#and I also want him to be somewhat recognizable as bill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neon-ufo · 1 year

Text

Luv's Monthly Makeover 2022

I wanted to show all 12 pieces of this project, and add a little paragraph about each of them, their themes (if applicable), and their inspirations.

The point of this project was to redesign my mascot Luv every month, trying out new art styles and techniques in the process. Luv changed every month, but still remained the same recognizable character throughout. The idea was to embrace the beauty and challenge of change, and grow with it.

💕January Luv is generally a very androgynous-looking character largely due to cuteness and fashion, but for this piece I wanted to give him a somewhat more masculine look, which created the little fire goatee. Technically this piece was drawn in December 2021 before I thought of this project (in February), but it hasn't been posted until January and it fit the bill so I counted it as the January piece.

I wanted this to be a more ‘serious’ piece, so there’s no exaggerated fashion or detail to it, aside from the realistic heart in place of the usual love heart on his chest. This is the oldest of the pieces, but I’m still very happy with how it looks!

The Japanese text is from the song Hello by Fire Bomber, saying; "We fear nothing, We go on along this path”. The vibe of the drawing was inspired by this song’s classic rock tune.

💕February This piece was largely just playing around with clothing textures and such, and the main idea was to present Luv's heart mask in a different way. Some looks had a much stronger thematic vision than others, and this is definitely one of the weaker ones. I don't have much to say about it tbh

The jacket is inspired by a Coach x Keith Haring collaboration jacket, and the mask is a "Lover" mask design by LikeADrugg.

💕March This was done when Ousama Ranking was airing and I fell in love with the demon's heart-shaped mouth, which I referenced here. Contrary to popular belief, Aku from Samurai Jack was not the inspiration for this.

There isn't much more to say about this one, I wanted him to look creepy and spindly. I had a blast with the rendering, very proud of how it turned out!

💕April I was really excited for the concept of this one, but it did not turn out how I wanted it to.

He was supposed to be essentially mask-less on this piece, with the visor of his hat casting a heart-shaped shadow on his face. I also wanted to push more in the fashion aspect in this one, the main inspiration being a pair of RoseCut pants & Vivienne Westwood's Love logo, which I used a few more times in my work after this.

💕May Ok I suddenly got struck by an extreme passion for punk fashion at this point, and I poured it heavily into this iteration. Another different play on the heart mask, this time it changed to heart-shaped glasses. Various spikes become a pretty recurring element from here on lmao. There's also the Westwood Love logo again.

A fun fact; this is actually largely a re-used design of a GothPunk Luv I tried drawing once, but scrapped because I didn't like how it was going! I loved the ideas behind that design and am really glad I got to bring it back here. <:

💕June This is a very simple one, as I was dealing with the loss of a beloved pet, and I simply didn't have the energy to draw anything bigger.

This actually turned out to be one of my favourite designs for Luv, as it's very simple but very fun, and easy to draw. It became my go-to design for doodles. Lyrics is from "It Gets Harder" by Good Luck

💕July Tried something very different with style here. I wanted the style and colours to be a little bit more ethereal in vibe, hence the very bright soft shapes and floating gold bits. The doll-like face also adds o the dreamyness, with the matte black eyes and no shine. I think that adding some thick lineart in the centre of the drawing makes the image a bit disorienting, which I quite like.

Main focal point is the golden Jeremy Scott + Adidas Wings sneaker, which was basically what this entire piece was built around.

💕 August This is another one of my favourite looks. I really love the outfit elements of it, as well as the colours, and I can definitely see myself drawing it again sometime, which is not something I can say for most other looks in this project!

Despite it being one of my favourite designs in this series, I don’t have much to say about the piece itself though. The shirt was inspired by a shirt worn by Donquixote Doflamingo on one of the One Piece manga covers.

💕September This piece has recently been chosen to partake in a group exhibition in the capital city of my country, which is quite a big deal for me!

Luv is sporting a very casual streetwear look with a graffiti can in hand. This was the first time I familiarized myself with gradient maps, experimenting with which helped me choose the final palette. The "Love & Peace" sign in the background is taken from a Trigun episode title. The decorations on the pants were inspired by Lirika Matoshi's S/S22 collection, and the shirt evokes several Junya Watanabe/Comme des Garçons shirts from the early 2000s.

💕October Spooky Luv for spooky month, I really love this piece. It's one of my favourite recent pieces!

Again a lineless piece like the month before, but I took a very different approach to shading, and honestly I expected it to be so much harder than it was. It was a blast to work on this one and I love the effect that pitch black shading has on a monochrome body. I did a lot of experimenting with the background and used gradient maps again to get a cool background effect. I was aiming to get some kinda old video game cover look with this. The text on top is my favourite quote from Dracula. The background is a photo from the Croatian coast that I took last summer.

💕November The aim of this one was to capture the nostalgic early 2010s anime & deviantART style. I looked to a few anime for reference, but I think in the end Lucky Star was the most helpful.

I tried to channel deviantART character designs I remember from that era, using typical design features I remember from it, such as demon wings, stripes, collars, off-the-shoulder oversized shirts, and checkered belts. The fashion inspiration here is largely the signature Chrome Hearts crosses, while the shoes were inspired by the fantastic toothed heels from the GCDS spring/summer '23 collection which I only now realized does not fit the Y2K theme I was going for with this one lmao

Either way, I'm very happy with this one, I think I achieved what I went out to do!

Oh yeah, and the text in the background is the entire lyrics of the album Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance.

💕December Last piece of the challenge was almost entirely re-drawn, as I didn't like the first look of it. There isn't much specific inspiration for this one, but I wanted to make it vaguely connected to the December season.

As a reference to Christmas, there are elements of angels in the design, with a bright halo and tiny wings. The symbol I personally associate with new year is the peace sign☮️, because I remember that my dad used to give family friends a New Year's card with nothing but a peace sign in it. He stopped doing it recently, so I'm taking up that mantle instead.

The little sleepy Luv on the right side is taken from a different Monthly Makeover piece that I scrapped.

I'm not sure if it's clear, but the shape at the bottom says 2023.

Thank you

#oc #luv's monthly makeover #long post #luv

172 notes · View notes

twistedtummies2 · 7 months

Text

Top 10 Portrayals of Smee

A while back, I did a list of my favorite portrayals of Captain Hook, the villain of J.M. Barrie’s classic story “Peter Pan.” I also, more recently, made a list of my favorite versions of the titular hero of the tale. Now, I want to shine some light on one of the more prominent side figures of the tale: Captain Hook’s right-hand man (or, depending on interpretation, perhaps his left-hand man), the pirate simply known as Smee. Mr. Smee is, arguably, one of the first great “henchmen” figures in English literature. Many great villains have accomplices and associates who aid them in their journeys, but the idea of a side character who works particularly close to the main villain, gives them someone to work through as an outlet of sorts, and often provides some comedic levity to scenes with their presence? As far as I can determine, this was a relatively new phenomenon in literature when “Peter Pan” was created. Smee is the original bumbling goon: he is loyal to Hook (at least for the most part), and he can be just as nasty as the other pirates when he chooses to be, but he’s generally considered something of a dimwitted softy, both in and out of universe. He’s the primary source of comic relief in the story, and lends a human, humorous edge to Hook and his pirates who, at least in the book, are a rather deplorable bunch. As a result, he’s one of the most recognizable and frequently focused-upon characters in many adaptations, yet he’s also one that seems somewhat unsung: only a select few versions of Smee have really “made it big” and become characters everyone recognizes or knows an actor for playing. I think it’s time to change that, and give the many loyal followers of the nefarious Captain Hook their rightful dues. After all the times they’ve had to rescue him from the Crocodile, they deserve it! So, without further ado, here are My Top 10 Portrayals of Smee!

10. Christopher Gauthier, from Once Upon a Time.

9. Tony Sympson, from the 1976 TV Musical.

8. Jim Gaffigan, from Peter Pan & Wendy.

7. Ed Gilbert, from Peter Pan and the Pirates.

6. The Version from Peter and the Starcatchers. (No illustration available. Again, I’m referring to the books, not the stage play based on the first story.)

5. Michael Nostrand, from the Styne-Charlap Musical. (The most famous stage musical version of the story. Much like Paul Schoeffler as Hook and Cathy Rigby as Peter, Nostrand has been playing this part off and on for decades now.)

4. Richard Briers, from the 2003 Film.

3. Joe E. Marks, from the 1950 Musical AND the Styne-Charlap Musical. (Marks first played the role opposite Boris Karloff as Hook in a 1950 musical treatment. He reprised the role in the completely different Styne-Charlap musical and originated the part there, opposite Cyril Ritchard as Hook.)

2. The Disney Version. (Originally voiced by Bill Thompson.)

1. Bob Hoskins, from Hook AND SyFy’s Neverland. (Especially the former.)

#list #countdown #favorites #best #top 10 #smee #peter pan #j.m. barrie #literature #movies #film #animation #tv #musical theatre #portrayals #actors #acting

23 notes · View notes

ashyslashyy · 5 months

Text

theres a local con i wanna go to again this year (its the one i went to as ash a while ago) and i wanna do a new costume bc i wanna do the contest again but i am so torn between these. help.

pros & cons for each:

amanda young:

easy outfit (im gonna do red shirt & cargo pants i think)

it would be fun to make the cloak

i can make it fun & add fishnet gloves and a studded belt and other things i wear a lot

easy makeup

comfortable

very recognizable

i can go crazy with the fake blood

its gonna be partially based on one of her dbd outfits so i can have some of my dbd stuff with me and meet other dbd fans ^_^ like how i was ash last year and got a cool picture with a dwight cosplayer

least strange looking outfit if we have to go somewhere else to get food again

i could bring a little billy with me....

i have to try to make a reverse bear trap which, while fun, would be very difficult

i would get she/her'd even more than usual

gabriel may:

easy outfit that i already have basically all of

it would be a very fun stage performance cause i can walk backwards n shit

i already have a wig i could use for him

id like to make his weapon and i could get it 3d printed but also i wanna make everything myself BUT idk how i would make it

the mask for the back would once again be fun to make but idk how the fuck id do it

there might be like 2 people who know him

chop-top sawyer:

outfit that is both somewhat simple (base shirt & pants should be pretty easy to find) but allows for a lot of fun crafting and customization if i want

pretty much all his accessories i can make myself which would be super fun

another one that would be fun to do on stage for the contest. hes a freak

he has a bad in the movie that i can replicate so i have something to carry my shit

i already have a southern accent (albeit not a texan one)

somewhat recognizable??? horror fans tend to know him

id have to settle for him with the wig. sorry bill moseley but im not shaving my head bald for that

im kinda short and have way too much of a babyface to pull that off

can you imagine what my parents would say when im like "ok time to go" and i look like that

also yes i have considered herbert west too. hes fun and i already have a cosplay of him BUT that one is very hair dependent & i wanna do something that i can make props/costume pieces for

#help #cosplay poll

5 notes · View notes

cullenmcculloch2 · 2 years

Text

hermes mini kelly 8

Shop Hermès Baggage Inspired By Kylie Jenner's Mini Kelly Holding priority, Kelly was forced to take the first wave from a hungry-looking Seth. The man turning 50 in six days fell from the sky, adjusted his line, narrowly missed a lip-decapitation, and obtained blown into the channel together with his arms on his face. While Seth regrouped, Kelly locked right into a deep, peeling Backdoor drainer, zipping by way of a funnel that hid him behind a quantity of chandeliers for a number of seconds earlier than releasing him in the channel. As princess consort, she became the patron of the Red Cross of Monaco and Rainbow Coalition Children, an orphanage which was run by former dancer Josephine Baker. She hosted an annual Christmas celebration with presents for orphaned youngsters in Monaco. The Princess also served as president of the Garden Club of Monaco, and president of the organizing committee of the International Arts Foundation. S movie critic remarked on the casting, commenting on the "earthy high quality to the relationship between Stewart and Miss Kelly", as "both do a fine job of the image's acting demands". Kelly played the position of the wealthy wife of a retired skilled tennis player. Director Alfred Hitchcock, who had additionally seen her throughout her Taxi screen take a look at, would turn into certainly one of Kelly's mentors over the last years of her career. Featured in 95 Braise with Gold Hardware, a Red leather-based exterior with a Red leather-based interior including a small slip pocke... Prepare your package deal with the objects to return and embrace your bill. Select which objects you would like to return, then please observe the instructions. This is somewhat delicate jewellery pouch I truly have with a divided inside. On one facet I keep a number of playing cards and cash; on the opposite side I really have a mini hand sanitizer from Bath and Body Works, snagged from certainly one of my kids. It’s essential to notice that you shouldn't carry any coloured hand sanitizer, carry clear only, as the coloring in hand sanitizer can dye the leather-based. wikipedia handbags Shop blue mini kelly, together with other variations like purple and turquoise mini kelly. I love any variant of that green hue and It is increasingly difficult to search out handbag brands that still offer leathers with that pigmentation. Actually, I was not totally certain simply which bag had arrived; we are now in the course of the season for Autumn/Winter 2020. She is aware of my taste so I thought this may be a fun approach to do it (otherwise I will list every conceivable shade in my color vary, which – let’s be sincere – can get actually tedious for whomever has to put in writing it all down). There is no event that the Hermes Pink Mini Kelly isn’t match for. Today, classic Hermès scarves, sometimes adorned in rich colours and elaborate patterns, serve many capabilities, simply as they did again then. Finished within the ostrich leather fashion with stylish and timeless texture, you can choose from scorching Pink, purple, green and a selection of blues plus the ever-present classic black, which is a favorite for formal events. So you want a Hermes Kelly purse, however you can’t afford the five-figure value tag? That’s no problem for the Hermes Kelly model is each bit as sensational as the unique and follows the element touches the Kelly bag is legendary for. Baghunter is home to pristine and pre-loved Hermès Kelly Clutches in a variety of colors, supplies, hardware, leathers, and exotic skins. An best companion to evening put on, the Kelly Pochette provides more than an instantly recognizable design with unique skins such as crocodile usually used to supply further luxurious. Each Hermès Kelly Clutch falls beneath Baghunter’s guarantee, making certain each quality and authenticity. Kelly was born on November 12, 1929, at Hahnemann University Hospital in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to an affluent and influential household. Her father, John B. Kelly Sr., was born to Irish immigrants and received three Olympic gold medals for sculling. He also owned a profitable brickwork contracting firm that was well known on the East Coast. As Democratic nominee in the 1935 election for Mayor of Philadelphia, he lost by the closest margin in the metropolis's historical past. In later years he served on the Fairmount Park Commission and, during World War II, was appointed by President Roosevelt as National Director of Physical Fitness. His brother Walter C. Kelly was a vaudeville star, who also made films for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Paramount Pictures, and another named George was a Pulitzer Prize-winning dramatist, screenwriter, and director. The widespread thread all through these collections, however, is that every are accomplished in “Toile de Camp” canvas, a extra fibrous canvas than their different cotton based materials because of the thick weave. The Cavalcadour Kelly takes its inspiration immediately from the scarf design of the identical name by Henri d’Origny, sporting an equestrian feel that is very a lot in line with Hermès historical past. The Déchaînée Kelly is taken from sketches of horse bits, the steel piece of a bridle that slot in a horse’s mouth. Lastly, the Lettres au Carré Kelly is fashioned equally to the Lettre Kellys but carried out using the scarf design of the same name. Colloquially known as the “waffle” Kelly, these Kelly bags are a step above the rest by way of manufacturing complexity. The approach involves stretching Hermès’s heritage Box Calf leather over a steel trellis, giving the leather-based an surprising softness. To this day, the Contour line for the Kelly bag extends only to Bleu Marine Epsom exterior and Rouge H casing, and Rouge H Epsom leather-based to Bleu Marine casing. The “Picnic Kelly” first made headlines in the Hermès Spring/Summer 2011 show, actually being a reference to the basic woven picnic basket that has been around for centuries. Incorporating a bit of informal flair to the more formal Kelly design, the bag was launched in very small batches, making what may have been a ubiquitous addition to the road, a much rarer item than one would assume. skel.io replica mini kelly Each are accomplished in Hermès’s staple Barénia leather-based and common from Osier wicker. For Spring/Summer 2013, Hermès produced a line of baggage that took its inspiration from the maritime baggage tags of sea voyagers traversing the Atlantic Ocean. Done each in Birkin and Kelly types, this assortment is particularly distinct for the Kelly version.

#hermes mini kelly #mini kelly bag #mini kelly #mini kelly 2 #mini kelly ii

0 notes

thedragonhermit · 2 years

Photo

Although they don’t really share the same personality, I can’t stop thinking of Ryuji being the Bill to Makoto’s Legoshi in this au, and that thought spawned this akdjfkjahdsjkhfa Feat. Futaba because I wanted to reference the extra comic in the manga where the 701 boys are looking at an idol group and of course Legoshi thinks the small herbivore girl is the cutest, and you know Futaba would be the one to do the “who’s the cutest idol?” test on Makoto akdhjfkjhads oh and Haru has definitely developed a wolf fetish fyi

I come bearing other things as well, including this scale I wanted to draw up going into everyone’s feelings on wolves/Makoto currently, as its fairly important for upcoming character/plot stuff (note how far down Futaba is, meaning she has a long way to go before that comic could be canon)

And here’s three new designs!

I haven’t drawn him for this au until now but for those unaware, I originally made Shido a bald eagle and very recently decided to change him to a golden eagle. Why? Well, um, because they’re cooler akdfjkhasd Specifically they’re bigger and eat things other than just fish, and it just works better for what’s already been established about a certain “brown-toned raven” :) Also coffee dad is here, hopefully looking somewhat recognizable without his iconic hair/beard??? And finally a mystery lion ooOOoo (if you know who he is, please don’t spoil it for others!!!)

Oh and a small thing (hopefully me mentioning this won’t jinx me into not doing it), I’m considering writing a one-shot giving a glimpse into what the other Phantom Thieves were up to behind the scenes of The Hearts of Beasts! Especially as there’s stuff I’ve come up with for them that may not come up in the sequel fic, as both it and HoB are more focused on Makoto and Haru. So yeah, that could be showing up in the future! It'd be like the Beast Complex of this au akdjhkfjhdkjhaf

#okujima beastars au #persona 5 #beastars #makoto niijima #ryuji sakamoto #futaba sakura #masayoshi shido #sojiro sakura #my art

98 notes · View notes

astaroth1357 · 4 years

Note

Congratulations!! So happy for you!! Do you mind writing a HC for the Tiny!MC, where the brothers see Tiny!MC in trouble with some lesser demons? Like, the lesser demon is bullying them or about to hurt them, how would the brothers react? You don’t have to write this if you don’t want to tho. Again Congratulations!!!

Demon Brothers React to Tiny!MC Being Threatened by Lesser Demons

You know, my first thought was "Which one of you fuckers lost tiny!MC in the first place?? Bad demons! Worse than usual! Keep better track of your itty-bitty human!"

Pretty much uses the same continuity to the rest of my Tiny!Series, I put this somewhere during the “Lucifer, I Shrunk Myself...” portion.

Warnings: Violence, Overly Protective Behavior

Intro:

Five minutes. Their demonic guardian said they were only going to put them down for Five. Minutes. It shouldn't have been that dangerous, or even risky, because everyone should have known that tiny!MC was under their protection. Sure, an itsy-bitsy human would make a perfect snack... but who would want to provoke the wrath of the student council for no reason??… Okay so, lesser demons aren’t exactly known for their intelligence but still...

This is not going to end well...

Lucifer

Doesn’t that lowlife know who he's messing with? Lucifer almost pities him for being so stupid, really…

He brought tiny!MC out to the gardens at their request because they were getting restless being stuck in his room. It wasn't supposed to be a dangerous area so he felt fine leaving them briefly to answer a call from Diavolo. When he came back he found a lesser demon standing over them... drooling...

What came out was a rather chilling side of Lucifer normally only seen by Mammon. One where he can walk up to a person, demon form out in full, then drag them away by the collar with an eerily calm smile on his face.

Tiny!MC didn't see what Lucifer did to the demon… but they did hear Cerberus get summoned before the firstborn returned to them. Their imagination worked to fill in the blanks…

Lucifer apologized to them rather kindly (a real rarity for him) but they noticed he cut their visit short and took them back to the House quickly. They got the sense he'd rather they be safe but bored in his room than entertained but vulnerable to such a dangerous world…

Mammon

Pfffffft, Mammon is protective of MC even when they’re normal-sized. Them being tiny doesn’t change much.

He had brought them along with him for one of his gambling nights. Unfortunately, he got too absorbed in the game to notice a group of lesser demons getting closer to tiny!MC than they really should have… At least until they shouted for his help.

It's rare to see Mammon mad. It really is. But there was nothing but pure rage in his eyes when he grabbed one of the demons by the throat and sent him crashing through the roulette tables. His speed made it pretty easy for him to round up all the others that tried to scatter and he gave them a similar treatment.

After everyone was thoroughly on the ground, bleeding, he asked the MC if they were hurt. If they were, then that'd just earn the downed demons another round of his fury. No one hurts his human like that! Big or small.

He'll apologize a whole bunch for letting his guard down… but also complain a little on the way back to the House because his luck was just starting to turn around too! 😖😞

Leviathan

Direct confrontation isn’t something Levi finds himself in often… but there can be exceptions.

He and tiny!MC were in one of the few stores in town that sold otaku goods and he had set them down to do some browsing in that hyper, distracted fanboy way he gets.

A couple of lesser demons were just some other patrons who happened by them, but who could pass up such a convenient snack?

Well, tiny!MC was convenient until the guys heard what was probably the world's most unholy hissing sound coming from the other side of the room…

Levi has never claimed to be at the peak of demonic prowess or anything, but just this once he was at their defense at a speed he’s never pulled off before. In practically a blink of an eye, he has one asshole lifted by the collar and the other getting crushed by his tail. It wasn't a pretty sight...

After the threat was dealt with, he snapped right back into the same ol'Levi like nothing ever happened, though. Blubbering apologies and frantically checking to be sure they were unharmed... What a somewhat terrifying sweetheart. 🤭

He pretty much refused to take them anywhere again until they were back to normal. Who needs the real world anyway?? His room is the only place they ever need to be!

Satan

You know this is exactly why he kept them so close in the first place...

Satan had to retrieve a book from the highest shelf in the RAD library so he set tiny!MC down in order to climb the ladder. A small gang of lesser demons decided to strike while he was up there browsing...

When he slid back down and turned to see the demons had surrounded the table that he left tiny!MC at, his shout alone was powerful enough to rattle the shelves behind him...

Needless to say, the Avatar of Wrath made very short work of the threat. And a library ladder can make a surprisingly versatile weapon if you put it in the hands of someone pissed enough to use it... and strong enough to rip it off its sliding track… What was it? Metal? Steel? Eh, not strong enough to stop an angry Satan anyway.

After the dust settled, he double-checked to be sure the MC was okay and apologized for being so careless... But they could tell he was still trying his best to regain his composure post berserker freakout. Someone's going to have to nurse those bloody knuckles for him later...

His overprotective instincts tripled afterward. If you think that Satan was ever going to put them down again then that’s a fantasy. Between the lesser demons and that sly bastard Solomon, tiny!MC was never leaving his hand at RAD again. Period.

Asmodeus

Excuse me?? Some lesser demon was doing what now?! Oh HELL no!! Not to his adorable tiny!MC!!

Asmo was shopping with tiny!MC and set them down outside a dressing room while he tried on a cute outfit. Apparently, a lesser demon was doing the same in the stall next to him and came out to find a little human waiting patiently outside… powerless… vulnerable… and tasty!

Asmo opened the door right as the demon picked tiny!MC up to have a bite. The fifthborn's scream shattered all the mirrors in the store like he was some kind of infuriated opera singer then he ripped the demon a very verbal (and physical) new one...

Once the attacker was pretty much decimated, Asmo tended to the MC like they'd just gotten dragged through an active war zone. He asked them, "Are you okay?!" so many times that the words "I’m fine" pretty much lost all meaning...

The sheer carnage left the store employees too damn petrified to ask him to leave so he bought the (now ruined) outfit he had on and took them right home. His sweet tiny!MC was definitely getting a spa treatment that night as an apology… Poor thing...

Beelzebub

Apparently, some people just want to go bear poking for fun...

He and tiny!MC were outside a food stall and he had set them down to go wait in line. In hindsight, he probably should have known the meals would attract other hungry demons… ones that wouldn't mind a free snack… And tiny!MC got cornered pretty quickly while his back was turned.

Those demons might have thought twice about their plan, though, if they had known Beel would attack them with the entire stall itself. 😰

Poor tiny!MC, by some miracle, barely got out of the way of the wooden structure crashing down on top of their attackers as if dropped by the heavens in a fit of rage... Those not crushed under the wreckage got squashed under Beel's fists...

In the aftermath, Beel was barely recognizable when he picked them back up, holding his bitty human so close that they might have suffocated against his chest. Even the stall's very upset owner just backed away from him after getting a ferocious snarl…

It took him a couple hours to calm back down… Then a couple hundred apologies to Lucifer who has to foot the bill for that guy's ruined livelihood… But hey, no one would ever be dumb enough to touch his tiny!MC again.

Belphegor

Heeeey! Picking on tiny!MC is his thing! Like he’s going to let anyone else give them any grief…

Belphie likes to hide on the roof of RAD sometimes to take a midday nap so he thought it would be funny to hide tiny!MC from the others by taking them with him one afternoon. Both were peacefully napping when a lesser demon apparently had the same idea and found them.

Belphie woke up when he heard their distressed cries and saw the demon trying to carry tiny!MC away... Oh, he wasn't having that.

Belphie shot up and snapped the scumbag's wrist to get tiny!MC free before he effortlessly sent him flying over the edge in one fell swoop. Give this to the Avatar of Sloth, when he does get moving he’s pretty efficient.

The demon's fall got cushioned by a grove of trees below, which earned Belphie a slightly less severe lecture from Lucifer. He did, however, get a pretty rough one from Satan anyway because he took the MC like that in the first place…

Beel took custody of tiny!MC yet again but even he was grateful to his twin for protecting their little human. Tiny!MC noticed Belphie started sleeping a little lighter when he knew they were around, but he'd deny that any supposed “guilt” had anything to do with it… Whatever he says, I guess. 🙄

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

963 notes · View notes

bubbleteaa · 4 years

Text

Ten Bouquets [Miya Osamu x Reader]

art made by @sugawaras! please support their work<3

ten bouquets;; pairing: miya osamu x gn!reader fandom: haikyuu!! genres: pure fluff!! word count: 2.5K this is a gift for @writeiolite !! Happy birthday baby<3 I hope you had a great day, thank you so much for all the work you make for the fandom and for being an amazing person! I honestly simp for your works and for you c: I hope you like this, love you! <3

Summary: You teach him how much you love him through bouquets.

*. : ｡✿ * ﾟ * .: ｡ ✿ * ﾟ * . : ｡ ✿ *

First Bouquet

Gloxinia [Love at first sight]

There is something amazing in looks. The deepness in their eyes, how the eyelashes that protect the orb of their eyes beat from top to bottom in blinks. The way that their pupils scan something they are glaring at, how those irises quench your loneliness. It is something so wonderful that it’s impossible not to love those brown eyes immediately.

You don’t understand why you fell in love with the owner of Onigiri Miya while you were the owner of “L/N’s flower service”. You just do. The first day you arrive to the plaza, you meet his eyes and you can’t stop thinking on how you would love to spy in the softness of his ogle.

This, is the first time, actually, that you make a bouquet for someone that provokes your heart beat so fast by only his sight. It takes you all night to make a sweet, beautiful bouquet loaded of shy pinky flowers. Flowers then mean exactly what you feel: “Love at first sight”.

Next day, you meet him again, obviously. The blush that creeps your cheeks is buried in the smile that he gives to you. He stares at your face, and then, he just peeks the flowers with a soft, caring smile.

The way that your hands extends the object in your hands is quite pretty, for him. You look foolishly beautiful being just as shy near him.

It enamores him, actually.

“I hope we can get along, Miya-san”

He smiles at you, receiving the gift.

“I know we will, L/N-san”

Second Bouquet

Zinnia; yellow [daily remembrance]

“Remember to close the door, Miya-san”

Daily talks in a young business person, includes the thread of stress and forgetness. With that said, Miya Osamu is one of the person’s that, even as serious as he is, can forget simple things in moments full of stress. Also, mainly to talk about how funny it is to start the days with the same oddly routine. Alarm at 4:30 a.m., (5 a.m., if you are really quick), showering, exercising, getting ready and grabbed some cheap homemade coffee to start the day.

Adult life can hit different, because it means you stop being a kid. It means you have your own bills and you have to rely on work to have a “decent” life.

Then, you are there again, with a bouquet of yellow-colored zinnias, waving at him with a grateful smile. The sun is burning between the clouds of a new day with the same routine. The same sun is glowering at the floweret in your arms.

“Who is that for, uhm?” he teases, looking at you with a small, yet recognizable bliss.

“Dunno, I think it was for Semi-san”

“I think it is actually for me” he finiquitates, smiling when you nod. He walks towards you, looking at you in your beautiful e/c eyes.

The sun and the flowers are opaqueted by your own shine. You gave him the flowers and kept opening your own store. He just laughs at your clear blush.

“Remember to do the laundry, L/N-san” he chuckles, looking at you when both just were opening your locals at 6:00 a.m., two hours earlier “And to pay your cable bill”

“Dang it, I forgot about the existence of that thing” you hiss, looking at him with a smile. By the moment you open the door properly, you call him one more time “Miya-san?”

“Uhm?”

“Remember to smile”

Third Bouquet

Gardenias; [you are lovely, secret love]

It happens during a charity event on your floor. You are giving the little kids bouquets of rosebuds with a smile while Osamu is giving out tons of onigiris he made at 2:00 a.m. And yes, you both, awkwardly met at that hour.

“Isn’t it to early, L/N-san?” he is actually concerned. You were always so clumsy for your own safety “What are you doing here?”

“Have to do the bouquets, uh. And you, Miya-san?”

“Onigiris” is his simple response, staring at how you yawned while you open the door of your flower shop “Come do the bouquets here”

Finding comfort in an adult's life is not easy. Where you expect to find it is on your pillow at eleven o'clock, just arriving from work. But, the truth, comfort, security and wonder in the form of affection, is having another person who wants to spend the concintinio with you. It is about the feeling of warmth and a loveable way of not being tired of caring for that person, as well as seeing that person and talking with that person.

You nod in affirmation with a smile.

Early that morning, a domestic yet marvelous atmosphere filled the restaurant.

Now, by 3:30 p.m., the same male that offered you to pass time with him is currently drinking apple juice in a bank near his local. You meet his optic, and you can’t help but smile while you finish the bouquet with white petals ornamenting a lot of, - some kinda mess? But, love is a mess that you are willing to be part of.

He shakes his head with a noticeable smile when you come sit by his side. The bouquet resembling true to his meaning while he just stares at the makeshift bouquet of gardenias that, even looking somewhat messy, it looked just as beautiful as the others you had made all day.

“Is it just me or does that seem like, pretty?” he smiles at you, at the same time you put the bouquet by his side “You really have a gift, eh”

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, clearly embarrassed of his compliment “Your onigiris were good”

“Just good, L/N-chan?” he laughs when you blush at his words. It is a really good feeling to be the reason of that rosy pink flush appearing on your face.

“Stop it, Samu”

He opens his eyes, without pause, smiling. It is really nice to have someone else.

To have you.

Fourth Bouquet

Aster; [daintiness, symbol of love]

Having time for yourself is really hard by that time. Is really hard because your “time” belongs to your dream. You don’t regret it though. It is amazing to be part of something as wonderful and as yours like the flower shop you own.

It is beautiful as well because you enjoy seeing people coming and asking you about the meaning; you love what you do. You love to be part of people's happiness and help them to fulfill their goals.

That’s why, the same day that Osamu looks at you and asks you about your personal life, you can’t stop thinking about being part of his.

“I mean, I have some time for myself, on sundays” he says, preparing you some breakfast. Now that is part of your routine; you get up earlier, though. But you enjoy it. “You should have some time for yourself as well”

“No, I’m fineeee” you pout your mouth and he shakes his head raising a brow “Okay, don’t look at me like that,” you drawl on, pouting at him.

“Let’s go out next Sunday”

It seems so unreal. The time stops while he keeps looking at you with his damn, deep beautiful eyes.

It seems so unreal, and yet you feel it.

“Where?” you finally ask, a smile creeping from ear to ear. You can’t hide your happiness “I mean, I have to check my schedule-”

He laughs at your words. And you are happy.

So happy that you interrupt him at 12:00 p.m., with a big aster bouquet, the purple flowers shivering with excitement. A small note inside between your last adorn.

“I will love to go out with you, Osamu”

Fifth Bouquet

Camellias; pink [longing for you], red [you are the flame in my heart], white [You are adorable]

Miya’s hands weren’t soft. Actually, those big hard working hands were scratchy. You never minded, though. Osamu’s hands were Osamu’s hands; so it didn’t matter if his hands were soft, scratchy or regular. The only thing that you cared about was to hold those palms in yours.

Yours weren’t exactly soft as well, in fact. Sometimes, you pinched your own hands doing your bouquets. Same bouquets that carried stories, feelings and memories.

The bouquets that you were giving to him.

“You know you don’t need keep bringing me these bouquets” his lips moved smoothly at your sight. He was really handsome.

Since high school, you hadn't been out on a date, much less given time to think about yourself. You couldn't help but feel grateful that he was sharing his precious time with you.

“I can’t help it” you answer.

He smiles before taking the flowers and taking your hand after.

You don’t need soft hands to melt someone. You just need to care about them.

“You are really cute”

Sixth Bouquet

Myrtle; [love]

The sound of the wind near the October storms is refreshing. You cannot deny that you fall in love with cold weather whenever you knock on your door. You fall in love with the existing feeling of heat that a memory, situation or person can provide.

Especially, that one special person.

For this reason, when you arrive at their local, you cannot help but feel the heat that the environment emanates.

He looks at you from the other side of the store with a warm smile, your hair is being lit by the monotonous light of the store. In your hands hang the small arrangements of myrtles that emancipate the birth of something else.

And he smiles at you, noticing.

Seventh Bouquet

Salvia; [forever mine]

It is the first time that he hugs you. In your shop.

"Are you going to close already?"

"Yes, I have to go do some things" your voice sounds sweeter to him at that moment. And, and really feel something, feel a force that calls you, that draws you to you like a magnet.

"... And you should go too, it seems like it's going to rain-"

"Y/N,"

You look at him, and your gaze connects with a softness in his that you would long for all your life. Your heart weighs on your chest, feeling the the air between you becomes closer and closer.

And it happens.

His big arms, workers join your figure and you feel warm. A warmth that runs from head to toe. A warmth that mixes with beautiful salvias that you gave him earlier.

“Let me drive you home”

“You are gonna get sick, Osamu”

He smiles at you and shakes his head.

“I never get sick”

Eight Bouquet

Carnations; [I miss you]

He doesn’t listen to you, and he gets sick.

You feel lonely those five days that go by without him. His employees take care of the business as it should be, but it feels very lonely not to have it in the morning, making you breakfast -onigiri-. Or touching your hands after trying hard making bouquets. Or observing his eyes, which you love so much.

It feels sad, to tell the truth. Because, you would like to give him all your love in those five days you spend without him. You want to look for him and hug him again, you want to have him in your arms again.

You feel so alone, that you end up sending a bouquet of carnations to his address, with a little note.

"This happened to you for being a fool, fool"

The note responds when he returns the following week, with a smile.

"Did you miss me, silly?"

You did.

Ninth Bouquet

Daffodils; [new beginnings]

You were sitting next to him, watching a movie on a Sunday in November. One of his arms was covering your shoulders as he carefully brings you close to his chest. The Japanese dubbing of the film is as annoying as the fact that you are falling asleep because of how boring it is.

Osamu looks at you and raises an eyebrow; ignoring the fact that you are falling asleep, you stare at him taking your chin and guiding his face close to yours. Your sleeping eyes widen in amazement at his action and a crimson blush begins to color in your facial expression.

"Now you are paying attention" his hoarse voice was drawn in a curvilinear towards your lips; It was like a prayer heard by the gods. You feel the warmth of his mouth flood with yours, trembling hands caress his gray hair and he smiles in the middle of the kiss "You really are something else, Y/N"

"What?"

"My sweet daffodil, my new beginning"

His words sow a feeling of excitement and nervousness within you. You laugh softly when you notice that he has done a little research and you kiss his lips again with immense softness.

"I love you"

“I love you too, flower girl”

Needless to say, next morning, you gave him another bouquet. With smalls and refreshing daffodils.

Your new beginning, your Osamu.

Tenth Bouquet

Red rose; [pure true love]

His love for you is so great that he makes you a bouquet of flowers this time.

He took advantage of the fact that you were doing a workshop on how to make them, he came to your florist and began to observe how you dedicated yourself to creating the beautiful works of art and immortalizing it in the form of bouquets. He was always amazed at you. Your courage, your heart, everything. You were something else.

And now you were his something else.

When it was all over, it was obvious that you were very tired. He looked at the bouquet of roses he had made for you and then turned his gaze to your relaxed figure, who was lying on your sofa.

It was not easy to say “I love you”, but feeling it was much more difficult. However, saying “I love you” was like saying "good morning" for him when it came to you; it was a need he had. It was something he was enjoying at his best.

In the months that have passed since you opened your business, he has only received by your part obvious messages of love in the form of flowers. And it's time for him to return them to you.

"Oi, Y / N"

"Osamu?"

"I love you"

Your eyes meet his as he extends the bouquet to you. A beautiful smile forms on your lips as you take it and smell it fondly.

His lips bristle at your skin when you feel the contact against your cheek. It's too much, and you love the fact that it's too much.

"I love you too, Osamu"

He smiles before taking your face with his hands and kissing your lips properly.

"Thank you for all the bouquets, my flower."

｡･:*˚:✧｡ C h e e s e c u l t : @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma @kawanisshi @milkandc00kiez @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq @badlywritten-hq @mochibeaa @oinkanna @chxrry-wxne @spudicide @airybby @asranomical @karmasuna

｡･:*˚:✧｡ G e n e r a l m a s t e r l i s t: @trashys-things @softforshigi @groundzeroagency @edensxgarden @pm4gal @yams046 @thatfanfictionwriter

261 notes · View notes

ziracona · 3 years

Note

Do you have any headcanons about survivors dealing with stress through bad habits? Kinda like how Bill is always smoking a cig, Feng drinking till passing out, David doing both and etc

Some, for sure. TW for mentions of multiple addictive or self harming behaviors in the rest of this post.

In their original models, Nea has what appears to be cutting scars on her arm, and Meg does /not/ have it in her default/arrival skin, but does in her secondaries, so I have always taken that to mean Nea cut before arriving in the realm, and Meg did not, but began and did for some time as a coping mechanism, especially when she was a new survivor.

If there was readily available alcohol, Feng would definitely be severely tempted to drink, and would any time she had a truly awful trial, since it was how she tried to cope before. Much more healthily, I think she spends hours strategising for trials to help her rationalize and get a grip and the illusion of some amount of control over her situation too.

Since in all versions of Halloween where Laurie reaches adulthood, she becomes an alcoholic, I assume she has an /intensely/ strong biological predisposition for that, and probably would drink if it was available.

If they had cigarettes, or like, Bill comes with a self-refreshing supply to share, probably David, Tapp, Ash, Bill, and Nea would share those. Jane might too, but I also think she’d try /not/ to, and might successfully just cope by doing ridiculous amounts of caffeine.

I think Jeff copes healthily by doing his art. Nea does this some too. Claudette gardens, and cooks. Quentin prays and strategises. (Wow Quentin, my boy, you made a healthy way of doing X list for once I am so proud of you disaster boy). Ace jokes and does something that relaxes him. But sometimes he does something impulsive and dumb that is careless enough it burns him—he’s a lot better about that in the realm than before, actually, because here he has so many kids to look out for. Adam writes, and tries to fulfil little tasks like making tea or fixing a tool to occupy his focus when he is having a really rough time, and copes very well usually.

I think Dwight is eternally put off of alcohol after how he got taken, and if he has bad coping habits, it’s probably through less common self-harm methods, like jamming himself in the leg repeatedly with a pencil while saying awful things to himself in his head. Stuff that would hurt but not be recognizable and would be stuff he could go ‘What? No. It’s not self-harming. Who ever heard of people doing X as a thing?’ to make himself not think hard about what he’s doing. The poor guy is under a lot of stress and I would not be surprised if he does that and/or intentionally holds onto a mug too hot so it burns him, etc. That kind of thing.

I think Jake and Kate both self-isolate (ahhh shit so does Quentin, back off the good coping habits list son) a lot when trying to cope. Kate will be bubbly and happy around others, but go somewhere private to shut down and fall apart and won’t ask for help. Jake cuts out everything including actually taking time to think and feel and process rationally when it gets really bad and just totally closes off and comes off standoffish and cold. If he is /really/ upset he will also hit things alone, like trees, which fucks up his knuckles.

I think Yui similarly beats on inanimate objects until it hurts her sometimes. Zarina copes pretty well but sometimes she will write or say or internally monologue intensely hurtful and hateful things at herself or herself and other people/the rest of the world that are awful enough it’s really really bad for her mental health and she can spiral. Cheryl tries to cope by distracting herself if she can, which can be fine if she picks a good distraction, and bad if she picks like, alcohol that week. Does better than you’d think considering how much trauma the poor kid carries around even pre-realm. I think Felix would be super tempted to smoke but might hold out for his kid, since it’s not an addiction he wants to take back with him, and he knows if he started he would /not/ do it casually there. Same with alcohol. I just see him as both /super/ inclined towards addictive behavior, and aware of it so working to deal. Copes somewhat unhealthily by trying to just pass out and sleep through it, which is what Cheryl and Quentin /want/ badly to do bc of their personalities, but are both afraid to try. Élodie would drink if she could or take anything that could take the edge off I think. She is incredibly stressed and predisposed for stressing after the life she lived. Probably just develops nervous ticks fiddling with stuff in the absence of anything to dull the pain. Uhhhh, I forgot about Nancy and Steve. I always forget they’re /in/ DbD. I think if Nancy had a bad coping habit, she would either drink or hit things or depression nap. Steve would self-isolate and deprive himself of good things or comfort or community as punishment for perceived failings.

For most of the charcaters, this isn’t something I have thought a whole lot about, so I don’t have super well-founded or in depth hcs on this for most of them on this? But here’s what I got. 👈👈😎 Mostly I think once they have a well established group, they do a good job of supporting each other and coping in general and finding healthier outlets, and I am super sad and distressed for them and the issues they do have TuT.

#ask #anonymous #sorry these are not very in depth or cemented. more like impressions. I just usually write the survivors post-forming a community and having #better methods. so I haven’t thought about this a ton #it’s very sad though #dead by daylight

26 notes · View notes

anari3l · 4 years

Text

stirrings

WORDS: 2249 /// PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Reader (Harlow as surname) /// Part of ongoing fic, Humors of Whiskey /// also posted on AO3

Humors of Whiskey [1] [2] [3] /// Wildflowers [1] [2]

“Barnaby.”

The dappled grey Norfolk Roadster whickered, bobbing his head up and down as you said the name, a large smile on your face.

“Barnaby.” Arthur’s voice held a hint of amusement, almost a laugh, as he repeated the name. The stablehand smiled brightly, leading the horse towards the center of the stable.

“I like it,” you hummed, taking the reins from the stable hand and leading your brand new horse out to the sunny Valentine street. “Doesn’t he look like a Barnaby?”

“If y’say so,” Arthur hummed, cigarette between his lips.

“Take care now!” the stablehand bidded as you left the building.

The Norfolk had put you back almost $200. Plus a brand new saddle, blanket, tack, and saddlebags. You had lost the saddle, and all the gear as well when you left Eugene, nursing a dislocated shoulder on the back of Arthur’s horse, and since then, had been borrowing horses from the camp or riding with Arthur into town when needed. You missed the freedom of having your own horse, however. Since you had turned sixteen, you had always had your own horse to care for.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you started, petting your hand along Barnaby’s neck.

“Quit thankin’ me. I ain’t done nothin’.”

You smiled, running your hand over Barnaby’s neck some more, fingers toying with his long mane. “You helped me, patched me up when I hurt my shoulder, took care of Eugene … brought me into town, so I could buy a horse. You’ve helped plenty.”

“Agh, that ain’t worth thankin’ me for,” he groaned, running a hand up into his hair as he removed his hat.

You sighed, pulling yourself into your saddle, adjusting the skirt you wore as you settled, reins in hand. “When are you gonna realize you’re a good man, Arthur. I mean, even as kids you always kicked yourself.”

“Maybe one day.”

He looked away, down to his hands holding the reins as Calliope shifted beneath him, hoofing at the dirt. You could see the self deprecation oozing off his shoulders as he sat in the saddle.

“One day, I’ll make you realize it,” you groaned, kicking Barnaby into a trot. “I’ll meet ya back at camp.”

***

“Miss Harlow!”

You jumped, shifting to lean against your arm as you looked over your shoulder. You had been quietly reading a book against a tree, Jack sitting beside you making flower chains. Miss Grimshaw was striding forward, the stern look of your mother figure ever recognizable. She rarely used your name; you had grown used to her calling you dear or dearie, and the mere sound of it always had you at attention.

“Yes, Miss Grimshaw?”

The stern gaze lessened, her features softening as she neared, looking down to you with a small smile. “Dutch wants to speak with you, dear,” she smiled, running a hand over Jack’s hair as he held a flower chain up to her.

“Thank you, Mister Marston,” she smiled, bending at the waist to accept the gift.

“Miss Harlow’s got one too!” Jack smiled. “And I made one for momma!”

“Go on, then,” you smiled, urging the child in the direction of camp. “Your momma’s gonna love it.”

You rose to your feet, watching Jack run off to Abigail as Miss Grimshaw tutted. “Off with you, now,” she urged.

You smiled, and headed for Dutch’s tent. Arthur, Bill, and Charles were sitting around outside, listening as Dutch spoke, cigar in hand.

“Mornin’ boys,” you smiled, folding the book into your hands as you stepped up.

“Ah, our little doe, Miss Harlow,” Dutch smiled. “The mastermind for this robbery!”

“You found this out?” Bill asked a bit incredulously. You had grown used to the men viewing you as nothing more than a wash maid over the years. Dutch knew better. You may have worn a skirt, but you were just as valuable as an enforcer and scout as Arthur and Charles.

“Yes I did,” you hummed, jutting your chin up. “Ready to head out?”

“You would be correct, dear,” Dutch smiled. “Good luck. I trust you can handle these men.”

Charles and Arthur smirked as they stood, starting for their horses. You met Bill’s eyes, smiling as you stepped past, setting your book on the camp table. “Of course I can, Dutch!” you smiled back to the gang leader. “Keep up, Williamson!”

Arthur helped you onto his horse, settling you behind him on the saddle. “So, how do you want to play this?”

You glanced over to Charles and Bill. “The man who gave me the information said it’d be guarded pretty well,” you started. “I’ll play the damsel, get them to stop, and you three take out the guards.”

“How much is supposed to be on this coach?” Bill asked over his shoulder.

“It’s payroll for some shipping company in Saint Denis,” you answered. “Driving through the Heartlands to Lemoyne. From the sounds of it: a lot. Should be able to catch it just over the state line.”

“When the shootin’ starts --” Arthur started.

“Run for cover. I know,” you interjected with a scoff. “This ain’t my first robbery, Arthur.”

You felt him chuckle, your hands placed on his sides to steady you in the saddle. “No, it ain’t.”

The hill you stopped on overlooked a main road, the Lemoyne state sign off to your left. You dropped from Arthur’s horse, stepping up to the ridge as you looked up the road. “Alright, boys, they’re comin’ through,” you hummed, turning and smiling to the men. “Wish me luck!”

***

“I got a girl in Berryville! Can’t be screwed cuz she’s too damn ill! I don’t go down there no more. There’s a blue horse laying outside her door!”

You smiled brightly, leaning into Karen’s side as the two of you sat on the log in front of the fire, both of you leaning heavily against the other, a bottle of whiskey being passed between the two of you. Your voices were loud enough to be heard throughout camp, but somehow, even in the drunken haze the two of you had fallen into, the others hadn’t told you to shut the hell up. Yet.

You and the boys had returned that afternoon after robbing the payroll stage, pockets full and a smile gracing Bill Williamson’s face as he admitted you did a good job.

It was Karen’s bright idea to drink and have fun. It had been a while, and you agreed it had to help lift the camp’s spirits somewhat, especially when Trelawney’s information about Sean being moved by bounty hunters had entered the camp gossip stream earlier that day.

“No, no!” you laughed, waving a hand in front of your face as you screwed up the line, laughing raucously with Karen. “I got a girl in Berryville!”

“Can’t get it in cuz she won’t stay still!” Karen finished before taking another deep swig of whiskey.

Arthur sighed, leaning on his elbows at the wooden table. The poker game had dissolved almost an hour ago, cards and chips stowed away. Dutch’s tent had been closed, but the lamp was still lit, and those still awake lazed around the fires, watching the stars. “Shut them up, please,” John sighed as he landed in the seat beside Arthur.

“Give it a try,” Arthur smirked, turning from watching your duet with Karen. “You and I both know that bottle will be thrown at our heads.”

“It’s one in the mornin’,” John groaned, leaning against the table.

Arthur groaned, pushing from the table with an agreeing nod. “Alright, alright,” he waved Marston off as he stood.

You were practically laying against Karen’s shoulder, watching the dying fire as you sang mismatched verses of O, Mollie.

“They say I drink whiskey, my money’s my own! And them that don’t like me can leave me alone … ” You laughed, hiccupping into your hand as Karen hummed along.

“Alright, ladies,” Arthur’s voice startled you as he stepped up, reaching for the bottle of whiskey in your hand. “It’s gettin’ real late.”

“I’ll eat when I’m hungry,” you carried on, a large smile on your face, hand tightening on the bottle of whiskey as he tried to take it away. “I’ll drink when I’m dry! And when I get thirsty ... “ you trailed off, watching as Arthur successfully pried the bottle from your hand and dropped it to the ground. “I’ll … I … forgot the words ...”

Arthur laughed, ducking his head with a small shake of disbelief as he watched you look around your seat for something your drunken brain made up. Karen hiccupped beside you, pushing to her feet. “Goodnight, Mister Morgan!” she smiled, voice much louder than normal, as she leaned into his side and bopped her finger to his nose. “Goodnight!”

Arthur caught her around the waist as she stepped by, guiding her until she started to walk towards her tent. “Alright, come on,” he started, reaching down for your arm.

You stumbled as you got to your feet, leaning against his chest with a hand laid over his suspender strap. “I think … I’m drunk,” you laughed, pushing off of Arthur as you tried to step away.

Arthur’s arm wrapped around you. “Again,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Ain’t ever gon’ be surprised when the two of ya are together. Drinkin’ the camp dry.”

You laughed, turning to face him as he neared, wrapping his arm around your middle. “You should join us sometime, Arthur!” you started, jabbing your index finger into his chest to punctuate your words. “Have some fun! Stop fretting over robberies … and Dutch’s words … and us girls.”

“I don’t fret,” Arthur argued. “But you are sloshed, sweetheart. Time for bed.”

You pouted, stumbling as you stepped away from Arthur. “Rrriiiigggghhhttt,” you droned, waving a hand in the air as you walked. “Frettin’ over me … runnin’ after Mary … helpin’ raise Jack … always frettin’.”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as he watched you. Stumbling forward, hand landing against the bark of the large oak tree, you bent over at the waist, vomiting up your stomach contents into the dirt.

“Alright, that’s it,” he sighed, stepping up and pulling your hair out of the way. “Ya need t’ sleep. And eat. Come on.”

“See,” you started, wiping your chin on your sleeve. “You’re frettin’ again.”

“Sure.”

He guided you to your tent, making you sit down on the edge of your cot before standing and producing a chunk of bread from his satchel, wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief. “Eat.” He didn’t order, but even in your drunken haze, you could hear the sternness in his tone; the caring nature that was Arthur Morgan. “You’re gonna have a hell of a headache in the mornin’.”

You picked at the bread, chewing on it slowly as you sat on your cot, head already pounding. “I … heard ya saw her … Mary … in town.”

Arthur nodded, standing at the opening of your tent. “Yeah, I did,” he answered. “And her brother, Jamie.”

“She was always nice,” you hummed, tossing the half eaten chunk of bread onto the small wooden crate acting as a table and reaching for your small pillow.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Get some sleep,” he added after a moment, pulling the blanket over your shoulder as you slumped onto your pillow, snores almost immediately filling the silence of the tent.

***

“Son of a bitch,” you groaned, leaning bodily against the support pole of your tent.

Arthur glanced up from his spot by the cookfire, bending at his waist to pour himself a cup of coffee. You stood against your tent, hand placed over your eyes as the morning sunlight hit you. Your hair and clothing was disheveled from a drunken sleep, and the pounding in your head was worse than Uncle’s snoring.

“Mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” Arthur smiled, stepping up and holding out his coffee to you.

“Shut up, Arthur,” you groaned, taking the cup.

“Strauss should have some tonic for that headache o’ yours. Or I could go see if Pearson’s got any fresh offal for ya …”

At your visible retch, Arthur chuckled and trailed off. You covered your mouth, wiping the coffee from your lip with the back of your hand before looking up to glare at the man in front of you.

“You’re mean.”

He shrugged, taking the now empty cup from you. “Could say I’m frettin’ over ya ‘cause you drank Uncle under the table last night.”

You groaned, shoving the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Shut up, Arthur.”

He chuckled heartily, relaxing back as he hooked his thumbs into his belt. “I’m sure it’ll happen again,” he smirked, nodding to the main campfire where Karen sat with Javier and John. “We’re headin’ out to find Sean.”

You managed to chuckle, squinting up at him in the morning sun. “He’ll have the entire camp drunk if you bring him back.”

“Almost a guarantee,” Arthur smirked.

You stepped past him, patting a hand against his shoulder. “You’re frettin’ over us all again,” you mumbled as you stepped past him.

“Only you,” he countered. “Better eat something for that hangover.”

“I know,” you groaned. “I’ve been drunk before.”

“It ain’t a camp secret, sweetheart.”

You looked up to him, a small smile lighting your face. “You’re mean,” you repeated, with a small chuckle. “But you’re … right. I guess. Go get Sean back, Mister Morgan. Fret over someone else for a bit.”

“Will do,” he smiled.

#arthur morgan x reader #humors of whiskey #rdr2 fanfic

72 notes · View notes

carewyncromwell · 4 years

Text

((Previously on “Quest for the Quidditch Cup”...))

“...sure we should let her?”

“She said she didn’t blame Rath for what happened...”

“Yeah, but given their history, it’s a gamble. There’s still a 41% chance it could go badly.”

“Andre can break them up, if there’s trouble. He’s always had a level head.”

“Right. More importantly, Skye asked us to trust her, and we agreed. How awful would we be, to turn against her after that?”

Carewyn only partially made out the voices talking over her. Some were directly above her, while others were a ways away -- yet her mind was moving so slowly that she had trouble processing what they were saying and who was even speaking at all.

She grunted. Her chest felt so heavy and sore...

The voices had all abruptly hushed. Carewyn, however, couldn’t gather enough breath to speak, let alone harness the energy needed to open her eyes. Instead she tried to focus. What happened? Why was she hurting so much...?

The voices overhead had started talking again.

“...She sounds like she’s in so much pain...”

That voice sounded familiar -- was it Barnaby?

“Something’s wrong,” mumbled a strange, shaking voice Carewyn couldn’t place. “I’ll get Chiara, she needs to -- ”

“It’s okay,” another voice -- Night’s? -- cut off the anxious one with an almost forceful attempt at soothing. “Chiara said she’ll be okay.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong,” the voice persisted. The misty affect of the voice sounded somewhat familiar, but it sounded so strained and tense -- like the person was having trouble not hyperventilating. “She sounds like she’s gotten worse -- we have to go get Chiara right now -- ”

“She’s made sounds like that in her sleep off and on for the last hour,” said another forcefully level voice -- Talbott. He sounded closer, but his voice came from the opposite side of her. “It’s just proof her body’s trying to heal. Calm down.”

Someone exhaled very shakily. After a few seconds, there was a movement of springs, like someone getting up from the bed, and a clapping of boots on a tile floor.

“Orion?” said Kaylisa’s voice in concern.

The clapping steps came to a stop. Someone inhaled and exhaled slowly, taking deep, calming breaths.

Another person seemed to have gotten up from the bed and took some steps, but the oddly tense, misty voice spoke abruptly.

“I’m all right. ...Just...give me some space. Please.”

There was a silence. Then the footsteps retreated and the mattress springs of a bed squeaked again, signalling the person had sat back down.

Carewyn’s brain was slowly, slowly starting to process again. Orion was...worried? Why was he worried?

The match was coming back into focus -- Kaylisa had been going for the Snitch -- and she stupidly threw herself in front of Rath’s Bludger...

“I admit, I didn’t think Rath and the Ravenclaws would stop by,” said Charlie’s voice. He sounded close too...was that him, holding her hand? “I mean, sure, none of them came inside except for Andre, but...well...”

“...They did just lose the Quidditch Final,” finished Tonks.

“They should come, considering it’s their fault Carewyn’s like this,” muttered Ben, his voice dripping with resentment.

“Ben, don’t say that!” said Penny.

“Carewyn Cromwell chose to put herself between Rath’s Bludger and Kaylisa,” said Tulip’s voice reproachfully. “Rath didn’t aim at her on purpose.”

“I don’t blame the Ravenclaws,” said Cara firmly. “None of us do.”

“And you know Carey wouldn’t either.”

‘Bill...?’

What was he doing there? He sounded like he was right beside her...

“As she shouldn’t.”

The misty, anxious voice had spoken again, this time sounding much more level. It was much more recognizable now as Orion’s.

“The Ravenclaws are not to blame. I am.”

“Orion -- ”

“I am team Captain,” Orion cut Night off cleanly. “Therefore I am responsible, if something goes wrong. Before the match, I told our team that we must not let anything stand in our way of victory. With how much fire Carewyn felt to fight for us...for our dream...it’s little wonder she took my words to heart.”

His voice softened to a very detached, miserable whisper.

“...I got exactly what I asked for.”

“You know full well that Carewyn herself would disagree,” said Murphy’s voice sharply. “100%.”

“Uh...”

Carewyn struggled to talk, but her voice came out as a wheeze. Everyone abruptly silenced again.

“Carewyn?”

“Carey?”

Carewyn slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was immediately engulfed in white as she struggled to adjust to the brightness of the room. There were several shadows over her head -- a few dressed in black, gray and white, another in burgundy --

“Of...” she tried again to talk, but it was a struggle. It felt like her chest was being squeezed like an accordion.

She blinked two -- three times -- trying to make out the worried faces gathered around her bed.

Charlie was holding her hand...and Bill was right next to her, sitting on the bed with his arm wrapped around the bed frame so that he was over her head. Penny had just rushed up between the two Weasley boys, sliding between them so she could look down at Carewyn. Talbott and Ben were both standing near the foot of her bed...and just beyond the bed about four feet away stood Orion. He stood much the way he would balance on his broom, with his hands clasped in front of him, but his face was as white as a sheet and his dark eyes were very wide upon Carewyn’s face.

“Of...” Carewyn rasped, her mouth spreading into a weak attempt at a smile, “...course I do.”

Orion’s shoulders stiffened, as if his whole body had seized up. His eyes narrowed, not angrily, but in an attempt to contain the intense emotion welling up within them. His clasped hands were shaking.

Penny, on the other hand, was so overwhelmed with relief that she burst into tears.

“Oh, Carewyn, thank Merlin you’re all right!”

Talbott rested a hand on Carewyn’s bedspread beside her leg.

“How are you feeling?” he asked solemnly.

“Awful,” Carewyn wheezed, though she said it with the best smile she could.

“Hardly a wonder why,” said Charlie worriedly, “considering that Bludger hit you straight-on in the chest!”

“You’re lucky your lung only got bruised and not torn,” said Bill, his eyebrows knitted tensely over his narrowed eyes. “What were you thinking, throwing yourself in Rath’s path like that? Skye Parkin got three broken ribs thanks to one of her Bludgers, didn’t she?”

Carewyn tried to smile again guiltily, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“I know...it was stupid.”

Pain twanged through her chest again, making Carewyn shut her eyes tight and breathe very slowly to try to push through it.

“But...we did win...right?”

“Yep,” said Murphy with a broad smile. “We won. 280 to 60.”

Carewyn glanced to her right, to see Murphy and the rest of the Slytherin team gathered around the bed closest to hers. When she looked beyond Charlie, Penny, Bill, Talbott, and Ben, she could see some of her other friends -- Tulip, Badeea, Jae, Barnaby, Liz, Diego -- scattered around the Hospital Wing, sitting on the beds to the left and across from her.

“Skye’s outside talking to Rath right now,” said Ashok. He glanced at the Hospital Wing door apprehensively.

Carewyn blinked in surprise.

“She insisted,” said Quinn. “Andre even kind of took her to task and asked if she planned on blaming Rath for what happened to you, like she did when Rath injured her -- but Skye actually managed to keep her temper. Said she didn’t want to fight...that she just wanted to have a real conversation, for once.”

“Normally we would’ve preferred it if Orion went,” Kaylisa said quietly, “but...”

The Slytherin team glanced at their Captain. Orion’s head was bowed and his eyes were closed -- Carewyn guessed he’d been silently meditating, in an attempt to balance out his emotions.

“It was the correct decision,” he said levelly. “I was not in the balanced emotional state necessary to discuss the Quidditch Cup award ceremony.”

“Oh...” Carewyn breathed lowly. “That’s right...there’s...supposed to be a ceremony...”

“Given your injury, there’s a 84.9% chance it’ll be delayed,” Murphy said quickly. “The main question will be whether or not it’ll be delayed to this evening, after your condition stabilizes, or until you’ve recovered enough to attend yourself.”

“How long will that take?”

“A pulmonary contusion is pretty serious.”

Chiara had bustled over. She rather pointedly directed Penny and Charlie to move over so she could come right up to Carewyn’s bed and lean over her, resting a hand over Carewyn’s head on her pillow.

“It’s good to see you awake, Carewyn,” Chiara murmured, her gray eyes very soft upon her friend’s face. “You really scared us.”

“Sorry,” Carewyn mumbled through another weak smile.

“The good news is that with the proper healing potion regiment, you should be able to get out of bed in two or three days,” said Chiara, “but it’ll take a week or so for the pain to fade completely. You’ll need to move very slowly and practice breathing deeply a lot, even if it hurts. It’d also be a good idea if you don’t try lifting much of anything heavy for a while, until you’re fully healed.”

Barnaby got up from the bed on Carewyn’s left at once, his face lit up with a huge grin. “I can help with that, Carewyn! I can carry your bag for you, when we go to class -- and if you’re having trouble climbing a lot of stairs, I can always just carry you on my back!”

Carewyn smiled up at him. “Thanks, Barnaby.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere a ways away.

“Carewyn!?”

A frantic flurry of footsteps signaled the arrival of Skye. She came to a skidding halt at the foot of Carewyn’s bed. Relief stained her face for a split second -- then, on a dime, she reacted with anger.

“Thank Merlin! What were you doing, out there?! I know you like to play hero, Carewyn, but seriously?! I thought you said you don’t barrel in without thinking!”

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly. “I didn’t. I...miscalculated...that’s all.”

Skye snorted, crossing her arms. “That’s putting it mildly. Gotta say, for someone who so didn’t want attention for all this, you sure have a way of grabbing it...all I could hear on my way out of the stands was that you’re now a Quidditch legend...”

Carewyn pursed her lips irritably. ‘First this ‘amazing Cursebreaker,’ now a Quidditch legend...am I ever going to get credit for the things I actually want to be?’

“What did the Ravenclaws have to say, Skye?” Orion asked quietly.

Skye glanced at Orion, her face becoming much more serious.

“...Rath wanted to know how long it would take for Carewyn to be released. I told them a few days, and the Ravenclaws all agreed they’d be willing to attend in three days, if we wanted to reschedule the ceremony to that day.”

The rest of the Slytherin team lit up.

“That’s great!” said Cara.

“Yeah,” agreed Skye lowly, glancing down at the ground a bit self-consciously. “I gotta admit, I...wasn’t expecting that. I mean, sure, Egwu and you used to date, Carewyn, but...I reckon even Rath was really impressed by what you did. They weren’t happy about losing, of course -- Rath was definitely mad about it -- but I don’t think she was mad at us. If that makes sense.”

Carewyn nodded. ‘She was probably more mad at herself for not having won than at us for actually winning.’

“We shall reciprocate the Ravenclaws’ kindness with our own, when we accept our prize,” said Orion, glancing from Skye to the rest of the team. “They have been honorable opponents. Hopefully this can be the start of a more peaceful rivalry, as opposed to active hostility.”

The rest of the Slytherins nodded in agreement. Even Skye was smiling slightly.

“All right,” said Chiara decisively, “now that Carewyn’s awake and you’ve all seen she’s okay, I must ask you to all leave now so she can get some rest. She’s more than earned it...”

Reluctantly Carewyn tried to adjust so that she was lying down better. It was proving difficult with how much her chest hurt -- she kept stopping sharply, closing her eyes and clenching her jaw to hold in a grunt of pain.

“Here, Carey, let me help,” said Bill.

He gently brought his hands under her arms so as to ease her down. Carewyn slowly fell back against her pillows, relaxing as Bill let go.

“Thanks, Bill,” she wheezed.

Bill fluffed up the pillow directly under her head with both hands and looked down at her seriously.

“Do everything Chiara tells you and take it slow,” he told her.

Bill had always been just as talented as “parenting” everyone else as Carewyn was -- it was one of the main things he and his best friend had in common.

The eldest Weasley’s voice then dropped significantly as he added under his breath, “Ben, Charlie, Merula, and I will take care of things with the Circle, until you’re well enough to leave.”

Carewyn’s lips spread into the strongest smile she’d shown since arriving in the Hospital Wing, and she nodded.

“Thank you.”

((OOC: One more part after this, just tying up loose ends...that part will also include a proper “farewell” scene for Orion! My precious Quidditch Captain!! </3

As before, MC players referenced are Cara O’Donnell @unfortunate-arrow, Night Rhea @nightrhea-hphm, and Sabrina “Quinn” Mercurenius @danceworshipper. I also apologize for the heart damage from the last part, @that-ravenpuff-witch, @aceyanaheim, and @cursed-ice-spirits! 💙

A pulmonary contusion, or bruised lung, can be a very serious injury. Even in the real world, it can take weeks to fully heal and require a lot of follow-up appointments. Carewyn really got very, VERY lucky that it wasn’t worse, and that she has a Healer like Chiara at her disposal!!))

28 notes · View notes

hookedontaronfics · 5 years

Text

Under His Spell

Title: Under His Spell Pairing: Taron x reader Rating: M Warnings: Smut [fingering, unprotected sex] A/N: Wanted to write a fun little one-shot for Halloween. I’m a couple days late but who’s counting? Halloween never really has to end! There are no tricks, only treats for you in this sexy one shot, so enjoy! x

October 31: Your favorite day of the year. A day full of tricks and treats and pranks and spooks, where people let themselves have a little fun. All Hallow’s Eve wasn’t just for little kids, and everyone usually tried to get in the spirit somehow, whether it was just wearing a fun T-shirt or accessory at work or donning a full-on costume, decked out to the nines at a party. Either way, you loved sharing in the spirit of the day, and this year was no exception.

In fact, you were incredibly excited because this year you’d been invited to a somewhat exclusive masquerade costume party. Your job as an executive assistant meant you had worked for someone who knew someone, and you were pretty sure there might even be some celebrities in the mix at the event. You wondered if you’d be able to recognize them by their voice and mannerisms; it would be a fun night trying to guess. You had also spent a lot of time and money on your costume and were sure it would be a hit, so you were looking forward to the evening even if you’d have to schmooze with your boss.

As soon as you got home from work, you scarfed the Chinese takeout you’d picked up, stuffing noodles in your mouth even as you plugged your curling iron in, letting it heat up while you ate. You didn’t have much time to get ready, and you wanted everything to be perfect, from your hair to the makeup to the mask you’d spent many hours with a glue gun creating. The rhinestones had been a bitch to work with, but oh so worth it.

You finished your food and quickly curled your hair and did your makeup before carefully pulling on your stockings, boots and the dress you’d designed and sewn, inspired by Christine Daaé from the “Phantom of the Opera.” After graduating from college with a fashion degree, you’d found it difficult to break into the scene so you mostly used your skills for Halloween costumes while working as a personal assistant for your boss and his contingent of clients. You really didn’t mind that work; the pay was fantastic and the work relatively easy. Maybe someday you’d design and try to sell an entire collection to the fashion houses, but for now this sort of work paid the bills.

You affixed the mask on your face and took a look at yourself in the mirror; you were hardly recognizable as yourself. The bra you’d bought specifically for this costume gave you decolletage you normally didn’t have, and the dress was rather plunging though you’d sewn in a nude mesh panel to keep something to the imagination, but the slit along the side also went all the way up your thigh. It was sexy but tasteful, and that’s how you hoped to come across that evening.

You deemed yourself as ready as you’d ever be, took a couple of photos and texted them to your best friend for approval, and walked outside immediately to be blasted with a gust of cold air. “Nope!” you squealed, running back in and grabbing your winter jacket and gloves. You were just going to have to deal with your winter gear; it was far too cold to go bare-shouldered.

You took the tube across London, and many people were dressed up; you were pretty sure you spied a banana, a taco, and a handful of Spice Girls. No one else seemed to bat an eyelash, and you spent the ride across the city texting back and forth with your best friend, who had squealed at how gorgeous you looked. You normally spent your days in work slacks or leggings, but today you actually did feel pretty, and wondered if you’d catch anyone’s eye tonight. Not that you were necessarily looking for a hookup, but what happened on Halloween night, stayed on Halloween night.

You were actually feeling nervous by the time you reached your tube stop, and you followed the Google directions to the proper street, gasping at the size of the house; well, really it looked like a mansion to you. Whoever was throwing this party was exceedingly rich, and you almost turned away before someone you presumed was a valet approached you and escorted you inside. They led you to the coat check and you marveled at the architecture of the entrance hall alone, mesmerized by the place, which was decorated to the nines. You couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Christmas; these were the kind of people who probably paid for it to be decorated for literally every holiday and season.

You wandered in amongst the crowd, most people already paired off in the groups they arrived with, and you quickly acquired a flute of champagne from one of the trays being carried about by servers. You knew what your boss was wearing, as he’d made sure you could find him, but you weren’t tall and so you had to weave yourself in and around people chatting animatedly, avoiding random flailing arm and stepping around already-tipsy masked men and women. The place was dripping in decadence and you felt slightly out of place, to be honest.

Suddenly a man swayed into your path and you jumped back in order to keep him from knocking you over, but you had backed into someone else on accident behind you. You spun around quickly to apologize, feeling embarrassed, but the apology died on your lips as you took in the costumed man in front of you.

“Ahhh, my Christine, I’ve been looking all over for you!” he grinned congenially, making your heart skip a few beats. The suit and cape he was wearing were sharp and fit his body well but that’s not what you noticed first. His green eyes peered out at you from behind a Phantom mask, but it had been done in an inventive way so the whole face was covered; the part that wasn’t white was done in glittery black. You had no idea who was behind that mask, but his smile was charming as hell.

“I, um, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Phantom,” you stumbled over your words as his eyes fairly twinkled at you, sweeping over your body and somehow making you feel exposed.

“The pleasure is certainly all mine,” he said, taking your hand so gently in his and placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “What’s a Phantom after all without his muse?” he asked, his voice somehow familiar to you even though you couldn’t place it. You weren’t even sure how to respond when someone put their hands on your shoulders from behind.

“There you are! Glad you could make it!” your boss said as you whirled around a bit.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!” you replied with a laugh, turning to say something to the Phantom but he had already melted back into the crowd, like mist in the wind. You frowned slightly to yourself but hoped you’d run into each other again, and then followed your boss back over to his group, sipping your champagne and having small conversations with people he introduced you to, people whose names you wouldn’t remember after tonight.

You did have a fun time despite yourself, snacking on hors d’oeuvres and imbibing even more champagne, feeling a bit tipsy and also trying to catch further glimpses of the Phantom, but he was proving to be quite elusive as the evening wore on. Your boss was kind and engaging with you, but at some point got suckered into a conversation about stocks and bonds and you were entirely bored to death, so you quietly slipped away from the conversation, taking a self-led tour of the place and snapping a couple of pictures to send your friend.

<Can you believe this place?> you texted, standing next to some kind of pumpkin display, festooned in black and orange and purple lights and ribbons and cobwebs.

“What’s a lovely woman such as yourself doing standing here all alone?” a voice asked you, and you turned around to find yourself face-to-face with the unidentified phantom again.

“I was looking for you!” you said in surprise, before you could think better of it.

“Were you?” he asked, and even if you couldn’t see his face, you could imagine him quirking his eyebrow up to match the crooked smile he gave you.

“Not for any particular reason,” you said, fidgeting with the sleeves of your dress slightly.

“Well, that’s too bad. I thought it’d be nice to get to know you better,” he said, taking a sip of the drink in his hand, a dark brown liquid swirling inside.

“Oh, I thought that too,” you said, almost shyly as he leaned in quite close to you. You were a bit overwhelmed with how beautiful he was, even though you could only see half his face. You resisted the urge to reach out and run your fingers along his sharp jawline; you were tipsy but not so drunk as to just randomly touch a man you didn’t even know. Still, the way he was staring at you made a thrill run down your spine.

“So what brought you here tonight?” he asked casually, both of you quite forgotten by the rest of the crowd in the little alcove you were standing in.

“Oh, I work for someone who was invited and I’m an exec assistant so I guess he just decided I should come along,” you shrugged. “What about you?”

“I … work in the entertainment business,” he hedged slightly.

“What kind of answer is that?” you laughed. “That could be anything at all.”

“Would you like to tour this house?” he asked suddenly, tipping his head back and downing the rest of his drink.

“Uh, sure,” you replied.

“Alright good, stay right here,” he said, squeezing your hand slightly before disappearing into the crowd again for a minute. You were confused but obliged, and when he returned he had two cold longnecks in his hands.

“Ahhh, good idea,” you laughed as he handed one off to you and you took a sip of the beer, which was surprisingly just a regular pedestrian brand. You giggled slightly as he took your hand again and led you toward the grand staircase.

“You sure we’re allowed?” you asked, and he just shrugged as you both nearly tripped on your dress on your way up the stairs, giggling and slightly out of breath when you reached the landing. It was much quieter up here, and you hadn’t realized how much the music had been making your head dizzy. Or maybe it was the alcohol you’d consumed. Or maybe just the close proximity of this handsome stranger beside you.

Either way, you followed after him, examining the massive paintings hanging on the walls along the plush carpeted hallway. “Imagine having so much excessive wealth that you could have a house like this. It’s practically like living in a museum,” he sighed. So definitely not rich then, you thought to yourself. Maybe some kind of production assistant? You were still trying to puzzle out who he was, still troubled by the fact that he seemed somehow familiar. But you were quite certain if you had known him from before, you would have recognized him immediately.

“What’s in here?” he said, just randomly opening doors, and you were mostly just amused at his antics. He was clearly way past drunk, but you were enjoying being in this space with him too much to point it out.

“Hey look, a study,” he said, pointing at it before pulling you inside and letting the door shut behind you. He searched for a desk lamp and found one, turning it on and illuminating the deep cherry wood paneling and burgundy carpet.

“Damn,” you commented. “Pretty sure this room alone is more expensive than anything I’ll ever own in my lifetime,” you laughed.

“Definitely more bougie than anything I’d ever own,” he chuckled as you walked around, checking out titles on the bookshelves.

“Must be a lawyer. That would make sense,” you said as you ran your finger over the spines of the books before turning around and finding him standing right next to you, staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher thanks to the mask. He hesitantly reached out and then swept a lock of your hair off your shoulder, tilting his head and gazing at you.

“I’d quite like to kiss you,” he said, his voice a bit rough, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“Okay,” you said, not even knowing why you had agreed, but something told you you wouldn’t be regretting it. He stepped in close, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath, but it didn’t bother you at all. He placed a hand at the nape of your neck and after hesitating a moment more, finally pressed his lips to yours. You had no idea who he was, but damn could he kiss like no one else. You felt like you’d suddenly tapped into a live wire as one kiss turned into another and into another. It was like neither of you could get enough of each other, and suddenly his tongue was dancing in your mouth with yours, setting your body alight as the kisses deepened into something much more needy. When you both had to come up for air, he looked a bit taken aback with his actions, but all you wanted was more.

“I’m terribly sorry, I… I’m not exactly the kind of guy to just kiss random ladies in random places,” he said, but you shook your head.

“Tonight’s a night for mystery and mayhem. If there’s any better night to find that, well, I’m glad I’ve found it with you,” you smirked lightly at him. His hesitation was sweet and kind of adorable, but all you could focus on was the insistent throbbing between your legs that he had awakened.

“Mystery and mayhem, yeah?” he chuckled, taking a long drag of his beer before setting it down on the edge of the desk. You walked up to him and pushed him up against the desk lightly, peering into those green eyes, seeing the evident lust there.

“No one else here but just the two of us. Perhaps the phantom would like to live out his fantasy with Christine after all?” you smirked. You’d never really come onto a guy before like this, but something about the masks made you brave. You could walk away from this never knowing each other, and it would be nothing more than a drunken memory. You saw him swallow hard, his green eyes wrestling with something for a moment, but he must have decided “fuck it” because he suddenly wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you into him, attacking you with fierce kisses that took your breath away.

You moaned slightly into his mouth as his fingers grazed over your bare shoulders, goosebumps already standing out on your skin as he dropped his kisses to our neck. You tilted your head to give him better access, those velvety smooth lips leaving fire along your skin. He turned you both around until you were the one leaning against the desk, and his hands had found the thigh-high slit in your dress, pushing the material aside and seeking purchase even as he trailed kisses over your chest, yanking the bodice of your dress low but not completely undressing you.

When his fingers found your aching, wet core, he let out a strangled sound to find you weren’t wearing anything underneath that dress. You groaned at the touch of his fingers over your folds, dragging your juices over your sensitive nub even as he captured your lips in kisses again. You were completely at a loss for what he was doing to you, your head thrown back in ecstasy; it was almost as if he’d put you under a spell, a sexy one at that, and you were helpless to break it.

“Oh shit,” you gasped as he slid two fingers into you, your fingers gripping his biceps for support as he started to pump them in and out of you slowly.

“You are so fucking hot,” he groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and full of lust for you. “I thought it the minute I saw you across the room. Never thought I’d get to have my way with you,” he growled, nipping your skin with his teeth.

“Oh god,” you gasped, trying to hold on but you could feel your muscles clenching, the spiral of your orgasm threatening to unravel. Suddenly he pulled his fingers away, leaving you wanting and desperate for more. He brought his fingers to his lips and licked your arousal from them, and you nearly came at the sight of that alone.

You immediately reached for the belt of his pants, undoing it quickly and then fumbling with the zipper before pulling them down, desperately needing more. He lifted you up slightly until you were sitting on the desk, then laying you down before lifting your skirt up and over your hips, spreading your legs wide. You whined in anticipation as he took his cock out of his briefs, stroking himself a few times before lining up with you and thrusting into you with abandon. You cried out, but it was more pleasure than pain as he filled you up completely, leaning over you and panting in your face.

“Fuck, darling,” he groaned, his hands splayed out on either side of you as you wrapped your legs around him, trying to pull him in even closer. He took the hint and started pounding into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the empty room. You tried to muffle your moans and groans but it was hard to do with this mystery man driving you absolutely insane. “That’s music to my ears, baby,” he spoke gruffly, his fingertips digging into your skin but you could care less. It was probably the hottest, craziest sex of your life, getting down to dirty business with a masked stranger in someone else’s house.

You didn’t even have time to reply as you started to cum around his length, your walls contracting around him, your entire body shaking as his thrusts began to grow sloppy. He soon spilled over into you, grunting as his cock twitched inside you and sent your entire world spinning. He pulled out quickly and looked around for something to clean you both up with, finding a packet of tissues in one of the desk drawers. You both quickly tried to put your clothes right again, giggling slightly together in your mutual drunk, post-sex haze.

“Do I...thank you now?” he chuckled, running his fingers through his slicked-back hair and messing it up a bit.

“You don’t need to say anything at all. Just shut up and look pretty,” you giggled at his bemused expression. You reached over to smooth his hair back down and in a rare stroke of courage, slipped your fingers under the band holding his mask on and yanked it off his face. Your hands flew to your mouth and you gasped as you instantly recognized the man who had just fucked you into oblivion as none other than the Taron Egerton.

“Oh fuck,” you said, unable to tear your eyes away from him, as you’d had a crush on him for an embarrassingly long time. Your brain couldn’t even reconcile what you’d just done with him and the fact that he was standing there in front of you. If this got around, if anyone ever found out, you’d be completely scandalized. You could never live this down, you could never tell anyone. You felt suddenly, painfully sober as you hopped off the desk and pushed him away from you, ignoring his confused, hurt expression.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” you gasped, turning and fleeing out of the room, chastising yourself angrily even though there was no way you could have known it was him. But hadn’t you recognized that sexy voice, that sharp jawline, those sweet eyes? How had you not put it all together?

“Wait!” he called down the hallway as you headed for the stairs, hoping all of your body parts were covered. You tore down the steps two at a time and grabbed your coat from the coat check. A few people threw glances at your haste but didn’t try to stop you. You threw your coat on, glancing over your shoulder to see Taron descending down the stairs after you, but you already had a head start. You pushed your way out of the doors and into the cold night air, fleeing down even more stairs as one of the valets yelled out “Have a good night, miss!” You were fighting tears that were blurring your vision and two steps before the sidewalk you managed to trip on your dress, missing the last step and scraping your knee as you fell to the concrete. The fall had knocked the breath out of your lungs and you laid there for a moment, staring up at the dark, cloudy sky, blinded by the lights of the mansion.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Taron asked, kneeling down next to you and helping you sit up.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing off your hands, your teeth already chattering from the bite of the air.

“Why did you run away from me?” he asked you, his eyes searching yours for some answer you weren’t sure you could give.

“I’m not some amazing actress or pretty woman you should be with. I’m just a nobody and… I’m not good enough to be with you,” you said, pulling the edges of your coat around you and staring at the blood welling up from the scrape on your knee.

“That’s bloody nonsense. You already told me who you were and I still chose to be with you. It’s not about money or fame or looks for me. You intrigued the hell out of me,” he said, gently removing the mask from my face and gazing at me fully. “ And you are absolutely beautiful, and I sure as fuck don’t regret what just happened back there,” he added softly. “But let’s get you back inside, and clean that up, and warm you up, and then you can tell me your name, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but nod at that; the way he was looking at you sent shivers of a different sort down your spine. He helped you limp back up the stairs and after making you sit on the toilet in the bathroom [which was as extravagant as every other part of the mansion], he went in search of some bandaids and returned after being successful, doctoring your knee up to the best of his ability. He’d also brought you a bottle of water and you took it gratefully when he handed it to you. “Y/n,” you said, as he took a seat on the edge of the tub. “My name is y/n.”

“Taron, but you already knew that,” he said, smiling at you a bit sheepishly. “And I really don’t do that, you know,” he said.

“I really don’t either, Taron. This was supposed to be no strings attached. I could walk away never knowing who you were.”

“But do you want to walk away, now that you know it’s me?” he asked quietly, looking vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected. It was almost like he’d grown attached to you somehow, but neither of you really knew each other, and that was the startling reality of it.

“I don’t, but where the hell would we go from here?” you asked, watching as a wicked grin spread over his face.

“My place, for starters. We could certainly get to know each other better,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at you, and you couldn’t deny the excitement rising in your chest at the thought of that. “I might have more tricks and treats up my sleeves after all,” he said with a smirk, his eyes burning into you a bit. “So should we leave and see what else the night has in store for our long-lost lovers?” he said, his words tugging at your heart yet again. You were at his total mercy, it seemed, caught up in the spell of this green-eyed man who was no longer just a stranger.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said as he reached out his hand to you. You placed yours gently in his and let him escort you out of the bathroom. You had to laugh when the song being pumped through the sound system was appropriately “Music of the Night,” part of whatever spooky playlist someone had put together. The mood was fitting as you swept back out into the night, the cold wind making the edges of Taron’s cape flutter around you both. You would never have guessed when you’d chosen this costume that you would have been caught up in the magic and madness of the night.

But one thing that night was for certain; Taron had taken possession of your soul, and you were completely at his mercy. He was sweetly intoxicating, more than just a face behind a mask, and the best part was that he was all yours.

#taron smut #taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #taron fanfiction

75 notes · View notes

fanficimagery · 6 years

Text

Imagine finding out you're Remus Lupin's mate.

Remus X Reader

Being relocated to an entirely different country was not something you had been looking forward to, especially with a one year old baby that you had taken into your custody when he was only six months old. The MACUSA worked very closely with the Ministry of Magic to have you set up in a magical only neighborhood, and that's where you stayed for four years.

Technically you weren't on lock down, but it was strongly advised that you didn't set foot outside the Wizarding World since you and your son were technically in hiding until further notice. The MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic gave you a monthly stipend for abiding by the rules they set for you, and you learned to looked after yourself and baby Asher while also doing some light work at a bookstore where the owner's wife was all too happy to look after Asher in the nursery room the store surprisingly had.

When the MACUSA and the Ministry finally gave you the all clear you had already built up a life for yourself and Asher, and decided to stay. Then one day at the bookstore you met a lovely woman by the name of Fleur Weasley, who was shopping with her daughter tucked into the crook of her arm, and the two of you hit it off when Asher had run around the corner to attach himself to your knees. Fleur then became a somewhat steady client of the bookstore and eventually set up a play date for Asher and her daughter Victoire. Befriending Fleur came with the added benefit of meeting her husband Bill Weasley and that- that was a blessing in disguise.

When Asher first reacted to Bill's presence, you had to tell your new friends Asher's backstory. The Weasley's were awed to learn of Asher's lycanthropy and the fact that he didn't need a full moon to transform, nor did he completely transform like the werewolves of the wizarding world did. And as Asher was getting older, the full moons were becoming a little harder for you keep up with him. But then Bill stepped in and confessed why Asher reacted so strongly to him, and you were surprised to learn of Bill's own issues even after having his scars stare you in the face every day for as long as you knew him. Though Bill didn't transform, he did pick up a few abilities and one of them was excess energy that flooded his system on the night of a full moon. When you learned he ran, you were all too happy to test Bill taking Asher for one full moon and were completely relieved that the two got on as if they were part of the same pack.

You were content with your life as it were, but Bill and Fleur were adamant you needed to meet more people. You had been prepared for the other Weasley's, the Potter's, and even Sirius Black.. but there was no way you could have ever been prepared for Remus Lupin.

"Are you sure it's okay?" You ask one last time, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

Fleur grins as she fixes Victoire's dress and Bill sighs. "Oh for the love of Merlin. Yes!" Fleur finally giggles and you crack a grin of your own. "Are you sure you don't want to bring Asher with you?"

"I'm sure. My boss' wife, Maggie, has taken him for the evening. I didn't want to overwhelm him with a bunch of new faces just yet. I want to meet everyone first before bringing Asher."

Bill nods as Fleur sidles up to your side. "Does zis Maggie know about Azzer's condition?" Her French accent never fails to amuse you.

"Yep. When Asher gets attached to someone who he ends up adoring, they become his. Someone got a little heated one day with my boss and Asher was nearby. He started growling and flashing his eyes, but Maggie was quick to hide his face against her leg and quieted him down. After that I told them everything."

"And they were okay with it?" Bill asks, surprised.

"They were.. worried, which I understand." You shrug and tug on the tail end of Victoire's braid. "All that matters is that they adore him and treat him as if he was their own grandson. It also helps that he's a pack creature and he loves to give cuddles to scent mark people."

Bill chuckles. "I knew that's what he was going. He does it a lot, especially after the full moon."

"To Victoire too." Fleur smiles fondly as she touches the top of her daughter's head. "Not as much to me though."

"It's because you're part Veela," you muse. "He adores you, but he's also intimidated by you."

"Poor lad," Bill says. "Now enough chit-chat, witches. We're expected at Grimmauld any minute now. And Y/N, since the townhouse is still unplottable you'll only be able to get in if we apparate with you onto the door step."

"That's fine."

Bill and Fleur make sure they have whatever it is they're taking to the casual dinner with a few friends and family before Fleur takes Victoire through the floo. Bill latches onto your wrist and you close your eyes the moment Bill smirks at you. The sensation of apparating never became familiar to you, so you barely dry heave when you feel solid ground beneath your feet once more.

"Welcome to the Noble and most Ancient House of Black," Bill tells you. "It's in a constant state of renovation because Sirius can't settle on what he wants and we'll have to be quiet near the stairs. There's a portrait of his mother that is absolutely barmy and she'll scream for hours if we disturb her."

You huff a laugh. "Why isn't the portrait just removed then?"

The door swings open and who you can only assume is Sirius Black winks at you. "Because that barmy bitch didn't want anyone to live here in peace. You must be Y/N."

"And you must be Sirius Black. Nice to meet you."

"You as well, sweetheart."

"Hey!" Bill suddenly remarks as Sirius holds the door open further to allow you two entrance. "No flirting with the witch. She's much too pretty for the likes of you."

Sirius mockingly gasps, holding a hand to his heart. "William, you wound me. But does this mean the radiant Fleur is now up for grabs?"

"In your dreams, Pads."

"And what lovely dreams they are."

You laugh as the two men continue to banter back and forth all the way towards the kitchen, they only calming down as they near a portrait that appears to be covered by dark heavy drapes. Then once in the kitchen you're assaulted by the noise of several gathered witches and wizards.

Bill first introduces you to his mum and dad, Arthur and Molly. His youngest brother Ron smiles and waves in greeting, as does Ron's girlfriend Hermione. The last two wizards to be introduced to you are distracted by the conversation they're having across the table from each other, and only look up when Bill clears his throat. Harry Potter is easily recognizable by the scar on his forehead and round spectacles perched on his nose, but the other- the one wizard with the shaggy, sandy brown hair and beard, and faint scars running diagonal across his lower face as if an animal had once attacked him steals your breath away.

Everyone had friendly greetings and smiles for you, but Remus' gaze snaps to yours and subtly narrow. His nostrils flare and you paste on a grin as he.. is he scenting the air?

Sirius notices his friend's behavior and easily distracts everyone, you happily going along and pretending the moment wasn't odd. Eventually Remus calms and greets you properly, and you ignore the obvious signs of him sniffing around you. Everyone soon settles down, Molly and Fleur dish out dinner, and conversation flows fairly easy. Then after dessert is served, the conversation turns rather rowdy and is only egged on by Sirius. Molly and Arthur take their leave then, taking a sleepy Victoire with them and leaving the younger crowd to truly get to know you.

The firewhiskey and butterbeers are passed around, and everyone turns their attention on you.

"So, Y/N," Sirius actually leers at you, earning an eye roll from Hermione. "What brings you to our side of the pond?"

Your lips twitch. "Asher and I have been living here for a few years now."

"Ooh. Boyfriend?"

"No. Son."

Remus chokes on his drink and Sirius smirks at him. It's Harry who then takes the reigns and asks, "You have a son?"

"Yes.. and no."

"Wait. I'm confused." Ron frowns.

You glance at Bill and he smiles encouragingly in return. "Trust me when I say you can trust them. They're good people and will treat Asher no differently."

Taking a deep breath, you then make sure to catch everyone's gaze before shrugging sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I just- Asher and I had somewhat been on Ministry lock down for a few years, and having free reign once again.. it's-"

"I'm sorry," Hermione readily interrupts. "Ministry lock down?"

"Yeah," you drawl in embarrassment. "The thing is.. Asher is my son, but not biologically. He's my godson who came into my custody when his parents passed. The MACUSA and the Ministry helped me out when Asher's biological father and his pack wanted Asher for themselves when they realized he would be able to perform magic."

Remus gulps. "P-Pack?"

Bill claps his hands together loudly. "Okay! Story time," he grins right before he nudges you with his elbow. "No one speak until after Y/N is done with her story. Clear?"

"Clear." Everyone sounds together.

Taking another deep breath, you explain. "Asher's biological mother (Addalyn) was a muggle and his biological father (Terrance) was a werewolf. It wasn't for certain that the werewolf gene would pass down, but Addalyn did not care for pack politics and the way they discussed her unborn son. So.. she left. And Terrance only scoffed as she packed her bags before turning his back on them. And before someone tries to interrupt by telling me the werewolf gene cannot be passed down, it can. At least in the non-wizarding breed of werewolf, which Asher is."

"Holy hell," Sirius quietly remarks.

"Addalyn then fell in love with another muggle (Eric), who eventually was clued in to what Asher could possibly be, and the two of them raised Asher together. Baby Asher then experienced accidental boughts of magic very early on and the MACUSA sent a witch representative to ease the muggles into the world of magic."

"Hence where Y/N comes in," Fleur grins.

"Yes. I was the witch they sent, and Addalyn and Eric were relieved to know they weren't hallucinating. They adapted fairly well, we became quite close, and then they died. Just like that," you snap your fingers to signify how quickly it had happened. "Terrance got temporary custody until the hearing of the will and everyone was quite shocked to learn that Addalyn and Eric, who at the point had more say so over Asher than Terrance, had named me godmother and Asher's sole guardian should anything happen to them."

"Terrance and his pack weren't too happy to give up Asher after they realized just how special he truly was, and they tried to rile up allying packs to fight us. But Asher was magically mine, since the will had apparently been bound in magic and blood, and the MACUSA were able to take Asher and give him to me. The packs weren't happy and threatened to hunt me down, forcefully take Asher, and kill any witch or wizard helping me."

"So they sent you away in hiding," Hermione quietly realizes and you find yourself not even a bit annoyed at the brief interruption. "That must have been terribly lonely."

"It was in the beginning," you admit. "But then I found a job in the wizarding village at a bookstore, and my boss and his wife were able to help me with Asher during his full moons."

"He's so young," Hermione murmurs. Her eyes dart to Remus who looks rather pale and shaky. "Do you have him on wolfsbane?"

"Wolfsba- no!" You utter in complete horror. "Any strain of wolfsbane will kill Asher!" Everyone's eyes widen in horror at that piece of information. "The full moon for Asher merely heightens every sense of his. His breed of werewolf, they have half-shifts. Only alphas can completely turn into a wolf, and at that it's really rare for an alpha to reach that level of power."

"What's a half-shift entail?" Harry wonders.

Bill smiles as he answers this one. "His face changes. The bones shift to give him a more animalistic look, he has a mouth full of sharp teeth, his eyes glow, and he's got a set of wicked claws. As long as he has his anchor- something which reminds him he's human when he shifts- he's sane. Y/N usually shows up at Shell Cottage and Asher will run with me along the beach. He likes to play tag and tackle me into the ocean."

"So let me get this straight," Sirius blurts. "He's in no pain?"

"No pain. He said it's like- it feels like bees under his skin. He can feel the pull of the moon, but he's not feral. He's quite cuddly and will scent mark you once he recognizes you and realizes that the person won't be leaving anytime soon."

"You should zee him with Victoire," Fleur smiles. "'ee protects her."

"Yes. So that's- that's how I came into the custody of my son and became a mother over night. Any other questions?"

After mostly everyone had flooed home, Remus and Sirius retire to the library.

"So what do you think about the new witch?"

Remus sighs and downs the rest of his whiskey, his head falling back onto the back rest of the sofa chair he's sitting in. "I don't know, Padfoot. She's nice. Wonderful even, but there's something about her-"

"That attracts Moony," Sirius muses. "And don't try to deny it. I saw you scenting the air. Bill did as well." Remus groans and his best friend chuckles. "Merlin, Moony, even Y/N noticed it. She was just nice enough to not mention it."

"I felt a pull to her," he finally admits. "Once I realized what the scent clinging to her was, my wolf was.. pleased. He- we," Remus then gulps, "were hanging off her every word. We wanted to be next to her, we wanted- we wanted-"

"To scent mark her as if she were your own." Remus and Sirius glance at the doorway and find Bill leaning against the door jamb there. "Has it occurred to you, Remus, that Y/N might be your mate?"

"What? No, that's im-"

"It's not. You've felt attraction to a witch before. Can you sit there and honestly tell us that your wolf was attracted to them as much as he was to Y/N?"

"Well.. no. If I got too close to a witch, my wolf wanted nothing to do with her. But Y/N, he was all too willing to climb over the table and cuddle her close."

"Exactly," Bill grins. "It's a mate pull." Remus gapes and Sirius chortles. "Now if you want to do something about it, she and Asher will be with us at Shell Cottage in a few days. If you want to speak with her, then will be the perfect time."

Shell Cottage is busy when you and Asher finally show up. You knew there were going to be a few people there, so you're not really that surprised. But Asher- Asher is beyond excited to meet some new faces. However, as he happens upon Remus and Sirius.. he starts to growl. And his eyes flash yellow.

"Asher?" You put a hand on his shoulder, but he snarls and pushes you behind him. Sirius is openly smirking and Remus is staying rather still as he keeps his eyes locked on your son. "Asher, it's okay. This is Sirius and Remus. They're friends of Bill's."

"But mom.."

"No buts, mister. They're friends. Now apologize to Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin."

"M'sorry."

Victoire rushes by and Asher is quick to chase after her, and you sigh at the men. "Sorry about him. He's usually more.. polite. Your scents threw him off." Remus tenses and you roll your eyes. "Honestly, Remus, it doesn't take a genius to realize you were scenting the air that first night we met."

Sirius grins. "Looks like the wolf is out of the bag."

"Shut it, you mangy mutt."

Sirius gasps and you laugh, and then it's your turn to be surprised as Sirius transforms into a large, shaggy dog right before your eyes. He's an animagus!

He barks once, licks your hand, and then chases after the children. Asher howls off in the distance, Sirius howls right back, and then the two are running side-by-side as Asher sports the biggest smile you've only ever seen him sport when he runs with Bill on the nights of a full moon.

"So that was your son.. in his transformed state. The bones in his face.. it really doesn't hurt him, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." You glance up at Remus who is now standing arm to arm with you and smile. "How are you faring today, Remus?"

"I'm good. Good," he gulps. The both of you watch the gathered family and friends spread out on the beach, talking and laughing as the children and Sirius play. "Listen, Y/N, can I speak to you? Privately."

"Sure." Remus leads you to a small hill and the both of you take a seat on the only patch of grass in a sea of sand. "So what's up, pup?"

He glances at you and drawls, "Really?"

"I couldn't help myself. But seriously, what's up?"

With bent knees, Remus plucks at the blades of grass between his feet. "There's no easy way to say this, it'll probably sound absolutely barmy, but-"

"Remus? Spill. Now."

"What do you know about mates?"

Brow furrowing, you shrug. "Like soulmates or..?"

"Wolf mates."

"I don't know. Do they actually exist? Because the non-wizarding werewolves have no such thing."

"Well they do. For the lycanthropes such as I."

You grin. "Neat. So why the privacy just now? You trying to tell me you've found your wolfy-mate, Lupin? I’m not really sure it’s any of my business."

"Yes. It’s you."

"Congrat- wait, what? Me? I'm a- I'm your-"

"Yes."

"But how?! We only just met!"

"All it takes is one meeting." He finally meets your gaze, but instead of finding horror or rejection, all he finds is your confusion. "Ever since I caught your scent beneath Asher's, my wolf has been whining in the back of my mind. It's been a hellish few days since Bill told me to come see you."

"So Bill knows then?"

"And Sirius. They knew that first night. I was confused as to why I felt a sudden pull to you and Bill spelled it out for me. I didn't think I had a mate out there somewhere. Never expected it, to be honest."

"I-" Your mind suddenly blanks and your jaw snaps shut. Remus' shoulders sag. "Okay. I, uh, I'm not really sure what to think. Wow."

"I'm really sorry-"

"Sorry? Don't be," you huff a small laugh. "I have a hot werewolf telling me I'm his mate. I'm just- I'm trying to wrap my head around it, is all. I mean.. you and my son are both werewolves. You can't get territorial over me when he inevitably growls at you for being too close to me."

Remus' lips twitch. "I'm sure we can come to some understanding."

"You better."

"So.. we're good? You don't have any questions?"

"Oh I have tons of questions, but I also kind of just wanna bask in the fact that I don't have to flirt my way into your pants. Your inner wolf kind of wants to jump me already and all I had to do was exist in the same room as you."

Remus snorts while shaking his head fondly at you. Then to test the waters, he hesitantly reaches out with one of his hands to take your own in his. Lacing your fingers together, he seems to breath out a sigh of relief when you squeeze his hand in return. "No running away?"

"Nah. I'm pretty stoked at where I'm at right now," you say. "But just- not too fast, yeah? If this is going to work out, we really do need to acclimate Asher to you first."

"That's fine. We have all the time in the world."

#fanficimagery #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #remus lupin #bill weasley #fleur delacour #harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #sirius black #sirius black imagine #bill weasley imagine #hp #imagine

1K notes · View notes

cartoonus-maximus · 5 years

Text

A peek at my current fanfic, “Missing Pieces.”

Atem nursed a glass of wine in his apartment one afternoon, nearly two weeks after the engagement party. His father was still angry with him for leaving the party early.

The alpha frowned and stared out the window, his gaze caught between the city's landscape and his own reflection. His red eyes stared back at him if he focused on his reflection, and the earrings in his multi-pierced ears glinted in the daylight.

He had a board meeting to attend soon. One of those meetings where he sat in for show, and other men made his decisions for him. There had already been a similar meeting earlier that week, where Atem had also sat in, just so show that his family remained involved, but didn't have any authority to decide anything.

Growling in frustration, Atem suddenly made a decision. A rash, angry, impulsive decision that came from month after month of irritation, and perhaps one that he would regret later, but it was his own decision, made just for himself and him alone.

“I'm not going to anymore meetings,” he said aloud to his empty apartment. No one answered, and he smirked – no one can argue with you when you live alone.

“Instead, I'm going to... to...”

To what? What should he do with himself? What was the point of a moment of rebellion if he didn't do something drastic?

“... to the Arena,” he finally finished. It was his main hobby of interest that his father would certainly disapprove of.

Nodding firmly to himself, he set his glass down and headed to his closet, changing into some casual street clothes from his closet before heading out the door. He thought better of going down to the lobby though, not wanting the wrong people to see, and, turning back around, went out down the fire escape.

There was no show on at the Arena, but the doors were still open. People could go in and watch the fighters spar with one another if they wanted, and that was what Atem ended up doing. He sat alone on the bleachers, a few other people sitting scattered around, while a handful of fighters sparred down in the pit.

He recognized Bakura 'the Demon of Darkness' as one of the sparring scrappers. Bakura's fighting style was unconventional and extremely rough; watching him fight anyone was like watching a caged lion attacking anyone foolish enough to climb in the cage with him. It was like the man had a fighting instinct that he didn't know how to turn off.

And Atem found himself admiring it.

He idly wondered what it was like to be a scrapper, and if Bakura would be willing to teach him.

Predictably, Bakura laughed when Atem got the chance to talk to him and ask him such a question, one week later.

There had been tryouts – the opportunity to test your skills as a street fighter, to see if you had what it takes to be a professional scrapper or brawler. It was mostly uneducated, Low Class people who tried, hoping to land a somewhat glamorous job that would also pay the bills.

Atem didn't care, and tried anyway. He'd never got into a physical fight with anyone before, but his blood had done boiling at a low simmer for the past few months, and he was still a fairly healthy young alpha, so surely that had to count for something.

He stood in line, waiting while an omega measured him, and then was given a category based on his overall height and weight, at which point he went and stood in line with others close in size to him. Apparently, he was of a similar size to Bakura 'the Demon of Darkness,' and would spar against the tattooed scrapper, a prospect that filled the business alpha with excitement.

It surprised no one when, five seconds into the fight, Bakura stood triumphantly over where Atem had landed hard on the dirt floor. The rich alpha felt like he'd been hit by a car, and had no idea what exactly had happened; his eyes could only focus on the tattoo of a horned beast on Bakura's shoulder, and he could only hear the sound of laughter above him.

Still, when he got up again, the first words out of his mouth was a request in the form of an order.

“Teach me how do that.”

Which is about when Bakura started laughing in earnest.

“I can smell the prestige off you, rich boy,” the scrapper sneered. He was very close in height to Atem, but wiry, with thin muscles in places where Atem had none. “Go back to shuffling your paperwork and leave the fighting to the professionals.”

But Atem was determined. These fights were the only thing that sparked his interest these days, and he wanted to be as involved as possible. So he waited on the bleachers during the rest of the tryouts, watching carefully, and taking mental notes.

The brawlers' moves were easier to observe and understand – they fought with certain moves, coming from different schools of training. Malik 'the Dark Twin' did lots of recognizable boxing maneuvers, while Jounouchi 'the Gambler' kept his hands close to his sides, dodging and weaving away from his opponent before kicking them when they least expected it, and Mai 'the Peacock Queen' had a distinct pattern of distracting and jabbing her opponent.

But, scrappers, like Bakura, or like Marik 'the Light Twin,' had a very different fighting style. Theirs was made of seemingly random actions, and relied solely on instincts and natural strength. Where a brawler could strategize their next move and use their opponent's weaknesses against them, a scrapper would ruthlessly and senselessly attack their opponent in a vicious showing of their own capabilities.

And it was that unfocused, untrained style that caught and held Atem's attention.

When the tryouts were finished, Atem approached Bakura again, refusing to take “no” for an answer. He went so far as to follow the scrapper alpha to the locker room, and was starting to consider begging.

It was the offer of payment that finally got Bakura's attention. Vaguely, Atem realized that he should have started with that.

“You're persistent, I'll give you that.” The scrapper pocketed the fifty-dollar bill he was offered, slapping away Marik's and Malik's hands when they kept trying to look at it. He flashed Atem a smirk, his chapped lips moving to reveal oddly sharp teeth; he looked like he could bite a man's finger off. “Meet me tomorrow. I'll kick your butt, but we'll call it a 'training session' if you want.”

Atem returned the other alpha's smirk.

#my writing #fic progress: my mate #alpha/omega au

4 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 6 years

Text

Listening Post: Michael Cosmic — Peace in the World / Phill Musra Group — Creator Spaces (Part Two)

Following up on the part of the conversation posted earlier today, the Dusted crew continues to discuss these newly reissued free jazz records from 1974 Boston.

Mason Jones: I'm pretty outside the jazz realm, though in my years playing avant-experimental music I've crossed paths with a lot of free players, particularly the early '90s Oakland scene (Splatter Trio, Gino Robair, Pluto, and the like). I've dipped into jazz quite often from time to time but for some reason little of modern jazz resonates strongly with me. The expanses of this release that do, surprisingly, are those that breathe more slowly. John Coltrane's not my thing, but like others I also hear echoes of Alice Coltrane in parts of "Peace in the World" for example. Even though it doesn't really sound much like her work, it somehow feels similar. I dig the splashing, crashing drum solo in "The Creator Spaces" and find Ertunç's playing pretty evocative throughout. My deficiency in appreciating reeds certainly impedes my judgment on a lot of this, though, so I'll have to let others get deeper into it all.

Jonathan Shaw: Michael, by "otherness" earlier, you mean a form of alienation beyond being black? Something more musically mediated?

Michael Rosenstein: Good point! By "otherness," I was referring to musical practice. While the traditions of free jazz (and by the mid-70s, the language had developed traditions) were referenced by many of the musicians in Boston, they brought an outsider sensibility to things. That is certainly not unique to Boston, but it was something that certainly struck me when I was first hearing musicians like Voigt, Harvey, Davidson, and Smart (to name a few).

Jonathan Shaw: So interesting to think of a music that wants to articulate some principle of "freedom" developing traditions. Tradition isn't intrinsically reactionary, but that's the way the term often gets used these days—I think especially of how the term resonates in the Traditional Workers' Party. Assholes.

What's freedom's outside? Where can we hear it on these records? I don't know who coined the term "free jazz" and to what extent that usage of free speaks to other forms of Africanist and African American identity construction in 20th century culture; as I noted somewhere above, my sense of "free" in free jazz is liberatory, but in a nationalist sense, black as essentially other than white, and decidedly other than European. But that's not the only way to conceptualize things. Back in the 1920s, Alain Locke argued that black Americans were best positioned to fully embody the country's ethos of freedom and liberty, precisely because blacks understood the opposite of freedom and liberty like no one else. For some reason, I think Locke would be more attracted to Cosmic/Musra's music than he would to Archie Shepp c. 1970 or Braxton.

Derek Taylor: I’m not sure on the origin of the phrase “free jazz” earlier than Ornette’s composition/album of the same name, but that’s when it really started to gain traction as a descriptor. While the “free” is in there, so is “jazz” denoting a foundational framework around which the free elements center and revolve. The specifically Nationalist leanings came shortly after and were confounded in part by the prominent place of white players in the music: Charlie Haden w/ Ornette, Roswell Rudd w/ Archie Shepp, Alan Silva, etc. The free musical elements that Cosmic and Musra employ definitely sound on that axis to my ears while bringing in aspects in part apart from jazz tradition as well (the zurna, African/Latin percussion instruments, etc.)

Any musical idiom that has historical legs is naturally going to develop traditions. Even music as resolutely non-idiomatic as free improvisation has developed recognizable vocabularies over the years through the repeated use of extended techniques and other tools (a reason why Derek Bailey, despite his protestations against precedence and familiarity, is usually instantly recognizable). Tradition in the context of Cosmic/Musric seems like a way of preserving, celebrating older means of musical expression outside Western, or more ambiguously white, cultural standards. But I don't get the feeling that they're doing it from a position of any overt animosity or concerted resistance, but more from a place of naturalness and positivity.

Mason Jones: When I hear "free jazz" or "free music" I also inevitably think of LAFMS, which was coming at "free music" from a very different angle than the jazz cats, though with a lot of sympathy both ways. They were looking to unmoor music from pretty much all frameworks, while I still think of free jazz as identifiably "jazz" — it's leaving behind the traditions but somehow still employing a lot of the same thinking. The Cosmic/Musra set is undeniably jazz even at its most outré, and to me feels only partially "free" in this context. I agree that it doesn't sound reactionary, so I might say that it's aimed towards freedom of expression rather than freedom *from* anything, if you know what I mean.

Jonathan Shaw: Probably also worth noting that a bunch of free players had good times in Europe—Cecil Taylor, Art Ensemble of Chicago, Don Cherry.

Bill Meyer: When musicians operate from a jazz foundation, and when they think what they are doing continues to relate non-antagonistically to jazz, you have free jazz. European free improvisation was started by people who loved jazz, but felt that they could not contribute in a culturally primary way. To be a Briton or European who loved jazz was to love something that came from somewhere else, but they wanted to take the example of serious aesthetic advancement that they saw in Ornette/Coltrane/etc to heart. Some of them (Paul Lytton, I believe, has talked a lot about this) very self consciously cut themselves off from playing music they really loved in order to grow. Others were aware of not being a part of it but continued to use it as a touchstone - Evan Parker for example. And Brotzmann sees himself as a jazz musician, I think, even though he's quite willing to step outside of jazz.

Cosmic/Musra, I think, come from a specifically African-American angle. Presumably they aspired to play jazz before they arrived at the music that they play on this set. The beyond-jazz aspects of their music relates to a divergent stream of jazz (Sun Ra, John and Alice Coltrane, Pharoah Sanders, the AACM) that was reflects ways of expressing and defining identity that were current in the African-Amerian community. As a whole, this music reflects an interest in Africa and non-European cultural, a disinclination to accept mainstream narratives and perspectives at face value, and a valuation of strongly felt/expressed spirituality that made a lot of room for the esoteric.

Derek Taylor: There’s definitely a lot of anecdotal history in support of Jonathan’s point about Stateside versus European experiences for ex-pat free jazz players and jazz players in general. But it wasn’t all rosy for them either. Ayler (in)famously got booed and worse at stops on his first European tour and Coltrane/Dolphy were hit with critical devaluations even earlier for the avenues they opted to explore. That makes the brothers experiences intriguing by contrast. Yes, they came later after the groundwork had been established by forebearers, but they still experienced a pretty uniformly positive response to what they were doing, at least in Chicago and Boston, if not L.A.

Brötzmann’s relationship with and to jazz has been contentious throughout his career. I don’t think he has much use for the term as a descriptor for what he does and hasn’t for quite some time, although his own listening habits apparently tend toward the classicists (Sidney Bechet, Coleman Hawkins, etc. who were themselves somewhat ironically the revolutionaries in their day). Parker’s much more open about acknowledging and embracing his debts (to Coltrane especially).

I get the feeling that Cosmic/Musra’s core musical beliefs came out of the AACM. It’s where they ostensibly really learned to play their instruments. Musra tells the story of Roscoe Mitchell recruiting him, clarinet in hand, right of the beach. Earlier influences were in the African American church (both sang in the choir) and by proxy their father’s record collection/musical interests. So right off the bat neither was coming from any sort of traditional pedagogy, jazz or otherwise. They were steeped in the divergent stream Bill mentions almost from the start.

Jonathan Shaw: Thanks for the context, Derek. You mention the positive response the brothers' records got. Is that response recorded anywhere? Were any prominent jazz critics and/or thinkers writing about the brothers in the 1970s? It would be interesting to see how their contemporaries processed the sounds.

Bill Meyer: I think it's interesting to think about what we mean when we say tradition and what the brothers might have thought tradition meant. Free jazz in all its stripes was the New Thing, and the influences we've noted would have been, for the brothers, music from the last five or ten years. On the other hand we can think of a free jazz tradition because free jazz has been a label as long or longer than most of us have been alive.

Derek Taylor: Good questions, Jonathan & Bill. I was going off of Clifford Allen’s notes & other contextual information available over at his blog Ni Kantu. He’s talked/corresponded with Musra over the years and has gathered a lot of anecdotal context, although I get the impression that the positive response(s) as described was more at the audience/community level rather than a critical or establishment one. Lots of gigs, but pretty much under the radar of the conventional jazz/music press, although I could be mistaken.

The AACM was founded (at least formally) in May of 1965, which would mean that it was it was less than two years old when Mitchell ran into a teen-aged Musra on the beach. Hardly time enough to establish tradition in an orthodox sense. That in turn seems to imply that the traditions the brothers were interested in exploring were older, non-Western and not strictly observed, but rather interpretative jumping off points. It doesn’t sound like their formal instruction prior to AACM enrolment was very extensive at all.

Michael Rosenstein: I wouldn't say that their records got particularly positive responses when they came out. They came out in such limited runs and distribution was so localized at the time. But they definitely played out a fair bit in Boston based on the documentation provided in Mark Harvey's book. There is a flyer that is reproduced from Spring 1974 that lists the following:

That's nine gigs within six weeks in clubs, churches, galleries, universities, radio, and a festival! And there are enough other flyers in the liner notes to the CD and Mark's book to show that this wasn't just a fluke. This provides some evidence as to how much they were integrated as musicians into the DIY jazz and arts communities in Boston at the time.

Derek Taylor: Nice! Appreciate the specifics from Harvey’s book, Michael. When you say responses, are you speaking to audiences or on the critical/journalistic end or both? The grass roots aspects to the brothers’ efforts are pretty pervasive from the nature of the gigs, to their chosen crew(s), to the DIY-nature of the recorded documents. A large slice of their overall charm from where I sit.

Jonathan Shaw: I'm also curious. I'm charmed (wrong word, but hope you all hear me) by the self-released aspect of the records. I come from punk musical and social backgrounds, so my touchstones are Dischord Records, scene reports in Maximum Rock n Roll, zine culture, etc. It's really cool to see the antecedents of those marginal modes of cultural production in Cosmic/Musra, Sun Ra, and so on. As with the free jazz, the punks were trying to find authentic community that could buttress their resistance to social convention in art and in life. I don't know how self-selected the choice to self-release was for Cosmic/Musra.

Michael Rosenstein: Ahhh. When I say that the records "didn't get positive responses," it was in the context of national/mainstream jazz journalism. I also checked the archives of the Boston Globe to see if there was any newspaper coverage but non popped up. But response seems to have been pretty solid within Boston based on the fact that they got radio play (on underground radio/college radio) and played around quite a bit. I agree about the DIY nature of the recorded documents, but I also hear that really extending into their overall musical sensibilities. Like Derek notes, you just need to look at the range of musicians they pulled in.

Self-produced, self-released small labels were definitely relatively prevalent at that time for jazz musicians. I remember going to New Music Distribution Service in the early 80s in New York and there were shelves upon shelves upon shelves of records, a large chunk of which were self-produced. Nice to see that this stuff is continuing to be mined and released.

Jonathan Shaw: Not to continue to allege a comparison, but the proliferation of punk small labels in the 1980s (SST, Alternative Tentacles, R Radical, Dischord, etc) signaled a deliberate choice on the part of some bands to remain outside the music industry. Most of that came out of a left-ish, anticapitalist stance that was more or less coherent, depending on the band; some wanted to gain as much control over the production process as possible, for ideological as well as aesthetic reasons. The loving song to Malcolm X on Cosmic's record is potentially interesting in this regard: X stressed the necessity for black neighborhoods to assert greater control over their local economies, so that wealth could be generated within the community and stay within the community.

Derek Taylor: I think the comparison between valuation of DIY approaches in punk and jazz communities is spot-on. As Bill mentioned earlier there's a long history of jazz artists starting their own labels or having labels started by others to advance their work/interests. That tradition carries through to this day, but was just as prevalent contemporaneously with this set. Hat Hut was just getting off the ground in Switzerland in 1974 as a conduit for Joe McPhee's output, which had earlier been fostered by Craig Johnson's CJR imprint and Giacomo Pelliciotti's Black Saint/Soul Note ventures were launched in similar fashion to steward Billy Harper's efforts. All three were fiercely artist-focused and remained so even when outside pressures/enticements attempted to lure them in other directions. History is also littered with jazz artists who accepted major label overtures only to be dropped when the returns on investment didn't manifest (Sonny Simmons, David S. Ware, Henry Threadgill, Arthur Blythe, etc.). It's not entirely clear whether Musra & Cosmic ever shopped their work to outside concerns, but based the energy the put into their enterprises top to bottom I kind of doubt it.

Bill Meyer: Yeah, Max Roach, Charles Mingus, and Mingus's wife Celia started Debut back in the 50s. Sun Ra and Alton Abraham started Saturn around the same time. It was not new. At the time that Cosmic and Musra made these recordings, I can't imagine that they had a lot of other options. It was a rough time for jazz, commercially speaking. And one thing the punks and indie rockers figured out that I think the jazz indies of past decades never did was how to put together touring and distribution networks.

Jonathan Shaw: 1974 was rough pretty much all around. I've been listening to the version of "Arabia" on the Phill Musra Group record this morning, which seems to me much tougher and dissonant than the longer take on Cosmic's. Even the cymbals on the shorter version have more attack to them. Alongside "Egypt," I can't help but think of the Yom Kippur War of the previous year, formation of OPEC, and the consequent gas shortages in the US. I wonder what it was like performing songs themed toward North African and Middle Eastern cultures at that time.

Bill Meyer: Recession, gas lines, Watergate... they were not salad days.

Michael Rosenstein: There are a bunch of labels started by jazz artists like the ones noted above along with Strata-East founded by Charles Tolliver and Stanley Cowell, and Cecil Taylor's short-lived Unit Core label. But, as Derek notes above, I would guess that Musra & Cosmic were driven more by just wanting to get their music out than by wanting to stay outside the music industry. There just weren't that many options around in the mid-70s for jazz musicians. If anything, I would put their efforts closer to the DIY cassette scene. From the liner notes, it looks like neither Cosmic Records or Intex Records (the two labels that put these out) pretty much existed only to release Musra & Cosmic's music and then disappeared.

Derek Taylor: Interesting question regarding the reception toward music referencing North African and Middle Eastern cultures in the mid-1970s. I doubt the audiences Cosmic & Musra were courting evinced any overt ire or issues, but you never know. A tangent and a much later case, but drummer Pete La Roca (in)famously attempted to bar the reissue of his 1965 Blue Note album Basra (a minor masterpiece, IMO) out of the purported opinion that the title was disrespectful to American troops that had died in Iraq.

Jonathan Shaw: Interesting info, Derek. My grade-school memory of the 1970s suggests that anti-mid-eastern sentiments kicked up a lot after the Islamic Revolution in Iran. I don't know how extensive or intense anti-Arab feeling was in the 73-74 oil shock or to what extent Africanist/African-interested jazz music would have been on that radar of hate.

On a different theme: Michael noted earlier that "The Prayer," on the record of previously unreleased stuff, doesn't feature either of the brothers. From the album booklet, it looks like the only of player of note to the rest of the collection is John Jamyll Jones. The decision to include what seems a relatively tangential piece—especially one of such length—is strange to me (it's a lovely piece). How influential a player was Jones? How extensive might his influence have been on the brothers?

Michael Rosenstein: My guess is that the inclusion was to provide context of other music in a similar vein that was happening in Boston at the time.

Derek Taylor: Jones led the World Experience Orchestra, another Boston band of which the brothers were members and had strong strong ties to NYC. Now Again reissued two albums as a two-fer package prior to the set under discussion here. I was excited prior to hearing Jones, but came away underwhelmed. The music just doesn't hold together as well and the use of singers and less skilled participants is more pronounced.

Jonathan Shaw: That's too bad. I'm listening to "The Prayer" again. Appropriate that it starts with a statement from Jones. I don't usually respond well to flutes, but the solo (notes credit the playing to Stan Strickland) really lights things up. I wonder how thematically significant the instrument's gentleness is, with respect to prayer. The strings also give the piece a sort of rapturous quality. There's some dissonance around the 17th minute, but it's not a dominant tone. Also, the audience's initially confused response to the coda is pretty great.

Michael Rosenstein: Back to the notion of comparing these releases to punk labels in the early 80s, I think a better comparison would be to the local rock bands in the late 70s who did small-run, self releases. There was a promo e-mail that got forwarded recently for a reissue of music by the Austin band Terminal Mind. From what I can tell from the info on the site this band wasn't known much outside of Austin at the time, put out a few EPs themselves that sold out quickly, and then recently got unearthed. Jenny can probably think of a bunch of other examples like this. I think it was just reasonably affordable to pull together a short-run EP/LP back then.

Derek Taylor: The Numero Group has kind of made that sort of thing their reissue forte over the years, first w/ a slew local/regional soul labels and later branching out to include rock, punk & other genres, even yacht rock.

Jonathan Shaw: The tack Michael suggests is how a bunch of those early-1980s labels started. SST was originally a vehicle for Black Flag to put out singles in LA. Once they figured out that it was possible, they invited some friends along for the ride.

Mason Jones: Exactly — similar to Slash, Dischord, and so forth. Even Industrial Records and Mute, for that matter!

Ian Mathers: Speaking of getting in late and miss some fascinating conversation... I can give a complete novice’s perspective, at least. I was delayed partly by the problems of fitting in listens of this pretty sprawling set (or sets?), but I have been following the conversation with interest and learning a lot, and really enjoying those listens when I have been able to fit them in. I have virtually no jazz vocabulary to discuss these with; I grew up with Kind of Blue and A Love Supreme and loved the latter, and have been able to get into four Miles Davis albums so far (In a Silent Way, A Tribute to Jack Johnson, On the Corner and, uh, Dark Magus) and although I've listened here and there to plenty of things (including some free or at least freer jazz) and usually enjoyed it, for whatever reason jazz just doesn't tend to be something I put on unless I think about it. I feel like I should personally apologize to Derek here (who's writing about I've been reading and enjoying here for years!).

What this means is that while I recognize most of the names that have been mentioned in relationship to the music here, and even have enough context and/or fuzzy memories of having heard them before that the references have made contextual sense to me, when I'm walking around listening to "The Prayer" I'm mostly thinking that the part where the bass and violin are most prominent (my favourite part) makes me think of, say, Astral Weeks meets the Dirty Three. So I apologize for an fumbling and/or ignorant cross-genre comparisons I might make.

The most unexpected part of the experience for me so far is that I pretty much instantly liked the Michael Cosmic and World Experience Orchestra material, the Phill Musra Group tracks took a little longer and honestly still aren't my favourite (although I don't dislike them). I was struck by Jonathan's comment about the Musra "Arabia" being a little tougher and more dissonant, which I agree with, because both of those things would normally make it my preferred version, but in this case in addition to those qualities this shorter version just feels a little less... colorful? Listening now I'm wondering if this isn't partially the production or even room tone, but those four Michael Cosmic tracks, especially the longer first two, just feel so vibrant and communal and joyful, and the Phill Musra tracks just feel a little more... considered? formal (if that's not a totally ridiculous descriptor for any of this music)? restrained? And I think because "Arabia" is the only shared track between the two I feel the contrast a bit more there. That being said I do really like "The Creator Is So Far Out" in particular.

My favourite track here though, by far, and for some of the same reasons I know Derek wasn't necessarily a fan, is "Space on Space". I am a repetition guy and even though the actual music is vastly different some of my love for "Space on Space" comes from the same part of me that adores Oneida's "Sheets of Easter" or the loops at the end of Liars' "This Dust Makes That Mud" and Massive Attack's "Antistar" or the many 20+ minute tracks by Muslimgauze I've heard over the years. And here with "Space on Space" maybe it's the fact that there is that continuing element that allows me to more fully appreciate the parts of the band that are peeling off and doing their own thing while the looping musicians vamp in the background. It's probably the most viscerally thrilling free jazz track I've heard, although again my prior experience is minimal.

It's been a real education reading the liner notes and the discussion here about the context surrounding the brothers and their music, not least because some of that confirms the feeling I was getting from this music as soon as I played it the first time (I wanted to go in blind, just in case I wound up being overly suggestible). I definitely want to keep this stuff around, although in the future I honestly might split it into three, because the situations where I'd want to hear the Michael Cosmic material versus the more meditative Phill Musra Group versus the even more laid back World Experience Orchestra track here would probably be different.

#Michael Cosmic & Phil Musra Group #michael cosmic #phill musra group #now-again records #now-again reserve #dusted magazine #listeningpost #mason jones #michael rosenstein #derek taylor #bill meyer #jonathan shaw #ian mathers

5 notes · View notes

lynyrdwrites · 7 years

Text

Wired

So apparently KC AU week is going to be a week for starting multi-part stories. I got two requests for Cyborg Klaroline (one from @goldcaught, one from an anon), and here is my take.

Part 1 for KC AU Week Day 3: Sci fi for @everythingisklaroline

---

She wasn’t sure how she had gotten into the mess.

Actually, that would be a lie – sheh knew exactly how she got into the mess.

Enzo.

What she didn’t know, was how she had let herself get involved in the whole, mad mess.

She wasn’t a bounty hunter. She was just a journalism student - probably a failed journalism student at that point. But idiot that she was, she let Enzo convince her that the one, single job would be easy.

The target was a fucking cyborg.

A military grade cyborg.

And Caroline was pretty sure he was going to kill her.

“Now tell me, Love, what’s my fool brother doing sending a Neutral after me?”

Klaus’ eye – which had appeared to be a perfectly normal blue just moments before – took on the telltale black and red appearance of a scanner, and his other eye narrowed at the results he found. Caroline’s breath whooshed out as Klaus lifted her so her toes barely scraped the ground. She clawed at his hand futilely, and he pulled her closer.

“You’re not a Cyborg,” Klaus said with a scowl. “So why would anyone send you-”

He cut off when Caroline slammed her hand into his chest, a low grade electric jolt rewiring his robotics. She dropped to the ground and scrambled back gracelessly, staring at Klaus’ prone form after he collapsed to the ground.

She waited one beat… then another… and finally, when he still didn’t move, she let a victorious smirk curve her lips.

“Unlicensed wiring, asshole!”

48 hours previous

Caroline Forbes was screwed.

Like, as in, soon-to-be-evicted-and-no-way-to-pay-tuition screwed.

She rapidly did the math one more time, her finger flying across the calculator keys on her phone. The results were still the same.

She was pathetically broke.

Caroline groaned and buried her face in her hands. She hadn’t expected this, even when she had seen the exorbitant bills for her mother’s chemotherapy. Maybe because she had been so determined her mother would beat the cancer.

Now her mom was dead, and Caroline had no money.

She was so tired she couldn’t even cry. Instead, she just sat with her head in her hands, wishing that wishes could change the world.

That was how Enzo found her.

“You’re not looking too sharp, Gorgeous.”

Caroline looked up with weary eyes as Enzo sprawled in the kitchen chair across from her. He reached out and tugged the paper with her attempts at budgeting on it and winced at what he saw.

“Bloody hell, Gorgeous. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t know,” Caroline replied, scrubbing a hand over her hair. “Enzo, I’m so beyond screwed.”

Enzo stared at the paper, then looked up at her.

“Are you still unlicensed?”

Caroline scowled at the question, and darted a look around, as though her non-existent roommate would hear them speaking; but it was the result of spending her entire life hiding her wiring, that Caroline was always suspicious when it got mentioned.

“I can’t afford rent. How would I afford licensing?” she hissed low.

It was illegal, of course, that Caroline had the Cyborg wiring in her arms. All Cyborgs were to be reported and properly licensed.

But Bill Forbes had viewed himself as something of a scientist, and rather than getting Council approval, he had simply experimented on his daughter. He had been kicked out, of course, once Liz realized what he was doing. But by then it had been too late.

He had been killed in a freak accident before he had ever discovered if his experiments had been successful, and Liz hadn’t been able to afford the astronomical Licensing fees that would have put Caroline in the government record books, but also given her free systems upkeep.

Instead, Caroline had relied on the illegal services of Meredith Fell – she had been cheaper than the License fees, but not cheap, and Caroline had that debt to figure out now too.

“Look, I know a guy-”

“Kol,” Caroline interrupted. “When you know a guy, it’s always Kol, and usually something illegal. I worry about your taste in men.”

“He’s good in bed,” Enzo drawled. “And do you want to pay your debt or not?”

With Kol involved, she should have said no.

When she found out the mess involved a licensed Cyborg, she should have said fuck no. He would have modern tech, while Caroline’s latest update involved whatever wiring Meredith could sneak from the Cyborg Station in Mystic Falls – not exactly big city robotics.

But Kol had failed to mention the military aspect of the Cyborg, making her think he was just a regular drone that had a superiority complex and needed to be brought in for rewiring.

So in desperation, she had taken the damn dossier and spent two days hunting the bastard down.

Present

Klaus Mikaelson came back online slowly.

He couldn’t recall having a reboot like that in…

Well, Klaus Mikaelson simply didn’t have reboots like that. A reboot that left his head pounding meant the enemy had forced a reboot, and enemies never got the upper hand like that.

Except the pretty little blonde had.

“Look, Kol, I don’t care how you usually do things. I want you to take this guy now… … Yeah? Well maybe before you bitch we should discuss how he’s apparently your brother!”

Klaus sat up slowly. The wiring just below his skin was glowing – a freaky, radioactive circulatory system is what Rebekah had once likened it to - but since the girl clearly knew what he was, he didn’t bother re-engaging his stealth system.

Instead, he activated his scanner again, this time engaging a deeper scan, searching for what he had missed before.

He couldn’t see a control center, like the one he had embedded in his neck – the central computer that connected to his brain and allowed his robotics to communicate with his human aspect.

It was the control center that allowed his sensors to register a Cyborg and read their capabilities, but the blonde had none. Even when he searched for the wiring in her arm, he came up empty. He thought, perhaps, there was a shadow…but then he blinked and swore he must have dreamed it.

Klaus eased to his feet, and engaged his short range projectile. The whir drew the woman’s attention, and she spun around. Klaus prepared to dodge another electric attack, but rather than go on the offensive, she dove behind a nearby sofa.

“Shit!” She swore, and he heard her thud to the ground, completely lacking any sort of grace.

“Your innocent act fooled me one, Love. I underestimated you. It won’t happen again.”

He shot into the sofa, following the sounds of her scrambling along the length. He felt his brow furrow as she leapt out the other side, falling for what was little more than a child’s strategy with ease.

“Stop shooting at me!” she yelled, backing away from him so that her back hit the wall, and her eyes glistened as though –

“Are you about to cry?” Klaus asked, his arm lowering slightly in confusion.

“You’re shooting at me!” the blonde retorted, brushing the tears away before they could fall. “And I’m under a lot of stress and I’m pissed off! This was supposed to be easy!”

“My brother told you that, I assume. You should know that Kol lies. Usually, simply for the sake of lying. He’s an ass.”

“Clearly!” she snapped.

“And you are… not at all trained,” Klaus realized, lowering his arm the rest of the way. While he didn’t particularly value innocent lives, killing the blonde simply because she had fallen prey to his idiot brother seemed…

Unbearably rude.

And rather like kicking a puppy, as even angry, tears still sparkled in her eyes.

Yet she was still a mystery. Because Klaus had encountered every variety of Cyborg out there, and even the unlicensed had a control center.

“Who created you?” he demanded.

“My parents,” she replied somewhat dryly, seeming to calm now that he no longer aimed the projectiles at her. “You know, like all little girl and boys, even you. Although you’re probably not recognizable as that boy anymore.”

Klaus refrained from rolling his eyes, but he was used to the judgements on how far he had let them take his Cyborg status.

His siblings viewed him as a monster, what should this girl’s opinion matter.

“Your name,” he tried again, impatiently, but the girl stayed silent.

“Caroline?” Klaus froze when he heard the voice. Distant and tinny, he doubted the blonde could hear it, but it was far too recognizable to him. “Forbes? Pick up, dammit! If my brother’s killed you Enzo will never forgive me.”

Klaus ignored the woman – Caroline, he assumed – and picked up the phone. He heard her take a step towards him, and held up his arm, once more aiming at her as he held the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Kol.”

“Nik,” Kol sounded as he usually did – blasé and entertained, but there was a strain under it. “I was under the impression you’d been temporarily shut down.”

“I recovered,” he answered coolly. “So, you’ve become lapdog to big government, then. I never pegged you as the type.”

“Hardly a lapdog, Nik. But we all have to make a living somehow. This one suits me.” Klaus could imagine Kol’s grin and felt a pang of home sickness. “She’s a sweet little bit, our Caroline. I thought she might appeal to you, get close enough for her little shock to work. Can’t blame a bloke for trying, right? But she’s not big league, Nik. Hurting her won’t do a damn thing for whatever asinine anti-establishment mission it is you’ve embraced.”

“No?” Klaus raised a brow and grinned at Caroline in a way that made her look a little nervous. He stepped around her, never giving her his back, and stepped up to a portrait on the wall, of another blonde woman, hugging a toddler close. He assumed the toddler to be Caroline; they had the same eyes.

And he had seen this picture before.

“Bill Forbes is a madman,” Klaus stated, and though he spoke to Kol, it was Caroline for whom the words were intended. “But I do believe he loves his daughter.”

Kol spoke rapidly, but Klaus was already done with his brother. He dropped the cell to the ground and stomped it hard, crushing it into a hundred pieces. Caroline held her hand up, blue volts sparked along her skin, the wiring he was unable to pick up in a scan lighting up beneath her skin. Klaus engaged his sensors once more, and still no control panel. No wires.

Yet physically, he could see that she must have both.

“Undetectable,” he murmured, in something close to awe. “Sometimes, he would say it was possible… but I always assumed he meant in theory. But he had a living prototype.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Caroline demanded. She jerked towards him, and Klaus stepped back.

She still hadn’t shot anything at him, leaving him to assume contact must be necessary for her nasty little trick.

“William Forbes, of course. Head of the military’s experimental department. You must hate him as much as I do, Love.”

“William Forbes is dead.”

She didn’t deny hating him, Klaus noted. Just denied that he lived.

“When you work with the government’s most sensitive secrets, it’s best that the world think you dead. He’s trying to recreate you, Love. But thus far, he’s failed. Were you dead, one could assume he’d continue to fail that much longer.”

“Screw you,” Caroline hissed.

“That could be arranged,” Klaus murmured, because while a Cyborg, he was also still a man, and Klaus had always been attracted to the very rare and beautiful.

Caroline, with her hidden robotics, was both.

She growled low in her throat, and moved again, aiming her hand once more – this time, straight for the control center in his neck, as though she knew where it was.

The projectile he shot at her contained a low grade sedative – enough to knock her out, but not damage the connection between human and robotics. She stumbled sideways, and Klaus caught her when she fell.

He could kill her – he was more than capable.

But she hadn’t denied that she hated William Forbes.

And that meant she could be valuable.

At the very least, Klaus was intrigued. And for the moment, that intrigue would keep her alive. But not free.

No, Klaus was going to keep the little ghost close.

#Klaroline #kcauweek #everythingisklaroline #goldcaught #Klaroline fic

47 notes · View notes