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leviiattacks · 3 years

Note

CASHIER LEVI AND LIKE THE READER IS THE CUSTOMER AND IT’S LIKE THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON EACHTOHER

author note :: honestly not my best at all..... like at all..... this was actually pretty good but the entire draft got deleted and i just lost all my effort but i felt bad for starting it and not completing it for anon so you may take whatever i have managed to salvage. i hope u enjoy it :’( i am extremely sick rn and yeah writing is the only break i am currently getting from anything :-) SO AGAIN I’ M SORRY ANON..... i may write a 10k + word fic on this though so i can redeem myself bc this is just disappointing 😭

word count :: 3.3k

every single thursday you stop by ackermart. maybe it’s because the day is convenient for you or perhaps it’s because of a certain cashier that works the evenings...

HAHA it’s got nothing to do with a cashier why would it have anything to do with a cashier? :-)

today is like any other. you walk through the fresh produce aisle then proceed to make your way towards the bakery section picking up a loaf of bread

it’s stupid, you know it is but... you think you’ve worked up enough courage to speak to him today!!

and who is him you may ask?

levi at till number four. his tired eyes always happen to pierce into yours and his calloused thumbs brush past your skin when you hand him your rewards card

levi is what his bright red name tag says and although he doesn’t look like a levi you’d like to think your crush isn’t stealing someone’s identity so you believe that it’s his real name

anxiously fiddling with your basket you’re beginning to think this was a horrible idea

the girl ahead of you is flirting up a storm with him and although he’s not reciprocating it by any means you still feel deterred

levi bags the last of her groceries and looks up at her when she asks for a way to contact him. he doesn’t look mad... just bored?

“ma’am. this is an ackermart i don’t think it’s appropriate you ask me for my number. the customer service line is listed on our website.”

the woman raises a brow looking completely flabbergasted. okay, if everything before this wasn’t a warning THIS sure was

she stomps off when she realises levi isn’t kidding and you think you’d feel bad for her maybe if she was more respectful about it

“next customer.” levi calls over his shoulder and you shuffle forward pretending to be engrossed in your phone

“cash or card?” he asks plainly.

you hear the BEEP of your groceries being scanned and think on it for a while before replying with “cash”

you’re clearly pretty good at your pretend to be totally into your phone act because levi tries to get your attention but you don’t hear what he has to say till the third time he repeats himself

but even then you’re still unsure what it is he’s said????

looking down you see his hand is stuck out in front of you and now you’re even more confused

faltering for a second you look at his palm and then speak

“um, i guess your hand is nice? it’s pretty big compared to the rest of you actually.”

“i was asking for your cash?” he says and now you look at his palms in mortification

gasping you yANK your hand into your purse as you laugh awkwardly fishing around to find your money

“oh, OH i knew that. just kidding!! i mean- i meant that thing about your hand?? but i thought it was- i funny? yes the joke funny? i’m-”

he leans back into his spinning chair and sighs contently. “you’re not making much sense peaches.”

“pe- peaches??” you repeat. no way you’ve heard that correct

levi lazily points at the abundance of the aforementioned fruit in your grocery bags

“you must love em.”

“i, well yeah i do like peaches but i also like...” um??? what food would make you look sophisticated and professional?

OH YEAH

“FRENCH CUISINE :-)!!!!” you say rather proudly

“...cool. i guess.” levi hands you your grocery bag which is basically an invitation asking for you to get out

he doesn’t seem mad but he’s definitely going to look back at this encounter and laugh his ass off at how stupid you are

hanging your head down low in embarrassment you make your way out towards your car

there’s always next time!! maybe you can practice in the mirror yeah that does sound like it would help!!!

okay so.

it is officially next time.

actually you never got the opportunity to practice in front of the mirror because you chickened out of looking like an idiot even if it was in the privacy of your own home

but!!! you did try to practice some cool pick up lines because who doesn’t like a good pickup line or two??

the two mini milk cartons in your hand and the pack of doughnuts you have tucked under your arm aren’t too heavy so you aren’t too worried about having to wait in the line

for some reason the guy in front of you keeps turning around and glancing at you as if you don’t even exist

you are not casper the ghost

also casper is a little boy and you definitely aren’t a little boy

finally after a good five minutes the man ahead of you is having his stuff scanned but he’s STILL doing it. even levi notices and gives him an odd look which borders annoyance and anger.

“can i pay for your groceries? maybe walk you to your car?” the stranger asks suddenly

so that’s what this is, he’s simply taken an interest in you

my god this is new but it is uncomfortable and you’d rather say no

“oh, i actually walked here and no thanks i can pay for my own. enjoy the rest of your day!!” you hope your white lie is enough to fool the man but instead of agreeing as any other person would he looks majorly deceived

“i saw you in the parking lot.” ok this is getting a bit too uncomfortable for your liking

“c’mon i’m offering to buy your shit too?”

his voice is raising and you’re not sure what exactly you can do but thankfully for you the manager steps in and takes him away before any more threats can be made

the man had taken up so much of your attention you almost forgot levi was even there until you turned back around

“do you want a member of staff to accompany you to your car? it’s getting dark out.” levi’s comment helps ease your nerves and you try to laugh off what just happened

“i’m good :-)” you say shaking a little. you’re unsure if it’s the cold or the fact you still haven’t completely calmed down

“you sure peaches?”

“i haven’t bought any peaches this time.”

“you’re still peaches to me.” your cheeks flush at his confidence

wait, maybe this is your chance. you’re the last person in his line and they’re closing up for the day so...

“could you walk me to my car?”

and to your surprise even before you can take back what you’ve said levi agrees

it stays like that for a while.

every thursday levi walks you to your car by the end of his shift, all the while the two of you exchange a few words together

like last week you asked him what his favourite colour was (he said purple) you’ve learnt about his hobbies (he’s a decent cook), you’ve even found out about some of his own personal problems. he had mentioned suffering with insomnia in passing.

to be honest each and every time he walks you to your car he has to notice that you begin to park further and further away from the front entrance. but if he does notice he doesn’t say a word about it

“is that all you’re checking out?” you ask with a cheeky grin plastered across your face

looking down at your new dress your lopsided grin is far from fading away any time soon. you especially picked this one out after asking levi what his favourite colour was last week

god. this is so embarrassing but never actually have you had a crush this huge

levi who’s sat behind the counter shoots you a look which almost seems to be on the verge of uninterested. he isn’t entertaining this at all or this is just his typical bored face, you can’t really tell

BUT..... you still have a huge crush on him and you aren’t one to give up this easily

for the record you don’t harass him or anything, just the occasional hint is thrown around but he’s either really dense or doesn’t care

his expression does you no favours, you can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time

“you’re always buying energy drinks... might want to cut down on those they’re no good for you.”

warmth blooms in your chest. he’s just saying it to make small talk but the fact he even thinks to bring that up has your heart fluttering

“i- well- yeah i will!! just have a few overdue essays to get over with :-)” twiddling your thumbs together you think that makes your nerves too obvious so you begin to scratch at the back of your neck

if anything is a dead give away it’s your constant neck scratching, thankfully levi hasn’t picked up on it

“so you wore purple today?” his eyes linger on the thin straps of your dress and you feel the goosebumps rise up onto your skin immediately

“oh yeahhhh-”

“did i tell you yellow was my favourite colour last week?” he asks holding up a neon yellow pack of crisps and for the first time you see him smile

he looks so ?!|>\€|^ pretty ?!/)/&

wait?? yellow??

“didn’t you say purple?”

“no?” he crosses his arms playfully over his chest thinking for a bit

“maybe i did but no it’s really yellow.” he says as he hands you your bag

nodding your head you smile “yeahhhh sure it is.”

damn, now you’re going to have to find a yellow dress just to make him revert back to purple because who even likes yellow?? that’s a deal breaker right there??

update

it’s been two weeks!!

and a yellow dress has been found and secured B-)

it’s been a pretty rough day at work and you need to desperately collect a pack of green tea and get going

you don’t know when exactly being a secretary meant you had to babysit your boss’ children but that’s what the last week has entailed

being made to work overtime to this extent has had an effect on you and you’re ready to head home as soon as you swing by ackermart

not seeing levi for a week made you a little :-( because to be honest he’s the highlight of your thursday evening BUT!! you’ll be able to see him today at least

walking in through the entrance you’re met with connie smiling right at you, he holds the door open for you and smile back greeting him

“so you didn’t come last week...?”

it’s weird for him to ask that, after all you don’t really speak to anyone here apart from levi, you’re surprised you’re enough of a regular to be known by name

“oh i didn’t think anyone would notice? but yeah i had to work overtime you know what boss’ are like.” groaning you crouch down and look at the pot noodles on display

“i didn’t notice it. boss man did.”

“boss man?” you ask feeling out of loop

“levi.” connie answers as he hops into the backroom

????

isn’t he just a cashier??

“you still look confused.” connie remarks as he heads back out with a cardboard box full of pringle’s tubes

“levi’s the boss man, this is his store. he literally only ever mans the cash register on thursday evening because of you.”

at that you start laughing because it makes no sense at all to you

there’s no way connie is being serious

“good one.” you say as you stand up with a chicken flavored noodle in your hand

“i’m not kidding?”

turning around you give him a skeptical look

he sighs and shakes his head.

“listen. me and the part timers are tired of making bets on when he’ll give you his number and i bet that it would happen today so if you could confess to each other that would be perfect!!!”

“who said i like-”

“anyone with a brain can tell you both like each other.” he’s rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head you begin to take him a little more seriously now

“i... did i make it that obvious??” you’re directly facing him trying to get out as much information as you can

“yeah. very. at least levi wasn’t as bold.”

“i think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick he definitely doesn’t like me.”

connie gives you an “are you fucking with me?” look and you look away trying to distract yourself with the the canned goods lining the shelves

“he was worried sick when you didn’t come in for the entire week. he even asked me if he scared you away.”

“maybe i’m just his favourite customer?”

“favourite customer my ass he has a crush on YOU. confess.”

playing around with the ends of your sleeves connie sees he’s fighting a losing battle unless he gives you definitive solid proof

“please... i’ll get free barbecue if i win the bet and i’m kinda broke rn :-(” okay, you do want connie to eat well and be treated and maybe this is a good thing. if levi doesn’t like you then you can move on!!

“i’ll think about it.”

before connie can continue talking you make a beeline towards the tea aisle whilst throwing a “see you next time!” over your shoulder.

by the time you’ve gathered all of your groceries your basket is full to the brim. you’ve been lingering as much as you can out of fear but you think you’ve collected just enough courage to ask for his number

looking at the cash register levi is sat there and your shoulders slump. he’s probably going to say no and you’re going to look like a huge loser.

right as you’re about to take a step towards him levi finally spots you and gives you one look before standing up from his seat

“hi!” you wave at him

“...hey!” he smiles wide but he bites it back pretending it was never there in the first place

placing your basket in front of him he eyes what you’ve got

“hm... lots of peaches as per usual peaches.” the nickname that rolls of his tongue makes you tremble a little. will he call you that after you fuck everything up with this stupid confession?

his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek when he gets to the heart shaped box of chocolates

“a gift for a friend? didn’t know you had those?” he teases as he scans the barcode

“gift for a crush!” you reply back enthusiastically as you dig through your wallet looking for your card

levi doesn’t respond for a few seconds and an awkward silence fills the air. you glance up to see him looking at you open mouthed in shock

“good luck.” he murmurs under his breath he’s not even returning your gaze at this point and is hurriedly scanning through your barcodes

“you okay?” you ask worrying about his mood

“yeah, yeah. great.” he’s quieter than usual.

the rest of your encounter is the same, levi silently bags your groceries and you can’t tell if this is a good or bad response.

just as he’s about to place the heart shaped box into your plastic bag you lunge forward holding his wrist to stop him

“no i don’t need those.”

he cocks his eyebrow upwards trying to analyse your expression and gain an understanding of your thoughts

“don’t tell me you’re chickening out. whoever it is will say yes.” he scoffs as he places the chocolates into the bag handing them over to you with a warm smile

there it is again. the fear returns and you swipe your tongue over your slightly dry lips.

no way.

is he telling you to confess to someone now? so he must not like you?

taking the bag away from him you scratch your neck out of habit and huff feeling frustrated

“he keeps giving me mixed signals.” you say hoping he catches your drift

“give him the chocolates and let him put two and two together. don’t even say anything.” his advice would be great if he weren’t the guy you were trying to confess to in real time

nodding you reach into the bag and bring the box back out before gently placing it in front of levi

“are you serious?” he asks and your face drops seeing the possible displeasure in his eyes

great, connie and the part timers just over analysed he doesn’t like you, obviously he doesn’t like you, why would he like you?

without looking back you hurry out, the embarrassment is eating you away now and the thought of ever returning to ackermart isn’t even feasible in your mind

at this point you may as well change your name, identity, dye your hair, have a few children and wear sunglasses the next time you come back so you look like a soccer mum and not the foolish y/n who thought they had a chance with their cute CASHIER???

god, you probably look like a creep

the sound of footsteps can be heard behind you and labored breaths follow before levi calls out for you

“please wait up.” he grumbles. slowing down your pace you let him catch up to you. he grabs at your wrist and sighs in relief

turning you see him savour the air

is this the part where he confesses he likes you too or—

“your receipt you forgot it.” he gasps as he opens your hand for you and places it into your palm

oh.

fingers clasping shut onto the paper you feel the humiliation seep into your pores

this.

is.

the.

worst.

moment.

of.

your.

life.

“open it.” he offer you a boyish smile and your nerves don’t let you find comfort in it

you grimace as you fold it open, you’re imagining he’s charged you an extra £100 for having unwanted feelings for him and if that’s the case you’ll die on the spot

but instead your eyes light up in joy. you’re pleasantly surprised

...

inside of the receipt is his phone number haphazardly sprawled across in black biro - you even double check by comparing it to the number for the customer service helpline

hello??

HELLO.?.!/)£ HIS NUMBER???

“if you just wanted to return the chocolate this is embarrassing.” he’s the one who’s now scratching at his neck and you find that he’s endearing this way

the streetlight from above illuminates him, the shadows cast over his face and his brows aren’t furrowed as they usually are

you open your mouth to reply but connie cuts you off unintentionally. he can be heard YELLING into his phone ecstatic that his plan has worked out

“I WIN!!! HA BBQ’S ON YOU JEAN!! MUST SUCK TO BE YOU.”

you and levi look at each other and laugh, reassuring the other of what has just happened.

well...

you guess this is the start of something new? maybe??

:-)

526 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

The Sort of Things We Usually Do Alone | Mob!Sam Wilson, Mob!Bucky Barnes, and Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

summary: it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you got a job at a mob-controlled strip club. still, you never saw this coming.

warnings: technically dub con but it’s pretty light, there’s three dudes and one girl so i bet you can guess that every hole is going to come into discussion, plus some pain kink and metal arm kink. (note: none of them are fully dark here, but like… it’s the mob so, they’re not 100% gentlemen either. just bossy and demanding and a wee bit possessive, but not true creeps.)

word count: 3.7k

@evnscvll @mandalorianspace @ballyhoobarnes @mariahthelioness29

moodboard by yours truly

Funny enough, you had actually been expecting an easy night tonight. You were just doing bottle service-- no pole, no private events-- so unless somebody specifically requested you for a lap dance, you were basically off the hook. Less tips, but you were already looking forward to getting home and changing into something considerably less tight than what you were wearing now.

That all went out the window when you saw three suits walk in the door. You knew who they were: everyone did. Just the way they walked made it clear that they owned the place-- literally.

Sam, specifically, you recognized. He was pretty high up in the organization but he spent the most time here of anyone. You and Sam had an... arrangement, to put it softly. You gave him a lot of private dances, and you did things with him that you most certainly were not permitted to do with other customers. The two men beside him-- one with dark hair and an even darker glare, the other with shorter blonde locks and gorgeous blue eyes-- seemed new.

You pretended not to see them as you set down your tray of drinks and waited for Sam to come to you, like he always did. You felt his hand on the small of your back and turned to look up at him through your lashes, a little surprised to see the other two still with him rather than dispersing into the crowd.

“Hey there," Sam purred at you, leaning against the bar beside where you were standing.

"Hi," you replied coyly.

"You miss me?"

"Always."

"Mm, you're a good liar," he grinned, lifting your chin with one finger and leaning in for an open-mouthed kiss.

You stopped him with a gentle press of your hands against his chest. "Um, you haven't introduced me to your friends…"

Maybe it was ironically conservative for you to object to being kissed in front of men you didn't know when you literally got naked for strangers every day, but you figured that he had something important to tell you about them. If he didn't, he would've taken you to the back room by now.

"Oh! I almost forgot. We got some fresh blood-- Bucky," he motioned to the dark haired one, "and Steve," he shoved the other on the shoulder. Bucky barely even acknowledged you aside from a slow scan of your body with his gaze; Steve gave you a slightly awkward half-smile.

"Hi there, boys," you greeted with your brightest smile. "Welcome to the family."

"You're gonna welcome them a little better than that," Sam grinned. "Why don't you give Bucky a lap dance, huh? On the house, of course."

"Sure," you agreed, trying to hide your confusion that he would suggest something like that. Normally he was pretty possessive and jealous.

Just as you started to walk towards the chairs by the stage, Sam interjected.

"No, sweetheart-- take him to the back."

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. "A… private dance?"

"Well, Steve and I will be close by. So not that private."

"Uhh, sure. This way," you led Bucky with a curled finger and a saunter into the back hallway, past the red velvet curtain where the lights were even darker and the carpet was plushy and soft under your stilettos.

"Take a seat," you offered as you turned the corner to the room you and Sam usually used. Bucky relaxed into the black suede chair, his eyes never leaving you. Only then did you notice that he was wearing leather gloves-- a little peculiar, but you’d definitely seen stranger

You felt Sam and Steve step a little closer behind you, caging you in. Even moreso, you felt three pairs of eyes on you. It felt different, somehow, than having dozens on you when you danced on stage.

"For private dances,” you explained slowly, “I typically wear… a little bit less than this…”

"I'm not gonna stop you," Bucky shrugged.

Yeah, but is Sam? you replied internally.

He didn't. What he did instead was tell Steve to help you unzip the back of your dress.

"Thank you," you mumbled as you made sure your hair was out of the way, shivering a little as his fingers ghosted over your neck to get a grip on the zipper, slowly sliding it down to the small of your back.

Stepping forward, you slipped the straps off your shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor.

"You're wearing the set I bought you," Sam noticed with a grin. He said you looked best in black. You weren't sure you agreed but you ended up using this set a lot anyways.

"You have good taste," you replied.

"Agreed," Bucky murmured, looking up at you from his chair.

Lifting one leg and sliding it next to him on the couch, you slowly lowered yourself until you were straddling him.

You gingerly wrapped your arms around his shoulders and began to move slowly, going through the motions and noticing the way he unabashedly stared at your chest. The lace bra didn’t leave much to the imagination.

There was a tension in the air as you moved over him, only the thumping bass echoing from the main floor breaking the silence. Some guys liked to talk during a dance, but Bucky’s brooding said more than enough. You could sense his restraint being tested-- occasionally you could even hear his fist tighten thanks to the creaking of the leather gloves.

Quickly turning to face the other way, you rubbed your ass on his crotch and almost let out a groan when you felt that he was hard. Hoping to tease him, you lifted your hips only to gasp when he grabbed you and pulled you down onto him, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“N-no touching,” you stammered, grabbing his wrists and placing his hands beside his legs.

“Let him touch you,” Sam instructed darkly.

“Really?”

“Did I stutter?”

You breathed shakily as you lifted your hands from Bucky’s wrists; as soon as he was free to, he reached around you and used his left hand to remove his right glove and toss it aside. You thought it was a little odd that he left the other one on, but once he was running his hands over your thighs and pushing your legs apart, you didn’t think much of it anymore.

You shivered as his right hand moved, excruciatingly slowly, towards your lace-clad pussy.

“You’re sort of shy, for a stripper,” Bucky whispered in your ear.

“Believe it or not, this is new for me,” you whispered back, giving a quick glance to where Steve and Sam were standing and watching you both intently. Your head fell back onto Bucky’s shoulder when one finger toyed with the edge of the lace of your panties.

His left hand pushed your face to the side so that he could kiss you, and before you were thinking about it you were kissing him back.

Finally, you felt Bucky's fingers pull your lingerie to the side and slide through your folds. He growled into your eager mouth when he felt how wet you were.

"Can I fuck her?" he asked, and you didn't realize until Sam replied that he was asking his permission.

"Not yet," was Sam's quick answer as he approached you. Grabbing your jaw, Sam pulled you forward and kissed you roughly.

Sam's kisses always made you feel completely at his disposal; his mouth dominated yours aggressively, and his hand wrapped around your neck just tight enough to make your heart race.

"Such a good little slut, aren't you?" he teased when he pulled back-- though he was still so close that his lips brushed against yours when he spoke.

"Yes-- for you," you answered.

"And you'll be good for them too, won't you? Get 'em initiated into the family?"

"Of course," you nodded quickly, "whatever you want."

"You said we were coming here for a team-building exercise," Steve recalled with crossed arms.

"And did I lie?" Sam retorted, standing up again to give him a glare. “Typically when I share my things with people, they’re grateful.”

“Right-- of course I am,” Steve backtracked quickly, “I just hope she’s not only doing it because you said to.”

“Aw, you’re worrying a little too much,” Sam chuckled. “She’s a whore, Steve. She loves it.”

"Go ahead baby," Sam continued, addressing you now, "give him the full treatment. But save some strength because Steve's going next."

You stood up and flipped around again, working open the buttons of Bucky’s shirt. Typically, guys responded really well to this part, leaning back and letting you undress them. He tensed up, though, and his eyes went a little wide.

“I wanna see you,” you explained, taking a moment to reach under the part of his shirt you’d opened so far and run your hand over his muscled chest.

“May not like what you see,” he warned you.

“I doubt that,” you grinned, already nearly halfway done with the buttons.

When you finished with the tedious buttons and pushed his shirt and jacket aside, you understood what he had been worried about: his shoulder was covered in scars, and even in the low light of the room you could tell that everything past that point was a metal prosthetic.

"That explains the glove you won't take off," you commented dryly.

"I didn't scare you off yet?" he asked like he was trying to stay cool, but was secretly worried it would bother you.

"Touch me with it," you requested quietly. Slowly, he removed the other glove and reached towards you with the metal hand.

His fingers were cold as they slid up your chest, around your neck, over your jaw. You dipped your head down a bit to take two of them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them.

He bit his lip quickly before leaning forward and looking you right in the eyes. “Get on the couch, on your hands and knees,” he instructed firmly.

You obeyed so quickly that you wondered if you left a cloud of dust in the shape of your silhouette like a cartoon; Sam noticed, and laughed. “Eager, huh?”

“Extremely,” Bucky answered for you as he slipped your panties down, and pushed the spit-slicked metal fingers inside you. You moaned and gripped the back of the couch tighter. The fingers withdrew as suddenly as they had entered, and you saw a shirt and jacket land beside you on the couch. Next was the sound of his belt clinking as it opened-- it made you a little nervous, in an erotic sort of way.

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you when Bucky thrust into you all at once. He wasn't bigger than Sam, at least as far as you could tell, but the shape of his cock was completely different. It pressed against your walls in new ways, and massaged places that you weren't used to feeling.

"Fuck," Bucky murmured behind you, "so goddamn tight."

You were already loud enough that anyone passing through the back hall would certainly hear you and know exactly what was happening. God forbid they saw three pairs of men’s shoes through the bottom of the curtain; the idea of someone knowing just how thoroughly you were being used made your face burn with a slightly pleasurable shame.

He moved just slow enough to make you wonder if he was trying to tease you. When he reached around and drew lazy circles around your clit, though, you were confident that he was trying to tease you.

“More, please,” you whimpered. “Fuck me harder.”

He laughed, and gave your ass a quick spank. “Poor thing, so needy,” he mocked. But he still did as you asked, holding you by your waist to keep you steady as he started to fuck you with the brutality you’d been hoping for.

He leaned down until it felt like his entire body would wrap around yours. He bit at the back of your neck and shoulders, growling as he fucked into you even deeper than you had realized was possible.

Just as you thought you both were on the path to coming, Sam stepped closer.

"Alright, step aside, loverboy," he chuckled, "I think you've had your fair share for now."

Bucky hesitated and you knew he didn't want to stop; you voluntarily clenched your walls around him as a little way of saying you weren't done with him yet either.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you felt the rough skin of Sam's hand move up and down your back. "You want your turn with this pretty little cunt, Steve?" he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"No."

"...No?!"

"I want that ass."

You swallowed dryly; Sam grinned.

"I like your style, man. Go ahead, have at it."

Steve took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves before he started to run his hands all over your body, humming contentedly. He moved a finger through your folds to wet it, then gently pushed it past your tight rim. "More," you requested with a moan.

"Already?" Steve questioned, but obeyed, adding a second finger quickly.

He scissored his fingers back and forth, slowly stretching you open. Your face was so hot you could probably fry an egg on it; you felt very exposed getting your ass fingered with two men watching you intently.

"Hurry up, please, I want it," you whimpered. You knew you could take the pain, and on days like this, you actually craved it.

"Just a little more babygirl," Steve promised, "gotta get you ready for me. Don't wanna break you."

"I wish you would," you admitted, and you heard Bucky laugh quietly from the sidelines.

Steve got a little more serious suddenly, leaning down as he slipped a third finger into you roughly. "I don't know if you could take me, little girl. I could split you in half," he growled right against your ear.

Your back arched. You wanted it so bad.

“I know that’s what you need, but if I did Sam would probably kill me. So be a good girl and be patient, alright?”

You nodded and bit your lip, doing your best to relax as he continued to twist his fingers inside you.

Thankfully, it wasn’t all too long before you felt him slide them out, that telltale jingling of his belt buckle in your ears again. You moaned when his hard cock slid between your legs, becoming coated in your arousal. Once he was satisfied, he pushed into your waiting hole; he’d prepared you so well that there was almost no resistance for the first half, but then as he got thicker and harder, you felt it start to burn. Not that you minded.

When he was fully inside, you both gasped. Of course, you were still trying to process the feeling when he was starting to slam into you. This guy did not beat around the bush, holy shit.

“Fuck, you like it, huh?” he taunted, fucking you even harder and faster.

“Yes!” you cried out, feeling his cock brushing against sensitive places inside you-- even if it was through a barrier.

Sam suddenly appeared on the couch next to you. You felt a little nervous as his gaze scanned your face, and you looked back at him with wide eyes. He slid under you on the couch, toying with your clit and grinning when he felt your wetness.

"Look who loves it in the ass,” he mumbled against your ear.

You couldn't respond, distracted by Sam's cock pressing against your available opening. You had been expecting it to feel familiar, but with Steve inside you, everything felt completely different.

"Oh god," you groaned as Sam pressed forward; he hissed at the sensation of how wet and hot you were for him.

"How does it feel baby?" he asked as he started to bite at your neck.

"So full… so good…"

"What do you want us to do, kitten?"

"I want you to fuck me so hard…"

Before they had really started to get their rhythm, you fought through your haze and motioned for Bucky to come closer. When he did, you licked a long stripe up his cock before taking as much as you could into your throat.

"Fuck, just like that," Bucky praised, pushing your hair back so he could see your face. "Choke on it."

With so many cocks moving inside you, you felt like a ragdoll in their hands. But more than even you had expected, you loved being their toy.

Sam loved to leave marks all over you, even though it made your job harder-- especially because it made your job harder, in fact. He loved everyone knowing how owned you are. So it was no surprise that he was already doing his best to leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints everywhere he could reach. You could tell he was already getting close-- and you were too, close to something so intense that you worried about passing out.

"Want me to come on your cute little face, baby?" Sam asked, his voice deeper and more gravelly than usual.

You shook your head, Bucky's cock still in your mouth.

"On your perfect tits?"

You shook it again, even as Bucky grabbed the back of your head and pushed you all the way to the base.

"Oh, that's right… you want me to fill up this sopping cunt, right?"

You nodded furiously, a tear sliding down your cheek.

"You wanna be full of my come, sticky and wet all night? Then beg for it, sweetheart."

Bucky released you, and the second you were free to breathe you were pleading already, stroking him quickly.

"Sam, please! I need to be full of your come-- I want it so bad, please, just come inside me and don't stop until every drop is in please please please--"

"Holy hell, I can't take much more of this," Steve hissed as his hands dug deeper into your skin.

"You want us all to come?" Sam pressed.

"Yes, please!"

"Fuck," Bucky groaned, "keep stroking me-- finish me off on your face."

“Please-- I want you to come, so bad,” you whimpered. “Oh god, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come, fuck!”

The hand that wasn’t around Bucky’s cock was accidentally digging into Sam’s shoulder, certainly hard enough to leave half-moon cuts from your nails. He didn’t seem to mind though, fucking you through your orgasm as he fell into his own, finishing with a noise that mixed a moan with a growl.

Steve was next, and you could feel his cock swelling and pulsing; it was like one last test of your body’s physical capabilities, since you’d already thought you were at your limit.

Last but not least, of course, was Bucky. You opened your mouth and let his come fall in warm streams on your face and tongue. He made the most beautiful sounds as you kept stroking him through it, and eventually he had to pull your hand off of him when it became too much. You swallowed what had landed in your open mouth, taking a moment to wipe some off your face and suck it off of your finger as well. A drip started to wander towards your eye, which you shut to avoid that disaster.

Bucky looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even though you undoubtedly looked like a complete mess. All three of them were looking at you that way, actually, but you couldn’t see them.

“Jesus, Sam,” Steve chuckled as he pulled out and watched his come leak from your abused hole, “I gotta be honest, if I had a girl like this, I wouldn’t let her work in a club.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about pulling her out,” Sam admitted, wincing a little as he tapped your leg to signal you should get off of him, which you did.

You don’t know the first thing about pulling out, you replied internally.

“She makes us a lot of money, though,” Sam explained.

“But the way she looks right now,” Bucky grinned, “that’s priceless.”

“Ha, yeah, well of course you would say that,” Sam rolled his eyes. “If you think that coming on her face will successfully mark your territory or something, you’re wrong.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening, he was too busy grabbing your neck and pulling you into a filthy kiss. You could tell he was tasting himself on your tongue, and when he pulled back, he’d even smeared some come on his nose and cheeks. He wiped it off like it was nothing and grinned at you. That, on the other hand, did feel like a somewhat successful territory-marking.

“Now I feel kinda bad,” Steve pouted. “She’s gonna have to take three showers to get clean enough to go back out there.”

“Oh, I think she’s done for the night,” Sam announced as you finally got your chance to relax and lay back on the couch-- though it wasn’t that relaxing, because you were sore everywhere, and still wearing those stupid uncomfortable heels.

“You’re letting me go home early?” you repeated, your voice coming out froggy and strange; you cleared your throat and ignored the way it tasted like come.

“Hmm, not quite,” Sam smirked. “I think Steve here has a point. For one thing, you shouldn’t be going back to that horrible apartment every night. You live in a really dangerous part of town.”

“It’s not dangerous if you’ve got mob protection,” you countered.

“But I can’t protect you when you live so far away,” he frowned. “Come back to mine, clean up in a much nicer shower than you’re used to, and you can get back to work tomorrow, alright?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “but maybe… get me a rag first?”

“I’ll drive you,” Bucky offered.

That meant you weren’t going to get a rag. What you didn’t realize at the time was that it also meant Bucky and Steve were going to stay the night at Sam’s, too. What you never could’ve imagined was that the four of you weren’t going to leave again for quite some time. And what you would’ve actually bet money against if somebody had asked you about it that morning was that you weren’t going to be working in the club anymore.

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

a kindness.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: it is loving megan kane hours!! i’ve been working on this one for a while and i am so excited to share it with you!! we have ajf!pleasure is my business at last! as always, tell me what you think!! i adore your feedback. also, if you’re thinking ‘what the hell, tali! why am i missing from the tag list?????’ it’s because i redid it! the link to the form is below.

words: 4.8k warnings: language, canon-typical death, canon-typical discussion of sex work

summary: “i believe that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy.” ― steve martin. au!february 2009

a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You rap twice on the office door before pushing it open with your fingertips, peering inside while ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.

There’s no need. Aaron’s alone.

“You’re here early,” he says, his eyes still on his paperwork.

You snort. “So are you.”

He looks at you over his nose. “Can I help you with something?”

Sitting down opposite him at his desk, you prop your chin on your hands and grin at him. “You stole my line.”

“Get out of my office.”

Your smile stays plastered on your face as you stand and cross the room, closing the door behind you. On your way out, you catch the ghost of his smile.

+++

You watch Hotch leave the bullpen, his go-bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where you headed?” You ask, looking up. You’re still the only one in the bullpen, taking a few consults off your teammates’ hands by typing up quick briefs they can review without going through every single comma in the file.

He sighs. “Dallas.”

Yikes.

“By yourself?”

He sighs. “Standby - not sure what’s going on yet. Can you -” He gestures to the hallway behind you.

You nod and stand. “Yeah. Fly safe.”

After you watch him leave, you turn and make a beeline for JJ’s office. She’s here early, too - pushing away the separation anxiety by diving into work.

“Jayje?”

She looks away from her computer, looking exhausted. “Yeah?”

“Hotch just left for Dallas - we might have a case there, but it didn’t sound like something that would come across your desk.”

She squints. “Why d’you say that?”

“He had that look on his face like he was going into a room full of lawyers.”

+++

You lean forward, jamming yourself into the circle around the table with the rest of your team. Hotch, on the other end of the line, sounds oddly well-rested.

Spencer, as usual, gives you the history and textbook briefing before you get to the actual case. “Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don't have much information on them, but what we do know involves throwing the rules completely out the window. Signature, for instance. They don't torture or take trophies.”

“Because there’s no sexual gratification when a woman kills,” Derek adds.

Looks like we’re all getting in on the pre-brief today.

“Exactly. Murder is the goal. They don't have to do anything extra.”

That makes you laugh a little. “So, basically, women are more efficient at killing?”

Spencer shrugs. “Historically, they’ve had body counts in the hundreds.”

Hotch, of course, is the one to get you all back on track. “So, assuming that the job is the stressor, what are some of the reasons prostitutes kill their customers?”

Derek, of course, is the first to follow. “Money, drugs, post-traumatic stress disorder…”

The team bounces for a moment, covering previous cases of serial killers with a history of sex work. Emily brings up Allison Wuornos, but Aaron shuts it down. He thinks this killer is organized, not so much driven by trauma or need but the mission itself.

Spencer looks at the medical examiner’s reports again, comparing notes between the victims. “She’s using tetra-methylene-disulfotetramine.”

You don’t look up from the same report. “Bless you.”

Emily snorts.

Spencer continues, unperturbed. “It’s a popular rat poison in China - easily soluble in alcohol.”

“Poison is the perfect M.O.,” Dave notes. “Quiet, quick, and the victims never see it coming because they think they’re getting lucky.” He turns back toward the phone. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Well, at $10,000 a night, these men are paying for discretion as well as sex.”

Fair point.

“She has a history with them. They see her repeatedly.”

You look over at Dave, trying to find the thread that connects Aaron’s thought to his.

Before you can really get to it yourself, Aaron spells it out for you. “She didn't decide to kill them in the moment. She walks in with the intent to kill them and she's doing it before she sleeps with them.”

There we go.

“So she's not just organized,” you add. “She's also methodical. Could she be parsing out which clients are worth killing and which aren’t?”

“Maybe the victims all share the same fetish?” Emily offers.

Derek shrugs, his eyebrows raised in thoughtful agreement. “Both victims were in their fifties, highly visible. Careful about their image. I mean, if they were kinky in the same way, they'd go to great lengths to hide it.”

“And we're facing a corporate culture that'll do everything it can to keep us out.”

There’s the exhaustion I’m used to from Hotch.

He sounds weird without it.

“Actually,” JJ says, “I had some luck there. Hoyt Ashford's wife isn't too happy with how he died. But because every silver lining has a dark cloud, the hedge fund released a statement.”

JJ pulls the statement from her file and reads aloud: “Ashford died peacefully in his home, according to lawyer David Madison.” She puts it down again. “They're already trying to close ranks.”

Spencer frowns. “Does that language sound familiar to anyone else?”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“The press release from the first victim.” He recalls, not needing the paper itself. “‘According to company lawyer, Stanton died peacefully in his home.’”

Hotch begins to make assignments, directing Emily and Derek to the wife of the second victim. JJ’s tasked with the lawyers and you’re tasked with setup at the precinct with Spencer and Dave. When he’s done, you pick your phone up from the table, taking him off speaker.

“What are you gonna do?” You ask.

Hotch snorts. “I’m gonna see which of the lawyers calls us back and in the meantime, see what I can get out of anyone else.”

“Good luck.”

+++

You’re up in your hotel room, getting a little bit settled and unpacked when you get a call to your cell.

“Hey, Hotch.”

There’s a sigh. “We got another body.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in five.”

+++

You hop out of the car, following Aaron through the service entrance and up the back hallways to the lobby. Between your travel from your room and Aaron’s wrap-up in his, Derek and Dave beat you to the scene.

Hotch is wearing that coat - your favorite, the one he’s apparently had for years - with the red lining and the soft wool exterior. It so rarely sees the field anymore you were afraid he’d done away with it, but every time you remember it exists and worry about its whereabouts, he brings it out again.

Derek hands you a notebook when you reach him. You settle near Dave for the rest of the info. He, of course, delivers.

“Victim was Joseph Fielding. He was the CFO here.”

You frown. “Poisoned? Like the others?”

“And staged,�� Derek says. “She killed him in his office and then rolled him out here to be found.”

“The lipstick's new,” you muse, circling the body in the elevator. “Done postmortem, it looks like.” You find Derek’s eyes with a little frown. “Reid said female serial killers don't leave a signature. I think she did that just for us. She's already exposed him at his most vulnerable.”

He hums. “Now she wants to be noticed.”

There’s some kind of scuffle at the police line - another man in a suit who thinks he’s more important than God.

Hopefully he’s looking for Hotch.

“Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?”

Ugh. Good.

You step back and point at Aaron, getting out of his way as he shoves past the crime scene techs.

Aaron turns. “I'm Hotchner.”

“Larry Bartlett.” The man holds out his hand, but Aaron doesn’t take it. He retracts his hand with an unperturbed tilt of his head. “I represent Mr. Fielding in Webster Industries.

Hotch, as usual, has no time for his bullshit. “This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett.”

My lawyer could kick your lawyer’s ass.

That’s a good bumper sticker.

You shake off your thought and return to the victim, directing one of the younger crime scene techs. After a moment, you return to Derek’s side.

“Yes. I spoke to Ellen Daniels.” This clown still sounds far too confident for his own good. “She said you're a very... reasonable man.”

“Escort him out, please.”

You stifle a laugh.

“No, wait. Please.” The lawyer - Mr. Bartlett - shrugs off the security team and chases after Hotch on his way to your side.

Aaron stops, but looks inconvenienced in the extreme.

“The press is outside and they can smell blood. Any way we can handle this discreetly?”

“We're not about to lie for you.” Derek’s even less amused than Aaron, if that’s even possible.

Aaron squints at the other lawyer, and you find it nearly impossible to tear your gaze from the little pinch at the corners of his brown eyes.

You can only imagine him behind a prosecutor’s bench, laying into witnesses with the same deadpan amusement - like a bored cat with a half-dead mouse. Hoping to back him up a little bit, you get a little closer, looking skeptically at the lawyer from over Aaron’s shoulder.

“You don't have to lie,” Mr. Bartlett insists, his eyes flickering to you. “Just don't comment.”

“Excuse us.” He takes you by the shoulder and leads the three of you into a huddle.

“Is there any reason to go public yet?” Aaron asks.

Dave wavers. “Validating her is exactly what she wants.”

“If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake,” Derek says.

You raise your eyebrows, looking over your shoulder for a moment. “He doesn't need to know that.”

Hotch’s mouth twitches, and you know it’s almost a smile. He turns over his shoulder, back in game mode as he approaches Bartlett again. “We need everything you have on Fielding. Bank accounts, tax records, emails, everything.”

+++

“Eighteen cars, six houses, and three boats.” Spencer rattles off the numbers with only the barest hint of shock in his voice.

Your brow pinches and you look up. “Can you even boat in Dallas?”

“You know, when you're talking about that much money, ten grand for a call girl is like deciding where to go for dinner.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Em,” you laugh.

She rolls her eyes, still pinning photos to the board. “Yeah, right. My mom had a pretty cushy gig with her postings, but we were never that well-off. But...” She looks over her shoulder, “I’m sure Rossi would know a little something about that.”

Before you can all get too out of control, Hotch reaches over you to connect to Garcia on the speakerphone. “Are you there, Garcia?”

“Affirmative.”

JJ flags him down. “I have half a million over here for something called the Bat Cave...”

It really takes everything in you not to laugh.

“...and here's a picture of him as fetish Batman. That is… wrong.”

Emily pulls a face.

“Is there anything this guy didn't like to spend money on?” Spencer asks.

“Yeah,” Aaron replies. “His ex-wives. Fielding was married four times. He didn't have prenups for the first two, but he did everything he could to cut them off anyway.”

You lean forward, trying to see the paper in his hands. “Are there children involved?”

“Yes, with three of the wives.” He hands it over to you and looks at Emily. “Hoyt Ashford was married a few times, too, wasn't he?”

She nods in the affirmative.

“You know, considering that when Kevin takes me to dinner and a movie, he defaults on his student loans, this amount of money is sick.”

Tell me about it, Pen.

Emily sounds resigned. “What did you find?”

Garcia outlines a series of bitter court battles about child support, alimony, custody, etc. “And even when the court ruled in the wife’s favor - which was almost always - these three charmers just, you know, decided not to pay.”

Hotch asks for a cross-checked list of high-profile Dallas CEOs holding out on their ex-wives, and you figure it’s not a short one.

“One loaded losers list, Dallas edition, comin' at ya. Penelope out.”

The line goes dead and Aaron turns off the speaker.

“So,” Aaron leans heavily on the table. “Why would a prominent businessman who could easily pay child support refuse to?”

Spencer obliges. “For this type of overachieving personality, paying money after the marriage ends probably offends him.”

“They're spending tens of thousands on an escort, but they won't drop a dime on their wife and kids? That's cold.” JJ shakes her head and looks over at Hotch, seeking an answer.

“Narcissistic, self-absorbed, a pathological avoidance of paternal responsibilities.”

There’s an odd kind of look that passes over Aaron’s face as he speaks, and you pin it for later. You can already tell he’s falling into a headspace that’s fraught with comparison and self-loathing.

They bounce around for a moment while you keep your eyes on Aaron.

“Well,” JJ brings you back. “Should I assemble the police for a profile?”

Your mouth twists. “I just don't think it's gonna help.”

“She lives in a completely different world than they do,” Aaron adds.

“And,” Emily pipes up, “the CEOs who sleep with her won't admit to it.”

JJ snorts. “Like I couldn't even get past the team of lawyers protecting them.”

“What if we give the profile to the corporate lawyers?” Aaron stands straight, his hands resting on his hips. “They've cleaned up after her, even if they don't realize that they've seen this woman.”

“Why would they go for that?” You ask.

“Because she's putting them at risk, too.”

Your phone rings and you answer as you always do, chirping your last name into the receiver without really looking too closely at the caller ID.

“Hey, it’s me.”

You nod once to your team as you step out of earshot. “Hey, Haley.”

“I can’t get a hold of Aaron. Is everything alright?” She’s beyond surprise or concern at this point. You’re sure you could tell her Aaron’s been shot in the head and she’d probably just hum at you.

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. “Things are crazy and there are lawyers all wrapped up in this. Are you alright?”

“Jack’s got a fever - I just wanted to let Aaron know I’m taking him in to get checked out. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll let him know. Give Jack a big kiss from me and I’ll do my best to get us all home quickly and in one piece.”

She laughs a little into the phone. “Thanks. Will do. Talk soon.”

You hang up and return to the table, shooting Hotch a significant look. He nods and pulls you aside.

“What’s up?”

“Jack has a fever - Haley just wanted me to let you know she’s taking him to the pediatrician to get him all checked out, just in case. I told her we’d all do our best to get home soon.”

Aaron sighs and flips his phone in his hand. “I’ll call her now…”

“No need. She knows this is a tough one and you’re getting your money’s worth out of your JD this week.”

When he starts to walk away, you call his name again. He turns.

“You know - um.” You wet your lips and swallow. “You’re not like these guys. You know that, right? You’re a great dad.”

His face lifts in surprise for a fraction of a second before he recovers.

“Thank you,” He says. “Really.”

You offer him a crooked smile. “Anytime.”

+++

Hotch stops you all before you enter the conference room, full to the brim with suits and pantsuits. “Let me lead on this one. I’ve handled corporate lawyers like this before and they can smell blood.” He snorts. “This time, it’s their own.”

You and Derek raise your hands in simultaneous and identical postures of surrender.

“Have at it,” you say, falling into line behind Aaron. “Corporate lawyers scare the fuck out of me.”

+++

“Hey, Prentiss. Got a whip?” Derek holds the leather outfit to Emily’s shoulders and she laughs.

“Yeah, right.”

You fondly roll your eyes at them and continue following off Aaron’s right shoulder. The two of you reach the bookshelf - an impressive glass case that runs from the floor to the ceiling.

Aaron’s gloved finger opens the case and runs over some of the spines. “Antique first editions on the bookshelves.”

Rossi quips something about porn in the DVD player while Spencer espouses about the merits of a disposable, adaptable lifestyle in this line of work.

“Well, these aren't just for show,” Aaron says. “The spines are cracked. Somebody's read these.”

You peer over his shoulder. “Who reads Voltaire in French?”

“Someone with good taste. Probably well-educated…”

You pick up where he trails off. “We profiled that she learned to fake privilege. What if she's not faking it?”

“You're saying maybe she came from money the whole time?”

You shrug. “It’s a possibility, at least.”

Just then, the apartment phone rings.

“Prentiss should answer,” Aaron says. “If it's a customer, she'll get more information out of them.”

You hum, hedging your bets a little. ‘Unless she's calling in for her messages.”

Too late. Derek’s already on the phone with Penelope. “Yeah, Baby Girl, we're getting a call to this line. Can you work some magic?”

“I don't have a trap-and-trace in place yet. Give me a few. I'm gonna stay on the line.”

Aaron gives her the go-ahead. “Prentiss, get ready to vamp.”

The voicemail picks it up before Emily can so much as reach for the phone.

“Hi, it's me. You know what to do.” Beep.

“...Aaron.”

You turn your head so fast you throw your neck out. You raise a hand to the crick and work it with your fingers. Aaron’s too busy frowning at the phone to notice.

“I know you're up there. Pick up… Aaron Hotchner... Hello?” She drags out her words, almost flirting with everyone listening.

With a sigh, Aaron pushes past the rest of you, silently counts to three, and picks up the phone while Emily clicks the speakerphone button.

“I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name, But I don't know yours. Can we start there?”

Nice start.

The game has begun.

“I thought I could trust you, Aaron.”

What?

The pinch between his brows deepens. “Who says you can't?”

“I want to. I even looked you up online. Is that strange?”

Yes.

“No.” Aaron wets his lips and begins to pace, the gears whirring in his head. “It's flattering to be noticed by a woman like you.”

The woman continues as if he hasn’t said anything at all. “And I thought you were so... upstanding. I watched the presentation you gave on school shootings. I found it posted on YouTube...”

She has good taste. That’s an excellent presentation.

“...And for a moment, I actually thought there were still good people in the world.”

“But I've disappointed you, haven't I?” He asks. “Just like all the other men in your life Who've walked out on their families, Who deserve to be punished.”

“Did you walk out on your family?”

His eyes flicker to you and you nod, nearly imperceptibly, reminding him he’s not alone. “No. My wife left me.”

“Do you have kids?”

“I have a son.”

A sweet, thoughtful, perfect son.

You smile a little, thinking of Jack, but it disappears when you remember that he’s home sick with Haley, probably having a miserable time.

“How often do you see him?” She asks.

“I try to see him every week.”

“Do you see him every week?” The question is mocking, smothered in dark amusement that could almost be called sarcasm save for its bitterness.

“No,” Aaron’s eyes fall to the floor. “No, I don't get there as often as I want.”

“I believe you.” Her response is softer, and you think she might make a decent profiler if she wasn’t on the other side.

She is a profiler.

In some ways, you suppose it’s true. She has to read and respond to everything her clients do, say, how they behave. It makes her good at her job and you good at yours.

Same skillset, very different application.

“But don't compare yourself to the men I see,” she continues. “You are nothing like them. You're just another whore.”

Never in my life did I ever think I’d hear someone call Aaron Hotchner a whore. Unironically.

That catches everyone’s attention, even Derek’s, still on hold with Penelope.

“How am I a whore?” He asks.

“You come when called. You do their bidding. In hotels you take the side elevator to avoid crowds, while the men who pay your salary walk across the ivory marble foyer into their cars.”

Derek, behind you, presses. “Garcia.”

You can hear her, faintly. “I'm in on the landline. Triangulating the cell. Give me like sixty seconds.”

You gesture to Aaron when he looks. Keep going.

He nods. “But I'm just frustrating you, aren't I?”

She sighs, sounding a little impatient for the first time. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you want to show the world all these bad men and my investigation's just getting in your way.”

“No, Aaron.” You almost startle, her tone escalating to a deeply frustrated shout. “You're not doing your job! You don't want to arrest me, you don't want me in custody because you're in their pocket.”

She’s crying now, actively. “You just want me to disappear, just like they do.”

“Truthfully, I'm only interested in finding you.”

Now that’s a tone you recognize - you’ve heard it when he talks to Haley. Most recently, when he couldn’t make it to some appointment or another. It’s one that’s disarming in the extreme, soft, but not condescending.

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying. You know that's going to continue.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “Am I right?”

Just like Haley always does, the woman loses steam, sniffling once before answering. “Yeah.”

“Come to me and turn yourself in. I will make sure that you get the help you need. I won't let you disappear.”

“If we met under different circumstances... I could believe that. I won't let you cover this up.”

A gunshot rings through the line and you flinch, turning to Derek just as the line goes dead. You know Penelope will have something for you soon.

She never fails, directing you to an address only moments after the elevator doors close in front of the team.

+++

Once you found Megan Kane, it was easy enough to find her father.

You could empathize with her mission well enough after meeting him. He’s shrouded by his lawyers - detached and seemingly indifferent to anything Aaron had to say.

Aaron starts the car and you settle back into the seat. “So, the wall of lawyers strikes again.”

A shadow of a smile ghosts around the creases at the corners of his eyes. “So it seems.”

“What’s next?”

“We tail him - home and office. He’ll meet with her soon enough.”

Your brow furrows. “Not to protect her, right? It doesn’t seem like he cares that much.”

Aaron turns, placing his hand on the back of your seat as he pulls out of the parking spot. You’re momentarily distracted as he turns back, spinning the wheel with the heel of his hand and gunning it out of the garage.

Focus.

“No,” he says. “Think about it.”

It comes to you only seconds later. “To protect himself.”

“There you go.” He turns to you, another little smile threatening. “You’re getting pretty good at this.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ve been here over a year, Hotch. I’d fucking hope so.”

You’re rewarded with a real smile, and it’s enough.

+++

You take Derek’s six through the hotel, clearing the floors and reporting back to the rest of the team. SWAT is in full deployment, clearing the hard-to-reach areas like the stairways and rooftops, just in case.

Aaron catches up to you, taking the four o’clock position off your left shoulder as Derek breaches the door.

The gun and chilled champagne sit like ironic centerpieces on the entry table, but they hardly use any of your bandwidth as you clear the room, your vision narrowed by the sight of your service weapon.

You hold a hand up when you catch the figure on the balcony. “Hotch.”

He squints, and you move to raise your gun again and make the arrest, but he stops you with a hand over yours. “Easy.”

There’s a question in your eyes.

He, of course, answers it. “She knows it’s over.”

Just then, she places an empty champagne glass on the table where you can see it.

“I’ll call 911,” Derek says, stepping out and closing the door behind him.

You turn to leave with Derek, but catch Aaron’s open hand, subtly signaling you from just under his hip.

Stay here. It says. Stay close.

So, you stay. You lean on the far wall of the hotel room, watching Aaron hold the hand of this dying, hurting woman. They’re speaking softly, and she smiles at him when she drops something into his hand. His eyes are soft, gentle, not even searching. Just warm.

You feel for her.

It’s the best way to go, you think. If there was ever a time you were dying before your time, you’d want Aaron there, holding your hand, telling you he was going to continue the work that killed you, that it was gonna be okay.

“How could your wife have ever left someone like you?” You hear her ask.

As much as you love Haley, the same question often floats through your head, and your heart aches for this woman who’s been able to see Aaron so clearly, even if she’s only seeing him for the first time now.

“You’re the first man I’ve ever met who hasn’t let me down.”

You creep forward, further into Aaron’s eyeline, and sit on the edge of the couch. She’s close to her last breath and you can feel it - so can Aaron. His eyes flicker to you for a moment before returning to her.

Megan’s voice is full of tears when she asks, “Will you stay with me?”

You have a feeling it isn’t the first time she’s asked the question and you find yourself hoping Emily will be particularly rough with the handcuffs when she apprehends Mr. Kane. Hopefully he didn’t make it past the checkpoint and is still on-site.

“Yes.” Aaron is solemn, so sincere, so genuine it makes your heart ache.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s doing her a great kindness - one that many would not offer.

It’s because he is good.

A good man.

The tension drains out of her, and she grips tightly to Aaron’s hand as she fights through her final breaths. His hands are gentle, his attention only on her. He looks more like a father in this moment than any other time you’ve known him. She’s safe. She knows she can die in peace.

Once more, you hope you have the opportunity to leave this plane of reality in such safety, when your time comes.

When she’s gone, he places her hand in her lap and takes a moment to brush the hair off of her face, pressing the back of his fingers to her temple as if checking her for fever.

After a minute or so, he turns to you, and you hope the pride and respect coursing through you is evident in your gaze. You pull an evidence bag out of your pocket, but he shakes his head, pocketing the SIM card.

You rise as he gets closer, returning the evidence bag to your pocket. He’s clearly affected, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

Opening your arms to him, he wilts into you, allowing you to gather him into your shoulder. His arms are loose around your waist, his fingers wrapped around his opposite wrist as an anchor. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability and you’d hate to make him feel anything less than safe.

You still have a minute or so before they all come stomping through the door to collect Megan’s body.

“I’m sorry, Hotch.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know why this one hurts.”

Your arms tighten around him. “It’s okay. I feel it, too.”

A deep, shaky breath rolls through him.

“She’s right, you know.” You almost regret your words, afraid you’re giving yourself away.

“What?”

“You didn’t let her down. You’re a good man.”

His jaw tightens, and you can feel it against your neck where his head falls into your shoulder.

“Oh, stop. You’ve never let me down.” Your hand reaches up, stroking the back of his head, carding your fingers through the hair. “She died knowing you kept your promise.”

+++

You look up to Aaron’s office when news of the leak breaks, finding his silhouette haunting the window, staring at the television.

A ghost of a smile crosses his face, and he turns back to his desk, settling back down to work.

+++

tagging: @aaronhotchnerr @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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translightyagami · 3 years

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James “translightyagami/avoidfilledwithcelluloid” Death Note Fic Masterlist

Hello to all you guys out there. Here is my full masterlist of allllll the Death Note fanfic I’ve written: There are over 120 fics contained within this entire list. I’m going to split it up by chapter fics, one-shot fics, short fic compilations, and gift fics I’ve done for fandom exchanges. The descriptions will tell you what the pairings are (mostly Lawlight, but there’s other stuff too). There are several posts of mine that are loosely defined fic, but I won’t be adding those in this post as they are just … hard to organize lol.

Fics are marked with E if they have explicit content and T if there are textual references to transgender characters. Chapter fics are marked as either complete or currently incomplete. Okay! Here we go!

[UPDATED 11/20/2021]

CHAPTER FICS

sit and stay awhile https://archiveofourown.org/works/31032719 complete Light has a fantasy of sitting in L’s lap, and he’s got a plan to make that a reality.

the art of ink and flowers https://archiveofourown.org/works/35106943 currently incomplete, E, T Light needs an apprentice and thinks he's found the perfect one in young firecracker Mello. Now to deal with Mello's uncle, the strange, mysterious, and - oops! - super hot florist Ryuzaki, who doesn't want his nephew near a tattoo parlor. What could possibly go wrong?

i could write it (better than you ever felt it) https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913043 currently incomplete Light works in the To-Oh university library, where he meets his favorite romantic mystery author, Eraldo Coil, who later reveals himself to be the great detective L. Through the course of their working together to solve a crime, Light finds he might have feelings for L and those feelings might be shared by the detective novelist.

your heart is an empty cup https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027707 currently incomplete Light is the assistant manager of a Starbucks in NYC, and L is one of his most annoying customers. When L accuses Light (correctly) of being Kira, as well as mysteriously asking for his help on a different case, the barista has to decide if he’s ready to get in bed with the enemy – maybe even literally.

the forest holds strange creatures https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442660 complete, E, T Light, a paranormal research grad student, comes to a small town trying to find a mysterious cryptid. He finds L, a 10-foot-tall tree creature, who helps Light discover the greatest cryptid of all: love. The only reason this one is in the chapter fic section is because it includes a Halloween special chapter with the intro of Beyond Birthday into the cryptid AU.

At Your Service https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229524 complete, E, T The Yagami family owns the sprawling, exclusive Hotel Kitsune where all sorts of international espionage agents make their temporary home. That includes the great detective L, whose romantic tension with Light comes to a boiling point when he comes to stay after a long absence.

best practices https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113519 complete, E, T Light has been working his way to the top of the corporate ladder thanks to his own hard work, and his more-than-close relationship with L, the company CEO and founder’s son. Their relationship comes to a head when L challenges Light to open himself up, making him vulnerable to showing the true depth of what he feels for L and his own desire to explore sexual power dynamics.

ONE-SHOT FICS

tell me the truth https://archiveofourown.org/works/12592320 E, T Light and Matsuda hit up a bar after work, and then Light hits up Matsuda for sex, praise, and a distraction from the deep emptiness inside him.

constricting https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721580 E, T Light breaks L’s favorite tea cup in their kitchen, and L eats him out because he loves his husband so much.

tell me I’m good https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986861 E In the middle of the night, L receives a drunk call from Light, hiding in the bathroom at a party. The call, turning from desperate to horny, reveals more about Light than L wanted to know.

if at first you don’t succeed https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119816 E, T Light gave his first blow job and accidentally bit L on the dick. He tries to make up for his mistake by trying again.

let me work on you https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884799 E, T As the result of losing bet to him, Light has to be L’s computer desk – naked and laying over his boyfriend’s lap. Of course, when L gives him another sexy challenge, Light can’t help but rise to the occasion.

alterations https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945957 E, T Light comes to visit his boyfriend Mikami at his fancy law office and suggests they have sex there. When Mikami reacts unfavorably, Light has to do damage control, and it smarts a lot more than he expected.

lizard https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552499 E, T Light meets a beefcake guy at a bar on the anniversary of L’s death, and lets him take him home (Lizard is my death note OC, and the fic was a wonderful commission from @queerical)

Buried Alive https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705540 L and Light live together in L’s underground bunker after the apocalypse scorches the Earth. They watch some VHS tapes and do some gardening.

Our Little Secret https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822881 E After getting his memories, his freedom, back, Light wants to give L a gift: Kira tied up at his mercy. But L isn’t so sure if that gift is the one he really wants.

The Light of the Moon https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052722 E, T L is a vampire and accidentally bites Light, who is haunted by dreams that make him question why he wants L to bite him again (and maybe … something more …)

little animals https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829778 E Light and his werewolf boyfriend L fuck in their backyard garden.

Change OR the one where L and Light get married https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748159 E, T A gift/commish fic for @ohgodplsdontlook. Six years after the Kira case closes, L and Light go have a wedding in the mansion where L spent his childhood summers. They bring the Yagami family, their baggage, and vows to share each other’s secrets.

a divine power https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018197 E L has a particular power that has helped him get confessions from even the most hardened, tight-lipped criminals, and he offers to use this power on Light to get an honest answer to the question "Are You Kira?" Not really believing L's power is real (and also smelling an easy way to lie his way out of being caught) Light agrees to submit to this bizarre investigative power - not realizing that L is about to make him a *very* honest man. (TL;DR, L has a Magic Cock That Makes Anyone He Fucks Fall in Love With Him AU.)

Possession https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232294 E After being killed by his family for being Kira, Light makes a deal with the demon L to get back to the mortal realm - a very, very sexy deal.

24-Hour Gym https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415480 After the yellow warehouse goes (mortally) in their favor, Light and Mikami frequent the same 24-hour gym. Eventually, after seeing all his work out skills, Light asks Mikami if he can bench press *Kira*.

Fantasy of a Fantasy https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729685 E, T While monitoring the Yagami family home for suspicious activity, L catches Light getting off to a dirty magazine and projects what he thinks his main suspect's fantasies might be.

the chains that bind us https://archiveofourown.org/works/32051299 E, T Obligatory post-Yotsuba arc fic where Light is released from the handcuffs, and wants desperately to be back in bondage with L. Features a very creative use of the handcuff chain.

Kept https://archiveofourown.org/works/33334282 E, T Omegaverse AU where Light cooks up a horny evil scheme so that L won’t throw him in jail, and also lets him get that alpha lovin’ he so desires.

so glad you’re home https://archiveofourown.org/works/33977605 E, T L returns from a solo case and he and Light have a purr-fect homecoming together - including some spanking, cat ears, and a shower of sappy affection.

SHORT FIC COMPLIATIONS

hand in unlovable hand https://archiveofourown.org/works/15025058 E Okay so I’ve been answering Tumblr askbox prompts for over 2 years now, and this? This is ALL of the Lawlight fics. There are over 70 Lawlight fics in this compilation, with all the nsfw fics marked as such. Here are somethings you’ll find in this horde: an AU where L is fat; dirty talk; ghost sex; phone calls about buying a house; early morning tea; kissing; spanking; bondage; L’s hair being brushed; and much, much more. If you have wished for a particular type of Lawlight fic, it is probably in this bunch.

Containing Multitudes https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570645 E Like i said, I’ve been answering all types of Tumblr prompts. These are all the multi-pairing fics that are not Lawlight. In over 20 fics, you’ll find Mikalight, Light/Misa, Misa/Takada, Misa/Rem, Light/Namikawa, Beyond/Light, Light/Matsuda, and even a few ones with Light and my DN OC Lizard. All nsfw fics are marked as such.

hereditary https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159354 All the Tumblr prompt fics I wrote specifically about the Yagami Family. About 4 fics long, includes a really nice couple of Sayu and Light sibling sadness fics.

bottom shelf erotica https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899706 E These are the 5 fics that I wrote to fill Death Note kinkmeme prompts. They are few frills, dirty, sloppy, all bottom Light smut fics. Also, since I didn’t want to give myself away on kinkmeme they’re all cis stuff. (because really who else would have been throwing trans smut up there?)

something between us (anyway) https://archiveofourown.org/works/30304620 T, E a slowly updating collection of 10 tumblr fic requests I received for the pairings of lawlight and (my DN OC) lizard/light, covering prompts including omegaverse, coffee shop AU, sexy lingerie, and much, much more.

kinktober 2021 https://archiveofourown.org/works/34235686 E, T updated each saturday of Oct. 2021, these five fics all revolve around lawlight and specific kinky prompts.

GIFT EXCHANGE FICS

your father’s son https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115568 T A Secret Shinigami 2018 gift for AbbodonAbandon. Light and Soichiro have a talk about why Light quit the tennis team. Lots of trans shit in here.

in your shoes https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405516 E A Sexy Enquirer 2019 gift for @pashmina-dhaage. L is a professor who is having a quiet relationship with one of his grad students, Light. When he sees Light through his office window stepping in mud, L rushes to give him the shoes off his feet.

wash it out https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405648 A Sexy Enquirer 2019 gift for @complicatedmerary. Mikami and Light, a pianist and violinist respectively with the same opera company, are carrying on a passionate affair while Light remains married to the opera’s soprano, Misa.

Thank you for Reading, Commenting, and Being Nice to Me About My Silly Fic!

#me me me #subtextual #death note #lawlight #my fic #death note fanfiction #woof! okay!#i know i'm posting at the worst time #but i'm gonna pin this so everyone can see

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 3 years

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Magicam Live

Vil’s guest is a pest. Contains coarse language, people being catty bitches, and more telling than showing.

You want more, check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag. If you liked it, let me know!

~*~*~*~

Transcript of Last Week's Magicam Live From *schoenheit_official

Vil: Hello my dearest fans! As promised, I will be showing off my newest capsule makeup collection, to be released this Monday exclusively at Feathersweep Cosmetics. However, due to high demand, instead of simply demonstrating on myself, I thought I would show that anyone could be half as beautiful as me with these!

[He holds a hand out to the side.]

V: Please welcome my fellow student at Night's Raven College, Yuu.

Yuu: Yo.

[A girl with short, dark hair and tired eyes sits down beside him. Spotty and plump, with a notable double chin. She's notably underdressed, compared to Vil.]

Y: I am she. I'm *donegotisekaid, if you haven't seen yet. Full of genuine memes from another universe, as well as me figuring this place out, and pictures of my not-cat.

V: She's simply been begging me for a makeover!

Y: He asked me if I'd do it, actually.

[Vil stops and takes a deep breath, clearly irritated.]

V: Yes, well. You've prepared?

Y: I scrubbed my face real good and managed to leave most of my pimples alone, if that's what you mean.

[Vil sighs]

V: As much as you're capable of, clearly. We'll start with the primer.

Y: [with a smile] Didn't you already give me one on how to act in this?

[Vil pinched the bridge of his nose, regret pouring from every cell in his body.]

V: Just lie back and be quiet until I'm done with you.

[Yuu looks at the camera, but says nothing. There's an audible snicker from behind the camera.]

[There are a few quiet minutes where Vil prepares her face, before selecting a foundation.]

V: So, is there a reason you don't wear makeup? You could look quite nice with it.

Y: Few reasons. It's a lot of effort, and I tire easily. I don't really like the feel of it on my face, and I tend to touch my face a lot anyways, so it doesn't last. It's a lot of money, and I break out very easily.

V: I can see that. Don't you use face wash?

Y: You should have seen me when I did use it! Much worse.

V: Ugh. I'll give you something later. And none of these have a good tone for you.

Y: Just pick the closest! I'll end up wrecking it by a few hours from now anyways.

[Vil rolled his eyes.]

V: Rook, any questions from the chat?

[A familiar accented voice from offscreen]

Rook: *stellargems wants to know how Yuu found herself at NRC.

Y: Transdimensional bullshit. I'm here until we figure out how I can get home. It's not bad, I don't miss it much.

V: Yuu even has her own dorm so she doesn't have to bother anyone.

Y: Not that it stops me.

V: [sotto voce] Don't we all know.

Y: If they kept you in a building with four usable rooms total and no electricity, you'd be out and about too. At least the ghosts there are really nice and help me out.

V: Do you kiss these ones too, or was that a one time thing?

Y: If I hadn't kissed her we'd be down a student and you and half the people I hang out with would be paralyzed, so don't make fun.

[Vil stops to regard the camera.]

V: To clarify, there was an incident with a ghost princess causing a lot of trouble at the school a few months ago. Yuu decided to kiss her to fix everything, because she's both stupid and deeply strange.

Y: It was really fun until I started dying.

V: All her blood was on the outside. It was disgusting.

Y: It did work though!

V: Keep telling yourself that, you didn't kiss the one you really wanted to.

[Yuu gives him the finger, and Vil shoves her hand down.]

R: *vilpleasefathermychildren asks-

[Yuu sputters with laughter. Vil just winks at the camera with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.]

R: They want to know if there'll be a coupon code for the new release.

V: There will! It'll be released via the official fanclub email Sunday night.

Y: It'll be a whole three percent off and you have to pay to access it.

V: Stop that.

Y: [sweetly] No.

Rook: *getterbackback wants to know what your shirt says?

Y: Yeah, hold on.

[She stands and pulls the shirt out to be seen better. It says in large letters, I'M CUTE AND I BITE]

Y: You can do one yourself if you take a dark shirt, tape the parts you want covered, and scorch the area around it with diluted bleach. I've done a few of these, a few designs more than once.

V: Destroyed them?

Y: Nah, Lil wants at least one of every one I do.

V: [to the camera] That would be our fellow student Lilia Vanrouge, from Diasomnia.

Y: He's pretty great. He's *elderbatbrat if you want to look him up.

V: Sit back down so I can figure out which blush to use.

Y: Pinks and corals work best for my skin tone.

V: I thought you didn't wear makeup?

Y: Why do you think I know wearing it tires me out? It's not something I ever did a lot because of the effort.

Y: Except for highlighter. it's basically sparkles and it's light, so I like that.

V: You remember that, but not your proper name?

Y: Ain't life grand.

R: I'm getting several questions about that. Would you care to elabourate for the chat?

Y: Yeah. I don't remember a lot about where I'm from. Culturally? Lots. What I like? What I don't like? Everything. Names and places specific to who I was? No. And don't ask me to think about it too hard, I get the worst fucking headache and I stop seeing right.

V: You've never seen right in your life.

Y: Oh, fuck off, Vil.

[Vil stops blushing one cheek to point.]

V: Stop that.

[Yuu responds by biting at his finger with an audible click when her teeth meet, laughing hysterically as Vil pulls back in shock.]

V: !!! Dreadful little monster!

Y: Yeah, but you're the one who thought you'd get more views if I was here.

R: We indeed just surged another 20,000 views and counting! Excellent work, Yuu.

Y: Thank you, Rook.

[Vil looks ready to explode.]

Y: I won't bite again, that was just too easy. Please continue, I do want to see what magic you can do.

V: This is regular makeup.

Y: Metaphorically, you jackass.

R: *rosemassacre wants to know if you're always like this.

V: She's always this horrible.

Y: Vil first saw me and called me a dumpy little potato. I told him it's because I'm great all ways and everyone wants a taste, and slapped my ass at him. He's been obsessed with me ever since.

V: I am not obsessed with you.

R: You go into a rage over her at least once a week.

V: She can't go a week without being a pest.

Y: I went three after you kicked me out of the movie club.

V: You can't just project violence on the walls of Pomfiore because I said we weren't going to watch it!

Y: Vil, it was The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, and it is art.

V: A man gets sawed in half in the first ten minutes.

Y: To an absolutely bangin' soundtrack. Oh that reminds me. Ad time, hold on.

[She wiggles a little before puting on her best customer service face.]

Y: If you want to access media that is quite literally from another world, please go to MonstroMedia dot com and sign up! There's ebooks, movies, tv, music, and more. Much of it is horror, sci-fi and fantasy, as it's from my person collection of media brought with me on my laptop and backup drives. You can use the code SHOENHEITSAYSWHAT for the first month free!

[She put her hand up and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone.]

Y: I completely understand piracy, but I'd appreciate if you paid because this is the only way I get spending money, and I can only bat my eyes at these boys so much before they expect something in return for gifts.

V: How'd Ashengrotto talk you into that one?

Y: He was going to make me start paying for all the food I eat if I didn't.

R: *waterwitchesbetgitches says, and I quote, "so like if ur the only gal at NRC how many boyfs you have"

Y: So many. At least twenty. Even more if there were girls here.

V: That is a gross exaggeration. She has maybe three, if we're being very generous on the definition.

Y: [points] And he's mad he's not one of them.

V: [squinting] You are absolutely dreadful and I can't understand how you're so popular.

Y: I like you too, Vil.

[Vil pauses, visibly taken aback.]

V: ... Thank you.

V: You know you're going to have paparazzi on your tail now, right?

Y: Aw, shit.

R: *insertmagicamhandlehere wants to know what's on your neck.

V: An antique chain with an attached charm specially made for me by Soleil Atelier.

R: I believe that was for Yuu.

[Yuu snickers, as Vil looks for himself. When her collar is pulled down, it fully reveals a vicious set of hickeys with visible toothmarks.]

V: Eww.

Y: You should see the other guy.

V: Eww!

[Vil takes a moment to recover, while Yuu laughs.]

Y: That could be a second part! Everyone needs that tutorial. "Bruise Coverup How-to by Vil Shoenheit: For when you just can't keep them off of you."

[Vil mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "nerds shouldn't be allowed to fuck"]

Y: Then where would your fans be?

V: At least there's only setting spray after this and then you can leave.

Y: Won't you get bored without me here?

R: One last question! *shroudstreaming has asked... well, there's a lengthy keysmash and an all-caps "why".

Y: Ah. Hi, babe!

Y: Hey, everyone go follow him, he's a total fucking babe and he refuses to take my word for it, no matter what I do to him-

[Vil sprays setting spray directly in her face, leading to Yuu coughing.]

V: No taste at all, and gross to boot.

Y: Asshole.

[Vil offers a mirror]

V: No. Miracle worker.

[Yuu looks... well, the same, but with an even, well made-up face.]

Y: ... Aww. You remembered I like sparkles.

V: Less likely to scrub it off if you actually like it.

[Yuu's admiring herself for a few moments in silence, with Vil watching, quite pleased.]

Y: Hey, can I do you next?

V: Absolutely not.

Y: Ask the chat.

V: No.

R: Chat says yes.

V: [With a visible eye roll] Ugh, fine.

Y: Aight. Take your shirt off.

V: What.

[Yuu brings up a case and flips it open. Inside is a magazine with a gory cover, and various things like fake blood and liquid latex.]

Y: Alright kiddies. You wanna learn how to slit a man's throat?

[Vil gets up and walks away without another word.]

Y: You said I could! Get back here!

[Yuu follows. Rook emerges from behind the camera.]

R: That's it for tonight, ma belles. Next time.

[Magicam Live ends, but not before audible yelling and scuffling, quickly cut off.]

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #vil schoenheit

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steepgan · 3 years

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someone dear (i) — d. ragnvindr x f!reader

PART I - PART II - PART III

bye i created this on a whim ive always wanted to write an mc who just likes money yet still carries the “happiness/freedom” ideals of mondstadt.. essentially its an mc whos like hell yeah i love money <3 and fun..!!! okay also i did not edit this at all i was just like <3 writing time baby..

Of course, working for the wealthiest gentleman in Mondstadt was no easy task. There were two places you could work: Dawn Winery or Angel’s Share. The winery, settled in the countryside, was a cozy job with friendly workers who saw rolling hills of green every day; however, the only available occupation within your skillset was being a maid. So you worked at Angel’s Share which was planted in the city, and there you were greeted with weary workers and angry people. It was plenty more fun, anyway.

Your boss was as impassive as a tree, giving you your pay and leaving you be. He kept a strange emotional distance. Which was fine. Totally fine. But whenever you wanted a raise, his aloof attitude warded you off and you’d tell yourself you’d try next time.

Growing up in a household where money was a prominent figure in your life, you had materialistic values and a great love for money. So during your employment at the tavern, you picked up more shifts than anyone else and seldom splurged. You were stuck giving your laments to your friends and returning customers who were kind enough to humor wails.

“One of these days, Lisa, I’m actually going to lose it,” you said to the librarian of the knights. You slumped your body on the bar, clearly in a professional fashion. “What do you want to drink?”

Lisa gave you a pitying look. “You could always become a knight or an adventurer. They receive plenty of pay through commissions.”

“No, thank you! I kind of want to live.”

“I don’t think I’ll have anything to drink,” Lisa said. She laughed at your sullen expression. “Today, at least. I have to explore these ruins later today. I really, really don’t want to, but Jean is making me.”

You slid a tin can labelled TIPS to Lisa. “Every time you don’t want to do something it’s five mora.”

“Since when did this become a thing?”

“It’s always been a thing. I was just giving you a family-friend discount up until now.”

Lisa dropped the coins into the can. You smiled at the sound of click-clank. Lisa rested her cheek on the palm of her hand and said, “have you ever thought about… not working for the tavern? I’m sure there are other places in the world that’ll appreciate your pleasant company.”

“Yeah, but Master Diluc pays the best in Mondstadt if you don’t have a decent education under your belt,” you said dryly. “I’d have to travel out of Mondstadt to find a better opportunity.”

“There’s always the cathedral,” Lisa offered.

“Do you see me as a devout follower to any god other than money? [Name], Humble Follower of Barbatos Since The Beginning! Engrave that on my tombstone, would you?”

“I don’t really want to do that.”

You pushed the tin can toward the librarian.

Lo and behold, the man of the hour strutted in with his typical apathy. If he carried himself with a more open chest and with his chin up, you’d find him more agreeable, more approachable. He’d be knightly, even. But Diluc hated knights. He hated small talk, too. He hated a lot of things.

He was a man of good looks and good fortune, in addition to being Mondstradt’s most eligible brooding bachelor bastard, donning a nice black coat with golden trimmings and tassels. A coat that’d fetch a nice price if you were to pawn it off. Not that you were thinking about selling your boss’ clothes. He stood at a decent height with his vermillion messy hair tied back and narrow eyes framed with thick lashes.

When Diluc walked through the doors, he didn’t spare you a glance before climbing up the stairs to deal with some other matters. As long as you did your job, he didn’t bother you.

Lisa whistled. “He’s so cold.”

“Pays well, though,” you murmured absentmindedly. Lisa looked as if she wanted to say something. Maybe it was something about how money didn’t exactly suffice for human relationships. Or something about her future job for the knights. Whatever was on the tip of her tongue, she chose not to say it, and dropped a few more mora coins into your little tin can.

Your relationship with Diluc was strange. You took enough shifts to be one of the most well-compensated workers under him, but you didn’t exactly know Diluc outside of his cool exterior. You didn’t know if you’d wanted to, either. Some nights, he’d come home right before the tavern’s opening, his clothes tattered and dirty and a grim feature coating his pretty features.

Typically you’d be working and cleaning, and you’d nod to him. Diluc would then take off to the second floor of the tavern. You never questioned it. You never would, either, unless you were paid to do so.

One late night, it was just you cleaning up for the night and Diluc sitting at the bar, going through some papers. Diluc offered to take Charles’ shift for the day, to which the man was grateful for. As you were wiping down the bar, Diluc said, “I never knew we had a tip jar.”

“It’s an ongoing gag with Lisa,” you said. “Please don’t mind it.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. It was a joke with Lisa! You simply kept it out on the counter for every customer to see all day and all night. If they happen to drop mora in there for your charming smile and excellent service, who were you to stop them?

Diluc said nothing. You hadn’t expected him to. He’d let it slide, you supposed. If the tavern had a best employee of the month award, you would have won it consecutively for the last few years you’d been employed under the pretty man. However, Diluc was no great lover of trivial awards that were actually poorly concealed incentives, and as long as you were paid accordingly, you didn’t care about awards, either.

“If you needed a raise then say it,” he said suddenly. And you were surprised.

“Thank you,” you said.

“No need.”

When you left the tavern you squealed. Patton, the caller, awoke from his nap from a chair supposedly for customers. His legs had been propped on the accompanying table, which you had cleaned earlier so you didn’t have to deal with a certain customer who had too much to drink inside.

Patton rubbed his eyes groggily. “What’s up, [Name]?”

“I got a raise!” you exclaimed. “I’m so happy I could kiss you right now, Patton.”

“Please don’t,” he said. “What’s that in your hand?”

“Oh, leftovers.” You gave the small bag you were holding a good jostle. “It’s for the dog up there. I have a habit of feeding him every once in a while whenever there’s good scraps.”

Patton eyed you. “If you get bit and infected with rabies, maybe I’ll take your raise. Try and pet it for me, would you?”

“In your dreams, Patton.”

After a few taunts and banter, you left Patton alone. In a few hours, you’d come back to the tavern to work more. Before your mom had been hospitalized, you’d maybe put your extra money to treat yourself to Good Hunter or to buy new clothes.

Of course, while money was one of your many goals, you had other aspirations as well. More than anything, you’d like to resume a humble life in Mondstadt. If you could afford it, then you’d travel to Liyue and sightsee. And then maybe a little further. But you’d always return to Mondstadt. It was just home to you, and you liked home.

You crouched and fed the dog. He pressed his snout into your palm, warm and comforting. You giggled and finished the leftovers from your little sack. As much as Patton wanted you to die of infection, the dog was very tame and kind toward you. He let you brush his fur and scratch behind his ears. If you had enough patience and enough time, you’d teach him to bite Patton.

The next day, you were working with Charles, as per usual. He’d been working here far longer than any of you. You’d been employed here for a while now, and you’d come to know the man quite well after rowdy nights and quiet days in the tavern. He despised a drunk customer as much as you, but whenever you were on shift with him, he always offered to take care of it.

If not you, then Charles would get the nonexistent employee of the year award.

“Just put up a work wanted poster,” Charles said, cleaning a glass. “Judging by our usuals, we won’t get an honest inquiry for it in a while.”

You, who’d been making an apple cider, said, “oh, for the boars?” While you did want to work at the winery for its pleasant view and people, there were boars who’d been uprooting vines and you did not want to tussle with a boar.

“Say, [Name], you heard of the Darknight Hero?”

“Who hasn’t?” you asked. “My friends talk about him all the time. Everyone likes a good mystery around these parts. Have you seen the library? Oh, and the idea of him being handsome isn’t that bad… Do you think he’s rich, Charles?”

Charles snorted. “If he can afford to leave at night to protect Mondstadt, then he must be rich. He’s no worker like us, but he’s definitely noteworthy. He may as well just be an urban rumor, though, so don’t go around trying to seduce him only to get into his pockets.”

“I would never!”

“I saw you make eyes at a customer who was wearing very fine jewelry that could be pawned off for a high price.”

“I liked her eyes. They were kind. Reminded me of a princess from a fairytale.”

Diluc came from upstairs to the first floor. He was the same as he’d always been—closed off, calm, and collected. Fitting. He cast a quick glance at you and Charles before disappearing outside onto the streets of Mondstadt.

“That’s Master Diluc for you,” Charles said. “So elusive you could call him a ghost. A handsome, ghost, that is.”

“I barely know anything about him,” you said. “Elusive is correct, if not absolutely distant.”

“Really? You should talk to him more often.”

There was already a set difference between you and Charles. Firstly, it would be the years working at Angel’s Share. Charles knew Diluc more than you did. You wanted to point this out, but instead you slumped your shoulders. “He’s just so unapproachable, Charles. You wouldn’t understand. That mustache of yours makes you look amicable and agreeable.”

Charles self-consciously twirled the end of his mustache. He looked as if he wanted to say something. He turned back to his work, setting the clean glass down. “You and Master Diluc seem to complement each other, that’s all.”

You were very friendly and a good person underneath all your materialistic values. Had it not been for Diluc’s offstandish personality, maybe you and Diluc would be a little more than boss and employee. Maybe you and Diluc would be friends.

Of course, your main focus was your happiness and sanity. If you’d interacted with Diluc outside of work, you might’ve gone insane. Oh! And money. It was always money. You watched a customer drop a few mora into the tip jar.

PART I - PART II - PART III

#diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact diluc #x reader #PLEASEEEE IM LOSING IT ITS ACTUALLY SO BAD IM NOT HAPPY AT ALL #genshin impact fluff

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theassthatquits · 3 years

Text

Blupjeans Week Day 2 - Ghost

Lup Taaco founded the premier science camp for teens - Camp Rocks! - this side of Faerun almost a decade ago. She did it by herself (mostly) and has the awards, articles, and accolades to prove that it’s a success.

So where does Davenport, her investor, get off going behind her back and hiring someone new without consulting her? Sure, enrollment has plateaued in the last couple of years, the main complaint being that they needed to shake up their staffing and curriculum, but she had it handled. She could take care of it herself, this was just a bump in the road. She didn’t need the help of some fancy doctor, this ‘Dr. Hallwinter’ that Davenport worked with at the university.

Lup scoffed while thumbing through his resume and cover letter. Top of his undergrad at Neverwinter U, a triple major in chemistry, astronomy, and physics. A brief stint working at a funeral home - a little weird, but everyone goes through a quarter life crisis, right? Returning to school a couple years later to get his masters and PhD and now taught at the same university while simultaneously doing interplanar research with Davenport. At the bottom of his resume with “related skills” he put ‘huge nerd’, as if that wasn’t obvious enough.

“Well, at least he knows what he’s talking about,” she muttered to herself as she threw the papers aside. There was no use fighting it now, she had spent weeks arguing and it wasn’t getting her anywhere. And it wasn’t like this was a bad idea, it just wasn’t her idea. This was her camp, after all.

---

Okay, maybe this Dr. Hallwinter guy wasn’t such a bad fit. They got off on the wrong foot, having a couple of heated discussions (fights) about things that she could barely remember. But now, she was standing in the corner of the pavilion, watching him give a very animated lecture on stars and planets. Angus McDonald, one of their first campers and the only one who came every single year, kept raising his hand to ask new questions and Hallwinter loved it. The two of them could go back and forth for hours, talking about theories and experiments and life itself. Angus had signed himself up for all of Dr. Hallwinter’s classes for the summer and loved every minute.

And he wasn’t so bad to look at, she supposed.

Lup was snapped out of her reverie by the class laughing very loudly at some Fortnite reference he made. Without realizing it, she smiled too. Dr. Hallwinter looked up at that moment to see her and his grin grew even bigger. With their eyes locked together, he dabbed and the class lost it all over again. When she giggled at that, she could have sworn he was blushing.

---

Every year towards the end of the summer the staff throws a “spooky soiree” to celebrate the end of camp. Everyone dresses up in a science-themed costume, they use the different things they have learned to create gruesome and cool decorations and effects, and they end the night with a ghost story bonfire. It’s easily Lup’s favorite night of camp. She loves amazing all of the younger kids with the cauldrons of “witches brew” (just dry ice in some punch) and grossing them out with the “eyeballs” (peeled grapes). This year she sewed some LEDs into her black vest, creating stars and constellations. Lup glowed in the dark and she fucking loved it.

She was in the middle of a (spooky) explanation of the witch's brew when she caught sight of Dr. Hallwinter walking up to the party. He was wearing a white shirt with lines drawn across it like a measuring cup and a long red robe over it. She was pretty sure he was wearing a graduation cap, too, which would mean…

“Holy shit you’re a graduated cylinder!” Lup shouted at him from across the way.

Immediately squeals of “language, Miss Lup!” began in front of her and she apologized to them as Dr. Hallwinter walked over with a smile on his face.

“Sure, am! This is pretty much my only Halloween costume, but I do love it.”

“Well, it certainly works for you, Dr. Hallwinter.”

He blushed before saying, “Lup, please just call me Barry. We’ve been having this discussion all summer. The only other person who calls me Dr. Hallwinter is Angus.”

As if to prove his point, Taako swooped in at that moment in a chef’s costume with the letters “FE” written on his shirt and yelled, “Excellent costume, Barold! You look even more like a nerd than usual and that’s saying something.”

Barry laughed. “Thank you, Taako, or should I say Iron Chef?”

Taako bowed deeply. “At your service, sir.”

“Dr. Hallwinter, sir!” They saw smoke before they saw Angus and Lup was a little alarmed before she realized that it was part of his costume. The boy had dressed up like a volcano with fake lava and smoke coming out of the top of it. “Look, it works!”

“All right, buddy!” The pair high fived and a weird fuzzy feeling struck Lup while watching the two of them.

“I think they’re about to start the scary stories over by the bonfire, are you coming, sir?”

“Pshh am I coming? Miss Lup asked me if I could host the festivities. Now you go get a good seat and I’ll be right over to start us off.”

Angus saluted him and ran off, eager for the frights ahead.

“Hosting the ghost stories, that’s a big deal Barold. Lup has hosted the bonfire herself for the last - oh, I don’t know, 2 decades?”

Barry turned to Lup, confused. “Is that true? I don’t want to impose or ruin any traditions.”

She waved him off. “Nah, it’s fine. We got off on the wrong foot, think of it as a peace offering.” Stepping closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, her voice got quiet. “You’re a member of this family, Barry.”

It was a good thing it was so dark, otherwise she would have seen his face turn a deep red. “You said my name.”

“Yeah, yeah, go get ready to spook some kids, Bluejeans.”

“Bluejeans?”

“You’ve worn the same blue jeans every single day since you started, even when we do activities by the lake. I’m absolutely convinced that you only packed that one pair for the entire summer.”

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.”

“Barold. My dude. You only packed one pair of jeans, no shorts, no swim trunks, for an entire summer at a camp?”

“There might have been a slight mishap on the way here in which I lost my shorts, swim trunks, and half of my underwear.”

No one moved or said anything for a second before Taako finally said, “Barry, you know we go into town once a week to get food for the camp, right?”

Barry just stared into space, regretting all of his life choices that led up to this moment. Lup busted up laughing, harder than anyone had seen her laugh all summer. As she wiped a tear from her eye, she patted his shoulder and said, “Well, I guess you know for next year, right?”

He raised an eyebrow playfully. “Next year, huh?”

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t make any promises until I see how well you do at our bonfire fright fest. Speaking of which, we should definitely be heading over there. I am a little nervous to see how Magnus has been keeping the kids occupied.”

---

Lup stood in the back of the crowd, letting Barry take over the hosting responsibilities of the bonfire. It was one of her favorite parts of camp, but it felt right to let him do it. He was doing really well, enhancing his performance with shadow puppets from the fire and interspersing the scary parts with science puns to ease the nerves of the younger kids. She found it absolutely adorable.

“I think Barold is giving you a run for your money, Lulu.”

“He’s better than I expected, that’s for sure.”

“I’m glad you gave the guy a chance. He’s a good dude.”

She smiled. “He is, isn’t he?”

Taako took a moment, watching his sister watch Barry. “You have the hots for him, don’t you? Jeezy creezy, I should have seen this coming. Those arguments you two had at the beginning were spicy.”

“What?!” Lup said, a little too loudly, face flushing. “I do not have the hots for Dr. Bluejeans. He’s just funny and good with the kids and very smart and looks good in jeans and oh my god I have the hots for Dr. Bluejeans.” Her eyes got wide and she clutched Taako’s arms. “Taako what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Lulu, I say this with all the love in my heart: don’t follow your instincts. Right now, your instincts are telling you to let him walk away tomorrow and not say anything, and they are dead wrong.”

“Ughhh but what if he doesn’t feel the same? It ruins the professional relationship we have and then I have to ban him from the camp and then Angus will hate me and we will lose our best customer.”

“Something tells me he also feels the same way.”

“But how do you know that?”

30 minutes earlier

Lup went ahead before the boys to make sure that Magnus hadn’t started a revolution of sorts and that left Barry and Taako to quickly clean up the food before following. Barry’s eyes lingered a little too long on Lup as she was walking away.

“Barold. Are you checking out my sister?”

“What?! No, what makes you think that?”

“I rolled a Nat 20 on perception, Barold. Legally you cannot lie to me. Now tell me: do you have the hots for my sister?”

Barry covered his face with his hands. “Maybe? Yes. Absolutely. Completely. As soon as she called me a poorly-dressed poser on my first day I was done for.”

“Rad. You should do something about that.” Taako started walking towards the bonfire, witch’s brew in hand.

“What, like tell her?”

“Tell her, kiss her, fight her, just something so I get to stop looking at you two making eyes at one another,” Taako yelled back without stopping.

“What - we don’t make eyes at one another, that’s not…she makes eyes at me?”

“Yeah, I think you’re good, my dude.”

The kids started clapping, signaling the end of the story that Magnus was telling.

“All right, thank you Magnus. Very scary, that story about zombie dogs. I think next up we have everyone’s favorite camp director, Miss Lup!”

The kids cheered and Lup had to pull herself together to nail this story that she was definitely going to pull out of her ass because she most certainly hadn't prepared anything.

“Are you kids ready to get the pants scared off of you?”

They screamed enthusiastically.

“All right, this story is about our very own Lake Igneous here at Camp Rocks. Legend has it that there was a woman who used to live in these woods by herself, not letting anyone else get near her. She refused help from anyone that came by, wanting to do everything alone and remain independent. The campers nearby could hear her blowing shit up in the woods and they knew to steer clear. One day, a man stumbled into her home, lost and confused. She lit off several explosions in an attempt to scare him off but he didn’t want to leave.”

As she talked, her eyes found Barry’s.

“He saw how lonely she was and helped her blow shit up. Eventually she grew to really like the man and really enjoyed blowing things up with him.” Barry laughed at that. Lup, suddenly remembering that this was supposed to be a scary story, abruptly tore her eyes away from his.

“They thought it would be a good idea to light some fireworks on the lake, so they took a boat out to the center and created the biggest and most beautiful explosion known to man, taking both of them out. They sacrificed their lives for the dopest light show, and sometimes, on a very clear and quiet night, you can see them in the lake, hand in hand.”

Lup bowed to signal that the story was over and she took her place back next to Taako.

“Lup, that was...pretty rough, not going to lie. Not your best work, that’s for sure.”

“I just got so distracted looking at his dumb face.”

“Yeah, that whole story was glaringly obvious.” She glared at him.

“I just need to get through this night without further making an ass of myself.”

He snorted. “Good luck.”

After the bonfire had wrapped up and all the kids were sent to bed, Lup sat at her favorite spot down by the lake to stare at the stars. She always sat here on the final night, reminiscing over the summer.

“Mind if I join you?” Barry’s voice came out of nowhere, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t expect it. Lup didn’t respond, just patted on the ground next to her. “So, your story was -”

“It’s okay, you can say it was shit, because it was. I definitely did not prepare this year like I usually do.”

“-good. I really liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Especially the part where they die a fiery but beautiful death.”

She snorted and he took the opportunity to move closer to her, their shoulders touching.

“Thank you for letting me join the team this summer.”

“I would say you’re welcome, but I honestly didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“I know. Thank you for giving me a shot.”

“Again, not much choice in the matter.” He laughed. “You turned out alright. Better than I was expecting.”

“High praise from Miss Camp Director.”

“Would you be interested in coming back next year?”

“Absolutely. Pretty sure Angus would boycott if I didn’t show up.”

“He would just show up on your doorstep. Expect a lot of emails this year. So I’ll see you next summer, then?” He hesitated. “Unless you already have other commitments, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Lup, I’ll definitely be here next summer. I was just hoping that maybe we could see each other a little sooner than that. Like maybe this Saturday, dinner?”

She smirked. “A little forward, aren’t we, Dr. Bluejeans?” His face dropped.

“Oh, God. Did I totally misread this situation? Fuck, I am so sorry, I am going to just walk into this lake and never come back -” Barry started to get up, mortified.

“Barry, stop.” He looked at her, eyes wide in embarrassment. She shifted so her face was directly in front of his. “You didn’t misread this situation.” And then she kissed him.

@blupjeansweek2021

#blupjeansweek2021 #barry bluejeans #lup #taz balance #this is definitely the camp rock au i posted about ages ago #i might expand on this later

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physical-manifestation-of-spite · 4 years

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hey uhhh i love your evil!reigen 🙈🙈🙈 can i get a little info on "why" he is evil

*SLAMS MY KEYS WITH THE INTENSITY OF A THOUSAND SUN GODS*

OKAY, SO TWO IDEAS AS TO WHY REIGEN WOULD BE EVIL.

One: [Note: This stems off of conversations I’ve looked at in the Mob’s Lunch Box Discord, so credit to you all for having great ideas, and gommen because I can’t find them in the chat right now.] This first one stems off of the whole fake tease for Ep. 9, showing Reigen as the “””””Claw Boss””””. In this au, Reigen actually has esper powers and is as strong as he claims he is. He grew up closely with Toichiro as his childhood friend, who had an influence on Reigen’s newly developed superiority complex. However, he had spent much of his time in the “real world,” allowing himself to experience what “normal life” was life until he met with Toichiro again, who offered to build Claw with him. Reigen agrees. He works currently as the secondary boss for Claw, but he’s already planning on overthrowing Toichiro. Reigen takes on the task of finding strong espers in the area to recruit, and he finds that posing as a professional psychic will give him a good cover to find psychic-oriented phenomenon. When he meets Mob, he is set on using Mob to defeat Toichiro. However, working as a psychic outside in the “real world” and being with Mob is starting to alter his preconceptions of the world, and he’s starting to develop a soft spot for the boy. He does not realize how much he loves the kid, and yeah, it’ll definitely bite him in the ass in the end.

What sparked this desire for world domination? Working in customer service.

Two: Reigen is born with incredible psychic powers and wants to use that power to help people. He spends his teen years in life trying to better himself, using his power for good to purge evil spirits and put ghosts to rest. It is also during his teenage years that he meets Toichiro, who is his classmate and soon-to-be rival. Their opinions differ drastically from each other, with Reigen insistently telling Toichiro to basically pull his head out of his ass and not see himself as anyone who’s better than the rest of society. They fight often during this time, but when they graduate, they don’t see each other for a long time. As Reigen continues to offer his services to people, he begins to notice a steady stream of people who try to profit off of his services, take advantage off of him, or take advantage of his clients. He grows in fame, eventually getting his own TV show, and he watches during this time as stakes are exaggerated, preconceived, or completely fabricated to gain attention, and soon, Reigen threatens to quit. He grows progressively hostile towards his bosses, who know that he’s grown too high in the public eye. So, they fabricate an extensive lie about him, posing him as a greedy extortionist on live television, and then fire him. Enraged, Reigen loses all of his credibility and basically starts working in the shadows, longing for revenge. As people continue to treat him poorly due to his image on television, Reigen grows more bitter, and soon, he starts to lash out. He’s losing his faith in humanity, and that is slowly twisting him into a villain.

Basically, the first idea is more of a traditional villain take, whereas the second idea follows more closely with Mogami, since they have similar paths.

#sorry i'm writing this at like 11pm at night so uuuuuuuh idk how comprehensive it is #spiteful musings #evil reigen #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #reigen arataka #Anonymous

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thebaconsandwichofregret · 4 years

Text

Happy False Value Day everyone!!!

As many of you know Ben Aaronovitch used to work for Waterstone’s, a bookshop chain in the UK, and because he’s quite proud of having worked there (and they are proud of having once employed him, no seriously, every time I even look at one of his books in one of their shops a member of staff spontaneously appears to tell me “He used to work here you know!” If I had a pound for every time I’d heard that I could afford to buy the Folly) he gives Waterstone’s a special exclusive short story in the first run of every new Rivers of London book.

Obviously this is great for those of us who are UK fans.

It’s less great for those of you who are international fans. However in the spirit of International Magical Cooperation I managed to get my hands on my copy ever so slightly early and so I have here for your reading pleasure, the exclusive short story from False Value - A Dedicated Follower of Fashion

Please note that this story contains mentions of sex and drugs and rock’n’roll

A Dedicated Follower of Fashion

By Ben Aaronovitch

You know that song by The Kinks? Not that one. The other one. No, not that one either. Yeah, that one- ‘Dedicated Follower of Fashion’. You wouldn’t believe it to look at me now, but that song’s about me.

These days my daughter does her best to keep me looking respectable, and I haven’t the heart to tell her that I’d much rather wear my nice comfortable corduroy trousers, with braces, and leave my shirt untucked. But back in the sixties I was the dedicated follower of fashion. And it’s true that they sought me here and they sought me there but, as Ray Davies knew perfectly well, that was probably because of the drug dealing. What can I say? Clothes aren’t cheap.

I was a middleman buying wholesale and supplying a network of dealers, mostly in and around the King’s Road. I rarely sold retail, although I did have a number of select clients. And of course nothing lubricates a soirée like a bowl full of alpha-methylphenethylamine. It was all going swimmingly until some little shit from Islington stiffed me on a payment and I found myself coming up ten grand short. And, believe me, ten grand in 1967 was a lot of money. You could buy a house in Notting Hill for less than that - not that anyone wanted to, not in those days.

Now, I’ll admit that as an entrepreneur working in such a volatile industry, I probably should have ensured that I had a cash reserve stashed away against such an eventuality. Mistakes were definitely made. But in my defence, not only had I just discovered the joys of blow, I was also distracted by my infatuation with Lilith.

Now, I’ve always cheerfully swung both ways and, to be honest, I’ve always been more attracted by the cut of someone’s trousers than what was held therein. But when I met Lilith it was if all the cash registers rung out in celebration. She was so like a man in some ways and so like a woman in others. I’d love to say that it was the best of both worlds, but looking back it was a disaster in every respect. Although a completely exhilarating disaster, like a roller coaster to an unknown destination. I tried explaining what she was like to Ray Davies and that beardy writer who ran that sci-fi magazine, but they both got her completely wrong.

So there I was, suddenly ten grand down to people whose names you’re better off not knowing - let’s just call them the Deplorables and leave it at that. If I tell you that their nicknames were Cutter, Lead Pipe and Gnasher, that should give you a flavour of their character. You could call Cutter the brains behind the gang but that would be risking an overstatement. Organised crime in the good old days required little in the way of actual brains and relied much more on a calculated defiance of the social niceties vis-à-vis psychotic violence. Terrify your rivals, bully your customers, and hand out a bung to the local constabulary and you were away.

And it goes without saying that aesthetically they were a dead loss.

The Deplorables had a straightforward approach to those that owed them money which I will leave to your imagination - suffice only to say that it involved a sledgehammer and, of all things, a marlinspike.

But I had no intention of losing my knees, so I had arranged a couple of new deals that would net me a sufficient profit to cover both what I owed the Deplorables and the same again to appease them sufficiently to save my poor knees from a fate worse than polyester.

I know some of you are thinking that polyester was hip and groovy back in the Swinging Sixties, but trust me when I say that it was an abomination from the start - whatever the elegance of its long chain polymers.

In order to keep body and wardrobe together while I waited for these deals to come to fruition I decanted, along with Lilith and my faithful sidekick Merton, to a squat in Wandsworth just off the Earlsfield High Street. Now, I normally shun the transpontine reaches of the capital. But my thinking was sound. With my reputation as a flower of Chelsea and the King’s Road, I reckoned that nobody - least of all the dim members of the Deplorables - would think to look for me across the river.

‘No fucking way,’ said Lilith when she first saw it, ‘am I living in this shithole.’

Squats come in many flavours. But political, religious or student, they are almost always shitholes. However, I could see this one had potential and Nigel, God bless his woolen Woolworths socks, had at least kept it clean.

But not particularly tidy.

Outwardly Nigel was definitely one of the children of Aquarius. Inside he had the soul of an accountant, but alas none of the facility with numbers.

According to Nigel, who could be dull about this sort of thing, the building we were squatting in had been built in the eighteenth century as an inn that specialised in serving the trade along the river Wandle. This was news to me, because I had assumed the rank channel immediately behind the house was a canal.

‘There used to be factories up and down the Wandle,’ he told me despite my best efforts to stop him, ‘all connected up with barges. And this is where the wartermen used to get their drinks in.’

With the collapse of that trade it was converted into a grad town house, a status it retained for a hundred years or so before providing slum housing for the unwashed multitude. Occasionally on its hundred-year odyssey it would surface into the light of respectable society before descending once more into the depths of squalor.

Which is where yours truly arrived to bring a touch of colour and a modicum of good taste to the old place.

Looking back, I believe that might have been the start of the whole ghastly business.

Now the thing about the drug trade is that it overlaps with the general smuggling industry. As a result a man with the right contacts can acquire much in the way of valuable cloth - Egyptian cotton and the like - without troubling the good people of Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise. Then such an individual might use his reputation for fashion to sell on said items to the East End rag trade at less than wholesale, cash under the table, no questions asked and no invoices raised. Not as lucrative as a suitcase full of horse, but safer and more dependable.

Cloth, even expensive cloth, takes up considerably more room even than Mary Jane, so the fact that the old building had a beer cellar capacious enough to store the stock was the other reason I’d chosen it as a bolt-hole. Merton and I pressed Nigel into service to help us carry the bales, wrapped in tarpaulin for protection, down to the cellar, which proved to be mercifully dry and cool.

It was surprisingly cool - you could have used it as a pantry.

‘That’s because of the river,’ Nigel explained. ‘It’s just the other side of that wall.’

I touched the wall and was surprised to find it cool but bone dry.

‘They know how to build houses in those days,’ said Nigel.

Once we’d moved the good in, it was time to deal with the ever simmering domestic crisis that was life with Lilith. In the latest instalment of the drama, she had ejected Nigel from the master bedroom and claimed it as her own. This was less of a distraction than it might be because Nigel, like nearly all men, was clearly smitten with Lilith and acquiesced with surprisingly good grace.

And so we settled in companionably enough, especially when Lilith and Nigel discovered a common in the works of Jack Kerouac. I could see that at some point I would be bedding down with Merton for a night or two. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t find Lilith’s peccadillos upsetting but Merton, bless his acrylic Y-fronts offers compensation in his own rough manner.

Things started to go wrong the night of the storm and consequent flood. And while our decision to drop acid and commune with the thunder- Nigel’s idea, by the way - probably wasn’t to blame, it certainly didn’t help.

I don’t normally do hallucinogenics as they often disappoint. You go up expecting Yellow Submarine and get a lot of irritating visual distraction instead. My colour sense is quite keen enough, thank you, without having a pair of purple velvet bell-bottoms start to shine like a neon sign.

The master bedroom - now Lilith’s domain - contained, of all things, a king-size four-poster bed that was missing its curtains. But since I’d arrived, it at least had matching cotton sheets in a tasteful orange and green fleurs-de-lis pattern. They matched the old wallpaper with its geometric tan and orange florets that still showed the retangular ghosts of long vanished photographs and paintings.

At some point - Nigel had said the 1930s - the owners had installed an aluminium-framed picture window that ran almost the length of the room and looked out over the canal, or more importantly, up into the boiling clouds of the oncoming storm.

Lilith started on the bed with all three of us, but I can’t take anything seriously when heading up on LSD, least of all sex. So I quickly disengaged and chose to sit on the end of the bed and watch the storm. I doubt the others were troubled by my absence.

I watched the storm come in over the rooftops of South London with lightning flashing in my eyes and that glorious sense of joy that only comes from something psychoactive interacting with your neurones. I lost myself in that storm and, in it, I thought I sensed the roar of the god of joy, whose acolytes dance naked on the hilltops and rip the goats apart.

But the mind is fickle and darts from thought to thought and I became fascinated by the patterns the raindrops traced down the window glass. Then the play of light and shadow drew me to the walls, where I found myself pulling at the torn edge of the wallpaper. Like most squats, damp had gotten into the room at some point in the past and the top layer peeled away to reveal another layer below - a vertical floral design in red, purple and green on a pale background. Carefully I stripped a couple of square feet away. And while behind me Lilith howled obscenities in the throes of her passion, I started on the next layer. This revealed a faded leaf design in silver and turquoise. The colours pulled at me and I realised that if I could just find the original surface I might open a portal to another dimension - one of style and colour and exquisite taste.

But I had to be patient. Clawing the walls would disrupt the delicate lines of cosmic energy that flowed along the pinstripes of the layer of blue linen-finish paper. Delicately, I peeled a loose corner until I uncovered a beautiful mustard yellow bird that glowed with an inner light. Gently and meticulously I revealed more. A trellis design overgrown with olive and brown brambles sporting red flowers and crimson birds. I knew it at once as a classic design from ‘the Firm’, the company founded by William Morris to bring back craftsmanship to a world turned grey and smoky by the Industrial Revolution.

I was ready for a hallucination then, and willed my mind into the pattern in front of me, but nothing happened. The wallpaper shone out of the hole in the wall, the light shifting like sunlight through a real trellis, real birds, but that achingly rational part of my brain stayed aloof. Chemistry, it said, it’s all chemistry.

At some point Nigel escaped the bed and fled whimpering into the cupboard and closed the door behind himself.

The trellis and its mustard-coloured birds mocked me from the walls,

‘I think we’re sinking,’ said Merton, for what I realised was the third or fourth time.

I was still coming down and it took concentration to focus on Merton, who was stark naked and pacing up and down at the foot of the bed. Lilith was sprawled face down, arms and legs spread like a starfish to occupy as much space as possible. There was no sign of Nigel, and in my elevated state I seriously gave consideration to the thought that Lilith had devoured him following coitus.

Merton rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, as if testing his footing.

‘Definitely sinking,’ he said, and ran out of the door.

I flailed about a bit until I found a packet of Lilith’s Embassy Filters and a box of Swan Vestas, managed to not light the filter on the second attempt and dragged in a grateful lungful. A burst of head-clearing nicotine helped chase away the last of the lysergic acid diethylamide and I was just trying to determine whether I’d hallucinated a naked Merton when he reappeared.

‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ he said. ‘We’re not sinking but we’re definitely flooding.’

The cellar was divided into two parts. The stairs led down to the smaller part of it, essentially a wide corridor which used to house, so Nigel insisted on telling me, the coal chute - now bricked up. A big metal reinforced door opened into the larger part of the cellar - the part with over ten grand’s worth of fabric stored in it. The door was closed but the corridor part was two inches deep in filthy water.

‘Don’t open the door!’ called Nigel from the top of the stairs.

I had no intention of leaving the dry section of the stairs, let alone risking the cuffs of my maroon corduroy flares in what looked to me like sewage overflow. Merton, who’d been trying to force the door open, now splashed back as if stung. For a man who I’d once seen cheerfully batter a traffic warden for awarding him a ticket, it was odd how he never argued with Nigel - not about practical things to do with the house anyway.

Nigel, resplendent in a genuine Indian cloth kaftan - or so he claimed - passed me and stepped gingerly into the water. Reaching the door, he rapped sharply with his knuckles just above the waterline, then he methodically rapped up the door until he reached head height. After a few experimental raps to confirm, he turned to me and told me I was deader than a moleskin waistcoat.

‘The whole room’s flooded,’ he said. ‘Probably not a good idea to open this door.’

I sat down on the stairs and put my head in my hands. I did a mental inventory of what I’d stored and how it had been packed. It was bad, but if we could pump out the room half of it could be salvaged - especially the silks, since the individual rolls had been wrapped in polythene.

Thank God for Hans von Pechmann, I thought, and got to my feet.

‘We need to drain the room,’ I said. ‘Nigel, get a pump and enough hose to run it back out to the river.’

Nigel nodded.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, and practically skipped up the stairs.

‘Put some clothes on before you go out!’ I called after him.

I told Merton that when we had the pump and the hose, he would have to cut a suitable hole in the door - near the top.

‘Will you need tools?’ I asked.

Merton eyed up the door.

‘I have what I need in my bedroom,’ he said.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea.’

It took Nigel the best part of the day to source the suitable equipment. In the meantime, I sent Merton out to the local phone box to see if I couldn’t rustle up another life- and kneecap-saving transaction. Ideally, I should have been making the calls myself but I didn’t dare show my face on the street - it’s a well-known face, even in South London. I spent the time cataloguing my wardrobe, alas much reduced by my exile, ironing that which needed ironing and casting away those items that had fallen out of style since my last purge.

Some things never go out of style - some things, thank God, will never come back. Let us hope that the lime-green acrylic aquiline button-down cardigan is one of them. I really don’t know what I was thinking when I bought it.

Apart from a spectacularly noisy toilet break, Lilith stayed blissfully asleep in the main bedroom until teatime and then vanished into the bathroom for the next two hours.

Once Nigel had returned with the pump and the hose, Merton used his hammer and chisel to cut a rough hole, six inches across, near the top of the door. Nigel had brought down the cream-coloured hostess trolley and mounted the pump on that to keep it out of the water. Once it was rigged we ran a hosepipe up the stair, down the hall, across the kitchen and poked it out the back window. Merton stayed to supervise the outflow while I returned to the top of the stairs and gave Nigel the nod.

It looked ramshackle and was, indeed, held together with string and gaffer tape. But like most things that Nigel built, especially his improvised hookahs, it was perfectly adequate. The pump puttered into life, the pipe going through the hole in the door stiffened, there was a gurgling sound and I followed the passage of the water upstairs and into the kitchen. There, an arc of water shot from the hose and into the river beyond.

‘How long until it’s pumped out?’ I asked.

‘A couple of days,’ said Nigel.

When I objected, he pointed out that it was a small-bore hosepipe, that the cellar was large and that we didn’t know how the river water was getting in.

Some things you can’t control, I suppose, such as Lilith - who I found sitting in the kitchen in a loose yellow kimono, drinking brandy and letting her assets hang out.

‘It smells different in here’ she said.

I pointed out that the window was open to allow egress of the hosepipe and was thus allowing fresh air, to which Lilith was generally unaccustomed, to enter the room. Lilith grunted and said she was going out that evening to meet some friends in Soho.

I tried to talk her out of it but she insisted, and there was no stopping Lilith when she was set on something.

‘What if the Deplorables see you?’ I asked.

‘Darling,’ said Lilith, throwing an orange ostrich feather boa around her neck, ‘the Deplorables never frequent the places I do and in any case - I’m invisible.’

I was making another calming cup of tea when I realised that Lilith had been right. The kitchen smelt fresh and, oddly, sun dappled - of you thought sun dappled was a smell. I went to the open window and took a deep breath. Not normally something I’d recommend given the foetid nature of the Wandle - which still looked more like a canal to me - behind the house. The air was fresh and another thing I noticed was that the water shooting out of the hosepipe was clear. I pulled the pipe in a bit and had a closer look and then an experimental tate - just the tip of the tongue, you understand. It was plain, clean water. Perhaps, I thought, the cellar had been flooded by a burst mains pipe. If so, then there was a chance that much of my stock might survive relatively intact.

I also noticed that the house had a small back garden, or rather a side garden, an overgrown patch of weeds and brambles that filled a roughly triangular space between next door’s garden wall, the river and the side of the kitchen. I replaced the hose and went looking for the door that led to the garden. I’m not a horticulturalist myself, but to a man in my position, knowing there’s a back door - for egress in extremis - is always a comfort.

It took three days to drain the cellar, which passed as quickly as two quarters of Lebanese cannabis resin could make it. Now I’ve never been one to get the munchies, but Nigel could consume an astonishing amount of fish and chips, and poor Merton was forced to make several supply runs. On the morning of the fourth day, Nigel declared that we could force the door and I went to fetch Merton.

Who was nowhere to be found.

His room was as he always left it, the bed made with military precision and knife-edge creases. Merton was a thoroughly institutionalised boy, but what institution - the navy, prison, the Foreign Legion - I’d never thought to ask. His clothes, though dull, were hung or folded with the same admirable care. His tool case was missing but the canvas bag containing his baseball bat, bayonet and the long wooden stick with the stainless steel barbs that I didn’t want to know the purpose of, was tucked into the wardrobe next to his two spare pairs of Doc Martens boots.

I returned to the basement corridor, which Nigel had mercifully mopped clean once the muddy water had soaked away. Nigel was standing by the door to the cellar, stock-still and staring at something on the floor.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

Nigel pointed mutely at a battered blue metal toolbox sitting by the door. Its top was open and its trays expanded to reveal its rows of neatly arrayed tools and boxes of screws and nails.

‘He must have gone inside,’ said Nigel. His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. ‘Inside there!’

Since I had no idea why Nigel was so agitated, I reached out and pushed the door open. It opened a fraction and then pushed back - as if someone was leaning against the other side.

‘Merton,’ I said, ‘stop fucking about and let me in.’

I shoved harder and the door opened a crack and out poured a weird sweet smell like cooked milk. And with it a sense of outraged dignity which so surprised me that I jumped back from the door, which slammed shut.

‘Is he in there?’ asked Nigel.

‘Must be,’ I said, but I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Neither of us could match Merton - because that’s who it had to be - for physical might. I mean, I employed him precisely because he could intimidate your average creditor just by breaking wind. So we trooped upstairs for a cup of tea and some pharmaceutical reinforcement.

‘Got any more black beauties?’ asked Nigel, who never could separate his biphetamines from his common or garden amphetamines. I swear, you try to educate people but there are limits. I gave him a couple of ludes, and given the day we’d had so far, took a couple myself. Lilith returned fabulously drunk at two in the morning, and we all piled into bed and didn’t get up until the next afternoon.

The door to the cellar remained closed and Merton’s tool case was still where he’d left it. I tried the door, but it was stuck fast with no give at all. I even tried knocking it down, like they do in films, but all I did was bruise my shoulder.

If Merton was in there, he wasn’t coming out until he was good and ready. And since I wasn’t getting in, I had to accept that I wouldn’t be realising any value from my stock of fabrics any time soon. Still, I’d already written down their value and put other deals in motion to generate cash flow - another drug deal, as it happens. A stack of Happy Bus LSD out of Rotterdam. A little bit riskier than my normal deals, but needs must, as they say.

Without Merton, I was forced to rely on Nigel to go out and make the necessary phone calls. Unlike Merton, who followed instructions without question, I had to explain everything to him as if he were in a spy movie with Michael Caine. Once he had the gist, he darted out the front door wearing an RAF surplus greatcoat. As I watched him go from the upstairs window, I realised that his hair had grown long enough to reach between his shoulder blades and wondered why I hadn’t noticed.

The next couple of days went past with no sign of Merton, and I only managed to keep anxiety at bay with the help of my dwindling supply of cannabis resin and long punishing nights with Lilith.

The door to the cellar remained closed.

When I had nerved myself up to go look, I noticed that something had been jammed into the cracks around the edge of the door - as if it had oozed out from inside the cellar in liquid form and then set on contact with air. I took a set of pliers from Merton’s tool case and worried a fragment out. It’s a long time since I’ve prepared a slide in earnest, but while I didn’t have a microscope I did have a jeweller’s glass I keep for checking crystal shape. Under magnification the fragment revealed itself to be a tangle of threads - blue cotton, my good Egyptian cotton at a guess. I picked at the tangle with a pair of tweezers and a strange notion struck me - that the threads weren’t tangled randomly, that there was a pattern to the knots.

I could imagine a circumstance where the pressure of water could both shred the original weave of a cloth and then tangle the threads. I could even imagine water pressure forcing the threads around the edge of the door, but it seemed unlikely. Before I discovered fashion and pharmaceuticals I did a degree in chemistry. Started a degree, to be precise - I stopped paying attention in the second year. But I always thought of myself as rational even when under the influence.

If I’d known what I know now, I would have run screaming from the house and taken my chances with the Deplorables. But I lived in a much smaller world in those days.

Although large enough for my Rotterdam connection to agree to a deal. Not only that, but it seemed my credit was good enough for me to procure a sample shipment on good faith. With the profit from that sale I could finance a larger shipment and thus dig myself out of my financial predicament and quit the squat - and it’s creepy basement.

The only catch being that I would have to provide my own mule to bring the sample in. Normally you don’t use your friends as mules, not even friends of friends. What you really want is a gullible person who’s been talked into it by someone you only know through business. I knew a guy who could meet a girl at a party and have her on a plane to Ankara the next day. He made a living recruiting mules and didn’t mind some wastage at all - right up to the point someone’s mother gave him both barrels of her husband’s grousing shotgun. The police never caught her and only Merton and I turned up for the funeral.

It wasn’t hard to persuade Lilith to fly to Rotterdam - especially first class - and the beauty was that wherever she touched down, she paid for herself. Or to be strictly accurate, other people took care of her needs for her. The downside, of course, was that you had to allow her time to party - in this case, at least a week. You’d think that without Lilith sharing the high thread cotton sheets of the four-poster bed I’d be getting more sleep, but I found myself spending most of every night staring at the underside of the bed’s canopy.

It didn’t help that I had to ration the Quaaludes - I needed them to keep Nigel functioning.

‘There’s something in the cellar,’ he said, and refused to go down into the basement.

I, on the other hand, found myself increasingly drawn to the cellar door. Especially when it started to flower.

It started with a spray of cotton around the door frame, overlapping triangular leaves of white and navy-blue cotton that stuck to the bricks of the wall as if they’d been glued in place. I took a sample and found that instead of regular weave, the cloth was formed by the intertwining of threads in a complex pattern. Some of the threads amongst the white and blue were a bright scarlet and spread through the fabric in a branching pattern like streams into a river basin. Or, more disturbingly, like capillaries branching out from a vein.

I did make an attempt, cautiously, to scrape one of the ‘leaves’ off the wall with a trowel I found in Merton’s tool case. But even as I pushed the blade under the edge of the cloth I felt such a wave of disinterest - I cannot describe it more clearly than that- that I found myself halfway up the basement stairs before I realised what had happened.

The next day the cotton leaves had spread out at least another six inches and surrounding the door were tongues of crimson and yellow orgaza. Individual threads had begun to colonise the door proper - curling into swirling patterns like ivy climbing a wall. I spent an indeterminate amount of time with my back to the opposite wall, staring at the pattern to see if I could spot them moving.

I wondered what it meant. Perhaps Nigel was right, and the Age of Aquarius was upon us and we had entered a time of miracles.

When I was upstairs I tried to put the cellar out of my mind and concentrate on plans for the future. I had fallen into drug dealing almost by accident and had always found it an easy and convenient way to keep myself in the sartorial fashion I aspired to. But if my run-in with the deplorables was an indication of the future, then perhaps it was time to pack it in. A boutique of my own instead, one in which I could serve both as owner-manager and inspiration. Before the merest thought of doing actual work, no matter how supervisory, had filled me with disgust but now … now it seemed attractive.

I didn’t trust these feelings.

I needed out of the squat. I needed to be strutting down the King’s Road or Carnaby Street. I wanted back out into the world, where I could be as dazzling and as splendid as the first acolyte of the goddess of fashion.

But you need working kneecaps to strut your stuff. And so I stayed where I was.

By the third day the door was completely obscured behind a tapestry of red, black and gold thread, and wings of cotton spread out across the walls and ceiling. The organza had likewise spread and a third wave of pink and yellow damask now framed the doorway. By the sixth day the entire corridor was curtained in swathes of multicoloured fabric, so that it seemed a tunnel to a draper’s wonderland.

I no longer dared leave the safety of the foot of the stairs and yet I still found myself walking down them three times a day to look. The urge to walk into its warm comforting embrace was terrifying.

On the seventh day, Lilith failed to return. I started to seriously worry on the eighth; on the ninth, I fell into such a despair that no amount of near pharmaceutical-grade Drinamyl amphetamines could lift me from it. On the tenth, a postcard arrived with four jaunty pictures of a tram stop, a fountain, a town square, a gigantic statue of a man holding up the sky and Groeten uit Rotterdam written across the front.

On the back Lilith sent me love and kisses, explained that she’d met a splendid sailor or three and would be staying on in the Netherlands for a bit, but not to worry because she’d found a perfectly wonderful Spaniard to courier my product back to London. Thoughtfully she’d written the travel and contact details of the Spanish courier on the postcard - in plain English.

With a heavy heart I sent Nigel out to pick up the package and when he failed to return I was not surprised.

We live in a universe constantly assailed by the forces of entropy. Nothing good, pure or beautiful can stand up to the relentless regression towards the mean, the dull and the shabby. A minority have always striven to be a beacon in the gloom, a constant source of inspiration to those around them. Some worked through the medium of paint, or music, or literature, but I have sought to make myself the living embodiment of style and culture.

God knows it hasn’t been easy.

But a man should always know when he’s been beaten. That morning, as I sat in the kitchen, futilely waiting for Nigel to return, I realised that that time, for me, was nigh. I went upstairs, stripped myself down to my underwear - not nylon and not frilly, thank you, Ray - and after taking a deep breath to steel myself, donned a pair of brown corduroy trousers and a matching moleskin shirt. A pair of Hush Puppies and one of Merton’s donkey jackets completed my transformation. I looked in the mirror - I was unrecognisable.

Stuffing the last of my cash reserves in my pockets, I headed for the front door. I paused by the basement only long enough to ensure it was closed. From behind it came a noise that might have been a giant breathing, or water flowing, or shuttles running back and forth across lines of thread.

I shuddered and walked boldly out into the sunlight.

My plan was simple. Take the train to Holyhead, the ferry to Dublin and then, via a few contacts I still had, to America and freedom.

I didn’t even get as far as Garratt Lane before I ran straight into Cutter. I tried to braout but somehow he recognized me instantly and called out my name.

I turned, ran back to the squat, slammed the door behind me and went for the back door. There I could escape via the garden, over the wall and run for Wimbledon Park station.

But Lead Pipe was waiting in the kitchen, with a cup of tea on the go and the Daily Mirror open to the back pages.

‘About time,’ he rumbled when he saw me.

Three guesses where I went next.

I was down the stairs and into the basement corridor before I even noticed that the walls had grown a fringe that glowed with a soft golden light. I was prepared to throw myself frantically at the cellar door but I found it open. I ran inside with no brighter plan than to barricade myself inside and hope the Deplorables grew bored.

Inside the cellar was a riot of colour. The walls were arrayed with purple organza and burgundy charmeuse, while sprays of a brilliant blue habotai framed cascades of fabric woven in a dozen colours - scarlet, yellow and green - into tangles of vines, leaves and flowers. Globes of light hung suspended from golden threads in each corner, illuminating a bundle of gold and black embroidered silk suspended from tendrils of lace - like a cocoon from a spider-s web.

Around me was a giant’s breathing and the warp and weft of a loom gigantic enough to weave the stars themselves. I could no more have stopped myself from grasping that bundle than I could have stopped myself breathing.

The bundle was warm and squirming in my arms. I unwrapped a layer of gauzy chiffon, gazed down on my fate and was lost.

‘Oi,’ said a voice from behind me.

I turned to find myself confronting the sartorial disaster that were the Deplorables en masse. I won’t describe their appearance on the off chance that children may one day read this account.

‘Can I help you gentlemen?’ I asked, because politeness is always stylish.

‘Yeah,’ said Cutter. ‘You can give us the ten grand you owe us.’

‘Plus interest,’ said Lead Pipe.

‘Plus interest,’ said Cutter.

‘I’m rather afraid I haven’t got it,’ I said.

‘That’s a shame,’ said Cutter, and he turned to Lead Pipe. ‘Isn’t that a shame?’

‘It’s definitely a shame,’ said Lead Pipe.

The bundle in my arms squirmed a bit and made happy gurgling noises.

‘Since the money is not forthcoming, I’m afraid we’ll be forced to take measures,’ said Cutter. He looked once more to Lead Pipe. ‘Is your sledgehammer ready?’

By way of reply, Lead Pipe held up his sledgehammer and I couldn’t help but notice that there were brown stains on the long wooden handle.

‘And Gnasher,’ said Cutter. ‘Do you have a marlinspike about your person?”

Gnasher grunted and held up a pointed lump of metal that I can only presume, in my ignorance of all things nautical, was a marlinspike.

Cutter turned back to me and smiled nastily.

‘I’d say that you should take this like a man,’ said Cutter. ‘But that would be a waste of time.’

Never mind his rudeness, I had more pressing concerns.

‘Shush,’ I said. ‘You’ll wake the baby.’

Cutter’s face suffused to a fine shade of puce and he opened his mouth to continue his ranting, so I twitched aside the fine damask sheet to reveal my daughter nestled in her bundle of silk and high-thread Egyptian cotton.

Her beautiful brown face broke into a charming smile and, opening her chubby arms in a benediction, she laughed - a sound like water tumbling over stones.

Cutter gave me an astonished look and whispered.

‘Is this your…?’

‘Yes,’ I whispered back. ‘Her name is Wanda.’

‘But,’ said Cutter, ‘you can’t keep her here.’

‘She likes it here,’ I said indignantly.

‘It’s a dump,’ said Lead Pipe in a low rumble. ‘It’s not fit for human habitation.’

‘He’s right,’ said Cutter. ‘There’s damp and mould and the kitchen is a disgrace.’

‘And there’s no nursery,’ rumbled Lead Pipe.

‘And the garden is a jungle,’ said Gnasher. ‘Totally unsuitable.’

‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘I can’t attend to any of these details if you break my legs.’

‘Obviously, we have to deal with the immediate shortcomings of the house before we return to the matter of breaking your legs,’ said Cutter. ‘Don’t we boys?’

‘I know a couple of builders,’ said Gnasher. ‘And Lead Pipe has green fingers. Ain’t that right?’

Lead Pipe cracked knuckles the size of walnuts. ‘That’s true,’ he said.

‘Really?’ I said.

‘You should see his allotment,’ said Cutter. ‘He has compost heaps you wouldn’t believe.’

I thought of the rumours of what exactly happened to people who crossed the Deplorables and I decided that I actually did believe in those heaps.

‘About my legs,’ I said but Cutter wasn’t listening.

‘And there’s the roof,’ he said, and the others nodded.

‘About my legs,’ I said louder and then wished I hadn’t, because the trio were jerked out of their dreams of home improvement and focused on yours truly in a somewhat disconcerting manner.

‘What about them?’ asked Cutter, taking a step towards me.

‘I thought we might reach a more mutually beneficial arrangement,’ I said.

‘What kind of beneficial arrangement did you have in mind?’ he said.

‘There’s the matter of the way you dress,’ I said.

Cutter pushed his face towards mine.

‘What’s wrong with the way we dress?’ he said. ‘It’s practical.’

‘Stain resistant,’ said Lead Pipe.

‘Yes, but,’ I said, ‘it could be so much more.’

And Wanda laughed again and this time behind the chuckling stream was the crisp snap of fabric shears and the whistling hum of the shuttle as it plays back and forth across the thread.

‘But first,’ said Cutter, waving a blunt finger in my face, ‘we have to sort out the playroom.’

And that was that. I gave up the pharmaceutical trade and opened a boutique instead. Cutter and his boys were my first customers, and while they never stopped being an unsavoury gang of foul-mouthed thugs, at least when they broke legs they were well dressed doing it.

Merton, it turned out, had fled the squat the day we pumped out the water and, being in need of some security, assaulted a police officer so that he could spend a couple of nice peaceful years at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Lilith visited him regularly, and after he got out they ran an animal sanctuary just outside Abergavenny until their deaths, within three months of each other, in 2009. Nigel is still alive and taught cybernetics at Imperial College until his retirement a couple of years ago.

My daughter and I never got around to giving the boutique a name. It was always just ‘the shop’ and given that we never advertised it’s a wonder that we stay in business. We’re always at the cutting edge of fashion. We were out of flares while the Bay City Rollers were still number one and stocking bondage trousers before John Lyndon had dyed his hair. We’ve moved the shop a couple of times and, while we’re hard to find, we’re always close to the river.

So if you want to know what the herd are going to be wearing next spring, and if you can find us and are prepared to pay the price, you too can join the ranks of the stylish, the à la mode, and truly become a dedicated follower of fashion.

END

#rivers of london #ben aaronovitch #false value spoilers #false value #a dedicated follower of fashion #rol spoilers #rol short stories

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stetervault · 4 years

Note

Steter fics from 2019/any Steter fics you feel like reccing

2019 Steter fics, let’s see… Here’s a bunch of random ones I’ve enjoyed over the past year:

Where I Want to Be by Tahlruil

Peter wasn’t exactly surprised when he ‘woke up’ in hell.

He’d known his wounds were fatal as soon as he’d gotten them. In truth he’d never expected to still be standing after his quest for revenge had been completed. What mattered was taking the Argent family down with him and making sure they died before he did. Peter had saved Kate and Gerard for last; they had looked into his eyes as they bled out. They had known that he was the instrument of their family’s doom and he couldn’t ask for more than that.

You Are A Call To Motion by neglectedtuesday

Here at Hale Industries ® we don’t believe in limiting one’s pleasure. That’s why we’re dedicated to bringing our clientele the best in Jackbot technology. Whether you’re a busy dom in need of a service sub or a baby boy desperate for an Alien Daddy, Hale Industries ® has the perfect bot for you. Built to your specifications, our customer service team is devoted to building a bot that will never fail to meet your needs. And if you discover something new you want to try, you can subscribe to our monthly upgrade packages in order to add or remove kinks at your leisure.

Hale Industries ® - The Only Limits Are The Ones We Place On Ourselves.

Here Begins the Land of Phantoms by Triangulum

Stiles is four and scared of the dark. There are things in the shadows of his room, whispering to him, showing him terrible, violent things.

There’s something in the basement, too. He can feel it while he’s sitting on the old, worn sofa, its presence curling around the edges of the room. He thinks he can see something sometimes, a mass shimmering in the corner, but he always looks away. He doesn’t want to know.

Peter is a demon that lives in the Stilinskis’ basement.

From Ashes Rebuilt by ambersagen

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Stiles finally admitted. He sounded sorry, smelled like anxiety and hunched in on himself as he fell back from Peter to land in the dented chair. “I heard the doctors telling your niece. She wasn’t quiet about it, and no one cares if I’m around anyway so I heard the whole thing, about your burns. I snuck in to see you.”

“Like a sideshow freak,” Peter sneered, starting to understand.

“Like a miracle,” Stiles corrected.

MCSZ-LW by Bunnywest

Mayor Whittemore gives John his widest politician’s smile. “It’s one of the best- a Halebot. You work so hard for the city, and with Claudia gone five years now, we thought you’d appreciate some company. A service bot is perfect. I mean, you deserve more than the standard gift certificate. “

“Would have preferred the gift card,” John huffs under his breath, but he plasters on a smile and makes all the right noises, because this is an elected position, and as jackbots go, Halebots really are the best. He just doesn’t know quite what he’s going to do with it.

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Care for Me, As I’ve Never Known by lavenderlotion

“Why…why did you offer me the bite?” Stiles asked quietly, the cover of night and the hum of the Jeep’s engine giving him courage he wouldn’t usually have.

Peter hummed thoughtfully, taking a turn smoothly. “That is quite the question you’re asking. I’m not sure the answer is one you would be happy to hear.”

A Love for Millennia (a story never told) by OneSmartChicken

Stiles had to go into the woods that night. It didn’t make sense. She was lured by the sense of adventure, but there was a more that dragged at her.

Or: Stiles is the only one to realize she and Peter are soulmates. She doesn’t mention it.

Wind Chimes by wynnebat

“Why are you here?” Peter asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I can understand curiosity, but Stiles, you have visited me nearly every day for years. It can’t be that simple.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s both simple and not. For him, who grew up with the wind, who is inseparable from it in the best of ways, it is absurdly simple. For Peter, who doesn’t trust the wind as Stiles does, it may not be. “The wind says you’re mine. That’s all I need.”

Robber Foxes (Have No Fears) by RayShippouUchiha (WIP)

In the end all Stiles really has left is his dad, a lonely house, the key and deed to the loft, and a chest filled up with emptiness.

A void, yawning right behind his sternum.

That and the laughter of a fox trapped right beneath his skin, echoing in the hollows of his skull, whispering behind his teeth.

Stiles should have known it wasn’t over.

Magic stains everything it touches after all.

Keep You (Safe) Within my Shadow by lavenderlotion

Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends.

Into Eden by GracieBirdie

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he’d hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn’t turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Trust in the End by ShebaRen, Tahlruil

Stiles had always kind of assumed that the end of the world was going to be full of fire and panicking people. Nuclear warfare had pretty much been his guess as to how it would all go, but he could be flexible on that. His only certainty was that it would be man-made, because people always messed things up.

He hadn’t expected the end to be full of snow and freezing cold. He hadn’t expected to be so alone while it was happening, hadn’t thought he would be making a trek from California all the way up to - if his maps and bearings were right - Washington State. He definitely hadn’t expected for it all to happen while his parents were away on a trip for their second honeymoon.

Thankfully he’d fallen in with a wolf who had saved his life and then hung around like a bad penny afterward.

Making Marks by Udunie

Stiles woke to his phone ringing at four in the afternoon, because apparently, he’d never even heard of a healthy sleep schedule before, and also; hated himself.

He blindly found it in the pocket of his jeans thrown haphazardly to the floor, and blinked at it for a few seconds before picking it up.

“‘Sup, Lyds?” he asked, just because he knew she hated the nickname, and she did wake him up.

“I’m killing Jackson,” she announced with unusual honesty. To be fair, any kind of honesty was unusual from her, considering her and Stiles only reconnected recently - and it wasn’t like they were too close in high school either.

“Congratulations?”

You Just Got Ghosted! by Ragga

“What’s your name, angel?” little Stiles murmured even as his eyes fell closed, quickly losing his battle against sleep.

Stiles smiled. It was a little sad but also heavy with the knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing—heavy with the knowledge he didn’t deserve the moniker bestowed upon him.

“You can call me Mietek.”

Or the one where there’s time travel, feels abound, two Stiles in one timeline, and one of them stuck somewhere between the planes of existence. Yet a ghost can still manage to save the day and get the girl. Or the wolf. Manly wolf. Because Peter.

Toothed Morality (Send Me Flowers) by rightsidethru

“The world is a dark place, moje kochanie; it is one filled with monsters, always ready to gobble you whole. Be wary of the promises they give: seal every vow with blood and bone and Name. A True Name, one that will bind them to their word.”

“But how will I know that they’re telling the truth, Matka? Couldn’t they lie…?”

“You’ll know, mały płomień.”

Everyone is King When There’s No One Left to Pawn by Bittah_Wizard

The AU where Stiles is an old trickster—just not the one you’re thinking of.

Beefcake Mountain by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Shortly after moving back to Beacon Hills, the left hand of the Hale Pack opened a text from a mysterious number.

“Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I can see myself in them.”

What the f—

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

First to Know by Twisted_Mind

They fold to their knees in the vee of his legs. His hands cradle their cheek and the back of their neck, and they lean into the touch, eyes closing. “It’s mine.”

“What’s yours, darling?”

They drag in a shaky breath, and look up into the face of the man they love. “The magic. It’s mine. My spark did this.”

Chances by SpookyMiscreant

Supernaturals have soulmarks, everyone knew that, but it was ignorant to think that supernaturals only fell in love with supernaturals. It wasn’t necessarily rare for humans to have marks, but not common either. Supernatural kids all anxiously await the full moon after their fifth birthday, but human kids let the full moon pass without much anticipation.Stiles’ mother had made him stay up that night in his underwear as she searched him with a flashlight, intent to see if he was supernatural like his father. The inherent problem here was that Stiles was then and always will be covered head to toe in moles, freckles, and birthmarks.

walk walk (fashion baby) by rightsidethru

Derek shrugged a shoulder and moved the chopsticks through the broth. “Cora’s decided that she wants to transfer out to Berkley, and Uncle Peter has decided to relocate here again. Unfortunately, his reputation is preceding him and not even the three grand we’re offering for the photoshoot is enough to get a model to stay.”

At hearing the amount of money that Derek was actually offering to pay someone for one temporary job, Stiles choked on his noodles and began wheezing for breath as he went into a coughing fit. “Three? Three grand? Three thousand dollars??”

Three thousand dollars would be enough to pay for his rent for the next few months. Or—pay for the upcoming month and give Stiles a chance to buy some of the more advanced books on magical theory that Elder Potter was willing to let Stiles borrow but not keep. Being able to buy his own copies… Stiles’ fingers twitched in almost immediate booklust.

“I’ll do it,” Stiles announced.

Cause I Want You (all to myself) by LadySlytherin

Stiles has an odd habit of licking Peter, seemingly at random and without much thought. Peter takes a lot longer than he should to figure out why.

Six Times Stiles Stilinski Licked Peter Hale…and one time Peter licked Stiles instead.

If I Could Kiss You Again by Triangulum

“Summer plans?” Peter asks, eyes on where Isaac is now trying to inch along the ceiling beam toward the wall where he can slide down a pipe.

“Leaving for Stanford in September. Saving the world and working in between now and then,” Stiles says. “Why, gonna miss me?”

“Considering I’ll be left alone with Derek? Yes,” Peter says.

“You’ll have Cora,” Stiles says. “And Isaac will be here to make up a few high school credits.”

There’s a shriek and a thud as Isaac loses his grip, falling on top of Erica and Boyd, sending them all to the ground in a heap.

“Yes,” Peter says flatly. “Thank god for that.”

Five times Stiles kisses Peter and one time Peter kisses him.

Orbital Distance by neglectedtuesday

Artemis, the capital city of the Moon, where movies are born and stars are made. The crown jewel of American cinema and simultaneously Hollywood’s biggest rival. The money may be dollars, it may be counted as the 51st state but the studios run this city, making cinema and waging war. No real bloodshed but equally cutthroat in its own way. Peter has devoured article after article about the industry, from in-depth journalism to gossip rags, desperate for every detail, every scandal, every glorious moon moment.

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

Rhythm of the War Drums by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)

The foreboding song of the drums rumbled through the stands above, made his heart, his blood pound with their increasing rhythm. He’d seen this so many times now, heard the sickening, morbid excitement of the rabble. He readied himself for the carnage, but even nearly a year after he’d first stood in this spot, it still filled him with dread.

As always, he watched the sandy arena through the barred steel gates. They vibrated with the movement, with the almost deafening sounds of the crowd and the drums. A sea of guards stood at his back, but they were not there for him…

Two Worlds Collided by Bittah_Wizard

It was always meant to be Stiles and Peter.

Always.

A Stranger Comes to Town by Bunnywest, DiscontentedWinter, Twisted_Mind

Peter claps his hands together once. “Right! Let’s start getting to know each other, shall we? We can all take turns introducing ourselves, and explaining who we are as writers. I’ll go first.” He stays standing, and spreads his arms wide for a moment. “As I hope you all know, I’m bestselling author Peter Hale. If there’s been a terrible mistake and you didn’t mean to be here, this is your chance to run.”

He gives another charming smile to the tittering biddies on his right. He sketches a dramatic little bow, and then goes on. “Twice a year, I come out here to teach The Masterclass on writing, providing new talent,” he winks at the MFA-wannabes on the left, tucking his hands in his pockets, “with a safe environment to share your work and equip yourselves with the tools for success. I’m looking forward to getting to know you all this weekend.”

Keep You Like An Oath by Green

After 7 years in prison, Peter has important matters to attend to — and at the top of his list is the young mate he left behind, unclaimed for their own protection. But, for all his good intentions, Stiles has always needed him — now more than ever.

Too Much Of A Good Thing by GracieBirdie

Stiles can’t just leave Boyd and Erica chained up in a hunter’s basement, and if the only person willing to listen to him when he asks for help is a formerly dead psychopath? Well, Stiles supposes he could do worse. But of course nothing in Stiles’ life is ever just that simple…

All The Things We’d Do by GracieBirdie

Stiles’ time travel spell doesn’t work out quite right but he figures he should make the best of it, starting with Laura Hale.

The Promises Of Yesterday, The Pledges Of Tomorrow by ShippersList

Stiles is a kid with serious concentration issues and definitely not a guide—let alone a guide strong enough to calm down a feral Sentinel wolf. It’s just not possible.

Thighs Verse by Bunnywest

I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir.

The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile.

Or, the one in which Stiles experiments with Grindr, and finds his Sir.

The Boy Sleuth by Shey

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

Magnificent Mischief by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief!” the carnival barker shouted just outside the corridor with all the food tents. “Come see Miss Paige do amazing tricks with her talking raven! He not only speaks, but he jokes! He teases! He philosophizes!”

Escaping by Green

“We have to go. Now, Peter.”

Peter’s holding his apartment door open, standing in shock, looking at Stiles. “What? How do you even know where I live?”

The Chasm and the Clash by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Stiles has dreams of the Alpha after he dies. It makes no sense. He didn’t know Peter before… did he?

Did Peter know him?

And why does his head hurt so much?

#ask #anonymous #steter #teen wolf #fanfic rec #rec list

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marksburyscripts · 3 years

Text

Season 1, Episode 5-- Heartwrench

Google Doc

[Henry’s hospital room. Day. There are no longer the sounds of life support.]

VICTOR

...You’re sure it’s okay?

HENRY

Yeah, it’s fine. Whatever helps. Record away.

VICTOR

All right. Thanks.

HENRY

...You don’t have to be nervous, you know.

VICTOR

I’m not.

HENRY

Then why are you doing that?

VICTOR

Doing what?

HENRY

You’re clenching and releasing your hand, and you’re rocking a bit in your chair. Both of which you do when you’re nervous. Seriously, how long have I known you? [Beat.] No, you don’t have to stop.

VICTOR

Oh thank God. [Beat.] ...How’re you feeling?

HENRY

Like I’ve been in a coma for the better part of a year. But lucid, so that’s an improvement, I guess.

VICTOR

Right. Right, yeah.

HENRY

...You know we’ve gotta talk about this, right?

VICTOR

Henry, shouldn’t we wait until you’re--

HENRY

No. We’re doing it now. While you’re recording. ...Victor, please tell me that I’m remembering wrong. Please tell me that I’ve just got some real bad brain damage and it’s fucking with me. That I didn’t walk in on some… first attempt at reanimating a fucking corpse.

VICTOR

[Mumbled] Second.

HENRY

Excuse me?

VICTOR

It was a second attempt, I’d done it before.

HENRY

Jesus Christ.

VICTOR

Also it’s not technically reanimation. If it had been a single body, sure, but I used materials from several donors--

HENRY

What the hell is wrong with you? In what fantasy could you ever see that turning out well? That’s the kind of shit that horror movies are made from!

VICTOR

I’m sorry, I--

HENRY

You were stupid! You were stupid, and reckless, and you didn’t think about the consequences!

VICTOR

I know, I just--

HENRY

Oh my God, that’s what the fire was about, wasn’t it? That had something to do with it. You freaked out, and you tried to burn the evidence. So what, you figured you’d risk more lives then, too? What if there had been people in there, Victor, what then?! Is that what attacked me? And did-- Did Justine really kill your brother? Or was that part of it, too? You have people’s lives on your conscience, all because you wanted to fuck around and find out if you could--

VICTOR

I just wanted my mom back, okay?! I know I fucked up. Believe me, I don’t need any more reminders. But I-- I had my reasons, it wasn’t just some ego trip.

HENRY

[Calmer now] ...Does Elliot know?

VICTOR

I’m sure he figured it out, yeah.

HENRY

What’s that supposed to mean?

VICTOR

Oh. Oh God, they didn’t tell you.

HENRY

Tell me what?

VICTOR

...Henry, Elliot’s dead.

HENRY

Oh God. God, I…. I’m so sorry, I…. How’s your dad taking it?

VICTOR

Well, considering he died two days later, I’d say not very well.

HENRY

What?

VICTOR

[Getting more and more distraught] He’s dead too, Henry. Him, Elliot, my mother, Billy, Justine. Everyone is dead, and I have been so alone and so scared, and I have no idea what I am supposed to do.

HENRY

...Hey. C’mere. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m just stressed, I shouldn’t have said all that shit.

VICTOR

You have every right to.

HENRY

No, being a dick won’t fix anything. Plus, you’ve obviously been through hell. Your glasses look like you were just at a 4Chan meetup.

VICTOR

[Laughs] I don’t know what that means.

HENRY

It means you need to get some damn lens cleaner, how the hell can you see out of those thing?

VICTOR

Just used to it, I suppose.

HENRY

You hear from Evelynn at all?

VICTOR

Take a guess.

HENRY

That’ll be a no. You try talking to her?

VICTOR

Of course not.

HENRY

...So you’re upset that you’ve been alone, yet you haven’t even tried to get in contact with your sister?

VICTOR

Look, I don’t need a lecture right now, okay? I get enough of those from Dr Walton.

HENRY

Wait, you’re seeing Dr Walton? Like, Robert Walton? Kinda short, always has a bow tie?

VICTOR

Yeah…? Do you know him, or…?

HENRY

Sort of, he was a guest speaker for my Abnormal Psych class during undergrad. He seems good.

VICTOR

Yeah, I suppose.

HENRY

How much you tell him?

VICTOR

I’m not sure I could tell him what happened even if I wanted to.

HENRY

...What happens when you try?

VICTOR

Don’t. Don’t do that.

HENRY

Do what?

VICTOR

That. You’re trying to… diagnose me.

HENRY

No, you’re my friend and I don’t have a license to practice. That’s illegal. I’m… offering informed advice.

VICTOR

Yeah, well, I’ll save you the trouble. Clinical depression, post traumatic stress disorder, and paranoid personality disorder. Though that last one is debatable. I might be missing some. Come back when you finish your Ph.D, Clerval.

HENRY

[Softly] Jesus…. [Trying to lighten the mood now] Doing it then it would be even more illegal. Then we’ll have two criminals here. [Beat.] Sorry. That wasn’t as funny as I expected it to be.

VICTOR

No. No, it’s fine. You’re not wrong. [Laughs] Should’ve seen what it was like trying to find a job with an arson charge. I’m lucky I managed to get the one I have.

HENRY

Yeah? What job’s that?

VICTOR

I’m over at Harris’ down on Main Street.

HENRY

Holy shit. The great Victor Frankenstein, the mad genius, the Prometheus of the 21st century, is selling discount hardware.

VICTOR

Well, I don’t actually sell anything most of the time. I’m customer service. Mostly returns, taking phone calls, fun stuff like that.

HENRY

You’re fucking with me. You hate talking on the phone.

VICTOR

And I hate my job. But if they’re willing to give a felon minimum wage, who am I to argue?

HENRY

Hey man, whatever works. I do have one more question, though.

VICTOR

Okay?

HENRY

Is that the hoodie I lent you that day?

VICTOR

Oh, um, right, yeah. I-- I was going to give it back, but then you-- You know, and then I was just so distracted, between worrying about you and the police hounding me--

HENRY

Hold on, police?

VICTOR

Oh. Right. They, um… They thought that I did it for a while. Elliot, too.

HENRY

Oh God.

VICTOR

I mean, I can't blame them. I've got a record, and that's a lot of people close to me who--

[The door opens. Both men are silent for a moment.]

HENRY

Hello…?

VICTOR

Sorry. That’s probably me.

HENRY

What?

VICTOR

Things have been… weird. It’s a long story.

HENRY

You built a person out of corpses, and I’m bedridden for who knows how long. I’ve got all the time in the world for the details.

VICTOR

...Ever since I…. Ever since the fire, things have been… happening around me. I know how this is going to sound, but you need to believe me, okay? Ever since I… made it… it’s like…. I don’t know. It doesn’t even really make sense, I-- The two concepts aren’t even remotely similar, I--

HENRY

Hey. Hey, breathe for me, okay?

VICTOR

Okay. Okay, sorry. ...That was the first night that I experienced something that I was unable to explain. Granted, I wasn’t exactly in the best mental state at the time, so for a while, I figured that it must have been a hallucination. I’ll be honest, sometimes I’m still able to convince myself that it was. But I know it’s not.

VICTOR (Cont.)

Sorry. Sorry, let me back up. [Sighs] The… first signs of life came at 1:15 AM. The rise and fall of the chest, the flicker of movement behind the eyelids. Whether or not there was cognitive function had yet to be seen, but… I suppose you know how that turned out. It was at 1:16 that everything started to go downhill. When I realized what I’d done, when-- when the possible consequences hit me all at once. The wrongness of the situation, I…. I almost didn’t hear it. Or-- No. No, I didn’t hear it so much as I felt it. I felt a voice throughout my body, in every single nerve, clawing its way into my subconscious. I-- I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but… I got the sickening feeling that it was proud of me. Proud of what I’d managed to achieve. Whether or not anything happened for the couple months that I was in the hospital afterwards, I can’t really say. I was in shock, I couldn’t tell you what was real and what was hallucination. Honestly, you’d probably be better at figuring out if anything odd was happening during that time, you were there. But what I can tell you is that it never stopped. Sometimes the TV would turn on in the middle of the night blasting static, a couple times I woke up in the morning to find my glasses outside on the windowsill. Then there are the more… sinister ones. Beings that aren’t quite human, there one moment, gone the next. Or sinking, terrifying senses of dread that lead up to disaster.

HENRY

So… you’re seeing ghosts?

VICTOR

No, obviously not ghosts, ghosts don’t exist. Jeeze, you sound like Elliot. [He laughs, but it fades] ...Not ghosts. But… something. Something that found me that night and hasn’t left me alone since. It’s all connected, I know it is. I just need to analyze everything. You know me, I work with data and research. If I can get the evidence, I can work out what’s going on. I even ended up setting cameras up in my house, but… they always freeze up whenever something happens. Typical. Either that or-- Or I don’t even have it happen myself, sometimes it’s other people who--

HENRY

Wait. Other people?

VICTOR

Yes. But it’s not like I want it to happen, it just does. I usually don’t even know them. I just… hear about them on the news, or sometimes they tell me themselves if I happen to run into them.

HENRY

...And strangers just tell you about all the creepy shit that happens to them?

VICTOR

...Sometimes, yeah.

HENRY

...You know what, I’m not going to even pretend to be surprised.

VICTOR

Honestly, that’s how I deal with it. So yeah. There you go. Spooky.

HENRY

...Do people get hurt because of it? [Victor doesn’t answer] Shit…. Well then. That settles it. I guess we’ve got work to do.

VICTOR

What?

HENRY

I said, we’ve got work to do. Maybe you’re content wallowing in self-pity while creepy shit radiates off of you, but I sure as hell won’t sit on my ass as it happens.

VICTOR

Henry--

HENRY

I know what you’re doing. You’re treating it like some punishment. Like you deserve it. Well, I’m here to tell you that you don’t. And neither does anyone else. You fucked up, yeah. And I’m not going to lie, it’s going to take some time for us to get back to the way we were. But it’s like you said. You had your reasons. You didn’t mean for it all to go to hell. And you didn’t kill them. So you and me are going to buck up and--

[He is cut off by a sound of pain as he moves]

VICTOR

Hey, whoa, whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. We'll figure it out. We have time to plan, take action, whatever we need to do. But right now, what you need to do is rest. I'll wash the hoodie and bring it back first thing tomorrow.

HENRY

Nah, you keep it. It suits you, I can always get another. Plus, who the hell knows where you've been the past year?

VICTOR

[He laughs. This time it feels genuine] Asshole.

NEXT EPISODE➝

#Season 1 #Epsiode 5 #Victor Frankenstein #Henry Clerval

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je-suis-la-wolf-girl · 4 years

Text

Between Us: 01

Paul Lahote x Reader

Original

Warning: cursing&soft smut! In this story, there might be a few parts with soft smut**

I’m not going to lie, I was too lazy to correct myself, so sorry for any mistakes! Enjoy though xoxo!

**Just in case you don't know, whenever I put a word in this police → 'word' , it's because I'm emphasizing/over pronouncing the word**

-Saturday night-

''You're disgusting seriously!'' you said as you looked at your friend, Paul. You were sitting on your couch next to him. You had the house to yourself because your mom was out with some friends.

''Why? All I'm saying, is that I can booty call her whenever I want and she would answer me.'' Paul said shoving chips down his throat.

''Are you going to?'' you asked, slightly annoyed.

''I have'', he paused before looking at you and getting closer to your ear. ''Twice''.

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away.

''Ugghh, you're a pig!'', you looked at him and took a sip of your wine. ''You started talking to her five days ago! I don't understand.''

Paul took a sip of his beer before putting it down on the table in front of you. ''I guess that's just the effect I have on people.'', he winked at you.

You shook your head no, scrunching your nose.

''No! Girls are just desperate to get into your pants.'', you took another sip of your wine and put it down on the table.

You liked spending time with Paul. He was super entertaining and whenever you were with him, you knew you were going to have fun. He was also sweet. He didn't show it that much, but you have seen his soft side a few times before and it always made your heart melt.

For example, When you went grocery shopping for your mom and Paul came along to help you, you saw a little girl who got lost in the supermarket. The little girl was so anxious and scared. You were panicking and didn't know what to do, but Paul handled it perfectly. He calmed her down and walked to the customer's service with her. After her mom came to get her, she told Paul that he was a super hero and he talked about it all night. He had little sparkles in his eyes and a huge smile on his face. Another one was when he offered to help you when you were struggling with science and math. He was very patient with you and made sure you understood every single thing he explained. Let's not forget that he explained the subjects more than twice because you couldn't understand anything. It made you feel dumb, but Paul reassured you and made you feel better. There was also the time where he came to your house because you were upset and cried all night the day before. The reason was because you were talking to a guy for months and the guy stood you up and ghosted you the day of your first date. He also blocked you everywhere so you couldn't talk to him. Paul brought you your favorite sweets and listened to your favorite movies with you, even if he hated them. He also made you laugh a lot that day, making you forget about the douche who broke your heart. It wasn't the first time that Paul was there to comfort you whenever you got your heart broken. When your first boyfriend, who was also your first time and first kiss broke up with you because he was moving away, Paul was there for you every step of the way.

Paul smirked at you, licking his lip.

''I mean, can you blame them? I might be everything you think of when you see me, but if there is one thing I'm not, other than stupid, is ugly.''

''Paul shut the fuck up!'', you said chuckling a little bit as you punched his shoulder. He laughed in return.

''I mean, don't tell me that you wouldn't get with me if you could.''

You see, the thing with your friendship with Paul- It was super different from a normal girl-guy friendship. You two liked to flirt with each other. Why? Don't know, you guys just did. The flirting, the teasing, it was natural between you two.

''I would most definitely not. You're ugly.'', you answered while taking another sip of your wine as Paul took a sip of his beer.

Paul almost chocked on his beer. He chuckled before shaking his head from left to right.

''No, now I think you've had a little too much to drink.''

You both laughed before you bite on your bottom lip.

''Yeah, I did drink a little too much. But I'm still conscious enough to know that I still wouldn't get with you.'', you said getting closer to his face with a smirk on your face.

Paul stayed silent for a few seconds, looking into your eyes.

He got closer to your face.

''You really wouldn't?'', he asked you again.

It was your turn to get closer to his face again.

''No, I wouldn't.'' Your faces were now a few inches apart.

''Really?'' he whispered.

''Really.'' you whispered.

Silence took over the room as you both stared into each other's eyes and lips.

You felt a rush of adrenaline in you and your little friend between your legs was tingling. You also felt a knot in your throat. You bite down on your lips swallowing hard your saliva. Then, in just a blink of an eye, Paul kissed you and you immediately kissed back. The kiss wasn't even soft. You got into a heated make out session very quickly. You sat down on his lap, with your hands on his neck, while his hands were gripping on your thighs, making their way up to your butt. His hands slowly went up, going underneath your shirt, all the way to the middle of your back, making you shiver and letting out a small moan. Once you pulled away from the kiss, you stood up, took his hand and lead him to your room. When he got inside, you locked the door and faced him.

''You're sure about this?'' he asked you, eager to kiss you and touch you.

You took your shirt off, and kissed him roughly before pulling away and smirking.

''I hope this was convincing enough.''

Paul smirked and licked his bottom lip before telling you to jump. You did as he said and wrapped your legs around his waist. He got to your bed and put you down so he could take off his shirt. He wasn't that beef, but he wasn't skinny either. He took off his pants and so did you, leaving you both in your underwear. He was standing up at the end of your bed and you were on your knees in the middle of your bed.

''Prepare yourself.'', he said with his cocky smile, making you smirk and bite your bottom lip.

''Why?'', you asked.

''Because nobody will ever fuck you as good as I will.''

Your jaw slightly dropped. It made you even more excited than you were. Paul climbed on the bed, took you by your waist and laid you down on your back. He started to kiss your neck while his free hand was underneath your panties.

Paul chuckled and you knew why. Your panties were soaked. You didn't care though, his fingers were doing wonders and in that moment, you knew he was right.

You had no doubt about it, but now you really knew that nobody would ever fuck you as good as him and you didn't want the night to end.

Part 2: https://je-suis-la-wolf-girl.tumblr.com/post/190448693499/between-us-02

Part 3: https://je-suis-la-wolf-girl.tumblr.com/post/190524122999/between-us-03

Part 4: https://je-suis-la-wolf-girl.tumblr.com/post/190574549809/between-us-04

Part 5: https://je-suis-la-wolf-girl.tumblr.com/post/190708587379/between-us-05

#paul lahote #twilight #Twilight wolf pack #embry call #Jared Cameron #jacob black #Quil Ateara #seth clearwater #sam uley

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years

Text

The Sweetest Thing: Five

“Buck, you ghosted her,” Steve reminded.

“I know,” Bucky growled. He was tired of the moralizing. He knew he didn’t have any right to be mad. None at all. But knowing you were dating someone else, that you’d been on three dates with him, was infuriating.

Not because you were doing it, but because he knew. HE KNEW, the guys you were dating weren’t good enough for you. At best, they were stupid. At worst, they were just after your money. But he was tired of hearing about how much he fucked up. Sam, Steve, Nat... Hell. Tony and Clint. They were all riding his ass, trying to get him to call you. Or something.

Bucky tossed his phone away from him, and Steve frowned, “So instead of being just friends, you’re gonna let your ego get in the way, huh?”

“She wouldn’t talk to me,” Bucky reminded, “Not at the party and not now.”

“Buck, she had a kid with her. It’s not like she had time to discuss your one-night stand and her feelings about things,” Steve snorted.

Bucky nodded, scowling at his phone. He hoped, whoever this new guy was, he’d bother to find that little spot on the inside of your thigh that made you giggle. Or the little spot just below your right ear that made you melt into a puddle. A needy puddle. Putty in his hands. The thought made his lips twitch a little, involuntarily. He knew you’d been tipsy, just a little. But he didn’t doubt you’d be just as exciting without a bottle of wine.

He doubted this was love.

It couldn’t be love. Not really. But it was something. And his heart twisted viciously. He hated that he hurt you, Maybe it wasn’t love, but he cared about you. You looked at him like he was anyone else on the street. No fear of his reputation. Not fear of what he could do. You’d let him into your house and offered to make him a cake. It had been cute. It was comfortable.

Steve watched the expressions that crossed Bucky’s face. And for a moment, he looked like his old self. Reminiscing about the girl he’d been with the night before. Details he’d never given to Steve but kept to himself. Things Steve actually knew about now. Things he’d not ever dreamed of before. He left the table and left Bucky to it. He left him to think and hoped that his current train of thought would lead to him being less stupid.

________

Bucky walked into the shop and took a deep breath. It smelled so good. It was soothing. But seeing you had set his heart to racing. Nerves jangled his hands, and he swallowed hard.

It was almost closing time. And he knew you weren’t expecting anyone to come through the door as you loaded the day-old pastry into the boxes. Your head jerked up, looking towards the door, and Bucky froze. Like a deer in the headlights. You’d gone from your polite “customer service” face to just. Shut down. No emotion whatsoever.

“What can I do for you, Bucky?” you ask quietly.

“I just wanna talk,” Bucky said, holding his hands out placatingly, “I thought going to your house was a step too far. But you won’t answer your phone so... This was. This was all I could think of.”

You sigh and turn back to your work, “Talk about what? You made your intentions pretty clear when you lied to me.”

“Lie-” he starts, but you cut him off with a gesture.

“You promised you’d call,” you remind him, “And you said you had to go to work... Well, if that’s the case, it was a short fucking mission given that literally, everyone had you in the background of their Snapchat I got sent.”

Bucky winced, “I- I’m sorry.”

“What I don’t understand,” you continue, “Is why. If you just wanted a one night stand, all you had to do was say something. It could have ended there, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Y/N,” he said, cringing, “I- I didn’t want just the one night. I still. I mean.” he felt his cheeks color, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I really- I meant to make you breakfast.”

“So what happened?” you ask.

“I-” Bucky took a deep breath, “I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you snort.

“From me,” he said softly, “From people that would hurt you because of me.”

“Why would anyone give a shit about me?” you ask.

“Because you’d be a weakness. Someone to use to hurt me... Someone they could exploit to make me be... what I was.”

“By that logic, you shouldn’t talk to anyone ever because with a martyr complex that size, they could use anyone to hurt you,” you tell him, handing him a cookie and the last of the coffee.

“Probably true,” Bucky said nodding, “But if someone hurt you...”

“If someone hurt me, I’m a big girl who knew what I was getting into,” you tell him.

“My life is dangerous,” he said.

“And I could be mugged on the train home for the money out of the tip jar,” you sigh, “Look. Everything is dangerous. I could burn my face off on a pot tomorrow. My shop could burn down. I could get hit by a bus. I could die at least 18 different ways just from here to my house. And none of them would have anything to do with you.” You stop and smile a little, “It’s a little egotistical of you to assume I don’t have enemies of my own.”

“Is that so?” he said. He can’t help but smile a little, “You steal someone’s recipe?”

“And maybe a boyfriend or two,” you snort.

“That I believe,” he teased, “A real homewrecker you are.” It felt right, teasing you. Eating a cookie and just being in this space. Comfortable. He liked it and was even more irritated at himself for not doing this sooner. He watches as you hand off the pastry you didn’t sell today and sips his coffee.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“Yeah?” you answer, not looking up from where you’re putting things in your safe to take care of in the morning.

“Can I walk you home? It’d be a shame if you died before I got a chance to make it up to you.” He holds his breath. He expects you to tease him. To look up at him and say something snarky. But you don’t. Instead you shift uncomfortably. Like he just caught you doing something you shouldn’t.

“Bucky I-” You break off and exhale slowly, “That’d be really sweet of you but I can’t... I have a date. He’s going to be here any minute.”

“Oh,” he says, forcing himself to smile, “Well. That’s cool.”

“I’m sorry-” He shakes his head and you stop. His chest hurts, but it isn’t your fault. You thought he wasn’t interested and moved on. Like a normal person.

“No,” he said, “It’s fine... I should probably get going anyway. Steve is going to have a lot of lecturing to do.” He smiles and leans over the counter to kiss your cheek, “Call me sometime,” he said, “We’ll get some coffee you didn’t have to make me.”

“I’d like that,” you murmur, feeling like you did something wrong as you watch him walk away, nearly colliding with your date on his way out the door.

#Bucky Barnes #buckyx reader #angst #pining #banter #soft bucky

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designsfromtime · 4 years

Text

Is the Customer Always Right?

If anything, I am guileless when it comes to offering all ya’ll a behind the scenes peek at what a “day in the life” of a historical costumer can offer. Sometimes I worry about coming off as ungrateful when I share a problematic situation, but I believe being honest allows me to embrace my humanity, and gives you all permission to do the same. It looks like fun creating all these gorgeous costumes, and it is! - - but there is an unfortunate ugly side to owning your own business: Dealing with entitled and difficult customers.

My career has taken many twists and turns over the last two or three decades. Before I retired in 2012 at 52 and began designing costumes full-time, I was a medical transcriptionist. I owned my own transcription service as well as working for a huge opthomalogical practice back in California. As such, I have taken many, many training seminars in customer service. It’s been drilled into my head that for every one person who is dissatisfied they will tell ten more people.

With those statistics in mind, I have endeavored to focus on customer service both in my tenure as a medical transcriptionist, as well as today in my costuming business. But the fact of the matter is that not every client will be a good fit for your particular business or your personality, but I do feel somehow I have failed clients even when they become overly demanding and, dare I say, self-centered, and I have to cut them loose.

Look, I get it! Plunking down 2K for an entire ensemble is a HUGE investment for any client! I don’t take any of my clients for granted - ever. I endeavor to give each client equally of my time and attention. As a general rule, I am extremely conscientious about responding quickly to messages and inquiries. I go to great lengths to explain my process and educate about cut, textiles, and construction of historical clothing and lay out what they can expect, even though I find myself repeating the same spiel over and over.

I’ve mentioned this several times before, but I have heard the horror stories from both clients and cast mates: costumers (even those touted as scions in the costuming forums) taking a client’s money and receiving their fabrics, only to ghost on them and not respond when the client tries to get them to honor the commission and actually MAKE the gown they paid for, or they do not respond to the client’s requests when asked to refund the money AND return their fabrics only to find this same “costumer” has not only ignored them but used THEIR fabrics for a gown which they put up for sale on Ebay. Another nightmare story is about some of the vendors on Etsy who promise to ship a gown by a certain due date, take the client’s money and when that date comes and goes and the client contacts them they LIE and say, “It’s in the mail!” - Only to learn that they haven’t even finished it! Worse, when the gown arrives it started falling apart the first weekend they wore it at faire and she paid $600 for it! Then there is the account of a vendor in the Ukraine who ran out of velvet to finish a client’s Italian gown and rather than waiting and reordering the fabric, they made the gown but SCRIMPED on the fullness of the skirt and shipped it as is without consulting the client. In THOSE situations I would agree that the customer is RIGHT. I haven’t found myself in the same situations as these “costumers” because I would NEVER treat a client with such disregard - but I have found myself in a nightmare scenario more than once that involves the client becoming difficult for no justifiable reason.

I’ve been fortunate that in the seven years since opening my studio here in WA I have only had FIVE clients who made me want to pound my fist against my computer screen and question why I am in this business. Yes, they were that frustrating! One of those instances I wrote about in a post called “When It All Goes South” I’ll spare you the details of the other four, but usually the common denominator has been that they didn’t respect my time and my busy schedule, or the efforts I made in the consultation process. That sounds very benign, but a to relate a situation that happened this week wherein I spent 1.5 months exchanging 70+ detailed and lengthy messages, and provided them with dozens, and dozens and DOZENS of fabric options and they kept asking for more, and more, hoping that one of them will fall into the Goldilocks zone, it became frustrating. We hadn’t even gotten half way through the consult process because the client was stalled on fabrics. I didn’t mention the fact that after she paid her deposit she changed the style of the gown multiple times. *face palm*

You may be reading this and shrugging your shoulders and asking “What’s the problem?” The problem in the case I just described is that choosing fabric is only the FIRST step in the design process, but also I have deadlines imposed by the clients. If they don’t comply I can’t meet those deadlines. Until a client chooses their main fabric I cannot begin to offer any ideas for the overall design aesthetic, nor can I choose a complimentary color for their sleeves and forepart, not to mention the embroidery pattern to be used, or sussing out whether or not they will need a trim that may take up to 4 or 5 months to ship - such as the case of a gold bouillon trim I ordered from India recently which she stated she was interested in using, not to mention it requires 4 to 6 weeks of hand tacking! The expectation of this client was that I would be an endless fountain of “options” - and because she was investing 2K I should spend as much time as she wanted footering around window shopping for fabrics while her timeline is ticking away. When after a month and a half I began to draw a boundary and tell her I need a decision if she expects me to meet her deadline because there is a ton more work I need to do on her consult, she felt I wasn’t giving her ENOUGH of my time and stated that because I was pressed on time for current engagements I could not offer any additional efforts to her as a client. This, after spending MORE time than is usual with this client, I am to blame?

I learned from an extremely difficult client in 2018 not to allow a bad situation to malinger and hope for the best. In that particular case it went from BAD to WORSE, and I had to dig in my heels and refuse to bend to her ever growing ridiculous demands. If I cannot work with a client in the consult phase, and I’m pretty damn patient ya’ll, then I have learned the actual construction process will only unravel further.

As a side note, normally by the time I’ve exchanged two dozen messages with a client, I have their fabric sorted, and I’ve sourced a complimentary color for their sleeves and forepart, found their trim and/or the embroidery pattern, sketched their gown, and presented them with a design board. Sooooo. . . I offered this particular woman a refund on her “non-refundable” deposit minus my consultation fee of $100 for the hours and hours and HOURS of research I spent over that 1.5 months offering her more and more options to consider. She was pissed that I was unwilling to allow her to take months to decide, and no amount of “explaining” the urgency or my time constraints seemed to sink in. No matter what I said she is convinced that “I” was the problem.

So, is that situation a failure on my part? Should I be willing to set aside another client’s commission to cater to this woman’s demands? What’s more, is the customer ALWAYS right?

There is an oft-quoted catchphrase in the business world that states: “the customer is always right.” I’ve heard that in many training seminars. Lalana showed me comic wherein it stated “The Costumer is always right.” I laughed, but there is a prevalent attitude that WE must meet the customers’ needs even if it means we often go to ridiculous extents to please them. However, treating customers like they are always right can be self-destructive for entrepreneurs like myself and here’s why.

In an article by “Entrepreneur” they offer FIVE reasons why the customer is NOT always right and why:

1. Businesses Have Limited Resources

Entrepreneurs like myself are not omnipotent, neither are employees - or in my case, my assistant Lalana. Most businesses, especially the fledgling ones, operate with limited resources including limited time, funds, and energy. Every business experiences its share of grudging customers, who, no matter what might be done to satisfy their needs, will continue to complain.

Feeling guilty and culpable for such petulance is actually unwise and it affects your business in a negative way. If the necessary steps have been taken to address the issues of a customer, then a business owner should close the matter and move on.

'Businesses are not dependent on individual buyers. It is actually immature to spend all the energy to satisfy someone who does not intend to be happy. It is important to address the requirements of hundreds and thousands of other regular clients, and also show solidarity with the employees,”

2. It Adds Misery to Employees

Any business will invariably have its share of malicious, rude, snappy consumers. Amongst 50 customers there will at least be 5 who will end up rubbing you the wrong way. Now, reacting to such folk with appeasement and guilt is utter naivete!

Making employees believe that the customer is always right, is tantamount to making them feel dejected. Between supporting your employees and taking sides with an intolerable, enraged customer, it is best to choose the former (the employee). Customers must get this message that though they are important they are NOT indispensable, while supporting employees always pays extra dividends.

"With constant support from the owners comes a sense of loyalty amongst the employees who then provide better service to customers. It's axiomatic that happy employees always go an extra mile to make customers happy."

3. Customers Are Not Omniscient

The creator of a business and the team that works with him know best about the product or service they offer. But customers are often upset because the products don't function the way they want them to - or in the case of my costuming business, they may have expectations around how much time I am able to spend in a consultation, or that through no fault of our own we cannot accommodate their specific vision they have of a particular gown. In the recent experience, the client kept asking for color combinations that are not available in the fabrics she insisted upon. All I can do is offer an alternative and try to compromise by offering options. But the attitude that a client knows best leads to an expectation that I be willing to go to any extent when they demand unrealistic or even ludicrous things.

Often customers will try to establish that they know better and try to share opinions or advice on how a product should look or work. Irrespective of the sector of the business, it is risky to give customers the liberty to think they cannot be wrong.

The key is to establish with customers, in a very amicable way, that the maker of the product is the final authority - In my case that would be ME. I go to great lengths to educate customers on my products and service in order to help them understand my expertise or why I use a certain procedure. I won’t take on a project that I am not passionate about, but more especially when my knowledge is discounted and they wish me to create something that doesn’t fit into my design aesthetic I will decline the order because there needs to be a state of sympatico between designer and customer.

4. It Pits Management Against Employees

The message that the customer is always right, is demoralizing, and results in bitterness against management and indicates that the organization favours the customers more than the workforce. In reality, taking the side of the employees generates happier customers because your employee, or yourself, will have a more positive attitude.

5. You Don't Want Every Customer

Not all customers are indispensable and businesses must accept that. It is better to let go of a persistently complaining and abusive customer who only end up creating stress amongst the employees (or myself). This is irrespective of the amount the customer pays for your product.

Disgruntled customers can wear away your spirit, involve a very high quantity of resources, and add to your stress levels. It is sometimes sensible to lose a customer for protecting the company and its workforce.

"To stay in business for a long time, entrepreneurs need to avoid unreasonably disgruntled customers. Getting rid of bad customers might cost a little profit, but it's healthier in the long-term goals of the business,"

The full article can be found here: https://www.entrepreneur.com/article/308548

While these “talking points” are focused on the Management versus Employee relationships, they are valid across the board for a small business owner whether or not you have employees. All of the angst and frustration and demoralization felt by employees or managers who are forced to capitulate to an over-demanding or self-centered and entitled customer is just as keenly felt by me (the owner). It puts me in a grumpy negative head space and it effects my attitude in the studio, which in turn affects Lalana who has to put up with my grumpy ass, and wears down my energy to the extent it affects my usual generosity to the rest of my clients. 2K in commissions just isn’t worth the hassle!

So, while I’m still working through the guilt and the regret of having to cut loose a client as I did this week, I’m learning that my work will speak for itself, and for every ONE client I have a negative experience, I have MORE who actually appreciate me and are reasonable enough to understand I have deadlines and they are 50% responsible for the success of their commission. I may not be in a place of full acceptance that I could not have made this particular client happy, but I feel justified in drawing a boundary that just because a client spends 2K in my store, it does not give them permission to behave like an entitled premadonna.

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theshatnerian · 3 years

Text

A Quick Education on Training Confirmation

It can be generally assumed by those in our trade that although work applicants may embellish their career jobs and roles, they may downright rest with regards to their education and learning.

Of course, that person interviewing together with your Human Resource Manger along with other relevant managers, the main one hunting presentable and operating so brilliant and articulate could be creating his training. Generally your candidate’s state they a better schooling is just not necessarily an absolute invention. He could have in reality actually signed up for the college listed on the resume. He just didn’t graduate from that school. Or some other college, as an example.

But then there are these, a notable volume of employment prospects who may have engaged in whatever we expression a ghost attendance. That may be to state they not just did not finish the college, nevertheless they never signed up at all. Why they selected that exact college since their fictional host to graduating is anyone’s guess. But enough applicants rest about graduating from universities they could have never seen, save for images on the net and Cafelavista . The HR particular person must always look at the ghost attendance an extremely actual chance.

As to which educational institutions the task applicants may claim to have graduated, the selection is assorted and quite often darkly entertaining. Some may select the smaller sized and more out of the way schools as his or her imaginary alma maters. They may choose one thing arty and prestigious, some of those educational institutions you might learn about although not know significantly about.. Or even your candidate will take obscurity in another route by listing on their own resume some grievously remote control or sub-par institute of higher understanding that couple of ever even heard about..

There exists particular common sense to creating such boasts. By listing say, an obscure Middle of the-American school or esoteric New England college, as his place of graduating, your choice may believe that he helps substantiate his credibility. Even more astute HR individual could very well figure out no one would actually rest about graduating coming from a Reed University, in Oregon, Amherst, in Massachusetts, or Lake Woodland, in Illinois? Or for that matter as being a protection against reduced self-esteem, would you dare present of graduating from one of the legions of North European Eastern Slippery Eel Teacher’s School inside the far area of the center of thin air? So, the pondering will go, you might accept their assert at encounter value and never bother to take a look.

Other candidates is going to take the different option. Most in reality, will select the larger sized educational institutions, assuming their brands and alleged graduating times might go missing in the bureaucratic mix up. Of course, once they do participate in for some time, they believe their listed registration may mistakenly be construed as evidence of graduating. The things they lack in schooling, they compensate for in audacity. Properly, sort of.

Eventually, there are actually the no level qualifications. These are the basic fraudulent diplomas given for life experience and are not representative of attendance or graduating from your legit or approved school. They may be totally fake. But they are preferred. The more resourceful among the duplicitous can get these qualifications on-line for between fifty money to several hundred dollars. The scholar diplomas really are a little more expensive compared to sheer Bachelors however are available from numerous phony educational institutions. A few of them even appearance outstanding presented you don’t seem try to find the school’s actual street address online.

Before you decide to turn out to be too upset or overly dubious, keep in mind that individuals who lie regarding their diplomas comprise a minority of employment applicants. More often than not your candidate really is who he claims he is and performed attend and finish the college listed in his cv. Having said that the operative period is more frequently than not. Knowing that, think of the ways you could possibly lead to distress and also litigation should you mistakenly retain the services of somebody who has attained simply a imaginary level.

It may be factual that deficient a Bachelor’s education in particular disciplines may be inconsequential. There is a stating, by way of example, which a very good sales person is born and never created, or something that is to that particular impact. Even though which might be true in a few disciplines, in more than a handful of someone greater possess the credentials provided with the appropriate training. It could be your brand-new retain the services of along with his imaginary diploma may genuinely do not have the expertise units necessary to do the job. This fact could cause a variety of difficulties as well as result in disaster in their myriad types.

You may have designated money and time to his retain the services of. You might have sidetracked work power, no less than people who have carried out the different interview. In selecting he or she, maybe you have rejected an applicant who has been truly competent but is not readily available. You need to now allocate further sources to get other people. This sort of blunders can detract from employee morale along with your profits.

Furthermore, by employing someone not skilled by virtue of deficient his level, you might be jeopardizing your connection with clients. You may have given this person into a buyer, and from now on your employee has screw stuff up through is lack of credentials. This can make the consumer extremely dissatisfied. The buyer may demand settlement. They may even endanger a legal action. This is not only pricey, but humiliating as well.

If you believe this doesn’t occur, you needed greater reconsider that thought. These are generally not the tales managers prefer to brag about over lunch time. These are the basic stories that are whispered, and also the whispering is way more ominous and harmful to your enterprise. Let’s be realistic, should your breakdown to execute research brings about shows damaging for your client, then you will be held liable. You will appearance foolish and cheap. You might also be looking for one more customer to replace the individual that left you.

The moral to this particular scenario is that your Human being Resources Management must have a look at everyone, irrespective of how honest they sound. It is important to have got a pre-employment screening software in position and to incorporate training confirmation as an element of that program. The number of money you may spend at the start to make sure that your candidate’s graduation can help you save lots in money and time in addition to and possible lawsuit and distress. Those that earn deals with main corporations, especially modern technology or defense and security connected industries will see these firms mandate background record checks for everyone which will be working in the task. This consists of education and learning confirmation. Often they will likely insist upon verification of most levels and not just the best.

When carrying out education and learning verifications here are several what you should stay in mind

Universites and colleges normally offer verification either in-home or with the National University student Clearing Residence or another 3rd party support. When the College is listed with a third party services, the degree can often be confirmed that day. Third party solutions will cost a set level for accessibility confirmation. Some backdrop checking organizations will add through to this level while some will move it on at cost.

Normally, levels are approved by background checking out solutions within a pair, day or two. The procedure usually takes longer if your applicant has either graduated some many years back or maybe not indexed in the database.

Confirmation can also be more difficult over the vacations, semester split or the summer. Be prepared to provide for much more time for verification.

Affirmation from overseas colleges inevitably will require beyond residential affirmation. Typically, the costs for foreign verifications are significantly more than expenses for any home-based university or college. Be ready to pay more and wait longer for the overseas confirmation.

Some universities asks for your candidate’s disclosure and discharge kind prior to issuing the verification.

When offering your candidate’s information for the University or alternative party support, it is advisable to include the years came to, the year finished, the actual diploma and significant, and also for large educational institutions the college campus where your candidate went to.

In case your choice is really a women, be sure the data you submit displays the particular label that your choice finished. Sometimes your candidate is true for the position under her committed label and falters to provide her maiden label, the name she applied while attending university.

It can possibly sign up for foreign pupils. Sometimes foreign applicants changes their names after graduation, to make them a lot more available in the American workplace. But they may have went to institution, employing their conventional title. Your applicant may you as Ben, but in institution he was still Bao.This can complicate the verification process.

In the event the university or even the third party service is developing a difficult time confirming y our candidate’s education, they can demand a facsimile of his degree or diploma or closing transcripts.

Make sure you keep your confirmation process standard. You could choose to authenticate all degrees or only the highest diploma attained. Anything you do for starters choice, you should do for all of the rest.

Ensure your track record checking support remains in front of any difficulties which may develop in the verification process. Establish and sustain substance conversation routes in order that the support will keep you knowledgeable and request further information as needed.

Recall if for some reason and in the end homework you are not able to authenticate your candidate’s level, it probably means he never acquired one particular. They can try to speak their way out of it, but maintain organization and demand they offer any details that has been asked for. There is certainly practically nothing exceptional concerning this details for anyone who has truly finished from a certified university or college. If they can’t provide that details, you really should look for another choice. Recall the axiom that when they lay with regards to their degree then they’ll rest when on-the-job didn’t grow to be approved information for no reason at all. Have a look before you retain the services of.

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