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fastcardotmp3 · 1 month

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welcome to dot drops something that's been sitting in her tumblr drafts for 4 months Saturday I hope you enjoy your visit mwah! Steddie; Ballet AU; Dancer!Steve; mentions of cancer treatment; 1.5k words

Dress rehearsal is supposed to be a mess.

That's the point of it, really, to get all the mistakes out of your system and start the actual show run with a clean slate. Or at least, that had been the point of which they'd all convinced themselves when Steve was the one performing.

Bad dress meant good show, or so the old adage went, and so at least there was some ease of worry with the collective understanding that it won't happen on the night within the company.

That was the case when Steve was a student, when he was an apprentice, even during his time in the big leagues at Joffrey, but right now? At the end of a truly abysmal dress in this run-down theater on the edge of a town from which he'd once run away?

Steve is not the performer. He's the guy in charge.

And so he spirals.

He'd never wanted to be a director or an instructor or the head of a studio like this. It had never been in his plans. Steve was a man of action, where the people who do these jobs are the brains behind the operation.

Steve knows how to work hard, how to force his body and even his mind into submission until he gets the steps just right, but this? These past six months back in Hawkins temporarily helping out?

(God, please let it be temporary.)

He's not built for this. He's sitting center stage after everyone has left with only half the house lights to illuminate his misery and he's not. Built. For. This.

Not built for being a mentor or a leader or a role model; not built to handle the strenuous nature of his mother's legacy; not built to carry the name she's made for herself as a teacher and a choreographer and a shaper of young dancers.

Steve's not built for it!

They'd had a shitty fucking dress.

"Hey, uh, you gonna be a while? I kinda need to close up for the night."

The voice echoes across the empty space, bouncing off the high ceiling and straight up to land on the Marley floors at Steve's feet. The stage isn't built for dancers, much like Steve isn't built to be here, so they'd had to pull up the floors from the studio and drag them halfway across town just to roll them out here.

"Hello? Are you, like, alive up there?"

Steve sighs. "Yeah," he calls back, catching sight of the figure talking to him at the back of the theater, the young guy who runs the place and who Steve met a grand total of three days ago. His name is Eddie and he dresses more like he's running a music venue than a local community theater, but he's mostly stayed out of Steve's way so far. "Sorry, I'll get outta your hair."

"Sure," Eddie says, but he's just sort of leaning against the back wall by the window to the sound and lighting booth without an ounce of urgency to him as Steve drags himself to his aching feet and lugs his three separate bags of show stuff onto his shoulders.

There's an energy to an empty theater, one which has held a performance and one which now holds the ghosts of that performance, which tugs at the anxieties sitting buried deep beneath the more immediate ones.

Fears about his mom's health, about what will happen to the studio if she doesn't win this particular battle, about what will happen to him.

There's an energy here in the creak of the steps which lead down off the front of the stage and there's an energy to the plod of Steve's sneakers up the long, racked aisle between the seats.

There's an energy, but it's also not empty, is it.

"Hey, good show, dude," Eddie says, pushing off his wall as Steve grows nearer. "Like, talented kids you've got there."

Steve scoffs before he can help himself and then pinches the bridge of his nose in a grimace for not being able to help himself.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," he grits out, thinking about his bed. Thinking about how he never made time for dinner and he has to be here early again tomorrow.

"Wow, resounding confidence on this one," Eddie snorts, and when Steve opens his eyes it's to genuine amusement, genuine curiosity in the tilt of a head and furrow of a brow.

"No, just," he shakes his head, "you should see 'em when they're really on their game, y'know?"

Eddie hums, and when did Steve come to a stop right in front of him? He's leaving. He has to leave. Go home. Think about all the spacing corrections he needs to fix tomorrow and run through with the girls before show time.

"Bad dress, good show though, right?"

Steve startles. Maybe a little too visibly because Eddie is actively holding back laughter at the sight of him.

"What, I've worked at a theater for four years and I'm not supposed to pick up a thing or two about the ballet?" he snarks good-naturedly. "Caroline, the lady who did your job before you, she was a chatty one, taught me everything I know about Giselle."

It's a knife between the ribs. It's a soothing sort of heat, like from a roaring bonfire.

"You--" he clears his throat, "you know Caroline?"

"Highlight of the job honestly, before she retired," Eddie shrugs.

"She didn't retire."

"Oh. She...?"

"Chemo," Steve doesn't know why he's saying it all so willingly, why after months of trying to run the studio without having to talk about how's your mom doing, sweetheart? he's opening up to this stranger with the curly hair and curious eyes. But he knows her. He's-- Well, he knows her. "I'm just here to-- to fill in until she can come back. So."

Eddie is studying him now. Curious eyes turned intelligent, knowing, sad with the weight of realization.

"You're the wonder boy," he says on a breath like oh, I get it now.

"The what?" Steve balks.

"Her kid," Eddie says like it's simple. He's leaning against the wall again, like he's not planning on getting back to work anymore, "she was-- Shit, man, she loves the hell outta you. Oh, you should see my son, he's in Les Corsaire this season! Oh, my boy, he's just gotten promoted to soloist, he'll be a principal in no time! Oh, the talent on him, the--"

"Okay, okay, Jesus," Steve cuts him off, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up out of his chest in the process.

"You should tell her I say hi next time you see her," Eddie isn't remotely deterred by having his little, lilting performance derailed. There's a softness to him that deserves a smaller space, walls less prone to echo.

"I will," Steve nods. His bags grow heavy on his shoulders.

"And you should chill out a little bit," he says, this time with the kind of glint to his eye that needs a bigger space, needs to be up on the stage to the point where it has Steve floundering, "y'know, about the the shitty dress that, between you and me," he leans in conspiratorially, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, "wasn't really all that shitty."

Steve sucks in a breath.

It strikes him somewhere old, the reassurance, somewhere young deep inside of him. The comforting from a mother that if he just works hard enough he’ll land that double tour in fifth some day soon, the unbroken promise that she would never give him special treatment as the son of the studio owner, but that she would never hesitate to reward him when he’d earned it on his own.

It strikes him because no one tells you how little reassurance the guy in charge is ever offered and it strikes him because it’s been such a long day and it strikes him because—

“Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

Eddie’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead and Steve sees it, the attitude on this dude that his mother absolutely would have loved in an instant. There’s a performer in there, even just in the brief interaction they’ve shared so far. There’s a spotlight pointing inwards and a show begging to be dragged out.

“No,” Eddie drags out slow and curious, “you offering, ballet boy?”

Steve needs a sounding board and he needs another set of eyes and he needs his mom to be okay and the show tomorrow to prove that he can handle this for her if she’s not, but maybe what he needs most right now, on the other side of a spiral in a dark and echoing theater, is this.

“Meet me at Benny’s in thirty,” he says simply as he makes his way for the door. “Since you’re such an experienced test audience.”

Eddie’s responding laugh is bright and his eyes glitter with curious amusement and maybe this is what Steve needs because maybe all of this is one big rehearsal at a big new life in and old small town.

And maybe this is his chance to make a mess of it. At least until the real show starts.

#dot fic #dot post #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dancer!steve #community theater!eddie #sometimes i realize i have over 50 drafts and just need to clear one out for my sanity and today is that day fdjlsakf #one day i'll write a fleshed out dancer steve au but for now have some of This

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goldendusk-if · 2 months

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Hello!

I’m here with half good and maybe bad news(?) So the last Character & Word count were in fact very inaccurate by a LOT. I didn’t realize I have a bunch of extra stuff and drafts of the story beforehand in it so twine included that…Um, so the updated and more accurate one will be included.

And I’ve decided to also do Female Mc’s and the story text will be different because of gender at scenes as well. So, Male Versions of the Ro’s will be made and depending on the Ro so will be the backstory/personality by a little bit. And to be quite honest, I’m not sure how I’m going to write crushes especially same-gender ones mostly because I don’t want to be cancelled and I personally have no experience so, it will be difficult.

Sorry, this is long but, I have a feeling I won’t be posting a lot unless it’s profiles or asks.

I’m a very much newbie and rookie to writing, it’s really not great but, I do have ideas and I want to share them, that’s why these are here. So, I would very much appreciate tips, and help whether that be story plot, rewording, or just spelling and grammar. And I’m an avid want a dash of romance not the main focus because I cringe A lot type of reader, the same type of writer as well. So advice on writing romance and dialogue is a must, that’s why I’m planning on the romance to be a more minor part.

I also realized I should probably focus on finishing writing the first part of the demo I’m planning to release in one of the upcoming months or weeks. And also, post something about the personalities the Mc can have. ❤️

Thank you for reading my rambling and being interested in my if.💗

~~~

Character Count: 51553 (just the story not including profiles, glossary or world lore)

Word Count: 8567

Features(first part is same bottom is new):

-Meeting the Mentor and Homie(By having a flashback) and setting their gender

-Customizing Mc including hair color, length, skin tone, name, nickname, petname, gender

-Finding out about your Father and seeing a new side to your mother

-Age from 16 to 20(idk if that's significant-)

-Choosing a personality type from Diplomat, Charmer, Fighter, Scholar, Spiritual, and Deceiver

-Choosing to be a early bird or night owl

-Go on an errand and have your Mentor kidnap you casually

-Profiles in-game are done technically though I have to add actual descriptions of their personalities and skills but, the ones here are currently way more detailed

-Are you more expressive or expressionless?(will be applied differently depending on personality)

-Will receive something from your Mentor

-Start your Journey To Nadripur and stuff

-Find out the Mc’s eyecolors

-Learn some Banglish(Bengali-English)

-Find out more about the world you live in

-Either be as rude as possible to a old man or attempt to be less rude to a older lady(Mentor)

-Choosing to be more decisive or indecisive

#update #goldendusk #interactive story #itch.io #twine #twine interactive fiction #twine sugarcube #word count #send me asks

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elliereject · 9 months

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stupid bitch .2

* after learning about the feelings you’d harboured for her for so long, ellie was even more confused than before. however, after spending time away from you and even more time thinking, she realizes that fuck she feels the same way, if not stronger. she only hopes that you still feel the same way and she’ll be able to finally call you hers.

* angst at the beginning if you squint, ellie’s in denial and stupid, ellie lowkey being head over heels in love with you and everything you do, kissing, oral!reader receiving, scissoring, overstim, meanish!ellie, lots of mush

* hello! sorry it took a while for this part to come out, i wanted to make sure the ending was as dramatic as the first part with a satisfying end. i promise im not ignoring you guys i do see all of your sweet messages and requests to tag and i thank you all so much for interacting with me and enjoying what i write bc i enjoy writing it! unfortunately i cant respond 1on1 because this is not my primary account and tumblr hasn’t changed it so that alternate accounts can do all the things main ones do

ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ anyways i dont want to make this too long so im gonna wrap it up but again, thank you so much for the kind words it’s motivating me to continue writing and before i shut up i was just wondering if anybody would be interested in a ballerina!reader x ellie slowburn cuz it’s currently floating around in my drafts and i just wanna make sure it wouldnt flop also lol take a shot every time i use the word jade.

*mdni

*wc - 4k (bonus at the end)

part .1 here

“Stop fucking laughing Jesse, it’s not funny” Ellie frowned.

Jesse let out one last obnoxious guffaw before handing the joint back to Ellie, who was laying back on her beanbag, so he could wipe a stray tear from his eye.

“You’re right.” He said, suddenly serious. “It’s fucking hilarious.” He snorted, kicking his legs up and gasping for air.

Dina elbowed him hard from her seat next to him on Ellie’s old green couch, “She’s right, Jesse shut up.”

After that movie night-turned-love confession, Ellie had utterly broken down. The lines between her friendship with you had blurred so much she couldn’t see it clearly if she had fucking glasses on.

Her kiss with you had sent her down a whirlwind path of confusion and guilt. She had no idea where she stood with you and it’d been over a month and a half since she’s spoken to you.

After that night, Ellie ended things with Cat. She couldn’t handle being in a relationship especially when she wasn’t even sure she liked the girl she was dating anymore plus the fact you were in love with her. Cat had gotten mad, screaming matches were had and insults were thrown; but it was when she started coming for you, calling you a slut and a homewrecker and saying that she always knew you were trying to steal Ellie from her that she gave her 5 seconds to get the fuck out before she did something she regretted.

Cat had left with a scoff, taking Ellie’s favourite green sweater with her. After doing lots and lots of thinking, Ellie called up Dina for an emergency smoke sesh and to get some advice on what the fuck was going on since she somehow always knew what to do. Only she hadn’t known Jesse would be there and the headache he was inducing almost made her throw him out the door and she 100% would’ve if Dina wasn’t there.

“Thanks, Dee.”

“Of course, only I just have one question.” Ellie had just finished explaining what had happened between the two of you in the last couple months, hence the reason Jesse was about to pull a muscle from laughing so hard.

“Shoot.”

“Why the fuck did you stay with Cat for so long?”

Ellie groaned, taking a long puff of the joint before passing it to Dina so she could explain.

“I don’t fucking know she made me feel..good? And bad..but good. I know this is going to sound crazy but being with someone who was as fucked up as me felt…safe, like I wasn’t alone.”

“But she cheated on you like..a hundred times,” Jesse spoke up, finally recovering from his fit of laughter. Dina shot him a look.

“I know but, after she did, she’d be so apologetic and loving and I guess I got used to it and liked the amount of love and attention she was giving me so... I stayed and forgave her, again and again. Pretty fucked up, huh?” Ellie laughed dryly.

“Oh no, honey. Even the best of us fall victim to love-bombing.” Dina said, a comforting smile on her face.

“Yeah that’s sad and everything but what about ★, you treated her like shit.” Jesse said, a hint of sourness in his voice.

“I know—fuck! I know. Cat got in my head and kept telling me that she liked me and I didn’t want to believe it because she’s my best friend for fucks sake! But in those months I was dating Cat I found myself comparing the two of them more and more and I got scared because there was no way I should’ve been in love with her so like an idiot, I pushed her away and Cat pulled me in.” Ellie sighed, the retelling of the past couple of months making her cringe at how stupid she’s been.

She paused, grabbing the joint from Dina to take another drawl. “Then that night after we kissed I realized that fuck, I was in love with her and I kinda hated dating Cat…who also took my favourite hoodie.” Ellie said with a huff.

“Damn..you lesbians and your love triangles.” Jesse said, shaking his head.

“Shut up man, I know you and Dina have your own crazy shit going on.” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Yes.” Jesse said, getting up to pluck the almost finished joint from her hand, “We do, but we settle it internally.”

Dina nodded, “Anyways, are you and ★…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish her sentence.

“I don’t fucking know, I needed some time to think and I wanted to give her some space but it’s been weeks and I’m fucking terrified she’s never gonna speak to me again.”

Jesse shook his head, “You guys have been friends for years, just give her a little more time, she’ll come around.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Ellie said, leaning forward to hang her head in her hands. “I miss her so fucking much you guys.”

“You need a distraction,” Dina said suddenly, clapping her hands together.

“I agree.” Jesse nodded his head, putting out the joint on the light blue ashtray sitting on the coffee table. “I’m hungry as hell, go buy us some pizza.”

“Fuck you, I’m not your butler.” Ellie rolled her eyes, again.

“Come on, you know you’re hungry too.” Dina said in a sing-songy voice.

“I’m not.” She was.

“Just go, I’ll Venmo you.” Jesse groaned.

Ellie sighed but got up anyways, grabbing her coat from the back of her seat and walking up to her door.

“Fine, but you guys better not just be trying to get me out so you can fuck, again.”

“We would never,” Dina said reassuringly.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing.” Jesse shrugged, earning another jab in the side from Dina.

Ellie rolled her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time tonight as she left her dorm. As much as they annoyed her, Ellie was grateful to have Dina (and Jesse) there to help her through whatever the hell was going on.

Her walk to the diner was a long one as she purposely took a different route to get there. She’d hate to admit it but the couple was right, she had needed a distraction and the freezing winds against her flushed skin helped along with the high from her earlier joint helping to calm her rapid thoughts and allowing her a minute to breathe.

However, when she pushed open the door to Sal’s—her favourite diner— it was like every ounce of stress that had just dissipated came flooding back x10.

“Ellie,” The girl said, giving her a tight smile from her seat on one of the old stools near the counter.

“Cat..” Ellie sighed.

When the two of them were still together, they’d spent countless date nights here sharing milkshakes and sneaking kisses in the bathroom. She’d even considered branding it “their spot” but thank god she didn’t because she probably never would’ve come back again.

“What are you doing here?” Ellie asked.

“What..just because we broke up means that I can’t come here anymore?” Cat laughed dryly, and swirl red her straw around her chocolate milkshake.

“No, I didn’t mean—“

“Kidding, I know what you meant.” Cat patted the stool next to her, “So how are you and ★? You two should be in the honeymoon stage by now, right?”

Ellie shuffled up to the counter, ordering a pepperoni and cheese pizza to go before sitting down gingerly next to Cat.

“Actually, we haven’t talked since that night.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Cat said, mouth agape.

Ellie shook her head, “Dead serious.”

Cat made a noise, something between a scoff and a laugh before turning to look at Ellie.

“You haven’t even tried reaching out to her? You fucking broke up with me because of her—“

“Among other reasons.”

She rolled her eyes, “And you haven’t even talked to her yet?”

“I’m giving her space.”

She shook her head, muttering an “I don’t fucking get you, Williams.” before returning to her milkshake.

By then, Ellie’s order was ready and she took the boxes, brushing past her ex after mumbling, “Yeah, I know.”

Ellie’s walk back to her dorm started slow, she tried collecting her thoughts, tried to organize and arrange them in a way she could understand but she couldn’t focus. Cat’s words wrung in her ears, the only thing she could pick apart from the tornado was you, you you you you.

Fucking you.

Your gorgeous eyes that always seemed to find hers and when they did fuck it was like the world stopped, and your laugh oh my god your laugh, it’d been so long since she heard your laugh and how she craved it. Don't even get her started on how you always knew exactly what to say to her when she was feeling down, and how you tasted..like everything she’d ever wished and more, and how after that night she ached to taste you again, to feel you; how just being near you immediately skyrocketed her mood. She wasn’t herself without you and she was the best version of herself when she was.

Could you be addicted to someone? She didn’t think so, but somehow with you, it seemed like you could. Ellie wasn’t sure when she’d started running, but as she felt sweat perspire on her brow and her breathing come in as quick laboured breaths all she knew is that she needed to see you.

—★

She made it back to her dorm, fumbling to open her door while balancing the pizzas in her hand. When she finally threw open the door she ignored the sight of Jesse laying his head on Dina’s lap and plopped the boxes on the coffee table.

“I’m going to go see her.” She huffed, already making her way to the door to start running to your dorm.

“What happened to space?” Jesse called out.

“Fuck space!” She yelled back, ditching the elevator and opting for the stairs. Later, she’d have given you the entire fucking solar system if you wanted, but right now? She needed to see you be close to you, hold you, kiss you.

She pumped her legs harder, silently wishing she had done track for longer than 3 months back in middle school. Her chest burned and her neck and back were slick with sweat but she was almost there. She didn’t know what the fuck she was going to say to you but she’d figure something out.

When she finally reached your building, she brushed past the residence hall director who’d seen her hundreds of times before and decided on the elevator this time to organize her thoughts a little before seeing you.

Her nerves started to catch up to her as she watched the numbers above the metal door change, was she ready to see you? What if you didn’t want to see her? What if you just straight up refused to talk to her?

Before she could chicken out, the elevator had reached your floor. She walked down the hall to your door and took three deep breaths before knocking. She heard a little shuffling from behind your door and a small gasp before you opened it, peeking your head out.

“Ellie..” You breathed.

“★. Please, I need to talk to you.”

Your eyes flashed to the floor, avoiding her pleading gaze. “Is Cat okay with you being here?”

“We broke up.”

“What?” You questioned, letting the door swing open and allowing her to take in your full form. You were wearing fuzzy pyjama pants with cute characters patterned on them and a thick oversized sweatshirt. The whites of your eyes were slightly red and the bags beneath them were prominent. She could tell you had been crying and it made her heart lurch, she wanted to pull you into her chest, breathe you in and never let go.

“Yeah, it— can I come in?” She asked.

“Uhm..” You bit your lip, probably thinking whether or not you should let her into your dorm, let her back into your life.

“Please. I promise I’ll make it quick.” She practically begged, lowering her head so she could lock her jade eyes on yours.

You nodded, moving back so she could step inside. You led her to the small couch in the living room as if she hadn’t been there thousands of times before. You sat silently across from her, eyes filled with worry and a tiny gleam of hope and she felt the urge to pull you into her chest bloom throughout her. Of course, she planned on doing that later, but as of right now, she had to set things straight.

“Let me just start off by saying, I’m sorry. ★ I’m so fucking sorry for how I treated you when I was dating Cat.” You tried and failed to ignore the way her voice cracked, pain and genuinity adorned her features.

“We were both terrible for each other but my fucked up brain thought it made sense that I was with her. That she was what I deserved…” She looked up from fidgeting hands to meet your eyes, she couldn’t read your face so she continued.

“I’d been feeling..” She paused, looking up to gather her thoughts. She never really was good with her words, but she needed you to know how much you meant to her, how much love she held for you in her heart. “Shit...I’d been feeling different when it came to you...like I swear to fucking god you’re made of sunlight and sweetness or something cause my heart swells whenever I think of you, and when you’re not with me I feel so…!” She groaned and you giggled, so soft that if her ears weren’t trained to hear and take in every sound you made she would’ve missed it, and her heart softened and swelled and spun and sputtered.

“I pushed you away because I was scared of those feelings, but that night, after we kissed. I realized that... I love you, ★. And I completely understand if you never want to see me again, God knows I don’t deserve you but—“

“Stop.” You said, suddenly standing up to walk over to her.

Her jade eyes searched yours desperately, for any sign of what you were thinking, how you were feeling if you were fighting the same urge as her to pull her into your arms and kiss her like the world was ending tomorrow.

“Stop saying that,” She looked at you, confusion flooded her features.

Your soft hands found her rough ones and the warmth that flooded from you to her made her lightheaded, how the hell was it possible to love someone this much?

“Ellie, words can’t describe how much I cared for you,”

‘cared’ She physically felt her heart rip.

“and I need you to know you deserve everything good in life.”

“Does that include you?” She said with a weak smile.

You looked to the side, dropping her hands. “You..hurt me.”

Ellie shot up faster than she’d ever moved in her life, her hands coming up to cup the sides of your face, “And I want to rip my fucking heart out every time I remember, but I need you in my life, lovebug.”

Your eyes finally met hers and you could practically hear the “whoosh” from your resolve flying out of your body. You’d never seen a shade of green so beautiful, so passionate, so desperate.

This time, it was your eyes flicking to her lips and you didn’t even have a second to pull back before her lips were on yours. This kiss had the same amount of wanting as your last one, but it was softer, slower. Like if she went too fast you’d disappear from her hands and she couldn’t lose you again.

She pulled away only to place strawberry kisses along your neck and collarbone, eliciting that same sweet sound she had heard from you only a few weeks prior and she knew she needed to have you.

Your hands tugged gently at her top and she shrugged off her coat, lips still connected to your neck. Her hands dipped beneath your sweater to trace soft squiggles against your stomach with her short nails.

She released her hold on your neck and spun you around so that you were sitting on your couch and she was towering over you.

She watched as your chest rose and fell rapidly, how your eyes met hers, glossed over in a way she’s never seen before, your soft slips glistening and slightly swollen. She’d never been more turned on in her life.

She knelt, her veiny hands hooking onto the top of your pants and underwear before she looked back up at you,

“Is it okay if I take these off?”

You nodded fervently and bit your lip as she slid them off, ever so slowly. She had waited too long to do this, you’d better believe she was going to savour each moment.

You felt the cold air hit your cunt and her mossy eyes immediately snapped to it, she looked as if she was in a trance. She’d been staring for so long you would’ve gotten self-conscious if not had she said,

“So fucking pretty.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and your eyes focused on the wall to the side of you but you scrunched them closed when you felt her lick a stripe up your folds.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend who was friends with Cat that Ellie gave insane head. And of course, anger and jealousy and bitterness swirled through you at the thought of her performing such acts on another person, so for your own well-being you denied and refused to believe it.

And fuck were you eating your words. Her tongue swirled expertly around your cunt and your eyes were practically rolling to the back of your head, and the borderline pornographic sounds you were making were like fucking music to her ears.

“Fuck so good, Ellie.”

She’d never admit it but she was a sucker for praise so with the words that fell from your beautiful mouth she made sure to speed up her movements, your legs were shaking at this point and somehow your hand had found its way into her auburn locs, tugging softly which resulted in soft grunts from her that reverberated through your body and cause a feeling like no other.

That familiar feeling began welling up inside, a knot that grew tighter, and tighter, and tighter until snap. Your thighs trembled violently and your throat felt hoarse from how much you were screaming, despite your climax, Ellie was still between your legs and the sensation was becoming a bit too much.

You tried to close your close but a veiny hand gripped your thigh, forcing you open once again. You peered down into her jade eyes, her pupils were blown so wide that they looked almost entirely black and a slight shiver ran through your body, a good shiver. They were demanding and bordering hungry.

Before you knew it her mouth was back in you, sucking and lapping up everything you would give her. It’s when her tongue slipped into you that you started to feel fucking delirious. Sobs and moans of her name tumbled out of you as your hold on her hair tightened and you were nearly riding her face.

“Ellie..fuck, please so close, ‘s close ‘s—“

Your eyebrows knitted together and a silent moan escaped you as you gushed on her face and she finally pulled away from you, giving both of you a chance to catch your breath.

“Holy shit.” She breathed out, wiping the bottom of her freckled face with the back of her hand. That hungry look at disappeared and the familiar love drunk one had replaced it.

“I should be saying that.” You said airily.

She smiled, “You taste really fucking good, y’know that?”

You shook your head bashfully and she stood up, her knees aching from kneeling so long and sat next to you before pulling you in for a short but deep kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on her tongue.

“Now you do.”

You smiled and it melted her soul just a teensy bit, but she could get sappy about it later. Right now? She needed to fuck you so good you’d laugh whenever you thought about your past lovers in comparison to her.

“Can you lay down for me, bug?” She asked, so sweetly you almost forgot she basically sent you to heaven just a few minutes prior.

She stood up to remove her shirt and briefs and allow you to remove your shirt and get comfortable on the couch. She slid between your legs, hoisting one of them over her shoulder as she aligned her hips with yours.

“Tell me if it‘s too much, alright?”

You nodded and she lowered herself onto you, her lean thighs keeping her upright as she agonizingly slowly rocked against you. You whined at her pace and she tutted.

“Come on, pretty, use your words.” She said, smirking lazily down at you.

“Need you to go faster.” You begged.

She nodded, speeding up her pace and drawing out a high-pitched whimper from you. Her eyes were practically fixed on your chest as she watched them bounce and sway with each movement. One of her hands came down to toy with your nipple while the other one held your leg steady so she could grind relentlessly against your clit.

The movements had started unsteady but as the two of you found a rhythm that was pleasurable to both of you, even Ellie couldn’t hold back the raspy moans and groans, not to mention her finger on your nipple which made your already sopping cunt gush even more, giving her the ability to glide across you back and forth.

Your hips bucked against her avidly and her eyes rolled back into her head as chants of your name fell from her lips over and over again.

“So good ★, feel ‘s good.” She rasped.

You froze beneath her as your third orgasm of the night slammed through you and your body practically went limp. Ellie followed soon after, the sight of you fucked out was better than anything her imagination could’ve stirred up and she couldn’t help but wonder how your face would look with her strap buried between you, as well as how it was a more beautiful sight than she’d ever seen with Cat or any other girl she’d been with and that was what had her reeling over the edge, creaming all over your cunt as she tremored vigorously. She collapsed onto top of you, her tattooed arm keeping her up right so she didn’t crush you as she placed open mouth kisses along your jaw, drinking in the soft giggled you gave in return.

Finally, she peeled away from you, allowing herself to catch her breath before trudging to your tiny kitchen to grab a damp rag and a glass of water, she came back and held the glass to your lips encouraging you to drink it all before setting the empty cup on the table to wipe your legs down gently.

You jumped slightly when the rag grazed your puffy clit and she mumbled out a “Sorry, bug.” before grabbing your wrist and placing a sweet kiss on it.

“So,” you sighed tiredly, “are we..”

She chuckled, “Are we…what?”

“Girlfriends..?”

She frowned and shook her head, “Oh..no.”

Your heart fell right into the deepest darkest depths of your soul. Was this just a one-time thing? Had all the things she said earlier not been true? Were you—

“I don’t have a ring yet, but I’m sure nobody would care if I start calling you my wife already.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving her softly to which she laughed.

“You have seriously got to work on your timing.”

“I know, I know…but it’s charming right?”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did.”

You let out an exasperated groan but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face at the sound of her laughter and her hands snaking around you to pull you into her.

And in that moment, regardless of her past with Cat and others, her past with you, the hurtful things said and less than admirable actions she’d done, she knew that you were in fact, the perfect one for her.

bonus! (^з^)-☆

“I’m telling you, these are the best milkshakes in the state.” Ellie boasted.

Jesse shook his head, “No, ★ this summer I am taking you to The Cinnamon Angel back in Seattle, Ellie doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

Ellie scoffed, using the arm currently wrapped around your shoulder to point an accusing finger at him, “Dude, you don’t know what you’re talking about. The Cinnamon Angel can’t even…“

Ellie’s voice drowned out when Dina rolled her eyes from across you and leaned across the booth to chat with you over Ellie’s and Jesse’s bickering.

“This isn’t what I was expecting when I suggested a double date.” She sighed sarcastically.

You giggled, “I had a feeling it was going to be like this.”

The four of you were squeezed into a tiny booth at the back of Ellie’s favourite diner, bickering bonding over salty fries and frothy milkshakes. You hadn’t talked much to Dina despite her being your girlfriend's close friend and your close friend's girlfriend, which you regret because she was so sweet and funny.

Ellie threw her arms back with a huff, officially exasperated with Jesse, “Dina, I really don’t know how you put up with this guy, let alone date him.”

“Eh, he’s not all bad.” She smirked, nudging him with her shoulder.

You laughed but it was quick to die out when your eyes trailed over to the entrance after the familiar sound of bells signaled someone walking in.

Dark eyes fell on yours and you were met with a grim expression, Ellie followed where you were looking and the arm that was around your shoulder tightened slightly.

The raven head trekked over to your booth, greeting both you and Ellie with a tight smile.

“You two are so cute together!” She said flatly.

You grinned, ignoring the sarcasm that laced her voice “Thank you!”

“Definitely cuter than you and Ellie ever were,” Jesse mumbled into his milkshake and Dina turned her head, trying and failing to hide her laugh.

Cat rolled her eyes before pretending to drop something and bending to pick up nothing so she could whisper, “You two aren’t going to last, you’re not even her type.”

Anger bloomed through you, seriously, what the hell was this girl's damage? Before she could walk away you stuck your foot out causing her to stumble and turn around to face you, glaring daggers. Ellie must’ve heard what she’d said though, because one of her long fingers pulled the neck of your shirt back just a sliver, revealing the prominent mark she had made just a few nights prior.

Ellie’s jade eyes bored into her damn, if looks could kill.

You smiled sweetly and leaned into Ellie’s arm.“I beg to differ.”

Cat’s face reddened embarrassingly quickly and you could practically see the steam shooting out of her ears, she turned around hastily and stomped out of the diner and you’d hoped she could hear the boisterous laughter that bubbled out of each of you after the door had closed.

tagz (^з^)-☆

@blvebanisters @cassharass @pick-me-up-im-scared @skylerwhitwyo @lil-elliesgf @elsmissingfingers @herdelreydear @koremis @gold-dustwomxn @whenlostinthedarkness

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie smut #ellie fanfiction #ellie fluff #ellie angst #ellie fic #ellie au #dina the last of us #jesse tlou

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kit-williams · 1 day

Text

Hoof Care

Yes I was really thinking of Baldamort's voice for Drar (Watch his video on the Master of Executions and well you can probably figure out where I got Drar's voice from)

Husbandry tag list: @egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

thank you @squishyowl for the 40k themed dividers

It was that time of the month again where you'd get a call to go to them they paid you quiet a bit and of course you weren't the only person going... it was always a big big event. You head to the Iron Warrior's base near the city... most Chaos Space Marines' don't have bases but their loyalist counterparts do... though Iron Warriors are an exception not a norm. Though you weren't sure as the Iron Warriors didn't have too much friction with their "traitor" selves? You didn't understand nor really bother too.

The norm would be the fact that there is a Night Lord base being built somewhere given that there were now enough loyalist night lords demanding it. But you made sure your tools were sharp and everything was ready... you knew the only downside of the Iron Warriors was the fact that both loyalist and traitor elements kept pushing and vying for power within their own... faction?

As you backed your truck in and got out you could hear his crooning... he was old had that slightly withered lit to his voice as it croaked out of him as if he had ruined his vocal cords time and time again. "Missy so nice of you to join us." Drar the Warpcutter spoke and if you remembered he said he was the leader of a warband known as the Malefactors of Sin.

"Lord Drar... and hello Helios." You politely said as his Master of Executions followed. The big man behind him looked at you and you swallowed... you didn't get the feel good vibes everyone else got. Your eyes flicked to their weapons... to the skulls up their belt... and you had a feeling Drar enjoyed the fact you were afraid of them. "Where is Vasso..." You ask for the current "chapter master" and you watch Drar wave his hand.

"Busy. The child is going to work himself to death at this rate and I... took the liberty of playing host for him." He says with a grin, "But enough pleasantries... you're the final one to arrive." You flinch as his massive hand pushes against your back and you move into the hanger.

Chaos Space Marines of countless chapters and warbands were here all highly mutated. Heavy hooves clipped and clopped against the floor as centaurs made their way to the designated zone. You headed over to the other ferriers as Drar trilled his goodbye and Helios just gave a nod. You could see where other space marines were watching and learning how to take care of their mutated brothers and cousins as in the far corner you could see iron warriors guarding feral marines that took the offer for maintained care but do not want humans touching them. You could understand as it took you a long time to get over the wrongness of your clients.

At least they behaved better than horses, the massive hooves were clipped and trimmed even polished if they wanted too. The utterly massive Black Legionary stallion... Troc was his name, he would have been such a pretty black horse, brought his own shoes... shiny brass things. He liked his hooves painted a nice solid black.

You could hear Adamatar bellowing as the white minotaur had hurt one of his hooves and so trying to get him to behave enough to put a block on his hoof was feeling like an impossible task. You could spy long tails wagging as fur coats were being brushed... a canine centaur of a Night Lord was half asleep as he was getting his jet black fur coat groomed and nails trimmed on his paws. You trimmed the frog of Troc's hooves just shaping his hoof as he was currently gushing about his bonded... a little girl who had a habit of calling him "pony" or "horsey" when she got overly excited and also calling him "Truck".

The shiny iron horseshoes of a bulky draft of an Iron warrior caught your eye. They certainly liked to feel pretty.... you shiver as a heavily mutated space marine lumbers past... organized chaos of it all and you're getting paid enough that it makes you not have to worry about the slower times of the year.

You could see someone with their body leaning into a massive stomach maw just cleaning the teeth of the marine. You stop looking as you hammer in his shoe and work on cutting the nails and then applying the black hoof polish.... rinse and repeat.

Sure they cooperated more then an actual animal but it was still a lot of hard work. "Hey!" You snapped at someone's apprentice. "Don't just walk behind them!" You said pointing out the fact that they were just walking right behind the centaurs. Which if he was working with actual horses was bad practice.

"They won't kick." They countered back.

"Yeah but they still can't see you and when you work with an actual horse they will kick if you walk right behind you. Give them the same berth as you would an actual horse because if one of these boy's kicks you're going to die." You huff as you resume working on the hooves of the Iron Warrior as someone was working on his horns... it was sometimes easier to do multiple tasks on the same marine as they kept still.

Lunch was provided and it was nice... it felt normal to have that lull in working as you grabbed a coffee as you worked in shifts... went around inspecting other's techniques... watching how some of them were teaching their apprentices, in various fields, or how they were teaching the Astartes on how to take care of their own. Sometimes a feral marine would be brave and try to get taken care of by one of us "mortals" but you never volunteered you had plenty of Astartes asking for you to work on them personally.

But the day blurred on by till you were getting handed a stack of cash of a few thousand dollars with the hope that you would come back same time next month and as well as the cavate that if something changed they would inform you. Again you see Drar as you head back to your trunk and a cup of coffee, that looks so small in his hands, is given to you. "What's this for?"

"Job well done?" He croons.

"Ah yes the usual hush coffee so I don't tattle on Vasso of you playing chapter master huh?" You say ignoring the scowl on his face as you sip the coffee, "or... is it hush coffee to keep me from tattling again to Vasso because you enjoy scaring people?"

"Mouthy little mortal aren't you." He hisses as you cow slightly, far too tired to not be filled with dread as he moves far too smoothly for something so big. He spat to the side, "But something like that."

"And like usual I'm going to be the last one to leave because you like chatting." You say tiredly as you drink the hot brew that made you feel tired. You had enough for a hotel in the city for tonight though... beds were always available here at the fortress. "I have a feeling you're going to chat me up so long I might just have to spend the night."

Drar laughed, it was hardly a pleasant sounding thing... it was dark and ominous... it was downright an evil sounding thing that ended rolling in his chest till it quieted. "You look exhausted."

You just drank the coffee to prevent yourself from making a 'captain obvious' joke, "I might stay tonight or at least get a few hours of shut eye."

"Then let me play the good host once more." He crooned and you just locked your car after placing your tools inside... just a few hours of sleep then you'd make the drive home.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #tales from the barn #Missy the farrier #Master of Executions Helios #Lord Drar the Warpcutter #I didn't know how to end this #I think this is fine #No bond #Missy is not warp blind

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jamespottersmixtape · 5 months

Text

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway.

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

#ahhhh another microfic i missed them #this is silly and self indulgent but i love them sm #so soft i'm kinda dying #shoutout to evan's freckles for being the sole inspo #and myro's lovely lovely art ofc #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty x evan #evan x barty #rat's silly microfics

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pavardscherie · 1 year

Note

hello

do something with Gavi

being his first gf<3

thanks

— the first one, pablo gavi

⤷ pairing ;; pablo gavi & female reader ⤷ summary ;; being gavi's first girlfriend after he swore off the other girls, came with negative and positive traits. ⤷ warnings ;; cute gavi?? ⤷ izzy talks non-sense;; i'm a pedri girl, i gotta admit that. but gavi might be a close second if we're only talking about la liga. sadly, i am so bad at headcannons that i just decided to turn this into a little drabble as his first gf.

since the world cup, gavi's name spread throughout the countries like the melody of a popular song, or the announcement of another great invention. with just seventeen years old, his goal against costa rica made him the youngest scorer. if the praise from the world wasn't enough, the girls fawned over the young athletic.

for over a year, a couple of weeks after he turned eighteen, pablo gained his experience throughout different nights. how could he not accept the luring words of another female, who snuck into his private messages and shared her fair opinion about him with a little hint of admiration in the syllabeles. none of his mates would have thought that the image he created, would wear off so easily. until the day, where pablo's eyes met yours in the front of the stands.

hair tangled together to a messy bun, thick strands framing your face and occasionally falling out as the tie loosened. a barcelona home jersey hugged your upper body, a little knot on the hem to reveal a thin line of skin between shirt and high-waisted jeans. the world around him could have not worked slower, but at the moment, you turned around to take a cup of cold coke from your father's hands, pablo saw his name written between your shoulder blades in capital letters, and the large number nine underneath.

at that very moment, his mind worked faster on creating a perfect plan to have a conversation with you between the screaming fans than focusing on the second half of the game. and somehow, after multiple attempts of asking you out, and having a decent chit-chat with you without your father's intense glaring, gavi made you his girlfriend. the first since he became the famous number nine or thirty in some matches for barcelona.

in the beginning, the first couple of months, it was a very hidden relationship. the meetings were private, mostly at spots where no paparazzi or supporters would engage with them. but as the days passed, pablo's popularity increased immensely among the fans, and it got harder to actually hide from the public eye. but the fear you carried like a heavy weight on your shoulders, made it extremely difficult to announce the official relationship.

before you, there's never been another girl that swept him off his feet so easily. not one, he came home to or texted multiple times a day. even if it was a very unnecessary winking face. you infiltrated each of his thoughts, starting in the morning, throughout the training sessions, and when he went to bed without you in his arms. hundreds of pictures he had hidden on his phone, stories of you he created for his Instagram but kept as drafts until you were prepared to announce it.

but pablo wasn't as subtle as you about the relationship. over the months, pedri slowly realized what was going on. why gavi ditched the party nights with the team, or why he never seemed interested in any intentions of various fans anymore. while you were still scared that he would cheat on you, and leave you once the public made up headlines about the two of you, you always watched the videos people posted. how he smiled at girls because it was his job to keep up the golden boy attitude, but the corners of his mouth never reached his eyes like when he was with you.

the small differences in his entire behavior crumbled the fear of being left alone or mistreated piece by piece. and somehow gavi talked you into the dinner nights with his closest friends, and sometimes even the entire team. holding hands underneath the table, sharing caring glances, and showing the mates around him what truly laid underneath the 'i'm bringing a good friend'.

somewhere along the way, it was impossible to hide the relationship anymore. cameras and supporters waited for gavi almost everywhere. you went out to get food for the movie night, and were approached almost immediately by a couple of girls. flirting with their eyes, touching his upper arm so softly with their manicured nails, and handing him little notes with their numbers on them. it bothered you, it pained you to watch the scene unfold without being able to say something, or actually claim him at all after still being hidden from the world as his girlfriend.

and those situations occurred more and more, and got insanely difficult to watch for you. so, the decision to publicly announce the relationship was made without overthinking. while your discomfort grew again when the followers increased on your Instagram account, the fans who actually liked gavi for his playing style and the skills he had, commented the nicest things underneath your pictures.

and gavi, he was certainly posting at least one story every day of you, the ones he had saved for way too long from months back, and telling the world how happy he was about finally showing off his girl, the one he loved. and when you struggled, pablo just became a more caring person than you expected. the dates were still mostly at home, not wanting the cameras or fans to interfere on such special nights. little gifts, like roses delivered to your house when he was away for another game, or a bracelet with two little silver letters on it. p and g, for pablo gavira.

like in every other relationship with a public figure, there always had to be a couple of people who claimed you were in a relationship for the fame. and on some days, the comments got very mean, calling you the worst names and even insulting you. but gavi was quick to shut them down, posting a picture of the two of you with a sweet caption, reassuring you that there was nothing in the world that could separate the two of you.

it never got not difficult as the thoughts of him being away from you, in another town with girls lining up in front of him to share their thoughts, pablo always showed you the opposite. receiving a note with a number turned into giving the piece of paper back to the girl with a delightful smile, and starting to ramble on about the beautiful girlfriend he has at home, who's waiting for his return to barcelona. over the time, you became comfortable with the situations, even the cameras that took several pictures of the two of you while being out and about.

you might never get a real name from the newspapers, always called gavi's girlfriend or the girl he's dating but it was alright. you got a seat in the section for people close to the players each home game, wearing one of the barcelona jerseys with his name written in capital letters on the back. this time, you were truly his, and not another person who only came to enjoy the game. you were in the stands, arms in the air, hands clapping together for the number nine of barcelona. your boyfriend, who always dedicated the goals he scored to you. sometimes with a heart, sometimes with blowing a kiss, and other days with a cheeky wink and thumbs up.

but you were there, proud of the man he has become over the past months, and in the comfort of your arms. cheering for him, clapping for your boyfriend. your number nine. your golden boy. your pablo gavi.

and you were his first girlfriend, the first one he gave his heart to without protection, and the first one, he truly loved and cared for.

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mayajadewrites · 2 months

Text

For Me (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

CHAPTER SEVEN: COLLEAGUES

Over the next 2 weeks you spend a lot of time with Levi. You learn his routine, what he likes to order at restaurants, all that good stuff. However, neither of you have spent the night at each others house. For you, you knew that it would be hard to control yourself if you were in bed with Levi.

Levi enjoys the finer things in life, but not in a stuck-up way. He loves a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant, but also doesn't mind staying in and having a movie night. He works a lot, which makes it so you only see him really at night and on the weekends. It gives you something to look forward to, but it doesn't feel like enough time.

It's Wednesday - half way through the week. Since you and Levi have decided what you're relationship is (more like Levi decided) you haven't gone to the coffee shop much. He's been bringing you coffee before he heads to work, which is a sweet treat for you.

This day is no different.

You hear a knock at your door and open it to see your stoic boyfriend holding your iced coffee and a bouquet of flowers. "You needed fresh ones." He walked into your apartment and took out the old flowers (from last week), cleaned the vase and set up the new bouquet.

You sip your coffee as you watch Levi work the flowers. He meticulously places them and makes sure every flower is tended to. Your eyes wander down his body - he's wearing a navy suit that is perfectly tailored to him with chestnut shoes. "You look very handsome today."

"I have a big meeting today with some potential clients." Levi double checked the flowers. "These are good to go. I'm gonna head out now."

"Have a great day." You smile as Levi takes a step towards you, his eyes swallowing your figure. You're wearing a tank top with no bra, and your comfy short shorts. Your ass basically falls out of them.

"Don't go outside like that." Levi presses his lips to yours, bringing his hand to your face. "This is for me only."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, walking him to the door.

"Daddy is the only acceptable form of 'dad' that I'll answer to." His tone was flat, so you couldn't tell if he was kidding or not.

He had to be, right?

"I'll call you when I'm on my lunch." Levi kissed your cheek swiftly before turning around and heading towards the stairs. You lean against your doorframe, still feeling Levi's kiss on your lips. This is really your life. Levi Ackerman is your boyfriend.

You're about halfway through your new novel at this point. You got in touch with your editor to let her know that you'll be sending a draft her way soon. This excites you - it's been months since you had any motivation to write.

As you finish typing a sentence, you feel your phone vibrate in your lap.

"Hello?" You tap the 'speaker' button.

"Why do you always answer the phone like you don't have caller id?" Levi said.

"Because that's just what people do. Sorry we're not all special specimens like you."

"Anyway. Our clients loved us, and the office wants to go out to happy hour to celebrate after work."

"Okay! Have fun. Are you coming over after?"

"You're coming with me. And then we're going home together."

"I missed the part where you asked me if I wanted to go."

"I didn't ask. Be ready by 6." Levi hung up the phone. Sometimes he can be so sweet, but other times it's like he forgets that he has other people to communicate with and we all don't think the way he does.

You sigh, shutting your laptop and pushing it towards the back of your desk. You turn your head to your closet, knowing you'll be tearing it up to find an outfit. You look at the time on your phone: 1:30PM. It's time to start getting ready.

You take an everything shower, making sure there's no hair anywhere on your legs. You moisturize your skin, wash your hair, everything.

This is the first time you're meeting anyone in Levi's circle. Even though he says they're his "colleagues" you know that that's his way of saying friends. You blow dry and curl your hair, watching the curls bounce before you brush them out into loose waves. Your makeup is simply but glowy - your go to.

Your outfit consists of a beige square neck body suit with straight leg jeans that are slightly distressed. You pick out a pair of beige heels to match - they're not too high to where you're uncomfortable but you'll be at Levi's height now.

By the time you're done with everything, it's 5:45. You decide to pick up a bit around your apartment and spray your favorite vanilla perfume.

Right at 6, there's a knock at your door.

"What did I do to deserve seeing Levi Ackerman at my front door twice in one day?" You tilt your head to the side, smiling.

Levi's eyes wandered to your chest, which was accentuated by the neckline of the bodysuit. You have a bigger chest, which you typically hide. You watched Levi's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "You look beautiful, per usual. Do you have everything? A bag for stuff you'll need for tonight?"

"Wait, why would I need that?"

"Because you're staying at my house tonight."

"Staying as in..."

"Sleeping over. You're sleeping at my house tonight. With me."

"I didn't know." You bit down on your bottom lip. "Ok, give me a few minutes. Sit down." You turn to grab a tote bag out of your closet and grab your essentials. Toothbrush, makeup remover, a change of clothes, a pair of UGG slippers, pajamas, and body wash. "Done." You hold up the bag with a smile plastered on your face.

Levi nods as he takes the bag from you, turning off the light in your foyer. You lock the door behind you and triple check that its actually locked before you both descend down the stairs.

"So where's happy hour?" You ask as you watch Levi's hands on the steering wheel.

"It's at this bar downtown that everyone likes to go to. I don't go out much, so I've only been there once when I got my promotion."

You nod as he explains, gazing out the window. You feel Levi's large hand land on your thigh, squeezing it gently. "They're going to love you."

"I hope so." It's like he knew exactly what you were feeling. That you were anxious to meet the people that are around him every day because they could think you're not good enough for him. They could have seen ex girlfriends that were prettier than you. Levi rubbed his thumb across your thigh for reassurance.

Levi helped you out of his car before leading you into the building, which was half bar, half restaurant.

"Levi! You made it!" You look up and see a group of people with drinks in your hand. The one that called for Levi was one of the guys that was with Jean when he asked for your number.

"I'm still Mr. Ackerman outside of work." Levi squeezes your hand gently. "This is my girlfriend." Levi introduces you.

"So you're the reason he smiles!" A brunette woman with glasses walks up to you. "My name is Hange. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

"Likewise!" You shake her hand, smiling.

"This is Erwin, my best friend and President of Ackerman Inc." Levi points to a tall blonde man with piercing blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you. Levi has told me a lot about you." Erwin shakes your hand.

"Not a lot. Don't listen to him." Levi rolls his eyes, introducing you to the rest of his colleagues. "This is my cousin, Mikasa. The one I was telling you about that loves your books. And this is her boyfriend, Eren."

Eren was the one that Levi said to call him Mr. Ackerman. You smile as you meet the couple, noticing the similarities between Levi and Mikasa. They're both very poised and serious at all times.

Levi leaves you for a few moments to mingle. Mikasa grabs your arm gently to get your attention.

"I know my cousin can be an ass." She smiles. "But he really cares about you. He's talked about you and has even cracked a smile while doing so."

"Thanks, Mikasa. I appreciate that. He's not the easiest to deal with." You laugh, glancing over at Levi. He's standing with Erwin and Hange as he waits for drinks at the bar. He doesn't bother asking you what you want to order, since it's always a white wine.

Your nerves calm down a bit when Levi's fingers graze yours to hand you your glass. "You okay? Are you having a good time?"

"Yes, Levi." You take a sip of your wine. "Your friends are nice. I like them."

"Colleagues."

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman my bookie #levi ackerman my beloved

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sunshinebingo · 2 months

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This took me an embarrassingly long time to write but I finally did it. This fic is a gift to @headcanonheadcase who was one of the first writers that made me fall in love with fanfiction. And is also the one who opened my eyes to the wonders of Gwyn/Ithan. @headcanonheadcase dear, what you do for this fandom (and all the others you write for) is incredible. You are amazing!!

CRACKSHIP ALERT

Pairing: Gwyneth Berdara/Ithan Holstrom Synopsis: Ithan remembers the important events in his relationship with his red wolf, Gwyn, from how it started to where they are now. A recollection of little moments that they shared together. Word Count: 5.7k Warning: A tiny bit of smut

Important A/N: I started writing this waaay before hofas was released so this fic does not follow any canon event past HoSaB. It's not a 'hofas canon-divergence', it's just me posting a crackship fanfic after having it in my drafts for half a year.

Read on Ao3 or proceed below the cut for a snippet

Day 8

“I’m Gwyneth. Gwyn. It’s very nice to meet you,” she shook the hand that he had extended to her after introducing himself. Ithan thanked all the Gods above that he had not gaped at her again like a fool. He had been bracing himself for a conversation with her since he caught a glimpse of her bright hair as she was entering the Prime’s office.

“So, you are new here?” he asked as though he had not already secretly asked everyone at the Den for information about her. He had learned that Gwyneth had just arrived in Lunathion with the intention of settling here. Her grandparents were apparently related to the Prime himself. What had struck Ithan the most had been learning that she was a lone wolf, just like he had been before, even if he was now the only wolf in his pack consisting of an angel, some Fae, a mer, a deer shifter and even a dragon and some fire sprites.

“I am. I live near the Old Square, a few blocks away from the White Raven.”

“Really?” he replied a bit too excitedly before clearing his voice and continuing more calmly. “I mean, I live near the Old Square too.”

The smile that spread on her face could have rivaled the sun ahead. “That’s great. Um… maybe we’ll cross path someday. I mean…” she rambled. Was she nervous too? Ithan thought.

“Not that we aren’t already crossing paths at the Den already,” she added with a laugh while indicating the building behind them.

Ithan noticed the way that she was twisting a strand of hair between her fingers and how she could not stand still. She was nervous too. Somehow, that made him a little less tense.

He has admitted to Gwyn, months and months later, that their encounter on that day had not been accidental at all. He had confessed that he might have forsaken more urgent matters to wait until she would leave the Prime’s office. The tongue-lashing he had gotten from his roommates for being late for what they had planned later that day had been totally worth it.

***

Day 10

“Hello there,” a melodious voice drawled behind him. Ithan turned on the stool he was sitting on at the bar of the White Raven to find Gwyn smiling at him.

If he was not already seated, his first look at her would have made him fall on his ass. Gwyn was glowing in a green velvet dress that clung to her and accentuated all the dips and curves of her body. The makeup she had dusted on her eyelids sparkled beneath the flashing lights of the club, making it impossible not to look at her eyes.

“You look…” damn him and his habit of being speechless in her presence. “You are…” he tried and failed again.

Gwyn erupted in laughter at his flustered state. “I think I will take that as a compliment,” she said as she sat on the empty stool beside him.

“Sorry,” Ithan shook his head, “You are stunning.” Phew. See? That wasn’t so hard to say, he thought.

Gwyn’s cheeks started to flush and Ithan was momentarily mesmerised by the way it made her freckles stand out. “Thank you. And you are very handsome as well.”

Ithan was certain that the heat spreading across his face was close to turning him as red as her hair. Gwyn ordered three drinks and turned back to him.

‘’They’re not all for me,’’ she explained when she noticed his raised eyebrows. She pointed at a blond Fae and a brunette angel on the dance floor. ‘’I came with my sisters.’’

His face must have given away his puzzlement concerning her odd family because Gwyn snorted then proceeded to tell him about her chosen sisters.

A drink was placed in front of him. But instead of making his way towards his table where his own found family was, Ithan stayed at the bar, chatting with Gwyn over the loud music. Either her sisters had forgotten about their drinks, or they did not want to cut their conversation short because, as they talked and talked, Gwyn ended up drinking all three cocktails she had ordered while Ithan kept ordering more for himself. He only took note of the time when he turned around at some point and found that all those he had come with were already gone.

That night, Ithan had talked more than he ever had with anyone else in his entire life. He remembers vividly how she had been the only thing on his mind when he was staring at his ceiling before he fell asleep in the early morning. He had a crush on Gwyn. One that went from little to massive in a matter of one training session with the Aux.

***

#Gwynthan #gwyneth berdara #ithan holstrom #gwyn x ithan #acotar #crescent city #crackship #it's mostly fluff #tiny bit of smut #tiny bit of angst

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impishtubist · 1 year

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finish your shit december, part 2

I challenged myself this month to just finish all the things that are lingering in my drafts folder. Either that, or post the abandoned stuff so someone else can enjoy it.

Part 1 is here. I posted 45K of an abandoned Remus/James raising Harry fic on AO3: love's such an old-fashioned word.

Part 2 is an abandoned fic where Sirius and Remus raise Harry, and Sirius has a difficult time with Harry calling him “dad”. It’s not a new trope and it’s been done so many times that I don’t feel like I have anything original to add to it, so I’m not going to finish it.

So, without further ado, here are 1800 words of feelings about Sirius being called “dad.” Some of these scenes are unfinished, so they start and/or end abruptly. That’s just the way it’s going to be, sorry!

-----

The first time Harry calls Sirius dad, it’s a punch to the gut.

It’s a sticky evening in August. The late-summer air is thick and cloying when Sirius Apparates to Ottery St Catchpole, and he’s drenched in sweat by the time he reaches the Burrow, even though it’s only a short walk from the designated Apparition point. He steps into the blessedly-cool house and is immediately set upon by several delighted children.

“Hello, Ginny m’dear,” he says, sweeping the youngest Weasley child into his arms, and she giggles when he kisses her cheek. “Percy, George, Fred, hullo. Ron, what’ve you got there? Oh, yes, that’s a very nice toad. Harry, lad, are you ready--”

“Dad!” Harry breaks through the crowd of Weasleys to latch onto Sirius’s hand. “Come see!”

Sirius must black out for a moment. All of a sudden, he’s in the back garden, with no idea how he got there. Ginny is no longer in his arms--oh, Molly has her, good--and Harry is chattering happily away about a piece of art he’s made. Sirius’s mind is blank except for dad dad dad dad.

Dad is James. Dad is reserved for the man who wept the first time he held his son, for the man who was Sirius’s brother in all but blood, for the man who gave his life in hopes that it would give his wife and child time to escape.

Sirius isn’t dad. He doesn’t deserve that title, not after his actions got James killed and made Harry an orphan.

“Harry,” he says softly, crouching next to the boy, taking the picture from his hands to examine it, “I’m Pads, remember?”

Harry gives him an odd look. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay.” Sirius decides not to press the point, instead choosing to praise Harry’s artwork. “This looks great, Prongslet. Shall we find a place to hang it up at home? I think Uncle Moony would love to have it in his study.”

***

The next time it happens, Sirius is trying to get dressed and pack a suitcase at the same time. He’s already missed his Portkey, which means he’s going to have to Floo, and the International Floos at the Ministry are hell this hour of night. At this rate, he’ll be lucky if he arrives in enough time to snatch a couple hours of sleep in his hotel room before the conference starts tomorrow.

Remus is down the hall, giving Harry a bath. From the sounds of it, he’s having about as much luck with that as Sirius is with his packing. Harry’s voice is high and distressed, and though Sirius can’t make out the words, he can tell that the boy is on the brink of a complete meltdown. He’s had a long day, and it’s already half an hour past his bedtime, and Sirius is leaving him for the first time. Remus is doing his best to soothe him, but it’s a losing battle.

Sirius closes his suitcase and latches it just as tiny feet come pounding down the hall and hurtle into the bedroom. Harry, naked and wet, latches on to his leg and wails, “Daddy, no!”

Remus skids into the bedroom, holding a towel.

“Harry James, for Merlin’s sake,” he mutters, crouching to wrap Harry in the ridiculously fluffy yellow towel. Harry squirms, trying to break free, but Remus gets him wrapped snugly in the towel and lifts him into his arms. “Sirius has to leave, but he’ll be back--”

“No,” Harry cries, reaching a hand out to Sirius. “Don’ leave, Daddy, no!”

There’s no mistaking what he’s said, not when Remus instantly pales. Sirius can’t pretend that he misheard it, that Harry said Pads instead.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius manages, and he doesn’t know who he’s apologizing to. Harry, for leaving? James, for usurping his place in Harry’s life?

I never wanted this, James. I never wanted to take this from you.

Remus recovers first. He bounces Harry gently in his arms and says, “Pads is coming back, Harry. It’s only for a couple of days.”

Harry sobs, still reaching for Sirius. Sirius doesn’t know what to do. He stands frozen, warring with himself. He always comes when Harry calls for him, always, ever since that awful Halloween night when he pulled Harry from the wreckage of his home. Harry had sobbed for Pafoo and Sirius had been there. And now he’s just going to leave Harry? For a medical conference?

“Go,” Remus tells him over Harry’s cries. “Sirius, go. This is important. We’ll be fine.”

It’s a conference on new, experimental treatments for cursed wounds. It could change countless lives. Sirius still wants to throw it all away, because Harry is asking for him. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself if he walks away now.

“Harry, give Pads a kiss,” Remus says in a cheerful voice, and Harry stops crying long enough for Sirius to cover his pudgy cheeks in kisses.

“I love you,” he whispers. Then, he kisses Remus, grabs his suitcase, and practically flees the room.

Harry’s wretched sobs echo in his ears for days.

***

None of the dozens of parenting books Sirius read in the first few months after Harry came to live with him prepared him for the horrid, soul-sucking pain of hearing his best friend’s child call him Dad. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. He’d tried to correct Harry, once, gently reminding him that he already has a dad and that Sirius is perfectly happy being Padfoot, but it all ended in tears.

“Sirius, he doesn’t even remember James,” Remus tells him softly in bed one night. “You’re all that he knows.”

“We’ve told him about James and Lily.”

“But it doesn’t mean anything to him. Yes, we tell him that he had parents and that they’re gone now, but I don’t think he grasps what that means yet. Because as far as he’s concerned, he’s already got two parents who take care of him and love him.”

“James would hate me if he knew,” Sirius mutters.

“What are you talking about? Of course he wouldn’t.” Remus strokes Sirius’s hair. “Sirius, what do you think the point of making you godfather was? That it was just something James and Lily did on a whim? That it was just symbolic? They wanted you to raise Harry if anything happened to them. We all know that James is his father, but to Harry, you’re the only father he knows.”

“So I should just let him call me dad?”

“That’s what you are to him,” Remus says. “And I’m afraid if you push back on it too much, he’s going to start to think that you don’t want him.”

“James should be the one who’s here for him.”

“But he’s not,” Remus says gently. “We are.”

***

When illness descends upon the Potter-Lupin-Black household, it usually takes them all out at once, and Harry is typically the culprit. Not that he can help it, but he is the only one of them who spends his day surrounded by thirty other less-than-hygienic five-year-olds, and so he often brings their illnesses home to his guardians. Remus is usually the one who is affected the least, but this time it’s only two days until the full moon and he’s already moonsick, so catching the ‘flu from Harry knocks him immediately out of commission. Sirius, though he feels like death himself, can’t curl up in bed next to his lover like he so desperately wants to. Someone has to look after Harry.

“Sick, Siri,” Harry moans against his shoulder, his skin fever-hot and burning through Sirius’s shirt.

“I know, baby.” Sirius paces the kitchen, rubbing Harry’s back as the boy clings to him. He’s already given Harry the maximum amount of pain potion and fever reducer allowed for a child his age, so now there’s nothing to do but wait it out. Harry’s too young for a sleeping draught and too uncomfortable to fall asleep without one. The only thing Sirius can do is offer him this paltry comfort.

Slowly, Harry grows heavy against his shoulder, and his wheezing breaths start to even out. Sirius aches all over and his head is spinning and there’s a fierce pounding behind his eyes, but he keeps up his steady pacing. Anything to keep Harry calm and comfortable.

When Harry finally goes limp against him, Sirius carries him upstairs. He eases Harry carefully onto his bed, drawing up the blankets and tucking him in.

“Stay.” A small hand grasps his finger just as Sirius shifts his weight, preparing to get up. “Daddy stay.”

“Daddy has to go to bed, too,” Sirius says softly. The word is ash in his mouth, and his eyes sting. I’m sorry, James, I’m so sorry.

“Stay,” Harry says again, his voice wavering, and how can Sirius say no to that?

“Okay, Haz,” he whispers. Harry’s bed is much too large for the five-year-old, but can fit them both easily. Sirius scoots up to lay next to Harry, his head on the other pillow, his body curled around Harry’s.

***

On the morning of Harry’s sixth birthday, he wakes them both up at dawn by climbing into bed with them. He thinks he’s being quiet and subtle, but he’s all knobby knees and sharp elbows, and they both come awake instantly.

“Harry,” Remus groans, shoving his head under his pillow. Sirius, more of a morning person than Remus is, merely chuckles and cuddles Harry close.

“Let’s give Moony five more minutes, hm?” he murmurs, knowing that if he can get Harry to lie quiet and still for a moment, he’ll inevitably fall asleep again.

“No,” Harry says, sticking out his lower lip. He’s clutching a book in both hands, and he says, “Papa read?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Remus surfaces from under the pillow. He stares incredulously at Harry, who rolls over to face him.

“Papa?” he tries again, and though Sirius can’t see him, he knows Harry’s giving Remus the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can muster. “Please?”

Remus seems incapable of speech, so Sirius clears his throat and plucks the book from Harry’s hands. “How about I read to you, sprog?”

“No,” Harry says again. “Papa does voices.”

“Papa does do the best voices,” Sirius says, shooting Remus an imploring look. Remus can fall apart about this later, just like Sirius did a couple of years ago

Remus clears his throat and sits up, the blankets pooling in his lap. He pats his thigh, and Harry crawls over to him, presenting him with the book. It’s a wizarding children’s story about a prince who falls in love with a dragon, and it’s been Harry’s favorite for the past three months. Sirius can recite the whole thing in his sleep, but Harry’s right--Remus does it better.

***

Sirius steps into the house and knows immediately that something is off. The house is quiet. Too quiet. When you have a seven-year-old--especially a seven-year-old who is the progeny of James Potter--silence is suspicious. This is the kind of quiet that means the house’s inhabitants are Up To Something.

“Remus?” he calls cautiously, shutting the door behind him. “Harry?”

“In here, Pads,” Remus says, and Sirius follows the sound of his voice to the main room. Remus is seated in the armchair closest to the fire, his knees pressed together, bending over something that’s on his lap. Harry stands next to him, peering intently at whatever it is that Remus is tending to.

“What’ve you got there?” Sirius asks, setting down his bag and shedding his jacket. He drapes it over the back of the couch.

“Come see,” Harry says, grabbing Sirius’s hand and pulling him over to the armchair. “I found her.”

It’s a kitten. She’s tiny, far too young to be away from her mother, and Remus is painstakingly bottle-feeding her.

“She was in the garden,” Remus supplies without looking up. “The mother cat isn’t anywhere nearby.”

And Remus would know, his werewolf senses able to scent her in an instant if she was around.

“Can we keep her?” Harry asks.

“Ah, well…”

“I told him that he had to ask you,” Remus says, the traitor.

“Cats are a lot of work,” Sirius tries.

“I can take care of her,” Harry says. “Moony got me a book.”

“Did he, now?” Sirius says, trying to shoot Remus a glare, but Remus is ignoring him. Of course.

“Please?” Harry tugs on his hand, looking up at him with wide, imploring eyes. “She doesn’t have a mum, just like me. I can look after her.”

Sirius drags a hand down his face. Oh, how this kid has played him. Despite himself, he feels faintly proud.

“Yes, fine,” he says, and Harry shouts in glee. “But she’s your responsibility, Harry.”

“I know. Thank you, Dad!” Harry throws his arms around Sirius’s waist, squeezing him tightly. Remus also gives Sirius a pleased smile, and Sirius rolls his eyes. As if he could ever deny the two of them anything.

Harry spends the rest of the evening attending to the kitten, learning how to bottle-feed her from Remus and debating various names for her. He rejects all of Sirius’s suggestions (even though Sirius thought that “Salome” was an excellent choice, actually, and “Minnie” was a close second) and eventually settles on Cleo.

“S’pose she’s kind of cute,” Sirius says when they’re up in the middle of the night to feed her. She’s still tiny, too young to be away from her mother, and needs feeding every few hours. Remus wasn’t about to make Harry get up to do it.

“Want to hold her?” Remus asks, and Sirius snorts.

“Nah, ‘m not a cat person.”

***

He’s been a Healer for the better part of ten years now, but no part of his training adequately prepares him for the sight of Harry, pale as death, standing at the bottom of the stairs with blood streaming down his arm and dripping onto the floor.

“Sorry about the carpet, Padfoot,” Harry says weakly.

***

Sirius is napping on the couch when the Floo roars and Harry comes tumbling out of it, followed closely by Remus. The boy’s talking a mile a minute, excitedly recounting to Remus every moment of his weekend with the Weasleys. Remus takes Harry by the shoulders and steers him quickly into the kitchen, murmuring, “Harry, we talked about this, Dad isn’t feeling well, so we need to keep it down.”

Their voices fall to quiet murmurs, and Sirius drifts off again.

Remus wakes him at dinnertime with a glass of water and some more potions. Sometime during his nap, Cleo had joined him, and she’s curled up and purring on his stomach.

“‘m not a cat person,” Sirius mutters dejectedly. Cleo, oblivious to this fact, purrs away.

“I know, darling,” Remus says, sounding amused. “But Cleo seems to think otherwise. Come on, potions first, and then some food.”

Sirius grimaces as he swallows the potions, then manages half a bowl of soup. Remus goes off to make dinner for himself and Harry, but Cleo is content to stay right where she is.

“You’re s’posed to be Harry’s, y’know,” Sirius murmurs to her.

Cleo only purrs louder.

***

Sirius hadn’t been prepared for the memories that would slap him in the face when he stepped onto Platform 9 ¾. Seeing the Hogwarts Express for the first time in many years--and yet, at the same time, in hardly any time at all--transports him instantly back twenty years ago, to the day that changed his life for good.

Remus’s hand finds his and squeezes. Harry’s taking everything in with wide, wondrous eyes.

“Got everything?” Sirius asks him, even though he knows that Harry does. The boy’s been packed since mid-summer, and if by any chance he’s forgotten anything, Sirius can owl it to him immediately.

“Yep.” Harry looks at them both, sudden apprehension tingeing his expression. “I should...probably go find a compartment?”

“Probably,” Remus says. “We’re cutting it a little bit close. I’m sure Ron and Neville are already here, and you can sit with them.”

Ron is indeed already on the train, and Remus helps Harry get his trunk and Hedwig settled in his compartment. Sirius opens his arms for a hug, and Harry falls into them. He’s so thankful for this boy who is as affectionate as James was, and hugs him tightly.

“Don’t forget to write to us,” he says.

“I won’t.”

“And use the mirror if you need it.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.” Harry presses his face into Sirius’s chest. Sirius squeezes him tighter.

“We’ll see you at Christmas, baby.” He drops a kiss on top of Harry’s head, then releases him so that he can hug Remus.

#sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #wolfstar #imp is writing #wolfstar raising harry #finish your shit december

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shadowisles-writes · 2 months

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Innocent (Part 3) [Elucien]

A/N: Hello friends! Part 3 is finally here and in typical fashion it's not the last part it's supposed to be and a 4th part is in the drafts and hopefully coming soon <3

Summary: Lucien had always thought his life would be normal—or as normal as it could be growing up in a werewolf hunting family. All it took was one full moon for the truth to unravel in front of him and force him to make hard decisions. His fate was forever changed, and no amount of trying running from it could prevent it from catching up to him.

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It's alright, just wait and see Your string of lights are still bright to me, oh Who you are is not where you've been You're still an innocent - Innocent, Taylor Swift

Elain

Every soft jingle of the bell above her door made Elain’s head jerk toward it. It had been two days, and the customers pushing it open were never Lucien, but she couldn’t control herself. She had seen him for mere minutes, yet it was like she was sixteen all over again, walking through the halls of their old school after he had left and chasing every glimpse of red hair with her eyes. For months she had fooled herself into hoping she would see him again, but that shade of red always belonged to one of his brothers.

Elain wished she could remain closed off and erase his brief visit from her memory, but her head was swarming with questions. Mostly, she wanted to know how he had gotten such a brutal scar on his face. Sadness had radiated off him that day, but all she had felt was hurt and anger.

When he had left, the only thing that had allowed Elain to bury his memory deep within her mind was knowing he would never come back. For years, it had been enough, but seeing him unraveled all of the lies she had told herself to hate him. Now that the memories had resurfaced, Elain wasn’t sure how she had ever managed to forget about him.

And so, her head snapped toward the door of her shop every time she heard it open. She was exhausted from being on high alert, her heartbeat kept on turning frantic and no amount of work could distract her.

“Good afternoon, darling,” a man called out as he walked through the door.

Elain jumped as she turned around and exhaled slowly as she recognized her friend.

“Hi Pete, how are you doing today?” She forced a smile on her face.

“I’m good, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Peter rested his forearms on the counter and tilted his head to take her in. His fangs were visible when he spoke, but Elain had gotten used to seeing them a long time ago.

Coming from a town where werewolves were hunted, Elain had needed time to adjust to them openly roaming around this city. Peter had been her first encounter, and after laughing at her for a good half hour for being scared, he had taken the time to answer each of her questions.

Werewolves weren’t the uncontrollable creatures she had been taught they were, and becoming friends with a few of them had quickly desensitized her.

“Ah, something like that,” Elain chuckled, the image of Lucien in her shop still fresh in her mind. “How’s Sarah doing with the baby? You must both be tired still.”

“We are, I’m running some quick errands and I wanted to get her flowers. Hopefully it doesn’t make her cry when I get back.” Peter cringed at the thought.

“I’m sure it’ll even out soon.”

He sighed and nodded. Peter was a caretaker, always bending over backwards for his wife, but there was nothing he could do against the hormones that made her cry. “The baby sleeping through the night would sure help.”

Elain stepped out from behind her counter and began looking through her bouquets for something her friend would like. “Just wait until he gets old enough to howl at the moon with you.”

“God I hope there’s time for that,” Peter laughed and followed behind her, his eyes also scanning the bouquets.

“How about this one?” Elain pointed to a composition full of bright orange blended with softer tones that leaned into pastel yellow.

“Can’t go wrong with orange when it comes to Sarah, you’re a gem Elain,”

“It’s almost like I knew you’d be coming when I made it this morning,” she picked up the bouquet and got ready to wrap it up.

It only took a minute for Peter to pay for the bouquet and hurry back to his wife and newborn. Elain had thought she was successfully distracted until he was gone from the shop and silence settled in once more.

Her thoughts were free to run wild again

Her eyes remained trained on the door for long minutes, scanning the crowd of passersby on the street for the shape of his body. It was hard to believe that after all those years he would come into her shop once and never show his face again.

When evening fell and the sun lowered to bathe the city in a golden light, Elain finally breathed. There was only an hour left before she closed up, and it was rare she would get a customer during that time. Occasional, one or two people walked in, but on most evenings she used this time to tidy and get ready to close up.

Elain was sweeping some fallen bits of leaves from one of her stands towards the back of the shop when she heard the bell again. Immediately, her eyes shot up and her heart hammered against her chest.

There he was. He looked better than the last time she had seen him, dressed in clean navy blue pants and a well ironed white shirt. It must still have been warm outside, because the sleeves were rolled up and his long hair was up in a tight bun. One small strand fell from the top of his head, and Elain got the urge to brush it away from his cheek.

“What can I do for you today?” She was proud of herself for keeping a steady voice as she set her broom aside and wiped her hands on her apron.

He didn’t even pretend to look at the flowers, walking straight to the counter and tucking the strand of hair Elain was staring at behind his ear. “I came to apologize.”

“I haven’t seen you in six years,” Elain forced herself to shrug. She looked for ways to pretend to be busy, but there were none. “What could you possibly have to apologize for?”

“Leaving the way I did.” He held her eyes, his tone completely serious.

Elain felt her heart flutter at the intensity emanating from him. It had been the same when she was a teenager, she had blushed and stumbled all over her words before they started dating. She wouldn’t lose herself to the butterflies in her stomach again.

“We were sixteen, Lucien, I’m sure you’ve gotten well over that, and so have I.”

“I guess you’re right, but it looks like we live in the same city now.” He motioned to the shop around them. “I thought it might be strange not to talk at all.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Elain sounded too casual to her own ears, and it was no surprise when Lucien cocked his head knowingly.

“Or maybe you still don’t want to talk to me.”

“Oh I wanted to talk, Lucien,” she scoffed, unable to help herself. Elain had been stewing in her rage and confusion since she had seen him again. “Six years ago. You didn’t, and now neither do I.”

“You don’t want to know why?”

“Not at all.” She gave him her best glare, but he’d always said she was no less terrifying than a fawn could ever be.

“Alright, if you say so.” Lucien shrugged so obnoxiously Elain knew he didn’t believe her. “I live a few streets from here, if you ever change your mind. It’s the yellow house with the olive tree.”

Her blood boiled, telling her to scream there was no way she’d change her mind. Why would she want to talk to him after what he’d done? Why should she care after all these years?

Lucien smoothed his hands over his clothes before he turned around and made to walk out of her shop. Elain watched, determined to remain silent, but she couldn’t stop herself before he reached for the door. There was one question that had been nagging her endlessly since she had caught her first glimpse of him.

“How did you get that scar?” She blurted out.

There was nothing but concern in her voice, but Lucien stilled. He turned with a blank look on his face, probably looking for a way to avoid answering her insensitive question. “I’m sorry,” Elain said when the silence became too heavy. “That was really rude of me.”

“It’s a long story.” Lucien eventually said.

��Of course,” she nodded. “You should probably get home, and I have to close the shop so…”

He took the dismissal with a half smile. “Have a good night, Elain.”

She barely managed to wish him the same before he disappeared in the dimly lit street.

There was little left to do before she could lock the door to the shop and drive home. Her mind was thrumming with their conversation, repeating every word over and over. There was so much to agonize over even all these years later that she couldn’t remember if she actually stopped for a red light before she reached her house.

It was small, compared to the other neighborhoods in the city, but it was enough and Elain was proud to own it. The outside was made of rough stones all in shades of gray leaning into beige, with windows and doors all built in wood that gave her home the appearance of a rural cottage.

Apparently, it was one of the oldest buildings on the street, the only one that withstood the storm that ravaged most houses before Elain was born. She was thankful for it and every sign of wear she could see inside. Her house was a home, full of memories and history she hoped she would add to one day.

Elain walked up the three steps that led to her door and gently pushed it open. She waited for the usual feeling of comfort to wash over her, but her mind was still high strung on Lucien. There would be no resting for her until she made peace with his presence in her city.

How long had he lived here? Did he suddenly move and coincidentally choose a place close to her? Or had he always been here and in the years that Elain had taken to build her shop they had simply never crossed paths?

She had too many questions and not enough answers. Remaining busy was the only way to prevent madness from settling in, so she began cooking and paced through her kitchen whenever she needed to wait. She couldn’t focus, her thoughts filled with Lucien and whatever explanation he had meant to give her earlier at the shop.

She ate mechanically, chewing and swallowing without really tasting her food until her plate was empty. She resisted until the end of her meal, then forced herself to do her dishes and eventually let out a groan of defeat.

Unable to help it any longer, Elain got into her car and began to drive to Lucien’s house. The streetlights bathed the road in a warm light, but the full moon high in the sky made everything look colder than usual.

His neighborhood was close but far wealthier than hers, the houses three times as big. It only meant they were easier for her to identify with Lucien’s vague description. She drove slowly through several streets before she finally spotted a yellow house in front of which was an olive tree. It was unmistakable next to the other houses, the olive tree resisting through the years despite being in the wrong climate. Lucien must have had a real way with plants to be able to keep it alive.

A car was in the driveway, so she pulled up behind it and gathered her courage as she walked up the three steps leading to his porch. Elain didn’t give herself time to chicken out and knocked.

The wait was excruciating, but there was light coming from the window, so she counted down the seconds until it was appropriate to knock a second time.

No one answered.

Someone was home. She was sure of it with the car and the light turning off in one room then on in another. Elain was done waiting, she was getting cold and she needed answers.

She slammed her fist against the door again.

Everything between them had happened six years ago, and she was sick of having to make up answers for his behavior in his mind. The Lucien who had broken up with her in that hospital had been a different person from the boy she fell in love with and she was determined to prove it, even if it was only to get a little bit of closure.

She was just about to pound against the door one last time when it swung open.

A wide eyed, shirtless Lucien was the first thing she saw. The sight of his bare chest was distracting, but Elain stepped forward and got ready to ask questions when he interrupted.

“You can’t be here.” He tried to shut the door, but she was already halfway in.

“I need to talk to you please.” Elain made it inside and heard the door click shut behind her.

“Get out.” Lucien’s voice came as a growl this time.

“No.”

He staggered back two steps. His chest grew with each breath he took, as if his entire body was elongating and broadening. Some part of Elain knew she should have listened to his order, but there was a fascination that kept her eyes trained on the changes in his body

Within seconds, his body grew a whole foot. His shoulder became wider and the shape of each of his limbs changed. Elain tried to move but her back only met the door that had shut behind her. She was trapped, watching as the changes affected his face too. It grew longer, fangs appearing past his lips and fur beginning to cover every inch of his skin.

Lucien was a werewolf.

Elain nearly panicked. She had never been face to face with one of them transformed, but running would likely make her look like prey and she had no idea how much control Lucien had over himself on a damn full moon.

No wonder he had told her she couldn’t be at his house.

His house . His house, in the middle of other humans, which meant she had startled him and he may not be able to hold back shifting, but he was probably not fully murderous either. Elain took her chance and slid down to the floor, kneeling and looking down as not to appear threatening in any way.

Not prey. Not a threat. She could hear her heartbeat at her temples, but she didn’t dare move or meet his eyes. Lucien growled, the sound of claws resonating from his hardwood floors as he stepped closer to her.

“Lucien,” she whispered his name, because there was nothing else she could say. She repeated it again, softer as he approached and placed his massive paws on the floor by her thighs. “Lucien.”

He stilled above her, his scarred eye an inch from her face. She tilted her head up slowly and watched him closely, not daring to breathe anymore, but Lucien had lost his threatening stance. He remained above her for several moments, the sound of his heavy breathing covering the beat of the blood at her temples.

“Lucien,” Elain murmured again and something like recognition sparked in his eyes.

Slower than it had happened the first time, Elain watched his features change.His body morphed back to its human shape, the paws by her thighs shifted back into familiar hands and his face settled back into normal.

“Lucien,” Elain breathed out in relief one last time as he kneeled in front of her.

“You’re okay,” he gasped, his hands cradling her cheeks. “You’re okay.”

“Of course I’m—”

Lucien’s chest shook with a sob and he pulled her tight against his naked chest. “You’re okay,” he kept on murmuring, hands clutching her as if he had to reassure himself she was still there.

Elain was speechless, but she closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his skin against her cheek as she carefully put her arms around him to hug him back.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he murmured with every breath.

“Of course I’m okay,” Elain could feel each thud of his heart, still racing with each scattered intake of air.

She listened carefully to the broken breaths he kept on taking until they came to him smoother. It took time for his chest to rise and fall at a somewhat steady rhythm.

“Lucien,” she whispered carefully.

“I’m sorry—Are you… Are you alright?” He pulled back just enough to look at her, one hand cradling her cheek while the other slid down her left arm. His fingers came to rest on the inside of her wrist, as if he had to keep feeling her pulsing heartbeat to reassure himself.

“I’m fine, are you?” Elain was more worried about him than herself with the way he was acting.

“I guess so.” Lucien nodded with no apparent plans to let go of her.

They stared at each other for far longer than what was comfortable. Elain was the one to clear her throat carefully, because if they were going to keep sitting on the floor like this, they might as well have a conversation. “You’ve got a long story to tell it seems.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. “I’m usually more in control than that. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” Elain reassured him again. “I assume it’s hard for you to think clearly when the moon is out,”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I scared you.” Lucien reluctantly let go of her wrist and pushed himself back to his feet before he offered her a hand.

Things were no less uncomfortable once they both stood, but it gave them a semblance of normalcy.

“You didn’t,” Elain said. “You seemed more scared than I was.”

“I-” Lucien exhaled slowly and braced himself, his hand subconsciously coming to touch his scar. “I hurt someone I cared about, three years ago.”

The pain in his eyes was so obvious that Elain felt the need to give him a way out of this conversation. “Do you have some tea? Maybe we should take a minute and sit down, or something.”

Lucien turned on his kettle and busied himself with pulling out two mugs. He wrapped the string of the tea bag around each handle to prevent them from falling in. Elain watched him prepare that and counted the minutes by stealing glances at the clock. He looked lost in thoughts, as if there were too many events for him to organize in his mind before he could begin talking.

Elain followed him to the couch silently, took a seat first and accepted the hot mug when he handed it to her. Lucien sat on the other side, his tea gently sloshing in his cup because his hands were shaking. It took a deep breath to steady them.

Then, Lucien looked up at Elain and told her everything.

#elucien #werewolf au #werewolf!lucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fluff #elucien angst #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #lucien and elain #lucien x elain #pro elucien #elucien acotar #elucien fic

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athemarina · 2 years

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writeblr intro!! finally!!

hello lovely people of the tumblr writing community <3 i'm marina (she/her) and i've had this blog for about a month now but so far Life and all its Obligations prevented me from making a proper intro post - here it finally is now, for everyone who'd like to get to know me and my projects a bit!

me as a person

i'm marina but you can also call me any nick name version of that and also any and all terms of endearment (can you tell i'm a libra). i'm 27, from austria, and speak german and english (pretty well), french (badly) and know how to order bread in korean (essential skill)

my interests include: philosophy, linguistics, horses, music, musicals, the city of paris, and also formula 1. yes i know this is random what can i say

i'm a full-time student and part-time capitalism worker-bee so depending on my schedule i might disappear for a bit, but i intend to always come back here to get inspired and get some work done! which leads me to...

me as a writer

i love coming up with new ideas and projects!! getting started is so much fun!! finishing things on the other hand!! is so hard!! send help!!

my fave genres (to read and to write): fantasy, sci-fi, works and words inspired by folklore and mythology - but really i like anything with compelling characters!

random things i love in writing: vampires (one day i'll write the Great Big Austrian Vampire Novella. alas, not today), characters that haunt the narrative, guilt and grief and healing from both, characters that make all the wrong choices, couples that have fun with each other, cryptic prophecies, sibling relationships, symbolic flowers

PLEASE COME TALK TO ME ABOUT WRITING!! i would really like to become part of a community here, so always feel free to come talk to me about your wips, my wips, the blorbo that lives in your head rent-free, the latest book you've read and loved... whatever you want to share i'd love to hear <3 you can also always tag me in games and challenges, but it might take me a bit to get to it, depending on how much real life hates me atm

my children: works in (never-ending) progress

i'm gonna make proper intro posts for all these projects soon, but to give you some idea of what i get up to, here are some short descriptions! some of these wips have been with me for a couple years, others are more recent, but they all haunt my every waking moment <;3

The Price of Wishing (first draft complete): good old sci-fi dystopian flair; a society that got rid of poverty by creating so called Houses of Service - institutions that will sell out their workers to the highest bidder for anything that people are willing to pay for. but it's not quite as simple as that: politics, organised crime, and a revenge plot years in the making all intersect at Isra's House of Service, and its inhabitants must learn to navigate these worlds - or they'll go down trying.

Forget Me (Not) (first draft about half-way done): wouldn't it be great to purge some of the mistakes we made from memory, not just our own but that of everyone? in a world in which the Chip implanted in everyone's neck records everything seen and experienced, this - collective forgetting - is the price celebrity contestants get to compete for in a reality tv show. each contestant has something they need the world to forget, but who can convince the viewers the most? the central theme of this story is grief, and when to hold on, and when to let go.

Attempts at Life (still in the outline stage): finn day and her brother felix know how their lives will play out: they were born in the lowest class society has to offer, and there they will stay. which is an unusual position for people like them to be in: both their souls were reborn for the fifth (and last) time; for them to have been assigned to this shitty life, they must have done something heinous in their previous one. finn is resigned to accept this punishment for a crime she can't even remember, but that's before the government offers her a position - she finds out things that change her view of society and herself forever, and she'll have to decide which one to save.

Untitled Fantasy (literally only thought of this last week): something something a necromancer brings back the hero of the ancient world to stop Something Bad from happening. only problem is - the hero does not remember ever being a hero. or anything at all, really. the rest of the world remembers, though. i'd love for this story to include some traditional austrian folklore elements! those are fun

so that's it! last but not least: if you've read this far, thank you so much omg you're my personal hero. i'm following a bunch of people already since i've been lurking for a couple weeks, but i'm always looking for new writers to get to know and support so pls interact with this post or shoot me a message and i'll check you out and follow you! and if you have any questions, or answers, or just wanna talk i'm very excited to get to know you all <3

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writers on tumblr #writing community #wip intro #writbr #im excited to get to meet you all!!#lets be friends who bond over being slightly too intense about fictional characters and worlds pls

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willowser · 10 months

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hello!! Just wondering, do you have a timeline of when you might be releasing your dragon bakugo fic?? Please know I’m asking simply out of pure and innocent curiosity, I don’t mean to pressure you AT ALL. If this makes you feel bad I promise I’ll light myself on fire and then throw myself off a cliff I swear and do not apologize for the wait I will patiently wait as long as it takes even if it means reading it when I’m old in a nursing home

LOL you're so funny alfjsjka thank you for not pressuring me, and thank you also for your patience !! i really appteciate it 🥺🩷✨️

you know, i'm actually really glad you asked this question, because here's the long and short of it: right now, we're 40k into editing dragon bakugou and maybe — maybe — half way done.

if i could go back and redo the wip poll, i wouldn't have put dragon bakugou up as an option, because it was what i had the least of at the time. still a first draft, yes, but it was something that we hadn't even been talking about for that long before i wrote it. and listen. this thing is BIG. the biggest thing i've ever written. it's huge. there's too much and also not enough. the volume of it scares me LOL

so i've actually been considering asking yall — and it literally does not matter to me either way what yall decide — if we want to keep holding everything up to wait for dragon bakugou. if we do wait, and then go down the poll like we originally said, i really can't promise you when dragon bkg will be done. it's BIG. if i had to give you a number, i would say maybe two months ??? for the FIRST HALF.

or we could skip it for now and continue on down the poll, which would put ex-husband bakugou up next. i've been putting like 88% of my focus into dragon bakugou so i still need to edit ex-husband fic BUT i feel confident that i could have it up before the end of july.

so — that's where we're at !! and i know you said not to apologize, but i am anyway LOL really what's giving me a hard time is the second half, because i originally wasn't sure how i wanted to end it, if i wanted it bittersweet or a happy ending. and i ultimately decided on happy ending but — there's a lot of sacrifice !! on both sides !!! and in order for that sacrifice to feel justifiable, there's just some more that needs to happen, i feel. we're getting a time jump. we're going to bakugou's home country. we're meeting his family and friends. like. there's so much LOL

i'll go ahead and add the poll now, and i'll leave it up for a few days so we can take our time deciding !! for reference, i'll include what the wip poll results were at the end that way you know what order we would be working from, if we continued on down the list.

dragon!bkg ; ex-husband!bkg ; southern charm ; werewolf!bkg ; ptmy ; vampire!dabi ; if he's a serial killer...

#tldr: do you wanna continue waiting for dragon bakugou or would you like to move on for now ??#gonna tag this as #bc it is !!!#✿ news

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nihilnovisubsole · 4 months

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Gimme 18 and if it’s not an old man I’ll even applaud

hello!! sorry i'm a day or two late on this. it's hard to post at the same velocity when you're doing it on your breaks.

18. the character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

i've got some half-finished original short stories that are like getting blood from a stone, but they're difficult because of research and plot, not character. no, i got into a whole other character predicament this year. one that probably involved biting off more than i could chew.

i find the prevailing style in shipfic is to spend the majority of time with the main pair, and other characters take much more minor supporting roles. i heard it a long time ago, actually: somebody i knew told me that my laser focus on writing only my pairings was holding my character voice skills back. i wouldn't go that far. i think it's a common mode in romance because the development of the main relationship is what the story is about. that's just logic. i imagine that logic goes double for stories where the writer explores the physical side of the relationship. i mean, we joke about PWP, but i'd wager most erotica readers aren't showing up for debates about tea forks first, if you get my drift.

when i drafted ideas for ffxiv stories over the past few months, i thought, "hey, this isn't for money or a deadline. i can afford to experiment." i knew i couldn't resist writing about royce and raubahn eventually, but i wanted platonic stories that highlighted her with other characters as well. it wasn't some kind of snobbish "gen fic over shipfic" deal. i just thought it'd be a fun challenge to make stuff Like It Is In The Game. the main story is about all kinds of different interpersonal bonds, and it's such a huge cast, i felt like i'd be leaving a lot on the table.

there's one complication to that. when you plan for an ensemble cast, you have to learn a deluge of new character voices all at once. urianger's pretty straightforward if you've taken a shakespeare class, but where are you putting y'shtola on her spectrum of sarcasm and bookishness? how is your dialogue walking the precarious tightrope of antiquated and modern that ffxiv's localization falls into? not to sound corporate or anything, but there's an onboarding process! it sure was easier when you only had to worry about getting the love interest right.

"so, ak, are you actually going to follow through with that challenge? are you going to finish any of those WIP stories and post them?" uhhh... we'll see!!

#asks #ffxiv

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sleekervae · 10 months

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Clamshell [0.1]

Masterlist

A/N: Hello, I'm back. Still working on some old drafts and had some requests for some new ideas. I'll get to them for sure! I thought up a cute little backstory for how Remington met Vera -- back before she had any idea of this robbing business. And this chapter includes an actual bank robbery now. Happy reading!

Las Vegas, 2017

Remington had smoked the same brand of cigarettes from the time he was thirteen, and he hated the way they had been reformatted and manufactured. The taste and zing had been dulled down in order to meet the standard regulations of whatever federal ball-busting association had these cigarette companies bent over a desk. Perhaps he could still enjoy them the same way if he found the same thrill at thirteen, rifling through his older brother's things one day to knocking some off to seem cool to his friends.

The cigarette flew from his fingertips and was lost in the blustering wind, try as it might it could not tousle through the layers of hairspray he had sprayed on his spikes that morning. Down the freeway he and his brothers drove, feeling as free as the birds that migrated above their heads, unaware and uncaring for the chaos and treachery they may find in the big city. Sebastian had to go to work, because of course someone had to pay their bills legitimately; though Emerson and Remington were off to pull some work of their own.

Their long time confidant and friend, Andrew was driving upfront in their beaten up, unassuming mini van, his shaggy mullet was cloistered under a straw hat. Emerson wasn't much of a fan of said hat.

"You look like a farmer," he pointed out for perhaps the fifth time that morning.

Andrew scoffed, glaring at him through the rearview mirror, "Because you look so much less unassuming in yours," he was referring to Emerson's floppy, wide brimmed slouch hat.

"Well, I'm not gonna' be wearing it for the job," he replied.

"Just leave him alone, he likes it," Remington cut in, trying to sprawl his long legs out in the back seat.

Sebastian was sat shot gun, dressed in his jacket for his line cook's job. He kept glancing back at his younger brothers, seemingly uneasy.

"Are you sure you guys wanna' do this without me?" he asked, perhaps for the third time that morning. His brothers had been planning this job for months, a smaller heist in comparison to others they've pulled, but the diner Sebastian worked for was severely short staffed and he was being scheduled more and more until more bodies could be hired. Of course, neither of them could afford to lose their jobs, so Sebastian had to put his heist planning to a pause while he covered as many shifts as he could.

While they figured they could wait this out, Remington and Emerson were eager for another job soon enough. And so, they had spent some time drawing up plans for a smaller bak heist. After all, living in Vegas was no cheap and easy feat for anyone.

"Of course we are, we've planned this perfectly," Emerson assured, turning to his brother, "Right?"

"Right," Remington sat up and reached over to grab Sebastian's shoulders, "We got it all under control, you just do your thing; flip your burgers, dress your salads, pour in half a bag of sugar into your hollandaise sauce,"

"I wouldn't if I didn't have to," Sebastian grumbled back, looking forward as Andrew pulled over to the cafe he worked at. Sebastian turned in his seat again, "You guys be careful, and don't do anything foolish for the love of God,"

Remington put his hand over his heart, "Swear on mom and dad's graves, we'll be good,"

"Better than that, we'll be slick," Emerson grinned.

Still unconvinced, Sebastian turned to Andrew with grim reprieve, "Make sure they don't get themselves killed,"

"You got it," Andrew gave him a high-five, "I'll come pick you up later,"

Sebastian hopped out and hadn't even shut the door before the minivan pulled out again. They travelled through the smaller outskirt suburb of Vegas, where the main strip was still within clear view. Remington and Emerson were getting their gear together in the meantime, guns, duffels, and of course, their balaclavas.

The Lieseil Funds Bank was a smaller bank chain, handling business ventures from blue-collar start ups to college-fund investment plans. It was a more obscure target that wouldn't be a considered target for crimes such as this, and it sat right across from Bobbie Trap's Pub. It was there one would find a raucous commotion emanating from the back of house, a young waitress being scolded by her manager.

Of course, it wasn't initially the waitress' fault, a customer, still drunk from the night previous, decided to try and take a handful of her behind. But of course, when she turned to defend herself, one thing led to another and she tossed a glass of water over his head. Despite how she tried to explain her case, her boss rattled on about how irresponsible and hysterical she was, so he took her by the arm and practically dragged her out of the establishment and threw her out onto the street, tossing her ratty apron after her.

"Go be somebody else's problem, Vera!" and he slammed the door in her face.

That was how Vera found herself sitting on the sidewalk outside of the bank with said ratty apron and her scuffed up converse kicking at the pavement. This was the third job she had lost in four months and she was cussing herself out for being so reactive and explosive. Just her luck anyhow, the volunteer at the women's shelter had lobbied hard for her to get that stupid waitressing job. Never the less, seeing the inevitable disappointment on the volunteer's face when she came crawling back would be absolutely gruelling.

She ran a hand through her tangled, dry hair, her brain racing for some sort of answer to her predicament, she hadn't paid any mind to the minivan that had pulled up in front of Bobie's.

Remington glared through hooded eyes at the bank, mentally flashing through the blueprints that Emerson had drawn up of the building, running through the response time it would take for police. He looked to Emerson, his face covered in his own lint-littered balaclava, then to Andrew, his head down and his straw hat pulled just over his eyes. Morning rush hour was over and the street was relatively quiet, perfect for their quick getaway.

They were just about to hop out when a man suddenly emerged from the local bar, his head down as he counted the stack of money bills in his hand, clearly out for a deposit. He didn't even give the random girl on the corner a second glance. Remington licked his lips hungrily as he watched the man cross the street and head into the bank. Sebastian was going to be so proud of their score.

With one final bow of confidence, Remington and Emerson jumped out of the minivan and hustled across the street, slipping into the bank. The few people within the bank paid no mind until Remington held up his automatic weapon and fired a few rounds into the ceiling. There were screams of terror, plaguing confusion as bank tellers and bystanders ducked for cover. And of course, the one security guard they had proved to me less than efficient as Emerson knocked him out with one swift blow from his gun.

Remington, ever one for great theatrics, leapt onto one of his desks, brandishing his weapon and tossing the duffel at the bank teller, "Ladies and gentlemen! I beg you all to remain calm, you are not in immediate danger! However, if it wasn't obvious: this is a robbery!"

Vera had her head in her hands, none the wiser to the chaos within the bank until she heard the first gunshots. The windows were dusty but when she turned around she could make out some of the pandemonium from inside, and her heart began to race as she realized she was witnessing a full scale bank robbery. It was so close, all playing out in front of her and yet she felt like she was watching some sort of scene from a movie.

"Holy shit," what should she do, call the police? Maybe somebody already had? All banks had those little panic buttons, right? There was more yelling, some banging, and Vera watched in disbelief as one of the robbers leapt onto the desk, almost performative in his clear threat to the public. She was frozen, out of fear or fascination she wasn't sure, but all Vera could bring herself to do was watch.

Remington and Emerson had gathered what money they could, as well as other valuable personal pieces and spare cash the customers had on them. The man from the street had a cool five hundred dollars he had a hard time letting go off, but Remington shoved him down and cleared up as much of it as he could before he and Emerson took off.

Not even five minutes passed before sirens could be heard in the distance, and the robbers were making out with their loot: two big duffels full of cash. The time had come for Vera, she started crossing the street to get herself away from the chaos. The first one raced clumsily towards the idling minivan and the second was close on his heels, or he would've been if one of the bank bystanders hadn't chased after him.

"You get back here! Vera! Stop him!" Vera was shocked to find her boss coming after the second robber with a clenched fist. He was closing in on him, and Vera wasn't sure what had come over her, glancing between the robber and the minivan his partners were waiting in, and then she glanced at her former boss. Her petty anger riled up within in, and as quickly as she could, she put out her foot and watched with with subtle glee as he face planted into the road.

Remington stopped short when he heard the thud, staring in disbelief as he saw the large man trying to gather his wits. His gaze then shifted to the girl who had clearly tripped him, their eyes locked. She was a young, unassuming type, slender and yet she had a mousy attractiveness.

"Move, man!" Emerson called from the van. Remington only had time to throw one callous wink at the girl before he leapt into the van, the dark ink of an X on his right knuckle fleeting as the van door closed behind him. About a minute later two police cruisers arrived, one of them taking off in the van's general direction.

When he had recovered, Vera's former boss dusted himself off, his mean gaze narrowing on the young girl. He stomped up to her, seething like a bull in Pamplona.

"What is the matter with you!" he shoved her, "You let them get away with my money! Are you just that stupid?!"

Vera, playing up her nonchalance, simply shrugged and smiled politely, "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should go be someone else's problem?" and with that, she turned on her heel and walked in the general direction of the women's shelter.

The Bastards crew had made a hasty, but clean getaway from the cops, and Sebastian couldn't deny how impressed he was with his brothers' spoils. They celebrated greatly with some cheap bottles of gin and pizza, though Remington found himself too preoccupied for celebrating. That girl had intercepted and nested in his brain, he had laid eyes upon her just for a moment yet he could see her so clearly. She was reminiscent of a manic pixie dream girl from a Bertolucci film, yet her dim confidence and outlandish pulse reactions were outstanding.

He sat on the porch of the bungalow they shared, a shabby little place in a run down lower-middle class neighbourhood. The air was dry, the heat unbearably humid, though it didn't stop Remington from enjoying his beer as he looked out into the saturated sunset. He had never found himself so curious over someone, especially over a girl. Why had she decided to help him, who was she? And of course, what bone did she have to pick with that bar man?

Out of all the chaos from the day and the questions spinning in his brain, he at least had one answer: Vera. It was a pretty name for a pretty girl, and as he lay in bed that night, tossing the sheets on and off because it was just too damn hot, Remington decided that he wanted to try and find her, to thank her at least. Would she react badly? Maybe. Would Sebastian absolutely end him if he found out? For sure. Never the less, Remington liked risks, and he certainly hadn't met a challenge he wasn't willing to take on.

And as he showered off the night time sweat in lukewarm water, he had successfully made up his mind.

Vera had crawled back to the women's shelter with her tail between her legs, having to sheepishly explain to the volunteers how she'd lost yet another job. Despite their clear frustration with her, they promised they were going to help find her something that would stick.

Empty promises, empty promises.

All night she couldn't sleep, tossing and turning in her brick-hard bed as sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes she kept reliving the chaos from the morning. She hadn't told the volunteers about it, they would panic and worry about Vera being a witness and wonder if she was a liability to the rest of the girls in the shelter. She had seen it before with girls who had witnessed things they shouldn't have, and of course in Las Vegas, there were a plethora of things you would often wish you never had to see.

However, Vera found she wasn't traumatized so much as she was fascinated by it all. It all happened so fast and yet she could remember every detail so clearly, how sharp the gunshots were, how the clear leader of the two was so ostentatious in his crime, how he even took the time to stop and wink her, almost as a thank-you for letting them get away. She couldn't see his face of course, but she could remember those eyes so well; chilling, almond in shape and dark to the point where his eyes almost appeared to be blacked out entirely. Nevertheless, Vera found she wasn't afraid; perhaps she had become so numb to the tumultuous ongoings within the city? Or deep down she was content with the fact that the balaclava-clad stranger wasn't going to hurt her. Not like she would know him if she passed him on the street.

In the sizzling afternoon heat, Vera was wandering an outlet market, a pretty inconspicuous cover as she read her magazine from the news stand. Every time she turned the page she found an ad for some luxury perfume, designer bag or exquisite jewelry piece. She ran her fingers over a bejewelled necklace that Lily Collins was wearing for Cartier, wondering how it must've felt to be and live so rich. All Vera had ever known was cold floors to sleep on and living paycheque-to-menial-paycheque.

This part of Vegas was a bit quieter than the strip, nonetheless bustling with professionals and cars would line up and funnel out to make their way to their destinations. Vera took a deep breath of cigarette smoke, dust, and exhaust, the white noise somewhat calming her. She was none the wiser to the young man standing at the street corner, his hands tucked into the pockets of his denim jeans, seeking refuge in the heat under a shaded tree, his dark eyes locked on her while his cigarette sizzled between his fingers.

"Hey! You gonna' pay for that?" the clerk at the newsstand barked at Vera. She refrained from rolling her eyes as she placed the mag back on the rack with a polite, sickening grin. The clerk came around, grumbling to himself as he had to reorganize his selection of reading material, none the wiser to Vera plucking a candy bar from the opposing display while his back was turned. But Remington found himself impressed as he followed just a few feet behind her.

Vera ate her candy bar without much thought as she skimmed the display tables of shirts and knock off hand bags. Nobody paid her a second thought, she seemed practically invisible as she was bumped and knocked aside by the bustling crowds. She flinched as an associate from the church of scientology tried to shove a pamphlet into her face, ducking swiftly towards the other end of the market. She suddenly found herself in front of a jewelry table, it was nothing too opulent, but the pieces were beautiful and Vera couldn't resist.

She picked up a simple gold necklace, the chain was delicate and in the middle hung a beautiful, pearly clamshell charm. The clerk was too busy bartering with another customer while Vera plucked the clasp apart and slipped the necklace onto herself. It was absolutely gorgeous, the cold complimented her complexion exquisitely and the clamshell glistened in the sun's reflection. Nevertheless, the price swayed Vera much more than the look could; it was forty-five dollars and Lord knew she couldn't afford anything more than a happy meal at this rate.

Remington had broke through the crowd, dodging the scientologist and finding Vera at the stand on the other side. She was twisting from side to side in the mirror, her chucks strained in the soles as she stood on her toes, she seemed almost childlike. Remington couldn't help the curious grin on his face as he debated to himself, how should he approach her? And hell, would she even bother to give him the time of day. He was a relatively good looking boy, though the city was filled with fast-talking leeches and he wouldn't blame her if she told him to buzz off.

However, Remington's opportunity hit sooner than he'd prepared for, whisked out of his head as he heard someone shout.

"Take that off!" the clerk at the jewelry display scolded Vera, making her and the few immediate customers in the vicinity jump. The slender Filipino woman charged over to her, a deep scowl carved into her face as she waved her finger at her, "You can't just take from my table and try the stuff on!"

Vera cocked a brow, "Then what's the mirror for, then?" she asked simply.

"Didn't you read the sign?" the older woman pointed her bony finger to the sign by her register: please ask before trying on jewelry was scrawled out in just legible handwriting, "You want to try? You ask me first! You could be stealing for all I know!"

"I'm not stealing it, I'm trying it on!" she snapped back.

"Are you going to buy it?" the clerk asked.

"No,"

"Then take it off!" she waved her hand at her to hurry along, "Go shop at Value Village or something, you probably can't afford this anyway!"

Vera did her best to bite her tongue as she reached for the clasp, not wanting to give in to the woman's very clear opinions of her, "Okay! Okay! Here!" she barely had a handle on the latch of the clasp before a sudden, sharp odour of cologne filled her nose, and she was surprised to see a young man taking step beside her.

"Hold on a sec, there's no need to be nasty about it," the boy told the clerk, trying to de-escalate the tension between the ladies.

"Who's being nasty! She can't buy anything so she's wasting my time!" the clerk cried, drawing a few side-glances from passer bys.

"Who said she can't buy anything?" he popped a brow, then turning to Vera, "You like the necklace?" he asked.

Vera wasn't sure as to whether she was embarrassed, scared, or relieved, seemingly having this stranger on her side. He seemed harmless enough, smiling gently and persuasive in her mannerisms. She never broke eye contact with his dark eyes, nodding slowly.

"Yeah,"

Remington's smile got wider as she nodded and he pulled out his wallet, flipping through the bills. The clerk had certainly stopped talking once she saw the wad of cash he had on him. Remington pulled out forty-five dollars and handed it to the clerk, plus a five dollar tip.

"There you go, forty-five bucks. Plus a little something for the misunderstanding," he assured her. The clerk glanced at the money, dumbfounded at first. When her train of thought finally caught up with her tongue, she placed the money into her pouch and reached for her register.

"I -- I... thank you. Uh -- here. Let me print you a receipt --"

"Don't worry about it," Remington nodded politely, subtly knocking his elbow with Vera's, "You have a good day,"

For the second day in a row, Vera felt as though she had been stuck in a hallucinatory dream. She nearly tripped over her feet as Remington nudged her to start walking, following in quick step with saucer eyes as she watched him in utter disbelief.

"You good?" was all he said, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Yeah, I guess," Vera huffed, her voice bordering on a gasp and a chuckle, "You didn't have to -- I mean -- I would've put it back no problem --"

"Don't worry, she had it coming," Remington assured her, "Besides, the pendant looks good on you,"

Vera denied the urge to reach up to clutch the clamshell, becoming frustrated at this stranger's nonchalance. Annoyed because he had been so vague and so smug, rebelliously handsome, "Okay then,"

Remington sensed her agitation and capitalized on it, "You could say 'thank you'," he said.

Vera stopped walking then, staying put on the burning cement as she glowered, "Well, who exactly am I supposed to be thanking?"

Remington turned back and extended his hand to her, smiling warmly, "I'm Remington,"

She was tentative at first, her fight, flight, or flee modes were snapping through her brain like the slides on a slot machine. Despite everything though, he did buy her an expensive necklace and so far was asking for nothing in returned. 'So far' being the optimal phrase.

So she shook his hand, "Vera. Thank you for the necklace, Remington,"

The flush in his face he blamed on the heat, but hearing his name roll off her tongue had bells going off in his ears, "You're welcome, Vera,"

They kept walking together, his hands deep in his back pockets while she fiddled with the strap on her bag.

"... So, what's the catch?"

"What catch?"

"The part where I dubiously repay you for buying me a fifty-dollar necklace,"

"You don't have to give me anything," he assured her.

Vera scoffed, "Right, you just did it out of the kindness of your heart, right?"

"You don't believe so?" he asked.

"Nobody ever does anything for free. Especially not in this city," she kicked a loose pebble across the cement.

Remington nodded, "Fair enough. How about a coffee, then?"

"That's it?"

"That's it,"

Vera shook her head, "So you're offering to buy me a coffee to in debt myself to you even more?"

"No, you can repay your debt by spending forty five minutes having coffee with me. One minute for every dollar,"

She exhaled softly, looking briefly around the market as nobody was paying them any mind. If she needed to she could slip into the crowd and disappear so easily. However, he seemed harmless for the most part, he held the aura of a curious, twenty-something young boy who was probably just out to show off and nab himself a piece of tail. Forty five minutes was nothing, after all.

"Forty five minutes, that's it?"

"That's it,"

"Swear on the bible?"

Remington simpered as he raised his left hand and placed his right hand over his chest, "Hand of God, Mary, and Joseph," he promised.

Vera's gaze flickered to the X tattoo on his knuckle, a sharp chill running up her spine. Nevertheless, the chill wasn't fear; it was a gnawing curiosity in her gut as she realized who this man actually was. Her poker face never slipped, however.

She smiled politely, "Okay. Let's go,"

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