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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

All In 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellllllooooo 😁

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You can’t help but admire the books balanced in your lap. You’re overly aware of another set of eyes on you as you once more trace the title with your fingertips, not wanting to touch too much but simply unable to resist. It can’t be real. All the books you ever had come from the Goodwill or your grandmother’s closet.

Bucky leans into you, his proximity still sweltering to you. You glance over at him sheepishly as you grip the edges of the top book to hold them steady.

“Thank you,” you babble again, probably for the ten dozenth time.

“You like them, doll?”

“Yes, very much,” you push your shoulders up bashfully.

“See, doll, all I wanna see is you happy,” he intones, “you’re happy, aren’t you?”

“Sure, yes,” you stammer, “thank you.”

He chuckles, amused by your incessant thanks yous. He rubs your shoulder and grips it tight, pulling you closer.

“So, I made you happy,” he shifts his body slightly against the seat belt, “how are you going to make me happy?”

You blink and gulp, clutching the books tighter. You bite down as you stare at him. Oh.

“Can I tell you how?” He brings his fingertips up to pet your chin, “promise, it’s not too much.”

“Mm, okay,” you utter.

He grins and presses his thumb against your chin, “a kiss? Just one.”

You let out a wispy noise and barely keep the books from slipping away. What? You can't be entirely surprised, you have no illusions, well as little as you can have, about what he wants and yet it’s like you’ve been slammed into by a sixteen-wheeler. Your clamp your lips tight as your bat your eyes.

He considers you and his lips straighten, his dimples pitting beneath his beard, “you don’t want to?”

“Uh, no, it isn’t...” your bottom lip quivers and your voice quakes. “I just...”

You shudder and look at his mouth then his neck. You can’t look him in the face. Your whole body is alight and your heart is throbbing. How do you tell him the one thing you’re terrified to ever admit to anyone, though you’re certain they can see it clear enough.

“You just what?” His voice is grittier, deeper. It adds an extra beat to your heart.

“I never...” your eyes wander away, “I never kissed anyone. I’m sorry. I’m just... nervous. So I... I don’t know if I would be good.”

He hums and rubs your chin, turning your head to him. He moves his hand to cradle your entire jaw and your throat bobs once more. You can’t help but reach to his wrist, clasping around his silver watch as your other hand strains to keep hold of the books in your lap.

“Why wouldn’t you be any good, doll? Those lips can’t be anything but delicious.”

You squeak and squirm in the seat. A tingle flows up your spine and strangles you. Your lips open and close like a fish out of water, a fluttering breath escaping you.

“Doll, close your eyes,” he says.

You can’t argue. You can’t move. You can barely think. So you obey.

You shut your eyes and feel the heat around you stir. You can sense him leaning in and you stiffen as his breath glosses over you. He tilts your head up as his lips brush yours, his beard tickling your skin, and he presses firmly against you. You squeeze your eyes tight as he hums again and you let out a surprised squeak as his tongue pokes against your mouth.

He pulls back as the books fall out of your lap onto the floor. Your eyes flick open and you try to look down. He holds you in place and pushes you back against the seat.

“Forget them,” he urges as his hand stretches across your neck, “and open your mouth, doll.”

He leans in once more and you’re plastered against the seat by his weight and the seatbelt. His mouth covers yours again and you let your lips go slack as his tongue delves within. You let out a murmur around him and slap your hand against the suede as his hand moves under your ear, a perfect vee beneath your lobe. He groans as he keeps his tending firm but soft, drawing back with a nibble as he leaves your lips wet.

You sit there, eyes closed, puffing and trembling. He caresses your chin and purrs, “how was it, doll? Everything you expected and more?”

You force your eyes open and look at him, shrinking down as you reach for his arm and try to dislodge his hand, “wow... I...”

He smirks, “been a while since I left a lady breathless.”

“I’m... sorry.”

“Sorry?” He drags his touch along your jawline, “for what?”

“I... was I bad?” You ask.

He once more looms over you and you brace yourself. He kisses your forehead and slowly retracts his arm, “you are too good, doll. If I don’t stop myself...”

You look around, fluttering lashes, shaky hands, and slowly bend forward. You gather up the books and slowly sit back. You stare forward, stunned stupid as the feel of his lips lingers. It wasn’t bad, just new, a little bit scary. Just like his words.

What would happen if he didn’t stop himself? Could you stop him?

🃏

The car rolls through a gate topped with golden points. You peer up at the urban mansion. You’ve never been to this part of town. The towering homes and curated lawns make you feel tiny. More so than usual.

You fumble to undo your seatbelt as Merv opens the door. You slide out ahead of Bucky and he trails after, his hand on your back as he guides you up the stone walk to the front door. He punches in a code into the keypad and lets you in ahead of him.

As you enter, you smell maple and bacon. He stays close to you, directing you with a point over your shoulder. You enter a dining room, the large table only set for two. He takes the books from you and sets them aside on the corner table. You swallow tightly.

“My personal chef should be about done,” he pulls out a chair and looks back at you expectantly.

You scurry up and sit with a thank you. He tucks the chair in under you and takes the chair on the other side of the corner, still close. Before you can settle in, a woman appears with two stemmed glasses. She sets one down before each of you as Bucky nods in fleeting acknowledgement, though his blue eyes only twinkle in your direction.

“Smells good,” you chew your lip nervously and his gaze follows the gesture.

“Nothing but the best, doll,” he winks and sips from his glass.

You do the same, surprised by the bubbliness. There’s a slight tang to the orange juice you don’t expect. He’s still watching you, seemingly amused by the play of emotions on your face.

“What?” You give a brittle giggle.

“You,” he says, “it’s a mimosa...” he leans forward, “still tryna figure out what you like.”

“It’s nice. Sweet,” you look at the glass and take another drink.

“Mm, maybe something strawberry next time,” he suggests.

“Ooo,” you smile but stop yourself as you feel goofy.

You blow out between your lips, trying to expel the tension as his eyes stay stuck to you. His attention is flattering but no less intimidating. You were never one to be in the spot light. You peer around the room, admiring the modern but elegant decor.

“Your house is so nice,” you rub your hands together nervously. “Must be nice living here...”

“Eh, bit empty but not bad,” he says, “lonely.”

“Oh,” you turn back to him.

“Doll,” he pinches the stem of the glass, “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here. I know I got a reputation, you probably read all about it online. But I’m a changed man... or trying to change.”

You lower your brow in confusion. It’s strange to have anyone, let alone him, explain themselves to you.

“You know, I was with a certain type for a long time but... nothing serious. No one like you.”

Oh, you know. Why would he be with someone like you? You don’t dare to ask the question.

“It’s... okay,” you stammer.

“I don’t know any other way to do this,” he sits back and pushes his hair away from his face, “I’m taking it slow but...” his chest rises and he exhales heavily, “I hope you know how into you I am.”

Your cheeks sting hotly and you can’t help but touch them. You avert your eyes, looking down, then cross your arms across your chest. You look at him and shrug.

“Why?”

He narrows his eyes and brushes his fingers along the trim of his beard. He puckers his lips thoughtfully.

“I didn’t know until I saw you,” he drops his hand, resting it against the table. “I don’t know, you just looked... sweet. A bit lost. But I meant what I said, the skirt was cute. Kinda hoped you’d wear it today.”

“Oh?” You let out apologetically.

“That’s okay, doll, wishful thinking,” he says, “can’t have everything I want at once. I’m learning that.” He sits forward, “you’re teaching me how.”

“I am?”

“Sure you are,” he smirks, “waiting on you, aren’t I?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” you twiddle your fingers nervously.

Before it can grow awkward, the same woman returns. She has a tray in her hands, large and spread with serving dishes. She leans it on the table and lays it all out; bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, french toast, waffles, pancakes. Everything you could dream of for a perfect breakfast buffet.

Your stomach grumbles loudly and Bucky tilts his head coyly. Did he hear that? You wait until the woman leaves to reach for your fork and knife, mirroring him as he does the same. He uses the tongs to put some bacon on his plate and offers you some. You take only one, it usually makes your stomach hurt.

“You’ll be waiting on me tomorrow,” he says, as he continues to serve himself. Each time, he adds some to your plate as well.

“I will?”

“Probably a long day for me. You’re gonna have to get into the night shift, doll,” he explains. “Business and all that tripe. I’d rather have you by my side later anyhow. I’m not much of a morning person. Besides, I’ll need something pretty on my arm at the casino.”

“Casino?” You echo.

“Sure thing, doll. I gotta keep a watch over what’s mine,” he insists.

“Right, er...” you look at your plate.

The idea of stepping back into the casino makes your insides jelly. It’s so crowded and bright and busy. And with him, the one person everyone will be watching. At least there are no cameras permitted on the floor.

“Just stick close,” he says, “shouldn’t be hard. I won’t let you get very far.”

He chuckles and you poke at the scrambled eggs. What do you wear? What do you do? Just follow him around like a duckling?

The woman returns, plaintive as she stands in the doorway. You glance over at her but Bucky keeps his attention on his food.

“Thea?” He calls to her.

“Sir, a package,” she declares.

“Ah, yes, bring it in,” he demands and bites into a sausage.

He chews and you opt to turn your focus to the growling in your stomach. You may as well enjoy what you can and you’ve never been shy of a good meal. You pour syrup onto the waffle and dust some icing sugar over it. He’s watching you, you peek up briefly to confirm it. You make your bites small and tidy. You wilt beneath his constant surveillance.

The woman, Thea, returns. Bucky waves her over as she carries a white box. He drops his fork and stands. You hover your cutlery over the plate and watch as he dismisses her with a curt nod.

“Please, enjoy,” he insists as he sets the box on the other side of the array of food.

You stick to your conservative progress, curiously watching him as he pops open the lid of the box. He looks inside and smiles. He goes back to his seat to retrieve his napkin and wipes his hands.

“How do you like them?” He pulls out a shirt, the edges scalloped around the bottom and neck, little purple hearts speckled all over.

“Pajamas?” You wonder aloud.

“Thought they’d be cute,” he smiles and drapes the shirt over the back of the chair in front of them, revealing the matching shorts. “You can take some pictures for me tonight.”

You nearly choke. You tried to forget that picture. Both of them. His and yours. Right then, you can only think of him in the towel.

“I’ll have it packed up with the books for you to take,” he puts the pajamas back in the box and closes the lid. “Let’s finish our food.”

“Uh, okay, thank you,” you stammer.

“Doll, it’s all just beginning,” he sits and reaches for his mimosa, holding it out. You take yours and he clinks your glass. “Here’s to us.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #casino au #mcu #marvel #all in #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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imogenkol · 8 days ago

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— WIP WEDNESDAY

I’ve been tagged a lot (thank you to those that have 💕) so I’ll just throw in the general tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @socially-awkward-skeleton @neonshrike @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @buggknife @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @d-esmond @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed @strangefable @statichvm @sevikagf @cptcassian @hexmaturgy @euryalex @auricfog @confidentandgood @e-the-village-cryptid @raresvtm

Been playing around with a concept to make Imogen’s life a little more difficult 🥰

The child trembled, his scrawny body curled in on itself to make him appear even smaller. There was no clear indication of how long he had been in the cell, but Imogen recognized the hardened gleam in the boy’s defiant glare. He experienced enough not to trust anyone who could open the locked door.

In those piercing eyes, the former Inquisitor recognized something else. A subtle strain at the edges of his features told Imogen that it took a massive effort to put on such a brave face.

Imogen saw a faint resemblance of the girl she had struck down all those years ago. That child had been slightly younger than this one, and she had been so very afraid, yet she stepped into the path of Imogen’s blade anyway. As if that would spare her younger brother behind her from an Inquisitor’s wrath. Even children reach for the smallest victories.

There was no one else this boy could protect besides himself. And even that was moot. The restraints on his wrists made what little he could use to defend himself obsolete. The boy knew it. Imogen knew it. Still, he scowled fiercely as if daring her to do her worst.

Imogen grinded her teeth and glanced left, then right. The other troopers on the block were dead and the hallway lay barren. She should not bother with any diversions, but she thought that perhaps granting this child a chance — however meager — may begin to balance the scales.

A chance was far more than she ever got at his age.

With a twitch of her fingers, Imogen forced her mind into the inner workings of the binders and released them. They clicked open and clattered onto the cold durasteel floor at the young boy’s feet. He glanced down and then blinked back up at Imogen in shock. The unexpected act of kindness only seemed to make the child more suspicious of her, so Imogen took a step back and pointed down the hall.

“That is the way out,” she said curtly. “I suggest you take your leave quickly.”

Imogen did not spare the child any words of comfort or even another glance before she turned on her heel and marched onward. She got several paces along until the gentle patter of a rushed gait behind her reached her ears, nearly drowned out by her own steady steps.

As she turned back, she saw the young boy come to an abrupt halt a mere meter away, his eyes wide and suddenly desperate.

“That way,” Imogen commanded and pointed in the opposite direction with more insistence.

The boy stood with such an unfazed expression that Imogen wondered if he even understood Basic until he spoke up. “I… I have nowhere to go.”

“The exit is a good start.”

“What about after that?” He shuffled on his feet and stared into his now empty cell as if that were the most viable option. “I don’t even know what planet I’m on.”

“That is not my concern,” she replied coldly.

Before he could argue further, Imogen turned her back on the boy again and continued on. She did more for him than she should have and would certainly not burden herself further. If he lacked the basic intelligence to escape or even take care of himself then he would not last long in the galaxy anyway.

“But you’re like me!”

Those words stopped her short. Imogen hadn’t the faintest idea where this random child had gotten such a notion. Had the boy not wasted so much of her time already, Imogen would have found his claim amusing.

“Is that so, child?” Imogen asked incredulously as she shot an impatient look over her shoulder once more.

The boy reached out and suddenly Imogen’s blaster flew out of the holster at her side with surprising velocity. She only had a split second to react and catch it with her own mind before the weapon could land in the palm of a child no older than twelve. The blaster remained suspended in the air between them as Imogen took a moment to weigh the boy’s strength in the Force. His talent was no match for hers, but the pull she felt against her whispered of this boy’s potential.

Seeing enough, Imogen wrenched the blaster free of the child’s influence and it floated into her gloved hand. She remained quiet as she returned it to its holster and regarded the boy with more interest. He clearly was no simple deviant the troopers had picked up off of the decrepit streets, but this revelation complicated things. Imogen had no desire for complications.

“I’ve never met anyone like me,” the boy stated in wonder, his bright eyes shimmering like she was a beacon before him.

Imogen should have known that her sins would be no easy task to atone for.

She sighed heavily. If nothing else, she could pawn the child off on Cal once she returned to him. The pretentious Jedi could finally have more students. “Stay close. Do not get in my way. Do not speak unless spoken to.”

The boy perked up and nodded emphatically. He trotted over to her like a pup. “My name is—”

“I do not care to know it, boy.”

#oc insp: Imogen Kol #Imogen at any given moment with this kid: nearly threw hands with an 11 year old #everyone is gonna be terrified that she’ll kill this kid and she’s gonna have to be like #omg the child murder thing was ONE time give me a break 🙄#also yes this is gonna be a Kratos situation were she exclusively refers to him as ‘boy’ even after she learns his name

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halsinsnaturepocket · 5 months ago

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WIP Wednesday - Help me decide where to go with my Fic

Help me make a decision on the direction of my fic Yearning for a Taste I'm going to post what I have so far under the cut. Consider it a teaser, or a chapter 1 with a cliffhanger. (This is a bit that might make it into my longifc, but I'm playing around with it as a oneshot with a generic femme Tav because I think its hot and can go in a few different directions and I'd like to explore those directions.) Think of it as a choose-your-own-adventure fic and the final piece will be posted on Ao3 reblogging for sample size / commenting&tagging with suggestions is always encouraged :3 MINORS DNI

Summary:

After one night in the shadow-cursed lands, Halsin is in his tent minding his own business reading a book when he hears Tav allowing Astarion to feed on her but it becomes….more.

Halsin hears the whole thing and is trying to be Normal about it, but the poor elf has been pent up for so long and is trying to focus on lifting the curse...but alas, he has needs. CW: Voyerism, dirty talk, Astarion feeding on Tav

Halsin was lying in his tent, using a bedroll to prop himself up as he read one of the books Tav had managed to find during her travels. A book on mindflayer anatomy - a fascinating read, bringing him further insights into the threat they were facing. His attention was so focused he almost didn’t hear the sounds of two people meeting up near his tent. Unfortunately for him, his hearing was rather keen, and the secluded clearing he had settled in blocked out most of the noises from camp, but not the sounds of anyone in the clearing.

“Gods you're such a little freak,” he heard one voice purr. “You're so good to me, sitting in my lap, letting me feed on you.” The praise was followed by the sound of lips smacking against skin followed by a soft moan – he recognized those voices.

“Did you want more, darling?” Astarion’s voice was silken, lined with hazy lust. “Or did you just want to be my little snack for the evening?”

“You’re sure you saw Halsin go towards the north of camp?” She heard her whisper. That was most definitely Tav, her soft voice was very distinctive. There was nobody else that voice could belong to.

“Almost positive, my dear. There’s no light on in his tent either, he’s probably off meditating or whatever it is he gets up to.”

They were quiet for a moment. It was true, he had wandered to the north of camp earlier in the evening, but while everyone was enjoying a meal by the fire, he had returned to his tent, rather exhausted from trying desperately to commune with whatever living things he could find in the shadow-blighted village that surrounded them. There wasn’t much, and his efforts had expended quite a bit of his magic.

“NNnnf…Don't stop…” Her voice was barely a whisper, a near-silent plea.

Halsin squirmed uncomfortably in his tent. Of all the people to have a liaison behind his tent…it had to be these two. From the sounds of it, Astarion was drinking from her neck, his hands likely snaking beneath her clothes, pleasuring her…

Halsin was desperately trying not to listen in. He had been pent up for so long, and the two of them had tried a few times to bed him; it had taken everything in him not to give in. He was glad they sought company with each other, but did it need to be right outside of his tent? There was a pause in their sounds, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully they were through. Hopefully he would just bite her and be done with it.

His hopes were futile as he heard a soft gasp escape from Tav. “Astarion–gods that feels so good.”

“Breathe a bit deeper for me darling - that's it.” He heard Astarion coax. “Good girl, that's my good little treat. You're so nice and wet for me…”

Halsin turned on his side, his back towards their sounds as he tried desperately to focus on the words swimming around the page of his book, trying to ignore the sound of the two of them, but it proved…difficult. Her stifled moans were stirring emotions he had been trying to suppress for far too long. Both Tav and Astarion had long since held his attention - maybe it was just the kindred feeling of being around two other elves, or maybe it was more…He didn't want to think about it. He had to stay focused on his goals, the shadowcurse lurked right outside the edge of their camp. He couldn't entertain such frivolous thoughts of companionship —

A loud moan interrupted his thoughts.

“Bite me again, Astarion.”

“With pleasure.” He heard him murmur, followed by the sound of Tav hissing from the sting of being bit, followed by another soft moan.

“Gods you taste so sweet when you're on the edge…cum for me darling. Cum while I drain you dry.”

Halsin froze, recalling the sensation of Astarion’s fangs when he sunk into his flesh. He had allowed the spawn to feed on him once or twice when Tav was too exhausted. It was an intimate experience, to say the least. Silvanus forgive him, but it must feel amazing at the precipice of pleasure, to be on the edge of pure ecstasy and feel yourself shaking with the cold chill of life being drained—fuck. He turned his attention back to his book. "Many curious scholars have noted the illithid's disdain for arcane magic, yet do not understand the reasons behind it. In traditional illithid circles--" Yes, quite interesting, to find that illithids were weak to magic. He had noted the tadpole he studied had reacted to arcane magic when used on it. He had read this same sentence at least 4 times now.

“Oh gods, fuck, Astarion!” He heard Tav cry. They weren't even trying to be quiet anymore.

He couldn’t avoid it any longer. The familiar sensation of arousal gripped at his senses as he felt his heartbeat quicken and his trousers grow tighter. If they kept this up for much longer he’d have to find a way to relieve the tension himself.

“Shhh… my love you'll wake up the whole camp at this rate,” he said, a twinge of teasing laced with lust spilled from his voice.

Halsin had always wondered what sounds Tav would make…he'd heard her laugh, cry…her sneeze even. He savored the sound of her moving, of humming to herself. Her battlecry, her happiness…they were all so beautiful. But the sounds of her ecstasy…he didn't realize they could sound so sweet.

“Don't make me gag you darling.” He heard her moans become muffled, as though a hand had come to cover her mouth…likely exactly what was happening.

Halsin gritted his teeth, picturing the image of Tav tied up his vines, a thin cloth gagging her. And then the thought of her entwined in the pale elf, one hand over her mouth while the other was plunging himself into her sopping wet cunt while a trickle of blood from his fangs runs down her neck… He couldn't help himself. A groan escaped from him. He stifled himself, a worried hand covering his mouth, trying not to let the longing into the sound that dared escape his throat.

The sounds stopped. Utter silence. The silent eeriness from the shadowlands was not helping.

“Shit–Astarion you said he wandered off to the north of camp, is Halsin IN HIS TENT?” He heard Tav whisper angrily. They had heard him. Hopefully…this would pass, and it would never be brought up again.

“I–ugh, I don't know, Tav, I thought I saw him leave his tent. What's it matter anyway?…I'm sure he’s enjoying the show. If he was so inclined he could join if he wants. Though, perhaps he’s deep in a trance.”

“Gods…damned it Astarion—” She moaned loudly.

‘Should I stop?” He asked.

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3d-wifey · 1 year ago

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What are those WIPs looking like? c'mon pleaseeee 😩😩😩😩give us a list. ur my favorite writer and I read everything I write, I wanna know what I have to look forward to (if you don't want to that's totally okay)

December Wip List

This took me a fucking minute 😭😭 please tell me if any of you wanna be tagged for any of the following.

In-progress series (original)

And They’d Find Us a Week (Hunger Games) - Finnick x implied black!Reader

↳ You run cold, you always have, it’s just another thing to love as far as Finnick is concerned. He himself emits heat like a furnace on the best of days. He remembers cold hands touching his heated skin, cold toes shocking the skin of his legs whenever you lay together. But now, now Finnick feels nothing but a hissing heat as your mouths press together. Heat like a hot knife cutting into a block of ice, like a blazing star consuming him in a ball of fire, only to sizzle into a warm embrace. He melts into you, trusting that you’ll sculpt him back together with your glacial grip.

After everything you and Finnick have gone through together, it only makes sense that you’ve grown a little attached.

↳Status: Ongoing; posted

The Female of the species (The Boys) - Various/Homelander x black!supe!Reader

↳ “So what? I was grown in a lab like a, like a—fucking Chia Pet?” You can feel the air around you become charged, molecules flying by your ears at top speed. Ashley rushes to catch her papers that she stupidly left loose. “Calm yourself.” Edgar drones and his lack of reaction to you turning the room into a small cyclone only aggravates you further.

Both a woman who’s used to getting whatever she wants and a man who’s never heard no, created in a lab. What a horrible pair you two will make. (basically ‘I can’t fix him. I can fuck him though, maybe that’ll help.’ Says woman that is worse.)

↳ Status: Ongoing; not posted

All On His Mouth Like Liquor (Succession) - black!Reader x Various [Shiv, Tom, Greg?, Kendall, Roman?, Menkin, Matsston, Stewy]

↳ "Mmm. You know, I've got a pretty cushy job in the White House lined up. I might be able to get you on my team." Jeryd places a hand on the counter next to your hip, leaning into your space, but you ignore him in favor of fixing your smeared lipstick. "I'm not looking to be anyone's Monica Lewinski." “You think pretty highly of yourself." You pause and glance down at yourself. At the way your blouse is just on the right side of too tight. The way leaving the top two buttons undone gives anyone interested a glimpse of your necklace dipping between your cleavage. You turn to the side and look in the mirror at the way your skirt clings onto your ass and thighs, curves modestly on display. You look back at him with an eyebrow raised. "Point." He concedes, eyes still looking you over.

As her assistant, it’s quite literally your job to be a Shiv defender.

↳ Status: Ongoing; not posted

Please Don’t Go (I’ll Eat You Whole) (Scream) - Yandere!Billy x Reader x Yandere!Stu

↳"Do you…find me…attractive?" He drawls, words drawn out like you're an exceptionally stupid child. And, honestly, you're starting to wonder if you're suffering from brain damage. This is insane. Seriously, how many unhinged things can happen to one person in 48 hours? "I, uh, I mean,” you shrug, staring over his shoulder at your wall, "yeah. But, Billy, a lot of people do, which is what I was trying to say—" "There's a difference between people and you." He sits up, leaning towards you. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Billy, it's really not that big of a deal." You sigh, moving to get up—unwilling to let yourself be embarrassed. But he stops you, grabbing your hand, and you realize in a panic that he isn't going to let this go. "It is to me." He pulls you back on the bed closer than you were before, thighs brushing together. "What would have happened if I did?" You roll your eyes. Why are you humoring this? "Well, I might have had a girlfriend who didn't find me disgusting." “I don’t…I…” You shake your head in disbelief, breath catching in your chest before rushing out a weary sigh. “How the hell am I supposed to respond to that, Billy? Wh–what am I supposed to do with that?”

When you love someone the way Billy and Stu love you, well, what’s a little manipulation between friends?

↳ Status: Ongoing; not posted

Once More to See You (Bridgerton) - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

↳ Anthony is not one for flowery musings. He isn’t a poet, nor does he spend his time admiring the arts or waxing poetics about beauty and such. No, he leaves that sort of thing to his brother. But as you peer up at him with expectant eyes, the lights of the chandeliers painting you in a soft yellow, he can understand why a war was waged over Helen of Troy.

You’ve finally come home from France and you’re a woman grown—far too old to entertain the silly musings you had as a girl. You’ve been presented to higher society and your search for a suitable husband has just begun, but Anthony isn’t willing to be so easily forgotten.

↳ Status: Ongoing; posted

You Set My Soul Alight (House of the Dragon) - Yandere!Daemon Targaryen x Reader

↳ He presents the wreath to you and you have no choice but to take it. There is a pause before hesitant cheers erupt around you, building in confidence until the entire stadium is roaring. Prince Daemon is the champion and has crowned you the Queen of Love and Beauty, dedicating his victory to you—just like he said he wouldn’t. He smirks up at you, his plan unfolding before your eyes. It is the beginning of the end.

Perhaps it would have been easier on everyone if you had just told Daemon you were being betrothed before your father publically announced it.

↳ Status: Ongoing; not posted

She’s My Collar (JJK) - Geto x Reader x Gojo

↳ Oh, you don’t hate them. Hate would require a level of acknowledgment that you don’t bestow upon the two boys. You’d have to notice them to hate them, you’d have to care and you’re indifferent at most. No, it’s much more simple than that. Gojo and Geto just aren’t on your radar.

Being the first of your clan in centuries to join the world of Jujutsu sorcerers, specifically Tokyo Jujutsu Acadamy, is sure to make waves. And with a cursed technique like yours, it’s no wonder the Strongest have taken an interest in you. If only it was mutual.

↳ Status: Ongoing; not posted

Imagine Being Loved By Me (Star Wars) - Anakin x Reader x Obi-Wan

↳"I can train her." All eyes look to Master Skywalker's hologram. He sits reclined in his chair—or what you presume is a chair—as if he's discussing the weather and not taking you on as an apprentice. "No." Windu turns him down immediately and you frown, just as against the idea as he is. You're sure many other Padawans would jump at the notion of being trained by Anakin Skywalker, but it's completely unnecessary. "In fact, you are the last person that should train her."

As a Senior Padawan, nothing can keep you from doing your part in the war, not even the untimely death of your Master. Yoda asking Obi-Wan to take you under his tutelage is surprising. Almost as surprising as Anakin volunteering to do it himself.

↳ Status: Ongoing; not posted

Limerence (The Sandman) - Morpheus x major arcana nightmare!Reader x Corinthian

↳ You watch as Adam and Eve run hand in hand, far from the Garden Of Eden. Steps hurried, frantic as if worried God would change his mind and bring them back—lock them away in that pretty cage again. But they are smiling. There's not an ounce of regret within either of them. You search and find that their only desire is to be free, together. Love is such a strange thing, you think from your spot between Dream and the Corinthian.

If you and Corinthian are two stars orbiting each other, then Dream is the black hole that birthed you—drawing you both closer and closer while tearing you apart. One day, he will swallow you both whole, and you will say thank you.

↳ Status: Ongoing; not posted

In progress sequels

Show em Who I Belong to pt.2 - Dom!Johnny Cage

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You, Baby pt.2 - Manipulative/toxic!Erwin Smith

One-shots

Damon, Klaus, Elijah x reincarnated!Reader (TVD/TO) - 1989 is the worst year of your life simply because it's the year you met Damon and, consequently, the year you were reborn for the last time. (might be a series)

Nick x Reader x Jacob (The Quarry) - A game of truth or dare has led to the last night of Summer going to complete and total shit. Having been bitten by some kind of beast and feeling like you're going to literally burst out of your skin, the only upside is being stuck between two hot guys who are desperately in love with you. It could be worse. At least you weren’t the only one bitten.

Remus Lupin (Harry Potter) x Reader - You and Remus are quite competitive, always going head-to-head in your classes. It’s commonplace to compete for the highest marks. What isn’t commonplace, is the sabotage in the form of Remus’s wandering hands.

Sirius Black (Harry Potter) x Hufflepuff!Reader - Sirius can’t help but feel like he’s the only person in the entire school that you hate. Probably because he is.

James Potter (Harry Potter) x Hufflepuff Quidditch captain!Reader - James Potter has been your sworn nemesis since your first year and now that you’re both captains of your respective teams, that rivalry has only grown. Now, if only Potter would get the memo.

Poly!Marauders x Reader (Harry Potter) - Honestly, in retrospect, you don’t know how you thought this would end without incredible irritation on your part. You thought the four of you had outgrown such childishness, that being the only reason you even invited them to the fundraising event. Had you known it would end like this, you would have declined the offer to volunteer altogether.

Johnny Cage x Reader (MK1) - Johnny is too needy for you to wait until the awards show is over. Besides, he’s been so good for you, hasn’t he? Doesn’t that deserve positive reinforcement? You wouldn’t want him to act out, would you?

Himbo!Steve Harrington x bimbo!Reader (Stranger Things) - Steve was smarter than you, but only slightly. Not smart enough that he would ever hold it over you, but smart enough to know that the two of you shouldn't have been doing this in such a public place.

College loser!Mike x mean popular!Reader (FNAF) - “I promise I’ll be good, just…” “Use my thigh.” “What if I just leave you here, wet and needy.” “Clean my fingers, this is your mess.”

Manipulative proffessor!Erwin Smith x TA!Reader (AOT) - Erwin has a soft spot for you, his new TA.

Arthur Morgan x Photographer!Reader (RDR2) - "Sure." He takes a cursory look around at the towering trees before focusing his gaze back on you. His wide-brim hat shades eyes so blue that you’re certain the sky itself is teeming with envy.

Johnny Silverhand x Musician!Reader (Cyberpunk 2077) - It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to collaborate with Johnny Silverhand. If only he knew how to keep his mouth in check.

Luke, Han, Leia x Zeltron!Reader (Star Wars) - You’re not a Jedi. You don't know the Jedi code and you’re probably as Force sensitive as a particularly dedicated brick. Despite that, you’re pretty sure the Force isn’t supposed to be used like this.

Sebastian X Demon!Reader x Claude (Black Butler) - Your mistress is interested in doing business with Ciel Phantomhive. Who would have thought he had a demon on his payroll? (might be a series)

NSFW Alphabets

Star (The Lost Boys) - Adding on to that poly Lost Boys Alphabet

Anakin

Obi-Wan

Negan

Damon Salvatore

Headcanons/drabbles

Earthrealm MK1 boys compete for Goddess!Reader’s attention

Paul (lost boys) eating you out while you’re both high

Dark/yandere Luke Skywalker NSFW headcanons

Yandere Targaryen men (Aegon i, Maegor, Aegon ii, Aemond, Daemon) x Reader - Being the pregnant wife of a close friend

Yandere Targaryen men x Reader - Finding out you’re being married off

More flirty intros (MK1 and MK11)

Dead By Daylight Killers x Obsession!Reader

Eren Jaeger with a breeding kink

Yandere/dark president Loki x Ironman variant!Reader

Possible ideas (I’ll take prompts on these/discuss these)

➔Astarion (BG3) x Reader :

Smut for sure

Eat Your Young - Astarion did try to stick to the plan, truly, he did. Some seduction here, a few implications there. It should have been enough to get him into your bedroll alongside your heart. It would have worked on quite literally anyone else, but you’re just so Gods damned oblivious! (might become a series)

➔John Snow (GOT) x Reader

➔Michael Myers x nurse!Reader (Halloween)

➔Veronica x Reader x JD (Heathers)

➔Sajanus Plinth x Capitol!Reader (Hunger Games)

➔Poly!Lost Boys x Reader (The Lost Boys) - How you start dating

➔Bigby Wolf x fable!Reader (The Wolf Among Us)

➔Jerry Dandridge x black vampire!Reader (Fright Night) - You and Jerry have more in common than any of your other neighbors could possibly imagine. (might become a series)

➔Mischa x Reader (Ride the Cyclone) - You like to think you and Mischa are pretty close, you’d go as far as to call him your best friend. So why is it that you haven’t so much as seen a picture of this ‘Talia’?

➔Dennis Reynolds x Reader (IASIP) - Dennis is used to doing the chasing, so much so that he doesn’t even realize when he’s on the receiving end of his own system.

➔Will Graham x killer!Reader x Hannibal (Hannibal)

➔Rick Grimes x Reader (TWD)

➔Derek Hale x Reader (Teen Wolf)

➔Isaac Lahey x Reader (Teen Wolf)

➔Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader (Supernatural)

➔Castiel x angel!Reader (Supernatural)

➔Abed Nadir x Reader (Community)

➔Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight)

➔Spike x Vampire!Reader (Buffy)

➔Kakashi x ex ambu!Reader x Tenzo (Naruto)

➔Sangwoo? X Horrible!Reader (Killing Stalking)

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topazadine · 3 months ago

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🐎Story/WIP Tour Tag⛰️

Thank you @the-golden-comet for the tag! This one looks interesting and I am not sure I can do it justice, but I'll give it a shot. I absolutely loved Captain Hart taking us all around the world!

Our tour guide through Breme and Sina today will be Mordrek Willets, spy with the Sinan Intelligence Services. He doesn't appear until the fourth book in The Eirenic Verses, but you'll get a little sneak peak of him today.

Here, we're looking at his diary entries of the different places he has visted in Sina and Breme, which will be coded with the country color.

Kulniryi

Capital of Sina, home to the Royal Ocean Palace, Queen Alnan College, and of course, Thieves' Quarter, home to yours truly. Major international port, which would likely be the perfect place to launch an attack if the Fuarese Union gets sick of being Sina's vassal state. Kulniryi Harbor is one of the deepest and largest ports in the world - or so Queen Susuma says. Able to accommodate dozens of merchant ships at a time, it's no wonder that vessels from all across the globe come here. At least I can always be assured a beautiful woman to romance at one of the dozens of pubs. Loud, ugly, but perhaps the most beautiful city I've ever seen. So clean, and I must grudgingly admit that the black Royal Ocean Palace looks striking against the pale granite cliffs.

Santal

Suburb of Kulniryi. Most notable for Wet Cat Tavern, run by my good friend Ganbold. He's done me far too many favors over the years. Given that he was able to gracefully exit the Sinan Intelligence Services in a much more ... diplomatic way than me, it's always brimming with good intel. And Ganbold is more than happy to calmly and rationally persuade anyone who may not be behaving correctly to leave. Without any dangerous tactics, of course. Also home to the Haratshi family. I don't really want to talk much more about that.

Heretic's Way

This was the path that the heretical Princess Yiella took out of the future land of Sina with her lover, Seinn Luridalr Breme, who subsequently blocked their exit in quite a fantastical way. Anyway, Heretic's Way is perfect for those seeking a more discreet way to travel around Sina, given that everyone's terrified of the place. Not really sure why. Sinans aren't known for being particularly superstitious, but it seems the entire country has thrown away their brains when it comes to this one little path. Or maybe it's because they keep finding half-eaten bodies scattered willy-nilly about the premises. Briar bears, to be sure. I wouldn't know anything about that. Just secondhand information.

Eavelnen

Utter piece of shit town. Ugly, useless, and the one single pub is filthy. I was pretty sure I caught multiple diseases, but at least the alcohol's strong enough to burn away any parasites that might have got their hooks into me. Can't really say much more than that the air is perfumed with horse manure and body odor. You can smell the place from a mile away.

Traifalnar

What a strange little place - like one of those fairytales they read to children. It's built on a swamp, so there are dozens of little bridges that create a lacey network of streets. The buildings are sunk into the murky soil by heavy timber pylons that are probably rotted half to hell by now, so they're girded by strong wires that hold them all up, leaning against one another and distributing the weight. The townsfolk use these wires to send baskets or messages across the streets when they're too lazy to get out and walk. Its pub, Firefly's Rest, is pretty cute, I must admit. But god, the bugs. No wonder all the townsfolk wear citronella cloaks all year round.

Wieleiss

A forgettable town. It's one of the smaller military outposts but damn, do they take themselves far too seriously. The rolling foothills of the Rimuk Mountains - aftershocks of Breme's Saint Luridalr creating her fantastical barrier - start around here, so the town has a lovely view of the hills if you're staying at the Inn Wieleiss, the tallest building in town. I will admit that their inn is excellent: clean, with a well-stocked bar. The security leaves something to be desired, though. Probably because the soldiers themselves are not of the finest quality this far from Kulniryi. Of course they're taking bribes. The place has almost no industry. They're basically private security at this point.

Yunnoun

Spooky town. Butting right up against the Rimuk Mountains, it's the most fortified outpost in the entire country, always ready at a moment's notice to attack. Most of the populace is connected to the armed forces in some way, whether they're soldiers, military wives, or contractors. Their stables are enormous and maintained with almost neurotic precision. Of course, the Sinan army does not use horses in warfare - most of the soldiers have to go right up the Rimuk Pass to engage - but they are very useful for ferrying supplies, and most soldiers are accomplished in equestrianism anyway, as they may be asked to ferry messages to other outposts. Horseback riding is a good way to keep them from getting lazy, too. There are four entrances, each guarded by multiple soldiers who do not take kindly to those without proper identification. The military headquarters squats in the center of the town, with the barracks stretching out like spiders. Its training grounds is incredibly extensive and can accommodate hundreds of soldiers at a time.

Nyulinsk Defensive Tower

A tower hammered into the Rimuk Mountains, which has always been a sore spot for the Bremish. We stuck a military fortification on their most sacred mountain: Mt. Luridalr, so named after their beloved saint. Of course Queen Kulni did that just to piss them off, and it has worked marvelously for hundreds of years. More than a few soldiers have been picked off the top while trying to perform maintenance, so the poor tower is beat all to hell. There are singe marks from flaming arrows on the interior - it has always fascinated me how well the Bremish archers can get their arrows into those tiny slits. I imagine it has something to do with their precious High Poetry. I have not been inside so cannot speak much about the interior. Queen Susuma doesn't trust me enough, I suppose. As well she should not.

Rimuk Pass

This was supposedly where Saint Luridalr stood while bringing up the mountains: it's almost like an empty doorway in the middle of the enormous range that spans the length of the continent. Well, it used to be an open door. The Bremish have fortified it to hell and back with layers upon layers of brick; I imagine dozens of their soldiers have died attempting to protect their country by building a bigger wall. And, of course, during battles, which take place almost exclusively at the Pass. Our army has installed convenient footholds to climb up the side and drop down into enemy territory. Once they are beyond the Sinan border, most know that they are unlikely to return. Many have defected upon realizing how defenseless they will be on the other side - and how little Queen Susuma cares about getting them back unless they are somehow related to the royal family.

Dropbone Caverns

A strange, curving, and terrifying network of caverns buried under the Rimuk Mountains: impurities in the rock when it was wrenched from deep in the earth. There are at least two rivers that wind through it, having percolated from the very top of the mountains on their way into the groundwater. I can confirm that this long filtration process makes for very hard water. Delicious, though. The Bremish, being superstitious fools, refuse to use the Dropbone Caverns - or any caverns under the Rimuks - as points of attack. They believe that their dead reside in some mythical Cave of All Fallen, where Saint Luridalr waits with them for the end of the world. From there, they believe that their goddess Poesy will rewrite the world and they will reincarnate with their loved ones after a long "dream." Utterly ridiculous notion and very tactically unwise, but the taboo is so strong that the Bremish Army sporadically performs sweeps through a small section to ensure that none of their people have set up camp there. Being as they only check perhaps once or twice a year, and daren't traverse very far, most of the caverns remain unmapped. There are deep ravines that can easily become one's tomb if they aren't careful.

Vieleste

Beautiful Vieleste is a military outpost close to the Bremish entrance of the Dropbone Caverns. It is also home to the Vieleste Meronym, one of the High Poet Society's religious centers. An easy rule of thumb is that if there is a meronym, there is likely a military presence as well. The High Poets and the Bremish Army are closely entangled, given that the poets help enchant weapons for the military's use. I have never heard of anywhere in Breme where there is not at least the tiniest military outpost near an official meronym, though the High Poets have retreats throughout the country where their members can work in privacy. Anyway, Vieleste is a unique place in that some of the buildings have been erected atop the ruins of older homes that were crushed by boulders triggered by the Sinans. To think that they live atop the graves of their ancestors ... very disturbing, to be honest. I have been told this is because they believe though the boulders were sent from malice, they are hewed from the Rimuk Mountains, and thus they are sacred.

Gold Cascade

Oh, how can one even speak of the Gold Cascade without breaking down in tears at its beauty? It is born from a lake at the top of one of the Rimuk Mountains, which few have ever seen. The Bremish refuse to climb the mountains, and the Sinans rarely go for pleasure. I find myself deeply curious about what it may look like up there, at the top of the world .... This thunderous waterfall is so named because at sundrop, it is lit up in glorious golden hues, making it seem a stream of citrine pouring down the mountain. Some also believe that Saint Luridalr herself hid a treasure trove at its base, but I doubt it. She did not seem the avaricious type from what I have been told. At certain times, the Gold Cascade is wreathed in rainbows, while it steams during the summer. A unique ecosystem has grown up around it, including hardy fish and beautiful ferns. However, its strength has carved out underclings through the rock that surrounds it, creating vortices that could easily drown anyone who attempts to swim there. There are a number of superstitions about damned souls, and some believe that the Cave of All Fallen begins at its base.

Miskinint Lake

Technically a sinkhole, but I'm not about to argue with the Bremish about this. It is fed from the Gold Cascade further upstream, which then turns into the Great Gold River that nourishes most of the populace until it peters out into smaller rivers around the Windswept. I have been told this is a popular swimming hole and diving spot because of its steep cliffs and great width. There are specialized species that live here, including the Miskinint crayfish. Absolutely delicious with sheep's butter.

Caichaille

A very small, isolated town near the Rimuk Mountains, upways from Vieleste and its ilk. Perhaps 100 people live here, though it may be less. There is a cave entrance close by that has been firmly closed with a large iron door, and only the High Poets are allowed inside this cave to provide alms to the dead. The town itself is ringed with a defensive boulder wall, but there is a poet's retreats on its outskirts. A really ugly one, to be honest. It looks like someone just threw together a bunch of boulders and called it a day. I imagine it was probably a young High Poet forced to do this to prove her power.

Vercingetorix

Previously named Paulemaule, its current name is in honor of one of Breme's five saints, whose claim to fame was learning how to poison arrows and kill scores of Sinans through some incurable disease. Saint Vercingetorix was eventually caught and tortured by Sinan forces, and the secret to this poetry died with her. Some of her body parts were recovered by the Bremish and are kept as relics at the meronym. Given that she killed Sinans through an epidemic, Saint Vercingetorix is the patron saint of healing, and her meronym is renowned for its focus on the medical arts. Many desperately ill Bremish come here in hopes of finding a cure for their ailments. There is also a small military outpost, as expected, but I have seen that it is poorly maintained and ill-equipped to deal with an invasion.

Bewerian

The capital of Breme, it is the largest and most prosperous town. It is separated from its adjoining suburb, Goldnin, by Mermina's Bridge, which spans the Great Gold River. Mermina was one of Breme's five saints, who reversed a terrible drought of the Great Gold River through her poetry. Bewerian is home to the Bremish Council and the War Committee, which is their central place of governance. The War Committee is subordinate to the Bremish Council, and both are informally whipped by the High Poet Society, which works autonomously and could rescind its promise to help the military at any time. There is also a court here, where the most serious of crimes are prosecuted: sedition, treason, murder, child abuse, and assault. I have been told that the trials are mostly perfunctionary and that being convicted is a near-certainty. The punishments are brutal yet appropriate, such as castration for a serial sexual offender. Can't say I have many complaints about that.

Goldnin

The primary suburb of Bewerian, this is the home to Breme's principal marketplace and the Goldnin Meronym, where the most powerful High Poets train and perform their arts. I suspect that placing the meronym in the suburb was to demonstrate their independence from the government and military, forcing high-ranking officials from the Bremish Council to make the commute if they wish to consult with the poets. This is also the location of the War Academy, where soldiers train or wait for deployment. The training grounds are large and well-equipped, while there are numerous dormitories and barracks. One can see child soldiers here, as young as 11 years old, developing their bloodlust. There are also children they title "Future Boys," who can be thrown there by their parents when as young as 6 or 7. They are forced to perform manual labor until they reach the age of entrance into the Academy.

The Windswept

A vague and mysterious area of Breme set aside for the nomadic tribes: the original inhabitants of Breme, who were slowly pushed aside as more people turned to an agrarian lifestyle. While the nomads have representation on the Bremish Council and their own system of governance, they are often treated as second-class citizens by the settled peoples, who view them as backwards and archaic. In many ways, it feels like they are an enclave within the overall country, making their own rules and settling their own disputes through ancient processes. This area is less resource-rich than the settlements, yet carefully maintained by the tribes for maximum efficiency. Seasonal migrations help to cycle the soil and allow it to rest. There are large herds of feral horses, wolves, wild pigs, and even some strange, savage flightless birds that frequently cause problems. Large herbivorous creatures known as auraks live here and are hunted down using the fearless Bremish wolfhounds, domesticated from wolves and known for their indefatigability. Apparently the settled peoples think aurak meat is disgusting and prefer their livestock.

All these fascinating places will feature, at sometime or another, in the Eirenic Verses. If you'd like to get a good idea of what Goldnin and Bewerian are like, check out 9 Years Yearning, the first book in the series!

Tumblr tag list: @kuebiko-writing, @ryns-ramblings, @cain-e-brookman, @halfbit, @macabremoons,

@theverumproject, @aquadestinyswriting, @urlocalwitch555, @sarahswriting, @drchenquill,

@davycoquette, @mysticstarlightduck, @aalinaaaaaa, @gioiaalbanoart, @theaistired,

@somethingclevermahogony, @wyked-ao3, @avaseofpeonies,

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calicohyde · 11 months ago

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Lady In Red: Chapter One of Curse The Messenger Draft 1.4

I reached a follower milestone hosted a poll about what I should do to celebrate, and you all voted that I should publicly post this chapter of Curse The Messenger! I'm posting this here as well as on AO3. If you prefer to read it there, click here. Listen to this WIP's playlist while you read!

Chapter Summary:

Eddie Alfaro is dissatisfied with her job as a clairvoyant private investigator. The community of witches that makes up her clientele are prejudiced against her for her gift of Seeing, and the cases are always inconsequential and boring anyway. Infidelity, stolen heirlooms, that kind of thing. On top of that she's struggling with survivor's guilt, grief, and alcoholism, and she thinks her sibling is starting to get sick of her shit.

Then a gorgeous, elegant stranger shows up on Eddie's door and offers her an interesting case - a murder with no body. The woman says the case is Eddie's to solve, provided Eddie can figure her out first.

ENTICEMENT TAGS: Horror, Detective Noir, Urban Fantasy, Modern with Magic, Murder Mystery, Suspense, Surrealism, Character(s) of Color, Queer Character(s), Autistic Character(s), Nonbinary Character(s), Neopronouns, 1990s, Private Investigators, Romance, First Meetings, Butch/Femme

CONTENT WARNINGS: Body Horror, Sleep Paralysis, Possession, Unreality, Blood, Alcohol Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Smoking

All nights are dark, and a fair few are stormy too. On those nights, the trees lining the streets shake in vengeful winds. Water comes down sideways. It could soak a loyal guard cat through all the way down past its thick undercoat. It would have to swim through the intersections.

Human beings don't mind the wet so much, though. No city truly sleeps, and Cane Street still enjoys a sluggish cacophony of visitors even late on a night like this. The chatter of people - and of the things besides people that hover around them - rises above the din of the rain pattering down on the striped awnings. The soft, desaturated glow of decorative string lights in the shallow darkness casts ill-fitting halos over the heads of smoking diner patrons. Lightning snaps bright across the dark sky, forcing any wandering shadows back into place beneath their casters.

On the residential streets, the noise from the commercial block is muffled but still present under the rain. It's darker here too. There's less light pollution of course, but that's not the only thing keeping the night black. Shadows would be wise to stick a little closer when walking here. The cats watch from the trees and the quiet apartment buildings, ready to catch anything that makes itself a little too interesting.

The houses are dark for the night and just shy of uniform, each with brick porches and wrought iron banisters. But every now and then there is one that has the air of witchery about it. Lots of people have power, though there aren't many with enough to do anything with. That's luckier than not.

Barely audible to a particularly sensitive ear is the click click click of someone in heels coming nearer and nearer. Most nights, there isn't anyone there. The gutters are full with rushing water and the stench of stirred up sewage, and beady little eyes. Some of them are just rats.

There is a two family home on the corner of Seventh and Spring, right across the street from a hole in the wall bar that would never let itself be seen closed. The house is exactly the same as every other in the neighborhood - when observed with only five senses.

The pillars are square and brick. The wrought iron railing along the concrete porch steps is the same boring twists as all the others. It has two dark wood front doors, both with even darker curtains covering their thin windows. The birch tree in the yard is ostensibly for shade, but was more likely planted for the benefit of the property value.

The only thing that separates the house that two eyes can see is the lively honeysuckle vine crawling its way up the right side, the buds reading out into the cramped alley in between this house and the next. Currently, it's wilting pathetically under the onslaught of rain. Fragrant crushed petals litter the alley gravel. What makes it special is that it blooms all year round, heedless of the seasons. Rumor among the local coven says that the residents of the building were given the plant by their absent father when he left them.

Rumors are loathsome as a rule. That one is in especially poor taste.

On this particular dark and stormy night, a long-haired person in an ankle length beige skirt comes out of the right side door of the house, crying softly enough not to be heard in the rain. Another person comes out after them - Fred, the elder of the siblings that live here. Xe's dressed in xyr typical ensemble: a fitted suit in some pale color, the exact shade obscured by the darkness of the hour and the ugly yellow of the porch light.

If an observer could look with more than two eyes - as more than one might like to think can do - the house is a stinking, glowing locus of magic. The two people on the porch stand out from it with their own auras of power.

Fred gives the impression of the palest of purples, like the honeysuckle flowers growing unnaturally in xyr yard. The other person isn't as powerful as Fred, but still of note. Their metaphysical shade matches their skirt, a pleasant light tan. The two auras interact strangely with the glaring overhead porch light. Occasionally the thing flickers, throwing their faces into drastically alternating shadows and relief.

Eventually, Fred claps a hand on the stranger's shoulder, ever more personable than xyr sister. Xe steers them toward the steps. The beige person doesn't have an umbrella with them, and yet they don't seem to get wet as they walk out from underneath Fred's porch and into the downpour. Fred does not watch them go.

Inside is dry and warm, but not much quieter. The windows are open to let in the noise and the washed-clean air. The spicy, earthy scent of burned sage almost covers up the smell of grease and salt from Chinese food take-out. Eddie sits cross legged on top of the work desk.

The desk is an imposing piece of work that was given to them by their papá before he left. Unlike the bit about the honeysuckle, that's a fact. It looks just like him too - hard, brown, and square. It's more than a decade old now and it shows; it's covered in scuffs and scratches and condensation rings. There are noodles on top now too, because Eddie still can't use chopsticks for shit.

The strap of Eddie's black coveralls falls down over one of her slouched shoulders. Her thick brown hair is dry and tangled, just beginning to curl over the collar of her white t-shirt. She'll be taking to it with a pair of kitchen shears some time soon.

Eddie's aura is stronger than her sibling's. That means she's more powerful than Fred, but for unfortunates who have to perceive it, that's no blessing. Eddie's presence is angry and sour, dull even despite its strength. It's the same bloody piss shade of brown as the whisky she's gulping down in between bites of lo mein.

"'Watchtower,'" she slurs derisively, continuing on from some age old argument that deserved Fred walking out on it. Her voice is thick, both with drink and with scorn. "What are we watching, anyway? Not shit. We're a joke."

"Don't say that," Fred says quietly. Xe could stand to be a little less feather light on xyr sister, but xe won't be. Not tonight. Tonight xe will fall on her cool and gentle, like the rain as it slows.

"It's not like anyone ever asks us to do anything important," Eddie insists. "And even if they ever did it's not like we could do it. We should just give up." Before Eddie finishes speaking, her sibling is already shaking xyr head.

"Eddie," xe sighs. Xyr voice is half scolding and half preternaturally patient. It's impossible to say how xe does this. "What we do is important to our clients. We help people."

Eddie only laughs, meanly, and drinks.

The siblings sit in silence for long minutes, until all the food has been eaten and the candles have all gone out. Then Fred rises and wrestles the booze away from xyr sister. The painful routine about to unfold is familiar to them both.

Fred tugs at Eddie's shoulder, Eddie grumbling in drunken recalcitrance and refusing to stand until Fred gives up and drags her bodily off of the desk by force. Papers rustle as they're crushed and ripped under Eddie's ass. There's the dull clink of hard plastic falling to the wood floor. The siblings put all their glass away a long time ago.

Fred all but carries Eddie from the right side of the house, the headquarters of Watchtower Investigations. Past the organized chaos of crystals and candles and dubiously legal photographs, through the door with the frosted window, and across the hall to the left side apartment where they live. Fred drags Eddie through there too, and then dumps her into her bed. Xe doesn't let her see xem flinch when she turns away from xyr attempt to kiss her forehead.

It may take hours for Eddie to sink into sleep, or it may take minutes. Inebriation can make telling the difference a little difficult. The drink makes her limbs heavy and keeps her tears at bay, never mind if she might like to cry them or not. She can hardly remember what that feels like by now, after so many years of falling to bed from Fred's arms just like this. Although as drunk as she is, she can hardly remember much else either.

When at last Eddie does sleep, the sky is still dark but now clear.

The moon and the light pollution in the city together are easy to see by, even in the dirty back alleys. She can navigate them without much trouble, each one familiar to her from all her time spent here during the days. She creeps past the cracked open back door of a bar. The lights from inside fall half across her face, the smell of booze and the smoke of cigarettes gusting over her like the bar is breathing.

She expects a rancor of cheerful voices with an undercurrent of tinny rock music. Instead there is silence, heavy to near painfulness in her ears. She wants to pause in the doorway and stare, to take a moment to reconcile the sight with the lack of sound, but her gaze and her body continue on as if she is not their pilot.

Her dirty blonde hair falls into her face and she blows it away with a puff out the side of her mouth. Her hands are full with her camera in one hand and the pocket knife her girlfriend gave her in the other. Her glasses slip down her sweaty nose, and she can't push those up either. Luckily her frames are large enough that she can still see through them, for now.

Finally, a lone noise comes to her ears from up ahead. It's the muffled splat of something wet landing onto the gravel of the alley below it. It's not loud; it must have fallen - or been dropped - from a short distance.

Her heart picks up speed. She hadn't noticed it was already racing, but now it pounds painfully against her sternum, impossible to ignore. Her grip tightens on her camera, her shaking finger hovering preemptively over the shutter button as if it's the trigger of a gun.

If she's right she'll finally be able to prove it, get someone to take her seriously and do something. But if she's right - and she knows she is - that means she's in more danger than she's ever been in before, and that's not saying a little. She should turn and run. She should go back home, or even better she should go to someone else's place. Maybe she could move into Bacchanalia for a while.

But she's never been known for that kind of caution. She's wise in other ways. She takes quiet steps closer.

She's woefully, sickeningly unprepared, she realizes all of a sudden. She has all the knowledge she could possibly have (and knowledge is power; she truly believes that). Her confidence in her evidence is unflinching. When she set out tonight, she knew the pocket knife she wields now wasn't much as far as weapons but it was more than she'd usually carry and it made her feel safer. It made her feel like she could be more of a threat, if she needed to be. But now she can only feel the sucking lack of power in herself. There's a sense of absence there, an unfamiliar helplessness crawling up and down her spine chillingly. It nauseates her, like the slow slimy touch of a giant slug.

At this moment, she is only exactly as she seems. Something about that just doesn't feel right.

Still, she continues forward. She's desperate at this point to turn back. The urge wells up behind her eyes like unshed tears. No part of her pays her feelings any mind. (That, at least, is not so unusual.)

Shaking, she flattens herself against the brick to her side as the building comes to an end at a corner. She takes a deep breath that serves only to make her panic worse, sucking in the scent of damp earth and bar trash and blood, thick and tangy metallic in the air. It's more blood, she's certain - despite the ease with which she recognizes the smell - than she has ever encountered before.

The rough brick of the wall scratches against her cheek. She tightens her grip again on her pocket knife, regardless of her lack of faith in it. She raises her camera with her other hand, pointed toward the other side of the alley, the open corner, the wet redness in the dirt oozing closer to her…

It's still dark, but the darkness is impenetrable. It doesn't matter that Eddie can't see; there are no true surroundings here, no details to parse, nothing more to know than the existence of herself. There is only the weakness of her body, the numbing pain in her wrists, her cold sweat, the chill of the tile flooring against her back through the sheer fabric of her dress. The smell of blood remains.

Eddie raises her arms with great effort. They feel so heavy, and they shake. Her biceps feel the burn of the exertion within seconds, but she doesn't drop her hands. Working past the fatigue, she closes her hands around her own throat. It's hard to get a grip, her hands slippery and slick with warm wetness.

"Please," she begs aloud. Her voice comes out wrong, but familiar. A little higher, a little sweeter, softer, happier. The voice of a distant memory, a voice from her childhood. She wants so badly to take comfort from it. She wants so badly for things to go differently this time.

She tightens her grip.

"My baby, my sweet girl, please, let me live."

Eddie starts to cry, and it's such a fucking relief. Her tears are warm and salty when they fall over her lips. Her stomach roils with nauseous fear and guilt, but part of her has already accepted her fate. Part of her wants it. She continues to beg herself for her life, but she smiles her forgiveness all the while.

Her neck begins to bruise. Eddie feels the almost satisfying give under her hands and the crushing pain in her throat together. Still she squeezes down, her nails digging in to keep her grip, scraping away furrows of skin. Her voice is unaffected somehow, still light, still cheerful and gentle and kind. She gives herself no mercy, until finally she stops breathing and she is at last silenced.

Her body dies and goes stiff and cold, but Eddie remains aware. The stillness of her heart and her lungs fills her with a terror that grows inside her like the opening of a terrible maw. She wishes she could just give into it, let it swallow her up whole and crush her down into nothing. She's already dead, really, so why should she want so desperately to breathe? But she does, clinging to the facsimile of life she still has.

There is movement in the deep darkness. She sees it from the corner of her eye, but she can't turn to look closer. Dead bodies don't move. A whimper builds behind her teeth, but she doesn't have the breath to give it voice. Even if she did, she couldn't open her mouth enough to let it out. The only thing she can do is wait, and hope - that she'll be able to breathe soon, and that whatever the thing is won't make her stop again.

The thing gets close enough to see, resolving itself out of the darkness into her father. He stands over Eddie in the outfit she last saw him in. A brown tweed duster, the same style of overwear that Fred now favors, a denim shirt buttoned all the way up, thin dark brown scarf, pants and a belt and boots that match it. Apá always liked to look just so. Fuck, she misses him so much. She's glad to see him, even though she's dead and he's looking down at her like he might look at any other corpse he stumbled upon in the dark.

"Why did you do that?" he asks eventually. His tone is mild, curious, as familiar and nostalgic as the other voice that came out of her own wretched mouth as she killed herself. He sighs deeply. Eddie's crushed throat and her chest are tight and hot with the need to copy him. To breathe. "Tell me that, querida. Why would you kill your own mother?"

Eddie knows she's dreaming now. She's had this one before. She needs to wake up so that she can breathe. She needs to breathe if she wants to wake up.

If.

She could always just stay here. Maybe it would be just for a minute, but dreams always feel longer than they really are. It might even feel like forever. She could stay here with Apá. He's staring down at her with disappointment and disgust, but at least he's here.

He's wearing his dumb overthought outfit and his stubble is salted and Eddie would bet he probably smells like palo santo and fresh tobacco like he always did before. Eddie can't smell him, and she won't even if she stays, because she can't breathe. But even though her chest is painfully tight and Apá obviously hates her, she can think of worse ways to die.

More importantly, she can think of plenty worse ways to keep on living.

It doesn't matter what she wants, either way. Not in this and not in anything else either. She dies at the whim of her dreams, and she lives on the say of whatever wakes her.

Eddie wakes up.

Her eyes are closed and the darkness and her father are the only reality, and then her eyes are open and she's staring up at the plaster ceiling of her bedroom. She still can't move and she still can't breathe, but she can feel the breeze coming in from her open window tickle over her exposed face and arms. She can hear the patter of the rain. Her sheer curtains billow.

Something moves in the shadows.

Eddie stares hard into the dark, her heart racing and making her need for air even more urgent.

She sees dark hair and two dark eyes, a frown, the suggestion of broad shoulders covered in tweed.

Apá. Still glaring down at her. He mutters but Eddie can't understand what he's saying no matter how hard she strains her hearing. She tries to reach out for him, but her arms refuse to so much as twitch.

Before Eddie's tired eyes, Apá starts to melt. The lighter tones of his skin drip down onto the deep darkness of his clothing. The shadow of his hair ruins the lines of his features. The shine of his eyes in the moonlight snuffs out and his height decreases in a lopsided rush that disappears into the negative space of Eddie's unlit bedroom floor.

Eddie gasps into full wakefulness when the specter of her father is completely gone. She breathes in deep - both the air and the rush of becoming aware of her power again. The late summer air is wet and cool in her lungs; her magic feels heavy and warm like an internal weighted blanket. It would be pleasant, but Eddie can only think about Apá and how he's gone again. That hurts more than getting her throat crushed with no contest.

The nightmare is awful and familiar. It's been a recurring punishment for Eddie ever since Apá disappeared for the last time of many, nearly twelve years ago now. Eddie loses him all over again almost every night and it never hurts any less. It happens so often she might even have been able to get used to it, pain and all, if she could ever be positive he isn't really there. She can't be sure he doesn't blame her too, that he doesn't choose to leave her again and again and again.

The other parts, the sneaking around in the alley to take pictures of something dangerous and bloody… Well, that could just as easily be some random nightmare her brain decided to make up to torment her with as it could be a real premonition. They're tough to tell apart. Most of the time these days, Eddie doesn't even bother to try.

What does it matter, anyway? The nightmare she woke up to is just as real and true and any premonition, if maybe not quite as literal. And there's not a damn thing Eddie can do about either of them. There never has been, and there never will be.

When her chest has stopped heaving, and the tears she cried in her sleep have dried, Eddie rolls over towards her bedside table. Her hair falls into her face, dark brown like it's supposed to be. She pulls open the little drawer roughly and tugs out her dream journal and a pen. She ignores the crumpled pages that fall out, uncaring. There's a lamp on the table but Eddie doesn't turn in on to write, scribbling haphazardly across a page that looks like it's probably blank. She opens her hands and lets the book and pen drop to the floor when she's done, and flops onto her back.

It's supposed to help. Writing it down. Fuck knows how. But it's a habit now.

Eddie lies in bed and stares up at her ceiling. The off-white plaster looks the same now as it had minutes ago when Eddie woke up paralyzed and could only see the rest of her room by straining her peripheral vision. It's gray in the silvery moonlight. The ghostly shadows of her curtains dance across her blanket covered legs when the wind gusts them around.

Eddie holds her breath for as long as she can. Nothing steps forward out of the dim.

The fatigue and painful tightness in the chest when suffocating feels a little bit like a heart attack, Eddie muses idly. Once a client's husband had one while they were working his case. The case had only been to find the guy's long lost auntie or something, completely unrelated to his husband. But Eddie had the privilege to die with him anyway.

The bruising of her throat, her windpipe getting crushed, that could be likened to being hanged. Someone that used to go to the bar across the street had done themselves in that way once. They hadn't been working a case for them, hadn't been introduced as far as Eddie remembers, might not have even ever seen each other in passing. But still, Eddie got to die with them.

The light in the room changes slowly as the night and its storm both come to end and the sun begins the arduous process of rising. The early morning sounds of the city come in through the window with the summer breeze now. The chirping of the early birds is loud and sharp, each tweet stabbing into Eddie's ears like an ice pick. She grits her teeth and rolls away from the window, thinking hard about how badly she wants them to shut up. Maybe if she can just be annoyed enough everything will stop.

There's a prickle on the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched. She ignores it. It could be a holdover from the dream. Or maybe she has a stalker. Who gives a shit.

Soon enough, Fred gets up. Eddie listens to xem going through xyr morning routine from underneath her slightly musty pillow, held tight over her ear. She needs to do laundry soon. She needed to do laundry a week ago.

Fred sings in the shower. Eddie's throat goes tight again, her eyes hot, but no more tears come out. She can't cry when she's awake. Her grief is reserved for strangers.

She's so fucking proud and grateful that Fred can be happy. She's also wretchedly jealous. Resentful. She can't help but want that for herself, and she hates Fred every now and then for having it when she can't. She makes herself sick.

The drawers open and close in Fred's room down the hall as xe gets dressed. The creaky floorboard in the hall whines as Fred passes Eddie's room to go make breakfast for both of them. In short order, the smells of coffee and breakfast sausage join the smoke of Fred's first cigarette of the day.

Get out of bed now , Eddie tells herself. She doesn't move. Her body is so heavy and distant. It feels just as beyond her control now as it does during any premonition or nightmare, except that right now there's no reason for it. She should be able to just get the fuck out of bed . She scolds herself that Fred will want her to get out of bed on her own like a goddamn grown up for once.

Then again, Fred would probably have a better morning if xe didn't have to deal with Eddie at all, in bed or out of it.

Get out of bed , Eddie thinks, fiercer and more frustrated with every repetition. Get up. Get the fuck up. Get up. But she never manages to move.

"Eddie?" Fred asks softly from the doorway. Eddie hadn't noticed her door open, too busy trying to get herself to function. "Are you awake yet, cariño?"

Eddie wants to answer because Fred deserves to be treated nicely, but she also wants Fred to just leave her alone. She ends up splitting the difference and just grunting at xem. Fred sighs deeply, and Eddie seethes. She's not sure if she's angry at Fred or at herself. Probably both.

"C'mon, hermanita," Fred says, xyr voice growing closer as xe comes inside the room. The closer xe comes the tighter Eddie's shoulders coil, until the tension starts to hurt her neck. She dreads Fred reaching her bed without her moving and then having to tell Fred she won't get up today. Either Fred will accept that with a disappointed sight and leave her here, or xe'll insist Eddie get up. Both are equally as terrible as each other.

Eddie continues to demand of herself to get up , to fucking move , frantically now, inside her head. Still nothing happens. Fred's weight settles on the bed at Eddie's side and xyr hand cups her shoulder. Xyr touch is gentle and warm and could easily be comforting, if Eddie wasn't so fucked up that she can only feel one thing - or nothing at all or, sometimes, on bad days, some inexplicable twisted combination of the two.

"Come on, Eddie, get up," Fred says, shaking her gently. Eddie grits her teeth. If a simple urging could do it, Eddie would have been up hours ago. It's not that easy. There's no reason it should be any harder, but still it's just not that easy. She wants to shrug her sibling's grip off, but she can't even do that. She just lies still in her unwashed sheets and bears it.

"Okay," Fred sighs, and Eddie's dread builds. Now is the moment. Either Fred will leave her here all day and continue on living life without her, or xe will make her get up and she'll be forced to listlessly go through the motions of the minimum eight to ten hours before she can come back here to her stale and lonely room.

Apparently, today it's going to be the latter option. Fred tugs the pillow out of Eddie's clinging hands. Xe ignores Eddie's childish whine. Xe tosses the thing down to the foot of the bed so that Eddie would have to sit up to get it back, if she wants it badly enough. Then xe goes back to Eddie's shoulder, xyr touch much less gentle now, not intended for comfort at all. Fred pulls Eddie over onto her back, and then when she doesn't move from there except to turn her face away from xem, xe stands and looks down at her with xyr hands on xyr hips.

Eddie knows Fred probably isn't judging her, or at least not in the way she fears, but since she's not looking at xyr face she can't know for sure. She's too much of a coward to take the risk and double check.

Eddie listens as Fred moves around her bed. Xyr tread is as light as always on the hardwood floors, but the buckles on xyr boots jingle flatly with each step. Fred is like some kind of punk rock souvenir bell. Ting-ting -socialism is cool- ting .

Fred's hand circles around one of Eddie's ankles.

"You know I'll do it, Ed," xe says, and xe's not lying. Fred definitely will drag Eddie bodily out of this bed, and Eddie knows it from extensive past experience. Some days a little tussle between siblings in the morning gets the blood pumping and the rest of the requisite eight to ten hours end up with buttery yellow stripes of happiness coming in like sunlight through the broken drawn blinds of Eddie's faulty brain. Some days it's just another layer of shit on top of the festering pile that Eddie is already buried under.

Eddie tries to convince herself one more time to save them both the humiliation and frustration and just get up on her own. She can even feel the potential energy build up in her extremities; she's right on the cusp of moving, maybe, any second now. But the energy only continues to build up until Eddie feels like she's vibrating with it and her half-desperate half-hateful thoughts go buzzing around her head like angry flies.

"Okay," Fred repeats, xyr voice soft and sad. Then xe pulls.

It takes long unhappy moments to get Eddie upright. Fred does most of the work. In the case of standing on your own two feet, it's not the thought that counts at all. Fred is breathing a little heavily and xyr hair is messed up by the time Eddie is upright and standing on her own power.

Eddie mostly just wants to go right back to bed, or to melt into the floor like Apá did - or her dream of him, but who can tell the difference. The thought triggers a surge of guilt, and it compounds with the shame, making Eddie feel heavier and weaker and heavier and weaker.

Turns out she was right. Fred would have absolutely had a much better morning if not for Eddie.

"C'mon, I made breakfast," Fred tells her as xe turns to leave the room. They both know Eddie already knows that, from hearing and smelling it and from the routine. Fred always breakfast or else nobody will and the two of them will have to subsist on cigarettes and booze, respectively. Fred likes to take care of xyr body, aside from xyr one vice, and so xe makes breakfast. Xe makes enough for Eddie every time out of the goodness of xyr heart.

Eddie vacillates sluggishly between the call of food and coffee and the warmth of her bed before finally following her sibling into the kitchen. She'd love to collapse onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, but they're too high and she's too short, so instead she has to boost herself up with a foot on the rung between the legs. It's more effort than it should be, but she does like that she can swing her feet like a kid once she's up there.

Fred has already eaten, xyr lone dish already rinsed and sitting in the sink. Xe stands between the back counter and the bar, facing Eddie as she serves herself some eggs on autopilot. They're probably cold by now, and eggs aren't her favorite thing to begin with, but she puts some into her mouth with her fingers anyway. She chews perfunctorily and swallows it down. For a moment she has the uncharitable urge to open her mouth and make a show of proving to Fred that she ate it.

Unaware of Eddie's boorish attitude, Fred makes a face at her table manners. Xe fishes a fork out of the drawer and slides it across the bar to rest at Eddie's elbow. Eddie leaves it where it is and pointedly licks grease off of her fingers. She'll live, fine, but she's not going to be polite about it. Fred sighs through xyr nose, on part exasperated and one part amused. Eddie will take one part over none.

"Jay's case won't be too difficult," Fred says. Xe slips a cigarette out of xyr shiny case and lights it up with xyr zippo lighter. Eddie picks at her food in silence, waiting for the dark and spicy scent of clove smoke to reach her across the breakfast bar. It's the same scent that used to cling to Apá's coat. Same brand and all.

Fred flips the zippo open and closed as xe takes a long, long drag. That particular lighter was a gift from Apá the last time they saw him. Fred likes to say it was for xyr nineteenth birthday, because that was the closest occasion. Eddie closes her eyes and breathes in the smell, remembering.

"Yet another stolen heirloom," Eddie mutters over her cold eggs, referring to the case in question. Jay was here last night. Eddie knows she probably made a shit first impression, though she doesn't remember it clearly. It was past dinnertime and she was well on her way to hosed in preparation for bed. "Riveting stuff. Real important."

Fred takes another long, long drag before speaking, visibly gathering xyr patience. Eddie wonders when that resource will finally run out.

"The diamond isn't just an heirloom, Eddie," xe says once xe has taken the cigarette out from between xyr lips, leaning over the breakfast bar to emphasize xemself. "It's part of an active spell. If some blockhead secular swiped it looking for a payday it could be dangerous."

Eddie doesn't answer. She knows the diamond they've been hired to track down came out of a blessing box passed down to Jay by a great great great grandmother, and that it'll have the family's magic all over it. It could react badly to being separated from the other components of the spell.

She also knows that they're Jay's last resort. Jay didn't say so, but Eddie doesn't need to hear it said to know it. Jay isn't a Clairvoyant, like the two of them are, so there's no way they were a first or second, third, or fourth choice. Eddie doesn't begrudge people their hesitance though. She'd avoid her too, if she could.

"Look, hermanita," Fred says, mostly sympathetic this time, though Eddie doesn't doubt it's at least half put-on. "We've got that little diamond Scrying ball now. I can probably just use like to find like, and you won't need to use your gift at all for this one."

Eddie laughs, bitter and sharp. It stings in her throat, like whisky coming back up.

"You and I both know Seeing isn't a gift," she counters, her mouth twisted up into a painfully wry approximation of a smile. Her dreams from the night well up behind her eyes like her mind is a backed up garbage disposal. Whoever that blonde was is probably dead by now, and all Eddie feels about it is one part gladness that she wasn't there long enough to know and one part resentment over how she has nothing to do with anything in Eddie's life and Eddie still had to feel her terror anyway. "And I don't use it. It uses me. Whether anyone needs it to or not."

Fred just sucks down the rest of xyr cigarette, looking like xe might cry when Eddie pushes aside the rest of the cold eggs and pours herself a glass of red wine instead.

It could be worse, Eddie reasons to herself as she takes a generous gulp. At least this is made of fruit.

Eddie finishes her 'breakfast' at a leisurely pace while Fred lights up another clove. Xe is always getting onto Eddie for her drinking, as if xyr vice isn't just as bad for xem. But Eddie supposes that's what older siblings are for, if you don't have parents to do the job. After the wine is gone and the last wisps of smoke are lingering near the ceiling, it's time to get to work.

The office is just next door. There are two doors out front, one to the office and one to their home, as well as one between the two inside. The door windows are frosted and tinted slightly purple, the color of Clairvoyance. At least they get to be pretty. Both office doors have the business stuck on with vinyl in the window in a compressed serif font. Watchtower Private Investigations, named so after the height of the building, unusual for the street. The hinges and the wood floor both whine in complaint at Eddie's rough treatment of them as she makes her way inside before Fred.

The office is a hodgepodge of the usual administrative office stuff and the more esoteric detritus of witchcraft. The desk is covered with meticulously labeled manila folders, though some of them have been crumpled or strewn across the floor due to Eddie's flawed dismount last night. The bookshelves are filled half with shiny paperbacks on business, finance, and law, and half with yellowed old tomes on dream-working and potion-making. There's an altar set up on cloth on top of the filing cabinet.

Eddie crosses the space, avoiding looking at the files she ruined so diligently that she steps on a few. The windows at the back of the room are still cracked open. The air in here is perpetually hazy from the smoke of Fred's cigarettes and all the incense they burn. Fragrant dust swirls around in the sunbeams from the tobacco stained glass. It's probably beautiful, in its way.

Eddie yanks the curtains closed, blocking out the light. Her head hurts enough already, and she forgot her sunglasses downstairs and across the hall.

Fred sighs through xyr nose at Eddie's heelish behavior, clicking xyr tongue in disapproval at the files on the floor. Xe visibly debates stooping to pick them up, before sighing one more time and turning away from the whole sorry scene. Xyr shoulders are strong, nearly as broad as Apá's, but they droop under xyr neatly pressed seafoam green jacket. Xe sighs so much, Eddie thinks, because she makes it harder for xem to breathe than even all that tar can manage.

While Fred's back is turned, Eddie picks up the files. She does her best to smooth out the ones her ass tore up last night, and the ones she stepped on just now. She doesn't have much luck, but then again she never really does. Except maybe with the ladies.

The wingback chair at Apá's desk is ratty and faded, but still imposing. It's one of Eddie's few joys in life to sit in it and feel it at her back, making her a little bit bigger in her britches. If she wore britches. Whatever the hell britches are. It used to be a deep, velvety blood red, but that was before Eddie was even born. Now, it's a patchy burnt orange with blooms of light mauve where the friction is highest and the pile has worn down to pale threads. The thing is sturdy, though. Sturdier than the fucking floor, apparently, since unlike the floor it doesn't creak a bit when Eddie drops herself into like ice into a glass.

The top drawer on the left has a bottle of Jack in it. Eddie's fingers alight on the drawer's handle, dancing along to the tune the whisky sings from inside. The tinkle of piano keys, of ice in a lowball, promising to bounce anything and everything else at the door. Or at least to charge it a few details to get in.

"Don't," Fred murmurs, across the room and with xyr back still turned. "At least help me with this spell first before you start."

Eddie leaves her hand on the drawer, ornery. I've already started , she thinks of saying. Or maybe, You're not my parent . But she's been childish enough for the first few hours of the day. She curls her hand into a fist, and then she tucks it under her knee.

Fred eventually joins Eddie at Apá's desk, xyr arms full with the paraphernalia of xyr intentions. A small crystal ball, a stand for it, the Scrying board, a cup full of colored chalk, a box of incense cones, and a ceramic tray to burn them on. Eddie clears the center of the desk for xem, files on either side. One of those is probably Jay's. No doubt she'll have to dig it out in a minute.

Fred sets up the Scrying altar in the center of the desk to xyr specifications. Fred's power and process is as much a mystery to Eddie as Eddie's is to Fred. Not that Eddie really has much of a process to understand.

"Like to like," Fred explains idly as xe marks symbols onto the wood of the Scrying board with the chalk. Xe came up with the symbols xemself, sigils to make the ordeal of connecting to the crystals easier, and to help xem actually do what they intend. Even with the help, often Fred still ends up connecting to something that doesn't help them. Xe has near-equal chances here to find Jay's diamond as to end up spiritually trapped in a Shane Company warehouse.

Fred's own diamond is modest, as far as crystal balls go. Just barely big enough to fill the palm of Fred's hand, smoothed into a perfect sphere but otherwise uncut. It glitters with yellow-golden flecks and black impurities, but besides those it's clearer and more reflective inside than quartz is.

Eddie lights the frankincense while Fred sets the ball into its stand. The earthy, spicy-sweet scent surrounds them quickly. Elecampane would be better for this, but it's rare and expensive and often faked. Its only use is for Clairvoyance, after all. Anyone seeking it out is probably better off with the dud. Frankincense is a good enough substitute, magically speaking. And it even smells similar, too.

Fred shoos Eddie out of the wingback chair when the set up is done, and Eddie reluctantly cedes it to xem. Xe contorts xemself into a cross-legged position in it, and then stares into xyr diamond ball intently.

To Eddie, nothing seems to happen. Not outside of Fred, anyway.

It's always a little bit scary to see Fred scry. Xe seems to disappear entirely from xemself, leaving xyr empty body behind. Xyr pupils dilate like xe've done a line. Xyr irises take on an oily purplish sheen, the something else that is controlling the operation showing through. The incense smoke curls around xem like a pet snake, overeager for affection - or for a meal.

Out loud, Fred intones, "West. Dark. Familiar."

Fred's voice is low and quiet, with an inflection that makes xem sound inhuman, but other than that it's as familiar as always. It reminds Eddie of both of their parents; the steadiness of their father, the sweetness of their mother, and the underlying croak they all have from smoking like chimneys.

Eddie writes down the insight, and then the only thing she can do is wait for the crystals to release Fred back into the living world. She leaves Fred at Apá's desk to go collect an Ensure from the minifridge, as well as the communal emergency office back and zippo. It's less because Fred will need these things in a hurry so Eddie had better have them ready, and more so that she can spend less time looking at Fred's blank, reflective eyes and the lack of a person behind them.

That's Eddie's big sibling, her protector, the person who practically raised her, and her only friend, crowded out of xyr own body and replaced with an unfeeling object. Fred is one of the lucky ones, the luckiest in the Alfaro family. Scrying is the least horrible form of Clairvoyance, and one of the safest. It's almost certain that Fred will be able to settle back into xemself with only a few tiny diamond stones to pass at worst. But the risk is never zero.

Crystals grow, after all. Some of them faster than others.

This time, as all the times before, Fred resurfaces. Xyr eyes melt into their natural dark brown and xe blinks back to awareness. Eddie lets out the breath she was holding and collapses into the wooden chair on the other side of the desk that they have for clients. She leans over the desk to offer Fred the Ensure, and then sets it down within xyr reach when Fred seems to be still too out of it to take it from her. Eddie lights a cigarette for xem next. She takes the first drag for herself.

Her hands are shaking. This shit is almost more frightening than it already would be because Fred never seems scared at all. Like it's nothing to xem if xe comes back to her or doesn't.

The scent of burning tobacco revives Fred the rest of the way. Xe gestures greedily for the cigarette first, and Eddie readily hands it over. Only after several fortifying puffs does Fred crack the seal on the Ensure. Xe takes carefully paced, delicate little sips, though Eddie knows xe'd rather gulp it down. The two of them learned that lesson the hard way when they first started this business out - with Fred on xyr knees in the bathroom and Eddie holding xyr long hair back.

Finally, Fred takes a deep breath and asks hoarsely, "Did I find it? Felt like I found it."

"Seems like you did, yeah," Eddie confirms. She slips a second cigarette out of the emergency pack and lights it for herself. She doesn't usually prefer cloves, but she needs to settle her nerves. "You said something about West? Here, I wrote it down."

Fred waves away the notepad Eddie holds out, instead beginning to ruffle sluggishly through the files on the desk. There are dozens. They don't exactly have an organizational system in here, and it's been a full decade now of accumulating them. They get pretty decent work, considering. Eddie hadn't really thought it would work, when they'd started. It had all been Fred's idea, hairbrained, and Eddie had just gone along with it because she couldn't think of anything better.

"Aha!" Fred exclaims when xe finds Jay's file, becoming more and more like xyr lively self the longer xe goes about with xyr head clear of stones. The file isn't one of the ones Eddie ruined last night, though it does have what looks like a coffee ring on one corner. That could have been either of them.

"I assume you don't remember any of what Jay said when they were here," Fred mutters as xe flips over their standard intake sheet to get to the handwritten details underneath. Eddie's stomach clenches. She wishes she could argue.

"I didn't know they were coming," she defends herself weakly.

"No," Fred agrees softly. "I know. I'm sorry." Silently, and without looking at her, xe hands Eddie the intake sheet for her to look over.

Eddie does remember most of this information; Jay's name, the date they took the case, a description of the missing diamond, bare-bones estimated timeline of the theft, how much they're charging. She stares down at the page unseeingly anyway and lets Fred hog the more interesting details. It's not really Eddie's job to come up with suspects anyway - at least not when she hasn't Seen them. She just follows whoever Fred tells her to.

"I'm thinking the niece's boyfriend," Fred says eventually, breaking a silence between them that isn't exactly uncomfortable. Eddie makes a vague noise of agreement. She doesn't remember anything about the niece's boyfriend. Fred highlights something in xyr notes, and then passes them across the desk to Eddie.

Turns out he's a college student who has been dating Jay's niece - who lives with Jay over the summers - for the last three months since the spring semester ended. A secular too, just like Fred had posited at breakfast, who likely would have no idea that the diamond in question is more than just a very expensive rock. He lives to the west from here, and from the diamond's home, in Little Italy.

"Yeah, I like him for it," Eddie agrees around the filter. "Surveillance beat?"

"Ugh," Fred groans, but xe nods. "No job right?" Eddie nods. According to the background they have, the only thing Boyfriend does all week is visit Jay's niece and effusively compliment Jay's cooking.

"A daytime stakeout," Eddie says, in unison with Fred. The siblings smile at each other briefly. They've always had something of a penchant for being on the same wavelength like that. Apá's absence, Eddie's drinking and pessimism, and Fred's apparent ability to just move on from anything may all be doing their damndest to push Fred and Eddie apart, and maybe some days it seems like they'll get their way. But sometimes, they're still the same as they were as kids. Jinxing each other, practically reading each other's minds.

"That's tomorrow," Fred says. Xe turns xyr attention back to Jay's file, shuffling the pages to xyr liking before reaching for a drawer. Eddie tenses. Fred already knows the booze is there, as evidenced from xyr admonishment earlier, but knowing that doesn't stop Eddie from feeling like she'll get in trouble if Fred sees it there.

Luckily, Fred doesn't go for that drawer. The legal pad xe needs is in the drawer above that, and xyr favorite clicky pen is in the top drawer on the other side. When xe has what xe needs, xe starts writing up the mid-investigation report for Jay. Xe delicately picks out straight, even capitals that nearly look typed, remarkably quickly for how neat they are.

Eddie leaves xem to it. She's not great with the customer-facing end of things. A little too negative, a little too blunt, acerbic. A little too to-the-point as well. Their clients want to think every case is complicated. They want to be reassured and validated in addition to having their mysteries solved. Eddie would just as soon write one sentence and be done with it, and then they'd probably lose the case because it wouldn't look like enough work to pay them for.

Eddie much prefers doing the books. She likes numbers because you don't have to interpret them. There's no nicer way to put them. They mean what they mean.

When the report is written, and the budget is calculated, the siblings make up a surveillance itinerary for tomorrow. They'll start early in the morning to make sure they don't miss him if he does go out, and take set shifts to piss or pick up food. They're already familiar with the area, so they don't have to get to know the streets and landmarks in person this time. The nearest convenience store is marked out on Fred's roughly sketched map, the best exit routes highlighted.

Jay's case is the only one Watchtower Investigations has open at the moment, so here is where the siblings separate. For Fred, the workday is done. Xe leaves the building out the front. Xe has enough friends and acquaintances that xe can meet up with someone any time.

Eddie could call it quits too, if she wanted, and she's doing so in all but name. Her mood has improved enough since the morning that she doesn't immediately want to go back to bed and pretend to never have been born, so instead she pilfers one of Fred's post-Scrying Ensures from the minifridge to serve as her lunch. Then she contorts herself into a catlike curled up position in the wingback chair. She opens the middle drawer but instead of the bottle of Jack, she pulls a battered romance novel out from underneath it.

The air from outside the still open window behind her smells green and fresh after last night's rain. There is no breeze, there never is in the summers, but the storm cooled it down enough for the humidity trapped amid the crowded city buildings to not feel so oppressive.

Afternoon sunshine drips sluggishly over Eddie's shoulder like honey, spilling gold over the book as Eddie finds her place by the page number she memorized last time she put it down. It's from Mrs. Zilbersetein, a secular from two houses down, given as part of her payment to them for the pictures of her ex-husband and his mistress that she used in her divorce. The pages are soft and thin from wear, showing how much she'd loved the book before Eddie. The cover is illustrated with a voluptuous blonde ingenue in a red dress and an imposing man with a fedora and a handgun.

Eddie makes it through two chapters and one sex scene before there's a knock at the outer door.

Eddie considers not answering; Jay is paying them well so they don't need to cram in as much work as they can at the moment. But curiosity gets the best of her, despite her general distaste for the kind of work Watchtower usually ends up doing. So, she leaves her steamy book open and upside down in the seat of the wingback and goes to see who's there.

When she swings the door open, Eddie comes face to face with an impressive set of cleavage clad in what could easily be the very same red dress from the illustrated cover she'd just put down. She stares for a moment, briefly mesmerized by the shiny liquid-like fabric draped artfully over smooth dark skin, before blinking herself back to reality and relegating her gaze up to the woman's face.

Her features are just as elegant and striking as her attire. She has a heart shaped face, near-black dark brown eyes, and loosely curled cherry red hair. Her lip color matches her dress and her hair, and her skin glows in the slowly reddening sunlight. Beyond the sight of two eyes, she looks to be secular. The concurrence of exceptionalism and mundanity is dissonant to the third. If Eddie keeps looking so closely, her headache will come back with a vengeance.

"Uh," says Eddie eloquently. "I, uh. I think you have the wrong place. Ma'am."

The woman - the lady, really; the way she's dressed surely she can't be called anything else - doesn't smile, but Eddie thinks she catches a dimple crease her cheek on one side before it's gone again.

"Watchtower Investigations? Miss Alfaro, I presume," she asks. Her voice sounds like one that could be heard at a vintage speakeasy, crooning sad slow jazz tunes to an audience of pipe smoking men in pinstripe suits.

"Yes- Sorry," Eddie says. She steps aside and holds the door for the lady like a gentleman, feeling very nearly as out of touch with herself as she ever has during a premonition. Her body takes her through the steps of this interaction as it should be, without pausing for her to think about it first.

"Don't worry yourself, doll," says the Lady in Red. "I'm overdressed, I know. I usually am." She adjusts the sheer, glittering shawl fathered at her elbows and steps past Eddie into the house. She smells, somewhat unexpectedly, like leather.

Eddie leads the Lady in Red up to the office, holding open the door with the frosted window for her too. She has the half-hysterical urge to pull out her chair as well, but there's no table to pull it from. She sits in the wooden chair in front of the desk and crosses her long legs, a high slit in her dress parting around her thigh. Eddie takes the wingback, stuffing the romance book uncomfortably between her ass and the back rather than reveal it.

"What can I- What can we do for you, Miss…?" Eddie asks leadingly. The Lady's dimple comes back, and this time it stays. Eddie tries to to feel too proud of herself, just for a little politeness. True it's not a skill of hers, and she usually doesn't even bother to try, but still.

"Miz," the Lady corrects smoothly. "Jessica. And I want you to solve a murder."

Eddie's breath catches in her throat and she swallows it down with difficulty, conflicted. The cases they usually take are… not thrilling, to say the least. But murder is maybe a bit too thrilling. Especially when taking into account that Watchtower has only ever dealt with background checks, theft, spell sourcing, and infidelity. They've never even handled a missing person.

"That's not really in our wheelhouse," Eddie admits, as gently as she can. "The police really would b-"

"Oh, I've already tried the pigs," Ms. Jessica interrupts. The disdain in her voice is palpable. Eddie can't blame her. After all, Jessica is visibly not a person cops traditionally 'protect and serve'. Eddie herself isn't one of those either. They usually take murder pretty seriously in most cases though - provided that it's not one of their own murders, and that there's someone left behind who cares enough to report it in the first place.

"I know it can seem like it's taking a long time," Eddie tries again. Jessica's foot twitches irritably, the champagne colored pump on it catching the now purplish light of the approaching dusk in the window behind Eddie.

"No," says Jessica, simple and firm, and Eddie shuts up. "They told me they're not investigating. They don't believe me."

If Eddie's interest wasn't piqued before, it certainly is now. She turns aside her reservations regarding Watchtower's qualifications - or lack thereof - and leans forward over Apá's desk to listen more intently.

"There's no body?" Jessica shakes her head. Her foot stops kicking; she must be relieved to truly have Eddie's attention. It seems likely now that, like everyone else who comes, she's here as a last resort.

"I don't think there could have been much of one left, to be honest with you," she says. Her voice is lower now, a little scratched up, but she doesn't waver. "There was a lot of-" She chokes, and for the first time looks away from Eddie. Her gaze seems to catch on the altar on top of the filing cabinet and Eddie wonders if she'll latch on to the easy subject change it might offer.

Watchtower gets very few secular clients. They're in the phone book, sure, but their business comes almost entirely from word of mouth, and witches and seculars don't tend to cross paths more than incidentally. Eddie has to wonder if that altar is something Jessica was expecting to see. Does she know what they are, or is she even now assuming they're some kind of new age hippies?

In the end, Jessica doesn't take the out, though she doesn't finish what she was going to say either. She concludes definitively, "She's dead. I know she's dead."

Jessica's eyes meet Eddie's across Apá's desk, and instantly Eddie knows Jessica has to be right. In the depths of her brown eyes, Eddie recognizes the same feeling she had when she knew Apá wouldn't be coming back this time. It's the same feeling clients have in their eyes when they already know their spouse is cheating on them, or that their trusted friend has robbed them. Intuition, maybe. Or the brief, terrible omniscience that comes from grief.

Sometimes Fred and Eddie's job is not so much to find out what happened, but why .

"I know this isn't what you usually do," Jessica adds eventually. "But my- Maddie. Maddie Ward. She deserves at least some kind of justice. I had to try. Will you consider it?"

Eddie shouldn't. She shouldn't full stop, but she especially shouldn't decide to take a client without Fred's input.

"Of course," she says.

Eddie forgot to grab a fresh intake sheet from the filing cabinet on her way to the desk when she first let Jessica in (along with the travel pack of tissues Fred always offers to a new client), but she's not willing to backtrack across the room and look foolish or bumbling in front of this elegant lady. Not to mention if she gets up there's a chance the book she's all but sitting on will be exposed. In lieu of that, Eddie drags over the nearest casefile, flips it open, and poises herself to write on the back of the topmost paper, whatever it is.

"You got a last name, Ms. Jessica?" she prompts, looking intently at her own hand wrapped around Fred's favorite fountain pen. Her name, her number. These are professional necessities. Eddie has no ulterior motives, no need for Jessica's information beyond the purposes of solving her case. More to the point, Jessica is out of Eddie's league - and probably playing a different game altogether anyway.

Jessica gathers herself, mentally and physically, and rises gracefully from the very ungraceful chair she's been occupying these last long moments of the day. Her shadow casts itself around the room in fractals not unlike any of Fred's crystals, or like the ambiguous movement of something unknown beneath rippling water. She sees herself to the door while Eddie is still mesmerized.

"Let's see if you can find that out yourself," she challenges over her bare shoulder. "Consider it an interview." Her enigmatic smile seems to imply that the interview could be for the job, or maybe for something a little more personal if Eddie performs well enough.

"Call me when you find me," Jessica says as she slips out the door. Her silhouette pauses behind the frosted window, flutters its long fingers in a coy little wave, and then fades away with the hollow clip of high heels on hardwood.

I will accept constructive criticism on this chapter from mutuals. More in this Universe: Cat's Eye View | Feline Retribution | Beer, Brandy, Belladonna

Taglist: @girlfriendsofthegalaxy @haectemporasunt @jezifster @blackhannetandco @fearofahumanplanet @littlehastyhoneydew @rainbowabomination @antihell @isherwoodj @marrowwife @ashen-crest @wildswrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @garthcelyn @muddshadow @cohldhands @unrealistic-android @glam-pir @outpost51 @mrbexwrites @vacantgodling @blind-the-winds

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discoverywriter · 8 months ago

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20 Questions For Writers

Didn’t actually get tagged on this, but it looked like a fun one. 🤣

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

AO3 says I have 24. Huh.

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

288,626 since I started in 2021, which seemed like a lot to me until I realized 179,551 of those belong to the second thing I ever wrote, a massive 4 part series covering from Rio’s resurrection to their inevitable HEA.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Veronica Mars brought me to AO3. The Punisher (Kastle) made me think for the first time about writing prompts, but it was the Good Girls (Brio) fandom that finally got me to put the proverbial pen to paper.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Even If It Hurts (Part 3 of Walk Through The Fire series)

2. Sanctuary (Part 2 of Walk Through The Fire series)

3. Get Your House In Order (Part 1 of Walk Through The Fire series)

4. By My Side (Part 4 of Walk Through The Fire series)

5. What Would Elizabeth Do?

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to, at least. Sorry if I’ve missed any, sometimes I lose track of the notification emails.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh, definitely Enemy of My Enemy. Hardest fic for me to finish. Not fluffy. No HEA. Rio is aaaaaangry.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmm… there’s a lot to choose from cause I looooove a soft, fluffy Brio. If you can slog through the 4 part series, it covers the most ground, ending years after the show. It’s loosely based on canon to start, but veers off.

8. Do you get hate on your fics?

Hmm… Not really. Luckily just one I can think of. A vague accusation that all my ideas were suspiciously like a lot of other ones on AO3… except those other writers did it way better. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I blocked them and figured if anything, it meant I’d finally “made it”. 😂

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I try to. I aim for the kind I think people will enjoy reading, but I often alternate between worrying it’s either a little too cheesy, or over the top.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t, but I would never say never. There are some I would *love* for other people to write, though. Karen Page (Punisher) and Steve Rogers (Captain America)… Intrepid reporter interviews national hero after the Battle of New York. Neither are looking for anything, but sparks fly. Anyone? Anyone??? 🤣

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but wouldn’t it be awesome if AO3 had a button that would do that automatically?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Again, no. I won’t say it would never happen, but I’m a bit of a lone wolf writer. Strict deadlines, etc are tough for me, so I think I’d find a co-writing situation very stressful.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

It has to be Brio. 🥰

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

This is a tough one. I don’t tend to release fics until they’re finished, so I don’t have any orphaned stories out there crying out for a happy ending. I do have a dozen or so ideas that are in various stages of completion. Some are almost done(ish), so I suspect the ones that are less likely to get finished are the ones that are literally a sentence fragment… barely a complete idea. I mean, they’re great random scattered thoughts, but… Yeah.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve been told my Brio characterizations are good.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Hmmm… Dialogue and smut. My descriptions aren’t bad, but my writing style isn’t as “flowy” as I’d sometimes like.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’m not bilingual, so if I include another language in a fic I tend to keep it fairly short and straightforward to lessen the chance of getting it wrong.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Good Girls. First and only.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I don’t mind rereading (most of) my own stuff. I have a special soft spot for ones where Brio interacts with the kids, like Smarter Than Your Average Gang Friend (Rio gets shown up by the Jane), and In Sickness (Jane’s sick and Rio shows Beth an uncharacteristic kindness).

Not tagging anyone in particular. Please, jump in!

#ask game #gg fanfic #brio #brio fanfiction

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koriningyou · 2 months ago

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WELCOME TO THE CHAOS🎵

Welcome to koriningyou! In this post you'll find everything you need to know (hopefully!) I'm your host, Nemo🦄 (30yrs | she/they | will also respond to Kori!). Our muses lineup features some fan favorites making a comeback: Rory Must/ang, Kyo So.hma & Bey.ond Birt/hday. as well as some fresh faces: Alice Avadere (A) & Chi/zuru Yosh.ida! Be sure to check out the after party my other blog

Please note that my activity is low due to other priorities (and limitations) that extend beyond the little demons in my phone. The lineup can be triggering for some viewers, so respect this is an 18+ blog. Each muse has generic tags for blocking purposes and descriptions of featured tws and what to expect from each one (this is a WIP feature so please bear with me). But also for this purpose, I am also labeling this a de.ad do.ve; dne (we can blame B and A…)

I'm friendly af, so reach out to chat/plot etc!♡ below the cut are the house rules, follow them so we can all have fun, yeah?

Below are the rules; however I want to make it sooooo clear. I know the argument against genderbend muses. And I'm genuinely sorry if Rory offends anyone, but I will not stop writing her. She has been a primary muse for me for over 10 years, my attachment to her is too strong to part with. So I understand if you feel the need to block me for this. I will not be mad♡

[updated: nov.16.24] [banner cred: @/strangergraphics]

DNF CRITERIA; WILL BLOCK ON SIGHT!

no minors. Preferably 21+. But ultimately 18+. There will be nsfw / triggering things on this blog - mostly blood, gore, violence. While it may not be smut, implied and time skips are fine.

No personals. If your rp blog is a sideblog to your personal - message me! This is the only exception.

Tbh basic dni if you're a shit person. I don't want that around.

I prefer interacting with mutuals. But I am not necessarily mutuals only.

THE NO GOS; PLEASE DO NOT DO!

No god modding.

No killing off my characters unless discussed.

Don't force a ship just because. This excludes heavily shippy ask memes that are meant to be in that way, but they help test the waters. However, they'll be like a oneshot au - if the chemistry really is there then it can be an actual plotline to discuss and plot.

MUSES

Some muses are minors in canon. and I'm willing to rp canon timelines, however, majority of them will be played in a post canon timeline of in their early 20s.

Every muse has a designated emoji. I find it fun and whimsical. I have no other reason. though the emoji/their name will always be used in some form when specifying muse. This allows for blacklisting purposes as well if a specific muse is too triggering.

Please specify muse when interacting. If not, I will choose whoever I see fit. though I would rather choose someone you would enjoy interacting with instead of stuck with a character you have no knowledge of.

Frankly all muses are by default pansexual. And every ship is its own timeline. We can rp cheating as long as it's discussed. I also am okay with poly ships as well.

Again; please don't force ships. if your muse crushes on mine, that's totally cool. I'm really open to all styles of content. So we can have angsty unrequited love. Or who knows maybe they grow on a muse and it ends up happening. Just let the ocean do its thing and we'll see where the ships go lol.

FORMATTING/ TAGGING/ ASKS

Again fun and whimsical. I like formatting and using manga icons. You aren't obligated to match. If formatting is a distraction and makes it difficult for you please just let me know and I'll avoid using them in our threads.

There will be a lot of triggering content on my blog…looking at you B… the only posts that will not be tagged with a pretty format will be all triggers. Very simply - those will be tagged as “ trigger tw “ or “ trigger mention “

Anon is on. I encourage it. Don't be spiteful or else I will take it away. Specify muse when sending asks. And if any ask is to be turned into a thread, please make a new post and tag me.

GENERAL TAGLIST~

☆.ooc. ☆.answered. ☆.psa. ☆.mobile. ☆.askmeme.

MUSE SPECIFIC TAGS.

☆.aesthetic.*muse name*. [ie: ☆.aesthetic.miroku.] ☆.ic.*muse name*. [ie: ☆.ic.bb.] ☆.hc.*muse name*. [ie: ☆.hc.kyo.] ☆.*muse icon*.*muse name*. [ie: ☆.🍜.chizuru.] ☆.*muse icon*.*verse name*. [ie. ☆.🔥.three's company.]

MUSE MASTERLIST.

🐱Kyo Sohma.

🔥Rory Mustang.

🐟Arisa Uotani.

🪡Miroku Kuchisake.

🍜Chizuru Yoshida.

🐰Alice Avadere (A).

🔪Beyond Birthday (B.)

Rules can and will be updated at any given point in time with no notice. Have fun. I'm open to ocs, aus, crossovers etc. So don't be shy!

#☆.ooc.#☆.pinnedpost.#☆.rules.#like if you've read pls!

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kazoosandfannypacks · 10 months ago

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Find the Words Tag Game

Tagged by @booksteaandtoomuchtv Thanks, bestie!

Rules: Find the words in all your current WIPs and post a snippet containing the words, then tag others with their own words.

My Words: tired, hand(s), and smirk.

I wanted to include one snippet from each of my major wips and since none of them contained the word "smirk," I figured I'd do two for the word "hand" and then include a little snippet from another wip for "smirk"

hand- sabezra gamergirl au, cygnetscholar superhero au

Ezra watched as the player found the Warthog, and perfectly drove, splattering the Aliens that got in her way. Nearby there was a small opening, he watched the player take the truck through, by driving on the stone wall. If she flipped, it’d be all over. If not, she’d be more awesome than usual. The landing was about to happen, the anxiety was building, and then… a hand got in between him and the phone, blocking his view entirely. "Hey," Ezra said, pulling his headphone off of one ear so he could yell at his roommate, whose hand covered his phone. "Hey yourself," Jai said, "we gotta get going; we're gonna be late." Ezra hadn't looked at a clock since the stream had started, which was apparently three hours ago. Somehow it was already fifteen minutes before the dining hall stopped serving dinner, and it was at least a ten minute walk down that way.

Hope typed in a number on the keypad, and the door opened, not to a bunch of musty old boxes of Christmas decorations, but instead to a high tech and well lit room, complete with a fancy supersuit display case, a divider to change behind, an almost wall-sized computer, and a state of the art gaming chair— complete with a very frazzled guy in the chair. "Another day saved," Hope said, "and I even had time to grab you coffee on the way back." She snapped her fingers, and one of the cups she'd left at the door appeared in her hand. "I don't drink coffee," he said. "You think I don't know that by now, Gid?" Hope asked, "it's [OH CRAP WHAT KIND OF TEA DOES GIDEON DRINK]* tea."

tired- captain swan romeo & juliet & boybands

Killian had hoped to draw as little attention to himself as possible as he left for his library date with Emma. Liam, however, had never been one to ignore his little brother, even when he seemed engrossed in whatever he was doing "Do you wanna go grab a pizza tonight?" Liam asked, pausing his show to ask. "Wha– no," Killian fumbled, "I'm on my way to the library anyway; I'll grab something on the way." "It's Saturday night and you're going to the library?" Liam asked, "we've got to get you a girlfriend." Though Killian was tired of his brother trying to set him up on stupid dates, he had to admit, he appreciated the irony of that statement. "I wonder how he'd respond if he knew that's what I'm doing," Killian thought.

smirk- hooked on a feeling (millian soulmark au)

Milah smirked a little, but thought of how awful it would be if Baelfire had to see something awful happen. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

*text in capital letters and brackets indicates I need to fill in information after more research

Tagging some writer friends to participate in this challenge! Feel free to tag me back if you like, and I'll share some more snippets with whatever words you select! @laughingphoenixleader @kanerallels @jessicas-pi @silver-the-phoenix @jedi-nurse @seleneisrising and anyone else reading this! Your words are tree, eye, and water, but if none of those words appear, feel free to use the words I did!

#kazzy writes #tag game #kazzy's kazootuals #kazzy's wips #millian #sabezra #captain swan #cygnet scholar #wip snippets #otp: im counting on you #otp: try something new darling #otp: maybe you need some normal friends

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productofaritual · 1 year ago

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(INTRO BEGINS UNDER THE DIVIDER) Tumblr doesn't let u pin multiple posts, so here's some posts I would pin too if I could :D

Watch me go insane in real time

Crazy? I was crazy once

More about asks

More about me but in the form of a bad joke

Art (and not just art) resources

Intro? Intro. I've decided to actually engage with OTHER HUMAN BEINGS. Sometimes. Occasionally. To talk about my silly little thoughts and silly little writing.

Agender, any pronouns/terms (neutral preferred), Aroace

I'm working on an original book called "Bound By Name". It has its own tag and if you want to know about it, be sure to check out #Bound By Name (intro post about it here) (I don't post much about it but I am in the process of writing!)

Author/fanfic writer

Bilingual (English/Czech)

My ao3

Askbox always open! Speak to me! Also if you have fic prompts or ideas you think I'd like/want me to write, throw them in there too!

DMs always open but say what you want right in the first message because I might not answer or panic block

Spam liking/reblogging/commenting is A-OK. I love to see people enjoying my silly little posts

Moot = can interact anytime all the time as much as they like I literally can't say how much I appreciate all of them

I mainly write SBI and beeduo (yes, in 2024) and talk about random stuff

All of my fics are strictly about the characters! All of them! Every single one!

Way more WIPs than completed works

Expect me talking about discontinued works, unfinished works, or those on hiatus, but I'll only be posting the finished ones on ao3! That's why they're taking so long

I only write for the DSMP fandom but some of my other interests include: Dead Boy Detectives, D&D, Detroit: Become Human, EPIC: The Musical, Project SEKAI, Wuthering Waves, Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss, The Magnus Archives and maybe getting into the life series

CRINGE IS FUCKING DEAD DO WHAT YOU WANT

DNI: Basic DNI, just don't be weirdchamp and we'll probably get along. I really don't think I mind anyone with basic human decency. If I dislike something you do I'll just block

Not siding with anyone on any cc drama ever. All I'll say is do your research and base your opinions on concrete proof and verified facts. I might have my own opinion, but I will not be voicing it.

Blinkies and tag sorting under cut!

Tag sorting (started 22.05.2024 so anything earlier isn't gonna have them. Also I just forget to add them sometimes)

#textpost.bzzt - generic post that I made. Includes asks because I don't get enough of them to justify making a separate tag

#rbees.bzzt - reblogs. Can you tell I'm proud of that pun?

#artbees.bzzt - specifically art reblogs. Can you tell I'm even more proud of that pun? (I tend to reblog art multiple times, only one will be tagged)

#fandom.bzzt - fandom related posts. Can be any fandom. Reblogs won't have it, mainly because I'm lazy

#mootsies.bzzt - anything related to my mutuals

#personal.bzzt - stuff that might be a bit more personal/talking about my personal life. No I'm not doxxing myself, just talking about my pets or experiences or whatever

#writing.bzzt - anything writing related

#onceinafullmoonramble.bzzt - my once in a full moon rambles. They're longer than my usual posts and can be about literally anything

#horizonverse.bzzt - anything related to the fanfic series "Event Horizon" by Hellenite on ao3. Will not be tagged with fandom or fic tags most of the time because I don't wanna spam them. I didn't have any part in the creation of it, it's just my special interest

#genshin dsmp fusion - a random au I post about that features the DSMP as a new genshin region and the members as playable characters! It's not a fic and I don't plan on writing it into one, I'm just rambling about my ideas for it. Also mind this when reading about it!

(Made w https://blinkies.cafe, divider by cafekitsune)

#lars fic intros #<- if you don't know what a fic is go there and itll be explained #if its not then i didn't officially say it yet #pinned post #pinned intro

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dangerous-disposition · 2 years ago

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wip wednesday 'peace of mind' TAKE 2

I was tagged by @steddieas-shegoes this is a snippet from my "modern rockstar!Eddie/group housing!Steve fic where Steve thinks Eddie's the tour manager and also that his name is Chris also Steve is trans it's important that you know that"!AU I'm gonna tag ppl up here, and if you've already been tagged uh feel free to ignore this? or post another wip??? so uh uh @scarcrossdlvrs, @patchworkgargoyle, @sidekick-hero, @thefreakandthehair, @inairbinad SOME CONTENT WARNINGS for this snippet: there is some FRANK INTERNAL DISCUSSION about being trans and dysphoria and Steve refers to his teenage self by his deadname (the same way I do in my head). As a trans man, I do not accept criticism for how I write transmasculine characters unless the criticism is about something other than their transness. Please enjoy the snippet!!!

“You seem really close with the band for a tour manager,” Steve commented one day after Chris told him a funny story about the frontman of the band falling off the stage during a sound check.

“We’ve all been best friends since, like, middle school,” Chris said quietly, and Steve’s smile was big enough to hurt his face. “The band got serious about the dream in high school and then the five of us just… did what we had to and made it work so we could stay together.”

“That’s amazing. I only have, like, one friend that I’ve had more than a year,” Steve said and he cringed at how pathetic that sounded.

“C’mon, no way,” Chris laughed and Steve cringed again.

“I’m serious, man. I was… I used to be an asshole,” Steve confessed lightly, thinking back to the way he was in high school and his only attempt at college.

It was a lot of desperately performing a gender that felt wrong and overcompensating for his feelings of inadequacy. He remembered the way he lashed out and held people at arm’s length, the way he would sling cutting remarks at anyone who seemed to be thriving in their own weirdness. How dare they be weird and happy, when Steve had been trying so hard to be normal and was so miserable for it?

Steve felt bad for Carly when he looked back on those memories. She wasn’t real and on some level she knew that, even back then when she had no vocabulary for it. Not being real was scary, confusing, painful, and like a wounded animal she bit and clawed anyone who came near enough to see how hollow she was.

That didn’t mean Steve stood by those actions, that he didn’t feel immensely guilty for them, but he was working on showing compassion to that part of himself. It was something he learned in therapy the handful of times he actually went.

“Hm, well, you don’t seem like an asshole anymore,” Chris said, breaking Steve out of his thoughts.

“I’m trying everyday not to be,” Steve agreed, smiling as he tapped his pencil against his notebook.

Chris paused for a bit, sighing. “Go to dinner with me,” he said abruptly. “We’re at the hotel for three nights, right? Go to dinner with me.”

Steve’s breath left him in a whoosh at the blunt request. It was more of a command and that thought left Steve feeling a bit lightheaded. “You’re my client—” Steve started and Chris made a bit of a noise.

“The way I see it, I stop actually being your client at five that Friday when you clock-out, right?” Chris said a bit suggestively, and Steve blushed.

Steve had looked up the employee conduct manual and the official rules were that dating clients was allowed as long as it happened off the clock and off-property. Their phone calls were blatantly against those rules, but they discussed enough about the room block each time to justify the conversations a little bit.

“Stevie?” Chris sounded so unsure that Steve instantly felt bad for letting his brain run away with him.

“It definitely has to be when I’m off the clock, and we can’t have dinner on-property,” Steve practically whispered into the phone and Chris made a triumphant little noise that brought a grin to Steve’s face.

“Fuck yeah, Stevie, I can’t wait! I know the perfect place!” Chris gushed and then some shouting in the background pulled Chris’ attention. “Yeah! I know—I’ll be there in a—fuck off Garebear, I’ll fucking cut you—Stevie, I gotta go, okay?”

Steve laughed and nodded. Grimacing as he reminded himself that Chris couldn’t see him, Steve said, “yeah, of course. Talk to you later.”

“You know it, gorgeous,” Chris cooed and then dial-tone was droning in Steve’s ear.

It took Steve probably a full minute to actually hang the receiver up and wipe the grin off his face.

#steddie #steve x eddie #transmasc steve harrington #wip wednesday #gerry writes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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All In 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: double chapters when I know I shouldn't.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“We got a suite available, Amalia?” The man, the owner of this casino, Bucky, asks as he approaches the glass counter of the hotel lobby. You barely keep up as your surroundings smear and your head spins. Everything’s happening so fast.

“Mr. Barnes,” the woman on the other side greets as she nears the slim monitor, “I think we should.” She glances at him, then your sister as she blathers drunkenly in his arms, “having a good night?”

“Oh, just some friends in the city for a night,” he lies easily, “she got a bit carried away so we’ll let her sleep it off.”

You chew your lip as you stand just behind him. Your stomach lurches as your eyes wander around the fine decor. It’s all out of your price range. Again, your brain is a beat behind.

“Doll, would you get that?” He asks as the desk agent holds out a small folder.

“Oh, yeah, er,” you rush up to take the room keys, “sorry.”

“No problem, just got my hands full,” he scoffs, “Amalia, have a good night. Hopefully you don’t get anyone too rowdy.”

“Thank you, sir, you too,” she preens after him as he heads off across the lobby.

Once more you’re on his heels as he struts toward the elevators. You catch up to him and force the frog from your throat, “uh, sir, Bucky?” You stammer, “I don’t think... I can afford--”

“Doll, don’t worry about all that. It's on the house,” he stops before the elevator and stares at the golden doors, “I’m not some sort of grifter. I offered, I’m not gonna squeeze ya. What’s the room number?”

“Er, oh,” you open the little folder, “720.”

“Right, hit the button,” he nods before him.

“Sorry,” you cringe again. You’re so behind. It must be so obvious to him how lost you are. Maybe that’s why he noticed you. He feels bad that someone so pathetic could exist.

You press the up button and the doors open. He nods you ahead of him and you step into the box. The walls are transparent and you can see outside along the river. He gets in and comes to stand parallel with you as you avoid looking through the glass.

“Seven,” he says.

You make another mousy noise and tap the button. You recoil, clutching your hands over your chest, and stare at the doors. As the elevator rises, you feel a wave of head rush, and you sway just a little. You gulp and widen your eyes.

“Not a fan of heights?” He asks as the box stops sharply and the doors ding and open.

“Not really,” you mutter.

He waits for you to exit first and you eagerly do. He follows as you look back and forth between the doors, searching out the number to match the folder. 720, right at the end. You fumble and it takes three tries to swipe the card correctly.

Finally, the door opens and you push it inward, holding it as you flatten yourself to the wall to let him through. He enters without hesitation. For a moment, you wonder what it must be like to be so sure and so comfortable in a place like this. To have this be your normal.

You let go of the door and trail him further inside. The room is huge. Not just one room, but two. The front room is closed off by a pair of doors, painted white with fine spirals etched into the wood. You flit ahead of Bucky to slide them open and reveal the bedroom. He takes your sister to the bed and lays her down as she lets out a bubbly belch.

“Sorry,” you apologise on her behalf as you hover in the door.

“She’s her own person,” he stands back, “you need anything, call down to the desk. They’ll be happy to get you whatever. Oh, and, should probably have some water ready for the morning. She’s gonna be feeling this.”

“Right,” you push your lip out then quickly fix your face, “thank you. I...”

“Checkouts at eleven but I’ll tell Amalia to mark you down for a late departure,” he comes towards you slowly.

“Oh, we won’t stay that long,” you assure him and scrape your palms together.

“Ah, you got somewhere to be? Work? Gonna be a long day after tonight.”

“No, I... I don’t...” your eyes drift to the wall. Again, you can’t help but admire the ivory paint and the crystal lamp and tall posts of the bed. “I don’t... have a job.”

“Mm, tough out there,” he says, “just gotta find the right thing, huh?”

You want to fold into nothing. This man, a millionaire at least, who owns this whole place, is telling you you’ll find something one day. Just like your mom does when you melt down over another rejection. Ugh.

“Thanks, yeah,” you take a heavy breath.

“You’re tired,” he surprises you as he caresses your sleeve, “I’m not gonna keep you up. You get some sleep, alright?”

You nod and reach to scratch your neck, shifting away from his reach. He’s so much bigger than you that for a moment your stomach is crawling, as the thought occurs of how much control he really has. Not just because of who he is.

“Good night, doll,” he purrs and brushes by you.

You stay as you are, staring at your sister, muttering to herself. Why does she have to do this? You could be sleeping in your own bed but instead you’re here, burning in shame and pity. You turn as you hear him near the door.

“Night,” you offer up.

He stops and turns back, sending you a wink, “there’s a hot tub in here so... might enjoy the room at least.”

You force a smile though your stress likely makes it more a grimace. He spins and leaves you, the door shutting with a click and releasing you to your self-reproach. You drop your head in your hands and huff. You are leaving the minute your sister wakes up. You never want to see that man again. You just pray he forgets you just as quickly as you want to forget this whole night.

🃏

You hardly sleep. Your sister’s drunken snoring keeps you from relaxing for more than twenty minutes at a time, not to mention how unsettled you are. You hate sleeping in new places but moreso you hate that even on a night out, after all the assurance that you could just enjoy yourself, that you are once more a burden for someone else.

You get up just after six. You rub your forehead as you go out into the front room and look over the amenities. There’s a fancy coffee maker with pods and a mini fridge with a glass door. You take out a bottle of water to leave by the bed for Roxie then return to figure out the coffee. You don’t often have any but your head is pounding.

You sit down and sneer at the bitterness. Did you make it right? You never liked the taste so you can’t tell. You finish the cup if only for the soothing warmth.

At seven, you get up to check on Roxie again. She’s still out like a light. Come on! You want to go.

You rinse the mug in the sink as best you can and return it to the shelf. There’s a knock on the door. You flinch and reluctantly tread down to the hall. You peep through the hole as you fix your clothing. You push down the handle slowly to greet the woman with the cart.

The golden embroidery on her white blouse marks her as an employee and she beams a smile in your direction. It’s too early for that amount of cheer. She has her hands on the cart, angling it towards the door.

“Morning, miss, breakfast, complements of Mr. Barnes,” she declares, “where can I put it?”

“Um,” you back up slowly, “inside... uh, by the table, I guess.”

She rolls the cart in and asks if you need anything else before she leaves. You shake your head. There’s more than enough there for you and Roxie. If she can even stomach any of it. You’ve seen the way she is after her nights out.

You sit and stare at the buffet of food before you. Fresh fruit, waffles, pancakes, french toast, bacon, eggs... everything and more. Just another favour to feel bad for.

As you look over it all, you notice a note, nestled between the glasses beside the pitcher of orange juice. You take it. That must be the bill. You unfold it and read the slanted capitals hand-written across the casino-branded page.

‘Good Morning, Doll,

Enjoy breakfast on me.

B. Barnes’

Under his name, is a sharp zigzag of the same black ink, a post script below.

‘PS. If you’re still looking for a job, call me.’

You nearly drop the paper. What? You stare at the digits of his phone number and slowly lower your hand to your lap. This can’t be real. Could you really work at a casino? Would you be a dealer? Or maybe you’d be more suited to a cleaner, somewhere you can be out of the way.

A long groan interrupts your inner turmoil. You fold the paper and tuck it away. It’s something. You’ll have to just figure out later what.

“Coffee,” Roxie grumbles as she appears in the doorframe, gripping her skull.

“Oh, uh, sure,” you get up and go to the machine. You grab a random pod and shove it into the top.

“Where... how’d we get here?” She sits heavily and reaches for a piece of bacon.

“Um, you... you were really drunk so...”

“How the hell did you get us a room? Wait. Did we win? Blackjack?” She bites into the greasy strip and moans. “Or... I didn’t sleep with that guy, did I?”

“Erm,” you frown, thinking for a moment before you realise she must mean that Sam guy. “No...”

You don’t explain. You don’t know how. Oh yeah, you were such a disaster that the owner noticed and didn’t kick us out. Actually, he let us stay in an overpriced suite because... you don’t know.

“He must be loaded if he’s handing out hotel rooms,” she scoffs as she continues on in her assumption. You don’t correct her. It doesn’t matter. “Coffee,” she snaps her fingers as the grind quiets.

You bring her the mug and she adds too many packets of sugar before she tastes it. You hide the paper in your cardigan pocket and search for your purse. You fish your watch out of it and put it around your wrist checking the time.

“We should head out before nine,” you say.

“Why?” She scoffs. “Ugh, what’s the bath like in this place? I could use a soak.”

“Mom’s going to be worried.”

“Nah, she knows I’ll get you back,” she waves you off and stands.

She walks slowly, rubbing her temples as she sips from the cup, and examines the hotel room. She dips into the bathroom and the light flicks on. You hear her turning the faucet and shifting things around.

You play with the zipper of your purse. You reach inside and pull out your phone. You get up to grab the key folder and enter the wifi code into your outdated model. It takes far too long to connect. You type into the search of your browser, ‘Bucky Barnes’.

Almost at once, an image of the very man who carried Roxie into this room appears. It’s familiar. You tap it and it opens up a local news story. That makes sense. He’s younger, his hair is shorter. You remember when the casino changed hands and was renovated all those years ago. It was big news.

Hm. Not just rich, famous, at least to a degree. It means he has a lot more going on than two disorderly girls at his casino. He’ll forget. You just hope you can too.

Roxie comes back in a robe and put her mug on the table, “make me another. I’m gonna try those jets.”

She spins away and you stare at her empty cup. How can she not care about anything? Does she not realise that she ruined the night? That she made a fool of both of you? No, she just sees shiny things and forgets all about her own behaviour.

Well, you’re not like her. You don’t like being a burden or asking for things or living on someone else’s affection. You look down and feel along your pocket, the slip of paper firm through the fabric. You could clean a few hotel toilets for a buck. It’s not like you have much else going on.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #casino au #series #all in #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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