dissolving in her fathers yelling at her for not taking it seriously enough even though she was a clunky eight-year-old who just wasn’t talented at singing and cup shit? Also yes.

Another drawer in the judge’s area revealed a Pikachu doll with pins sticking out of it. Whatever magic was supposed to be happening with that, Nora had no clue. She tossed it over her shoulder and went on exploring. Underneath were three peach flavor condoms and a physics textbook. “This person is a freak.” There was almost respect in Nora’s voice. Whoever was so confident to have the weirdest assortment of items lying around, like good for them. Shelby should have had her eye out on this weird judge to begin with.

“People are dumb.” It was a shared ideal at Axis Investigation. But sometimes it needed to be repeated. “Anyone can be… dumb?” Nora looked up, trying to finish what statement Emilio was going to make to watch him putting his fake investigator license to work. “That looks like Shelby’s hair.” Nora pointed out the obvious. See that was her job as the apprentice, she didn’t have to make the fancy connections that brought in the big bucks. She got to break into things and have all the fun. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t throw her wildest ideas around. “Is Shelby already dead? Is the killer pretending to be her?”

A pause. A moment. “Oh. Then the killer would be wearing the wig, huh?” Nora moved around the other mirror. Nothing. Boo. Nora moved to the closet, flipping it over and instantly jumping out of the way as a mannequin in a ladder costume came toppling out, revealing a knife and a note sticking out of the back. “Oh. You’ve got mail.” Nora told Emilio, pointing.

—

“I’d probably pass out before we finished if you got me good enough. Then you could drag me off stage, make it part of the act. Would be a hit.” He kept his tone… his version of light, which was to say, a thing only Nora could differentiate. She’d never actually stab him, and he’d never actually ask her to. But this was the kind of thing Emilio found funny. The mental image of Nora stabbing him on stage and then dragging him off after was a little entertaining, if only for the knowledge of what the judges’ faces would look like in the aftermath.

He snorted at Nora’s assessment, which… wasn’t far off, really. “I trust you,” he pointed out, glancing over to her and hoping she wouldn’t ask him to make a list of other things and people he trusted. They both knew it would be a short one. “It was what?” He tried to wrap his head around the extra syllable in the familiar word. Was it intentional? Nora didn’t slip with her words often; she was careful about the way she spoke. It was one of the things Emilio liked about her. “Whatever. I’ll make sure not to watch that one.” As if he was watching any movie that Teddy didn’t put on the television before sitting on him.

The dressing room didn’t make m

uch more sense the more they uncovered within it. There was a metal can of bug spray with the top sawed off, a straw sticking out of it. A few loose screws scattered across the desk. Fliers for various events around town with words and faces cut out of them. Emilio couldn’t begin to decipher what it all might mean, and none of it seemed to properly match the personality of the person they’d seen at the judges’ table. “They are definitely strange,” he agreed, holding up one of the fliers for Nora to see. Maybe she could make more sense of it than he could.

At least the wig felt like a clue to the specific mystery they were trying to solve here. There weren’t a lot of normal, innocent reasons Emilio could think of for having a wig that looked like your coworker (covolunteer?)’s hair laying around, especially not when the coworker in question was the subject of a murder attempt. “That’s Shelby’s hair,” he agreed solemnly, tossing the wig towards Nora so she could study it a little closer.

His ‘training’ of Nora was never quite an intentional thing. He didn’t have lessons in mind, didn’t have a specific regimen for her to study. Emilio himself wasn’t exactly trained to do the things he did — it was mostly instinct. But Nora had the same instinct, and Emilio could foster that. He could let her study things for herself, let her come to her own conclusions just like she did now, with the way she dismissed her first thought.

He glanced over again as the mannequin fell from the closet, moving in to take a look at it. Reaching down, he pulled the knife out of the mannequin’s back, freeing the note. Unfolding it, he squinted at the words.

It took him a moment to read them, though nothing about it was particularly complex. Even in Spanish, Emilio’s literary skills were lacking. In English, he barely knew enough to get by at all. He didn’t read the note aloud; he knew it would have been a little embarrassing, the clunky way he’d have to sound out each syllable. But he read it to himself with his brows knitting together, holding it out for Nora after.

Richard, it began. If you’re reading this, it means I’ve done what we always said we would do. You never needed her. None of us did. Don’t worry. No one will ever know. I’ve hired someone to take care of the aftermath. No one will even know what happened until the show is over.

—

“Why drag you off stage?” Nora added to the bit. “We could make you bleeding out on the stage part of the act. The crowd would be horrified. Edge of their seats. Will the EMTs get here in time or not? They’ve probably never heard of duct tape.” And that was on the general populas being stupid. “Plus, the show would probably be canceled, Shelby wouldn’t be in danger, and it’d be another case solved. And I’d be the new best private investigator in town.” Nora turned slowly to face Emilio, hand on the knife they both knew she had tucked in the outfit, tilting her head as if she was considering it.

Nora didn’t bother to explain the acapella of it all. No one needed that cursed knowledge sitting in the back of their minds. She also didn’t comment that Emilio wouldn’t watch anything anyway. People who didn’t watch things were weird. By the way. Because everyone watched things. It’s twenty-twenty-four. The television has been a home staple for her whole life. Not watching things was just weird. But that wasn’t a hill worth dying on. Maybe his life was better since pop culture didn’t haunt his every waking moment. Good for him.

The fliers were weird. Nora dug them. They were like art, the way everything was cut out. She’d remember how that looked for future projects. The flier went into one of her many pockets. On the discovery of the letter, and the realization that the fliers were not being used for weird art, but instead weird letters, it really made them less exciting. But Nora still kept the flier. The idea would still work for her.

Nora caught the wig tossed to her and flipped it inside out to look at the tag. There, on the tag, written in Sharpie right under the hand wash only tag was a name. Magaly Lola. Magaly Lola? “Does the name Magaly Lola mean anything to you?” Not to lie, Nora didn’t do any of the research she’d normally do on this case. Because it was a talent show. For thirty dollars. And there had been a lot of rehearsal needed before time. Generally, she liked to look up everything she could. Instead, she looked up TikTok dances.

Emilio read the letter, then handed it to her. She traded the wig back to him. “What the fuck, Richard.” Who was Richard? Who was Magaly? Where was Shelby right now? “Do you think coming here was a mistake? I mean like, what if they are killing Shelby right now?” Nora allowed a moment to share a look at Emilio before slamming her way through the door and booking it to the stage. See, she had to be the one to run there. Emilio was old and slow. He’d show up when his fossilized bones managed it. This was her job.

Nora burst through the auditorium’s doors just in time to see a magician’s act set up. “For my next trick, I’m going to make someone disappear!” The man on stage announced, a smile twisting at his features. “Do we have any volunteers?” The bastard didn’t even pretend to look around as he pointed right at Shelby, whose hand wasn’t even up by the way. “Shelby! I think you would make the perfect assistant.” He turned to his real assistant, the one he could and should have been using this whole time. “Don’t you agree, Magaly?”

Oh fuck, Nora thought to herself. They were going to off Shelby in front of everyone.

—

“There you go,” Emilio agreed, nodding his head. “That’s the kind of creative problem solving we’re known for. Tell you what, if we don’t find the killer before they want us back on stage, we’ll go with that plan. You take over Axis, I’ll fuck off to the cemetery, Shelby doesn’t get killed. I bet they’ll call you the winner of the show, give you that gift card. Everybody wins, yes?” He glanced down at her hand on the knife, gesturing to himself as if inviting her to go ahead and take a stab. It was the kind of joke he was pretty sure no one else in his life would find remotely funny, but Nora got it. Nora got plenty of things.

Nora also got his sentiment that this case, while stupid, was turning into something at least remotely interesting. That was part of what he liked about this job — sometimes, even the things that started off annoying had a way of sucking you in. It was a good distraction, when he needed one. He could think about Shelby and her death threats and the fliers and the letter and not have to worry about the shitshow that was his own life, and that was better. That was preferable. Maybe it was for Nora, too. Maybe that was why they worked well together.

She caught the wig as he tossed it to her, reading off a name on the tag inside. Emilio’s brow furrowed. There was something familiar about it, but he wasn’t sure what. Had he heard it before? Or did he just think he had? Either way… “It can’t be that easy. Can it?” The murderer wouldn’t leave evidence with their name scrawled on it, would they? They wouldn’t kill a woman in the middle of a public talent show, wouldn’t fail to even clear the building beforehand. Except…

Except this was Wicked’s Rest. And they absolutely fucking would.

Nora took off running, and Emilio scrambled to follow her. He was far slower, and his leg protested even the glacial speeds with which he moved, but eventually, he reached the stage. Aching and grimacing, sure, but the important thing was that he made it. And he made it in time for the killers to practically announce themselves on stage. Emilio let out a groan from where he stood off to the side, marching up the steps to the stage and yanking open the curtain, hoping Nora would follow.

“Stop,” he snapped.

Off stage, one of the judges gasped. “Axis Rock?”

“Go fuck yourself,” he replied.

One of the other judges hummed in acknowledgement. “Yeah, that’s definitely Axis Rock.”

—

This was getting good. Juicy. Like a television show. Pitch Perfect could never. Well, actually it could, but it would involve a lot more singing. Like Emilio would be singing a song right now and then she'd be expected to join in. Nora couldn't sing though. So it was a really good thing this wasn't Pitch Perfect. Nora followed Emilio onto the stage, the bright lights making shadows of the judges. "Yeah, fuck you!" Nora agreed, her monotone voice happily trailing after Emilio’s. "We were just pretending before. This is our real talent.”

“Ruining shows?” Someone from the audience heckled. Nora flipped them off.

Nora marched over to the magician set up. The magician looked shocked. Which wasn't a magical look. Nora kicked him in the shin. "Richard the Fake is here to kill Shelby. And he was going to use that box to kill her." Nora turned and pointed to the large prop Shelby was supposed to stand in. She let the audience get their shock value. The ooos and the ahhhs. She let them sit there a bit, Richard whimpering in pain over his kicked shin before walking over to the box and kicking in the fake back. "And this is proof."

"That's not proof!" Richard yowled, he was a cat in pain. "It's a magic show! Magic isn't fucking real! Everyone knows it's all sleight of hand!" The audience started murmuring in agreement among themselves. Everyone knew magic wasn't real. Why was Axis Rock ruining another performance? Hadn't it been bad enough that they all hit to sit through their horrible performance? They were really desperate for that 30-dollar gift cart. One loud voice was boldly proclaiming she felt really bad for them, obviously they had a lot of issues.

God Nora hated people and their dumb little minds. This was obviously a murder attempt, why weren't they paying attention? Nora turned to face Emilio, giving him a 'What do we do now?' look. Someone in the audience started to boo. "GET OFF THE STAGE! I WANT TO SEE SOME MAGIC." A tomato hit the ground in front of Nora. "Who the fuck brings tomatoes to a talent show?" Nora asked the faceless audience.

—

In a perfect world, Richard the stupid fucking magician would have collapsed into a puddle of tears the moment Emilio and Nora reappeared on stage. He would have confessed everything, in front of the crowd, and stood perfectly still to wait for the real cops to show up and… probably shake his hand and apologize for the inconvenience before letting him ride shotgun to the police station, or something, because cops fucking sucked, and Emilio did their jobs for them more often than not, anyway. But at least at that point, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. At least if Richard the Terrible confessed, Emilio could go home and have a drink as opposed to sneaking them from the flask he’d barely managed to contain in this outfit Nora had picked.

But this world wasn’t perfect, and Richard didn’t confess to his would-be crime. Emilio and Nora were going to have to prove it. At least Nora got a good kick in on the guy first — Emilio felt some satisfaction in knowing that he wasn’t the only one on stage whose leg was aching.

“Ay, ¡cállate!” He snapped in Richard’s direction, shooting the man a dark glare. Richard, for his part, looked a little taken aback.

“You suck!” Someone from the crowd shouted. Another tomato hit the stage.

“¡Vete a la chingada!” Emilio called back. “I’m going to solve a murder. Is that good? Is that okay with everyone?”

“I’m not dead,” Shelby said sheepishly.

“Fuck you, Shelby,” Emilio replied.

Walking out onto the stage, Emilio inspected everything. The box Richard had wanted Shelby to climb in, the assistant who hadn’t wanted to assist, the stage where Shelby would have stepped out to complete the trick, the —

Wait.

He circled around behind the box, to the stage where the false back would have opened. He took one step, then two. Richard drew a sharp intake of breath behind him, and Emilio stopped. Hadn’t the stage been a little creaky during their performance earlier? Emilio walked to the spot on the floor, pressing his foot against it. It creaked. Richard hissed.

Emilio turned to the woman who’d been with Richard on stage. “Magaly, wasn’t it?” She nodded, looking uncertain. “Great. Stupid name. Magaly, come stand right here.”

Magaly paled, looking to Richard. Richard looked like he’d been sucking lemons. Emilio felt vindication creeping in.

—

“Yeah, ¡cállate!” Nora repeated the word. She’d heard him say it before, and it was fifty-fifty that it was some big cuss word that might get her beat up somewhere or something about being quiet. Either way, she had his back on this one. As Emilio announced he was going to solve a murder, Nora did her job as the hype man. She stood at his side, nodding her head, blank expression made comical by the KISS makeup that was now slightly droopy because of the sweat.

More talking, more audience reactions, another tomato. This crowd was rotten, just like their tomatoes. “Fuck you, Shelby.” Nora echoed again. And Emilio thought this was going to be a bad case. This was the best case they’d had in a while. Emilio managed to keep his title as the town’s best detective by missing what Nora hadn’t noticed. A weak floor. The pair sweated, staring at each other. Nervous.

There was a split second where they met each other’s eyes and Nora knew what they were about to do, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. The two bolted forward, rushing towards the judge's table, hands outstretched for the 30-dollar gift certificate, and maybe Shelby’s neck. Nora would understand that. But the stage collapsed underneath them, right at the weak spot that had been creaking under Emilio’s inspection.

The pair toppled down like ragdolls, limbs, hair, and costumes flying everywhere. Nora moved closer to the edge of the broken stage. “They fell into their own trap. That’s… pathetic.” Nora told them as if her leather costume hadn’t squeaked while bending to look down.

The crowd was going wild. The judges slapped the button that made confetti go everywhere. Nora grabbed Emilio and positioned them so she could get a selfie with their fallen foes. This picture was going on the favorites wall, and there was nothing he could do about it.

—

He realized what the pair were going to do about half a second before they did it. He was pretty sure they figured out what they were going to do about half a second before they did it, too. There was a moment of eye contact, a heartbeat, and then scrambling. Emilio took a step back to avoid being plowed over. As far as he was concerned, his part in this case was over and done with. He’d been hired to find out who wanted Shelby dead. He’d done that. Whatever happened next was someone else’s business.

That step back was a good idea for more reasons than one, it seemed. Richard and Magaly, in their haste to escape and snag that stupid gift card (was Emilio underestimating how good this stupid restaurant was?), forgot about their shitty murder plot. Emilio watched as they fell through the floor, just inches away from where he’d been standing before.

Nora moved closer, and Emilio did, too. He peered down into the hole, looking at the pair of bad magicians who — they weren’t even dead. Their death trap designed to kill a talent show judge to earn them a thirty dollar gift certificate wasn’t even deadly. Was anyone in this town competent? Sometimes, Emilio wondered.

He was startled by the sudden confetti falling onto the stage, and then Nora was grabbing him and pulling him into a picture. He scowled at the camera, which she probably preferred, anyway. Shelby came up onto the stage, glancing warily down into the hole.

“You saved my life,” she said tearfully.

“I don’t think it would have killed you,” Emilio replied. “They’re not even dead.”

“I want you to have this,” Shelby continued as if Emilio hadn’t spoken, thrusting the thirty dollar gift certificate towards Nora with one hand and putting her other on Emilio’s shoulder. He stiffened under the touch, carefully shrugging it away.

From the hole, Richard let out an anguished scream. “That was our gift certificate!”

—

Nora kicked a spare piece of debris into the hole at the screaming Richard. “Your legal nickname is dick, and you’re worried about a gift card.” People really needed to consider their life choices. Shelby was crying. Another judge was crying. The weird judge had their phone out and was recording all of this. If this ended up on youtube, Nora was going to make a pact with an eldritch abomination to haunt the internet forever.

The confetti stopped flying, the auditorium emptied out, Richard and Magaly cried as if they were going to receive a life sentence. Cops showed up, but that was Emilio’s problem to deal with. Nora always made herself scarce before the police showed up. She kicked around the back of the building, spray painting monsters eating puppets until Emilio showed up.

There was only one thing left to do. They went to the Bottomless Booty. The place was loud and it smelled like a wet dog. Their server said something in the worst pirate voice that was ever used in the history of the earth. The pair were still dressed as reject KISS members, making them clash hilariously with the decor. They were seated next to a wax pirate with a ship’s wheel in front of him. Every now and then the wheel would spin and a crackling speaker would play a disjointed arrrrr. Nora flipped open the menu and took her first look. Thirty dollars wouldn’t cover a single meal. Good thing this would be added to Shelby’s bill.

#honeysmokedham #nora: wicked's rest's got talent #wickedswriting

7 notes · View notes

sithdestined · 1 year ago

Text

"See? What do I know about politics? Absolutely nothing," Anakin grinned, now that they were both righted and had managed to remain upright, though he did miss the closeness of her that the sudden interruption had invited. And what did Anakin know about flirting? Besides being earnest and maybe a little awkward when he was trying to be smooth, there was very little about him that was polished or prepared. He was not a smooth operator or an operator of any kind, really. He didn't play games, and rarely did he notice when other people were interested in him, due mostly to the self imposed social isolation.

He was busy as the youngest detective on the force, ever, and he had his mother to look after and those two things combined left little room for him to build in the skills required to seduce and manipulate. He was honest, perhaps too honest, and he respected women. Unlike some men, when he felt a connection with someone, he didn't try and hide away from the prospect of emotional vulnerability. He communicated, perhaps too much, and when he felt like there was something worth pursuing, he did not play games or hard to get. He knew what he wanted, and right now, that was her. He didn't have a lot of experience but he also wasn't stupid - whatever was between them had been instant and intense, a flame lit, the place where lighting struck.

She seemed to appreciate that he had no guile or ability to hide his true feelings, something he'd always worried about. Being too much. Feeling too much. Always being the one who cared more. It was a painful way to live, sometimes. But such was the price, and he was willing to pay it, especially if she was everything he believed her to be. Then, her voice reached out to him and he realized he'd disassociated for a moment, lost as he was wont to be on occasion. He smiled, blinking and shaking his head. "Sorry, I got distracted." She didn't ask about what, thankfully.

Emotional vulnerability was one thing, his mind and heart laid bare for all to see was another. "It's all pretty boring, actually," he grinned, coming back around to her questions. "There was a murder in Red Hook. We're collaborating with the local gang unit, but we've still got some work to do." A murder in New York? Shocking. "I'm not surprised you are continuing to work your ass off even as you're on the way out. I feel like I would definitely just sit back and relax...what are they going to do, fire me?" He chuckled. "But it must be interesting, finding the new you. Is there anyone out there that might meet your totally reasonable standards?"

Anakin was thankful that he had enough athletic skill to not simply topple over as they moved farther out into the stream of skaters. It wasn't as busy as it had been this time last year but it was cooler, and while New Yorkers were a hardy bunch, sometimes a good windchill could make people reconsider. All the more room for people who had no idea what they were doing, like him. His breath was visible as he adjusted his scarf and raised his eyebrow at her suggestion. "A gala, huh? That's pretty fancy, right? A gala." Frost clung to his lashes, as he turned so he might look at her fully, while risking the safety of everyone involved by attempting to skate backwards.

"Oh if you start falling, I'm absolutely letting go of your hand and skating away," she teased. Only the first part of that was true, although it was likely that he'd just pull her down anyway if he tripped and fell, given their difference in size. Padmé was in shape, with muscle on her frame, but Anakin was considerably taller and... well... built, to say the least. Something told her if they did fall, that he'd make sure she landed as softly as possible, though.

While she was pondering all of this, she felt the whoosh of icy air as someone nearly grazed her left shoulder. Suddenly, she was tugged around, towards his chest, and it was only her natural grace and well-honed balance on skates that kept her from falling. Instead, she glided towards him, reaching up with her hands against his chest to stop herself so she didn't crash into him and knock him over like they'd been joking about. "It's okay," she responded, looking up at him with round, adoring eyes as small puffs of breath floated up from her half-open mouth. She absolutely didn't mind being held like this, rampaging children on skates not withstanding.

But they had come here to skate, not stare into each other's eyes, so when he released her waist, she skated back beside him and in the direction he was steering them. I would have rather been with you, he said, as if it were just a pure fact and not some line he had used on many women before. There was something about his frankness, his complete lack of guile, that she found intoxicating. "What's the investigation about, if you're allowed to say?" she asked, then shook her head at his questions. "I don't get sworn in until January," she answered with a gentle correction. "But I'm still busy closing out as many of my cases at the firm as I can. There are a few that don't go to trial until February, and I'm trying to decide who at the firm I can pass them on to. Oh and I'm also helping to hire my replacement."

She exhaled a breath and then looked up at him again to ask: "That reminds me: our annual holiday gala is next Friday. Do you want to come with me?"

11 notes · View notes

hihellogoodbyebruh · 4 years ago

Text

I Know What You’re Thinking, You’re On My Mind (You’re Right)

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!Plus Size!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Angel are in love and these are different moments in the span of their relationship.

Warning(s): Just a lot of fluffy goodness....okay some angst (it’s me lol) but mostly fluff

Word count: 2,526

AN: This is kind of a songfic, but also not really? I think of it as a bunch of drabbles loosely connected by random parts of a song. Song title and inspo from Come Close by Common ft. Mary J. Blige. The sweetest little fic I’ve ever written. Fat Black girls deserve to be loved loudly. This is for us. As always, questions, comments, and concerns are welcomed. Happy reading lovelies! xo

Smile, happiness, you could model it And when you feel opposite I just want you to know Your whole, being is beautiful I'ma do the best I can do Cause I'm my best when I'm with you

The sound of a domino being slammed on the table caused several other park goers to turn their heads and see a striking woman jumping out of her seat.

“That’s domino bitches! Y’all really thought you could beat me in dominoes? Shoulda checked my credentials mofos!” Y/N shouted, a huge smile on her face as she talked shit.

The guys around the table all groaned and huffed as she celebrated her win. Coco swore up and down that he would be the winner and Gilly was just as sure that he would be the one. EZ just wanted to play and Angel kept his mouth shut knowing his girl had been playing dominoes with her father and uncles practically all her life.

“Whatever, Y/N. You not seeing me in poker.” Coco grumbled, though he was fighting to keep a smile off his face. He was impressed.

“Well this aint poker is it? Run me my money.” She replied, rubbing her fingers together before holding out her hand.

The men all pulled out their wallets and placed the correct amount of money into Y/N’s hands. She grinned as she fanned herself with the money before draping her body across the smirking Angel’s lap.

“Oh hey there sexy. If you’re nice I might buy you something with this considerable fortune I just won.” Y/N winked.

“You my sugar mama now?” Angel teasingly asked.

“I do taste sweet so I think I fit the description.”

“Damn right you do.” He smirked, before leaning down to kiss Y/N’s lips.

Santo Padre’s mayor, Antonia Pena, had put together a community fair to help raise money for the town and uplift spirits. It was also a great way for local businesses to showcase what they have to offer. Services and items were put into a raffle that everyone who attended the event got entered into. Y/N even managed to convince Felipe to have a little booth to show off his fine cuts of meat and how they could best be used in meals.

Angel was so in awe of her. She managed to pull even his grumpy ass father out of the house and she was constantly a source of light in his life. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, but he knew he never wanted to let her go. He loved her more than anything and he knew she felt the same about him. She never doubted him or made him feel inadequate. She understood even the ugly parts of him. Didn’t excuse or condone his behavior, but she understood it and always reassured him that she knew he could do better.

“Whatchu staring at?” She asked, after the kiss ended and he kept his intense gaze on her.

“My whole world.” He answered honestly and she felt herself get a little emotional.

“If you make me cry in public, I will hurt you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He replied, nipping at her shoulder and making her grin.

I know in the past, love Has been sort of hard on you But I see the God in you I just want to nurture it Though this love may hurt a bit

Neither of them had the best track record when it came to relationships. Angel had an awful habit of doing things without thinking about the consequences of his actions. Impulsive isn’t a strong enough word to describe how he is. He runs on emotion a lot of the time. It frustrates Y/N to no end. She doesn’t operate like that. She rarely if ever acts on impulse. She thinks too much. Worries too much about how people will react to her and her actions. Her hesitance to engage in things before she’s run every possible scenario through her head makes Angel want to pull his hair out. He hates seeing her unsure of herself. He makes it his mission to help her just get lost in the moment sometimes. And she tries her hardest to slow him down and make him think more on things before he acts.

His lifestyle also guaranteed their love won’t always be sunshine and roses. The first time Angel got hurt Y/N thought she was going to pass out. The level of panic and fear she felt almost took her down. When she finally got to see him in the hospital bed, she burst into tears. Once he was healed, she tried to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let her. The one time Y/N was verbally and physically accosted in front of Angel, he almost shot someone right in front of her. The need to protect her almost overrode his need to keep her away from the more violent side of himself.

The silence was deafening. Neither one was ready to take the first step and speak. The whole ride back home, Y/N never said a word. Not when Angel was getting chewed out by Bishop or when several people practically gawked at her even as they tried to make it seem like they weren’t. She was silent as she went through her nightly routine and prepared for bed.

It was as she sat on the edge of the bed, preparing to slide under the covers that Angel finally snapped.

“You’re really not gonna fucking say anything?” He practically growled at her, glaring at her from where he stood at the foot of the bed. He had on his usual sleepwear of a tank top and sweats.

She sighed, “What do you want me to say Angel?”

“Anything. Cuss me out, kiss me, or I don’t know, maybe thank me?” He suggested, sarcasm in his voice at the last part because he was clearly exasperated.

She cut her eyes at him fiercely. “Thank you? You want me to thank you?”

“Yes.” He stubbornly confirmed.

She shot up from the bed and spun to face him full on. She had never been so mad at him. “Thank you Angel for causing a bigger scene. Thank you Angel for almost igniting a war between two gangs over one stupid joke. Thank you for putting yourself in harm's way and almost giving me a heart attack. Thank you so much Angel.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. It wasn’t just a stupid joke. You think I care so little about you that I wouldn’t fuck someone up for you?”

“I’ve heard way worse..” She argued, so used to minimizing her pain. Her dismissal of the incident as something trivial made him even more pissed.

“I don’t give a damn what you heard. Aint nobody gonna disrespect you in front of me and think I’m just gonna let that shit slide.”

“You could have killed him.”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK.” He exploded, making her freeze and stare at him with her mouth slightly open. “You’re mine. I don’t know what kinda cowards you been dealing with before, but I don’t play that shit. There is no joking when it comes to you. Not from some hijo de puta who has the audacity to put his hands on you. He’s lucky the only thing I did was bust him in the head with my pistol.”

“Angel…..” She sighed, her eyes closing as she took in his words. She understood his point but was still uncomfortable with the methods.

He walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead before resting his head on hers. He spoke only after she opened her eyes, “You can be mad. I already know you are, but I’m not apologizing for protecting you.”

She had to get used to being loved and protected so adamantly by someone. So often left to comfort herself and bury her hurt, it took her a while to accept Angel’s form of protection. A part of her kept her guard up waiting for him to turn it against her, but that day never came. Any violent outbursts he had in her presence were never directed at her and so she found herself trusting him whole-heartedly. Her love for him deepened as time moved forward.

You helped me to discover me I just want you to put trust in me

Y/N loved Pops and she enjoyed the family dinners with him and EZ, but she knew he was not the perfect father. He made mistakes and Angel still hasn’t completely dealt with the issues the mistakes left him with. Everything just got buried. She knew when he was starting to feel inadequate or like he didn’t deserve her because he would become even more clingy. He was already very affectionate with her, always having a hand on her back and kissing her head. She loved how open he was, but when he was going through it the touches would have a desperate edge to them. Like he was trying to prove something.

A new episode of Joseline’s Cabaret played on the tv showing off the Puerto Rican Princess’ latest antics. Y/N had on sweats and a tank top as she laid on your back and giggled at the fight on her screen. She doesn't know why she watches that show, but it was entertaining.

Her front door opened and in walked the man she’d been seeing for a year now.

“What did I tell you about leaving this door unlocked?”

“I knew you were coming over so why would I lock it?” She argued, tilting her head back to watch Angel toe off his shoes and take off his kutte.

“You’re so hard headed.” He slapped the outside of her thigh and leaned in for a kiss before lying in between her legs. His head rested on her stomach and her hands immediately began running through his hair. His hands ran over her thighs as he buried his face in her belly and just breathed her in.

“You walked right in so obviously I was right.” Her hands moved from his hair to slide down his back, feeling for any new bruises. “How was your day? Do I gotta kick someone’s ass for messing with my man?” She asked, a teasing tone to her words even though she was kinda being serious.

“I’m all good, mi dulce.” He responded, already knowing her touches were to comfort him but also give herself some peace of mind that he was with her and he was still whole.

It was quiet for a moment before Angel propped his chin on her belly and looked at her. She brought her attention from the television to him. There was a gentle look in his eyes, full of love but also a vulnerability that made her heart clench.

“You love me right?” He gripped her hips tightly as he searched her eyes for the truth in her words.

Her eyes widened at his question. “Of cour-”

He interrupted her. “Because I love you so damn much, querida. I know I’m not easy, but I try to be better for you.”

“Angel…” Her hand gently caressed his cheek as she softly smiled at him. “You are my favorite person in this whole world. You love me like no other and I’ll always love you. Never forget that. And when you do, I’ll be here to remind you.” She leaned forward to kiss his lips and felt his grip on her hips loosen.

The two shared loving kisses for several minutes before he pulled away and kissed her stomach before laying his head back down. His attention finally focused on the television. “What the fuck are you watching?”

She was unable to contain her giggles.

I kind of laugh when you cuss at me The aftermath is you touching me

“Oh, is that funny? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Not at all gorgeous.” His words and his facial expression did not match.

“Then why are you smirking? I’m as serious as a heart attack. If you miss the ceremony where I’m awarded for my work, we’re gonna have some big problems Reyes.” She threatened, not letting that smirk get to her as it usually did. The club pulled him away a lot but some things she just needed him present for.

“Mmhm…how big?” He asked, still joking around.

“Angel!” She admonished, striking out to punch him in the stomach and making him grunt.

“You know I love when you scream my name. Sexy as fuck.” He growled, before playfully tackling her to the bed. She finally laughed as he kissed and nipped at her neck. He pulled back to look down in her eyes. “Hey, come hell or high water Imma be there. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

The smile she flashed him was bright enough to light the darkest of nights.

I'm tired of the fast lane I want you to have my last name

Dabbing her eyes with a napkin, Y/N smiled as Angel and EZ shared a heartfelt hug after the best man speech. She knew EZ’s speech would be beautiful and she thanked him for his kind words.

“You’re my sister for real now.” He responded, making her wanna cry again but she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before Angel pulled her into a side hug.

“First dance time.” He whispered in her ear, taking her hand and leading her out to the dance floor.

“How does it feel to be Y/N Reyes?” Angel asked, his eyes taking her in. She looked so magnificent in her wedding dress. He wanted to rip it off, but also he couldn’t take his eyes off how good she looked in it. If he shed some tears when she walked down that aisle, who could blame him?

“It feels like the most natural thing in the world. I’m so beyond honored to be Mrs. Angel Reyes.” She responded, her eyes filling with happy tears but she refused to let them fall. She just felt so overwhelmed with happiness. Even though he’d long gotten rid of the jacket, she loved that he actually wore a suit. He hardly ever wore one and it was a damn shame. He looked so delicious she couldn’t wait for them to get back home.

Y/N found herself really taking the moment in. Their family and friends watched them with huge smiles on their faces. She couldn’t keep her eyes off Angel for long as he held her in his arms, his hands always making her feel safe. This was her life and he was her future.

Her eyes twinkled as she asked him, “Ready for forever?”

Come close to me, baby (Yeah, love) Let your love hold you (Let me hold you tonight, babe) I know this world is crazy (It gets crazy, but I'll be right here) What's it without you? (We gon' make it, I love you, I love you, I love you)

#angel reyes #angel reyes x black!reader #black!reader #plus size reader #angel reyes x black!plus size!reader #hhgbyebruh fics #i know what you're thinking you're on my mind

187 notes · View notes

itsbeenahellofayear · 4 years ago

Text

what we got, it don't come easy

Summary: Some things are easy, some things aren't. It can take time to learn what is important.

Warnings: Smut. Maybe not as much as you'd expect from a story thats pretty much only about sex. Some feelings. Language.

Author's Note: It took a while to get this one across the line. The first segment has been written for weeks, but I lacked inspiration, motivation, and was a little burnt out on anything Leaf related for a little bit there. RIP 2021 season....

Thanks to all of you who kept checking in and were enthusiastic about the little snippet I posted. Kind of kicked my writing into gear today!

I crave your feedback - this is weird and disjointed and very personal in a lot of ways, so I'd love to hear what you think!

---

Sex with Auston is easy - that's never been the issue between you.

This thing started with sex - you connected on tinder, got to talking for a couple of days, then went out for drinks.... That wound up with him in your bed, having arguably the best sex of your life.

That first night, lying hot and sweaty and completely satiated, you'd be lying if the thought didn't cross your mind that you could do this for the rest of your life.

It was that good.

You don't keep a list of things to try, but you kind of keep a list of things to try.

Some things that make the sex with Auston so good:

He's the first guy to encourage you to use your vibrator on your clit while he's fucking you - it's not every single time - sometimes coordination isn't possible when he's fucking into you so good but those times when he's pressing deep into you, hands on your breasts, grip firm just the way you like, and you've just got your vibe pressed to your clit on a low setting and you just shake apart.... Those are good times.

His dick is huge. Like he's big to start, but then he grows. It honestly took a bit of work to find angles that didn't have him ramming your cervix each time, but once you did... He fills you up so good.

He loves to eat you out. You've had your fair share of mediocre oral, but there's something about the way he just goes for it, lets you twist your fingers in his too long hair, makes these little noises into you, that just really does it for you. He'll open you up with his thumbs and just dive his tongue deep inside of you, then move up and basically caress your clit with his tongue. If you're honest you can't even fathom what he's actually doing, it just feels insane.

He lets you ride his face. Now, it's not an every time thing, mostly because if you're going to expend energy on riding him, really what you want is his cock buried inside your aching slit. But sometimes, he'll settle himself on the bed, and you'll just climb on top of him, grip the headboard, and just ride.

You might love him.

(Maybe that's why it's good)

So the sex has never been the problem.

The problem lies in the in between bits.

In the moments when you're feeling insecure about his fame, and his looks, and the company he keeps. You're not a party girl - you'll go out to the bar once in a while, but people, everywhere, is not really your scene. You know he likes to go out, especially after wins. You know he likes to drink. And sure, sometimes he'll text you, and he'll end up at your place late at night. But sometimes he won't. And so you wonder.

It's also the moments where he just shuts down, internalizes, and won't communicate. You're not one for talking about your feelings, but you do believe in communicating when it's about things that affect someone else! Case in point: you send him a message in the morning on what you know is his off day - he doesn't even read it let alone respond until 8pm. You had asked him if he wanted to meet up for afternoon drinks.

It's also the moments when he says stupid immature shit, when you realize that, no matter how great a family he comes from, he's still a rich, entitled man-child that doesn't really understand the value of a dollar. And that irks you.

A lot.

But.

You're just fooling around - keeping it casual.

But.

He takes you out to the cottage with some of his boys. The season ended in heartbreak, they're splitting up for the summer, they want to blow off some steam.

You spend the days lazing by the lake, lying in hammocks in the yard, sneaking off for a "picnic" in the woods. And by picnic you mean Auston laid you out on a blanket and ate you out until you couldn't take it.

You spend the nights getting high sitting out by the fire, leaving unsubtly to go back inside to fuck.

It's probably around day 3 when you realize you're legitimately, 100% in love with this guy.

Day 5 you head back to the city, and haven't really talked to him about how you feel.

He leaves for Arizona the next morning.

He's not your boyfriend.

He doesn't know you fell for him.

The first night you had sex with him – the first night of the rest of your life – you remember thinking you've never felt this full.

Now, months later, you feel like you're empty.

Anytime you think of him, it's like your pussy just clenches involuntarily around what it thinks should be there, inside of you.

You want him so badly, so deeply, and you don't even have a real claim to him because you couldn't open up and tell him that something had changed.

You catch yourself scrolling insta late at night, looking to see if he's posted something that might hint he's out with someone else.

You hate that you're like this.

(You never see anything, for the record)

He comes back to Toronto in August.

That honestly catches you by surprise.

More so because you're just home on a Saturday afternoon, watching TV when he knocks on your door. Pretty much the last person you were expecting to see, but you can't deny that your heart ends up in your throat at the sight of him, tanned, bulked up, and looking at you like THAT.

"What..." you start.

"Faith" he breathes out.

You don't understand.

He walks forward into your apartment, crowding you back against the other wall of your tiny entryway.

You're still so caught up in him being here. The way he said your name...

You look up at him.

He just presses himself against you and crushes you to him in a hug. You feel him everywhere. The faint spicy scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, the puff of his breath against your neck where his head is pressing.

Engulfed - your brain provides.

"I missed you" he mutters into your neck.

Your brain is going a mile a minute.

How is he here? Why didn't he tell you he was coming back? He doesn't need to be back for weeks. Why is he here? What is happening?

You push him back a little. Not off of you entirely, just enough to give you some space to breathe.

"Auston, what?" You try again.

He looks down at you.

Swallows.

"I..." He starts.

Swallows again.

"I needed to see you, Faith."

He looks... Nervous?

"Aus... What's going on?" You ask him, heart racing out of your chest.

He swears.

"I might be reading this thing wrong, this thing we have, but... I want you to be mine."

You feel like you've been hit with a brick.

All you can do is stare at him as your mind struggles to keep up. You feel yourself reaching for him.

"Aus. Yes. Of course."

He blinks. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You reach for his hand and pull him to the bedroom.

Sex is easy, with you and Auston.

You've never been afraid to ask for what you want. He's never been shy to ask for what he wants. And usually that lines up.

But for the first time since all this started, you feel almost shy with him.

Without discussing it, you both get naked pretty damn quickly. There's a second or twenty where you're just looking at him, drinking in his broad shoulders, his stomach muscles, his trim hips and his thick thighs. God, do you want him.

You might say that last part out loud, from the way he laughs and just picks you up and tosses you on the bed.

You've been soaked since you opened your door, and you're impatient to feel him again. He looks at you and you just whimper his name and he smiles, hitches up your legs, and slides slowly, so slowly, inside you

“Fuck, Aus" you hear yourself.

"You feel so good, baby" he groans out, letting you get used to him stretching you out, leaning down to press a filthy open-mouthed kiss to your lips. He bites at your lips as he starts to move, driving into you in a rhythm that makes you feel so good, hitting you just right.

It’s not enough.

But before you can say anything, Auston pulls back, and changes the angle that your hips are lined up with his and suddenly he’s impossibly deeper, and you just can’t breathe with how good he feels and his hands are on your breasts, and he’s pinching your nipples just right, and you are moaning his name almost like a prayer, and it just slips out.

“Aus, I love you.”

You don’t even realize what you said until he stills for a moment, eyes snapping to yours, and he makes this noise.

“Do you mean it,” he asks.

Its not the time for it, but you’re never going to be his open another time so… “Yeah.”

“God, baby. Yes. I love you too. It’s why I came back. I just wasn’t sure…”

He moves back so he can kiss you, deep and filthy. You feel him, deep inside you, and you just… cling to him. He starts fucking into you in earnest - hard and fast, kissing you the whole time, though it ends up being more like just panting into each others mouths but you can’t get enough of him.

“I’m so close,” you manage to get out.

Auston gets a hand between you and presses his thumb to your clit and you just hear yourself keening.

“I love how you feel around me,” he groans out. “Come for me.”

It doesn’t take long.

You shake apart underneath him, and you feel him pulse inside you and it’s just so much and you can feel tears leaking out from the corner of your eyes, and you just feel so much in that moment.

It’s so much.

So sex has never been an issue.

But now it is so much more.

#auston matthews imagine #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #auston matthews smut #auston matthews fic #auston x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl smut #smut #fic #auston matthews

185 notes · View notes

ckneal · 3 years ago

Text

So, up until the last year, I was not actively involved in fandom on tumblr. All of my fan theories and fic ideas were created for the sole purpose of entertaining me and me alone. And as such, when I happened upon the midam and angel communities, I did experience a certain amount of culture shock when I found that some of the things that I had just taken for granted from the very first viewing of the show—didn’t even need to think about it, it just seemed to be right there—were contrary to the beliefs of the overall fandom. And today, I feel like airing out one of these for fun of it.

(And warning, this might be an unpopular take.)

Before discovering the midam community, I believed that Kate Milligan was aware of the existence of the supernatural and complicit in keeping Adam in the dark.

To be clear right off the bat, I am not purposing a Mary Winchester situation. I do not think that Kate was a hunter. But I do think that the chain of events that led to Adam’s conception may have had more in common with what Sam laid out at the beginning of Jump the Shark. I have two main reasons in thinking this.

The first reason, is simply this: John gave Kate his cellphone number. She just had it on hand when Adam decided he wanted to meet his dad twelve years down the line. That just seemed really weird. John Winchester is not exactly the stay-for-breakfast type, let alone the type to stay in contact with a one night stand in a backwater town. But you know who he DOES give his phone number out to? People who know that he’s a hunter, and who might recognize the signs of the paranormal and give him a call in the future. People he expects might lead to further cases.

The second reason is pertaining to the ghoul children. How did they know about Kate and Adam? John had not been to see Adam in a couple of years by the time of Adam’s death, and is implied to have been an infrequent visitor before that. Would the ghoul children have really been staking out the town for over two years before making their move? That seemed so implausible to me, personally, upon the first viewing of the show that I dismissed it outright, and with subsequent rewatches it seems more clear—from the way that the ghoul seems to blink and search for the answers every time Sam and Dean ask about Adam’s history, and with Denise when she asks if “Adam” would like his usual order—that, no, the ghouls had not been watching Adam and Kate at length because clearly the ghoul’s impersonation of Adam was not polished. Kate and Adam were killed by amateurs.

And, to me, the fact that they knew to go after Kate only made sense because, somehow, she was part of the hunt. Not as some nurse who stitched John back together after he hauled himself away from the scene of the crime either.

What I think happened, was this. The ghoul children said that their father was not a monster, and they were telling the truth. A monster named John Winchester came to town with all the motivation of an exterminator coming to take care of a cockroach infestation. He heard about a creepy crawly feeding on the dead, and harmless though the creature was, he was there to kill it. But remember the ghoul we later met in season 13. Ghouls aren’t always just weirdos hiding in the shadows with gore crusted onto their faces. They are perfectly logical beings, capable of being functional members of society, and I think that when John showed up, the ghouls’ father was able to get by in society, maybe changing faces every now and then, but definitely capable of going undetected. I think the reason the ghoul attracted attention at all was because he had two (or three—I still like to think there might have been three) children to support. The father himself might have been able to get by sparingly by munching on the same bit of corpse for months to keep his appearance consistent, but you can’t expect that kind of restraint from children. And maybe, building off that, the ghoul kept his children hidden, because who knows how their shapeshifting abilities translate when they’re young?

But I digress. I think the ghoul found out that John was there—perhaps even met John Winchester and just barely managed to keep his cool—and decided to switch tactics, and switch faces. I think the ghoul moved from feeding out of a cemetery to a hospital morgue. The morgue, of course, is more dangerous. There are a lot more people milling around all day and night, not to mention the security cameras, but the ghoul gets a job as a janitor, using their new face and name, and reasons to himself that it was just temporary until John Winchester left.

However, things became complicated. The ghoul had planned to pull this off by switching back and forth between two different faces, by eating from two different corpses, but at some point John connected the ghoul’s older persona to the case, went to the house, and found the stash. The ghoul’s children had only just managed to escape, and the ghoul was put on edge. He started to get sloppy in his panic. With few options, he makes the decision that he and his children will have to flee—but the fact still remains that there are four of them, and this hunter is stubborn. The further they can go before stopping to feed, the better their chances of getting away unfollowed. So, the ghoul, in his hospital persona, goes back to the hospital for one last food run. He tells his kids to stay put in the car, and stay below the windows. They may look like any ordinary kids, but he doesn’t want to take any chances.

When he goes inside though, the ghoul is finally caught in the act, stuffing body parts into a black trash bag—no one would have thought twice about him hauling things off to the dumpsters. He would have been homefree, if Kate hadn’t walked in.

Meanwhile in the parking garage, the worst happens: John Winchester arrives in the impala. The ghoul children see him in the rearview mirror, and they recognize the man who had broken into their home, and crouch down deeper into the backseat of their own car, even as they start frantically whispering. Their dad told them to stay put, but he was in danger and they needed to warn him!

Inside the hospital, the ghoul had Kate tied to a chair, and he’s stuck holding a scalpel in hand, fighting a battle on the inside, because he is not a violent man. He’s just a single dad trying to take care his kids, and he’s always been so, so careful, but now he’s been caught. Instinct says to kill Kate. If she’s dead, she wont be able to give out any details that might somehow help the hunter find him. But on the other hand, he had been working at the hospital for weeks now, and he liked Kate. She was friendly, nice. They talked a lot—but that’s why she might know something that could help John find him, some detail the ghoul wouldn’t even remember sharing, but that a lunatic like John Winchester could hyper fixate on. You never knew what might give you away with hunters. . .

John barges in and finds them while the ghoul’s still agonizing over the decision—Kate seemingly roughed up with the ghoul standing there, poised to cut her throat, and it’s all over for the ghoul. He fights John as best as he can, slashing with the scalpel and biting with a savagery that he had always thought himself above in the past, but his kids were waiting for him. . .

And unbeknownst to John Winchester and the ghoul, there his kids were, watching from the air vent overhead, out of sight, the way their dad had always urged them to move when they were in danger. They saw the murder, they saw Kate, and they saw the officer, Joe Barton, show up to sweep the whole mess under the rug, never knowing that two (or three) witnesses were huddled there, waiting for everyone to leave so they could crawl away, because if they moved any sooner they would have likely given themselves away, the way that they were shaking.

And that’s why I think Kate knew. I think that Kate was there at the final showdown, or at least present enough during the case that the ghoul children would have seen her, and would have known to look for her as well as Joe Barton when they decided to take revenge. I think that they saw Adam, and the pictures of John their house, and they did the math.

I think that Kate made a mistake in keeping Adam ignorant--regardless of whether it was her idea or John’s (though I’m gonna be real with you guys, I always thought it was Kate’s; I think John would have thrown Adam in the back of the impala and driven him off in to a life and guns, alcoholism, and bloodshed in a heartbeat if it weren’t for Kate)--because she made the same mistake that Mary would have with her children, in thinking that if you aren’t part of this life, it can’t hurt you. She was wrong.

#my thoughts #adam milligan #john winchester #kate milligan #ghoul adam

73 notes · View notes

pocketseizure · 3 years ago

Text

A Noble Pursuit

None of the lessons from the Gerudo Classroom have prepared Rhondson for married life with Hudson, who has grown restless and disappeared from Tarrey Town a year after its founding. She travels to the Akkala Citadel Ruins to hunt for her husband while reflecting on the bridges that will need to be rebuilt in order for Hyrule to embrace a peaceful future.

This story about archaeology, castles, ruins, cultural differences, giant monster friends, and what it means “to live happily ever after” was written for @memorabiliazine, and it’s also on AO3 (here). The accompanying illustrations are by the stylish scholar @pocketwei.

. . . . . . . . . .

This wasn’t the first time Rhondson had set off on a husband hunt.

It was late summer, almost a year after the ghost of the Great Calamity vanished from the castle. Most of Hyrule was still green, but the first touches of red and gold had already begun to appear on the trees of Akkala. It was chilly when Rhondson left Tarrey Town, but the morning fog had lifted and the sky was crystal clear.

Rhondson had always enjoyed mornings. Most people woke up early in the desert and took a nap during the worst heat of the afternoon so that they could stay up late into the evening. Rhondson kept the same schedule in Tarrey Town, a practice that Hudson found inexplicably upsetting. He complained, almost every day now, that she never went to bed with him. He insisted that a man and his wife should fall asleep together. Rhondson explained that she enjoyed sewing by lamplight at night, when the world is quiet and even the plainest thread shines like gold, but he refused to understand.

Hudson had recently grown restless. Perhaps it was because of the tension in their relationship, or perhaps it was only the change of season, but he left Tarrey Town one afternoon and never returned. Ashai’s classes hadn’t prepared Rhondson for this. They’d talked so much about how to catch a man, but never about how to keep him. She wondered if other vai had the same problem. All of the romances she read when she was younger ended with a “happily ever after,” but what was supposed to happen the next day? And the day after that?

All things considered, Rhondson was content with her life in Tarrey Town. Her feelings about the settlement had been ambiguous at first. The location was out-of-the-way, to say the least, but the town received more visitors than she’d expected. The son of the two Sheikah researchers who lived in an old lighthouse up on the northern cliffs made his living as a traveling merchant of fine clothing, and he saw to it that Rhondson always had work. Tarrey Town was unique in its appeal as a marketplace for goods from all over Hyrule, and Hudson’s brightly painted modular houses had become something of a tourist attraction. He’d been flooded with orders for summer rental homes, and a satellite community had sprung up on the other side of the bridge to satisfy the demand.

Hudson managed to keep himself busy, but he seemed to harbor doubts about establishing Tarrey Town on such a small island. To make matters worse, many of the people who’d come to town for the summer were starting to drift away as the days became shorter. Perhaps they were worried about Akkala’s infamous autumn thunderstorms. Rhondson happened to enjoy the heavy rains, whose gale winds and lightning crashes reminded her of the sandstorms back home, but she understood how the violent weather and sudden drop in temperature might put off people who weren’t accustomed to the climate. She’d camped at more than a few oasis waystations during her travels, and she knew it was perfectly natural for the population of a place like Tarrey Town to wax and wane with the season.

Rhondson tried to explain to Hudson how it was normal for people to come and go. Many of the town residents were nomadic by nature, she said, and they had no excuse not to indulge their wanderlust now that it was safe to travel. Hudson adamantly refused to listen. He insisted that a man’s home was his castle. But why not have two castles, Rhondson objected. And people would come back next summer, she reasoned. They’d had to hire new workers to perform upkeep on the vacation homes during the winter, after all, so it wasn’t as though the population was shrinking. If he was feeling ambitious, she added with a wink, they might be able to add their own contribution to the town’s population.

“I’m just not sure how long this town will last,” Hudson replied, ending the conversation with a sigh.

His admission put Rhondson ill at ease, and she couldn’t help recalling Hudson’s anxiety when she realized that he hadn’t come home during the night. “Sometimes you have to treat voe like children,” Ashai had once explained. “There will be times when they take action without thinking about how it will affect you, but it’s likely that their behavior comes from simple thoughtlessness, not spite.” Rhondson didn’t know about that. She’d met enough silly and immature vai in her life to understand that voe didn’t have a monopoly on being pigheaded. Still, if Hudson had gone out and gotten himself lost, purposefully or otherwise, she might as well go find him.

Rhondson set out from Tarrey Town and walked due south, pacing herself as she made her way up the gentle slope of the hills leading to Upland Zorana. Once the mountains began in earnest, she turned west at the road leading to the old stone quarry and kept going until she could see the waterfalls at the source of Lake Akkala.

She’d crossed the Sokkala Bridges when she first came to Tarrey Town instead of taking the longer road to the north, and she was just as impressed by them now as she was then. The log bridges were simple structures, really, not much more than planks laid over support pillars embedded in the banks of the rivulets flowing from the waterfall basin, but they were sturdy and well-constructed. A traveler could cross them with ease, secure enough in their footing to look up and appreciate the rainbows that danced in the misty spray of the waterfalls.

Not every bridge needed to be the Bridge of Hylia, Rhondson thought. Perhaps it was better if most bridges weren’t, in fact. The Bridge of Hylia was a magnificent piece of work, to be sure, but it seemed as though it was already in a state of disrepair even before the Great Calamity. Judging from the conversations between Hudson and his former boss Bolson, no living stonemason had any idea how to repair its gargantuan supports. Meanwhile, more modest structures like the Sokkala Bridges could be maintained whenever the need arose. In their own way, the Sokkala Bridges were just as important at the Bridge of Hylia, even if they never became monuments.

As she crossed the final bridge, Rhondson could see the hazy outline of Akkala Citadel rising in the west. Its massive size was impressive, but she couldn’t imagine it being particularly beneficial to anyone. Truth be told, the ruins weren’t much more than a glorified pile of old stone bricks that could almost certainly be put to better use elsewhere. Speaking of which, Rhondson was starting to get an inkling of where Hudson might have gotten himself off to. “A man’s home is his castle,” he liked to say, and how intriguing it must have been to have an actual castle so close to home, especially if its materials could be repurposed.

Rhondson headed north when the road forked and made her way across the old high bridge over the river, carefully navigating the deep fissures in the stone. Once she was safely on the other side, she began climbing the winding path up the mountain.

The leaves of the trees on the upper slopes of the hill had already turned a bold shade of crimson, and the weathered steel of the Sheikah Tower gleamed in the sun. Rumor had it that the citadel used to be patrolled by Guardians, but nothing confronted Rhondson save for a few moss-covered remnants of ceramic casing. Parts of the road had been washed away in a landslide, probably after the Malice swamp dried up, but the majority of the paving stones were still intact.

Rhondson entered the gatehouse at the foot of the outer wall surrounding the citadel. The inside was littered with rubble from a century-old battle, and the remains of more recent Bokoblin campfires were scattered across the floor. A partially overturned Guardian occupied a corner of the room, its segmented legs folded neatly underneath its casing like the paws of a sleeping cat. When she first set out from the desert, Rhondson had been terrified of encountering a Guardian, but she’d grown fond of the broken bits and pieces of their chassis that had been left beside Hyrule’s roads to remind travelers to remain vigilant. Their round faces and decoratively textured bodies were actually a bit cute, like oversized toys.

Rhondson passed through the gatehouse and entered a small courtyard. The walls of the citadel rose on every side of the open space, but the gaps between turrets were wide enough for the sun to shine through and warm the paving stones. One side of the courtyard was dominated by a large alcove that was probably used to shelter horses. The bare soil under the dilapidated wooden awning was covered in pale green scrub bush and dotted with bright yellow wildflowers.

A covered walkway ran along the opposite wall, connecting the gatehouse to the larger body of the citadel. As Rhondson followed the shaded path, she imagined how heavily the snowfall would accumulate at this altitude. She didn’t envy the soldiers tasked with shoveling duty. She glanced at the enormous wooden door that marked the entrance to the main hall, but its iron fittings were orange with rust. Thankfully, the smaller door at the end of the walkway was barely hanging by its hinges, and Rhondson had no trouble pushing it open.

She called Hudson’s name into the shadows of the citadel. Aside from the echo of her own voice, there was no answer. It probably wasn’t safe to go inside, but she had already come so far. Rhondson figured that she may as well make sure that Hudson wasn’t here before she left.

The interior of the fortress wasn’t nearly as impressive as its silhouette. The entryway was much smaller than she expected, and the floor was made of packed earth. As Rhondson’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could see that the wooden beams of the ceiling were exposed. They were dark with ash. The smoke had probably come from the tall braziers secured to the pillars set into the stone walls.

Rhondson walked across the hall, glancing around her with interest. A few piles of old leaves moldered just inside the open service door, but the room was remarkably clean. The tapestries displayed in the bays between pillars still retained some of their color, and wooden weapons racks still clung to the stone walls next to the main gate. Rhondson realized that the earth floor must absorb the humidity of summer and the chill of winter, keeping the wood and cloth relatively preserved. The layer of ash coating the wooden beams of the ceiling probably helped protect them from the elements as well.

Large passageways ringed with shallow arches connected the central hall to the east and west wings, but Rhondson was more interested in a spiral staircase carved into the back wall. Although she had to bend her head to enter, the stairs bore her weight. Each step dipped slightly toward the middle from centuries of use. As she climbed to the next floor, Rhondson was amused by the thought of walking in the footsteps of people who had lived so long ago.

The room above was much smaller than the citadel’s entrance, but its ceiling was almost as high. The walls were constructed of the same unpainted white limestone as the fortress exterior. Their rough surfaces were irregularly broken by small rectangular windows positioned slightly above eye level. Some of the glass panes were missing, allowing a cool breeze to enter the bright and sun-warmed space, but the floorboards were level and seemed solid enough

Rhondson began to make her way from room to room. Her first thought was that the haphazard layout was due to poor planning, but she gradually realized that different parts of the Akkala Citadel must have been built at different times, more than likely after various battles. Very few furnishings remained in the deserted fortress, but the architecture differed so drastically between rooms that it was clear she was walking through different periods of history. Rhondson was amazed by the evolution of the windows, which became larger and more ornate as she walked. She imagined that this was what Hyrule Castle must look like, an amalgamation of architectural styles that had grown and transformed along with the kingdom itself.

Rhondson enjoyed her stroll through the ruins, but Hudson was nowhere to be found. The sun was already low in the sky, so she made her way outside and began her descent. From her vantage point at the top of the path, she could see a flat patch of land at the base of the hill. The soldiers stationed here must have used it as a parade ground for exercise and training. It would be as good a place as any to make camp.

Dusk had begun to gather by the time she arrived on the field, and the shadows lay long across the tall grass. Rhondson didn’t see the Hinox immediately, but she could smell it. The odor wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unmistakable. As soon as she realized that she wasn’t alone, Rhondson turned to leave. Most Hinoxes tended to ignore the travelers that wandered into their vicinity, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Without warning, the Hinox bellowed. Its scream sent startled birds up from the nearby trees in a rush of beating wings and angry squawking. Rhondson prepared herself to make a run for her life, but she was stopped in her tracks by a voice she would recognize anywhere.

“Don’t cry, you big baby. It only stings at first. You’ll feel better in two shakes of a blupee’s tail.”

Rhondson shook her head with amusement as she walked across the field toward the source of the voice. The Hinox pouted at her, giant tears spilling from its eye.

“Hudson?”

The broad-shouldered man crouching beside the Hinox jerked his head up. “Rhondson? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I came looking for you. Is this where you’ve been this whole time?”

“I meant to come back last night,” Hudson replied, averting his eyes. “But this oaf hurt his foot while helping me clear away the rubble on the path up the mountain, and I couldn’t just leave him like this. The wound would have suppurated, and he’s all alone out here.”

Rhondson gave the Hinox a closer look and saw that it – he – had a deep gash on his heel. Hudson was cleaning it with a balled-up wad of fabric. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was the first workshirt she’d sewn for him. She’d made it just as they were starting to get to know one another, before she knew his measurements, and it fit him poorly. She asked him to throw it away and bury it with the compost months ago, but he’d apparently kept it. Hudson was surprisingly sentimental for a man who insisted on utility over decoration. It was one of the things she liked about him.

Rhondson smiled as she shrugged her pack onto the ground and dug out a jar of safflina salve. As Hudson helped her dress the Hinox’s wound, he explained that he had indeed come here to assess the state of the stonework. He assumed the citadel would be in ruins, but the structure was still sound. It would be a shame to dismantle it. With a few minor renovations, it would be almost as good as new. Still, making it more habitable would mean reducing its efficacy as a fortress.

“But what does that matter?” Rhondson asked. “Who’s going to attack it?”

“There are monsters roaming about, and…”

“Does this ‘monster’ look like he’s going to attack anyone?”

The Hinox had fallen asleep as they talked and was snoring lightly.

“He’s not a monster,” Hudson replied with a frown.

“Exactly. It seems to me that you’re already thinking about hiring him to work for you.”

“I’m not… Well, I guess I am. Having a Hinox around would be useful, especially if I decide to fix up this place, but we’d have to knock down some of the interior walls to make more room for him.”

Rhondson winced as she remembered all the times she’d banged her forehead on Hylian doorways. Now that she thought about it, there was no reason for those doors to be so low in the first place, especially not when her husband could so easily make them more accommodating. “Weren’t you planning to knock down the walls anyway?” she pointed out. “You could use the materials to repair the bridge.”

“But it’s disrespectful not to honor the past,” Hudson objected. “Shouldn’t the history of the Akkala Citadel be preserved?”

“It’s in ruins.” Rhondson put a hand on his shoulder. “One day you’ll have to come with me to visit my family. Everything in Gerudo Town is built on top of history. Nothing gets done if you worry about preserving the past as it once was. Living things change, and that includes old castles like this.”

“Maybe it includes towns too,” Hudson replied. “I guess it won’t be so bad if Tarrey Town grows. We could have a sister city maybe, right here on this hill. It would be a convenient waystation for travelers.” He thought for a moment. “And a good place for Hinoxes, too. It’s built on their scale, at least, and they’re all over Akkala. It’s a shame they always have to sleep in the open. Besides, Mason looks like he could use a friend. He’ll be lonely without me.”

Mason? Rhondson grinned at the name her husband had assigned to the Hinox. “Are you going to bring him home, then?” she asked.

“Home is wherever you are, Rhondson. We’ll go wherever you like. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but we can spend a night or two away from Tarrey Town. I’d like to go back to the citadel tomorrow morning. I don’t think anyone has been inside this place for at least a hundred years.”

The sun had finally set, and stars were beginning to shine in the deepening indigo of the twilight sky. Rhondson smiled as she pictured the castle on the hill once again filled with lights. There was a certain charm to speculating on what the past might have been like, but the future held much more potential for imagination.

#Legend of Zelda #Breath of the Wild #Rhondson #Gerudo culture #Memorabilia zine #pocketwei #architecture #ruins #Zelda zines #Zelda art #Zelda fic #my fic

65 notes · View notes

anarchy-n-glitter · 4 years ago

Text

Animal Impulses

Summary: A few months after being separated from her sister, Aloisa manages to put together a plan to escape the village with her and a way to blow off steam in the mean time.

(Warnings: smut, slight manipulation, Alcina Dimitrescu slander, references to potential death)

Just outside the window, she could see the snowflakes fluttering to the ground. Though the ground was several feet below her, Aloisa still liked to imagine she was back in her one story home in Germany. The walls were metal and colder than the usual stone that decorated her old home, but if she closed her eyes and laid in bed, listening closely to the fire roaring in the fireplace across the room, it almost had her fooled. The constant shuffling from the next room could have been her sister, Shoshanna-

Shoshanna.

How her heart ached when she thought of her dear sister. She tried to keep her away, she tried to hide her from Miranda and keep her safe. Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan and that little stunt only managed to piss Miranda off, and she ended up getting Shoshanna anyway.

If she had any tears left to cry she would.

That bitch Miranda sent her away with one of her favorite children to be watched over while Shoshanna went off with Dimitrescu. Needless to say, Aloisa hadn’t slept much since she was separated from her sister for the second time. She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that her sister was being drained at that very moment, that the vampire bitch and her damn daughters were drinking her dry.

The thought of Shoshanna being dead because of her haunted her, and that’s why she was awake currently, staring out the window at the quickly darkening horizon.

Her new roommate had been the opposite of homely or accommodating, though she can admit she expected no less from a man like him.

She didn’t exactly hate Heisenberg, but she didn’t quite like him either. Aloisa was sure being stuck in the dark factory with no real connections to the outside world other than the Duke and the small, circular window next to her bed, didn’t do him any favors either. However, she was grateful for the room he gave her - even when they both knew he didn’t have to do that. He could have just thrown her into a cell and let her rot for an eternity, but he didn’t. She supposed she could applaud the bare minimum in this situation.

Despite everything that might have happened before she was given to the factory - to Heisenberg - he still showed that he trusted her. She was given a room with a somewhat easy means of escape, even if her room was right next to his. The amount of trust he seemed to have for her was almost flattering, all things considered.

She had no idea where this trust came from, but as time went on - and as she snooped around behind his back - Aloisa realized it was most likely because of their shared disdain for Miranda. She would never confront him about his plans, or ask why he seemed to treat her better than she expected, and she certainly wouldn’t play therapist for him, but she could wait for him to come to her first. If she could establish herself as more than worthy of his trust - if she could get him to see that he should take on Miranda - then she could get her sister back and return to Germany.

However, the ever-present issue was the waiting. The longer it took for him to say something - anything - the more worried Aloisa became that she’d never escape. The more worried she became that Shoshanna was dead.

Of course, waiting on a man like Heisenberg to communicate his thoughts and feelings may have seemed like a lost cause, and at that point it truly was beginning to feel as if it was a lost cause.

She brought her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek on them. Her gaze was still fixated on the mountains in the distance, staring longingly as she tried to remember what the world beyond them looked like. Though she couldn’t see the sunset through the heavy, dark clouds, she knew deep down that the colors beyond them were stunning. She could practically see the way the sun would peek over the distant mountains, the orange hue contrasting the deep purple of the shadows below. The village of shadows, she scoffed at the thought. The vivid, brilliant images from her imagination were a cruel reminder of her actual reality, where the only thing before her was the grim image of the low-hanging grey clouds over the colorless, snow-dusted lawn of the factory.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, feeling her body relax under the heavy weight of absolute exhaustion.

The door opened unexpectedly, causing Aloisa to jump. She feared it was one of Heisenberg’s ungodly creations wandering where it didn’t belong, but when she realized it was the man himself she relaxed a bit.

Aloisa felt as if she would never be able to fully let her guard down around Heisenberg. The man liked to keep her on her toes, that’s for sure, and considering the fact that Aloisa wasn’t one for sugar-coating her thoughts, the duo tended to clash more than anything.

“You’re still awake, huh?” He asked in his usual carefree tone. Aloisa furrowed her brow as she looked at the clock on the wall, then to the quickly darkening landscape out the window.

“It’s sunset…” She muttered, realizing that he must’ve been up all night again, though she couldn’t tell with him wearing his glasses. The room continued to grow darker as they sat in silence. Though she couldn’t see it, his eyes were roaming. Aloisa sat on top of her comforter, in what she seemed to consider as pajamas. She hardly wore anything to bed, opting for the torn former nightdress that she bought off of the Duke for specifically nights in the factory, where it tended to get warm quickly and without warning. At the moment, the lovely curve of her legs weren’t obscured by the blankets, and neither was her midriff, or her cleavage.

“Well, what are you doing here?” She asked, her voice low and her accent thick. She sat patiently, waiting for him to do or say something other than stand in the doorway. He took a step forward, pointing at her, though his stance was less than threatening to her. She watched carefully as he pressed his lips into the thin line, obviously trying to find the right thing to say.

The safety lights flashed on in an instant, telling them that the sun was down and the factory was going into a low power mode. The red lights almost completely shifted the mood in the room, with Aloisa knowing it would be completely dark soon. Her attention turned back to the window where she could be engulfed by her thoughts again.

“Look, princess, this isn’t just your room, you’re living in my factory, remember? I put shit in here for safe keeping a while ago.” His tone was grating and made her want to roll her eyes, but if things were to go her way she needed to get along with him. Actually, she had to do a hell of a lot more than just get along with him.

She watched as he paced around her room, looking for something in the drawers of her desk. She never used it, seeing as she came to the factory with little belongings and spent more time looking out the window daydreaming than anything else. Though her mind kept snapping back to the way he was just standing there earlier, staring at her. She had to wonder where that was coming from, and if it was what she thought it was, it might be easier to get into his head than she thought.

“Don’t you get lonely up here?” She asked him, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her nerves getting the best of her. She didn’t need to look his way to know he stopped in his tracks, and she also knew he was staring again.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” He didn’t sound too offended… yet.

“I was just wondering. Your gaze was lingering earlier.” She noted, turning her head to look at him again, though this time she rested her head on her arms.

“I’m fine on my own.” He stated finally in his usual gruff tone before pulling a box from under her bed. She watched as the metal chest floated to him by her desk, where he placed it down and began to rummage through it.

“It was just a question, Karl, no need to get defensive.” Her voice was sweet, almost too sweet. He wasn’t sure what to make of what she was saying, and part of him was really getting annoyed. She was avoiding the obvious question, and now the tension was hanging heavy in the air, so much so that it was beginning to choke him. His eyes darted from the box to her, and he wondered if he should even respond.

“What happened to just calling me Heisenberg?” He asked her, refusing to look her way.

“I figured since I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, I might as well get a bit more personal.” She wondered for a moment if she was coming off too strong. If she scared him away now there was no going back and trying again.

“Y-you…” He was stuttering again as he lost focus. It was taking everything in him not to look at her. “Damn it!” She jumped as a gear came flying toward her. It made its home in the wall a few feet away from the window.

“Are you alright?” She asked, half feigning interest. He finally looked at her, his eyes covered by both his hat and his glasses.

“Oh, so now she acts like she cares?” He remarked sarcastically as he retrieved the gear from the wall, the piece whizzing past Aloisa’s head once again and into his hand.

“I do. Like I said, I’m going to be here a lot longer than I thought I would, and I think we should get used to each other. I’m not gonna act like you don’t exist while I’m here.”

“I’d hope not.” He let out a breathy laugh. His dry sarcasm was starting to get to her.

“I’m just letting you know that I’m here, I suppose. You’re not alone anymore and I’d be willing to help you with anything.” She watched a smirk break out onto his face as he shook his head, and secretly she hoped that it was getting through to him in the way she wanted.

“Point taken.” He muttered as he gathered what he needed and put it to the side. Aloisa sighed, sliding off of her bed and slipping a cardigan over her shoulders to avoid the feeling of being overexposed. She made her way to him, sliding the box toward the end of the desk and standing between him and the object. From this close, she could see all the small scars on his face, and she wondered if she’d ever get to hear the story of how he got them.

She placed her hand on his arm, feeling the material of his jacket against her palm as she stared at it for a moment. When her gaze returned to his face she realized she might have had him right where she wanted him.

“I’m not sure I could be more blunt, Heisenberg.” She finally spoke, though all he could do was focus on her lips.

“Oh yeah?” He seemed to be taunting her back now.

“Just one kiss,” she proposed, draping her arms over his shoulders as their bodies adjusted to face each other. He was already so close, and even though she was only doing this to escape, part of her was lit aflame by this action. “Then we can see where it goes from there? If it’s not something you’d want, then we can just forget this ever happened.” She felt a sudden aching at her core as he smirked at her.

“Oh, I doubt this would be something I’d turn down.” She smiled, preparing herself as she leaned in. He hardly moved a muscle, but there was something enticing about that.

“Good.” She muttered against his lips.

When their lips truly met, it sparked a rather heated kiss. He wasted no time in flipping them around so she was pressed against the desk. She was leaning back, her back arching as he leaned over her, one hand on her hip while the other was supporting himself.

His lips were warm and only slightly chapped, and as his tongue slipped into her mouth she felt the urge to tangle her hands in his hair. He leaned back slightly, both hands grabbing onto her waist as he lifted her up onto the desk. Aloisa shrugged her cardigan off, tossing it toward the corner of the room as Heisenberg let his coat drop to the ground. His hands made their way to her neck and jaw, while hers finally found their place in his wavy locks, forcing his hat off of his head.

“So, what’s the verdict?” She asked as he pulled away.

“I’ve been waiting to do this since you showed up in this damn place.” He muttered as he dropped to his knees. His hands snaked up her legs and grabbed ahold of her underwear, tugging them down as best as he could. Aloisa lifted herself off of the desk slightly, allowing him to pull the garment off.

“Since I came to the factory?” She asked, almost in disbelief. He looked up at her, and for the first time since she arrived in the village, she saw a peek of what was behind his glasses. What she saw was a pair of beautiful, electric blue eyes.

“When that bitch brought you to us after you failed her test.” He answered, and she realized just how long he had been keeping this side of him hidden. She had a lot of work ahead of her.

He spread her legs slightly, taking one look at her before practically drinking her like a man dying of thirst. His lips made their way to her clit, sucking harshly, making her gasp in pleasure. Her hands made their way to his hair again, this time pulling as his fingers made their way to her entrance. She was trying her best to keep her voice down, and for a moment he stopped using his mouth on her to instead focus on her thighs. He placed open mouthed kisses along the insides of them, biting occasionally while his fingers still pumped in and out of her. With one last glance at her, he stood, pressing his lips to hers again and shoving his tongue into her mouth. She could taste herself on him.

“So you’re telling me you’ve been into me this whole time and didn’t say anything until now?” He asked against her lips. She didn’t say anything - or more accurately - she couldn’t say anything. She let out a strained moan as the pressure in her core built up, his fingers brushing against her walls in the best way possible, and she found herself arching into him again.

“Fuck…” Aloisa breathed, feeling herself edging nearer and nearer to the knot in her snapping. Heisenberg let out a small chuckle.

“Are you really gonna cum this early?” He asked in a way that was almost taunting. All she could do was nod in response. He flashed a toothy grin, although her eyes were closed and she couldn’t see. He ducked down again. He removed his fingers for a moment, causing her to whine softly at the lack of attention, before licking from her entrance to her clit, sucking lightly, as if to delay the inevitable.

“God, please.” She hissed, tugging at his hair lightly. At this he pulled away, smiling widely at her as if this was his plan all along. He stood again, this time working on the buttons of his shirt, which Aloisa happily helped him with when she realized what was happening. As the last button was undone and she pushed the garment off of his shoulders, his hands made their way to his belt, but he stopped.

“Get on the bed.” He demanded in a hushed tone. She looked over to the bed, then back to him before standing. She walked slowly, removing the torn top and exposing her breasts to the slightly cooler air. She felt goosebumps break out along her upper arms, which was a rare occurrence in the factory. He eyed her hungrily, following her to her bed at her pace, choosing not to throw her onto it just yet.

She sat down, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes as she uncrossed her legs, sitting and waiting patiently for what she wanted. Heisenberg knew what she was waiting for, and wasted no time as he undid his belt and settled himself between her legs. She helped him as he shoved his pants down his legs, pulling her toward the edge of the bed where he stood before lining himself up with her entrance.

The first thrust set the pace, and it had her seeing stars. Heisenberg had no intentions of going easy on her, and he certainly didn’t. His hands gripped her hips in a bruising manner as he slammed into her relentlessly. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she tried to keep up.

The small noises he made only served to fuel the fire that raged within her. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was something alluring and - dare she say it? - attractive about Heisenberg. And as he stood over her, buried deep inside her, she realized that she could get used to a routine like this. She felt the pressure building in her again, feeling like she was going to snap at any moment and scream his name. Her hands were clawing at his arms, and he finally leaned over her body, at this angle reaching deeper than he did before, eliciting even more wanton moans from Aloisa.

She came with a shudder and a loud cry, her walls fluttering against his cock as he stopped. He was close too, and the way her walls were milking him almost sent him over. His face was buried in the crook of her neck as he placed open mouthed kisses and bites. Her nails raked over his back as he started moving again, still just as close as before.

“Aren’t you a good little slut…” He muttered in her ear as he held her closer than he ever did before. She let out a small, shaking moan at his words before nodding again, making him let out what could have been described as a laugh. “You were exactly what I needed.” He admitted before burying his face in her neck again, digging his teeth into the soft skin. Aloisa seemed to come back alive at this, lifting almost her entire upper body in pleasure.

His thrusts were becoming more erratic, sloppy even, as he neared his own release. His moans grew louder until he finally stilled, spilling himself inside her. Aloisa let herself relax as he practically collapsed on top of her.

They stayed like that for a few moments, allowing Aloisa to clear her mind.

When he finally sat up, she moved closer to her usual spot on her bed, and if they weren’t both completely naked, it would have seemed like nothing had happened. She was looking out the window again, this time, however, she was thinking about where to go from here.

She didn’t seem to realize that Heisenberg was getting dressed already.

“Well, I’m heading back to my room.” He said, but Aloisa wasn’t surprised. “Yeah, maybe having someone else here isn’t half bad.” He muttered on his way out. She couldn’t help but smile at this.

She found her way out, now it was only a matter of time.

#resident evil #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x oc #resident evil oc #resident evil village #karl heisenberg x reader smut #aloisa ansel #karl heisenberg x aloisa ansel

77 notes · View notes

littlemisspascal · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: plot plot plot, mild descriptions of violence, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, sloooooooooooooow burn – seriously, we’re just getting started so it’s gonna be a bit before feelings are involved, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: The plan right now is for there to be 3 parts of Chapter 1. Tumblr isn’t doing a good job notifying my taglist, so I apologize if I bother anyone reblogging this a few times trying to get it to work. Thank you everyone out there for each like, comment, ask and reblog! The support means the world to me 🥰

Part 1 Part 3

Cross-posted on AO3

The village is a small community with less than a hundred citizens living there total, yet it is visible from miles away due to the bright paints used to decorate the houses. Murals depicting the village’s history and its residents adorn every house with details added by each new generation so that no one is ever forgotten. Back when visitors would pass through, they would always compliment the village’s beauty, but there is nothing beautiful at all about the electric fence the Imps erected shortly after seizing control, emitting shocks harsh enough to kill.

Originally the stormtroopers said it was to protect the village from threats, but nobody believed the lie. The only threat to the community was the Empire. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, now they like to remind everyone the whole village is their prisoner, usually by a show of violence so unbelievably malicious it stuns everyone into compliance.

There are some horrors time will never erase from your mind.

Juni trees grow beside the fence outside the perimeter, the only species of tree amongst the shrubbery and turu-grass, and they are tall enough for their thick orange branches to extend over the uppermost wire. In the mornings, Ahsoka climbs out your bedroom window, slides down the sloped roof of the house and leaps onto a nearby branch. You follow after her, trusting that she won’t let you fall when you stretch out your hand for her to catch you and lift you up using a bit of Force to give you a boost. The two of you sneak back inside the village using the same tree, only instead of leaping at the house, you drop the short fall onto the ground beneath. Five years and the stormtroopers haven’t caught onto your trick yet.

Except now the tree isn’t an option. Not when you both are half-carrying, half-dragging two-hundred pounds of flesh and metal.

Hiding behind a clump of coyal bushes, you and Ahsoka scout the entrance booth where a pair of stormtroopers dressed in their characteristic white armor stand guard, holding blaster rifles. There are others on patrol, walking along the fence and checking its integrity, gradually stepping further and further out of view, but they will be back eventually. Your window of opportunity is limited.

You adjust the warrior’s arm over your shoulders, quietly groaning when your muscles protest the heaviness. “What are we going to do? Stormies might share one brain cell, but they’re definitely going to notice this heap of metal we’re carrying. And as soon as they find out we don’t have passes, they’re going to start shooting.”

Passes are only given to a handful of the community’s traders each week. It is a three day ride on a repulsorlift speeder to the capital where they have a short span of time to sell their goods and then return home within the week with essential supplies. To ensure no one tries to run away, the Imps set up strict rules. If the traders are late, even if only by a few minutes or due to reasons outside their control, the rest of the villagers pay the price. Usually the punishment is a public beating, but sometimes the stormtroopers get creative and tie their chosen victims to a pole overnight by their head-tails.

Nobody, not even the younglings, sleep those nights.

“We’ll be fine,” Ahsoka answers, firm and confident, gaze fixed upon the gate. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got an idea.”

She doesn’t spare you a second to protest, stepping out into the open and forcing you to follow or else drop the warrior’s body.

The stormtroopers spot the three of you immediately, relaxed postures stiffening with alarm, and you have to remind yourself over and over to breathe, to not let them see any hint of the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin.

“Hold it right there!” One of the stormtroopers orders when the distance between you and them has shortened to a mere three feet. You freeze at once, heart pounding as fast as a thimiar’s seconds away from being eaten. A quick glance at Ahsoka reveals no fear in her expression. She stares at them indifferently, as if she is about to talk about the weather.

“Explain yourselves.” It is not a request.

You squirm, nearly knocking your head against the warrior’s bowed head, on the verge of losing your composure, when you notice Ahsoka lifting her arm.

“You will let us pass,” she says, adopting a suggestive tone while waving her hand in front of their visors.

They respond in unison, seemingly entranced. “We will let you pass.”

You bite your lip as you and Ahsoka pass between the stormtroopers and through the gate, not wanting to break the spell by letting loose the barrage of questions forming on your tongue. What your sister had done was as amazing as it was frightening. She had manipulated them with such confident ease you are certain this isn’t the first time she has performed the trick on someone.

“When did Aunt Shaak teach you that?”

“She didn’t,” Ahsoka replies lowly, casting a quick glance around. “I taught myself.”

Your skin prickles as you also become aware of the increasing number of eyes staring at you. With the sun fully awake and bringing morning light with it, several villagers are carrying on with their daily routines outside of their homes. Most of them seem a mixture of confused and concerned about the stranger, but you spy the Elders looking displeased by the new addition amongst their ranks.

You are not looking forward to being inevitably summoned and interrogated by them.

“How?” you ask, copying her hushed cadence. Then, a pulse of panic blooms in your chest. “Have you ever—?”

“No, I haven’t messed with your mind before. Never even considered it,” Ahsoka interrupts, sensing your worries. “I don’t practice often, but when I do it’s just harmless little suggestions. Like convincing Huno to give the younglings an extra sugar biscuit when he has some to spare or persuading Jaelee to go to bed early when I know she’s been overworking herself. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure the trick would work on those bucket heads since I’ve never tried it on two minds at once before. Lucky us, right?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Is she being serious right now? They would be dead right now if her gamble hadn’t paid off.

Ahsoka pretends not to hear you, nodding her head towards the blue-painted house up ahead. “C’mon, Maar probably already knows we’re coming.”

Maar Vashee has been the village’s healer for a little over fifty years. The purple-skinned Togruta helped deliver you and Ahsoka, and was considered by your mother when she was still living to be a dear friend. Her connection to the Force is especially sensitive due to her intricate relationship with the flora of the planet, using various herbs and plants to create remedies, and as such she developed a type of sixth sense where she instinctively knows when her skills are needed.

Entering her home that doubles as her clinic, you find Maar had indeed anticipated your arrival and set up a cot to place the warrior upon. Once he is laid down, you roll your aching shoulders, biting back a wince as the movement irritates the headache lingering at the back of your head.

The warrior hadn’t made one noise the entirety of the trip bringing him here. Even now as he rests on the cot, his breaths are so quiet you would fear he wasn’t breathing at all if not for his chest moving. You touch his hand impulsively, laying yours over his gloved one. There is no response, not a twitch or spasm.

A sharp gasp of surprise has you whirling around, eyes landing upon Maar standing in the doorway between the clinic and her living quarters. She clutches a glass jar of spotted red herbs labeled nysillin against her chest, staring at the warrior like she is looking at a ghost.

“Maar,” Ahsoka calls out softly, coming to stand by your side. A long moment of silence passes before the older Togruta manages to drag her gaze away to focus on you and Ahsoka, green eyes a bit too wide-eyed and haunted. Your sister’s gentle tone remains when she inquires, “What’s wrong? Do you...do you know him?”

Maar chokes out a brittle noise sounding like a cross between a dry laugh and a derisive scoff. “Personally? No.” She moves closer to the cot, the white circular markings around her eyes softening with what you confusingly identify as sympathy. “I’ve heard stories of his kind though. Years ago, many considered the Mandalorians the only ones capable of defeating the Imperials.”

“Holy frak,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

As a youngling, your mother used to tell you stories about the fiercest fighters in the galaxy known as Mandalorians. They lived on Mandalore and had a special connection with their weapons, a bond nobody else could understand or mimic, trained to handle guns and knives as soon as they could walk. They defended the galaxy from unlawful rulers and the threat of enslavement, unafraid to spill blood when they knew peace would follow. Your mother told you they never lost a battle. Defeat was a word unknown to them.

At least until—

“Mandalorians were wiped out during the Decimation of Alderaan,” Ahsoka interrupts your thoughts, voice pitched high with disbelief. “And the few who lived were hunted down shortly after. The Imps made sure there weren’t any left to challenge them.”

As if triggered, you recall a detail from your brain glitch, a thought that had crossed your mind when you were flying through the storm. You had been looking for Aldera, the capital of Alderaan.

It’s just a coincidence, you think. But a voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your Aunt Shaak counters, there are no coincidences.

And as much as you loathe admitting it, that voice is right. Having the image of a mudhorn slip into your brain shortly before you find a warrior—no, a karking Mandalorian of all people—with the same creature on his armor? It is too precise to be a coincidence. Your paths were meant to cross each other.

If only you had the slightest clue as to why.

Maar sets the jar down on a nearby table, then picks up the Mandalorian’s wrist to check his pulse. “That is what we all thought,” she agrees after a minute of counting has passed, dropping his hand. “His armor is characteristic of their kind. Nothing in the galaxy is as strong or valuable as their beskar. Let’s pray to Ai our beliefs about the Mandalorians’ extinction are mistaken,” she nods towards the unconscious warrior, “especially for his sake.”

Realization creates a sickening pit in your stomach.

Regardless of the status of his kind, when he wakes up his whole world is going to be flipped upside down.

Three hours later, not much has changed except the room is brighter, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window, and smells sweet due to the bowl of herbs Maar left simmering on the table near the Mandalorian’s head, explaining the aroma will cure him of his hibernation sickness as he breathes it in.

“He’ll wake up when the marg sabls open tomorrow,” Maar told you with a gesture towards the potted red-and-pink flowers in the windowsill. They grow all over Shili, popular because they open their petals in a sunburst shape every morning.

Ahsoka comes and goes, blessedly not criticizing your decision to sit at the warrior’s bedside when you have a list of chores to complete—doubled now that you lost your bet with Ahsoka earlier. She intercepts curious younglings hoping to sneak a glimpse of the Mandalorian whose presence has become known throughout the village. Nothing stays a secret long in the community. Gossip spreads as quickly as colds and takes twice as long to get over.

If the stormtroopers catch on, the consequences will be disastrous. For once, Ahsoka shares your fears, admitting she isn’t capable of tricking a whole platoon.

“The Elders aren’t happy,” Ahsoka says in-between sips of bone broth. “They think it’s too dangerous having him here.”

You swallow your mouthful, shaking your head. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Averting your gaze towards your lap, you scratch at an imaginary stain on your leggings. “Just a feeling I have.”

Ahsoka leans forward in her seat, pointing an accusing finger at you, causing your head to jerk back up. “The Force connected with you again, didn’t it? I knew you were acting weird before we found him.” She frowns, hurt flickering in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never wanted to be special, Ahsoka,” you reply honestly. “I never wished or prayed to have visions, to have these random details pop into my head, to feel others’ emotions so strongly it’s like I’m trapped inside their bodies. There is nothing cool or entertaining about it. It’s…” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, forcing you to take a pause. You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“I had no idea you were struggling so much,” your sister murmurs, voice soft with contrition.

“How could you when I didn’t even want myself to acknowledge that I was?” you counter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as the truth sinks in. “I tried to ignore it all as best as I could. If not for meeting our friend over here,” you tilt your head in the Mandalorian’s direction, “I’d probably still be in denial. But I can’t ignore the Force this time. Not when the message is this important.”

“What is it?”

“We were meant to find him. To bring him back with us. I think—I believe he’s important. Remember what Maar said? About how people used to believe Mandalorians would beat the Empire?”

Ahsoka’s brow furrows incredulously. “You really think one warrior can defeat Emperor Gideon’s army? The rebels have been trying for years and the Emperor is always one step ahead.”

You can’t help deflating a bit, shoulders slumping. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Have you considered an alternative reason why he’s important?” she asks. When you don’t answer right away, she takes it as a cue to continue, “Maybe you’re right and he is going to change the galaxy for the better. But he could also be a warning. The Imps wiped out his kind, what if they plan to do the same to us?”

Your lips part to respond, only to close again wordlessly. You thought by accepting your brain glitches as messages from the Force they would become clearer, easier to understand. A lantern guiding you through this maze of darkness epitomizing your life.

But you have never felt more lost.

Falling asleep is a mistake.

You didn’t know this when you rejected Maar’s suggestion to head home and sleep in your comfortable bed instead of curling up on her spare cot that squeaks whenever you move. The prideful side of you believed it was best if you were the first face the Mandalorian saw when he woke up because he would remember you and the promise you swore. He would trust you to explain everything to him.

Within a second of waking up, you realize how naive you were to think you had even a shred of influence over him.

The sound of something shattering has you nearly tumbling off the side of the cot, jerking awake with a sudden burst of fear. You blink rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep from your vision, struggling to make sense of what you are seeing.

Pieces of Maar’s ceramic bowl litter the floor along with bits of charcoal and ash. Ahsoka and the Mandalorian stand on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down, poised to fight. The Mandalorian has a vibroblade clenched in his hand, while your sister crouches low, fists raised. You know Ahsoka can hold her own in a fight, even without the advantage of a weapon, but fear winds its way down your spine, cold and slimy, when you can’t help but notice how small she looks compared to him. Not only because he is a few inches taller, but because he also exudes an undeniable aura of intimidation: his unwavering silence, the skilled manner he wields his knife, even the sharp gleam of his beskar pieces reflecting the pale morning light has your chest tightening with dread.

The clinic’s lights flick on right as Maar announces her presence by cocking a blaster pistol. It is the Mandalorian’s own weapon, removed from his holster when Maar examined him earlier. “Alright,” she says to the room at large as she fully enters, dressed in her sleeping robe. “Let’s all settle down. Blood isn’t an easy stain to clean and I’d prefer it if none was spilt.”

You see the moment the Mandalorian decides to comply, shoulders loosening beneath the pauldrons and stance shifting from defensive to neutral, as he processes he doesn’t need to fight his way out of here. The vibroblade is sheathed within his right boot in one fluid motion and it is startling, truly, how quick he transforms from a dangerous threat to a potentially dangerous threat.

Ahsoka is reluctant to yield, staring him up and down for a drawn out moment that does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Only when Maar pointedly clears her throat does your sister finally obey, straightening to full height with a hand propped on her hip, the picture perfect image of nonchalance. In another life she would have made a fantastic actress in a holovid drama.

“That’s better.” Maar nods, satisfied. “Now why don’t we—”

The Mandalorian moves so quickly that you jerk in anticipation of attack, eyes widening to the size of moons as you watch the pistol fly out of Maar’s hand and straight into his outstretched one. Your lungs seize up, a single thought flashing through your mind. This is it, the moment we all die.

Except instead of shooting, he re-engages the safety mechanism and promptly holsters the gun at his side where it belonged. Without saying anything.

Ahsoka’s slack-jawed expression would have been comical if it hadn’t matched your own stunned face. Even Maar, who has witnessed over fifty years worth of shocking spectacles, looks awed by the unexpected display.

You recover first, somehow managing to piece together the right words to ask a coherent question. “Are you a Jedi?”

It is only because you are staring directly at him that you notice the virtually imperceptible tilting of his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers bluntly, oblivious to how your heart skips a beat. “Weapons are part of my religion. It’s important to earn their trust.” He addresses Maar then, adding, “Especially if they’re stolen from us.”

His baritone voice has changed from when he spoke on the ship. Without the exhaustion wrapped around his vocal chords you are able to hear his normal timbre. Due to the modulator in his helmet, it has a husky quality, an intriguing mix of smoke and honey. But that is not what has your montrals prickling and your spine straightening.

“I disarm all my patients,” Maar replies, back to being her cool, calm, and collected self. “I would have given it back—”

“How old are you?”

You don’t realize you have spoken until two pairs of eyes and an expressionless visor look at you.

The Mandalorian’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides once, twice. “Nineteen,” he answers after a few seconds of lapsing silence.

“Oh Ai,” Maar murmurs, vocalizing your own thoughts.

All this time you have been thinking of the Mandalorian as a man beneath the amor. A hardened and seasoned fighter who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. But the reality is he is only two years older than you. Standing right on that thin, blurry line between being seen as a teenager and being considered an adult.

“Who are you?” the Mandalorian asks, glancing first at you then your sister and back to Maar. Frustration and wariness blend together, sharpening his voice. “Why am I here? What happened?”

Ahsoka meets your eye with a question in her gaze, one you don’t have the answer for: where do we even begin?

Series Taglist: @pedro4ever

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan @vintagesaph @sylphene @over300books @chibi-yuki @theocatkov @oh-no-a-whovian @absurdthirst @freeshavocadoooo @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @lin-djarin @happiestsparkleofall @randomness501 @gallowsjoker @coaaster @captain-jebi @leilei-draws @disgruntledspacedad @melobee @stilllivindue2spite @pointy-sharp @artsymaddie @waywardmando @thisshipwillsail316 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @grogusmum @asta-lily @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @sherala007 @mejswho @uncle-kenobi

#Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #togruta #ahsoka tano #the last mandalorian #my fic #my writing #pedrostories

97 notes · View notes

darkacademicfrom2021 · 4 years ago

Text

The Dark Team (part 6)

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87)

“What did you fuck up?”, you heard Loki’s sharp whisper through the earbud, while you frantically searched through papers and papers and some more papers.

“I didn’t fuck up. I have the guy. I have information”, cleared Bucky. “Hey, DON’T MOVE”, he shouted at the kidnapped, cocking his gun. He cleared his throat before talking again. “Good and bad news”.

“Must be Christmas”, you said.

“No, Christmas is when you only have good news”, said Bucky.

“Not in my family. Generally, there was only bad news and food. Food was the good news”.

“I love how professional and focused on the mission you two are. Stark would be so proud”.

“Wait, I’m invested now. Tell me more about your family, y/n”.

“For the Norns, I don’t have much time. The information, Barnes”. You could hear Loki's footsteps resonate. According to plan, he should've been walking through a hall full of burocrats, so he was right; he did not have much time.

“Okay, so, I know who has the stick”.

“Good”.

“He’s dead”.

“Not so good”.

“Not really, no”.

“What do we do now?”.

An alarm on the building had set off and every door locked down, with a man on a speaker announcing the disappearance of an important object followed by an awfully accurate description of the three of you.

“We run, that’s what we do now”.

You didn’t have to say more. Bucky threw himself off the window before it finished closing. You looked around desperately, trying to find a way to free yourself from that office. Two security guards entered the room screaming for you to get on the floor, and instead you made an unstable wall with the desk and chairs, avoiding getting shot and giving you enough time to figure out some sort of weapon to take them down.

The watch was already used, the knives were useless if they had guns, you didn’t have a gun yourself (silly you), and the parachute was apparently not working anymore, so you couldn’t jump off the window like your teammates. Damn.

“By any chance”, you whispered through your microphone “could you tele…”, but Loki gave you no time to finish the sentence and teleported himself to the office, still in the shape of a security guard.

“My dearest friend”, he said to one of the shooters, opening his arms welcomingly, “how’s the family?”.

“What the fuck, Robert?” asked angrily one of the real guards. “How did you…”.

Loki kicked off his gun and touched his head with a halo of green lights, making him fall unconscious to the floor. He looked up and down at the second security guard and formed half a smile.

“And what about your wife? Is she well?”.

“You ain’t Robert, ain’t ya?”.

“Mmh, nah”.

You grabbed the second security guard from behind and made him trip, immobilizing his arms and legs, and held his own gun to his head. Loki watched you amused, and then transformed back into himself.

“Oh, there you are”, you greeted him. “Did Buck say anything about the walking dead?”.

“The… what?”.

“The man with the stick. If he’s dead, who activated the alarm? Someone has to have it”.

“He didn’t say anything else. Can’t you track it down?”.

“If I could, why would we have done all of this for?”.

“Point made”.

“I need to get back to our room, take some things off the checklist before going all in for a new plan”.

“Alri…”, he started saying, but his gaze fell back on the immobilized guard you were holding down. “What are you planning on doing with him? He saw our faces”.

“If you let me live I won’t talk about this at all”, he pleaded, face squished against the floor. “I have kids, please”.

“He’s lying, he has no kids”, he said with a neutral face, and you looked at him trying to tell him to communicate telepathically. Surprisingly, he understood. “What?”.

“I’m not killing him, what do we do?”.

“Just kill him, what’s all the fuss about?”. You looked at him horrorized and he rolled his eyes “alright, just threaten him enough”.

You let him go, still pointing the gun at him, and gestured to the door so he could leave. When he reached for the door knob, you shot twice at the wall, mere inches from his head, and he froze in place.

“Talk and I’ll find you”, you threatened.

“I won't say a word, I promise”.

You looked at Loki and he nodded, letting you know the man was telling the truth. You kept your eyes fixed on him while he ran away, terrified. Must be new, you thought. Loki grabbed your waist.

“What the Hell are you doing?”, you pushed him away.

“Teleporting us, as you asked”.

“You have to grab me to do that?”.

“I don’t have to. It’s so you get stability”.

“Oh. Give me a big bear hug, then. No, better, let’s cuddle” you spat with sarcasm. He sighed annoyed, massaging his temples.

“Fine. I’m not even touching you”.

As he teleported both of you, you felt your whole body tear its own cells apart and dissolve, and then regenerate them. Your head spinned like it never has, and something hit your head; but you weren’t sure if it was the floor, a wall or the roof, for your sense directions were nowhere to be found. You took a few seconds to compose yourself before opening your eyes once everything stopped moving. When you finally managed to realize where your head even was, your eyes met with Loki’s, who was holding back a smirk with his arms crossed.

“Reconsidering that cuddle next time, are you?”.

“That was… hilarious. Such a shame I missed the previous part to give me context, though”, said Bucky from the counter of the hotel room, munching on some chips. “Look, the tiny fridge had these. You were right, they’re actually great”.

“Yeah. Grab whatever, they’re on Stark’s”, you said, still with your head a bit fuzzed. Loki offered his hand to help you get up but you did it yourself. He sighed.

“How do you fit your clothes with that huge ego of yours?”.

“I don’t, I walk around naked”, you answered, opening the nearest laptop and starting to work on the checklist.

That night was like the last one. Dark, silent and with your head full on the work. Bucky was barely snoring, and Loki was sitting on his bed reading a book. Every once in a while you glanced up your work to look at how painfully beautiful he was. You hated every thought about it, of course, but you couldn’t deny his sight grew on you a bit. He was an asshole, of course. A parasite on your head. An inconvenience. A distraction, sometimes. But the warm light of the bed lamp and the shadows it formed on half of his face enhanced his features, almost like a sculpture, a piece of art.

While you thought of that you checked on his expressions, making sure he wasn’t listening to your highly embarrassing thoughts.

After a few hours, Bucky had already woken up and you were still spread on the floor, surrounded by the files and laptops from before. The light conversation had caught half the attention of the God, who was still reading peacefully. He seemed so calm you wondered what kept him up anyways.

“You think he still has it on him?”, asked Bucky, changing his shirt.

“I think it’s a possibility. I’m tracking his body down. Should be in the morgue by now, maybe they haven’t taken off his clothes yet. But if not, the security cameras would have recorded who took it from the body”.

“Groovy”.

"Oh my God, James".

"What?".

"What does groovy even mean?".

"You know... it's like saying cool beans".

"Coo... alright".

After a while, you collected all the data you needed for tomorrow. You were so exhausted your eyes were getting dry and blurry. Loki was still reading in that same place, not even fazed by the amount of hours that had happened. You got up to clean the dishes from the last meal, and he lifted his gaze up from the book.

“Wait”, he stopped you. With a wrist movement, the dishes got as clean as they could get and arranged on the shelf. You chuckled.

“I wish I had that ability”.

“Are you going to sleep now?”.

“A few hours”.

“Sleep here”, he said from his bed. You looked at Bucky’s; he fell asleep back again.

“You haven’t slept yet. I don’t want to occupy your bed”.

“I won’t, don’t worry”, you nodded, kind of worried he might pass out of tiredness in the middle of the mission. Why the hell was he not sleeping? “If it doesn’t bother you, I’d rather finish this book on here too”.

“I think there’s enough space”.

He moved and gave you space for half of the tiny bed, and you laid by his side with your arms crossed and a leg on top of the other. He went back to his book, and even though he was sitting and your sight couldn’t reach the pages, you were sure it was in Old Norse.

“What are you reading?”.

He didn’t answer right away. Doubtfully as in to share it with you or not, he then proceeded.

“Hamlet. It’s a translation in Old Norse from an author I adore. I’d say it’s an even better version than Shakespeare’s”.

You felt yourself about to smile. You tried not to, but you probably did. That was your favourite piece of literature of all times. You wondered how could that have gotten to Asgardian hands, and why would he (certainly a Midgardian hater) want to read Earth’s literature. You were so curious in that version. Was it really that good, that would be better than Shakespeare himself? Sadly, you didn’t even know how to say hello in that language.

“Do you like it so far?”.

“I’m re-reading it. Brings good memories”, he said with a subtle smile he had hoped you wouldn’t notice. But you did. Something in your chest warmed up a bit and you shook it off. No, no. Not feelings. Don’t confuse your physical attraction, don’t feed your touch starved soul. No. You had to repeat to yourself a couple of times. You were just very, very tired.

“Brings good memories to me too. I love this book”. You figured it was alright to open up a little. The situation was relaxed enough. He wasn’t snarky or avoidant. He looked… melancholic. Sad, even. Like a facet of himself he didn’t allow everyone to see.

You connected with that. Maybe you could even relate to him in some way. For years, you had a feeling of something not adding up quite right. A longing for something you couldn’t exactly pin up. Melancholy for a blank space.

But there you were, barely knew him for three days yet felt close enough. Not too much. Just a feeling. Just the traces of something that maybe happened in another life. But in this one, you would get the mission done and leave. So don’t get attached, you ordered yourself.

“It’s a really good version”.

“Wish I could read it but I don’t know Old Norse”, you said slower than you intended. Loki chuckled at your tiredness. Maybe you could push your curiosity a little further. What was the damage? That he could just say ‘piss off’ or something like that? “What good memories does it bring to you?”.

He sighed and muttered almost to himself “I used to read it to my beloved”.

You almost gasped, surprised he actually answered you. You didn’t ask for more. It was already a lot he had just trusted you with. He told you he had a beloved. You didn’t even know he had a lover, but of course he had. He was nearly a thousand years old; why wouldn’t he? Did he lose that lover, in past tense?

Curiosity grew bigger on you, but fear pushed you aback. But the questions floated around in your head as a lullaby. Your head started to weigh a little more on the pillow and everything happened slightly slower. Loki closed the book and left it resting on his lap. He whispered “I feel you have questions”, and you denied it with your head. Your eyelids fell heavier than before.

“I’m mmnmnnhnm”, you managed to sort of say before getting knocked down by sleep. You heard his laughter, but nothing more after that.

#loki #loki of asgard #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki mcu #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x y/n #bucky barnes is an old man omg

91 notes · View notes

alwaysfeelingsaintlike · 4 years ago

Text

Just One Night [G.W]

description: George is out for his stag party and you’re out for your hen night, but the two of you just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

pairing: George Weasley x Reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: very light smut, oral sex, alcohol

taglist: @p0gues4l @amourtentiaa (let me know if you want to be added!)

“George, it’s just one night. We’ll be fine,” you said as you finished packing your bags.

“Y/N, we haven’t spent a night apart since you finished at Hogwarts,” he pouted, as he lounged across the bed, watching your every movement.

“I repeat, it is one night. I think we’ll survive.” You didn’t want to admit to George that you’d miss him this one night, even though it was the truth. If you gave him an inch of indecision, he would convince you not to go at all, and this was not a night you wanted to miss. After all, it was your hen night.

He sulked some more and you added, “George you will have a wonderful time out with the boys tonight and you’ll forget all about me.”

“Impossible,” he smiled. You shook your head as you zipped up your suitcase. George had moved from the bed and was now standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Don’t leave me darling,” he whispered in your ear. You took a deep breath, finding it difficult to resist him. He started kissing your neck and you breathed in, “George…”

Before you realized what happened, George had you pinned down to the bed and his lips were locked on yours. Both your arms were wrapped around his neck as his hands caressed your torso. Before things got too heated, you pulled away.

“George I really need to go,” you whispered.

He smiled and gazed into your eyes, “You can be a little late.” You couldn’t help but smile and his lips found yours again as he began peeling off your clothing. Moments later you were both exposed and you were straddled on top of George. After some mutual foreplay, you were both ready for things to get more intimate. You positioned yourself on his shaft and started slowly rocking back and forth, planting gentle kisses on his chest and neck. You increased your pulses as your breathing quickened and several small moans escaped from your lips. George smiled, getting off on your pleasure and he placed his hands on your hips, quickening your rhythms.

George suddenly changed the pace, pushing you backwards so that he was on top of you. Your head was just barely off the edge of the bed, giving you the feeling of lightheadedness. George sucked on your neck as he thrust deeper inside of you. You felt your fingertips starting to tingle, knowing you were nearing a climax.

“Oh George,” you breathed, running your fingernails across his bare back. He continued at his pace as your back arched and you started to orgasm. You felt George cum inside of you as his full body weight crashed on top of you. You laid there motionless for a moment, both of you catching your breath and recovering from your intimate moment. You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, Georgie.”

“You know you aren’t supposed to say that after sex, dear.”

“I know, but it’s true and I don’t want you to forget it.” He lifted his head from your chest and kissed you lightly on the lips. You let out a big sigh and said the words you knew he was dreading, “I do really need to go now.”

“I know, I know. I won’t fight you this time. Have a lovely night with the girls and don’t forget about me.”

“Now you know I could never do that. Enjoy your night out as well. I want to hear all the stories tomorrow morning.”

“Yes of course, love. Now get going before Hermione apparates over here to retrieve you.”

You magically summoned your clothes and ran a finger through your hair to gussy up. “I love you,” you smiled as you apparated.

“Love you more!” You heard him shout as you were transported to London.

“Y/N! There you are! We thought you’d changed your mind.” Hermione said, as she embraced you in a warm hug.

“Oh no, nothing like that. Just got caught up packing,” you lied as a slight blush crept up your cheeks. You hugged Ginny and Angelina, and to your surprise, Fleur. You had invited her out of courtesy, assuming she wouldn’t be interested, yet here she was. Hermione had booked you all a suite in a luxury hotel in the center of London. Her parents had some connection at the hotel and managed to get the room for you free of charge. You told the girls you wanted to do something different for your hen party and Hermione suggested you go out in London and explore some of the muggle bars, where you wouldn’t run into any familiar faces. You were a little enamored with the idea, as it seemed like you knew everyone in the local wizarding community. Venturing into London also gave George more freedom to bar hop along the usual spots. You imagined he would spend some time with Madame Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks before returning to some of the bars in Diagon Alley. You and George both loved having a good time with friends, but it wasn’t often that you went out without one another. You were excited to have your girls’ night, but you knew you would miss George’s presence.

“Come on now, get changed. We’ve got dinner reservations!” Ginny urged. You found an empty room in the suite and magically unpacked the bag you had brought, evaluating your options. You had brought a selection of white dresses, all of different cuts and styles. After magically curling your hair, you selected a long sleeved white v-neck dress with a twirly, skater skirt. The top was made from lace that was sheer and snug around your arms. The flirty skirt was the perfect combination of classy, yet fun. You put on long gold chain earrings and a pair of gold heels. You stepped out of the room and found your friends all dressed in beautiful black dresses.

“Shall we save the sash and the willies for the bar then?” Hermione said, holding up a bachelorette sash and some decorative penises. You burst out laughing and nodded, wanting to save the attention for the bar scene. With that you grabbed your things and headed out for dinner.

“I wonder what Y/N’s doing right now…” George said, falling distracted yet again.

“I’d say at this point she’s probably getting a lap dance from a male stripper dressed as a bobby,” Ron stated. Harry and Lee let out chuckles.

George snapped out of his daze and responded, “Is that where they’ve gone?”

“No, you wanker. I’m only joking,” Ron replied.

“You need another beer,” Lee added, flagging down Madame Rosmerta. “Mate, this is one of your last nights as a single man. Stop harping over Y/N.”

“I know, you’re right. I just don’t like being apart from her.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re getting married,” Bill said, bringing a pitcher of beer for the group.

“Is this how you were with Fleur?”

“Sure. I never liked being away from her, especially when times were darker. I was so afraid that if we were separated I’d never see her again. Now I don’t have to worry so much about that, which makes it easier to be away. “

“George, if there’s one thing I know about you and Y/N, it’s that you can make it through anything. I don’t have a doubt in my mind that you two are meant to be together. Now, can you stop pouting over her and get drunk with us?” Ron commented. George couldn’t help that Y/N was his focus point of the night and he didn’t want to be a downer when his mates were all there to have a good time with him. He decided to try and shift his focus on the night ahead. He wanted to have stories to tell Y/N, knowing she would be enjoying herself tonight and would be eager to share her memories with him.

George responded to Ron’s comment by raising his glass and downing the fresh beer. All the guys cheered him on and started to get a little rowdy, preparing to finally get the night started.

“Okay, give me a little bit of a break before the next shot,” you stated, letting the lemon drop shot settle just a bit. Dinner had ended and you had reached your first bar. It was very modern, with dim lighting and lots of sleek furniture. After some convincing, you had finally agreed to wear the bright pink sash. The girls convinced you that wearing it might get you a few rounds of drinks on the house, and so far they were correct. When the bartenders weren’t giving you free drinks, bar patrons were eager to treat you to a round after testing out their best pick up lines on the group. You didn’t hate the attention, but you would’ve preferred to be flirting with your husband to be.

You made rounds around the bar, moving between the bar itself and a comfortable table in the corner. Ginny soon convinced the four of you to head out on to the dance floor to let loose a little. You were feeling more than a buzz from the numerous rounds of shots and drinks and thus, you were easily convinced to go dance. Fleur and Angelina seemed to be willing to follow the group, but Hermione was the challenge, acting as your babysitter tonight.

“You all go dance and I’ll sit here and save the table for us,” she offered.

“Hermione….come on. Come have fun with us!” you contested

“Honestly, you all go out. I’ll come join you in a bit.”

You were close to arguing further with her, however Ginny dragged you out on the club floor. Once again, you received looks from all the surrounding gentlemen. You couldn’t blame them, you were a group of good looking ladies. Thankfully, none of the admirers approached you, seeing as most of you were taken. It was then that it occurred to you to check on Hermione. You told the other girls you were grabbing a drink of water and would be back momentarily. Hermione seemed distracted but her face lit up when she saw you approach.

“Hi, are you having a great time?” she asked.

“I am, thank you for putting this all together for me. But I do wish you’d come have fun with us.”

She looked down before responding, “I’ll come join you in a bit.”

You furrowed your brow, “Hermione, is everything all right?”

She looked conflicted, which was unsettling. “It’s fine,” she said unconvincingly. “This is your night, I don’t want to make it about me.”

“So what if it’s my night, you’re upset about something. You’ve put so much work into this for me and I want to make sure you have a good time as well. So get on with it, what’s the matter?”

“I’m not sure it’s necessarily a bad thing, I’m just feeling a little nervous and unsure about things.”

“Is this about Ron?”

“Em, yeah a bit. I mean, things with him are great, better than I expected actually. It’s just…” she hesitated. You put your hand over hers to comfort her. She leaned toward you and whispered into your ear, “I think I might be…pregnant.”

“Hermione,” You responded with a surprised smile on your face. You instinctively wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug. “Is this a good thing?”

She giggled a little, “Yeah, I think so. You’re the first person I’ve told and now thinking about it’s made me very excited.”

“Ron doesn’t know yet?” you asked.

“I haven’t figured out the best way to tell him yet. You know how emotional he gets. I think maybe after the wedding. I don’t want to take away your spotlight.”

“Well I’m extremely excited for you. I promise I won’t tell a soul until you choose to announce it, not even George. And please let me know if you need anything at all.”

“I will, and I’m sorry that this is all coming up tonight. I didn’t mean for it to come out this way.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I just want to make sure you’re having a lovely time as well. Now come join us on the dance floor,” you took her hand and dragged her out to join the remainder of your group. The girls cheered as they saw you returning and you saw Ginny run off to fetch a round of shots.

“Oy, can we get out of here already? Madame Rosmerta’s staring me down…” Ron stated. He had just knocked over a few pints with his drunken storytelling and it was evident Madame Rosmerta was finished with the group’s antics.

“To Diagon Alley?” George suggested. The boys all agreed and they closed out the tab although their tab at the Three Broomsticks was never really settled. They owed Madame Rosmerta so much over the years. They all huddled together outside and apparated to the familiar street George called home. The boys found themselves in front of the shop. The lights inside were out and George could barely see the products lining the wall. He left the light on outside not only to assist him in getting home tonight, but just in case your plans changed and you ended up coming home.

Diagon Alley was bustling, like it had been previously. Except now it was home to more bars than shops. During the dark time, many of the shops closed down. How the joke shop managed to survive was a surprise to everyone. People seemed to need a place to escape and forget about the state of the magical community. They found solace in the joke shop, as well as the bar. Several pubs began popping up along the strip and once those that threatened the magical world were defeated, the pubs stuck around. You and George had made yourselves familiar with many of the bartenders in town, coming out for the occasional nightcap and sharing stories and laughs. It had been a while since George had been out with a rowdy group though. The boys fit right in with the weekend crowd, all witches and wizards letting loose and enjoying each other’s company. George offered to pick up the next round of drinks, despite several protests from his brothers and friends, while the guys found a table big enough to fit the group.

“Well, well, well…look who it is. How are ya, George? What can I get for you tonight?” Salvador asked. He was one of the bartenders you and George were very familiar with at this particular bar. He told you both stories about his experience growing up in the magical realm of Spain.

“Just a pitcher of beer and a handful of glasses,” George ordered. Salvador quickly prepared the pitcher and the stack of glasses.

“What brings you out tonight? You don’t normally make an appearance on a bustling Saturday night.”

“It’s actually my stag night. The boys have dragged me out to get drunk and ogle random women.”

“You don’t say. So no Y/N tonight?”

“Sadly no. Missing her like crazy though.”

“I can imagine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two apart.”

“It happens very seldom. But I’ll survive without her for a few more hours.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“A few weeks from now. It almost seems silly because we basically are married as it is. But we wanted things to be official.”

“Well congratulations my friend! This round is on the house. Enjoy your night.”

“Thanks Sal,” George brought the beer back to the table and felt himself finally starting to get a little bit buzzed. Typically he held his alcohol pretty well, but it wasn’t often that he engaged in binge drinking. This was the first time he felt himself getting drunk in a long time.

After what seemed like hours of dancing and kind strangers buying rounds of drinks, you all settled down at the bar, trying to regain your balance somewhat. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this drunk. You and George were casual drinkers. You had a drink a night, but you never got overly drunk, unless it was a special occasion. And while it was flattering to have all this male attention, you were seriously missing your partner in crime.

Fleur was sitting next to you at the bar and while you were waiting on your next round of drinks, she put her arm on your shoulder and leaned close to you. “Come to the bathroom with me?” she asked.

You nodded and embarked, as the others flirted with the latest round of onlookers. Fleur grabbed your hand and you scurried off. This was unique for you. You and Fleur had always been civil but you wouldn’t say you were ever close. You accepted each other because you realized you would one day be related. The only things you really had in common was your involvement with the Weasleys.

Once in the bathroom, you were alone and you saw Fleur reach for her purse to touch up her makeup.

“Y/N, thank you so much for inviting me. I’m having such a wonderful time and I’m just happy to be a part of this.”

Her sentiment was sweet and your drunken state got the best of you. You gave her a hug and said “Of course Fleur. I’m happy to have you here. Thank you for coming.”

“You and George are completely perfect together. I honestly can’t wait to officially welcome you to the family.”

‘Thank you Fleur. I can’t wait either. Honestly being apart from him tonight has been tough.”

“I understand. I miss Bill too.”

“I wonder what the boys are up to tonight.”

“Oh, they’re in Diagon Alley. At The Den or something like that.”

The Dragon’s Den. It was one of the local bars you and George frequented. You smiled, knowing he was likely having a wonderful time with the boys.

“Y/N, come with me.” She took your hand yet again and a moment later you were apparating. Before you realized what had happened, you were in The Den. Crowds of people were lined around the bar as you stood in the vacant hallway.

“Fleur! We shouldn’t be here!” you whispered through a giggle.

“Nonsense, we’ll only be a moment. Now stay here, out of sight.” She sauntered into the room and you saw her sneak up behind Bill at a high top table. The other guys seemed to be invested in something else and didn’t notice her. She kissed him several times and then whispered in his ear. The two turned toward your direction, with brilliant smiles. Fleur snuck away from Bill as he rejoined the group of guys. You saw him pat George on the shoulder and pull him away from the crowd. Moments later you saw George head your way with a puzzled look on his face. You hid in the hallway so you wouldn’t be spotted and soon enough you felt his presence nearby.

He turned the corner and didn’t notice you right away. He looked like a confused and lost puppy, looking without a purpose.

“Psst…” you finally said to capture his attention. He turned around and his face lit up when he saw you.

“Darling!” he smiled as he picked you up. He planted several kisses on your lips and said, “What are you doing here? You’re breaking the rules! You should be getting drunk with your friends.”

“I’m full of surprises,” was all you offered.

“I’m so happy to see you. I hope you’re having a great time tonight.”

“I am but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you.”

“I missed you too,” he said, kissing you again. “How did you pull this off anyway?” he said, still holding you in his arms.

“It was all Fleur actually. I didn’t even know where she was taking me. Suddenly we apparated and ended up here.”

“Well I’m very glad she snuck you here.”

“Me too,” you smiled up at him. He kissed you some more and it was then you realized he was more than a little drunk. He always got very touchy when he was drinking, which you didn’t mind one bit. He kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear between kisses and you couldn’t stop giggling. You were desperately wishing you could end your night now and head home with George, but you knew soon it would be time to head back to the bar with the girls.

He suddenly pulled away and smiled down at you, “I can’t believe you came here.”

“I didn’t mean to crash your party, but I just missed you so much.”

“I love that you crashed my party,” he said, before kissing you again. You continued kissing for what seemed like mere seconds before you were broken up by Fleur and Bill.

“Alright mate, you’ve had your fun. Y/N better get back to London before anyone notices she’s missing.”

You both pouted as you said quick goodbyes and before you knew it, you were back in the bathroom where you came from.

“Fleur, did you have that whole thing planned?” you asked with a smile.

“Oui,” she smiled and flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulder, “Bill and I both knew you’d want to see each other at some point in the night.”

“That was very thoughtful. Thank you,” you smiled and hugged her. She had surprised you tonight. She was invited as a formality, but she had proved that she knew something about you and what would make you happy.

You quietly returned to your friends, who had barely noticed you were gone. Hermione was perceptive though, and her lack of alcohol didn’t seem to help your case.

“You were gone a while…” she said with a smirk.

“Oh, long line in the bathroom,” you lied with a smile. She nodded, not believing your bullshit, but she didn’t press you any further. You could see her losing steam quickly and you felt the night begin to wind down. You had another drink or two before you collectively embarked back to the hotel. Hermione helped you navigate the unfamiliar streets as you all giggled together and stumbled in your heels. Upon arriving at the hotel you ordered room service and ate your weight in pizza and chips. Hermione, being ever responsible, forced you all to drink water to minimize your hangovers the next morning. You all knew she was preparing a hangover cure for the morning, so you didn’t take her suggestions very seriously. One by one the girls trickled off to bed until it was just you and Ginny. While you had stopped drinking a little while ago, Ginny popped a bottle of champagne for the two of you, even though you hardly needed it.

“Y/N, I can’t wait for you to be my sister.”

“Ginny…” you replied, bringing her in close for a hug.

“My whole life I’ve wanted a sister, and now I have three. Although I never felt too close to Fleur, she's growing on me. And Angelina is such a dear, but tough as nails. She’s lived through the circle of life and she doesn’t complain at all. And then there’s you. You’re so happy go lucky and you bring joy to everyone around you. You’re just so calm and level headed all the time. You handle every situation with such grace. When we were growing up, you were my role model. You were so confident and sure of yourself and that was something I struggled with. I always thought of you as an older sister, even when we weren’t super close. And now I feel like I can finally call you my sister.”

“Ginny, you’ve always been a sister to me. And you know I’ll always be here if you need anything.”

“Thanks for being so great. And thanks for everything you’ve done for George. I don’t know if you realize how happy you make him. He never would’ve gotten through everything without you.”

“That really does mean a lot Gin. I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s made me happier than I could ever imagine.”

The conversation dwindled and you both sauntered off to bed. You changed into one of George’s T-shirts that you had brought with you and crawled into bed. You thought bringing this small piece of George would help you through the night, but it only made things worse. You kept smelling his scent on you and all you wanted was to be wrapped in his arms. You tossed and turned in an attempt to get comfortable but nothing was working. You even turned on the television to try and shift your focus to whatever late night show was on, but it didn’t help. After what seemed like hours you gave up trying to fall asleep. You moved to the common area of the suite in search of something to snack on.

To your surprise, Ang was seated at the table with a pack of biscuits open in front of her and a book in her hand.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked you.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept alone. I thought I might enjoy the extra space but…” you trailed off, unable to vocalize your thoughts. “What about you?”

“I’m okay, I just miss little Freddie. I know Molly’s taking good care of him, but it’s still hard to be away.”

“I hear that…the funny thing is, I was the one who brought this up. George didn’t want to spend the night apart but I insisted because it was tradition. And now I’m regretting it because I miss him laying next to me at night.”

“You should go to him,” she said, passing you a biscuit.

“What?”

“Go home and surprise him. Everyone else is asleep, they won’t mind if you sneak home.”

“It would be kind of fun to surprise him…are you sure?”

“Sure, do what makes you happy. But before you go, let me give you your bachelorette gift.”

“Ang you didn’t have to get me a gift.”

“Oh but of course I did. And now you can get some use out of it tonight.” She brought out a pink box tied with a black bow. You quickly pulled the bow loose and opened the box. Inside was a lacy black bra and matching thong. “I hope you like it. I know you like simplicity so I didn’t want to get you anything that was too much.”

“It’s perfect,” you smiled. You felt the booze come back to you again as you started to feel giddy on the inside. This was unpredictable which was something you weren’t great at. You tried on the lingerie and showed it off to Angelina. She gave you the compliments needed to increase your confidence. You threw on the long trench coat you had brought in case of rain and slipped on the gold heels you had been wearing earlier in the night.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you smiled to yourself in the mirror, as you touched up your hair and makeup. The action wasn’t completely wild, but it was out of character for you. You just kept thinking about how George would react and the thought of being with him brought a smile to your face.

“Go have some fun,” Ang said as she gave you a hug.

‘Thanks for helping me do this.”

“What are sisters for,” she grinned. After one more glance you apparated to Diagon Alley.

You landed outside the shop and unlocked the door, careful to disarm the alarms before they sounded. Once inside, you locked the shop door and walked up the steps to the apartment. You stood at the front door, wondering how to best play this situation out. Even though you had a key to the apartment, you found yourself knocking on the door. George was a light sleeper so even if he was in bed, the knocking would wake him up.

You heard footsteps across the hardwood floor and tried to maintain your composure. The door swung open and you saw George’s tired face try to comprehend what was happening.

“Special delivery,” you said with a coy smile. His tired eyes widened as a grin spread over his face.

“How did I get so lucky,” he smiled at you. A moment later his lips were on yours, kissing you tenderly. You stayed in the doorframe for a moment before he pulled you inside. You managed to pull away for a moment and you pushed him back into the kitchen table.

“Sit,” you instructed. He quickly turned a kitchen chair to face you and sat down. You sauntered across the room and took a deep breath. With your back turned to him you used your wand to turn on the radio in the kitchen, which began to play some slow R&B. You turned around to face George and slowly started to take off the trench coat, first untying the belt then slowly undoing every button, taking a step forward with each button undone. Once the coat was completely unbuttoned, you dropped your shoulders and let it slip to the floor.

You weren’t sure what was coming over you; perhaps it was the last few glasses of champagne you shared with Ginny. You were never one to be overly dominant and in control. But you knew George was enjoying himself. His eyes were locked on you and he was taking in deep breaths. His face gave you the confidence you needed to continue.

You continued toward George and found yourself circling around his chair. You placed your hands delicately on his shoulders and slid your hands down his chest. You planted sweet kisses up his neck, gently sucking on his soft skin. When you reached his ear you tugged on his lobe with your teeth, slowly pulling until his skin slipped through your chiclets.

“Oh Merlin…Y/N…” he whispered.

“Shhh….” you said, placing your finger over his lips. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before quickly changing positions. You slung your leg across him so that you were straddled across his lap.

You ran your fingers through his ginger hair before tracing his jawline with your knuckles. His hand was gently resting on your waist, but you casually slid it down past your hips, giving him access to your ass. Once again, you moved your lips to his neck and started slowly gyrating your hips on his lap. He tightened his grip on your backside and you moved from his neck to his lips. He quickly accepted your tongue into his mouth and you could taste his hunger, but you wanted to make sure you prolonged this experience for him. You slowly pulled away as he looked longingly at you. You failed to hide the sly smile that was slowly spreading across your face. You quickly unhooked your bra and gracefully flung it to the side. George let out a deep breath and you took that as a sign to continue. You pulled his shirt over his head and planted kisses down his neck and chest. You carefully slid down off his lap and knelt on the ground as you fished out his member from his sweatpants. You began massaging his shaft with your hand before taking him into your mouth. You heard him exhale, clearly enjoying himself as you continued to pleasure him. George was typically a giver in bed, so he wasn’t used to having all the attention on him. You only hoped he was enjoying himself and that you made him feel special. After a series of moans, George ran his fingers through your hair and pulled you up towards him. He placed you back on his lap and cupped your face in his hand.

“What are you doing to me, Y/N?” he said with a smile on his face.

“I just want to give you a stag night that you’ll never forget.”

“Well you are certainly succeeding,” he said, planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

“And now we are going to move to the bedroom where we will make love for the rest of the night.” You kissed him on the lips and stood up, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. Before you could lead him toward the bedroom, he picked you up so that you were facing him with your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wrapped around his torso. He quickly found your lips and carried you toward the bedroom with a sense of urgency.

“That was…wild,” George said, catching his breath. Your head was resting on his chest and you were struggling to breathe regularly.

“That’s a good way to put it,” you muttered. He chuckled lightly before tightening his embrace around your bare shoulder.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he said, kissing your forehead.

“Just three short weeks until I can call you my husband.”

“That is entirely too long.”

“Would it be crazy if we got married tomorrow?” You were kind of spewing off without thinking, but after you spoke you started considering this more and more.

He let out a big sigh, “Y/N, we’ve had this conversation before. I know you don’t want a small wedding.”

“Okay, but hear me out. We can still have the party and the wedding we planned out with everyone. But we’ll just already be married. It’ll be like our little secret.”

“You seriously want to do this?” he asked.

“I don’t want to wait anymore. And then this way it takes some of the pressure off of the big day. Who cares if things don’t go perfectly. We’ll already be married.”

“I’m having a hard time coming up with a counter argument.”

“Do you want to marry me tomorrow?” you asked. You sensed some hesitation from him and you wanted to ensure this was something he wanted.

“Y/N, I’ve wanted to marry you since the day we met. I don’t care what kind of wedding we have, as long as you’re happy. Is this something you really want?”

“Yes. I want to marry you tomorrow and I want it to be our little secret. This is for us, not for everyone else.”

“If that’s what you want then that’s what we’ll do. Although, I will check in with you tomorrow morning to make sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

“I can tell you right now, I’m not changing my mind.” George shifted underneath you and then moments later he was on top of you, squeezing you tight. You wrapped your arms around him and planted sweet kisses on his neck.

He popped his head up and looked in your eyes, “I really love you.”

You pecked him on the lips, “I really love you too.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfic #weasley twins fanfic #hp fanfic #george weasley x you

145 notes · View notes

unfunny-quips · 4 years ago

Text

Snippet from my (other) overly complicated Akeshu Time Loop fic where everyone except Akira (mostly) remembers the previous year:

Akechi Goro’s apartment was nothing like what Ann had expected it to be. Though admittedly her imagination had been a bit conflicted on what she should expect.

The shiny, polite Ace Detective facade he showed the world suggested she should expect a living space ripped straight out of a designer magazine. Attractive but stiff, nice to look at but difficult to actually live in let alone be comfortable in when visiting.

On the other hand, what she’d seen of his other side - the feral, blood thirsty and thoroughly nasty Black Mask - made her think of a dungeon like space. Chains on the walls, maybe one of those disturbing cluttered spaces shown on crime dramas when the heroes were hunting a serial killer. Pictures with blacked out eyes pinned to the walls, red string connecting disparate and terrifying thoughts and images, a collection of weapons on display.

What she got was…neither of those.

Shiho led her down the kind of pleasant residential area that put Ann in mind of the best kind of summers as a kid. A big park, open friendly faces, a community that seemed friendly and kind to each other. Shiho smiled and waved to a number of people on their way, the few they stopped to chat with for a bit telling her to give their hellos on to Akechi before letting them continue.

The apartment itself was the converted guest house in the back garden of what looked to be a cheerful family home. Ann counted no less than three fat cats lazing about and when they approached a delightfully plump old woman seated in a rocking chair on the front porch sat up from her reading to say hello and welcome Ann. Shiho called her Obaasan and rushed to give her a hug like she really was Shiho’s beloved grandmother before the old woman ushered them down the side path towards the back of the house.

“That’s Goro’s landlady, Shibata-San,” Shiho said as they walked the narrow path that led along the side of the house and through a truly beautiful garden. “She’s super sweet but has trouble with her arthritis sometimes. She gives Goro a deal on the rent since he helps her out so much around the house and with her gardening.”

Akechi Goro being nice to little old ladies. Ann wasn’t certain if that was exactly what she expected from the deranged killer pretending to be a charming teen detective or something so far out of the realm of expected as to be laughable. She chose to make a polite hmm noise of interest instead, not wanting to break the good mood Shiho was in by bringing up how very much Ann hated Akechi. She was rewarded by Shiho smiling warmly at her, which was really all the shorter girl would need to do to convince Ann to murder someone in Shiho’s name.

Shiho knocked at the door and Ann took a final calming breath to prepare her for the night that lay ahead of her. It was just a few hours, and she’d be there with Shiho and there would be plenty of other people to help buffer her from Akechi and Akira. Ann had helped shoot a god in the face once, she was ready for anything Akechi might throw at her over a few hours of talking about a book.

She wasn’t even close to ready, as it turned out.

The realization settled in the moment the door opened to reveal a yawning Akechi standing before her with messy hair and Featherman themed pajamas. Rumpled and clearly well worn Featherman pajamas.

Ann felt her eyes widen comically at the sight of the boy that had once been her and her team’s arch nemesis. A known and dangerous killer who had taken countless lives in the name of his twisted revenge scheme.

He was wearing adorable unicorn slippers. Their horns were rainbow.

“Ah, Shiho!” Akechi said through his yawn, face stretching into a warm smile as he spotted the shorter girl on the other side of the threshold. “Just in time, I need help hauling Akira’s dead weight to the bedroom.” Ann watched him scratch lazily at his chin before blinking his attention over to her and offered another smile. It was a brittle, plastic thing in comparison to the honest warmth he’d offered the shorter girl. All polish and teeth, no actual emotion. “And Takamaki-San, I’m so glad you could join us for the evening.”

He looked anything but, especially with the white knuckled grip he had on the door handle.

Ann offered a strained smile of her own. She’d made a promise to Shiho damnit and she’d see it through if it killed her. Or if Akechi killed her. Whatever. The point was that she was going to try damnit.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” She said as Akechi stepped back to allow them inside. Shiho gave a faint wince at the overly perky tone Ann had and shoot she’d overshot the enthusiasm a bit. Oh well. Better to be too excited than not enough. She followed Shiho’s lead in taking her shoes off and slipping on a pair of house slippers before turning her attention to the apartment itself.

It was…surprisingly cozy.

Ann was surprised too by the amount of clutter taking up the apartment. A laundry basket of half-folded, clean clothes sitting next to the couch, a knocked over bag tossed on a side table by the front door, more pillows and blankets than Ann would have expected making it seem like a nice place to curl up and read in. The apartment still managed to look tidy despite the half hearted attempt at organization.

Most of the space consisted of a living room with a tiny kitchenette tucked in a corner. There was a small nook beside the cooking area likely meant for dining. The small table placed there was taken over by a nice looking chess set, leaving no room for any actual dining. A small blackboard hung on the wall beside it, tallying victories of each player - tied, from what Ann could see, between Akechi and Kurusu. Other than that there were a couple doors leading to what she presumed to be a bedroom and a bathroom.

It looked so remarkably normal.

Hardwood floors, plush rugs thrown everywhere, overstuffed bookshelves, pictures on the wall. There was a larger one hung over the couch showing off the entire book club smiling brightly at what looked like a cat cafe. Shiho, Akechi, Kurusu, Yoshizawa, even Togo Hifumi and Iwai’s son Kaoru. All of them squeezed together to fit, hands up in peace signs or giving each other bunny ears.

They looked normal. Just kids hanging out, enjoying each other’s company and reading books. It was hard to reconcile the photo with the mental image Ann had of several of the members as potential agents of Yaldabaoth.

Seeing how happy Shiho looked in the pictures didn’t help.

Ann pushed the thoughts away as best she could and followed other two to where a half asleep Akira was laid sprawled half under a large kotatsu. The delinquent had his head thrown back on the couch behind him, one of the many throw pillows Akechi apparently owned curled in his arms. She was surprised to see his usual oversized glasses he so often hid behind tossed haphazardly on the kotatsu. His eyes were closed, but he cracked one open when he heard them come over.

“M’fine here.” He muttered, curling up further around his pillow.

Akechi rolled his eyes.

“There is a bed literally right there.” he pointed at one of the two closed doors for emphasis, mere steps away. Akira was already turning away and wiggling further beneath the kotatsu blanket. “Just go to bed Akira, no one else is even going to be here for another hour at least.”

Ann blinked. “What?” She turned from the drowsy Akira to Shiho, the shorter girl giving an unapologetic, challenging smile.

“Goro said we could come over early so you could get settled in!” Shiho said, chipper and all too aware of the fact that Ann had been banking on keeping her attention on other people in order to ignore Akechi. She really shouldn’t have been surprised. Shiho really did know her too well.

Akechi offered another brittle smile before turning his attention back to Akira, his expression softening again. Ann watched as the detective attempted to scoop the dark haired boy up, only for Akira to slip out of his grasp by going boneless, earning an undignified swear from the detective.

Ann watched as the detective attempted to drag the delinquent away by an arm, amused as Shiho strolled over casually and hauled Akira up over her shoulder - pillow and all - in a fireman’s hold. She did it with such ease that Ann was a left little breathless at the show of strength. Akira wasn’t heavy by any measure but he was tall and she’d seen him working out at the gym the one time she went with Ryuji. The boy had muscle and that couldn’t be light. It didn’t matter to the short girl and her exceptional strength and well… Ann was weak to Shiho in so very many ways.

A few minutes later Akira had been safely stowed in a proper bed, the faint sound of soft snores heard from the dark haired delinquent before Shiho had even made it through the door. Which just left the three of them standing awkwardly in the living room.

Joy.

“I’m not nearly as good as Akira or Boss,” Akechi began, “But I can make a passable cup of coffee with what I’ve got here. Would you like one?”

There was a very real chance he might poison it. Ann nodded anyway to appease Shiho, resigned to the fact that she really was willing to do anything to see the shorter girl smile.

Akechi shuffled towards the kitchenette in his ridiculous fluffy unicorn slippers and began fussing with the various coffee supplies that took up almost all of his very limited counter space. He was even nice enough to pull out a container of some cookies - a favorite brand of Ann’s on top of it - that hadn’t even been opened yet from a cupboard. She felt secure in the knowledge that those at least hadn’t been tampered with as she began happily devouring them.

“He’s still refusing to move in?” Shiho asked Akechi softly as she settled on the plush loveseat adjacent to the couch, tugging Ann down beside her. The dark haired girl pulled her feet up and under her, Shiho’s expression turning concerned as she watched Akechi work.

Akechi gave a soft sigh as he began boiling some water for the coffee. “He’s just so damn stubborn.” The detective said, shoulder’s drooping as he measured the freshly ground coffee out. “That place is killing him, but every time I bring it up he digs his heels in.”

Shiho gave a soft sigh before turning her attention to Ann to explain. “Akira is…” She paused, frowning, “His living situation is…bad.” Ann flicked her attention to Akechi as she heard him mutter a faint fucking understatement of the year under his breath. “Goro has offered to let him stay here but Akira’s worried that his record would hurt Goro’s reputation.”

“Oh,” Ann said, turning her attention on the delicate chocolate dipped cookie she held. Akira’s criminal record, that had been made public and well known by Mishima at Komashida’s request. Because Akira had stepped in and kept the teacher from getting to Shiho. Something Ann should have done. “Isn’t there something he can do? He’s staying with a guardian right? Couldn’t he just request to be moved under someone else?”

Akechi snorted bitterly. “Great idea, so that scam artist can report him as being “dangerous” and get him sent back to Juvie?” Red eyes turned to Ann, pinning her in place as Akechi’s mouth twisted into a sour frown. “You know about shitty adults. You know there really aren’t options like that for people in Akira’s position.”

Ann was struck again by the strange clash between what she expected from Akechi from the last run of the game and what he was showing her in this one.

A facade of niceties for the camera, a howling soul of insanity for anyone who got in his way. Where, exactly, between those two extremes lay concern for a friend in a difficult position? Where did friends lay in that mess at all? Where did the cozy apartment, helping out an arthritic old lady, the weekly book club, the Featherman pajamas? Was there a graph somewhere that might map it all out? Or was she just supposed to guess at what was a real glimpse at the boy that had once murdered her friend’s father and what was an act to get what he wanted?

“Here,” Akechi said, and for a moment she half expected him to hand her the answers she wanted. He didn’t, of course, instead handing her a cup of coffee resting on a matching saucer. Both cup and saucer had cute chubby cats on them. “Cream? Sugar?”

She blinked and nodded, watching as he turned on his heel to get her what she asked for. Shiho beside her shifted where she sat, butting their shoulders together gently. Her face, when Ann met her gaze, was thoughtful. Considering Ann as if she was the puzzle and not the serial killer juggling a carton of cream and an oversized container of sugar across the room. Trying to stow her apprehension away for the night, Ann offered her friend the best honest expression she could while knowing how many lies she’d given the shorter girl over the past months.

Shiho’s expression shifted slowly, the look in her dark eyes difficult to read. Ann watched as the other girl turned to sip at her coffee. Shiho didn’t even wait for it to cool. She always liked her drinks hot enough to scald.

“You know, maybe it’s the way you’re asking.” Shiho said, the complicated emotions Ann glimpsed the moment before shuffled away as the dark haired girl turned a devious smile on Akechi.

The detective looked weary and wary all at once. “Shiho…” His tone had something like a weak warning to it, though the bite Ann was used to hearing from him was absent.

“I’m just saying,” Shigo said, looking delighted, “You’re asking him to move in with you as a friend.”

“Don’t.” Akechi said, it might have been sharp and snapping if it wasn’t for the color rising high on the boy’s cheeks. Ann blinked in bewilderment. Was Akechi Goro blushing?

“Just ask him to be your boyfriend already!” Shiho said, all cheer and delight with an undercurrent of something challenging directed at the now definitely blushing Akechi. “We all saw you two kiss at the ice rink! It’s not like the thing between you it’s a secret!”

Ann choked on the cookie she’d just popped into her mouth. Akechi - so red that Ann was fairly certain he was going to turn purple soon - made a high pitched squeak and buried his face in his hands.

Well that put a new light on things.

“You kissed Kurusu?!” Cookies crumbs went flying as she spoke but Ann didn’t care. The news was just too big to be taken in calmly. Makoto had suspected that Kurusu, a known criminal, was a pawn in Akechi’s devious plan and the rest of the group had been thinking the same. Morgana suggested that the dark haired boy might even be the new player they’d been warned about.

At no point at any of them considered Akechi could be so human as to simply just like Kurusu.

“It’s not that - you’re taking things out of context!” Akechi almost wailed, not a psychopath ready to kill at a drop of a hat but an embarrassed teenage boy being teased about his crush.

Shiho laughed, “You two held hands!”

“I didn’t know how to skate! Kurusu was helping me balance!”

“You stayed on the ice during the couple’s song!”

“We just didn’t want to get off the ice!”

“You stopped, in the middle of the rink, looked deep into each other’s eyes while holding hands and kissed.”

As if to drive her point home, Shiho lifted her phone to show a picture - a bit blurry at the edges but clear enough to make out - of Akechi and Kurusu definitely having a sweet, romantic kiss on the ice. Clearly completely oblivious of the world around them as they did so. It was possibly the cutest thing Ann had ever seen.

Any idea Ann ever had of Akechi Goro being intimidating was thrown right out the window.

114 notes · View notes

amysgiantbees · 3 years ago

Text

Head-cannons for me for MHA DND

Urarka is grey ace pan. She likes to perform cantrips or float a little to alleviate stress. Socialist, ACAB. Trains with Bakugo regularly, they’re very close friends. Her parents are poor builders. They live in the poor area of the city and do a lot of community and charity work.

Kirishima is a trans man. Loves meat, particularly red meat. Big protein guy. A whole homosexual. He has two mothers, one is a gladiator, the other is a stay at home mom. He does yoga and meditation. Absolute golden retriever, mourning person. He cracks his knuckles when stressed. Always goes for a mourning run. He knows how to speak Bakugo so he knows when is or isn’t being a dick.

Denki is nonbinary they/he, Bisexual. Denki loves flirting with people’s parents especially Bakugo’s. His parents are awful and resent him for being chosen by Kord as they are very stuffy, devout followers of him for years and never recieved similar attention. Dyslexic and ADHD - ticks ALL the boxes, like can pick up talents very quickly, like the lyre. Night owl, puts all his work off till night then sleeps till noon. Gets jitters and ticks when stressed. Massive flirt. No filter. Lack of self preservation. Would be a fantastic dancer if he didn’t overthink it so much. Was in Jiro’s band. Lichtenberg figure. When he short circuits it’s numbing. He can’t think and his thoughts come slowly too him at best. He often ends up drooling. He can’t focus on his surroundings. Can’t feel anything so people can easily take advantage. Usually can only form enough thoughts to reassure people and put his thumbs up to show he’s okay.

Sero is nonbinary, they/them. Demisexual panromantic. Skateboards exist just for Sero. He is from a large family. Two fathers, one mother. They’re part of a traveling commune. Sero is just sleepy, isn’t a morning or a night person. Best wingman, very observant. Very laidback. Rubs arm and elbow when stressed. His family are tattoo artists, did his elbow tattoos as his magic focusses before he left for high school.

Whole Bakusquad are Kord fans.

Mina is ace/aromantic. her parents are assassins' that specialize in poisonings. Night owl. Loves fashion, and visiting Bakugo’s parent’s store. Sensible one out of the Bakusquad. Bakugo is usually the brains behind their plans but she’s the primary authority on whether they go ahead. Kirishima tends to hesitate - look to others for advice, Sero hesitates too - wants to think it over and take his time, Denki just dives in on instinct - what feels right, Bakugo is impatient - does not hesitate at all and often doesn’t factor in people’s feelings. Mina is the perfect balance of everyone. Thinks it through, has good instincts, is brave, doesn’t need to ask but is open to suggestions.

Aoyama is gay. He has IBS (Alcohol, chocolate, caffeinated beverages are potential culprits as are certain types of carbohydrate known as FODMAPs). He massages his face when he’s stressed.

Tsuyu is ace and homoromantic. Her dad is a grung florist and her human mother is the accountant for the flower business. She has two little siblings, a twin brother and sister.

Jiro is a sex positive ace bisexual. Jiro’s family are very popular travelling bards. Songwriters too, they’ve patented songs. Night owl. She plays with her hair when stressed. Plays instruments to relax. Can get stage fright. Likes to sing to calm down people after a monster attack, help people with both her talents. Loves her parents.

Nejire Hado grew up as an orphan raised by the local temple of Sune. She has grown to have a stronger connection with Mystra now as she’s grown into her own person but she still loves and worships Sune. Nejire asks more questions than she answers. Gets over excited very easily.

Bakugo is pansexual - he just likes them strong. His mother is half-orc and a model and fashion designer for her and her husband’s clothing business. It’s called Green with Envy. Masaru has terrible shyness when it comes to modeling. So all of their clothing is made to be gender neutral and Mitiski models everything for the flyers and posters. Totally has ADHD, impulsivity, avoids lengthy tasks, feels restless, can’t stay seated. Never drinks, this man treats his body like a temple, he has a bed time, morning person. Bakugo cracks his neck and joints when stressed. Can play drums, was in Jiro’s band.

Tokoyami is ace and grey aromantic. He can play the lyre, was in Jiro’s band. Dark Shadow likes to collect shiny things. He pets and talks to her her when stressed. He loves poetry and ballads. Often spends nights in taverns listening to dark songs. Writes his own poetry. Only his best friend Shoji and crush Aoyama get to read it though and even then it’s very reluctantly.

Shoji is very nervous to date, very insecure. grey ace, panromantic.

Ojiro is pan. Everyone likes to play with his tail when he grows it. He plays with it when stressed.

Koda is ace and aromantic. Likes to hide, be somewhere small and confined when stressed. Terrified of bugs, but mostly just the crawly, scary ones.

Sato is grey ace aromantic. Stress eats. Solves other peoples problems with food too. Giving gifts is his love language.

Izuku is also pan he really likes them strong. His mother has a tiny cake shop in her house next door to Green with Envy. Night owl, anxious. ADHD - shows in impulsivity, distracted, very observant, fidgeting, can’t stay focused, talking excessively, interrupts, intrusive. He fidgets with his hands when nervous. Holds grudges and guilt trips when upset. can’t forgive himself, apologizes too much. Stubborn, doesn’t know when to give up.

Heroes are gladiator esque. They have posters, dolls, figures, homemade wood carvings. They work as adventures but some are paid by the heroes commission to remain in one city and participate in gladiator battles (not to the death) too.

All Might is currently ranked number 1 in the world by the hero commission and has permission to teleport anytime to other countries to help but is based in Faerun, Masfutu.

Izuku and Bakugo try every year to win behind the scenes tickets to the coliseum.

All Might is ace/aro. He’s always been naturally talented at picking up new skills - ADHD - and is thrown that he hasn’t quite taken so well to teaching. Struggled for a bit but is taking it seriously and putting in the work finally.

Grand Torino and Recovery Girl are in love and they spend their dates hassling and messing with the Youth.

Cementos is struggling with a divorce

Mic and Aizawa are married. They have been since a couple of years after school. Aizawa had a whole flamboyant, elaborate proposal planned for Mic, but the day he was going to propose Mic said “we should get married” while gazing lovingly in his eyes and Aizawa was so relieved.

Mic is nonbinary trans he/they. Before he got married to Aizawa and teaching when they took a break from each other he was a world famous Bard. He sings in class and Aizawa has to always bang on the wall to get him to shut up when it gets to loud.

Aizawa is trans and Shinso is son with an ex he jumped into a relationship with after he finished UA. He was never a “hero” in the coliseum, didn’t want the attention, he was a freelance adventurer for a little bit before becoming pregnant, then teaching.

The reason Power Loader never wears a shirt is because he is a huge fashionista and he doesn’t want any of his clothes getting wrecked because he refuses to own no more ugly clothes than required.

Ibara Shiozaki is straight. She’s from a whole family of temple worshippers. (Fantasy) bible before boys.

Jurota Shishida is the lone survivor of a werewolf attack and an orphan. He lives at the school permanently.

Iida is mostly straight. He swings his hands when stressed and musts his hair. plans everything. Morning person. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Yaoyorozu is the local royalty. She has lead a VERY sheltered life. Never left the city except when directly teleporting to other fancy locations. Iida is very dedicated to her as his family is one of her family’s vassals. She rubs her chest when stressed. Absolute capitalist. Only knows how to ball dance and can play the piano. Was in Jiro’s High School band. Doesn’t get to do her own shopping a lot so loves to whenever she can. Loves spoiling people. Kind of naïve.

Cementous and Exoplasm are the oldest teachers at UA and best friends.

Shouto is a grey ace demiromatic gay man. He darts his eyes when nervous. He’s autistic. Knows how to ball dance.

Hawks is pan. He’s a workaholic so he’s up at the crack of dawn. Always seems laid back but is VERY observant. High alcohol tolerance. He plays with his feathers when nervous but is aware of this tell so tries to just do nothing and only does it if very stressed. Favourite food is birds, like chicken, as that’s hawks primary food. He has tetrachromats eyes so can see ultraviolet light. Female hawks are generally larger than males. Hawks prefer open habitats, like deserts or fields. Probably lives on the outskirt of the city, lots of windows. His preferred time to work is just before nightfall. He will likely only live to his 30s at most. He’s mostly based on red-tailed hawks. Perfectionist. Orphan, is the adopted child of the head of the commission.

Shouto’s father is so desperate to find him and keep him because he knows that news of his reputation is vital. Enji is not royalty by blood but by marriage. He’s aware that if he doesn’t keep a tight leash on his family they could ruin his reputation as he’s human (mostly) and the rest are half-elves. So they’ll all outlive him. He’s already lost Touya so he’s desperate to as discreetly as possible find Shouto. Momo is helping him run away and hide out and paying for his school tuition. Enji was at first a hero like All Might until he managed to secure his marriage with Rei. He’s very aware that there’s only so much he can control his reputation as his whole family will outlive him. So will he redeem himself or double down?

Dabi is the League’s reluctant big brother. Likes to mess around with Toga most of all, she reminds him of his little siblings.

Vlad King is one of the founders of UA and is over 100 years old.

* These are purely notes for myself for a dnd game coming up for myself which is why I’ve nicked ideas from tiktoker lia_faye.

#myanalysis

7 notes · View notes

tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

Note

Hi Sav! Hope all is well! Just wanna ask, do you get writer's block once in a while? If so, how do you fight it? How do you keep yourself motivated in writing?

Omg, thank you for the ask.

I’m honestly surprised people are pretty interested in my writing habits because I guess no one in real life actually knows me as a writer so nobody really asks about this. But yeah, the good news is I do have a set way of how I go about writing so this is a pretty easy ask to navigate.

So to answer your questions...

Just wanna ask, do you get writer's block once in a while?

Yes. I get it all the time. Writing the first few words of the next chapters of my fics or writing the first words of the fic given a prompt is always painful.

If so, how do you fight it?

I actually have some concrete ways which help me keep my head moving so I’ll drop these here. I can’t say it works for everyone but yeah, it might help people I guess?

I write things which I wish would happen no matter how much it doesn’t make any sense.

That’s why when I’m writing a fic, I never start at the start or what I believe the first words will be. I have a document and I write skeletons of dialogues which I want to show up, I write scenes and interactions that I want to happen.

All of my fics started from badly written notes. Most of them usually get deleted once the fic is done so I had to unearth these. I’ll drop a sample here of my shitty notes from fics I’ve been working on and some I actually finished. You might recognize some of the prompts from fics I’ve finished already

Canon fixit: fic where Hänge pulls Levi out of the water again, helps him wake up from his coma of Levi, the world just goes back to normal. Hange figures out her feelings for Levi, lives her cottage core life waiting for Levi to wake up and Levi discuss feelings for each other. reads romeo and Juliet ( is that us?) romeo and Juliet, gets a dream did it hurt?

Rekindle: sad songs more varied than happy songs, Levi saves Hänge drowning, works multiple jobs to make ends meet

Levihanzeke love triangle Hange is a lawyer, Levi is an illegitimate child convicted criminal in a Ponzi scheme, that's the thing about rich kids, Mikasa agrees with him, tries to save him by feeding information Philosophy Other prompts

Soulmates AU but a love child can be born from the love of someone else. Udo is the one who knows that Levijan are together, he goes with Gaby with them to Paradis and he tells them he knows them makes Levi and Hänge analyze their relationship

Lifetime: Levi takes up painting after the war.

Sometimes, I have interactions written out

And it becomes a matter of getting the kinks fixed and the ropes tied together.

Like this one dialogue...

“So, Levi Ackerman and Hange Zoe…” The teacher started as she looked through what could have been her list of names. With the way she was holding it, Levi had found it difficult to sneak a peek at what’s inside. “Commander Hange Zoe and Retired Captain Levi Ackerman…” The teacher corrected, clearing her throat at that.

“Yes, but no need for pleasantries. I mean you have been taking care of our son…” Hange spoke up and held one hand out for a hand shake, obviously trying to ease the tension in the room, or at the least the discomfort in the teacher’s face.

“ according to your son... Shitty four eyes… and Clean freak?”

Or this one...

“Prophylactic… Contraceptive…” Hange read aloud the more unfamiliar words as she turned the box around on her fingertips. She had hoped saying them aloud with ring some bells for her researcher mind. That small effort though turned out to be futile. I should ask Kiyomi about this when she gets back. She thought to herself.

“Never heard those words before,” Levi commented from his own table next to her. He always did keep her company after hours taking on some of the paperwork or reading through records and documentation on communications and deliveries that only rapidly multiplied with every passing day since the building of the port.

“Me neither,” Hange said. She sighed and rested her cheek on her hand as she looked out the window.

And...

The thinking process is, once I have a point A and a point B. Once I have all the dots I want written, connecting the dots becomes a bit more straightforward. I think the harder part really is figuring out the ‘dots’. That’s why I would recommend, once you feel like you wanna write something out, no matter how ugly it is, just get it written on your phone, even if it’s as messy as the notes above, or even if it’s just a dialogue skeleton.

And here’s the thing, I really believe that once you have a point A and a point B, there is a line that will always exist, regardless of how different point A and point B are. It’s just difficult to see from the start.

And yeah, I think this is where writer’s block comes for most people. Because sometimes we can’t find the logical way to connect the two.

So this is where my own concrete methods of fixing that comes in. (I’m sure it wouldn’t work for everyone but it might be worth a try for some people so I’ll leave it here.)

Find a hobby that follows a ‘connect the dots’ thinking process and before you write, do it.

When I get writer’s block, I like to do things in real life where I am reminded that even the weirdest things can easily be connected, or I like doing things that require deep thought and organization and that require good ideas on the fly. I play strategy games like chess or mahjong.

This probably won’t make sense for a lot of people but for the people who does, having a game with set a smaller set of rules than writing yet still requires lots of innovative thinking and organizational thinking, helps keep my head moving in a smaller space, so it’s a good warm up. So when I go back to writing and I look at the point A and the point B again, I’m more easily able to see how I want it to connect. Because chess and mahjong are games where we are given set pieces and we have to find a way to make it connect given our environment and circumstances.

If not chess or mahjong, and if you’re particularly musical, I found that just experimenting on an instrument when dealing with writer’s block actually works. I play the piano, and something which follows the same process as connecting the dots for me, is to open the lyrics of a song, look at a chords and just play the chords on the piano then just play around with the melody and the broken chords. The chords act like that ‘enclosed environment’ and the tinkering I do on the piano act like that ‘innovative thinking’ which gets my head moving.

Music: I go on walks and listen to my spotify on shuffle until a song comes out which I think resonates with the story. And then I listen to it again and again and again until I complete the fic. This is how I’m able to make that line from point A to point B more complete, and this is how I manage to channel my emotions into the writing.

Research: All fics will require some sort of research, especially when you’re writing something more complex. So when I’m going into some particular writer’s block, if it’s a history AU, I read history and watch documentaries. If I’m writing hc, I like to read medical journals. If I need to incorporate some sort of a science law into my fics, I read scientific journals (don’t read the whole thing lmao, the abstract usually works), When particularly writing a scene which requires in depth thought about a certain field or occupation, I talk to someone who has that occupation. I know this sounds totally weird to do over a fanfiction so I just don’t mention it’s fanfiction and just ask. I mean asking people about their job is generally an incredibly normal conversation starter.

How do you keep yourself motivated in writing?

Okay, so there’s one thing I need to point out here, if the pandemic didn’t happen, if I didn’t get laid off in my first job and if I didn’t drop law school for the year, I probably wouldn’t be here writing haha.

Like right now, when I’m stuck in the house 24/7, reading and writing is my only outlet and my only hobby outside my job. I can’t travel. I can’t see friends. I can’t see family. The skating rink is closed. The gyms are closed. Anything which is remotely seen as fun is closed.

So writing has been incredibly comforting in helping me process my emotions.

But I recognize the fact that starting a fic will always be hard especially if people don’t know what to do. So people tend to put it off, and this habit usually extends to work or studies too I’m guessing. I mean I’ve worked in enough groupworks to know that people like to wait for that sense of urgency before they do anything.

‘Motivation’ is such a fleeting thing that I don’t think anybody should be relying on that to get something moving. I think it’s pretty much discipline more than anything that gets people moving. So how do I avoid procrastination or that feeling where ‘just thinking about it makes me freeze so I don’t do it.

I just do it. But it isn’t as easy as that right?

I have this concept of a future self. Like a future me I do not wanna disappoint and I trust that future self when she says ‘ you will not regret doing this.’ So even if the writing process is hard the first few pages, I’m able to write because even if it is painful, I know that in between and actually finishing up those pages isn’t. I’m sure people who have finished a fic know, there is an in between where you aren’t thinking too much about the actual process, you’re just writing. And the painful part is just getting to that trance.

And in the end, you’re just like ‘I’m glad I wrote that.’

But that trance is liberating and it reminds me why the hell I’m doing all this in the first place. And I’m sure this isn’t limited to writing. Any hobby people pursue, working out, staying up all night to get homework done, I’m sure we all experience an in between or maybe some feeling after which makes us realize that it is worth it. It’s a matter of just trusting our future self to actually be grateful we did it.

I know it’s easier said than done but I guess it helps at least to build the habit and the mindset so I’ve dropped some concrete ways it helps me.

#fanfic #drabble #writing

23 notes · View notes

blah-de-blah-de-blah · 4 years ago

Text

Some thoughts now I’ve finished What Happens On Tour

A while ago I read some advice from an author about what to do if your characters go off on their own paths and start to move away from what you’ve planned for them. Her advice? “Well, you must shut them up.”

Yeah, I wish I knew how to do that.

I can’t remember where or when the inspiration for What Happens On Tour came from. There’s a lot in there, including my own thoughts of “hey, if I had some, or any, musical talent I could have been a rock star”, but it’s an idea that developed over time. Two definite inspirations on it were The Law Of Gravitation (a music AU Doctor Who fic that starts about Bill and Heather but then grows to include just about everyone) and Mix The Bourgeoisie And The Rebel (a Pitch Perfect Bechloe fic where they oscillate between together and not together a lot). Anyway, if you liked What Happens On Tour, then you might well like those too.

The basic idea of the story was simple - put them together in the band, then have them wanting to be together but not being able to because of how their previous relationships had messed up and this was their last chance - and in my head it was going to be roughly six or seven parts, around twenty thousand words or so. They’d meet, they’d pine, they’d hook up, they’d both think that the other thought it was a bad idea, they’d try to keep apart but end up hooking up again, repeat a bit and then they finally get together, announce it in public, everyone’s happy, fun little epilogue, the end.

Best laid plans, eh? Even the epilogue’s changed - I started writing the one I’d had in my head since beginning this, and it just didn’t feel right. As another example, in the rough version I had in my head, chapter one was going to end with Clarke and Lexa waking up together hungover on the couch, a point they eventually reached at the end of chapter six.

There’s always a gap between the story in your head and the story you end up writing, and more often than not it’s because the characters you create refuse to jump through the hoops you’re setting up. I ended up writing more about them because I wanted to know more and explore more of them, but the more I did that the more it took them away from the characters who would have been fine for the more light and breezy version of the story that I’d begun with the intention of writing. They were still following my plan, but much more slowly than I expected and building a much deeper connection. This meant that when they finally got together - in chapter twenty of my initial six or seven - the idea that they’d stay apart because of bad communication just didn’t feel right. I’d thought I could get back to something like the original plan, but any time I tried to write an end to the next chapter where they didn’t talk about it just didn’t feel right. They wouldn’t avoid it, and once they actually talked it over in chapter twenty-two, I realised they weren’t going to keep themselves apart and I didn’t want to write a story where I’d contrive some external forces that would somehow keep them apart.

Looking back over some of it and I think the key line for me in realising that the story wasn’t quite what I’d thought it would be was Clarke’s “when it feels so good you’ll wade through rivers of shit to feel like that” in the very first chapter. That line came out and I realised I knew her and what she’d gone through, and it was a lot more than I thought it would be. I could have deleted it, but something light and breezy in there instead, but it wouldn’t have felt honest. Some people might be able to get their characters to shut up. It seems I’m not one of them. This has become the longest thing I’ve ever written, though I have done stuff getting towards the same length, but it’s been the first thing I’ve written that’s completely driven by character and relationships like this. Other stuff has been in the mould of the old pulp writer’s adage: if you don’t know what to do next, have someone walk in the door with a gun. Because this story was about the characters, I tried to avoid that - and there are definitely no guns in this story - by not throwing random events at them. I.ve been learning along the way but I think I’ve generally kept things in some sort of continuity (the one thing that niggles at me is something Raven does in the first chapter that doesn’t quite fit with how she’s described later, which I doubt anyone else has even noticed) and actually developed the characters. There are things I’d do differently if I was writing it again (starting with the title, which would be Teach Me To Let Go Of My Fears) but I’m generally happy with the way it turned out.

That said, there’s been that interesting pressure of knowing people are waiting for the next chapter to keep me going. I’ve got a lot of stories on my hard drive that I’ve started and then “paused” on half way through to go back and fix things which have never been finished. With this, I just had to strap myself in and keep going to the finish, hoping I would work out. And it did!

The one thing I didn’t do which I partly regret, and people have asked about in the comments, is putting any Raven/Anya relationship stuff in there. I had thought about doing it when I started off but never could find the right time to put a focus on them, especially when I was sticking to my rule of only using Clarke and Lexa as the viewpoint characters. Like I said, first time doing a story like this and managing one relationship was tough enough. That said, I’m fully in agreement with the death of the author and I haven’t put anything in there that explicitly contradicts whatever ideas you might have about what they’re doing in the background. And they will definitely be a feature in at least one of the next stories I’m planning.

Octavia and Lincoln was easier because they were together when she came into the story and the increasingly rough plan I had of where this was going had their engagement and wedding as points in the story. Fun fact: in the extended series of hookups version, that conversation with Bellamy at the wedding would have been the key for Clarke realising she wanted more with Lexa. (Asks are open for any other questions you might have about alternatives, or anything else) Overall, I’ve really enjoyed writing this story and it’s been a real light for me in a pretty dark time for all of us. I’m still amazed that so many people have read it, liked it and wanted more of it, so thank you all for following me on this journey. There are definitely more stories to come from me, so watch this space. There might even be some one-shot follow-ups to this in the future - I’m not promising anything, but I have vague ideas floating around, and I might sometime get the inspiration to turn one of them into a full story.

For now, I’m going to split my attention between two projects (and, you know, the rest of my life). I’m going to go back to Running Back To You, which began as a Clexa Week one-shot, but I’ve now got ideas for taking it forward, even if I don’t quite know where it’s going. My idea there is to balance the quite heavy Clexa story there with a lighter one of Raven and Anya (and where they have their own story, not just a pair the spares). The other is much more action-oriented, as it’s the Highlander fusion plot that dropped into my head. I’ve got a plot for it that’s not just rehashing the film, but I need to work some more on the outline before I start to post it, because I need to get the pacing right before the whole thing turns into a mess.

But all that is for the future, and I hope some of you stick around to read them if and when they appear. Until then, thank you all for reading and everything else that kept me going and for the past six months of writing, it’s been a fantastic experience for me, and I hope you enjoyed the ride.

#what happens on tour #writing #just a few thoughts

11 notes · View notes

seijohsfairy · 4 years ago

Text

aoba johsai, one darling

.word count. 2.7k

.warnings. yandere, polyamory, swearing, degrading, manipulation, some explicit mentions, threats, dubcon-ish? .author’s note. some headcanons right now since i’m not great writing yanderes yet! i hope you enjoy it though, and hopefully i’ll be able to write full fics for our favorite obsessive boys some time soon. characters are all aged up, they are first-, second and third years in college!

↦ The instigator is most likely Hanamaki. You could be their new manager or a particularly enthusiastic part of the cheer squad, the point is they notice you. The type of overwhelming warmth and energy you bring to the team is refreshing, since you care about encouraging every single one of them just as much as their fan-favorite Captain.

↦ So while Iwa is most likely the one to bring you up in casual locker room conversation, Hanamaki is the one who makes it his mission to return that affection.

↦ Makki is charming and kind, so it’s no wonder you’re glad to spend time talking to the handsome man a class up. He takes time between classes to come see you, chatting about anything and everything.

↦ About your dedication to the team, about how glad everyone is to see you cheering them on during their matches. About how much they’d love to have you at practice. You might even let slip that they’ve been your favorite team since the start of high school and he has the most genuine smile when he thanks you for that too. He’s just so kind, so thoughtful.

↦ After a while he suggests that you could skip class once to come watch them practice, and you say yes without hesitating. He introduces you to the team like you were always part of it to begin with, and really, it sure feels like it. They’re so inclusive.

↦ When they make a scoring spike, you’re the first who gets a double high five. When someone receives the ball from barreling toward you, you’re sent a wink or a knowing smile. Everyone gathers around you to discuss tactics, and when you go to fill the water bottles you’re always accompanied by one of the members. They invite you to their club meetings too, and because they are so good to you, it’s hard to say no.

↦ The more pressing things come in slowly too, so slow that at first you don’t even question it. You’re put in the team group chat. And when you miss a practice, your phone is blown up with messages of your absence, good reason or not. “We can’t practice without our good luck charm here.” “Are you okay?” “When are you coming? Running late?”

↦ You best answer within the next ten minutes if you don’t want another barrage of questions. They give you your own jersey and if you don’t wear it, everyone is pouting through the whole practice. So you make sure to be on time, make sure to bring them snacks, make sure to wear the member jersey even if you’re not one.

↦ You feel like the team’s best friend and you’re more than happy to support them like you have been for years, even if leaves no time for other clubs or personal hobbies. It’s like they say, volleyball requires a lot of sacrifices. You can make a few too, right?

↦ The third years are the driving force. Though Oikawa is more focussed on keeping everyone on track than he is on you during practice, he’s also the first to take the physical touch further. He’ll drag you to stand with him as everyone warms up, making comments to his team while resting his chin on your head and looping his arms around your waist.

↦ The touches you’ve grown so used to become more loaded, more possessive. Makki is always lacing his fingers with yours, pulling you into hugs. Iwa drags you into his lap when sitting on the bench. Even Mattsun makes an effort to connect with you in ways he never did before, adjusting your ponytail or brushing dust off your pants.

↦ Of course you notice the changes in behaviour, but it only feels like a natural progression. So when the Captain takes you into the locker room where the others are changing to press gentle kisses to your cheeks as a ‘thank you’, you’re hardly surprised. Neither is anyone there.

↦ In a way it feels nice to receive attention back when you’ve been giving so much of it to them for so long. They make you feel important, drowning you in attention and team spirit. Because you’re needed, they appreciate you all so much. But make no mistake, if you were to deny their wishes, there will be hell to pay.

↦ It’s nearing ten pm when Kunimi spots a text from another boy during his stretches and of course, he’s quick to bring it up with the Captain. Clear communication makes a team great, after all. When you return from emptying their bottles, ready to tuck in for the night everyone is already waiting for you.

↦ You’re chewed out by Oikawa for your behaviour, but he doesn’t shout or scream. He doesn’t even raise his voice. It’s the guilt that he drags up that breaks you.

↦ “We’ve been working to get to nationals without rest, as a team. All of us want to have more free time, but we all realize that some things are more important than that. There’s no room in a team for selfishness. Haven’t we been good to you? We trusted you.”

↦ You tear up when you apologize, feeling shameful and gross even though you haven’t done anything wrong. And Yahaba dries your tears with his sleeve and clicks his tongue to let you know of his disapproval, but your apology is accepted when you sob and swear that you never meant to hurt anyone. That you were wrong. You were selfish. That you still want to be part of the team, and to please, please forgive you.

↦ That’s when Iwaizumi and his calm, comforting tone come and Makki starts petting your hair to calm you down. “It’s going to be alright, now. Just don’t do it again, alright?” Iwa says.

↦ “I don’t like scolding you. But we had to,” Oikawa coos after a while, kneeling beside you to let you bury your face in his waist, “because we care too much. You belong to us. To us alone, no one else.”

Oikawa

↦ In your ‘relationship’, Tooru is the one most pressed to keep everything a team action. You’re theirs, equally. So be sure that if he’s kissing you, there’s someone else holding your hands or marking your neck. If he’s laid in your lap, you’re talking to another teammate and are having your hair played with. And if one member takes something for themselves, you best be sure he’s going to require the same from every other man.

↦ He’s in love with you, but even more so the idea of a shared darling. He can kiss and hold and love you all he wants, but when he’s not feeling the best there’s someone that’ll pick up the slack, and it’s comforting.

↦ He’s also the most vocal about his possession. Doesn’t care if people take his threats as jokes, as long as he can keep you as theirs and only theirs. Attention sent your way is always equally your fault as it is the other person’s. If you’re more loyal to him, to them, you’d find a way to get out of the situation.

↦ If he’s really mad, be prepared to be barraged with insults. Not that he doesn’t love everything about you, because he does. But when you cry, they can comfort you and make it better, and playing the bad guy sadly falls under the Captain’s role, doesn’t it?

… “If that cafeteria boy asks for your help one more time, I’ll poke his eyes out. Understood, darling? Or is that what you want? You want us to make clear who owns you again, don’t you?” … “You are ours, even when you act like a coy, little bitch and think we won’t notice. Don’t cry about it either, that makes you look ugly.” … “You might be a cute pet, but next time I’ll make you lick our sweat off as a punishment for being late. Yes, all of us.”

Iwaizumi

↦ Iwaizumi is not vocal about his thoughts at all. In fact, if you weren’t in the middle of it, even you wouldn’t believe him to be obsessed. He doesn’t follow you around like a lost puppy dog and respects your independence enough to allow you some wants of your own, desires that sadly get claimed by the other boys anyway.

↦ He’s good at hiding his feelings though. Iwa is one who most requires ‘sacrifices’ of you. Be it your personal time, your freedom or your body, it’s all his. You need to have no visible hickeys for a job interview, at least let him spank your ass until you’re sore. You have a new class to follow, at least let him put a collar on you so that everyone knows you’re taken. And he hates admitting it to himself, but there’s nothing prettier than your grateful relief when he can steal you away from the team for a few moments to spend time with him instead. At least he feels guilty about it, right?

↦ In that vein, his punishments are pretty mild. He doesn’t like sharing some of the intimate things with his members, but he also knows that you don’t have a choice, and is realistic about it. He doesn’t request you to hold his hand in public like some of the others, doesn’t kiss you at matches or order you around much. But if you’re in the locker room alone? He’s on you within seconds, and you best believe he’s not going to let anyone take that from him. Not even you.

… “My pretty girl, they’ve been hounding you for hours now, huh? Come, let’s take a walk. Iwa-senpai can make it stop.” … “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe from the world. Nothing at all. Just say the word and consider it done.” … “Don’t cry, sweet cheeks. I just want a few kisses. Ah, my hold on your wrists is too tight? Sorry, sorry. I get too excited.”

Hanamaki

↦ Makki is the most physical in his affection. It’s no wonder that everyone on campus is so confused about your relation status, when he’s basically attached to your skin in some way or another. Having his hand on your butt, leading you around by the hand, back hugs, lazy, long drags of his lips against yours, pda galore. Nothing is too much. If you’d let him, he would probably make you grind on him in the middle of campus, calling out his name like a prayer.

↦ He doesn’t care that you give the others attention, as long as he’s getting love himself. Tons of it. Some days he’s extra clingy and no matter what you say he will not be further than a few feet from you at most. And you best not pull away from his kisses then, or it’ll just get worse. Even when you beg and whine to leave you alone just half an hour. Especially then. You’re in distress and he’s going to take it away, totally missing the fact that his presence just might be what is causing it.

↦ He’d do anything to keep you out of harm’s way, treating you like a child unaware of the world. You’re just so sweet, innocent, untainted. He can’t help himself wanting to keep you safe. And keep you safe he does. Doesn’t matter if you like it or not, someone’s gotta do it.

↦ If you ever cut yourself opening a can, it’ll be the last time you open one yourself. You twist your precious feet once in your favorite shoes, you’re lucky that the others talk him down from breaking your ankle himself so you can stay seated. It’s not that he’s oblivious that would cause you pain, but he’s doing it for your own good.

… “You do understand I’m not letting you out with that dress, right angel? Don’t you know what happens to kind, pretty girls like you out there? Take it off. And don’t act like a brat, or you’re not going to class at all.” … “You’re so small and good, I want to protect you. Keep you safe. How about I go to the bathroom with you, huh? You never know what strangers might find you there.” … “It’s not a punishment, sweet thing. I’m just going to break one finger, so that you don’t have to even take notes in class! Which one do you prefer? Don’t cry now, it’s for your own good.”

Matsukawa

↦ Mattsun isn’t much into the whole ‘protective’ thing. He thinks Hajime and Takahiro are overprotective at best. But if that’s what makes them happy, it’s not his place to meddle. He’s just glad to provide for you, in return for some of your affection. That’s what love is to him, accepting who you are and adoring you despite it.

↦ And he’s sickeningly affectionate most days. Little things that you just want to do on your own become his sole possession. After all, if he can’t do all of these things how will you even know he loves you.

↦ Cleaning your face when you’ve barely awoken. Taking off your makeup just before you fall asleep. He dissolves your meds in a glass of water and sits on your bed until you drink it all, even when you cry and huff that you don’t need it. You don’t want it. He brushes out your hair, clips your nails. Checks your messages for you, decides your meal and feeds you with little airplanes until your tummy is full. He brushes your teeth.

↦ Doesn’t matter that you don’t want to be treated like ‘an actual child’ (you’re so dramatic but it’s so cute). It’s love. That, and fucking you until you’re babbling out his name.

Yahaba

↦ Yahaba is mostly there for the amazing sex, though he does like showing you off to other teams from time to time. It’s during matches then, that he is most attentive of you. He just likes kissing your neck and watching you flush red as the other teams whisper about you. The meaner the rumors, the better. That way their pretty girl will feel all the more loved around them when they urge you to forget them with each stroke of their fingers, each word of praise, each present.

↦ He loves having you over in his dorm for ‘special hugs’ from time to time, when he’s feeling clingy. You best look as into his cuddles as he is into giving them, or he’ll get vocal with his insults. Like Oikawa, it’s not that he doesn’t care. He cares about you so much! Calling you names is just much less embarrassing than actually saying out loud how much you mean to him.

↦ He also likes making you do little sexual things in public because you just look too cute blushing and begging to quit it. If he tells you to suck on his fingers like it’s his cock in the middle of class, just don’t be surprised.

Kindaichi & Kunimi

↦ The first years Kindaichi and Kunimi have to take your leftover attention when they can get it. It’s mostly during team meetings then, that they have to grab hold of you and share you between them, marking up your neck like desperate puppy dogs while the third years are trying to make game preparations.

↦ Incidentally, they are often the reason that the meetings get derailed just a tad. Because as soon as you start whimpering at their touches, everyone in the room is instantly distracted.

↦ They don’t have the time to be punishing either. If they don’t make you cum, someone else will. If Kunimi were to give you the silent treatment, you’d instead be cooed at and coddled by Issei. It is what it is.

↦ If they’re lucky they can at least convince the captain to let you sleep over in their shared dorm once every other week. You take what you can get.

Kyoutani

↦ The one not here for any of their bullshit is of course Kyoutani. He already doesn’t respect Oikawa, and now he’s making you a team effort? Well. Doing the opposite of what he wants is basically a divine order for Taro.

↦ At this point, everyone already knows that if you’re not back from the toilet within the next two minutes, Kentaro has most likely pulled you into a hallway to fuck you until you’re sobbing with pleasure.

↦ And when you get back, you already know that you will be the one punished by the brunet and that only makes Taro respect the man even less, thus creating an endless cycle. But at least he always tells you how pretty you are when you’re crying for his touch.

///

Fin. Thank you so much for reading till the end! I really liked writing this, it gave me a lot of fun ideas for ficlets or maybe even full oneshots. Either way, if any of you want to chat about yandere haikyuu, my asks are always open and waiting!! And… I will most likely do smut hcs for this group because i, as a person, just need it to live. liddle lady being fucked by eight clingy boys is always a fun ride :)

9 notes · View notes