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ssukidesu · 10 months ago

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Inextricably Knotted (an Inukag + Jane Eyre AU) [Chapter 6]

Summary: Kagome Higurashi was orphaned as a baby and raised by her cruel aunt until the age of ten, after which she went to school and learned the art of service and self-suppression. Now eighteen, Kagome takes a job as the governess of Shippo, the young ward of the great and mysterious Lord Inuyasha Taisho.

But as Kagome gets to know her bemusing master, a ghost seems to haunt his estate, hinting that there is a long-lost secret hiding on the third floor.

(Read on AO3)

tag list: @heynikkiyousofine @xanthippe-writes

Chapter 6: Goodnight

Despite the intense interruption of Kagome’s rest, she found herself full of energy the next morning. The sun had barely crested when she woke Shippo for their breakfast and first lessons.

Mr. Taisho proved aloof as ever that morning, to her surprise. Not even the servants did as much as utter his name—though Kagome did hear whisperings of changing charred bedsheets, which did much to soothe her concerns that she had merely dreamed up last night’s incident.

Indeed, Kagome and Shippo operated without interruption throughout the day. Unable to shake a pesky state of passive distraction, Kagome even ended their lessons early, a good hour before dinner time. She felt the relief of her quarters’ isolation. The day had been overcast, raining off and on, which truthfully did sabotage her original lesson plans.

But alone in her room, Kagome felt her stomach curl and uncurl in self-directed concern. She was aware enough to know that she still worried for her master’s well-being. He’d refused to answer her pointedly regarding what had been done about the attempted murderer. The flames that had engulfed his curtains couldn’t compare to the flames in his eyes when he’d reprimanded her curiosity.

She stepped to the corner table, where her sporadic painting from the previous day rested dry. Had she truly painted that ? Looking at it now in the thick light of dusk rather than candlelight revealed to her the strangeness of it all. She could not remember ever painting something so rashly. The sketched outline laid beside the final product, and she could hardly tell they were siblings; the first was all scratched line and shade, a half-conscious and impatient rendering of a living thought, bursting to escape. The final was the least naturalistic thing she’d ever created. All was gold, orange, yellow, and red, though the scene was certainly not meant to happen at sunset or sunrise. The setting was a blurred train cab, hardly recognizable as a vehicle, windows and doors all open and sucking out invisible air. Shippo was a bundle of blankets, the only cool-toned thing on the page. And Inuyasha, her master, was the most mysterious of all. She did not remember deciding to conceal his face—but his hair whipped to hide half of it, and his clawed hand, which fought to buffer the wind, covered the other side entirely apart from a single scowling eye that glared firmly through fingers. More than a painting, it looked like a fading photograph that fought and failed to capture a moment not meant for history’s eyes.

Rolling up the parchment carefully, Kagome tucked it away in her bottom drawer to rest with her other finished pieces. Most resided neatly in her leather-bound portfolio; however, there were some that she did not feel belonged among the rest. The portfolio was for the pieces of which she felt most proud—but other pieces, she knew, no one else could ever understand. These were rolled and sealed with ribbon, like holy scrolls whose only worthy opener lived beyond the skies.

When the time to sup came, Kagome fetched Shippo and arrived at the dining room. But it was empty—apart from Kaede. Kagome did not have the courage to express to the old maid her curiosity, or admit to herself her disappointment.

She sipped her tea wordlessly, unlistening to Shippo’s periodic prattles.

Kaede assessed her: “Are you alright, dear? You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

Kagome locked eyes with the woman, her next breath half lost. “Yes,” she cleared her throat. “Yes, I am fine. I’ve simply felt under the weather today.”

“I see. I hope nothing has circulated in the house, what with the master journeying these next few days.”

Kagome blinked. “Journeying? Mr. Taisho is away?”

“Aye, he left before dawn this morning. He’s heading to the house of Lady Yura and her family.”

“Lady Yura?”

“Mmm,” Kaede confirmed, sipping her wine. “A beautiful young demoness of old acquaintance. I myself have wondered why he’s never made her an offer of marriage, what with her graceful sensibilities and their amiable friendship. But I suspect her lack of fortune is a large factor, as she is among the youngest of her sisters and has a modest dowry.”

“I see,” said Kagome, unblinking. “What is she like, Lady Yura?”

“She truly is the beauty of the country. She sings most lovely, too—when she was here last, about five years ago, they sang a lovely duet together at the pianoforte. As to her appearance, she is tall and dark featured, black hair and eyes like a crimson rose. Otherworldly, even for demonic standards. She seems to like our Lord much, too—despite his…” Kaede paused, struggling to find the appropriate words to describe their master. “Despite his circumstances,” she settled.

“His heritage,” Kagome clarified aloud to herself. She recalled the cruel words of Shippo’s mother in reference to her master, and she brought herself to smile at the notion that not everyone treated him poorly for his blood.

Kagome thought also of this mysterious woman in the parlor with Mr. Taisho—her dainty fingers trailing the keys as he leaned over her shoulder and sang along in her pointed ear.

Five years ago. Five years ago, Kagome was thirteen, at the same weight she was at ten though a half foot taller, blisters on her fingers from knitting with crooked needles and knots matted in her hair from the lack of combs.

“Yes,” Kaede assented hesitantly. “Though she would outlive him by much, being a full demon, they would have many decades together to produce and rear children. And as a half demon, it would not be out of line for Lord Taisho to seek a fully demonic bride to rectify the impurity of his family’s only remaining line.”

Rectify the impurity.

Kagome clenched her teeth. “For whose benefit would Mr. Taisho seek… resolidifying his family’s bloodline? Surely as the last living member of his family, he ought to decide based on what he wants for his life, not what his late father or brother would want for their legacy.”

Kaede offered her a small smile. “I understand your feelings, my dear. But I’m afraid they are too human in sentiment. In this age, legacy is all demons have.”

What of happiness? she was going to say, but her tongue grew heavy. She of all people understood that happiness was not the meaning or purpose of life, and its pursuit was often the very thing that guaranteed its absence. She herself did not humor grand hopes for her own future for that very reason; life had proven to her time and time again that anything good can be lost, and clinging to happiness—or wrenching it from fate’s hands—only produced more pain in the end. A humble life of submission to one’s own station and duty in history was, perhaps, the wisest choice. And if Lord Inuyasha Taisho wished to marry a good-natured demoness whose presence he genuinely enjoyed in order to prove his good will to his ancestors, then he had the right—admittedly the obligation—to do so.

Kagome forced down the strain in her throat with a hard, stubborn swallow, and she took a bite of her steamed vegetables. “How long till you suspect Mr. Taisho will return?”

Kaede placed a used napkin on her empty plate. “Oh, that man is impossible to predict. I wager it’ll be a few months at least until we see him again. He seldom stays here longer than a fortnight, typically; the length of his latest residence was puzzling, to be sure. But he often travels everywhere in one stream—after visiting with Lady Yura, he’ll likely go round the continent for a while and only return when the stewards inform him that business has piled up so much that he must return at least to sign some letters!” she said, ending with a chuckle.

“I see,” said Kagome, mouth dry. The carrot on her fork’s prong was left uneaten.

The worst of winter’s bite had come and gone. The nights still froze the dirt, and it even snowed once more, but the days saw higher temperatures that prevented any ice from persisting long. Two weeks had passed since Mr. Taisho’s leave, and Kagome had done rather well in returning to what she now affirmed was the proper state of mind. He was a great lord of a great house, and her acquaintance with him was the result of nothing more than a coincidence of profession. She would do well to not think of him at all and, when unavoidable, perceive him only as her dutiful employer.

But at nights, when the sounds within and without the house kept sleep evasive, she felt the ghost of his hand on her cheek. She saw what she could only interpret as raw absorption when he clutched her hand and pulled her near, hinting that she had an additional option to not leave his room that night.

To call him by his given name—that was his plea to her. But for what purpose? It clearly and inarguably meant nothing—and Kagome knew that his temporary attention to her was only the result of boredom and, even in his own words, the absence of anyone else who could properly conversate.

It was now a late January Sunday, and she allowed Shippo to go about his day as he wished. He begged to see the armory despite its chill and vacancy, and Kagome distracted herself by counting the cracks in the old ceiling boards while Shippo ogled the vintage helmets, blades, shields, and other Taisho heirlooms. Next, he wished to play cards in the sunroom—which Kagome found particularly amusing, as he did not know how to play a single game. She taught him a couple basic ones—solitaire and war proving the most successful.

The sun shined, and though the temperature was chilly, the sunroom felt increasingly pleasant as the time passed noon. When Shippo’s stomach growled for lunch, she pried him from his pillowed spot on the lounge and set them toward the kitchen.

On the way, Kagome noticed a couple of servants rushing along with their arms full of cloths and cleaning supplies. The closer she came to the kitchen, the more servants she saw bustling back and forth down the halls. Kaede intercepted them immediately upon entrance.

“Miss Higurashi—thank goodness. We’ve just received word that Lord Taisho will be returning in three days’ time.”

Kagome schooled her features, unsure whether what fought to form was a grimace or a smile.

“I’ve so much to do to prepare for this unforeseen return. Would you be able too…?”

Before the woman finished, Kagome placed a warm hand on her arm. “I’d be happy to help any way I can. Let me get Shippo fed, and I’m at your disposal.”

Kaede seemed to melt in relief. She exhaled, “Thank you, my dear. It seems he is bringing Lady Yura and her family with him, as well as some others. Every bedroom on the second floor must be prepared for residence.”

“I see,” said Kagome tightly.

Like a fitful storm, Kaede swept back to and fro to give demands and instructions to various poor souls. Kagome provided Shippo with a warm slice of bread with cheese, and she herself ate some pheasant roast.

Every cell in Kagome’s body felt aflame. Shippo even noticed her heated complexion and inquired whether she was ill, and in all honesty, Kagome wondered the same thing. The thought of seeing her master again stirred blood to her cheeks and neck, but the reminder that he would not arrive alone put ice in her veins a moment later.

She would do just fine, she asserted. She would tamp down any persistent germs of feeling that defied reason and station, and she would work humbly in his house per usual while he dined and laughed with his distinguished friends.

There would be no issue.

The promised third day arrived in a flash of chaos and food. So much food there was in the house now, more than she’d ever seen. She wondered if she’d be allowed a bite.

Shippo pranced around the crowded parlor while the final preparations were made—his lessons having proven all but useless for the ample distractions—and clutched his little fingers on the windowsill to watch the road for their master’s impending appearance.

It was not long before he was shouting in excitement: “There! There he comes, on his horse!”

Kagome’s heart stopped, and she coolly walked over to inspect through the glass with him. A distant form, but yes—there he was, in all his state, upon his black Clydesdale. But he was not alone. Another horse rode beside him, a brown Cleveland Bay, and a dainty feminine form was half-covered by a parasol. Kagome could not quite gather the woman’s features, but she watched Inuyasha flick his head toward her, his silver locks whipping about him, and his face broke into clear and playful laughter. He brought his horse closer to hers and seemed to say something privately to her—for there were two large carriages not far behind—and she stretched her gloved hand out to press against his shoulder in jest.

Kagome rose from her place at the window. “Come, Shippo. We should grow scarce before they begin settling in.”

“Why?” he asked, pouting.

Kagome offered him a sad smile. “I suspect Mr. Taisho will wish for his guests to get comfortable before subjecting them to any introductions.” Though, Kagome thought, there was a high likelihood that he did not wish for any of his guests to ever meet the half-disdained ward from an unfaithful lover and his dreadful human governess. But she could not stomach telling him this truth.

This seemed to pacify Shippo, and she managed to lock herself in her room a full hour before guests would be hosted for supper. She could use an early night, she told herself; her job may amass additional complications with the presence of others in the house, and she would need the rest to adjust accordingly.

After reading for a couple of hours, Kagome set to remove her clothes and lay down—but before she could unfasten her first hairpin, there was a knock on her door.

It was Kaede. Kagome glanced around the old woman and sighed in relief at the empty hallway. “Yes ma’am? Do you need help with something?”

“No,” started the old woman, a curious lilt in her voice. “But I’ve been told that little Shippo’s presence has been summoned to the parlor to join the party after they’ve finished dining.”

Dear me , thought Kagome, the boy will be insufferable tomorrow during lessons . “Surely Mr. Taisho doesn’t mean for me to come along. His nurse can take him just as well.”

“That’s what I said at first, too—but then the Lord insisted that it be you who brought him. He said that if you resisted, he’d come fetch you himself.”

Kagome gulped. “There’s no need for that. I’ll come.”

“The room will be empty when you first arrive, as they’re still finishing their dinner. If you’d like to avoid particular attention, I recommend finding a quiet corner for you and the boy to occupy, and bring a book or some crochet. No one will notice you that way, and I’ve found that such is best with these sorts.”

“Will you be with us?” asked Kagome, the hope of a child stirring in her breast.

“No—I managed to wrangle myself out. You will be fine, my dear. I doubt he will keep you long.”

From their silent corner, Kagome charged Shippo with absolute tranquility unless specifically invoked for a purpose. He seemed to read the worry in her voice, and he promised his best behavior—more so for her own sake. His nurse had joined them in the room—a quiet woman of about thirty five with whom Kagome had only ever spoken regarding Shippo. She too sat silently and worked with netting needles.

It was another fifteen minutes before people began to trickle into the room—and they were all demons. Kaede’s advice proved right, at least, and none of them did much to acknowledge her. The first individuals to arrive were older—parents, aunts, and uncles of the more spirited guests, most likely. Distantly, Kagome heard the approach of loud talk and laughter. None of the voices belonged to her master, that much she knew for sure. Nonetheless, her heart gained pace knowing that he was likely among them.

The group entered in pairs. The first included a man with long hair black as pitch and maroon irises, and at his side was a beautiful black-haired woman with vibrant red eyes, nearly magenta. Kagome instantly wondered if this woman was Yura—but a second later, one of the older women already in the room addressed her as Kagura. Kagome’s eyes darted back to the man, who did not look at her once, and thought that his was the most unnerving appearance she’d ever seen. There was no individual feature that she could single out as the reason for his frightful air—in fact, his dark features and perfect face proved quite handsome, in a cunning sort of way. Looking at the pair together, she suspected they were either spouses or siblings. She watched for signs that clarified which it was—but for every one she caught that signaled one thing, another came the next moment to contradict it.

The next pair that came was even less comprehensible. The woman—a teenage-looking girl with chestnut hair and green eyes—hung adoringly on the arm of her partner—a tall, blue-eyed man who appeared the same age as Mr. Taisho and sported pin-straight black hair in a ponytail. He did not seem too fond of the woman currently clinging to him, but Kagome suspected he allowed her hold in some backward desire to avoid something even worse. They, too, barely spared her a glance, though she noticed that the man lingered on her longer than anyone else had.

No one else entered the room right away, and Kagome forced her gaze to return to the open book in her lap. Shippo did well in remaining seated still in his place beside her.

But then, just as Kagome’s heart had returned to a reasonable pace, the sound of footsteps again reached her ears. Feminine laughter breached the room before the source did, and Kagome knew in her heart who it was. The entire room seemed to prepare for her entrance with bated breath, as if she—or the person who accompanied her—carried all hope of future entertainment.

When Lady Yura crossed the threshold, Kagome lost her breath. Not because of her startling beauty—of which she had known already—but because of the adjoined person who entered with a light hand on her upper back.

His appearance was unchanged enough—his silver hair still flowed freely down his back, and his golden eyes still pierced their every victim. But everything about him felt different. The last time she saw him, he was nearly pressed to her front, gripping her hand like a vice and looking at her like she held his very life in her hands.

But now, he had never felt more distant—and he had never seemed more terribly beautiful. Beside his guests, his lack of physical elegance was more palpable than ever. There indeed was something less refined in his person; his hair was not as smooth, his skin not as pale. His ears stuck out like a quill among pens in a fine cup. None of his guests seemed to mind, but Kagome wondered how deep such natural prejudices hid among demons.

Kagome ripped her gaze from his form and forced herself back to her book. She wondered if the entire room could hear her thrumming blood and smell her sweating hands. Mr. Taisho had not looked her way once, and her periphery confirmed that he still did not as he and Lady Yura settled together on the couch. Shippo, too, seemed to feel the superiority of the others in the room, and he did not dare make a sound.

Mr. Taisho spoke for the first time, and Kagome’s ears latched to his voice against her will.

“I told Lady Yura that she had nothing to fret over—my home may be old, but its ghosts are of the humorous sort who only periodically knock pans from shelves to scare my cooks.”

The aforementioned lady quipped, “Such words beg a jinx! You’re a cruel one, inviting spirits to prove you wrong just as you bring in guests. One would think you’re staging a horrible plot in a novel.”

The room chuckled at her rebuttal, and Mr. Taisho shrugged his broad shoulders. “I suppose one of us will be proven right soon enough,” he teased.

Kagura inserted her own chiding: “Now, Inuyasha—you understand it will fall to you to protect us ladies if anything does come crawling out of the wicked woodwork. I hope you’re up to it.”

The pale man beside her bristled. His voice was deep and grating as he said, “Surely you don’t believe in such fallacies, too. I assure you that it is the master of the house himself who proves the most frightful thing within it.”

The room laughed, Mr. Taisho included, but Kagome wondered if this was some veiled jab. She did not lift her gaze to inspect her master’s expression, so she trusted his laughter, which did not sound feigned.

Mr. Taisho affirmed, “Naraku, I can always trust you to speak sense to the women around you. Though, it may explain why Kagura is the only one who seems to enjoy your company.”

More laughter fluttered around the room, like crazed birds seeking open windows.

Yura said playfully, “You know, it isn’t a bad thing for a man to be frightful. It is the proper domain of woman to be beautiful; I believe that a real man has no concern for his own appearance. Only strength and valor ought to matter to him.” She paused to offer a pretty smile to Mr. Taisho, who quirked a brow at her little speech. She continued, addressing the room more fully, “If I were to marry, I would desire someone who would be a foil to my beauty, not a competitor.”

Mr. Taisho chuckled. “So a pirate would do for you, then?”

She said nothing, only looking at him firmly, and the brown-haired man on the other couch said, “I vote that of those among us, Inuyasha is the most buccaneer-like.”

The invoked man scoffed. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”

Kagome noticed Naraku and Kagura share a secret dubious look. She wondered if it could be translated: Nothing you own is rightfully yours, you mongrel.

Mr. Taisho, whose face Kagome could still not bring herself to assess, did not seem to notice.

“Enough of this dreary topic,” Yura said, seemingly uncomfortable with its direction. “Tell us, Inuyasha—how did you come to care for the young pauper in the corner there?”

Kagome’s spine locked, and she felt the gaze of the entire room gravitate toward Shippo and, thereby, herself. She held her breath, waiting to see if her master, too, would look her way. But his eyes remained trained on Yura as he fumbled in his pocket for a cigar and match.

He lit and puffed it once before responding. “His mother passed unexpectedly, and I’ve cared for him as a favor to her.”

An incomplete tale, Kagome thought. It was a guilty comfort that the truth of Shippo’s presence was something he trusted to her and not them. It seemed a paradox that, the more social equality a party had, the less honesty its conversations could afford.

“Call him over!” said Yura. “I wish to see his cute face close. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a child his age.”

Mr. Taisho did as he was told and beckoned him over. Kagome watched as the child stepped dutifully forward to them. Yura leaned down to him once he was near and asked in a humorous pitch, “Tell us, are there any ghosts in this house?”

The others smothered laughter as Shippo wrestled within to give her whatever answer she desired. But being unsure what it was, he could only respond bashfully, “I don’t know, madam. I haven’t seen any.”

Yura’s expression gathered slight annoyance at his failure to spur on more fun. “You should know that you can’t see ghosts, boy. You can only feel and hear them.”

A frightened look fell on Shippo’s face, and Kagome worried that he would truly become afraid of phantoms in the house. Wasn’t it common knowledge to not terrorize children? Kagome moved her gaze to Mr. Taisho for the first time since his initial entrance, and she watched him flick a hard look toward Yura. It was gone a second later.

“Little Shippo knows better than to believe in ghosts,” he said with a jocular tone.

“Nonsense,” said Yura immediately. “You were telling me before he was hardly educated at all. Aren’t superstitions the pastime of dullards?”

Kagome’s grip tightened around her book.

“He has a governess now,” said Mr. Taisho simply.

“Ah, a governess,” said Kagura. “We had half a dozen in our day, didn’t we Yura? Always such frivolous creatures.”

“To be sure,” said her sister. “I’ve still never forgiven father for thrusting one upon us. We would have done just as well locked in a library for two hours a day. Mother hated them just as much.”

“Oh, don’t get mother started on governesses,” said Kagura.

One of the older ladies straightened her posture at the invocation. Her voice curled about the room in a pitch that sounded higher than natural: “My dearest girls, you were right to hate them so. I swear that every single one of them either harbors a secret disdain for their master that spikes their instruction with repugnant spite, or harbors a secret affection for him that distracts them with illusory hope. In both cases, they are always leeches who would do better scrubbing floors elsewhere.”

All partiers chortled at her violent expression.

Mr. Taisho directed his gaze back at Shippo. “Sophia,”—that was the nurse—“you may take the boy to bed.”

Kagome lost herself momentarily and stared outright at her master’s face, waiting for him to dismiss her as well. He did not even acknowledge her. Shippo, hand in hand with Sophia, craned his neck to watch Kagome in concern as he was pulled out of the room without her.

Yura spoke again, “It once again falls to me to change the subject. I declare a need for music. Inuyasha, would you care to accompany me?” She stood, her red womanly gown fluttering around her legs.

“If my lady demands it,” said the master.

“She does,” said Yura flirtatiously.

Mr. Taisho rose from his seat and followed her to the pianoforte. Lady Yura sat on the bench, and Mr. Taisho stood behind her, the smoke of his cigar tailing him. Yura began playing a tune, and her voice alone flawlessly graced the room for an entire verse until, finally, Mr. Taisho joined her in low harmony for the second. Kagome allowed his voice to wash over her—deep and masculine and not quite as beautiful as it was rich.

Now is my chance to slip away, thought Kagome. She closed and placed down the book beside her. With the room’s occupants distracted, she stood and hung close to the wall as she skirted out the door, the sound of piano chasing her.

Kagome sucked in a gasp of air once she made it into the foyer, bracing her fingers over her stomach. Her steps were quick, and when the music had fully disappeared behind her, she noticed the lace of her boot had unfastened. She bent down to tie it, and the sound of an approaching gentleman’s steps creaked the floorboards behind her. She stood to greet the man, but the words died on her tongue.

It was Mr. Taisho.

His chin was lifted high, his hands at his sides—cigar absent.

His voice was brash, empty of the smooth tenor it had with his guests. “Why did you leave the room?”

Kagome filled her lungs with breath and hoped her voice would come out smoothly. She did not meet his eyes. “Shippo was dismissed, so I assumed I was no longer needed.”

He ignored her reason. “Why didn’t you come speak to me? It would have been normal and polite to wish me a good evening.”

Kagome bit back the retort of the same words to him. “You seemed engaged.”

His lips tightened, and a moment of silence charged the strained air between them. “What have you been doing while I’ve been away?”

“Teaching Shippo, as usual.”

Mr. Taisho tilted his head to inspect her more directly. “And getting a good deal paler. Did you fall ill after that night you tried to drown me?”

A subtle quip, one he likely hoped would bring some kind of reaction out of her. But Kagome straightened her spine and smiled cordially. “I’ve been well.”

Unsatisfied by her civility, Mr. Taisho scowled. “Come back to the parlor. You’re deserting too soon.”

Kagome’s stomach sank. She did not wish to argue with him, but the thought of returning to watch another second of his banter with Yura would bring her even closer to the valley of despair she was already fighting so hard to escape. “I am tired, sir,” she managed, voice breaking against her will.

If Mr. Taisho was bothered by her formal epithet, he didn’t show it. “And depressed, it seems. What’s the meaning of this?” he pressed, tone wedged between tenderness and anger.

“No, sir—I’m not depressed,” she stated perhaps too firmly, directing her gaze to the floor.

“I affirm that you are depressed. You hide your face to cover it,” he began, stepping closer and dropping his voice. “But I can smell the salt of your tears. Look at me.”

Brows knitting together, Kagome did not obey. Because he was right; there were tears gathering along her lashes, and she already felt mortified enough. She was trapped, like a caged animal waiting for a bullet.

But the bullet did not come. Or if it did, it came in the guise of a tender finger beneath her chin, gentle as it brought her face to tilt upward.

“Look at me,” he again whispered.

She did, and as their eyes finally locked for the first time in weeks, she felt a single damning tear slip down her cheek. His finger moved to intercept it before it fell to the floor.

Inuyasha’s vibrant golden eyes—which she had missed more than she had been willing to admit—watched the drop break against his own skin, and he seemed to battle within himself. He rumbled, “If I wasn’t so worried about some prying dunce of a servant passing, I would demand an explanation. But for tonight, I excuse you. However, know that I do expect you to join the party every night after dinner, and to stay for the entirety of the events.” Inuyasha let his hand fall back to his hips, and he took a step back toward the parlor. “If you don’t feel that you’ve had enough food, call a servant, and I’ll have more sent up to you. Goodnight, my—” he halted, bit his tongue, and abruptly left without another word.

#inextricably knotted #inukag #fanfiction #jane eyre #this one was a monster

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amemoire · 5 months ago

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Vale Can't Shut Up About Scara pt 2

Finally doing my long overdue continuation of this. Last time I talked a bit about combat related things. This time, I'm finally going to touch on art and how important it is to my portrayal of Scara. His relationship to the world of art is something that will carry into any aus that I make because in my eyes, its just inseparable. I've separated these thoughts into sections this time for some ease.

As the Kabukimono, he was one of a few people that performed a sword dance and it was noted to be something beautiful. Because I hc that Ei didn't impart any knowledge of the world onto him when she sent him away, this means that someone else had to teach him the dance. But he caught on quickly and was able to perfect it in no time, eventually outshining his own mentor and crafting an act of his own. This would come to be a dance that he performed solo for the event. Dancing in itself is something extremely important to Scara. It comes naturally and has a freeing quality to it— something that could not be found in other practices. And truthfully, he's just made for this sort of thing. His movements in all that he does are elegant and precise, flowing from one seamlessly into the other. Whether he's locked in combat or simply walking down a street, its there, ingrained into his being.

It goes without saying that he could be extremely skilled in dancing if so desired. And he did in fact perfect several forms over the course of his long life. As a member of the Fatui, he knows a number of ballroom dances. Few have actually seen him take to the floor, ( he is an expert at avoiding socializing ), but ask any of those lucky enough and they would tell you that they've never seen anyone move so flawlessly. Were it not for his personality and reputation, many would regard him as a prince or even an angel. Apart from this, he knows many traditional Inazuman dances with his specialties being both the fan and sword. In modern aus, this fact remains the same as Ei would have him study and train in a number of traditional customs. However, he also picks up on street dancing in secret and becomes known for the high level of control he has over his body— to the extent that he appears robotic. This style of dance is called " popping ". ( 1 | 2 | 3 ) Jaja in the third example displays a smaller scale of the more robotic movements mentioned.

Overall, dance is one of the very few things that lets him feel free and in control of himself. It's something that allows him to vent his pent up emotions through his body in a non-violent manner, something desperately needed. However, in his canon verse he has not danced in several years and makes no effort to find an opportunity. Despite the effect it holds, he has no interest in indulging.

However, painting is something different. In the past, he was often drawn to the way a few brush strokes gave way to a beautiful landscape or somber portrait. And despite his best efforts, this remains to be true. He is sensitive to the feelings portrayed through works of art. Always able to connect with a piece and know just what the artist might have felt. After all, Scara is a character meant to be in tune with the human heart. Painting is something that he still partakes in though none are privy to this fact. He keeps the materials and sketches locked away in secret. Oftentimes, he will finish a piece simply to burn it in the end. He refuses to be attached to his own creations and never makes anything with the intention of it being seen or acknowledged. It's just something he channels " needless " feelings into. It calms him, makes him feel at peace, and when faced with the final product, sometimes he cannot bear to look at it for too long.

A few of his works can be found out in the world. In museums under no name. On the back wall of a tea house. In the household of a family that has lived there for generations. These are the ones that he abandoned in his travels or donated on a whim. Something he may still do, but it would be a rarity.

He primarily paints in a style known as sumi-e or ink washing ( 1 | 2 | 3 ) and watercolors. He keeps his palette extremely limited, almost never adding more than one color. Majority of his works will be landscapes of places he's traveled, perfectly recalled from memory. In modern verses, he would have also studied various other styles. While he has the skill to produce masterful, detailed works, his personal favorite here leans towards an impressionist style ( 1 | 2 | 3 ). On the opposite end of his canon verse, he loves to paint people and capture the emotion of a moment. Regardless of the verse, should he ever fall so deeply in love, he will paint portraits of his lover— and that would be the biggest proclamation of love he could offer.

Moving onto his connection with poetry. Far more scarce than painting but more likely than dancing. He prefers reading over writing and has purchased several books of which he has turned the pages of several times each. Many are stored word for word in his memory. On occasion, when he has the desire to paint but is at a loss as to what, he will opt to do calligraphy with a poem. Still, he has written some of his own. Rather than burn them like his paintings, he writes these in a small journal kept in his hat. Never to see anyone's eyes but his own. What is the same, however, is the way in which his lover will again become his muse in this medium.

Regarding the event about the Five Kasen, I am hesitant to think any of the tale real given its purpose was to reveal the truth of the Raiden Gokaden to Kazuha. As such, I don't believe that Scara had anything to do with the original Kuronushi as I've seen some of the fandom depict. Especially because they would have existed roughly some time before Scara was created.

Then there is his deep knowledge of theater. This is something that has grounds in a few places. Firstly, his constellations directly refer to Noh theater. They are named " first, second, third, etc. performance " and reference specific works. Secondly, his previous choice of the name Kunikuzushi. This is a stock character found in kabuki theater which we can safely assume served as his inspiration.

I hc that he attended many Inazuman plays in the past and now indulges in performances across all nations. Whether its a stage play, musical, or opera— all these bring him an odd sense of enjoyment if not amusement. Because of this, one could find collections of written plays hidden among his many other books.

Piggybacking off of this brings me to his singing ability. He seldom sings, but he does have a pleasant voice which may or may not be surprising to anyone who knows him. Though you're more likely to happen across him humming a tune to himself when he's alone. I hc this for a number of reasons. There is his EN va Patrick Pedraza, who actually has a band of his own and has put out songs with Childe's va ! In regards to his boss theme, they purposely chose someone who sounded like his CN va so that they could convey the idea of Scara singing it himself. His title of the Balladeer which literally means someone who sings ballads. And lastly, we go back to his theater inspirations— where song, music, and dance play strong roles in the two. Granted the styles are very different from his own, but it further cements the importance of each of these things to his character. At least in my opinion.

Finally, to wrap things up is music. This is something that admittedly would matter more in modern aus simply because of easier access. Regardless, he does have a deep appreciation for music and has learned a few instruments over time. I don't have a lot of knowledge in this area and can't read a note to save my life, so I can't talk at length about this unfortunately. But I will say that he has perfect pitch and it does bother him greatly to hear when someone or something is offkey. In modern verse, Ei would have him take lessons for a few different instruments to find at least one he would be best with. Eventually, he chooses the flute for himself.

I'll add another instrument here if they include him in the art for a future orchestra.

I don't know how to wrap this up since its already so long and I'm tired out myself. If you read all this thank you SO much. This one is actually really personal and dear to me, particularly the painting section. So thanks for indulging me by reading ♡

#➤ hcs: dewdrops of time / scara #i have got to learn to shut up #too lazy to do my formatting rn #issues for future me

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crazy-fire-starting-bear · 1 year ago

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10 and 4 (for the art ask lol)

4. favorite thing to draw

Umm I’ve found within the last two years that I really like drawing backgrounds. Like,, a lot. But also I’m still a huge WC nerd so ig cats should probably be on that list too haha. Close third would probably be my partner’s sona or mine because of the amount of random sketches I’ve got piled up in my files.

10. how many different sketches do you usually have until your piece is finished?

Oh boy this is a tough one. So it really varies. Some are sketched multiple times because I like to mess around with perspective or just flat out don’t know what I’m doing, and others very few because sometimes I’m completely ok with the first pass. Animatics are generally sketched more than once because I like doing multiple thumbnail and sketch passes before moving onto lining and whatnot.

I wish I had some recent examples I could post here, but most of them are secret projects that certain people aren’t allowed to see for the time being. 😏 Maybe I’ll make a post about the process when I drop one of them sometime over the next few months though, who knows.

For now though, have a camp design wip 😏

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citrus-cactus · 2 years ago

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Creative Goals & Progress (April 24)

A little longer between entries than I meant, but there's no reason these updates can't be a little ad hoc.

Goals are split between “things I will put on Tumblr when they’re done” (aka, fandom stuff), and “things I will be keeping to myself” (because they will eventually have my real name associated with them). In the first category (fandom), we have:

Finish one (1) Appmon fanart Status: Progress on coloring since last update, moved to May

Finish writing and editing this Adv. 02/Kizuna sunglasses fanfic Status: 85%

Populate the queue for @harushinkai-daily (Need to watch, screencap, and caption episode 45, bay-bee!) Status: DONE

Third anniversary omake for harushinkai-daily I can’t believe the blog is almost three years old, wowwwww! Status: DONE

Accompanying fanart for Sunglasses fic??? Status: Started

In the second category (personal), we have:

Finish one (1) drawing for a Secret Personal Project Status: Not Started

Design a pin(!!) for someone at work Status: No progress since last update

So yeah. We're experiencing scope creep on the Sunglasses fic with the addition of a fanart, rotfl. I think it would be nice to have and sketches have been fun to do, but we'll see about a full colored piece. I would still like to finish the writing part this week, but it's shaping up to be a pretty busy one professionally, so I'm not sure I'll be able to make the time.

I REALLY need to knock out an SPP drawing by the end of this next weekend. It should NOT take very long, but I've been putting it off :|

#the cactus speaks #creative check-in

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mossyfella · 10 months ago

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malfoysstilinski · 4 years ago

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Hello love, I absolutely adore your writing. <3 Could you maybe do a tooth-rotting dracoxreader fluff. It can be anything, I just love soft draco sm haha. Tbh I feel like theres no such thing as too much soft draco asjdkhfask.

thank you so much!! hope this is okay :))

post shower | draco malfoy (fluff)

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary: you like picking out draco’s clothes for him and playing with his hair after he’s had a shower. and he’ll never admit it, but he likes it too.

warnings: extremely healthy relationship and soft!draco

word count: 1.9k

a/n: there’s a part where draco plays with your hair and i’m sorry if it’s not inclusive to yours (curly, afro-textured, braided etc.), i generally try to keep my imagines inclusive but this idea was just stuck in my head!! it’s quite brief but i thought i’d acknowledge that i realise some poc readers and others with curly hair just might not be able to relate and i’m really sorry about that!! :( but again, it doesn’t make up the whole imagine! <33

also not proof-read!!

....

18.00. my dorm. prepare for cuddles.

my mother sent over some more of

those sweets you said you liked.

yours, draco

The ripped piece of parchment in your hand included an inked sketch beneath it; the image of a wrapped sweetie surrounded by some scribbled-out love hearts. Your heart skipped a beat at the message written in Draco’s usual rushed cursive, a small smile threatening to twitch at the corners of your lips. Glancing up towards the direction the charmed crane had come in, you sent the blond boy already watching you a small nod of confirmation.

A wink was your reward before he turned back to face Professor Snape at the front of the classroom. It made your heart flutter and your stomach fill with butterflies as you wondered how you’d ended up with a boyfriend as perfect as Draco Malfoy.

Not many would theorise that he was a secret romantic, but then again, not many truly knew Draco for who he actually was. You adored him - the way he looked, the way he smelled, how he loved you, his voice, his laugh, his jokes, and his sarcastic comments. If there was one person on the planet guaranteed to make you smile, it was the Malfoy heir.

You were thrilled to be invited back to his dorm, even if this was quite a regular occurrence that you probably should be more used to by now. The thought of spending the evening after a long day of lessons with Draco cuddled up on his bed eating sweets sent by his mother sounded like a dream come true. There was no other way you’d rather spend your time.

The rest of the day couldn’t have gone by slower, though. You finished your classes and then skipped dinner to shower, knowing you’d be stuffing your face later anyway. By the time you’d slipped on comfier clothes than your school uniform and had dried your hair, it was nearly time for you to head to Draco’s dormitory. He was lucky enough to have his own one as a prefect, with a huge bed and silk green sheets that felt amazing against your skin.

You did some last minute homework for your Herbology class in the morning, though your mind seemed to constantly drag back to your boyfriend. He was like some sort of drug and you clearly had an addiction.

Perhaps the best part was that the love she had for Draco was mirrored back onto her by the boy; their love was a redamancy to be jealous of. Students and teachers alike could see the adoration in their eyes when they looked at each other. They saw the grin on your face and the slight blush on Draco’s cheeks and knew that if what you two had wasn’t love, then love didn’t exist at all.

You had your ups and downs, of course you did. No relationship was ever always perfect. However, it was the way you were constantly able to bounce back and be stronger than before that kept the fire burning between the two of you. It was the way that Draco had worked on his communication, knowing it was the only way he’d be able to keep you, and how you’d worked on being more patient with him that meant the two of you could fall so indescribably in love.

So when you turned up to Draco’s dormitory at exactly 6 pm sharp, you opened the door without knocking, more than certain he wouldn’t mind. He never did. However, Draco was nowhere to be seen in his room. You thought maybe you’d managed to read the note wrong until you heard the running water coming from his bathroom.

You smiled to yourself as you headed towards his bed, dropping on top of the silky sheets you loved so much, your fingers tracing on top of it. Your ears strained to listen out for Draco, a deep hum filling your ears that you knew belonged to him. He had a good singing voice, but he refused to believe it whenever you told him.

You closed your eyes and listened as he hummed in the shower, his voice echoing off the walls in a way that had you wishing you could not only listen but watch him sing it. You weren’t sure when Draco stopped humming or when the water shut off, but the next thing you knew, the bathroom door was opening, steam rolling out as well as the scent of his green apple shampoo.

“Ah, darling,” Draco greeted upon seeing you lying on his bed.

You sat up, beaming at him. A white towel hung around his hips, his platinum hair wet on his head and dripping down his broad shoulders onto his platinum skin. You thought he looked beautiful like this, like some sort of God you’d like to worship. Especially with the smile that he wore upon his face, one that was reserved for you and you only.

“Hi, my love,” you said back, watching as he began to hunt through his drawers for something to wear. “You said six.”

“I must have lost track of time,” Draco admitted, “Cold days are meant for hot showers, you know.”

“No, cold days are meant for cuddles with your girlfriend,” you protested, but nevertheless scooted off the bed to join him by his dresser. “What are you gonna wear?”

“Y’wanna dress me up again, don’t you?” Draco acted as if he was annoyed, but a smile was threatening to tug at his lips.

“It’ll be cosy, ‘promise,” you replied, your hands moving through his dresser, hunting for the pair of black jogging bottoms that you liked on him. “Top or no?”

“No,” Draco replied as he stood in front of his mirror, towel drying his hair.

You found a pair of socks for him too, knowing how he hated if his feet got cold. As Draco cast a charm to dry his blond locks, you settled everything on the end of his bed for him and then began hunting through his drawers once more. You found one of his black tees and pulled your own off, shrugging his on instead.

Arms wrapped around your waist as soon as it went over your head and you shrieked as you were hauled onto his bed. You laughed as Draco suddenly crawled between your legs so he was straddling you a little, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt.

“Did I say you could wear that, pretty girl?” Draco fauxed a glare.

“Please,” you pouted at him. “It’s comfy and smells so good. Like you.”

Draco rolled his eyes in amusement, smiling again as he kissed your forehead. “You’re lucky you’re so gorgeous. Can’t say no when you pull that face, can I?”

You beamed, feeling your cheeks heat up a little bit. You realised Draco had already pulled the joggers and socks on, his top half naked as he moved to grab his comb off of the dresser.

“Let me do it for you,” you said, holding your hand out.

Draco shot you a look. “Not a doll for you to dress up, you know.”

“‘Just wanna comb your hair for you,” you huffed, sitting on the edge of his bed, your legs dangling over the mattress.

Draco moved to stand in between them, your face level with his body as he began to brush the comb through the back of your own hair. Smiling, you leaned your head against his stomach, wrapping your arms around his middle and enjoying the sensations and tingles that Draco brushing your hair spread through your body.

Your eyes closed and you swore you could fall asleep like it - one of his large palms on your back, his comb brushing through your hair, the warmth of his toned stomach against your cheek and the smell of his aftershave and body wash fresh in your senses.

“You washed your hair, didn’t you?” Draco hummed, his hand moving off your back as he ditched the comb, his fingers playing with it.

“Yeah, had a shower before I came here,” you murmured, not peeling your eyes open, just relishing in the feeling of complete relaxation with your favourite person in the entire world.

“I can tell,” Draco murmured, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your newly-combed hair. “Your hair is really soft after washing it.”

“Good,” you replied, smiling a little against him. “That’s kind of the point of washing your hair, you know.”

“No, it’s to keep it clean,” Draco protested.

“It’s for both,” you compromised, knowing how stubborn he could get quickly. “Now can I comb your hair.”

About a minute later, Draco’s room was playing music quietly and he was slouched between your legs on the bed, the bag of sweets his mother had bought you both on his lap. Your back rested against the headboard behind you, your hands brushing through his silky platinum locks. You put the comb down, beginning to part his hair into tiny sections.

“Sweet?” Draco offered, his mouth full as he lifted his arm behind himself.

He felt you lean forwards and capture the sweet between your teeth from where your hands were occupied in his hair, making him chuckle. Draco knew you were making small plaits with the longer sections of his hair, but he closed his eyes and pretended he had no idea. To be honest, he cherished the feeling of you being so close to him, of your hands in his hair, your nails scratching gently on his scalp every now and then.

“Feels good?” You hummed, glancing down at him and seeing that his silver eyes had shut.

They flickered back open at your question, smiling when he saw you looking down at him. “A bit,” he admitted, which was an under exaggeration. He loved it.

“‘Nother sweetie, please,” you called as you moved onto your third tiny plait.

Draco’s hand came back over and fed the sweet straight into your mouth. You giggled as you carried on plaiting, humming lightly to yourself. A tug a little harder than the rest caused Draco to dramatically cry out.

“Ow!” Draco hissed, “Watch what you’re doing, woman!”

“Shh, I’m just braiding your hair,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “And if you call me woman like that one more time I will shove this comb so far up your arse-”

“Okay, okay,” Draco winced at the imagery. “By woman I meant ‘my lovely, beautiful, sweet, kind, intelligent girlfriend who I love with my whole heart’.”

“You’re such a kiss arse, Malfoy,” you replied, running your hand over the small plaits you’d created. “They look cute. You should grow your hair out like your father so I can do really good ones-”

“Y/N!” Draco grimaced, “If I ever grow my hair out as long as my fathers, feel free to cut it off for me in the middle of the night.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead as you cradled his head in your lap, your nails lightly scratching his skin. “Okay, okay. I like you with this haircut anyway. And I like the lack of gel in it. Looks so fluffy and cute.”

“Not what I’m going for, but thanks, darling,” Draco remarked, grabbing another sweet for himself. “You’re comfy, by the way.”

You simply hummed back as you began to undo the plaits, knowing Draco would be annoyed if you forgot and he had little curly bits in the morning. You grazed your fingers back through, watching his eyes flicker back.

“I love you,” Draco murmured sincerely. “So much.”

Your heart swelled. “I love you too, Draco.”

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fqjth · 2 years ago

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portrait of a rockstar

pairing ➵ eddie munson x reader

summary ➵ eddie loves his girlfriend’s sketches, but when he stumbled across one he wasn’t meant to find, y/n doesn’t know how to react

warnings ➵ smut (18+), established relationship, fem!reader, written in third person, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight praise!kink?, creampie, cum play sorta, i think thats it

words ➵ 2853

✾ ✾ ✾

The sun was setting, golden light shined on the wooden floorboards of her bedroom, dust particles floating in each ray of glow. It was one of those typical lazy Saturday afternoons, ones in which Y/N laid on her bed, book in hand while Eddie puttered about her room.

He had been here more times than either of them could count, yet he always found something new he was intrigued by. Whether it be old childhood books still displayed, edges ratted and pages slightly torn, or whether it be random trinkets that Eddie had neglected to notice. Today, he was seated at her desk, rummaging through draws and sorting through random pieces of paper scattered on top of the table.

While she read, Y/N never bothered to look at what he was doing, she always allowed him to do as he pleased with her stuff. She trusted him; she bore no secrets from him. Except, maybe one thing. Although she wouldn’t exactly call it a secret, more something she wished him not to see.

Eddie was aware of his girlfriend's talent when it came to sketching and drawing, it was one of the things he loved about her so much, her artistic abilities, the skill she had with a pen. He had asked her, multiple times, for her to draw something he would then get tattooed.

“I don’t know” she would say, sheepishly rubbing her arms as she spoke, “Would you really want something I drew on you forever?”

It was a stupid question to him, and he never understood why she was so self-conscious of her art, especially with him. “Of course, baby” he’d respond, “I’d want nothing more”.

It took a while, a few months at least, but Y/N finally accepted. It was small, a dying rose that now sat on his right arm, on display for anyone to see. She would often mention after he got it done that she wished he had picked a different design of hers, something she was more proud of. But Eddie didn’t care, he was proud of her work no matter what she thought of it herself. He would kiss her forehead, telling her he loved it and that’s all that mattered.

He continued flipping through the pile of discarded white pages atop the oak desk, tossing aside notes from school and other random writings that made no sense to him – streams of consciousnesses that Y/N would scribble down in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, that when reading back were nonsensical.

At the bottom of the pile, laying apart but somehow together, Eddie came across some sketches he had never seen before. All were similar to his girlfriend's previous work. Random drawings of trees, a bird or two, and an almost photo-realistic sketch of her dog Spots who was so old that he made loud wheezing noises with every step it took. He smiled as he flipped through his picture, admiring every small detail that Y/N had managed to capture perfectly with her pencil, details that only she would notice.

Eddies smile grew more prominent, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he reached the last sketch. “What’s this then?” He asked, spinning around in the chair he had been sitting on, so he was now facing Y/N on the bed. His question caused her to look up from her book, her heart dropping and a faint heat rushing across her cheeks.

She threw her book to the side, not bothering to place her bookmark where she had finished reading. Quickly, yet clumsily, she pulled herself up from the bed, now standing in front of Eddie.

“Nothing” She answered, trying to grab the sketch out of his hands. Another laugh escaped Eddie's lips as he pulled his hand out of reach of his girlfriend's grasp.

He stood up, the piece of paper now above his head. Y/N mentally cursed at him for being so much taller than she. Eddie made a sound with his mouth that indicated the word no, still chuckling at Y/N’s attempt to reach for the page. “Now, sweetheart” He teased, “Why would you hide this from me?”.

She accepted defeat with his question, standing flat on her feet as opposed to resting uncomfortably on the tips of her toes in an attempt to grab the sketch out of Eddie’s hands. In a huff, she crossed her arms tightly across her body. It was obvious she was embarrassed at what he had found, she was staring down at her socked feet like she often did when nervous. A trait that Eddie always found oddly adorable.

He dropped his hand from where he had it held above his head, glancing back down at the piece of paper to give it another look. It was a picture of him, one in which his guitar sat in his lap while he tuned the cords. She perfectly encapsulated the way his hair fell eloquently across his face, every brown curl drawn to perfection. She was even able to draw the way his tongue slightly pocked from his mouth, something he always did while he was concentrating.

Eddie looked back up at Y/N, who now looked as if she was going to cry. His heart sank at the sight. “Hey” He hummed in a low and comforting tone. He placed the piece of paper back on the desk. “What’s wrong?” he asked, genuinely not understanding why him finding the sketch of him would make her so upset. He brought the palm of his hand to the side of her face, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. The soft action caused Y/N to look up.

She wiped a stray tear that managed to escape her cloudy eyes away. She shrugged at Eddie's question. Honestly, she didn’t know why she was so upset either. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t drawn him before, she had, multiple times. As cliché as it sounded to her, and she hated sounding like a cliché, Eddie was her muse. There were countless sketches of him scattered around her room, hidden in plain sight, away from any eyes par her own. She didn’t understand why she hid them from everyone, especially from Eddie himself. She knew he wouldn’t judge her, he never did. Maybe she just wanted something that was just hers, something that no one else needed to know about. Her own secret.

But it was a stupid secret, she knew that. Why did it matter so much? Maybe a part of her did think he would judge her, find it weird or creepy that she would secretly watch and draw him when they were alone.

Eddie gently rubbed the pad of his thumb under Y/N’s eye, smiling down at her. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, baby,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I think its rad that you have drawings of me”

Y/N finally met his gaze, a soft expression of surprise replacing that of embarrassment across her face. “Really?” she questioned, “You don’t find it weird?”.

“What? Of course not. Why would I find it weird?” His question only received another shrug, Y/N’s shyness making his heart melt. “If anything,” he continued, “I find it flattering that you think I’m a worthy enough subject”.

This made Y/N smile, a small chuckle even escaping her lips. “Of course, you are” she admitted, finally finding enough courage to speak more than a few words. “you’re the prettiest thing out there”.

It was his favourite compliment she would give him, when she would call him pretty. He understood that it was a compliment mainly reserved for girls, that guys were usually called handsome or rugged, and honestly if anyone else called him that he would probably try and fight them for making fun of him. But it was different coming from her, sincere and holding more meaning to him than you would think. Plus, it never failed to make his cheeks red, and his smile grows larger.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was quick yet intimate, passionate. “I love you; you know that?” he asked, his face only inches from hers. Y/N nodded as a response, smiling, tongue pressed to the back of teeth as she leant up to kiss him once more.

It didn’t take long until she was back on her bed, lying flat on her back as her head rested against the pillows.

Eddie had positioned himself in between her legs, fitting there like the final piece of a puzzle. The hand that had been resting against her face had now moved down to the side of her thigh, softly squeezing the flesh in his palms. Their lips moved perfectly in time, tongues briefly grazing on another every so often. Y/N had her arms draped over his shoulders, hands gently playing with his hair.

Slowly, his hand started to creep further up her thigh, slipping under the fabric of her skirts as his fingers brushed against the outline of her panties. She let out a quiet moan, because of nothing other than the anticipation of what was about to happen. He had this effect on her, no matter how many times he had her in this position, no matter how many times they had sex, he always made her weak to the knee with the most simplest of touches.

Their brief separation of lips gave Eddie enough leeway to direct his kisses to the crook of her neck, biting at the flesh in a way that wouldn’t leave a mark but in a way that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine and up to her core.

She dropped her hands from where they were tangled in his hair, letting them rest at the hem of his shirt before tugging on the fabric. Eddie allowed her to undress him, watching with lust-filled eyes as she helped pull his shirt over his head. He hovered over her, caressing her hair as she unbuckled his jeans. There was a quick separation, a moment where they weren’t touching while Eddie shimmied out of his pants. As soon as he stood there, naked to her apart from his boxers, his hands fell to her waist as she sat up slightly, allowing Eddie to remove the blouse she had been wearing.

They laid back down, bodies pressed closer than before. Skin on skin, lips moving in time as teeth and tongues clashed in a messy yet passionate kiss. They refused to separate as Eddie pulled down Y/N’s skirt, tossing it on the bedroom floor beside the bed.

His hard cock pressed against her clothed core; a shockwave of pleasure rushed through her. “Eddie” she moaned against his lips, hands pulling on the waistband of his boxers, pleading with him to remove what was left of their clothing. “ ‘M need you”.

He smiled against her cheek where he had just placed a kiss. “Okay, baby” he hummed, guiding his hands against hers, both pulling down his underwear. He sprung free against his naval. Y/N instinctively reached her hand around his shaft, wrist moving up and down against him as Eddie removed her panties and unclipped her bra.

Placing a kiss on her shoulder, Eddie gently caressed two of his fingers in between Y/N’s dripping folds. She sighed at the sudden contact, hips bucking forward, craving more. Both their breaths were shaky, the small amount of pleasure both were experiencing was enlightened tenfold by the intense passion of the moment.

“Eddie” Y/N moaned again, free hand tightly gripping his bicep. “Stop teasing”

He chuckled at this, laughing against the skin of her neck before placing another kiss on her collarbone. He didn’t need to say anything before slipping both his digits inside her, stretching her as he didn’t waste time pumping in and out of her entrance.

She threw her head back against the pillow, allowing herself to relax under her boyfriend’s touch. It didn’t take long before their rhythms were in time, both touching the other with a gentle yet fast pace.

A few more movements of her wrist before Eddie reached down and removed her hand from around his member, almost simultaneously removing his two fingers from inside her. “Feels so good, baby” he assured her before she could detest his actions, “But need to feel you, need to feel your cunt around my cock”.

His vulgar words never failed to make Y/N blush. And although what he said was rough, words reserved for times in which he had her pinned against the wall, back pressed against his chest as he pounded into her with force, his tone was gentle and loving. The contradiction made Y/N’s body heat up more.

Eddie positioned his tip at her entrancing, prodding her hole slightly before pushing his entire length in with ease. Y/N couldn’t help but let a loud sigh at the burning stretch inside her, his thickness and length reaching depths inside her that no man ever could. “Fuck” He muttered to himself as her tight walls wrapped around him in a warm velvety embrace.

His hips began to buck into hers, slow at first before he found the perfect pace between soft and rough. Moans echoed off the four walls of Y/N’s childhood bedroom, words of affirmation and curses intertwined with the vulgar sounds of skin slapping against skin.

“Fucking hell, baby” He gasped. His hands were gripping either side of her hips, fingernails digging in the soft skin. His eyes were trained on the way his cock appeared and disappeared inside her, as if he was entranced by the sight. Y/N watched as his face contorted in pleasure and concentration, his tongue resting between his teeth and his upper lip, similar to his expression in the sketch she had drawn. God, he was the most beautiful thing to her.

She reached up, hand on his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “I love you so much, Eddie” She breathed. Her thumb tugged at his bottom lip, pulling him down to kiss her.

“I love you too, baby” his left hand travelled to the back of her thigh, pushing her leg inside her chest to reach deeper inside her body. Y/N let out a loud moan at the new position, white heat building inside her core. “I love you so fucking much”

He kissed her again, messy and uncoordinated as movements became sloppy.

Her walls were beginning to tighten as her moans got even louder. She wrapped her arms around Eddie's shoulders as she had done before, her nails digging in his back and surely leaving scratch marks. “ ‘M so close” Y/N managed to pant, toes curling with every thrust of Eddie's hips into hers.

“I know, baby” He groaned into her ear, his grip on her thigh now bruising. “Let go, wanna feel you cum around my cock so bad, princess”

His words were like an order, and Y/N happily obeyed. Her orgasm came crashing down on her in a wave that engulfed all her senses, and she swore she saw stars. Eddies name came from her lips like a prayer, sending his head into a spin.

The way her walls were pulsating against him, the stinging feeling of his broken skin against her fingers, the way she sounded so sweet from underneath him was enough for Eddie to ride his own high. With one, two, three and four messy thrusts, he spilled inside her, painting her walls white with his cum.

He pulled, both of them sighing at the separation. Eddie watched as his cum dripped out from Y/N’s throbbing hole. Entranced by the sight, he took his two fingers and pushed the hot liquid back inside her, twisting his digits before removing them once more. “Fucking hell” he spoke, out loud to himself. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”

Y/N blushed at his compliment, pulling him down so he now lay beside her. She nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck.

They laid there for a moment, Y/N tracing her fingers across the tattoos sprawled across his chest as she rested her face against him. “All that because I drew a picture of you” She giggled; a thought spoken out loud.

“Hey, maybe you could sketch a picture of me at the band's next show? I feel like that would be sick” he said, fingertips gently grazing her shoulder.

Y/N giggled at the proposition, liking the idea of her sitting in a dark corner of some seedy bar while Eddie played alongside his friends to a crowd of drunk middle-aged women who would probably try and hit on him after the show. “Yeah,” she agreed, “And I could call it ‘A Portrait of a Rockstar”.

“Future rockstar” Eddie corrected.

Y/N shook her head, hair rubbing against Eddie’s bare chest. “You’re already a rockstar” she smiled, “You are to me, anyways”.

He smiled to himself at her words, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head as he pulled her impossibly closer. “I’m so in love with you”

“I’m so in love with you too, Eddie”

✾ ✾ ✾

submission box ➵ here

authors note ➵ i think we’ve all fallen in love with this man, therefore i had to write a fic about him

i’m actually in the middle of writing a series for eddie as well, but idk when that’ll first be posted

also, please send me requests for eddie stuff! also any other stranger things character, i want to write for the show more!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things smut

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years ago

Text

If I Fell For You (Part 15) - Trouble In Paradise

Summary: The reader is enjoying settling into her newfound children’s book career and shares how important the bracelet she gave Jensen is to her. A rainy day allows the reader to enjoy her shift into motherhood despite all of the bumps that go with it. But not everything is smooth sailing for the happy couple...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 5,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, mention of past abuse, nightmares, major angst

A/N: Uh oh. Big uh oh. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

Two Weeks Later

“Honey bun,” sang Jensen as he stepped into your home office you’d set up in the small reading room in the house. “Must you work today?”

“I do occasionally have to work on that drawing thing,” you said. He pouted and laid out on the daybed, picking up a copy of the third book. “Give me another hour to finish with these pages.”

“Can I hang out and watch you draw?” he asked.

“Knock your socks off,” you said. You picked up your stylus again and went back to your pad, Jensen sitting up and watching from the other side of the room. “You can sit closer if you want.”

He got up and pulled over a chair, crossing his legs in it.

“I basically draw using my stylus and this pad and it shows up on my laptop screen,” you said.

“We could get you a better screen, like your own separate work computer. I know your stories are picking up a lot of steam.”

“I’m okay for now. All I need to do is finish illustrating this book and my five book deal is done and ready for print,” you said.

“Can I make a request?”

“I would love to put in a giraffe for Zepp but the story takes place in the woods,” you said.

“Baby giraffe? Maybe just in the background?” he asked.

You backed out of your current page and went to the last two where the foxes and wolves were playing with their friends. You tapped on a tree and erased it, sketching out a loose shape.

“Look up a giraffe for me?” you asked. He tapped away on his phone and pulled up a picture. “Thanks.”

You drew a picture of a rough giraffe, softening it some before adding colors.

“You’re really good at that,” he said.

“The characters are easy. Backgrounds can get boring,” you said. You went back to your original set of pages and worked quietly, Jensen watching carefully. “Yes?”

“Just wanna spend time with you is all,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Okay, baby,” you said. You worked for another hour, Jensen asking the occasional question but mostly staying silent and close by. After you sent off the pages for review you turned to him, Jensen offering a soft smile in return. “All set with work for the day.”

“Awesome,” he said.

“Where’s the munchkins?”

“A movie,” he said. You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into it. “Tell me a secret.”

“A secret? I don’t think I have too many of those left from you,” you said. He opened his eyes and looked at you through his lashes. “What?”

“You said you got this on vacation,” he said, holding up his wrist, the bracelet you’d put on him two weeks ago still there. “When we were down there, I was talking to Ray and he kinda implied it wasn’t just a souvenir.”

“I was upset that day when he bought it for me. It meant I was safe was all,” you said.

“How long after did your mom…”

“A few months. She went on bed rest after that trip.”

“Y/N, I know when you’re holding back, honey. I would never judge or tell anyone anything. You know that.”

“You got hurt because you lost someone and you got hurt and it sucks right? But it’s kinda like something happened and then you heal from it right?”

“Yeah…” he said. “What don’t I know?”

“You know how anxious you were to get in the car and drive down to the beach?” you asked as he nodded. “You’ve never been afraid of a person, Jensen. It’s like that feeling...but everyday and you’re expected to live your life normally when you constantly have that over your head.”

He was quiet, glancing past you as the room grew darker from some passing clouds outside.

“Canada wasn’t the first time you saw your father since you were adopted, was it,” he said.

“You wouldn’t believe what a good lawyer and shitty laws will do for a piece of shit like that,” you said.

“You were a kid.”

“With zero physical evidence. Everything was circumstantial. So he got out and he came to apologize or some bullshit and Ray decked him.”

“The more I learn about Ray, the more I like him.”

“My mom kicked him in the nuts.”

“I really like that woman,” he said. You smiled and he moved his chair closer, pulling you into his lap. “I don’t mean to make you talk about your dad. I was curious was all.”

He went to take off the bracelet when you put a hand over it.

“I don’t want to remind you of something bad, sweetheart.”

“Like I said, I was upset. Very upset and in public and I went down to the beach to try to hide away. Ray bought that for me and told me I was safe when he put it on me. All it means to me is that you’re safe.”

“What about you? What do you have?” he asked quietly. You cocked your head and moved your hand to rest over his chest. “Alright, sort of a dumb question.”

“Not dumb,” you said, trailing your fingers down his chest.

“Guess you’ll just have to stay as close as humanly possible.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” you said.

“Do you have a restraining order against your father?”

“No but that’s only because Ray managed to get him kicked out of the country. He found some loophole law. He was born in the Yukon so technically he’s not American and he got him kicked back.”

“Scratch that. Ray is my new favorite person,” he said. “If only we could send him someplace we’ll never visit like...a deserted island. Or Hell.”

“I appreciate the thought but I’m not scared of him anymore,” you said. “I am however afraid our plans of lunch at the brewery are going to get rained out.”

“We can enjoy ourselves right here. I’ve never heard a complaint yet about my grilling.”

“You know what? I got the perfect idea.”

“Okay,” said Jensen, sliding the foil packet off the grill and onto JJ’s plate. You’d decided to have lunch on the grill, sitting out under the covered back patio off the playroom. It was pouring rain but you were plenty dry there. “Chicken, marinara sauce and cheese. Then we got chicken, ketchup and baby carrots for Arrow. Zeppy wanted to try barbecue sauce and onion which sounded good to me and then Y/N went for the salmon and lemon.”

You helped the twins open up their foil packets and get their food on their plates, dicing up the chicken for them before going to your own plate.

“Daddy,” said Zeppelin while he chewed on a big piece of chicken. Jensen hummed and worked on his own food. “Can we play race cars after lunch?”

“Sure,” he said, JJ shaking her head.

“I don’t wanna play cars,” she said. Zeppelin stared at her and his bottom lip wobbled. “You’re a cry baby.”

“JJ, that’s rude,” you said, Jensen glancing at you and nodding. “Apologize to your brother.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“We’re gonna play cars after lunch and you’re welcome to join,” said Jensen. “Your brother goes along with what you girls want to play quite a bit so I think you can do the same for him.”

“I still don’t wanna play cars,” she mumbled.

“You play cars with the Padalecki boys all the time,” you said.

“Not little kid cars,” she said. “He doesn’t know how to play right.”

You saw Zeppelin getting upset again and sighed.

“There’s no wrong way to play,” you said. “Zepp’s littler than you. You gotta be the big sister and do what he wants sometimes.”

“Mom would have played dress up,” she grumbled. “Not stupid cars.”

“Enough,” said Jensen. “You’re old enough to know better.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Your brother wants to play cars. We played horses all morning long and you barely let him have a turn at that so like I said, we’re gonna play what he wants and you are welcome to join us but if you don’t want to, you can play something else,” he said.

“Baby,” she said under her breath. Jensen didn’t catch it but you did.

“JJ you’re in timeout after lunch. Ten minutes,” you said.

“I didn’t-”

“You just called him a baby. You want to make it fifteen?” you asked.

“You’re not my mom! You can’t give me timeouts,” she said.

“Half an hour now,” said Jensen. She stared at him and he shook his head. “Eat your lunch.”

Zeppelin spent half of it crying quietly and JJ barely touched hers before she was following Jensen inside. You threw your head back and sighed before you went inside to get some tissues. When you came back out Arrow was hugging him tightly.

“Let’s clean you up, buddy,” you said as you squatted down beside them. She let go of him and you wiped off his face and helped him blow his nose. “Feel better?”

“We can play dress up,” he said. You picked him up and hoisted him on your hip.

“We’re gonna play cars. Arrow, do you want to play with us?” you asked. She smiled and nodded. “Hey how about you go wash your hands and then you can bring out the bucket of cars and we’ll play out here. How’s that sound Zepp?”

“Okay,” he said. Arrow went inside and you carried him around as you collected the trash and threw it in the bag you brought out. You tied it up and left it in the corner to put in the bin later before you you walked to the edge of the covered patio, rain coming down at a decent rate. “Y/N you’re my mom right?”

“I’m one of your moms,” you said. “I’m gonna adopt you that way everybody can know I am though.”

“Cool,” he said softly, resting his head on your shoulder. “Mom can we play in the rain?”

“Hear any thunder?” you asked. He shook his head. “See any lightning?”

“Nuh uh,” he said.

“Then we can play in the rain all you want,” you said. You walked out to the grass and spun around with him, getting a giggle out of him. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he asked. You spun around again and he laughed.

“There it is again!” you said. He giggled and you spun around a few times until you were dizzy and took a seat. He hugged you and kissed your cheek as you noticed Jensen leaning against the post of the patio. He was smiling and you hopped up with Zeppelin, waving him around in the air until you were back under cover. You set him down and he ran over to Arrow, picking out his favorite cars from the bucket and handing her some.

“Well that might have been one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“You took a picture, didn’t you.”

“Oh several,” he said. He glanced back at the twins and then at you. “It clicked for you just now didn’t it.”

“Being a mom? Yeah.”

“You didn’t look to me on how to discipline JJ and you made him feel better and you made him laugh. You went full mom there and I’ve kinda been waiting for that.”

“I know it’s just playing they’re arguing over but I just hate...there is so much of you in him,” you said.

“I know and that feeling will never go away but it means you love ‘em and loving them is my only requirement for us working so this was actually a really good thing.”

“Those two are so sweet,” you said.

“It’s the twin thing. Oh what fun we have to look forward to when they are teenagers and they lie to us for one another,” he chuckled.

“Yeah but I’ll take it. Did you really give her a half hour timeout?”

“Fifteen minutes. She needs to share more and he doesn’t like confrontation so he goes along with what she wants but it’s not her road or the highway.”

“She’s been a little…”

“I know. Since we told them about the engagement,” he said. “We gotta talk to her on her own.”

“Let me take a crack at her first?” you asked.

“You got a hunch?”

“I don’t think having a mom again is a problem. I think the idea of losing a mom again is.”

“That makes sense considering she was attached to your hip before all this.”

“I’m gonna go see if I can get to the bottom of this. Now go play cars,” you said. He kissed your cheek and you headed inside, drying off some with a towel in the laundry room before you went up to JJ’s bedroom. You knocked and cracked open the door, catching her splayed out on her bed. “JJ. Can we talk?”

She rolled and put her back to you. You sat down on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath.

“You know your brother did what you wanted all day. You have to share,” you said. She didn’t say anything and you lay back on the bed, turning your head. She rolled back the other way and you sat up. She rolled again and you tilted your head back. “JJ do you want me to be your mom?”

“No,” she mumbled.

“Are you lying?” She didn’t move and you sat back, her face scrunched up. “Are you scared if I’m your mom something bad will happen to me?”

“I don’t want two dead moms,” she said.

“I have two dead moms,” you said. She blinked her eyes open and sat up. “My first mom, I never met her. She died giving birth to me.”

“You only had a dad when you were born?” she asked. You nodded and pulled her into your lap. “Did he get married again?”

“No. My dad was very mad my mom died. He took that out on me. He was a bad guy. He went to jail and I got adopted by my mom when I was your age. Ray was her boyfriend. He acted like he was my dad in a lot of ways. I was sixteen when my mom died. I understand it hurts, sweetie, and that it’s scary and you don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

“I thought if I was bad you and daddy wouldn’t...and then I don’t have to feel bad again.”

“I am so sorry honey but you can’t stop that feeling from never coming back. The only way you could not get it would be to not love anyone or anything and that’s not a life at all. It’s the price you pay for loving someone. Your mom was an accident. But Daddy is young and I’m even younger and I promise you will not have to feel that way about me for a very, very long time.”

“How long?”

“How about fifty years?”

“Fifty years? That’s forever,” she said.

“I’ll give you fifty years if I can be your mom and you stop picking on Zepp. Deal?”

“Okay. I’m sorry I made him cry.”

“I’m not the one that needs an apology,” you said. “Now do you want stay in here all by yourself or do you want to come play with us?”

“I can play?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” you said. You got up and carried her down on your back, setting her down to let her run off out to the porch. Jensen got up from his seat and held up a finger, ducking back inside to where you were.

“That’s what I like to see,” he said as she gave Zeppelin a hug and he handed her a car.

“I did have to promise not to die for fifty years.”

“Fifty? You got off easy. I had to promise a hundred after the accident,” he chuckled. “I should have noticed she was scared.”

“I have more experience being a scared little girl than you do. I got experience with letting people get close again too,” you said.

“How’s that working out for ya?” he smirked.

“He’s lucky he’s hot,” you said. He threw his arm over your shoulders and grinned. “Do you want to get married in the fall?”

“This fall?” he asked.

“Can we pull it off that fast?” you asked.

“Yeah. We don’t have to book a venue which is the hardest part. I don’t see why not. What’s the rush?” he asked.

“It’s easier to adopt them if we’re married,” you said. “I don’t really want to wait longer than we have to if that’s alright.”

“I’d say let’s go drive down to city hall and get a justice of the peace right now if I knew my mother wouldn’t kill me for it. How about I call up the lawyer and ask him to start prepping the paperwork as if we already were so it’s all set to go,” he said.

“You have a lawyer?” you asked. “They’d do that?”

“Y/N, honey. My taxes alone frighten me not to mention I own a business with employees and what qualifies as a business write off still confuses me and wait you don’t have a lawyer for your book deal?”

“Should I have one?”

“Greg is your lawyer now,” he said. “He’s good. He’ll do all the paperwork for us.”

“Oh good cause all the forms online were confusing the hell out of me,” you said. He shook his head and pulled you in close.

“Silly goose,” he said, a loud boom of thunder shaking the house. “Let’s get the crew inside before it pours.”

“Who wants to build a fort?” you asked that afternoon. JJ jumped up and down on the couch and Jensen walked in with an arm full of blankets and sheets. Three little hands shot up and Jensen lazily tossed the blankets on the couch, covering the three of them.

“Hm, where’d those three munchkins run off to…” he said, Arrow ducking her head out first, hair all in her face. Jensen giggled and she rolled her eyes, the other two climbing out. “Alright. I’m gonna grab clothes pins and a few more things. You guys start designing.”

You stood back and let JJ organize, figuring out her first choice of blanket for a roof was too small. Jensen returned with a bag of clips, some twine and the step ladder, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

“How they doing?” he whispered.

“Picking out the roof,” you said, Arrow rushing over and grabbing his hand as Zeppelin climbed on JJ’s back and held up a sheet over the two of them with one hand. You smirked and she let out another eye roll.

“Daddy, can you pick up Zeppy so then he can put the blankie up? I told them they’re too small,” she said.

“Sure,” he said. “Tell me where you want it to go.”

Twenty minutes later the family room was covered with sheets, tied off to the stairs, chairs, the ceiling fan after Jensen broke out the larger ladder to get up there and assured you it wouldn’t bring the whole thing crashing down.

“Can we sleep in here tonight?” asked JJ.

“I don’t see why not,” you said. “There’s plenty of room on the couch. We’ll bring down your comforters when it’s bedtime,” you said.

“Can we watch Cars?” asked Zeppelin, glancing at JJ.

“Okay,” she said. She gave him a hug and picked him up, Jensen smiling to himself as he looked on.

“Can we get pizza for dinner like a real sleepover?” asked Arrow.

“We did cook up all the chicken at lunch,” you said, giving Jensen a side eye.

“Yeah we’ll get one,” he said. “Why don’t you turn on your movie okay? We’ll be right there.”

You let Jensen pull you into the kitchen, smirking as he picked you up and sat you on the counter.

“Seems like today’s crisis has been averted,” you said.

“I’m sure they’ll go back to tormenting each other tomorrow but I’ll take it,” he said, reaching into the drawer next to you, pulling out a menu. “So. You interested in pizza?”

“Oh that looks interesting,” you said, taking the pamphlet out of his hand and tapping at a special. “One cheese, one speciality, boneless wings and garlic bread? My little carb loving heart is in love.”

“She’s not the only one,” he said, leaning up on his tip toes and kissing you.

“Are you coming?” groaned JJ from in the fort. You shook your head and Jensen kissed your neck, even nibbling before he pulled back. You smacked his chest and he set the menu down, giving you a wink.

“We’re coming in right now. Don’t wait for us kiddo.”

You woke up sweating, Jensen shushing you, arms wrapped around you. You took a deep breath and caught the clock said it was almost three. You turned in his arms and buried your head in his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

“You’re okay. Bad dream is all,” he said softly. You nodded and started to relax, flinching when there was more thunder. “Hey, it’s okay. Nothing’s gonna get ya.”

The thunder shook the house and you tensed up. Jensen pulled the covers over both your heads and you crammed in as close as humanly possible when more thunder hit.

“Honey look at me. Please look at me.” You lifted your head and saw a horrible face in front of you, a scream ripping out of your throat.

“Y/N,” you heard as you woke up absolutely drenched, Jensen’s hands on your face. “Honey, talk to me. Can you hear me?”

“Night terror,” you said quietly.

“Yeah, JJ used to have them. I didn’t know adults could get them,” he said.

“Can I have a cold washcloth? And some water?” you asked. He got out of bed and padded into the bathroom in his boxers, settling back into bed and handing you the water. You drank it down while he wiped off your face and neck, running it over your head. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mostly feel embarrassed.” He frowned and you put the glass on your nightstand, staring down at your sweaty shirt.

“Should I call Ray?”

“It was a stupid nightmare. I’m fine,” you said.

“You were sat up eyes wide open and talking and shouting and I couldn’t wake you up,” he said. “I know adults really shouldn’t be getting night terrors so maybe something triggered you or something during the day.”

“I know my triggers and I know when it’s just a stupid nightmare. Back off,” you said. You got out from under the hot covers and went outside to the balcony, the air nice and cool from the storm earlier. The slide of the door was loud in the the quiet and you rubbed your arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve seen you have nightmares. That was a lot worse,” he said.

“I thought I saw someone watching the house earlier.”

“What?”

“It was the neighbor’s kid, the teenager. It was his friend and he came over late but I thought...it freaked me out. That on top of thinking about the fact my father is not rotting in a jail cell most likely sent me over the edge,” you said. He walked in front of you, resting his hands on your arms. “I’m okay. Needed some air was all.”

“Alright. Tell me if something like that happens again?” he asked. You hummed and he gave you a kiss. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s head on back to bed.”

“What do you mean?” you growled into the phone the next evening. Jensen lifted his head from his book in the family room and you walked away, stepping out to the private patio area on the side of the house. “That’s not possible.”

“It’s been fifteen years. He has every legal right to be in the country.”

“In the country! He got an apartment seven minutes from where I live!” you said. “I have little kids here, Finn. Tell me there’s something I can do.”

“I can get a restraining order-”

“That doesn’t mean shit to him. I need him fucking deported. I need him gone.”

“Y/N, you know me. I have never agreed to it but he paid his debt as it was assigned and he quietly followed the law. He did what he was supposed to and I’m sorry but until he does something, I can’t do anything besides help you and your fiance’s family get a restraining order.”

“So until he does something horrible again, I can’t do anything about it.”

“Y/N.”

“No Finn. I appreciate the heads up but...I have to go.”

You hung up and squeezed your phone tight. He knew where you lived. He was minutes away and there was absolutely zero help until something went wrong. You sat on a bench and bounced your leg. Nothing could go wrong. You couldn’t let anything go wrong. Who knew what the son of a bitch would do to any one of them.

You stopped bouncing your leg just as you heard the door open. You lifted your head and stood, spinning around to Jensen standing there.

“Everything alright?”

“Actually no.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“My ex,” you said, swallowing. You crossed your arms and thought of the things Jensen had told you about acting and getting in character and all that. You were gonna destroy him. Fuck you were going to end up shattering him into a thousand pieces he’d never put back together.

You couldn’t really lie just to keep them away from him, could you?

You saw Arrow run past in the house and made your face hard. Broken heart but safe kids was worth it.

“I thought you didn’t talk to him anymore,” said Jensen. You turned up your chin and he smiled. “You are the worst actress in the world. Who was it really?”

“I think we’re moving too fast and I want to take a break and I would appreciate it if you gave me my space to figure this out on my own.”

“Uh, what?” he said. You brushed past him and he followed you in, all the way up to your bedroom. You got out a bag and he flipped it shut. “What the hell is going on? Who was on the phone?”

“My boyfriend,” you said. He stared at you and you sighed. “You’re a great guy but I’m sorry. I can’t do the house and kids thing. I want to go see the world and not be tied down and you’re just...you’re too damn old for me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe you should have trusted your first instincts when you saw me and Doug,” you said. He stared at you while you shoved some clothes in a bag. You slung it over your shoulder and he caught the backside of it. You took off your ring and put it on the table by the door, Jensen dropping his hand. “I just can’t do this anymore. It wasn’t you. I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

______

A/N: Read Part 16 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #jensen series #rpf #rpf series #spn fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #supernatural fanfic

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casualreginaspectator · 2 years ago

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I've always loved making things for people. Especially art, little drawings, paintings, crafts, but I like writing for people too, and cooking food, feeding people gives me joy. And I like buying things for people too, not a lot, but little things I think will make them happy. I think it's a part of my love language I haven't fully recognized until recently, because the love language test that's out there is all about receiving love, and not giving it, and so the "gift" type always falls as my lowest category. I get anxious when people spend money on me, for internalized reasons of course, so receiving gifts has never meant as much to me as someone spending time on me. But I love doing it for other people. And I love it more when I make things.

For years, really most of my childhood, I would draw individualized pictures for all my family members, and every extended family unit, for every holiday of the year. I'd sit down with a pack of colored pencils or markers and draw something both related to that family member and the holiday: my aunt's cat in a Santa hat at Christmas time, two trouts being shot down by cupid for my grandpa. They got more complex as I got older, and then slowly dwindled away over time.

And I've always drawn people, too. I remember the first time I did portraiture was maybe in the third grade, for this boy I fancied myself madly in love with. He was thin, excruciatingly pale, had crazy black hair that got all over the place, was allergic to everything under the sun, and had a thing for mythology. I went to this weird little hippie charter school growing up, where we raised bees and silk worms and had our own garden and put on end-of-the-year musicals about climate change and individuality. I was in a marimba band. Our class was super small, never more than 20 odd students any given year, and we were all close, so we'd play well thought out make-believe games. I always forced myself into the role of the princess warrior, or something of those sorts, and the dark haired boy would be my prince, my knight in shining armor. I was stronger in magic than him, of course and only needed saving in the most dire of circumstances, which occured frequently, for the sake of the drama. I drew him in the theater balcony during one of those plays watching the older grades do their bit, fitted in armor and a magic cape, finishing moments before banging my knee against a railing and bleeding all over my costume. He kept the drawing though.

I did more small sketches over the years, but it wasn't until I got to high school that I realized I had a nack for realism. Before this, many of my middle school friends drew in cartoon or manga styles; I tried and failed, and my art was never very good then. But my freshman year I had an art teacher who both had enormous faith in me and pushed me more than I liked, at times. We had to do a charcoal piece, and most students picked inanimate objects: roses, sneakers, one girl did a vacuum cleaner. But my teacher made me do a face, and I had my old friends from my old school send me dynamic photos that I put greyscale over, and I chose one of this guy I knew semi-well who had his face all scrunched in a disgruntled looking smirk. The drawing is still one of my favorites to this day. I've got it hanging in my room, portrait of someone I don't know anymore, sneering from his place on the wall.

And so began a series. I couldn't name all these projects, but people would ask me to sketch them, and I would, and it would be spot on, and I'd move right along. I did a detailed colored pencil portrait of a girl in my choir I was secret Santa for, some realistic character drawings from the Lord of the Flies for my sophomore Honors English, and a watercolor portrait of US Senator Henry Clay in my APUSH to run off an old inside joke. I've drawn countless sketches of old boyfriends, which have been handed out on scraps of paper and folded up into wallets, where the creases have thinned and frayed and faded. I've hand made cards, written poems, hell I painted a guitar for a boy once, a boy who never even knew me well enough to buy me earrings that I would actually like.

I show my love in all these big, strange ways, making blankets, dedicating whole journals, making scavenger hunts and stepping entirely out of my way to plan trips, sneak around, sacrifice my time. And it's strange of me to think how little of that I've gotten back.

Most of that is just because of the way others express their love. I don't think it's grand for most people. And it's not for me either, not really, because I do these things because I want to so badly, and they make me so happy. I regret none of it. I spend time because I care, because it brings me joy. But sometimes it'd be nice to get a drawing, a note, a song, a story, a piece of something made just for me.

I have gotten things like that, a few times, but always in the worst ways.

I had a friend who drew me, once, only to get banned from speaking to me a few months later. Her mother thought we were in love. She may have been right. But I couldn't keep that drawing. I regret that.

I had a boy who's feelings for me became unrequited at the expense of another. He made me a bracelet, beeded with brown mostly, but with two chunks of an aqua-blue that looked like his eyes. He left them on my coat one night after I told him I didn't think things would work out between us, but that I was terribly sorry. I really was. I still have that bracelet, and I wear it sometimes. Eventually we became friends again, and I would wear it more.

The boy who hurt me the most did the most for me. He was an artist, and a brilliant one at that. It would be easier, I think, if the people we abhore the most had nothing going for them, if they were just sick and sorry on every facet. One of the last weeks we were together we went to a park, and fought, and then somehow made up, and made crowns for each other's heads out of reeds we found in a field nearby. We took pictures of each other in these crowns, all dramatic like. The polin got in my eyes. And he drew one of those photos of me later, in his own style, and in the drawing you couldn't tell how red my eyes were, maybe from anger, maybe from the reeds. He was making more drawings, too, to be given to me at a later date, but things ended before that. I'm glad I don't have them, because I know I'd hate to look at them now.

I've had a few people sing for me, send me videos or recordings of them singing, or playing an instrument. God, that makes my heart melt, that someone would take time, preparing a song and then sitting in front of a camera at my expense. That, I cannot do. And I know that means a lot.

And I know a lot of people really like spending money on others, on me, paying for dinner and tickets and gas and clothes and things, just things. It makes me anxious but I get it, and if I know I must I let it happen.

But please, dear God, if someone, anyone, sat down to paint me, draw me, write about me in a story or poem or song, made me something I loved, made me food, made me a game, anything, I think that would be enough for a long time.

I read a different Tumblr post recently, about a man who made some invention for his wife, because of his wife. And I can't remember what it was he made, but I remember what he said about it -- the man "loved her to the point of invention." I don't need invention, exactly, nor do I necessarily want that. But I want someone to love me to the point of creation. I think that would be enough.

In the meantime though, I'll keep making. I'll keep painting my paintings, writing my poems, cooking meals, doing project after project, devoting my time and effort to the people I love. I hope they know what it means when they get a final product. I hope they know that every inch of my soul went into it, that it means everything I feel and more.

That quiz I took recently, it said I create out of love. Nothing could be more true.

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crazy4dragons · 4 years ago

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Fifteen (Part 2)

Hiccup is afraid to give Astrid her birthday gift. Part 2 to the prompt sent by @drakaina-amore64! Mostly Hiccup-centric with a bit of Hiccstrid. Part 1 found here. Rating: G.

The morning of Astrid’s birthday, Hiccup trudged downstairs, eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. That week, he’d worked on Astrid’s gift every spare moment he got and pulled an all-nighter or two, but the book was finally finished, and just in time for the celebration at the Great Hall.

“There ye are, son. I’m heading out to help the Hoffersons set up for Astrid’s party,” Stoick announced as he grabbed his axe. He never left the house without a weapon, even to attend an event as innocent as a birthday celebration.

“I’ll be over in a while,” yawned Hiccup, shuffling into the kitchen and rummaging through a cabinet in search of tea.

“Alright. Just don’t be too late. You’ll miss out on brunch.”

Hiccup responded with a silent nod. The truth was that he didn’t care about brunch. In fact, he wanted to spend the least amount of time possible at the party. He didn’t have any friends on Berk. Fishlegs was the only one who willingly spoke to him, and that was only on rare occasions. Even Snotlout, who was his cousin, hardly said a word to him. And he wasn’t even sure that Astrid wanted him at her party. It wasn’t like they ever hung out anymore.

Nevertheless, he boiled water and prepared a cup of tea to drink while he got ready. Chamomile tea, that would hopefully help to ease the knot in his stomach. Gods, anxiety was certainly his worst enemy, always bothering him at the most inconvenient times. He wished he wasn’t so awkward, and that he could just fit in with the rest of the teens for once. But that would never happen. And having to gift Astrid the book that he’d worked so hard to make didn’t put him at ease, either. What if she hated it? What if she laughed at him in front of everyone? What if she took it the wrong way and punched him in the nose for “flirting” with her?

There was so much that could go wrong, and Hiccup wasn’t prepared for any of it. But knowing he had to swallow his fear and show up to the party, as his absence might have even more dire consequences than his presence, he put on his good tunic, washed his face, and ran a comb through his hair. Then, grabbing Astrid’s gift and placing it in his satchel, he hesitantly left the house and dragged himself to the Great Hall.

“Hiccup!” Stoick exclaimed. “You’re just in time. Here, help me with these tablecloths.”

Hiccup silently helped his father prepare the tables, then snuck into a corner and pulled charcoal and a blank sheet of parchment from his bag. He began to draw, hardly taking note of the crowd forming in the room until he heard Astrid’s arrival announced.

“It is my pleasure as Chief, to present our guest of honor today,” Stoick began. “Astrid Hofferson!”

Looking up, Hiccup caught sight of Astrid entering through the doors, her usual battle attire traded for a pale blue dress with navy leggings underneath. Her hair was in a ponytail instead of a braid, but her unruly bangs still half-concealed her cold eyes. Her lips were pursed together in a thin line, but he couldn’t tell if it was because she was nervous, or if it was a purposeful demonstration of her fierce demeanor. But despite her harsh expression, he thought she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

The crowd cheered, and several of the younger Vikings rushed over to greet her. Hiccup watched as Snotlout draped an arm across her shoulders, which Astrid promptly pushed away before punching him in the chest.

When brunch was served, Hiccup shyly made his way through the crowd and found a seat beside Stoick and Gobber.

“Yer not goin’ to eat with the other children, eh?” Gobber asked, nodding towards the nearby table where the rest of the teens were digging into their toast and eggs.

Hiccup shook his head. “Why should I? They barely speak to me.”

“I don’t know. Just thought ye might want to get to know them a bit more, maybe make a friend or two. And, of course, get close to Miss Hofferson there.” Although Gobber lowered his voice at the last bit, his statement still make the boy blush.

“I’ll stay here,” decided Hiccup, breaking off a small piece of his muffin and bringing it to his lips.

“Suit yerself, lad,” Gobber shrugged, pressing a friendly hand to his shoulder.

Hiccup passed the rest of the meal in silence while Stoick and Gobber discussed Thawfest plans with Spitelout. Once finished, he slipped back into his corner to sketch while the rest of the Vikings had second, third, and fourth helpings before busying themselves with card games.

“My mom said I should invite you to sit with us.”

Astrid’s voice shook Hiccup out of his thoughts. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but when he slowly raised his eyes, he saw the blonde standing before him, eyes narrowed and arms folded over her chest.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” she continued.

“Oh, uh…I…I’m alright here. Thanks,” Hiccup said quickly as he turned back to his drawing.

“Fine with me,” Astrid shrugged before walking back to her table, seemingly relieved that he’d declined her invitation.

Hiccup sighed. He knew Astrid had no reason to want him sitting with her and the other teens, but at the same time, it would have been nice for her to fight a little harder to earn his agreement.

He was still reflecting on the matter when Mr. Hofferson announced that it was time for gifts. Hands trembling, he reached for his satchel, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to draw out the book, not after Astrid had been so dismissive towards him.

Astrid sat at the front of the room while a number of guests stood to place their gifts around her. Hiccup thought about trying to sneak through the crowd unnoticed, but when he opened his satchel, his heart fell to his stomach and nerves shook his body. He couldn’t sum up enough courage to do it even if his life depended on it.

As Stoick returned to his seat, he shot Hiccup a questioning glance, to which the boy replied by shaking his head and turning his attention to Astrid. Her first gift was a new axe, followed by a pair of boots, a new winter coat, and a batch of gingerbread cookies.

Thank Thor I ditched those old ideas, he thought, looking down at his drawing as he realized all Astrid’s gifts were either weapons, clothes, or food, and her reactions to them were noticeably monotone. The only somewhat interesting portion of the gift-giving hour was Mrs. Hofferson passing her old kransen onto Astrid, who looked more embarrassed than pleased at the present. Hiccup couldn’t blame her, either. He’d be mortified if Stoick publicly gave him a gift that practically announced his virginity, even if he was a bit too young to be thinking about it.

When all the presents were finally unwrapped, Mr. Hofferson cut Astrid’s birthday cake and Stoick invited the guests to help themselves to a slice. Hiccup, however, didn’t budge from his corner. He was too afraid the other teenagers would laugh at him for spending the whole party alone, and too disappointed in himself for not giving Astrid her gift that he wasn’t in the mood to do much but sulk. And anyway, he didn’t particularly like cake.

He hoped the event would come to an end after everyone was finished the dessert, but that was too good to be true. They were Vikings; of course the party would last as long as it possibly could, with everyone drinking mead and laughing together.

Hiccup suffered through the festivities for a bit longer before deciding that he couldn’t sit in the corner much longer. Folding up his drawing, he carefully snuck out of the Great Hall and began heading for home. Upon reading the doorstep, however, he had a sudden thought. With everyone still enjoying the party, and no one wandering about the streets, it was the the perfect opportunity to secretly drop Astrid’s gift onto her doorstep. She didn’t need to know it was from him; she could simply find it, take it, and do as she wished with it.

Smiling to himself, he quickly walked to the Hofferson house, carefully placed the book by her front door, then decided to take the long way home to clear his mind from the day’s rather stressful events.

“Hiccup!”

Hiccup was just about to twist his doorknob when he heard a familiar voice behind him. Turning around, he saw Astrid running towards him, his book in her arms and a smile on her face. She was back in her usual armor, and her hair looked freshly washed and braided.

“Astrid!” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck as he shied away from her gaze to hide his blushing face. “Erm…shouldn’t you…uh…be at your party? I…I mean, it’s still going on, isn’t it? I—”

“I needed to get away from all that for a while,” Astrid began, nodding in the direction of the Great Hall. “So I went home to have a hot bath and cup of tea, and when I left to go back, I erm…I found this outside.” She held up the book. “Did you…”

Hiccup swallowed hard. “I uh...”

“It has pictures of the places we—I mean, I—used to play when we were—I was—a little girl, and there’s some beautiful Nadders, and —”

“That’s great, Astrid.”

“You drew all this for me, didn’t you?”

Hiccup slowly turned his face towards hers. To his surprise, her eyes were soft and her cheeks were tinted pink. “Well, I…”

Smiling wider, Astrid stepped closer to him and flung her arms around his neck in a brief hug. “Thank you, Hiccup,” she whispered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she pulled away.

“It’s…it’s no problem, Astrid, I—”

The blonde suddenly looked around them and, her tone reverting back to its usual fierce tone, added, “But I swear to Thor, if you tell anyone about this, I’m pulling my axe on you.”

Hiccup relaxed. This was the Astrid he knew. “Got it,” he promised, turning to go inside. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

#hiccup #astrid #hiccstrid #baby hiccstrid #httyd #fanfic #my writing

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thathawaiianchick · 5 years ago

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my wolfstar fic recc

29 of my favs, plus 2 comics :)

sorted from shortest to longest, series at the bottom

i like long fics, i like raising Harry AUs, i like Lay Low at Lupin’s fics, i like marauder era “we’re 70′s trash fics”, i like angst, but i also love “everybody lives”, kind of a mix of everything but seriously a lot of raising Harry AUs because it fills a need i guess

some super popular, some relative unknowns i think

all fics that characterize wolfstar for me :)

JKR has disappointed me supremely, but fan works will hold my love forever

part 2 because i forgot some

STANDALONES

1. A Day Like Any Other by dustmouth

(a comic, not really a fic, just hosted on AO3)

The one where Sirius keeps receiving unwanted mail, Remus drinks a lot of tea, Peter's out on a hot date, and James is offering unwanted make overs.

(Or the answer to the question of exactly how many cursed letters can you flush down the loo).

2. To Keep a Star by dustmouth

(a comic, not really a fic, just hosted on AO3)

Daily life in the Intergalactic Postal Service. Or the one where Sirius is a postal star and Remus lives on a spaceship.

3. in your bedroom, during the war by lupinely

There’s the bed, there’s the room, and there’s Remus. This, at least, Sirius knows for sure. (4Kish)

4. Home We’ll Go by appalachian_fireflies

"I can't, I don't know how," Remus stuttered as Molly dropped the infant into his arms, who immediately ceased crying and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Nonsense," Molly said. "Be a dear and keep him from falling while I feed Ginny."

"Ba!" Ron giggled, and slapped Remus in the face.

Molly is the emergency contact for the Order when those listed can no longer be reached. Remus' life finds a different path. (10K)

5. A Store of Happiness by coyotesuspect

Harry spends the summer after his third year living with Sirius and Professor Lupin. (10K)

6. In The Bed by bigblackdog

Left to his own devices the summer after the prank, Sirius crafts an unusual gift to mend his relationship with Remus. (11K)

7. Vigil Strange I Kept by whitmans_kiss

Remus' lycanthropy has caused his body to seriously deteriorate over the years due to the constant stress of the transformations, and by his fifty-sixth birthday, it's certain that he won't live to finish out the year. However, a cure has recently been discovered - but what if the cure is just as bad as the disease? (11K)

8. Elucidation Practice by montparnasse

Christmas, 1978. Remus, wrestling with the mighty problems of gift-giving on a budget, contemplates life, love, London in winter, and falling off the edge of the world with Sirius Black. (21K)

9. On a Windswept Cliff by starfishstar

On the cliff top where the fearsome Lord Black once stalked, an outcast man meets a big black dog, and things are not as they seem.

Or: The Remus/Sirius gothic romance AU. (21K)

10. Lethe and Mnemosyne by montparnasse

Winter '79. Looking to get out from under the black-hole overhang of wartime, Sirius and Remus take off to play house on the Cornish moors. It goes downhill from there. (26K)

11. Purity by FelisA

Sirius resurrection fic. (27K) 12. Common Woodbrown by imochan

Look well into thyself; there is a source of strength which will always spring up if thou wilt always look there. In 1985, Remus Lupin realizes that Sirius Black is innocent. Now, he just has to prove it. (36K)

13. Wilde and Whimsy by chasing bluefish, obsob

In a world where Dumbledore defeated Voldemort during the first war, the wizarding community is picking up the pieces and getting back to their lives. Remus Lupin becomes a person of interest in a murder at the bookshop where he works and Sirius Black and James Potter, aurors, are sent to investigate. As they navigate the crime itself, Remus and Sirius realize that there is something to their instant chemistry. But they need to keep their newfound attraction under wraps while trying to find the killer and stop them from claiming more victims. (36K)

14. Paper Wings by Krislaughs

(not hosted on ao3)

What if Sirius Black sent a final message from Azkaban? Enter the home of the last Marauder in the days following Voldemort’s downfall. Lost and alone, Remus asks a question of the void, a question whose answer will send him around the world. Meeting puppies, Kneazles, dementors, and nomads, Remus learns more about himself and his friends than he ever thought possible. Learn the secrets of the Marauder’s map and the world’s best chocolate, how various Death Eaters occupied themselves after the fall of their lord, and why you should never leave Remembralls lying around.

15. Uncreated Night by earlybloomingparentheses

Remus can drift through whole worlds in his own mind. Sirius lives in his body, electric, ablaze. In 1979 and 1996 and 1978 and 1981 and in many other years and many different places, they search for the bridges between them and the spaces they can share. Time after time, they fight their way back together, head and heart, mind and body.

And in 1998, Remus stands before the veil, wondering if he should finally stop thinking, and just act. (41.5K)

16. Lemon Chiffon Yellow by Spklvr

An unplanned night between Remus and Tonks ends up changing their lives forever. (42K)

17. The Weather Inside by earlybloomingparentheses

Sirius rides a flying motorbike, and snogs strangers in pubs, and strikes moody poses Remus finds irritatingly attractive. But for Remus, who drinks milky tea and wears flannel pyjamas, there's a chasm cracked right down the fault line between wanting and doing.

How he wants, though. How he wants. (43K)

18. the dogfather by hollimichele

“I’m not a reverse werewolf either,” says the man. “I’m your godfather.” (47K)

19. Domestic Creatures by veeagainst

Growing up is hard to do -- but the journey is better if you take someone with you. (53K)

20. Leave the Children Behind by montparnasse

Bravery, sometimes, is the ending just as much as the beginning. Remus, Sirius, and a series of choices.

Or, a love story—backwards and forwards. (54K)

21. A Series of Sketches Done in Black Ink by mustntgetmy

Non-magic AU. Sirius had always imagined the aftermath of falling in love would mean lightness, and an escape from all the horrors of his childhood. But the past never leaves, and even love can't stop bad memories from resurfacing.

An almost year in the life of Sirius and Remus's first year as a couple replete with art and tangled sheets, and containing the following: filled sketchbook pages from people lost and people found, terrible biscuits from an excellent therapist, mismatched music records, expensive hot chocolate, a lost brother, photographs (some invasive and some invoking terrible memories), a reckoning with the past, a promise of the future, and yet another ridiculously over the top Halloween party. (57K)

22. Alt Ed by NachoDiablo

“Remus? Who the bloody hell is Remus?” James is scrambling to straighten his chair as McGonagall glares at him from the head table.

Mary smiles innocently. “Oh, just a new friend that Lily met over the holidays. He’s homeschooled, just moved into her neighborhood it seems. She says he’s very clever. And I hear he’s quite fit, as well.”

AU where Remus and Lily become friends outside of Hogwarts, setting James and Sirius on a quest to learn more about this mysterious newcomer. (61K)

23. Indiana Lupin and the Search for the Conqueror by nekarose

Remus Lupin is an undercover archaeologist for the British Museum and is sent to Greenland to investigate a Roman shipwreck. In Greenland he meets Sirius Black, makes a real discovery and soon enough the two of them are racing through the world in search of the remains of the Library of Alexandria with Remus’ arch-enemy right at their heels. (66K)

24. Le Mot Vagabond by ironicallyinternational

(It all starts with Peter Pettigrew dying twice.

First, Peter kills Wormtail (discreetly), and then Sirius kills him (less discreetly).

Losing a friend is never easy, even amidst the ravages of war, but losing the last of your childhood alongside him is far worse.)

War is a complicated, messy thing. The Marauders have their fucked up shit to deal with, but they also have each other, and that counts for a lot. (151K)

SERIES:

25. The Hole in the Ground by sostrata

(5 works) A series of fics about Sirius and Remus raising Harry in their home, The Hole in the Ground. (18k)

26. Holding Out by bigblackbog

(works 2)

On Halloween, 1981 Sirius and Remus abscond with Harry despite their recently rocky relationship. (36K)

27. Maddest House by busaikko

(6 works)

old as hell. Another wolfstar raising Harry fic (55K)

28. Lycanthropic Studies by Eiiri

(3 works)

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus recognizes something familiar in Draco Malfoy and offers him sanctuary. With nowhere else to turn--his parents in prison, his home a crime scene--Draco reluctantly accepts and becomes a tolerated, if not welcome, member of his schoolyard rivals' and wartime adversaries' family of choice. As pages of the lunar calendar turn and the summer wears on,Draco and the others begin to see each other in a different light. (139K)

29. Stealing Harryverse by copperbadge

(works 12)

On a dark night long ago, Sirius Black took a wrong turn and never found Peter Pettigrew. Instead of Azkaban, Sirius settled down in Little Whinging to keep an eye on his godson, and hired Remus Lupin to run his bookshop for him. Then one day when Harry was eight, Sirius found out how the Dursleys treated him, and stole him away.

Stealing Harry is an alternate universe version of Harry Potter's life before his time at Hogwarts. It is the story of Harry's family: Sirius and Remus, Ted and Andromeda, Nymphadora, Neville Longbottom, and even Severus Snape, all banded together against a newly powerful Peter Pettigrew who is still searching for a way to resurrect Voldemort.

Laocoon's Children follows Harry through his time at Hogwarts as he develops a very different group of friends: Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw Padma Patil, and Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, strange companions for a Harry who was sorted into Slytherin -- the house of his beloved Professor Snape.

This universe ends in Harry's third year, and is partially incomplete. As it is not likely to be finished, the last story in the series is a group of notes I made on where the story would have gone and how it would have ended. (443.3K)

30. All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89

(4 works)

LONG fic charting the marauders' time at Hogwarts (and beyond) from Remus' PoV - diversion from canon in that Remus's father died and he was raised in a children's home, and is a bit rough around the edges. Otherwise canon-compliant. 1971 - 1995 (557K)

31. Crow Rides A Pale Horse by tb_ll57

(4 works)

The note pinned to his collar read 'Harry J Potter - please accept'. The Dursleys had left him with nothing else but a pillow sack with half a sleeve of McVities biscuits, a mealy apple, and ten pounds. (618K)

#hp #harry potter #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #killing sirius was not punk rock jk rowling #nor was killing off remus #this is the barest reason to want to kick jkr #reference for myself #i dont have all of these bookmarked on ao3 even if they're some of my favs #raising harry #fic rec #this only took me an hour to make i can't believe i've been procrastinating this #lolol yes i can #i can believe

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bettsfic · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I was just wondering if you would soapbox a little about your creative process. I absolutely adore your writing advice but was wondering a bit more about how your ideas form and how you choose which to pursue and do finished products look like you want them to? What's a bad habit you're trying to break? No obligation to answer, especially cause an anon is like tell me your secrets! But thank you for all you've written, you are so helpful and kind

thanks for the great question anon! i wrote a bit about my drafting process here but that doesn’t encompass the idea building side of things (also i’ve made some changes to the process so i was thinking about writing a more cohesive, updated version at some point).

i tend to think of project ideas as piles of aesthetic, and usually i only begin writing once the pile has toppled over and i can’t not write it. that’ll make more sense in a moment.

i’ll walk through 2 examples of my idea generating process, from how they started to where they are now.

1. Vandal

Vandal is a novel i’m working on that i really have a lot of hope for. i’m about 60k words in right now and 75% finished. it’s about a teenage girl (sierra) who casts a spell on her hot, helpful neighbor (frank) to bind them together. the spell ends up working but backfiring when he becomes her foster father. then, in his custody, sierra gets jealous and casts a spell on his girlfriend (jenny) to break them up, but that backfires too: sierra gets taken out of frank’s custody and placed with a manipulative and abusive foster brother (leo). frank more or less kidnaps sierra and they have to Run From The Law. throughout the novel, sierra is inwardly battling Vandal, an immortal archangel that has possessed her and is trying to get her to kill herself so he can break free of the prison of her body.

the idea for that story has a looooong breadcrumb trail and a huge aesthetic pile. since i couldn’t manage to get Baby traditionally published, i had a lot of that dynamic i could adopt into something else. i wrote at length about where that idea came from but i can no longer find that post (UPDATE: here it is). it’s somewhere in my training wheels tag. in short, i spent an entire summer watching/reading age gap stories and the male perspective in them bothered me a lot, so i wanted to write a story from the younger party’s perspective, and do the reality of those situations justice. i wrote that story, though, so i didn’t want to rewrite it.

then, in december 2019, for reasons i don’t remember, i started reading snape/hermione fics. i really liked the dynamic, but it was a little too angsty for me, and none of the fics gave me the catharsis i was looking for, which was basically Grouchy Soft Boy Takes Care Of PTSD Weary Girl. being unable to find anything that fit the exact no-conflict, angstless dynamic i was looking for, i decided to write it myself using an A/B/O reylo idea i’d been kicking around for about 8 months but i could never land on, because i didn’t know if i wanted ben or ren. that fic turned out to be Reclaimed.

to answer one of your questions, Reclaimed didn’t turn out the way i wanted it to at all, and i’m still kind of shocked by the traffic it has. i felt bad about writing it, because i was setting down so many other things to work on it, and it was a struggle from start to finish. at the time (and this is a major theme of my process), i thought it was a waste of energy.

but it opened a very important thematic concept to me, which is the idea of voicelessness and trauma, and recovery through finding one’s voice.

fast-forward to february, i’m headcanoning with @star-sky-earth just days before i have to head to nebraska for a writing residency. she and i are talking about a certain male celebrity who shall not be named, flirting with his younger female costar who shall not be named, and i said something along the lines of, “wouldn’t it suck to get a crush on a dude like him, only to find out he likes you back, and then you realize he’s actually kind of shallow and boring?”

i remember distinctly saying, out loud, “god fucking dammit,” because, right then, an aesthetic pile had toppled over, and an entire novel unfolded itself in my brain. i pound out an outline. it’s garbage. i play around with a vocal gauge. it’s not quite right. then, two days later, i write an opening scene that i don’t think is great but i send it to some people and they’re like, oh this is fire.

the aesthetic pile looks like this:

lolita, where dolores is the one in control

delusions of grandeur born from a major traumatic event

obsessions with fairy tales and the escapism they provide

the consequences of extreme neglect

forced voicelessness as both a theme and a major structural constraint

a lot of wolf imagery

non-chronological timelines

i proceed to spend the next two days driving across the country brain-writing. by the time i reach nebraska, i hit the ground running, and write for basically 30-40 hours a week for 5 weeks. then, because pandemic, i decide to stay 2 more weeks, but i hit a snag. i write about 14k of really boring drivel and realize my outline has failed me. i toss the 14k and re-outline and try again. then, my attention is rattled by a crush on a composer who has no interest in me.

i go home and fall into my annual summer depression and i lose focus. so, that’s where i’m at. i really miss vandal but it’s gotten super dark and i’m finding it difficult to manage darkness with everything going on. which brings me to my next aesthetic pile that has recently toppled over.

2. Eden

that’s not the title but it’s the project name. i’ve begun writing a YA sci fi comedy with an ensemble cast. this aesthetic pile took years to build before it toppled. it started with Elixir of Erised, hands down the best fic i’ve ever written by a huge margin. i reread it this past winter and was kind of amazed i’d written it.

i really liked the idea of a potion showing you your deepest desires, but until recently have not had the patience to build an entire world around it. so, for the past 3.5 years, i’ve kept a document of “if i WERE to a YA SFF book with the themes of EOE, what would i want to include?” over those 3.5 years, here’s what the list became:

dark academia vibes

heist plot

soulmates

that list is not really conducive to an entire universe, and i never had the motivation to sit down and think through it.

then i watched breaking bad, and a lot of things started clicking. at the same time, i was talking to my buddy kyle about my fallen knight archetype schematic, and i began fleshing out all the archetypes that went with it. i came up with 12. i built a database. i thought, wouldn’t it be cool to write something with ALL 12 ARCHETYPES?? haha but who would be dumb enough to do that?

me. i would.

with breaking bad as the missing plot piece (which introduces the idea of conflict around the MANUFACTURE and DISTRIBUTION of addictive substances, with an ensemble cast of morally grey characters, which leads to a war), i had enough to get started.

i wrote an outline. i wrote another outline. i wrote a third outline. i stopped to write some histories of this place i’d built. i wrote a fourth outline. gdocs became a mess so i downloaded scrivener and taught myself how to use it. i wrote a gauge of the first chapter and landed the voice on the first try. then i did a rough sketch of how a trilogy would go. then i outlined each book in the trilogy to make sure my character trajectories were on point. then i did a lot more worldbuilding. now i’m working on my fifth outline, which breaks the entire novel down scene by scene.

and for Reasons, i’m tasking myself with writing the first draft in 6 days across two weekends. it’s a high-stakes adventure story with a very tight timeline, so i think it’s conducive to being written quickly.

which brings me to another question you asked, which is, what bad habits do i want to break? i always, always slow down at the halfway mark. sometimes i even give up. i have no idea why. no matter how much preparation i do, no matter how solid my endgame is, at the halfway mark i either slow to a crawl or set the whole project down and pick up something new. i do this with reading books, too. i can only ever read the first half of books. then i either skip to the end or put them down forever. it’s definitely something i have to figure out because at this rate i’ll never finish anything.

okay this took way longer than i thought it would to write but i hope it answers your question. tl;dr i follow aesthetic and thematic interests until they lead me to a point where i can’t not write the stories that develop from them.

#writing advice #process #Anonymous

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