#someone please tell me how to keep focused long enough to finish one wip rather than juggling like five of them at a time

[trensu]

have another snippet of stasis in darkness! just 'cuz i'm bored tbh, and kinda stuck on all my wips i'm currently working on.

The seventh night:

“Has he spoken to you yet?”

“How could he when you’re here yammering my ear off every night?”

“He’s a god, I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for him to shut me up.”

“Even gods have their limits.”

“Oh, har har. The warrior’s got jokes. You didn’t answer my question.”

“...not yet,” Steve said stiffly. 

“It’s been how long now? A week?” The man hummed in a falsely thoughtful manner. “Maybe he’s just not that into you, man. Maybe he’s letting you down easy.”

At his words, Steve involuntarily curled his shoulders inward, slightly, ever so slightly, in defense. He'd been wondering that same thing earlier that day. Steve had toiled hours in the sun to fix up the shrine; to make it welcoming; to encourage a divine visit. 

He had stopped wearing his armor to free up more time to work. Putting it on and taking it off took too long, and he didn't have to maintain it as much if he wasn't wearing it regularly. He stuck to only his chainmail. He'd kept his shield stored away, too, so it wouldn't get in the way while he worked. Though, he made sure to keep his sword nearby.

He’d taken his knife and traced over the etchings of stars in the alcove that served as a backdrop to the statue. His knife had been ruined but it didn't matter. The Lord of Night would probably want the stars of his dark sky with him, he reasoned, and these had worn so thin. Sadly, it was the only detail he could bring out of all the stone. The statue’s face was so crumbled that Steve couldn’t even begin to guess what it had originally looked like.

He had discovered that the vines he chose to keep were moonflowers. They had blossomed every night since he’d removed the other more invasive plants. He'd draped them carefully so they lay across the statue's shoulders, wrapped lovingly around its torso and clung to its waist before the ends of the vines trailed off at the knees. 

The strange man might have made himself a nuisance during his visits but he never stayed the whole night. Steve had been able to get a few hours of makeshift prayers at the shrine every night. He’d done all this, yet dawn broke every day without a single sign that the Lord of Night had been listening.

“Warrior?”

Steve broke out of his reverie. He refused to look at the man. He had to clear his throat roughly before he could speak.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been rejected by someone I love." Steve tried not to dwell on his father's perpetual scowl and his mother's infinite disinterest. "I’m pretty used to my devotion being one sided by now.”

“That’s a bummer,” the man said. His sympathy was meant to be teasing, Steve could tell, but it came out surprisingly sincere. “Good thing you have a whole pantheon! Strong guy like you? Any god would take you to be their warrior in a heartbeat.”

“What are you talking about? No, I’m nowhere near done with his shrine,” Steve said determinedly. “I know a silversmith and a stone mason who’d give me a hand, and Dustin and Robin have been dying to come up here to bring him offerings. The only reason they didn’t come with me is because I had to do the pilgrimage on my own if I wanted a shot at earning his blessing.”

The man spluttered.

“Are you insane? A god rejects you and you’d come back? What kind of stupid–were you dropped on your head as a child?

“A couple times, but that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Are you sure? Have you checked? You should go to one of the gods of medicine. Owens, maybe. Have him take a look at your head,” the man huffed in frustration. "For stars' sake, why would you want to come back?"

He ignored the insult to his intelligence. For stars' sake. Steve murmured the words to himself, letting them settle in his mouth to get a feel for them. He'd never heard of that one before. He liked how it rolled off the tongue, natural as anything. 

The man waited for his response. Steve took a moment to try to sort out his words. He kept his head bowed towards the shrine as he ruminated.

“People barely remember my god,” Steve finally said. “And when they do, they remember him as something he’s not. Even if he doesn’t believe I’m worthy of carrying his crest, he shouldn't be forgotten.” 

The man said nothing. Steve took a shuddering breath before the quiet could take over. 

“Having someone forget you is…it’s very lonely. Which is the worst feeling. I…I guess I don’t want him to be lonely anymore.”

The silence that followed his statement stretched long enough that Steve started falling into that meditative state he’d learned during his many nights at the shrine. It helped dull the twisted up, unsteady sensation that lingered from the man’s prodding at his every self-doubt and fear.

“He hasn’t rejected you yet, though,” the man broke Steve's musings awkwardly.

“He hasn’t reached out to me either. It’s fine. I’ll keep coming either way.”

Another silence. It was around the time the man usually left Steve to his worship. He didn't hear retreating footsteps. Instead, the man cleared his throat, and when Steve looked up at him, the man turned his face away, shrouding it in gloom.

“Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t contacted you yet.”

“Nervous? No way.”

“He sounds like a godly weirdo,” the man said. “Maybe he’s never had a holy warrior before and doesn’t know what to do.”

“He’s the good kind of weirdo! And there’s no way he’s not had a warrior carry his symbol. He must’ve had loads back in the day. I probably don’t meet his standards,” Steve smiled lopsidedly, playing off his insecurity.

“I’m serious!” the man exclaimed. “It’s possible! Some gods never get warriors. Some never want them at all!

“Look, even if I was the first to offer to be his, he’d know he didn’t have to be nervous,” Steve insisted. "I’ve never served a god before either! I wasn’t sure I could have faith at all until I learned about him. So like, if he’s new to it then so am I, and we’d figure it out together.”

“...you really mean that, don’t you? You’d let him make it up on the fly if he took you on.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugged.

“You’d keep coming back even if he rejected you?”

“Yep.”

“But why? That’s so stupid. Nobody would do that!” The man sounded frustrated.

“I’m not really known for my smarts,” Steve said matter-of-factly. “Robin and Dustin had to translate the only book we found about the Lord of Night because I definitely wouldn't have been able to. It was a tiny book but it still took them ages to do because the language doesn’t really exist anymore. So they told me it’s possible it’s not accurate. It felt true, though, to me. 

“There was this quote, I can’t recite it word for word, but…it was something about how monsters don’t always look monstrous, and the monstrous aren’t always things to be feared.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” the man protested. Steve shook his head.

“No, it’s true! Like, I know I’ve got a pretty face and really great hair,” he smirked when he heard the man scoff, “but I was such a fucking asshole when I was younger. I went around hurting people on purpose, tearing them down for no reason other than I was hurting too, and that’s the shittiest reason to hurt anyone. I had to get some sense knocked into me by the people I call friends now. 

“My friends are the greatest people I know, and I’m really lucky to have them, but to everyone else? My friends are losers. They’re rejects because they don’t act right or they don’t look right; they talk too much or too loudly. People treat them like shit because they're different. 

“And after I noticed that, I started seeing it more even if I don’t always pick up on it. And I still mess up sometimes. I'm not a god, I can't change the world but…in the stories Robin and Dustin translated, the Lord of Night helped people like my friends because it was always the weak and rejected that try to hide themselves in the dark. I want to help those people find him again so they know they’ve got someone holy in their corner. They should know someone loves them enough to protect them.”

Steve didn’t really know where all those words came from; he wasn’t a wordsmith like Robin and Dustin. He always had a hard time verbalizing his thoughts, and he usually messed up the words. Nonetheless, these words had almost burned to be said. 

When the speech that flowed from him finally reached a natural end, he felt…lighter, cleaner. He felt like his shield and sword when they were polished to a shine. But when he turned to see his audience’s reaction, the man had gone. Steve felt strangely dejected instead.

–

The eighth night:

“Hey, it’s me again. My supplies are low and I don’t know what your thoughts about hunting on your land are so I’d rather not…I don’t want you to think I’m disrespecting you. I might have to leave soon to get more supplies,” Steve swallowed nervously. “Which isn’t an ult..ultimate…? No, damn, what is it called? I’m not trying to force you to talk to me before then, is what I mean. Not–not that I could! With you being a god.” 

Steve scoffed at his own blundering. He should’ve had Robin help him make speech notes. Cards with conversation starters. Something! He took a deep breath and tried again.

"But I'm coming back, I promise. I meant what I said about fixing up your shrine. I’ll commission a new plaque and I’ll talk to the stonemason about replacing your plinth. I don’t know a lot about sculpture, but I’ll get you the strongest type of stone and get something nice carved on it. Your flowers? Or cats? Cats are cute. Maybe your bats would be better…?” Steve trailed off.

It was quiet save for the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. The full moon illuminated the area more than ever before. The shrine must have really been a beautiful sight back in its heyday. The thought of it sent a pang of longing through his soul.

The hour came that the strange man usually showed up. Steve steeled himself for another round of questions, another jab at his faith. The hour went by with Steve alone in the clearing. Steve frowned.

“Do you think he’s okay?” 

Steve’s question went unanswered.

After another hour without seeing his stranger, Steve had finally convinced himself to round the perimeter for a quick check in case the man was nearby or in need of assistance. When he found nothing, he checked again in case he missed something. 

Still nothing. Uneasily, Steve gave up his search and returned to the shrine. He knelt before it again, head bowed. He cleared his throat.

“Lord of Night, I don’t know his name, and I know he’s been rude–annoying–but could you please watch over the man? Please keep him safe from harm for as long as the stars shine tonight. Thank you.”

He received no response, but Steve had faith. He knew he was heard. He knew his god wouldn’t let an innocent come to harm if he could prevent it.

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you’d like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[writing-in-april]

The Owner’s Office

Franklin x Female Reader (MGG in Beginner’s luck)

Summary: Franklin won’t stop asking the owner of the bowling alley if he can have a discount when the team rents the alley.

A/N: Heyyy heyyy- here’s my first Franklin fic in a while!!! It’s been sitting in my WIPs in a while and I felt the urge to finish it! @sunlight-moonrise is the main person who helped inspire me for this fic- and of course the amazing @spencers-dria. This is my fic for today for my 1000 follower celebration!!! Thanks for all the support you guys!!! Requests are open!

Warnings: 18+, Hate fucking, Panties stuffed in mouth, Oral sex (M receiving), Franklin wants to be called a god, calling reader a fuck toy

Main Masterlist  Word count: 2.1k

Owning the most popular bowling alley in Little Falls was more of an exhausting task then most people would assume. I had to work everyday almost 7 days a week to maintain my small business that I had inherited from my father. Honestly, some days I was so exhausted, the gain seemingly so little that if it wasn’t for wanting to keep the business to continue what my father built I would sell it in a heartbeat.

The alley wasn’t anything all that grand or special from a first glance, it was a stereotypical bowling alley with orange and turquoise walls and bright red seats. What really made this place special was all the memories I and the rest of Little Falls had here.

The space that I used as my office was more of a closet then a full office, it also had to have the mop bucket and any other cleaning supplies shoved in there. The desk that was jammed into the space was a shitty little thing, unbalanced and made of cold grey metal that made me shiver whenever I rested my arms on it to type. One would not call the place charming but it was mine, just as it had been my father’s.

When the business had passed onto me I decided to keep the office the same way my father had it. Despite its shitty appearance that was where I ended up spending most of my time while I worked. I had to spend most of my day going through paperwork for the alley and barely had time to come out of my office unless it was right before closing to help the rest of the staff (Namely Rebecca) to clean up.

Usually the times I had to come out were because of one person. Though, at this point I view him as the source of all the annoyance in my life more so than an actual person.

Franklin.

I could rant all day about my deep seated loathing for the man that everyone in Little Falls called their god. Well, everyone except me. He was the person who strutted around like he owned the place- even though I was the one who paid the bills for the place. Most of my gripe with him was for the fact that he would insist that his whole team could have the bowling alley to themselves while they practiced. For some reason he had some deep seated paranoia that people would spy on his team. This led to many arguments between the two of us, mostly about how he didn’t want to pay rent because his team was the only thing bringing money to my alley or about how I didn’t give them enough time to practice. In return I would just tell him to take his business somewhere else if he really cared so much about the rent or needed more practice time.

As I walked in to work my mood was already sour, I had spilled my morning coffee all over me and was running late because I had to change my clothes. As the owner of the alley it didn’t really matter what time I came in but, I had myself stick to a strict schedule, I wanted to be a good role model for my staff. My mood turned from sour to livid when I saw Franklin sitting in one of the chairs at the last lane that happened to be closest to the door to my office. I groaned internally at the sight, the only reason he’d ever show up without his team was to try and chew me out about his practice schedule.

I did not need this today.

Luckily, there was only one bowler here this early and he happened to be at the farthest lane away from my office, no doubt being warned by the staff to be far away from my office as soon as they saw Franklin walk in. My greeting to him consisted of only an angry pointed finger towards the door trying to usher him in quickly before I exploded in the middle of the alley.

“I deserve an 80% discount.” He said immediately after I shut the door to my office. With the amount of times I rolled my eyes everyday in response to Franklin’s antics it was a wonder that they didn’t get stuck in that position.

“And what’s the reason this time that you think you deserve a discount.”

“My team is the only reason your alley pulls in any money.”

“That’s not true.” I simply stated, crossing my arms and looking away from the face that causes me to feel such boiling anger.

“Can I at least get a better practice schedule?”

“No.”

“Why not?” His indignation against a person in some sort of position of authority above him was astounding, he even added to my disbelief by hitting his hand hard enough on my desk to leave a slight dent. Well, that was never leaving. Though it's not like it was a particularly fancy desk, I was still even more pissed than I had been in the first place.

“I’ve given my reason why plenty of times you just don’t listen.” I was about to shove him out of my pathetic excuse for an office if he continued.

“Why should I have to listen to stupid reasonings?”

“Fuck- could you please just shut up!” Me screaming at him to shut up wasn’t out of place in our normal hostile conversations, something about the pause after my shout this time was brewing a different type of tension.

When we met for a kiss it was fueled with the anger that had been surmounting over a long period of time, since as long as I’d known him. If I wouldn’t have to explain why he was leaving my office shirtless I would’ve ripped open the big-z tires shirt he was wearing out of pure anger. Once we had angrily ripped off all of our clothes he hoisted me up onto my metal desk. I hissed from the sudden contact of the cold metal on my ass which only made Franklin laugh. I glared at him hard in response, but unfortunately he did not wither away from my gaze, so I decided to lightly threaten him with extreme embarrassment,

“I’ll kick you out of here without your clothes on, shut up.”

That successfully shut him up quick, and he actually focused on my own pleasure for a while. He didn’t sink down on his knees to eat me out because of course Franklin wouldn’t kneel for anybody. He instead parted my folds and began to rub my clit slowly, he had to be a tease instead of just obliging someone for once.

When I whined out in annoyance at his slow movements he tsked at me before saying, “I’m trying to get you ready for how big I am.”

It pained me to admit that he was right as I looked at his cock, which was probably the biggest one I’ve ever been with. I still decided to whine again to see what he’d do in response. When my panties were then shoved into my mouth as a makeshift gag I spluttered in surprise. I would have ripped it out of my mouth in anger if it wasn’t the hottest thing. Plus the words that he said next did nothing to help how wet I was between my legs, “Now you’re the one that has to shut up.”

Once I was properly prepped for his standards he immediately moved onto his pleasure, I hoped I at least got an orgasm out of this. But, if I was being honest with myself I was more turned on right now than I had ever been with another guy. He thrust into me all the way to the hilt with no warning, causing me to cry out in surprise. Glad I was ready enough to take him, he’s such an ass.

Though despite that, I wouldn’t deny that he felt amazing inside of me as he fucked me hard and dirty on my office desk.

“Who’s your god now?” His cocky voice made me want to scream, which I did, but it was more out of pleasure rather than annoyance. He then pulled the panties out of my mouth even though if anyone heard how loud I was right now my employees would whisper behind my back about it till the end of time. What he said next didn’t surprise me at all,  “I want to hear you call me a god, doll. You’re just a bratty little fuck doll for your god’s pleasure.”

“I’m not calling you a god. Doesn’t-” My sentence cut off when Franklin moved his hand to rub at my clit, shocks of pleasure going through me as a result. I bit down on my lip to try in vein to compose myself a little before continuing, “Doesn’t matter if you’re fucking me, you’re still not a god.”

“I’m still the person who’s gonna make you have the best orgasm of your life.”

“I-I’d like to see you try.” And try he did. His hips pistoned into mine with brute strength I didn’t think such a lanky man like him could have. We were probably being so loud that you could hear our skin slapping together rhythmically plus the loud moans that wouldn’t stop coming out of my mouth. Even though it was the hardest thing to admit, he was about to make me orgasm so hard it might’ve been the best one of my life.

I fell over the edge with a high pitched cry, Franklin continuing to rub my clit until I was overstimulated and had to push his hand away. I pushed his shoulder slightly to signal that he needed to get off me then explaining, “There’s no way I’m letting you cum inside me, you can cum in my mouth or nothing else.”

He looked annoyed with me for a second, almost if he wanted to ask if he cumming on my face would be a viable alternative. Luckily for the sake of his own orgasm he decided to keep his mouth shut. I then dropped down to my knees, ignoring the sharp little sting of pain as I took him in my mouth. It only took a little bit of time of me bobbing me head up and down, making sure to hollow my cheeks as best as I could. At one point he tried to wind his hands into my hair as a way to non verbally ask if he could fuck my face. If it had been anyone but Franklin I probably would’ve allowed them too, but instead I hit his hand away, looking up between my lashes with a glare to silently tell him to be grateful he was getting to finish at all. Hot thick ropes of his cum then suddenly shot down my throat with little warning from him, causing me to gag slightly, I’m sure he probably enjoyed that. I wasn’t one to not swallow personally, even if I did hate his guts it was still hot to swallow his cum down my throat. Once I had sufficiently caught my breath I started to clean myself up and get my clothes on, not expecting any aftercare from the bowling alley’s resident asshole.

“So-  Do I get that discount?” I whipped around as I rebuttoned up my shirt about to start our argument all over again until I saw a smirk on his face unlike the ones I had seen before. It wasn’t his usual cocky smirk, instead it was a teasing one, he was actually joking with me for once instead of screaming at me. I breathed out a little laugh in response and let the tension melt from my shoulders a little.

It was a relief to not fight with him for once and I kinda liked this Franklin. He still had an aura of smugness around him, but he wasn’t insufferable. He was maybe even a little likeable when he wasn’t screaming his head off at me. In response to his joke I rebutted with a little smirk, “You may not be an actual god but you sure fuck like one. And, no, of course you don’t get the discount.”

Tag list (Message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin

Franklin/Beginner’s luck:

[joonkorre]

letters and words

@drarrymicrofic prompt: love letter

was thinking of tgcf’s hualian playing around with the supernatural and. it hit me.

just a quick one since i have a ton of WIPs to take care of. enjoy. AO3

“He says to take better care of yourself now that he's not here.”

“Of course,” Narcissa says, dignified in her hollowness. She merely looks at his face, her curiosity in his rapidly moving hands having faded long ago.

Harry sighs inwardly. When he first started this career, he had expected his Master of Death status to be enough for clients to believe him. As it turns out, it usually takes about ten sessions and an expensive investment in the Scale of Truth for them to even start looking at him with something other than polite indulgence. His work has spoken for itself, though, and to his contentment, the number of skeptics is dwindling by the day.

One Narcissa Malfoy remains unimpressed, however. Strange, considering she’s the one who wrote three letters consecutively to plead for a moment of his time like he wouldn’t readily accept.

Death is unbiased. It doesn't discriminate, only takes and takes. If he doesn’t grow to be unbiased himself, how can Harry even dare to approach its throne, let alone work with it?

Still, Narcissa pays the Scale of Truth no mind and agrees with his statements as if she anticipates everything he says, like he’s a fraud. Either way, Harry doesn’t really care. He’s here to do his job and give this woman peace of mind. So, his eyes never leave the planchette.

It darts from one letter to the next, Harry so used to each one’s placement that he can generally tell what the spirits want to say before they even finish.

“He asks if you know he loves you,” Harry says. His head is bent down and focused, missing the slight twitch in Narcissa’s fingers. “Do you know he loves you?”

If it’s not for the flickering of withering candles, the room might as well be completely silent. Narcissa pauses, before:

“Interesting question for a mother,” she says. “‘Do you know he loves you?’”

Harry looks up. The way she phrases the question doesn’t make sense; it's like she’s asking someone else. That is, if there’s any other person in the dusty, hazy room except Harry. The planchette quivers then, jackrabbiting across the board.

“Better answer him,” Harry murmurs as his eyes are pinned on the little wooden heart. It makes no discernable word, then stops altogether. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Narcissa stirs her tea absentmindedly. She stares at him. “May I have a question for him in return?”

Harry gives the same answer he’s been giving her every time she asks him this question: a nod.

“Am I the one he loves?”

Harry shoots a glance at the woman. What kind of question is that?

“He hated Lucius, you see,” she explains, “and held no love for his peers. They’ve either abandoned him or died, and he couldn’t find it in himself to dwell in their memories.”

“So, logically, you should be the one person he loves?”

“Indeed.”

Harry nods.

“Hmm,” nods again. “Okay. Alright.” Not weird in the slightest.

Harry repeats the question and the planchette draws a decisive line toward the word ‘Yes.’ Something clinks. The two occupants of the room look in its direction at the same time.

The Scale of Truth tips heavily to one side, the peacock feather apparently way heavier than the obsidian orb on the other side. The spirit has lied. A lot. Harry frowns and prepares himself for the oncoming fit of jealousy.

Instead of shouting or even a hint of biting snark, Narcissa smiles her first smile in the five sessions they’ve had. It doesn’t reach her eyes, but it does make her look a few years younger. Good genes, Harry notes. Wonders that if her last relative was still here, the age-regressing effect would also be noticeable on that pinched face.

“He let go of love so easily, that boy of mine. I had hoped for him to let go of what little he had left before he went, at least, to make his journey less full of burdens,” Narcissa sips her tea, pausing for a moment.

“On the contrary, it’d seem that it’s only grown,” she continues. “That boy of mine. My boy. He had never been one to keep his emotions in check very well.”

Harry can’t deny that.

“Is another question alright?”

A swift turn to the ticking clock on the far wall, and Harry can tell they have but a few minutes left of today’s session.

“Yeah, sure. Please make it quick, though,” he says.

“Of course,” Narcissa nods. Then, staring at the planchette, she asks, her voice softened. “Who is the person he loves, then?”

Harry hums. Good question. Even better if there’s a reply. But, well, even after two repeats of the question, the planchette only lies there.

Minutes pass. Harry is more than happy to wait it out for a little longer just to ensure that Narcissa’s question is answered. But if no answer comes, then he’d have to finish the ritual and make both of them wait until next week for another session. Many clients drive themselves spare when situations like this happen, and while Harry thinks Narcissa’d rather eat mud than be associated with those people, it doesn’t sit right with him that an old woman would have to wander the lonely halls of this forgotten mansion, wondering what her son might have said. But since they've just been sitting here, waiting...

“Alright. Seems like we're gonna have to continue this next time,” Harry concludes, moving the planchette toward the ‘Goodbye’ carved in the bottom of the board. “Good-”

Something brushes against his cheek. A press. Soft and fleeting, then it’s gone.

“-bye.”

Harry almost throws the planchette on the table and risks the consequences for such a disrespectful act, but he refrains from doing so. Setting it down without a sound, he leans back against the squeaking armchair, leaving his equipment unpacked. Hesitant fingers against a stubbled cheek, Harry catches Narcissa’s eyes.

“Did he do something?” She asks.

“Yeah.”

“So he did,” Narcissa peers at the yellowed windows as if she can clearly watch the overgrown garden. “How do we know if a spirit is at peace?”

Harry pulls his hand from his cheek to rub his chin, eyes still a bit glazed over. “When they no longer respond to the ritual’s call.”

The clock ticks on.

“Well,” Narcissa says. She smiles once more, her eyes now curving along with it. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me, Mr. Potter. For him.”

“Oh, that’s, that’s just, I’m just doing my job.”

“And you did it perfectly.”

Uncrossing her legs, Narcissa strolls to the fireplace with an effortless glide that's been startling in its absence. The pouch she retrieves from the mantle is generous, nearly bursting with coins. When the lazily floating candles extinguish themselves with a hush at the wave of her wand, Harry snaps out of the fuzzy fog that's permeated every corner of his head.

“Mrs. Malfoy, your second payment isn’t due until—”

“You have no need to burden yourself with us anymore,” Narcissa pushes the pouch toward him. “He’s done what he’s yearned for all these years. He is free and finally at peace, and that is all I ever wanted for him. Another session is not necessary.”

She smiles kindly.

“Thank you.”

Harry vaguely feels himself say, “You're welcome,” then averts his eyes. He doesn’t look at the Scale of Truth. He doesn’t look at the board nor its planchette.

He doesn’t look at anything at all.

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

In the Afternoon Hour

[ID: Minimalist photo with autumn leaves above with the Lora orange text that reads “Enchant Presents: WIP #3 Tale” below  /finish ID]

A/N: I kinda had to write this short to get to know my latest WIP and characters more. So, here’s a nice story with banter, hints of poly and light angst. If somehow people become interested in this, tell me you want to be on the tag-list or something. IDK where this story’s going except yeah. . .

Here’s the first two stories of this posted here, x, x.

Note: this WIP is in the backburner atm.

Word Count: 1642

TW: food

***

Butterflies flap their colorful wings as they glide across the flowerbeds, flying along the current of the brisk wind. The squirrels chirps, running down the trees in a race for more food. The bright light of the sun bursts through the large clouds, letting most of the land be covered in sunshine. A chestnut horse runs across the meadow on it's path towards the obstacles.

On the stables, a young woman, with dark brown skin and black hair, climbs up the grey horse. Another woman of the same age watches with a languid interest. She's picking the berries out of the bowl, removing the excessive stems.

"Are you sure, you want to do this?" Aasiya asks, her voice muffled by her chewing. "You could read another book again, you know? Horse riding's far too tedious to spend time in the morning."

"And let my older sister best me again? Ha, I think not," Zonja replies, reaching for the reins. "I'm not gallant rider, but I studied enough about horse riding to understand the process. All I have to do is let the horse take the lead while trying to guide it."

"No, you have to work with the horse." Aasiya tilts her head to the side.

Zonja raises her brows. "Oh, really? How would you know that?"

Aasiya scoffs, swallowing the berry.

"Please, I spent enough time watching your brother trying to ride horses."

"Then trust me, when I tell you I have this under my control."

"Alright. I'm not going to be very happy, if you don't make it back in one piece."

Zonja huffs out dry laughter.

"We'll see about that."

When Zonja orders the horse to ride, they set out to the glades of the grassy fields. Aasiya pulls her mouth down then resumes to her snack. They're racing down the path leading to the stacks of hay. Oh dear. Even the prince tried avoiding running into any of them. The horse gallops on the stack of hay ahead as Zonja yelps. Aasiya winces. The Princess is not usually fond of riding horses, unless she wanted to try something different.

And today's that day to try something different.

After a round of jumping and crying out, Zonja returned to the stables. She pants, dropping the reins of the horse then wipes the sweat from her forehead.

Aasiya sets down the basket of books on the marble railing, waiting for her arrival. It's a good morning for riding. The clear weather provides a magnificent view for those, who wish to travel throughout the nation.

Few strands of Zonja's wavy dark curls falls out of her tied bun. She removes the helmet than fixes her hair once more. Aasiya wishes she could reach for them with her fingers and test it's softness. Whenever Zonja's hair was loose and tumbling down her shoulders, she often swoons.

Perhaps, it's an unladylike reaction but she can't contain it. Not when Zonja's true beauty is reflected in her actions and words.

Zonja dismounts from her horse, getting on the ground with a swift landing on her feet. She carries a grace that Aasiya rarely sees in the royal guests visiting the kingdom.

Being a lady-in-waiting and kitchen girl did wonders for her. Aasiya gets the cupcakes from the basket and takes off the wrapper.

As Zonja walks over to her, she turns her head from side to side.

"Where did everyone else go? Are we only the people here?" Zonja asks, sounding puzzled.

Aasiya shrugs, licking the cream off the cupcake, raising her brows at the princess. Zonja huffs a chuckle, shaking her head. It picks up her heart rate, which she wishes she can ignore and pretend it's not there.

What good will it do if she keeps feeling like this? And around the princess, it's pure non-sense because she didn't have the opportunity to ask for her hand. Besides, the princess is arranged to get married with the prince of the neighboring kingdom. It's unwise to court her now or else she'll be damned in the process.

"Good afternoon, your Highness and fair lady."

The two of them turn around to the quiet voice behind them. A young man, one with light brown skin and long black hair reaching his shoulders, bows to them. He's in a pale green embroidered tunic with riding boots.

Aasiya's stomach lurches then she forces herself to remain still.

It's Prince Lerenzo, the brother of Zonja's suitor. To be honest, she didn't understand how she's not immune to his worldly charms. While he's a prince with a spotless reputation, she still needs to maintain caution around him.

"A great morning to you too, your Highness," Aasiya replies, curtseying to him. "Although, you look rather dashing a little too early for the day. Not that I have a problem with it, of course."

The prince tucks his dark locks behind his ear and makes a silvery chuckle.

Zonja pulls a face. "Very funny, Aasiya. Ignore her, she's only being silly."

"Apologies accepted, Princess Zonja," the prince replies with all grace. He quirks a brow at her before flicking his attention back to the princess. "I'm rather not used to receiving compliments after presenting myself to the public. I'd say the gown does wonders for you, Lady Aasiya."

"Aww, pleasure's all mine." Aasiya bestows her best smile. She catches Zonja staring at her mouth until she looks back at the prince once more.

Something's lingering in the air and she can't name it. Something stiff and quiet and close to being dreadful. She doesn't understand it, she doesn't want to try either.

Oh, to be in the company of two royals would make anyone seethe with envy. Aasiya definitely didn't want to be cause for their anger. Especially since she's a girl from the countryside of the nation.

Her attention returns to the prince as he clears his throat.

"Care to join me for a cup of tea?" The prince asks, raising his brows. "I would be honored to have your company, your Highness. As well as the Lady Aasiya."

"Of course, Prince Lerenzo!" Aasiya jumps to her feet. "I'd be delighted to share some food during a cup of tea with you!"

The prince's lips curves into an inviting smile.

Something in that smile makes her chest leap with joy. How can not just one but two smiles make her feel like that? Things similar to that remain foreign to her.

"I suppose, I shall take a break after the brisk exercise," Zonja murmurs, bowing her head.

Aasiya and Zonja follows the prince as he leads them to the pavilion, where a table's set with tea and plates of desserts. Aasiya presses her stomach at the presence of pie. Hmm, someone must have prepared this ahead of lunch. While she spends so much of her time in the castle kitchen, she doesn't get the chance to eat as much as she wanted to. Only in Zonja's company, she's offered to eat in the dinner and breakfast. Other than that, she eats after her duties of the day were over.

The prince pulls two chairs back, letting them take a seat. He pours tea on the empty teacups, the minty scent wafting in the air. He takes a seat, briefly eying Zonja.

She remembers the prince staring at Zonja during the ball, where they invited royals from all over the world. Before they were properly introduced, she didn't know he's the cousin of Prince Mauro. They're displayed differences that surprised her. Unlike Prince Mauro who preferred the company of the general, Prince Lerenzo opts to be around the other members of the royal family. Especially with Zonja. She didn't know why, however, it's none of her concern.

Zonja's more than capable of taking care of herself.

With her graceful fingers, Zonja reaches for the teacup and stirs it with a spoon.

The prince picks up a teacup. "I take it your riding exercise went well?"

"No, it did not," Zonja admits with a tight grimace. "The horse didn't maintain it's speed, almost hurtling me on the grass! Can you believe that? If I had known it wasn't going to be easy to ride a horse, the first time."

"Oh, that's awful."

"Tell me about it. And to think, I'd squash my sister's record."

With a snort, Aasiya takes a sip of her tea. Usually, she's not very quiet and does participate in a conversation. However, now that's not the case. She's too busy, distracted by the taste of the tea and the warmth of the air surrounding them.

"The next time, you try to ride

Zonja nods curtly, focusing on her tea. The beam of sunlight shining on her dark eyes.

Now this is perfect, Aasiya thinks. The sky is golden like the ocean in the afternoon light and they were sharing a decent cup of tea. She revels in the domesticity of it all, wondering how she got to be here with the most delightful people she knows.

Aasiya's stomach sinks as a realization hits her. No, this can't happen at all. For her status prevents a future to happen between her, Zonja, and Lerenzo. A mere kitchen girl getting involved with not only one but two royals? It will cause a tizzy in the kingdom for sure. She can't do this to them. For she cares for them deeply in ways they can't know.

Despite that, she'll still steal chances to be with them with each one she gets. After all, she can't let the nation's rules stop her.

While the tea brews in the air, she stays seated with her companions. The glow of the afternoon shines on the other two people on table, smiling as they share an amiable chat about the day. Aasiya's certain to enjoy this moment after storing it in her mind's memories.

***

[indominusregina]

The Bet: Terms and Conditions

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Douche at a bar (a guy who cant take no for an answers), swearing

Word count: 2k

Song inspiration: Cute - Stephen Jerzak

Notes: This is for @just-some-drabbles “JSD Rom-Com Challenge” My prompt was “Is that the best you can do?” and will be appearing in a later chapter. I’m actually super excited to share this work, as it’s been in my WIP for actual months. Life has been hectic with family vacations and changing jobs, and I can’t even begin to describe how good it feels to sit down and write again, even if it’s challenging. Enough about me, though! On with the story. Feeback is always appreciated!

Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Part 2

The lights strobe around you as a beat pulses through your head, resonating through the rest of your body. The club that Sam chose isn’t your usual scene, but it was his turn to pick the venue for your monthly outing. Glancing around the dance floor, you finally spot Natasha and Wanda, teaming up against one poor man who clearly has no idea what’s about to hit him. Natasha locks eyes with you and silently gestures for you to come over, but you shake your head and raise your glass as a toast instead. She shrugs and focuses her attention back on her victim and you chuckle softly, glancing down at your drink. That’s when Sam nudges you.

“Check out Frosty over there, striking out again.” There’s a glee in his voice that forces you to look up. Following his gaze, you see Bucky talking to another girl, annoyance clear on her face. Even from across the room, you can see her lips form a hard ‘no’ and her head shakes firmly. Bucky’s shoulders sag before he nods and slinks his way back to your table.

“So much for being a womanizer, Barnes. I guess women nowadays must have something they didn’t in the 30s.” Sam smirks and you press your lips together, knowing what’s coming next.

“Oh please, Bird Brain, tell me what they’ve acquired that make things so different.” Bucky’s rolling his eyes as Sam’s smirk grows wider. Sam leans across the table, looking Bucky dead in the eyes as he deadpans his response.

“Standards.” You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrow and he shoves Sam away, the other man’s laugh booming loudly enough to contest the beats pumping from the speakers.

Nat sidles up to you as Sam is doubling over in laughter, even in the face of Bucky’s glare. Turning, you quirk an eyebrow at her and mouth ‘Wanda?’ She shrugs in response, and you nod, knowing that Nat wouldn’t leave her in an uncomfortable situation without backup. You turn back to the scene developing in front of you just as Bucky’s anger is about to surface, fist clenching as he stares at Sam wiping the tears of laughter out of his eyes.

“So, Barnes, why exactly is Wilson laughing this time?” Natasha asks, drawing Bucky’s attention to her and away from Sam.

“My advances were rejected by a dame and he thinks his bad jokes are hilarious.” The plates in his metal hand shift again and you step in.

“What happened, Buck?” Your curiosity shows plainly on your face and he sighs before taking another swig of his beer.

“Well, I was talking up this lady, right? Things were going well, I’d bought her a drink and we were chatting away from her friends and then I tried to give her one of my lines and she just…” He shrugs, frowning.

“What did you say to her?” Natasha shifts, curiosity piqued.

“I said ‘You’re a swell dish. I think I’m gonna go for you.’” Bucky says with a wink. A moment of silence descends over the table before the three of you bust out in laughter.

“Oh come on, not you two as well!” Bucky frowns as you try to reign in your giggles.

“S-Sorry Buck. It’s just….” You snort and take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

“It’s just that line is terrible.” Natasha finishes before you can regain your composure.

“That line would have gotten a girl to come home with me in a flash back in the 30s!” He frowns and you shake your head.

“Maybe, but Buck, it’s not the 30s anymore.” You shrug and excuse yourself to go get another drink, a mirthful smile still on your face. Just as you catch the bartender’s attention, you can feel someone’s hot breath on the back of your neck.

“Hey pretty lady, can I buy you a drink?” You turn just enough to see the face of the man speaking. Although not entirely unattractive, you aren’t interested either.

“No thanks.” You turn back to the bar and open your mouth to tell the bartender what you want, but the man speaks up again.

“Oh come on, don’t be a bitch. It’s just a drink.” You close your mouth, taking a deep breath through your nose before turning and facing him again.

“Listen, we both know it’s not just a drink, and I’d really rather not. So thanks, but no thanks.” You turn back to the bar, the bartender having moved on after seeing you strike up conversation. Frowning, you lean forward again to try to grab their attention.

“Whatever. Ugly bitch. Good luck trying to find anyone else who’d be willing to buy your stupid ass a drink.” The man slams his hand on the bar beside you, causing the woman on the other side of you to jump and spill her drink all over your dress. You sigh as the man storms away and the woman apologizes profusely despite your reassurances.

“No really, it’s fine. Gives me an excuse to get out of here without my friends judging me.” You give her a sincere smile as you pat away as much liquid as you can with a few napkins, then head back to your table.

“What happened to you?” Nat looks over your dripping dress as you shrug.

“Long story. But since I’m now covered in what smells like a piña colada, I’m heading home for the night. See you tomorrow.” You give a wave and head towards the doors.

“Hey, I’m coming too!” Bucky hurries to catch up to you and you arch a brow at him. “I’ve already struck out for the night, so I’m not enthusiastic about being here, if you know what I mean.” He answers your silent question with a shrug, and you nod in response, punching in your destination for an uber. By the time you weave your way through the crowd, your uber is only a minute away. Bucky starts to move towards one of the waiting cabs when you grab his arm and hold up your phone.

“Uber, my friend, is cheaper. And it’s almost here.” You smirk and he shakes his head, muttering under his breath about how times have changed too much for his liking. When your driver, Luis, shows up, you both slide into the car. Bucky holds the door open so you can go first and you smile gratefully at him.

“Hey you two! Having a good night out? I see we’re going to the Avengers tower. Do you know someone there?” Luis lets out a stream of words before Bucky’s even in the car. You exchange a glance as Bucky slips in next to you.

“Actually, we-” You start, and are cut off immediately.

“Wait a minute! I recognize you guys! You’re the Winter Soldier and (Y/S/N)! This is so cool! Actually, a friend of mine is a superhero too. We’re totally super tight. He goes by Ant-man. This one time, he totally kicked the Falcon’s butt!” Bucky grins, and you roll your eyes as he asks Luis to go on. Luis is talking at a mile a minute, launching into story after story, and you find yourself getting lost in the lights of the rushing city as you tune him out.

Before you know it, you’re pulling up at the tower, and despite his earlier encouragement, Bucky seems relieved to finally be getting away from the talkative driver. After bidding him a quick goodnight with a promise to give him a decent rating, Luis drives off to find another audience. “Well, that was certainly entertaining. Not sure I understood half of what he was saying.” Bucky shrugs as he holds open the door for you.

“Honestly, I tuned him out after he started in on that story of Ant-man beating Sam’s ass in a fight at the compound.” You push the buttons in the elevator for both your floor and Bucky’s. The rest of the ride is comfortably quiet and when the doors open for your floor, you bid Bucky goodnight before hustling to your room to finally change out of your sticky dress. After a quick shower, you don’t even bother putting on pyjamas as you fall into bed.

The next morning, you awake early and throw on some comfortable clothes. You make your way to the kitchen, knowing that you’ll have to make the coffee for Natasha, who should be up soon even despite her late return. As soon as you’ve poured a mug, the redhead appears, almost as if it was a summoning ritual. “Morning.” You greet and receive a small nod in response. Mornings with Natasha tend to be quiet and subdued until you’d finished the first mug of coffee, allowing you both to wake up slowly. Today was no exception. Mid-way through your second cup of coffee, you’re chattering away about last night and what happened to you before you left, as well as what happened with Natasha after.

A cough has you both looking up and at the offending noise. “Good morning ladies. I’m here. Now what are your other two wishes?” Bucky says with a wink. There’s a moment of silence before both you and Natasha burst out in laughter. “Again?!” Bucky scowls as he plops down next to you.

“Where’d you find that one, Barnes, slimeballzrus.com?” Nat quips and you grin, biting your lip to avoid laughing.

Bucky groans, plopping himself down in the seat next to you. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” He frowns, and you pat his shoulder as reassuringly as you can.

“Oh Bucky, it really was.” You sigh, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze as he buries his face in his hands.

“I thought that one had the best chance!” His voice is muffled by his fingers as you and Nat share a look.

“Did you spend this morning looking up pickup lines online?” Nat asks, and Bucky nods.

“Oh Barnes, if you’re only using pickup lines you find on stupid websites, I’d bet you couldn’t even make Steve blush.” You tease, as Bucky’s eyes light up and he lifts his head.

“Well, how about you?” His face morphs into a sly grin, and your confusion builds.

“I’m sorry, what?” You look at Nat, who seems to understand, a smirk forming on her face.

“You said you’d bet I couldn’t make Steve blush, which might be true, since I’m not really his type, but I’d bet I could make you blush.” Bucky’s grin grows as your eyes widen, realization sinking in.

“Bucky I- you- I wasn’t serious!” You sputter. “Well, I mean, I was serious, but I didn’t actually mean I’d bet on it!” You look over at Natasha, who’s offering you no assistance.

“No, I think this sounds interesting. Barnes gets two weeks to make you blush using pickup lines.” Natasha proposes, and you groan.

“If I win, you have to help me get a girl. You’ve got to be my - what do they call it? Oh, wingman! You’ve got to be my wingman.” Bucky waggles his eyebrows at you and you frown, shaking your head. “What, are you afraid you’re going to lose?” You scowl, eyes narrowing as you glare at Bucky.

“Fine. But if I win, you have to be my fake boyfriend whenever some drunken idiot comes up to me at the bar and tries to hit on me.” Bucky starts nodding and opens his mouth to say something when you hold up one finger. “For a month.” He frowns, and you raise a brow at him. “A month, or no deal.”

“Fine. One month.” Bucky concedes, and Nat pipes up again.

“Great. The terms are set. Barnes has two weeks to make you blush using any pickup line he can find. He wins, you wingman him. You win, he helps ward off douchebags at the bar. Do you both agree?” You nod, and so does Bucky. “Then shake on it.”

You extend your hand while Bucky extends his. His large hand engulfs yours as he pumps your hand slowly, twice.

“The bet starts now.”

This is going to be a long two weeks.

Part 2

Tags: @childoftimeandmagic 

[mousedetective]

Never Will I Forget The Deep Shadows, Never Will I Waste The Moon’s Light (15/16 + Epilogue)

And it’s almost finished! Yay! Now the other half of the prophecy comes into play and they make their plans to get out of there. And remember, tomorrow is the actual posting at WIP Big Bang, so check the AO3 post for gorgeous art from @redrackham87!

Never Will I Forget The Deep Shadows, Never Will I Waste The Moon’s Light - The Holmes brothers come from a long line of powerful magic practitioners, but they are forced to keep their skills a secret. When Molly accidentally finds out about Sherlock’s powers and doesn’t turn away from him he slowly realizes that this pleases him, but soon enough he gets careless and is put in a position he would rather not be in, especially when others find out that she knows and attempt to use her as a pawn in their own games and machinations.

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 15 | Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

Another day passed with more gifts from the ravens. He was surprised there was not another visit from Toby, but Molly’s body temperature had stayed consistently warm, more or less, and he just assumed that either Toby was trying to find someone to communicate with or Mycroft was trying to figure out how to free them. With the knowledge he had from the Oracle and the fact that Moriarty had been able to take out a team of some of the most skilled of their kind as if it were nothing, he would be considering any rescue plans carefully.

In the meantime, all he could do was wait with Molly and see if there were any gaps in their cell that he could use to weaken the barriers being used to keep him from doing magic.

Since Molly was no longer so deathly cold, he had taken the opportunity to cover every inch of the cell he could. Even though he was tall he could not view the ceiling, that rankled him. He had the feeling that was one of the reasons that they had not been given a cot in the cell: the wards were not etched all around the cell but were instead above them, all over the ceiling. If he could just find a way to see them, or to interfere with even one single bit of the magic, then he might succeed in being able to thwart Moriarty’s plans to make him weak.

Just as the sun hit midday an idea hit him. “Never waste the moon’s light,” he murmured to himself before moving towards the window. He had no idea if the ravens would know he was there; he couldn’t look out, just place items on the sill, but he need a favour from the birds. The fact that he couldn’t touch the window didn’t mean he couldn’t use the light coming in through it…

...so long as he had a mirror.

It seemed the ravens could sense him and not just see the rubbish on the windowsill because soon he heard the soft flutter of wings above him. “I need a small mirror,” he said, hoping the understood the human language. “And I need it before the moon hits the window and the light enters the cell. Can you get that for me?” There was a rustling of feathers in response and then silence. Better than a squawk, he supposed; at least if Moriarty was listening he might think him daft or the birds ignoring him.

Which led him to wonder how much surveillance they were under. By now Moriarty had to realize the ravens were gifting them with food and drink, because Molly was not ill from hunger and dehydration. He should also have realized Molly was no longer shivering and huddled under his suit jacket. The fact he had not come to check on them had initially made Sherlock think they were well supervised but now he wondered. That bit of hubris might be Moriarty’s downfall, unless the only kind of observation they were under was magical.

That would make messing with any wards that had been set much harder.

He went back to Molly and dozed until he heard a small clink on the window’s sill some time later. Unlike the gifts of food and drink, whatever was set down was not pushed down onto the cell floor, so Sherlock had to reach for it with his fingertips. He felt smooth metal in a ridged pattern under his fingertips and carefully edged it off, and soon was holding a women’s compact mirror. When he opened it up he saw it was a double mirror, which made him even more sure that these ravens were magical birds. He would have two magnifications to use to project the moonlight up onto the ceiling and possibly, hopefully, find something out and maybe do something to get his own magic back.

It wasn’t dark yet and so he went back over to Molly. Even with the gifts of food and drink it wasn’t full meals and it wasn’t really enough for both of them, and she kept insisting on giving him part of the gifts. That left her weak and sleeping most of the time, and he kept her close when she was asleep. He would keep her safe no matter what, even if it cost him his own life. He had decided that early on in their captivity. The world needed her more than it needed him, really, even though she might disagree.

They were friends now, of that he could no longer have any doubt. But it went beyond the friendship he had with anyone else, even John. She was, in the ways that counted, the one that mattered most. If he could tell her that, he would. She deserved to know. But she needed to rest, to keep her energy, and keeping her close put him at ease. While he waited for the sun to set and the moon to rise, he held her on his lap, brushing back her hair and trying to somehow let her know he cared.

She had woken up once the moon had risen and he had shown her the compact but not explained what he was going to do, partly because he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Prophecies were either usually very detailed or very much a riddle, and he had been unfortunate enough to get one of the riddles. The shadows part had been explained by being able to get help from Toby via Shadow-walking, but the moonlight part...that was trickier.

Once the moonlight was in the cell, he put the mirror in its path and focused the reflection of its light up to the ceiling. He had been using the weaker end and saw nothing, but at one point the compact flattened and both parts were in the moonlight, and suddenly he heard Molly’s sharp intake of breath. “Sherlock!” she said, and he saw she was pointing to the ceiling.

She had been able to see wisps of his magic before, but for her to see even a portion of what he was seeing must have meant there was an astounding amount of glyphs in the room. Almost every inch of stone above them would have to have magic scribbled onto it. The question became, was it etched in magically or was it done more mundanely?

And before he could even think more there seemed to be a sharp chittering of birdsong outside the window and suddenly there were birds all around the ceiling, flying against it, touching every inch of stone above them. Occasionally feathers dropped on their heads, but Sherlock slowly felt the wards that were binding him from using magic begin to weaken as the various birds flew around the cell. Apparently the glyphs were all written on and not magically etched onto the stone.

Moriarty was rather more of an overconfident idiot than Sherlock had thought.

Eventually all of the birds flew out the window and Sherlock decided to practice his telekinesis. He looked at the compact still in his hands and willed for it to move. It lifted up a few inches, which was not as good as usual, but would do for now. He gathered that not all the wards were lifted, but enough were for him to practice and maintain his strength. As long as he was careful, when Moriarty came to pay them a visit again, he would be in for a nasty surprise.