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gamergirl929 · 3 years

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Expecto Patronum (Hermione Granger x Reader)

After following a number of Gryffindor students sneaking out of the Common Room one night, you inevitably stumble upon the DA and are quick to join their cause.

However, you soon find a spell you can’t quiet master, a spell that requires something that you don’t have, something that, with the help of Hermione Granger, you’re able to acquire.

“Bloody hell.” You mumble, sighing in exasperation as you flop to the Room of Requirement’s floor, your eyes narrowed.

You stumbled upon Dumbledore’s Army by chance one night when you saw a number of Gryffindor's sneaking out one night and decided to follow.

Following them was the best decision you’d ever made, because it brought you purpose, something you felt you lacked in your daily life.

You were rather quiet, though you’d caught one member of the DA’s attention, and that member was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived himself.

You hadn’t had the best upbringing, something the two of you shared, and something that brought the two of you closer together.

Soon you and the boy were good friends, and being good friends with Harry meant you were friends with his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Ron was goofy, a bit dense at time, but he was fun to be around, and that was enough for you.

Hermione Granger on the other hand, was one of the brightest women you’d ever met, she adept at magic, excelling well above you and the others in the DA.

She was all too happy to aid you in casting certain spells when she saw you were struggling.

The specific spell you were currently having trouble casting, was Expecto Patronum, your Patronus refusing to take form no matter how hard you tried.

You huff, dropping your wand to the stone floor.

“This is hopeless.”

***

The following morning you’re barely able to keep your eyes, rubbing the heels of your palms into your bloodshot Y/E/C eyes.

“You look right knackered.”

You pick your head up, smiling when Ron takes a seat across from you at The Great Hall.

“You alright?” Harry asks, worried and you nod.

“Just didn’t sleep much.”

“Or at all.” Hermione says as she takes a seat beside you and you shake your head, your cheeks flushing.

“N-N-No, just didn’t get enough.”

Hermione stares at you inquisitively, her brown orbs narrowed.

You knew she knew you were lying, but you’d decided to keep up the ruse anyway.

“So, r-ready for Potions today?” You ask, taking a swig of your Pumpkin Juice and Ron scoffs.

“Who’s ever ready for Potions with Snape?” He snickers, his eyes widening when the aforementioned professor walks by, using a piece of parchment in his hand to smack Ron in the head.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, as Ron pouts, rubbing the back of his head.

“Stop laughing you git.”

Hermione meanwhile is still looking at you inquisitively, wondering what it was that kept you up so late, and why you were so adamant about changing the subject.

She hums, taking a sip of her juice.

If you weren’t going to tell her what was going on, she’d find out on her own.

***

Hermione frowns when the light from your wand flickers out, the spell yet again failing.

“It’s alright Y/N, you just have to find a happy memory to focus on.” She runs a gentle hand down your back.

You swallow hard, nodding.

“I-I know...” You murmur softly, head hanging in defeat.

Hermione gives you an apologetic smile.

“We’ll get it Y/N, together.”

You turn to Hermione, a warmth spreading throughout your chest as you look at the Gryffindor who’s sending you the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

“Together?” You ask and she nods, slipping an arm around you, before giving you a squeeze.

“Together.”

***

It was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were exhausted, and incredibly agitated.

You had, again, forgone sleep to practice on conjuring your Patronus, but you again, had failed.

The DA weren’t meeting that night, which gave you the opportunity to head into the Room of Requirement on your own to practice the spell.

You WOULD master it, no matter what it took, you WOULD find a memory to focus on, no matter what.

***

Hermione eventually finds you later that day, your head buried in a book in the library, though it’s not because you’re reading, it’s because you’re fast asleep.

She tiptoes over to you, the girl silently taking a seat beside you, smiling when she realizes you’re snoring softly.

She shakes her head, opening up the book she’d brought with her, ready for the world around her to melt away.

You mumble in your sleep, pulling Hermione’s attention away from the world currently resting in her hands and back to reality.

If she were being honest, you had a habit of drawing her attention, you were an enigma, and Hermione was never the type to leave a mystery unsolved.

***

The snarl that leaves you is absolutely feral as you throw your wand across the room.

“WHY CAN’T I FORM A PATRONOUS.” You say angrily.

You’re so angry in fact that you completely miss the Room of Requirement’s door creaking open, and Hermione Granger slipping inside.

You run your hands down your face as you stomp towards your wand.

Hermione crosses her arms across her chest as she watches you flick your wand.

“EXPECTO PATRONOUM!” You yell, growling when your wand’s tip doesn’t even light.

Hermione frowns as you flick your wand over and over again, growling the spell each and every time growing angrier and angrier.

It’s only after that, that you spot Hermione, your eyes widening in shock.

“He-Hermione.” You stutter, clearing your throat, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“How long have you been standing there?” You ask, unable to look at the girl who moves closer to you.

“Long enough... This is why you’ve been so tired lately?” She asks and you sigh flopping to the floor, your back resting against the wall next to the fireplace.

“I can’t do it.” You sigh, your chin resting on your knee caps.

Hermione takes a seat in front of you, as you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat.

“What’s holding you back?”

Your eyes flutter shut, your chest tightening.

“I don’t have any.”

Hermione’s brows furrow, the girl scooting closer.

“Any what?” She whispers and you sigh.

“Happy memories.”

Hermione frowns sadly.

“Harry and I had a...”

You pause.

“A similar upbringing.”

Hermione scoots towards you until she’s sitting beside you.

“What happened?”

You swallow hard.

“Didn’t know my folks, I got my letter in a group home.”

You fall silent after that, your head moving to rest on Hermione’s shoulder, the action making her cheeks flush bright pink.

Nonetheless, she rests her head on top of yours.

“Sometimes, we have to make our own memories.” Hermione whispers and you smile, warmth yet again spreading throughout your chest.

“Yeah, yeah we do.”

***

That night you actually get some sleep, mostly because Hermione basically drags you to the Gryffindor Common Room and forces you to get some ACTUAL sleep.

The following morning you feel lighter than you ever had before, maybe because you finally got an adequate amount of sleep, or maybe it was because of the moment you spent with Hermione in the Room of Requirement.

Your cheeks flush, your eyes doubling in size.

“That’s it.” You whisper to yourself with a massive grin.

You make your way into The Great Hall, smiling when your eyes catch sight of a familiar head of bushy brown hair, its owner turning to you with a beaming smile.

“You look rested.” Hermione winks and you shake your head, cheeks dusted pink.

"Yeah, well you made sure of that.”

“Yeah, Hermione has a way of forcing people to do things they’re putting off.” Ron mumbles and Hermione scoffs.

“Is this about the Potion’s homework? You needed to get it done Ronald.”

Ron scoffs.

“Yeah, but you didn’t need to come into the Boy’s Dormitory and wake me up using Aquamanti!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, but are unable to bite back your laughter.

“Yeah! Laugh it up! Thought Fred and George had threw me out in the marsh around The Burrow again!”

Hermione giggles.

“He did scream rather loud.”

Hermione leans against you as she giggles harder than you’d ever seen, Ron unable to bite back his laughter at the girl’s case of the giggles.

You fall silent, instead choosing to stare at the girl beside you, the girl whose giggles are finally beginning to taper off.

You smile, Hermione’s words from the night before echoing in your head.

“Sometimes we have to make our own memories.”

Hermione falls silent, her brown orbs widening when she realizes you’re staring.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” She asks and you nod, your smile splitting into a grin.

“I am.” You shrug, taking a sip of your Pumpkin Juice.

“Just making my own memories.”

Hermione grins, cheeks tinged pink as she gives you a nudge, the girl leaning against you through the remainder of breakfast.

***

“You can do this Y/N, remember, happy memory.” Harry pats your back and you nod, taking a deep breath.

Weeks of trying to search for a single happy memory you had hidden deep within your brain had resulted in failure, but now, with thoughts of the Gryffindor girl standing beside you running through your mind, you knew, you knew this was it.

You glance at Hermione, earning a nod.

“I believe in you.” She whispers, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.

You grin, twirling your wand in between your fingers.

The remainder of the DA watches as you hold out your wand, the words that had been leaving your mouth for weeks now, yet again passing through your lips, though with a bit more confidence than usual.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Light bursts from the tip of your wand, the blue bright light swirling through the air as it takes form.

Your smile splits in a grin as a bright blue massive wolf forms before you, head held high in confidence, the epitome of strength.

It runs around the room before it stops in front of you.

The beast nuzzles against your palm until your stroke it’s fur, Hermione grinning, as she watches you interact with your Patronus, after trying so hard to get it to form.

“You’ve done it.” She whispers and you smile.

The massive wolf leaves you and prances to Hermione, nudging her hand with its nose until she strokes its head, the wolf licking her palm.

You huff.

“You like her more than me?” You ask, the wolf yipping as it vanishes in thin air.

“Blimey, what’s a wolf mean?!” Ron whispers to Harry, the two boys smiling when you launch yourself at Hermione, the two of you grinning, arms wrapped tightly around one another.

“Strength. Loyalty.” Luna whispers.

Meanwhile, Hermione squeezes you tightly.

“I knew you could do it.��

You grin.

“I just had to make my own happy memories, memories I made with you.”

The two of you reluctantly part, your eyes widening when you realize the two of you are rather close to one another, your noses inches apart.

You blink slowly, your cheeks flushed bright red.

“Uh...”

Hermione’s cheeks mirror your own, the two of you abruptly turning away from one another, both nervously fidgeting.

“Th-Thanks Mione, I couldn’t have done it without you, li-literally.” You stutter, shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

Harry claps his hands suddenly, the boy grinning.

“I think that’s a perfect way to end practice, see you all Friday night.”

The DA’s members slowly make their way out of the room, stopping to congratulate you until it’s just you, Ron, Harry and Hermione.

“That was absolutely brilliant mate.” Ron says as he claps your shoulder,

“Fantastic.”

Harry glances at Hermione out of the corner of his eye, his blue orbs narrowing when he sees the look of nervousness on Hermione’s face.

Harry gives his best friend a pat on the back.

“We should get back to the common room, mate.”

Ron nods, turning to you and Hermione.

“You coming?” He asks, though before you can answer, Hermione does.

“Actually, I’d like a moment alone with Y/N.”

The boy’s wave, taking their leave moments later, but not before Harry can send his old friend a wink, the girl sending him a glare.

The Room of Requirement’s door bangs shut, leaving you and Hermione alone for the first time all day.

“I can’t thank you enough Mione, I-” You stop midsentence when you see her nervously fidgeting.

Hermione’s gaze drops to the floor as you move closer, the girl’s eyes fluttering shut.

You weren’t used to seeing her so nervous around you, she’d typically been much like the books she was so fond of reading, and that was entirely open.

“Hermione... Whatever it is, we can-

You again fall silent, though this time it’s because Hermione’s brown orbs have finally locked with yours.

“Li-Listen...” She swallows hard, wringing her fingers nervously.

“I’ve never been good when it comes to relationships, I’ve never really BEEN in a relationship, I mean I talked to Victor Krum, but that doesn’t matter, we never dated, we-

Hermione rambles on, her hands flailing wildly.

“I’ve... I’ve never felt this way about, about a girl and I just-

You tune out, your eyes widening and cheeks flushing.

Hermione meanwhile is still rambling on, jumping from topic to topic.

“I just- I really like you and I- I'm not used to things like this, like I said I’ve never-

Hermione stills, brown orbs wide and hands frozen in mid-air as your lips brush hers, the touch delicate, as well as hesitant.

You pull back, your eyes flying open in fear.

Hermione meanwhile, is standing stock still, mouth agape and brown orbs wide.

She'd never expected a kiss to feel like yours had, yes, she’d been kissed before, but the tender caress of your lips was far more than a kiss from a boy could EVER be.

“Have I rendered Hermione Granger speechless?” You ask nervously, pulling Hermione out of her trance.

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, attempting to find her voice, though the thing that leaves her mouth when she finally DOES find her voice makes you laugh.

“Bloody hell.”

You bark out a laugh, your lips splitting into a grin.

Hermione’s cheeks flush.

“Forgive me for not knowing how to reply after a rather significant kiss.” She shakes her head and your brows arch.

You hum, eye glinting with hope.

“Significant?” You ask, the girl’s cheek flushing even a darker shade of red.

“Co-Consequential, I-I've never felt like th-that after a kiss.” She stutters and you swallow, your tongue swiping at your lips.

“Wo-Would you be interested in...”

You shuffle from foot to foot.

“Another significant, consequential kiss?” You ask, nonchalantly.

Hermione bites her bottom lip to stave off a smile, the woman swallowing hard.

“I-I would be rather interested.” She giggles, the Gryffindor's gaze falling to your lips.

This time, Hermione meets you halfway, the girl cupping your cheeks as your lips meet, your hands finding purchase on her waist.

A bright light causes the two of you to pull apart, your eyes widening when you see your Patronus happily bounding around the two of you.

Hermione grins as the wolf slips between the two of you.

“Another happy memory?” She asks and you smile.

“Any memory I make with you is a happy one.”

Your lips meet again, with no sense of hesitation from either of you, your lips melding together.

Your wolf disappears as the two of you part, Hermione’s forehead resting against yours.

“What do you think about making more together?”

#Harry Potter #harry potter x reader #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger imagine #I'd love to hear what you thinkkk!

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Note

There seems to be a darker, more violent take on Clyde floating around right now and I LOVE it!! I’m working on one for him too!

Since you say open for darker requests, I’d love to hear your take on a more violent Clyde! He could be saving you from a stalker. Clyde can show him what a real bad ass can do and then show you how well he can treat you too lol! He could be protecting you from someone at the bar. He could be showing you his special forces skills after some gets aggressive. You name it lol!

Secrets of the Blood Moon {werewolf!Clyde x Reader darkfic}

author's notes: helloooo! my friend shannon, thank you for this request!! I am also a fan of the darker take on Clyde and I hope I did it some justice!! I worked really, really hard on this one, and I’m super pleased with how it turned out.

**PLEASE HEED THE DARKFIC WARNING!! THIS FIC INVOLVES SEVERAL VERY HEAVY AND VERY DARK THEMES, SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!**

warnings: angst. smut. hurt/comfort. a minor car crash. mentions of alcohol consumption. rut. knotting. breeding kink. werewolf stuff. attempted mating bite. murder coverup. clyde feels guilty.

tw's: noncon touching (not by clyde). involuntary attempted sexual assault (werewolf clyde pins her down & dry humps w/o consent, but human clyde doesn’t know he did it nor would ever intend to do it). blood & gore. graphic depictions of murder and violence. human-hunting. depictions of human body consumption (is it cannibalism if he’s technically a wolf when it happens?). werewolf sex.

**this is a work of FICTION. the author does not attempt to condone the actions/behaviors of the characters written.**

word count: 5.9k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea @gildedstarlight (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

Last Night

Stepping out of your car, you’re instantly suffocated by the thick humidity of the West Virginia evening. The sun paints cotton candy across the sky as it sets behind the trees on the mountainous horizon, the almost full moon hot on its tail, slowly rising on the other side of the sky.

The blood moon comes tomorrow, and from the old folk tales your mom used to tell about the deep West Virginia countryside, some weird shit goes down under the crimson moon. You never really believed her. What all could happen in lil ol’ Boone County, anyway?

The moment you step into the refreshing, air-conditioned Duck Tape, you’re immediately greeted by a loud call of your name.

“Y/N!” You smile and wave at Jimmy.

Clyde looks up and smiles at you as you come and sit down at the bar next to Jimmy. He serves the customer before coming over to talk with you and the eldest Logan.

You lean over the bar to give him a kiss, earning a couple hoots and hollers from the bar crowd, which made you both laugh as you pull away.

“How was work, buttercup?” He asks, wiping off some glasses. “Weren’t ya doin’ that one presentation today? How’d that go?”

You’re always so flattered that Clyde actually pays attention when you talk about work stuff. Most guys just smile and nod, but Clyde actually listens and remembers. He even remembered your one year anniversary at the company you currently work for, sending you takeout from your favorite place along with some flowers.

“Yeah, it was alright. Boring as hell, but the partners seemed pleased, so that’s all I can really ask for at this point.”

Both he a Jimmy give a small chuckle, nodding before Clyde mixes your favorite drink, setting it down in front of you a few minutes later. You thank him, and the three-way conversation continues before the bar door swings open.

Something about the man’s entrance makes you look over, already smelling trouble as he steps over the threshold. His eyes are glued on you, a smug smirk etched on his expression.

A hush falls over the patrons for a few seconds, all eyes on the leather-clad man. Clyde’s hackles are immediately up, body tense as the mystery man saunters over, plopping himself down onto the vacant stool next to yours.

Things on the floor continue as normal, the chatter picking back up, and you subtly scoot a little closer to Jimmy.

“Bartender?” A thick New York accent calls.

Clyde walks over, plastering a fake smile on his face, seemingly the epitome of southern hospitality.

“What can I getcha, sir?”

The man gives Clyde a once-over and snickers. “No, seriously, where’s the bartender? I’d like a drink.”

Your grip clenches around your glass. You absolutely hated it when people were dicks about Clyde’s hand.

“Seriously, I am the bartender.” He states firmly. “So, what can I get ya?”

His tone sends a chill down your spine. Normally, Clyde just shuts down whenever someone starts poking fun at his missing hand, but tonight, there was a certain air of frustration, of dominance.

You just thought he’d finally cracked, after years of dealing with this bullshit. But as you would learn, there was an alternate explanation for his sudden outwardly alpha-like behavior.

The guy seems to back off a little bit, just asking for a cold Coors straight from the bottle. You startle a bit when Clyde slams the bottle down on the counter in front of him, and you could swear his eyes turn a light grey for a second before returning to the dark brown pools you’re familiar with.

Everything’s quiet for a little while, the man sipping his beer in silence, before he turns to you. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply allowing his eyes to drink in your seated figure.

“What’s your name, baby girl?” The beer smell of his breath is strong as he leans in. “You lookin’ for someone to keep you company tonight?”

You roll your eyes. Douchebag. “Nope. I’m perfectly content just sitting here, thanks.”

Clyde’s watching the interaction like a hawk as he makes someone’s drink. It’s a wonder he can concentrate on the drink when his thoughts and eyes are glued to you.

His slimy hand touches down on your bare thigh, just above your knee, and you jump in your seat. He grins, trailing it up as he leans in even closer.

“Are you sure? I could show you a real good time...”

Glass shatters from behind the bar and then, Clyde’s grabbing the man by his biker jacket, tossing him onto the floor with an almost superhuman strength. You stand up, appalled, as the man on the hardwood scrambles to get up.

An icy grey begins to frost over his sweet chocolate irises as Clyde clenches his fists by his side.

“Don’t ya dare touch ma girl, ye pervert.” He growls, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Someone ought to show ya what respect looks like.”

The bar has fallen pin-drop silent, all sets of eyes focused in on the developing scene. He cocks his fist above his head, snarling as he readies to pounce on the helpless man.

It’s then that Jimmy hops up and puts himself between the two men, holding his hands up in front of Clyde. “Don’t do this t’ yerself. Ye know what’ll happen if ya do.”

This seems to bring him back, the warmness flooding back to his irises. His shoulders slump as he huffs softly, pushing past his older brother angrily, storming into his office and slamming the door behind him.

Shakily, the man stands and puts a twenty down on the table before running out of the bar, bell jingling against the wooden door as it eases shut after him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rare blood moon hangs in its place against the pitch black sky as you pull up to the Logan’s trailer home. There aren’t any stars in the clear night’s sky, despite it being the dead of summer, but you don’t think much of it as you approach the shadowed porch.

Moths flutter around the dimly flickering porch light while you peek through the windows, which were as black as the night. Not a single light was on.

Odd. The Pontiac’s parked in its normal spot outside.

You flip the threadbare ‘welcome’ mat up, revealing the rusting gold key beneath. Sticking it in the lock, you turn until the door pops open, an eerie creak accompanying it.

"Clyde?” You say, looking around the trailer’s living room as you flip the living room lights on.

You call for him again. Maybe he’s just taking a nap. “Clyde?”

Still no response.

Now, you’re getting worried. There’s no note, nothing noticeably out of place; in fact, it’s almost all too still. It gives you the creeps, how still and quiet it is in here.

The scent of suspicion thickens the air around you, and you just get the most awful feeling in your gut that something bad is happening or is about to happen.

Adrenaline begins to pump through your veins as you quickly walk around, peeking in the kitchen, and in the spare room. The air seems to thicken again the closer to draw to Clyde’s room, and you push the door open with bated breath.

You’re absolutely mortified at the sight before you.

Shreds of carpet, fabric, and mattress stuffing is scattered the floor, and giant claw marks have torn straight through the drywall. The blankets and comforter, at least the remains of them, are disheveled where they lay across the clawed-up mattress.

His vanity mirror is almost fully shattered, and the products that once sat atop are now tossed across the floor. The chilly summer’s night air flutters the curtains on the opened window above the bed.

The first thought that comes to mind is a bear attack of some kind. Now fully freaking out, you’re wondering how in the world a bear got into the trailer, and why it only seemed to attack Clyde’s room. You scramble to grab your phone from your purse with shaky hands, dialing Jimmy’s number in haste.

Was this one of the blood moon enigmas mom warned about? No, no, bear attacks are pretty common around here.

It takes a few rings before he picks up.

“Y/N?” He sounds out of breath, exhausted.

“Jimmy, hey. Do you know where Clyde is? I’m at the trailer, and--”

Something that sounds like a growl rips through the speaker, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Is everything oka--”

“Mellie, I can’t help ya right now! I’ll be there in a second!” He yells in the background. “Sorry Y/N, you were sayin’ somethin’?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just at the trailer, and I peeked into Clyde’s room...”

“Ya didn’t touch anything, did ya?” His voice is rushed.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, no, but--”

The growl comes again, louder this time, and it almost sounds like it’s...a voice. A very deep and very animalistic one, but a voice nonetheless. And it was saying something, although you couldn’t really hear clearly enough.

“Jimmy, do you know where Clyde is?” You’re getting a little impatient.

“Don’t worry ‘bout Clyde, he’s okay, he’s, uhh, here with us.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay.”

But tonight was supposed to be your special night together.

“Y/N? Listen real close, now. I need ya to get outta the trailer and go home, right now. Don’t linger, and refrain from touchin’ anything in the trailer. Lock all yer doors n’ close all the windows when ya get back home, okay? ‘N don’t go outside for the rest’a the night.”

Okay, now you’re starting to get fearful. “What--”

“Jimmy!” Mellie’s panicked voice comes through the phone speaker again, this time a bit clearer. He curses under his breath.

Her cries clearly rattled the eldest Logan, and he quickly tells you to just do what he said and then hangs up in a frantic state.

You’re frozen for a moment, but then you quickly scurry outside to your car, frantically looking around as you scramble to fit the key in the driver’s side door. By some miracle, you hold your hand steady enough to unlock it, quickly shutting the door and turning on the engine, peeling out of there like a madwoman.

Suddenly, as you go to pull out of the driveway, a strange apparition appears at the edge of the wood across the street. You squint, trying to figure out what the hell it is. Whatever it is, though, it’s panting heavily and looks...inhuman.

It’s standing on two legs, but its large, probably almost seven feet tall if you had to guess, and must’ve had some type of black fur or skin since it almost blends in with the darkened forest.

The reddish light of the moon is the only light that reflects upon this mystery creature, before it seems to notice your car idling in the driveway. The crisp light grey pupils seemingly glimpse into your soul as the creature looks upon you.

Clearly, now, you can decipher what exactly it is, although you’re in utter shock and skeptical to think it real: A werewolf.

You quickly put the car in reverse, slamming down on the gas, flying backwards for a few seconds before colliding with the trailer’s tin wall. Your head slams forward onto the steering wheel, trickles of blood dribble down your forehead and nose as your consciousness is lost.

When you come to, only a few minutes later, you groan as the welt forms on your forehead. You look around, groggily, seeing that your car is in drive but isn’t moving. Surely when you’d passed out, your foot would’ve come off the brake and you would’ve rolled away...

Stepping out carefully, you find that some bricks have been placed in front of all four tires, effectively keeping the car at a dead standstill.

Who in the world did this?

Then, you turn your head and walk slowly around to the front of your car, seeing the remnants of sharp teeth marks on your bumper. You’re frozen, a lump slowly crawling up your throat as the realization hits.

A low growl comes from behind you, and your worst fears have suddenly been realized. You slowly, carefully spin around on your heels, afraid that one wrong move may make you tonight’s surprise entree.

Your eyes meet the soul-piercing grey’s of the werewolf, the one you’d seen at the edge of the forest minutes earlier. The one that seemingly saved your life, but...how did a werewolf know what to do?

As you continue to gaze at the large being before you, you’re struck with a sense of familiarity, almost as if you’d met them before. Strange, because you can’t recall ever encountering a werewolf. Hell, you’ve never even seen a wolf before, other than in pictures. Surely you’d remember coming into contact with a seemingly impossible biological phenomenon such as this one.

His presence is scarily comforting, and you find yourself briefly wondering what it’d feel like to be enveloped in his woolen arms. Well, arm, technically speaking. This particular werewolf seems to be missing the lower half of his left paw.

Then, your mind connects the dots, and you’re shocked to your very core. It wasn’t a bear that attacked Clyde’s room, it was Clyde. This werewolf that’s standing before you is Clyde. That’s why Jimmy and Mellie sounded so frantic and breathless on the phone; they must’ve been trying to keep him contained.

But why? Werewolves usually recognize the important people in their human lives...right? That’s why he’d saved you from rolling off...

Your headlights’ reflection was speared by your figure, creating a shadow that covered most of Clyde’s form, except for the very tips of his paws, which had enormous claws emerging from beneath the thick layer of fur.

“Clyde?” You whisper, and he seems to soften for a moment, falling down on all threes.

Just as you swallow the lump in your throat and begin to cautiously approach the creature, hand outstretched to allow him to smell you, his eyes suddenly darken, the once snowy grey now more like the color of storm clouds.

He snarls, white teeth shining in the moon’s moody crimson-tinted reflection, and you immediately backtrack. Oh god, I’m fucked.

Your bottom collides with the front of your car, the engine thrumming lowly as it idles happily, grille warm from the machine inside. The headlights are now fully shining on the creature, fur shining under the bright lights as he approaches, lines of drool strung between his sharp fangs.

“C-Clyde, please,” You plead with the creature. “It’s m-me, Y/N, your g-girlfriend. You know m-me, you don’t w-wanna do t-this...”

It doesn’t seem to do much to dissuade him, the animal within now overshadowing the kind, gentle man you know and love. No, this creature is something else. This isn’t your Clyde.

The wolf stops short of the hood, where you’ve crawled up onto and are laying back, raising his nose up in the air, sniffing. You’re perplexed by this action, but it becomes evident when his ear prick and he says, in that same deep, animalistic voice that was in the background of your call with Jimmy,

“Mate.”

And then, he’s pouncing, trapping your hands above your head with his one arm while his legs scramble to find a good grip on the metallic surface of the car, hips rutting frantically.

His muzzle dips down, wet nose running along your jawline and neck, teeth scraping dangerously against your thin skin. He quickly settles on a spot behind your ear, growling as his pink tongue darts out to begin lapping at the spot.

You’re completely still, both physically restrained and unable to bring yourself to even try to move as the creature drags his fangs across the skin behind your ear. Your car is rocking back and forth with his hips’ violent movements, dragging his enormous cock against your lower stomach.

He pants into your ear, breath hot as he prepares to sink his sharp fangs into your tender skin, marking you as his forever...

“CLYDE!”

Jimmy’s voice pierces through the still of the night. Crickets stop chirping for a moment, and Clyde’s body stills. His head whips around, snarling at his brother.

Mellie’s right behind him, and she peers around him, trying to look at you. “Y/N, are ya alright?”

“YYYeah,” You manage, somehow. “I-I’m o-okay.”

Clyde hops down, all three feet planted on the ground, hackles up as Jimmy takes a step forward. “Mate.”

“She ain’t yer mate.” Jimmy says, calmly. He points to you. “Look at whatcha done to ‘er, Clyde. Would a mate look like that, huh? Look at ‘er, Clyde, she’s all beat up and scared outta her damn mind.”

The wolf visibly stands down, slowly turning his head to look back at you, seeing the scratches on your wrists and the marks on your neck. He sees the bit of wetness on your shirt and shorts, from his slick.

He hangs his head and begins to cry, whimpering and whining as he sprints off, surprisingly agile and quick for a wolf with three paws, across the road and back into the woods.

His blood’s boiling, he’s angry that he couldn’t defend you against Jimmy, mad that his alpha instincts had failed him. Even as a werewolf, one of the most powerful beings in the forest, he was still weaker than and overshadowed by his showboat older brother.

Loud barks of anger rip through him as he masterfully maneuvers through the forest, weaving through the trees, dodging thorns, leaping over the fallen tree trunks.

The sky suddenly begins to empty down onto Earth, the cool summer night’s rain a welcomed refreshment on Clyde’s fur. He looks up at the blood moon, huffing softly as he silently curses the orb for bringing this condition to him each full moon, as he did every single moon before this, and will continue to do with every one after.

He reaches his cave a few minutes later, stopping dead in his tracks when he smells smoke coming from inside. He’s on high alert, now, as he moves to peek into the cavern.

There, he finds a lone man sitting by a very small fire, rubbing his hands together over the heat. He’s clad in head-to-toe tree camo with a shotgun laying just out of arms reach.

This man’s scent feels awfully familiar, Clyde thinks, but it takes him a minute to figure out why. And, when he does remember, Clyde is suddenly not so sympathetic for the unwanted visitor in his cave.

The wolf’s mind falls to a certain memory from last night at Duck Tape. This is the jackass that thought he could get away with feelin’ you up. The one that poked plenty ‘a fun at his missing hand.

Clyde’s still-hard cock presses up against his furry stomach in excitement, tongue licking over his razor-sharp fangs. He couldn’t protect or avenge you last night, again due to Jimmy, but maybe he can now.

Jimmy ain’t gonna get in my way this time ‘round.

He can’t just come running into the entrance, no, that allows him too much time to grab the gun. He thinks, and thinks, until he remembers the connecting cave that he’d recently found on the last full moon. He bets he can get in there and creep up behind the man, do a sneak attack.

He’s salivating in anticipation as he bounds down to the opposite side of the cave, paws padding lightly against the soft gravelly dirt floor, trotting along carefully.

The man is none the wiser to the wolf’s presence, and the hum of the loud rain certainly wasn’t hurting. A loud crack of thunder suddenly rips through the forest, vibrating the ground. Clyde freezes briefly as the young man curls up further, chin resting in the gap between his knees.

Predatory instincts pumping through his veins at an all-time high, he crouches down as he stalks closer and closer to the unsuspecting body by the small fire. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, now right behind the man, moving in slow motion so as to not alert his victim.

When the time is right, just as the next clap of thunder rumbles the rocks, Clyde pounces. He grabs the man’s shirt, dragging him out of the cave with an unprecedented swiftness. The fire is extinguished with the tussle, leaving the cave shrouded in darkness, the shotgun laid abandoned on the ground where he’d put it.

He struggles against the wolf’s grip, fabric ripping violently the further his body’s dragged along. Clyde throws him out onto the forest floor, pawing at the ground like a wild stallion as the disheveled man scrambles to his feet.

His hands are shaky as he holds them up in front of him, as if trying to calm the creature like a domesticated dog. “E-Easy, easy.”

If he could, Clyde would’ve rolled his eyes at the man’s pathetic attempt to talk down at him. He snarls, watching in amusement at the way he startles and stumbles back.

Clyde’s got the man backed against the trunk of an old oak within seconds, and he stands up on two legs, glaring at the much smaller figure. He bares his teeth, a wolf’s version of a devilish grin.

“Run.”

It seems like the man is caught in between being shocked that this wolf just spoke English and being chilled to the core by his word. He sputters for a moment, brain smoking as it churns on overdrive, before his legs carry him as quickly as they can down the mountainside.

The wolf casually trots along after him, in very little rush to catch him. He’s throbbing hard now, the excitement translating into pure arousal. Clyde knows these woods like the back of his hand; there’s no where for this man to hide from his inevitable fate as the wolf-man’s next meal.

His head continuously whips around, meeting the grayish-white orbs tucked behind a thick coat of jet black fur. In a frenzy, he tucks himself behind a large tree, catching his breath.

Twigs snap in seemingly all directions, his breath heavy as his eyes flicker all around the dark, damp wood, the only light coming from the crimson-tinted orb above. He reaches back and wraps his arms around the tree’s trunk, panicked.

A low growl rattles his eardrums and he looks to the side, seeing the black creature right at his side. Clyde’s head snaps to the side, looking directly at his victim.

Crying out in fear, the man leaps forward to make a run for it, but is quickly taken to the dirt by the wolfish creature. The man squirms and screams out for mercy, for God, and Clyde knows what he has to do now.

He quickly sinks his teeth into the back of the mans neck repeatedly, effectively severing the spinal cord, leaving the man completely limp and defenseless. A quick and effective manner of disabling a victim, he’s learned through hunting animals, but keeps him just alive enough to see what’s being done to him.

Clyde flips the limp form over, now on his back, and his eyes are wide as he watches the wolf above him, black fur now stained red around the mouth, stare down at him with a hungry gaze.

His mouth opens, probably to beg for his life, but it’s too late. Fangs sink through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest, just above where his rapidly beating heart lay.

The thump-thump rhythm slows, then stops, the life leaving his body. Sweet copper tang coats the wolf’s tongue as the body is drained of its remaining energy.

There is little feeling better than watching the life slowly and steadily drain from the eyes of a victim, and suddenly, Clyde’s throbbing arousal has reached an almost unmanageable point.

But, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to devour his freshly-caught prey, especially while it’s still warm. So he digs in immediately, carving further into the hole over the heart he’d already created, ripping out the vital organ.

He holds it triumphantly between his teeth for a moment before setting it aside. His craving is more for the meat, he’s never been much of a fan of organs, so he gets to work separating the good meat from the corpse.

Once he’s done, he lifts his nose in the air, howling loudly. He’s never been this hard before, he swears it, and there’s only one person that can satisfy this urge:

You.

For a wolf on three legs, he reaches your house in record time. He can already feel the wolf-ness fading steadily, the human beginning to peek through the cracks. But, his rut doesn’t give at all, and he bounds up the steps and scratches at your door.

You’re startled by the noise, already a gut feeling you know who it is. When you open the door, Clyde’s wolf figure is sitting politely on your doormat. Should you let him in?

He pushes past, whimpering as he does so, before you can make a decision. You shut the door slowly before turning around to face the creature. He seems a bit different than when you saw him earlier, seeming a bit more human.

You stand against the door, back pressed up against it, looking down at the wolf in your living room.

“Y/N.” He breathes, huskily, attempting to ignore the hardness pressing up against his wooly stomach. “N-Need you. Please.”

He’s ashamed as he stands up on his hind legs, wrapping a clawed hand around his oozing cock, jutting his hips out as if to show off for you. The alpha in him needs to show you how suitable of a mate he is, what strong pups he can give you.

“It hhhhurts, b-buttercup.”

The battle going on inside him, animal versus human, is painfully evident on his expression. Your hearts been ripped in half as you watch him struggle with himself, the human trying to overpower the animal, and the animal trying to fight off the human. He doesn’t even know what he did to you earlier.

“What do you need from me, Clyde? I’m here to help you, honey, I’ll do whatever you need.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but its quickly replaced by a look of what can only be described as pure, primal hunger.

“Floor. A-All fours.” The wolf-man manages, desperately humping his hand to offer some relief. “G-Get the lube, ffffuuuck, I mmuhhmight hurt ya without it.”

You rush to get the lube, placing the tube next to you as you pull your leggings down, exposing your bare cunt. Clyde watches with an eager anticipation as you spread yourself for him.

As soon as you’re into position, he practically falls over on top of you, hips rutting uncontrollably as he smoothes lube over his drooling cock and lines up with your entrance.

“B-Buttercup, I...I’m sssorry ‘bout what’s ggon’ happen. This ain’t me, ppuhpplease remember that, mmkay?”

You nod, tearing up at the pure agony in his voice. “I w-will, Clyde.”

His hips shove forward, a choked howl escaping his lips, balls tightening. You cry out, the burn of your walls stretching to accommodate his girthy length more prominent than usual.

Veins bulge out of his neck, jaw clenched as he begins moving, mercilessly plowing into you from behind. He plants his clawed hand next to yours, loud and desperate scratching noises accompanying the wet squelch of your joined torsos.

The carpet is shredded, hardwood floor scratched permanently by his feet as he humps you with a desperation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. This really wasn’t Clyde, but you soon realized that you exactly mind this side of Clyde, this primal instinct, this roughness. It was arousing, bittersweetly so.

When you look over your shoulder at the wooly mass moving behind you, your eyes widen. You didn’t notice the shiny substance from a distance, but now that he’s up close, you see that it coats his snout and has even dripped down onto his breast.

A gripping fear bubbles in your stomach. But then, you rationalize immediately, before you find yourself too deep down in this rabbit hole of worry. He probably just hunted a deer or a rabbit or something. He’s a fucking wolf, remember?

You almost sigh out loud in relief, but you keep it in, instead moaning along with each of his thrusts.

“D-Did ya like muhmmahhmm--ma w-wolf cock?” He asks.

You nod. “Y-Yeah, ohhh god, I liked it.”

“Gonna gguh-give ya real nice p-pups.” His muzzle rubs over the spot behind your ear, the same one that he’d been after earlier, smearing some of the crimson across your skin. He licks it with as much consistency as possible, considering the speed and intensity of his hips. “F-Fill ya u-up, knot ya gggood ‘n deep.”

You’re almost positive he’s talking pretty much nonsense at this point, his rut brain having completely taken over. You know you’re not gonna cum, but it doesn’t really matter; you’re doing this for him, after all.

“Oh g-god, I’m cummin’, I’m gonna--”

He pauses his hips, howling softly as he cums. But this time, something else begins to swell, and you cry out as it does so.

“M-Ma k-knot,” Clyde breathes in explanation. “Keeps it a-all inside y-ya.”

You nod, not really knowing what all he’s talking about but not really caring for an explanation right now.

“‘m gonna h-havta stay inside y-ya fer a lil while. S-Should be ‘b-bout 30 minutes or so.”

His tongue begins moving over your cheeks and neck, something that makes you smile, that helps you remember that your beloved boyfriend’s in there somewhere.

The half hour waiting period passes, and as much as you’ve loved snuggling with your boyfriend (who’s wolf counterpart is relatively cuddly, despite previous reservations), you’re happy to have him off you.

After wishing you a final goodbye, citing the need to ‘clean up his cave a bit’, he trotted back out the door and galloped like a madman (wolf?) back out into the shadowed wood, leaving you alone once more.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s all over the news when you flip on the TV a couple days later. Hunter Found Slain in Boone County Woods, Bear Attack Suspected.

You have this awful, sick-to-your-stomach feeling that what happened the other night, when Clyde came to your house still in wolf form with a snout and chest covered in blood, had something to do with this.

When the picture of the victim came up on the screen, you audibly gasp, recognizing the face. It’s the guy that was feeling you up at a few nights ago at Duck Tape.

Oh god, no.

Suddenly, the door flies open, and Clyde’s panting as he rushes in and shuts it behind him. He looks pained, bottom lip trembling. “Have ya s-seen the ne--”

“...Police are still investigating the scene...foul play has not yet been ruled out...”

His entire demeanor falls, and the tears fill his eyes. He’s visibly shaking. You stand up and rush over to him just as he collapses on the floor.

You’re freaking out, trying to confirm what it is you’re pretty sure you already know.

“C-Clyde, did you...?”

He looks up at you from where his head now rests in your lap. “I c-can’t quite remember, b-but I think...I think I m-might’ve.”

Sobs wrack through his body as he cries hoarsely. You’re in shock, somehow hearing the words makes the reality suddenly hit like a damn semi-truck. You run your hands through Clyde’s slightly matted mane, soothing him as best you can.

“Clyde, it’s okay, baby. It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah it i-is, though. I k-killed ‘im.”

You try to stay strong, for Clyde’s sake, but the tears are swelling in your eyes at an uncontrollably fast rate. “But you d-didn’t do it o-on purpose, h-honey.”

His face seems to drop even more when he sees that you’re about to cry. He sits up shakily, pulling you into a big ol’ bear hug.

“Oh, buttercup, oh god, ‘m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to drag y-ya into all ‘a t-this.”

You sob into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. It’s hard to believe that this man, this kind, gentle man, could’ve done something like this on purpose. Clyde would never hurt a fly.

From what he’s told you, which granted is very little, the line between werewolf and human for him is quite a blurry one. He seems to only be able to remember parts of what happened, and his subconscious is only there for part of the time.

Which means that he’s technically innocent, since he can’t remember nor could he control his canine impulses or instinct. As far as you’re concerned, werewolf Clyde and human Clyde are two different beings.

“I-If anyone ever f-found out ‘bout ma c-condition...”

You pull away and look up at him, holding his face in your hands. “Clyde, I-I’m not gonna turn y-you in.”

“What?” He looks at you with a furrowed brow, like he’s surprised to hear your words. “Y-Yer not g-gon’...?”

Shaking your head, you swing your leg over his lap, hugging him once more while your face settles into the crook of his neck.

“No, of course not. I know you’re a good p-person, and like I said before, it’s n-not you. Your w-wolf side is not really you, Clyde, at least not entirely.”

Clyde looks down at you with an incredibly grateful expression, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He tilts your head up with one of his meaty fingers, immediately pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is relatively short, just a showing of his gratitude, of his love for you. When he pulls away, you maintain eye contact.

“Okay, so most of the solid DNA evidence will have been washed away by the rain and tampered with by the elements over the past few days that the body’s been outside. Plus, they aren’t looking for wolf DNA, and even if they somehow knew, your wolf DNA wouldn’t lead to your human identity, at least I don’t think so...”

Hours and hours of watching countless true crime shows, movies, and documentaries are finally paying off.

“But, do you remember leaving anything, anything that could indicate foul play? Really search your memory.”

He puts his metaphorical thinking cap on, closing his eyes as he tries to recall anything of use from that night, but nothing comes to mind. His eyes swell with tears as they blink open and he shakes his head. “I can’t ‘member anythin’.”

“That’s okay, Clyde. They won’t find out, I promise, they won’t.” You kiss his neck. “For now, let’s just try to relax and we’ll keep an eye on the news. Will you come snuggle on the couch with me?”

Clyde smiles softly, nodding as you pull away and stand up, extending a hand to him. He takes it, standing up seconds later. As you walk into the living room, he says your name, causing you to turn around with a slightly perplexed expression.

“Thank ya.”

You smile brightly. “I love you, Clyde.”

“I love ya, too, darlin’.”

109 notes · View notes

forbiddcnsirvn · 3 years

Text

[ CAP: 4 / 6 ]

[ location: the coffin club ]

truth be told, vampirism was a concept that evren still couldn’t grasp. not in entirety, hell even remotely, often remaining aghast to the memories of the night where everything felt falsified other than the pair of strong arms scooping her up and rescuing her from exhaling out her last breath. even then, it was convoluted — something of an enigma, which others seemed to perceive her as these days. it was undeniable that there had been a shift, and the queenpin gnawed it beneath mantles of indifference, behaving as if it were some anecdote spoken by naysayers. though now that wasn’t always easy either, not when she would have an abundance of patrons stacked up at times in her line of work demanding for the most ludicrous requests. certain eves were easier to humor them, flickering her newly-grown fangs and making them piss. but some tended to stay, and those were the ones who would often made her wish she could have, literally, torn them apart. with her growing pregnancy, the waitress had been granted lesser shift, but right now she just wished she had remained home. “i swear to god, if you’re another one of those people who’s only here because you have some deranged blood fetish and want me to suck off your neck or whatever then kindly fuck off. whatever the hell you think i am, i don’t do that shit, not to mention i’m also spoken for.” she mumbled, not bothering to curtain the acrid delivery. “if not, then i’d suggest finding another waitress anyway. i’m on my break.”

@salemstart

#salemstart #what is this #just take it y'all #blood mention tw #blood tw #pregnancy tw

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

Note

for the character asks, could i have,,,,,,,

1) edogawa ranpo

2) louis moriarty

two distinguished gentlemen who i don't see on my dash nearly enough XD

yes hello

Edogawa Ranpo:

Sexuality Headcanon: I think he's unlabeled, but on the mlm to nblnb scale and also hes asexual

Gender Headcanon: I used to kind of see ranpo as transmasc, but after reading That One Article about his patron author i am truthing them as amab nonbinary, i think he uses they/he and like, eight billion neopronouns bc he can and hes a girlboss for that (i think he got them from poe)

A ship: I think ranpoe is so obvious it basically doesnt even count lol but I like to think those two and mushitaro are in a weird sort of qpr polycule thing i love them

A brotp: ranpo and yosano are best buddies :)))

a notp: if you ship him with his literal adoptive father i will slit your throat but other than that you're fine

random headcanon: ranpo dresses the way he does because when fukuzawa told him he was the world's greatest detective he googled "world's greatest detective outfit" and found a really cheap crappy sherlock holmes cosplay and wears it every day. He also found an L cosplay but Fukuzawa said no.

general opinion: I love him!! So much!! This is the most autistic little guy the world has ever seen!! he deserves the entire world and he has done nothing wrong ever, sincerely, a ranpo kinnie!

Louis James Moriarty:

Sexuality Headcanon: I think louis is aro/ace for sure, hardcore. Mans is incredibly not interested and he is very romance repulsed. He wants to live with his brothers forever and be the housemaid and there is nothing wrong with that. (I've seen people complaining about ppl headcanoning him that way for some unknown reason,,, like, when i see aroace i say aroace lol)

Gender Headcanon: I think both him and William are transmasc, Liam just living as a man and Louis preferring to remain an Enigma. This is not just because the anime gave him massive hips i promise he just really gives transmasc vibes

a ship: I mean, I obviously don't ship him with anyone.

a brotp: I love the thing the fandom has decided to do with watson and louis. I think they're pen pals and they're having a lovely time. I know they've never met. But I think they have tea on the weekends and complain about their roommates

a notp: Points in the direction of the incest shippers. can people not just be brothers please

random headcanon: he pours poisonous substances into moran's tea occasionally to keep him on his toes

general opinion: Again, one of my favorite small feral animals holding a knife. He is so angry and so ready to fight a bitch but goddamn if he's gonna be proper about it.

#rowan gets yelled at #ask game

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oneofyatosfollowers · 3 years

Text

Happy Yato Day!

Fanfic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13936397/1/The-Stray-Cowboy

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33158902

It was ironic that a little dusty down in the middle of nowhere would bear the name “Heaven,” especially since it’s been declining since her grandmother’s time. The town was built around a large natural spring that has been shrinking ever so slightly each year while the buildings only grew taller. Hiyori strolled down main street, her heels kicking up loose dirt which dusted the frills of her pink dress. Her father, the only doctor in town, had let her go for the day, giving her a break from replacing her run-away brother at the clinic. So, after visiting her friend, Ami, at the fabric store, and Yama out with the horses, Hiyori made her way to the saloon.

The building was two stories and housed a bar, a small stage, and tables with different games other cowboys could gamble on. Since this town held so much water and resources, it was a common place for vagabonds of all types to stop in and rest. The Inn was right next door, owned by the bar owner’s husband, it’s front often tied with horses. Hiyori’s eyes scanned the beasts for a familiar black mare with a short mane but was disappointed when she saw none. She entered The Lucky Lady, the batwing doors swinging behind her, eyes adjusting as she ignored the cat-calls.

“Hiyori!” The bartender called like they haven’t seen each other in years. The Lucky Lady, a spunky night-time-dancer named Kofuku, waved her friend over with a dirty cloth.

“Good afternoon, Kofuku,” Hiyori gave a short curtsy before taking a seat at the bar, “where’s Daikoku and Yukine?” She asked as her eyes scanned the bar, finally adjusted to the darker space.

“They’re tending to some of the horses behind the Inn. Yuki’s getting good at changing shoes you know,” Kofuku mused as she wiped down the bar, “although they’re not really who you’re looking for are they?” The comment shocked Hiyori out of her scanning. The teasing glimmer in the young woman’s eyes sparking a fire across Hiyori’s cheeks.

“Well! He did say he was coming back today and he’s supposed to be handling my job!” Hiyori sputtered. She crossed her arms with a huff and looked towards the door, waiting for the black silhouette of a certain hitman-turned-messenger-and-bounty-hunter. Unbeknownst to her parents, Hiyori had hired the man to find her missing brother. It felt off to put a secret bounty on her own brother, giving it to an enigma of a man recommended to her by Kofuku and Daikoku, but he’d stopped sending her letters almost a year ago and it had her worried.

“If there’s someone you want found, dead or alive, he’s your man,” The Inn owner had growled, “just don’t get too close.” The gruff man scoffed when his bubbly wife waved off his warning. Of course Hiyori was the strong, intelligent daughter of a doctor, who practiced cattle roping with her brother. She didn’t judge just based on one reputation, Hiyori had to see for herself. Especially with the reputation that particular cowboy had. No, if it weren’t for Yukine then Hiyori would have never hired him.

“Yukine!” Hiyori called when the boy in question walked in from the back. The young teen pulled off a black cutter that was too big for him, and revealed a puff of blonde hair. His hazel eyes popped up and he smiled at the sight of her.

“Hiyori!” He greeted, giving Daikoku the hammer and nails before heading to the bar. Yukine was one of the few people in this town Hiyori didn’t know since birth. Now, she didn’t know the whole story- the boy in question refusing to tell- but she did know the place he came from was not a very kind one. That, for one reason or another, the cowboy she hired to track her brother was the same one that saved Yukine from that place as a toddler. They traveled together since then, Yukine being dropped off at Kofuku’s place so the man could go on more dangerous jobs. Just like now. It was during those times, Hiyori had gotten to know the boy. Even early on, when Yukine would throw tantrums at being left behind or run away from strangers.

“He’s still not here yet?” Yukine sighed as he took a seat next to Hiyori. The boy gave a curtsey scan around the saloon, knowing the man’s figure too well to miss it.

“Sorry Yuki, he said more towards the sun down,” Kofuku reminded them of the last letter the messenger pigeon brought them. The blonde, becoming more and more like a teenager each day, scoffed and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, well, he better get here before Sheriff Bishamon gets back from her trip to the city. Otherwise he’ll just get chased out again.” Yukine soured at the thought, ready to hit the open road again. Hiyori knew a bit about how he felt. She’s felt the need to leave this dusty place, to hop on a horse and ride off into the sunset with nothing but your wit and a couple bullets at your side. But she could never do that to her parents, not like her brother did. Instead she lived through the stories Yukine brought back with him, after the cowboy in black strolled into Heaven like he owned it.

“How long is the sheriff gone for?” Hiyori asked. If the sheriff caught the man sneaking into town there would be a shotoff on sight.

“Oh who knows. I asked Uncle Ebi to keep her there for as long as possible so,” Kofuku shrugged, “I’m sure he’ll buy you two enough time to catch up.” The pink haired woman winked causing the two younger patrons to sputter with disgust.

“Don’t be gross! Hiyori could do so much better than that dusty rattlesnake!” Yukine hissed, insulting the one man he deemed as blood family. Still, the statement jolted something within Hiyori. A boxed up secret that’s been locked up tight since the man in question last rode out of town.

“Hey yeah! Our little Miss Hiyori still has a courtship with that gun dealer from the city,” Daikoku suddenly walked behind the bar, giving his wife a kiss on the head.

“Ukk! You mean Kouto? Hiyori, don’t tell me you’re still seeing that as-donkey,” Yukine quickly muffled his cursing, remembering he wasn’t out on the open road with a not-so-great role model. Daikoku raised a brow at the kid, muttering out a mental note to have a word with the kid’s kidnapper.

“I am not ‘seeing him,’ it is a one-sided courtship at best! One that I do not plan on pursuing,” Hiyori stood suddenly, face red enough to pass as sunburn, “so if you’ll excuse me. I’ll be back after dinner to see if-.” The young woman stopped short, half way from the bar to the door, when she realized the saloon had gone silent. Someone was approaching the planked doors, the sun casting a shadow across a smirk that could steal a golden fiddle from the devil. The room fell into hushed whispers as he pushed open the door and approached Hiyori with careless saunter. The various weapons and coins hidden among his long black coat clinked as his brown boots thudded against the squeaky floor. Since his hat was left in the care of a blonde boy, there was nothing obscuring his sharp gaze from meeting hers. The white ascot around his neck covered his grin to the others in the room, helping keep up with his dark and bloody reputation. If only they knew how sweet he really was.

“Hiyori,” his drawl was rough from breathing in nothing but hot desert dirt but she found his dust-smudged cheeks just as endearing. His blue eyes and smile didn’t waver from her, even as the men closest to him raised their hackles and fixed him with narrowed eyes. The cowboy stopped directly in front of her, much too close for an upper class employer and some hired vagabond. But despite the towns and names he’s buried six feet under, Hiyori met his eyes with a straight back and a confident smile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Yato.”

“A pleasure, Hiyori,” he chuckled. The two shared a moment for less than a second before a barstool behind Hiyori squeaked with movement.

“Finally! About time you got here!” Yukine said. Regardless, the kid was off his stool and across the floor in an instant, arms crossed and hat off, waiting for Yato to ruffle his hair. Which Yato did. Until he pulled the kid into a large hug, encasing the small boy in his leather coat with a happy laugh.

“There he is! My baby Yukine! Have you gotten smaller? Or bigger? Definitely bigger, look at those arms! Turnin into a big strong man now! Gone for a season and look at you! Did you keep my hat nice and safe like always?” Yato gushed.

“Blegh! You smell like horse shit and sweat! You disgusting loser! Get off me!” Yukine hollered, squirming out of Yato’s hold and shoving the man’s hat back in his arms. Yatolet the boy go, satisfied that the bar’s paterons went back to their drinking and card games. Hiyori could understand, having a cute child by his side made Yato look a little less like the hitman he once was. The boy stomped back to the bar, Yato smiling after him.

“Ya heading out?” Yato asked, placing his hat back at home on his head.

“Um nope! No,” Hiyori said. Yato’s smirk quirked back on and he nodded his head to the bar, pouting when Hiyori declined his offered arm.

“Oh Yatty! We missed you!” Kofukue leaned over the bar, her corset popping a string, as she pulled him into a hug.

“Hey Kofuku! Glad to be back,” Yato squeezed her, “thanks for watching the kid again.”

“Yeah, well, the kid’s welcome here anytime. You, on the other hand, got a long tab to pay.” Daikoku grumbled by the taps.

“It’d be easier if you just let me go with you,” Yukine said, haughtily. The kid watched the man that saved him take a heavy seat on the bar, removing his iconic twin shotguns from his shoulders and laying them on the wood. Hiyori took a seat on the other side of Yato, eyeing the long, silver double barrel guns. Her gaze tracing tiny flowers engraved on the metal. She knew without looking that the wooden butt of the guns had the names “Sekki” and “Setsu” carved into them when he was Yukine’s age. Of course, Daikoku’s rule about weapons on the bar went ignored as Yato gave Yukine a side eye from over his pint.

“Death Valley is called ‘the underworld’ for a reason, kiddo. It’s too risky for a youngin.” Yato said.

“I’m not a youngin! I’m fourteen!” Yukine spun on the stool, “and you were even younger when you started out.”

“Not by choice, Yukine.”

“Okay but I’m choosing to.” Yukine’s eyes narrowed even more when Yato just scoffed and took a large swig of cheap beer.

“Come on, Yato! You said it yourself, I’m turnin’ into a man now. I’ve been traveling with you for nearly a decade! I know how to shoot and lasso and care for horses and where to look for gold and know when it’s gonna rain! You taught me all of that and you always say when I’m older you would keep me with you all the time! On all your jobs, so why?” Yukine almost pleaded, frustrated. Hiyori bit her lip and looked from Yukine to Yato.

“Because I thought this one was going to be particularly dangerous. You know I don’t want you seeing that,” Yato finally said, setting his glass down with a clink, “besides, I was just going to poke around and gather information. If there was anything solid I’d come get you.”

“Is that right?” Yukine asked, unconvinced.

“‘Course. It’s not like you missed anything big. I just went around, did the normal askin, followed a couple hollow rumors, then came back. You would have been bored anyway. Why? You think I would lie about it?”

“Do I think you would? Yes. Cause you lie to make me feel better. You do it all the time.” There was a beat that no one commented on. Hiyori couldn’t bring herself to see Yato’s reaction to that attack on a very recent wound.

“Well that clearly isn't the case this time is it?” Yato said, then sighed and softened his tone, “there really was nothing Yukine but I just wanted to be sure. There’s no law in the underworld and I don’t want you anywhere near that place.” The man finally turned and fully faced the boy he claimed as his own. Yukine regarded Yato for a couple moments longer, just as water started to rise over his hazel irises. Suddenly and harshly, Yukine got off his seat.

“If you don’t trust me to have your back and you don’t want me around just say so. Stop coming back already.” Snarled Yukine. He left the saloon and Hiyori knew he would be heading to the Inn where one of the rooms was permanently his and Yato’s. Beside her, Yato chugged the rest of his beer then slammed it back on the counter with a sigh. Daikoku chided him and took it, wiping it clean with disdain.

“Don’t worry, Yatty. He’s at that age. Yuki didn’t mean it, he just missed you and rather go on your adventures than stay here,” Kofuku offered.

“That’s what he doesn’t get. They’re not adventures,” Yato scratched his neck, “I’m out of bullets.” The implication silenced the young women.

“Still, the boy’s right about one thing, he’s growin up. Can’t tell him what to do forever,” Daikoku eventually butted in, placing a new mug of beer in front of Yato.

“Watch me,” Yato pouted. That got a small giggle out of Hiyori which might have quirked the tip of Yato’s lip just a little. Kofuku and Daikoku hummed and shared a look. Eventually, Yato downed the rest of his drink before getting up.

“Hiiro is out back. Needs a bath,” Yato said.

“Pay for your beer.” Daikoku answered.

“Put it on my tab,” Yato knocked on the bar.

“Like hell-”

“Okie dokie, Yatty! See you at dinner!” Kofuku waved. Yato pointed at her with a finger gun, clicking as his thumb mimicked the hammer. He grabbed both gunstraps and lazily swung the weapons over one shoulder. Taking two steps, Yato looked over his shoulder, one blue eye meeting hers from under his hat.

“You comin?” Yato tilted his head. Despite the looks their friends gave her, a large smile grew on Hiyori’s face and she happily hopped off the stool.

“Yeah!” She followed the cowboy in grungy clothes out the bar and into the Inn. Since it was still late afternoon, the place was just about empty. The wooden rooms and wool sheets too hot on a summer day. Hiyori took a deep breath, feeling free from the stares of others in town with nothing to do but spread rumors. Still, she was very aware of the man standing behind her, always a bit too close, and she turned to face him. Hiyori would have to wait until later tonight to hear his tales. Yato was too good at telling stories and always insisted on drawing to go with it. Once Yukine finishes reading and goes to bed, Yato and the rest of the town congregate at The Lucky Lady for drinking, dancing, and music. It was then that Hiyori- and sometimes her teasing friends- would get Yato to herself.

“How are the folks?” Yato broke the silence.

“They’re okay. Since the water’s been going, my father’s been trying to find ways to give strong medicine that uses less water.”

“What a coincidence,” Yato hummed, “every lead I tried to follow on your brother ended up being about the water crisis.”

“You think he’s following the drought?” Hiyori asked, urgently.

“Couldn’t say. He’s never struck me as the heroic type, to go galavanting off and save the world; but it is suspicious. Unfortunately, once I got deep in the drought debacle his name would vanish,” Yato shrugged, “it’s all anyone’s talkin about.” At some point Yato’s shoulders slumped and Hiyori sighed. This was the fifth time Yato came back with dead ends. It wasn’t his fault. Not only was he right- in that her brother was known to ride by the seat of his pants- but the job required him to stay away for long periods of time. Tracking someone like that kept him away from Yukine and other people who missed him. Still, disappointment hung her head.

“I’m so sorry, Hiyori. I promise I’m going to keep looking.” Yato put a hand on her shoulder and Hiyori took it in both of hers.

“What about Yukine?”

“I don’t know. I’m gonna to take him this time around but- I just don’t know where this leads. And you know how he is. You’ve seen him loiter around the school house in the past. I just don’t think it’s good for him to be growin up on the run.” Yato mumbled. He twinded their fingers together and the box inside her jolted again, but settled when he did nothing more.

“Daikoku’s right, you know, every day it becomes more and more his decision.” Hiyori offered him a small smile. He blinked at her before the cocky smile Yato was known for grew across his lips. He brought their hands up and pressed a light kiss to the back of her glove.

“I’ve missed you, darlin’,” he said. The box inside her was getting harder to keep closed, memories of his previous visits flashing across Hiyori’s eyes. Really, she wondered if Daikoku knew she failed to heed his warning. It was no wonder people caught her staring at that horizon and sighing with longing.

“Yato,” Hiyori tried, pulling her hand slightly but not letting go. A look of hurt flashed across Yato’s face- so familiar to her own when she watched him leave and come back with new scars- and Hiyori almost wanted to hit him. But instead his eyes quickly darkened and he squeezed her hand.

“Don’t tell me you’re not a filly anymore? That gun smith with the cheap products gotcha or are your parents makin you drag your rope?”

“None of that!” Hiyori huffed. She took her hand back and turned around, arms crossed.

“Not that it has anything to do with anything! Since I hired you to find my brother while-”

“While you stay here and take his place and care for the family business and not go off with Kouto because that would be leaving ‘em behind,” Yato repeated, “come off it, Hiyori. Your parents are adults and you have your own life. Just admit you want to have your own adventure.”

“And where do you suppose I go? Just to wander around by myself? Or were you planning on taking me and not Yukine?” Hiyori whirled on him, tired of this do-si-do of a conversation.

“It’s too dangerous with me,” Yato said through grit teeth, hat tilted to cover his knitted brows.

“So what then? You’ll drop us off in random towns while you go back and forth?” Hiyori threw out without much of a bite. There was a moment of Yato staring at the floor and Hiyori rolled her eyes. Of course the fool of a man would think that was a good idea. She stepped back in front of him and reached under his hat to pinch his cheek.

“Ow!” Yato flinched away. He rubbed his cheek like some little kid who got a light smack and Hiyori snorted. How did she once fear him? His pout was back but not for long, blue eyes softening at her laughter.

“I just want you to be happy. You only get one life you know,” Yato said, hand dropping from his cheek.

“And I’ll decide what I want to do with it. Just like Yukine.” Hiyori’s reminder quieted the cowboy down.

“I just don’t want to drag him into another one of my mistakes. He deserves better.” Yato said. Hiyori frowned, reminded of Yukine’s earlier comment.

“He doesn’t blame you.” She offered. About ten years ago, when Yato traveled with a group of bandits who’s name struck fear into the hearts of all who heard it, they rode into Yukine’s place of birth. Hiyori had met Yukine, seeing Yato in passing now and again, she came to understand Yukine’s memory of that night was hazy at best. That was until a year ago, Yato first took off to find Hiyori’s brother, and the boy’s memories resurfaced. He confronted Yato, learning the fate of his birth town.

“I know he doesn’t blame me but you saw how he was. How he gets when I pull the trigger. I worry he’ll grow to resent me.” Yato sighed, “you know, I remember that night like it was yesterday. I was young and he was so tiny, the town was burnin down all around us, his loved ones were bloody behind ‘im. Just as I turned Hiiro around to run, he ran after me with his little arms up. I scooped Yukine up without thinkin and took off in the opposite direction of the group.

“I don’t know how but Hiiro and I managed to run for an entire night and I didn’t put him down for one second. It wasn’t until Hiiro finally bucked us off that I realized he hadn’t moved. I- haha- I actually thought he was dead and I had been carryin’ ‘round a corpse. But when I looked down, his head buried in my chest, he peaked up at me with big doe eyes. No tears, no fear. We passed out right there in the dirt. I thought he’d be okay but he didn’t speak at all. I was gonna drop him off at the next town but I just-. He wouldn’t talk- barely looked at me- but was stuck to my side like he was made of molasse or somethin’.” Yato was staring off into the distance, not realizing he was still talking. Hiyori watched and listened quietly, as she often did. Something must have happened in the underworld and she wanted to let him cope. Twelve people was twelve too many for a kind man like him.

“The little bastard grew on me. Starin at me while I babbled, sleepin on my tummy, clutchin my coat and tuggin to sit up front. Honestly, when I stretched, he stretched, I pissed, he pissed, I cleaned my guns, he’d use a stick, when I held onto the reins, he’d grabbed ‘em too,” Yato sighed again, voice wavering, “But he was so nervous around me, jumpy. Always looked at me to make sure he could move even an inch- wouldn’t even eat until I told him to. He deserved better. I figured Kofuku and Daikoku would want him to raise as their own. When I got here and I thought he was comfortable enough, I mounted to get ready to go but he came running out crying. Sobbing even. His arms up at me. That was- that was the first time I heard him speak. He said ‘don’t leave!’ And I just couldn’t. Sure I stayed for a year or so but I couldn’t keep out of work that long. And he used to be okay- happy even- when I’d give ‘im my ascot or hat to keep safe till I came back.” Yato’s eyes were covered but his lip trembled before he bit it, trying to control his breathing.

Yukine’s recent confrontation about that day- the accusations and disappointment Yukine regretted saying- scratched every wound of guilt Yato felt. It was hard to smile for a child that looked up to you while you blamed yourself for his circumstances. It was even harder to keep leaving. They did make up, as they always did, but it had been a painful experience that Yato still hasn’t forgiven himself for; no matter how much Yukine reassured him.

“Yukine remembers everything and still choose you. He looks up to you, Yato, and loves you just as much. Yukine’s not going to suddenly regret everything and leave,” Hiyori put a hand on his chest, “and neither will I.”

“I don’t know about the ‘look up to’ part but uh,” Yato swallowed thickly around a wobbling smile.

“It’s true, I can tell,” Hiyori leaned in to whisper, “you know he calls you his dad when he talks about you.”

“He does not!” Yato gasped.

“We promised not to say anything.”

“Uh-huh,” Yato looked down quickly then back, “and what do you call me when I’m gone.”

“Saddle Bum,” Hiyori stated.

“Yeah,” Yato sighed, “you got me there.” He huffed out a laugh which only got stronger the more they looked at each other.

“We should probably get Yukine,” Hiyori suggested.

“You’re right,” Yato said, “as usual. Bested again by Miss Iki. Just can’t argue with you, the lush oasis saving me from my weary travels.” They made their way up the stairs and down the hall of bedrooms.

“That’s right, you can’t. So stop trying.” Hiyor playfully huffed.

“Yes ma’am,” Yato swooned. Turns out Yukine wasn’t in their room and instead was around the back of the saloon to tend to Hiiro. By the time the two moseyed around the two buildings, Yukine had washed down the horse- the mare really loved water- and was cleaning her hooves. Hiiro was a short, exceedingly loyal, black horse who hated when her mane got too long and had the most fickle personality even with people she liked. Her ears twitched as her rider walked towards them, shifting back and forth, as Yukine leaned against her hindquarters and scrapped at her back hoof.

“You were right, you really do have the hang of that,” Yato whistled. Running his hand along her clean hair. She snapped at Yato but nickered when Hiyori patted her pink nose.

“She doesn't like it when you do it,” Yukine shot after a couple beats.

“Of course she does,” Yato said, skirting around the horse. Hiyori chose to stay by Hiiro’s front, watching Yukine give Yato a quick glare over his shoulder.

“So, when are you leaving?” Yukine growled. Hiyori tried not to suck in air too loudly as Yato’s wide eyes flickered to hers then back.

“N-not for a while. Gotta go over the clues and make a more solid plan,” Yato’s boot kicked the dirt, “I’m gonna need your help with that. Like always,” he tried. Yukine was not impressed, hardly sparing Yato a scoff.

“Why bother? It’s clear you don’t trust me to watch your back.” The blonde muttered. Finally, Yato’s hands fell out of his pockets and his attitude grew into something more serious.

“What gave you that idea?” Yato followed the kid around to the other hoof, brows knitted. This time, Yato was ignored and the cowboy tapped the kid with his boot.

“Yato,” Hiyori warned under her breath.

“Hey,” Yato tapped Yukine’s side again, “would I have given you twin pistols if I didn’t trust you with them behind my back?” The tip of his boot nudged one of the revolvers at Yukine’s hip, silver twins just like Yato’s, named “Blessed” and “Burial.” That got the teen to look up at Yato, frown still in place.

“No,” Yukine mumbled.

“And you know why? Cause you only give-”

“Cause you only give weapons to those who have your back and disarm those who don’t, I know,” Yukine parroted.

“I need to get more phrases,” Yato muttered as he scratched his head.

“But giving weapons is not the same! I want to be with you! I want to do all the same things you do, by your side! I mean I’m supposed to be your-!” Yukine bit his lip and quickly refocused on Hiiro’s hoove. Yato’s eye brows rose to his hat for a moment before a grim expression took root.

“I killed twelve people in the last four months,” Yato stated. There was a beat of silence as the wind pushed a tumbleweed across the ground. Yukine tried to hide the shock- the horror- that shot across his face, but Yato caught every inch of it.

“So what?” Yukine spat weakly, “you act like I’ve never seen someone die.”

“I don’t want you to see anymore.”

“Well that isn’t your choice is it? Or do you not want me to be like you that badly? I was there too, you know.” Yukine finally snapped, whipping around to glare at Yato. There were tears in his eyes, boiling with frustration, but no one commented on it. Yato couldn’t think of anything to say and Hiyori clenched Hiiro’s reins. The mare was getting restless with her rider’s change in attitude.

“I know you were there and I’m sorry,” Yato confessed, “I’m not anyone you should strive to be. You don’t have to be anything for me, you don’t owe me nutin.” He kicked at the ground again and Hiyori wanted to roll her eyes. Honestly, such a fool of a man.

“I know that,” Yukine muttered too, now just as embarrassed, “I’m not trying to owe you. I just think-” the boy’s face rose in temperature and neither man could look at each other or address their feelings. Eventually Yato let out a huge sigh mixed with a groan.

“Well, everyone’s telling me what a man you are now and that I gotta let you make your own decisions. Can’t keep you caged forever or that won’t protect you in the long run,” Yato finally relented.

“So I can come? With you?” Yukine sprang to his feet, “and you’ll stop dropping me off here? I can be with you for every job?” Fists balled Yukine stood on the tips of his matching boots to stare wide eyed at Yato. The man blinked again, something fragile crossing his eyes before he smiled.

“Suppose so. Unless you want to come back, which you can any time,” Yato said.

“Yes!” Yukine suddenly remembered he was supposed to be an adult and straightened out, “and you promise this time? No tricks? No lies? No gimmicks?” He pointed up at Yato who finally snorted out a laugh.

“Nothin of the sort, o partner o’ mine,” Yato held up a hand, “honest.”

“Both hands,” Yukine narrowed his eyes. With a scoff Yato held up both hands like he was at gunpoint.

“I swear it,” Yato vowed, “on my only son.” Finally the dam broke and Yukine went back to his beaming smile.

“Yes!” Yukine pulled at his own ascot, “I won’t let you down! I promise!” The boy crouched to gather his materials only for Yato to crouch with him.

“I know you won’t, you’re my kid after all,” Yato took off his hat and put it on Yukine’s head, smushing it down with a laugh, “and I’m mighty proud of ya.” The two boys shared a laugh and Hiyori finally turned and gave them their space.

“But chu-know, we gotta get you your own hat. The tips of my ears are all crusty,” Yato gripped.

“Just get a different hat!”

“It’s my hat!”

“Then don’t leave for so long!”

“I don’t understand why you can’t just get your own hat.”

“I had one! Before you made me drop it in the river!”

“Oh I made you, yeah okay, and who made you that hat in the first place?”

“Well you should-” Yukine continued to argue, back with his old spunk. Hopefully they would get to spend some time together before she watched the two of them leave this place behind. That painful tug in her chest was getting harder to ignore.

Until a gunshot sounded across the desert and embedded itself in the dirt. Hiiro reared into the air, letting out a cry of alarm as Yato and Yukine readied their arms. Hiyori immediately ran to the back of the buildings and hid behind a small pile of crates. While shoot outs didn’t happen as often as they did in other towns, they were enough for her to know what to do. A tall figure stepped gracefully off of a blonde, raggedy stallion, high heel boots crusting the dirt beneath. Another couple figures in matching law uniforms dismounted but didn’t ready their weapons. Instead they eyed the standoff with wariness and annoyance. Hiyori sighed and stepped out from her hiding spot but stayed several feet away. Bent at Yato’s side, Yukine stood but kept one gun pointed, sharing a nod to the deputy sheriff across the way, who did the same. Meanwhile, Yato’s smile shifted to a dangerous grin which was replied with a snarl.

“Skank.” Yato greeted Sheriff Bishamon.

“Vermin.” The blonde growled in return. Deputy Kazuma tried to calm her, reminding her that Yato’s previous transgressions have been pardoned and he has yet to cause another. But his pleas went unheard. The two took slow steps forward, guns steadily aimed right between the eyes.

“You got nerve showin’ your face in my town,” Bishamon said.

“Why’s that? Don’t tell me it’s not big enough?” Yato joked. This didn’t go over well, the woman took a shot in front of Yato’s feet. The man yelled some sort of curse as he stumbled back, pushing Yukine behind him despite the kid’s protests. Yato’s gun remained pointed, trained by experience. Though the cowboy was clearly at a disadvantage, the sheriff having two bands of bullets criss-crossing over her chest.

“Come on, I’m just here for some good drinks, a fun time at Kofuku’s,” Yato said, “besides, shouldn’t you be on vacation? Aren’t you back a little early?” The man took another step. Hiyori’s fists tightened as she saw the hand signals Yato was giving Yukine from behind his back.

“That deviersion you had Miss Kofuku do? To have me run to her uncle while you tried to sneak around in my town? Not a chance.” Her eyes hardened but Deputy Kazuma already had a hand on her gun. It wasn’t until Yato’s eyes slid to meet Hiyori’s- the question clear in his expression- that the box from deep within shook and burst open. The confirmation she gave was with the tiniest of nods and their eye contact was over just as fast as it started. In an instant the situation changed; Yukine had mounted Hiiro who rose to her hindlegs with a loud cry and soon Yato was up too, shooting at the law’s horses to scare them. While Bishamon was distracted, Yato took the reins from Yukine and drove Hiiro towards the young lady.

“Wha-? What are you doing? You idiot!” Yukine was already turned around, guns pointed behind them, watching Yato’s back. The kid went ignored, Yato had his eyes trained on Hiyori’s, intense stare eclipsing his grin.

“Come on!” Yato held out his hand. Hiyori moved without another thought, grabbing his hand and letting herself be yanked on the thundering black stead. Her body fell roughly across the blackened cowboy.

“Wait!” Hiyori cried as they dashed around the corner and down the main road, “what about our-? My things?” Her concerns were covered by wisps of her hair and Hiyori had to brush them aside to see Yato throw his head back and laugh.

“Relax! We’re just taking a stroll until the armadillo-woman cools off,” Yato looked down at her and winked, “we haven’t danced at Kofuku’s yet right?”

“Gross! Stop being such a creepy old man! You’re lucky Daikoku even lets you back into that bar!” Yukine yelled at them. Yato’s laughter was contagious and soon it spread to Hiyori, the young woman clinging to the cowboy as he took her on an adventure.

#noragami #noragami fanfic #fanfic #noragami au #western au #yato #yukine #hiyori #Hiyori iki #yato day #happy yato day!!

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 3 years

Text

Normal Love and Superheroes: Two - my city

Summary: Leena gets a meeting with the Bruce Wayne himself and a call from John Blake.

Pairing: John Blake x OFC (Leena Duckett)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none I think...characters discuss Sexy Times and getting drunk but like that’s it I suppose

“Why the heck would he want a private tour with me? He asked for me specifically?”

“Look that’s what he said over the phone, Leena.”

“But did he say why?”

“I’m so terribly sorry I didn’t take the time to ask Bruce frickin’ Wayne, one of the biggest patrons of the gallery, why he asked for a tour from you specifically.”

Leena blushed. “Sorry, Adeline. I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.” The blonde sitting behind the welcome desk smiled with a closed mouth. “I’d react the same way if I were in your shoes. A whole hour or more with Bruce Wayne….”

Another tour guide jogged up to the front desk from the bowels of the gallery. Leena turned and watched her approach. Phoebe had a look of conspiracy and impression on her long face. She came to a halt beside Leena and elbowed her in the side.

“So are you gonna take Mr. Wayne into one of the more….Private rooms of the gallery?” Phoebe asked with a wicked smile.

Leena rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the hot feeling that was spreading from her neck into her face. It was no secret about Gotham that Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, was extremely attractive and constantly single. She saw the tabloid covers as she stood in line at the grocery store. She even ran into him outside of a restaurant one time. But his sexual promiscuity was not what bothered her about giving him a private tour. It was more the fact that he was Bruce Wayne, billionaire enigma businessman that seemed to have intimidation come out of his very pores. Who was she to be giving him a tour of the galleries that he often bought from? A no-name artist who worked two jobs, one of which she hated, to make ends meet? That didn’t sound like the kind of girl that should be giving a Wayne tours of anything.

“No I will not, Phoebe, Jesus!” Leena laughed.

“Oh, come on, have you seen him? Plus, you know he’d be open to it. He’s slept with every hot girl in Gotham and beyond.”

“Just cause he’s slept around doesn’t mean he’d be open to swapping spit in a broom closet with a random gallery tour guide.” Leena rolled her eyes. “Maybe he wants just a normal day out. Like anyone else.”

“God, you’re no fun,” Phoebe groaned.

“I think we know from after hours drinks just how fun Leena can be,” Adeline, the front desk girl, pitched in.

Leena rolled her eyes again and smirked. She always told herself, after those nights out, that she would never fall into the temptation of going again. She always got way too drunk, being a lightweight that fell very easily under peer pressure. And because she always got way too drunk, she always ended up doing something she regretted. Like dancing on top of a table, kissing some random person in the dark corner of the bar they frequented, or possibly recreating dance scenes from Chicago with very little success.

“Please stop,” Leena begged with a red face.

“Excuse me ladies.” An older gentleman with an English accent approached the front desk. He looked very nice in a dark suit with white thinning hair. “I’m here for my tour of the gallery.”

“Of course, what’s the name attached to the tour?” Adeline asked.

Phoebe squeezed Leena’s arm and wiggled her eyebrows before she trotted off, back into the gallery. And Leena was about to do the same, but —

“Bruce Wayne. I run his house and am looking for some new work to be put up. I believe I set aside a tour guide already?” the old man said.

“Oh, yes, you did.” Adeline typed on the computer for a moment, giving Leena a bit of side-eye as she did so. “You’ll be touring with Ms. Duckett.”

Leena let out a breath. A sudden wash of relief and disappointment running through her. She knew that the gallery was the place for many of Gotham’s most elite families to buy art for their various homes throughout the world. Rich folk wanting to support local artists. But she had never given a tour to any actual members of those families. It was always the butlers, the house runners, the managers, the publicists even. But they always state that it is the butler or the house runner coming to assess new pieces that have been put up. So when Bruce Wayne’s actual name was logged into the system, Leena really thought it was going to be him walking through the halls of their gallery. Really laying his eyes on the art and choosing it for himself rather than someone else choosing it for him and barely even noticing that it was hung in his manor. The disappointment didn’t last long, however.

Leena stepped towards the old man with a smile. “And I am Ms. Duckett. A pleasure to meet you…”

“Alfred, miss.” He held out his hand and she shook it.

“Well, right this way, Alfred.” She gestured for them to enter the gallery and she began to lead. “We’ll start with our glassworks suite — “

They entered the first room of the gallery. The Shefield Gallery was extensive, housing several different mediums of art from a variety of artists. Pure white walls to off balance the bright pops of color that the artwork created, heightening the customer intrigue. In this first room there were at least fourteen pedestals strewn about the room, each one holding a different piece of glass artwork. Leena liked to look at glasswork, but would probably never attempt creating any herself. Molten glass just seemed a little too dangerous for her taste.

“Actually, sorry to be a bother, but I was hoping to look at something specific on this trip.” Alfred pulled a piece of paper from his suit jacket pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Leena. “A piece specifically requested by Master Wayne.”

Leena stopped them and took the piece of paper with raised brows. It was a print out from the gallery’s website. Her eyes widened.

That was her painting. Put up in the employee suite of the gallery after much begging and finally the curator taking pity on her for being a slightly hungry artist.

She looked back up at Alfred to see him smiling at her. She quickly regained herself and asked, “Um — are you sure it’s this one that Mr. Wayne wants?”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

With a resigned nod and a thick swallow, Leena led Alfred to the employee suite. She could feel her fingers going numb. Bruce Wayne wanted her painting? Really? He asked for it specifically? She was sure that the old man had to be lying to her for her benefit. Playing some sort of weird joke that ended with her humiliated and a playboy billionaire laughing at the footage of her misfortune. Or maybe there was no farce and the man really did like her painting so much he wanted to buy it and hang it in his home. Leena rubbed at her neck. He would be the first person to ever like her work enough to do so.

They came to the employee suite and Leena stopped them in front of the painting in question. She put her head down as Alfred looked at it. His thin lips were quirked up in a small smile but she couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

“Pick your head up, miss,” he said, “I know you painted this.”

“Is that why you asked for me for your tour?” Leena asked.

“It is indeed.” His smile widened. “Master Wayne wanted me to see what kind of person could paint something like that.”

He pointed to the canvas and Leena furrowed her brows. She turned to the painting herself. Was there some vulgar message she, the artist, had missed? No. She couldn’t see it. All she saw was a portrait of Gotham at night. Done in oil paints on a medium sized canvas, Leena had always been told she leaned too far into her impressionist influences. But she couldn’t help it. Ordinary subject matter with a heightened sense of romanticism and color was something that Leena was just drawn too. The painting was Gotham at night, looking out over the skyline with the lights from the offices and apartments shining brightly, as if the viewer were looking down from the highest story of some building or other. In the glowing rooms in the foreground, people could be seen. Families, tired office workers, friends getting together.

She had titled the painting My City.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said, turning back to Alfred.

“Master Wayne sees Gotham as a dark place — a place full of hate, injustice, and cruelty,” Alfred said.

Leena pulled a face. “While I will not disagree with Mr. Wayne — Gotham is full of the worst kinds of things — but it is also still worth saving. And loving. And living in if only to save it and love it more.”

Alfred smiled, a soft and knowing thing that made Leena’s eyes narrow.

“And Master Wayne would agree with that sentiment as well.” He turned to the painting again, hands clasped behind his back. “Which is why he was drawn to your work so much. You share similar views on a city that many have lost faith in — a rare find, especially in art form.”

Leena was puzzled. Bruce Wayne grew up in Gotham, just like she did. But they saw completely different sides of Gotham. Wayne saw only the elite, the rich, the famous side. The side that lived in penthouse suites, owned entire blocks of buildings, and could afford to eat at those fancy restaurants downtown. The faces of Gotham City. While Leena saw the hands and feet, the workers and the heart and soul of Gotham. The side that worked fifty hour weeks, lived in the slums, and had to cut up and burn their own furniture to keep warm. Gotham wasn’t worth saving because of the side that Bruce Wayne saw, that made it worth damnation. Gotham was worth saving because of what Leena saw.

“Um — well — uh — I…I don’t really know what to say. I wish I could tell Mr. Wayne thank you in person.”

Alfred seemed to get an idea. “How about you deliver the painting in person to Wayne Manor? Tomorrow perhaps? You could thank him in person and he would get to meet the artist behind the painting that has captivated him for so long. That is, if you are free, of course.”

“Well, if he wanted to do that he could have come himself today.” Leena couldn’t stop the words before they came out of her mouth.

Her eyes widened as she stared at Alfred. God, she really needed to learn how to control her mouth. She could feel her neck heating up and her face paling all at the same time. Her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t look at him he would just go away or she would just sink into the floor. Either option would spare her from the agonizing embarrassment ripping through her right now.

“I’m so — “

Alfred chuckled. He actually started laughing. A polite and somehow very British thing that had Leena’s eyes flying open.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Ms. Duckett,” he chuckled out, “But Master Wayne has turned into a bit of a recluse as of late. And I really do think he would appreciate meeting you.”

Leena bit down hard on her lip. If it meant making the $500 the painting was priced at, she was willing to do anything honestly. Even it meant borrowing Jamie’s car and meeting the actual Bruce fricking Wayne himself. That was enough money to pay her half of the rent for the month and she only had to do one thing. Not work her ass off at two different jobs. Her need for the money more than outweighed her apprehensions about meeting a billionaire and talking to him about her art and her thoughts on Gotham.

“Alright. Tomorrow at three o’clock. Is that an okay time?”

“Oh, yes. Just in time for tea.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Please could you stop the noise? I’m trying to get some rest,” Leena sang as she cleaned her paint brushes, “From all the unborn chicken voices in my head!”

She moved back to the canvas she had set up by the windows overlooking the city. Who knew getting a meeting with one of Gotham’s most influential men would give her inspiration for a new painting? The reference photo of Bruce Wayne was tacked into the corner of the canvas. She had gotten the idea on the train ride and subsequent bus ride back to her apartment when her shift at the gallery was over. Something about Bruce Wayne being a recluse and seeing the good in Gotham just gave her a spark of inspiration. A spark of inspiration to lesson her fears about meeting the man by painting him as a vigilante sasquatch.

It was at least making her feel better about the whole thing. Jamie had walked in from her own work shift with many questions about it. But Leena had only held up a finger for patience and put her headphones back in. Jamie knew what that meant. Her roommate had had a weird day and needed to vent through her art.

Leena continued to paint for some time. Lost in the music and the colors and shapes that flowed from her paintbrush. Leena’s mother had given her paints and paper when she was very little as a distracting craft while she tried to clean around the house. But her mother could not have known that that would have sparked a lifelong love for art and painting. A dedication to get better and better and find her own style. Winning contests, medals, and even studying art in college. Leena felt the most at home when she was painting. Felt the most herself when she had a brush in her hand and a vision in her head that just needed to be let out.

This was one of those ideas she just knew would consume her every waking, and possibly sleeping, thought until she got it out and onto the canvas. Vigilante sasquatch Bruce Wayne was going to camp out in her cerebral cortex until she had brought him to life. Trekking through the woods, covered in body hair, wearing a stupid bright red face mask. If he thought the city was so worth saving, then why didn’t he give money to the police department so they had the tools to catch the criminals loose on Gotham’s streets? Why didn’t he donate money to improve Gotham’s infrastructure, education, hospitals, mental health services, or literally anything else besides funneling money into his own company?

If she were to see him right now, she would have a piece of her mind to give him that was —

Her phone started vibrating in the pocket of her apron. Leena groaned. She had gotten into such a good groove, too. She pulled out her iPod first and paused her music. Then she flipped open her phone and held it up to her ear. She didn’t even bother to see who was calling. Her mother usually called around that time of day anyway.

“Hey, Mom, what’s up?” she asked as she pinched the phone between her cheek and shoulder.

“Uh — “ A distinctly male voice came through. “Sorry, this is John Blake. Were you expecting your mom to call you? Cause I can call back later.”

Oh, God. After realizing that, in her euphoria, she had forgotten to get his number, she had been waiting to hear from him for nearly two days.

“Oh, shit,” she said, quickly wiping her paint stained hands off on her apron, “Um, no — sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t — with my mom. I can talk now. Officer Blake — John. Officer Blake?”

At the mention of that name, Jamie peeked her head out from the gap in the curtains surrounding her bed with a look of pure interest on her face. Mouth open and her eyebrows raised as she looked across the room. Leena shooed her away with a wave of her hand and an uncontrollable smile.

“You can just call me John,” he laughed, “You getting around okay without the bike?”

“Uh, yeah. Taking the train and the bus — definitely throwing my budget out of whack but — that doesn’t matter…At all.” Leena glanced over at Jamie, still listening in, only to see her roommate roll her eyes.

When did she get so terrible at talking to men?

“Well, I have some good news for you.” Leena could feel her heart jump into her mouth, making her physically stand on tip toe and stare out the window as he continued to speak. “I found it. So — uh, where do you wanna go for our date?”

Leena squeezed her eyes shut, the smile on her face nearly hurting her cheeks as she tilted her head towards the ceiling. Was this really happening? After Jacob, she didn’t know if she would ever find anyone else. If she would be willing to put herself out there like that again. But with John, something felt different. He was safe, kind, and somehow she just knew that he would never hurt her like Jacob did. She twirled around once and she could hear Jamie whispering, asking what was going on. Leena ignored her roommate.

“How about Superdawg?”

Superdawg? Jamie mouthed with an unbelieving face.

“That hotdog place over by Robinson Park?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She heard him chuckle. “Sorry. I just suppose I expected you to pick something a bit more…I don’t know…”

“I’m not a fancy kind of girl, trust me.” Leena laughed. “We could eat and then maybe take a walk around the park or something? If that sounds good to you — I don’t — “

“No, that — that sounds great, actually. Honestly, kinda glad you didn’t pick something fancy.”

“Okay, cool.” Leena looked over at Jamie with raised brows and a wide smile. “Uh, what time?”

“Saturday — tomorrow at six? I can pick you up?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then, Leena.” She loved the sound of him saying her name. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She flipped her phone closed and turned to face Jamie with fists triumphant in the air. “I have a date! And I’m getting my bike back!”

#the dark knight rises #john blake #john blake imagine #john blake x reader #john blake x you #john blake x oc #dark knight #dark knight imagine #dark knight fic #dark knight fanfic #dark knight fanfiction #john blake fic #john blake fanfic #john blake fanfiction #joseph gordon levitt #jgl #nolan batman #dark knight trilogy

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starscreamloki · 4 years

Text

A Chance Meeting

One-shot, Loki x Lucifer Morningstar

Warnings: none

Words: 1067

Summary: Loki meets Lucifer Morningstar for the first time. The devil is determined to unravel the enigma that is the Norse God, but Loki’s answer even surprises him. And Loki? Loki just loves a good, verbal sparring.

A/N: Uhr, yeah. These two just started to babble to each other in my head, and I decided to share. I hope you enjoy!

----

“Tell me, Loki. What does a self-proclaimed, powerful God such as yourself truly desire? Hm? What is it you want?”

Loki could feel the other’s magic wash over him, hazel brown eyes captivating him. He couldn’t look away. It felt like the lure of a siren. An irresistible pull which he should be able to defy.

“I want… I want-” he stuttered, fighting the manipulation that was forced upon him. But he couldn’t resist, and he also found he was unable to weave a lie.

Lucifer Morningstar. The devil himself, the fallen angel, and apparently with a trick up his sleeve Loki hadn’t anticipated.

Foolish!

Lucifer could feel how Loki’s mental barrier crumbled piece by tiny piece. Where normally the mental barrier of a human would fall apart like a wall blown up with dynamite, Loki’s seemed to slowly crack like glass and crumble tiny piece by piece - delicate like crystal.

One more push and Lucifer would have his answer. An enigma unraveled. “What is it you desire?”

The crystal splintered.

Loki’s reaction wasn’t any less bombardic. The frustration and the anger he felt was obvious as he shouted, “I want something to desire!”

Well, that hadn’t been the answer Lucifer had expected. For a God so young, merely a thousand years old, there must have been something he wanted. “You want something to desire?” Lucifer parroted, confused.

Still captured by those brown eyes and unable to look away (and maybe not wanting to look away because he wanted to fight this head on) Loki venomously stared back.

The aftershocks of Lucifer’s magic were still washing over him in waves, demanding more. Demanding an explanation. And Loki was torn between viciously fighting it and showing the back of his tongue.

Yet, the high word was already out. It didn’t matter anymore, and the anger he felt at his own weakness and inability to resist the pull needed an outlet.

Loki took a sharp intake of breath. “There once was a time where I knew what I wanted, but not anymore. Do I desire a throne and a realm to rule? Do I hunger for power? Do I yearn for someone’s affection? A touch? Do I crave the approval of my adoptive family? Of the people of my true race, or merely those who took me in? What do I wish? I know not!”

Lucifer’s magic had worn off, and Loki was finally able to look away, rebuilding his mental barrier. He bared his teeth in an attempt to hold more words behind them. He didn’t want to display weakness, but it was one of those rare occasions where a fragment of vulnerability might gain him something. Yet, his words were bitter, forced, but they were true. “I am lost. Alone. Purposeless. Unable to want anything. And it has me left with a deep yearning to desire something.”

More words Lucifer hadn’t expected, but it explained so much. It explained why Loki had come to the Lux days in a row, sitting by himself in a corner, shrouded in a brooding patch of darkness. It explained why every attempt at conversation from regular patrons had slipped off him, like water sprayed on glass. And those who had tried to push had been in for a wild ride. A verbal chastising which had sent them off with their tail between their legs.

Lucifer had been in for an easier ride. Not sure whether it had been because the God could feel he was different, or for any other reason Lucifer couldn’t phantom. But almost carelessly Loki had accepted the invitation to join him in the penthouse.

And it also explained why Loki spoke and acted like a man who had nothing left to lose. Simply because he didn’t have anything to lose.

Lucifer laughed. “Well, the throne in hell has a vacant spot, you can have it,” he carelessly flicked.

“The throne of Helheim belongs to my daughter, not me,” Loki mumbled, sourly.

“I am not your daughter,” Lucifer half stated, half asked.

A wry smile formed on Loki’s lips. “No, you are not. But there is more than one hell.”

Lucifer’s lips parted slightly, but the deity seemed lost for words.

“What? Did you honestly think there was only one hell and you were the ruler of it?” Loki laughed mockingly. “Spare me. The universe is bigger than that, and you only possess a mere fraction of a dumping ground of souls who have behaved wrongly. I am sure you have heard of Hades? Indeed, not you. Another deity who calls himself ‘Lord of the Underworld’. Just like Osiris and so many more.”

“That is not true,” Lucifer interrupted, or at least tried to, but he lacked conviction.

Loki smiled eerily and sloughed down on the nearby couch, one arm draped on the backrest and his legs spread wide; as if he owned the place. As if he was sitting on a throne. He might as well, because they both knew Loki was edging closer to victory with this verbal skirmish.

“And those are only a few names that belong, or once belonged, to this realm,” Loki said airily. “And there are many, many more realms who all have their own judgement system.” A cruel smile formed on his face. The spite he felt towards the other for his little magic trick gaining momentum, shaping his words into a weapon. “You are not special.”

The ire it evoked within the devil was bitter. Loki’s words were a spoken conclusion he had already drawn himself during the conversation, but hadn’t wanted to admit. Yet, it didn’t hurt less.

Lucifer wanted to lash out, but he had no ground to stand on, and thus he swallowed his anger away to hide behind mirth and a smile.

And maybe the skirmish wasn’t lost, because Lucifer spotted something which Loki probably failed to notice. Behind that Godly and arrogant facade was also something very obvious. Something which the God needed.

Loki was stuck. Stuck in his ways, in his thoughts, in himself. He was in desperate need of a way out.

“It seems you need a challenge. Something that jeopardizes you enough… A fight for yourself, as it were,” Lucifer said contemplative. Then, gleefully, he added, “Excitement!”

Loki scoffed. “And you believe you can give that to me?”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

----

A/N: Thank you for reading. I thrive on coffee and comments. Maybe I’ll write another part in the future.

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer fanfic #loki x lucifer #Loki Laufeyson

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Celebration (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Celebration Rating: Explicit Length: 3700 Warnings: Smut (Pegging, toys, overstimulation, sex, female recieving oral) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set New Year’s Eve 1998. I’ll post Reader’s outfit after I post the article. Summary: They make up for lost time.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @beccaplaying @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex@ham4arrow@plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy@cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen@arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn@cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato@coredrive @pascalesque@theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou@yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie @jaime1110@katlikeme

“Are you sure you don’t mind watching the girls tonight? Don’t you want to go celebrate?” You questioned as you sat a mug of coffee down on the table in front of Monica, before circling around to sit across from her.

“If today was the weekend, it would be a different answer,” She told you as she blew on her coffee before taking a sip. “But she’s got work tomorrow. We’re probably gonna go to Disney for the weekend.”

“Oh?”

Monica nodded, “Her aunt’s got a timeshare in Orlando and they said we could use it.”

“Epcot was fun if you like to drink,” You told her, “We haven’t been back since Josie was little.”

“Did she have fun?”

“Javier and I went alone,” You explained as you sipped your coffee. “It was hot, we both had different ideas for the trip…” You laughed quietly, “But Sofía was made, so it worked out in the end.”

Monica made a face, “TMI.”

You gave her a look, “Oh, I’m sorry. Sofía just appeared one day. No idea how she came to be.”

“Didn’t you find her under a rock?”

“Actually, she was chilling with the alligators.” You snapped your fingers, “She does like to bite.”

She laughed, “It would make a lot of sense.”

“What are your plans?”

“Still undecided,” You confessed with a shrug. “But I think we might go down to the bar for a little revelry. With everything that’s been going on the past few months, we never got to enjoy that lingerie set you unwillingly witnessed.”

Monica covered her face, “I am still trying to forget.”

You laughed with a grin, “Sorry. You should just be thankful you didn’t walk in about thirty minutes later.”

“I can’t believe you played hookie! That both of you did.” She took another sip of coffee, “I am scarred for life.”

“I’m just saying — it could’ve been so much worse.”

“I like living in the world where you and Javier just bake cookies and knit or something.” She scrunched up her nose. “It was bad enough when I caught you at school before I knew you.”

You made a face. “Sorry.”

“I mean, more power to you,” Monica laughed. “But there wasn’t enough brain bleach.” She stuck out her tongue. “I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.”

“I don’t know who was more traumatized, you or Javier. Because nothing fun happened after that.” You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “For all of his very public history in Colombia, it's pretty easy to make him blush like a virgin.”

“He’s so bashful!” Monica leaned against the table. “He was so clearly uncomfortable after dinner that night.”

“It’s very endearing.” You admitted with a smile. “He can be an enigma.”

“I’ve noticed.” She nodded. “Before break, one of the students in class actually brought up the article and he looked like he wanted to die.”

“Ah, yes. He mentioned that,” You toyed with a lock of hair as you sank back in your seat. “I heard they seemed rather shocked that I’ve stayed in contact with Elena.”

Monica tilted her head, “I mean, I was a little shocked too. But if they knew you, it would make sense.”

You pursued your lips, “I learned very early on that it was better to keep certain connections because they could be useful in the future.”

“Except for toxic people.” She pointed out.

“Exactly.”

——

Javier’s hands skimmed over your velvet-covered hips as you moved to the music with him, your bodies pressed close together.

The bar was packed with patrons drinking and dancing to ring in the New Year. You were both buzzed, but not drunk because you had plans for when you got home that would not work if you were both drunk.

You curled your fingers around the back of his neck, leaning in to kiss his lips as his hands slid under your leather jacket.

“Tonight’s a very important night.” You told him, as you pressed kisses along his jaw and let your lips linger by his ear.

“And why’s that?” He questioned, giving your waist a squeeze as his hands wandered.

“Tonight’s our first New Years as a married couple.” You reminded him with a grin as you pulled back, brushing your fingers through his hair where it fell against his forehead.

A lazy grin spread over his lips and he cupped your cheek and leaned in to kiss you, “So many firsts with you.” He murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

You slid your arms over his shoulders, “Seven New Years with you.”

Javier ran his hands over the small of your back, keeping you pressed close to him, “I’m a lucky man.”

“You’re going to get even luckier when we get home.” You taunted, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Only took three months.”

“We’ve been busy,” He reminded you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “I’ve been looking forward to it, baby.”

You kissed him again, “Call a cab and I’ll close out our tab.” You told him, running your hand down the center of his chest.

It took longer than you wanted it to, to close out your tab at the bar, but atleast by the time you were done the cab had arrived.

Javier kept his hand curled around your upper thigh the entire ride home, one finger sliding over the bare skin just above the lacy top of stockings.

After the last disastrous attempt on the sofa, you both bypassed the family room and went straight back to your bedroom.

He followed you into the closet when you went to retrieve the box of toys crowding close to you. “You have been driving me crazy all night, baby.” Javier drawled out as he snaked his arm around your waist.

You leaned back against him, forgetting the box entirely as he dragged the fabric of your dress up your thighs. He traced his fingers along the straps of the garters, up to the lacy edge of the lingerie.

“I enjoyed dancing with you,” You told him, reaching behind you to curl your fingers around the back of his neck as you slowly pressed your ass back against his noticeably hard cock. “And I think you liked it too.”

He pushed the straps of your velvet dress off, before helping you shimmy it down your hips and discard on the floor.

Javier’s teeth scraped over your bare shoulder, his tongue sweeping out over the marks he left as he ran one hand up along your inner thigh to cup your cunt through the lace. “Fuck, you’re soaked, baby.” He whispered, dragging his fingers over your sensitive flesh.

He sought out your clit, circling his fingertip over the tender bundle of nerves. Your hips rocked back against him and you squirmed in his vice-like hold. “Javier.”

“I want you to open the box for me,” Javier said lowly, his finger stroking you more rapidly then. “That’s it. Good girl.” He practically purred as he watched you open the box.

Javier released his hold on your waist, reaching into the box to pull out the little remote control vibrator you’d purchased over the summer. “I want you to enjoy this too.” He told you, catching your earlobe between his teeth.

“Fucking you is very enjoyable.” You assured him as you turned your head to look back at him. “Don’t tease.”

Javier pressed a too-brief kiss to your lips before he caught your hand and placed the toy into your palm. “You know you want to.”

You swallowed thickly as you looked between him and the toy with a slow-forming smirk. “I love the way you think.” You quipped as you handed the toy back to him.

He mirrored your smirk, “I thought you might enjoy it.” His hand slid back between your thighs, teasing your slick flesh through your underwear before he pushed the lace aside and worked to press the toy into you.

Javier gave you cunt a quick pat once the toy was nestled within you. “It’s only fair, isn’t it?” He questioned as he set the toy to one.

You moaned, momentarily stunned by stimulation that was buzzing through your pelvic region. You leaned back against the shelves, cupping your breasts as you met his gaze. “I can’t wait til you feel this, Javi.” You told him, your breath coming out in shaky exhales as he brought you towards your orgasm.

He descended upon you, his knee pressed between your thighs to give you something to grind against as the heat blossomed within you. You trembled as you came, your cunt clenching desperately around the toy as he got you off.

Javier quickly shut the toy off, turning his focus to kissing you then. His mouth slanted hungrily over yours, his tongue exploring your mouth as he fondled your breasts, touching you wherever he could.

“Go undress,” You told him, tugging at his hair sharply. “And grab the lube.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Javier told you as he stole another kiss before vanishing out the closet door.

The harness worked perfectly with your lingerie, none of the fastenings rubbing against each other uncomfortably.

The toy he had bought at the shop seemed larger than the first model — though not by much. A little more girthy and just a little longer. And with a quick switch of the remote it came to life where it protruded from the harness, buzzing with the same intensity as the toy within you.

It would certainly be an interesting way to bring in the New Year.

Javier was waiting for you on the bed, a hand lazily stroking his rigid cock as he laid there.

“Are you ready for this?” You questioned, hands on your hips as you approached the bed.

Javier’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Yes.”

“Same rules as before. Safe word or tap out with three squeezes.” You reminded him as he climbed onto the bed and laid down beside him.

“I love you,” Javier whispered as he cupped your cheek and kissed you.

You kissed the tip of his nose, “I love you too.”

He chuckled, tucking hair behind your ear. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.”

“I’ll mourn that there’s no hair to tug at,” You snapped your fingers as you gestured to his hair. “Even if it looks good.”

Javier pulled your in for another kiss, “Next summer.”

“Good.” You stole another kiss before you moved down the bed and settled onto your knees in front of Javier, your gaze flickering between his face and his cock, where it laid against his lower belly.

Javier ran his hand over his chest, exhaling shakily as he glanced downwards at the toy protruding from the harness.

“Like what you see?” You questioned as you slid your hands up his legs where he had them bent over your thighs to accommodate you between his legs.

He nodded his head slowly, working his jaw as he stared at you. “It’s bigger, isn’t it?”

You laughed softly, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. “Just a smidge. I don’t think Rocky’s led us astray yet.” You reached for the bottle of lubricant, squirting some into your palm and coating the shaft of the light blue toy. “If you hate it, we can stop.”

It had been awhile since the last time you’d played with the harness.

“I’m good, baby.” He assured you as he sank back against the pillows. Javier slid his hand over to grab the remote that was connected to the toy nestled within you.

You twitched as he set the toy to the first setting, a pleasant hum of desire being stoked within you. It wasn’t enough to get you anywhere fast, but it was enough to make your body come alive all over again.

You were still reeling from the first orgasm he’d brought you towards, the lacy crotch of your underwear soaked through with your own arousal.

“Tease.” You hissed out lightly as you squirted out another dollop of lubricant, coating your fingers.

Javier smirked at you, his eyes warm with desire as you held his gaze and stroked your finger down the length of his cock, over his balls, down towards that tight pucker.

He stiffened and you were quick to soothe him with gentle words as you rubbed the top of his thigh, “I’m good.” Javier assured your, exhaling again as he tried to relax his muscles.

You pressed lightly against him, watching his face cautiously as you worked your two fingers into him. “Look at you,” You whispered. “Fuck. Is this what you want, Javi? Do you want me to fuck you, just like this?”

Javier grabbed at your knee, his hips shifting towards your touch.

“Use your words,” You reminded him, squirting a little more lube onto your fingers as you continued working them in and out of him. “I want you to beg for it.”

His eyes clenched closed and he let out a low moan as you pulled your fingers out of him. “Baby, please.”

“Please what?”

Javier glared at you, “I’ve waited three months for you to fuck me again, baby. You know exactly what I want.”

You smirked at him as you curled your fingers around the shaft of the toy, guiding it into position. You pulled the remote out of the waistband of your underwear, letting your finger hover over the settings as you prepared to work the toy into him.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” His back arched and you marveled at just how good he looked like this. Javier looked good when he relinquished control. “Fuck, baby. Please.”

Another sound escaped him as you the tip of the toy brushed against his puckered center. He winced momentarily as the toy pressed into him.

“You’re doing so good.” You promised him, grabbing at his leg for support as you continued working the length of the toy into him. You waited until you were seated fully within him before you turned the toy on.

His cock twitched against his stomach as the toy buzzed to life within him. “Holy shit.” He breathed out, shifting beneath you as he curled his hands around your legs, his fingers fanning out over the dark tights covering your skin.

“Is that a good holy shit?” You questioned, remaining completely still within him.

Javier nodded, “Yes.”

You drew back until just the tip of the toy was still in him and you switched the toy up another notch as you slid back into him. You moved slowly, rolling your hips as you worked the toy in and out of him.

The look on his face was enough to make your entire body throb with want. His cock was leaking against his stomach and his lips party with unspoken words as you fucked the toy into him.

It took you a moment to find the right angle, to reach his own sweet spot and when you did—

Javier fumbled with the remote, switching it from one to four in one motion.

Your pace faltered and you rocked forward roughly as he sank the length of the toy into him. Your head fell forward and you moaned in unison with the sounds falling from his lips.

“Javier,” You managed. “You look so fucking good like this.” You bucked your hips into him, trying to keep pace with the pulsing throb of the toy inside you.

You fumbled for the remote, shutting it off as you let him climb down from the high that was building.

“Fuck!” Javier grabbed at the sheets beside his hip as you pulled out of him completely. His eyes were blown wide as he lifted his gaze to find yours. “Baby, don’t stop.”

You ran your hands over the tops of his thighs, “Twenty minutes until 199–“ You moaned as the toy within you continued to charge towards your own release. “1999.”

Javier writhed beneath you, “Baby.”

You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip as you looked down at him. “Do you want something?” You questioned as you lined the toy back up.

Javier’s back arched as you pressed into him again and the sound he made set you alight, fanning fresh heat through your lower belly.

You held onto his legs for support as you shifted, keeping yourself pressed into him as you moved to lean over him on your knees.

His cock was trapped between your bellies as you planted your hands on the bed beside his chest.

“Are you going to come for me?” You questioned, your lips barely brushing against his as you spoke. You grabbed for the remote, switching the toy back on to a pace that matched the one vibrating within you.

Javier scrambled to touch you — fingers in your hair, hands sliding down your arms, his breath hot on your lips.

You rolled your hips with a little more haste, chasing your own release as much as his. With every movement, the strap of the harness was rubbing the lace of your underwear right against your clit and in tandem with the vibrator you were dangling right on the edge.

His fingers curled around the back of your head as his lips crashed into yours, his tongue unfurling against your tongue as he kissed you desperately.

Javier stiffened beneath you, his hips rocking to meet your thrusts as he came apart for you, his cock spilling over his stomach, trapped between both of you.

You grabbed at the remote, cranking up the setting to four — just to watch the utterly fucked look that passed over his face as the overstimulation from his release flooded his senses.

“Shit!” Javier swore through clenched teeth. You sat back on your knees, keeping the buzzing toy seated within him as you watched him.

“You’re so good, babe.” You told him, petting your hand over his thigh.

You were so close to your own release, you could feel it building. But that mounting pleasure was cut short with a wave of concern as Javier grabbed at your knee and gave it three quick squeezes.

“I’ve got you,” You assured him as you shut off the toy and quickly withdrew from him. “Hey, hey. Are you good, Javi?” You questioned as you took the remote for your toy out of his hand and shut it off.

“Yeah,” He grunted, giving a stiff nod as he stared up at the ceiling. “Holy fuck, baby.” Javier breathed out, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. “Shit—“

You shook your head as you brushed your knuckles over his cheek, “Don’t. I’m fine.” You promised him, tracing your fingertips over his nose. “Are you sure you’re good?”

“It was too much,” He told you, rubbing at his forehead before he let his head tilt to the side to look at you. “But fucking amazing.”

You scooted closer to him and pressed your lips to his, “Worth the three month wait?”

“Mhm.” He mumbled as he kissed you again. “It was very good.”

“I’m gonna go clean this off.” You told him as you moved to get out of bed. “I’ll be right back.”

You’d deal with the mess tomorrow, you figured as you removed the harness and sat in the bathtub to clean later. You washed off your hands and grabbed a damp cloth to clean him up with.

“This is a good look for you,” You told Javier as you stepped back into the bedroom. “You’ve got this glassy-eyed freshly-fucked thing going on.”

Javier snorted, “I wonder why.” He jerked a little as you used the cloth to wipe off his stomach and cock, before sweeping it down between his thighs.

“Sorry.” You grimaced, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze.

“Baby, it’s alright.” Javier assured you again. “It was just overwhelming in the moment.”

“I’m allowed to worry about you,” You reminded him as you laid back down beside him. “Last thing I want to do is accidentally hurt you during this.” You gestured between the two of you.

Javier ran his hand over your lace-covered lower belly, trialing downwards between your thighs, “You didn’t come, did you?”

You shook your head, “Babe, it’s fine.”

“There are five more minutes of this year and I know how I want to end it.” Javier told you as he hooked his fingers into your underwear, “These need to come off.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing at the bedside clock as you sat up to unfasten the garters and slide your underwear off. You were aching — even your thighs slick with your desire as you angled yourself towards him. “What did you have in mind?”

Javier ran his tongue over his bottom lip and smirked at you, “I think you know.” He retorted as he beckoned you closer.

You moved to straddle his chest, letting him maneuver himself beneath you until his mouth was between your thighs.

“So this is how you want to ring in the New Year?” You questioned as he played your fingers through his hair.

Javier’s answer was to turn the toy back on, the first setting reigniting the flames that had gone cold. He held onto your hips tightly, keeping you from rolling them and accidentally breaking his nose in the heat of the moment.

He held you steady with a grip hard enough to bruise as he wrapped his lips around your clit and teased it in tandem with the vibrations of the toy.

You let yourself get lost in the sensation, your entire lower stomach throbbing with desire as you coaxed another orgasm from you. Your thigh muscles twitched and you tried to squirm out of his hold.

It felt like heaven. Your body perfectly in tune with his. It was hard to believe that yet another year had slipped by — and an eventful one at that.

“Happy New Year, baby.” Javier whispered as he lazily kissed your inner thigh, his mustache glistening with your arousal as he eased the toy from you.

You slumped forward, grabbing at the headboard for support. “Happy fucking New Year.” You laughed as you grinned down at him.

There was no one else you wanted to spend your years with.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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aellynera · 4 years

Text

Don’t Forget the Napkins (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

DON’T FORGET THE NAPKINS

Word count: 2733(ish)

Warnings: Just a little bit of language, really (I mean, it’s Llewyn, so...) Like one sentence about Pappi’s creepy tendencies.

(with prompts: “Call me now, it’s urgent”; “Have you lost your mind”; and “So...can we go eat?”)

Another Saturday night at the Gaslight. There was nothing odd about that, it was where you spent pretty much every Saturday night for the past year and half, working behind the bar and waiting on the tables out by the stage when needed. Sure, it was dark, smoky, and kind of dingy, but it helped make ends meet and you got to listen to music for free.

The music is what you had first come to the Gaslight for, right after you graduated from college and moved to the big city. You loved the music and started coming in every chance you got, no matter who was on stage, just to sit in the room in the moment and experience the music. Pappi had taken a shine to you, said you reminded him of his little sister. You had no idea if he really had a sister, nor did you care, but it was certainly less creepy than Pappi telling you it was because he wanted to fuck you, so you let it slide. You had heard him make the latter suggestion to more performers than you cared to admit, but he was a decent boss and you got on well at the job, so it all worked out.

You had majored in English and wanted to be a famous writer, maybe even write some songs that people would talk about and still sing years from now, so where else would you go other than New York City? That’s where the culture was. That’s where the art scene was. That’s where the nightlife and bright lights and intellectuals were. And that’s also where Llewyn Davis was.

Llewyn. Now there was a riddle wrapped in an enigma inside a mystery.

You had seen him perform quite a few times at the Gaslight, and even bought his record when it came out. You talked to him just about every time he was there, because he always sat at the bar both before and after he performed. He had seemed quiet at first; well, he still did, really, but by now you knew the right combination of idle chit-chat, soft smiles, and whiskey straight up to get him to drop the first line of defense. Once that happened, he would talk to you all night. And if you weren’t busy, you’d let him. At some point, you had told him about your dreams of writing and creating songs that people wanted to sing (there was no way you were going to sing them yourself, at least not in public; your stage fright was too monumental and soul crushing). He had just looked at you thoughtfully for a moment, pushing one of his perfect dark curls off his face, then finished his drink and went up on the stage. When he came back, he ordered another drink and started up random conversation again. Then the night was over.

And that was his mystery - he spoke of many things, but he never really told you anything. You had an easy back and forth, a friendship even, but it felt like he never let on more than the bare minimum.

But the night after you had told him about the songwriting, you had come in to work and there was a note for you behind the bar. Two lines, scribbled on a napkin. You read them a few times and realized it was maybe the beginning of a poem...or lyrics. So you quickly wrote two more lines, and when Llewyn came in that night, you walked up to him and stuck the folded napkin in his pocket. He looked surprised, but you caught the slight upturn of his lips a few minutes later when he took it out, looked at it, and then carefully put it back in his pocket.

The next night, the napkin was back. Two more lines. So you added two more. The same thing the next day. And the next, and the day after that. It kind of became your thing, without anything else ever being said about it. Sometimes there was a whole verse written out and you would start a chorus, and vice versa. Once it was one word at a time and that had honestly gone off the rails pretty quickly, but it was fun.

And it had been going on for just about a year. You saw it as a mental game to keep your writing sharp and your brain engaged and your friend entertained. He certainly did more than his fair share in entertainment from his stool on the stage.

So when you got to work that night, it wasn’t a surprise to find another napkin meticulously folded and placed behind the bar where you normally stowed your pocketbook and keys. The place was more packed than usual, but there was some new guy named Dylan or something that was playing and there was a lot of buzz around him. So that was normal too. Smiling to yourself, you picked up the napkin and read the familiar scrawl.

Call me now, it’s urgent.

That was..not normal. Your face scrunched up in confusion, you quickly looked up and caught the mop of dark curls hunched over at the end of the bar. Grabbing a clean bar towel and the bottle of his favorite whiskey, you made your way over.

“Oh...good, you got my message,” he said, raising his eyes ever so slightly to meet yours over the rim of his tumbler. They were (beautiful and dark and compelling and soft and…) sort of glassy and red around the edges and maybe a little bloodshot? And was that a smirk inching its way onto his lips? You sighed.

“You’re sitting right here, Llewyn,” you said, taking the glass from his hand and refilling it without him asking. You pushed it back to him. “So thank you for saving me the dime.”

He snorted. “Come on, it was...a little funny, right?”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t keep your own small smile off your face. Did he realize the irony that you wouldn’t have been able to call him anyway, since you never really knew where he would be staying? “And you’re a little pissed already, huh? Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“Nah, not really. And I’m not drunk. I am alcoholically reinforced,” he took another sip of his drink.

“...what does that even mean?”

He shook his head, that one particular curl flopping over his forehead and into (those beautiful, soulful, deep, enchanting…) his eyes. He totally ignored your question. “So, uh, look,” he started, suddenly seeming a bit more unsure of himself. “I really wanted to ask you, if…”

“No, you cannot borrow my couch tonight, Llewyn. My sister is in town.” You idly wiped at the bar top with your towel, raising an eyebrow at him.

For a split second he looked offended, but it was so brief you almost missed it. “What? No, no, I don’t need a place to...look, I just needed to tell you...well, ask you really, but also tell you…”

“Hey, Llewyn!” Pappi’s voice suddenly boomed from the other side of the room. “Lay off the help and get your ass up on stage! You’re not gettin’ half the basket just to sit here and drink all my booze!”

Llewyn sighed. “Yeah, yeah, all right,” he yelled back. His attention turned back to you. “So, listen, really though I need to…”

You swatted at him with the towel. “You need to finish that glass and get up there before we both get in trouble, is what you need to do. It looks like it’s gonna be a crazy night, I’ll catch you after, yeah? We’ll go grab a burger at that place down the block, my treat.” You flashed him a grin as you walked away before he could say anything else. And by say anything else, you really meant say no, because that man needed to eat a good, hot meal. As usual.

Llewyn watched you walk off and start tending to other patrons, then threw back the rest of his glass in one gulp. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he walked to the stage. “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…”

As Llewyn picked up his guitar and got himself situated, you filled drink orders and watched him as you did so. It was getting harder to deny that he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen, especially when he was up there, under the single spotlight and surrounded by the smoky haze of the crowd and his own cigarette smoke. There was just something about him. But the puzzle and mystery and enigma hung over everything and you were fairly certain you’d never crack the actual code, so you just let your crush be a crush. It was part of what made the Gaslight worth it, after all.

The night went on, busy and loud and musical. This particular crowd was really getting into his set and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him. He deserved the attention, and you knew he wanted it, even if he liked to pretend he didn’t. After a few songs, you took a pint glass of water up to the stage. It was something you always did for performers, but especially for Llewyn (since he tended to drink more than his fair share of whiskey in the meantime). You were about halfway to the stage when he strummed a few notes and started to introduce his next song.

“So, uh...well, this is a new song for me,” he started, noticing you coming his way. “And I didn’t really plan on doing this until maybe about an hour or so ago, but well...I dunno, sometimes when something just feels right, it’s right, you know?” His eyes meet yours as you set the glass on the small table next to him on the stage, and he momentarily seems to search for the next words.

“Y’know I usually work alone, but, uh, I wrote this next song with a friend. A good friend. Someone who is really talented and good with words, better with words than I am. And...and she doesn’t know I’m doing this but I’ll ask for forgiveness later.” He chuckled and the crowd did too in response.

Llewyn cleared his throat. “So, yeah. This is a song I wrote with the help of a lovely lady you probably all know. If you do, ask her to make you a drink, and if you don’t, well, go back to the bar and introduce yourself.”

You were almost to the back of the room, back to said bar, when your eyes shot wide and you spun on your heel to face the stage. Oh no, he did not just...did he? It’s kind of hard to clearly see his face from back here with the light and the glare in the smoke but you could swear that jerk is grinning, like full on guilty smiling, and in that instant you swore if you weren’t working and there weren’t so many people shoved into this space you might go up there and actually punch him. Your face was on fire and your stomach felt like it was going to drop out the bottoms of your feet. Your mouth dropped open before you could stop it.

Every pair of eyes in the room suddenly turned on you. There were maybe a hundred people there? Around that many. A hundred people times two and that’s how many eyes were suddenly staring right at you. There was only one pair of eyes you really cared about, though.

You managed to catch Llewyn’s eyes for a moment and you mouthed at him - Have you lost your mind? He shrugged slightly, closed his eyes, and started playing his...your...song.

It was beautiful. From the second line you recognized the napkin it had come from, one that got passed back and forth about four months ago, during a particularly cold week when it didn’t quite snow but the rain was still frozen. It was a back and forth about two people realizing they were in love but being too afraid and preoccupied and aloof to do or say anything about it. Typical unrequited love stuff. But oh, suddenly, oh now it had much more meaning. You listened, and watched, from the corner behind the bar, transfixed and unable to look away as every emotion you knew and some you never knew existed washed over you in time with the notes from the guitar and Llewyn’s gorgeous voice.

Once the song ended, you somewhat got your bearings and turned back to the bar. People were already coming over to tell you how beautiful the song was, ask if you really wrote it with Llewyn Davis, tell you how much they enjoyed it, ask if you had written any others...you were only vaguely aware of most of it and managed to pour some drinks and answered things as best you could, until finally one voice broke through all the others.

“So. Um. Did you like it?”

You closed your eyes for a minute, biting your lip. “Llewyn...I...what just happened?”

He looked down for a second, then reached over and took the glass you were holding and the bar towel out of your hands. He gently wrapped his fingers around yours, giving you a light squeeze. He didn’t say anything for a few more seconds, but when you didn’t pull away, he continued, “I tried to tell you...shit, I kept every single one of those napkins since we started doing that, and I turned some of ‘em into a song and wanted to play it tonight. I tried, but...well...fuck, you’re not mad at me are you?”

You weren’t mad. God, you were anything but mad at this man. Stunned, and surprised, yes, but definitely not mad. He kept all those napkins? You’d always half-wondered what happened to them, but never really gave it much thought, but you hadn’t really expected that to be the answer. Your brain still couldn’t quite process your own words correctly, so you just shook your head no and squeezed his hands in return.

Llewyn let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank fuck. For a few minutes there I thought I really fucked things up.”

You finally got your head back straight and laughed. “No, you didn’t,” you smiled. You cocked your head to the side and studied his face for a moment. “I still can’t quite figure you out, but you definitely did not fuck anything up.”

“Good,” he nodded. He lifted your fingers to his lips and brushed his lips along your knuckles, suddenly pulling away when Pappi snorted from his corner of the bar. You both turned to him, scowls on your faces, and Llewyn whipped the bar towel at Pappi’s head.

“So...can we go eat?” Llewyn asked, turning his attention back to you and ignoring Pappi’s continued string of bemused and somewhat lewd sounds.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Eat. Y’know, burgers? At that joint down the street? You said something earlier about buying me dinner?” Llewyn asked dryly.

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? You sing me a song that I helped you write, and then you expect me to buy you dinner.”

“Well, you did offer.”

You bit your lip again as your smile grew wider and a blush crept further up your face. “Okay. But make sure you don’t lose these, we’re going to need them.” You grabbed a few pens from underneath the bar before coming around to his side and shoving them in Llewyn’s coat pocket.

“Okay, sure? But what are those for?” he asked, slipping and arm around your waist and leading you to the door.

“Because,” you replied, your tone implying that he should already know, “there are a lot of napkins floating around that place.”

Llewyn pulled you a little closer and you smiled into his embrace. “Ohhhhh.”

“And Llewyn?”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t kidding about the couch, my sister really is in town. But I’ve got a much more comfortable place you can stay tonight.”

~end~

#oscar isaac #inside llewyn davis #llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis x you #prompt fic #fluff

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kkairosclerosis · 4 years

Text

uncommon things i associate my deities with~

hi guys! im back from a quick hiatus!

i recently moved to the city, but not too far from where i lived previously in the country. living in the city, however, is proving to be a bit more difficult then i had imagined, so ive been taking some weekends to go back home and ground myself again so i can feel more connected to my craft<3.

anyways, this morning, i was sitting on the porch of my parents farmhouse, looking out onto the sunset as my idiot dog ran laps around the frost-covered lawn, feeling more connected to my deities than i had in weeks. i decided, ‘hey, here a nice post idea. maybe ill talk abt the things i associate with my deities that others might not, and hopefully inspire them to as well!’ so, here it is!

uncommon things i associate my deities with!

hermes——««

if this isnt your first time on my blog, you probably know: hermes is my patron. he has been for a while, even before i began to worship him. if you want to know more about why, check out this post.

regardless, you can imagine that i hold very dear everything i associate with him.

in this case, it’s my dog.

my dog is an...interesting border collie named oliver. i got into hellenic worship very shortly after getting him, and i have a very strong feeling he has a lot to do with it.

i am thoroughly convinced my dog is a child of hermes. hes chaotic, but extremely smart. very, very fast, and spends hours running out in the yard. just running. nothing else. its even more intense when its windy, which, if you read the aforementioned post, you know that i associate the wind heavily with hermes. hermes is also the god of animal husbandry, and oliver is quite the farm animal.

watching him run, i always get a strong sense of comfort. i know that the energy of hermes resides in him, its very clear. its almost as if his running brings the wind. like hes running, and hermes says ‘hey, that looks fun! let me join!’

i, very regularly, ask for hermes protection of oliver. i do this because i know of the love hermes has for him. i can feel it. it makes me comfortable knowing hes safe while im not home with him. and i can tell it makes oliver feel safe as well.

aphrodite——««

aphrodite has always been dear to me, even before i started actually worshipping. i remember reading about her in the mythology books i frequented in the art room after i finished my projects, carrying them out to the field to just sit and read. she was an embodiment of beauty to me, and that has not changed since, so its natural that i associate her with one of the things i find most beautiful on this plane of existence: clouds.

when i was thinking of writing this post, i was sitting and looking at a cloudless sky. i was thinking: why is it that we most often consider a cloudless sky beautiful? is it because of the absence of ‘blemish?’ does a cloud signify a flaw? must all beautiful things be completely clear, or without mark?

obviously, i thought this was ridiculous. clouds are so very dear to me. i mean, i have an entire album of photos on my phone of pictures of clouds i have taken. i have always been enamored.

while i was pondering this, it hit me. beauty is unique. beauty is individual. thats exactly what aphrodite is about. these ‘marks’ in the sky are what make the sky beautiful to me. aphrodite is in these ‘blemishes’ because i find them beautiful.

now, i dont mean to wrap this up in a corny way, but i encourage the people reading this to think this way about themselves. beauty is in your imperfections because they make you you. i have not seen one cloud that looks exactly like another i have seen, and thats exactly what makes them so beautiful to me. aphrodite loves all of you, and someone else does as well, so do not disrespect them by being mean to yourself. their idea of beauty is not misconstrued, so trust them. and if you dont think someone thinks your beautiful, know that i do<3.

apollo——««

apollo, to me, has always been sort of an enigma. i have a harder time interpreting his signs, especially recently, and i think that its particularly because of my recent falling out with my creative side. i have sort of abandoned my art, and it think its difficult for him to communicate with me through anything else.

one thing, however, i can feel him in is the sound of the birds in the morning. particularly, roosters.

as i mentioned before, my parents live on a farm. its natural to hear roosters first thing in the morning. some people find it annoying, but to me, its incredibly comforting. it means another morning has come. i’ve lived another day, and i have a whole new one to look forward to, until i hear the rooster the next morning. it means the sun is rising, and apollo rises with him.

as a witch who particularly enjoys the sunrise, but has a hard time waking up to see it, the roosters serve as a sort of natural alarm clock. even if i do not physically get up to see the sunrise, i know it is happening, and i am awake for that first moment of dawn. it brings me comfort and a sense of small accomplishment, even on really difficult days.

and the days im in the city, and cant hear the roosters, its the morning songs of the birds in the part right next to my apartment building. this might be even more so, as apollo is the god of music.

its a different type of comfort to wake up to the chill of the morning and hear the birds, knowing its a deity that loves me and wants to see me the next morning as well. i hope you, dearest reader, come to feel the same:).

asclepius——««

now, i haven’t talked about this much on this blog, but to me, asclepius has been such a pillar for me as of recent. with the pandemic and my own current health situation, i rely on him a lot for hope and support. i ask him to protect both me and my friends and family from illness or ailment, and in case of ailment, i ask him to facilitate a speedy recovery. thus far, he has never failed me, and i do not ever expect him to. i put my trust in him wholly.

other than health, i find myself associating asclepius with cleanliness. while i see asclepius as the medic, i also see him as someone who is clean and organized. this is why i associate him with dewdrops.

now, bear with me in my explanation. morning dew, to me, feels clean. it feels almost pure, as it is one of the first forms of moisture a person can be met with during the day.

picture it now. you wake up at sunrise, and venture out into your yard, the chill of the am just tickling at your face, cooling your nose to the touch. you take your first step off of the deck, and your bare feet sink into the grass, cold, and now wet from the dew. the feeling is shocking at first, as your feet get used to the new temperature, fresh out of the warm comfort of your blanket that sits invitingly on your bed inside.

but the feeling is fresh. its grounding. its healing.

that, to me, is how asclepius feels.

sobek——««

i must be honest, sobek is the reason this post came to existence. i feel extremely strong about this one, particularly because i feel that sobek is under-appreciated and misunderstood as a god. i constantly encourage people to include sobek in their worship, as he, to me, has proven to be one of the most reliable gods i have ever worked with. i feel such a sense of comfort and love within him. i could sit in his energy for hours, days even. especially as a person who suffers from bouts of paranoia, his energy is one to learn to accept and become.

for me, i see sobek in flowers.

not many would see this, as sobek has this image of a tough, crocodile, protection god, which he is. but what a lot of people forget, is that sobek is also a god of fertility, particularly in harvest. in fact, sobek has done so much for my family’s farm. our garden is plentiful, and our harvests are more than we know what to do with. we end up making a lot of extra things with it, and giving it away to family friends and neighbors. i genuinely think that sobek creates abundance in our garden so he can give to our community. that is how loving i know him to be.

however, what i specified was flowers. one of the most common offerings i give to sobek are roses. he seems to love them. sobek seems to protect that of which he loves, and roses are a symbol of love for me. i want to attempt to give him what he has given me.

my family has a wildflower garden in front of our home. the morning i was sitting on the porch, i felt his presence, and i immediately looked to the flowers. delicate, yet extremely strong, and persevering. thats how i wish to be, and i can feel sobek in the encouragement of the flowers.

i hope that didn’t come off too corny, although im pretty sure it did lol. i hope that this post was a good insight into my deities and how i understand them to be! again, disclaimer, not everyone experiences the gods in the same ways! some may agree with this post wholeheartedly, and some may have completely different experiences that make them disagree entirely! i am not one to gatekeep and define what the divine is, because the divine shows itself in different ways to different people. i hope you enjoyed this post, and have a wonderful day!

p.s. i love you and you’re worth it!

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

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Draco x Reader - Once

Hiya there! Could I maybe request a Draco Malfoy x muggle! Reader? Thanks so much!

You watched the man in your shop with weary eyes, he looked...homeless. His clothes were dirty, laying limp on his small frame. His eyes were sunken, cheeks hollowed out as a light scruff dappled his jawline and chin. “C-can I help you?” You asked, voice shaky. The man was clearly out of it and you couldn’t know how he would react to you speaking to him.

You waited with bated breath as he tore his eyes away from the coffee machine you kept out for your patrons, the last of the liquid energy dripping into the pitcher as he fiddled with the rim of his paper cup. “No thank you,” Came his response, easily shutting down anything else you might have said.

His voice was throaty but not rugged, the edge of his words clipped from misuse but not for lack of education seeing as there wasn’t any hint that his lilt was every anything but elegant. If you closed your eyes, his voice sounded that of a reclusive aristocrat, not bothered by the rest of the world going on around him, knowing better than others.

“Closing is soon,” You added as he stared at the steaming beverage in his hands, not daring to take a sip.

“I just came for something to drink, I’ll be on my way,” He nodded, understanding you wanted him gone. Your shoulders were tense and you hadn’t looked away from him for a second, mistrust hung heavy in the air.

“D-do you not have anything to drink at home?” You asked lightly, not wanting to sound insensitive but curious as to why he had to come into a book shop for something to drink. Had your earlier assumptions been correct?

“I’ve only got so much money,” His smooth voice admitted, evening out as he spoke more with you. It was like you were the first person he’d spoken to in months. “I am staying in a hotel at the moment, doing a bit of... traveling, I suppose. They cost an arm and a leg though, so I figured it was a free coffee or paying five dollars for a cup back in my room,”

“Oh,” You let yourself relax some. “I understand the feeling, before I set up here I was living paycheck to paycheck, always bouncing around,” As your mind wandered you shook your head from the wistful thoughts. Something about him had caught you off guard, what business was it of his how you had used to live?

“You must be terribly proud of this place then, it’s nice to have something to call your own, something that’s yours and yours only,” He grimaced as he took a sip of the quickly cooling coffee but his tone remained fanciful. Your heart ached with the yearning that seemed to seep from every pore, as if he had never had something to call his.

“I live upstairs you know,” You found yourself oversharing as your leg began to bounce up and down. stupid, stupid, stupid. “I mean to say that, I have a guest bedroom, free of charge. And if you’re a good guest you could probably convince me to make enough breakfast for two in the morning. It might save you a couple of bucks,”

The man’s eyebrows shout past his hairline, his platinum locks dangling over his silver eyes. “You don’t even know my name, is that wise?”

You let out a choked laugh. “Why don’t you tell me your name then? A-and no it isn’t wise but I am really, really hoping that you aren’t a serial killer,”

The man watched you for a moment, as if you were the strange one, before the corner of his pale lips quirked upwards. “My name is Draco, and you are?”

“Y/N,” You breathed out, mouth his name silently afterwards. Draco, what a curious name. It was a bit odd, but there was a strength in that name that was fitting of the stranger in front of you. “Now that I know you and you know me, are you going to accept my offer and let me close up?”

Draco laughed and it was a bit louder this time, he nearly looked surprised himself when his chest rumbled with the clear and handsome noise. “Do you do this with every customer?”

“Nope,” You promised, popping the p at the end as you locked up, shutting the blinds tight as you secured the lock, unplugging the coffee machine as Draco tossed his now empty paper cup into the waste bin beside him. Up to this point you had kept a healthy distance from the man but now that he had decided to stay you brushed past him as you busied yourself with your few menial cleaning tasks.

He smelled of mint and ink, a lovely combination that had you wanting to walk by him again.

“Am I special then?” Draco teased and you were amused with his subtle playfulness. There was certainly a lot more to this man than previously assumed. It piqued your interest in a sharp and nagging way that left you feeling uncomfortable until you knew all of his secrets. You composed yourself however.

“You’re a stranger with a tight wallet, don’t think too much about it,” You were just trying to be kind, or at least that’s what you told yourself. It clearly had nothing to do with how you were suddenly enraptured in his troubled eyes. “This only happens once, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” Draco conceded but there was a knowing smile on his lips that later led you to believe that he could see right through your tough act.

“Once” couldn’t have been more of a lie. Draco was special because he was an enigma and you wanted to pick him apart. No matter what, you would unravel his mysteries one by one until you knew who he was.

#Draco Malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #fluff #angst #mainly angst #asks #anon ask #request

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notes-from-sarah · 3 years

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The Thimblerig Plot

Link on Fanfiction.net

Link on Archive of Our Own

Rating: T

Summary: Anakin is captured by Count Dooku and slated for execution. This is a problem for Sidious who must quickly free Anakin without arousing his current place-holder apprentice’s suspicions. Hiring a Mandalorian might be the only solution. Set during Star Wars: The Clone Wars. Lucas era canon compliant.

Chapter 1 - A Small Problem

A/N: Set after Star Wars: The Clone Wars Season 5, Episode 16. The Clone Wars Season 7/The Final Season is not considered canon for this work.

*****

"Master," Darth Tyranus' dulcet tones filtered through the static filled holo connection, "I have tremendous news to report."

The recorded message had been sent some hours ago by this point, Sidious had only just now been able to tear himself away from his duties and find out how the battle had gone. He had foreseen Tyranus' victory at Cressill and he knew that the message would contain news of the Separatist conquest. The Dark Side was a swift friend, bringing him news sometimes even years before an event.

"I have brought an end to Republic interference on Cressill. The system is now under the loving guidance of the Confederacy."

Good, thought Sidious. The fall of Cressill would weaken the entire sector and spread the Jedi even thinner than before. Soon, the Republic would be so weak that the slightest pressure would bring the whole corrupt, bloated mass tumbling down. A dark smile broke over his features.

"I am also pleased to report that I have captured alive the Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker, the so-called Hero of the Republic. I am en route to Raxus now where a highly publicized execution at the Separatist capital will take place. I think such a move will be sufficiently demoralizing for Republic forces." Tyranus' bluish holo projection waved and sputtered as the signal struggled to maintain strength.

Sidious blinked, trying to make sense of what Tyranus had said. If he executed Anakin–

"Skywalker is regularly a thorn in the side of the Separatist forces. His capture and death will put us on the path to victory." Tyranus' image looked smug and his tone was self-congratulatory. The hazy holo image somehow not managing to hide the odious man's victorious smirk.

Sidious couldn't wait to be rid of the fool.

"I will contact you when I have reached Raxus." Tyranus vanished, his curt holo transmission ending with no revelation of the count's plans once he reached the planet.

Sidious twisted his lip, this couldn't have come at a worse time. Things had to be orchestrated just so, there was no room for error in this endeavor. He needed Anakin alive, and until Anakin was his apprentice, he needed Tyranus alive. He couldn't, at this moment, be without either of them. Somehow, Anakin had to escape and Tyranus had to allow it and neither of them be any the wiser to his true role in all of this. He would have to play this round very carefully, he knew all too well that a slighted apprentice was a dangerous thing.

Sidious submerged himself in the Dark Side, only it could tell him what to do.

*****

Dooku paced back and forth in front of the cell where Anakin was held, his luxurious cape just sweeping over the floor panels of the ship. The young Jedi was currently being restrained with a combination of electro-cuffs and a few tranquilizers. No need to tempt fate, after all. The young man had been something of an ever-present pest since that day in Geonosis, now he would be rid of him for good. Kenobi's former padawan was about to deal a severe blow to the Republic's morale. Once they landed on Raxus the war would be all but over. Had he realized on Geonosis how troublesome Skywalker would eventually prove to be Dooku would have ended him immediately back then.

Anakin grunted, the tranquilizers starting to wear off.

"Awake at last," said Dooku, "I was afraid you'd be asleep for hours."

"Dooku," Anakin started to struggle to his feet, but feeling the effects of the drugs seemed to think better of it. "What slimy hole did you slither out of? You always take great pains to be as far from the front as possible, I was surprised to find you on Cressill."

"Isn't that why you were on Cressill in the first place, young Jedi? Weren't you there to capture me and bring an end to this war?" Dooku leaned on the word young knowing how provocative it would be.

Anakin scowled. "I suppose you think you have the upper hand here, don't you?"

Dooku looked pointedly at the bars and cell walls before returning his gaze to Anakin. "Yes, I do."

"Well, I wouldn't get comfortable if I were you." Anakin pulled against his cuffs a bit, but promptly stopped when the electro-cuffs began to crackle. "As usual, you play the part of the coward."

"Young one," said Dooku, brushing aside the accusation of cowardice, "you have no idea how happy your impending death makes me." It would be a delicious moment when the stupid fool met his fate. Some part of Dooku knew that destroying Anakin was the single greatest thing he could do to change the course of the war. His master would be so pleased.

Anakin shook his hair out of his eyes. "Is that supposed to scare me? You're nothing but a feeble old man, you're never going to get away with this. I'll be out of here before you know it and on my way back with my legion before you even realize I'm gone."

Dooku smirked. "I got away last time you and I went head to head, I don't see how you've changed any. Even with a thousand clone slaves I don't know what you could possibly do against the power of the Dark Side."

Anakin scowled even deeper. "Mark my words, Dooku, this will end on my terms."

"Somehow, I don't think so, young one." Dooku raised a hand to summon a droid. "Now, I think you'd best go back to sleep." Punching in a code the cell door opened enough to permit the robot entry.

The round droid hovered into the cell carrying with it a long, sharp needle.

Anakin flinched as the needle found its mark. "You're never going to win, Dooku," he managed to say as the tranquilizers took effect.

"Such a childish sentiment. Goodnight, sweet prince."

*****

Bo-Katan rose at the sound of the lock to her cell door being disengaged. True to his word, Kenobi had raised the alarm about the anarchy on Mandalore. The resulting military action on the planet had swiftly resulted in her capture and confinement. She didn't know if the Republic had quashed the violence, but she rather suspected they had not. It was most certainly still ongoing and would continue to until the day the last Mando had been bled dry.

The door slid open and a Republic guard stepped into the room, two more hovered in the corridor outside the cell. All were armed and armored. "You are summoned for an audience. Turn around so that I can cuff you and bring you to the chamber."

"Who wants to talk to me?" Bo-Katan was suspicious. She'd been here for weeks already and so far no one had given a damn that she was in custody. The fighting must not being going well. Undoubtedly they wanted her to give them information on the inner workings of Mando culture, or Death Watch in particular. Whatever they wanted was sure to strip away even more of Mandalore's independence. She had told Kenobi to tell the Republic when her sister died, she regretted doing that.

"I'm not permitted to say for security reasons. You will find out soon enough." The guard motioned for Bo-Katan to turn around, the cuffs ready in her hand.

Bo-Katan turned, holding her hands behind her back. The guard cuffed her securely and led her out of the cell.

"Don't try anything extreme," warned the guard as she brandished her weapon, "I know you Mandalorians all have a death wish and I'm not about to get in trouble because of some suicidal heroics."

…

Bo-Katan was led into a spacious room with a huge picture window. Coruscant was big on a scale that was almost unimaginable. Mandalore seemed like a child's dollhouse in comparison. She stared at the traffic flow in the twilight sky, it was almost mesmerizing.

"Hello, Lady Kryze, it's good to see you finally."

Bo-Katan turned to see none other than the supreme chancellor. His neat hair and velvet robes the polar opposite of her own far shabbier appearance. She glanced the elderly man up and down as he strode across the room to his desk where he took a seat. She was fairly certain she could take him and escape custody if she really wanted too. She was a Mandalorian warrior, after all. And he? Just a withered prune. "Chancellor," her voice was cool, but not nearly as cold as Satine's would have been, her sister had had a talent for bone-chilling iciness. "To what do I owe the honor?"

The chancellor smiled blandly at her. "No need for the hostile tone, Lady Kryze. I apologize that I have not looked into your predicament till now. Your plight is a most stirring one, but I'm afraid the labors of the war have kept my every moment busy until just now."

Bo-Katan despised being patronized. "I thought the Republic would be ecstatic that they have a chance to grab another system for their side." She took a step closer to the desk. Asking Kenobi to bring in the Republic had certainly been a mistake. "Unless the Republic's takeover isn't going well and you've decided that you need my help." She would never forgive those offworlders who had killed everyone she loved and tore her planet to pieces.

"That is not quite why I asked you here today." Palpatine gave her a watery, meaningless smile. "In fact, I do believe the outside forces on Mandalore have expelled, much of the current fighting is between various factions of Mandalorians. I actually wanted to speak to you about you." Palpatine leaned back in his chair and observed her for a long moment.

Bo-Katan waited for him to continue. The cuffs chafed against her wrists and she twisted her hands uncomfortably in the silence.

"You, Lady Kryze, are a bit of an enigma." Palpatine folded his hands together. "Ostensibly, you are fighting against Separatist forces on Mandalore, and are in line with the Republic, so really you should go free and lead the anti-Separatist faction on Mandalore."

Bo-Katan was certain there was a however coming up somewhere.

"However," Palpatine continued, "that does not absolve you of your affiliation with Death Watch and it's anti-democratic activities. Death Watch has committed serious crimes against the Republic."

Here comes the deal, thought Bo-Katan. Whatever he offered she would very likely have to accept it. It wasn't so easy to get to Mandalore from the inside of a cell.

Palpatine rose and walked behind her. Releasing the lock on the cuffs he freed her hands. "I think the Republic will be able to overlook your past indiscretions on account of services rendered."

Bo-Katan turned to face the old man again. "And what services are those?"

"The Republic needs you, Lady Kryze. This war has too many fronts, it's impossible for the Jedi or the Grand Army to be everywhere they are needed. The Republic has need of a stealthy and cunning warrior, such as yourself, to complete an urgent mission behind enemy lines."

"What's in it for me, why should I risk my neck for a government I don't believe in?" Bo-Katan wasn't going to mince words. He had better have something good to offer.

"If you complete this task then you have my word that the Republic will back you to reclaim the throne of Mandalore. I can offer you money, troops, weapons, whatever you need to take back what is yours." Palpatine placed the cuffs on his desk. "However, if you are unable to accomplish the mission, then I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to appoint a provisional council to govern Mandalore. Regrettably, such a council is unlikely to have any Mandalorian members, after all, most of them are caught up in a civil war and are of dubious loyalty to the Republic."

There it was, as neat a deal as could be offered. Bo-Katan crossed her arms over her chest. The Republic couldn't get away with this forever. For now, though, she'd have to acquiesce. She looked the old man square in the eye. "So, what's the mission?"

#Star Wars #Star Wars: The Clone Wars #Bo-Katan Kryze #Boba Fett #Asajj Ventress #Anakin Skywalker #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Rescue Mission #Action/Adventure #Mandalorians #Jedi #Sith #Pic from the official Star Wars website

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libraryofvenus · 3 years

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Four Quartets: East Coker - T.S. Eliot

In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass. Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth Which is already flesh, fur and faeces, Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf. Houses live and die: there is a time for building And a time for living and for generation And a time for the wind to break the loosened pane And to shake the wainscot where the field-mouse trots And to shake the tattered arras woven with a silent motto.

In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls Across the open field, leaving the deep lane Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon, Where you lean against a bank while a van passes, And the deep lane insists on the direction Into the village, in the electric heat Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone. The dahlias sleep in the empty silence. Wait for the early owl.

In that open field If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close, On a summer midnight, you can hear the music Of the weak pipe and the little drum And see them dancing around the bonfire The association of man and woman In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie— A dignified and commodiois sacrament. Two and two, necessarye coniunction, Holding eche other by the hand or the arm Whiche betokeneth concorde. Round and round the fire Leaping through the flames, or joined in circles, Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes, Earth feet, loam feet, lifted in country mirth Mirth of those long since under earth Nourishing the corn. Keeping time, Keeping the rhythm in their dancing As in their living in the living seasons The time of the seasons and the constellations The time of milking and the time of harvest The time of the coupling of man and woman And that of beasts. Feet rising and falling. Eating and drinking. Dung and death.

Dawn points, and another day Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind Wrinkles and slides. I am here Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.

What is the late November doing With the disturbance of the spring And creatures of the summer heat, And snowdrops writhing under feet And hollyhocks that aim too high Red into grey and tumble down Late roses filled with early snow? Thunder rolled by the rolling stars Simulates triumphal cars Deployed in constellated wars Scorpion fights against the Sun Until the Sun and Moon go down Comets weep and Leonids fly Hunt the heavens and the plains Whirled in a vortex that shall bring The world to that destructive fire Which burns before the ice-cap reigns.

That was a way of putting it—not very satisfactory: A periphrastic study in a worn-out poetical fashion, Leaving one still with the intolerable wrestle With words and meanings. The poetry does not matter. It was not (to start again) what one had expected. What was to be the value of the long looked forward to, Long hoped for calm, the autumnal serenity And the wisdom of age? Had they deceived us Or deceived themselves, the quiet-voiced elders, Bequeathing us merely a receipt for deceit? The serenity only a deliberate hebetude, The wisdom only the knowledge of dead secrets Useless in the darkness into which they peered Or from which they turned their eyes. There is, it seems to us, At best, only a limited value In the knowledge derived from experience. The knowledge imposes a pattern, and falsifies, For the pattern is new in every moment And every moment is a new and shocking Valuation of all we have been. We are only undeceived Of that which, deceiving, could no longer harm. In the middle, not only in the middle of the way But all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble, On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold, And menaced by monsters, fancy lights, Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly, Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession, Of belonging to another, or to others, or to God. The only wisdom we can hope to acquire Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

The houses are all gone under the sea.

The dancers are all gone under the hill.

III

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark, The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant, The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters, The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers, Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees, Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark, And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors, And cold the sense and lost the motive of action. And we all go with them, into the silent funeral, Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury. I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away— Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about; Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing— I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning. The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry, The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony Of death and birth.

You say I am repeating Something I have said before. I shall say it again. Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there, To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not, You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy. In order to arrive at what you do not know You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance. In order to possess what you do not possess You must go by the way of dispossession. In order to arrive at what you are not You must go through the way in which you are not. And what you do not know is the only thing you know And what you own is what you do not own And where you are is where you are not.

The wounded surgeon plies the steel That questions the distempered part; Beneath the bleeding hands we feel The sharp compassion of the healer's art Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

Our only health is the disease If we obey the dying nurse Whose constant care is not to please But to remind of our, and Adam's curse, And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

The whole earth is our hospital Endowed by the ruined millionaire, Wherein, if we do well, we shall Die of the absolute paternal care That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.

The chill ascends from feet to knees, The fever sings in mental wires. If to be warmed, then I must freeze And quake in frigid purgatorial fires Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.

The dripping blood our only drink, The bloody flesh our only food: In spite of which we like to think That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood— Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years— Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l'entre deux guerres Trying to use words, and every attempt Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure Because one has only learnt to get the better of words For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate With shabby equipment always deteriorating In the general mess of imprecision of feeling, Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer By strength and submission, has already been discovered Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope To emulate—but there is no competition— There is only the fight to recover what has been lost And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss. For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment And not the lifetime of one man only But of old stones that cannot be deciphered. There is a time for the evening under starlight, A time for the evening under lamplight (The evening with the photograph album). Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter. Old men ought to be explorers Here or there does not matter We must be still and still moving Into another intensity For a further union, a deeper communion Through the dark cold and the empty desolation, The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.

(For help understanding this poem, check out this article: https://voegelinview.com/a-pattern-of-timeless-moments-pt-1/)

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