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ficandkaboodle · 23 days ago

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Vaginismus: Terzo x Fem!Reader

A/N: Stg if I ever see this purple fucking freak darken the doorway of my mind, I'm going for his kneecaps. He will never be able to slut about on the floor again, and then what will he do? Thanks, y'all, for being so patient as I almost daily had a meltdown over the structure of this. And HUGE thanks once again to @angellayercake for being my ever-patient beta with amazing input and ideas!! I hope I did our bastard boy some kind of service.

Word Count: 8.8K. Sorry, this bad boy is a hydra: For every sentence I deleted, more words would come in its place

CW: Reader has a vagina, hurtful comments from past relationships, reader's mental state is kinda fucked at a few points, hints at extremely uncomfortable interactions to "make the relationship work". Sooo...Vaginismus and its delightful conditions, I suppose. Oh, and a hint of Google Translate Italian. I'm sorry, I tried referencing @/foxybouquet's ever so helpful guide the best I could but alas, I am still a moron. MDNI

Papa III was a notorious flirt, even by the standards of the sexually liberated Church of Satan.

Everybody knew this, from the Clergy to Sister Imperator to the ghouls to his many, many lovers. And yet, when his sights finally fell upon you, everyone knew: Something in him had changed. At the very least, his methods sure had.

Secondo raised a brow when he first saw his brother lightly jogging up to you in the hallways, panting for you to wait up. Primo sported a knowing smirk when he watched the normally suave man sheepishly inquire about the meaning behind certain flower arrangements. Quite the departure from his usual bouquet of red and white roses, the older man couldn't help but note.

A startled Copia quickly became suspicious when the brother that tended to tease him the most came to his office one day, armed with top-shelf juice boxes and nutty chocolate bars – just the starting price for whatever info he was willing to give his dear old fratello about his new favorite Sorella.

The ghouls had a field day whenever they came upon the old man either sulking or even swooning over how a recent interaction had gone. One even swore they had scrounged through his wastepaper basket (don't ask, it’s not worth it) and found crumpled up drafts of sonnets. Sonnets!

It was the Siblings, however, who seemed to take the most notice of his antics. And, unfortunately, the most offense.

Certainly, plenty of the congregation had received a bouquet or two from their beloved Papa Terzo. Many had been wined and dined, and some were even whisked away for a night of passion and excitement in a glamorous metropolitan hub. Terzo had gotten around, and he would probably continue to get around until he either died mid-orgy or until his dick fell off. (And even if the latter did happen, it probably wouldn’t slow him down. Not until his fingers and tongue followed suit, anyway.)

It was cyclical: You would be an interest for a week or two before your time would be up, and you would part ways as he turned his attention to another, leaving you with memories of a whirlwind dalliance to reminisce about for years to come.

This was simply something that was understood and accepted without much of any animosity amongst Siblings. This was just how things were. Or at least up until now.

They must have noticed there was something about the way Terzo pursued you. For starters, nobody could ever recall a time when the man actually needed to really pursue anyone, let alone to the extent and care he currently displayed.

They could tell when a peer was actively trying to heighten the tension, turning their back to him but still glancing over their shoulder to shoot a heated stare. An invitation for him to keep it coming. Really putting the “play” in “playing hard to get”. But generally speaking, most of what Terzo needed to do was snap his fingers and whichever Sibling or ghoul he had his eye on would eagerly crawl into his lap and then into his bed.

Maybe they saw a shine in his eyes that wasn't there when they had him. Or maybe they thought he leaned just the slightest fraction of an inch closer to you than he ever did with anyone else. Or maybe they swore his voice sounded different when he spoke with you. Lighter, but not out of an upturn in pitch to sound friendlier. It was more like it carried less weight. Almost as though he felt less burdened by some unspoken thing. Some thing he never cared to share with them.

Granted, you didn't help matters by actually enjoying the odd conversation or two (or over a dozen) with Terzo. (And by "odd", this meant the animated discussions that borderlined two-person seminars on subjects like the Hays Code, or how viewing certain films through a gendered or queer lens could enhance the suggestion of the story.)

And anyone who spotted you alone on the quad sharing a snack would've been convinced you were on an impromptu picnic, rather than the fact Terzo had found you and offered you pickings from his secret snack pocket.

Sure, it was just a sandwich baggy of cheese doodles, but the point still stood: You had Terzo's full attention, his intrigue, his consideration, his snacks, and you hadn't done a damn thing to deserve them! Any interaction between the both of you, every awkward joke, every instance of eye contact, every exchange of a genuine honest to Satan smile, had the Siblings of the abbey biting and clawing at the walls in envy.

You did your best to appear unaffected by it, preferring to keep your head down and say as little as possible when around them. Nothing to suggest you felt superior to them (not that you did anyhow). Regardless, you were fairly certain that, if it were up to them, they would bring back human sacrifice for the sole purpose of getting you out of the picture.

Thank Satanas, then, that none were present to witness the latest event.

There Terzo stood, his normally focused and powerful gaze fighting hard to be maintained. It was abundantly clear that he wanted to look anywhere but at you. Still, he resolved to keep that nervous on his face. His gorgeous, paintless face.

It was startling to say the least. Actually, no, scratch that: To truly say the least would be to just stand there, gaping like a goldfish as you failed to find the right words – any words – that truly encapsulated even a fraction of what you felt. Which, for better or for worse, was exactly what you found yourself doing.

After all, almost nobody outside of his own family had seen Terzo without his papal paints. They may as well have been tattooed on him the moment he’d perfected the design all those years ago! Not even the paramours he’d collected since then had gotten a glimpse of his bare face, despite the many opportunities they’d had from the nights spent in his quarters. The mystery as to why this was left plenty of room for speculation and imagination, creating a juicy mystique that Siblings and ghouls loved to salivate and chew on.

Admittedly, you yourself occasionally wondered what his deal was, but you ultimately chose not to ponder on it. If Terzo liked how he looked in makeup more than he did without, then that was his business. Honestly, it never even really occurred to you to ask him about it even as the two of you grew closer.

But as you took in the visage before you, you felt you had a good theory going: If Terzo went about the Ministry like this, he’d never know a moment’s peace again!

"Is . . . Is it . . . okay?" he asked quietly. Okay? Okay!? Satan’s taint, if it weren’t for the very apparent tension, you might’ve thought the man was teasing you! The man looked like an old movie star, all debonair and dashing!

The fight to respond in a timely (and coherent) manner was difficult, but you managed to stammer out, “More than okay.” You gulped down some shakiness. “Y-you’re very . . .handsome.”

Internally, you cringed at how wobbly you’d come across but thankfully that seemed to be enough. The warmth in your cheeks intensified as the nerves in his smile carefully evaporated, along with a slight tension in his shoulders.

Unfortunately, the consciousness did not remain, and almost immediately you found yourself delegating focus to other things. Like the beauty mark that lay just beneath the right corner of his pleasantly pink lips. Lips that were saying, “— if you would be interested, of course.”

You blinked. Were you interested? Wait . . . Interested in what, exactly?!

“Y-yeah, sure. I’m down,” you chirped before you could stop yourself.

While you tried your damndest not to look mortified or embarrassed, Terzo looked delighted. Possibly even elated.

“Oh, eccellente!” he clapped his palms together before offering you a mix of a nod and bow. That sharp characteristic of his eyes returned once more, pinning your form as he purred, “I look forward to it.”

Oh, fuck. “Can’t wait!” you replied. Of course, now the concept of urgency settled in.

As you walked back to your room for the night, you knew three things to be certain: The first was that that face of Terzo’s would likely be making many appearances in your dreams tonight. The second thing, branching off this, him showing you his face was a sign you’d let things get far too far.

And the third thing? You had to put an end to your exchanges ASAP.

Sure, you’d peppered this into your thoughts many times before, but after this? This moment of extreme vulnerability on Terzo’s part? No more peppering: It was time to actually pile in everything you had and outright reject Terzo’s advances. No room for stuttering or bending or swaying or swooning and second-guessing!

You repeated this like a mantra over and over, praying that the resolution would still be there in the morning. And it was – but only after you took an icy shower. You’d been spot on when you anticipated that gorgeous, gorgeous face invading your dreams. What you hadn’t counted on, though, was the nature of what all went on:

Snowflakes catching on his lashes as you ice skated on a pond (the power of dreams erasing his waking world clumsiness); his lips smiling around a forkful of the pasta you’d just cooked together; his broad nose nuzzling lovingly into your hair during a quiet night in; those entrancing eyes focused on the movie playing before you as his arm settled warmly around you. It gave you further comfort as you pressed into his side, so perfectly slotted that it was as though you only ever belonged there, right next to him.

You regretted disregarding the alarm bells that blared at the start of this whole nonsense, and now look where that got you: You needed a cold cleanse just because you saw a man’s unpainted face! You were worse than a pent-up Victorian! Did you really want to prolong things until you’d start to "feel" those smirking lips pressed against the column of your neck, or “feel” those large hands skirt along your form, leaving a deliciously pleasant fire in their wake?

Certainly, that might’ve made for a good night’s sleep in theory. But in reality? It was a nightmare in the making!

It was bad enough just wanting to do all those dreamy things and more with the equally dreamy Papa. But that, of course, meant the "more" part would eventually come around. After all, your waking life already wasn't too terribly far off from the things that went on in the dream.

Your days weren't filled with skating on the pond or chatting over romantic dinners but at this rate, they very well could be a possibility. In an ideal world, the wait for these things to happen would be filled with anticipation. But the sad, shower-cold reality was that this wait was weighed down by dread and predictions of what was to come. After all, for all Terzo's patience and kindness, even he had limits. Sometime soon, his patience with your inexactness would run out and he would come to collect. Experience told you that was just how it was.

You may not have had a pursuer as passionate as Terzo, but you’d had enough instances that ran about the same: There was that high, that thrill in an almost honeymoon period-like chase. Then there came the actual vulnerability where you’d tell them of the conditions that came with a relationship – the conditions that came with you. And yeah, they’d start off insisting that nothing about that changed how they felt about you . . . But then they’d realize your condition would outlast their gimmick.

You felt your face twist with displeasure as sentences of the past began slipping through the cracks and into the forefront of your mind.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Calm down already.”

“Just relax already.”

Then came the pain (both kinds); the giving up; and then you were right back where you started: Alone together, with a body that hated you that you hated right back. The only real difference would be how much your weariness increased, making you more and more reluctant to play along with the idea of any potential romance. Meanwhile, to them, it was a game: You were just playing hard to get, that was all. But you’d surely stop when they and they alone were able to conquer you, to cure you.

Did you really want to wait around and see Terzo become like that?

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

No. Absolutely not. You weren’t sure your heart could bear it, much less your body. Besides, if word got out that he’d shown you his face, then it’d be all over for you. You’d rather incur the wrath of rejecting what many would kill for than face what might happen if they learned how far you’d gotten by doing nothing at all. At least with the former, there was a chance the Siblings let you keep your bones intact.

You had a plan as you prepared yourself to step out and face the day: Keep calm and function as normal until the chance to say those simple words hit you: “Terzo, I am not interested in you in any way, shape, or form. While you are attractive, I am not attracted to you. Please leave me alone from now on.”

A devastating lie, perhaps, but a necessary one. One you would need to deliver by tonight.

But hey, the day was still quite young. There was plenty of time for you to find the courage, right?

. . . Well, you didn’t find it in the hallway when you heard that oh-so familiar, cheerful call of, "Buongiorno, Mia Sorellina !", prompting you to pick up speed and disappear down a different corridor. Nor was it there when you caught sight of a black flutter of robe. It could’ve been a wandering Cardinal’s cassock but you weren’t prepared to stick around and find out.

And even though you spent nearly the entirety of afternoon mass, head bowed, praying for the Dark One to simply grab the strength and shove it into you, you didn’t feel any more emboldened. Apparently, your body meant it when it didn’t allow for anything to enter it – intangible things included, it seemed.

You groaned inwardly from both disappointment and discomfort as you lifted yourself off the kneeler and back into the pew. There was also the added stressor of feeling sets of multiple eyes on you: From Siblings stewing in envy; from ghouls who wanted to take a gander at the Sister who had flirty Papa III wrapped around her finger; and, worst of all, from Terzo himself.

The one time you dared to look up at his seated form on the altar, you caught a hint of a small smile directed at you.

You tried to return it, at least enough to suggest to him you were fine and happy to see him despite your earlier actions, but the sorry attempt lost any pretense of pleasantness when your eyes got caught on something: Even in the sea of his dark robes, you could make out the dull shine of leather gloves poised in his lap. Helping them to stand out more, however, was how each fingertip was adorned with a golden nail.

Correction: A golden claw. The fine barbs would fit right in on the hand of a ghoul or perhaps some other dæmonic creature.

Normally you were fascinated by the accessories but in your increasingly unwell state, these gloves intimidated you. It was like you had been reduced to a fearful prey animal and all you saw was a threat.

A thought, sharp as those gilded talons, slashed beyond your imagination and into the walls of your most sensitive place. They pierced and drilled into the intimate area just long enough for you to know they were there – both in your mind and your body – shanking their way into a place nothing was meant to enter, let alone something so dangerous.

Although a primal need to defend yourself shot through your nervous system, you were too incapacitated to do much more than body-jolting inhale. Your only defense, you had long-since learned, was to freeze. Your brain buzzed in an unpleasant manner as you started to come down from the imaginary fingering.

“You’re overreacting,” scoffed the voice of a past partner. “It’s just a finger.” You hadn’t spoken to them in years, but the disregard in their voice remained fresh, further embittering you to the fact that that was what managed to creep into you rather than the bravery you so desperately needed.

You had to pray once more that Terzo hadn’t noticed anything. A change in your already shifty demeanor, the way your legs twitched inward but not out of lust (not when Primo’s sermon was focused more on wrath today), or how your body’s momentary lurch. Much like your prayer for strength, though, you suspected this plea went ignored. You didn’t need to look up and see Terzo’s smile falter to think that.

The moment Papa Primo dismissed the congregation, you made quick work of the camouflage offered by the uniforms of habits and lace.

When a quick glance back allowed you to catch sight of a confused-looking Papa Terzo, you forced yourself to swallow the pathetic truth: You were never going to find the courage to even say sorry, let alone that you no longer wanted to see him.

What you did find – or rather, what found you – was an overwhelming torrent of grief and frustration as you flung yourself into your room and back into the bed where your day had started with a massive hitch. You shoved your face into your flattening pillow and hoped there was just enough down still left in it to muffle up your screams. And tears. Belial, you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over this sort of thing anymore. Over anyone. You should’ve been used to this type of thing by now, so what was the use in wasting energy like this?

What was the point in dwelling on how nice it all was, how nice Terzo made you feel, or how you secretly looked forward to your conversations, no matter how bizarre or intellectual? You gained nothing but the label of immature whenever you indulged in the schoolgirlish feeling of letting Terzo accompany you in the halls. Indulgence might have been encouraged by the Church, but not when it hurt or disrupted the paths of others’ own pursuits.

There was absolutely no way what you had done wasn’t going to inevitably end in pain of some kind, be it physical on your part or mental and emotional on Terzo’s.

But then again, maybe . . . Maybe you didn’t have to do this after all? Maybe you could make peace with where things were headed. You wouldn’t be able to let him inside of you in the traditional sense, no, but surely that just meant that you would just have to . . . adjust things? Yeah . . . Yeah, maybe that could work . . .

Maybe I could earn his love in other ways? Prove that I’m not ungrateful and won’t waste his feelings? Intrusive visions of you “earning” that love projected onto the walls of your mind. Under more pleasant, more normal circumstances, some of the ideas would’ve been a delight for you in some way. Par for the course of a healthy relationship.

But the possibility that these might be the only ways to grant you worthiness, to allow you to deserve Terzo’s attention and love, to deserve Terzo . . . It felt tainted. It felt like an even worse lie to perform. It burned like a poison through your mind and heart before becoming incorporated with all the other pains rising to the surface.

The knock at your door was a welcome distraction, but only long enough for you to forget the possibility of it being Terzo on the other side.

You contemplated pretending that nobody was home before a muffled voice said, “I can smell you through the door, y’know.” Ah. A ghoul. Better in that it wasn’t Terzo, but worse in that you couldn’t avoid them. To your chagrin, the trek from your bed to the door wasn’t nearly long enough to look presentable or like you hadn’t been crying.

You could practically feel their eyes through the mask, studying your tear-stained ones as they smelled the salt that had settled on your cheeks. Nonetheless, they continued ever professionally with, “Papa III has sent me to come retrieve you.” From the way they barely contained their tail’s amused wagging, it was clear that they were getting a rise out of the insinuations of the invitation.

You may as well have been off to the gallows (or worse, Sister’s office) with how dour your disposition was. Being a part of the Emeritus line, Terzo’s chambers were further away from your humble digs in the Siblings’ quarters. Still, it felt as though there wasn’t nearly enough time from your door to his for you to concoct whatever it was you could say or do. Which, to be fair, wasn’t really much to begin with anyway. You were screwed, your fate sealed the moment the ghoul knocked on one of a pair of the large, wooden doors.

“Entrare,” the room’s occupant answered. Your heart beat icy pumps as you and your escort obliged.

You’d never been inside Terzo’s quarters before, not that you hadn’t been invited. Granted, the first few times had been in the very beginning, before he’d realized that his usual tricks weren’t going to work on an unusual suspect. He never brought it back up again, even as the two of you appeared to grow more comfortable with one another.

It was a shame, then, that you were too possessed with anxiety to properly take it all in: In another, more pleasant mental space, you would have adored the large, framed vintage posters that decorated the rich purple walls, or giggled at just how much purple and gold this guy actually used in one admittedly spacious but still single space.

You couldn’t properly see it, being in what appeared to be more of a lounging area (really, how big was the average Emeritus’s room compared to the lowly Siblings’ quarters?), but you could just make out what appeared to be a bedroom down a small coridor. From what little you could see, there was a bed made of rich, dark wood with a velvety canopy.

Dramatic, but fitting for someone like Terzo, you mused in a split second of clarity before the gravity of the situation returned with ten times the weight as before. After all, here you were, standing in the boudoir of the man whom you’d been avoiding all day. Avoiding because you’d failed to do your due diligence and warn him against pursuing you. And there was his damn bed right freaking there – !!!

That prey animal instinct from mass began to skitter back as you instinctively began to look for ways out of this. Maybe you could leap out that Satanic Tiffany glass window? You’d be killing two birds with one stone if you did: You could get out of a confrontation, and the action would surely unnerve Terzo enough for him to draw back, right?

However, the make-believe agility and will to do so quickly dissolved out of you the moment you heard the voice you’d been avoiding all day once more. “Grazie, Wisp,” he addressed the ghoul. From the sounds of it, he must’ve been in a room off to the side, away from view. Despite Terzo not being visible to them, the ghoul still offered a bow in respect before taking their leave (though not without their nosiness prompting them to sneak one last look into the room).

You winced in sync with the door clicking shut, the soft padding of footsteps on the plush carpeting thundered in your ears as Terzo made his appearance. Even though he made sure to keep some space between the both of you, you still felt increasingly like a trapped animal.

As much as you wanted to cast your eyes down and pretend to be intrigued by the fact that the flooring was black instead of some shade of purple, acting as though nothing was amiss was your best course of action. Even if you felt your breathing hitch both with uneasiness and infatuation over the fact that, yet again, the man’s face was bare of his usual paints. It did, however, carry a small look of concern. While you felt guilty, perhaps him being worried would be easier to work with than him being outright upset?

You tried to predict the sort of things a concerned Terzo might say and what responses would be appropriate when you noticed something else about him: His clothing. You didn’t expect Terzo to be lounging in his own living space in his robes but even then, he tended to favor going about in his suit. This was the first time you’d seen him in anything that could be considered casual and not relating to his position as a Papa. The first time you’d seen him in pants that were actually tailored, actually! It was questionable if a men’s blouse made from what might’ve been silk could qualify as “informal”, but your brain was currently unable to drum up that inquiry.

Instead, it was too busy focusing on how the top was being worn: With only the top two buttons undone, the edge of what was more likely than not an absolute thicket of black chest hairs was visible. (If you were a stronger person – a better, more functioning one – you would’ve absolutely braved that thicket like a safari explorer.)

You gulped, realizing that maintaining eye contact was going to be harder than usual. If you were quicker about keeping your wits, you might’ve tried to speak up first. Maybe with a “Hi, Papa. How ‘bout that afternoon mass, amirite?” But Terzo beat you to it.

“. . . How are you?” he inquired. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of accusation in his tone. “Are you doing alright today?”

I’m anxious to the point of sickness and contemplating vandalism with your window, you wanted to say.

“’M alright. Just tired, I guess,” you shrugged. Judging by the way Terzo’s lips pressed into a thin line, he probably didn’t believe you. However, if there was anything you’d learned in your time together, it was that Terzo wasn’t exactly the type to prod. It was easy to assume from the flamboyant persona that he was far nosier than he really was. But the unfortunate and lovely reality was that Terzo trusted you. Worse was that he trusted you enough to both see his true face, and to tell him how you felt when you were comfortable. Your stomach dropped when you remembered the fact you’d been crying before this. Were your eyes still reddened and puffy? Did he notice?

“Vedo,” he replied before slowly crossing his arms. "Well, if that is the case, then perhaps we must do a bit of a raincheck for the evening, yes?”

Your brows lightly twitched in a nonplussed fashion. It was then that you finally noticed the full scope of the room you were in. It was more like a den than an actual lounging area, complete with a TV on a DVD loading screen and a couch sat before it.

You forgot to blink as it hit you. This was what Terzo had been referring to during his face reveal yesterday: He was asking you to watch a movie with him! And you, in your lovesick stupor, had agreed wholeheartedly to it!

Logic (and a sense of cowardice self-preservation) would have dictated that you leap at the opportunity to leave. You needed time to regroup. Maybe make a sacrifice to Satanas in the hopes that that might win you some courage to do what needed to be done.

But before you could commit to it, you reminded yourself: You needed to act unbothered. You’d already aroused suspicion in Terzo as it was. If Terzo thought you really wanted to watch a movie with him, as you had outright stated, then you needed to watch a movie with him. All you had to do was sit down at a reasonable distance and appear completely invested. Too invested to possibly think about how you wanted to tangle your fingers into his chest hair. Or how you absolutely shouldn’t want to do that at all.

“N-no, I’m good!” you insisted a little too eagerly. “I can stay up, I’m not that tired.”

He quirked a brow but questioned no further. “If you insist. Come: I have a small setup.”

The setup being an oddly-shaped popcorn bucket (why . . . did it look kind of like a pope hat?) filled with cheese doodles and a bottle of red wine to be shared between two glasses. You took only the smallest handful of doodles to be courteous but turned down the wine under the claim that you were trying to cut back. The reality was you couldn’t risk letting alcohol lubricate you into either melting down or melting into his lap as you both settled in.

The Man Who Laughs, read the title card. A name just vague enough to sound familiar though you didn’t really know a thing about it. When Terzo briefly explained that its main character, Gwynplaine, had been the visual inspiration for The Joker from Batman, you expected some early horror flick. Perhaps being treated to an hour or two’s worth of a spiteful man seeking revenge and wreaking havoc on the innocent. Odd choice in what you could only describe as a movie date, but you were already in too deep and far too high-strung to comment.

But as the film progressed, you found yourself surprised. Not only because the plot was far from what you’d predicted, but also because you also hadn’t been expecting a sense of solidarity. Sure, you’d never been a stage performer whose disfigurement made him a laughingstock to the pauper and nobleman alike. But nonetheless, Gwynplaine’s plight resonated with you. Something about being an introverted, soft-hearted person who feared their worthiness of love was thwarted by something they had no control over.

When you’d settled on the couch that evening, your goal had been to merely pretend to take the movie in. But the tenderness exhibited by the film’s two main love interests made that all but impossible for you. You now existed in a strange and uncomfortable middle ground: Too invested to keep your wits, but too aware of how uncomfortable the relation was. If this were some vintage horror flick, there might’ve arguably been a chance to hide any visible anxieties as suspense-born fear.

But between the “smiling” man swooning into the beautiful Dea’s touch, to him hiding into himself when his insecurities got the better of him, you just kept being reminded of your own circumstances, and how Terzo had given you his full face when you couldn’t even give him the truth.

A wave of self-directed disgust began to boil in you, causing you to briefly tic. Otherwise, though, you remained stiff. It was a fair film, after all, and it was a shame that you were corrupting yet one more thing that was dear to Terzo by equating it with your own problems.

But inside you were the beginnings of a nor’easter of biblical proportions: Deluges depicted you forcing yourself through your fears in a pathetic effort to prove to him he could still love you; the voices of failed relationships past split through your mind like thunderclaps; even the howling winds sounded like your whimpers whenever you trapped yourself in the bathroom, determined but failing to conquer Q-tips and dilators and even your own pinky finger. The flood they all created sloshed and battered about your insides and squeezed at your lungs, brutalizing your mind.

Just relax already, they said.

You’re just being difficult! they had accused.

Quit holding out! they demanded.

The film became less and less visible to you as you tried to steady your breathing and cling to something inside. Please, Dark Lord, great Old One, you prayed once more. Did you want silence? Freedom? For the moment to end, or for everything to pause? You couldn’t tell with all this noise. Please –

Forget it.

Despite being born from the storm, it hung over it, breaking through everything and silencing all. Even your prayer felt muted compared to how deafening the command sounded in your head. The voice did not belong to the Dark One, however. It didn’t even belong to the other Big Guy. You knew this voice, actually. It had been years since you’d last seen or heard from its owner, but you still heard it nearly every day since. And they always said the same thing every time:

No one is going to put up with this if you can't fix it!

You fought to contain any reaction from reaching the surface, but you failed: You shuddered. Violently so. You had to quickly cover it up with an overcorrection of tensing, but you thought you’d managed.

You didn’t even have time to make up an excuse when you caught Terzo moving from the corner of your eye. He was getting closer – no: His arm was getting closer. Angling to wrap around you.

There shouldn’t have been anything intimidating about the idea of Terzo, coming at you with 30% of his hairy chest out, possibly aiming to get some over-the-shoulder action. Unfortunately for you, at this point, you were beyond intimidated. This was made clear with your reaction of jerking away, emitting a gaspy, yelpy whimper you never knew you could even make.

And for a moment, everything but the film froze.

It was an odd juxtaposition, the swelling orchestral music playing as you both just stared at one another without a single hint of romance. You truly were like Gwynplaine now, hands covering your mouth as your eyes stared wide. Terzo’s own eyes being wide was rather commonplace, but the way he stared at you now made you feel uneasy. It was almost as though those big eyes of his were suddenly seeing everything in high definition, able to see now see every crack in the structure that was you.

The soundtrack could’ve played on for an eternity before his low voice quietly spoke above it.

“Mia cara. . .? Are you okay?” He sounded even more uncertain than he did yesterday when he asked you about his face. When you failed to respond, he tried much softer: “(Y/N).”

Your breath hitched, icy and cold in your burning throat. You could count the times he’d used your actual name on one hand. Nearly all of them had been during the very beginning of your interactions. Back when he was trying to prove the extent of his interest. Otherwise, it was always a term of endearment: “Mia sorellina” or “Tesoro mio” or “Piccina mia” and so on.

Always “mio/a”. Always his, even when you had no right to be. But now, as he stared at you, having to resort to using your actual name, he must’ve been starting to realize that . . .

Even though it had done you no favors this entire evening, you let panic guide you to spring into action. You stammered and struggled for words as you tried to make yourself untense.

“I-I’m – I’m sorry, I was just so enthralled –” Did that word even fit here? “I was really into the movie, the sudden movement startled me and –” But it wasn’t so sudden, was it? “I’m really sorry, I just –”

But you just what? You did not know, and it was extremely apparent the more you talked.

“I thought you were cold,” Terzo gently reasoned once your words tapered off. At this, the arm you’d feared was coming to corner you shook gently. In his hand was the edge of a throw blanket you’d been leaning against. “I was going to offer you some cover. I thought you’d been stiff this entire while, and then you shuddered, so I . . .”

His movements were notably slower now. Felt the need to be more careful, even if all he was doing was reaching for the remote to finally pause the ongoing show.

His eyes were less wide as well, but what they left in their wake was a firm yet troubled stare. It wasn’t meant to make you feel so afraid, but the feeling was there regardless.

“(Y/N),” he stated carefully. “If you are not comfortable, then I need you to tell me. I am a big boy, I can understand boundaries. If I’ve been moving too fast or made you uncomfortable in any way, I –”

“The problem isn’t you, it’s me,” you interrupted. God. Satan. Whomever had stuck around to witness this travesty. Being the truth didn’t make it seem any less lame. And judging by how Terzo’s demeanor shifted into being unimpressed, he clearly thought so as well.

“To be brutally frank, Sorella, I was hoping for a bit more . . . honesty.” The delivery of that last word faltered somewhat, but it was more than enough to provide a healthy punch to your gut. Actually hearing Terzo express disappointment towards you was far more devastating than anything your mind could have concocted. He’d already implied on multiple occasions how he’d often found himself on the shorter end of a seemingly mutual trust. Now you were just another person who’d failed to uphold their end.

While true, something in you felt the need to still fight back.

“No, you don’t get it,” you hoarsely insisted against the tightening of your throat. Your fingers immediately set to biting into your arms as they crossed.

“Then help me to!” he finally demanded. “You’ve been acting strange ever since yesterday, so what? Is it me after all? My face? What?!” The frenzy, while warranted, made everything inside you curl inward. Everything suddenly felt too big, too loud for the decreasing space inside you. Your lungs couldn’t expand enough, and you could practically feel the hurricane inside you banging at your eyes to be let out. Your teeth sank into your lips just as your nails sank even more into your arms. Anything to bite back and fight back what was quickly becoming inevitable.

He must have realized what he’d done, or perhaps he just used his eyes to see you practically shrinking. His expression uncrumpled into something more tender and apologetic, but creases of quiet frustration remained.

“Cara. (Y/N),” he corrected, his more patient voice from before returning. “I apologize for my outburst. Really. I do. But . . . Please: What is going on?”

If you opened your mouth, you were fucked.

“I cannot fix things if you don’t tell me what needs to be fixed.”

Soft like dynamite. The dam splintered, it cracked, and then it collapsed entirely. Your body was never one to take things in or hold them, after all.

“You can’t fix me . . .” It was quiet and light and it weighed down on your insides like no other.

Terzo’s brows gathered. “. . . Perdono?”

“I said you can’t fix me, okay?!” you repeated, your sentence made jagged and uneven by its sobbing delivery. The sudden explosion left the normally calm Papa taken aback. His lips parted, surely about to question what you could possibly mean, but the flood was unrelenting as it poured from your eyes and lips.

“I’m sorry! I lied! I lied, I lied, I lied, okay!? My body doesn’t work, okay, it’s fucking broken, and I knew it all along but I couldn’t tell you because I’m a f-fucking coward a-and I’m s-s-elfish – And – !” But this point, though, your throat far too tight and painful to even try continuing. Besides, you’d said all of what mattered, right? That you’d lied to him by omission, that you were broken, and that you were a goddamn selfish coward for pretending otherwise.

The truth hurt but you deserved this pain, having only yourself to blame that you were experiencing this on this man’s couch instead of in the privacy of your room. Everything in you screamed to get up and run back there, in fact, but you lacked the will to do anything other than stay put in a near-blinding fit of crying, probably fucking up the sofa with all the tears you were leaking onto it. You might’ve stayed that way even longer if it weren’t for a sudden nudging at your knee.

Apparently at some point during your pity party, Terzo had taken the opportunity to get up and . . . retrieve a box of tissues? Not leave? Or call for a ghoul to come and get you? Actually, that made a bit of sense: He was too much of a gentleman to kick somebody out while they were crying, no matter how awkward the circumstances.

As much as the punishing part of you wanted to reject it, the suffocation of your snotty nose was intolerable. You accepted the tissue box and dug in until your face stung with how much you had to wipe at it.

Terzo meanwhile resumed his seat, making sure to allow you space as you let out whatever nonverbal emotion you needed to let out. He didn’t force you to talk – not that you could, remaining a coughing, hiccupping mess even as the emotional tempest began to recede.

In fact, he himself didn’t say a word until you’d managed to work yourself down to pathetic, wet sniffles and tremors.

“. . . You know you’re not broken, right?” he asked. You almost didn’t hear it about you

You sniffled, perplexed. Terzo watched patiently as he continued, “Look: I don’t know exactly what’s going on. But what I do know is that you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like talking with you. I just. Like you. So clearly, something about you must work, si?”

You shook your head. No. No, that’s what they all said. Maybe not like that, but they all said one of two things:

Either they claimed this didn’t bother them and that they could work with your condition, only to later realize they couldn’t keep up the lie; or they would ask to go your separate ways. He hadn’t done the latter yet, but after everything you’d put him through, he at least deserved specification to make that decision.

“No, I mean,” you took in a deep, shaky inhale. Mostly to calm the discomfort. “I mean. My body – It literally doesn’t – I have a condition, Terzo.” You paused just enough to let the words sink in – for the both of you. It never got easier to say no matter how many times you said it. “I can’t have sex. Not in a normal way, anyway. So, like. No penetrating or whatever. Not even, like, a tongue. Shit hurts so I don’t – I can’t bother with it. And like.” You twisted your fingers. “That feels kind of antithetical to the whole ‘living deliciously’ vibe or whatever you’re supposed to be promoting. So . . .”

So there. That was it. In a sick sort of way, you did feel somewhat of a weight lifted. The heavy, gross feeling of rejection still sat within you, but you had a familiarity with it. In time, it, too, would fizzle back into the recesses of your mind. You could . . . live with it there . . .

“. . . So what?” Terzo practically huffed, barely fighting back a smirk, one you couldn’t tell if it was from his own words, or in response to the stunned expression you now wore. “First off – and forgive me for missing any point – but you do realize that the whole of that whole ‘living deliciously’ shit comes from making choices, right? If sex is what you’re talking about, I don’t necessarily need sex. Is nice, yes, but. It’s not my whole fucking life, you know.”

. . . Well, no, but . . . To be fair, that rockstar persona certainly made that easy to not consider. Before you could argue this, he continued.

“Second off,” Terzo held up two fingers. “You do realize sex is more than just insert-dick-in-pussy, yes? Your Papa is . . . Well, he knows he is no blushing virgin, we shall say. No offense.” (At this, your expression blanked. Bemusement was superior to distress, though, you supposed.) “But do you really think that I think there is only one way to make sex count? Cara, per favore: Sex is sex! So long as everyone is having fun – and consenting! – then what is there to worry about?”

“E in terzo luogo,” he added a third finger before giving all three a wiggle, “do you really think that I would do all this if all I wanted was a quick fuck? I mean, think about it, piccina. Give me more credit.”

Well, when he put it like that . . . Your cheeks and ears burned less from humiliation, but from a much softer breed of embarrassment.

“Well . . . no . . .” you admitted. “B-but going back to the choice thing – I thought the idea was to make choices that don’t hurt anybody.”

He nodded with agreement. “Questo è vero. But here we are. And no one got hurt, si?”

You bit your lip, “But . . . I lied to you. I wasted your time, and – ” At this, Terzo’s hand rose, signaling for you to shut your yap.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, dolcezza,” he spoke, his features tame but stern. “You did not waste my time. Okay? I gave you my time. And I wouldn’t ask for a moment of it back. And do you know why?” He didn’t even allow you enough time to make a snarky response: “Because I chose to spend it with you. Even if I’d known, I’d choose you. And why would I not? Sei una bellisima compagnia, and I already love what we do together, even if it’s not fucking. Now, have I thought about us fucking? Yes! Often!” (You felt your blush deepening at his rather blunt confession.)

“But I have also thought about things we have talked about; things I would like for us to talk about; things I would like for us to do – besides each other, I mean. But it here’s a fourth thing.”

No fourth finger this time. Just him offering you his hand. You felt every particle in your abdomen squish and flip over the simple gesture, but curiosity made you pushed through to accept it. Even as his other hand came over on top of yours, any trapped feeling you might’ve had mere moments before never came forward. If anything, you felt . . . here? And for as buzzy as “here” felt, you didn’t want to run from it.

Terzo gave your hand a grounding squeeze as his eyes remained locked with your own. “I’m never gonna do something that hurts you. Alright?” he swore. “And if I do? Then I need you, I beg of you to tell me. Because if you don’t want to do anything, then we don’t do anything. We do nothing but enjoy one another’s company. That is plenty enough for me, dolcezza, I can promise you this. Do you understand?”

You gulped. You didn’t even realize your eyes had widened until you found yourself needing to blink back a fresh, much smaller batch of warm tears. You could practically feel your mind scrambling, trying to reference past experiences that could help you work off of this. Maybe proof he was lying, an argument you could present – something to make this all make sense!

But it found nothing of the sort. No one, in all those times, had ever offered a third thing, let alone one where you felt like you had an actual say in how things went.

Should . . . Should you nod? Could you be trusted to make the right decision here? You nodded. It was uneasy and uncertain, but the smile it gave Terzo seemed to be the proper answer.

“Good girl,” he affirmed. Oh. Yep. That was the right answer, you decided with a jittery exhale.

“Now!” Terzo exclaimed before giving the back of your hand a gentle pat and releasing it. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to finish our movie. Call me a firm nerd but I’ve waited all night to hear your thoughts on this, no joking.”

The change in atmosphere was dizzying as Terzo readjusted himself into a more comfortable position, as though you hadn’t just bared your soul and literal intimacies to him and had him respond in the most genuine and affirming way possible. Not as though it were nothing, but more like it was just not nearly as distressing as what you’d prepared yourself to face. With the storm settling and the fog of anxiety clearing, it became increasingly apparent just how discolored your thoughts had become by your past experiences. Of course Terzo wouldn’t be so rigid about sex: It went against everything he stood for, everything he was!

Of course, complete acceptance on your end wouldn’t be immediate. But you could work with this. Though, there was admittedly one last concern you had before movie night resumed.

“B-but.” You stopped short as Terzo turned his attention back to you. You had to remind yourself that the nerves you felt now were nothing compared to before. You could do this. “But . . . What if I . . . do want to do something?”

A bushy brow at the insinuation.

“N-not now! Not immediately,” you clarified. Suddenly the fringe of the throw blanket required your attention as you began fidgeting with it. “I just . . . You know.” You gave an awkward shrug and glanced up at him, a look of pleading twinkling in your eyes as you hoped he understood what you meant. Not any time soon, perhaps, but . . . Some day? You watched as the right corner of his mouth, the one where that darling beauty mark lay, rose up into a smile.

“Then, cuore mio, we talk about it,” he answered simply. “And, if you still want to ‘do something’ after?” He leaned in, the warmth of his smile heating into a devilish smirk.

“We do it. Whatever that may look like for us.”

You nearly blacked out when the bastard had the audacity to wink at you.

He then clicked play, shifting back into place as Gwynplaine and Dea came back to life. By the time you’d managed to regain your composure and refocus on the movie, Dea was cradling Gwynplaine’s tearful face in her hands. Assuming you hadn’t missed anything, this was the first time the poor soul had actually ever let her touch his face in all its deformed glory. And judging by her jubilant reaction, Dea couldn’t have been happier.

Good for him, you quietly delighted. It was absolutely what he deserved after all that time spent torturing himself over nothing. As you resituated yourself back into the cushions, you briefly noted how the voices from before, while still there, were much quieter. They lacked the power provided by the storm, and any time one of them seemed to try and get louder, you’d hear Terzo’s voice smother it out.

I’d choose you, he affirmed.

Good girl, he praised.

You know you’re not broken, right? he reminded.

It gave you goosebumps, though not the kind that the throw blanket could pat out. But you had a theory.

It seemed that the Old One had finally chosen now to put some courage in you. Better late than never, you supposed as you began to inch closer and closer along the couch until you could feel the heat radiating off Terzo’s body. The proximity in itself was thrilling enough, but the boldness didn’t stop there.

You tested the waters, leaning a little further into him, only for his arm to calmly come around you. Whatever space that remained was quickly closed as you felt yourself being tugged and cushioned into his side. You had only a nanosecond to catch the barely-contained smile on his face before you practically melted into place. Terzo’s touch, his scent, his warmth, his everything flooded into you, filling you with a simultaneous calmness and a vigor you hadn’t felt in years.

Your dream from before had been right after all: You belonged here, right next to your Papa.

#the band ghost #ghost band x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus x reader #papa terzo x reader #cw vaginismus #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x fem!reader #terzo x fem!reader #papa terzo #papa emeritus x fem!reader #stg if Copia gives me any hassle even vaguely similar to what i had to go through with this asshole #i'm getting my goddamn gwimbly ghoul gun #fun fact: i could not for the life of me recall Terzo's speech patterns when i needed them most so i took to youtube #and instead kept having to pause because i kept blushing at the stupidest shit he'd say #it's the Voice man #anyway go watch The Man Who Laughs if only to see a dog named Homo #and to see Conrad Veidt be an absolute babyboy who is disgustingly smitten with Dea #i would've picked a sluttier movie but honestly that movie made my heart so slutty

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sheepwavehdg · 2 months ago

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HDG story Recs: Read Only Mind exclusives

HDG used to live on a website that wasn't AO3! these are some stories that are often forgotten because they haven't fully made the jump after ROM banned HDG (because it was too big and taking over the site) because I'm not from this era, I got help from a pal who is to fill this list out!

The Saga of Dandelion Fluff, Real Affini by Anglemoon: two absolute moron rebels attempt to evade capture by assembling a fake suit and pretending to be an affini. it is hilarious, fluffy, and heartfelt.

Petals and Vines by evningrespite: the seediest sub in the entire universe is slowly domesticated in this fluffy romance story that still has a fair bit of bite in its consensual sadomasochism elements.

Satirical Spouting by Violet: a goofy oneshot that pokes fun at common tropes in the setting. I literally laughed so hard it hurt when I first read this story.

In The Shadow of The Independence by TsukiNeko: a somewhat controversial story that I have a difficult time recommending without qualifying first. this story is painfully sharp, has long segments devoted not to its own narrative but instead extremely clumsy metacommentary on the setting itself, and a cringe final chapter note devoted to a discord that no longer exists. It is still one of the most influential HDG stories to many writers, and there is an incredible story about sadism, communication, dominance, and surrender buried under the nonsense.

Human Domestication Guide by Glitchyrobo: while this one is being ported over to Ao3, the original 12 chapter arc is still incomplete, and the 1984 style ending to that arc that is still currently ROM exclusive is one of the most chillinglingly happy moments in the entire setting.

thanks to my anonymous friend for the following:

Hospitable Takeover by wyril: The first ever HDG fanwork! a bit of a lighter take than the OG story, while still maintining the underlying feel of creeping manipulation.

A little Self Sabotage by Doeposting: Captain Samuel Dirkost is commander of a wing of Resistance fighters unwilling to surrender to Affini Compact. The Affini have plans of their own, unveiling a secret prototype device used to curtail the Terran Rebel threat.

What Sunlight Tastes Like by Fallenlog: an M/M ace semi-romance story about a scared and lonely rebel finding happiness in a new home. It's very cute.

In the Garden of Eden: far in the future, a lone terran ship has been running dark the whole time, flying towards an affini core world. everyone on the ship are clones, and everything is recycled to keep everything going. one clone starts questioning things. a story that notably features an affini the size of a planet, and is generally a really nice story about overcoming trauma.

#human domestication guide #hdg #sheepwave story recs

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joedirtymadre · 10 months ago

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Date Night

ZORO X READER! FLUFF! (Pls send requests! I’m on my knees begging for ppl to send them 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️)

“Zoro, when's the last time you took me on a date?” I asked. “A what?” He asked. “Exactly! You don’t even know what a date is! And I don’t either, but I do know that couples go on them,” I huffed as I fell back onto the training mat. “Sounds dumb,” he said as he swung his ginormous weights. “That’s because you don’t have any romantic trait in your whole dumb buff body…” I sighed. “Why does it matter if we go on dates? You know I love you? Isn’t that enough?” He asked. “It is… but I don’t know. Wouldn’t you like to see me get dressed up, and I mean… it’d be kind of nice to see you all dressed fancy too. Then we go eat, you get me a flower and put it in my hair, and then we walk under the moonlight,” I say as I fantasized the whole experience. “Sounds like a hassle, and I think you’ve been reading too many of Robin’s books,” he said as he dropped his weights. “I guess… I guess you’re right. It is a lot to ask for…” I sighed and headed out of the training room. “Hey! Where are you-“ but I didn’t stay back to answer, I just headed down to the room to take a nap. I’ll just sleep it off, maybe he’s right…

Zoro’s POV

I went to look for (Y/N), but before I could reach her she locked herself in the girls’ room. “Zoro? What’s up?” Nami asked behind me. I turned around and let out a loud sigh. “I just… I’m just confused…” he said. “Hm? Confused about what?” Robin said as she walked down the stairs.

I now sat in front of the 2 women ready to ask some questions. “Alright Zoro, so what happened?” Nami asked. “Well, (Y/N) started asking all these questions about a date? And I said that it sounds dumb and why should we even go on a date if we know that we love each other already… and it all just sounds like a waste of time… And now she locked herself in the room and I just don’t know why,” I sighed as I fell back into the chair. “You idiot!” Nami snared as she hit my head. “Ow!” I yelled, feeling a bump form on my head. “Zoro, I think the reason why (Y/N) is asking for a date is because she wants to see that you love her,” Robin explained. “But I already do that. I let her follow me when we visit islands, we train together, I help her during fights… What more could she wa-“ Nami smacked my head again, causing another bump to form. “She means actual romantic stuff, you moron! I can’t believe you thought that was a showing of love, at that rate she’s no different than a crew mate!” Nami huffed. “You should think about taking her out sometimes, and treat her more like a girlfriend and less like a regular crew mate. We know that you love her, and I’m sure she knows too… but sometimes someone wants to experience classic romance. Did she say what kind of date she’d like?” Robin asked. “She said she wants us to dress up, go eat, put a flower in her hair, then walk under the moonlight…” I trailed off. “Oh my poor (Y/N), she’s so pure-hearted,” Nami smiled. “That does sound wonderful,” Robin agreed. “And easy,” Nami pointed out. “What restaurant would I even take her to? You said the next island is about 2 weeks away,” I said. “That is true… but luckily for you we do have an outstanding chef!” Nami said excitedly. “That’s right, I’m sure Sanji wouldn’t mind helping,” Robin smiled. “That curly-brow? I don’t kn- Alright I’ll ask him!” I said before Nami could smack me again. “Good! And we can dress (Y/N) up! Oh, and ask Sanji to borrow one of his suits,” Nami said. “Alright…” I said as I walked towards the kitchen. “Oh, before you go Zoro…” Robin called out and handed me something.

(Y/N)’s POV

I woke up to a knock on the door. I slowly dragged myself to the door and opened it, to greet… no one. Hmmm. I looked down and saw a letter. “Ooh, what’s this?” I asked myself as I picked up the letter. I noticed my name was printed on the outside, I closed the door and opened the letter.

Dear (Y/N),

Meet me by the dining room at 8PM. Nami and Robin will be stopping by in a few seconds.

Zoro

“Is this… a date?!” I asked excitedly, I began hopping around the room until I realized. “Hey… the letter said Nami and Robin would be here in-“ I was cut off from the knocking on the door. “Oh nevermind,” I said and ran over to open the door. “Nami! Robin!” I said excitedly. “Hi (Y/N)!” They said as they walked in. “So, why are you two in the letter?” I asked, confused. “Well that’s because Zoro asked us to help you get all dolled up,” Robin smiled. “He did? Really?” I asked. “oh Yep, now come on! Your date is gonna start in about an hour, we gotta be quick!” Nami said as she began rolling up her sleeves. “Huh?” I asked, as I noticed the two girls had stars in their eyes.

“We really outdid ourselves,” Nami smiled as she wiped her forehead. “Mmhmm, you look beautiful (Y/N),” Robin smiled. I looked into the mirror and gasped, I had a beautiful emerald green satin, off-shoulder corset top midi dress, with a slit that goes up to my knee. Nami let me borrow a black ankle strap heel, with some matching jewelry. Robin also put some curlers in my hair, and it left some beautiful loose waves. “You think so? Do… Do you think Zoro will like it?” I asked as I felt my face heat up. “Aww… and he better, or I’ll knock some sense into him,” Nami said. “Now, now, (Y/N)’s already 10 minutes late. I’m sure her date won’t be too happy if she’s a minute longer,” Robin giggled. “Beauty takes time Robin, I’m sure Zoro knows that. Now we just need a light rosy lip gloss, to tie everything together. The second Nami finished putting the lip gloss on me I rushed out the door, but not before hugging both of them and telling them a bunch of thank you’s.

I walked slowly towards the dining room, I noticed a figure standing outside the door. “Zoro?” I called out. “There you are. I was just thinking that my date stood me up,” he smiled as he approached me. I blushed when I saw him all dressed up. “H-Hi…” I stuttered. “What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked as he grabbed my chin, making me face him. “N-N-Nothing…” I said, flustered. Zoro chuckled and moved his hand down and grabbed mine. “You look beautiful. I gotta thank Nami and Robin for making you look almost perfect,” he smiled. “Almost perfect?” I asked. “Yeah, there’s something missing,” he said as he pulled a flower from inside his coat pocket. “A rose?” I asked. “Mmhmm,” he nodded, and slowly placed the bright red rose behind my ear. “Perfect, well you’re always perfect… but I do like how you look in a dress,” he smiled. If romance could kill a person, I’d be a goner. “Th-Thanks,” I blushed. “Now let’s get to that dinner, the idiot-cook made,” he said and led me inside the dining room.

We walked into the dining room, and I gasped the second I saw the beautiful setup. “Zoro, did you do all of this?” I asked. “Well… Usopp did the setup, but he did outdo himself,” Zoro said as he led me to the cloth covered table with a candle and a vase filled with roses. “Wow,” I said, and Zoro helped me into my seat. Then pushing me in, towards the table. He then sat in the seat across from me. As soon as he sat, Sanji walked out with 2 trays. “Oh hi, Sanji,” I waved. “Hello m'lady,” Sanji smiled, and I saw Zoro roll his eyes. “Today we have a Sun-dried tomato chicken and gnocchi. With a side of cesar salad and a glass of Pinot Noir,” he said as he poured us a glass and placed the meals down. “Thanks Sanji, everything looks delicious,” I smiled. “I’m glad, and I’ll leave you two to your meal,” he smiled and quickly walked away. We began to eat until I noticed something, “Hey Zoro, isn’t it crazy that Luffy hasn’t smelled the food yet?” I laughed. “That’s because I have him tied up in the basement,” he replied. “Y-You what…?” I asked. “Yeah… I didn’t want him ruining our date, so I took matters into my own hands,” he said mischievously. “You sound like a mafia boss,” I sweat dropped. “Now finish up, I still have another surprise for you,” he said. “Ok!” I smiled.

We quickly finished up the meal, and Zoro led me to the deck. I was surprised to see Brooke standing in the middle of the deck. “Hi Brooke,” I waved. “Hello, (Y/N)! Hello Zoro!” He said. “Now grab your lady and hold her tight,” he said and Zoro quickly pulled me into him. Moving his hand to my lower back, and guiding mine to his shoulders before placing his other hand to my lower back. “Z-Zoro?” I blushed. Suddenly Brooke began playing a slow tune on his violin, and Zoro and I began swaying to the music. “You said you wanted a date, and I wanna keep you happy. So I asked some of the crew to help me set this up, cause we both know I couldn’t have done this all by myself,” he explained. “You asked Sanji to help too?” I asked, shocked. “Yeah, but the damn curly brow made me do some favors in order to get his help…” Zoro said, annoyed. “Oh Zoro, you’re so sweet,” I teared up. “Hey don’t go tearing up. I told you already, I love you,” he said softly. “I know, and I love you too,” I said before we both leaned in for a passionate kiss.

But our romantic moment was eventually ruined as we heard some banging coming from downstairs. “Luffy! No!” Usopp yelled, as he, Franky, and Chopper chased after our captain. “I smell it! Where’s the food?” He yelled and ran around the deck. “Those idiots… I put them in charge of keeping him tied up…” Zoro sighed. I laughed as I watched everyone trying to catch Luffy, but he kept slipping out of their grasps. “Come here,” I said and pulled him in for another kiss. “I can get used to doing this kind of thing again,” he said, before deepening the kiss.

#anime fanfic #fanfic #fluff #x reader #anime #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #one piece #roronoa zoro #ronoroa zoro #zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #reqs open #request #one piece fanfiction

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guys-with-good-vibes-tournament · 1 year ago

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do you have a blorbo with an unwavering smile? do they sit in the peripheral without a single care? the world could literally be ending but they continue about their lives normally because they know they’ll be alright?

then welcome to the ✨guys with good vibes tournament ✨

here we invite our crouching moron hidden badasses, dudes that are totally content with their lives, or just anyone that is a paradigm of chill, to duke it out and find out who has the ~best vibes~

i am your host vie and i am excited to run my first championship on this site! please submit in the forms below and follow the rules there. note that i use “guys” as a gender neutral term, so guys who vibe may be any gender! polls will be open until i feel like i have enough for a bracket of 32. best of luck!

i am a biased man, and so here is an "early entry poll" for the guaranteed entry of one of the characters that inspired me to make this. please see that if you would like a better idea of what “guys with good vibes” mean. losers in this poll will only count as one submission from yours truly

obligatory boosty tag list: @autismswagsummit @mad-scientist-showdown @ultimatepinkgirl @character-of-all-time @dumbass-duo-showdown @generic-man-in-suit-battle @sharp-teeth-swag @eldest-sibling-tournament :)

#info post #submission form #vibe tournament #tumblr tournament #tournament poll #tournament #vie’s word

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froguemorgue · 5 months ago

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(1) Creature Feature: The Many Secrets of the Laurens Son

vampire drabble pt 1/?

historical Hamilton/Laurens

Slight CW for blood and non-explicit mentions of sexual intimacy

[part 2] >>

After Manning, Laurens decided he would never turn another human. She was his first and only victim, after all— she never seemed to want to forgive him for what he'd done. Reasonably so, of course. To be fair, it wasn't entirely his fault. He was practically starving and animal blood was barely satisfying his needs. It wasn't his fault that he had been bitten in the first place. He had tried to explain to her that perhaps if he'd been taught how to sate his thirst and how much to take from a living person...

Even if he had trusted Kinloch, it wasn't his fault; a moronic mistake, yes, but he wasn't to blame. After his two big mistakes, he vowed two things: One, to never turn a human; and two, to never trust another person again, vampire or human. With those two promises engraved onto his brain, Laurens fled from Europe and began his new life playing soldier.

His vow to never trust another man fell flat after meeting Hamilton. A graceful, grimacing yet energetic redhead with a quill fueled by pure fiery passion. That man was like an enigma, yet he let John know him. And for whatever the reason may have been, Laurens couldn't help but feel drawn to him. And there was a part of him that was afraid he would lose him. If any man deserved immortality, it would be Alexander. Not yet... but if he ever could reveal his secret, then someday, he should like to live with him forever.

And so, he paced. He had known Hamilton for a year now and every day he only felt himself more and more attached, more trusting. When he simply thought about the man, it practically melted his skin. It was as if he stood right before him, perhaps smiling if only a little, beginning to go off about something or another all passionately as he did. He heard Hamilton's voice, too. Saying something to him— it was his name, repeated like a mantra.

"John," the ghost of Hamilton's voice mumbled in Laurens' head. "John Laurens. John. John."

Laurens opened his eyes again; no Hamilton, no mantra. He peeked out his tent - something he'd put up if only for more privacy at night from the aides, justified by the fact that he was merely a secretary and volunteer of no rank - and he saw a small group of men walk by, most not in blue, holding their coats and spare clothes. They couldn't afford uniforms, of course. Some good-natured laughter and the Continentals moved on, except for one, who pushed back the flap of the tent haphazardly.

The young and fair aide de camp smiled pleasantly at Laurens. "I was hoping you were here. You spend so much time exercising or working and yet I hardly see you. How was the letter coming along? Did you find the privacy better suited to it?"

Laurens glanced back at the unfinished letter before looking at Hamilton. "Only somewhat."

"I hope you aren't busy. Will you accompany the lads to bathe at the stream? We should take advantage of these warm days while they are still here."

"Later, when it is peaceful."

Hamilton nodded, expecting to accompany him later, then.

Laurens tacked on, "I was just about to take a walk through camp myself. Shall you join me?"

"If it pleases you," he replied.

"Always."

Hamilton felt a smile spread across his cheeks before he realized he was flattered. Laurens took this opportunity of Hamilton's bashfulness to face him, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, admire his smile with one of his own. Hamilton straightened Laurens' necktie as he whispered, "Are you sweet and impartial to me, John?" to which Laurens just laughed pleasantly - for Hamilton knew the answer, after the nights they had shared, closer than the warm nights necessitated - and he started for the exit. Hamilton followed, quickly trying to push down the arising fantasies of pulling him back into that tent for a kiss.

There was one particular incident which redefined Laurens' relationship to his companion, except it was entirely on his side - and Hamilton was none the wiser. It wasn't the first time they'd kissed or the first time they got in close enough to feel one another's shapes beneath their sheets. It was much more complicated than their improper desires. Normally, of course, Laurens would have hesitated more to allow the sexual aspect of their intimacy, but he didn't need to. He'd live forever, and if there was a hell, he was damned already.

No, their complex relationship was born of a common mistake, really, a slip of the letter opener one night as they worked, the last two left in the room. Laurens looked up immediately, nose sensitive to the smell. It wasn't much blood. It was enough, however, for him to have the excuse to stand up, pull his handkerchief from his pocket, and stain the white with red.

The reaction was initially due to his genuine concern, then when his hands tenderly squeezed Hamilton's with the fine fabric between them, he realized how sweet he smelled, how hungry he was. He was leaning in without realizing, still awkwardly pressed over the table. Hamilton was looking at him, assuming his eyes focused on their clasped hands had more to do with Laurens' shyness than what really was bothering him. Hamilton did not look around before shifting to stand, squeezing his hands tighter, kissing him gently on the corner of his lips. He'd whispered, "There was no need to dirty your hankerchief."

Laurens cleared his throat, took it back slowly. He folded it and placed it in his pocket again. "I'm sorry, I think I'll retire to our room early."

Bells rang in Hamilton's head. "Finished your letter?"

"About an hour ago," he admitted. He gathered his papers.

As he went around the table and passed Hamilton, Hamilton said, "Then what's caused your sudden retreat?"

He kissed Hamilton's cheek to reassure him that, "I'm not retreating. I'll be awake when you come to bed, don't work too much longer."

"All right. I'll be up shortly."

With that squared away, Laurens left in a hurry. He couldn't wait to get upstairs, instead pulled out the small square of bloodied fabric as soon as he turned the corner. It was against his nose in an instant. Once he was in their room, he could no longer retrain himself. He could have swallowed the fabric whole. He tasted it, and god, it was like pure opium. It was everything he'd been craving.

From then on, nothing was the same between them. No amount of blood from anywhere else could get Hamilton's off his mind.

[next part] >>

#vampires #lams #lams one-shot #drabble

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veintrry · 2 years ago

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must be another one.

wanderer x gn!reader, im/mortal reader (no difference), unrequited love, angst.

synopsis; kuni has been entranced by you for the entirety of his life but he only watched as he loved you passionately but always seeing you with others, other lovers.

an: obvi inspired by another one - mac demarco because that song gets me.

@57and13 on twt

he himself would say he had roamed all over the world, seeking purpose, but anyone who had a keen eye would realise how he seemed to follow your footsteps, walking a different path and direction at times, but his steps in sync with yours, always. yet, you never thought to look back, you always focused on what was before you, and in that same way it was made evident that he wasn't at the forefront of your mind either.

You always had much to offer the nations of Teyvat, someone as yourself could give the universe to anyone, and you did just that. You didn't call yourself a hopeless romantic despite how often he mocks you for being one, swooning over the slightest kindness shown to you and thinking of something extravagant and cheesy to do, as expected. Though, he found himself disappointed it was never for him.

He surprises himself with how he still has the capabilities to be disappointed, this has been going on for many years. Lots of things have changed, but never this. Wanderer prefers not to acknowledge this, because doing so means being aware of how long he has yearned for your attention, and honestly, to care for someone so deeply for this long... it was both passionate and humiliating, for the core reason of your dense being.

You have witnessed him evolve, seen him at his best and his worse. You were there for everything. Of course he is fond of you, he always had been.

At first he mistook it for adoration, maybe a hint of attachment, too. But he quickly realised the differences between that and... love. Archons, how he hated that word. Though it was true. He loved you. No, he liked you. He actually wanted to be around you, but most of all he wanted to be with you. He wanted to say that you were his, that no one else can come and take you. But he liked you too much to even forbid you from your stupid temporary joys.

Wanderer is used to having to take the backseat when you fall for someone once more. He might even say, you've built a routine, a dynamic of what occurs in these cases. He lets you have your fun, but he deals with things eventually.

Because, he loved you. He couldn't say that your face though. You blurted it out so easily, he questions your views on romance since they seem so messed up, but you're always so ambitious nevertheless.

He wishes he could say he would be happy just watching you from afar, but that would be a lie, one he couldn't live by. In fact, why would he make such a proclamation? Why should he move over for someone else? He was best suited for you, you two knew each other so well you could probably switch bodies and no one would realise.

There was a natural understanding between you two, so why is it that you never looked over your shoulder to him? Surely you noticed how he treats you differently than others, it doesn't take a genius to tell,

and he thinks you're beginning to realise.

You have been spending a lot of time with him lately, this wasn't unusual, you two wandered together, but he feels that you've been more focused on him, plus you haven't rambled about anyone else in a while. It was nice this way, waking up beside you, complaining to you that you hold him too tightly in your sleep as if it actually bothers him, getting up and preparing breakfast as he urges you to stop lazing around in bed already. To think he's savouring these kinds of things like some love sick moron... you've rubbed off on him too much.

He feels your touch on him as he continues to cook, though slightly startled by the feeling of your hands, slithering from his waist to his stomach, pressing his back to you as you hug him. Your breath hits his neck and it makes him straighten up, your face is stuffed into the crook of his neck and he wanted to insult you, to scold you, but he liked how you clung to him for warmth despite him lacking any. It means that if there was any felt, it was because of you. Moron.

These are what make enduring those tough times when you're with other people you like worthed; Getting you to himself at the end of the day. It's awful to be glad about having you only for a limited time, but this was what you rendered him to. To think love would be this pathetic, his heart thumping, aching at the slightest attention you give him, making him, making the both of you, feel eternal, like this could be your forever, but never is.

The moment of peaceful silence only filled with slight sounds of sizzling is interrupted by the ring of the doorbell, and he curses whoever dared to come here so early in the morning, being the cause to you ripping away from him, and he immediately craves the warmth that was lost. "They can wait outside."

He spoke, his voice still slightly raspy as his throat was dry, but you could still easily tell how annoyed he was. Turning off the stove, he glanced over to you. "No no, I think I know who it is!" Your voice is chipper. That should be a good thing. But it never is, not when it comes to this. You always used to get this joyful tone when you spoke of someone, it was really cheerful, too cheerful. The voice he'd get used to would alter slightly that your voice pitched higher out of sheer excitement like you were in immense glee that you had never experience before despite this being a common occurance. Please let him be wrong.

But he never was.

And he can hear the chatter out by the door. He reminiscences on the moment that just occurred between you two, how it only happened behind closed doors, and how you left him so quickly for someone else. You love him, he reassures himself biting the inside of his lip.

You love him. Though him standing alone, knowing you'd come back in and ask him if he could make another plate, said something different. Maybe he wasn't as important as he used to be, but what does he have other than you? I guess the reason saying 'I love you' came easily to you wasn't because you liked him that much, but it just didn't mean anything to you.

#wanderer #kunikuzushi #genshin impact #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer genshin #genshin kunikuzushi #genshin scara #scara x reader #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #kunikuzushi x you #kunikuzushi x y/n

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crinkled-emotions · 2 years ago

Note

#1 sick prompt for rooster?

I'm thinking this is from the @whumpril prompts and it's not quite April yet, but I won't be doing the challenge so I assume it's fine.

Vibes! Listen, I've sent Rooster to therapy so many times I think it's time for him to just. Not go.

This is a PSA; therapy is super helpful but only if it suits you. Sometimes it doesn't suit and that's okay too!

I've taken some creative liberties here; Phoenix knows how Goose was killed but she doesn't know it was Maverick in the front seat. I did do a little Hangman bashing but I was feeling angsty. I'll hug him some other time.

Prompt 1: Panic Attack

Warnings: panic attack. Discussions of anxiety. Rooster, Phoenix, Hangman and Coyote in the early days. Rooster talks about losing his dad.

(re: whiplash, sometimes I lowkey think this scene was a panic attack but what do I know?)

Hangman had been trying to get Phoenix's attention for a solid ten minutes when he finally followed her gaze, tracing over to Boy Toy Bradley (aka Rooster, for the rest of the general population). His lips immediately twitched into a smirk, and he leaned in close to her.

"Don't tell me you're hot for him too-"

"-something's wrong."

Phoenix's dark eyes didn't leave her best friend, sitting toward the front of their Top Gun classroom. Hangman glanced over his shoulder at Coyote, who raised an eyebrow but chose not to interact as he took notes on the lecture in front of them.

With Top Gun came extended training, not just in dogfighting manoeuvres but also weapons tactics and an extended refresher on ejecting safely from a jet. So far the class had only been in the classroom, talking through the best way, but that day in particular they were going to watch an ejection. It was rumoured it was simulated after an ejection back in the 80's which had cost a Naval Aviator his life, so the Navy tried to make their Aviators even more aware now. Jake wasn't particularly bothered, he'd ejected before in a training event and it had left him with a great bruise where the harness had pulled him, but other than that he'd been back in the air within 48 hours. Glancing at Phoenix he could see she was a little uncomfortable, but she seemed to be more worried about Rooster.

The taller man was tapping his foot, eyes darting around the classroom as though he was looking for an escape. Their instructor was still talking, but when Rooster raised his hand and asked to be excused that raised some concerns.

"Bradshaw, if you have an issue with ejecting, do you really think you should be at Top Gun?" He asked firmly. Phoenix and Hangman watched Rooster swallow, and then look to their instructor.

"Did you read my file, sir?"

"Is there something we need to discuss after class?"

"Sir, his father-"

"-this is not the time, Trace," their instructor snapped at Phoenix. She promptly shut her mouth, looking to Hangman with a frown.

"Can't you Hangman now?" She hissed. Jake raised an eyebrow.

"Since when is that an adjective?"

"It's a verb, you moron-"

"-Bradshaw, if you walk out that door, I will write you up for insubordination!"

Their instructor was standing at the front of the podium, arms crossed firmly across his chest as he watched Rooster stride out of the classroom abruptly. Phoenix caught a look at his face and she stood.

"Sir-"

"-you wanna get written up too, Trace? Go for it, I'm in that mood."

As much as she wanted to make sure Rooster was okay, she had her own career to think about. She sat and promptly shut her mouth. The instructor sighed, turning back to the video.

"As I was saying before Bradshaw decided to play dramatics..."

"Looks like I'm not the only one leaving people hanging," Hangman whispered in Phoenix's ear. She clenched her jaw, glancing over her shoulder. To her surprise, Coyote was gone.

"Bradshaw?"

Javy rounded the corner into the nearest bathrooms, frowning when he spotted Bradley curled up in the back corner. He'd sweated out his uniform and his hair, usually neat, was all over the place like he'd been tugging on it.

"Oh, fuck, man. What happened? Are you sick?"

Coyote knelt, reaching out for Rooster but he immediately recoiled, pushing himself further against the wall. Coyote backed away, frowning.

"Hey. Hey, Bradley, you're safe, yeah?"

"I can't- I can't fucking breathe, I don't-"

"-I think... I think you're having a panic attack."

"W-what?" Rooster asked hoarsely, eyes finally glancing up to meet Javy's gaze.

"Yeah, my sister has 'em. Fuck, you're shaking. Alright, hold tight, class is nearly over. Phoenix is on her way, yeah?"

"Don't let her in, she can't- I don't want her to- please don't let her see me like this."

"Okay, okay. Look, you're just going to make it worse if you go as you have been. Can I touch your hand?"

Coyote knew he had to be specific. If he touched Rooster's shoulders or his legs, he'd probably go through the roof. He could start with hands. When he hesitantly offered his hand, palm out, Rooster surprised him and instead went straight for a hug. Javy caught him, frowning as he felt tears falling.

"Well, damn," he whispered more to himself than to Rooster.

With the lesson over and the knowledge that an ejection had happened like the one that had been simulated on the big screen, Phoenix grabbed her backpack, smacking Hangman in the face with it.

"Don't you ever insinuate I'd leave Rooster behind like you do ever again," she hissed. As she walked out of the classroom, a hand grabbed her arm and tugged. She went to fight it but Coyote put a hand over her mouth, silently asking for her to be quiet for a moment.

"Javy? Where's Rooster?" She whispered, glancing around.

"He's in the bathroom, the panic attack made him sick. He's just taking a moment, it's... not pretty."

"Alright, what can I do?"

"What did they show in the simulation?"

"It was a recreation of an ejection gone wrong in 1986- wait. Wait, oh. Fuck, I think I know why Rooster's so worked up."

She squeezed Javy's shoulder.

"Can you ask him if I can come see him?"

"You got it. He wasn't down for it earlier but I think the puking shocked his senses a little."

Coyote poked his head back into the bathroom while Phoenix kept watch. Hangman walked past and he went to stop but she flicked him off, turning away from him. His mouth pressed into a thin line, sighing as he approached.

"Look, I'm... Rooster means a lot to me too, I-"

"-and yet you rile him up, drag him through the mud, hang him out to dry?"

"Look. I think I know why he walked out of class, okay?"

"Can it, Jake. Go hurt someone else."

Phoenix dismissed him again right as Coyote came back.

"He said it was okay for you to go in. I'll hang out the front, give you two some space."

"Thanks, Javy. You're a good friend."

"Hey, B. Can I come in?"

"Guess so."

Rooster wiped his nose, grimacing at the wave of nausea wracking through his body again. He was drained, physically and emotionally, yet when Phoenix poked her head into the stall he kind of wanted to lash out at her.

"If you're gonna laugh, you can leave," he huffed, stifling a low gag. To his surprise, Phoenix knelt and opened her backpack. In seconds she had a packet of wet wipes and a water bottle in front of him.

"C'mon, clean yourself up. There's been a stomach flu goin' around, you should be in bed."

When Rooster went to correct her, she winked.

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I heard it wiped out half of the second class."

She smiled. With a couple sips of water in him, Rooster felt a little more clear headed but the exhaustion was tugging at his vision.

"C'mere."

Phoenix stood and pulled Rooster to his feet. He was always surprised when she did shit like that; then again, she was the one who gave Hangman a piggy back from the beach to the Hard Deck once. Good times.

"I just fucked up Top Gun, didn't I?" Rooster asked as they carefully made their way out of the bathroom.

"Top Gun isn't meant to be easy," Phoenix said firmly, hand on his shoulder as they walked back to the barracks.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to say? I got written up for insubordination, which I deserved because I left the class without permission, and then I puked so hard my throat feels like it's on fire."

Phoenix rolled her eyes, taking a seat on Rooster's desk chair while he searched for a clean shirt. She turned her head while he changed out of respect, then heard him get into bed.

"Look, you don't have to get it all out today, okay? I just- I've never seen you react like that man, and we've known each other a while now."

Her gentle prodding seemed to be enough, and when Phoenix looked at him Rooster shook his head, huffing as he angrily swiped at his eyes.

"I hate that I even think of it and I wanna fuckin' cry, like I'm some little kid all over again," he hissed. Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

"B, I think it's okay to cry over losing your dad. It might have happened a while ago, but it's still something that shaped you into the person you are today."

"The ejection they were simulating- the way they described it, the diagrams- I knew it was my dad's accident. I've read the reports, I know it was faulty mechanics and there's nothing his pilot could've done, but-"

"-but it still makes it real," Phoenix filled in. Rooster nodded.

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Rooster cleared his throat.

"He died when I was two. Me and mom were here anyway, visiting my dad and M- uh, his pilot. It... god, I still kinda remember it, but I don't remember him. When my mom died, my dad's best friend finally told me some stories of them before I was born. It... my dad was a good guy."

"And he died too soon."

Phoenix sighed, getting up from the desk chair.

"Make sure you call medical, let them know you've been puking. They might want to check you over but the beauty of panic attacks is they can also present like a stomach flu."

"Thanks, Phoenix- wait. How do you know about this?"

She shrugged.

"Maybe I used to have 'em."

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super-cosmic-library · 1 year ago

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like the dawn you broke the dark (my whole earth shook)

For Steve Harrington Bingo 23: card 1, C1: Bad Memories

Steve & Robin II G II 1030 words II ao3

He thinks he is going to die. There have been so many times over the past couple of years when Steve has thought he would die, but he’s never been more sure than in this moment.

He is going to die here, miles below the mall in a stupid fucking polyester sailor suit surrounded by angry Russian morons. The only people who know he’s down here are two kids and the coworker he’s sure hates him for dragging her into this mess.

Head pounding, Steve squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the darkness will dull the ache he’s become intimately acquainted with over the last few years.

The guy who is clearly in charge yells another question at him. Steve’s jaw won’t move. His mouth feels like it’s full of sand. He can’t answer. Even if he could, he can’t even understand what the man was saying. It’s all just noise to him at this point.

His jaw cracks as a fist slams into it. He tumbles to the ground, smacking his head against the floor.

Black spots cloud his vision, and the unintelligible noise turns into a dull, static ringing.

He lifts his head up to meet his attacker’s eyes. For a moment, he thinks he’s back in the Byers’ living room, Billy Hargrove pummeling his face in, children screaming all around them.

At least with Billy, he’d been able to get a few swings in.

At least if he had died there, when Billy smashed a plate into his head, people would have known for sure his fate.

When he dies, will people search for him? Will his parents never give up hope that he was still alive like Mr. and Mrs. Holland never gave up on Barb?

Who is he kidding? His parents don’t give a shit about him. No one gives a shit about ol’ Steve Harrington. He’s a has-been. A good-for-nothing loser with no future. A guy who loses more fights than he wins. Just another washed-up prom king.

He won’t be missed.

The Soviet in command grabs him by his lapels and pulls him into the air. Steve’s head rolls to the side. Through swimming vision, he sees pure hatred in the man’s crystal blue eyes. The man’s hot breath ghosts against his skin. Everything inside of him is screaming run. Run. Run.

There are too many of them and nowhere for him to go. He wouldn’t make it more than a few feet.

Besides, his limbs are too heavy to do him any good.

Fat, wet tears roll down his face. The adrenaline running through his veins can find no release. He can’t fight. He can’t run. He can’t do anything. He’s trapped.

He’s trapped.

Steve jolts awake, heart still pounding from his dream. He scans his dark bedroom, waiting for an evil Russian to jump out of the shadows and attack him. He still feels like his limbs won’t work, but at least he’ll see the attack coming.

“Steve,” A groggy voice questions beside him.

Robin, hair plastered against her face, sits up in bed. She rubs sleep from her eyes and gazes down at him. Through the dim light coming in through his window, Steve can see the moment she realizes something is wrong.

“Bad dream?”

Steve doesn’t trust his voice not to crack. He nods in response.

Robin rolls out of bed, her socked feet hitting the floor with a dull thud. “C’mon, then.”

Steve feels like he’s out of his body as he follows Robin down to the kitchen. He sits at the counter without being told and watches as she putters around his kitchen, pulling out all of the things she needs to make them both hot chocolate.

It became a kind of ritual for them in the days following Starcourt: spending the night at each other’s houses, one or both of them waking up from nightmares of Soviet spies or grotesque monsters, making hot chocolate to calm their nerves.

It isn’t even October, and Steve wholeheartedly believes that Robin knows her way around his kitchen better than he did.

She’s silent as she works. The house is the kind of dark and quiet where one could easily fall asleep in, but despite the fatigue heavy in his bones, Steve couldn’t go to sleep even if he wanted to.

At some point, he starts to stare off into space, replaying every moment of the nightmare that hasn’t yet dissolved in his memory. He should be glad that all that was left of it was the paralyzing fear and the crystal blue eyes. But Steve can’t shake the feeling that if he could just remember every moment of it, he could find some way to change it. Some way to fight back and escape.

But dreams–memories–didn’t work like that.

Robin presses a warm mug into his hands, bringing him back to the present. “Do you think things will ever go back to normal?”

The gate had been closed. Both El and Will said the danger was gone for good before they and the other Byers high-tailed it to California. It’s as over as it ever could be.

But that’s not what Robin means.

Steve knows that she is talking about the sleepless nights. The constant fear that something is lurking just beyond the corner. The complete aversion to any substance that might dull their senses. All of the things that linger after.

“I don’t know.”

They sip their drinks as the morning sun drifts above the horizon. In a few hours, they’ll be starting their shifts at Family Video. At the end of the day, they’ll be crawling back into Steve’s bed and talking until they can’t fight off sleep anymore.

Then, who knows?

Maybe this will be one of the good nights. Maybe they will sleep peacefully through the entire night.

That hope carries him through each day.

The hope that he’ll never have to make a cup of hot chocolate ever again.

The hope that it won’t be only their traumas that bond them.

The hope that one day, the past will stay there.

And the future will greet them like the morning birdsong.

#platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things

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bastellator · 1 year ago

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Violence and the Revolution

"The revolution made progress, not by its immediate tragicomic achievements but by the creation of a powerful, united counter-revolution, an opponent in combat with whom the party of overthrow ripened into a really revolutionary party."

-Marx, The Class Struggle in France (1850)

The question of whether the Revolution (here meant as any meaningful overthrowing of the present state of things, whatever its form) will be violent or peaceful, through the medium of liberal democracy or outside it, used to be interesting to me, but since reading this quote it no longer is. It doesn't matter whether the actual toppling of the world order comes violently or peacefully, it is what happens afterwards. Will the bourgeois let capital be exorcised from its host, or will they fight back. In the video game Disco Elysium by ZA/UM, with dialogue predominantly written by science-fiction author Robert Kurvitz, an old man, a veteran of a failed revolution, talks about capitalism's "mask of humanity". In times of peace, capitalism parades as liberal democracy, hamburgers and endless TV-channels, but when faced with a crisis, this mask begins to slip. In the global north, we very rarely see this slip, because we need to think that everything is alright and that we live in a democracy, but of course our society is built as much on violence as any authoritarian state, we just outsource out violence to the global south. When a political candidate challenges Capital here, Capital does not need to use violence, at least not here --- consider Jeremy Corbyn being subjected to a smear campaign as bombs drop on Palestine. Capitalism cannot simply do away with him, because that might actually shock people out of despondency --- liberal democracy, the human mask of Capital, stays on. Optics in Chilean politics do not matter to Capital, only the flow of resources. If copper stops flowing, they might try some non-violent sabotaging of the economy to turn public opinion against the socialist president, but when that fails (the people who elected him were largely poor to start with, so they might not have perceived the change as much as hoped for), the mask will slip off. But this wasn't just about copper, the important thing was always to enforce capitalist realism (a concept created by Mark Fisher to describe that feeling of anything but capitalism being possible). If Chile had shown the world that, not only was socialism possible, but it was possible through peaceful means, through conventional liberal democracy, other countries would follow suit. If the proletariat of Chile could do it, so could others. So, the CIA backed a coup by the general Augusto Pinochet to "reinstate democracy". Many conservatives in Chile truly believed that this would happen, that the communists would be thrown out and that order would prevail. They were surprised when the junta refused to relinquish power and reinstate democracy. And the global north did nothing to about this. Instead, they sent Milton Friedman's goons to run their experiments on the country. They sent Margaret Thatcher to have tea with Pinochet (a recent example of a similar thing is how Venezuela and Cuba were refused entry to an OAS event, while Biden had a joint press conference with permanently constipated and corona-infected fascist moron Jair Bolsonaro). And of course, this is because liberal "democracy" is simply the human mask, the PR-trick of Capital and capitalism.

So where am I getting with this? To return to the quote that opened this post, I want to leave you with this: however the revolution happens, the counter-revolution will be swift and brutal, and we must be ready for that. They will first try to nip it in the bud, as they did with Corbyn and Sanders. Then they will try to choke the country, to show that the system does not work, like they are doing to Cuba. Failing that, they will do what they did to Allende, what they did to Patrice Lumumba --- they will swiftly and brutally put an end to the revolution. The choice is not ours whether violence will happen before we can come out on the other side --- it is inevitable --- and we must always be ready for it.

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parttimepuff · 1 year ago

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Anon making huge mistake speedrun any%. You can’t just fucking do that to someone! Yeah, we all want Dedede to understand that he doesn’t need to fear or hate Beep so that she, in turn, can understand she doesn’t need to fear him or what he may do to those she cares about because of their connection to her. Everyone likes a happy ending! Everyone likes people being able to move on from the past and take steps toward a brighter future! Turning him into one of the beings that, for lack of a better descriptor, violently traumatized him, is NOT the way to go about this! Dark Matters might not be evil or violent by default, but that doesn’t mean the actions some of them performed in the past were not real and damaging! What the fuck!

Unfortunately I wasted all my anon magic giving a sentient boat legs(don’t ask it’s a long story), but uhh. Take this as getting a pat on the back from someone who isn’t an impatient moron. Everything’s gonna turn out alright. The narrative depends on it.

Dedede paused in his breakfast to listen to the anon's passionate speech. It wasn't often that they were on his side, let alone defending him against the rest. Despite being practically indistinguishable, they could certainly differ in opinion. Much as he was glad that someone agreed with him that he hadn't deserved that, he found himself getting caught up on their other points.

Beep was afraid of him? His thoughts drifted back to the picture of her. Her wide eyed expression. How she'd clammed up when he'd said her name. Maybe she really was scared of him, too. And of what he'd do to her loved ones..? How could anyone think that he'd do something like that?! ...actually, seeing as he'd already interrogated two different people about knowing Matters, it wasn't that hard to think.

He was broken from his thoughts as the anon turned to address him rather than his attacker. The king couldn't help but make a face at that weird comment, but he wouldn't ask. "Ah appreciate that y'all ain't all out to get me. Seein' as ah can't keep you from breaking in here." Dedede started, resting his head on one hand. "Ah... get why ya want me to like her. She's just a kid. Nothin' like ah thought."

"But pullin' that on me..." The penguin shuddered. That moment that he saw his new face in his friend's mask was burned into his mind. All the memories of his previous possessions by Dark Matter came rushing back anew. Staring back at him. It had happened so, so many times by now to him, but those were the first. They set a precedent for others to follow suit. All those negative emotions and old wounds had been occupying his thoughts nonstop.

He got that Beep was a person. A child. But he was still terrified. Those feelings didn't just go away. The experience had taught him some things just as much as it had traumatized him. Dedede suddenly noticed that the hand holding his spoon was shaking. He placed his other hand over it, letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Wish ya'd... done somethin' else."

#ask #ic #anon #King Dedede

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forbidden-forest-witch · 2 years ago

Text

Destiné à Être: A Remus Lupin story

Chapter 7: The Other French Girl

I love this chapter. Things start to heat up 🔥. Enjoy loves!

(Warnings: Smoking, drinking, language, sexual themes. 18+ only)

Word Count: 5k

...

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to just love and to be loved in return" - David Bowie

"... You should've seen the poor bloke", Sirius continues as he sips on his fifth whiskey. He and Remus have been passing the weekend by entertaining Brigitte with stories about their Hogwarts days and the mischief they caused, including how their group of friends followed Remus during the full moons to investigate why he kept disappearing.

Sirius sits on the sofa beside Remus, with Brigitte sitting on a cushion in front of the fire.

"... He'd leave like clockwork every month with some lame excuse", Sirius continues, "like we were bloody idiots! It wasn't difficult to piece together what was up. Ya can only get a cold so many times before people catch on".

"It was hard to keep making excuses with you and James being so damn nosy. Y' all cornered me and practically forced it out of me". Remus looks at Sirius accusingly through the corner of his eye and takes a gulp of his drink. Brigitte chortles, grimacing sympathetically at the irked werewolf.

"Oh, don't act like you weren't relieved", Sirius rebuttals. "We started trying to become Animagi for our cute furry friend after that. I read werewolves don't like to attack animals like they do humans. We finally did it fifth year. Right Moony?".

"Right, Padfoot. I'd spend the full moon night watching a dog and a stag gallop around the bedroom of the Shrieking Shack like hyper morons".

"I had a leaf in my mouth for a month, just for your sorry arse!".

"An I appreciate your sacrifices, my old and nosy friend", Remus says dramatically, placing his hand over his heart.

Brigitte blinks rapidly as she looks between the men. "You mean, you're an Animagus?".

"Oui", Sirius smirks, haughtily straightening out his suit lapels. "Unregistered, so erm, don't go spreading it around".

"No? Oh, that is wonderful news!", Brigitte cheers, confusing the Englishmen. "I was so worried I was going to spill the secret-- or Gus. I haven't told anyone in The Order yet, but if you're an Animagus too then it's no big deal", she babbles on energetically.

"Pardon me, too?", Remus asks dumbfounded.

"She just casually mentions it?", Sirius scoffs.

"I'm impressed, Sirius", Brigitte smirks. "I never could've done it without help. My Maman guided me through it".

"But why?", Remus asks. Brigitte smiles at him endearingly and fidgets in place, "In case something happened and we needed to help my brother Beau and Papa ... in case Maman's wolfsbane didn't work. She taught us separately how to do it the summers we were sixteen", Brigitte explains.

Like Sirius, she knows exactly what it's like to stand by while a loved one painfully transforms. Brigitte saw her brother and father exhausted and beaten up every month, from wrestling each other and themselves. Her mother, Celeste, witnessed the werewolves calm demeanor around animals and successfully preformed the complex spell herself, being bestowed the animagus form of a white wolf.

Remus gazes at Brigitte in awe. She doesn't cease to amaze him every time they speak and it only intensifies the feelings he's trying to ignore. But it feels as if there is a universal force bringing them together. The nervous knot in his stomach twists, but at the same time he feels so calm and steady just being in her presence.

"What's your animagus?", Sirius asks, breaking Remus' trance.

"A polar bear. It's been so long since I've let her out". A distant expression spreads across Brigitte's face when she thinks back to her last transformation. "She's so big, I don't do it often. It's not really easy to blend in or hide, and I despise transforming indoors".

"Damn. And I thought we had to worry about the pyrokinesis", Sirius cackles, but Remus isn't worried at all. He's just imagining how majestic and beautiful she undoubtedly looks in her other form. How, in a perfect world, he'd run around the forests with her as the full moon illuminates their path.

─── . ˚*☆ ☾ ☆*˚ . ───

Britt, I decided I miss you too much, so I'm coming back to The UK! I also got an amazing opportunity to work at the Gringott's Bank in their International department. I've made arrangements to stay with cousins in Knightsbride, but maybe the first couple days with you? I arrive at the train station, next Tuesday at 11am. See you then! XOXO, Fleur Delacour

While freshening up her hair with honeysuckle oil, Brigitte re-reads the note once more to confirm Fleur's arrival time. She dresses in her typical Muggle attire (a t-shirt and high waisted shorts), cleans up the dirty clothes on the floor, and bounces down the stairs. She bypasses Ron and Ginny, who are begrudgingly scrubbing the stairs with soapy rags.

"Good morning", Remus' voice chimes. He's sat at the kitchen table with The Daily Prophet and a cup of coffee, pretending that Brigitte's entrance doesn't make his heartrate increase. He no longer needs to leave the house ridiculously early to avoid her, and he was crazy for ever doing so. Seeing Brigitte's rested, smiling face makes his day.

"It's a great morning! Fleur is finally here, it'll be like having a piece of home— don't tell Gus I said that. I still can't believe she's moving here. I can't help but take some credit, Madame Maxime probably encouraged her to come here with me", Brigitte explains. "I think she'll be a great addition to The Order, I'm sure Moody will have someone at the bank she needs to spy on".

Remus watches as she runs around the kitchen, talking on and on about her friend and mindlessly cleaning like a Muggle so her hands have something to do.

"I look forward to meeting her. I don't have a mission today, so I'll be here", he smiles softly at her, leaning back in his chair with the Daily Prophet haphazardly forgotten on the table.

"Magnifique! I should probably warn you... Fleur isn't famous for great first impressions. She means no harm but sometimes she's ... socially unaware?", Brigitte attempts to stifle a laugh. "I love her but people think she can be a little bitchy. Gus is quite indifferent for her".

"It takes a lot to offend me at this point", Remus says. Brigitte gives him a sympathetic look. "Well I'll shouldn't be too long. Enjoy reading! Lemme know if the Ministry is any closer to catching that Madman Sirius Black!". Brigitte slips on her Vans high tops and runs out the door. Her bubbly disposition leaves a smile to Remus' face long after she leaves, even after he resumes reading false gossip about Sirius and Harry.

⋆˚☽˚⋆

King's Cross station is bustling like always. Hordes of people gather to look at departure times on the big screen, travelers running late sprint to their train with their suitcases dragging behind, and kiosk owners kindly berate passersby about flower bouquets and cheap jewelry.

Brigitte waits in the middle by a bank of red payphones. Fleur's train is set to arrive on time, according to the displayed schedule. Brigitte blends into the crowd, at least, as well as a beautiful witch dressed as Muggle can blend in. Men walking by keep looking her up and down, but Brigitte has mastered her 'resting bitch face' by now.

It's not long before she hears her name being called over the speakers announcing the next trains departing. She turns around and the first thing she sees is Fleur's glowing, silver hair.

"Sissy!".

"Brigitte!", Fleur gasps and the girls wrap their arms around one another in a loving embrace. They jump around in a circle together, excited to be reunited for this unexpected adventure.

"Mon amour! Comment s'est passé le trajet en train?", Brigitte asks. Fleur complains about how crowded the train was and the creepy men she encountered like the one Brigitte just dealt with.

"And I had my things sent to my cousins', so I'll need to buy a dress to wear tomorrow".

"Or borrow one of mine? I want to get some lunch. You can see where I live? Remus and Sirius are home, the Weasleys too", Brigitte tells her discreetly.

"I still cannot believe Maxime let you move in with that man". Fleur shakes her head incredulously.

"He's been nothing but friendly. His friend Remus as well. He's a very nice man ... and a werewolf, so don't stare at his scars when you meet him", Brigitte whisper shouts. She didn't hesitate to tell Fleur about Remus' affliction, for she had been so empathetic about Brigitte's family. Being a Veela comes with its own obstacles in the magical world.

"Say no more, sis", Fleur says as Brigitte pulls them into a deserted ladies restroom, where they Disapparate to Headquarters.

As the afternoon sun leaks through the windows, Sirius finally joins Remus in the drawing room. The unending ruckus of Fred and George setting off firecrackers, and Molly yelling at them makes it impossible to sleep the day away.

"G' morning... afternoon. As if it matters", Sirius mutters, scratching his bare tattooed chest. He's been able to put on a happy front for the most part, but the start of the week always reminds Sirius of his inability to help the Order; it's just another week stuck in this godforsaken house.

"It's a bit early to start the sulking, don't you think? Britt will be back with her friend soon. Molly is making dinner tonight, the whole Weasley bunch will be here and she didn't wake you. Cheer up, Pads", Remus says ruffling the paper.

"I just wish Harry could be here now, Y'know?".

"Me too, but he'll be here before you know it".

"You're right, and it's nice having everyone. Britt fits right in, huh? Sweet gal, beautiful too", Sirius says, smiling mischievously. Remus looks at him suspiciously over the newspaper. "And intimidatingly brilliant. I've never had someone be so understanding regarding my furry little problem. What's your point?".

Sirius looks at him like he is offended by the question. "My point is everything you just said ... I see the way you look at her, Remus. Been a while since you've tried to put on that sweet Moony charm, Hmm? Not that I blame you. Those long legs, that curvy—"

"You can't talk about her like that, Pads. She's our housemate and we work together. It's rude and inappropriate", Remus retorts, going back to his reading. Sirius quietly chuckles.

"Given this a lot of thought? Calm down mate, I'm fucking with you... But, I have seen how she looks at you too. Those big blue, twinkling eyes," Sirius smiles playfully at his blushing friend. "C'mon, Moony. Live a little! Have you even spoken to another available woman in the last decade?".

"Available? Come off it. Like I said, she lives here, and quite frankly neither of us are good enough for her... that is, if we wanted to pursue anything", Remus declares before taking a small book from his pants back pocket. Sirius shakes his head in defeat and sprawls out in the sofa.

Neither of them speak. The only sounds are Remus turning the book pages, the twins joking around instead of cleaning, and the clanking of Molly moving the pots and pans in the kitchen. But then, they hear the unmistakable sound of the front door opening, and two pairs of feet ascending the stairs.

"There you two are! Remus, Sirius... this is Fleur Delacour", Brigitte says, waltzing into the room hand in hand with Fleur. The men stand up to greet the girl, who skeptically examines the place. It's nothing like the Beauxbatons' carriage, nor even the Hogwarts castle that Fleur was never fond of.

"Bonsoir", Fleur quietly says and shakes their hands. "This is where you live now? I cannot imagine?! It looks haunted", she mumbles to Brigitte in French. Sirius, being fluent in the language, glares at her.

"Yes, Fleur. It's not Beauxbâtons but I like it here. And Sirius can speak French, my love".

"Oh! Merci for hosting me", she says, trying to save face.

"Anything for Brigitte", Sirius says dryly.

"Well come on, sissy! I won't spend my first day in London huddled up inside! I want to go shopping, immediately", Fleur exclaims, tugging her arm. Brigitte scrunches up her nose, groaning,

"I promised Mrs. Weasley I'd help with dinner... And I don't really know where the good shopping is. I don't have the money for that". Fleur makes an unsatisfied sound.

Remus chuckles at the impatient French girl. Brigitte was right about her first impressions on people.

"We'll help Molly with dinner. You two enjoy catching up", he offers.

"Ahh, see? Yes, Merci Monsieur! Let's go! I'll even buy you something!", Fleur basically drags Brigitte out of the room. She mouths "thank you" to Remus before getting pulled down the stairs. He rocks back and forth on his feet, smiling to himself, giddy to come to her aid.

"So, we're helping Molly with dinner tonight, huh?", Sirius guffaws, falling back onto the couch and preparing to tease his friend for the rest of the day. "Shut up", Remus mutters.

⋆˚☽˚⋆

The young witches are the last to arrive for dinner. The kitchen is already packed with every Weasley, along with Sirius, Remus; and the newly couple, Tonks and Gus are cozied up together at the end of the table.

"I'm so sorry we're late!", Brigitte panics. "Everyone this is Fleur".

"Bonjour. I suppose it's my fault for our tardiness", Fleur says dismissively and rubbing Molly the wrong way, "I insisted we go shopping, but I think it's worth it, right?", she gestures to Brigitte's new sundress. It's a rich maroon color, low-cut cleavage, with butterfly sleeves.

"Oh, stop it, Fleur!", Brigitte whispers, embarrassed by the attention. She sits at the table next to Remus. He had been having a conversation with Sirius and Arthur but completely forgot what he was talking about once Britt entered the room. A vaguely familiar man is sitting amongst them, and his hair is so red he can only be a Weasley.

"Bill Weasley, nice to meet you". He reaches across the table to shake the ladies' hands. Britt introduces herself and notices the fang dangling from his ear— a photo memory comes back, of that same fang and red hair sitting in the Great Hall and distracting Fleur before the final task.

"I can’t help but get this feeling I've seen you before. Did you go to the Triwizard Tournament?".

His face lights up into a boyish smile. "I did! Got to visit Harry. Mum said you were both there as well. You competed, if I'm not mistaken?". Bill turns his gaze to Fleur.

"I did. I was so proud to represent my school".

"They're lucky to have ya. So what are you doing here now?".

"I got a position at the bank, dealing with their French clientele".

"You're kidding! I work there too. I'd love to show you around. Of course, we'd have to make it look like we met at work. Can't have people getting suspicious", Bill says. He hasn't taken his eyes off Fleur since they shook hands.

Brigitte watches Fleur lean forward to speak with the handsome young man. So typical, leaning forward and talking quietly so Bill has to lean in also. Brigitte rolls her eyes and turns to Remus, pivoting her whole body to face him.

"Thanks again for covering for us", she tells the man already gazing down at her; he gave up on trying to engage with Sirius and Arthur. Her mere presence distracts him from everything else. He can smell the subtle fragrance in her hair, and that new dress only enhances her natural beauty.

"I'm happy to help. I know what it's like to want time with a friend you miss ... And it is a nice dress, not that I'm a fashion expert. Tonks is right, you look stunning", Remus whispers so only Brigitte hears.

The compliment totally catches her off-guard and there's no way to hide how flustered she is. "Th-thanks, Remus... I don't think she was going to let us come home until I let her buy me something".

Remus gives her a small smile and glances to Fleur. "Good excuse for being late, then", he says, holding eye contact with the furiously blushing Brigitte.

Dinner is full of conversation and laughter. Bill and Fleur are in their own little world, not taking their eyes off one another; Sirius and the twins are discussing their best pranks on Filch; Molly and Arthur are reiterating to Ron and Ginny they are too young to join the Order; Brigitte, Remus, Tonks, and Auguste chit chat about nothing and everything. The atmosphere is calm and casual, as if there's no threat of Voldemort. And now that everyone in the room knows about Remus' lycanthropy, there's no need to worry about accidentally spilling that secret. If anything, it made Gus respect Remus more.

"Britt told Sirius and I about your family becoming Animagi, can I ask what yours is?", Remus asks Gus while unintentionally grabbing the attention of the table- sans Bill and Fleur. They could be in the middle of an atomic bomb and not notice.

"I'm a gyrfalcon— ferocious bastard, too", Auguste responds "I can fly faster than a high-speed train", the Frenchman shares, impressing Tonks.

"Trains can't fly, idiot", Brigitte jokes. Auguste scoffs, "You know what I mean! We can't all be a big, growling behemoth like you".

"What's yours, Britt?", Ginny asks in awe.

"I'm a bear. A polar bear. She's gorgeous; 10 feet tall standing upright, tall enough to snatch up little birdies from the sky", she says, glaring at her brother. Tonks cackles, her head falling back on Gus' shoulder.

"Wicked", Fred and George say in unison.

"How hard is it to do?", Ron asks.

"Don't even think about it, boys", Arthur warns them.

"Wow, and Tonks can be anything!", Ginny says impressed. The table watches the metamorphmagus transform her ears and nose as Ginny shouts out different animals. Molly passes around carrot cake for dessert with a content expression, watching all her loved ones around the table.

"All we're missing now is Harry. It doesn't feel complete without him", she thinks aloud, followed by mutterings of agreement. The entire Weasley clan will be moving in the next day for the remainder of summer so that Harry can be with all his favorite people; also in part of Molly hoping the extra company will cheer up Sirius and motivate him to wake up before lunch.

"I cannot wait to see him! Such a sweet boy", Fleur says, not noticing the tight smile on Molly's face or jealous side eye from Ginny.

"Hermione, too!", Ginny adds, glancing at Ron.

"It's going to be a very full house, oh, there is still so much work to do!", Molly worries.

⋆˚☽˚⋆

Two hours later and the Weasleys have left with Tonks and Gus. Bill reluctantly followed them, needing to rest before an early day at Gringott's; but he assured Fleur that he would track her down so he can show her around.

Remus and Sirius are conversing, cleaning up the dishes. Then they pour a warm whiskey and follow the thumping of dance music.

Brigitte and Fleur are in the drawing room, in slumber party mode. The 80's music plays as Fleur lies back on a couch, her feet kicking into the air while Brigitte dances around on the coffee table.

"Allow me, Mon Amour". Brigitte ignites the cigarette dangling in Fleur's thin fingers with a single blink of her eyes. They pass an almost emptied bottle of champagne back and forth while singing off key.

♫ ♪ ♫ Tainted Love, Oh-oh-oh-ohhhh Tainted Love ♫ ♪ ♫

"The fuck is this, Moony?", Sirius cackles when they see the partying witches. Remus' heart warms at the sight: the girls dancing and giggling with zero inhibitions.

"Bonjour, nos amis!", Fleur gleams, "come, come! Someone has to catch her when she falls off the table!". Brigitte ignores her and keeps dancing with a big grin on her face and champagne bottle in hand.

Sirius shakes his head and walks over to pick out the next music. Remus sits down on the sofa opposite of Fleur, fumbling with the hem of his Beatles T-shirt and trying not to stare at Brigitte's dancing body and the way her dress flairs up when she twirls. Her hips shake to the rhythm, and Remus notices the gold bracelet hooked around her dainty ankle. A warmth creeps up his chest and neck that's definitely not from his whiskey.

"Starting tomorrow the house will be full of people day and night! We have to get it out of our systems!", Brigitte finally responds to Fleur without slowing down her moves.

"Gotta get all the partying in before the kiddies come? Not that Fred and George would mind this view", Sirius chuckles.

"Padfoot", Remus hisses.

"As of you weren't a handful when you were those kids' age, Britt ... still have your moments now", Fleur teases.

"'Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead!'", Brigitte recites while spinning around on the table clumsily. "I've matured since school, Merci. Spent all last year looking after you, did I not?". She takes a step, and half her foot wobbles off the side of the table.

"Obviously", Fleur says before taking a long drag. "But you used to look after me while running around wild at Beauxbatons. Always a great multitasker".

"Britt", Remus interjects with a concerned smile adorning his face, "maybe you could dance on the floor... please? You're starting to make me nervous".

She spins around to look at him affectionately before jumping down, revealing even more thigh. "Since you asked nicely", and she starts dancing circles around Fleur's couch.

"So what was our little Britt like in school? Are we living with a trouble maker?", Sirius asks as he puts on a Bowie record and starts dancing around with the laughing, freckled- face beauty.

"She did become an Animagus illegally", Remus points out.

"I was an angel. Still am!", Brigitte insists. "Right, Fleur?".

"As if!", Fleur cackles as the cigarette smoke clouds around her. Every weekend she either had detention or was sneaking out to parties. She'd get caught smoking. Oh! There was that one time — how you say in English? When you swim naked? She got caught in the fountains this boy--".

"Chienne! I can't believe you just said that!", Brigitte cuts her off, "It was one time! You try the potion I had and see if you want to keep your clothes on", she defends herself. She and Fleur stare at one another for a second before bursting out laughing. The champagne has gone straight to their heads.

Remus is mid sip of his whiskey and almost snorts it out of his nose. Luckily for him, Sirius is the only one to notice.

"And I thought we had some fun stories, Moons", Sirius says.

"I got the craziness out of my system, right? I got my shit together and a job once I graduated. Who cares if my memories of sixth and seventh year are fuzzy?", Brigitte snickers. Fleur rolls her eyes and finishes her cigarette.

Sirius takes Brigitte's hands and they spin each other around without an ounce of elegance, tripping over their feet and giggling like children. "You know you're kinda crazy, love", Sirius laughs, spinning her around.

"I fit right in then, don't I, Black?".

The corner of Remus' lips perk up at her radiance. The perfectly messy, strawberry tendrils bounce freely as her new dress swirls around. And Remus is elated to see Sirius in a happier mood and enjoying moments in life, even if he has his hands all over Brigitte.

"Remus, why won't you dance with us?", Brigitte asks with a hopeful tone. Fleur stands from the couch, insisting she needs her beauty rest after a long day.

Sirius lets go of Brigitte's hands and spins onto the couch Fleur vacated.

"Yeah, Moony. Why don't you take over?", Sirius instigates. Remus shakes his head and puts his hand up,

"I'm not light on my feet like Padfoot. I-I would probably just step on yours, Britt", he laughs nervously, internally begging for the couch to swallow him.

Brigitte huffs unsatisfied and slinks over to him. The champagne in her system has washed away any nerves she feels around the Lycanthrope, so she's only left with those giddy butterflies in her stomach telling her to go to him.

Brigitte offers her hand; a delicate and tiny hand Remus can't resist to touch. He reaches up and grazes her soft skin before wrapping his fingers around hers. They both feel the sparks of electricity between them. "Rebel Rebel" starts playing and Sirius watches with glee as Remus stands on the rug awkwardly.

♫ ♪ ♫ You've got your mother in a whirl She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl ♫ ♪ ♫

"Come on, Remus! You have to move for it to be considered dancing", Brigitte teases him as she moves in rhythm with the music. She takes his other hand and sways joyously, not taking her eyes off him.

Her touch and tranquil aura eases Remus' nerves and he gradually sways along with her. Remus lifts his hand to twirl Brigitte in place; the sound of her uninhibited laugh makes his head dizzy. In this moment he can be just a man– not a poor werewolf– but a normal man dancing with a woman he likes.

They look into each other's eyes, with stupid smiles plastered on their faces as the surroundings fade away into obsoletion. Brigitte watches Remus' honey hair sweep across his handsomely scarred face with each movement. His carefree demeanor is so unlike the Remus she's seen so far, and she has a feeling she's one of the lucky few to witness it.

Neither of them notice Sirius slip out of the room when as a slower song (Bowie's "Absolute Beginners") comes on, opting to not be the third wheel of the night and rather give Buckbeak some needed attention.

♫ ♪ ♫ I've nothing much to offer, There's nothing much to take. I'm an absolute beginner, And I'm absolutely sane. As long as we're together, The rest can go to hell ♫ ♪ ♫

Remus gets the courage to hold Brigitte by the waist and pull her in a little closer. She doesn't hesitate to step into his embrace and wrap her arms around his neck. Her head fits perfectly under his chin, and she's close enough to notice his scent: book pages, chocolate, and a hint of rainstorm.

They rock side to side, relishing the moment before the record skips and startles the two. Remus opens his eyes and gazes down at Brigitte. She's so close he can see the flames of the chandelier candles reflecting in her eyes, the same way a star-filled sky reflects in the Black Lake. He takes a daring glance down at her lips and awkwardly clears his throat when she peeks her tongue out to lick them.

"I'll turn that off", Remus mutters, walking to the record player.

Brigitte quietly sits on a couch, feeling her fast heartbeat in her neck. "Thanks for enduring the torture of dancing with me", Brigitte says softly.

"I was worried it'd be torture dancing with me, not the other way around". Remus sits beside her, and the sunken cushion makes her thigh nuzzle up against his.

"Never, it doesn't matter how you're dancing. What matters is how you feel when you're doing it; and who you're with, of course", Brigitte says matter-of-fact.

"That's because you have a beautifully unique confidence, Britt. And decent dancing skills", Remus says.

"Well, you'll just have to dance with me again and learn a thing or two. My skills are bound to rub off on you". They both blush at the idea.

"Actually", she hesitates, "I took dance at school and failed miserably. It's not my fault my dance routines were better than what the unimaginative teachers wanted me to do!". She falls into a story about her hilariously disastrous dance classes that earned her most of her detentions third year; and Remus just can't get enough, completely enamored.

He in turn tells her about the one Christmas break he stayed at the Potter's family home and James tried to teach him the waltz (the day ended with James having to ice his stomped-out feet).

"That's the most I've practiced. Poor James always had the best intentions. Dancing was never a talent of mine, and I probably wouldn't have accepted the invitation from anyone else", Remus smiles crookedly at Brigitte. He pulls the emergency stash of chocolate from his pocket and breaks off half for her. Remus looks at her out of the corner of his eye, adoring Brigitte's smile. A smile from thinking about how her feelings for him are growing every time they are together; thoughts he's been battling himself.

They sit in silence, enjoying the sweet and watching the fire. Eventually, when the logs have turned to ash, their string of yawns force them to retire for the night.

"Just so you know, I genuinely enjoyed dancing with you; more than with Sirius", Brigitte smiles dizzily at Remus in front of her bedroom door, "but don't tell him that, it'd break his little heart".

Remus blushes so intensely he can feel his cheeks pulsating. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool. "Heh, I could say the exact same to you... Britt", he says in his deep, sexy voice. She bites her lower lip and squeezes his arm, switching her gaze between his eyes and supple lips as they stand in a comfortable silence.

"Well... Goodnight, Remus", she whispers and slips into her room, with wobbly legs making her fall against the closed door. Remus walks rhythmically to his own sleeping quarters, with David Bowie stuck in his head and his mind replaying the way Brigitte's body swayed perfectly in sync with his.

♡ ♡ -Things are heating up! I hope y'all are enjoying this story. I thought 'Absolute Beginners' is the perfect song to describe this developing love story! Please reblog if you liked this and let me know if you wanna be tagged. Xoxo.

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