#old draft post that i had stewing in here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vxnillavampir · 10 months ago

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All I Wanted .1 - Nice Shot

you thought your life was over until you stumbled your way in to jackson. being the new girl around town means that someone has to show you the ropes and what to expect on patrols.

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader

content warnings: some violent themes, reader takes out a couple of dudes and infected, joel makes an appearance, reader has relations with a man (briefly mentioned, barely even an aspect of the story), bad writing, not proofread. even though it's not smut, please be 18+ when interacting with my account thank you <3

a/n: hi…so i originally posted a little snippet of this on my old blog, in case this seems like something you have read before! i decided to just post the full chapter here. this is part of a multi part series i have in my drafts. who knows if the other parts will see the light of day.

SUPPORT PALESTINE

word count: 2.3k

November.

The ice-cold water being thrown in your face is what woke you up.

"We're going to need you to start talking." A blurred man kept pacing back and forth in front of you, his southern accent distinct. You shake your head to come to your senses and notice that your hands are tied behind you. The room you were in was dimly lit, the limited daylight peeking through the windows. What time is it? How long were you out? "Tommy take it easy," said another man with the same accent, "she's just a kid."

"I’m not a kid." You spat out.

"So, she speaks." The one that was apparently named Tommy knelt down in front of you. "Who are you? Where did you come from?" His voice was stern.

"California." Your voice sounded pretty groggy, and you cleared your throat to try and get yourself together.

"Jackson is a long way aways...what brought you all the way out here?" You glanced over at the other man who had his arms crossed. He was comfortably leaning against the wall waiting for you to answer. "I had to get out."

"You were...in pretty bad shape when I found you out on the trails. Are you infected?" The other man spoke up.

Tommy jolted up and stormed over to the mystery man. "You didn't even check to see if she was infected? What the hell is wrong with you, Joel!"

"I didn't see any bites when I picked her up..."

"I'm not. I was only passed out because I hadn't eaten in a few days..." Your stomach chimed in at the perfect time and both men looked over at you, relaxing a bit.

Joel sighed and uncrossed his arms. "You can eat when we figure out if you're going to be a problem or not." A problem? You guys are the ones that tied me up! You thought. "I don't mean to be any trouble. You can untie me, and I'll be on my way."

"Not with injuries like that," Joel gestured to your several cuts and stab wounds, "how'd you get those anyway?"

"I had to fight like hell out of my hometown. I don't feel like reliving it just yet." Your voice trailed off, feeling a bit faint once again from lack of food. The bearded man nodded slowly and unbound your wrists. Joel helped you up and your legs couldn't help but shake and wobble. "Woah, easy." He said softly and wrapped his strong arm around you to help you up.

"Hey, don't go passing out on me again." Calloused fingers tilted your chin up and you opened your eyes. You looked around at your new surroundings. A bar? Where the hell did Joel take you? "Food as promised." He passed a bowl of food over in your direction. You two were sat in one of the few booths while soft rock played on one of the speakers. It has been a long time since you had electricity. The smell of hearty stew filled your nose and your stomach growled once again. Before you could even think, you were stuffing your face. "Okay slow down or else you're going to choke." The man chuckled in front of you. "Now why don't you go ahead and tell me your name?"

You swallowed before speaking up to introduce yourself. "That's a nice name you got. As you probably already know by now, I'm Joel, and the other guy is my brother. 'S name's Tommy...sorry he gave you such a hard time."

"It's fine...I guess. This place is pretty nice...at least from what I've seen in the two minutes I have been conscious."

"Yeah, sometimes Jackson has its moments. Better than a QZ."

"I wouldn't know. I just stayed on my family farm this whole time. I've heard some stories about life in a QZ, though."

"Family farm, huh? Sounds like you're one of the lucky ones." Joel cracked half a smile, thinking about what it would be like to live by himself on a patch of land.

"Yeah. Guess you could say that..."

"Y'know...we actually do need someone to join our patrol team. Do you have any experience with that?"

"I mostly just fixed fences and made sure our livestock was taken care of. Since we were so far away from the city, I never had to take down any of those creeps at the time if that's what you're wondering...but I can handle myself."

That part was clear. You can't travel over a thousand miles on foot without being able to take care of yourself. "You could stay here for a night and rest up. We can see how you do on one of our routes in the morning. What do you say?"

"Yes! Just as long as you don't tie me up again." A dry laugh escaped your lips before you continued to devour your food.

The next day you woke up bright and early in a studio apartment that Joel and Tommy had near their place. It was nice to actually sleep on a bed for once. After you got ready for the day you heard a knock at the door. An impatient auburn-haired woman stood in front of you, her arms crossed. "Uh, hey. I'm Ellie. Tommy told me I needed to show you the ropes. Whatever that means."

You nodded. "Okay. I'll just go grab my bag." You shifted around your things and stuffed your backpack with a few necessities you might need like your trusty bow and some arrows, along with your daggers and emergency pistol.

Ellie stood by a horse that you can only assume is hers, arms still crossed. You couldn't tell if she was cold or if she was just pissed off. "Got everything?" You nodded, watching her as she effortlessly got on the horse. "The stables are empty so...we're gonna have to share." She said awkwardly. "Oh..." You breathed out and attempted to climb on.

"Here, let me help." She extended out her hand and you reluctantly accepted it. All of this was so embarrassing. You have been on horses before and even grew up with them, but your injuries made it difficult to get on your own this time. Once you managed to get up Ellie signaled for the horse to take off. The jolt of movement caused you to instinctively grab onto her waist so you wouldn't fall off the damn thing.

Ellie couldn't help but feel a little smug about this situation, I mean, she had a pretty girl holding on to her for dear life. "So, I'm guessing that you never ride?" She called out to you.

"I ride a lot of things." You joked to ease how awkward this whole experience is, hearing a snort from Ellie. "Awful joke, new girl."

The scenery of this trail was absolutely beautiful, the lively green foliage was everywhere in this forest. It was well maintained—probably because of Ellie. "Wow..." You said in almost a whisper.

"What?" Ellie glanced around to make sure there was no danger.

"It's so...green."

"You don't have plants where you're from? They're everywhere. Literally."

"California is rarely this green. It's called the Golden State for a reason..." Mentioning the state where you're from sent you into a fight or flight state. The trauma you experienced was triggered just by thinking about your hometown.

"Mom? Are you okay?" Your mother was still...a little too still. She was standing over the dead body of your father. Her head turned to meet your eyes at the sound of your voice, her skin paler than usual and her mouth covered in blood. She was infected. Before you knew it, she was sprinting at you and thankfully your adrenaline kicked in.

She chased you out of the house and into the barn where you kept your livestock. The cows mooing at the sight of your uncharacteristically feral mother. She tried to hop the gates to get to the animals and you quickly grabbed the rake resting on the barn door, impaling her with it, the rake going through her neck with ease and the sound of her blood gurgling would be seared into your brain forever.

"Hey, you with me new girl?" Ellie's raspy voice broke you out of your flashback, your arms practically shaking around her torso. "Y-yeah...just...a bad memory."

"Do you...want to talk about it?" She suggested, not knowing if you would actually take her up on the offer or not. After all, you two had just met. "No. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. I totally get it." All of the stories Ellie kept secret would surprise you.

"Alright, this is far enough." She signaled for the horse to stop and helped you down off the saddle. "Stay here, Shimmer. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." You couldn't help but crack a slight smile at how Ellie communicates with her horse. The sight of her chiseled hand stroking Shimmer sent a shiver down your spine. God, how long has it been since you saw another mentally coherent hot person? Get it together.

She stepped away from the horse and ducked down behind some bushes, her rough hand grabbing your wrist and gently dragging you down to meet her level. "Hunters." She gestured towards the two men walking mindlessly along the trail. "Let's see what you can do."

You quietly take out the bow that you had packed earlier and a few arrows from your backpack. Your eyes fixated on the stalky blond man following a slightly shorter man, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When the man in front of him bent down to tie his boots you took a deep breath to steady your hands and your mind. This is it. You released the arrow from your fingertips at the same time you released the air from your lungs. The arrow glided through the air before taking out the unknown man with a headshot. The sound of his body thudding to the ground sent the other man into a scared frenzy. "Where are you?! Come out here you coward!"

"Nice shot. Now him." Ellie watched you in awe as you loaded up another arrow, the first arrow hitting the hunter in the stomach and the second in the throat. "How's that?" You said quietly in case there were more enemies around. "Good. Really good actually." Her words made your cheeks flush. You were always a fan of words of affirmation and encouragement. "Looks like the coast is clear. Let's get back to the others."

After everyone got back from their routes, you all decided to blow off some steam at the bar you were at just the night before. The charming place was lit up by fairy lights and candles to create ambient romantic lighting. It looked so beautiful. "Everyone, we finally have a competent person joining our patrols! Jesse, please don't sleep with her. Please. I beg." Ellie said to the tall dark-haired man with her hands held together like she was praying. "You know I can't make promises that I might not keep," Jesse said slyly before extending his hand for you to shake. You shook his hand politely and introduced yourself to everyone else.

An hour later you were slowly sipping at your whisky and started people watching. The last twenty-four hours had worn you out and it was nice to see so many people living...normally—or at least what would be considered normal now. Ellie was dancing with Dina, and you couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous at the sight of her cheeks getting flushed from having Dina's arms around her neck.

"Another drink?" Jesse chimed in, snapping you out of your jealous thoughts. "Trying to get me drunk?" You smirked at him before taking the drink from his hand.

"You caught me. That was my intention all along." He joked as he took a seat next to you at the bar. "So...wanna gossip? I know some pretty juicy stuff about almost everyone here." The offer did sound pretty tempting...

"Sure, I'll bite. What's going on with those two?" You gestured over towards Ellie and Dina. Jesse let out a prolonged sigh at the sight of the two of them. "Those two...a little bit of a will they won't they thing they have going on. I mean, I guess Ellie could use a win since she broke up with her last girlfriend." Girlfriend. That's promising at least.

"Do you know what happened between them?"

"No. Ellie is a closed book most of the time. You only know what she wants you to know." You nodded at his words and took another sip of your drink. The alcohol creates a warm pool in your stomach. "Dina on the other hand, we are kinda in an on-again-off-again relationship..."

"And right now you're...off?"

"Yeah..." Jesse looked at the floor to keep his eyes off the two of them. It was hard, he was friends with Ellie and his ex-girlfriend had an obvious crush on her.

"I feel like we're going to need another round of these." You say after taking one last sip from the clean glass and handing it to him. Jesse chuckled and went back to the bar to get more booze. If you were going to do what you had planned to do tonight, you needed more liquid courage to get over these nerves. It had been a long time since you had any affection and it seemed like Jesse would be able to give it to you. At least for the night.

So you went back to his place.

AHHHH omg there i finally posted something y’all. please let me know what you think!

dividers by cafekitsune <333

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams 18+#ellie ᖭི༏ᖫྀ #ellie williams #f x f #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n

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delurkr · 6 months ago

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The Canadian Clarke AU - The Draft Lottery and the Move to Canada

This post concerns events that took place in 1970, 1971, and early 1972. Skip the first heading if you don't want an explanation of the relevant real-world info:

Background:

The Vietnam War had technically been going on for most of Dennis's life and it escalated in the 1960s, as did many Americans' resistance to the draft. From 1969 through 1972 the U.S. was drafting young men into the military through a lottery system. The function of the lottery was to assign a random number, ranging from 1 to 365 (or 366), to every day of the year, namely to every possible birthday. Each year, the numbers were drawn in an event publicized through every media outlet. The assigned numbers determined the order of who would be drafted in the following year: the first number called was 1, and the numbers increased until the cutoff the next year (December 31 unless otherwise extended), and then the next lottery would be drawn if needed.

To be clear, if you were a young man in the correct age bracket targeted by a given year's lottery, the random number assigned to your birthday told you how likely you were to be drafted the next year. The draft calls started with 1 and worked their way up throughout the year. The first Vietnam-era lottery, held in 1969, called men during 1970, and at the end of 1970 the highest number called turned out to be 195. That number sort of set the standard for individuals concerned about being drafted in future lotteries, although the numbers in following years never reached that high again.

So that was me trying to explain the relevant parts as clearly as I could, but here is the U.S. government webpage on the topic, with charts of the numbers assigned to every birthday in each year's lottery: Vietnam Lotteries | Selective Service System : Selective Service System (sss.gov)

The effect on Dennis:

Dennis was born on April 29, 1951. The draft lottery held on July 1, 1970, targeted men born in 1951. The number randomly assigned to his birthday was 111 out of 365. In 1971, number 111 was drafted, the highest number called being 125.

My best guess is that Dennis would have received a notice of induction into the military towards the end of 1971. Obviously there's no reason to assume he is a military member in canon, but at the same time there's no other canon-supported reason to believe that he would have grounds to be excused from the draft in real life, so that's why this AU exists.

Story:

In 1970, the Clarkes of course know that there is a chance that 19-year-old Dennis could be drafted next year. On the first day of July, the family watches and listens to the lottery broadcast as the numbers are called. Dennis is assigned number 111. It is not high enough to keep them from worrying. It's only halfway through 1970, and the previous lottery is still underway; no one yet knows how high "high enough" is, but the numbers climb as the year goes on, and when the previous lottery expires after reaching 195, they can reasonably fear that Dennis's number will be snatched up before the end of the year 1971.

Cue the Clarkes spending a year and a half in anxiety that Dennis will be forced into the military at age 20. He will perhaps be sent to the war in Vietnam and potentially never make it back home, like thousands of soldiers already - perhaps even a few they used to know. They stew over it, but for the sake of Megan in particular they rarely speak of it out in the open. The issue is merely added to the pile of mounting pressure created from the failing factory and, once October comes, Megan's increasingly disturbed behavior and whatever else.

(Note that these details are still open to adjustment, I'm always learning new info.) Early in 1971, Dennis has a pre-induction physical examination, which basically works as a head start to establish that he's eligible to be drafted when/if his number comes up. Bad news for him: he passes, and the military officially classifies him as 1-A, fit for military service if he gets called.

Then there's a point soon after when Anne puts together a letter to the draft board inquiring about the possibility of him getting conscientious objector status, but James makes sure it is never sent. It's not a completely unreasonable fear that the letter would only bring attention to Dennis and potentially get him a draft order sooner or even prevent him from getting completely overlooked if there was any tiny chance of that happening.

In November, Dennis receives an order of induction in the mail. He is given a certain date on which he is required to report and be sworn into the military and then be shipped off to basic training immediately, a date that's probably only a month or less away. It seems Dennis doesn't have a choice, except - there is always a choice, if the nation's many thousands of war resistors, including the ones fleeing to countries out of reach of the U.S. government, have proven anything.

James knows what he wants. It's no secret that he has always hated this war and its politics; he has two young sons, his sons, and they aren't going off to die in Nixon's war on his watch (no he doesn't care that President Nixon didn't start the conflict). In line with his usual m.o. of outwardly ignoring problems and hoping they go away, James insists that they ignore the draft notice, end of story. Maybe the draft board won't follow up on it. If they do, well, he'll take care of it then.

For Anne, it's more complicated. If your country calls, it's a duty to answer, and on a practical level Dennis does not have any other legal options. Of course she doesn't want to see him in a war, and if they had acted earlier he might have had a chance to join the reserves or something, but it's too late for that now, so why prolong the inevitable? The best thing now is to prepare for the worst and hope for the best like everyone did in the wars of her generation and every generation before.

Dennis himself is mostly unsure about what he should do; all over the country there's all sorts of clashing opinions to reckon with and the war is still very confusing, even though lately he couldn't help but tune in to more of the discussions, knowing that it was likely only a matter of time before it all affected him. But one sure thing is that the negative publicity and extensive media coverage of this war leaves no room for heroic fantasies, and it would be nice to not end up numbered in one of the daily casualty reports on the nightly news. So if dad says he doesn't have to go, then... he doesn't want to go. And then, too soon for any of them, the date passes when he was supposed to report, and he didn't go.

So on January 16, 1972, the family is in limbo. They don't know what's going to happen next, and they can't really ask around to find out. Dennis is breaking the law, and if the wrong person finds out he's knowingly ignoring an induction order, they might inform the authorities and who knows what would happen then. The one thing they all know is that Dennis's days with the family are numbered - realistically, it's only a matter of time before the draft board doubles down on the matter. The only options the Clarkes see are for Dennis to join the military, or pack his bags and sneak out of the country.

At the start of February, they are driven to action. It's a Wednesday when Dennis gets a second notice from the draft board with a new induction date; it serves as another chance in case he missed the first order, but it's also a warning if he's been intentionally defying it.

So the Clarkes don't push their luck any further. Dennis has already made his decision to leave the country if it came to that. There's a quick few days of hurried packing and realizing they are thoroughly under-researched and unprepared for what his move to Canada may entail, but that Sunday Dennis's luggage and most of the Clarkes are piled into the family station wagon on the multi-hour trip to Montreal, Quebec. (Only Tanya opted out of the trip, and Dennis will spend the next few years being bitter about that.)

The tension in that car gets stronger and stronger as they approach the border. They've heard tell of so many other draft dodgers escaping to Canada, but were those Americans privy to some insight the Clarkes don't have? They don't know if they will be refused entry if they pick the wrong point of crossing, and they can't even be sure there isn't a chance that Dennis could be arrested on the spot if they give the wrong answers to the wrong questions.

But the crossing is unexpectedly smooth after all. They're visitors, they tell the border official, and they make a quick and quiet entry into Canada.

There isn't much for the Clarkes to do when they reach Montreal. It's a big city, and somewhere there's folks who help people like Dennis, but James and Anne hardly know more than Dennis himself does. "Find the Americans" is the best advice they can give. They have to leave in a few hours; tomorrow is a workday. They find a cheap room for Dennis to stay in and give him some cash, and they promise to help him with the immigration process when the time comes. They can mail him whatever papers he needs. They can mail him any of his possessions if he left something important back home. They can mail letters, and he can write back.

"Call us in the morning," they tell him, and several hours later the Clarkes are down one member on the return trip to Little Hope, while Dennis is left by himself in a hotel room in Montreal with some very dim-looking prospects and no idea what to do next.

Aaaand that's the start of the AU. Congratulate yourself if you read this far, and here's the timeline for good measure 🙂

#too many words lol but there is way more that has to be explained #i'll cover his first few years in canada in other posts eventually #canadian clarke au #little hope au #dennis clarke #the clarke family #the dark pictures anthology #little hope

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demigod-of-the-agni · 3 months ago

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NOTE: this is an old draft that does not reflect my current ideas but I liked the thoughts behind it so I'm posting it anyway. You can find my new updated thoughts here.

If Pavitr had to have a job/role from the FFXIV universe, he'd be a dark knight.

Like yes he's going to be a part of the emo edgelord gang and wield a big, grim-looking sword. He's going to be dressed in black, pointy armour and everything, be all moody and foreboding and lonely and covered in blood and absolutely livid and drenched in gore and viscera and the miasma of suffering. He's dressed in the skin of a killer.

Agni, that doesn't sound like it'd fit Pavitr. He's a kind guy so he'd probably be a healer!! He's cracking jokes!! He's so friendly!! He's lovely and he gets along with everyone!! Why would he be a dark knight?

In the context of what ATSV has built up regarding the Spider Society/mentors, as well as drawing upon how Indian culture approaches mental health, I genuinely think the dark knight job matches Pavitr to a tee. Lemme break it down for you [break dances].

SPOILERS for the DARK KNIGHT QUESTS.

The dark knight job is... if "with great power, there must also come great responsibility" delighted to get its hands bloody. It's a tank job, meaning at its very core its about protecting the party no matter the costs, and "no matter the costs" is pretty big for the dark knight specifically, because it means you have to dig deep for the darkness that lies within every heart and soul.

And like all Spider-Men, Pavitr is riddled with darkness — drowning in guilt, his regrets (losing Bhim Uncle, a father figure, a mentor), and after what went down in ATSV, with the collider and Mumbattan falling apart? Suddenly there's a lot of fear thrown into the mix, if whether he'll be able to do his job of protecting. If he's even good at it; after all, he was too busy having fun and being carefree to handle the Spot. He was called in as backup, he was called in to provide support, he was called in to help others but he failed.

He is the blade of virtue and righteousness. He is to sever the threads of evil, to cut wrongdoers down before they even have a chance to strike.

And one night, there's a little blood on his hands. Just a little, not enough to soak his entire fist, but it's enough to stain the ground an ugly red.

And at first Pavitr is horrified — Spider-Man was never supposed to go this far. He was not supposed to kill. Spider-Man never kills. (But he's the blade of virtue and righteousness. Blades are very good at killing.)

Conflicting emotions keep him from really finding help — Spider Society, and its twisted perception of mentors? Miguel's strict code and Peter B.'s nonchalance don't make good foundations for seeking help. And while Jessica is by far the most suitable adult there to actually provide support, Pavitr never gives her the chance, because Indian boys don't have problems. Their issues are theirs to handle on their own, because they're men, they're independent, and any showcase of vulnerability is a sign of weakness. It means you are crippled and you are worthless and you are undeserving of others.

And so Pavitr is left to stew in his own madness. He doesn't divulge any of his miseries, his sorrows, his fears, he doesn't say anything to the bruises on his fists or the metallic pang of steel that follows him everywhere. He hides it with a smile, of course, because Indian boys look nicer when they smile, are pleasant and approachable and are a sign that they have been raised right. Pavitr's a nice boy, the aunties say amongst themselves. He'll grow up a right young man and help the world in many ways.

But with every outing as a hero, Pavitr comes back feeling like a fraud. He's a murderer, an unanchored soul who can't keep up with his body, a dulled blade who gifts suffering instead of a quick demise. It's also then, when he's balancing on the knife's edge of darkness, that he finds the dead knight in the shadows of Mumbattan's abandoned foundational infrastructure.

Pavitr has been finding many dead folk recently — which is no surprise, death follows him wherever he goes — but he's surprised to see the knight come back to life, 'claiming his mortal wounds were nothing but a scratch. And the knight, oh, he knows Pavitr is hurting, is aching, is drenched in so much blood that he doesn't even know what to do with himself. And he offers his aid — one bloodied soul to another. I'll help you tame that darkness, the knight promises, I'll offer my blade so that you may become my pupil, a true blade of virtue and righteousness.

Pavitr can't say no to that.

#the biggest twist is that it isnt darkness that powers the dark knight. it's love. and you are right. pavitr is full of love #he's just misguided in a time where he desperately needs help. help that society isnt willing (or hesitating) to give to him #marvel should hire me. i will right the wrongs everyone (INCLUDING marvel) has committed upon him #please please please just THINK about what you're doing with this guy okay. thinking goes a long away #spider man india #ffxiv #agnirambles #pavitr prabhakar

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silent-sanctum · 2 years ago

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✧ Polaris ✧ - Jotaro x Reader

PART 6: TAUNTING

— The previous parts of the fic can be found in the pinned post of my profile. Hope you enjoy! —

So... I remembered I had this in my drafts so might as well be posting it now. This is shorter than the other parts because i think the next part will be... quite the kicker. So for now, enjoy this bit ^^

word count: 4.4k+

“Are you alright, princess? You’ve been traveling a lot recently and I think your body isn’t capable of the stress of it all."

You clenched your fists on your lap, your focus pinned on the untouched glass noodles and stew in front of you. “How many times do I have to say it—I’m fine.”

This was the 3rd time this happened and for once, the cold interior of the old manor wasn’t what greeted you. Instead, you were situated by a long lavish table in the middle of the garden, with meals and side dishes presented atop and your obsessive mother sitting at the other end across from you.

The woman narrowed her ruby eyes and trilled, setting down her cup. “You don’t have to lie to mommy. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your mental strain these past few days with that ragtag group you’re in—the same group you shouldn’t have gone with and instead continued your studies.”

“I can’t focus in school because I’m riddled with these stupid nightmares about what ‘you’ve’ done to me—”

You flinched as her clawed hands slammed the tabletop, clattering all the nearby utensils and kitchenware before her. “It’s because you never listen, you stubborn brat!” The Stand blinked and reeled herself in, breathing to regain composure. “And because you never listen, this whole nightmare ordeal happened. You brought this onto yourself… not me.”

“Why the hell would I listen to you?!” You exclaimed despite being aware that she never heeded your words. “To keep me safe bullshit you say every damn time?!”

“Precisely.” You gritted your teeth and stood, palms slamming on the table in frustration. You wanted to shout back how she made any sense, only for a yelp to come out instead when her cold fingers grasped your wrist. “You’re only putting yourself in danger, princess. Don’t you see your stranger friend lingering around wherever you go?”

You sucked in a harsh breath. Fresh images of the roaming figure following you flashed scene by scene. Your mother cooed and glided her hands up your arms and held your shoulders. “He escaped dear, and he’s out to get the job done.”

“After finishing off your dear brother, I believe you’re next.” You turned to her with a violent rebuttal in mind, though looking at her gleaming eyes fixed behind you, curiosity made you follow her gaze… and you stilled.

There he was-- The slouching man with the blond streak and jagged scar, calmly walking out of the shadows of the manor with a knife in his hand and a grin on his face.

“W-What’s he doing here?” You attempted to get up without breaking eye contact with the figure, but you were unable to do so when the Stand’s hands held you down with ease. “He’s here… H-He’s here-- Let go! Let me go!”

In a silent plea, Silent Sanctuary manifested and whipped your mother’s wrists, trying to get her grip to loosen. You glanced to see if it worked. Bright red lines where the fabrics met their mark glowed on her black arms, and yet their owner remained unfazed, still focusing on the approaching man as if nothing happened.

‘Why—’

“You stay here. I’ll try convincing him to leave us be.” It was only when she uttered those words did her hands release your shoulders. A complete 180 turn of personality as if she hadn’t noticed him mere seconds ago. With a confident pose, your mother left your side and walked to the armed figure. “How rude.”

Your hands trembled and your breaths turned ragged and short. Why were you shaking? You hated her all your life and wanted to rid of her existence, but why did you feel conflicted?

Vague details of the past flashed as an answer. You with your arms shielding your head as an unknown person breaks into your room. Your cries echo in your ears when someone grabbed your arm to run. You kneeled on the floor utterly devastated at the sight of 2 bodies laying on the floor, red pooling beneath them. The murderer standing nearby with a sadistic grin and a knife now coated with blood.

A man. And a woman.

The last words you heard were from the latter in a croaked voice. “Help. Me.”

You shook your head, fists clenching. ‘Stop this. Stop. Stop! Stop!”

Sanctuary’s fabrics reached out at rapid speeds to—protect your mother? Or stop the murderer’s arm from plunging its knife into its target?

‘Both. I can do both.’ Fabrics wrapped themselves around the man’s right wrist and waist. In a second, they squeezed hard in hopes it would—

“Ow! What-- Hey Y/N, wake up! Wake up!”

You gasped, bolting upwards to immediately assess your surroundings. A simple, humble room came into sight and you were resting on one of two beds in the living quarters. Beside you, a familiar red-haired student stood by with a concerned look. “K-Kakyoin?”

He nodded with a smile, though strained. “It’s me indeed, and I’d like for your Stand to release her hold around me please.”

“What do you—” You trailed off and cupped your mouth when you realized what he meant. Silent Sanctuary’s cloth found themselves binding your friend’s right wrist and waist, enclosing them in a tight hold.

“Oh god, I’m sorry!” Sanctuary unraveled herself off of the student in an instant and disappeared into you with an apologetic bow of her head. “I’m really sorry Kakyoin!”

Despite being concerned over the faint mark appearing around his wrist, he waved it off with a smile albeit with a hint of nervousness. “It’s fine; don’t worry about it too much.”

And even with your friend’s apology, you ducked your head in shame, biting your lip as your fingers fidgeted with the sheets. I didn’t even control Sanctuary to do that. Sure, I dreamt of it doing so, but why did it reflect in real life? You sucked a breath. Fuck, if she keeps coming back in my head, I’ll be a huge threat to the guys.

“Guess it was one hell of a nightmare for you to be disturbed by this much,” Kakyoin said, returning to his chair and book.

You huffed, brushing your hair up. “You tell me.” It occurred to you how it was only you and the cherry-haired student in the room. You could say Mr. Joestar split the team into pairs again for booking purposes, but when you think about the time, it was relatively still early. “Wait, where—”

“Mr. Joestar went to the doctor real quick due to an abnormal growth on his arm, Polnareff went out with that woman most likely to know her better, and as for Avdol and Jotaro... well they went out to find the 2 because they’re taking longer than expected.”

“Why are you here then?”

“To watch over you of course.” He smiled. “You were still sleeping when we arrived and Jotaro must have noticed you were too tired lately, so he brought it up, got his grandpa to book a room, and carried you here to rest for a bit while he went out to look for the others.”

You rose a hand to cover your warming cheeks and shy smile at the image of your unconscious self in the arms of the delinquent… the image of him lowering you onto the bed with careful movements to not wake you…

You shook your head and patted your cheeks. Knowing his demeanor, he probably carried you over his shoulder and flopped you on the bed, which you should have noticed if it weren’t for the vivid nightmare plaguing you at the time.

Kakyoin wanted to say something but opted not to, though with the knowing smile etched on his face, it wasn’t anything too serious. You pouted. “Like a rice sack?”

“Excuse me?”

“Was I like a sack of rice on the way here?” That came out more poetic than you thought, but it was either that or blurt something a giddy middle-schooler would ask.

“The opposite actually,” he said, raising both his arms with elbows folded to face him, mimicking—“I believe the term for this is bridal carry because that’s how you got here.” You held your face in your hands, cheeks heating up faster. “Don’t act flustered now when you had the idea of leaning your head on his shoulder.”

“I did what?!”

“It is true. You did what you did Y/N-san and you got him to do the same—”

“Oh my god stop!” With one hand still covering your face, you frantically waved the other at him. “Ahh Avdol could’ve been a more peaceful person to wake up to. Who knew you could also be a bit of a menace?”

Kakyoin shrugged. “I’m just telling the truth.”

“Come to think of it,” you blurted out. “Why are you here? Avdol seemed a more likely candidate of staying behind while someone of the same age would accompany Jotaro around.”

“Well, I’m a bit tired as well from the fight Pol and I’ve been through. Besides,” Kakyoin looked at you, almost grateful. “It’s nice to maintain an insightful conversation with a friend of mine.”

You cocked your head, head on your palm. “I’d take your gratitude and assume you don’t have a lot of friends aside from us huh?” You weren’t one to open up topics like that, but you knew he was aware of it and could handle it.

“Sadly.”

“Why though? You’re a gentleman to everyone, analytical, and based on our recent conversation, know how to humor a gal.”

The student sighed, rubbing his nape. “I don’t know… part of it is likely because I feel uncomfortable making friends and opening up to them. I always saw everyday socialization as superficial and if it’s like that, then how could anyone understand someone on a deeper level.”

“But you’re opening up to me.” Kakyoin paused, looking at your patient smile. “You volunteered to join us and so far, you didn’t have any problem in opening up to them either.”

“It’s because—”

“We have Stands just as you have Hierophant?” You huffed. “Trust me. I know that feeling… more so when I was younger-- To crave a meaningful relationship and for someone to understand what you’re going through beneath the surface.”

Although hazy, you thought back to whatever memory you had back then, trying to recall the few people who achieved that status in your life. “But hey, you and I have made it this far even though we met on bad terms.”

Kakyoin chuckled. “Crazy how that works.”

“Hey tell you what,” you said. “How about I treat you with some dessert if we come across any? Any flavors you prefer?”

“How about cherry? Or maybe strawberry as an alternative?”

You snapped your fingers, pointing at him. “You got it.” You adjusted yourself to the edge of the bed to get up, but by leaning against the mattress, you winced at the sudden throbbing pain radiating from your arms.

The cherry-haired student rushed over in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“The hell?” You averted your gaze to your limbs and gaped at the sight of several tears in your sleeves, exposing the purplish bruises on the skin underneath, appearing as if it was caused by a whip. “Where did I…” And then it clicked.

You had used Silent Sanctuary to whip your mother’s Stand to get her grip off of you. Right on her arms, the same areas where your bruises are located. Your breath quivered, hands shaking. What the fuck. What the fuck. This can’t be—

“H-Hey take a couple of breaths.” Kakyoin hurried to crouch before you to examine the injured areas. “They’re just bruises. You might have gotten them during an earlier Stand battle.”

But Sanctuary shouldn’t be allowing me to get injured. Why… “I’ll go get the first aid kid. I believe it’s in the bathroom. I’ll be quick.”

You didn’t notice him leave the room as a new turmoil started to grow in your head, slowly starting to creep its way deeper into your heart. I have to keep myself in check. Should I… distance myself from them so I won’t hurt them? I should warn them. But as that idea came to mind, you bit your nails in sudden anxiety. But what would they think? I’m sure they won’t kill me. They’re not that cruel… Jotaro couldn’t be that cruel.

You patted your cheeks and shook your head. No, stop overthinking. I can handle this. I’ll just have to adapt.

“Alright. Time to get that bandaged before any of the others notice.” The cherry-haired returned with a distinguishable white first-aid kit in hand.

You could only put out a genuine smile, half as thanks for helping you and as the foolproof mask hiding the hidden enemy Stand out to get you and your friends.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

When everyone thought the boat Stand was the last vehicle-based enemy they would encounter, a little surprise in the form of a raging monster car had their expectations wrong.

One second you were relaxing with the Crusaders and the next you had your hands gripping Jotaro’s uniform as a unison of screams erupted while your car had undergone numerous dangerous situations in minutes, such as barely evading a collision accident with a speeding truck and clinging for dear life as your car dangled off a cliff.

Then there was the chaos at a small business that sold sugarcane juice. You had volunteered to be the spokesperson of the group, chatting away with the store’s owner. All went well with the dialogue starting with genuine curiosity over his choice of product, to recommendations on how to improve, to a casual query of whether he’d seen a jacked-armed man passing by.

One word out his mouth and you heard the grandfather-grandson duo suggest violence against the goers of this place, followed by a series of grunts and tables toppling over. You had rushed over to the ongoing commotion and helped Kakyoin restrain every man in vicinity, binding both allies and strangers with Silent Sanctuary’s firm fabrics.

Only for the actual user to escape, leading to the next sequence of events of a car attempting murder. To the best of your capabilities, you aided the group as much as you could against the Wheel of Fortune.

Though you were optimistic that your group could best him, you had your moments of panic that might or might not have almost triggered you. One such moment featured the delinquent getting struck by pressurized gasoline droplets. The wide stretch of rose gold covering you and your friends didn’t allow the second and third rounds to spray.

The Stand revved and swerved to run over you, assumingly irritated at your defensive ability, only to find out and realize the whole ploy was to distract you while electric cables shot out the other side to ignite a gasoline-shot Jotaro on fire.

For a minute, you froze in disbelief and horror just as the rest were as the driver cackled at the sight. You turned to him with a crazed look in your eyes and you could have shot the fabrics toward the distracted enemy Stand user’s neck to bind and crush him from where he sat in that car.

Thank god your raven-haired friend burrowed out of the ground with a smug expression, delivering the final blows on the guy, finishing the battle with his one-liners.

Everyone had laughed at the exposed Stand user and as they did so, you turned to Jotaro with a narrowed gaze and pouty lips, wanting to slap him on the shoulder for worrying you for the umpteenth time.

But as you took one good look at his face, the smile he had watching his friends make fun of the defeated enemy, you sighed and changed your playful slap to a simple ‘boop’ of your forehead on his shoulder. He turned to you and you mouthed a short “stop making me worry asshole”.

He cocked a brow and huffed, his subtle smile still present when he mouthed a “no promises” back to you. You lightly shoved him to the side after that comment, the latter finding your playful antics more amusing than annoying.

With enough time spent with him, you were given some sort of privilege from that moment on as emphasized by you admiring and/or teasing his newly made black uniform the second he stepped out of the curtains:

“Ooh~ I must say Mr. Kujo, for someone who seems laidback outside your violent tendencies, you’re a pretty stylish person with the whole commitment thing to wearing your school jacket with the golden chain and all.”

Jotaro stood in front of the mirror, proving your point when he focused on straightening and adjusting the gakuran on him, even as the tailor spoke to him. Not listening to the other person in the room, he glanced at you through the glass and said, “It was this or continue with just my tank top.”

You placed your hand on your cheek, the other holding your elbow, and smirked. “Mmm, is it wrong for me to tell you that I wouldn’t mind ogling your strong, arm muscles 24/7 if it were the other case?”

The delinquent handed over his pay to the shop owner and let out one “good grief”, already heading towards the door with you walking by his side.

To this moment with the Crusaders on a mini road trip, stuck in a jeep Mr. Joestar rented beforehand, you continued to chat with the silent student regarding the specifics of his new uniform asking him if he found the replacement equal or better than old.

Accordingly, it had the same feel… Points for consistency.

“Hey guys,” Polnareff said from the driver’s seat, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Aren’t any of you bored? The radio died down at our last pit stop and I’m getting sleepy from all these rocks.”

“Hmm, I can see how this road trip’s starting to get tedious,” Avdol said in return. “Even Mr. Joestar has gotten so bored he took a nap.” An obnoxious snore came out of the mentioned old man, proving the Egyptian’s point.

With a metaphorical lightbulb flashing above your head, you spoke up with eagerness. “Oh! Does anyone know any party tricks?”

“Party tricks? That’s a good idea to pass the time.” Kakyoin patted your shoulder. “And while we’re on topic, who here wants to share first?”

You looked at everyone, curious about what they could have in store. Of course, being the one who suggested it in the first place, you had one of your own but you wanted others to go first.

Pol couldn’t do anything since his hands were busy driving. Mr. Joestar was dozing off. Avdol shook his head with an apologetic smile, indicating he didn’t know any. Jotaro simply returned your gaze with a cocked brow and you had a hunch he wanted to say something but chose not to.

The other student sighed and reached into his pockets. “Fine. I’ll go first.” He pulled out a single cherry, eating the fruit first and then holding the stem out for everyone to see. “Watch.” With everyone watching, Kakyoin plopped it into his mouth and moved it around.

Finished, he put out his tongue to reveal the stem tied in a knot. Majority of the passengers erupted in a resounding “woah” while you clapped your hands at the skill he had to pull that off. Kakyoin smirked and bowed his head.

“And as the first person who shared, I now pass the torch to Y/N.” You gaped at him for a second in faux shock, but let out one confident “ha”, reaching into the inside pocket of your blazer.

“Okay then.” You held your palms up, one with a coin in the middle. “I’m gonna do what people call a ‘teleporting coin’ trick.” With speed, you quickly twisted your hands down, simultaneously closing them. Your friends continued watching, so you opened them again with the coin now on the opposite hand.

Another round of awe swept through the vehicle. “Hold on…” You placed the coin on your fingers and rolled them through each digit in a wave-like motion. You flipped it over to the other hand and repeated the same motions.

The Crusaders applauded, entertained by the performance. “Damn. Didn’t know you two had impressive skills.” The Frenchman commented.

“Bah!” Out of nowhere, Mr. Joestar butted into the conversation, fully awake. “Not to show off or anything, but those are just baby levels of party tricks compared to what I did back in the day.”

“Well do you have anything to prove your point, Mr. Joestar?” Avdol countered, prompting the old man to puff his chest and search through the glove compartment, albeit with the flustered grumbling of incoherent words mixed with the shuffling of objects.

“Aha!” He pulled out a small circular item for everyone to see. “This here is a metal bottlecap!”

“We’re not blind old man,” Jotaro said as if his grandfather paid attention.

“Now let’s see erm…” He peered out of the jeep, scanning for something within sight. “You see that road sign there?” Mr. Joestar said, pointing at a bright yellow “slow down” sign from the distance. “I’m gonna shoot at that like your typical gunslinger!”

“Without hamon?” Avdol asked.

“Hamon’s not needed for a classic Joseph Joestar party trick.” He flexed his arm until his elbow pointed at the approaching sign, the cap held tight in-between his fingers. “Now… watch and learn.”

The jeep drove closer and closer until the yellow sign was within his desired range. With a grin, his arm twitched down and a glint of silver shot out of his hand and struck the “slow down” sign with a clear clang.

You beamed, clapping your hands and joining the impressed “woahs” of your friends. “That was amazing!”

Mr. Joestar chuckled, crossing his arms. “Of course. If any of you kiddos want, I can teach you a thing or two when we finish this adventure.” You caught him sneaking a glance at his reserved grandson, probably gauging the latter’s response to the offer. “But of course, fair is fair. I’ll only be sharing it with fellow party tricksters such as myself.”

You liked what he was going for and wanted to play along, knowing it was working when the delinquent’s finger started tapping on his crossed arms—a telltale sign of almost being persuaded. “I’d like to learn! Kakyoin, how about you?”

He smiled. “I’d be interested, not gonna lie.”

“Count me in too Mr. Joestar!” Polnareff whined, still focused on the road ahead. “I swear I got some tricks to show. I’ll show it to everyone once I park at our next location.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The old man gave the driver one big pat on the back.

You whirled to face Jotaro, wide-eyed and beaming with eagerness. “Come on, I know you want to join too~” He grumbled, ducking his head so his hat could cover his face. “Think about it, you can finish off some random bully with the old Joestar special and pair it with your cool one-liners.”

He cocked his head and you continued. “You’d be like the cool lead from those Western shoot-out movies! What do you say?”

“Y/N’s pretty convincing Jojo. Take the offer while it’s still on the table,” the other student said, also keen on playing along with the group’s mini-mission to convince the delinquent to join their shenanigans. “Or would you rather join Avdol in a meditative session?”

“It’ll only take 3 hours to complete,” Avdol supplied. Oh, he’s into the game too. Nice.

You remained fixated on the contemplating teenager, a coy smile plaguing your face as you watched your friend look at you while the other men waited for his response.

It took him a while until he groaned, reaching into his pant pocket. “What is with everyone trying to get me to do random shit in the middle of nowhere?”

“Oh my god, he’s doing it gentlemen,” you said with excitement, and with how the others were solely focusing on him, they were excited as well.

He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, sliding out one stick from the batch and pocketing the rest. “Oi Jotaro, you said you’d be doing a trick! Smoking is not—” You quickly raised a hand to stop the old man from talking without tearing your gaze away from the teenager.

With the stick now lit and resting between his teeth, Jotaro opened his mouth and skillfully maneuvered the cigarette to stand with his jaw. You and the others let out a quiet “woah”, only for that word of awe to grow louder once the delinquent let the cig tip back into his mouth.

Amazing. Did it hurt though? That’s a lit cigarette stick. Just when you thought it was over, he tapped your shoulder and gestured that he needed something to drink. You had one bottle of water underneath the seats and you reached for it to give to him. With the stick still in, he placed the bottle to his lips and drank the contents within.

While the boys cheered for him, you couldn’t help but grow a bit, just a tiny bit, anxious over the idea that he might choke on a non-edible item in the process of drinking. However, the anxiety was over once Jotaro finished taking his fill and removing the cigarette out of his mouth with the tip still lit.

“There. Happy?”

A brief silence… before everyone in the jeep burst out a loud, satisfactory cheer, entertained at the small performance presented. Even the bottlecap-slinging Mr. Joestar himself was in awe. You giggled at the slightly surprised look on the raven-haired’s face.

You tapped his shoulder and with his attention now on you, you flashed him one wide smile. “Very happy.” Pink bloomed quickly on his cheeks. Immediately, he looked away and tilted his hat over his face to cover it up as if you hadn’t noticed it.

Pol leaned away from Mr. Joestar and whispered out for only Jotaro (and you) to hear. “Hey Jojo, mind you teach me that cool little cigarette trick you just did? Need to earn some brownie points for the geezer.”

“You… You thought it was cool?”

“Yeah! Takes guts to tolerate a lit cig on your tongue, let alone letting it stay lit and taste the ash when drinking.”

In all earnest, your chest throbbed in pride when a smile grew on the delinquent’s face even if he had to display fuming cheeks to his friend. It was always nice when he made a genuine effort to connect with others. “So? Could you teach me?”

With that small smile intact, Jotaro answered with one simple word.

“Sure.”

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #polaris au

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andipxndy-writes · 1 year ago

Text

meet the writer: aj

(a.k.a. my writeblr intro, done properly)

heya!! i’ve had this blog for a while now, but i realised i haven’t ever actually done a proper intro on here, so here it is!! (also did i want the opportunity to make an aesthetic of myself??? absolutely. image made in canva and portrait on the left is from picrew, all other images were taken from unsplash)

my name is aj (she/her pronouns pls)!! i’m 26, black, and i live in the uk. i graduated from uni 3 years ago and currently work in lab admin, but i’ve been doing creative writing for 10+ years!! i’m currently trying to get back into reading by reading a book a month (i usually share the book i’m reading in the sidebar of my main blog, which i follow back with as this blog is a sideblog: @andipxndy), and i write a variety of fanfiction and original works (both based off my own characters and those i currently/have rp’d with in the past). i also take requests for fanfiction, which you can read about below the cut or in this post (i’ve made some changes which mean the post is not relevant atm)!! but in general i love being asked questions about my WIPs and my characters and basically any characters i write, because i love delving into character thoughts and doing character development (so please send me some!!).

this blog started off as a way for me to share my fanfiction writing, which is how i got into writing in the first place and how i came to love it, but now i’m wanting to expand some more share/talk about some of my original works too!! i write ya sci-fi in my original stuff, but i’m known to drift into romance, action-comedy and crime when it comes to fanfiction works. i’m also over on ao3 as andipxndy.

my main fanfic writing fandoms are abbott elementary and alex rider, just to keep things managable, but i also enjoy watching ncis, criminal minds and lockwood & co., and sometimes dive back into old favourite animes (k-on!! is my current anime obsession). i may be slow to write or respond to stuff but i DO enjoy diving into discussing fandom stuff too!! i also like playing video games like sims 4 (ea is a money grab pass it on) and cities skylines, and enjoy dnd and rping with friends!!

before this intro gets too long, here are my main WIPs:

power play (1st draft completed, left to stew)

the first original wip i planned, the story is intended to be part of a 5-book series about a 20-year-old who accidentally gives himself powers, and ends up drawn into the science underground whilst trying to save people that he may or may not have also accidentally given powers. and all whilst trying to appear completely normal to his mum and get a summer job whilst home from university.

the crossover (still working on 1st draft, is my main/november nano project)

this is an adaptation of an old rp au i had with one of my closest friends, adjusted to have new, original characters despite the same plotline. it follows a 17-year-old girl as she’s accidentally transported into a parallel universe, where her parents aren’t her parents and she doesn’t exist. in an attempt to get home, she ends up crossing paths with the people who are meant to be her family, and finds out that they’re all superheroes. insert drama and shenanigans here.

the rich life: a modern bourgeoise au (working on 1st draft, is my camp nano project)

a passion project that i’m completing for my rp partners, this au is split into a 3-book series following the lives of our characters in the upper class, those who work for them, and eventually their children, going through the drama of their lives and how they try so hard not to have it all end up in the press. that obviously doesn’t work.

fanfiction fics and requests (ongoing but this is technically a wip)

technically counts as a wip as i have a backlog of fics in progress to write and share for requesters (and some ideas i’ve had myself), but these are mainly either alex rider or abbott elementary fanfics that have been sent in via ask. you can see extra info below the cut after the next paragraph. my requests are currently closed, and i’m working through my backlog. the request(s) active for the forseeable future are:

will you be my maybe? - an abbott elementary fanfiction (gregory x janine - injury + fake dating)

anyway, this is all i’ve got for now!! i do take part in things like nanowrimo and camp nanowrimo, so if anyone takes part in those too i look forward to writing alongside you!! other than that, that’s about it!! i’ll be sharing snippets of my work, and maybe eventually you’ll even get aesthetics eventually!! i’ve you’ve read this far, i applaud you, but thank you so much for reading!! i’d love to get to know more writers on here, both inside and outside of fandom spaces, so please feel free to jump at me and send me asks and messages and stuff!!

~ aj xxx

(for more info on fanfiction stuff, read below the cut:)

i’ve been writing fanfiction for over 10 years, and as something so dear to my heart i can’t let it go - it’s helped me to develop my writing and character development skills!! i have, however, grown in the fandoms i write, so please see below for more info:

I WRITE FOR:

alex rider

abbot elementary (more specifically, gregory x janine. i ship only those two. with my whole heart.)

fics getting to know my original characters (oneshots)

(i realise that this is significantly cut down, but i have other projects in mind that require more of my time and can no longer spend as much time on requests!! for this, i apologise!!)

GENRES WRITTEN (not completely restricted):

family/friendship

romance

hurt/comfort

action/adventure

IMPORTANT TO NOTE:

MY REQUESTS ARE NOW CLOSED

all fanfics will be cross-posted to ao3

please give me up to a month to get fics written and posted - if not done within a month, feel free to message me about it [please DO NOT pester me about it] - i work and am also writing original things, so do not always have the time

i preferably write oneshots, though the occasional multi-chap will appear - a fic ends up longer, well, it happens 🤷🏾‍♀️

i am a rambler so you are almost always guaranteed a longer fic

please try not to give me word count limits or specifications on fics - they are discouraging

that being said, any writing requests/prompts fulfilled will most likely be 20k words or less (though they may be longer if the inspiration strikes, don’t hold me to it)

i do not write smut, or any nsfw other than possibly gore/torture/violence. this is a personal preference and i will not change my stance on it

if you have any triggers that you do not want included in the fic, please message me and inform me of this

i have a ko-fi! if you would like to tip/donate to me for any of my writings, check it out here

all fics may or may not include a level of humour/sarcasm - i’m not sorry for this

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr introduction #writing #writer #writers of tumblr #andipxndywrites #creative writing #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #ao3 writer #introduction

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undead-potatoes · 1 year ago

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So! Tell me about Aurora! Did they have a life before the Urge came calling? How has their journey been through the game? Are they romancing anybody or do they have any other significant bonds?

I hope you don't mind, but I decided to split this into two posts. You asked about her journey through the game, and suddenly I had written 1400 words that didn't fit with the rest. So uuh yeah, here's the first and the last question at least!

I'm still a little unsure about her life before the Urge. There's the few "canon" things we're given through bits of dialogue (like murdering their parents as a child), but I honestly don't tend to get too caught up in canon if I want to do something different.

She had a lot of nightmares as a child (thanks dad), and it made her a very skittish and nervous child. In combination with minor Urges which made her say and sometimes do off-putting shit, I imagine she wasn't exactly a social butterfly. Like once she probably bit someone when the Urge overtook her, but bc they were baby urges and she was like 6-years-old it didn't really do much but alienate her.

But I think she was otherwise a good kid, doing her best and loved by her adoptive parents, even if they probably worried about her a lot.

I kinda like the idea of her being slightly older, someone who briefly escaped her heritage due to Bhaal's death before he returned in full, and the Urge became too strong to ignore. To have the Urge hovering around in the background her entire life, but always being able to repress it, until she suddenly couldn't.

Idk there's just something to the tragedy of being so close to escaping your predestined fate, when in reality it was always going to end like that, on way or another. You never truly escaped anything, you simply just delayed the inevitable.

She could still have murdered her family, still living with her adoptive parents and possible siblings, or maybe she had her own family by then. Either way, Bhaal would have wanted them out of the way.

The Urge building and building, sending her flip-flopping between moments of bloodlust and lucidity filled with fear, until the Urge took her away completely.

(Would the Urge even work like that for any of this? Who cares, just gonna do as Larian does, my city now).

TL;DR: I don't even know, it's still stewing in there.

- - -

Though I've watched like every Durge related video on YouTube, I haven't actually played very far in Aurora's playthrough, mostly bc I'm waiting for Larian to stop breaking the game with every new patch 🙈

Meaning I haven't actually had a lot of time with her interacting with the companions and gotten a good feel for where they're at.

Wyll and Shadowheart are possible candidates for some at least surface level boding. Like Wyll's whole "self sacrifice for the good of others" thing, and with Shadowheart they both have been brainwashed and forced into cruelty in service of an evil god.

And Karlach bc I love her and I said so.

Maybe some more interesting dynamics will pop up once I really get in there with her 🤔 (Larian fix your shit already, I want to plaaay)

There's also Jay who's already wrangling every other companion and their problems, so I'm sure he'll have some fingers in her pies too eventually (it's what he does, after all).

The only solid relationship to have formed in my head as of yet is her romance, and bc I'm as original as a pair of earbuds from AliExpress, she eventually starts a thing with Astarion.

He initially sees her as an easy target, a shy and possibly meek person quite literally removed from the others at camp (a deliberate choice on her part), but it doesn't go quite as he had planned.

I've written a whole post about it that's hanging out in my drafts, but tl;dr: he tries to bite her, but she wakes and angrily sends him away. She later comes to him one night, panicked after the Murder At Camp™, and he (begrudgingly) agrees to help her with the body. This begins this weird partnership where they keep each other's secret, and she lets him drink from her as thanks for helping her.

Their relationship is a bit rocky at first, like they don't hate each other or anything, but there's a fair share of bickering and such. She can be a bit blunt, and is too impatient and exhausted from the urge to deal with his very obvious mind games, tiredly telling him "stop trying to seduce me, you already have what you came for".

When he offers to sleep with her at the party, she thinks "why not". They're already putting each other at risk, so might as well have some fun with it. He might have tried to bed her sooner if she hadn't been so blunt and unapproachable, but it did also give him some time to rethink his strategy. Based on finds with the freecam during his party sex scene, he has set up a lil spot on a blanket, with wine and maybe some food, in an attempt to seem more genuine, which admittedly she does find a little cute.

Ultimately it's all the bits in between, the quiet moments after feeding or sex that gives them an excuse to talk, and they realize they enjoy each other's company a lot more than they first thought. She vibes with him a lot more when he's being genuine, something she sees more of when he's fed and generally less guarded.

She've kept her distance from the others bc of the urge, in fear of either harming someone, or being discovered through the tadpoles somehow. It puts her on edge constantly, but Astarion already knows, and she knows he doesn't judge her for it, so she's more at ease too.

Aurora can become ride or die pretty fast, especially in combination with other intense personality traits (hello devotion), and I think maybe Astarion picks up on that and thinks he can use that to his advantage. At least until he too accidentally catches feelings and becomes pretty ride or die himself lmao. Great job idiot.

Which is also when her more self sacrificing nature goes from something that could be to his advantage, to something that actively upsets him. Stop it! Stop sacrificing yourself for others who probably don't even deserve it! Stop putting yourself in situations that could take you away from me for no good reason.

They're note super lovey-dovey either. Like sure there's romance and tenderness there, but there's also some clash of personalities ("stop being an asshole" "stop trying to be such a bloody hero"). Nothing too bad but there's definitively something for them to work on.

This became the Aurora and Astarion post, sorry about that (not really). I hope to have some better answers to these in the future, my brain is still cooking (unfortunately it's a slowcooker).

#Sunny Answers #mightymizora #ty for asking!#OC: Aurora Dawnbringer #BG3 Spoilers #BG3 Dark Urge Spoilers #this has been sitting p much finished in my drafts for 3 days I just forgot to publish it 🙈#anyways sorry this took me like a week to reply to my attention span is non-existent after covid (yaaay)#now I just gotta get the middle part finished and posted lmao #also to anyone who read all of this; your hand in marriage please

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reallypleasanttree · 1 year ago

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A short snippet for Spooky Season Inspired by this comic/Tweet/Tumblr post additions.

A knock on the door announces another unwelcome visitor. Serena drops the garlic she was cutting into the wood counter. Turning around, she notes the appearance of the man standing outside. He was dark brown hair with brown eyes. She really needed to get a sign that read “No Solicitors”, but most people ignored that kind of shit. She groans lightly and walks to the front door. She opens it and the man starts speaking.

“Hello, I am here to meet with the Witch of Dark Light,” He begins as he nervously glances behind her into her kitchen. “I was hoping to have a beauty potion. I want to get rid of the hook part of my nose- make it more button-like and make my eyes narrower.”

The black haired woman holds up her hand to him signaling for him to stop. “Sorry, Witch, I didn’t mean to get ahead of myself.” He looks down at the ground.

“I am not the Witch of Dark Light. I know my home looks like it would hold a witch, but it’s a style choice called gothic. It is supposed to look dark and mysterious with an air of whimsy. As much as I would love to be a witch, I am a human. The witch you are looking for is across the street,” Serena points towards the small cabin directly across from her place.

Her home was made out of the trunk of an old oak tree. The wood was darkened to a dark grey her front door was black. The two windows facing outside were covered in soot and cobwebs. She worked as a chef for the small restaurant at the center of town two miles down the road. She experimented with recipes, not potions.

“Also, if you want a beauty potion, you should know it does not last but three hours. If you mean to impress a woman or man with your looks you should learn to accept what you perceive as flaws.” She finished, staring blankly at him. His eyes were wide set, but he had a soft and friendly gaze. His nose was barely hooked. If he had not pointed it out she would have never noticed it.

The man shifted nervously on his feet and fiddled with his thumbs before muttering, “Thank you, ma’am.” He turns and heads directly to her neighbor’s house. She shuts the door behind him without saying goodbye. She needed to remind Devin to get a sign for his shop.

Her neighbor, Devin, was the Witch of Dark Light. He enjoyed the oxymoron and laughed every time a customer told him they thought Serena was the witch. Devin’s home was a stark contrast to her own. Where her tree trunk was grey, his cabin was a light chestnut color with flower boxes outside the crystal clear windows. The flowers changed season to season. Serena would help him start the seedlings and plant them into the ground. He was her best friend and worst enemy in a sense. He was the antithesis of who she was, but everything she wanted to be.

Serena’s parents had been witches, but they had a human daughter. Her siblings, Elliot and Sola, were witches as well. Her mother told her she had her own magic in cooking and taught Serena everything she knew to brew broth, stock, soup, and other delicacies. The magic of cooking brought the family closer together as a whole, it was how Serena expressed her adoration and love for her parents and siblings.

Elliot would often tease her that she did not need to practice the dark arts when she was able to make bread raise with yeast. When she was younger she tried to recreate the potions her father made or whispered spells her mom cast, but nothing ever happened. She was not able to make a sleeping draft or cause a gentle breeze, which were some of the first things you learned as a witch. She accepted her human status, but still caught herself wishing to be a magic user.

She returned to her garlic. Serena crushed it under her blade and added it to the pot over the fire. She was making a stew to share with Devin later tonight. They shared meals most nights if Devin did not have a customer over staying their welcome. Serena would enter his cabin and his customers would flee. Her appearance was unsettling to most. She had long black hair, white chemise under a black kirtle, and leather boots. Serena used a powder to lighten her face and black kohl to outline her dark, almost black eyes. It was an aesthetic that pleased her.

Another rap on her door made her irritated. She was used to getting five to ten people a day knocking on her door and having to redirect them to her neighbor, but this was the eleventh today in a span of three hours. Serena needed to make a sign.

She stirred the pot and hit the ladle on the side before placing it back on her countertop. She marched to the door and flung it open, not giving the person a chance to speak.

“I am in the middle of cooking right now and I cannot deal with any more interruptions,” Serena started. The maiden standing in front of her was wearing a soft blue gown, embellished with navy blue flowers over the bodice and sleeves. She was slender, but her face was heart shaped. Shoulder length reddish blonde hair was feathered out to the side. Her eyes were ice blue complementing the dress she wear.

“I actually came over here to find love,” The maiden began. Serena bristled, another fucking customer looking for a love potion. There was no such thing in existence.

“The witch is actually over there,” She sighed and pointed to Devin’s house again. “He does not do love potions because he believes in consent between two or more people. Not only that, but love potions don’t actually exist. The ‘love’ potions only make you more confident and maybe influence the way others perceive you.”

She gestured to the maiden in question. “You are quite beautiful as I am sure you know, so I don’t know what man would not like you.” The lady blushes before looking at Serena with her soft gaze.

“T-thank you,” Her voice was timid and sheepish. “I actually know he’s the witch. You see he’s my cousin and I am visiting for the week. I’m from End’s Land by the coast. He sent me over here because I-” She paused, briefly staring at her white slippers before looking back at Serena. Her face reddened.

“I heard a lot about you and I like you.” The maiden’s pitch rose. Serena opened her mouth trying to speak, but nothing came out. I like you, hung in her mind like a blaring sign. She felt her own face heat up, embarrassed.

“Sorry, I should just go back. This was stupid, I’m sorry,” The lady began to turn, holding onto her silk skirts. Serena reached out for her hand, stopping her.

“I -um, I’m not good with others. I’m sorry,” Serena heard herself say. “Not many people want to get to know me, so I had to process what you said.” The lady tightened her grip on Serena’s hand.

“Do you want to come in for some coffee or tea? Maybe water if you don’t like those,” Serena suggested.

“I’d love to,” The maiden smiled widely as Serena pulled her over the threshold of her front door. Behind the maiden, Serena noticed Devin with his wild golden hair and goofy smile. He was giving her two thumb’s up and raising his eyebrows suggestively. Serena hated him for being so obnoxious, but found herself smiling at the woman before her.

“My name is Geneviève by the way,” The maiden said as Serena shut the door behind them.

#himbo witch #goth girl #spooky season #cozy cottage #cozyvibes #witchcraft

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felicjana050896 · 3 years ago

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Jaime and Brienne- Best Marriage:

Some things here will be what I wrote, others not, now I am putting it all together in one post.

Writing a previous post about Mya and Edd allowed me to find something extra, and before that I wanted to put it all together in one post, along with a more detailed explanation of these quotes.

We'll start with Jaime being aroused the most by wench:

"He remembered the night as if it were yesterday. They spent it in an old inn on Eel Alley, well away from watchful eyes. Cersei had come to him dressed as a simple serving wench, which somehow excited him all the more. Jaime had never seen her more passionate. Every time he went to sleep, she woke him again. By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest." (ASOS, Jaime II)

I wonder if the fact that Cersei was so passionate back then is a reference that Brienne will always be passionate, because we have evidence that this is what it will be like:

,,The roof the boy was standing on turned out to be the cabin of the Shy Maid, an old ramshackle single-masted poleboat. She had a broad beam and a shallow draft, ideal for making her way up the smallest of streams and crabwalking over sandbars. A homely maid, thought Tyrion, but sometimes the ugliest ones are the hungriest once abed. The poleboats that plied the rivers of Dorne were often brightly painted and exquisitely carved, but not this maid. Her paintwork was a muddy greyish brown, mottled and flaking; her big curved tiller, plain and unadorned. She looks like dirt, he thought, but no doubt that’s the point." (ADWD, Tyrion III)

The Shy Maid is, of course, Brienne, The Maid of Thart.

The Shy Maid was ugly, broad and with mottled (freckles), but still agile, like Brienne, Jaime notes that while she is broad and huge, she is also very agile:

The beast turned clumsily, too far and too fast. Quick as a cat, Brienne changed direction.There’s the wench I remember. She leapt in to land a cut across the bear’s back. (AFFC, Jaime VI)

Then we have a statement about crabs, and crabs are a favorite delicacy of Paris, George's wife:

Devourer of Crabs

Never get between Parris and a crab, especially if it’s a blue crab from the Chesapeake Bay. She gets a manicial gleam in her eye, and begins to wield her little wooden mallet like Thor wields Mjolnir. Witness this shot of her at the 1983 worldcon in Baltimore, where the concom made the mistake of combining the Hugo Awards with a crab feast. I lost another Hugo that night, but Parris made up for it by devouring hundreds of crabs. (George RR Martin, https://georgerrmartin.com/about-george/life-and-times/parris/)

And Brienne also likes crabs and meets a lot of them on her way:

Elsewhere locals filled the benches, sopping up bowls of hot crab stew with chunks of bread.

(...)

"Gold?" The brother gave her a red smile. "A bowl of that crab stew would be enough reward for me, but I fear I cannot help you.

(...)

True to her word, Brienne bought him his bowl of hot crab stew . . . and some hot fresh bread and a cup of wine as well.

(...)

In the first village she came to, barefoot boys ran along beside her horse. She had donned her helm, stung by the giggles of the fisherfolk, so they took her for a man. One boy offered to sell her clams, one offered crabs, and one offered her his sister.

Brienne bought three crabs from the second boy. (AFFC, Brienne II)

With Septon Meribald afoot and his donkey bearing such a heavy load, the going was slow all that day. They did not take the main road west, the road that Brienne had once ridden with Ser Jaime when they came the other way to find Maidenpool sacked and full of corpses. Instead they struck off toward the northwest, following the shore of the Bay of Crabs on a crooked track so small that it did not appear on either of Ser Hyle's precious sheepskin maps. (AFFC, Brienne V)

Dog stuck his nose in one and yelped when a crab pinched it with his claw. A brief but furious struggle ensued before the dog came trotting back, wet and mud-spattered, with the crab between his jaws.

(...)

Their supper in the septry was as strange a meal as Brienne had ever eaten, though not at all unpleasant. The food was plain, but very good; there were loaves of crusty bread still warm from the ovens, crocks of fresh-churned butter, honey from the septry's hives, and a thick stew of crabs, mussels, and at least three different kinds of fish. (AFFC, Brienne VI)

And of course he meets Dick Crabb on his way.

Brienne was created on the model of Parris, love for crabs and freckles, who knows... maybe they have a similar character, but we will probably not find out.

After the crabs we have a mention of homely maid that such girls are the hungriest in bed, and therefore full of passion, just like Cersei was when she was dressed as a wench. Homely maid is of course also a reference to Brienne, which is what Jaime most often calls Brienne:

"Quiet," the wench grumbled, scowling. Scowls suited her broad homely face better than a smile.

(...)

"When I quarrel I do it with a sword, coz. I was speaking to the lady. Tell me, wench, are all the women on Tarth as homely as you?

(...)

Ser Robin and his thrice-damned archers would have a long wet walk back to Riverrun, and he was rid of the big homely wench as well. (ASOS, Jaime I)

"Her name is Brienne," Jaime said. "Brienne, the maid of Tarth. You are still maiden, I hope?"

Her broad homely face turned red. "Yes." (ASOS, Jaime VI)

Brienne's homely face twisted in fury.

(...)

There's a bay mare in the stables, as homely as you are but somewhat better trained. (ASOS, Jaime IX)

Unfortunately, homely wives are not very beautiful:

The next day he departed with his squire and men-at-arms, plus Beardless Jon Bettley, who had decided that hunting outlaws was preferable to returning to his famously homely wife. Supposedly she had the beard that Bettley lacked. (AFFC, Jaime VII)

But they are the best wives:

"A pity. Gella's not. Homely women make the best wives. There's three kinds of crabs in there. Red crabs and spider crabs and conquerors. I won't eat spider crab, except in sister's stew. Makes me feel half a cannibal." His lordship gestured at the banner hanging above the cold black hearth. A spider crab was embroidered there, white on a grey-green field. "We heard tales that Stannis burned his Hand."

And above, the phrase about homely women comes before the mention of crabs.

We also have a mention of Stannis leaving his homely wife for Melisandre who is the real queen, the opposite is what Jaime does, he leaves the queen for the homely woman:

Lady Melisandre wore no crown, but every man there knew that she was Stannis Baratheon's real queen, not the homely woman he had left to shiver at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. (ADWD, Jon III)

Besides, we have a mention:

“Don’t be so certain, m’lady. She’s half mule herself, that one. I think she’d leave us all to starve before she’d put those animals at risk.” He smiled when he said it. He always smiles when he speaks of Mya Stone. Mya was much younger than Ser Lothor, but when her father had been brokering the marriage between Lord Corbray and his merchant’s daughter, he’d told her that young girls were always happiest with older men. “Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage,” he had said (AFFC, Alayne II)

As I wrote in the previous post, in my opinion Edd and Mya will be together, not Lothor and Mya, but nevertheless, this mention is directed to Jaime and Brienne, Jaime is obviously older than Brienne and more experienced, as Catelyn herself admits:

The very idea of it chilled Catelyn to the bone. What chance would a fifteen-year-old boy have against seasoned battle commanders like Jaime and Tywin Lannister? (AGOT, Catelyn VIII)

Brienne, on the other hand, is younger and innocent, just like all Maid:

She was sitting cross-legged on a pillow beneath the raised dais where the high seats stood, but she rose as they entered, dressed in a clinging gown of pale blue samite with sleeves of Myrish lace that made her look as innocent as the Maid herself. (AFFC, The Captain Of Guards)

"You were innocent." (ACOK, Catelyn V)

"There is a sweet innocence about you, child. (...)” (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

She is such an innocent. (ASOS, Jaime V)

And Jaime likes innocence most of all in women:

"White," she said, "but your hand is solid gold. I like that in a man. And what is it you like in a woman, m'lord?"

"Innocence." (ADWD, Jaime I)

Jaime had previously believed he was a Warrior and Cersei a Maid, but was wrong:

I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. "Pray for me, if you like," he told his cousin. "I've forgotten all the words." (AFFC, Jaime IV)

Jaime above asks Lancel to pray for him, but when he talks to Lancel much earlier, Jaime is then still a Cersei Warrior (which, as seen above, changes later) and Lancel himself then offers that he would pray for him and for Cersei (as to Jaime's woman) to the Crone:

A flush crept up Lancel's cheeks. "I pray for you, cousin. And for Her Grace the queen. May the Crone lead her to her wisdom and the Warrior defend her." (AFFC, Jaime II)

But this Crone prayer for Cersei should be for Brienne, because she is the one who prays to Crone not to disappoint Jaime:

Kneeling between the bed and wall, she held the blade and said a silent prayer to the Crone, whose golden lamp showed men the way through life. Lead me, she prayed, light the way before me, show me the path that leads to Sansa. She had failed Renly, had failed Lady Catelyn. She must not fail Jaime. He trusted me with his sword. He trusted me with his honor. (AFFFC, Brienne I)

Plus, of course, the mention of Tyrion:

“The song is sung, the wine is spilled, the wench is pregnant." (ACOK, Tyrion III)

There is also a mention of the song above, which as I wrote in the post "Brienne's Song", will be very important, let me add that since they are both headed to Lady Stoneheart, they will probably also meet the Ghost of High Heart, who is Jenny's former friend, the one who foretold The Prince Who Was Promised and the one who misses Jenny who we know had great love with Dunk, laments the tragedy at Summerhall that swallowed Jenny and Dunk:

“(...) I gorged on grief at Summerhall, (...)” (ASOS, Arya VIII)

And she wants a song for her dreams, always a Jenny song:

“My hair comes out in handfuls and no one has kissed me for a thousand years. It is hard to be so old. Well, I will have a song then. A song from Tom o’ Sevens, for my news.”

(...)

And so Lem woke Tom Sevenstrings beneath his furs, and brought him yawning to the fireside with his woodharp in hand. “The same song as before?” he asked.

“Oh, aye. My Jenny’s song. Is there another?” (ASOS, Arya VIII)

Importantly, Dunk rejected his crown to be with Jenny:

The Prince of Dragonflies loved Jenny of Oldstones so much he cast aside a crown, and Westeros paid the bride price in corpses. (ADWD, The Kingbreaker)

In Jon's chapter, however, we have foreshadowing that Jon will be king (there is overwhelming evidence of this) and Jaime will get a wench (Brienne), in my opinion the story will be that Jaime will be king for a while after when he kills Cersei, the circle will be full, he will sit on the throne again, but this time he will not give power to anyone, instead he will keep it until he meets Jon, finds out that he is Rheagar's son, and then he will give him the crown, and he will be himself with Brienne, as well as Dunk and Jenny:

“For a wench, some say. For a crown, others would have it.” (…)” (ACOK, Jon VII)

#jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #jaime x brienne #braime #asoiaf

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blizabrth · 3 years ago

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get to know me tag

thanks for the tag @inyoursheets !!! <3 since i've started participating more on tumblr and within the gg fandom lately, i've gained a handful of new followers and i've been considering trying to figure a way of like idk INTRODUCING MYSELF OR WHATEVER so i really thought this was perfect and then it sat in my drafts for a few days while i waffled dsghdfkg so anyway hello anyone new who has started to deal with follow me! happy to be here with y'all

name: jay (they/them) relationship status: taken favorite color: yellow pets: three fur babies! oscar is an 8y/o tabby teddybear babyboy who loves to cuddle and eat and purr and lounge on the balcony for an undetermined amount of time. gretchen was a feral cat that decided to live with us and she could be anywhere from 7 to ??? years old; tortie, sassy, she likes to sit in my lap when i'm pretending to write at 2am. and topaz is a 6y/o puppo who has very short legs and a long bod, whom we adopted from a former employer of my partner's. she's an angel, honestly. clearly i could talk way more about my pets than myself lololol they're just so great. favorite food: soups and stews. buttered bread. coke or pepsi: coke if we're talking from the fountain, pepsi from a can or bottle. day or night: all times of day. i wish i never had to sleep. chapstick or lipstick: chasstick text or call: please do not call me i will simply not answer last song I listened to: 60 feet tall by the dead weather any hobbies: reading and writing, taking care of my plants, long walks at the park, coding/web design sometimes, drinking cheap wine, casual gaming (farming sims are my jam), overthinking, journaling

this is.... obviously a tag game but i am already sweating over this enough without trying to consider who to tag ghdfkgjdf so if you see this and would like to participate, consider yourself tag-you're-it'd (and tag me when u post so i can learn more about you also :3c)!!

#tag meme #tag game #hope y'all are having lovely days/nights! <3 #sup y'all who this #the never ending burden of being perceived #txt #about #personal #me #whatever my personal tag is idk #can't remember #anyway hi i'm shy

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sternbagel · 3 years ago

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Inspired by the wonderful OC lore that @charlotte-balfours-garden wrote and posted, I decided to finish this piece that’s been sitting in my drafts for months about my own RDR OC, visual references here!

Note: This takes place in canon, Chapter 3, and while everyone calls her Alberta Taylor at this point, it’s not her real name, just something she’s been going by for years because of something in her past. Professionally, she’s a bounty hunter, but has dabbled in other things.

Read This First

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, at least the one thing today that hasn’t been surprising is Arthur finding Al has dragged a chair over to his tent to read, one leg propped up on the chest at the end of his cot. Sometimes she’ll set up there to get ample shade from the sun, and according to her, the chest is the perfect foot rest height.

“Afternoon, Arthur,” she greets lazily as she turns the page.

“Miss Taylor. Comfortable?”

“Sure.” She cuts her eyes up at him from under the brim of her hat, seemingly just to give him a greeting glance and smile, but when she spots the shiny new accessory pinned to his vest, her head raises higher. “You steal that off a dead lawman or somethin’?”

And it begins, Arthur thinks with a snort. “No, Dutch—” he waves an arm in the direction he came from, though Dutch has long ago left that area—“got us ingratiated with the local sheriff, so now we’re honorary deputies.”

“Was Sheriff Gray drunk?”

That’s surprising. They only met the sheriff yesterday, and he’s not sure the full story of their encounter has been relayed to the rest of camp, just the orders not to cause any trouble. “How’d you know his name?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes that most likely, it was Hosea. Those two are close.

She answers with a cavalier shrug before he can say anything. “I’ve been here before. Once. Didn’t stay long.”

Arthur takes the bait she leaves out. “Why not?”

“Well, it’s Lemoyne. I don’t spend very long here if I can help it. But first time I got to Rhodes lookin’ for bounty posters, Sheriff Gray was puking in the bushes. Somehow he managed to get out that they do all the bounty hunting themselves. No reason to go back.”

“Well, that’s pretty much how I found him when I went lookin’ for Dutch and Bill.”

“Figures,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Not that I really care, but where is Bill? Didn’t see him come back with y’all. Still with the Sheriff, ingratiating himself?” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I didn’t get that impression off him, but I wasn—”

Arthur holds up a hand and shakes his own head with a smirk. “No, no, the Grays around here don’t seem… his type. Matter of fact, I should probably warn Bill to just play it cool—“

“What, drunk, dumb, and ignorant ain’t Bill’s type? What about that guy we saw him chattin’ up at that saloon in Armadillo?”

“That ain’t what I mean,” he snorts.

“I know.” Al flashes a playful smirk. “I’m just messin’.”

“Well, anyway, no, he’s off hidin’ some wagon full o’ moonshine we stole off some bootleggers under the Sheriff’s orders. Hosea’ll know what to do with it.”

“Moonshine?” This seems to pique her interest, again to Arthur’s surprise. “You know who you stole it off of?”

“Yes…” Arthur’s eyebrows knit together. He slowly lumbers over to his table, laying down the deputy badge and watching her carefully. Al’s expression is calm, but it’s a thin enough veneer that he sees the curiosity building by the second. “What’s it to you?”

“Curious.”

“Yeah.”

The book in her lap finally closes. “I used to run with some moonshiners not too long ago.”

“Alberta Taylor. Well, I never took you for a bootlegger.”

She throws an arm over the back of her chair and lets her head fall back, exposing more of her neck. It’s then that Arthur notices she’s not wearing her usual green neckerchief. Or her green jacket. She must be really burning up to be in just her workshirt and jeans. “Not every professional bounty hunter is a staunch upholder of the law, Arthur Morgan,” she says matter-of-factly with a lift of her brow.

“I never said that. Didn’t mean it neither. I mean, look who you fell in with, I know better. I just ain’t seen you drink much moonshine.”

“Sure. Always been more of a beer and tequila woman.”

He plops down on his cot and lights a cigarette. “Then what you doin’ runnin’ with moonshiners?”

“Tell me who you stole the liquor off of first, cowboy.”

Arthur concedes. Al is stubborn. “The Braithwaites. And those fellers that run around here with those yellow bandanas. Sadie and I ran into ‘em a few days ago. Uh—”

“Lemoyne Raiders?” She sneers. “I’d hoped someone had snuffed ‘em out by now. Hijo de putas.”

He takes a long drag of the cigarette before answering. “Yeah, that’s them. You’ve had some run-ins with ‘em, huh?”

“Like I said, just the once. Three of them stopped me on my way into Rhodes. Brought ‘em into town, dead, which is when I met Sheriff Gray. They didn’t have any bounties on ‘em, so all I got outta one of his deputies was five dollars. I know they weren’t even worth that much, but he coulda paid me more,” she grumbles. Her light Cuban accent comes out more the lower her voice goes.

“Sounds about right. Least ya got paid somethin’.”

“I guess.” She picks at the spine of her book for a moment. “Wasn’t long after that I met a… moonshiner legend, so to say, through a mutual friend. Though friend seems to be pushing it.”

He gets the sense she’s not fully sour on the “friend,” so his shoulders shake in amusement.

“He was a lot like Uncle, actually.”

“Lord.” Arthur snickers, smoke billowing out of his mouth.

“Yeah. Not as lazy. Probably younger, but who knows.”

“I reckon Uncle ain’t as old as he wants folks to think. Besides just bein’ too lazy, it’s probably why he don’t trim his beard.”

Al laughs, rougher than usual until she coughs and clears it up. “Damn humidity.”

“Tell me about it,” Arthur agrees, leaning forward and propping one elbow up on his knee. “So, this… moonshiner legend.”

“Ever heard the name Maggie Fike?”

The name isn’t familiar, but it isn’t unfamiliar either. “Don’t think so,” he settles on.

“Well, she’s been mostly out this way rather than out where y’all been running around. Revenue Agents caught up to her a couple years back, tried burning her alive. Didn’t work, but gave her a nasty scar and bad eye. Almost puts Marston to shame. Almost,” she adds with a grin as he walks between Arthur and Strauss’ tents.

“Take a look in the mirror, Miss Taylor,” he grumbles back. Then he chucks a cigarette butt at a chuckling Arthur. “You too, Morgan.”

John disappears around the side of the tent as Arthur brushes off the butt. “Cranky cause he ain’t had his midday nap.”

“Pick better material.”

Al chuckles and presses the palm of her hand on her hat, affixing it more securely to her head. “Anyway…”

“Anyway…” Arthur sighs lightly. “You said she survived?”

“Yeah, went into hiding for a while. Somehow got a hold of my ‘friend’, who then asked me for help gettin’ her business back on its feet. Easy work at first. Finding a good location for the shack, gettin’ her some supplies, that stuff.” She waves a hand around. “Most folks don’t pay much mind to a bounty hunter buyin’ supplies in bulk like I was or destroying illegal stills. Sometimes I brought in the other moonshiners to the local town to collect on a bounty. Made for a better cover for what I was really doing.”

“Takin’ out the competition.” Arthur chuckles.

“Exactly. Then came—”

“What the hell are you two talkin’ about anyway?”

Al puts her hand back on her hat before tipping her head back, almost touching the back of the chair, and looks at John, upside down. Arthur leans forward more to get his own look and the rangy outlaw, who’s circled back around to the other side of his wagon.

“And what the hell is that?” John asks. He’s looking directly at the badge on Arthur’s table, disgust etched into his features. As if it’s some rotting, maggot infested carcass Arthur’s using for decoration.

Arthur sighs and briefly explains again.

“So this is just another excuse for you to play dress-up, eh? Guess I need to tell Hosea you’re itchin’ to go scammin’ with him again.”

“You do that, it’ll be your pecker in the stew pot next meal.”

Al’s crossed her arms over her chest and is watching them with barely contained amusement. “Playing dress-up? I don’t think I’ve seen that side of you yet, Arthur.”

“And you won’t,” he growls. “Only reason Hosea takes me on those jobs is because he knows I hate it. Just once I’d like him to take Marston instead.”

“You sure about that?” Al studies John as if she’s a talent agent in the big city. “Doesn’t he like to avoid mayhem on those jobs?”

John snorts indignantly. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see you try and follow Hosea’s lead. I swear even he don’t know what he’s doin’ half the time.”

“But it works.” Her eyebrows raise pointedly.

“But it works,” John concedes.

“Well, next time you go, let me know. I’d love to watch y’all work.”

“Whatever,” John grumbles as he waves her off and saunters away. Apparently he’s given up on butting into their conversation.

“I ain’t pullin’ that type of job with Hosea again. What we had set up in Blackwater, sure, but not...” Arthur wags a finger in the air, then unfurls the rest of his fingers and waves his hand once before letting it fall back in his lap. “Not that. The girls and Trelawny are much better’n me anyway. Safer that way.”

Al shrugs. “I won’t argue that.”

“So, back to what you was sayin’?” Arthur’s not willing to let the moonshiner story drop. It’s not often she lets down her walls and tells stories of her past that don’t directly involve some bounty she’s nabbed. He knows what happened to her family, but that had been a moment he wasn’t meant to see, and neither of them have ever brought it up again.

“So after we get a shack set up, she gets word of where this old buddy of hers is, go rescue him so he can make our moonshine. Not long after that, her nephew’s gettin’ moved from Sisika, so I go rescue him.”

Arthur pulls the cigarette from his lips and folds his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wagon. “Just you against a bunch of lawmen?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Morgan,” she drawls, lolling her head to the side.

“Suppose I shouldn’t be,” he chuckles.

“No, actually, I had a couple friends with me, cashed in on some favors. I’m not stupid or reckless enough to take on an armed prison transport.”

Arthur just shrugs. “Woulda believed you either way.”

“You’re too trusting,” she remarks. There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but her eyes sparkle with something else.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“Well, we bring them back to the shack, get the business up and running. Enact some revenge on a rival of hers in the meantime, I get to kill the agent who tried to burn her. Spent about a year with them. I didn’t do a lot of the actual running of moonshine, one of those friends who helped me break out Maggie’s nephew, Lem, did most of that. I focused on taking out the competition, clearing out Revenue Agent roadblocks when we were sure we couldn’t sneak past them. The real dirty work. But I didn’t mind, kept me moving, out of the government’s crosshairs enough that I could keep killin’ those damn agents.”

Arthur cocks his head curiously. But she isn’t done talking, so he lets her continue, holding onto his question for now.

“Couple months before I ran into y’all, I told them I’d have to leave. I’d spent so much time in this area, couldn’t… Needed to get out and go back out west. See some old friends, see some open country. They reckoned they’d be fine without me, but threw them the name of another friend I knew’d be able to help them, pick up my slack.”

“So… you think they’re still runnin’ that shine?”

“No reason not to. Never heard anything about her being captured. Got a letter from them while I was in Blackwater, actually. They’re doin’ well.” She gives a fond, reminiscent smile. “That friend is working with Maggie now, too. Dunno how she stands him, but…”

“Good. Since we’re over this way, you plannin’ on seein’ ‘em?”

“They’re north, Roanoke Ridge territory. Might, if I feel safe leavin’ you fools by yourself for more than a week.”

Arthur chuckles and shakes his head. “I reckon we can survive without ya for that long.”

“With all the trouble you been causing lately? I don’t think so, Mr. Morgan.” Al fans herself with her book, smirking at Arthur pointedly.

“I actually got another question for ya,” he diverts.

“Shoot.”

“I been thinkin’ about this since you got here, but now, knowin’ how much you seem to hate the Revenue Agents, how come you’re a bounty hunter, takin’ payouts from the government, but runnin’ with a bunch’a outlaws? After a year of runnin’ shine, that is.”

A simple shrug is her reply, and the pause is so long Arthur isn’t sure she’ll actually give him an explanation, until, “You have your code, I have mine.”

“Huh,” he grunts. They watch each other casually for a long moment, then he asks, “You gonna explain?”

He can see her weigh her options, and eventually she relents. “You know…” Her expression immediately tells him what she means: her past, what happened to her.

“Yeah,” he offers quietly.

“Well, nobody’s born a seasoned gunslinger. When I first started bounty hunting, I had to take the easier targets. Most big pay days, or the jobs that are good start for those of us that’re green, they’re people who rob banks with a pen, rich people doing rich people crimes. They’re soft, easy, and all it really takes to catch them is knowing the land better and being tougher than city folk. Which ain’t hard at all. So, until I could stand on my own, those were the only kinds I took. Then I started goin’ after the bastards I really wanted to. People like the Johnson Brothers.”

She nearly spits the name. Arthur feels the sting in her soul.

“I never take those soft bounties anymore,” she continues after a deep breath, seeming more like herself again with every word. “Unless I need a break. But it’s been a while since I have.”

“Been a while since you took a bounty at all.”

She must notice the question in his voice. Not judgement, but question. “No. You’ve been kicking up too much fuss. Wouldn’t be smart for me to be seen around town here more than once or twice.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. While it is mostly true, it’s about all he’s going to get out of her, but he knows the real reason why. Even if she won’t admit it to herself. “Got me there, Al.”

“Not hard to do, Arthur.”

#also we're going with the bill is gay theory. but like. half the gang is gay so she's not making fun of that.#she hates bill. so she's making fun of HIM directly.#hope that comes across lol.#also i hope it's okay to tag you in this!!! I can fix it if not #rdr #alma tejada #my fics #i guess that's gonna be a tag. i mostly just share this shit with friends and post my much bigger projects elsewhere

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october31st1981 · 5 years ago

Text

Scenes from the Past Six Years

There are a number of fics in the drafts of this blog that I started a few years ago, and no longer feel the inclination to finish. But there are still some pretty fun bits and bobs, so I’m going to throw them all up in one post if anyone is interested in some disjointed excerpts.

Dueling - Jan 27, 2014

James has his hands on her shoulders, and she is calculating how best to catapult him off of her body when his lips descend to kiss her thoroughly.

“James,” she protests, as they pause for a breath, “we’re supposed to be fighting.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but the grin on his face contradicts his apology.

Later, when they are about to leave, Lily says, “I think we should compartmentalize our situations.” She does not meet his eyes, choosing instead to rub nonexistent grease off of her wand by running it against her jeans.

“How so?”

“Well… as much as I like snogging you, I think that we should have… snogging times, and dueling times. So we can be efficient with, er, both,” It sounds oddly formal and for reasons Lily is unsure about, a flush has risen in her cheeks. She still refuses to look him in the face.

James tilts her chin up, a gleeful look on his face. “Lily Evans, are you asking me out?”

She splutters out an indignant protest but James just grins all the wider. “You are asking me out,” he says, leaning closer to get her to look at him directly. Her cheeks are hot as his hands move to either side of her face. “Yes.”

And There Was Only One Bed - Feb 2, 2014

“One of you can come up and sleep with me.” As all four boys seem to prepare themselves for a smarmy comment, she adds, “Don’t start, gits. You know what I mean.”

“If someone’s joining you, Wormtail’s out,” Sirius says, his eyes flicking to the boy in question, “he’s a kicker.” From his tone, it seems that Sirius has experienced this very quality one too many times.

Peter huffs indignantly. “Padfoot’s a prat, I kicked him out of a hammock one time—” He cuts himself off as he sees the black-haired boy fingering his wand. “Fine, I’m out.”

“I’m out, too,” Remus says with a sigh. “I roll about too much, I’m afraid. I’d be falling out of the bed anyway."

James does not say anything, but instead he and Sirius seem to communicate something with a glance between them. James gives Sirius a warning look, but Sirius simply grins and pats the wooden arms of the chair, saying, "I’m comfortable where I am,”

“C'mere, then,” Lily says to James, gesturing to the spot next to her. Shooting a loaded glance at his best mate, he sits down.

Pecker Parody - April 22, 2014

James Potter had a problem. This particular dilemma was approximately five feet tall, freckled, and had a habit of popping up at inopportune times.

This problem was his diddly-doo. His magical wanking stick, if you will. You see, while having a dingler the size of a broomstick was all well and good when he was a boy, due to the fact he could ride it around like a pogo stick, at the age of eighteen, it was a bit more troublesome.

The truth of the matter was that he wanted to put his party popper inside Lily’s cash register, but he didn’t know how to tell her.

Birth - March 15, 2015

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he says in awe. “Did you know you could do that?”

Brushing some of her hair out of her sweaty face, Lily laughs. “I’d had some time to get used to the idea, yeah.”

James looks back at the bundle in his arms, and then again at his wife. “You just pushed an entire person out of you. Our person. He’s not tiny, either. I mean, he is tiny, but only because he’s a baby. Otherwise, he’s quite a large thing to be exiting any orifice.”

“If we ever do this again, you can do that part,” she says leaning back against the pillows.

Grease AU - June 25, 2015

(Also posted here.)

“This is… ridiculous,” she murmurs against his lips.

James laughs. “It’s a little late to denounce snogging on the beach, Evans, since we’ve been doing it for the past few weeks.” As he speaks, he drops his mouth to her neck, smiling as her eyes flutter.

Lily pulls his face up by the chin to meet his gaze. “I meant this whole thing.” She gestures around them. “After what happened after the Defence O.W.L. at the end of last term, how can you find any of this normal? Everything was such a mess after. Hell, if we hadn’t both come to the same place this holiday, I’d still be stewing in it by September.”

“But we did,” says James, brushing his nose against hers. “We talked and we yelled and we talked more and then you threw yourself at me.”

He dodges her swat at him much too easily to satisfy her, but at her raised brow he makes an amendment. “Alright, so I may have done some of the throwing. I’m a Chaser. I need to hone my reflexes.”

“My point is, it doesn’t feel like you’re Potter on this beach,” Lily says, ruffling his hair pointedly. She smiles. “You’re just James.”

“Just James,” he repeats, adjusting so he lies beside her instead of half atop her. “You make it sound like I’m two different people.”

It is Lily’s turn to laugh. “Aren’t you? I can’t imagine this version of you hoisting someone up by their ankles.”

“Of course not,” says James immediately. “I’m wearing trunks. Where would I keep my wand?”

Lily is already giggling by the time James begins suggesting locations on his body that he might be hiding his wand, and by the end of his lewd list, she is nearly having a fit on the sand. When she catches her breath, she looks at him. “I know I don’t get to keep Just James forever,” she says, leaning on his arm. “But at least try to preserve the illusion for me when we get back to school by avoiding me.”

James is quiet for a moment, but when he speaks his voice is soft. “You’re being silly, Lily,” he tells her, pulling her closer. “This is who I am. Caring about your feelings, about anyone’s feelings, isn’t exclusive to this beach.”

She kisses him, slowly and deeply. “Try to remember saying that.”

James grins. “If I’m going to be reliving a memory from this holiday, I reckon I have to choose the night under the pier—”

Lily laughs, cutting him off with her lips. “Be quiet, James.”

Masquerade - Dec 16, 2015

“So you’re Muggle-born, then?” he says thoughtfully. She stiffens, and he hasten to add, “It doesn’t matter to me. I’m just trying to figure how that narrows down the options for who you are.”

She smiles, but then looks a little put-out. “That’s hardly fair, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Pureblood,” he tells her, kissing her neck.

“A pureblood that doesn’t care that I’m Muggle-born? That does narrow down the options.” Her fingers tug at his robe. “N.E.W.T. classes?”

He shakes his head, kissing her lips quickly. “Too easy. Do you play Quidditch?”

“No. Do you?”

After a moment of hesitation, he says, “Yes,” so she is quick to follow with a suspicious, “On a team or for leisure?”

He laughs. “Both.”

Problematic.jpg - March 29, 2016

“James Potter,” Lily says to Mary suddenly, “is my problematic fave.”

“Receipts, please,” says Mary, not looking up from her copy of Witch Weekly.

“Plus, he’s like, a pureblood. So he’s got the whole legacy of all that fucked-up culture.”

“But like, a lowkey pureblood. He’s 12% Muggle-born.”

Junks the Trash King: The Sequel - April 18, 2016

“I’ve met the Rubbish Man,” announces Lily upon entering her flat.

“Good, tell him we need a new recycling bin,” says Mary absently. “There’s a family of raccoon living in ours.”

“Not him, Junks.”

The name catches Mary’s attention. “The soulmate?” she asks, straightening up. “How was he?”

Lily drags herself over to their kitchen table and collapses into a seat. “Not named Junks, for one.” Lily holds up her palm for Mary to inspect. “Apparently this is supposed to say ‘James.’”

“Shame. I’d rather hoped to one day receive a wedding invitation inviting me to the marriage of Lily and Junks. Though I’d have to bin it for the wordplay, you understand.” Lily turns her hand so she can flip Mary the bird, but from the look in her eyes, her friend has already spotted something new. “Got his number already, did you?”

Baby Brain - June 15, 2016

“I think I'm pregnant,” says Lily, so quietly that James almost doesn't hear it.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeats, turning over in bed to face him. “I tell you I might be up the spout and all I get is, ‘Oh?’”

James grins at her in the dark. “Would you have preferred ‘Blimey?’” He expects the pillow that's aimed at his face.

“James.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Would you be okay with it? If I am?” It's hard to see her eyes clearly with such little light, but James can hear in her tone that she's nervous.

“I... Yeah, I would,” says James, seeking out her hand. “You know I want kids with you. I mean, I might not have seen this starting so soon, but I think we're pretty great at improvising. Remember our wedding reception?”

Lily laughs. “Somehow I don't think using Dumbledore's hat to catch projectile vomit is the same thing as raising a child.”

“I think you'll find they're remarkably similar.”

She laughs again. “I'm trying to work myself into a worry, James, and you're making it very difficult.”

He leans over to kiss her on the cheek. “Sorry, dear. Feel free to treat our child as a sign of impending doom.”

Lily leans her head onto his shoulder. “We're nineteen, James.”

“Old enough to be married,” he replies, poking her with his ring finger.

“We don't know anything about children.”

James smiles. “Children don’t know anything either, so we’ll be on a level playing field.”

(ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿ Hold My Flower - August 17, 2016

“Lily, no.”

She scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘Lily, no?’ I didn’t say anything.”

“Lily,” he says cheerfully, throwing an arm around her shoulder, “We have been married for forty-five years now—”

“Dating for eight months,” she corrects, holding back a smile.

James waves a hand dismissively. “So, in that time, I am confident that I’ve grown to recognize what your faces mean. And that face said, ‘I’m going to put frogspawn in his tea.’”

“I don’t carry around frogspawn, James.”

He looks at her dubiously. “But you’d find some, wouldn’t you?”

Countdown - October 31, 2016

“Padfoot gets back from his assignment tomorrow,” Lily tells him, eyes on their calendar.

James pauses in trying to convince his son of the merits of pureed beets. His eyes drift towards the day on the calendar circled in red. Lately, they’ve taken to marking their calendar with the events of their day, if only to make the days seem more distinct. August 27th: ‘At 3 o’clock, Harry said his first full sentence.’ September 12th: ‘At 6 in the morning, the cat brought James a present and left it in his mouth.’ Tomorrow, October 31st, is a rare date that marks the future.

“Good,” he says. “I was hoping he’d be back before his birthday.”

A small, hopeful smile blooms on her lips. “Perhaps we can finally give him a nice celebration. I know Moony is still underground, but Wormy said he’d stay close by. I could bake him a cake.”

“Cake!” says Harry, and James laughs. He takes advantage of his boy’s opened-mouth enthusiasm to give him a spoonful of beets. The look he receives is nothing short of betrayed.

Victorious and still chuckling, James turns back to his wife. “We can ask him to come by as soon as he’s home.”

Baby I’m Trying: The Sequel Pt. 1 - Jan 4, 2017

He wishes his mum were still around, but since she’s not, in his desperation, James consults his neighbour, Batty Bagshot. Though she’s had no children of her own, she’s looked after many of her nieces and nephews over the years, and James has never been more thankful to hear her drone on.

After his conversation with Bathilda, he comes home, arms laden with all the supplies she recommended he find. Sirius’s eyes are wide as James brings the load inside the flat. “Reckon you got enough?”

James slumps over to the floor and leans his head on the pram. “This stuff is only for the first six months,” he says, staring into space. “Do you know how many times a day a baby needs formula? D’you think McGonagall will let me take the baby to class?”

Sirius considers it. “McGonagall does let her cat into the lectures. Although,” he says, wrinkling his nose and holding the baby out to James, “she knows how to use a litter box.”

James wonders if it’s pathetic to google ‘How to change a nappy.’

Baby I’m Trying: The Sequel Pt. 2 - Jan 4, 2017

In three days, James has a paper documenting that the baby is one hundred percent, undeniably his. He hadn’t doubted that he was, but it’s something different to see it on paper. It makes the whole thing more real for him. He sets about telling the rest of his friends, and while they are as surprised as he is, they take it in stride and help him sort it out, as they’ve always done.

“What are you going to name him?” asks Remus.

“Wilberforce,” suggests Sirius, grinning.

James cracks a smile at that. “Maybe something unisex. Elvendork?”

“You’ll have no trouble calling out for him if you ever lose him,” says Peter fairly.

James laughs. The baby fusses a bit in his arms and he runs a hand over the dark mass of hair that is already on this boy’s head. “Could go with a family name,” James says thoughtfully.

“I’m going to take a moment to remind you that your father’s name was Fleamont,” says Remus.

He shakes his head. “My grandfather,” James says.

None of the boys know much about his grandfather, since he died while James was still in primary school, but Sirius lived with his parents for a time, and he knows James better than anyone else. So it is Sirius who asks, “Henry?”

“Harry,” corrects James. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but the baby stops squirming. “His name was Henry, but they called him Harry.”

“Harry Potter,” says Peter. “I like it.”

His son has a name. “Harry Potter,” James repeats quietly.

Ring Out - June 15, 2017

“Frank and Alice are engaged,” Sirius tells him as he slides a drink to James across the table.

James lifts the pint into the air. “Congratulations to them,” he says, and he means it. He knows many couples rushing to the altar these days, but Alice and Frank seem the best-suited for marriage of all of them. He takes a large swig of his firewhiskey.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. It takes no more than this movement for James to know what he will say next. Still, Sirius asks, “When are you going to ask her?”

“What, you reckon because everyone else we know is getting married, I ought to as well?” James asks, mirroring his friend's expression.

Sirius snorts. “No, I reckon that you're horrendously in love with Evans and want to ask her to be your wife.”

James takes another drink. “We're in the middle of a war, Padfoot.”

“Seems to be reason enough for everyone else,” Sirius counters, shrugging.

“Exactly," says James firmly. “I don't want Lily to marry me because she's afraid we're doing to die.”

Sirius pauses, reaching for his own firewhiskey. After a moment, he lowers his glass and shrugs once more. “We might.”

“We might not.” James retorts. He runs a hand through his hair. “I'd rather wait for her to be certain.”

“You're living together," Sirius says, and when James opens his mouth he shakes his head. “You say you live with me but you spend more time at Lily's than you do at ours.”

James chuckles. “So your concern is that we’re living in sin? Talk about glass houses, mate.”

#jily #james potter #lily evans #marauders #sirius black #fanfiction #these are just my favourite bits of thousands of words #to the rest of my drafts #a lovely viking funeral trip to valhalla #ayesha writes things #writing #exceprts #some of these may have been put up already idk #i am a packrat in all respects #long post #mine

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whorror-jpeg · 5 years ago

Text

Eternum//ii

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Summary: After being turned into a wolf, Geralt struggles to find his way back to his body, unable to talk or do basic human things. In his journey, he meets a young woman, who hopes to help him.

Warnings: violence, light misogyny if you really read into it, adult language

Author’s Note: none

Previous, Next

Geralt had figured out he was in Temeria. Not at all pleasantly, by any means, but at least now he knew. He stalked around a small village outside of what seemed to be the outskirts of Vizima, closer to the forest. He trudged through quietly, if he tried hard enough he could pass as a dog, acting tame-like.

Geralt found no such luck.

“Wolf!!” A scared voice yells, childish in nature. Still, he continued walking, hoping that if he’d remained calm no one would actually bother him.

How wrong he was.

A large rock had been thrown harshly, hitting the back of his head with an aggressive thump. Without control, he whimpered before snarling, whipping his head around. Behind him stood a crowd of somewhat nervous and definitely angry people. A man picked up another rock, chucking it at Geralt, hitting the wolven head above his eye. Blood trickled down his face as his head was thrown back from the rocks force. Quickly, more rocks were being gathered and thrown at him until his legs gave out from the pain. He refused to harm these people, he didn’t blame them for attacking a monster. A few from the group gathered around him, large sticks and branches in hand, one carrying a much larger rock than that of the ones thrown before. He looked up at them before laying his head on the ground in defeat.

“Stop!” A voice yelled. Geralt’s head lifted once more, this time in response to the sound, “leave him be!” It yelled.

I’ll be damned.

It was the same woman as before, in the forest. She pushed past the crowd, then the men that had broken off from the group. Quickly she encased the wolf’s body with her own.

“Oi, get offa the beast. We’ll put it out of its misery.” Someone yells at the woman, Geralt didn’t know who, still covered by her body.

“Who are you to decide that when you are the reason for his ‘misery’.” The woman snaps.

“He’s useless, won’t last a day in the woods!” Another man sneers.

“Get yer bloody arse off it, girl.” Says the man who’s decided he’s had enough of this. His arm reaches for the woman’s shoulder, and quickly, Geralt lunges forward, jaws snatching the man’s wrist. Said man yelps abruptly, snatching his hand back from the sharp teeth. He’d only be left with bruising, but Geralt’s main intention was to get the crowd to leave him and the woman alone. And it worked.

The man backed up cautiously, holding his wrist, “you get that beast out of this village, you hear?”

The woman nods, watching everyone slowly leave, eyes turning back to them warily now and then.

“I’m sorry they’re so cruel…” the woman says, gently petting his head. Geralt hates the way his tail had a mind of its own, wagging as she scratched under his chin, “come now, before someone blows steam through their ears.”

She stands, helping Geralt to his feet. He turns away from her, beginning to walk away, “You’re really not going to stay? They’ll kill you. The guards have a special distaste for wolves.”

Geralt’s head turns, listening to her.

“At least let me help.”

His ears lay flat as he walks to follow her. Fine.

On the ends of the village sat an old cottage, weathered with love and care. A large draft horse stood next to it, tied to its post, lazily munching on the sweet grass around it. There were chickens, and Geralt stared them down hungrily.

“Don’t get any ideas, mister. Cole or the hens, you hear?” The woman scolded, “there’s plenty of food for you inside.”

Geralt’s head shifted upwards, cursing how short he was now. He knows that, in his human body, he’d be the one looking down at her. Of course, if he were in his body he also wouldn’t be staring down live chickens.

He followed the woman past the horse and to the large oak door, noticing that the cottage was made from cobblestone and supported by more oak. Old and dead ivy wrapped itself around portions of the cottage, and he knew it would be a lovely little house in the springtime, paired next to the large, equally shriveled dogwood tree. It was definitely a place commonfolk would love to call home.

The woman opened the door, and Geralt was immediately greeted by the smell of fresh-baked bread and hearty stew.

“Please get off the table, Bogdan.” She commands. A Hob, no taller than past Geralt’s wolffish shoulder jumped on the ground playfully and wrapped his arms around the woman’s leg. In turn, she patted his head.

“Bogdan wondered when Miss might come back home, did Miss have a good trip, did Miss get good things from the market?”

The woman laughs, “yes, Bogdan.”

The Hob lets go of her leg and does a playful happy dance.

House goblin, what else could I expect? She shares a certain respect for all creatures it seems. Geralt thinks to himself.

“Mister still ain’t back yet, Miss, he’s ‘possed to be home now!”

A husband?

“You’re just saying that so we can serve supper.”

Cheekily, the Hob nods, watching as the woman crouches face to face with him, “why don’t you round up Dima, wash up, and by then if he’s still not back, we’ll eat, hm?”

Bogdan nods excitedly and races off. Geralt looks up to a now standing “Miss”.

She enters the kitchenette, grabbing a cloth and dipping it into the basin, turned, and sat on a chair, making it face outward, and therefore Geralt.

“Come.” She pats her lap, and Geralt huffs and follows up, sitting in front of her and tucking his tail next to his legs. Once again, she pets him. And he knows she’s trying to comfort him and knows that she’s trying to help a bit, so he— voluntarily— thumps his tail lightly against the wooden flooring, laying his head in her lap.

“There’s not a possibility that you’ve always been this way.” She says, taking the wet towel and tending to his wounds some. His head perks, yes, exactly, now help me because I can’t fucking talk, and I want my damned body back!

She continues, “such pretty eyes,” a pause, “very distinct, hm?” A smile was given his way before she lightly grasps his paw. A fiery explosion of pain ran through him, and his first instinct was to yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know.” She coos, running her fingers through his fur near the top of his head. He does it for her, lifting his leg and putting it against her thigh. She smiles, hand leaving his head, gently beginning to wipe away the blood on his padded foot. “I can’t place where I’ve seen them before…” She says, “and I am so sorry.”

Anyone else would think she was having a full fit of hysteria, but she was wise and knew what she was speaking of.

Why are you so apologetic?

“I wish I could help you.”

And she genuinely seems sad, Geralt notes, why? It wasn’t her fault.

Geralt gently nuzzled his face into the side of her arm, causing her to smile softly.

The door opens with a loud creak, and the woman looks up, smiling gently, “Hi Papa.”

This must be the “Mister” Bogdan was talking about.

Geralt should’ve known she wasn’t married, no ring on her finger, but he also knew that anywhere outside of the castle, people in small Temerian villages were likely below the poverty line. It didn’t completely let him know if she was married or not.

“What’s that you got, brought home a new friend?” The old man asks.

The woman nods, “He’s a man, I think.”

The elder gentleman furrows his brows, looking at Geralt with a questioning look, “You’ve gone mad, (Y/N). That’s a wolf. Tame, but a wolf all the same.”

(Y/N). Finally, a name to the person that’s been saving his ass for the last month, whether she knows it or not.

“Papa, look at his eyes. He’s no wolf, and he understands me. Wolves never would.”

Papa looks down at Geralt again, who looks up, locking eyes with him. The man raised his brows, “Hm. I suppose so… not a normal man, I take.”

Barely a human, but I’ll take that before monster I guess.

(Y/N) shakes her head, gently putting his paw on the floor and standing, “Bogdan and Dima should be here soon. Wash up, I need to finish up on this one before suppertime.”

Geralt’s head laid on a blanket placed on the floor for him near the hearth, empty bowl by his side as his eyes track the beings in the cottage. Dima, he learned upon meeting, was a Godling. Nothing unlike Johnny except his eyes, still as striking— just different in color.

Sleepily, he laid his head on his legs, one now being wrapped in a bandage, and he closed his eyes, sighing.

As morning came, Geralt awoke peacefully for the first time in a while. He yawned and stretched before getting up and nosing his way through the front door. Upon exiting, he was greeted with (Y/N), curled up in her blanket and cloak on a chair, reading peacefully. Dima sat in her lap, reading along with her it seemed. Maybe he was just looking at the pictures. (Y/N) paused, “Morning.” She says, sleep still laced in her voice.

He had to admit, she was beautiful. No need for exotic fabrics or color-altering makeup, as she sat in the chair with the little Godling, hair undone and cascading down her back, winter biting at her nose and cheeks, she was utterly, truly, and naturally beautiful.

Geralt—literally— shook the sleepiness from his body, sitting down next to the chair where the two sat. Dima stared at him, examining him.

“Wha’ happened to you?” He asked, looking expectantly for an answer. Geralt looked at him, giving a small, questioning tilt of the head in response.

“Dima, be nice.” (Y/N) scolded.

“I can hear ‘im!” He says, “animals, people, monsters- I speak to all of them and them, me!”

(Y/N) looks at Dima, wide-eyed, “Does that mea-“

You can hear me. Geralt says. The Godling nods proudly at Geralt with an “mhm!”

(Y/N) quickly closes the book, “That means we can help him, Dima! Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Dima shrugs, jumping off her lap, “Thought he was a nice wolf.”

Witcher.

“Ooooh, those can be mean. You’re not a mean one, huh?”

“What did he say?”

Dima looks between the two, “He’s a Witcher, Miss.”

(Y/N) nods slowly, and looks down to the side.

Great, Geralt thinks, now she knows.

(Y/N) walks towards Geralt, who doesn’t meet her eyes as she approaches, casting his eyes down. She bends down, running her fingers through the fur on his jaw and making him face her.

“We will get your body back. I swear it.” She says, a smile gracing her lips.

Taglist: @alwayshave-faith

#geralt x y/n #geralt z rivii #geralt imagine #geralt fanfic #geralt x you #geralt x reader #the witcher #witcher netflix #witcher 3 #witcher

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syahaz · 4 years ago

Text

Not so creative title: The Goth and The Author

Goes out from Justin’s limo, walking a little wibbly wobbly. “Hey you’re alright dude?” “I’m cool, Geoffrey. Don’t worry.” “Alright, just watch your step there.” “Okay, thanks for the night guys!” Waves. --- “Can’t wait to see her seeing this. Mmm. Lovely!” Slumped against a wall. “But… What if this isn’t enough? What if I picked the wrong kind? What if she doesn’t like it? What if…” Shakes head hard. “Urgh no. Trenton, you need to be confident! You can do this.” Fists on chest. ---

Struggling opens the door with a key from his pocket but it opens with a simple twist on the doorknob. “My, my. The door’s unlocked? So dangerous. Glad everything seems fine but still.” “Kitchen’s light is on... Is someone there?”

--- *Yawns..* “Gotta have another coffee night again. The painting ain’t finished by itself unfortunately.”

Attention to our late night listeners, we pause our normal broadcasting to give space for emergency announcements from the local police department. It has been reported that a man around the age mid 20s to 30s in all black clothing with a fit figure is on the loose. Please secure your doors, your windows, any kind of opening and stay safe.

"Uh oh, did I lock the door yet or not?" *Pats her back.* "Here you are~ I had something-"

---

BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK! She bludgeoned him with a coffee pot out of reflex. She huffs. He groans in agony. "W-wait, that voice..." Frozen in shock after realizing who she's hitting. Badly and unconscious to be noted.

---

”I’M SO SORRYYYYYYYY!!!! I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOUUU!!!!” “There, there. I know you don’t mean it. It’s all your adrenaline, right?” Softly strokes her head. Sobbing hard. ---

“Come here. Sit next to me.” Sniffs and soon seats on the couch facing him.* He takes the thing he bought for her. Picks the inside of it and gives some of them to her. “I went to a small flower shop nearby-before the night’s out-and they sell unique kinds of selections. Look, aren’t these the types of plants that you seem to paint the most. Fall and pastel, such a beautiful concept.” “Y-you get this… for me?” “Definitely. You seem less enthusiastic about your painting lately. So I thought some real life models would make you feel better.” “Aww, that’s very sweet of you.”

---

“Oh oh, talking about flowers, I remembered the writing you did about dying love on your old draft book. You know, the one with dried flowers on it.” “How can you remember such an old thing? I barely recall anything in it.” “Of course I do. I read it again and again because I’m so curious what it is about. Turns out it’s just not my thing until we start dating. So that explains my ignorance when I first read it.” “No, I really shouldn’t force you to understand it back then.” “Nah, it’s all a long time ago. Plus, I wanna be your number one fan.” She shyly smiles. ---

Stretches out his body and yawns before taking off his coat. “Umm… Can I?” “??? Oh.” He catches her meaning right away, handing her his coat. ---

Suiting herself in his coat then gets a whiff of its scent. She enjoys the warmth and comfort it provides. She perches on his laps, putting her head on his broad shoulder. He wraps his arms around her lovingly. Casually sings The Cure’s Lovesong until she’s drifting in the dream world. ---

“Sleeping already?” Chuckles. Carefully leans on the couch and gently pulls her close to him in his arms to not wake her up. “Goodnight.” Whispers, kissing her forehead before calling it a night. ---

Attention to our late night listeners, this is the update to the emergency announcement we did. We've been very blessed tonight that the suspect was arrested with the help of brave men. Here’s the interview with one of them. “What’s your name sir?” “The name Geoffrey.” “So how’s it like to wrestle the bad guy down?” “Not gonna lie. It was crazy with my kinda drunken state that time. Lucky me that I’ve got extra hands from my boys here. We kept hold, punch and kick him because the guy was really out of his mind. Who knows what’ll he do if we’re not found before anything bad happens.” “That’s very impressive sir. Thanks for telling us the firsthand experience of the incident. Now back to the studio.”

Ending:

"Oh hey! Was about to wake you up. The breakfast will be done in no time." Gasps. "How did you know I want your Witch Stew? By the way, I can smell it right from the living room." Grins. "Well, you keep mumbling "Witch Stew, Witch Stew!" in your sleep when I woke up. You're lucky that we have enough ingredient for it okay?" "Thank you~ You're the best!" Giggles.

---

Endnotes: This story is inspired by @withjust-a-bite posting about a joke of a coffee pot being a weapon lol. I don’t know why I can drive that simple thing into full-brown crazy short story.

#total drama #camp tv #camp tv trenton #camp tv heather #goth trenton #trenton x heather #heathton #td gwent #td trent #td gwen #trent x gwen #syahazart #pencil and paper #camp tv otherway #camp tv au

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Saorsa, Chapter 16

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. Jamie’s on a mission, and Ned Gowan makes his first appearance. He keeps poking his head up in this story, like a marmot with a law degree.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

For a man who couldn’t walk more than fifty yards without getting winded, Jamie Fraser was still a force to be reckoned with when he set his mind to a task. In the two days since she’d confessed her dual secrets to him, he had directed labourers to a nearby bog to cut peat to burn through the winter instead of wood; suggested they mill the estate’s abundant acorns for flour, rather than letting the wild boar eat them all; shown Murtagh what was needed to repair the old grist mill; and sent the field hands out to collect the season’s last thornapples, so that Cook could stew them as preserves and dry them as fruit leather. He deferred publicly to her position as Lady of Lallybroch in all matters, but it was clear that he knew a great deal more than she about the running of the estate in hard times. How that came to be was a question she grew increasingly focused on answering.

With supper eaten and cleared away, they were now at opposite ends of the long couch in the great room. Claire sat with her legs curled by her side, a novel resting on her thighs. Jamie's feet were extended on an ottoman as he listened attentively to BBC Radio broadcast the latest news of the war.

Her guest treated the war with odd disassociation. Unlike most every other man she knew, he neither gloried in Britain’s triumphs nor seemed overly moved by her defeats. He asked strange questions about the location of Pearl Harbor and the size and nature of a Panzer division, but otherwise absorbed the news in silence. The Duke of Sandringham’s comment about the dubious dedication of the Scots to the war effort came to mind. In truth, she barely knew Jamie, but she was certain he was not a coward nor a draft dodger. As usual, all her suppositions about his motivations led her to barred doors that she did not feel entitled to open.

The news ended with the usual orchestral flourish and was replaced by quiet jazz.

Jamie stirred and looked her way. “I’ve been thinking, Sassenach...”

She smirked, both at the now-familiar nickname and the fact that Jamie always seemed to be thinking. He was often silent, as though over-awed by the simplest of daily occurrences, but it was clear that he was a man who reasoned deeply, yet preferred action to words. It was a practical intelligence, when contrasted with Frank’s cerebral style. If her late husband had been a florid adjective, James Fraser was all verb.

“I ken tis yer decision but would it no’ be wise tae consult the law about yer… situation?” he finished delicately. She’d yet to tell anyone else about Frank’s death or her pregnancy, and she appreciated Jamie’s discretion.

“I thought of that, Jamie. But I’m worried about what will happen if word gets back to the Duke of Sandringham before I’m ready. He’s connected to every High Street lawyer in Scotland, I’m certain of it.”

Jamie grinned what she’d come to consider his piratical grin before suggesting, “Aye. Where’er in Scotland could we find a man of the law who wouldna go blethering tae an English laird about keepin’ Lallybroch out of ‘is clutches?”

She couldn’t help smiling back at him, despite the seriousness of her situation. Their eyes clutched and held for a long moment, before she broke the hold and looked down at her lap, smile fading.

“If you could make some discreet inquiries…” she murmured.

“Consider it done.” He rose carefully from the couch and came to stand before her.

“It’s time fer me tae be beddin’ down wi’ Murtagh in the croft, Mistress Beauchamp.”

The switch from the familiar to the formal was not lost of her, and she rebelled against it instinctively.

“Absolutely not! You’re still healing. And you are not a labourer. You’re my guest.”

“I’ve strayed in yer bed too long already,” he protested, and then blushed as he realized what he’d just said. He plowed ahead anyway. “Yer a widowed woman, and tis no’ right for me tae… weel, ye ken what I mean.”

“I most certainly do not. I’ve been a widow for as long as you’ve known me. Nothing about that has changed. I will not hear of it, Jamie. If you feel badly for depriving me of my bed, we can switch bedchambers. You aren’t sleeping in that damp croft, and that’s final.” She rose to stand in front of him, her fists resting against her hips and her chin thrown back in defiance.

“Did no-one e’er tell ye that yer as stubborn as a whole team o’ oxen, Sassenach?” he said with resigned affection.

“Let there be no mistake, Mister Fraser. I’m far more stubborn than a whole team of oxen.”

Ned Gowan looked every bit the part of a disreputable lawyer. His long hair was pulled back into a greasy pigtail, and he had the narrow, canny eyes of a larcenist. Jamie would not divulge where he’d located the man, but he begged Claire to listen with an open mind as he set forth his argument.

The royal grant that saw Lallybroch pass from a family of Jacobite traitors into the hands of Frank Randall’s ancestors was clear. Lallybroch would be held in perpetuity by successive generations of Randalls until there was no direct heir, at which time it would pass to the current Duke of Sandringham, to whose line protectorship of the estate had been given. As long as the customary payment of a hundred pounds was made twice a year and a Randall resided at the estate, Lallybroch was theirs.

There could be no question in anyone’s mind that the child Claire bore was the lawful heir of Captain Frank Randall, conceived after their marriage and before his death.

Therefore, once born her child would be the natural inheritor of Lallybroch. During the child’s minority, Claire would hold the estate in trust and be responsible for its management.

“Even though I’m a woman? Even though I’m… not a Scot?” Claire asked, her hand unconsciously touching her still-flat belly.

“Oh, yes, my dear. British history is full of examples of foreign women wielding power in the absence of their native husbands. On that subject, the law is very clear,” the lawyer responded with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m not saying the Duke will not try to contest it, but the child you carry is the future Lord or Lady of Lallybroch.”

She was totally engrossed in what Ned Gowan was saying, so she missed the look of mute agony that travelled over Jamie’s face.

The relief she felt after Ned Gowan’s visit put her in a playful mood. She ribbed Jamie good-naturedly about his peculiar fondness for Cook’s cock-a-leekie soup at the supper table.

“Tis almost as good as my mam’s recipe, Sassenach. She would make it when’er I was ill, or when I strayed too long in the dreich and came home frozen tae the marrow, which was often.”

She opened her mouth to ask about his mother, but he forestalled her question with his own.

“Where’abouts are yer people, Sassenach? I ken they’re no’ here in Scotland, but do they visit ye?”

The smile fled from her face, and Jamie immediately looked contrite.

“Claire, I dinna mean to…”

“It’s alright. It’s just that, well… I don’t have any ‘people’. Not really. Not the way you mean.”

He emitted a soft sigh and reached for her hand where it rested on the table.

“My, err… my parents died when I was quite young. In the influenza epidemic that followed the Great War. My uncle, Lambert, raised me until I was old enough to attend boarding school. It was quite the unconventional upbringing, visiting all manner of places, wherever his work took him. He was an archaeologist, you see.”

Jamie nodded absently.

“Lamb died before the war. Cancer. It’s been just me since then. Well, and Frank.”

“How long were ye marrit tae ‘im?”

“Less than a year. Love during wartime, I suppose. We met last June, were married by October, and he was deployed only weeks later. We last saw each other in August, and then…” Her free hand unconsciously strayed to her flat tummy.

“I’m sae sorry, Sassenach.” She was grateful there wasn’t an ounce of pity in his tone, only sincere regret.

“No, it’s alright. It sounds cold, but we weren’t together long enough for me to truly miss him. Anyway, you asked after my people, but all I have are memories.”

A pained noise burst from Jamie’s throat.

“Ye ken that isna true, Claire. Afore ye know it, ye’ll have yer wee bairn tae raise. And the men and women of this estate care for ye, truly.”

“Do they?” she asked, glancing at him sideways.

“Aye.” Jamie nodded, but said no more.

#my writing #outlander

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