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tpwkay · 3 years

Text

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different.

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs.

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms.

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance.

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting.

///

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville.

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry.

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records.

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened.

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace.

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots.

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered.

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand.

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?"

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him.

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek.

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway.

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway.

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here.

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself.

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd.

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album.

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time.

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events.

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events.

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance.

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go."

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it.

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up.

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban.

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you.

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night.

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night.

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology.

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end.

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman.

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber.

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again.

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators.

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night.

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life.

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours.

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end.

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert.

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered.

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

///

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

///

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met.

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing.

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert.

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily.

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips.

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up.

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door.

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish.

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud."

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it.

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply.

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips.

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you.

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back.

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him.

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile.

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?"

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags.

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into."

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love."

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around.

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver.

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior.

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off.

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed.

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss.

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours.

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait.

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again.

///

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails.

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that."

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance.

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours.

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name.

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers.

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?"

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel.

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?"

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you.

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers.

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases.

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile.

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds.

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you".

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch.

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave.

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording.

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November.

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts.

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer.

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you.

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it."

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words.

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung.

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country.

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again.

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing.

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop.

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock.

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry.

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss.

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you.

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release.

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps.

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there.

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release.

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need.

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd.

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget.

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats.

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him.

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance.

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself.

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles story #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #one direction fanfiction #harry styles x you #reader insert fic #my writing #wow!#that was so much fun #i'm so in love with it

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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years

Text

Indebted

Day 8 of Matsuhana week: Yakuza

Summary: Left with his father’s debts, Hanamaki decides to not pay back the dangerous Yakuza boss until he’s on his knees before the man himself.

Warnings: mafia/yakuza business, threatening letters (not into much detail), minor character death (by cancer), tranquilizer gun, kidnapping, age gap, fingering, Virgin!Hanamaki, bit of corruption kink, lube, no condom, creampie

“Why does he have so much junk?” He groans, looking through another box. “Who’d have known the old man had so much stuff to hide?”

Hanamaki was digging through his ill father’s belongings. His mother was currently at the hospital while the nurses caught her up on the situation, but it wasn’t looking good. The cancer had spread to his brain, signaling his end was near. His mother, however, decided to dig into their limited money supply to see if it could be fixed, leaving them with same amount of money before his father got that new job about 10 years ago. So, Hanamaki thought he could sell some items to get extra cash.

Oh, he wasn’t planning on sharing it.

His mother had taken plenty of money he could have used for college, as well as moving out. Even now, she refused to see that her husband was a lost cause and keep the money to use on her son, but no. She’ll get all the life insurance money, as well, so it’s not like she’s in desperate need of cash. Hanamaki, on the other hand, could barely eat and make ends meet when he worked at a nearby pizza restaurant. The answer, and his reasonings, were clear.

Digging through a box he found under the bed, Hanamaki’s face changes drastically as he opens the box to find money. Wads of paper bills that could set him up for the next year, honestly. However, as he takes the money, he finds a note underneath it. Curious as ever, he decides to read it.

“50,000 yen for the Boss” is all it reads, making him tilt his head. However, more digging through the box makes him realize his dad was not just hoarding money, but rather keeping the money and giving it to this.. Boss guy. A part of Hanamaki told him it was bad news, but the other part of him needed money.

Pocketing the cash and grabbing any antiques, he left the room and never looked back.

Three days later, a proper ceremony was in place for Hanamaki’s father, who finally succumbed to the cancer eating him and left behind a widow and a son. Hanamaki’s mother was incessant on a proper burial, despite the money necessary for it. Condolence money would be given, but that money was hardly enough for someone to have a proper ceremony. Hanamaki may have spent most of his time picking bones and putting them in the urn, but he wasn’t going with his mother and uncle to the family grave, instead going back to his car.

A cheap, old car that needed a lot of money to be back into good working order, but Hanamaki liked how reliable it was. It may creak and sigh and he can’t go too fast, but he’s always to work on time and never wastes money sprucing it up. Getting to the car, however, Hanamaki saw something under his wiper. A note, most likely.

“Who-“ he sputtered, looking around the empty parking lot. He wasn’t parked illegally, nor was he in a special spot, so he wonders who left it. Reading it made him wish he didn’t.

“To the young Hanamaki Takahiro, in the wake of your father’s passing, you are to take on full responsibility and pay back his accumulated debt. Sincerely, Seijoh Family.”

Hanamaki was no idiot. He may have been able to forget about the notes and letters and the money, but he couldn’t as his eyes ran over the inked words. The Seijoh Family was a yakuza family that was well known for helping those down on their luck, as long as you could pay them back when your luck turned around. It suddenly made sense.

The lack of money and his always empty stomach, the fighting between his parents, all of it suddenly changed within a couple of days with a new promotion. Hanamaki went from eating small quantities to large ones, his house went from a small one to a nice and big one. Everything got better, but then everything got worse. It was more of a middle ground, honestly, but he could feel it slipping. His father had gotten everything he wanted and then suddenly, he needed to pay back the money he was loaned. And now, with his cremated remains in an urn, Hanamaki would be taking up his father’s debts.

Although the message scares Hanamaki, he can’t afford to let it control him. He has to go back to work and prepare for college classes soon. He can’t be worried about some creepy guy planning to kill him because he’s struggling. Even as he tells himself that, the next couple of days has him putting tips into a jar in his kitchen, sliding it under the sink and out of his sight. The money he took from his father was 10x what he makes in a week, making him worried that he’ll never be able to pay back the sum of debt.

With the dread of something bad about to happen, Hanamaki decides to push the thought away, hoping a gooey cheeseburger and soda can take the feeling away. With his dinner, a movie will be enough to take his mind off of everything. As soon as he sits down, though, he gets a wiggling doorknob. Hoping it’s someone trying to get into the wrong apartment, he waits for it to stop. When it does, he relaxes once more, only to then fly out of his seat when two people walk through the door.

They’re big, despite Hanamaki having some muscle on him. Big and dressed in dark clothing, wearing protective layers on their face so he can’t get a proper look at them. He’s quick enough to try to get away, hopping over the couch to reach the balcony when one of the guys shoots him with something. Face planting on the floor in front of the window, the last thing Hanamaki sees is the guy pull out a cell phone.

When Hanamaki comes to, the first thing he notices is the hushed whispers and he’s draped over something — or someone. His arms feel like jelly, but his eyes slowly open to reveal a corridor, dimly lit as the same two guys, he thinks, walking behind him. He’s momentarily startled awake by them, but he realizes he soon has other worries when he notices he’s entered a big room, the door shutting loudly behind him.

“Is this the one?”

“Yes sir,” one of them answers. Hanamaki is then placed down on his knees in front of the other person in the room. A glance is all Hanamaki is blessed with before his head is shoved down, almost into the floor by the guy behind him. “Head down,” he sternly says.

“Now, now. We mustn’t hurt him too badly. How else will I get my money back?” The man says, the chair underneath him creaking as he leans forward. With his head no longer forced down, Hanamaki takes another chance to look up at the man before him. Clad in black slacks and sleek shoes, Hanamaki has an easy time figuring out just who’s in front of him. The ironed white shirt had a few buttons loose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing enough muscles to know force was a valid option. The man himself had a smirk that made it seem as though he was playing a game with Hanamaki, further proved when his hand grabbed Hanamaki’s chin and let him get a better look. “You’re quite young, aren’t you? College age, perhaps?”

“How did-“ Hanamaki sputters, only to stop when his smirk drops. “Sir?”

“Matsukawa Issei. I’m sure you’re aware of your father’s debts, which are now your responsibility. However, I can’t see how I’d benefit from someone struggling to make ends meet. I may be cruel, but I’m also fair. If you can’t work and live comfortably, I can’t get all my money back. Do you see my dilemma?”

“You could, I don’t know, let me go?” Hanamaki suggests, raising an eyebrow. He mentally takes a point when Matsukawa’s lips tilt into a smile.

“You’re funny, but I can’t do that,” he sighs, smile dropping. His eyes then turn to the goons in the room. “Get out. I’ll discuss things in private,” he orders, each subordinate leaving. Once gone, he sighs once more as he moves over to his desk, pressing a button as shades cover the windows and the room is pitched into darkness. When the desk lamp and floor lamp near the couch turn on, Hanamaki finally gets a better look at the room.

Despite being shoved to his knees before Matsukawa as if he was placed on a throne, the room looks similar to a study. With Matsukawa leaning against a dark mahogany desk, large and almost empty aside from an old looking phone and a control board, the only thing left in the room are pictures on the wall and the spacious couch. The pillows looked so comfortable and much more expensive than the cheap couch he owns. Once Hanamaki had finished looking around, he straightened his back a bit more and looked at Matsukawa, wondering just what was going to happen.

“What’s next, then? You can’t kill me because then you don’t get money, but you also can’t just let me go because I can’t pay you back like my old man did, so we’re in limbo,” he breaks the silence first, eyes scanning Matsukawa for any instance of movement.

“You’ll still be paying me back, of course. I can’t lend you any money because of your father’s debts, sadly. Although, I’m sure you’d not want to be in his same shoes. You know what, I like you, so I’ll give you some options,” he begins walking closer to Hanamaki, making adrenaline kick in. He may not seem threatening, but he has an entire building full of people at his fingertips. As he circles Hanamaki, he continues talking. “Option one, you pay me back at your leisure. I’ll even help you a bit, of course making you pay back more, but you’re not on a time limit like everyone else. Option two, I take the money I can from you and your mother, who currently sits on your father’s life insurance money, and leave you with just enough to scrape by. Option three,” he stops, kneeling in front of a currently exhausted Hanamaki, taking his chin between his fingers until they’re eye to eye, “you let me blow off some steam and your debt will be down 10 times it’s original amount. So you don’t have to do the math, that means instead of roughly 50 million yen, you’ll be paying only 5 million. It’s quite a lot, I’ll admit, but it’s much better than what you have to pay.”

“What’s.. what does blowing off steam count as, exactly? Letting you hit me every time you get angry or something?”

“No, as in you let me use your body as I see fit. I could hit you, but I have other ideas in mind,” he says, smiling as Hanamaki’s face darkens when the gears start moving. “You can decline, of course, but that’s a lot of money. Not to mention, you’re still gonna have to pay rent and buy groceries, you may die before paying off the debt. Like I said—“

“I’ll do it,” Hanamaki interjects, relaxing his shoulders but still sitting up straight. “Despite the cliché of me paying with my body, it’s really not the worst thing in the world. I’d prefer it over you hitting me, as well,”

“The deal has been made and that means from this moment on, you and your body will belong to me,” Matsukawa says, then moves behind Hanamaki. “I’ve the perfect spot for you to lie, as well,” he practically purrs in Hanamaki’s ear, nudging him up and forward. To the desk.

“Kinda expected the couch, but it’s better than the floor,” Hanamaki chuckles, only to then gasp as cool metal slides against his skin. It’s a knife, he’s sure of it, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again and his bound wrists are free. Completely focused on his surroundings, Hanamaki forgot about his bound wrists until suddenly they were no longer forced behind his back. Once free, Matsukawa spins him around traps him against the desk, his hand once more cupping his chin.

“You’re a cute one. Ever kissed someone?”

“When I was 10. Some girl was dared to kiss me, but not recently,” Hanamaki breathlessly whispers, eyes drawn to Matsukawa’s lips when they’re so close. Feeling his breath ghost over his lips has him wishing for things to move a bit faster, but Matsukawa won’t give him that satisfaction.

“Some dare to kiss you hardly counts. I meant a real one,” he says in response, but doesn’t encourage a reply when his lips press against Hanamaki’s, tilting his head as his hand moves to the back of Hanamaki’s head while his other hand slips beneath the cardigan and oversized t-shirt, feeling warm skin. With his lips melding against Hanamaki’s, he finds his fingers running through pink strands as the other slips into jeans and further down, making Hanamaki tense. A swipe over the bottom lip with his tongue and Matsukawa pulls away, licking away the small strand of saliva keeping them tethered. “Like that?”

Although Matsukawa was referring to his previous sentence, Hanamaki shakily sighed as he nodded, “I did,” making Matsukawa chuckle a bit. Removing his hand from Hanamaki’s hair and jeans, Matsukawa places him on the desk. “Pretty empty for a big desk. You usually take people’s virginities on desks?” Hanamaki jokes, hoping to lighten the heavy mood, obviously unfamiliar with such serious situations.

“Virginities?” Matsukawa asks, his hands stopping at Hanamaki’s thighs before squeezing as he smiles. “I’ve never gotten the opportunity to take someone’s virginity, actually. Only taken those who thought sleeping with me would save their skin. It didn’t, but that was because it was always their idea. You, on the other hand,” he says, hands once more moving to slide under Hanamaki’s t-shirt, “are in a one of a kind situation. I’ll make sure to treat you kindly.”

“Um, small request, if I may,” Hanamaki says, hands moving from Matsukawa’s shoulders to his hands, stopping them from sliding off his clothes. “Can I keep on my shirt? I don’t feel quite comfortable being so.. vulnerable. I understand if—“

“Granted,” Matsukawa cuts him off, hands still sliding against his skin but not aiming to strip him of his clothes. After all, the main focus isn’t making Hanamaki uncomfortable but rather to send him through throes of pleasure. Hands move down, curling around the hem of his jeans as Matsukawa presses his lips to Hanamaki’s jaw and neck, making the younger man sigh in bliss. When his pants are taken off, Hanamaki flushes as Matsukawa’s fingers then gently pry off his boxers. The simple act of sliding them down his legs is made more sensual as Matsukawa kisses down his body, only to stop at his hard cock. “Excited, are we?”

“Well, you’re very good at this,” he quips back, turning his head. Instead of huffing and puffing, Hanamaki soon finds himself biting his finger when Matsukawa’s tongue slides against his cock. “I didn’t think—“

“I’m quite familiar when it comes to pleasure. Sit back and relax,” Matsukawa says, wrapping his lips around Hanamaki’s cock before putting it all in his mouth. The ease of which he takes all of Hanamaki doesn’t go unnoticed, but he’s not bothered by it as much while his hands massage the meat on Hanamaki’s thighs. Hanamaki is more bothered by it, seeing as he lets out soft moans while his teeth bite on one hand and his other curls into Matsukawa’s hair. Whines come from him as his back arches, feeling Matsukawa’s tongue lap at the side of his cock, only to then take him all back into his mouth.

While Hanamaki is busy moaning and trying to not finish so quickly, Matsukawa digs into his drawer and takes out a large bottle of lube. Its top is easy to remove without needing to see, Matsukawa slipping a couple of fingers into the cool liquid before rubbing those fingers against Hanamaki’s puckered hole. The cool sensation has Hanamaki gasping, hand moving from his mouth to grasp at the edge of the desk while his other tightens it’s hold on Matsukawa’s hair. With some more lube applied, Matsukawa slides in one of his fingers while his tongue swirls around Hanamaki’s tip. The sensations all together has Hanamaki seeing stars, a sweet mewl as he finally finishes, right into Matsukawa’s mouth.

Through his pants, Hanamaki manages to give a small apology to Matsukawa, who wipes some excess cum off his lips before licking it, locking eyes with Hanamaki as he does. He also doesn’t stop fingering Hanamaki, moving his finger in and out of him while he continues to whine from the sensations. Taking his finger out, Matsukawa applies some more lube to his fingers and pushes in two at the same time, soon adding three while Hanamaki gasps and moans, hands latching onto Matsukawa’s covered shoulders.

Once Matsukawa has deemed him ready enough, Hanamaki feels his fingers leaving while he craves more. Wiping off his fingers with a nearby handkerchief, Matsukawa then finally unbuttons his shirt and tosses it to the side, letting Hanamaki see all the muscles underneath. Despite not seeming very strong, Matsukawa had plenty of defined muscles that flexed as he stripped himself of his shirt, as well as moving to unbuckle his belt and unzip himself. Hanamaki couldn’t wait to feel those muscles under his own fingertips.

Once free of his boxers, Matsukawa applies a generous amount of lube to his cock while Hanamaki practically trembles with excitement. The sheer size of Matsukawa makes him wonder if it’ll actually fit, seeing as three fingers can’t compare to the size, but he’s always been up for a challenge. As Matsukawa lines himself up, he takes Hanamaki’s chin in his fingers one last time. “I want you to look at me while I corrupt you. Can you do that for me, Hiro?”

With such an affectionate name, Hanamaki is blushing while nodding his head, completely transfixed on Matsukawa as he slides his cock in. It’s painful, the lube only helping to ease the pain a bit and Hanamaki screws his eyes shut for a moment, only to reopen them as the grip on his chin gets tighter. “I said eyes on me,” Matsukawa practically growled, eyes darkened as he focused his eyes on him once more. Hanamaki doesn’t dare break the eye contact again, even as he desperately wants to throw his head back or roll his eyes back when Matsukawa finally bottoms out. Stretched beyond his limits, Hanamaki is finally able to lay back on the desk when Matsukawa gives him a kiss, short and sweet, letting his face go afterwards. “How do you feel?”

“Full,” Hanamaki honestly says, moving his hips a bit as he softly mewls, “very full.”

“Good enough for me,” Matsukawa says, rearing his hips back before slamming into Hanamaki. He practically yelps from the force of Matsukawa’s thrust, his ass jiggling from the impact. His reaction pleases Matsukawa who simply keeps up the force behind each thrusts, hands planted on either side of Hanamaki as he looks down at the man, enjoying each facial expression that comes across his face. Hanamaki reaches up to grab Matsukawa, bringing him closer as his blunt nails dig into his defined back. Matsukawa groans at the feeling of Hanamaki trying to mark him up, pressing his lips to his neck while his hips never stutter. One of his hands move down to lift up Hanamaki’s leg, holding his leg in the crook of his elbow as it dangles behind him. The adjusted position has him hitting deeper inside and rubbing against Hanamaki’s prostate with each thrust. Sucking a hickey onto his skin, Matsukawa feels Hanamaki tremble under him as warm liquid coats the front of his chest.

Matsukawa slows down his thrusts while Hanamaki finishes his second orgasm, cock bouncing as it gushes out the last bit of cum. Hanamaki looks exhausted, but Matsukawa isn’t quite done. Removing himself has Hanamaki confused, only for a moment, before he’s picking him up and swiftly placing him in his lap, back on his cock. “You’re still so fucking hard,” Hanamaki whines, feeling Matsukawa’s cock rubbing against his prostate again.

“Well, I’ve been told I have quite the stamina. I’ll let you take a break once I’ve had my own release, how about that?” Matsukawa says, although his silky words are mixed with soft pants, using up some of his energy to fuck. Matsukawa spreads Hanamaki’s legs, his hands trailing up thick thighs until he’s able to get a good grip, having Hanamaki bounce on his lap. Hanamaki tries to help, positioning his hands on the arms of the chair to stabilize himself, but soon finds his arms are too weak to hold up even half of his weight. Matsukawa does all the work while Hanamaki brushes his fingers through his hair, almost encouraging Matsukawa’s lips to press against the other side of his neck, adorning the skin with kisses and hickeys.

When Matsukawa’s thrusts start to get weak, he stops moving Hanamaki and groans, getting up from the chair without disconnecting him and Hanamaki. Bending Hanamaki over the desk, they’re both finishing together as Matsukawa rubs Hanamaki’s hardened cock with his hand. Hanamaki moans as he feels Matsukawa fill him up with his seed, only to give an open-mouthed moan when he feels him leave, his winking hole gushing with seed spent.

Hanamaki sees Matsukawa zip himself up and put on his shirt, thinking he’ll have to clean himself up. However, he’s pleasantly surprised when Matsukawa’s hand is gently pushed against his back while a warm and wet towel is cleaning up his mess. “I think I was a bit too harsh on you, sorry,” Matsukawa finally says, breaking the silence as he finishes cleaning up everything. Hanamaki doesn’t respond very well, his mind too hazy and body too numb to really process what’s going on. “Hanamaki, hello?” Is the last thing he hears before he shuts his eyes for the rest of the night.

#haikyuu smut #matsuhana smut #matsuhana #BB.Kinky #BB.Tweets #Mr. Issei #Mr. Takahiro #Hanamaki.Spice #Matsukawa.Spice #tw.guns #tw.yakuza #tw.violence #tw.death #tw.mafia

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scorpionwins · 3 years

Text

Archie Andrews doesn't fall in love.

Or rather, he doesn't know how love looks like. He grew up with his parents, watched their marriage crash and burn, and decided from a young age, if that's what love was, he wanted no part in it.

It's Valentines Day and he's buried to the neck in little pink hearts, notes, gifts, and chocolates. That he shares with Jug, sad eyed and pouty because no one gave him any chocolates.

They did; Archie filled out his table before Juggie knew. Not that this had to see the light of day, ever. " Love sucks." Jug sniffed, drenching the paws of his soft blue sweater in tears.

It really, really does, and Archie doesn't want Jug to experience just how much. " Sucks square."

That's when they're 8. When they're 17, it takes a whole other turn, swift, sudden. Archie doesn't see it coming.

Archie likes fooling around. It's nice, not being bound by strings, not being held down by complicated feelings. There was no arguing, no verbal assaults, no shouting matches about who loves who more or who does the most.

" I like writing about love," He confided one time, when Jug asked. They're finally good now, finally on better terms, so talking with the other boy was his favorite activity. " You know, - love is cool. In theory. But...I don't know. I guess long- term stuff aren't my thing."

" Is that why you continue to self- sabotage every relationship you form, sweet prince?"

Archie holds back a flinch. Listen, I know, He wants to say, If I'm in a good relationship, I must do everything in my power to ruin it, because I'm too scared of losing things to keep them. But you don't have to rub it in.

Instead, he shrugs, puffing on his half finished cigarette and watching white burn to filmsly, grey smoke. " It's not my fault I don't know how to love people, Jug."

Jughead scoffs, a loud and clear ' oh are you kidding me?!' noise. Luckily they're on the roof of his house, and not downstairs, because he really didn't want to wake Fred up before at least 9. His father was too tired for that.

" No, - your problem is that you don't know how to let yourself be loved. A hoard of people tried, but you turned them away before they could even knock on the door."

" Really? Name a few."

" I knew Betty loved you when we were 10 and she auditioned for Sleeping Beauty for a month straight until our teacher cracked and gave her the role. All because you were the prince, and you'd kiss someone that isn't her," Automatic, straight to the point, as if Jug's been waiting to say this.

Archie blinks, astonished. " What-"

" I knew Reggie loved you when we were 14 and his dad threatened the worst if he ever talked to you again, and Reggie kept doing it anyway,"

Jughead rushes, color in his cheeks, pale green eyes with the softest layer of blue suddenly frightened and wide.

"... And I knew that I loved you when we were 3,-"

Archie's insides freeze. No no no. This isn't right.

" ,- and I smiled at you across the playground,-"

Holy shit. Holy shit.

" and I knew you didn't feel the same when you didn't smile back. "

" I love you, Jug," It slips from Archie's lips before he can even think about it, about weather or not this is appropriate. But he's feeling a mess of emotions, knotted deep and tight at the bottom of his stomach. " I do. Just. Not like that."

And Jug smiles, a sad little thing, and there's so many things written across those lips that Archie almost gets dizzy. I knew that. I didn't expect anything different. I've made my peace with that. I'm over it.

" Yeah, understatement already made and delivered. I said loved you. Past tense. Trust me, I wouldn't sit through an entire 3 hours Ted Talk of how nice Ronnie's smile is otherwise."

" Oh, God," All his 5 fingers curl around the red of his hair, fighting off the urge to tug at it until he was bald. " All those flings,- I talked to you about them,- I'm such an asshole. God, I'm such an asshole."

" Eh. At least you didn't share details of the reproductive variety. Now that would have scarred me. And it could've ended with you being smothered in your sleep, but that's another story."

They laugh, breezing through the conversation, and its not as uncomfortable as Archie expected. He's still processing. The wheels won't stop running for at least a week, but there's no awkwardness, no pain.

" ... You know, maybe we could try, -"

" Absolutely not," Jug cuts him off, abruptly, voice grave but eyes affectionate. " I'm not your person. And you're not mine either. "

" ... Well, I would make a shitty boyfriend, " Archie acknowledges. " But at least, I think I could become a good brother."

And Jughead smiles, all stardom and fond. " You already are."

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Brother Dearest Pt 76

“There is nothing I support more than mothers caring for their children. Our Democracy is built on the combined efforts of our mothers. Baroness Bunny Pear Howlett swore before God and the world to joyously welcome every life she will be given the gift of bringing into this world and raise them in a God fearing home. I will never oppose her honoring that vow and raising more citizens of this fine country and our neighbor to the North, Canada. We have no right to lay our opinion higher in respect than that vow and her responsibility to love and cherish the precious gift those children are. That is all I have to say on the matter.” The words were a bullet to the head of any try to shoot down a try to erase your achievements for the simple stolen glimpse of your cleavage exposed to the world.

On the cusp of speechless Truman had called you and had wanted to see where you stood on the issue. All you had tried to do to mend the issue led to his argument in support of said efforts no matter what his personal thoughts of showing nursing mothers on the front page. In truth you were clearly as blown over by the story and after calls from the Brocks and even Father Thomas, who offered words of support agreeing that it was a beautiful intruded upon moment and any effort you could use to support any other struggling mothers should be acted upon.

It seemed that this would blow over and papers dug back to what they knew, it was a beautiful moment, because you didn’t have very many of those left and James was supportive to not blemish the legacy of his daughters’ mother for them to grow up aspiring to. Even Mr Yarbrough had to admit it was a bit amusing for how people had gone to such extremes in this matter and calmed after to at least a dull roar. And was all the more pleased as he sat grading your latest assignments while you sat for the exams in History, Geography and Religion to see that the issue had not thrown you off of your school work.

“Is that me?” Loki asked in his stroll into the sun lit room that had a few easels propped up and drying. From the easel you turned lowering your paint brush having painted a portrait of Loki lounged on one of your armchairs with a bouquet of fireworks hovering above his palm. “It is almost lifelike.”

“Took me a while to get the fingers right, I think I might have made Beau and Jeff’s arms go numb in letting me stare at their hands.”

Lowly he chuckled and stated, “It is masterfully done. I am flattered, thank you.” He stepped to the other easels noting the portrait of James and Victor both seated in armchairs in front of the fireplace with their children from their first marriages, Xander on the arm of his father’s chair and Victor’s children on his lap. A portrait now that they had their younger daughters would grant some proof of their elder siblings for them to grow up with that the men treasured and readied a nail in a special place to hang it when it was properly dried and framed. “This one is beautiful, more relatives?”

You caught his eye answering, “That is Xander, James’ son from his first marriage and Victor with his daughter and his son from his first marriage.” Loki’s eyes swept over your face taking in the hint of sadness in your expression. “They’re all buried in the family graveyard on these lands with their mothers. We talked about when Leanora was born having some sort of portrait for the girls to know what their older siblings looked like. The guys asked it just be the kids, didn’t want to have me and Jeanie having to peer up at our predecessors.”

“You have done them justice. Our grandfather does not have as skilled a portrait executed with such love in it.”

“They’re beautiful babies. Almost makes me wish there was easier access to cameras back then to have given them more to hold onto. Part of why they have taken trunks of pictures since we’ve met I bet. Deep down they’re making notes to hold onto for when they imagine they will have to bury me.” Loki chortled and you said, “They’re going to be so disappointed when we have to build a new house for the pictures we’ve accumulated by the time I hit a century and have still refused to die.”

“I doubt disappointment would cross their minds in reaching the first century mark on your second lifetime.” His eyes traveled to the third couple portrait that could be hung separately or together of a trio of people seated for tea, “And these?”

“Friends, Howard Stark and Ana and Edwin Jarvis. They chose some cribs for the girls for our Brooklyn home and I’m terrible at picking gifts for them. Howard is very rich and I believe Ana and Jarvis have all they could want already.”

“A gift of this caliber would be treasured.”

“What do you do for fun?” You asked making him grin at you as you finished a detail on the edges of his finely draped velvet cape down the front of the leg of his chair of a charming bit of speckled fur that he now dearly ached to have one just like it.

“I have taken up glass blowing recently. Quite agitating at first, however I am told that I am improving, perhaps a different view point of a Master Smith could see my efforts is helpful in such a discovery.”

“I could imagine burning myself rather frequently in that hobby.” You said making him chuckle again.

“The heat is rather a fickle aspect of the hobby. Remaining hydrated is key, a pitcher of water is always nearby in case of overheating.”

“Loki, welcome back,” James said carrying two of his girls with the third in a sling he fashioned across his chest. “I’ve found a way to grow another arm.” He said making the Prince chuckle again. “You are just in time for lunch, Sarah made some lemon squares, don’t know what’s in them but you look up for an adventure.”

“That I am.” He said smiling in the excited coo of the girls who saw him when he came closer. “Their curls are coming in nicely. A very good sign for healthy childhoods for my people full head of hair early on.”

“Yes, dad said I had a full head of curls by my first month too.” Drying the brush you rinsed off with a half damp and paint stained rag you left on the table to say, “Should be time to pump again, before they get fussy on you.”

“They would never,” James teased as you came closer kissing the trio on their heads and raised palms to lead the duo to the sitting room in your wing.

As the pump worked underneath your bra and t shirt against your bent legs you gave each of the girls some personal time while Victor lounged with his Petal reading her a story to Teddy and Loki’s artistic battle in making their own castles out of the hoard of colorful blocks while Marigold stretched for a nap across the Prince’s lap. The phone ringing turned your head and with a stretch of your fingers the phone floated closer so you could lift the receiver, “Hello, Howlett Pear, Creed residence.”

“Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth is calling for the Baroness,” an aid spoke through the line in a cool crisp tone.

“Oh, of course, I’ll hold for her Majesty.”

“Just a moment, Baroness.”

The line switched and her voice came through the line, “Bunny, how are you this morning? We have gotten a copy of Mother magazine it was quite a masterful spin on the hassle at hand.”

“Thank you, and we’re all doing well here.”

“And your classes are going well, the papers have all stated that your grades are pristine top marks.”

“Classes are going well, still tutors at home twice a week until next Tuesday when I start on campus.”

“We all certainly hope that you will be treated with ample respect.”

“I will be, everyone is very respectful up here. If I can how is Princess Elizabeth’s pregnancy going?”

“Swimmingly, the first trimester was rough but on her way to the third she is very strong. Thank you for asking. She has been very happy to hear that things are lightening up for you. Have your girls gained any more weight?”

Questions continued as more information was shared and eventually she had to hang up and see to other matters leaving you to return to focus on your family and keeping Teddy and Marigold from Lording over the Prince more than he could handle for as long as he could.

“We finished another bundle of the Spain trunk, did you want to give it a look?” Jeff asked and after a moment to register what he meant from the mindset of playing you gave him a nod.

“Sure, where would we have to go?”

Beau smiled saying, “The directory is in the sitting room by our room. Not far of a walk.”

Once on your feet with the whole group including the children, the elder three watched the brothers guide you to the sitting room with a bronze fountain shaped like a tree with layered branches topped with groupings of bronze leaves layered with crystal leaves settled inside of a bronze basin filled with pebbles shaped from crystals. “I’ve seen this before,”

Beau stated with a smile, “Not uncommon a reaction for the first return to using it.”

In your step closer Loki took notice of the familiar structure to the one back on the abandoned Beserker territory on Asgard that with a lift of your palm had the top of the fountain light up and release a fine mist that in the more it pooled out into the room and darkening as it did. Similar to your galaxy mist in silvery blue it chose a more silver and pink tinted hue with soft hints of cheerful chimes from the creatures who dwelled inside of it that let out in recognition of who was tapping into the hive minded database.

Jeff to the list of runes that hovered in front of your raised palm stated, “We should start here,” and showed you the meaning of the runes. “This shares the translations both in written word, spoken and in reenactments. And we can show by means of the map that will show exactly where it took place and when.”

Up to your lap when you took a seat for the replay of your history you took hold of one of your girls with James at your side treasuring the tales while holding his other two daughters while they napped. Perfectly content in knowledge of the path that helped to lead you three here to this coveted moment. Both of the brothers however took enjoyment in the end of the translated bits to hear what had been learned on their own travels before this lifetime. All of it a road map to now with details that even stunned Loki, including in his trips to Norway as a child that you had been there, a fact that stunned not just himself but his mother when he returned and as usual gave her an update on how things with your family were going.

That tv of yours however had Frigga on the visit before gather up a collection of books from their own schools for children to help advance your knowledge even more as she had grown to see how unfair it was to keep you from copies on such an ignorant planet compared to their own. Materials would be far from accessible to you but at least in time until your full power had awoken she might be taken as an ally in hastening the growth of your ever hungry intellect that scoured for more. Even she could sense that the gap in knowledge was hindering your return and when she approached Himdall his grin eased out along with his palms to accept the books bound together in a leather set of straps.

“Heimdall, kindly gift these to Mother.”

He bowed his head, “I shall, and she will be ever grateful for the gift.” She nodded and timidly turned to head back to the doorway she would transport herself back into the Palace. However she paused and looked back at him when he said, “Mother bears you no ill will, Queen Frigga. The decisions of Odin and his father long ago shall not bear down upon you or your sons and people. These books will help greatly to improve her capabilities to effect change upon Midgard as she always had. You have no reason to fear her growth in the coming years, in fact a friendship should very well grow if you would welcome it. For now, I shall deliver your gift.” There was no time for an answer as in a galaxy colored mist his body vanished to appear at the doorway of your library in a final touch up of readying the table for your tutoring the following day.

A gentle knock on the door had you look up to find Heimdall there who bowed his head and approached as you greeted him, “Heimdall, you can come in. Hope it’s nothing serious to bring you out here to our little planet.”

In a shake of his head he lifted the books on his palms stating, “Not at all, Queen Frigga sent me with these for you,”

When he came closer his eyes adoringly shifted over your girls, namely Nova in your arms who let out an excited squeal that had you and everyone around you chuckle, “Our girls have learned they can be very loud.”

“A joyful greeting, I am honored.” He said lowering the books onto the table that your fingertips smoothed across the leather bound cover of the top textbook larger than a phone book with runes you couldn’t read across the cover.

“Are these in your language from Asgard?” you asked and he nodded offering his hand to the girl who wiggled her fingers his way that wrapped around his fingers in a cross eyed awed stare.

“Yes, Ancient Asgardian.”

Elliot spoke next, “I have some ledgers that we can help teach you from when you are ready.”

And your father said next, “Those books can be quite dense at times, best to take it gradually and we will explain the lessons thoroughly as they tend to build upon the prior lessons as you work your way through in several of their subjects.”

When you looked to Heimdall you said, “I thought Asgard was afraid of me. Why would Queen Frigga give me these?”

“With aid of our Brothers in time you would have learned of these some day, Prince Loki has shared the difficulties of education here and its limits so far with Queen Frigga. Our lessons to what you are learning now would have you equal to a child’s lessons on Asgard. That is unfair, and in the coming years a great deal more to gift you would be helpful for what you might face.”

“I suppose it might help, every now and then there’s mention of the ship headed this way. Can’t help but think if they know so much more that I might be taken as an ignorant fool far below what they expected when they get here.”

Heimdall gave you a comforting grin, “This physical form of yours is merely a piece of a far more breathtaking whole. Mother is with us, always, and while you come to remember that path is all the more beautiful. Midgard is far beyond what we are accustomed, your travels and time here will gift them knowledge in their own ignorance. There is no need to fear, love is patience and trust, together we will learn and grow.”

“Thank you,” you said as Nova released his hand, “And please tell Queen Frigga thank you.”

“I am certain in time we will add a good deal more to your library and when our Brothers will arrive they will have possession of a supply of the records of our people for you to explore as well.”

He bid you and your family a farewell and Elliot called the journal he added to the books he moved to a nearby shelf to be looked over when you were ready so that the dinner your stomachs demanded could be finished and enjoyed.

Across the top of your bed James laid with view of his girls in their squirms calming down to the bedtime story he was reading to them to lull them off to sleep. They had no clue what he was saying but to every stolen kiss or nuzzle of his face against their little selves savoring their scents and tries to keep hold of his head and hands. He absolutely loved these moments and didn’t even look up when you snapped pictures of them as he loved to do when you stole your own time cuddling with the trio. The roll of film was filled and you sighed taking the camera to its usual spot on a table outside the dark room where Victor would see it and in the usual pattern develop the film to give to you later.

Along with his own pictures and those from Dawn and Eddie he savored his time in that dark room surrounded by loving moments with his ever growing family. Proud more and more on the echoes of giggles and racing tiny feet through the manor that had sat empty for so long. Stone and earth held memory and even this place in its neglect since that flood bore a depression much like their own and now seemed to glow all its own glee for the souls now claiming shelter inside its refurbished borders.

Film was bought by the barrel on top of your gifted supply it seemed and a welcome expense to have permanent copies of the gradual growth of every child and the woman he loved who had gifted him his own. Always a bit of doubt lingered he might not be the right choice as a husband but as a father he knew she treasured him for that and wouldn’t have picked another to share this with. Mixed within the pictures of the girls was one of yourself. Normally quite casual the moments James wanted to keep were tame, this one had you in just your underwear, perhaps in a try to lure a more adventurous night when he was in a late shower or changing.

Spread across the bed slumped back comfortably from an alluring pose on your side with curls sprawled about your face that widened his smile. It wasn’t just the moment he’d stumbled across to lure an intrusion but much like the photograph of James on your honeymoon the dance of flame and shadow across your skin had turned this stolen moment into art. Show of his adoration for you and a try to begin again what you formerly had to have him stumble into a far more intimate moment. He knew what his brother felt, pure love and awe at the strong force of a woman who put to test the meaning of labor to birth the girls who looked more like you by the day. A couple more weeks and far from that time in London when you walked out in the underwear gifted to you to see if it was correctly draped across your starved frame now he could see their efforts to coat you with leisurely weight to suit daily energy requirements and to signal you were well fed.

He left it to dry and carried on until he saw the image of the tiny hands tangled in James’ hair and arms holding his head down at his bend to their whim he could but wouldn’t break no matter how easily he could. Every image was left hung to dry to be handed over later and sorted to be added to the collection of others on his way to finish readying for the day trip ahead to go and visit Norma on set as you’d been promised a trip to do so and see how your project was coming about.

Economics, Government, Political science, Anthropology tests and an afternoon trip to town that ended with a rainy drive back home for an early night to cuddle in bed for the drive and flight in the morning. Norma still was on set but now that you had settled a suitable schedule for feedings the brothers zapped you all closer to the airport where Howard’s plane waited to fly you all out to the location that he was filming in today. To keep your girls safe they would remain at home and not even Leonora would be coming at Norma’s request knowing how much press was around to keep her safe from being plastered around the world more than she could manage.

Ample milk had been stored and your parents gladly took charge with Edie of the children while Elliot and the twins delved more into translations of those documents as they had daily to make use of the summer while they had it. Eddie stayed with you as you parked and the stroll over to the waiting plane while Dawn took Teddy and Marigold to her family’s home to get more work done on their paper.

“Bunny, glad to see you, today should be fun.” Howard said when he came close post stroll out of his plane from final checks.

“I’m sure it will be.” Victor said carrying the bag with the paintings in it turning Howard’s head to them.

James said, “Brought you something, Bunny made them.”

Howard said, “You didn’t have to make me anything, not even my birthday.”

“Well consider it payback for the cribs and filming my story.”

“Ooh, now I’m really curious.” He said with a smirk following you inside the plane he sealed the steps to get to his seat saying, “You can sit up front if you like, Bunny.”

Jarvis who was securing your bags gave you a nod and watched you timidly join Howard up at the cockpit to ease down onto the co-pilot seat in the Douglas DC-3 that had you tuck your legs up to sit on to be able to see over the nose of the plane. Howard chuckled saying, “I will be sure to pack a few phone books next time.”

“It’s alright, have to use them for our truck too. Nothing new, I live in the land of giants.” You said making him smirk.

He began to flip switches and start up the plane explaining what he was doing all through the roll to the runway and lift off until you were in the air. “Maybe one day I could give you some lessons. You know the time I flew Steve into enemy lines to rescue Bucky was on one of these. You been in a few in the service I bet.”

“Couple, only it’s a bit odd without the gunfire.”

After another glance your way he asked, “You still doing well? You look well fed a bit more than last time.”

“Still good, first time so far from the girls, but I suppose I have to get used to that for what class on campus start next week.”

“If I can say, we’re all proud of how you handled that press with your magazine spread. Masterful, downright masterful on the shift of it. Everyone on set agreed. You should have never had to face that but you handled it well. Hate that you have to, press can be vultures, but I imagined they had standards.”

“All spilled milk at this point.” After a moment you asked, “Would it be rude to ask if you have another Mrs Stark on the horizon to anger someone else’s dad?”

That had him chuckle again, “Not yet. Always up to help a woman out of a sticky situation if I can help it.”

While others were setting up things for the first scene and gathering the cast that gradually was getting ready your focus turned to Ana Jarvis who came into view with a wrapped bundle laid against her chest. The heartbeat inside had your smile widen and you asked, “Now where did you find this angel?” Widening her smile.

“This is our daughter, Celeste. Last year we found out we could not have children, but there was an orphanage back in New York who called us, a young mother could not provide for her child and put her up for adoption. She is beautiful and has orange hair and eyes like Edwin’s.” She said on the verge of tearing up for how fated the move turned out to be.

“Congratulations,” you said to the both of them and from the bag Victor handed you to bring out the portrait of the couple parting their lips. “If I would have known I’d have added her. A sort of thank you, for the cribs and being so kind.”

Ana said, “Oh thank you,” she said using her free arm to give you a hug that when she ended she turned to look at it again, “It is beautiful, did you paint it?”

“Yes, I have one for Howard too.”

“You have what for Howard?” He asked with a smirk on his path back on his way to check something else only to gape at the portrait and the one of him you offered him. “Bunny, I love it, thank you.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hang them together or separately, however you liked.”

Howard smiled and said in collecting the both of them, “I’m going to put these somewhere safe until we get the clear to head home later, be back in a few, get comfortable.”

Sure enough like a magnet in the silent nightclub of a set to the piano as the guys took in the artwork and other details soft notes filled the air. Just a few random notes bled into a familiar tune. One that would frequent the radio station Steve tuned into at night when he thought everyone else was asleep. Without thought your fingers continued in their dance across the keys without comment until murmurs could be heard from outside the set, “Did they hire another band?”

Another said, “We aren’t even late!”

“We got a contract! They can’t do this!”

Sight of you however in a blue off the shoulder lace dress with a knee visible under the hem of the skirt on the bench had the band that you had met years prior at the White House dinner after receiving your medals. Jarvis with a grin eased into his usual fix it mode and clarified you were merely passing time. Your notice of the band as they approached had you grin and ease off the bench, “Hello.”

“Baroness Pear Howlett,” they each said offering their hands you shook then looked to their horn player who said, “We have to do a sound check and warm up before the scenes, care to play with us?”

“Don’t you need the piano?” you asked and they chuckled.

Their piano player said, “I am good on a dime, if you don’t mind that is.”

Without anything else to do again the song ‘Into Every Life A Little Rain Must Fall’ recorded by The Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald was what you began with after they named the tune you had been tapping out. A nod from you had the pianist sit beside you on the spacious bench ready to help you liven up the tune to give a wider range for the others to jump into. Hushed giggles and conversation on ways to shift the tune made for a smile worthy sight when Norma hurried onto set to claim a hug and kiss from Victor and cuddled with him as the other actors bled into sight to fill the seating and standing room.

Shirley Temple and her mom beside Howard’s side had him smirk at Shirley’s soft gasp and comment to her mother, “Momma, it’s really Bunny Pear,” clinging to a magazine spread on you from when you had been featured in Kodak’s magazine.

Howard’s arrival had you and the guys stop playing luring a grin from you for a slip away to his side where he said, “Aren’t you just a treasure trove of talents. Guess your Priest wasn’t kidding about those times you snuck in to play the piano.”

“Well you can blame Steve and Bucky. One would get sick or hurt and they’d play the radio or their few records all night.”

“A rude habit that comes in handy, Bunny, come meet Shirley,”

The teen’s wide smile and flash of the magazine had you smile as she said, “I always cut out stories on you.”

“Well I hope last year’s stories didn’t upset you, papers had some fun with the whole frog debacle.”

“I just knew it wasn’t true,” and she asked, “Could you sign my magazine?”

You smirked and accepted the pocket journal and pen James handed you from your purse widening her grin, “Only if you sign my book too.” She gladly agreed and you traded then traded back and the conversations and introductions continued through the rest of the main cast. Beginning with Lawrence Olivier and Vivien Leigh who proudly signed your book trading for a signature of their own to comments on favorite films as Cary Grant shyly traded his own set for yours before a group picture one of the extras gladly took on your camera James remembered to grab.

Howard however stunned you by placing your family in the crowd and had you up again at the piano for the stunning addition for the background music bits of dialog for a few takes of those scenes. However when it came time to have the band perform fully you, for giggles as Howard suggested with the band’s blessing you helped to sing along as they played, ‘If I Didn’t Care’ also by The Ink Spots. With minimal conversation between the leading men that took two takes after you had excused yourself to join the men in the audience. When the lighting and wardrobe was being shifted to move to a different scene earlier in the film for two more of the band’s own songs you accepted a bottle of apple juice Eddie opened for you Cary Grant came over to your side with a nervous glance your way.

“Thank you,” he said luring a widening grin across your lips. “Howard said you picked me specifically for this role, it’s a heck of a role. You wrote a fantastic screenplay.”

“Well you certainly were at the top of the list for who I would have chosen for Roger,” in the twitch of his brow taking the hint that he might not have been your first choice you said, “I actually had the idea from a dream I had when I was pregnant. Though I do have to admit Roger was a tap dancing rhino in my dream.” You said widening his smile again in an amused chuckle. “But outside of a horn and tail you were at the top of the list.”

“Consider me tickled pink the rhinos are all on strike,” he joked making you giggle and smile as Norma came over to help you share more on the story for the continued series of pictures an approved photographer was allowed to take for a spread on the filming so far. Namely a glimpse at the story of yours Howard was bringing to life.

Lunch however for Howard came with his flying you back for the drive home, and when you were safe on the ground again he said, “Don’t you worry. I’ll keep taking good care of your paperback baby.” He said making you grin in his move back to the steps to climb back in the plane not wanting to leave his friends just yet while also knowing that he had to get back to finish filming for the day.

Victor looped his arm around your back needing someone to cuddle with as Eddie said, “That was fun. And that much fun deserves a big lunch. Seems like they are killing the nightclub scenes.”

James smiled at you and said, “I think for certain now we’ll have a spot in the film at least. If he doesn’t put you singing in it.”

“Oh he better not, I’m not in the screenplay.”

You said and Victor chuckled out, “I highly doubt that matters. He’s got exclusive footage with Bunny singing live. Who wouldn’t buy a ticket for that and to see my Nora on the silver screen.”

“Jeanie, yes, me, no. Leave the band to the job they were hired for.” You were helped into the car for the drive back you all joked through until the excited swarm of babies welcomed you back to your home and main jobs of the summer.

Pt 77

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess

Brother Dearest - @thorinanddwalinsdwarrowdam, @swoopswishsward

#James Howlett x oc #Victor Creed x Norma Jeane #Eddie Brock x OC #Venom #Tutoring #Trip to Stark Filming Location #Howard Stark #Edwin & Ana Jarvis #Marvel #Loki

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byorder-fanfic · 4 years

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Finn’s Lost Loves

Summary: Finn’s lost more than anyone else knew because of the war, and every stupid thing his family have done afterwards to keep themselves in charge.

Word count: 2019

Warnings: Mentions war and blood, talks about eating disorder, self harm and self-esteem, and homophobia (only a little bit, period accurate), a lot of toxic masculinity

Author’s note: This is a lot of angst with little bits of fluff and a sad ending. Sorry. It’s basically an overview of Finn’s character, backstory and his relationships with the family that we’ve never gotten to see! It’s based off a piece of prose in my drafts, so if you guys like this, I might post that as well. Hope you enjoy, and please comment, I love hearing your opinions and any constructive criticism you might have xx

Finn loved books. Once upon a time, he really did. He loved the way Tommy did the voices, and Arthur made those wild motions with his hands, and John could always make him laugh as he told him about that thing that happened in the pub last week. He loved how Ada and Polly would tuck him up in bed, place a kiss on his temple and read the letters from the boys. Then they came back, and he didn’t need to read letters. Or books. Or anything really. Soon, he didn’t even go to school. He just wanted to be with his brothers. Now they tell him to piss off more than they beg him to stay. Tommy and Polly scold him for not being able to read off the betting boards, and John makes everyone else laugh when he holds a big volume under Finn’s nose, so that everyone knew that Finn was still illiterate. Finn hates books.

Finn loved Church. He didn’t need Polly to drag him by the heels as he sobbed under the Virgin Mary’s stare like his brothers when he hopped, skipped and a jumped all his way down the road. He always sat by Isaiah, the two boys out-screaming each other in the hymns and seeing who Polly would scold first. He wore the crucifix everyday, and treated his rosary with all the sacred carefulness a six year old could manage. He loved the psalms and Jeremiah’s voice ringing through the streets and the way everyone was always together (even Charlie) on Sunday. Then he had to light candles, praying for his brothers’ safety that was only answered with their damnation as they dragged back blood and French mud into Watery Lane. Now he cries through the paper thin pages of a Bible and his only prayers are that the boys never see his tears. What did he have to cry about after all? He was never a soldier, but he should learn to be a man. Finn hates Church.

Finn loved healing. Ada dragged him along to her nursing classes and soon his only reason to come to Church was to learn how to tie bandages and fix up cuts and bruises. No one noticed his long absences- they either assumed he went to school still, or they were far too busy with the race tracks to care for the whereabouts of their youngest brother. But then he'd slipped up, and he'd never seen his brothers laugh so hard when he proudly told Polly he was going to be a nurse one day. Even his aunt and sister, usually the ones on his side, had to purse their lips together as Arthur roared out: "Hear that, Tom? We got ourselves a Nurse Shelby here! Want a dress and hat to go with it?" He told them all to fuck off and stamped out, but he didn't understand what he said that was so funny. When he asked Isaiah, who had just turned fourteen and starting to see Finn less and less, he just said that being a nurse was a woman's job. He didn't like being laughed at for being a girl, but he didn't know why. He still hoarded textbooks about anatomy and the like under his bed, tracing over the detailed pictures with his skeleton finger as he wished. And wished. And wished. And almost prayed that he could read the little ink words. When he found Arthur with another red line on his neck, he offered him some medicine to cure his big brother's blues, thinking just a bit of Tokyo would keep his brother here with him. No one asked why Finn was sad. Oh well, at least he could protect his brothers now. Finn hates healing. Finn loved food. Always the big eater in the Shelby household, he managed to always have a full stomach despite the poverty that reigned. He was a stickler for sweets, though, and as soon as he mastered the art of sneaking rings and wallets from unsuspecting strangers, he soon graduated to thieving lollipops and boiled sweets and even some toffees that he proudly deposited into his aunt's hand with a toothy grin. But the boys would look into his empty plate and his skinny frame and tell him he'd better watch out, soon he might actually have a shape under those bulky clothes. They always laughed, and he felt himself completely embarrassed at the dinner table. He dumped more sugar than milk into his tea and stole chips when they went to the seaside. He'd always offer to share, wanting to provide for them for once, but they'd tell him he was the one who needed it. He sees his ribs and the little vertebrae of his spine and wonders why can't he just be strong like his brothers. Even though he despises it, he picks up boxing to fill out his form. Maybe training with Isaiah was an extra benefit, but the older boy had long since talked to Finn on the regular, and made a point to laugh at him when he fell onto the floor. So, Finn graduated from second helpings of lunch and too-sweet tea to the sour delights of whiskey and cigarettes. Just like his brothers. Finn hates food. Finn loves his family. He loves Polly, the mother he never had, and will never feel like he does enough to repay her for his entire childhood. Then Michael came back, and soon there wasn't any chore lists on the downstairs table for someone to read out for him, or little check ups throughout the day as she makes sure he's okay. That was when he realised exactly why Polly raised him in her empty arms. He loves Arthur: his eldest brother, who used to lift him up on his shoulders and teach him to draw. Finn still has faded old pictures of galloping stallions (signed in block letters: A.W.S) slipped between the filled out pages of the sketchbooks he hides in his wardrobe. Then Arthur came back, with what everyone calls Flanders Blues, but no one explains, and Finn feels like he's losing his brother everyday when he comes back smelling like a brewery with blood on his fists. Finn loves Tommy. A father figure to him, the kind of man he wants to be when he grows up. But then Greta died and Tommy went to war, and the man who took him horse riding every weekend was gone, and this Tommy was colder. Finn loves John as the best friend he's ever had, always laughing together, giving sometimes useful advice and finding days to just spend time with each other. Despite John's bazillion kids, widowerhood, and then his new wife, he's always had time to spare for his little brother. John was the one who told him what bisexual was when he found Finn sobbing in his room, he was the one that took him to the doctor when he passed out from malnutrition, and he's the one that made him swear to never use razor blades on himself again. Finn loves Ada. He sees why Freddie calls her an angel, and used to love it when she pretended to take Finn to the library when in fact they were both slipping away to a Communist meeting, which would usually end up in Ada and Freddie slipping away and leaving Finn in the trusted supervision of leftist radicals that he happily chatted away to. Ada always took care of him, making sure he was never involved in the business (on either side) and telling him that being a soldier is a life sentence, not an honour. He lives because Ada keeps him safe and sane. Then Ada leaves. Finn hates the Shelby name that everyone screams at him like a condemnation, that invites slurs and hatred that only he gets because he doesn't look like a proper Shelby man. Finn hates his family. Finn loved Isaiah. A childhood crush that brought butterflies to his stomach and blushes to his freckled face. He sketched the boy's face so many times, he knew it by memory. They held hands when they were chased down the streets, laughing and sprinting as their spoils stayed securely in their pockets. But Isaiah was older than him. Soon after adolescence hit the Jesus boy and Peaky Blinders offered him a role, without the constant of Church, the two greatest of friends became almost strangers to one another. But Finn still loved him. He never told anyone, of course. He knew he wasn't a real homosexual, because he most certainly did enjoy holding hands and kissing the cheeks of girls his age (poor boy was flustered to ever do more!) but his heart still belonged to the preacher's boy. With more faithful women in the family than ever before, Finn knew he would be crucified if he ever told anyone. John was the only one who knew, and that was based on the fact he paid more attention to his brother than anyone else combined. He said he should just go for it, but Finn knew Isaiah couldn't be like him. And even if Jeremiah was always the kindest man that Finn ever met, he still didn't trust that the cross on his neck wouldn't shame him or laugh at him for the fact he was completely enamoured with his son. Then Finn got drunk, and when he woke up, his entire family knew exactly how he felt and Isaiah wouldn't look at him in the eye. He ran away to the stables, crying on Uncle Charlie's shoulder who told it would be alright. He made sure to keep an eye on Finn ever since, keeping an eye on his wrists and fists. The incident was soon forgot by everyone but him. Finn couldn't find it in him to hate Isaiah, but he knew he didn't love him any more. Finn has never loved Michael. He thought he could, at first, when he saw the tweed suit and a face more innocent than his. But then Tommy promoted him almost on the spot, and Finn had never at once felt so much rage bubble inside him. Everything he has done for his brothers, every passion he sacrificed, every humiliation he shouldered, just so they could see him as an equal. But no, there are only three Shelby brothers as far as anyone else is concerned, and Finn carries on as errand boy. He ignores all Ada's good advice, and swear that he will make his brothers proud of him one day. So, he puts on the thorn crown of a Peaky cap and wears the waistcoat and wool coat of his brother's likeness, and parades about Small Heath like he actually was apart of the makeshift royal family. Then Finn found Michael and Isaiah kissing in the alleyway. Even though Finn had made a point to announce that his brothers had started giving him more work, Isaiah still fucked off to the pub with Michael every night, devoting his time and attention to only him, and Finn couldn't understand why. Now he did. If Finn had been violent like Arthur, he certainly wouldn't have thought twice about taking the cup on his curls and cutting the smirk off of his cousin. He had stolen his brothers' respect, his surrogate mother's attention, his place in the business, the affections of the one boy Finn had ever loved. He had stolen Finn's everything, and Finn hated him. They both froze and stuttered. Excuses about just being friends, just experimenting, but he saw the way they held each others shaking hands just as he and Isaiah used to hold onto each other as they raced through the streets. "I'm glad you're together." He shocked them both with a forced smile. "You both deserve to be happy." The two were kinder to him after that, almost back to the old friendship he had missed, and Finn knew he didn't hate Michael. Or Isaiah. Or any of his family, really. No, Finn hated himself.

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humanlighthouse · 3 years

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Fic Writer Interview Meme

I was tagged by my beloved @s1utspeare 💖✨ I’m doing this one quickly before it gets buried under notes, sorry to everyone who tagged me in stuff, the last few weeks have been insane and my wifi is still down, but I saw all of the tags and I love you so much for thinking of me?? I’ll get to them if I ever find them again 😓

name: Anna, HumanLighthouse on everything that counts!

fandoms: I almost exclusively write for DMBJ now and it’s the only fandom I’ve ever been actually involved in? I wrote one long fic for Anne with an E (the lovely, lovely Netflix show based on Anne of Green Gables) and another for the still-not-famous-enough, amazing webseries Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Invite-Only Casual Dinner Party/Gala For Friends Potluck (yes, that’s the title, check it out if you like literature, that thing is brilliant), that I am pretty proud of, to the point that I made @jockvillagersonly watch it just so they could read my fic 🙈 I am shameless like that. Both are teeny tiny fandoms, but very sweet and welcoming! I also have a fic on hiatus for MDZS, some SongXiao angst/fix-it, and I read a lot of meta in that fandom but I’m not really involved in it? There’s just too much going on now. I was really into Reylo and Entrapdak for a while too, but like MDZS the fandoms got too big and I just ended up muting everything and rereading old favorites :/

two-shot: Like most writers I think, I tend to either do one-shots or multiple chapters. I’ve noticed that my emotional one-shots are usually super short, around 1.5k at most, my smut fics are <8k, and then you have the monstrosity that is my Slave AU, currently clocking in at 40k at about a third of the story… I am wide I contain multitudes and all that Before I admitted to myself that I was mostly a smut writer, I used to do like... first chapter of PG-13 fluff, and then the smut in a separate chapter but who am I kidding anymore...

most popular multi-chapter fic: And Sleep My Senses In Forgetfulness, my sleepy hospital fic, which is just gratuitous fluff (and smut). It’s one of my favorite fics so I’m really happy to see people like it!

actual worst part of writing: Not finding the proper word!! I swear by wordhippo (thesaurus.com judges me for writing porn and refuses to give me appropriately sexy synonyms, I swear) but sometimes the word just does… not… exist? or not in the right language, and it’s SO FRUSTRATING, sometimes I have the perfect movement or image in mind and I can't find the correct word for it 😭

how you choose your titles: They’re almost always adapted from lines of poetry and/or song lyrics, I hoard a bunch in my phone notes for when I need a good title. @jaecomments once asked about my titling process for one fic that didn’t take its title from that hoard, and like I told her, I literally googled “Neruda fabric” and found a good quote 😂 sorry about ruining the magic, guys 😂

do you outline: YES. I canNOT write without outlining, and outlining is my favorite part of writing. Back when I was writing my thesis, it drove my advisor crazy because I took like…. a year and a half to outline stuff before I could actually WRITE anything and he was like “are you actually working??” and yes I was, bro, respect the process plz. My drafts are pretty crude in wording but very detailed and apparently it’s kinda weird to read them? You’re lucky I spare (most of) you guys 😂

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice: Oh sorry, did you mean my entire WIP list

callouts @ me: WRITE THE WIPS BEFORE MAKING MORE DRAFTS

best writing traits: I am thoroughly incapable of assessing my own competence and I keep getting blown away by the incredibly sweet comments I get?? I’d say that apparently I write pretty good smut 😬 intimacy and domesticity is my favorite thing so I guess that statistically I must have written some nice bits on that. Oh, and I try very hard to keep track of stuff like furniture, clothes, number of limbs, current actions etc.!

spicy tangential opinion: Dick therapy is valid - oh did you mean the other kind of spicy? Clichés are clichés for a reason, and that reason is that they work, embrace the cheesiness my friends

Tagging @mejomonster @jockvillagersonly and whoever else I haven’t seen tagged already! 💖💕

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alolowrites · 4 years

Text

Gold Coins and a Gold Heart

Summary: Bakugou is forced to help give out candy at your factory’s annual Halloween trick-or-treating event—costume included.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m back with another story and this time it’s for Bakugou (yay!!). It is a sequel to Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth! I had fun writing this, so hopefully you all enjoy it too :D

Word Count: 1.6K+

Bakugou collapsed on the chair.

His afternoon patrol was crazier than usual today, which meant only one thing—it was Halloween. The early dumbasses roamed the streets like brainless hooligans disturbing the peace. As always, Bakugou reined them in with a simple blast to the face. It was fun at first, but Bakugou’s patience was wearing thin after dealing with the twentieth fool that day.

He ripped the mask off and closed his eyes. All he wanted was some peace and quiet—

“Knock, knock!”

He spoke too soon.

Bakugou’s irritated eyes watched as you gleefully skipped toward his desk with a large garment bag. Your beaming smile never wavered despite feeling the hero’s heated glare; you were practically immune to it. An exasperated sigh left his lips. Bakugou knew better not to ignore you whenever you visited him. You were persistent, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with your childish pestering afterward.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t even get a ‘hello’? My heart, babe,” you pouted, gripping the bag in your hands. Bakugou mumbled a half-assed greeting in return. A shit-eating grin stretched across your face; he was so whipped. “Thank you. So, are you excited for tonight?”

“What’s tonight?” Bakugou rested his chin above his hand, barely paying attention to you.

“The annual trick-or-treating festivities at my factory!”

“And?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” you huffed, slamming the garment bag on his desk. Bakugou jumped, mouth ready to bark. You wagged a finger at him like a parent scolding a child. “Ah, ah, ah! You promised me you were going to help give out candy tonight for Halloween.”

“Since when!?”

“Glad you asked!” you clasped your hands together, standing up straight. Bakugou wouldn’t be surprised if you whipped out a detailed PowerPoint to support your case. “On September 18th at exactly 10:48pm, you agreed to help me out. As a matter of fact, your exact words were ‘Yeah, I’ll do the damn thing’ in between our passionate make-out session—”

“Oh, for fucksakes!”

“You still promised!” Seconds later, you added: “Besides, you can’t back out of this. Kioshi officially added it to your schedule, and your PR team approved it, so you’re going!”

“I’m gonna kill Small Head.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re not. Stop being such a drama-hoe.”

“Fine, I’ll do this stupid event,” Bakugou’s finger lifted the bag before letting it fall again. “What’s this?”

“Your costume, silly!”

“I’m not wearing a fucking costume!”

“Oh, don’t be such a sour puss,” you chastised him, walking around his desk and planting yourself on his lap. Bakugou made no move to push you off, but he also refused to look at you. Your soft, lovable kisses peppering along his cheek proved otherwise. “I know wearing a costume sounds stupid for you, but it’s Halloween, Katsuki.”

“Can’t I just go as Ground Zero?”

“You’re Ground Zero every day! Halloween means dressing up as someone you’re not.”

“This is stupid…”

“No, it’s not,” you slapped his chest lightly. As Bakugou continued to brood, you lifted his chin and bopped his warm nose. “C’mon—your fans will love it, the kids will love, and, most importantly, I will love it. Won’t you do it for me?”

Bakugou’s throat tightened at the sound of your melodic voice; it was like pure honey. On the surface, it sounded innocent, but Bakugou knew this voice well. You only played this card when you wanted something from him. At first, the hero refused to succumb to your wicked spell. Except it was hard when your delicate fingers danced across his hero costume. A shudder ran down his spine, and he squirmed slightly—you drove him over the edge.

You shot Bakugou a smug smile when he gripped your waist. His intimidating glare proved useless against you. Especially since you both knew who won this battle. Bakugou banged his head on the leather chair, grumbling a curt ‘fine’ shortly after. You squealed and delivered a quick peck on his lips.

“I knew you would understand,” you perked up, ruffling his soft mane before checking your watch. “Well, I gotta skedaddle. There are still some last-minute preparations to get done before the kids come. Ooh, this is so exciting!”

You hopped off Bakugou’s lap much to his displeasure; he wanted you back. Your steps fall in tune with a Halloween song you heard this morning. His eyes silently follow you toward the door, and you called over your shoulder, “See you later, babe! And don’t be late!”

Bakugou gruffed just as the door closed. He slumped back against the chair while pinching his nose. Why does he always get dragged into your ridiculous shenanigans? Damn your infuriating but cute personality. Red eyes narrowed at the garment bag sitting patiently on his desk. He unzipped it halfway to take a peek at the costume…

…and exploded.

“Fuck!”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Bakugou gritted his teeth.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this shit.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you chimed behind him, smoothing out the costume’s wrinkles. Bakugou huffed and grudgingly turned around. Your Cheshire cat-like smile grew as you stepped back to admire the final outcome. “You look so handsome!”

“Shut up.”

“My handsome pirate—”

“I told you to shut up!”

Your giddy laughs bounced off the walls; Bakugou snapped his head away with a growl. However, he was betrayed when a slight blush dusted his cheeks. He felt absolutely ridiculous in this outfit that belonged in the dumpster. Except for the jacket—Bakugou secretly liked how it emphasized his broad shoulders.

“Was this why you attacked me with that damn measuring tape last time?”

“Honestly, it was more fun than just asking Kioshi for your measurements.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” you shrugged, smirking as Bakugou’s eyes raked up and down your own pirate costume. It was seductive yet tasteful for tonight. Only your bare shoulders were exposed and Bakugou’s clenched his mouth—they were his weakness. “Behave tonight, and I’ll make sure to reward you well, captain.”

“Tch, damn tease.”

“I know,” you winked, tugging his hand as you both walked out the door. It was almost time to start tonight’s event. Bakugou grumbled as he followed your lead. “But seriously, behave. That means not making any child cry tonight.”

“Let me blast any idiot who tries to pull some shit on you, and we got ourselves a deal.”

”Fine, but not the kids.”

“Deal.”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Tonight was harder than Bakugou thought.

No one flirted with you, much to his relief. However, the hoard of kids screaming at the gates drained his energy and tested his limited—or nonexistent—patience. Security guards safely managed the crowds while staff members let in a few groups of kids at a time.

You hopped on your tippy-toes every time a new batch approached the steps. Bakugou, on the other hand, showed disdain and tried—unsuccessfully—to keep his distance from them; the kids stupidly disagreed. Bakugou scowled, but it wasn’t enough to scare away the waves of mini vampires or superheroes. Instead, they rushed up to him with goofy smiles.

“Trick-or-treat!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, here’s your candy.”

Bakugou reached inside the large treasure chest for the black pirate pouches. A friendly-looking skull graced the front and contained delicious goodies inside—chocolate gold coins and colorful sugar jewels. You spent weeks designing the Halloween candy so they fit with the pirate theme this year. It was a lot of trial and error, but you never settled for anything less.

That was something Bakugou noticed and silently admired.

A small tug pulled his attention away from you. Crimson eyes peered down at a little girl wearing a butterfly costume. Fuzzy red antennas bounced in the air as her innocent eyes glanced up at the pro hero.

“Are you really a pirate?”

Bakugou froze and blinked at the question. You softly laughed while handing out the pouches to the other kids. Before Bakugou could answer, a young boy blurted out: “Of course he’s not a pirate! That’s Ground Zero, dummy!”

“I’m not a dummy!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

The young girl was on the verge of tears. You were about to step in to defuse the situation, but Bakugou quickly beat you to the punch.

“Hey!” Everyone stood at attention after Bakugou’s rugged bark. All eyes were on him as he pointed a stern finger at the robot boy clutching his candy bag. “Does Ground Zero wear a pirate hat and carry a plastic sword?”

“N-no.”

“Then I’m not Ground Zero today, I’m a pirate,” he raised his head up high while adding, “and a captain pirate, too. Do you understand, kid?”

“Yes-s, sir.”

“Good, now apologize to the butterfly for calling her dumb.”

Mr. Robot did, and surprisingly, Bakugou dropped a pirate pouch into his bag. Muttering a curt ‘Go,’ he watched the young boy waddle away. Faint sniffles interrupted the silence shortly afterward. Bakugou averted his gaze to the little girl again.

“Hey,” he called out with a gruff but soft voice and crouched down. Round, puffy eyes stared in disbelief when Bakugou dumped two candy pouches inside her Halloween basket. “Don’t let anyone call you dumb, got it?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pirate!”

The girl happily skipped away. Bakugou stood up and bristled at the sight of your shit-eating grin. He forgot you were still here, which meant you saw everything. You sauntered toward him with amused eyes and teased, “You’re such a softie!”

“Eh?! Quit spewing bullshit,” he barked weakly, folding his arms over his chest. “You said no kid should cry, right? I did just that, so slap that stupid grin off your face.”

“Technically, I said you shouldn’t make any kid cry.”

“Whatever.”

“Softie,” you whispered before pecking Bakugou’s cheek; he grumbled an insult to save face. You poked his forehead while laughing, “Frown all you want, but you can’t hide that gold heart of yours. At least not around me.”

Bakugou’s lips twitched into a genuine smile reserved only for you.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

A pirate who managed to steal his gold heart? Yeah, it all made sense now.

Thanks for reading!!

Spooky Season 2020 Masterlist

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bakugou katsuki #bnha halloween #spooky-season-2020

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mishavacado · 3 years

Text

SPN has so much spinoff potential and so much canon to work with, it's such a waste that none of it's getting used. This post is just all of my spinoff ideas, I'll apologize in advance because it is VERY long.

Wayward Sisters, obviously. There are so many possible storylines to work with, so many stories to tell. I'd really love to see some Charlie, Eileen, or Krissy Chambers cameos. I think that Charlie and Claire would get along really well (just read this post). Rowena is another character that I think could easily be worked into the canon. She could teach the girls all kinds of magic and be the fun wine aunt that spoils the girls on their birthdays. I don't think that Claire would like her very much, but, Rowena and Alex would probably get along just fine. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000/10 when I heard that this idea had been tossed out I was so angry. Why doesn't this exist?

Men of Letters prequel that's mostly set in the bunker. This show could really expand on the canon lore and give us some more background on the Men of Letters, as well as any other similar/rival organizations that were around before the main show's time. The Men of Letters have so much story potential for a spin-off; corrupt leadership, new monsters, other organizations, expanding the MoL to outside the U.S. Episodes could be in a monster-of-the-week (MOTW) format, starting and ending with the Man of Letters the case is assigned to making notes in his journal or case file or talking about the case, as well as the overall season arcs. Episodes would be titled by their case number, i.e S1 E1 Case No. 1925-4, etc How much I need this in my life: 1000000/10, the supernatural/historical drama combo would be absolutely stunning.

A series focusing on all of the alternate timelines and universes, both the ones mentioned in the main show and ones just randomly created for an episode. There are infinite possibilities. Each episode would be in a MOTW format, but with different versions of Sam and Dean. The HunterCorp universe, Jared and Jensen from the French Mistake, a universe where their names are switched, a universe where Dean went to college and was the one with the demon blood powers, a universe where they drive a Mustang instead of the Impala, a universe where Sam isn't scared of clowns. I could go on, but I'm going to stop myself here. How much I need this in my life: 9/10 I think it would be pretty funny, but it's not my best idea.

A Bobby and Rufus spin-off where they talk about cases they worked on together or with other hunters, but the stories are told similarly to Tall Tales. It's the same story but told from different points of view depending on who's talking. I wish we'd gotten to see more of Bobby and Rufus because I think those two are hilarious and really think that this could be funny, even if it was just a web series with twenty-minute episodes. How much I need this in my life: 10/10, I love Bobby and Rufus and I think that they have a lot of interesting hunting stories to tell.

GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000/10, I love the Ghostfacers. That's my whole idea.

A Jack-centric show that's almost a political drama. Jack is the ruler of heaven and is constantly being manipulated by angels, demons, and Death herself. He just wants to make an afterlife paradise, but power-hungry angels won't leave him alone. Remember that Jack is very young and trusting by nature, so there is a lot of potential for disaster if he gets goaded into doing something, like making new universes or ending existing ones. Cas is a main character and he does his best to protect Jack, but he has to be careful to not seem overprotective/like another manipulator or Jack won't trust him either. I have no idea if I'm making any sense, but shoutout to me if I am. For some reason, I've always thought that heaven would be an interesting setting for a spin-off, and those angels are pretty similar to power-hungry politicians. How much I need this in my life: 800/10, I would totally watch this.

A very short series that just destroys the canon finale. Twelve episodes, detailing the storylines that were ignored or destroyed by Carry On. E1: Rescuing Cas from the Empty and he and Dean have a long talk about their ~feelings~. They kiss, and for the first time, Dean’s mind is free of doubt about whether or not anyone could ever love all of him. E2: Eileen returns. She says nothing when she sees Dean and Cas holding hands, just raises her eyebrow and smiles knowingly. Some excellent movie night content. E3: 1 year later. Sam and Eileen’s wedding. Dean and Cas aren’t legally married, but their matching gold rings are very prominently shown. It isn’t mentioned. The wedding is almost canceled because of the rain, but with a wave of Jack’s hand the clouds disappear and the birds start to sing. E4: Sam and Eileen have moved out of the Bunker. Cas finally convinces Dean to downsize, so they find a little house in Lawrence and settle down. Cas works as a special ed teacher. Dean works as a mechanic. Miracle loves the backyard but makes sure to stay away from the beehives in the back corner. E5: Sam and Eileen’s twins, Mary and Maura, are born. Dean and Cas love their nieces, and Jack loves them too. He doesn’t know what to call himself, so they settle on Uncle and call it good. E6: Deaths. They all die old. Cas’s vessel has aged, but he can’t die, so when Dean finally passes away in his sleep, Cas scatters his ashes in the woods and disappears, ascending to heaven, to spend eternity with Dean. The closing scene is a dark screen, with the whoosh of wings and a soft “Hello, Dean.” OK. That was a long one. My apologies. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000/10. I would reach nerdvana thirty seconds into episode one.

Another spinoff of that idea is just...Dean and Cas living a normal life. Short episodes. Cas goes to the grocery store. Dean drags Cas to a horror movie fan convention. Cas meets a roomba. How much I need this in my life: I can’t type enough zeroes to express it.

Campbell prequel that focuses on Mary and her childhood. Mary being raised as a hunter but not being allowed on hunts. Mary rushing home to finish her chemistry homework so she can help her dad track a nest of vampires moving east. Mary missing her prom to help Samuel on a hunt. Mary trying to keep her real life secret from John, a man she knows loves the parts of her he knows about. Mary always being an outsider, the kindest and most beautiful girl in her class, but so slow to trust and quick to speak that everyone is afraid to be her friend. Mary is a character that has the potential a lot more development, for twelve seasons she’s the burning martyr in every Winchester’s imagined paradise. She deserves more. How much I need this in my life: 11/10, Mary isn’t my favorite character but I would die for her.

Gabriel spin-off. That’s it, that’s the idea. How much I need this in my life: 10000000/10, Gabriel is a character that we don’t know a lot about so there are so many possible directions for a story about him to go.

Show set in the SPN universe that doesn’t really interact with the main show’s canon. It’s about two cops in the 30s that become hunters by accident. After investigating the apparent suicide of a hunter in their small town, they become enthralled by her library, filled with books about ghosts and vampires. They pour over her journals on their own time, fascinated by what they’re reading. They get to know the hunter through her writings, her accounts of her hunts and travels. Eventually, a nest of vampires settles in the town and the two put their newfound knowledge to the test. This show would just be based on canon lore, there wouldn’t be any mention of the Winchesters or other main characters, although a few MoL team-ups is definitely a possibility. The two become quite a team, tracking werewolf backs on bulletin boards in their basements and hoarding rock salt. How much I need this in my life: 89/10, I think this could be really interesting and I am a sucker for historical hunters.

Speaking of historical hunters-Samuel Colt prequel. Cowboys, vampires, cowpires. Hunting in the wild west, galloping across the prairie chasing a pack of werewolves. This show could also tell us a lot about how different types of monsters spread across the U.S. Ghosts will go anywhere people go, but what about vampires? Shapeshifters? Ghouls? What was it like to hunt without technology to help with research? The hunters in this series would be the authors of the journals that modern hunters use every day. They’re the ones that tested tracking and trapping methods. Again, no idea if this is making sense, but I think that a supernatural western would be really awesome and would expand/substantiate the canon lore. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000000000/10, I love cowboys and I love Supernatural. This is literally the best thing that could ever happen to me.

Crowley. I want to know more about him. A series that tells us all about Fergus Roderick MacLeod, starting with when he was born in Scotland and ending with his death in All Along the Watchtower. We know that Rowena was his mother, that he was a tailor, that he sold his soul for an extra three inches ~down there~, and that he was a terrible dad. I want to know more about his childhood, about the people he made deals with, about how he became king of the crossroads and of Hell. Crowley was a very interesting character that was abused by the story. I want to know more about him. How much I need this in my life: 10000000000000000000000000000000000000/10, I really do love Crowley and I would watch this a thousand times over.

Final idea: MOTW only. No season arc, no overall storyline. New hunters every episode, from all different times, from over the world. All kinds of monsters. One episode in Victorian England, the next in 1990s Los Angeles. Very few recurring characters, if any. The recurring characters would be the Bobby Singers of the world; the lore guys that you call when you need help. Each new character has their own style, own car, own music, own personality. The show could have some a m a z i n g guest stars because they’d only appear in a few episodes. There are so many possibilities for episodes, even if they weren’t full length. How much I need this in my life: 100000/10, I love MOTW episodes and would really like to get to know the characters. It would be very easy to write one-off fanfics for this show, and also very easy to introduce this show’s characters into Supernatural’s canon.

You made it to the end!!!!!!!! That’s all I have for now. Sorry for writing so much, I just can’t stop thinking about SPN and all of the wasted stories.

#al speaks #spn #spn spin-offs #my ideas #i worked hard on this #big brain time #do you like it?

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itsbenedict · 3 years

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Two-Faced Jewel: Session 13

The Morning After

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, while waiting in Barley for the high-level adventuring party to slay a dragon for them, the party found themselves in the middle of a small apocalypse wherein they had to fight an army of barley-monsters animated by echoes of ambient blood-feud hatred. They handled that just fine, though! Saelhen only almost died.

This time... well, with everything dealt with more or less smoothly, it's time to get back out on the road. This is a pretty short one (because my second vaccine kicked in halfway through and I had to break.)

They'd like to get on the road immediately, if they can- they've got cover of darkness and plenty of distracted and tired villagers under which to, uh, kidnap a child. Only problem is... Vayen has just slipped into drunken unconsciousness, and part of their kidnapping plan was to have him turn Kensa invisible.

But it's fine! Looseleaf has a plan! She's a spirit mage- she can magically heal people's wounds, right? Surely she can handle a little bit of alcohol poisoning! It'll just take a little arcane improvization...

Saelhen du Fishercrown: WELP Looseleaf: i'm drunk too now Benedict I. (GM): Okay, so, what does a critical failure on trying to undrunk Vayen look like...

So Looseleaf's like, okay, just identify the foreign contaminant in his bloodstream and tell it that it wants to get out, right? Ain't nothing can go wrong with that!

What goes wrong with that is that Vayen vomits all over the bar- and what comes out is not vomit. Or alcohol, for that matter. It's some sort of... pitch-black, sticky substance. And he's still not waking up.

Benedict I. (GM): So I think now you quite conclusively have the problem of "Vayen is out cold". You have technically never had a better opportunity to just ditch the guy, I guess! Looseleaf: Yeeeeah, let's, uh, get him upstairs. I think ditchin' him is out of the question right now. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Oh he's way too narratively interesting for that now Boy is stuck in the roller coaster called player curiosity

As they take him up to bed, they- well, of course they go through his pockets. They have to, to find his room key! And if they just happen to find notes written in indecipherable rectangles of opalescent black ink, and a diagram of the circle on Saelhen's bracer- well, that's just unavoidable.

In the morning... well, first I ask them a bunch of suspiciously-detailed questions about exactly how they disposed of the black goo Vayen vomited up, which ratchets up their paranoia a few levels. Turns out they just wiped it up with some old rags and threw them in the trash.

So when he wakes up, and Looseleaf asks him about the black stuff he threw up... well, first, he pulls some of his notes out of his pocket, stares at them in confusion, then panics and demands to know what happened to the goo. On being told, he rushes down to the kitchen, stares horrified at the contents of the trashcan, and then steels himself to begin sucking furiously on the nasty goo rags. He's barely able to suppress his disgust, but apparently this is really important.

So, Vayen's got problems. What else is new?

Well, Kevin's back, and gives them the lowdown on what happened with the dragon:

They set up camp inside the bedroom, using a lead-lined duck hide sort of situation, and waited for the dragon to show up for the scheduled corpse drop with Arnie. When the dragon arrived, they sealed the whole tower in a forcecage, and got to town with "patented methods". The dragon managed to use some sort of magic item, though- a weird straw doll looking thing that they weren't sure about the effect of. They tried burning it, but it didn't seem to help that there was an army of weird plant golems charging the tower and trying to break down the forcecage. Lady Greatholder's maids were just barely able to fend off the attack- one half of the invading forces was strangely more meager, and they were able to concentrate their attacks on the ones attacking from the east. He mentions that if they'd had to deal with just a few more of them, the barrier might've broken and the dragon could've escaped.

So, Doon's been sent off to track down the dragon's lair (and thereby hoard), but the rest are headed back today. As for Arnie...

Benedict I. (GM): The contact, he says, has decided to come quietly. And he says it funny, like he's implying something else. Saelhen du Fishercrown: 3 - INSIGHT (1) Benedict I. (GM): Not sure what, though. Saelhen du Fishercrown: can't read into it! Benedict I. (GM): Yeah, he might've been assuming you knew what he meant- oh well.

Since the Deathseekers are to be their ride back, and sneaking a child onto a "horse" without the high-level adventurers noticing seems... difficult at best, Looseleaf opts for honesty- explaining that "there's a child in this village who has expressed the desire to flee an abusive household", and that Saelhen wants to bring her. Kevin doesn't pry too much into this, and agrees- he probably assumed they'd done their due diligence on that.

The party comes up with a pretty simple plan for getting Kensa out: the town is surrounded by fields of tall barley, which means getting out of town without being seen is just a matter of making it to the fields and going the long way around. Delivering Kensa's letters is similarly pretty easy after some thought- they leave the pile in the care of the general store, to be discovered after they've fled town.

So, they meet up with the Deathseekers, who're all chuffed about their successful dragonslaying. The maids are kind of bandaged up from their scrap with the Justice Echoes, and Arnie is... tied up on Lady Greatholder's back like a backpack, seemingly pleased as punch about his circumstances. What... exactly... do they have planned for him?

Orluthe and Looseleaf offer some magical healing to the maids- who seem relieved and thankful for it, since apparently they've turned down magical healing from John Human. That guy does healing, apparently! There's something intensely unpleasant about it, apparently! Which is unfair, John claims, because "wasps never hurt anyone", apparently.

Also there's a colony of parasitic wasps under the eaves of the tower that wasn't there before, apparently!

Those things being utterly unimportant, the party gets back on the road. And immediately runs into... the forest. Remember the forest? The one with lots of weird identical trees that Looseleaf's spirit-senses determined weren't, like, exactly alive?

After poking the trees and determining that they're not coming to life and attacking anyone, they decide- eh, this can be a problem for later, or perhaps for someone else. The high-level adventurers know about it now, so it'll be fine!

That thing being utterly unimportant, the party gets back on the road. The trip to Cauterdale is pretty uneventful, and on arrival... well. First, Arnie is thrown in jail.

Looseleaf gets some demonsbane seeds from Kevin's garden, and next time... it's time to catch a boat!

#tfj log #twofaced jewel

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d3-iseefire · 4 years

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Nevermore Chapter One

Notes: This story is for a Halloween challenge put on by @sdavid09

The challenge was to create a story inspired by a horror movie, and a song and I chose the movie “Halloween” which, at its heart, is a story about a woman having a psycho stalker, and the song “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga. The month got away from me so I’m still writing it. It’ll probably be about four or five chapters or thereabouts so not super long. You can follow along on here, or on AO3 where I’ll be posting! :D

Rating: T Warnings: Intense Horror Elements (honestly not sure how to explain it other than that. It’s nothing that I graphically detail or anything, but it does get pretty intense at times so I wanted to put a warning for that) If you have read my writing then you probably have a pretty good idea of how far I’ll go, and also that I always provide a guaranteed happy ending. SO, you can rest assured that, no matter how scary or intense it gets, it’s going to be all right in the end for the protagonist. Anyhoo, just be aware, this is for a Halloween Challenge, and is meant to be scary and IS scary. If you are not a person who can handle horror (and that’s perfectly fine, I’m actually not a person who can handle horror so I literally just scared myself writing a story :P) then this may not be the story for you. Fortunately, I have PLENTY of other stories you can read on my AO3 account with no horror elements at all so I will shamelessly plug them and invite you to check them out! :D

Summary: Bilba Baggins is on the run from a stalker who’s supposed to be dead. He hunts her from city to city in an exhausting cat and mouse chase whose ending can only ever be tragic.

Or at least that’s what she’d thought before she moved to Erebor.

PROLOGUE

“There, now was that so bad?”

Bilba gave Priscilla a look that suggested her best friend had taken leave of her senses, and gestured outside the car’s window. “You’re joking, right?”

As if summoned, a large group of children rushed across the street, breaking around the car like waves around a rock as they rushed from house to house in search of candy.

Priscilla laughed and shut the car off. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“I doubt it,” Bilba muttered. She’d only had her license a few months, and was still getting comfortable driving at night. She’d driven them both to the movies, when the sun was still nice and up, but had refused to drive anywhere in the midst of thousands of children running about.

Priscilla frowned. “Shoot, I just realized.” She gave Bilba an apologetic grin. “I drove to my house instead of yours.”

She didn’t look sorry, Bilba thought crossly.

“I guess,” Priscilla said innocently, drawing out the word, “you’ll have to drive the rest of the way yourself.”

Bilba gave her a flat look and then, without breaking eye contact, grabbed her purse and coat and got out of the car.

Immediately, she was assailed by the shrieks of children dressed in bright costumes as dozens of tiny bodies dashed from house to house in search of sugary treats to fill plastic buckets and pillowcases. A crisp autumn air wrapped around her and she set her purse on the car’s roof to pull her coat on.

Priscilla scrambled out of the car, dodging a handful of ghosts and ghouls and their harried parents. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Bilba pulled the strap of her purse over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her friend. “What does it look like? Walking home.”

“You can’t walk home,” Priscilla said, rounding the car to where Bilba stood on the sidewalk. “It’s dark!”

Bilba turned in an exaggerated circle to take in the streetlights and the veritable hoard of trick-or-treaters and their parents. “It’s like two blocks. I think I’ll be fine.”

Priscilla scowled. “I’ll walk with you then.” She crossed her arms triumphantly, clearly convinced Bilba would now capitulate and agree to drive.

Instead, Bilba merely smiled. “How will you get home?”

Priscilla rolled her eyes. “I’ll wal---” she trailed off, realizing her mistake, but it was too late. Bilba grinned.

“Oh, so you don’t think it’s too dangerous to walk.” She waved at her friend and took a few steps away, quickly before Priscilla could come up with another argument. “I’ll come pick up my car tomorrow.”

Priscilla’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to find a way out of the box she’d neatly trapped herself into. Finally, she scowled and said, “call me when you get home, all right?”

“I will!” Bilba gave a final wave as she headed toward her home. She reached the corner and looked over her shoulder to see Priscilla standing near her front gate, watching to make sure she didn’t get kidnapped in public. Bilba waved and the other girl returned the gesture before raising her phone and pointing to the screen. Bilba gave an exaggerated nod to show she understood and then rounded the corner. Priscilla worried too much. The streets were overflowing with people trick-or-treating or driving to and from parties. It was probably the safest night of the entire year.

As the thought passed through her mind, it occurred to her that the street she’d just confidently strode onto was decidedly darker than the one she’d just left. Unease settled over her and she hesitated. Maybe she should double back and take another route? There was a house a block or two away that threw a Halloween party every year and she knew it’d be teeming with people.

She looked back, for just a second, and then shook her head. Going that route would double the amount of time it would take her to get home, and for what? Because a street she’d been on a thousand times was a little dark? She was letting Priscilla’s paranoia get to her. It wasn’t that dark, and it wasn’t entirely empty either. Several small group were running between houses, bags and pails in hand.

It was fine.

She’d be fine.

It was like a block.

Nothing bad could happen in a block.

Bilba squared her shoulders and started walking again, this time with what she hoped was a particularly confident air. Priscilla always insisted that no one messed with you if you acted like you knew what you were doing. The other girl was nineteen, three whole years older than Bilba, and that much closer to official adulthood. If she said something was so, then it was so.

Unless it involved convincing Bilba to drive in the dark on Halloween night. Then she was simply being...overconfident.

It was a fine line.

An especially cold gust of wind hit her, freezing her nylon clad legs and whipping her skirt about her thighs. Priscialla had invited a couple of her college guy friends to come along, not as an official double date but just a “meet and greet” as she’d described it. Bilba had gone along with it, but almost decided almost immediately she was nowhere near ready for that sort of thing again.

She shivered, for reasons more than just the cold, and paused to zip her jacket all the way up to her chin. She adjusted the strap of her purse as it threatened to slide off her arm, and wrapped her arms around herself in a futile effort to add an extra modicum of warmth.

Perhaps she should have accepted Priscilla’s offer of a ride after all. She could have just let the other girl keep the car until the morning, or asked one of her parents for help.

“Way to think of practical solutions now,” she grumbled to herself.

Something niggled in the back of her mind, a subtle but insistent feeling like some sixth sense tapping on the door of her consciousness. Bilba’s footsteps slowed until she’d come to a complete stop on the sidewalk. While she’d been lost in her thoughts the street had mostly emptied. Even as she watched, the last group vanished around the corner, laughter and shrieks of excitement fading as quickly as they did.

Bilba swallowed down a dry throat as, around her, the now silent street seemed to grow darker, and shifted from a familiar, and comforting place to one utterly alien and unknown.

Don’t be ridiculous, she tried to convince herself. It was still the same street, the one she’d walked down more times than she could count, on her way to school with Priscilla or the park or some other grand adventure. The only difference now was that it was dark whereas, before, she’d always walked it in the bright light of day.

She’d never realized before just what a difference the dark could make.

She started moving again, faster this time, short heels clicking on the sidewalk as if to alert the shadows to her passing. It was just a street, but the sooner she was off it the better. She wanted to be in her bedroom, light and warmth surrounding her and walls holding back the night. She’d change as soon as she got in, she decided. Put on her most comfortable pajamas and the thick robe she’d just gotten for her sweet sixteen. Maybe she’d make herself a mug of hot chocolate, and then go and curl up in her bed with a good book.

The feeling returned.

It was stronger this time, more aggressive as if something primal inside of her was trying to warn her. Screaming at her in a language she couldn’t speak, but still understood.

Something was wrong, and it was more than her simply being out on a cold and lonely night.

She focused, trying to understand what it was that was causing her heart to suddenly beat so fast in her chest.

And then she heard it. As her feet hit the pavement there was the slightest echo, the barest hint of a footstep just out of sync with her own.

As if someone were walking behind her, and taking care to almost match her steps.

Her stomach clenched, and a sick feeling washed over her.

“Don’t be stupid,” she whispered under her breath. It was Halloween. Of course there was someone behind her. She tensed and then, before she could talk herself out of it, whirled around.

The street was empty, nothing but moonlight and fallen leaves skittering across the street in the cold October breeze.

“Hello?” Bilba called. Mentally, she kicked herself. The very last thing she wanted was for someone to answer, so why in the world was she inviting a response?

The street stayed silent.

Slowly, Bilba’s heart rate began to slow and her breathing evened. This was all Priscilla’s fault. She’d acted all paranoid, and now Bilba was letting her imagination run away with her. Thinking she heard footsteps and whatnot when, in reality, it had just been her mind playing tricks on her.

She let out a small laugh at her own foolishness, spun back around, and promptly screamed.

There was a person standing behind her, less than a foot away. He wore a basic white sheet with black circles painted on for the eyes, and holes cut out for the sleeves. His arms and hands were covered in a black shirt and gloves, and she could see black pants and sneakers peeking out from the bottom of the sheet.

He raised his arms, and Bilba sucked in a sharp breath, only to let it out in a rush as she saw that he was holding an orange, pumpkin shaped trick-or-treat bucket in his hands. He was short, she realized, his head probably only coming up to her shoulder and that was saying something as she was short.

A kid, her mind supplied in near hysterical relief. He was just a kid.

“Sorry,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. Her heart thudded under her fingers, so hard she wondered that it didn’t burst out of her chest. “You scared me.” She frowned. “Are you lost?”

The ghost said nothing. Instead, he simply lifted the bucket higher. It was empty.

“I’m sorry,” Bilba said again, wondering why he would ask a random stranger on the street for candy. Then again, wasn’t that what Halloween was all about? Getting candy from complete strangers? What was the difference, really, between asking for it from a person in a house or someone on the street? “I don’t have any candy.”

The ghost tilted his head to the side, as if studying her. There must have been small holes cut in the black holes painted on the sheet, but they weren’t large enough for Bilba to see his eyes. It was disconcerting, his strange silence combined with the inability to really see him. “Are you lost?” she tried again. “Do you need help?” She fumbled in her purse for her phone. “Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Still, there was no response. With the costume on, Bilba had no idea how old the child was. He was small, but it was hard to judge if he was too small to be out on his own. He didn’t seem scared or upset, so that was a good sign? Probably?

Her hand brushed against a bit of paper that crinkled under her fingers. She’d completely forgotten that Priscilla had presented her with a candy bar after the movie, calling it her Halloween present.

“Here.” She pulled the candy bar out and held it out to the young boy. No child should have to go without a single piece of candy on Halloween. “I forgot I had this.”

The ghost held his bucket up a little higher, and Bilba dropped the candy in. It hit the bottom with a clunk, and the boy pulled it back to look in and study it. After a few seconds, he lowered the bucket, gave her a slight nod and started to walk away.

“Happy Halloween!” Bilba called after him. She looked down at her purse, making sure she’d zipped it up securely. Maybe she’d follow him, she thought, just to make sure -- she raised her head, and froze.

The child was gone.

“What in the world?” She stepped into the street, trying to see if he’d gone up the walkway of a nearby house, or stepped behind a parked car. She saw no sign of him. Perhaps he actually lived in one of the homes, and had simply gone home? It would explain what he’d been doing out by himself in the first place. Hopefully his parents would have leftover candy to fill his bucket with so he wouldn’t get through Halloween with only a single candy bar.

Even so, a shiver ran down her spine at the odd encounter, and she quickened her pace toward home, good mood gone.

When she finally made it to her own street, and spotted her home in the distance it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The area was better lit here, and filled once more with children and parents running from house to house. Most of her neighbors loved Halloween and had loads of candy at hand to give out.

Her parents were no different. They would decorate like it was Christmas, with jack-o-lanterns, spooky lighting and ghosts strung up in the limbs of the tree out front. As she drew near, Bilba expected to see her parents out on the porch, sitting back in their matching, rocking chairs with a giant bowl of candy on the table between them as they waited for each new group of excited children.

It was oddly dark as she approached, and it took her a few seconds to realize all the lights were off. Even the Halloween lights strung along the eaves and up in the trees were off, casting the entire yard and front of the house in thick darkness.

Her footsteps slowed as she neared the porch, confusion putting her nerves on edge. She’d talked to her parents before leaving for the movies and they’d told her to be ready to hand out candy when she got home. She’d expected to arrive to find a crowd of children on the porch, her parents front and center in the midst of them.

Instead the porch was empty, and eerily quiet. The worn wood of the steps creaked beneath her feet, sounding far louder than they should in the quiet.

Bilba hesitated. Behind her, she could hear the shouts and shrieks of excited children, but it felt like they were in another world, one far removed from where she had gone.

She’d never realized just how dark the porch could be without the light on.

She retrieved her phone, and pulled up the flashlight app. Immediately the porch jumped into stark relief, revealing her parents empty chairs, and a full bowl of candy sitting on the low table between them.

The popcorn she’d had at the movie began to churn in Bilba’s gut. Her gaze shifted toward the front door, and caught on a large box sitting on the doormat. Someone had written on it in black Sharpie and she took a step forward to read it.

Happy Halloween, Whore.

Around the words were dark splotches, with several resembling finger marks or palm prints. The box itself had been taped shut but, on the sides, she could see more of the dark...whatever it was, that seemed to actually be leaking from whatever was inside the box, saturating the cardboard around it.

Her eyes went to the writing again, traveling over the small, tight lettering, and jagged edges. The word whore had clearly originally been misspelled as “hor” before the W had been squeezed in after the fact.

She knew that writing.

Bilba felt lightheaded. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her throat burned as she struggled to pull in air.

She couldn’t seem to move. It was as if an invisible wall had sprung up in front of her, blocking her off from the front door, and what lay before it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to move forward, she physically couldn’t.

A child shrieked in excitement somewhere behind her, and Bilba jumped. Some deep and primal feeling that she couldn’t fully define began to spread through her. She could feel herself starting to sweat, but was ice cold at the same time. Her legs started to tremble and threatened to buckle under her.

She turned and stumbled back down the steps. Her eyes focused on the house across the street, bright lights shining from the window and porch. The Lundleys lived there. Mr. Lundley was a police officer, and his wife had just been promoted to detective. There’d been a huge celebration with balloons and cake and everything. Bilba had gone with her parents and could easily call to mind her father’s jovial voice and her mother’s bright smile as they’d celebrated Mrs. Lundley’s promotion.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and the bridge of her nose began to burn. She didn’t know why. What reason was there to cry? Everything was fine. It was just another horrid prank. Another way to get back at her for having the audacity to speak her own mind.

The sense of dread pressing down on her didn’t lift, and the hollow pit in her stomach showed no signs of filling.

A group of children were just leaving the Lundley’s front door, passing by her in a rush of bright colors, buckets and bags crashing into their legs and each other as they fled.

To Bilba, it was as if she were watching them from the other side of a thick pane of glass. Their movements were almost unnaturally slow to her, voices strangely distorted and indiscernible.

“Bilba? Are you okay, Honey?”

The world snapped back into focus in a rush of sound and light. Bilba was standing on the porch, Mrs. Lundley in front of her, framed in the warm light of her home. Warmth from the house escaped outside, along with the smell of gingerbread wafting from the direction of the kitchen.

“My parents,” Bilba managed to blurt out. She pointed back toward her home. “They should be out, but all the lights are out, and there’s a box on the porch….” her voice cracked on the last and the tears began to squeeze out of her eyes against her will. Why was she crying? It was fine. Everything was fine.

Please, let everything be fine.

“Come on inside, Dear.” Mrs. Lundley put an arm around her shoulders, and then she was inside and sitting on the couch. A body sat next to her that she vaguely recognized as Angeline Lundley. She was fourteen, two years younger than Bilba, and was one of her closest friends. The other girl took her hand, and might have said something, but Bilba couldn’t hear it.

Her eyes were fixed on the front door, through which Mr. and Mrs. Lundley had vanished. As if transfixed, she got to her feet and began to slowly walk to the door. She didn’t want to go out there, but it was as if she had no choice. As if some unseen force were dragging her.

She reached the open door in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Lundley crossing the street back toward her and the look on their faces as they met her eyes…

No....

No, she didn’t want to hear it.

NO.

And as the darkness rushed in, and her world shattered about her, Bilba’s last conscious thought was the inescapable fact that everything that had happened was entirely her fault.

Continue Reading on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298015/chapters/66695635

#fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #writing #horror #Halloween #scary #Bad Romance #romance #stalking #happy ending #Hobbit AU #Female Bilbo Baggins #fili #fembilbo/fili #fantasy #supernatural #writing challenge

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bangarangtumblweed · 3 years

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notes

Your country is killing you. Your country does not have your best interest in mind. That is why you have had to hoard all of your wealth. You may not have much. You may not think you have much. That is because your culture has taught you to think in a deficit or scarcity mindset. The only scarcity is your younger generations suffering for the inequities of capitalism. Capitalism does not have room for the elderly. The family has been abolished. The culture of caring for the elderly devolved into 100 square-foot apartments were three people attend to 30 or 40 individuals 12-18 hours at a time. Until they die.

Its profitable to keep poor people poor. Poverty charges interest. Cant afford a dentist? Next year you need a root canal. Can’t afford an upfront Costco membership to buy in bulk? Its 40 times more at the individual level. No money in your account? Overdraft fee. Transfer fee. Return check fee. Don’t pay your bill, late fee.

Fuck you.

Giving millions to charity that will trickle into the needy’s outstretched hand a minuscule percentage of what was promised gives you the warm and fuzzies. But I am actually hungry, I actually need help. The difference is: you know me.

You cant “personal finance” your way out of this. you cant tell me that I’m supposed to work overtime and not pee at the hospital or someones home 16 hours a day 7 days a week.

And then I’m supposed to buy a house, 150-300k but by the time my 30 year mortgage rolls around I’ve paid more like 600k to rent my land for which my tax bill can cause me to be foreclosed upon. Its not ownership, its fucking capitalism. You are the capital. You are the product.

License fee, registration, insurance, year after year.. Its a fucking joke.

Loyalty is not rewarded. Meth fueled work binges are.

I recently had a couple managers at a job who smoked meth. They were so manic I feared for my safety. Because they were on uppers and they were emotionally labile to the point of insanity. I get it, they needed the energy. we can’t physically lay stone for 12 hours. Its absurd.

My last job fired me for drinking water and getting my tire fixed, with permission. Mostly for not working overtime for free.

Let me tell you what I would do if I had any money. I would buy seeds. I would buy bitcoin. I would buy a cherry picker. I would get a pneumatic air polisher. There is no end to the amount of stuff that I can do. Money is not some thing that you supposed to keep you’re supposed to spend it on goods and services anybody could employ me to do anything. They don’t want to. Why? because I’m smarter than them. It makes them feel bad about themselves. When their shitty behavior is thrown back in their face, no one should be bullied into working more than they’re contracted for.

In addition; I’m prettier than your average duck. It makes people feel uncomfortable because there is no part of the brain that can comprehend what I look like. there’s no emotional equivalent inside of their mind. They do not have the capability to understand what they’re looking at.

it becomes cute aggression, the other side of the blade I walk every day.

I have seen people become enraged to the point of screaming, for absolutely no reason. I had a girl in nursing school argue with me about what “obtunded” meant. She berated me so flagrantly my teacher actually had to have a personal chat with her. There was no reason for it, I was actually right about the definition, and the condition the patient was in. This happens regularly. I wish I didn’t have such a good memory because I can recount almost every event like this, with terrifying detail

Its called and eidetic emotional memory. And although I don’t have a photographic memory I can remember conversations and events as if they happened yesterday.

My wisdom teeth give me frequent headaches. They need to be removed it’s $3-$8000. No one will take my government insurance in town here so I have to wait 6 or more months for the University Michigan school of dentistry which is 2 hours away. I’ve been cutting these molars into my cheek and tongue for the last 10 years.

Remember how I said poverty charged interest? If you can’t pay your phone bill you can’t get a job you you can’t get a job you can’t pay phone bill.

I won’t even leave my house for fear of crashing my car or getting covid because I know if I don’t have a car that runs or I get sick then I’ll become homeless.

Try getting your car fixed. Try to pay someone to tell you what’s wrong with your car for less than 250 bucks. Try and justify spending hundreds on co-pays for medications and therapy rather than just simply going to the marijuana dispensary literally around the corner from my house. I don’t drink drinking makes me sick, it’s poison. But marijuana has been Illegal my entire life. My brother handed me my first bowl at 15, I smoked more in New Zealand at 16, when I got home I kept smoking and I never stopped. I’ve been villainized and judged for every single action that I’ve ever taken since I was old enough to think and act for myself. My body was hijacked at a young age, my mind similarly so. By rapists and capitalism.

I have an IQ 130 and I’m a fucking carpenter

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cateringisalie · 3 years

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Village: Resident Evil ramblings

(Some spoilers)

Ethan Winters is a goddamn idiot.

I say this without a shred of nostalgia; I first encountered him in RE7 and feel less than nostalgic towards the guy. RE7 without the benefit of the former entrants was a FPS horror and pretty good. Though you couldn’t escape that the characters you remembered were the Baker family and Mia; Ethan was a walking camera with a gun and some very simplistic emotional responses (fear, rescue wife, escape, swear occasionally). Having now run through the whole sequence of games, Ethan stands out starkly as the blandest and least interesting protagonist the series ever produced. He is possibly worse than Piers. Village updates Ethan’s personality. A bit. Well. Not really. Still got that fear, still got the swearing. Still got a mind to escape. But rather than rescue his wife, it’s about rescuing his daughter. I mean; Mia was gunned down and shot a further 9000 times by infuriating series stalwart Chris Redfield a little under ten minutes into the game proper. Not that Ethan really comes to terms with the trauma. By minute fifteen of the game the van you’ve been shoved in by Chris (who doesn’t shoot you for no reason he feels like explaining) has crashed and Ethan’s daughter is missing. Mourning Mia doesn’t actually enter into Ethan’s thought process. Goddamn idiot. Not to say that life with Mia was exactly picturesque; a few years after RE7 the couple are now somewhere nebulous in Eastern Europe in a very lovely house with a distressing number of empty wine bottles in the kitchen. A happy marriage this does not seem to be given Mia doesn’t want to get into the events of RE7 anymore, but Ethan does – but also failing to understand that the cover-up of the incident might be why no one is talking much about the whole mess in Louisiana and that bringing it up both distresses and angers Mia. But; the inciting incident has occurred and we’re propelled into our new scenario. Ethan; once again fish out of water, and its not like we have a choice. This is not to say Village does not repeat the same narrative trick of changing POV character, but there is both less of that, and the Half-Life-style regimented first person view jarringly completely goes out the window in the last quarter. It was less than consistent at points, but sparingly when occasionally and jarringly camera angles shifted to depict an introduction. But the game is also perfectly happy to render whole FPS sequences with gun visible and everything as it plays out a story beat, so... I don’t know? Fortunately Ethan’s environment and the setting are much more interesting. The unnamed Village is a satisfying knot of tangled streets, locked doors and environmental obstacles. Enemies don’t respawn per se, but additional enemies are added on subsequent visits to the effective hub of the game. There’s livestock to kill and give the Duke – the merchant playing a similar role to the pirate-like guy from RE4. Duke’s an entertaining character (some have objected to his physical and hugely overweight depiction); chatty and far more knowing than he will let on. He has a dangling thread come the end so perhaps will reappear elsewhere. He’ll sort the gun upgrades, supplies, let you sell treasure and point you towards your next destinations. Which is just as well as the human population of the village dies out somewhere between the first and second hour. No one left and any futile attempts to save people end in almost hilariously disastrous tragedies (no Ethan, don’t go higher in a building that is on fire). Leaving you with Lycans, zombies and gargoyles to fend off. Occasionally there’s some bigger foes on the level of the Executioner from RE5 but nothing on the level of the Tyrants. That kind of thing is left to the Village Lords. The villagers – before they all die – have a curiously unfamiliar religion and praise a figure known as Mother Miranda. She reportedly kept the village safe, but something has changed and now the Lycans run amok and without restraint. Not hard to pin that the reason for the change is Rose’s arrival (or could it be Ethan? COULD IT? No. Man is a goddamn idiot). The only door out of the village you can open is to Castle Dimitrescu and... It feels unnecessary to even get into what awaits. Given fandom have been so noisy about the tall lady and her vampiric daughters since the first trailer. She is so very, very tall. The castle is the first mode of Village. Possibly closest to RE7; Dimitrescu’s daughters are vulnerable based on certain environmental details (read the notes!) but otherwise should be fled from. Dimitrescu herself is invulnerable to everything bar one weapon and you need to work at getting that, so she needs to be fled from. Otherwise, explore the castle, find treasure. Sneak. Solve puzzles. It all looks suitably gorgeous and you get multiple chances to see if as you loop through the rooms and unlock more doors. The Village macro mechanics wrought as micro here. There’s a canny hint at a late reveal in the blunt utility of in-game mechanics to be had too. But – really should have been obvious given their prominence in the trailer – given Castle Dimitrescu is the first level, it means we must say goodbye to the very Tall Lady with knife hands and move onto someone else. In between levels, we get the first reinforcement of a tease from the trailer; the symbol of the Umbrella corporation. Its engraved into a location called the Ceremony Site. Its daubed on a cave wall as high as the Tall Lady. Its on the strange structure you insert the yellow flasks each Village Lord guards. And it means... almost nothing. RE's meta-plot has always been a mess and everyone’s favorite pharmaceutical company hasn’t been so active for a while, so the idea that we might be getting into some interesting weirdness with them again is oh so appealing. And yet – I was disappointed. Despite the repeated glimpses of the familiar white and red logo, the connection ultimately comes down to one letter I found at about 7/8s of the way through. Oswell Spencer – founder of the company – visited the Village years ago and saw the cave painting and adopted it as his logo. Oh. That’s... underwhelming. The same letter does at least prod at wiring Village’s latter reveals into the formation of the company along with tying in some parts of RE5 but if you thought this would be the company or the family dynasty origins or anything like that, you are in for a disappointment. It’s a tease and one that goes nowhere and does little. Oh we might now see how Spencer got into the whole inadvertent zombie making mess but its not a factor in the plot of this game nor does it really change the stakes of the previous. Perhaps I should be glad it’s so frivolous given other retcons in certain other franchises, but it feels so suspect to have drawn the attention and then shuffle the implications out the side-door. At least the other village lords have their own appeals. The second level is RE once again stealing PT (the PS4 demo to announce Silent Hills) given Konami outright don’t care about it anymore. Stripped of your guns and inventory, it’s a claustrophobic puzzle level requiring you to hide with mechanics familiar to both Evil Within and Alien Isolation. That same loop of rooms as you seek out puzzle solutions and hide from a staggeringly distressing malevolent entity. The third is combat light until the final confrontation; the fight staged in a flooded village – oh and Chris who still doesn’t shoot you but refuses to explain anything. And the fourth cheats. Heisenberg is thoroughly entertaining and grabs two levels for his own; an assault on a stronghold and his horrible cyborg factory outside of town. He has Magneto metal powers. Heisenberg is the camp villain to outdo the other camp villains. He’s having fun, he kinda likes Ethan and is oddly on his side. He found time to put together massive signposts to direct Ethan onto the last two levels (a good thing too given his lack of sense). But both levels are lacking. The Stronghold is a relentless firefight against hoards of mook enemies; the factory is overly long and maze-like. I am as tired as Ethan when he exclaims “What more?” And after Heisenberg is dealt with; the long, convoluted lurches to the ending. First person goes out the window. The game dabbles in characters toying with your understanding of what was going on but in a strangely limited way and completely ignoring the other implications of the reveal. Suddenly you mow down more and more enemies than ever before, bullets scarcely a concern. The final reveals of who/what/where/how come through. Not exactly explicable for what’s on-screen, but the effort’s been made to tie Village’s overt supernatural tendencies back into a world setup in RE. Its not magic and those are not truly werewolves. And the villain’s motivation is! Hugely disappointing. Connected as it is to the Umbrella letter, you might hope for something completely out there, but its unsatisfying and feels pretty sexist too. Or at least lacking in imagination to an astonishing degree and yet here we are. The game feels sloppiest as the final boss fight arrives flitting between characters without the shaky but workable character hand-offs RE7 deployed. Back in first person mode to talk to Duke one last time before engaging in.... a relatively simple boss fight. All the boss fights have been pretty easy – there’s nothing on the level of RE6’s sometimes horrendous contextual fights, or the annoying two-player RE5, nor the demanded accuracy of hitting specific weak-points as in RE7. And I don’t mind that. Unload all your weapons and keep your health up. And victory. There are fix-it fics already, but really, I don’t see the point in trying to fix the issue these people have. There’s an obvious setup for a game past this one with a strange throw-away reveal in the end-sequence (whither RE9, Revelations 3 or something else there are no clues as yet). There’s a spoiler for the sting given the end-credits lists a character who didn’t appear in the main game. The sting itself might wind up drawing on the sting from Revelations 2. Village is not RE at its best, but is at least more in the spirit of goofy, campy nonsense than 7. It at least is more at home with playing with the trappings of horror while not actually trying to be outright scary. As with 7, the villains are more interesting and more memorable than the good guys. And – as I found out after completing the game – we were robbed of Ada Wong dressed up like a Bloodborne character somewhere in the game. And that I think is the biggest shame of all this.

#village spoilers #resident evil village spoilers

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

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libera nos a malo chapter 6: si, un mostro son

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 6/20

libera nos a malo masterpost+

unstoppable force/immovable object masterpost+

<< chapter five+

chapter seven+ >>

During the first Potions lesson of the New Year, Cassie called in a favor. She hated to do this, preferring to hoard them like a miser hoards gold; but she knew that a favor never spent was almost as useless as one you’d never had in the first place. And she hadn’t wasted all of third year trailing Draco Malfoy in order to give Pansy Parkinson a detailed account of the boy’s habits and routines for nothing.

She arrived early for class to claim her prize as Draco’s bench partner for the rest of term. As a peace offering (for she doubted he would be pleased with the new arrangement), she gathered the supplies listed on the board for the day’s lesson, setting up both of their work spaces with quick efficiency and shaking hands. She’d not forgotten the feel of Fenrir Greyback’s teeth on her neck, and when Pansy flounced into the room and gave her a haughty glare before slinking to the back to partner with Tracey Davis, Cassie had to restrain herself from laughing out loud. She would never be afraid of the likes of Pansy Parkinson again.

Draco barely looked at her when he arrived, and she knew from the house elf chatter that he’d been up most of the night again. Class began as usual with Professor Slughorn asking a simple question and Hermione Granger regurgitating the text book. Apparently this was what the professor considered sufficient instruction, and he set them loose to create a credible antidote for the mystery poison assigned to them. When she and Draco each had their poison simmering in their cauldrons, she quietly drew a piece of parchment from her textbook and slid it across the worktable to her partner.

He glanced at it and stuffed it into his pocket. “Your uncle?” he asked indifferently.

“Yes. It’s the first step to restarting the magic. If it’s not too much trouble, please take notes on what happens when you follow those directions. Then I can send them to Uncle, and he’ll be able to advise you on what to do next,” she replied, her head bent over her work.

“This is going to take too long.”

“I’m sorry. We’re doing the best we can. If you like, I could come with you and take the notes myself. It might make the whole operation go a little faster.”

“No. I don’t need anymore of your help.”

“Something wrong, Draco?” asked Professor Slughorn from where he lazed at the front of the room, his feet propped up on a velvet poof.

“No, sir,” Draco quickly replied. “We were just discussing the next step.”

Professor Snape would not have allowed this to pass unexamined, but Professor Slughorn was thankfully both more benevolent and less energetic than their Head of House.

“Very good, carry on,” he said, and returned to his reading.

The antidote preparation soon demanded their complete attention, and it wasn’t until Cassie was painstakingly extracting the essence from a year-old cat’s gallbladder that they had time to speak again.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she said. “I’m doing my best.”

He curled his lip unpleasantly at her, but she had the distinct feeling that if she prodded his angry mask ever so slightly, it would crumble into despair.

“Yeah, well, you’d better try harder,” he hissed back.

She swallowed hard and turned her focus to the extraction; trying not to think about Greyback’s teeth.

*****

On Thursday evening, Finn and Miranda were lingering over bowls of jambalaya and glasses of iced coffee in the MACUSA cafeteria while they waited for Finn’s portkey home. The Marx Brothers were the evening’s wall entertainment, and Miranda gave Harpo and Chico half her attention while a sweet sort of melancholy tickled her heart. She rarely spent time in self-reflection, but the looming end of this visit with her favorite living brother was tempting her to the vice.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, hoping to disarm some of the emotion by speaking it aloud.

“Course you are,” he replied, a flattering mix of disappointment and affection on his face. “It ain’t the same at home without you, no matter how many times you go off. But if you’re really aimin’ to set up a homestead here, maybe now’s the time to start easin’ everybody into the idea.”

Leave it to Finn to thrust her right back into the middle of her confusion. “I’m not going to stay here forever.”

“You sure about that? I mean, we’ll give you shit about it, but if it’s what you want we’d all back your decision.”

She dragged her spoon through the dregs of her bowl, avoiding his shrewd eyes. “It’s not what I want. I mean, I’m planning to stay for awhile longer. The money’s good over here, and much as I hate all Healers, I want to keep working with Healer A’isha at least until I’m back to normal.”

He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “And then there’s always Severus Snape.”

“I’m not staying because of him.” God, she didn’t want to talk about this now.

“Miranda Jane Rose, you lie to whoever you want, exceptin’ yourself and me.”

“I’m not lying to you!”

“Then what the actual fuck is going on with the two of you?”

“You wait until now to ask me that? You’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. There’s no time for you to beat around the bush. Now talk.”

“Ass. It’d serve you right if I just left you here without saying anything.”

“Probably.” He pulled out a pair of cigarettes and flipped one to her. “But you ain’t gonna.”

She gave a sigh of resignation and snapped her fingers to light the cigarettes. “The truth is, I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. I thought it was just going to be a casual thing—just blowing off steam. It was that way for a long time. And then it wasn’t.”

“Do you love him?”

There was no way on God’s green earth that she was going to admit to that out loud. “I’d be an idiot if I did. He’s in the middle of a giant shit show over here, and he’s tied up in enough emotional knots to make Alexander scream.”

“Seems to me you know a thing or two about shit shows and fucked up emotions. Does he love you?”

“You are like a dog after a bone, Finn.”

He had the audacity to wink at her. “Yep.”

She never could lie to Finn. “He’s never said so, but I wouldn’t be shocked if he did. I’m not stupid. The way he looked after me when I got hurt in Romania—I know he wouldn’t have done all that if he didn’t care. And I know it hurt him when I moved out of his rooms and back to my cabin. But I couldn’t stay there with him and let it all choke me.”

“You do what you gotta do; but if he’s in that deep and you don’t feel the same way, it seems only sportin’ to let him go.”

“I know.”

“But?”

She puffed out a few rings of smoke and sent them dancing in and out of each other beneath the bright cafeteria lights. “But I don’t want to.”

“Interestin’. It ain’t your style to play with hearts like that.”

“I don’t need you to point that out to me. I know it’s a shit thing to do.”

“I ain’t here to judge you. Just watch your back. Even a lowly No-Maj like me can tell shit is hot over here, and I don’t wanna be goin’ to your funeral. I’ve had enough of buryin’ siblings to last me a lifetime.”

“Don’t I know it?”

They snuffed out their cigarettes and tossed them into their empty bowls. The interrogation had lasted long enough that they had to rush through the Hall of Virtues to make it to the Transportation Hub on time. Finn queued up at the back of the portkey line, and set down his rucksack to give his sister a fierce hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of home, and her throat was so tight it hurt to breathe. When he let go of her at last, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“See ya ‘round, Sis,” he said. “If you need anything, you call me. I’ll be here in two shakes.”

“I will,” she replied. “And same goes for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, threw his rucksack over his shoulder, and stepped up on wide platform. The ruby slipper appeared on the marble pedestal before him, and he threw her one final grin over his shoulder before reaching out to touch the portkey.

Then he spun away, back to Kansas and home.

*****

Half an hour later Miranda was hurtling into classroom 1B, ten minutes late for her first Animagus lesson. She skidded to a halt and fought the urge to wince at the way her boots echoed through the cavernous room. The door slammed ominously shut behind her, and Minerva McGonagall did not deign to look up from the podium where she sat marking scrolls and looking severely disappointed. Miranda’s face turned red as she slunk penitentially to a desk near the back of the room, and she was surprised to see Remus Lupin, dressed in tattered trousers and an overlarge flannel shirt, already sitting in the back corner. He gave her a sympathetic look when their eyes met, but she had the distinct feeling that he was studying her every move, withholding judgement until she either won her place as his working partner—or lost it completely.

“How good of you to join us, Miss Rose,” Minerva said, still busily marking. “I take it you had trouble getting through security?”

Miranda already liked Hagrid too much to throw him under the Knight Bus. “No, Ma’am. My brother was heading back home tonight, and I didn’t figure in enough time to get from the Embassy to here. Sorry for the inconvenience, it won’t happen again.”

Minerva let this answer hang in the air and Miranda slid into a desk a few rows in front of Remus, suddenly feeling eleven years old again.

“See that it doesn’t,” Minerva said crisply.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Minerva finished marking the scroll while Miranda fell victim to the sort of restlessness that only descended on her in the classroom. Through monumental effort, she managed to restrain this feeling to the tapping of one toe inside her boot, but she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she felt like screaming. At last the steely professor rolled up the scroll, laid down her quill, and gave her student a look that showed how very unimpressed she was with the American witch thus far.

“May I safely assume that you have read Perdix’s Animagi Liberatus?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And do you have any initial questions on the material?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then please stand up and cast a Patronus.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The chair squeaked horribly as she got up, and her boots sounded thunderous as she took her place in the middle of the empty aisle. She wet her lips and did her best to banish all these little humiliations with the thought of spring and perfect baseball games. “Expecto Patronum!”

The bobcat burst immediately out of her wand, displaying a confidence she didn’t quite feel. It eyed the inhabitants of the room curiously, slinking around Miranda’s ankles before prowling across the room to Remus.

“Funny, I thought you were a dog person,” he observed, returning the Patronus’s stare with an amused one of his own.

“I am. God has a sense of humor,” Miranda quipped.

“Please keep the commentary to a minimum,” Minerva ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Remus and Miranda chorused.

“Thank you. Now, I want you to take a moment to study your Patronus as minutely as you can,” Minerva said.

Miranda squatted down to do as she was bid, narrowing her eyes as she marked each stripe and curve of her silvery bobcat. The Patronus ignored her, still staring at Remus, until it gave a hiss of displeasure and darted up one of the bookcases to perch imperiously on the top.

“Are you ready?” Minerva asked when the Patronus was settled.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Miranda had never made an emptier boast.

“To remind you, the incantation is Amato Animo Animato Animagus,” Minerva said.

“Decline puer,” Miranda muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Minerva clearly didn’t believe her, but she let it pass. “Picture your Patronus as you speak the words, and don’t fight whatever happens afterwards.”

“Okay, here goes.” Miranda took a deep breath and let her mind go mildly unfocused. “Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

As soon as the final syllable left Miranda’s lips, her skin started to itch everywhere. Her reptilian brain started to panic as coarse, striped fur sprouted all over her limbs and her spine stretched and snapped like a rubber band. She closed her eyes against the pain as her right hand shriveled into a mangled caricature of a cat’s paw. Gradually the pain and the pitiful pseudo-transformation stopped. Remus’s eyes were glinting with humor when she opened hers again, although he had the decency not to laugh at her attempt.

“Not bad for a first try,” Minerva allowed.

“Surely we don’t need an audience for this,” Miranda said in a voice that was now colored by a throaty purr. “We must be wasting Mr Lupin’s time.”

“Not at all,” Remus replied. “The more time I spend with you, the less likely I’ll be to attack you when the wolf takes over. The Wolfsbane Potion isn’t always enough on its own.”

“I see.”

“Please shift back to your human form and then we’ll try again,” Minerva ordered brusquely.

“God, this is going to be worse than Apparition,” Miranda muttered. “Amato Hominis.”

Remus’s eyes were still on her, and she did her best not to flinch at the discomfort of shifting back.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Rose,” Minerva said.

Miranda had a sinking feeling that Minerva McGonagall was going to turn out to be an even sterner taskmaster than Severus Snape.

*****

By the end of the lesson, Miranda ached from head to toe and wanted nothing more than to crawl down to Severus’s rooms and beg for a massage. Remus, unfortunately, stuck to her like a bad penny, and she had to make a show of “going home” for his sake.

“Care to join me for a drink at the Hog’s Head?” he asked as they went out into the frozen night.

She didn’t, but something in his tone told her this question was another test. “Sure. We should probably get to know one another if we’re going to be working together.”

“I agree.”

Hagrid and Fang met them at the gate, and they paused long enough for Miranda to scratch the mastiff behind his floppy ears. Once they were clear of the school’s wards, Remus held out his hand to her. His skin was rough and calloused, and soon she felt the unpleasant pull behind her navel as he side-alonged her to the edge of the Hogsmeade High Street. The Inn was quiet when they arrived, dingy and smelling of old ale. A dour man with bright eyes and a long hoary beard manned the bar, and he grunted to them by way of greeting.

“I’d take a pint when you get a minute, Aberforth,” Remus said as they went by. “What would you like, Miss Rose?”

“Rye if you’ve got it, Firewhiskey if you don’t,” she replied.

Aberforth muttered something derisive and shuffled away to gather their drinks while Remus led her to a table in the furthest recesses of the bar. Without asking, he took the chair with its back to the wall, putting her in the uncomfortable position of relying on his eyes for protection. They stared at each other, each taking the measure of the other, until Aberforth arrived with a chipped bowl of greasy popcorn, a pint of cloudy ale, and a glass of flaming liquor.

“To new beginnings,” Remus said, raising his glass.

“New beginnings.” Miranda clinked her glass to his and drank without breaking eye contact.

“So tell me,” he asked as he picked at the popcorn. “How did you wind up working for Albus Dumbledore?”

After the excellent dinner at the Embassy, Miranda had no stomach for bar food. “By way of Lucius Malfoy.”

“Really?” His curiosity was obviously piqued.

“Ironic, don’t you think? He hired me to hunt down Sirius Black, and Albus hired me to pretend to hunt down Sirius Black to keep Malfoy busy. Then just to make things more entertaining, Albus sent me to Romania to help Charlie Weasley with a project. Now that’s over, and here I am with you.”

“I see. Albus does like to get his money’s worth out of people.” The bitter edge to this observation did not go unnoticed.

“Do I remember correctly that you and Mr Black were friends?”

“You do.” If possible Remus’s already woeful countenance became even more melancholy. “We were mates from our school days.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I never got to meet him, but I think I would have liked him, if I’d gotten the chance.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked dubiously.

Something about his gaze made her vaguely uncomfortable—as though he could see through her in a way most people couldn’t.

“I spent a fair amount of time interviewing people who knew him while I was on the case. I got the impression that he was a passionate man, fiercely loyal to his friends, brave to the point of recklessness, and possessed of a wicked sense of humor. Sounds to me like the sort of fellow I’d love to have known.”

Remus took a long drink and then stared into the depths of his pint. When he finally looked back up at her, she knew he was setting her yet another test.

“Tell me Miss Rose, is Severus Snape one of those many people you interviewed about Sirius?”

Through long practice she managed not to visibly react to Severus’s name being spoken, but her toe inside her boot started tapping again.

“No,” she replied. “I never met Professor Snape before that Order meeting when I met you.”

Remus gave her a cold, wolfish smile, that did not suit his features in the least. “This is a terrible start. I’m going to ask Albus to reassign you.”

Her heart started to pound uncomfortably, but her voice was even and curious. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

“We’ve barely met and you’re already lying to me. Doesn’t bode well for future work together.”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned across the table and dropped his voice to a low growl. “Miss Rose, I don’t believe for an instant that you met Severus for the first time at that meeting. His smell was all over you, even after he left. What did you do, spend all day in bed with him?”

It was a stupid mistake—forgetting that some loup garous had a preternatural sense of smell even in human form—and she blushed for shame of having been caught making it. She covered her embarrassment by finishing her whiskey, then returned his gaze boldly.

“And if I did?” she challenged.

Remus snorted. “I don’t care who you sleep with. But if we’re going to work together the way Albus expects us to, we can’t lie to each other. With what we’re going to be walking into, we have to trust each other completely. Unfortunately, there’s no time to build that trust.” He slugged down the rest of his pint and stood up from the table. “I’m sorry to waste your time, but it’s better for you to be off this assignment anyway. Safer, you understand. It was good to meet you.”

“Mr Lupin, wait,” she said, taking the risk of laying a hand on his wrist before he walked away completely. He glared down at the trespass, and she strongly suspected he was fighting the urge to snarl at her. “Please, just sit down, have another drink, and let’s talk about this.”

She held his gaze fearlessly, surprised he didn’t shake her hand off. After a moment he signaled to Aberforth, and resumed his seat at the table. She waited until the barkeep had set them up with another round and a fresh bowl of popcorn, furiously working out what exactly she was going to say. In the end she fell back on her usual tactic; improvisation.

“Listen, I’m going to lay it all out for you, and then you can decide what you want to do,” she began, ignoring his scoff. “I met Severus the summer before last while I was hunting a vampire. We’ve been on and off since then; mostly on. I know about both of his…bosses. Albus knows about me, but the other one doesn’t, and we’re trying to keep it that way for everyone’s safety. I think you can imagine what the Dark Lord would do if he got wind of the fact that his minion is fucking a No-Maj born like me.”

“I didn’t know you were Muggle-born.”

She bristled. “Does that matter to you?”

“No, not at all.” Remus’s suspicious expression became very thoughtful. “I think I’m just surprised that it doesn’t matter to Severus.”

“I haven’t grilled him on it,” she shrugged.

“Maybe you should.”

This was not a conversation she wanted to pursue. “I don’t remember asking you for relationship advice.”

“You’re right, you didn’t.” His lips turned up in a humorless smile. “You’re wise to keep things quiet. Does anyone else in the Order know about you?”

“Arthur and Molly Weasley. But as far as I know they’ve kept mum, so I hope you won’t go clucking with them about it.”

“I won’t. What do you see in him?”

That was more than enough. “I don’t see the need to justify my love life to you, Mr Lupin. Or maybe you’d like me to start asking you questions about Auror Tonks.”

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” he said coldly.

It seemed to her that they’d scuffled enough for one evening. “Maybe we should go back to safer topics,” she suggested as a peace offering. “Like loup garous or blood politics.”

He studied her for a long time, and then his face relaxed into a real smile. “Yes, let’s. Tell me more about the werewolves in America.”

*****

As the clock ticked perilously close to midnight, Severus sat in his armchair, reading Oscar Wilde and doing his best not to be annoyed with Miranda’s tardiness. He’d long since accepted her chronic lateness, and he knew she’d had a hefty list of commitments ahead of their engagement. Still, it was his birthday and it would be nice to see her at some point before the ninth of January turned into the tenth.

At five minutes to the new day, the door to his sitting room creaked open and he put aside his novel, greeting her tired smile with what he hoped was a reserved, but pleasant expression of his own. She hung her bag on a hook by the door that he’d installed for the purpose and stretched like a languid cat. He admired her form, unreasonably pleased that she was finally here.

“I’m glad that’s all over,” she said.

“Did your first Animagus lesson go so poorly?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Professor McGonagall said I did well, but my joints all say differently. She’s as hard a teacher as you are.”

“Harder, I think.”

She came to him and slipped onto his lap. His arms went around her waist, and as she laid her head on his shoulder he felt unnervingly content.

“Then Remus Lupin decided to give me the third degree. That’s what took me so long. He wanted to cut me out of the whole mission,” she explained.

Merlin, he didn’t want to think about the details of this pernicious mission. “Perhaps you should have let him.”

“I know you don’t like that I’m assigned to it, but it’s part of my job. And anyway, I talked him into keeping me.”

“I’m not surprised. You can be quite…persuasive when you care to be.”

She gave him an impish smile. “Speaking of persuasive, what would it take to convince you to give me a massage? I had no idea that Animagus training was going to make my body feel like a pretzel.”

“I give you a massage?” he teased. “I was under the impression that it was my birthday.”

“And so it is. I’ll give you your presents first if that’s what it takes.”

He kissed her temple and shook his head. “No. You’ve coerced me. To the bedroom with you.”

“I knew there was a reason I spent time with you.”

She stripped down to her knickers on the way to the bedroom. He hung his frock coat in the armoire, and rolled up his sleeves as she picked over his store of healing balms for a satisfactory concoction; more comfortable in her own skin than anyone he’d ever met. She tossed him her selection and stretched out on the bed with a happy sigh, and as he knelt over her his heart ached with an emotion it was ill-equipped to process. He buried this hurt with the feel of her flesh under his fingers, and the sound of her appreciative moans as he kneaded her pains away.

“Mmm…” she hummed. “You do love me.”

Her shoulders tensed instantly under his frozen hands, and he inwardly cursed her impulsive tongue for uttering such nonsensical truth.

“I mean metaphorically speaking,” she added quickly.

“Of course,” he replied, his hands mechanically returning to their work. “You’ve quite an inflated sense of your own importance, haven’t you?”

“That’s me,” she said, her voice nowhere near as relaxed as it had been moments before. “My head’s so big it’s in danger of floating away.”

For a brief moment he had the insane urge to confess the sin she’d lightheartedly accused him of; morbidly curious to witness the destruction it would likely cause. As she settled back into limpid tranquility under his touch, he frantically searched his mind for some other topic of conversation to distract him from wantonly lighting the inferno that would no doubt spell the end of their association.

“I…had thought we might attend the opera on Saturday,” he said. It was a mostly idle promise—he hadn’t even spoken to Charity to arrange the purchase of tickets—but he hoped mentioning it would both please Miranda and close the door on the previous topic.

“Oh, Severus, I’m so sorry, but I can’t,” she replied.

His temper was rubbed raw from the last ten minutes, and her contrition was salt in the wound.

“May I ask why?” he asked in an subtly acrid tone.

“I’m actually already going to the opera on Saturday.”

“I see. With whom?”

“Dante Sanguini. He set it up weeks ago. Didn’t I tell you about it earlier?”

“Not that I recall. I don’t suppose it matters to you if I mind that you are cavorting with a vampire.”

“My time is my time, and I’ll spend it with whomever I like.”

“Need I remind you that you have yet to regain your full strength either magically or physically?”

“No. I’m very aware of my limits.”

He seethed silently as his fingers worked on her muscles. How dare she be so reckless with her person and then claim he had no right to be concerned?

“Severus,” she said after a few moments of deadly silence had ticked by, “you’re hurting me.”

“My apologies,” he muttered, lightening his touch.

“Just stop. That’s enough anyway.” She extricated herself from her position beneath him and rolled up to sit against the headboard, her knees tucked to her chest as she studied him with new eyes. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. Do I complain when you go off to have tea with the Dark Lord?”

“That is different,” he growled.

“It’s not.”

He felt his face turn to stone and he got up off the bed, crossing his arms over his chest like a shield charm.

“I do not ever needlessly put myself in harm’s way. You make a sport of it,” he accused.

“Well why do you at all? Put yourself in harm’s way I mean. You’re not a hero, so why do you do it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You hate teaching—and I’m not all that convinced you like Albus Dumbledore. You’re not a coward, but I don’t think you’re the sort of man to be swayed by “The Cause.” So why are you doing all this?”

“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you and your dalliance with a creature that can snap your neck and drink your blood before you could raise a finger to stop him.”

She swung off the bed to face him, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing. “You sound jealous.”

“I do not.”

“First Lupin and now Sanguini?”

“That is the most ridiculous accusation…”

The rest of his defense dwindled into hiss of pain as the mark on his arm flared to life, twisting with an ugly black fire. His suddenly numb fingers fumbled to roll down the sleeves and fasten the buttons as he watched the anger on Miranda’s face give way first to fear, and then to acceptance. She opened her mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it, and went out into the sitting room to collect his cloak for him. It took an age for him to don his frock coat and retrieve his mask from the armoire as he fought to bring his roiling emotions under some semblance of control.

His feet were like lead as he dragged himself to the door, and Miranda’s brave smile did little to cheer him. When he had his cloak in place, she impulsively threw her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. He groaned pitifully as he pulled her against him; their embrace a fury of tongues and teeth as fierce as their argument had been.

“I can be here when you get back,” she said in a husky voice when they parted. “Or I can go if you think you’d rather be alone.”

“No. I want you to stay,” he replied, his own voice raw from choking back all the things he dared not say.

“Then I will.”

He traced a finger over her cheek and accepted the kiss that she pressed to his hand—a kiss that troubled him to the core of his battered heart. The mark on his arm continued to throb painfully as he paced outside the wards, breathing in the bitter night air and waiting for his mind to reach a place of indifference that Occlumency required. It seemed to him that the longer this misadventure continued, the more difficult coming to that place became. His life had never been under his own dominion; but now it often felt to him that Lily, the Dark Lord, Albus, and Miranda were horses intent on drawing and quartering him alive.

*****

The plush delights of the private box on the Grand Tier of the Royal Opera House, and the glorious music of Rigoletto did not quite assuage all of Miranda’s guilt that her companion for the evening was a sentimental vampire rather than a dour potions master. She was mildly annoyed at her conscience for smiting her and sullying what ought to have been an evening for decadence, and she was indulging in far more of Dante’s excellent cabernet in an effort to compensate. As the lights went up for the beginning of the interval, she knew she was well on the way to a headache in the morning, but she stubbornly stuck to her self-destructive course. Severus had no right to boss her around, and she was going to prove it by means of what was likely to be a wicked hangover.

“Tell me more about Giuseppe,” she said. There was nothing like hearing Verdi with a man who’d known him.

“There are those who would call him cold, but I liked him very well,” Dante replied. “Although he was at times a difficult partner at the card table. When the music would invade his brain, he would set everything aside until he’d jotted it down. I was there the night he sketched out that magnificent quartet.”

“That must have been thrilling.”

“It was. It’s a shame he would not let me bring him over.”

“Did you try?”

“Of course! A genius like that, to molder in a tomb. It’s a crime.”

He offered her a refill from the bottle of cabernet, which she accepted (although she probably shouldn’t have). His own glass he topped off with his preferred blend of merlot and type AB positive.

“What did he say when you offered?” she asked, enjoying the buzz from the wine and the music.

“He said that only a fool wished to live forever in a body of dust and grime.”

His smile was sharp on his pale lips, and whether he was mocking the dead composer or himself, she wasn’t sure.

“I’ve never thought you were a fool, Dante.”

“I thank you for the compliment, and I hope that you will not behave so stupidly when I come for you.”

She shivered. “I didn’t know you were planning to.”

“I was. As long as you do not manage to destroy yourself so extensively that my kiss would be useless.”

She was flattered and horrified in almost equal measure. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But I want you to know that I’ll probably give you the same answer that Giuseppe did.”

“How disappointing. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I have my reasons.” She swirled the crimson liquid in her goblet, and the movement (or perhaps the conversation) made her head swim. “Do you mind if we change the subject? I hate talking about death at the opera.”

“And I adore it. But you are my guest, and I will indulge you. Tell me about your current projects. Hunting any other cousins of mine?”

“No, not lately. I’ve moved on to werewolves and Death Eaters.”

He raised his mocking eyebrows at her. “I never thought you one to play the hero.”

“I’m not, it’s all about the money.”

“I’ve always appreciated that ruthless streak in you.” He took her hand in his, laughing as the chill of his touch raised gooseflesh on her arms. “Do watch that charming backside of yours.”

“I will. But if you happen across any information that would help me watch it better, I hope you’ll share it.”

“And what will you pay me in? Smiles?”

“If you’ll take them, they’re yours.”

He brought her hand up and rested her palm against his cheek, sighing melodramatically.

“There is nothing quite like a warm hand when you are dead.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Is there something you’re getting at, or is all this a tease?”

He leaned down until his icy breath brushed her ear. “I have it on the best authority that a certain dark wizard is building an army of inferi.”

The chill that went through her had nothing to do with Dante’s breath. “How uninspired. Didn’t he do that last time?”

“His creativity is indeed lacking these days, but this new army will put the last one to shame.”

“Have you seen it?”

“I have.”

“Where is it?”

“It is moved by now.”

“By which you mean you aren’t going to tell me.”

“Topolina, I have told you enough already.”

He dipped his head and ran the edge of a sharp canine over the sensitive skin of her earlobe, and she put a finger on his cheek in warning.

“Thanks Dante, I do appreciate it. But I’m not going to fuck you tonight, even if you do cast a tutela charm to keep yourself from killing me.”

“Tease,” he grumbled. “Why not?”

“I’m just not interested.”

His dark gaze was as penetrating as Remus Lupin’s—and she was just about sick of being studied like a side of beef.

“You have a lover,” he accused. “That accounts for the extra perfume. You didn’t want me to know. Why not? Are you ashamed of him?”

“No. I just didn’t want to talk about him.” God she was sick of everyone being in her business. It was almost enough to take up the mantle of celibacy for the rest of her live-long days.

Dante, bless him, seemed to catch on to her exasperation. “Then I shan’t ask you anymore about him.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Really.” The lights began to dim around them, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Dante, if I find myself needing a hand in the near future, will you help me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He gave her a devilish smile. “Will you? Aren’t you afraid of what I might ask in return?”

She wasn’t fooled. “No. You’re a gentleman.”

“You wound me! But I could deny you nothing. Ask, and I will be there.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“Shh,” he grumbled as the curtain rose. “The opera!”

*****

Notes: The chapter title (yes, i am a monster) is a quote from Verdi’s opera Rigoletto. In the opera, the Duke sings this line in jest—but he pretty much is a monster.

The incantation to become an Animagus is taken from Pottermore. The textbook, the incantation to turn back (and the attending Latin mistakes) are mine. The process by which one becomes an Animagus is also from my imagination.

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