#i could write and draw and take plenty of pictures. i should have enough room on my camera afterall. maybe i should check tho | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

judasofsuburbia · 9 months

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Jonathan Byers might be the stupidest person on the planet. Because why...WHY did he ask Steve Harrington to model for his photography final? Why did he think he would ever be able to focus enough to capture what he needs to? Why did he wait until the last week of the semester and now, there's no time to ask anyone else and he doesn't want to hurt Steve's feelings—

“Hey,” Steve says, interrupting Jonathan's thought spiral. “Is this where you want me?”

Jonathan looks up from his clipboard and camera to see Steve standing on top of the stool. Jonathan had sent him away with a costume he borrowed from the drama department and hadn't heard him come back in.

Steve is dressed in a toga. The crossbody strap is smaller than it would be on anyone else across his broad, hairy chest. The end of the toga rests delicately on his upper thighs, an inch away from being too short. Steve has quaffed his beautiful hair up and a plastic, golden crown of leaves sits amongst the brunette locks.

All of the moisture in Jonathan's mouth evaporates as he takes in Steve in this, what should have been, almost ridiculous outfit. Instead, Steve is absolutely striking in it and Jonathan is going to lose his mind before he even gets the lights set up.

“Uh, yeah, just hold there,” Jonathan croaks so he clears his throat. “I still have some things to set up.”

“Cool,” Steve replies simply. He shifts from foot to foot, tied up in lacy sandals. He looks around the studio that Jonathan has set up and smiles.

“Excited to see you do your thing,” Steve says. Jonathan trips over a cable.

“What?”

Steve glances over his shoulder and his face is so genuine when he says, “I wanna see you in the zone, you know?”

Jonathan blinks and ducks his head. “In the zone,” he repeats lamely.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “I mean, I've seen you take pictures before but never all done up like this. And this concept is really cool, I hope I can do it justice.“

Jonathan's assignment was to take from an existing piece of art, something not photography related, and recreate it. He's always been fascinated by the coliseums and marble statues of Greece, all the Gods and warriors of that time. As he was researching, the only thing that came to his mind was “Steve, Steve, Steve” and before he could even think twice, he shot him a text asking for his help.

“You will, man,” Jonathan barely speaks above a mumble.

Steve hums a song Jonathan doesn't know in the silence that follows. Jonathan finishes setting up all the lights and drawing the curtains of the room. He tries to pull up the screen behind Steve but can't get it to sit on the designated pole.

Steve reaches over him, his stomach resting on Jonathan's shoulder, and hooks the screen into place. Jonathan glances up at Steve's towering figure and swallows dryly. His muscular arm is bulging, his head is cast in the light from behind them like an angel.

Steve winks and says, “You can put me to work, Byers. I don't mind.”

Jonathan's not sure that the thing that tumbles out of his lips is a laugh, per se, more like a weak, nasally huff of air. But he can't focus on that right now because he needs to stop breathing in Steve's cologne. He escapes to the other side of the room.

“You're going to be doing plenty today, I promise,” Jonathan responds while he sets up a little table next to his camera for his notes. “Why don't we start with you sitting?”

Steve sits on the stool with his legs spread, not even realizing that he's near exposing himself through the skirt. Jonathan squeaks and Steve glances down.

“Oh shit,” Steve says, crossing his ankles. “Not used to that happening.”

“It's fine, I didn't see anything,” Jonathan mumbles, writing down nothing on his clipboard of notes.

“I didn't go full commando under here,” Steve clarifies with a small laugh. “I'm just glad I wore white boxers today--”

And yeah, Jonathan didn't need that image either. He starts adjusting his camera on the tripod and says, “Sorry, I should have been more clear about your costume.”

“Nah man, it's alright. I kinda dig it. If we shoot outside, I'm sure the breeze will feel so good.”

Outside? No, Jonathan can't see Steve basking in the sun like this. He wouldn't survive that.

“Gonna have to settle for the AC, I'm afraid,” Jonathan says with a fumbling laugh. “Okay, first shot. I'm thinking you tilt your legs to the side, almost like you're lounging on the stool. Then pop the shoulder closer to the wall up while keeping the other down. Look up at the ceiling.”

Steve follows his instructions but he tilts his whole head up instead of just his eyes.

“Chin down a bit, look with the eyes.”

“Like this?” Steve asks, voice innocent though it runs hot through Jonathan's ears.

Jonathan looks through his viewfinder to see Steve absolutely glowing. His brown eyes holding so much casual emotion that it tugs at Jonathan's heart.

“Mhm. Perfect,” Jonathan captures a few shots like that before directing him to the next shot. And the one after.

Steve nails it over and over again, looking exactly like the ethereal Gods and tragic heroes Jonathan read about. Jonathan keeps telling him he's doing amazing, that he looks amazing. He can see Steve try to fight off his smile for the sake of not ruining the shot. Jonathan wonders if he could shoot that smile someday just for the sake of letting him be happy.

“You're going to give me a big head,” Steve says when they take a break.

“Please,” Jonathan scoffs. “You already have one.”

Steve pouts playfully when he's done sipping his water. “I'm better than I was.”

Jonathan shakes his head with a fond smile. He looks at Steve directly and says, “Yeah, you are.”

Steve's lips part in surprise but then he quickly tilts his head away, sipping more water. Steve tsks. “Compliment after compliment, Byers. I should be your model more often.”

Jonathan's cheeks burn hot. “Yeah, yeah, tell your friends. C'mon, let's get back to it.”

The new few shots require Steve to show off his muscles which had to have been an idea of a deliriously horny Jonathan Byers. He could kill that guy.

“Okay, hold your hands up and behind your head. Then, uh,” Jonathan stammers, “Flex your arms for me.”

Steve raises his eyebrows but he does flex. It's not that Steve Harrington is absolutely shredded; rather, he has the toned muscles of a casual jock. He just cares about his body and his strength. It doesn't make it any less debilitating to witness.

“G-good, that's good,” Jonathan mumbles.

“You good, Byers?” Steve asks. His smirk grows less subtle every fleeting second it takes for Jonathan to respond. “Wishing for someone more buff?”

“No,” Jonathan defends immediately. “No, uh, no, you're good. Great, even.”

“What should I do with my face?” Steve asks.

“Keep it smug like that,” Jonathan says, a little bite to his words that comes from the roaring zoo currently in his stomach.

“Smug,” Steve scoffs, voice still teasing. “Just trying to figure you out.”

Jonathan ignores that, he does not need to be figured out today and especially not by Steve Harrington.

He takes the shot and instructs Steve to hold one arm up to the side while the other pretends to hold something. Steve stands awkwardly, clenching and unclenching the fist that's supposed to be acting right now.

“Can you show me?” Steve asks.

“Sure,” Jonathan says. He rounds the camera and is about to demonstrate making an “O” with his fist but Steve holds out his hand and Jonathan doesn't think before he takes it. He shapes Steve's fingers gently and places his arm outstretched to his side. Steve just watches him.

“Should I actually hold something?” Steve asks.

“No, I'm gonna edit something in later,” Jonathan explains, awkwardly dropping Steve's hand because he realizes he's still holding it.

“Like what?”

“I can't decide if it's going to be a sword or a lightning bolt. Armor, maybe,” Jonathan shrugs then looks up at Steve who is beaming at him.

“You can do that?”

“Y-yeah. Photoshop and all.”

“That's so fucking sick,” Steve exclaims. “You're gonna send these to me, right?”

“Yeah, if you want,” Jonathan says.

“Of course, I want,” Steve assures. ”Not only because you're making me into some Greek god but also because it's your art and it's fucking cool.“

“Thanks,” Jonathan breathes.

Steve reaches the posed hand up and pinches Jonathan's chin. Jonathan can feel every nerve vibrate as Steve's fingers fall away too soon. Steve gives him a curious look but returns his hand to the pose. Jonathan shuffles back behind the camera and continues shooting the pictures.

Steve showcases different smolders that make Jonathan's stomach tighten but he keeps pressing the button, keeps seeing how far Steve will go without his instruction.

“What if I shot my arm back like I'm about to throw it?” Steve asks, demonstrating his point.

Jonathan's eyes trail up his torso to the arm in question and he swallows. “Mhm. That looks really good.”

Steve's lips turn upward and he whispers, “So do you, Byers.”

Jonathan's whole body freezes. His finger trembles over the button but his mind is so blank that he can't tell it to push. Steve keeps glancing at him but Jonathan's not registering it.

Steve coughs awkwardly and mumbles, “Just tell me to fuck off, man.”

That gets Jonathan's brain back online. “What?”

Steve jumps, not realizing that Jonathan was actually listening. He drops his stance and rolls his shoulders back, bones popping as he does. He sighs and says meekly, “If you don't like me flirting with you, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Flirting? Flirting.

“You're flirting with me?” Jonathan asks, exasperated.

“I was trying to,” Steve explains, a sheepish look on his face. “But it's obvious you're not into it so--”

“Wait…no, hold on, I honestly thought you were messing with me,” Jonathan admits, walking around the camera again. Steve steps down from the stool to be at eye level with him and Jonathan swoons a little in their new proximity.

“I do love messing with you,” Steve confirms. “But no, Byers, I’ve been flustered all day having you stare at me and do your hot artist thing. That’s not a joke.”

“Really?” Jonathan whispers, his skin flushed.

“Really,” Steve whispers back.

"I am into it," Jonathan responds quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Put you into a toga because I'm so into it--" Jonathan doesn't finish this sentence because Steve is kissing him and he would much rather be kissing Steve than talking.

With the curtains drawn and the studio booked for the rest of the afternoon, Jonathan finds himself in Steve's lap with Steve's tongue in his mouth. He decides about two seconds in that he's got enough pictures for the day.

#EMILY FINALLY WRITES STONATHAN!!!!!! MY BOYS!!!#emily writes #stonathan #stonathan fics #stonathan ficlet #stranger things #steve harrington #jonathan byers #stranger things ficlet #stranger things fic

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hualianff · 1 year

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Hua Laoshi

Thinking about Professor HC. He’s like late - 30’s, total dilf, but really well respected and liked - students really love his classes. He makes history enjoyable to learn, after all.

He’ll go on wild yet profound tangents and has great PowerPoints. Sometimes a random gif will pop up here or there because he forgot to take them off; they were just for jokes oops but hey at least the students find them funny.

There’s a reason why HC leaves his notes to the powerpoints. Mans can barely write his name legibly, much less use the chalkboard for anything besides drawing. However, his maps are actually insane - he could actually be a map-maker.

HC’s assignments entail lots of writing and some group work, plus participation points are a must, but it’s to be expected because his courses are usually for upperclassmen.

The new incoming students are always blown away by the sheer amount of knowledge HC has AND that he is articulate enough to teach in a way that all his students can actually learn.

Many students see Hua laoshi in and out of the library, checking out numerous books at a time and if a student asks for help in furthering researching a topic, HC is diligent about guiding them to relevant resources or even having the university order the texts themselves.

HC is fluent in seven languages, and can understand basic conversations in even more. Thus, if some students think they can gossip in another language, HC will eventually let them know in the slyest ways that nothing gets past him.

HC’s wardrobe is refined with plenty of statement pieces and accessories. This includes the fancy pins on his suit jackets, the most commonly worn ones being a butterfly and a flower. On numerous occasions, he’s been voted as the most stylish professor on campus.

His office is also one of the best designed, with comfy chairs and lots of desk space, traditional paintings hung everywhere, a few plants lining the window sill, several mugs labeled with “student tears,” etc. On his desk sits all his devices neatly plugged in, a picture of his black cat (E’Ming), and a picture of him and his husband on their wedding day.

Yes, even with all the rings HC wears on all his fingers, the polished silver band on his left ring-finger never goes unnoticed.

It’s really no secret how much of a romantic sucker HC is for his husband.

Once, on the first day of classes when HC was connecting his computer to the projector, his desktop photo was revealed on the big screen: a photo of XL mid-laugh, laying next to HC when they had one of their picnic dates.

Or another time when HC meant to freeze the screen that had instructions for a small in-class writing assignment but didn’t, which exposed the document HC was writing on with ideas on what Christmas gifts to get for his husband.

Another year, at the start of the second semester, HC began his lecture with, “So, no one asked what I did over break but-” he makes a show of pressing the clicker, and a photo of HC ice-skating pops up. “-yes, I did ice skate for the first time, and yes, I did out-skate everyone on the rink.”

He nods with a complete deadpan. A series of chuckles ring across the room.

“Except my husband, of course.”

The slide switches to a picture of XL skating (taken by HC, obviously), the warmest smile on his face.

“See how cool he is.” :)

HC keeps going with pictures and even videos of XL skating, the class occasionally breaking into choruses of “ooohs” and “ahhhs.” They don’t need to know that this is the part of the powerpoint HC spent the most time preparing, but with HC standing at the front with the biggest fucking grin on his face (#proudhusband), the students could probably guess that was the case.

Here Hua laoshi is, starting the semester off by showing off his husband, as he should.

Some students have had the privilege of running into HC and XL during their date night !! As in, sitting at a table far enough away where they can see XL talking enthusiastically - waving his hands in large motions and swirling his glass - while HC listens and nods with the softest smile.

Honestly, anyone with functioning eyes wouldn't help but be able to gush over how cute the couple looks.

One of the students actually crosses paths with XL in the bathroom. They washed hands side-by-side and then XL used a paper towel to open and hold the door open for them! Back at the student table, the lucky soul proceeded to whisper-scream about how pretty Hua laoshi’s husband is.

XL subbing for HC’s class once in a blue moon - basically XL going through HC’s PowerPoint and thoroughly explaining everything because HC talks about his lessons so much.

XL: “ahah I’m your sub for today, serves me right since I’m the one who got your professor sick” 😅

XL reading over HC’s notes: “hmm, ok, your professor also wrote down that-“

A random student: “wait a min, he can read hua laoshi’s handwriting?”

A second student: “hmm, makes sense, they are married after all”

A third student: “opposites do attract i guess”)

2. Also, XL frequently uses the chalkboard and students are like 😱😱he writes beautifully!

XL messing up: “oops lemme erase this-“

The students: “NO ITS FINE”

3. One student: “ahh, I see Xie laoshi is wearing Hua laoshi’s lucky tie today”

XL, looking down at the crimson dragon printed tie: “huh? this is mine though…San Lang wears it…?”

The students: “Oop exposed”

Which alludes to how seldom XL seems to wear ties.

(HC when XL gets home and nonchalantly begins loosening the tie: “holy shit, i married THAT”

4. The students zero in on the red coral earring XL dangling from his right ear lobe, the match to HC’s who either wears it on his ear or attached to his braid.

***

Incidentally, the first time HC hears himself being referred to as a “dilf,” he’s that meme with the lady who has the math/science equations in the air. They think he’s a WHAT? Is it the way he dresses? Or talks? Like what is it about him that makes him a “dilf?” Because HC in his life has never-

Oh wait. Hang on a second.

HC arrives home and sees XL working on the couch, glasses on, hair in a half-bun, tight-white shirt, sipping on some tea.

HC may actually be familiar with the feeling…!!

《II》

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #modern au #professor hua cheng #fluff #cerdrabbles #married hualian

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addicted-to-dc · 2 years

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Jason Todd/Arkham Knight X Reader - Ghosts

A/N: Hello hello! Turns out this was finished quicker than I expected. I think this will have a second part to tie off loose ends, and I can’t wait to start writing for it.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, typical Arkhamverse violence, drug use (it’s just weed), death, etc.

You’re on edge, and you know that you shouldn’t be. Blending into the shadows was like breathing, an instinct that helped you survive for this long. It took a lot to remain out of everyone’s radar, especially the infamous Batman that haunted the whole city. Your nerves usually remain locked away during your investigations, but for some reason this one is different.

It’s like a ghost is following you, and you’re the only one that could sense it.

The facts check out, but your gut tells you otherwise. What seem to be separate, normal crime sprees all connect in some way. Missing tech here, an information leak there, they’re small incidents that add up to a frighteningly large list. If you’re right, that this is all connected, it means that someone is preparing for war. Gotham would become a battlefield and not even Batman would be able to stop it. An army whose numbers are still unknown to you would attempt to take control of the city, and the odds for Batman do not look great.

Batman may be interfering with these low level events, but he does not see the big picture. You’re sure your sudden interest in whatever plot this is will draw attention. Maybe you’re on edge because you fear this will be the end of you. You rarely involve yourself in doing good for Gotham, especially when Batman was its savior, but this is something that Gotham has never faced. There’s a difference between a few villains wreaking havoc whenever they please and an organized militia that has had who knows who long to prepare an attack. Gotham is your home, but how long will it take until it’s beyond saving?

Shaking your uncertainty away, you exhale all your worries and focus on your task at hand. Based on the patterns of the previous thefts, you know that something is going to go down this week. Some victims aren’t even aware of any thefts, which means that you’re dealing with a small enough crew to remain undetectable. They’re good, almost as good as you, but there’s a reason why you keep tabs on anyone you’ve stolen from. It’s a simple gateway into their system, one that only reacts to other incursions.

You suck in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the insanity you’re about to pull off. Sliding your faceplate into place, you quickly run a routine system check to ease your nerves. Once it’s confirmed to be all clear, you leave your vantage point and begin to infiltrate the building. Maneuvering through the monotone halls, you keep an eye on your surroundings as you move towards your target. It’s only to install a gateway into their system, nothing more. If your theory is correct, then you can predict when and where the next targets would be. Maybe you can get a grasp on how expansive this operation truly is.

Once you finally enter the server room you get to work. The process should only take a few minutes depending on the security, but for some reason it only takes a few seconds. Red flags instantly go off in your head, making you retreat from your position and plan your retreat. You’re in the upper floors, which means there’s plenty of room for you to flee without dealing with foot traffic. However, in order to leave there is the risk of being spotted.

Biting your lip, you look around the server room and try to find a way out. The vents are too small and the windows are sealed, making the door or the ceiling your only viable options. You could always break the glass and flee, but that would ruin your whole reason for coming here.

Deciding on the ceiling, you carefully push up the ceiling panel and climb through. Returning it to its previous position, you disburse your weight as best as you can and pull up the building schematics. The closest exit without causing damage would be the roof access, but it’s also the most obvious one. There’s some offices close by with movable windows, which seem to be the only viable option you’ve got. You start to crawl forward, but heavy footsteps below you cause you to freeze.

“I know you’re up there,” a robotic voice calls out, their steps growing louder until the last one is right beneath you.

You’re practically shaking as you force yourself to move, only to hear the figure follow you with frightening accuracy. Weighing your options, you position yourself on a wall that joins two rooms together, planning your escape. Stealth is no longer an option.

“Why don’t you come down, have a chat?”

Your heart starts beating rapidly, preparing yourself for the chase of your lifetime. Holding your breath, your fingers carefully pull up the panel in the next room.

“I might not be this nice when I catch you, little shadow. No one will bat an eye at a dead thief, especially a ghost like you.”

“And what’s this chat supposed to be?” you ask, breaking the silence with your own modded voice. “Your bullet conversing with my face?”

Forcing yourself to fall through the ceiling, you roll and throw a sonic device at the nearest window. It shatters within seconds. You don’t give your unwanted visitor a second glance, immediately tossing yourself out the window. Falling at an exponential rate, you shoot your grappling hook at the nearest building and slingshot yourself backwards. Your heads up display lights up with different routes to your nearest safehouse, but you know that you’re being hunted.

Landing on a building rooftop, you scour your brain for any place that will give you an edge. Stealth is your specialty, and you can take care of yourself in a fight, but this adversary knows how to get you out of your comfort zone. You refuse to let your legs stop running, already feeling the burn that threatens to force you to collapse. You’re completely in the dark regarding who this person is, and it seems they knew everything about you.

You search your brain for ideas, coming up with nothing as your gut tells you it’s time for a distraction. Not knowing what else to do, you remove your helmet and toss it down the side of the building. Your homing beacon instantly activates, giving you at least a few minutes head start to shrink back into the shadows. It might not even work, maybe he’s right behind you and witnessed everything. You can’t second guess yourself.

One building, two, three, four, five buildings are left in the dust as you dive down to an alleyway, sliding down the brick wall until you grasp onto a nearby balcony. Your shoulder pops out of its socket from the maneuver, nearly causing a shriek from escaping your mouth. Forcing yourself to look down, you recognize where you are despite your blurry vision. Letting go of the balcony, you land onto the ground and rush to the door. Unlocking it, you close the door and lean up against it. Sliding down, you close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. You can hear nothing and everything at the same time, unsure if you can trust your ears at any moment.

Shakily standing up, you lock the door and back away from it. It was stupid to stop here, not your home, but you had no other choice. It was either get caught out there or possibly disappear in here, and you chose the only feasible option. You hear his loud footsteps outside the door, causing you to back away even more. The chair scraping against the floor beside you snaps you out of focus. Backing away even more, you retreat into your room.

You can’t hear anything else, your heartbeat overwhelming you until you come to a realization: You are going to die. Stopping in your tracks, you hopelessly look at your desk drawer.

“Fuck it,” you say, pulling it open.

The sound of wood grinding didn’t phase you, not even when you shut the drawer once you got what you’re looking for. Firmly grasping the small tin, you pop the lid off and sit down on your window seat. The window’s already open.

You push it open more, and light the first blunt. Greedily sucking in the air, you exhale and watch as the smoke disappears into the wind. If only you could do that yourself. There’s a creaky step behind you, and you know it was intentional. You turn to your hunter, finally seeing the man that’s going to kill you.

He’s wearing some sort of uniform and a symbol you immediately recognize. The Arkham symbol is adorned proudly on his chest, but it’s quickly overpowered by his helmet. It’s a militaristic batman helmet, or a mockery of some sorts. The whispers were really true, the Arkham Knight really does exist. You raise it back to your mouth, watching as the paper burns away.

“Congratulations,” you say, exhaling, “you win.”

“Only because you gave up,” he quips, snatching the blunt out of your hand and putting it out.

“You were going to find me anyway,” you snark back, sighing. “It’s a big enough secret to kill anyone who stumbles upon it. You made your point.”

He sighs in frustration, “You didn’t give me a chance to.”

“Huh,” you say, shocked to know that the assassin really wanted to just talk.

“There are two options, and death is one of them if you prefer it,” he states, “but there’s another option. Join me, help me kill Batman.”

“You’re insane if you think you could kill him,” you whisper, looking outside to see his symbol floating in the sky. “He’s unstoppable.”

“That’s why I need you, you’re the missing piece to the puzzle,” the Knight reveals, grasping your chin.

He guides your eyes to his mask, keeping your attention on him. Your mind freezes, unsure how to proceed with this current situation.

“You know how to avoid him, you understand him just like I do,” he continues, no signs of frustration in his tone. “With you, it’s possible.”

“How do you know?” you ask, tears threatening to fall down your face.

“How long have you been doing this?” the Knight questions you, catching you off guard. “Answer the question.”

“Two,” you lie, flinching when he closes the distance between the two of you.

“Five,” he corrects, overwhelming you on all fronts. “I’ve seen you work since you started. You were the ghost that only I could see, a secret that I kept from everyone I knew. Everyone.”

His words carry a deeper meaning, one that you don’t understand. He removes his fingers from your chin, leaning back to take off his helmet. The Knight places it next to you, the irises staring back at you.

You’re afraid to look at him, unsure if seeing him will seal your fate. His grasp on your chin returns, gently guiding you to his eyes. You can see the weight that he carries, one that’s not his burden to bear. Scanning the rest of his face, you look at all the curves and scars that shape his face. A ‘J’ is seared into his skin, but it’s his eyes that steal your attention. They threaten to draw you in, to whisk you away.

“Do you really want to go down this path?” you ask, searching his eyes for an answer. “Is this your purpose? Are you prepared to face him?”

“I know I am,” he says quietly, his eyes digging into your soul. “Are you?”

Your thought process goes out the window with his question, unsure how to proceed. You could end it all right here so his plans were safe, but your gut tells you otherwise.

“If I join you, I have to be invisible,” you relent, your heartbeat finally slowing to a regular pace. “I’ll be your ghost, Knight, but I cannot be tied with this. I’ve worked so hard to stay in the shadows…”

“You’ll be my eyes and ears in Gotham,” he explains, placing your discarded helmet in your hands. “I won’t return until we’re ready.”

He allows you to look down at your helm, your main faceplate shattered from the fall. Dragging your gloved fingers against it, you place it next to his helmet.

“How long will you be gone?” you ask, watching his eyes light up with the silent agreement.

“Less than a year,” he replies, once again guiding your eyes to his. “I need you to ensure that no one else stumbles upon this. Can you do that?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. He places a comm in your hand before closing your hand around it. You don’t know what to do. The Knight finally steps back, grabbing his helmet before placing it back on. The front faceplate is still lifted, allowing his face to still be visible.

“After everything goes down, you’ll join my side no matter what, understand?” he orders, receiving another nod from you.

He leans forward one last time, his breath on your neck makes you shiver. Your body is overheating from the close proximity, but he doesn’t make a move to back away.

“Jason Todd,” he whispers into your ear. “Don’t forget that name, it will be your only saving grace when we seize Gotham.”

With that, he pulls away and seals his helmet shut. The Arkham Knight leaves without another word, leaving you alone, flustered, and very confused.

Thanks for reading!

#jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight imagine #jason todd imagine #arkham knight #arkhamverse

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hqmillioncorn · 25 days

Text

and go again.

hi diary it’s me! butter! today me and pancake went shopping and we ran into those adventures everyones talking about! i guess they stopped a monster! that's so cool! we didn't get to talk to them a lot because we needed to get home before mom and dad so we could bake them a cake but they seemed nice. oh, there was one who was kinda mean but maybe she was just having a bad day. or maybe it's because I tripped her and she fell :( I should apologize when I see her again. hopefully we meet again soon. (Excerpt from Butter Moontide's Diary)

Lalapril 4/9: Emotion with @windupnamazu's Butter, Pancake and Cinnamon.

even the most powerful of starsingers need a little rest after opening up a portal to another world for so long.

Good Morning Butter!

Or afternoon, or night! Depending on when you wake up from your little nap!

I have my suspicions I’m going to be a little busy with going out and explaining to whoever asks about what happened back there.

I made you and Pancake some cookies and sandwiches to eat together! Feel free to use my leftover ingredients to make some more if you wish to! I also left plenty of sliced fruits! Get lots of rest and remember that we all love you. We would do anything for the two of you. And Cinnamon too of course. As long as she watches the language.

-Love Lunya

Butter closed his diary, he really couldn’t believe just how many people knew about its existence at this point.

He could still remember when he had first decided to write down his thoughts on it so many years ago. It started as a way for him to write down the things he wanted to do that day, then before he knew it he was writing almost all of his thoughts and memories on it.

Thanks to it he could see what he had been doing the day that Pancake learned to skip rocks on water, the time Cinnamon got stuck on a tree and the day they all made the decision to move into the mansion with Lunya and the others.

Back then Butter had no idea it was going to be one of the most important decisions of his life.

Not only his life, but Pancake’s too. Even Cinnamon’s.

Butter looked at the note in his hand. It looked like Lunya had written it in a bit of a hurry. Despite that, she still managed to write down a message for him and Pancake. He knew that whatever his parents had done probably had important people in Gridania asking way too many questions about what really happened.

Questions that Lunya assured them she would take care of. Butter couldn’t thank her enough, for this and for everything she and Sirius had done for them. How would he ever thank them?

It was just one of the many things that Butter would have to deal with later.

Right now his problem, for lack of a better word, was that he was completely stuck.

Earlier he had decided to spend his morning with Babycorn in the room she was recovering in. He was worried about her and wanted to see how she was doing. Obviously Cherrypit was in the room already. He was sitting on Babycorn’s bed, coloring in a picture he had drawn. When he first walked in, Butter noticed that he was still talking to Babycorn like she was still awake. It didn’t look like Cherrypit had even noticed him coming in.

An armchair was already in the room so Butter decided to sit there for the time being. When he sat down Cherrypit finally noticed him, he gave Butter a wave with a red crayon in his hand then went back to drawing.

It wasn’t long before Pancake and Cinnamon joined Butter. By now Cherrypit had fallen fast asleep. It was early in the morning so it wasn’t a surprise. Pancake decided to grab an extra blanket and cover Cherrypit up. She even grabbed one for herself since it was a little chilly.

“When do you think Babycorns gonna wake up?” Pancake asked. She had decided to sit on the armrest of the chair. Even though Butter had offered her the seat.

“Not sure.”

“I hope it’s soon.”

It turned out that Cherrypit wasn’t the only one in the room that was tired. It didn’t take long until Butter, Pancake and Cinnamon had all fallen fast asleep.

…And then when Butter woke up he realized that he was in a very precarious position.

Pancake was hugging him tightly and Cinnamon was sleeping on top of his fluffy, spiky head.

But what was really weird was that his diary was on his lap, almost like someone had placed it there. Then when Butter read the purple note sticking out from the margins of his diary, everything fell into place.

Not only that but he noticed that there was a basket of cookies and sandwiches placed on the small table next to him. The cookies were all in the shape of various little flowers. They were all covered in different colored frosting.

Lunya must have known that frosted cookies were one of his and Pancake’s favorite.

‘I think Cinnamon taught me how to make this kind of cookie…?’ At one point it was all a baby Pancake would eat. It was hard to get her to eat anything else because of that. She would cry and cry and beg Butter for more of them that he would just eventually just give in and bake her some more. ‘I wonder if she remembers any of that?’ Butter tried to look up at Pancake but her head was still resting on his own.

He didn't dare move an ilm, at the risk of waking her up.

At some point Cinnamon had decided enough was enough and had warned Pancake that if she kept eating cookies she would turn into a cookie herself and that Butter would eat her.

Butter assured Pancake he would never do anything like that but after Pancake had cried her eyes out she promised that she would only treat cookies as a ‘sometimes’ food, as Cinnamon called it.

'I think Cinnamon only wanted more of the cookies to herself…’ Butter wouldn’t have put it past her. He only remembered being mad at Cinnamon back then for making Pancake cry, but in retrospect it was probably a good thing that she stopped Pancake from eating too many sweets.

Too much of a good thing can very quickly turn into a bad thing. Like a really bad tummy ache!

…But right now Butter really wanted to reach over and grab one of those cookies. They looked really yummy. Right now though, Pancake was grabbing onto him like someone would grab onto a big stuffed animal, which meant his hands were tied, so to speak.

Alongside the cookies was a basket of sandwiches. The sandwiches looked to be different types, Butter could see exactly one peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Pancake and Cinnamon would probably play a game to see which one of them got that one.

Butter sunk into the seat a bit in an attempt to get more comfortable. Hopefully it wasn’t too comfy, he didn’t actually want to fall asleep again.

There was nothing more he could do but wait for Pancake to wake up and then she would probably wake up Cinnamon right after. Until then Butter decided to re-read the note Lunya had left for them. There was some relief in his heart to know, really know, that he and Pancake were actually wanted by someone near and dear to them.

He had accepted it by now. Well sorta. A part of him was probably never going to really come to terms with it.

But Butter understood that what his parents decided to do ultimately had nothing to do with them. There was nothing that he or Pancake could have done to change their parents minds, he would know, he tried.

Cremia and Scotch had made their bed, so now they had to lie in it. Whatever happened next was up to his parents. None of it would have anything to do with them.

And that was that!

Butter sighed, he opened his diary again and flipped through the pages. He stumbled on the note that Babycorn had written for him when they left Old Sharlayan for the first time. There was something about the way she wrote to him despite not being confident about her own writing had made Butter’s heart flutter back then.

All of a sudden, Butter felt something land on his lap. “Ah?” He lifted up his diary to see what was up, only to be met with Cherrypit’s empty gaze. “Oh! G-Good morning Cherry!” When had he woken up? Butter hadn’t even noticed! It wouldn’t have even been the first time.

Cherrypit stared up at him and then at the diary Butter was holding. He slowly began to raise his red crayon in the air.

“Cherry. No.”

Cherrypit nodded, a playful smile crossing his face.

“...Okay fine, just one page.” There was no way Butter was strong enough to resist. He was still a little worried that Cherrypit would somehow be able to read all of the entries in his diary that were about fantasizing his perfect fairy-tale wedding with Babycorn. But, he had to keep reminding himself that Cherrypit was a baby and couldn’t read.

Butter watched as Cherrypit began to draw a picture in his diary. At first Butter had no idea what Cherrypit was drawing, It sort of looked like a spiky hedgehog to him at first. Then Cherrypit put his crayon down, turned the diary around and pointed right at him. He was so excited about what he made he couldn’t sit still.

Butter looked it over. He could tell instantly that Cherrypit had drawn him, a long sword in his hand and a star over his head. “Butts saved Bebe!” He smiled wide, “Thank you! Thank you!” Cherrypit hugged Butter as much as he could without stretching his arms out.

Babycorn always told him to go easy on the hugs around their friends, so that’s what he did!

Butter felt his eyes start to water. “T-Thanks Cherrypit!” he sniffled, “Lots of other people helped so remember to thank them t-too!”

Cherrypit gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it!” It sounded like he was imitating someone when he said that. He must have heard someone say it before and thought it sounded cool.

One thing was for sure, Butter was happy. Happier than he had been in weeks. Once his arms were free from Pancake’s grip he was going to make sure to write down all the most wonderful things he could in it. He needed to write more good memories with the people he loved to outweigh all the bad memories he had written regarding his parents.

Once everything had settled down he would take Pancake somewhere fun! They would bake cookies together, bake cakes, make whatever she wanted to make! Go wherever they wanted to go! All together!

Maybe he would even tell Babycorn how he felt about her…

While on a date! Maybe somewhere with tasty food!

Butter could still remember the last thing Babycorn had said to him that night.

‘I want to go home with you.'

Cinnamon scratched her head in frustration. “No faaiiiir! That was rigged! Rigged!!!!!” She slowly descended onto a bouquet of fresh flowers. They were soft enough for her to lean back and lie down on them.

Cinnamon figured she might as well since there was nothing better for her to do anyway. “I don’t think it's entirely fair for me to go after the baby in this game!” How was she supposed to know what the last letter in ‘Abbanagagabaowaabaeei’ was? Unfair is what it was!

Butter laughed, “Cinnamon I already told you! There’s no winning or losing in this game!” If there were, then Cherrypit would have been out of the game over an hour ago. He didn’t really understand that you were supposed to say a word that started with the same letter that the last word ended with.

Cinnamon pouted, “Then what’s the point of winning if there’s no rules! Don’t you think so Babycorn?”

Babycorn remained silent, her glowing eyes looking downward.

“...I really was hoping that would get her to say something.”

Cinnamon looked dejected. She wasn't the first to talk to Babycorn hoping for a response from her but a part of her hoped she would be the last to. “Whose turn was it next?” Cinnamon said in an attempt to change the subject.

Butter gave Cinnamon an understanding smile. He knew that she was just trying to help in her own way and even if it hadn’t worked, he knew it was a step in the right direction.

Maybe Babycorn had heard them.?

He hoped he did.

Pancake waved her hand in the air. “It’s my turn next!” She sang. She bounced Cherrypit on her lap, he laughed and mimicked her every move. Cherrypit raised his hand in the air and waved it around. When Pancake noticed Cherrypit staring towards his sister she tickled his cheek, just in case he was getting sad again.

“Don’t worry! She’s gonna wake up soon! I promise!”

Cherrypit let out a squeal. He grabbed Pancake’s hand and gently bit down on it. “Pnapapnabmapanww!” He mumbled.

“Cherrypit!” Pancake took her hand out of Cherrypit’s mouth and wiggled her finger back and forth. “Don’t do that! You don’t know where I’ve been!”

“Panka in here!” He moved his hands all over to show that he was talking about the room they’d been in all morning.

“That’s true…” Pancake forgot that Cherrypit was smarter than he looked. “Right! Okay here’s my word!” She closed her eyes, thinking long and hard over Cherrypit’s last word. Until she got it! “Eureka!” Her eyes twinkled with delight, “My word is Water!”

Cherrypit clapped and cheered, “Panka win! Yay! Panka! Wins!”

Cinnamon’s voice instantly rang out. “Aww what?! Home come Butter gets an easy word like water?! This is rigged I'm telling you!!”

Of course Pancake had no idea what Cinnamon was saying but from how red her glow was becoming it was clear she wasn’t very happy about something.

It was Butter’s turn now but he hadn’t been listening. Almost all of his attention was being drawn into looking to see if Babycorn was reacting to anything. Despite all the talking and laughing near her, Babycorn looked the same as she had yesterday and the day before.

Completely still.

Butter desperately hoped she would wake up soon. Babycorn would wake up and laugh just like she used to. Talk like she used to, eat every tasty snack like she used to, fill every room with light just like she used to.

Butter grabbed the edge of his coat and crumpled it up. He really just missed Babycorn. He wished with all of his heart that she would be okay.

“Butter? It’s your turn!”

Butter looked over to Pancake, he could tell she was a little worried. “It’s okay you don’t have to play if you don’t want to.” she assured him.

“No it’s okay! I was just thinking of a word!” He successfully lied. In his defense, Butter had been listening carefully to Pancake and Cherrypit’s conversation, so he knew exactly what word Pancake had said. Butter raised his hand to his chin in thought, “Hmm…Let’s see…” There were so many words he could choose from it was hard to just pick one.

“How about reunion?”

Pancake feigned a gasp, “Woah what a big word! I'm surprised you know it!” She looked down and moved Cherrypit’s arms forward and backwards. “Don’t you think so Cherry?”

“Big! Big!” He giggled.

Butter would have laughed along with him , but something stopped him.

The sound of a voice, repeating the same word he had just said.

He turned his head to look, and saw something that took his breath away.

Babycorn was awake.

Her eyes were wide open as she stood on top of the bed. Her legs were shaking as she tried to keep herself standing.

Nobody knew how to react. There was a sense of relief and happiness at seeing Babycorn move but it had happened so suddenly, No one was prepared for it.

No one, but Babycorn. A smile crossed her face, becoming wider and wider. She took in a shaky breath as tears pooled up at the corners of her eyes.

It was getting harder for her to keep her balance but Babycorn didn’t care. She took a step forward and tripped but before anyone could ask if she was okay, Babycorn jumped off the bed with her arms held out.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!”

It sounded like she was shouting in disbelief. Almost as if she couldn’t believe she had made it out alive.

Butter noticed in an instant.

Babycorn was speaking. Her voice no longer echoed inside his head.

As Babycorn fell towards the ground Butter felt his legs start to move.

He took a step forward, then another one and another. Before he knew it, he was holding his arms out ready to catch her. There was no way he was ever going to let anything happen to Babycorn as long as he could.

Time felt like it was slowing down to a crawl. Babycorn’s eyes met with Butter’s. Her eyes were shining with tears building up in her eyes. Her long hair was messy from her having spent so much time sleeping.

Her heart started beating faster and faster the closer she got to him. She reached out her hands towards him. ‘Catch me! Catch me and don’t let me go!’ Who had said that?

Butter caught her. He spun her around as he cried out in happiness. He set her down on solid ground and hugged her tightly. “Babycorn! I’m so glad…” He was desperate to tell Babycorn just how much he missed her, how happy he was to see her alive and well. But no words would come out.

All Butter could do was cry onto her shoulder.

Babycorn hugged him right back, not wanting to let him go.

There was something so nice about seeing Butter again. Even after everything that had happened he and Pancake still looked the same. They were here and Butter had actually missed her?

That meant that he wasn’t upset with her for what had happened to his parents. Babycorn couldn’t even imagine how much they had gone through.

There was also something about Butter that was making her entire face warm up and her eyes swirl. “H-Hi?! Butts?!” She was overjoyed to see him but why in the world was she feeling this way?!

Babycorn felt something land on her head. “Wah?” She looked up and saw Cherrypit staring right back at her. “Bebe! Bebe!” He was smiling wide, looking happier than he had looked in days.

He snuggled his face into his sister’s hair, repeating her name over and over. “No go again! No, no going!” He berated her. That was enough worrying for his big sister for once lifetime, thank you very much.

“I'll try my best…” Babycorn showed Butter an awkward smile.

He laughed, letting out a wet sniffle. Words were still failing him. He was overcome with emotions.

“What Butter means is that we’ll all do our best!” Pancake ran up to Babycorn and hugged her too. “That’s enough of being sad for me!! It’s tiring, I'll have you know!” Pancake was so happy, happy that everything was okay.

No one was hurt and everything was going to be okay! Her parents hadn’t taken everything away!

Babycorn took her hand and ruffled Pancake’s hair around. Something that had been much easier to do back when Pancake was younger.

Time just flew by…

Babycorn could still remember the day she first met them all. Who would have guessed that her tripping on her face into the dirt would one day lead to all of this?

Babycorn stood as tall as she could and whispered to Butter in a hushed tone. “I’m glad you didn’t go away…”

Butter smiled, whispering back. “Me too…”

Cinnamon flew over them in silence. Someone should probably let the others know that Babycorn was awake but Cinnamon figured that it was nice to let everyone here have a moment of quiet for now.

#lalapril #lalapril 2024 #Butter #Pancake #Cherrypit #Cinnamon #Babycorn #Lunya #buttercorn #aaaaaaaaaaand thats all three parts of this saga yipppppeeeeeee #i was going to write the fight initially but One) i cant write fight scenes #and Two) I dont know who would be fighting butters parents and i didnt just wanna blindly guess #but it all worked out i think yay :)#i was very nervous about this much and i rewrote the very last part like 5 times i think #the Go away reference babycorn says is from my first butter thing i wrote where babycorn tells him to go away #also yeah all three titles were connected #it was really hard not to talk about these ones

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Unprofessional [pt. 2] /// Yandere Tendou x f!Reader (18+)

Request: Bro can I request a super smutty yandere tendou x reader please there’s literally no content for him and I’m just a honry simp for him 😔 (also your writing is FANFUCKINGTASTIC I have read and reread all of your docs dude at least twice in conclusion you’re my favorite writing blog now)

A/N: Thank you omg I’m so honored, seriously I’m blushing?? Also I love Tendou too so ty for the request. Finished the second (and final) part one day late for his birthday 🎂🥳🎁🎊🎉

Summary: The new hire you’re supposed to be training at your office job is a little too attached for his own good…or yours. [Part 1]

Tags/warnings: yandere, timeskip (Tendou is 23), noncon, mildly inebriated sex, restraints/bondage, threats, Tendou is incapable of shutting up, liberal use of “senpai”

You look so cute like this, wrapped up like a pretty birthday present just for him. Tendou likes you so much it hurts.

Your breaths are intentionally steady, like you’re counting out the proper number of seconds on each inhale and exhale in an effort to appear calm. Your chest heaves lightly, and he’s got an almost-perfect view of it with your blouse unbuttoned and your bra pushed up over your tits. He’d prefer to have you completely topless, but with your hands tied behind your back with his belt, his options are limited.

Tendou’s already shimmied your sensible pencil skirt down over your thighs to expose your legs. You looked so sexy in just your open shirt and pantyhose, but he had to take the hose off for access. Besides, removing the sheer black fabric (slowly, so that it wouldn’t rip—he knows those things aren’t cheap) gave him the opportunity to feel up your legs. Panties came next, and now you’re on your back glaring up at him with your legs crossed and folded to hide your naked pussy.

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Of course he took a few pictures.

The only issue is the gag. Tendou has his tie wound over your mouth to keep you quiet. It won’t do—he wants to see your face, after all—but he’s already got a fix, in the form of a little square of plastic he takes from his pocket.

He holds it up close enough that you can see it. “Do you know what this is?”

You don’t nod or anything, but you definitely recognize it—a condom.

“We’re going to have sex, senpai.” Tendou picks up on the little catch in your breath when he says the word ‘sex’, but he doesn’t think about it. “I don’t really care if I wear a condom, but I think you probably do. Is that right?”

You don’t respond.

“Senpaiii…don’t be stubborn. Nod yes for a condom, or else I’m not gonna wear one.”

You glare like you want to kill him, but you nod. Haha, how cute.

“Okay, good. I like when you do what I tell you. Now, I want to take the gag off, but I won’t do it if you’re going to be loud, you understand? It’s rude to bother your neighbors late at night. And…” He pauses. “Just to make sure you play nice, if you don’t listen to me I’ll take the condom off and cum inside. You don’t want that, do you?”

You shake your head frantically.

“Thought so.” Tendou’s pale, nimble fingers splay out over your inner thigh. “Then can you promise you’ll be nice?”

It takes you a long minute during which Tendou entertains himself petting the sweat-damp skin of your thigh, but you finally nod.

“Great!” Tendou grins and reaches down to untie the gag.

You take a minute to open and close your mouth, probably trying to stretch out the stiff muscles before you speak. Your voice is impassive and cool like you’ve been practicing what you’re going to say. “Tendou, you need to untie me. You’re very drunk and not in your right mind. Don’t do something you’re going to regret.”

Instead of listening to you, Tendou chooses to strip. Your composed mask slips for a second when he takes off his boxers to reveal his stiff, throbbing hard cock, already aching red and drizzling strands of precum onto his hand when he strokes it up and down. “Don’t worry baby, I sober up quick. I might be a lil tipsy but I’m not gonna have any trouble performing. Not for you.”

He crouches down to center you in between his arms, holding his head directly above yours. “And besides—“ you try to pull back away from his hot breath but your limited range of movement prevents you from getting anywhere— “I’m not going to regret this.”

Your lips are soft under his and you still taste fresh and sweet and minty from the toothpaste. You’re unresisting when his tongue prods into your mouth, but that’s not enough. “Kiss me back,” he murmurs, and you do. Maybe it’s just mindless—he’s sure you’ve kissed other people, as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise—but the movements of your lips and teeth and tongue against his feel almost eager.

“Ha…my first kiss with senpai,” Tendou says, pulling back and licking over his swollen lips. It would be nice to take his time with everything, but there’ll be more chances for that later. He loves the way your eyes trace him as he sticks his own fingers in his mouth to cover them with saliva.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but your question is answered when Tendou easily pulls your legs apart and settles himself between them so he can have easy access to slide his spit-soaked fingers up the length of your slit. “Tendou—Tendou, wait—“

He shushes you and continues to drag his middle finger all the way up from your entrance to your clit, letting the rough texture of his skin combine with your slick lubricant and give you just enough stimulation to make your hips twitch. “Mm, you like that? Gotta get you ready baby…not to brag, but I’m a little bigger than most guys. Wouldn’t want to—oh, easy, easy, relax—wouldn’t want to hurt you.“

You wince and then try to hold it back, school your expression so he won’t see the discomfort on your face when a single finger pushes into you. It’s not that painful, but the physical feeling isn’t nearly as bad as the fact that you don’t want any of this.

“How is that?” Tendou asks, slowly rocking his index finger in and out of your pussy, barely curling the tip to seek out your g-spot. You suppress the minuscule jerk of your core as best you can, but you can’t quite make it invisible and he feels it. “That good, huh?”

You want so badly to be angry. You are angry. If you could speak your mind right now, you’d tell him to go to hell. Yes, it feels good (and even admitting that to yourself makes you want to curl up and die), but it’s just hormones, stimulation, reaction. You can’t help it. But you’re not going to say that to him, not if you have the least chance of convincing him to stop before he goes any further. “It’s…fine. But, Tendou—“

“Knew you would like it. Oh—“ Another finger forces into your cunt. “—you’re tight, senpai. It’s been a while, yeah? You don’t have a boyfriend, I’d know if you did…and you’re not the type to do this casually. Too focused on your career.”

“I…mm…” What is he saying? Typical Tendou running his mouth even while you’re focused on him fucking you with those long fingers, prodding away at that spot—that fucking spot that is somehow, somehow—

—making you wet.

It’s not like some kind of precision activity. Tendou isn’t building you up or being subtle about it. There’s no teasing, no gentle touches, he’s just stroking that same spot over and over and the flat of his hand is mashing against your clit carelessly and it’s so stupid and so messy and there’s nothing kind or loving about it so why is it working?

“Feel that? Feel how wet you are?” Tendou has that same self-satisfied grin as he works his fingers in and out. “Poor senpai… You needed this, but you can’t ask for it yourself, I understand.”

“I don’t need anything…” you say, but you can’t expect him to believe you when your juices are slipping in and out of your hole along with his fingers, lubing him up to move even faster than before. When he started, you were so tense and tight that he could barely twist his fingertips up to pad at your g-spot, but now? Your walls are hot and sticky and supple, sucking him back in every time he pulls out.

He wants to make you cum, he does. And if he keeps going, it’s not going to be long, is it? But it’s your first time together… Tendou feels his cheeks getting hotter. First time with senpai, first time seeing you and touching you and having you totally, completely belong to him. The first time he makes you cum, it should be together.

If he’s not mistaken, you look almost disappointed when his fingers work their way out of your pussy, drawing away from you and wiping clean on the inside of your thigh. “You—You’re not…?” you question, trailing off when apparently you can’t bring yourself to ask for it.

“Don’t worry baby, plenty of time for that when I’m inside you.” Tendou walks his way up on the bed to leave a kiss on your forehead, so quick that you can’t cringe away when he does it.

You look off to the side, determined not to give him the satisfaction of eye contact—not to mention you hate looking at him, you hate seeing his stupid creepy face leering at you like you’re…you’re lovers or something. Like he’s not forcing you. But your attempt to maintain even that measly degree of avoidance shatters when you hear plastic crinkling. Ripping.

He’s opening the condom.

“Tendou—Tendou, wait! Listen!” You swallow and try to pull yourself back into your workplace persona, the mentor he respected and learned from, even if it was just an act. “Listen to me, please. You’re making a mistake. If we—if we stop now, we can forget about it...we can go back to normal, I promise. Do you hear me? I promise.”

“Normal isn’t enough anymore. Y’know what normal is for me? I’ve loved you for fifteen years. Wanted this for so long.” Tendou rolls the condom on and then hikes your ass upward so his cock is lined up with your slit. “Senpai, don’t you think you’ve had your way for long enough? It’s time…it’s time for me to get what I want.”

For the first time since he caught you and pinned you down on the floor of your living room, you struggle, really struggle for all you’re worth. The stiff leather of Tendou’s belt bites into your wrists and forearms as you try and get out of it, but the restraints hold firm—in fact, it feels like they’re getting tighter the more you move. Your hands are going numb from lack of blood flow, the prickles of pins and needles stinging into your skin, but you ignore it. You’re too worried about being heard to scream (and how twisted is it that you’re more scared of your neighbors than him?) but you jerk your leg up in an attempt to kick him away.

Tendou catches your foot before it can hit him. Easily. It’s like he sees everything you’re doing before you do it. “Hey, hey, stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Let me go, Tendou!” you hiss as loudly as you dare.

“Senpai…” His grip on your lower thigh tightens, a warning. “What did I say about being nice?”

You go limp. You don’t want to have sex with him, but you cannot—absolutely cannot—have him do it unprotected.

Tendou sighs as you relax in his grasp. “Good choice… Always so rational. But I want you to say it out loud, okay? Tell me you know what’s going to happen if you misbehave.”

Once again, you find yourself avoiding his gaze. How dare he say he loves you and then treat you like this. “…You’re going to take off the condom.”

“Yeah…” Once again, you feel the thick, stiff cock nudging against your inner thigh. He slides it up between your lips to slick it up. ��And what am I going to do when I take it off?”

“You’ll…put it in raw. And…”

“And?”

“…c-cum inside.”

“And you don’t want me to do that. So behave, senpai.”

Tendou pushes into you in one deep stroke and you gasp. ‘A little bigger than most guys,’ he’d said. A little bigger? He’s a liar, again—he’s so big that you can already feel the thick head flush against your cervix, pressing there like he wants to go deeper. “T-Too deep, it’s too deep—“

“Shh, you just gotta get used to it…” Tendou leans down, folding your legs up into your chest so he can trap you between him and the mattress and speckle light kisses over your face. “You have to relax. I’ll be slow.”

The position is uncomfortable. He’s got your spine curled up off the bed and your thighs are burning from the stretch, but his skin bumps against your clit every time he makes the slightest movement. Once you’re steady, he pulls back a fraction and then thrusts back into you, barely moving, just enough that you can feel the pressure of his cockhead receding and then hitting back against your cervix. It’s slow, but it’s not slow enough—nothing is slow enough with how big he is.

Tendou kisses you again, pulling your head back to center so he can shove his tongue into your mouth just like he’s shoving his cock into your pussy. He’s not content to keep up the languid pace for long, though—as soon as you’re the tiniest bit relaxed, as soon as the barest muffled whimpers are forced out of your mouth, he’s lengthening his thrusts and slapping the entire length of his heavy cock back in and out of you.

You almost wish he would stop dragging it out. You don’t want to feel this, any of this, not him groaning into your mouth, not the weight of his body holding you down and spreading your thighs apart, and definitely not the dizzying friction of the head of his cock on your g-spot. You wouldn’t even be feeling it like this if he hadn’t prepared you and left you wanting.

You close your eyes and try to pretend that it’s someone else doing it to you, but it’s impossible. Tendou was right earlier, it’s been too long—there’s no one else in recent memory who you can picture in his place. Besides, it’s not like you’ve ever been fucked like this. Everything you can sense is screaming out that it’s him, him, him, from his whiny voice moaning out love confessions you don’t want to hear to the spicy-sweet cologne, the same one he wears around the office, now mixed with his sweat and so saturated you think you could choke on it.

You’re trying to imagine someone else’s cock driving your pussy open, anyone else—a boy you had a crush on in high school, the guy you’d lost your virginity to in college, even an actor you like—but it doesn’t work, because no matter who you try to pretend is fucking you you know it’s Tendou.

“Hey—senpai, look at me…” He’s patting your cheek, trying to get you to meet his gaze. “Open your eyes…look what I’m doing to you.”

“Don’t…don’t make me…” You shudder as he pushes all the way back in, bottoming out so he can grind his hips cruelly against your mound and provide untidy stimulation to your clit.

“Look.” Tendou’s voice is hard. He isn’t asking anymore.

With the threat from earlier hanging over your head, you don’t have a choice, do you? You open your eyes and look at him.

Tendou Satori. Even in the middle of drilling you, he’s beaming like you’re making him happy. There are twin pink patches high on his cheekbones under his eyes. He’s sweating—makes sense, he’s doing all the work. His lips are red and swollen from kissing you.

Tendou Satori, who brings you coffee at work even when you didn’t ask for it. Who misspells the same word 3 different ways every time he writes up a sales contract. Who said during his first interview that his greatest weakness is that he has a habit of going with his gut, and that his greatest strength is that his gut is usually right.

How is this the same person? No…no, that’s not what’s making you upset. It’s not that the Tendou fucking you is somehow so different from the one you thought you knew. It’s that he’s the same, the same man who never really listens when you say no, who never stops touching you when you say it bothers you. This is just the next thing. It makes sense.

“Senpai?” Tendou’s hips slow and he leaves his cock sitting thick and hard in your battered pussy. “Senpai? Are you…you’re crying?”

He’s blurry and your eyes sting and you want to wipe at them, but, well, your hands are tied. Literally. Tendou holds himself over you with one arm so the other can thumb over your wet eyes. “Don’t touch me,” you blubber out, knowing it won’t have any effect.

“Shh, shh, stop crying,” he says, sounding panicked. “Please stop crying. Please stop.”

Your silent weeping is interrupted by a whimper as he pulls out of you. You feel…something, maybe relief or maybe disappointment, but mostly you’re just overwhelmed. You’re slack as a puppet while he flips you over and carefully unbuckles the belt from your arms. The pins and needles return in full force once you’re unbound, discomforting to the point of pain as Tendou massages over the tender flesh with his own hands.

“Sorry…Looks like it was a little too tight.”

Once Tendou’s released you, you hold up an arm to examine yourself. There are red marks where the edges of the belt dug into your skin. Your hands are still prickly, still desensitized as you clumsily rub your eyes, but you just can’t seem to stop crying.

“Shh,” Tendou says over your shoulder from where he’s sitting behind you, and you’re so sick of hearing him shush you but you can’t bring yourself to respond. “I love you, senpai… Please don’t cry.”

The way he says it—so hurt, so caring, so desperate, makes your heart ache. You’d almost believe him…if he weren’t pushing you back down onto the bed, face first this time. You don’t have the energy to resist as he pulls your ass up to his hips. At least now you can bite down on the sheet to shut yourself up as he fills your aching cunt again.

This time, though, now that he’s fucking you like a dog, he’s got the space to reach down around your hips and stroke your clit. The shock of the contact is enough to scare the tears out of your eyes and you cry out.

Tendou takes your response as permission to do more, rubbing over your button with no regard for how delicate and sensitive you’re feeling. “Yeah, yeah, you like that… Senpai likes it when I touch her needy little pussy? Come on, let me hear you.”

“Tendou—mmph, Tendou, st—ahh…?” But you can’t really tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop. If you’re going to have to get fucked like this, shouldn’t you at least get to get off? It’s only fair.

Fair. The thought crosses your mind and you almost laugh—maybe you would if the force of Tendou’s body weight wasn’t smothering your face into the pillows. Nothing about this is fair.

“Do you like it?” You can hear how excited he is. “Tell me—tell me you like it, senpai? Please. Please?”

With trembling arms, you raise your upper body off the bed just enough so that you can turn your head to the side and speak. “Keep touching me. Like that.”

He does, padding over your clit senselessly while his cock does its brutal work on your insides. You feel…fucking amazing, and Tendou’s so happy, so grateful to have your beautiful pure dirty body holding onto him, sucking him into your cunt and holding yourself around him like you’ll fall apart if he’s not inside you filling you up. Your pussy is incredibly responsive, clenching down in him in time with his fingers moving on your clit. God, he could cum right now…but you have to cum first, he has to make you cum, it has to be together.

He’s so glad you’re not crying anymore. You like it, he knows you do. He’s had you getting closer and closer for a while now, and all the ups and downs and stopping you before you can cum are definitely making you need it even more.

You’re getting louder. You probably don’t even realize it, but you are. Tendou wishes he had something recording.

“I’m—fuck, I’m…c-cu…” Telling him is reflexive, a gesture of courtesy you’re used to from previous partners. He doesn’t deserve it, but you give it to him anyway.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Tendou coos. His touches grow even rougher somehow, abusing your clit while he nudges himself out so he can slide his cock back and forth over your g-spot. The aggressive rhythm of the stimulation has your spine arching up and he pushes you back down to keep you in place. “Stay down…let me do it for you.”

“Tendou!” you cry out, and he feels it, feels you cum, feels your whole body wracked with tremors, feels the walls of your cunt squeeze his cock like you’re trying to hold him inside. Fuck. Fuck. It’s too good, your pussy is so tight and warm and drenched in your juices, he can’t think, he wants it, wants to cum, wants to cum with you, together, together, together.

Tendou’s hand leaves your clit just in time to grip your ass and slam himself back into you, holding you impaled on his cock while both of you shudder through your post-orgasm aftershocks. “Senpai…senpai. I love you,” he gasps, and cums, hips jerking against yours as his mind goes blank for a second.

Fuck, it feels good, feels like his eyes are rolling back in his head.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Tendou…” It’s all you can say. You can feel him getting softer inside you, and he pulls out to take off the condom. Once he’s gotten rid of it, you let him flip you onto your side and lie next to you on the bed.

“How was that, senpai?” Tendou asks, kissing you slowly. He cuddles up to you, pulling your back into his chest so your bodies are fitted together like puzzle pieces. His heart is pounding like a rabbit’s—you’d think it was cute if not for…everything.

You’re quiet.

“I know you liked it.” Another kiss, this time on the back of your neck. “You needed it just as much as I did. And I know you won’t want to admit it at first, right? You’ve got your professional reputation to maintain, I get it. But don’t worry—“

You wish he would shut up. You wish he would leave you alone. You wish he wasn’t holding you so close that you can feel his cock against your ass, and you wish—you wish you couldn’t feel him getting hard, again.

“—this was just our first time. And there’s gonna be lots more. You and me? We’re going to be together forever, senpai.”

#Tendou Satori x reader #Tendou Satori #Tendou x reader #haikyuu x reader #Tendo Satori x reader #Tendo Satori #Tendo x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere Tendou Satori x reader #yandere Tendou Satori #yandere Tendo Satori x reader #yandere Tendo Satori #smut #tw noncon

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necros-writing-stuff · 3 years

Note

Saw that abo you did where leighton is made to watch Eden wreck PC 👀 good stuff, good stuff. Going along with the thought that lil bitch leighton went to school with Eden and Bailey, and they bullied the shit outta him, perhaps could we get:

Eden and Bailey being told by the PC they share, crying their little eyes out, about leighton forcing all of the students to let him take nudes of them. That after they ran from the class room, he forced them to detention and spanked them.

Protective/possessive behavior is so fucking hot and those two ooze it (when bailey fucking wants to the twa-)

This is straight up me writing Leighton getting beat so Leighton hate gang come get y'all juice I guess

The school is quiet as Leighton steps out back to his car, students eager to disappear for the weekend. The end of term was approaching, leaving the man with stacks of paperwork that were rather stressful. Tedious, easy, but stressful.

What he least expects is seeing Bailey and Eden stood waiting for him - they both look as rugged as they always have. Bailey with his leaner muscles and tattoos, cigarette smoke rising as he takes a drag. Eden in his old, patched clothes, larger frame permanently adorned with a frown. It brings back uncomfortable memories of the two tormenting him in this very school.

"What do you two want?" Leighton pauses, clutching his work bag a little tight. Eden lives out in the woods like some feral animal now, why was he in town? Bailey could be here for an orphan, but the other? Strange.

The caretaker drops his cigarette, using the tip of his shoe to crush the bud. "You've been pushing you weight where we don't want it, Toad. Need a word."

Leighton flinches hearing the old nickname. Toad. Because he'd been so scared of getting beaten by these two he'd sweat when they were around, looking 'slimy'. But he was an adult now. So he stood composed, smoothing his expensive suit down and nodding.

"Very well. Please, my office," he keeps his voice calm and level. What could it be? As far as he's aware, everything has been business as usual? Eden glaring at the back of his head sure isn't helping. Dear God, are those more scars? What a brute.

Stepping into his office, he keeps the door open for the men to step through. Politeness, poise. Civility. This doesn't have to be like it used to be, Leighton ending up limping home, abdomen covered in bruises from their fists.

The door closes and Leighton's heart spikes because one of them grabs him from behind. It's Bailey, roughly pinning his arms and pulling on his neatly styled hair. Before he can yell out, Eden pulls back his fist, aiming straight for his gut and making him double over, air knocked form his lungs - and he's manhandled into his seat.

Struggle as hard as he wants, Leighton can't break free of their grips, can't stop regressing in his head to the scared little boy he used to be. Even as his arms are bound. He's sweating again, isn't he?

"Password," Bailey demands, crouching down so he can look up into panicked green eyes.

Leighton stutters it out, shame filling him at how easy he gave in. He was past this, he was an adult, a successful adult, and these two were still just horrible bullies that were here to ruin and torment him. It's not fair, it's not!

The tapping of a keyboard is interrupted with the crack of his jaw being hit with a large fist. Eden, again. The man hadn't said anything, and to be honest he hoped he stayed quiet. When the man did speak, it was mostly to deal threats that he had rarely lied about.

"Where do you keep your little photography collection? And you best give us all of them, or we'll strip you and tie you to the gate like we used to. Pretty sure I saw that Whitney kid smoking out there just now, think they'd like to have some fun time with dear old teacher?" Bailey's words make his blood freeze in his veins. Anything but that. Anything but letting Whitney have a way to abuse him

"... File called 'decorative ideas'," Leighton wheezes out, still trying to get his breath back from the punch. No one gave a shit about the decor of the school, no one would bother to check the real contents.

Bailey hums, clicking around until the file appears. As the computer whirrs, images of students in debauched positions, lewd poses and sometimes tearful faces load in. Eden swears when one set in particular loads.

"They weren't lying," the gruff man seethes, fists clenching in a way that makes Leighton nauseous. It was just that pretty one, the one with the good grades. The prudish one he'd had to blackmail to get those racy photos of them covered in suds washing his car.

The ones of you bent over his lap, ass red-raw were the best. You shouldn't have called him a dirty old pervert, should have just bent over and let him get a nice shot of your hole while you cleaned.

Bailey starts deleting the images, tutting as he clicks and drags. "You see, Toad, this one here is ours," he pauses on an image of you covering your naked body with your hands, refusing to look in the camera. Leighton wants to vomit. He knew you were an orphan, but so had plenty of the others. What would make you different? Unless-

Another punch, this time from the tattooed man, and there's no break in between as both men begin pummeling into his bound, helpless body. Pain blooms in his ribs, jaw, browbone - and there's a kidney shot in there, if he's not mistaken.

He hacks up a ball of spit, a little blood within the mix, attempting to suck in air. He can't breath, can't defend himself, can only take the onslaught. Can only start to numb as he remembers being used like this as a child. As their personal punching bag.

Bitterness wells up in his chest. He had thought he had changed in his maturity. Turns out he was wrong.

"Are those the only ones?" Eden grasps him by the hair, pulling his head back in a way that strains his neck.

It's hard to wheeze out the yes, but he is let go, flopping in his chair like a rag doll. Breathing, that's all he has to focus on. Deep one in, hold for a few seconds, and release. Stay calm. Don't piss yourself like you used to.

Eden starts rifling around the draws of his office as Bailey ensures the pictures are wiped from the computer, a little slow and clumsy. Stupid fuck barely even knows how to use modern technology, it seems, but he knows enough to find the proper way to get rid of it all.

Eden returns with his camera. His expensive, lovely camera, placing it on the desk before getting a hammer from his inside pocket.

"N-no!" Leighton yells out in vain as the hammer smashes down, mangling the expensive equipment. Eden doesn't stop at one, continuously wrecking the device with a personal vendetta. Even the memory card within was shattered.

When he's done, the hunter turns back towards the headmaster, still bound to his own chair. He's not gentle as he lifts his chin with the claw of the hammer.

"You even look at them again and we'll come back and I'll shove this in your fucking eye socket, do you understand?"

Leighton nods, determined to keep eye contact as he does so. He has cowered enough, he could try to save some face now by not begging or crying.

The binds start coming loose, but Leighton can't move. Can only wilt, mind beginning to disassociate. He thinks he hears the two men moving to the door. Thinks he hears the caretaker calk back "Later, Toad," before the door slams shut.

The clock on his wall is unreasonably loud, now he's alone.

#Eden the Lonely #Bailey the Caretaker #Leighton the Headmaster #spill your guts #anonymous

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pointnumbersixteen · 3 years

Note

How do you see The Captain's coming out, and growth in confidence and self acceptance thereafter taking place?

I like this question! …and I’m probably going to elaborate on it a bit more than many people will want to read (I noticed back when I was regularly writing essay length posts that they did not get a lot of love) and it’s probably going to get even more ramble-y than usual (brain has not been braining as cooperatively as it should recently and the decision to drink half a bottle of wine right before answering this- sorry- probably does not help), but here we are.

About coming out scenarios, none of mine are particularly elaborate. While I do think he needs to come out for his story line to progress, I can’t imagine him making a big thing out of it (long or elaborate announcements, heart-to-hearts, emotional displays of bearing his authentic self or any of the like), either with the group, or person-by-person, for several reasons:

First off, that sort of a coming-out to-do is a more modern notion, and I doubt he was a particularly modern person even when he was alive, seventy-five years ago. His notions of privacy and propriety are probably much more conservative than ours, and I feel like that makes it unlikely that he’d go into any sort of detail, at least at early in this process, about his feelings/emotions or the specificities of his attractions. We’re talking about a man who doesn’t even use his own name. It’s difficult to picture him going into depth about his desires and love life.

Secondly, he’s a bit of a social coward. (He’s not a physical coward, of course, he jumped on that bomb in the garden without hesitation, and acknowledged after the fact that he gotten caught up in the moment, and therefore hadn’t really thought about how a bomb couldn’t hurt him.) And I get it, I’m a bit of a social coward, too, so no judgement. He probably faced a lot of ridicule in his life. Being a social coward is totally fair. But he doesn’t put himself into situations that might involve awkward interpersonal interactions if he can help it, and legs it whenever interactions he’s already in become to awkward for him. I feel like he’s probably quite desperate (although he’d never admit to it) to save face and protect what bits of his ego remain unscathed.

Think about it: he could have spoken to Fanny on his own about her nightly screaming disturbing him in s1e1, they have a clear association established at the outset of the show, they leave Heather’s room together at the end of the very first scene, but he doesn’t do so until he has the weight of the whole group to back him up about the screaming at their meeting. He had to buck up his courage and give himself his little ‘over the top we go’ pep talk before going to speak to Alison in Gorilla War. Also, if there was actually something wrong with his soldiers’ horseplay after hours in Reddy Weddy- if it was breaking regulations or even his own orders for quiet hours- and he heard it, he could have gone down directly when he heard it, confronted whoever was involved and order them to stop or put them on report. But no, instead he addressed the entire group of soldiers in a sixteen point morning brief. He even dispatched Pat to confront Alison about the party in s2e2, instead doing it himself… and spit out his apology/reconciliation with Pat at the end as fast as possible. And as for legging it when things get awkward, see his retreats following the group confronting him in Getting Out and after Alison telling him he wasn’t needed in the Grey Lady- and on a more figurative than literal level, but most relevantly, his quick turn from ‘I’ll miss you’ to ‘we’ll miss you’ with Havers in Reddy Weddy.

This is not a man who wants to be in awkward or embarrassing situations. And I think that coming out, at least at first, will probably be a bit embarrassing for him- it was scandalous in his time, and I think it will take him longer to get over that feeling and come to terms with himself than it will to finally acknowledge that he’s gay. So I doubt he’d make more of it than he utterly feels he has to, at least at first. And of course, he’d have to be a bit afraid that people would judge him or stop associating with him over it, as sadly, in his own time many people would have done, and most of the ghosts are from even earlier times than he was. So that might add more hesitation…

And thirdly, he doesn’t like and/or respect many of his house mates. The other twentieth century ghosts are the only ones he spends much time with. I doubt he’d go out of his way to communicate much of anything to the rest if it wasn’t “mission related” much less discuss his sexuality with them. He mostly disregards Humphrey. See his, “Oh, it’s you.” Mary obviously doesn’t like him and he only associates with her when it might be useful for his ‘missions.’ He clearly doesn’t think much of Thomas and doesn’t really even bother including him in his plans. These aren’t people he’s going to have heart-to-hearts with.

With those constraints in place, here’s a non-exhaustive list of possibilities by which I might see his coming out finally happening. They’re really just scenarios I made for myself on how I might see him coming out and I like to keep my options open (the first three are strategies he might go for, the last is an alternate scenario, presented in decreasing levels of directness on his part):

1) The ‘pull the bandage off quickly and hope it doesn’t sting too much’ strategy.

The Captain waits for the end of one of their various group activities or meetings, where all announcements seem to be made, gets up, clears his throat, stammers a bit, announces it tersely, using the most proper popular word for homosexuality that existed in his time (think: “Heh-hem. Er. Um. Well. It has recently come to my attention that I am- er- well- as it happens- gay. I, uh, thought it should be noted. That is all.”), and then beats a hasty retreat, so he doesn’t have to try to cope with the potentially negative aftermath. Of course, there isn’t a negative aftermath, because many of the ghosts already have guessed and the rest don’t really care. Someone, probably Pat, because he does the bulk of the emotional labor in the group, and more importantly, he’s Cap’s closest friend, would have to go after him. He would of course be initially defensive, and Pat would have to sooth his feathers a bit- or maybe just spit it out over his defensiveness- that he guessed a long time ago and so had plenty of other people, and they were just waiting for him to be ready, and really, it’s fine, and no one’s going to disown him for it.

2) The ‘well maybe I should tell my friends with the hope they support me’ strategy.

He gets together with a small group, the people whose company he actually values, definitely Fanny and Pat, maybe Julian, probably Alison either at the same time or after he finishes with his ghosts pals, and says it in much the same way as the previous scenario, but waiting for their reactions rather than retreating straight away. Pat and Alison, I expect, would answer with something like ‘yeah, we figured that one out a long time ago, actually, and it’s completely fine’ and Julian’s reaction would probably be something like, ‘well, obviously.’ Fanny’s had a lot of character growth since season one, when I expect her reaction would have been very shrill and judgmental, probably still would be a touch less warm and/or nonchalant, but I picture it as something like a sigh, followed by a pat on the arm and something like, ‘well, I still like you better than everyone else here, anyway.’ Word would eventually trickle to everyone else by way of social osmosis. Or not. No one seems to care if Humphrey or the plague ghosts are well informed.

3) The ‘I’m not brave enough to actually go through the process of actually telling anyone anything about me so let’s just drop hints and hope everyone figures it out without making a big deal about it’ strategy.

The indirect approach (I’m rather fond of this one, but mostly because it was my own primary coming out approach)… he first sends out feelers to certain people on the topic of homosexuality, probably Alison, since she’s modern, hosted a lesbian wedding, and very much implied that she’d be ready to keep scandalous secrets for him in Reddy Weddy, and possibly maybe also Julian, as he’s the most sexually experienced/knowledgeable, and after Alison spent a while inundating him with ‘it’s okay to be gay’ messages (along with a sudden and entirely unexplained influx of LGBT media) as she’s socially clever enough to see that’s what he’s looking for and after Julian spent a while telling him probably far more than he ever actually wanted to know about the potentialities of gay sex, that might boost the Captain’s confidence enough to let him start dropping hints to people, instead of telling them outright (consciously commenting on the attractiveness of men they see rather than occasionally accidentally blurting it out- see ‘the handsome one’- occasionally putting forth an opinion or stance on the LGBT world ‘it would have been nice if gay marriage was acceptable when I was alive,’ maybe occasionally mentioning how certain men would make cute couple), expecting them to meet him in the middle and figure out the point on their own… of course, many of them have already realized, so this isn’t a problem. It’s entirely possible, though, that Mary (world view not terribly grounded in reality) and Kitty (lack of life experience and/or instruction about life, see the how are babies made subplot) never pick up the hints on their own and someone else eventually has to tell them.

4) The ‘someone puts him out of his misery’ scenario.

Cap acknowledges to himself that he’s gay first and then, wishing to avoid embarrassment or lack of acceptance, obviously, awkwardly, painfully tries to disguise it and in doing so draws attention to it, until a third party decides to put him out of his misery and tell him that many of them figured it out ages ago and that everyone is fine with it. Maybe Pat. Maybe Alison. I kind of like the idea of it being Fanny (with her lovely character growth and her couple of suspicious glances his way in the Perfect Day), actually, by way of something like ‘You know, I was entirely prepared to continue on living with my husband, George, keeping his secrets, about the, uh, sort of person he was, and you’re at least one better than him, given that you at least never murdered me- or, for that matter, never married some poor woman you had no interest in to shield yourself from scrutiny… and so, what I’m saying is, I wouldn’t turn my back on you for being the, uh, sort of person you are, either, and maybe things have progressed enough that you don’t actually have to keep secrets at all.’ Cap would take all of this in with a mixture of mortification and relief. I’m rather fond of this scenario, too.

As for the second bit of the question, once his sexuality is out there, though, and no one judges him or hates him for it- and some are quite supportive- I do see him becoming more self-accepting. If no one’s judging him, does he need to judge himself so harshly? And also more confident. Because some of those things that he’s always felt different about and in the past has probably been ridiculed about in the past (even if he’s in denial about being gay, he and quite a few other people had to at the very least note that he’s not particularly interested in women), are, apparently just fine now. So he’s a bit more just fine now himself. And that weight of always trying to be someone else, someone who’s just right, can lift and he can relax a bit more. And that would probably help him a lot, too. I see it as a slow sort of thawing process. No matter what way he comes out, I still see Alison as very helpfully providing a variety of LGBT media to help this process along. And maybe he’d eventually get to the point where he processed enough and warmed up enough to be able to talk more in depth, at least with his friends, about what it was like being him in repressed pre-war Britain, and what sort of men he’s attracted to (I enjoy the idea of him and Fanny- gradually overcoming her own repression- scoping out hot men together). Maybe he’ll even luck out one of his male housemates will decide (or has already decided) that bisexuality is a valid option and he’ll get a date (insert whichever ghost y’all ship him with here). I bet Alison would totally help him set up a nice date, too, with her convenient still-functional-in-the-mortal-realm hands. And it would be nice to maybe see him get a taste of actual happiness.

#bbc ghosts #the captain #coming out #sorry for the giant block of text friends #i find it difficult to help myself

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supremeinlilac · 3 years

Text

A Winter Surprise

Prompt: Something like where reader is an airline pilot and they haven't seen each other in a long time due to reader's work. So reader is coming home for the Christmas holidays and goes to pick up Cordelia from the academy in her pilot uniform coming straight from the airport. Maybe the people there don't know about reader so they're hella confused.

Reader takes Cordelia to Switzerland or somewhere else snowy to celebrate intimate Christmas together. Maybe the reader proposes there? Could you add some snowy walks, hand holding and window shopping and something else hella mushy and sweet? Like Cordelia has hearts for eyes 24/7.

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader

Word Count: 4725

PART 2 HERE

A/n: Thank you once again for this AMAZING prompt!! I loved writing it, and I think it turned out even better the 2nd time lmaoo :) anyway this is going to have only 2 parts because I ran away with myself but I decided to merge the first 2 parts into this one lololol, the second part is a little soft smut because why not.

Also, I really haven’t proof read this, so please let me know if I’ve accidently left a note to myself in this haha. Anyway, I hope this is okay <33

You loved your job wholeheartedly, there was no denying that. It gave you room to experience everything you wanted, from travelling to new places that you could explore on days off, to seeing different cultures and learning languages. Plus, the feeling of being above the line of clouds, watching the earth move slowly beneath you never failed to draw in a breath of admiration. It gave you so much perspective, and helped to keep you grounded, for lack of a better word. Seeing the world below you, so small in the grand scheme of things made you appreciate everything.

You missed your girlfriend selfishly though. Your work as a pilot meant you might have to go months without seeing her and feeling her soft touch. It meant you’d both be frustrated and lonely in these times; which was starting to put a massive strain on your relationship. You’d argue while together about your work schedule, prompting you to take more shifts which never helped in the long run.

Christmas was coming up and you’d not seen her since the start of November, having been mercilessly booked with flights that left you across the world from her. You had planned to surprise Cordelia at Christmas. Well, it was more than one surprise you had up your sleeve; but the first was returning two days early to collect her. Zoe and Mallory were in on your heist, fully committed to handling the school’s affairs for two days for Delia to up and leave.

At your arrival at the academy, girls’ eyes lingered on you as you walked up to the heavy front doors. You supposed they weren’t aware of your job, having only seen you in civilian clothing. Smiling at their confusion, you rang the doorbell, falling backwards slightly to wait. Madison opened the door after a few seconds, eyes widening at your uniform and giving a short whistle. “Damn girl, looking good!” she chided, eyes flicking down your smart navy uniform. Her lips tugged up at one side and she waved her hand so you could enter. “I bet Delia loves a woman in uniform.” She teased; smirk set on her face as she swatted the back of your slacks when you passed. “She’s in the kitchen, I’ll go and get here.”

“No don’t. I’ll find her.” You stopped her with a hand on her wrist, wanting to find your girlfriend yourself. Madison straightened up immediately, hand coming up to her face in a mock salute. “Yes Ma’am.” She spoke seriously, before giggling and pulling you into a hug.

“I’ve missed you Y/n. You have a good time with Cordy, kay?”

“Missed you too Madison.”

Watching her disappear up the stairs before turning and heading for the kitchen. Seeing Cordelia’s shadow on the wall as you approached, you smoothed down the lapels of your uniform and stood against the doorframe. Delia had her back to you, stirring a drink and swaying to the music from the radio. You watched her, waiting for a time when she’d put the mug down so you could make your presence known without the fear of her burning herself on the drink.

Clearing your throat, her head lifted and she turned quickly, gasp leaving her lips and a momentary shock making her freeze. Snapping out of her trance, Cordelia practically threw herself onto you, arms around your neck as she took in your familiar scent.

“You told me you weren’t coming back until Friday!” she accused, grip not faltering on you as you held each other. Her hands stroked your hair when she finally pulled away, just enough to allow you to still hold her.

“I managed to get off early, I thought I’d surprise you.” You smiled when she pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. Cordelia hummed in response, letting you know that she was most pleasantly surprised by your early return.

“Speaking of surprises… We’re going away for Christmas. I managed to pull some strings and get us some tickets” you started to dance with her, pulling her into a light rhythm as you laughed. “We’re going to Switzerland Delia!”

“A white Christmas?” She beamed at the vigorous nod of your head, head falling backwards and eyes closing, picturing the both of you in a warmly lit café by the snowy mountain.

“I love you and your surprises my dear.” She breathed, pulling you by the back of the neck into another kiss she spoke through the chaste kisses, “I’m glad- that- you’re- back.”

A group of the young girls came giggling into the kitchen, forcing you to part, blushing with your hands still together. They stopped when they saw you, silence falling over the space as they didn’t know what to do having interrupted your reunion. “Girls.” You spoke warmly to them, sensing their discomfort, and you pulled the Supreme behind you, past them.

Ascending the stairs to your shared room, you felt Cordelia’s gaze on your back, making you sway your hips slightly to tease.

“You look so good in that uniform baby girl.” She purred, eyes on your butt as you walked in front of her. A quick glance behind you saw the familiar glint of lust in your girlfriend’s eyes, and the smirk that painted her lips.

“But I think I still prefer what’s underneath.”

You change into a favourite top of yours and jeans while Cordelia busied herself with packing on the bed beside you. She rambled about the happenings of the academy, everything you’d missed in your months absent, pausing on the packing when she’d reach an exciting bit, arms coming up to exaggerate the story.

You told her about the new countries you’d visited and which little romantic places you wanted to take her when she didn’t have so much business to care for anymore. You didn’t want to linger on the thought of what actually had to happen for the title of Supreme to be passed on; focusing instead on the beautiful places that you longed to take her, but probably never could.

After her initial shock of being offered a white Christmas abroad with you, her responsibility to the school ebbed her back into her senses. “But how am I going to run a school if we’re abroad?” she questioned, her perfectionism spiking as she started to worry, “not to mention my duties as Supreme. There’s just too much to think about. What if-” you’d cut off her upcoming rambling with a lengthy kiss, which she relaxed into; eventually giving in to you.

Describing how Zoe and Queenie had offered to run the school in her absence, insisting how competent they’d become and that Delia had helped form them into wonderful young ladies during their time at Miss Robichaux's. Myrtle had spoken to the board on your behalf, stating how Cordelia needed a break in order to be at her best for the order, and how this would be the best thing for everyone. She’d goaded at the men who’d disagreed, saying sarcastically that it was only for two weeks and if they couldn’t control things for that amount of time then they should rethink their position there.

Closing her case with a snap of the clasps, she smiled, having made up her mind. “It is only two weeks.” She agreed with a nod of her head, sliding up to you and tilting her head. “But we can do a lot together in that time” she kissed you, hands at your waist and a glint in her eyes before walking away. You whined at her pulling away, grasping at the fabric of her blouse.

“There’ll be plenty more time for that, sweetheart. Now where did I put my shoes?” She asked, squeezing your chin once before ducking to look under the bed. You picked up the shoes by the door and pushed them into her hands, lifting her case and wheeling it through the door.

Cordelia insisted on speaking to the older girls before you departed, quizzing them on the class rota and giving them a folder which she said contained detailed lists of what needed to be done, which some of the girls shared knowing glances at one another at. You had to practically pull her away lest she overwhelm the girls; or get too anxious over what may happen in her absence and decide it would be better to simply stay.

On the plane Cordelia sat by the window and you beside her; you had the pleasure of such a view on a daily basis. The plane was relatively quiet for this time of year, almost half the seats remaining unoccupied as it took off, meaning you had the row empty, and where somewhat private.

“Why do you have a list of things you do everyday? When you do them everyday?” you grinned across at your organised Supreme who had opened a Sudoku puzzle and was staring at it with concentration, tongue poking out between teeth.

“You never know when your lady knight in shining armour is going to whisk you away on holiday, now, do you?” bumping her shoulder with yours, eyes still on the puzzle. “Helps to be organised, is all. And hey! It came in useful didn’t it?”

Leaving the airport, you pulled your coat tighter around yourself, a shiver prickling over the exposed skin at your neck. The view was already breath taking, you heard Cordelia gasp next to you as she set her case on the ground and raised her head. The snowy mountains peaked in the distance over the buildings of the small city which held the airport. Everything was bright; blindingly so as the sun breamed onto the snow covering the house and pavements.

“It’s gorgeous, my love.”

“Just wait till we get to Zermatt, D.”

You’d booked a small cabin house in Zermatt, a quiet town in Switzerland that your co-worker had recommended. He’d said it was never too busy, which would make it perfect for your intimate winter trip with Cordelia that you’d gushed about. You took the single mountain train that took you into the town, faces pressed to icy windows at the views.

The train journey was short into the town, filled with surprised gasps and pointing out animals that passed. You let your head rest on Cordelia’s shoulder, fingers laced with hers as you both took in the passing snow topped trees and vast frozen lakes. After about 20 minutes of stretching mountains, the train pulled out to reveal your pretty little town of lights.

“There it is.” You pointed to Cordelia, and she let out a small noise at the sight of where you’d be staying. In the dusk of the evening, the town was illuminated by a warm orange glow of cabin house lights, mountains looming behind and enveloping the town in a calm nook of the valley. Pine trees scattered through the cabins, leading to a forest off to the side of the town, climbing into the mountains.

“It’s so beautiful. How did you know about this place?”

“My co-pilot, Mark, do you remember meeting him at that fancy Houston party?” Cordelia nodded, eyes still trained on the town we were now looming in on. “He saw me searching for places and recommended a few places that would be quiet. Said that it pays to be a pilot; you know about the most beautiful places that no one else does.”

When you arrived at the cabin, giddy with excitement from the built up of the trip, Cordelia wasted no time with using her magic to transport your bags inside so that you could look around. The wooden floors creaked beautiful under foot, socks slipping slightly in your haste to see the rooms. There was a cosy living room with a fireplace and a note saying that wood had been stocked out the back, and soft sofa’s with plush red throws draped over the back. The kitchen was old fashioned with a wooden island, and the walls decorated with wintery scenic photography.

The house was warm, and through the door towards the back of the floor you were met with tiled flooring and large wooden beams covered in hanging fairy lights. The hot tub sat in the middle of the room, the ceiling a gaping glass sheet so you could look up to the sky, framed cinematically with snow dusted trees and the shimmering lights.

Cordelia called you back from your slight daze at the rooms, to follow her voice through to the bedroom. She was lazed on her side in the middle of the bed, seductively stroking the blanket and winking. You laughed at her antics, “we’ve only just got here D, you can’t always be in the mood.”

She grinned, sitting up and pulling you down to straddle her, bopping you on the nose and squeezing your cheeks. “For you, my darling. I am always in the mood.” You blushed, squirming on her lap before forcing yourself to move off her and grabbing her hand.

“Come on, you have to see in this room!” you voiced enthusiastically, practically dragging her after you in your hurry to show her what you’d found.

After having explored the cabin thoroughly you both showered, scrubbing off the feeling of travel from your bodies, before pulling warm clothes on and skipping out of the door with hands held to explore the small town under the hood of the afternoon, sky just beginning to darken as the sun dipped behind the mountains.

The town was so peaceful and warm, despite the snow, due to the glow of the lights and the eery lack of the quiet hum of traffic and bustling crowds. Houses looked too perfect with the undisturbed layer of snow that coated the rooves and painted a scene of perfect calm. You and Cordelia had your faces pressed against the glass of one of the small shops, watching a intricate wooden music box tinkling on the display stand, hands linked as she pulled you inside.

The tiny high street contained a small selection of these shops, selling little trinkets to the few tourists that found themselves inhabiting the cabins in winter. Cordelia had bought you a little pendant necklace with your birthstone embedded into, which she’d told you she’d get engraved back home with your initials. You couldn’t help but go back to the store the next day, alone under the guard of getting alcohol from the shop while she ran a bath, and purchasing her the same necklace with her own stone in. You thought she’d appreciate the notion that you both held something so close to your heart that the other also had next to theirs; a reminder that even when you were away for work, you’d always be there.

Eventually, you both found yourself in a cosy little café, nestled in the back in a two-person booth, warm in the glow of the wooden cabin. In an attempt to rid your bones of the deep chill that had settled throughout the day, you ordered steaming hot chocolates with cream and marshmallows. They’d come promptly, and you thanked the waitress before sinking your chin into your hands to stare admiringly at the woman opposite, only to find her in much a similar position, having been beaming, watching you interact with the serving staff.

Cupping the mug with both her hands, shoulders hunched under her chin, Cordelia sipped at the drink, leaving a small line of cream on her upper lip as she set it back down on the table. You smiled goofily at her, reaching to thumb the offending cream from her face, before setting it between her lips to clean off.

“You’re cute.”

“Says the one with a whipped cream moustache.”

You bickered playfully back and forth, feet kicking under the table as you sipped your hot chocolates and ate flapjacks. A warm fuzzy feeling settled in your stomach at the two of you simply relaxing and drinking together; you realised it had been a long time since you’d both been so carefree and without worry to just enjoy the others company.

The morning sun shone onto the tracks left by your boots in the deep snow behind you, as you both trudged down the unkept pathway towards the secluded train stop. Excluding the small indents of a foxes paws; yours are the only prints that marred the otherwise perfect snow, creating the eery illusion that you were the first to have stepped foot there at all. Cordelia's hand found yours in your coat, fingers linked in the pocket of warmth in the surrounding freezing air. Wisps of condensation danced in front of you at every shivered exhale.

Snow fell peacefully around you as you both talked, speaking in hushed voices as if you would disturb the tranquility; like a pebble into a glassy pond. The sounds around you almost seemed muffled by the soft pillowy snow that enveloped the tree branches and make them bow towards the ground. Delia gushed about how she'd never seen such beautiful views and how she couldn't get over waking up next to you and seeing the snow counted mountains in the distance out of the window.

You bit back the desire to reach down and pack the snow tightly into a ball, or fall backwards into the blanket and make a snow angel right there, smile wide as you’re returned to a childlike state of excitement and innocence in the presence of snow.

The red paint of the train peeked through the trees ahead of you, stark and conspicuous against the bright white of everything else. Cordelia let out an animated giggle as she set of towards the clearing, pulling you behind her with breathless mumbles of encouragement.

“Come on, what do we want? Front or back?”

The carriage seats were soft and plush as you settled against them, breath steamy against the cool glass when you pressed warm cheeks against it. It was peaceful, you were both among the silent few on the first train of the day that lead to the summit of the looming Gornergrat. The train rumbled beneath you as it became alive, shuddering as it slowly pulled away from the stop, wheels moaning in ached protest as it began its ascent.

Your fingers tingled at the change of temperature on the train, colour blooming back into paled cheeks at the comforting warmth. You both shed gloves and scarves to the seat opposite, hands brushing lingering snow from hats and shoulders as to avoid them melting and seeping invasively into cold clothes. The Supreme took your hand between hers, cupping it and bringing it to her face to blow warm air into her palms, rubbing the numbing cold feeling from one hand before repeating the action on the other.

Out of the window, you could see the rest of the train curl around the corner of the mountain in front of you, the drop into the valley below steep and dangerous just to the side of the track. Cordelia loved to look down into the vast space below, seeing the miniaturized trees and cabins, just the thought of the sheer height made your stomach clench uncomfortably and your head spin, clutching to your girlfriend’s hand. You knew that this feeling was irrational; you spent everyday up thousands of feet above the clouds, piloting planes, but then you had full control of the situation, knowing that nothing could go wrong. This was different.

It started to snow just before the train pulled up at the peak of the mountain, giant dancing snowflakes whirling through the air and turning the sky white with their abundance. You both shrugged hats and scarves back on and shoulders hunching protectively as the door swung open, leaving at the mercy of the elements outside.

Algid winds nipped sharply at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, spontaneous tears forming at the invasive breeze on your face. Cordelia’s hair whipped wildly around her face, only stilled slightly with her hat, framing her excited eyes as she turned to you, smile wide and hands up in the air as if reaching for the sky.

The snow was deep as you trekked the short distance towards the viewpoint, snowfall easing as you reached the edge, clearing the sky in front of you to reveal the clear views that spread before you. Cordelia reached the fencing first, turning to wave a hand to hurry you up and join her.

At the viewpoint, you both let collective gasps leave your lips at the panoramic scenery. 5000 feet above the tiny orangely lit town where you’d been mere hours before. Necks craned to see better, your finger pointing and enthusicastically shouting that you could see your cabin below; a pinprick of brown against the background of overwhelming, white-washed landscape.

Breathless at the sheer view you’d been gifted with of the Alps and the Matterhorn, you both fell into a deep silence. You knitted your brows together, looking forward as you felt in your pocket, breathing deep and building yourself up in your mind to do what you had planned this whole trip for.

“I am so sorry that my job causes me to be so absent.” You mused, elbows coming to rest on the bar of the viewpoint. You both continued to stare at the views as Cordelia mirrored you, elbows leaning on the bar. “Baby, we all have to work. I’m just glad we get to-”

“I quit my job.” You blurted out, causing her to stop and turn to face you. “You what?” Staring at you from behind wide eyes, you repeated yourself, finally tearing your eyes from the winter view to glance at Cordelia. The surprise on her face was not well hidden, neither was the fact she was saddened to hear that you’d quit the job you’d once dreamed of.

“You don’t need to that my love. I know it makes you happy.” Her gloved hand came to hold yours, eyes sincere as she squeezed your hand in hers.

“I got a new job. Its seasonal so I only have to work January through March and then September. Its better than what we’re doing now, right?”

Cordelia nodded, turning to face you. “That gives us so much more time together; thank you.” You fiddled in your pocket to retrieve you phone, having to strip your hands of the warm gloves that covered them to unlock it. You had told Delia that you wanted to show her something on it, but you accidently let the device slip from your fingers and into the snow by her feet, disappearing into the layers of snow.

“I’ve got it.” She assured you, and you let her crouch down to retrieve your phone, slipping down yourself behind her. She straightened up and turned around, smile faltering as she took in your position. “Y/n.” She warned, voice wavering and eyes darting to look for other people that may be nearby. “What are you-”

“I love you Delia. I love you so much and I know that you love me too.” Her hands came up to her mouth when she realised that you weren’t joking, eyes filled with adoration as she listened.

“The moment I knew that I would follow you anywhere, and that you were the one; my only one, was when you looked after me in March when I had that Spanish flu. I couldn’t leave the bedroom in case I passed it onto the girls, and you stayed with me the whole time, caring for me when I was too weak to do it myself.” Cordelia was crying now, beaming through tears which she kept wiping away with gloved fingers, and nodding along with you words.

“Well this is me staying, D, I want to stay with you for the rest of our lives. I love you.” She mouthed ‘I love you too’ back, head leaning to the side slightly as she wanted nothing more than to pull you into a hug and never let you go.

“I love that you make me whole, and that when you smile, I feel like I might actually die, because you’re so beautiful Deils. I love that you are nothing like Fiona, and that you stick up for me, and that we make memories together and that my most beautiful moments are with you.”

“I can’t wait to have moments just like right now for rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”

You slowly opened the box to reveal the ring that glimmered against the harsh light of the sun; eyes lifting to meet Cordelia who was staring at you unwavering, hands clasped at her chest. She was nodding fervently, laugh bubbling out through her smile as she pulled you up into her by your hands.

“Yes, my darling. Yes of course I will!”

After shakily slipping the ring onto her finger, relief and happiness drawing fresh tears upon both of your cheeky; you let Cordelia admire it against the background of the mountains. Rising onto toes to press a lingering kiss to her temple, her fingers sprayed apart as she held them up to the light.

“Come here you.” She coaxed, fingers wrapping round the back of your neck and drawing you into a passionate kiss. It was the ultimate memory, to kiss, now newly fiancés at the peak of a snow-capped mountain in Switzerland.

Returning from outside, Cordelia lit the fire with a dexterous flick of her wrist, settling down on the couch with a sigh. Her legs spread across the whole couch, back resting at one end. Her eyes searched for you, twisting to look down the corridor at you walking towards her.

“Come here baby.” She cooed; arms extended towards you in invitation for you to settle between. You gave her a quick peck on the lips and a gentle squeeze before lying between her legs and resting your head against her shoulder, nuzzling your face sideways into her neck, inhaling the lingering smell of her perfume on her pulse point.

She wrapped her arms around you, and you let out a surprised squeal as she pressed her cold palms suddenly against the warm skin of your stomach, muscles rippling instinctively under her touch. “Sorry baby.” She apologised, placing a kiss to the hair on the crown of your head before letting her chin rest there.

“It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it” you giggled, relaxing again as her fingers drew absentminded patterns on your torso, her breath tickling the hair atop your forehead as she exhaled.

You both sat in the comfortable silence that enveloped you, having been apart for so long you basked in the fact you can simply hold one another and just exist. Cordelia’s thumb brushed softly against your own knuckles and you hummed in appreciation at the candidly loving action.

That night, Cordelia found herself propped on her side, head lying on her bunched-up pillow and allowing herself a quiet moment of observation. She missed these simple aspects of your presence. The comfort you brought her, even in sleep as she watched your chest rise and fall evenly and undisturbed.

You stirred slightly, face scrunching up momentarily before relaxing into a peaceful expression again, making Cordelia hold her breath to not wake you. Hair had fallen to block you face so she reached out delicately to tuck it back behind your ear, her eyes brimming with tears that she gets to simply watch you sleep like this.

Overwhelmed with her love for you beside her; she fell into a rhythm of her thumb on your cheek, tracing the freckles and light marks that marred your skin beautifully. You always expressed your dislike for these, but Cordelia would always silently shake her head in objection, knowing you would believe her voiced adoration.

“When did I get so lucky?” she whispered, leaning forward to brush lips lightly over yours before returning to her pillow and hooking an arm over your hip.

Dipping into sleep, she found herself vowing to prolong her reign as Supreme for as long as she could, never wanting to leave you alone and vulnerable. Especially while you slept, she thought. You look so pretty when you sleep. So pretty. She drifted off, arm draped protectively over your waist, pulling you closer in sleep.

#sarah paulson #cordelia goode #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode x reader #ahs #american horror story #ahs apocolaypse #ahs imagines #sarah paulson imagines

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idreamofplaid · 3 years

Text

Stronger

Square Filled: Sung to Sleep for @spnfluffbingo & Hurt/Comfort for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

Characters: Moc!Dean x Reader; Sam and Cas mentioned

Rating: Teen

Summary: Dean thinks there’s only one thing he can do to protect the woman he loves from the Mark of Cain, but Dean doesn’t know everything.

Word Count: 2949

I felt it as soon as I held that thing in my hand. Rage. Raw and burning, demanding to be released. It was fueled by everything I buried so deep down inside me, and I somehow thought all that regret, disappointment, and frustration would never see the light of day. I could keep it buried out of sheer willpower, or it could magically go away if I wished for it hard enough.

That’s not the kind of magic that’s in the world. That’s not the magic I know. The magic I know curses, manipulates, and hurts people. It twists things up into something they shouldn’t be, and it’s all the things that shouldn’t be that make me so mad. They create the anger that’s in me for the mark to draw upon, all those things that never should have happened. All those things that still sit so heavy on me and Sam.

Mom shouldn’t have died when I was four years old. Dad shouldn’t have tried to drown his grief in a bottle. He shouldn’t have left Sam and me alone like he did. I shouldn’t have watched my brother fall into a hole to hell and try to live a normal life while I knew he was in a cage with Lucifer being tortured. I shouldn’t have had such a good idea of what was happening to him in that cage because I’d been to hell myself.

Everything that’s pent up inside me gave The First Blade its power when I held it, the same way the mark gets its power from me. Those two things combined forces when the blade was in my hand, and I could feel the energy surging through me. It isn’t something I’m going to be able to control, not with silver bullets, rock salt, or a devil’s trap. Nothing I know about fighting is going to help with this thing.

The day is going to come when this mark is going to take over my mind and everything I do. You can’t be here when that happens. I have to protect you, and that means getting you far away from me.

I finish off my third glass of whiskey. It still isn’t enough. There isn’t enough whiskey in this bunker, or all of Kansas, to numb me so much that when I do what I have to do it’s not going to hurt worse than anything I’ve experienced in what has, more or less, been a lifetime of pain with brief moments of happiness.

Most of those moments have been with you. Anything I know of true happiness is because you showed it to me. You didn’t grow up the way I did. I’m thankful for that every day. You don’t know what it’s like to sleep with a gun under your pillow, but you’ve slept next to me plenty of times when there was a gun under mine.

That’s bad enough, but I will not let you suffer what this mark is going to do to me. You deserve better than that. You always deserved more than me, but this is where I draw the line.

I think about pouring myself some more whiskey, but there’s no point. There isn’t anything in that bottle that’s going to give me the courage I need to do what’s right for you. The only thing that can make me strong enough is how much I love you.

I’ve never even told you. Those aren’t words I know how to say, and it’s better now that I didn’t. That would only make this harder, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to. I never wanted to hurt you. I would go to hell again in an instant if it meant sparing you pain. I guess I am; it’s just this time my hell is going to be on earth, and the thing that will torture me the most is being without you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have to go.” You’re standing in our room with a look of disbelief on your face like you can’t comprehend what I just said, so I try again. “It’s time for this, whatever we’ve had, to be over.” Still you say nothing, just look at me with those beautiful eyes of yours that could make me lose my nerve and not go through with this, so I turn my head away. I can’t look in your eyes.

I’ve got to get through to you. You can’t be near me. I will not let this anger that’s going to consume me consume you too. This situation calls for something else. I still can’t look at you. I cannot look at you when I do this, or I’ll break.

I grab my duffle from the corner where I left it after the last hunt and throw it on the bed, then I open the drawer in the chest where you keep your clothes and start emptying it. I’m stuffing them into the duffle, trying hard not to really notice them because then I’ll remember.

I’ll think about the last time you wore that shirt, or how this is the one you always wear when we curl up on the bed to watch movies together and end up wrapped around each other, making out and forgetting all about the movie.

I’m managing to keep it together until I find one of my shirts in that drawer. It’s my black t-shirt you like to sleep in. I can picture the way it looks on you, the way it falls on your thighs and how good your legs look when you wear it; and then I remember the way it feels when your legs are wrapped around me. I take a deep breath.

I have to stop packing the duffle. I can’t touch your clothes anymore, and you see your opening. “Dean, what are you doing?”

I push the image of you in that shirt with your head on my chest out of my mind because it feels like a fist squeezing the life out of my heart. I zip the duffle closed. Whatever is in there will have to do. I pick it up and throw it on the floor. I never faced any monster that tested my courage the way this is. “I told you. We’re done, and you need to leave.”

“Dean, stop it and look at me.” You reach out and put your hand on my arm. It looks so small, and I want to feel it in mine so bad. It’s the hand I thought about holding for the rest of my life, however long that may be.

I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing again before I turn around to look at you. When I do, I feel my knees go weak. Stay focused. Do what you have to do for her. “Don’t make this harder or more complicated than it has to be, Y/N.”

I’m waiting for you to say something. Anything. But I’m not expecting what you do say. “Dean, you’re full of crap.” Now, it’s my turn to look confused. I have no response for that, but you have plenty more to say.

You let go of my arm, stand back, and cross your arms over your chest. “You think you’re doing something noble, and you’ve done plenty of noble things in your life, but this isn’t one of them. There’s no way you’d be saying any of this if that mark wasn’t on your arm. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Dean. I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. You looked at me that way last night, and I know what it means even if you won’t say it.”

I fumble for something to say, and the best I’ve got is “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your arms fall to your sides. “Like hell you don’t, Dean. You try to stay hidden behind that wall you’ve made around yourself, but before you got the mark; I broke through it. You let me in, and it’s not going to be so easy to push me back out.”

You walk over to the bed and sit down. My eyes follow you; I’m watching every move you make. You’re staring at me, and just as much as I couldn’t look at you before; I can’t help but look at you now. Your voice sounds steady and determined. You aren’t finished with me. You’ve decided I’m going to hear everything you have to say.

“I could leave the bunker, but it wouldn’t mean I’d leave you. I’d still be in touch with Sam all the time, asking him about you, keeping tabs on you, doing everything I could to save you. I’ll never stop trying to save you no matter how many times you tell me to go because I don’t believe any of it, and because I love you. You can’t stop me from loving you, and I won’t. I can’t now even if I tried.” You wrapped your arms around your middle and hugged yourself. It was nothing like when you’d taken your defiant stance with your arms folded over your chest.

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, and all the air had been knocked out of me. All I wanted to do was sit down beside you, take you in my arms, and give you all the comfort you were trying to give yourself. It was true. You wouldn’t give up. That’s who you are. Stubborn. Willful. And the kindest, most loving woman on this earth.

Fuck no. There are tears in your eyes. Not tears. I can’t handle tears. I can’t just watch you cry and do nothing to stop it. The next thing you say blows my plan to pieces.

You hug yourself tighter, and a tear slips down your cheek. “I need you, Dean. Our...baby needs you.”

I sit down on the end of the bed because I don’t trust my legs to hold me up anymore, and I’m trying to read your face, trying to will you to look at me. “Our...Wh...What?”

When you do look at me, your eyes are sad. Your eyes shouldn’t be sad. More tears are streaming down your face. I can’t just sit here. I slide down the side of the bed until I’m next to you, and I wipe the tears from your cheeks. You let me. You don’t pull away, and I’m relieved for that. Just forget what I said before. I was an ass. I didn’t know.

“We’re having a baby, Dean. Don’t make me go.” Your tears have turned into sobs, and I take you in my arms, my earlier act forgotten.

I put my hand in your hair and hold the back of your head while I whisper to you and try to calm you down. You shouldn’t be upset like this. “Shh, Y/N. It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry. I wouldn’t send you and the baby away. I would never do that.” I’ll leave if I have to. You’ll be safe here in the bunker with Sam. He’ll protect you, and this place is warded against anything that might want to hurt you. Sam is so smart; he’ll find a way to keep me out if he needs to. He knows what I would want.

After a few minutes, you stop crying and lift your head from my shoulder. Your eyes don’t look as sad as before, but they’re still sad; I hate that, hate that I did that to you. “Dean, why would you tell me to go when it isn’t what you want? I know it isn’t.”

I take your face in my hands and try to memorize how beautiful you are, in case the day comes when I can’t see you anymore. In case you and Sam can’t save me, I know you’ll try, but…. “Because I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared I’ll hurt you, and….” Wait. “The baby. When did it happen? Did I have this thing on my arm? Is the baby….?”

“It was before,” you tell me. “The baby’s okay.” I let go of you and scrub my hand down my face. Then I turn and brace my hands on each side of me on the bed. This is why I shouldn’t have kids. All this fucked up shit that is my life should never come anywhere near a kid.

“What if it hadn’t been, Y/N? I could have infected our child with this evil that I’m carrying.” I can feel my own eyes filling up with tears. I could have hurt our baby, just because of who I am. I lower my head and cover my face with my hand. I wish I could hide from you. I feel so ashamed.

All that shame is mixed up with something else, a fierce protective love for you and the baby you’re carrying. I don’t even know what’s right for you anymore. I don’t know what to do..

I feel your arm go around me, and your voice is still the sweetest sound I could possibly hear. For some reason, you’re still here talking to me even though I’m a danger to you and the baby. “Dean, you won’t hurt me; you won’t hurt either of us. We’ll find a way to get that mark off your arm. We will.”

I want to believe you, but I can feel it burning. That goddamned mark is burning now. This should be one of the sweetest moments of my life. You just told me I’m going to be a father, and I can feel the mark. It won’t let me forget about it, not for an instant. It has intruded on something which should have been between us.

You put your hand over mine that’s still covering my face and move it to rest in your lap. “Dean, do you want to feel the baby?” Your voice is full of hope; I hear it.

Feel the baby. How can you trust me so much? “Can...can I do that? Isn’t it too soon?”

You smile for the first time since I walked into our room. “Well, it’s too soon to feel it move, but you know it’s there.” You lift my hand from your lap and put it on your stomach. My baby is in there. I can’t help it. I smile too.

Knowing there’s a life inside you that we made makes me feel something I can’t begin to explain. This feels like an even greater responsibility than saving the world from an apocalypse. How do I fulfill that responsibility with this fucking mark on my arm? It’s too much.

I leave my hand where it is on your stomach, lay down, and put my head on your lap. You have something so precious inside you. I move my hand a little so I can kiss the center of your stomach. “Sweet baby, I love you.” Just like that, I said the words I thought I couldn’t say, and everything I’ve tried to keep pushed down inside me came pouring out.

I cried there with my head on your lap, cried because I’ve dragged you both into this mess with me, cried because I need to be a father to my child. I want to be, but what if I’m not here for him? Or her? What if I’m not even here to see the baby born? What if the mark has taken me already?

Cas will take care of it. I told him to kill me if it came to that. Sam can’t do it; he won’t ever do it. A sob rips out of me. I want to see my baby grow up.

I feel your fingers running through my hair. I never wanted you to see me like this. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Dean, it’s okay.” You’re still running your fingers through my hair. Your touch is so soft, just like you, soft and good. “You don’t have to do this alone, Dean. You never had to do it alone. We love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” I circle my arms around your waist and hold on. I don’t ever want to let you go.

You take your hand out of my hair and slide it down my back, rubbing back and forth. I don’t know how long it’s been, but I finally stop crying; and your hand stops moving.

“C’mere, Dean.” I can feel you shifting your position, and I sit up so you can move. You lay down on the bed, your head on the pillow, and hold your arms out to me. “C’mon.”

I lay down next to you with my head on your shoulder. You start stroking your fingers through my hair again. “Close your eyes, Dean.”

So close, no matter how far

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

I want to stay here like this forever with nothing but the feel of our arms around each other and the sound of your gentle voice singing.

Never opened myself this way

Life is ours; we live it our way

Oh, these words I don’t just say

And nothing else matters

You make me feel calm. I believe you when you make me feel like this. I believe it can be okay.

Trust I seek and I find in you....

I dream about you, and in my dreams there is no mark. There’s only us and a little girl with green eyes and a smile like yours. We’re happy.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05 @weepingwillowphoenix

#make me feel bingo #spnfluffbingo #dean angst #dean fluff #dean x reader #dean oneshot

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scabopolis · 3 years

Note

Congrats on 600 followers!!!! How about Logan/Veronica and "Are you doubting my acting skills?" and/or any one of your 76 Danielle/Henry modern AUs?

Oh, Sarah, I’d do anything for you! I will eventually write a Danielle/Henry modern AU and it shall be dedicated to you, but for now, here is some Logan/Veronica friends to lovers inspired fake dating setup shenanigans.

--- Title: look at me like you like me Fandom: Veronica Mars Pairing: Logan/Veronica (side Wallace/Parker) Other Characters: Wallace, Parker, a frequent switching of tenses b/c this is barely edited. Additional Tags: Should be a multichapter probably, friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, Wallace sees all and knows all Word Count: ~1,800 ---

Sitting at brunch, her plate piled high with pancakes, Veronica Mars wonders just how long her best-friend thought he could get away with this. Logan Echolls (said best-friend) is currently walking slowly back and forth in front of the restaurant as he talks on his phone. He isn’t speaking, which means his mother is in the middle of a persuasive monologue. And everyone at their table knows what that means.

“Charity gala?” Wallace asks.

“My money’s on a distant relative’s wedding,” Parker says.

“His parent’s anniversary is coming up,” Veronica says. “Could be their own party.”

“What will they celebrate?” Wallace asks. “Ten years of sleeping in separate rooms and ignoring one another’s affairs?”

“Regardless, I’m ready,” Parker says.

Okay. Apparently Veronica’s isn’t the only one thinking about Logan’s go-to family event strategy. “You think he’ll ask you?”

Parker frowns as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Veronica draws a line in the air, connecting Wallace and Parker. “Well, for one, you’re married now.”

“The people at these parties don’t know that,” Parker answers.

The woman has a point. Veronica turns to Wallace. “And you’re okay with this?”

“We’re living on two teacher’s salaries. If some wealthy man wants to be my wife’s platonic sugar daddy, who am I to stop him?”

“I wanted to buy a new dress for your brother’s graduation anyway,” Parker says.

“See! Perfect plan.” Wallace and Parker seal their agreement with a kiss and Veronica focuses on her pancakes. She cuts off a large bite with more force than strictly required and shovels the pancakes into her mouth.

She isn’t sure why this whole conversation needles her. Something about Parker’s certainty, Veronica supposes. That it is going to be Parker who Logan calls on. To be fair, Parker and Logan’s arrangement pre-dates Veronica’s friendship with either of them.

By the time Veronica met Parker their first year of grad school, Parker and Logan had been friends for four years. The pattern wherein Parker pretended to be Logan’s girlfriend at any and all society events his mother required him to attend was already well-established. Even after Veronica and Logan met, and it was quickly evident the two of them were destined to be platonic soulmates for the rest of their lives, it was still Parker that Logan turned to for help in these situations. Which, fair. Parker possesses levels of grace which Veronica can never hope to achieve.

Veronica is much more apt to give a Hollywood director in his fifties judgey facial expressions when he introduces her to his barely legal wife. (A real thing that happened at an Echolls family BBQ. At least it still makes Logan laugh all these years later.)

It just didn’t occur to Veronica that it would always be Parker. Especially now that Parker is married. What is going to happen when she and Wallace decide to have a baby? How will they prevent word of Logan Echolls’ pregnant girlfriend from making the tabloid rounds?

No. This is ridiculous.

“She’s definitely not listening,” Wallace says, disapprovingly.

“Some sort of fugue state?” Parker suggests.

“Could be.”

Veronica sighs. “What are you two talking about?”

“I wanted to know if it was all pancakes in general you seek to destroy, or if this one in particular had done something to upset you?”

Her first instinct is to glare at Wallace. And then at Parker when she sniggers. Introducing the two of them to one another is the worst decision she’s ever made. But then she looks down at her plate. Sure enough, at some point she traded in eating her pancakes for cutting them into smaller pieces and then smushing them into the maple syrup. They no longer resemble an edible object.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sure,” Wallace says, taking a well-timed sip of his coffee. His expression is all smug and knowing.

Veronica is saved from additional Wallace stares and Parker sniggers by the return of Logan. He slides his phone into his blazer pocket and sits down beside Veronica, resting his arm on the back of Veronica’s chair. This is nothing new. Being best-friends with Logan means being comfortable with his rather tactile nature. But the look Logan’s action invites from Wallace is new. Veronica wants to spit at him. (Wallace. Not Logan.)

(Portrait of grace, indeed.)

“What happened here?” Logan asks, gesturing to Veronica’s pancakes.

“Nothing,” Veronica says. “What happened out there?”

Logan’s fingers still from where he is lightly tracing the contours of her shoulder. “My mom and dad are renewing their vows.”

For a moment all movement at their table ceases as they each take in this information. This despite Veronica's keen awareness of the fact that her guess was eerily close to being right.

“I’m sorry. What?” she asks.

“That was about my reaction,” Logan says. “Want my bacon?”

“Yes, please. They can’t be serious.”

Logan slides his slices of bacon onto Veronica’s plate. “Serious about drumming up some positive PR, absolutely. Aaron was spotted looking a little too friendly with a married co-star. So, he and mom are going on a romantic getaway to Italy. When they get back they’ll do a backyard vow renewal.”

“Logan—”

The man in question holds up a hand, stopping Parker’s softly spoken entreaty.

“No. I can’t do the talking about it thing right now. I can’t feel anything about it right now. What I need is a wedding date.”

“Of course,” Parker rushes to answer. “Just tell me when.”

“The weekend of June 11th.”

“Absolutely. Deal,” Parker says, nodding enthusiastically. “Consider it—,” she trails off, her gaze somewhere over Veronica’s shoulder.

“Consider it, what?” Logan asks.

“—Not something I can do.”

“Why not?”

“That’s graduation weekend,” Parker explains. “I’m the faculty speaker.”

“I’ll buy you shoes, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Logan says. “This way I can get very drunk and not feel bad about it.”

Logan’s arm returns to the back of Veronica’s chair. This time his hand sort of hangs over her shoulder and curls around towards her clavicle. It makes it impossible to ignore details about Logan’s hands — the surprising delicacy of his fingers, the length of them, the weird knot on one of his knuckles.

“I’ll do it,” Veronica says.

“Do what?” Logan asks.

“Be your fake girlfriend for the sham vow renewal. I can do it.”

She refuses to look at anyone at the table. Not Parker. Sure as hell not Wallace.

(Seriously. Does he know something? Was it that night they all played King’s Cup and the two of them stayed up talking until 3:00 AM? Did she say something she wasn’t supposed to?)

And absolutely not Logan. She scrapes the edges of the smushed pancake with the tines of her fork.

“Veronica.” Logan’s voice is soft, but she detects a hint of incredulity. Which, maybe she’s wrong and he isn’t her best-friend and he doesn’t know her very well, because it raises her hackles.

She drops her fork. “What? Why not?”

“Look, I love you. You know I love you.” Veronica ignores the little skitter of her pulse at Logan’s words, furrows her brow, and concentrates on being offended. “And you know me better than anyone.”

“But?” She prompts.

“But,” he says, “you don’t really—”

Before Logan can finish, she comes up with a dozen ways to complete the sentence. There is plenty she doesn’t have —the class, the patience, the height, the sweetness, the glamor, the—

“—look at me like you like me,” Logan finishes.

“Wait. What?” Veronica’s eyes dart from Logan to Wallace to Parker. Neither one of them appear surprised by Logan’s words. In fact, Parker is faintly nodding in agreement. “Of course I like you. You’re my favorite person.” She thinks about this. “When you’re not being a total asshole.”

“I know that. But, your face makes it look like you want to slap me most of the time.”

“Because I do.”

“It’s just not the most conducive to convincing my mother to not set me up with the daughter of whichever producer she is trying to impress.”

“I’ll change my face.”

“Change it?”

“I can look like I like you.”

“Really?”

“I’ve been in love before, you know.” Veronica’s hackles are now standing at full attention. “Are you doubting my acting skills?”

“I would never,” Logan says.

“Good. Because I could be the sweetest goddamned fake girlfriend you’ve ever had.” Veronica turns to Parker. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I’ll even use pet names. Schmoopsie. Snuggle muffin. Sweet cheeks. What’s your preference?”

“My preference is none of them.”

Still, despite his words, Logan seems to consider it. Veronica takes the time to nibble on one of the slices of bacon from Logan’s plate. If she isn’t mistaken, Parker and Wallace kept shooting each other, what they probably believe to be, covert glances. What are those glances supposed to mean? Does Parker know something too? Damned married couples with their telling each other things.

“My mom does love you,” Logan eventually says.

“See, I already have a leg up,” Veronica says. “And I can absolutely rock a floor length gown.”

“Can you?”

“I was on homecoming court senior year.”

“You were?” She’s not certain which of the voices speaking in unison sound more shocked, Logan’s or Parker’s, but regardless she is deeply offended. She’ll look classy and hot as hell and that will show them.

“Yeah,” Wallace says, “Keith still has the picture hanging up in his house. It’s hilarious.” Veronica glares at him. “Hilarious, because of how great you look. Obviously.”

“I don’t want to make you do this,” Logan says.

Veronica doesn’t have time to question why he would make Parker do this but for some reason wants to spare her.

“Hey.” She reaches up for the hand still draped over her shoulder and laces their fingers together. Logan looks down at her. His eyes are all soft and heavy lidded; like they sometimes get when he’s sleepy.

(She’s also noticed they can kind of look like that when she’s ranting about a coworker. Or, that one time she helped her dad install a fence and came over to Logan’s place after. Her hands were full of splinters and Logan was so careful and gentle, removing each one with a very expensive pair of tweezers.)

“This is going to suck. Isn’t it?” she asks.

He nods. “Yeah. I think it will.”

“Then let me be there for you.” He doesn’t say anything. “I’ll work on my face. Promise.”

That gets him to crack a smile. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then great.”

“Great.”

“Did I just get replaced?” Parker asks.

Veronica shrugs. “I like nice shoes too, you know.”

Logan gives her hand a squeeze.

Oh. Look at that. She didn’t even notice they were still holding hands.

#vm fanfic #lv fanfic #veronica mars #logan echolls #logan x veronica #p: logan x veronica #otp: the one person #lavellenchanted #never stories

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 3)

I’m back at it again. Hopeless boys.

Part 1, Part 2, (here) Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

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Geralt’s first attempt at courting (to kiss Jaskier’s hand) had seemed to only confuse his bard, so he decided to leave that one and try again later.

A few days from Kaer Morhen, as Jaskier was trying to find dry firewood among the snowmelt, Geralt took out the very folded and much handled List. It looked very complicated. This courting stuff was hard. He selected the least intimidating item on the list.

Number Four it said. Kill things and bring them to him. This seemed logical to Geralt. He’d seen cats, which he loved although they seemed to avoid him, drop dead mice at their owners’ feet. It seemed like a sign of affection. Now, the owners generally were disgusted rather than endeared, but Geralt wasn’t too worried. He wasn’t going to bring Jaskier mice, after all. Nor would he, remembering Number Two: Mind your manners, drop them on his boots.

He went off into the woods.

Rather a while later he came back to camp, a bit miffed. The spring was still early and not many animals were about. Too thin for food and of course it didn’t do to kill many in the mating season anyway. Jaskier had a fire going and Geralt brooded by it.

How was he supposed to court Jaskier without killing things for him?

But Lambert had said that killing things showed that Geralt would protect Jaskier, and so Geralt was going to protect Jaskier so completely, and eventually he would kill something for him.

It occurred to Geralt that courting wasn’t really a one-step-at-a-time process, he had to do everything at once. Number Three was compliments.

“You built a nice fire,” he said, a little more gruffly than he’d intended.

Jaskier had been tending to his lute, oiling the wood, but he looked up at that.

“Thanks?” he said. “I always make them the same way, you know.”

“I know,” Geralt said, “But it is done well.” They lapsed into a silence that, although not awkward, was not as comfortable as might have been. Jaskier was giving him a look, but Geralt didn’t know what it meant.

It got colder as they prepared for the night. They were sharing a tent, and the body heat should keep them warm enough, especially in the small tent, but Jaskier crawled onto his bedroll and shivered.

A human wouldn’t have picked it up. The only light was the faint glow of the coals of their fire, filtered through the canvas, but Geralt’s eyes caught the movement.

Protecting Jaskier didn’t just mean from monsters.

He rose from the tent and walked over to Roach, whispering softly to her, wrapped under her own blanket. He took his cloak from where he’d tucked it into his saddle bag.

Back in the tent Jaskier was curled up facing towards the center of the tent. Geralt lay down, facing him, and draped his cloak around Jaskier, tucking it under at the edges so that the cold air couldn’t get in. Jaskier looked up at him with wide eyes, although he probably couldn’t see Geralt’s expression. Geralt gave him a pat on the shoulder.

He wanted more than anything to let his hand linger, to slide it down Jaskier’s back and pull him closer. He wanted to tuck Jaskier into his chest and wrap his arms around him and hear his heartbeat.

But that would mean breaking the rules of Number Two: mind your manners. And if he listened in the dark, between Jaskier’s deep, even breaths, he could hear his heartbeat, steady and faster than Geralt’s own.

He listened to it slow further as Jaskier slipped into sleep.

You look beautiful when you sleep, Geralt thought as he drifted off. He didn’t say it though, waking your sleeping love seemed like a bad way to court. He dropped off too.

He woke to Jaskier turning over, arm falling and slapping Geralt across the face.

“Mmmhp?” Jaskier said, one eye half open. “What’d I h’t?”

Geralt picked Jaskier’s limp hand from his face. “Me.”

“Mmmh tha’s nice, G’mornin’ Geralt,” Jaskier said, and he started to drop back off to sleep.

Number One: kiss his hand.

“May I?” Geralt said.

“Yeah, sure g’a’head,” was the muzzy reply.

Geralt pressed a gentle kiss to the captured hand. Jaskier hummed happly and snuggled closer. That was a good sign.

Geralt kissed the back of the hand, then clumsily kissed the callouses on Jaskier’s ring and middle fingers.

Another happy hum.

A single kiss to the center of the palm. Geralt pictured that hand, the freshly kissed palm caressing the side of his face.

Back in reality the hand drooped limply in Geralt’s hold. Geralt set it down.

Jaskier snored.

Smiling fondly, Geralt crawled out into the grey light of morning. Chilly dew had frozen on the grass, and under the new light the world had been set in silver. He had a momentary spike of indecision. Jaskier was sleeping soundly, but even Geralt could appreciate the beauty of the scene, it was probably poetic. Jaskier would probably be sad if he missed it.

Protect Jaskier from sadness.

“Jaskier,” he whispered, crawling back into the tent, frost melting under his knees leaving uncomfortable, damp patches. “Jaskier wake up.”

Jaskier sat up, muzzy but wary.

“No danger,” Geralt said, taking his hand. “Just something you should see.” Jaskier crawled out towards the opening of the tent, Geralt backing out to give him room, but he paused. He crouched at the entrance of the tent, socked feet hesitant to step on cold grass, but not sure if he wanted to put his boots on.

Inwardly, Geralt smiled. Jaskier was one of those people who needed a lot of sleep, and he was probably hoping he could go back to bed. He very carefully picked Jaskier up, cradling him as the bard sputtered in surprise. Geralt set him down on Roach’s horse blanket, which she’d shaken off in the night.

Jaskier spread it out under him like a picnic blanket, never looking away from the glittering silver world around them. The silver reflected in his eyes, giving them a sparkle like pale gems. Geralt would have trapped the world and put it in a bottle if he could see the wonder on Jaskier’s face every day.

He took Jaskier’s little leather bound journal from the saddlebags, along with the smudgy pencil he used when he couldn’t be bothered with ink. Back in the tent, Geralt grabbed the cloak he’d wrapped Jaskier in last night.

He wrapped it around Jaskier again, draping it over him and slipping pencil and journal into chilly fingers. He watched Jaskier flip almost to the back of his journal. He would need a new one soon. That would be a good gift.

Geralt lit a small fire, behind Jaskier so as not to ruin his view, and wondered if this counted as a gift. He couldn’t package the dawn, but maybe it counted anyway.

When water had boiled he joined Jaskier. They sat on the blanket, eating cold rations downed with hot tea, and watched the sun creep up the horizon, turning silver to gold and melting the frost.

They packed up and left shortly after full dawn. Jaskier was blinking sleepily, so Geralt, who had been leading Roach, paused. He lifted Jaskier, still swaddled in Geralt’s cloak, and sat him gently onto Roach. She nickered reproachfully. She didn’t like riders that weren’t Geralt, and if he hadn’t clearly been giving his permission she would have biten any rider who dared.

Not Jaskier, though, Geralt suspected. She loved him too, and the thought made his chest tight, like he’d swallowed a big bite of food without properly chewing. Jaskier leaned forward on Roach.

“Thank you, lovely lady, for letting me ride,” he said, brushing his fingers sleepily through her mane. She tossed her head, like a human shrugging. Think nothing of it, Geralt imagined her saying.

Jaskier dozed, and Geralt walked them along, one ear listening for danger. Mostly he just thought. He thought about courting Jaskier, and all the time he’d wasted.

He burned with shame as he thought of all the time he’d treated Jaskier like a nuisance. He hadn’t meant it that way, he’d treated Jaskier like one of his brothers, ribbing him, pushing at him, leaving him behind if he took too long getting ready.

It was the only form of solid companionship Geralt knew, but Jaskier didn’t understand that. He didn’t respond the way Geralt was used to because he didn’t know the game. And Geralt didn’t want to love Jaskier the way he loved his brothers, he wanted to love Jaskier the way Eist had loved Calanthe, without the hatred of elves.

The thought of course brought him back to Ciri. It had only been a few days and he missed her terribly. She would have loved the silver dawn, he could picture her sitting on that horse blanket next to Jaskier. Maybe he should get her her own journal to draw and write in, a gift for when he saw her again.

If gifts meant he loved Jaskier, surely they would mean he loved his daughter too, and she had lit up when he’d given her the hair pin. Jaskier could teach her that lovely curly script he wrote in when he needed to be fancy. Geralt couldn’t read it, it made his eyes confuse the letters even worse than normal, but Ciri was still a princess, it seemed like the sort of thing she’d need someday.

Jaskier mumbled something in his sleep, slumped over Roach’s back. His hair was messy and one hand was visible, mittened fingers holding one edge.

There was a feeling, seeing Jaskier bundled in his clothes. Geralt wished Eskel was there to help him, but he had plenty of time to parse it out on his own.

Protective, maybe, Jaskier looked peaceful and he wanted to keep him that way. Proud that Jaskier felt safe enough to sleep like this. It also made Geralt want to hold Jaskier, wrapping himself around the bard instead of the cloak. There were other pieces to the emotion, but Geralt gave up and put it down to loved.

Jaskier was slumped over, drooling a bit, wearing huge, knobbly woolen mittens. Geralt loved him entirely and wholeheartedly.

An hour later Jaskier began to snore like a walrus with a sinus issue, and Geralt loved him even more.

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@llamasdumpsterfire the next part is here! it kinda got away from me, but its cute

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt is a good dad #and also dyslexic #jaskier is a sleepy boy #roach is a good girl #geraskier fanfic #courting fic

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Text

TFA Bulkhead/Bumblebee

Bulkhead, hoping to paint Bumblebee, finds a number of unexpected hurdles in the form of a willing but very fidgety model.

Got a lovely commission that the commissioner was okay with me sharing, so here it is! I had so much fun writing this, and remember, I'm always open if you'd like a fic for yourself.

Working up courage wasn't something one had to do often when they were as big and strong as Bulkhead, but he'd needed every bit he could spare to approach Bumblebee with what he'd feared was a ridiculous request. The fact he could expect his friend to say yes had brought him little comfort, because being rejected just scared him too much. He didn't want to admit how long it had taken him to prepare…

But finally, the day had come, and he approached the little bot as one might an armed explosive.

"Uh… Bumblebee?" he spoke softly, tapping his big servos together to try and call himself down. Bumblebee was relaxing and watching something on TV, and Bulkhead was so nervous he couldn't even tell what. Primus, he was just grateful they were alone, or else this would have been impossible! Bumblebee thankfully noticed him right away, lifting his helm to look at his friend with a smile.

"What's up, Bulk?" he said in greeting, half turning back to the television before doing an actual double take back to the big bot. Concern crossed his features, and he raised a curious brow ridge before he spoke again. "You feeling okay?"

Bulkhead realized just then that his nervousness was probably showing through like a beacon, and he gulped in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to disappear on the spot. Just his luck that things would already be going poorly… Steeling himself, he took a deep vent and put on the biggest smile he could manage. "Yeah, f-fine!" he gasped out, trying not to tremble. Wishing he'd written down what he wanted to say, he just managed to put some words together and speak, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. "I just wanted… wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Bumblebee asked, expression not changing once. Near to collapsing, Bulkhead soldiered on, wondering with every word if he'd made a huge mistake.

"Well you… you know I've been painting a lot lately, and I was wondering…" he gulped again, closing in on the final thing he'd come to ask and hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake in the process. If this worked, it might just be the happiest day of his life…

"I'm kind of tired of painting trees and flowers… could I paint… you?" he asked, not even waiting for a reply before he clarified extensively. "Paint a picture of you, I mean! Like… would you want to model for a painting? That's… what I meant…"

"Oh, model?" Bumblebee repeated, optics lighting up like a supernova as he repeated the word. Bulkhead felt relief like nothing he'd ever experienced wash over him as the question got exactly the answer he hadn't dared to hope for, enough so that he struggled to stay standing as he sighed. Bumblebee hopped upright and stretched, lean little frame already eager to get moving as he stepped beside his much larger friend. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Yeah, sure!" Bulkhead said with enthusiasm, trying his hardest not to cry a few happy tears at the turn of events. Moving as fast as he could, he followed Bee to his room, where all of his supplies were waiting for them in the unlikely event this worked out. The big bot had done everything in his power to get all the paint and brushes he would need if Bee said yes, so hopefully he did indeed have enough, or at least what he'd require to get started. He'd gotten so many shades of yellow…

When they arrived to his room, he briefly scolded himself for not fixing it up better, not that Bumblebee ever bothered to clean his own room, but he wanted to be a good host.

Pointing to the smushed couch he sometimes liked to relax on, which was also in a good spot for lighting, he tried to ensure he was calm despite his still fluttering nerves. "You can, uh, pose however you like. How about there?"

"Sure, sounds fun!" Bumblebee replied, quite enthusiastic as he hopped on over. Not minding that the furniture was beyond lumpy, he began finding a comfortable way for his frame to lay, moving his tiny self about as Bulkhead got everything ready. Trying not to blush at how happy he was, the big bot grabbed a spare canvas and his favorite cans of paint, along with a few brushes in his size. Someday he'd have to properly thank Sari for introducing him to art, and being kind enough to provide tools in his size as well. When his easel was in place, he looked up to see Numb laying himself over the couch and grinning in his usual goofy way. "Paint me like one of your French bots, Bulkhead…"

Even if he hadn't been so distracted by what he was feeling, the big bot would have had no ability to make sense of what he'd just heard. All he could manage was a one word reply of total bafflement. "...What?"

"It's a… a human quote. I don't get it either." Bumblebee mumbled in reply, likely referencing some movie he and Sari had watched together at some point. Not wanting his friend to feel awkward, Bulkhead happily helped the conversation continue, smiling as he grabbed a brush.

"Oh, well um… how about we start small? Just sketches and stuff, you know?" he offered, trying to think of the best way to proceed. It was hard to plan much of anything when he was this happy, especially because he didn't want Bee to know how he felt, in more ways than one. He had to keep going as if this was just a casual thing, and not something that really meant the world to him.

"Works for me, just don't forget to get my good side… which is all of me." Bee said proudly, striking a pose and grinning as he did so. It was a perfectly in character position, so Bulkhead got to work right away, carefully articulating his large digits to control the brush. While small mistakes were just part of the process for painting, he didn't want to make one here. This piece was going to be perfect, so every stroke had to be the same, and thus his digits had an almost vice-like grip. It didn't escape his attention how few bots got to pursue their greatest wish like he was doing now. Keeping his smile to himself, he cast his optics to Bumblebee and back to the canvas, wanting to have the perfect grasp of scale before he began. Having a friend with such particular proportions wasn't going to make this any easier.

Sticking with the core of his muse, he made a few careful strokes to get the basic gist of his friend's pose, hoping to capture both his sense of excitability and his current relaxed mood. It would be hard, but he was more than up for the challenge. This would be worth every last second of work...

"Actually, hang on, my arm looks better like this."

Bumblebee surprised him with the words and the sudden movement he made to match, his arm swinging about to rest almost opposite to its original pose. As he hadn't yet started drawing that particular spot, Bulkhead let it go, having expected a little bit of restlessness. It was also only fair that Bee liked the final result and was comfortable with the process. Getting back to work, the big bot wondered if his friend's face might be a good place to start. His horns certainly added an additional detail for him to take into consideration… Perhaps he'd ask if Bee wanted his face to be more in profile or at an angle. All he wanted was to capture the essence of the bot he was so close to.

Bumblebee coughed, optics looking about bashfully as he blushed and shifted on the couch to move his other arm. It wasn't a big move, but the small bit clearly realized it was inconvenient, and looked guilty for the move. "Need to change this too, it's not working. This look better?"

"Oh uh… yeah!" Bulkhead replied quickly, uncertain how he should respond beyond acceptance as the last thing he wanted was for this to be uncomfortable for either of them. Some small changes would need to be made to what was already on the canvas, but that was hardly a bother. Getting more paint on his brush, he tried to work a little faster as he got the bottom layer established. Not that he didn't trust Bee to keep his word, but the little bot often fidgeted without even meaning to. Sticking out his glossa in concentration, Bulkhead worked fast, using up a fair amount of paint as he got what he presumed to be the core of the piece. Next would come the much tricker details…

Or at least they would have, if he hadn't glanced up to see Bumblebee in a completely different pose and half asleep...

"Bumblebee?" he said on reflex, coughing to try and gain his friend's attention. Startling awake, the little bot looked around in surprise, seeming to have forgotten exactly where he was and what was going on. When recognition dawned on his features, embarrassment wasn't far behind. A light blush lit up his cheeks as he shrunk down on the couch.

"Scrap, sorry, wasn't thinking." he apologized, trying to remember how he had originally been posed and failing to do so. Bulkhead felt a bit of frustration stirring, but he kept it well under wraps. Just because this wasn't going according to plan, didn't mean he was going to give up.

"That's okay! Just… need a new canvas." he said, keeping his smile even if he was a little more flustered. With a little bit of white paint he could salvage the canvas and use it later for something else, plus it wasn't like Sari didn't provide him with plenty of supplies. Getting set up all over again, he looked back to Bumblebee, who was once again settled in what appeared to be his position of choice. Hoping to begin in earnest, he was careful as could be when he broached the question on his mind. "Is that the pose you want?"

"Definitely!" Bumblebee said enthusiastically, giving him hope that he'd be able to paint for real this time. Not wasting even a moment, he painted as fast as he could, glancing back and forth between the painting and his subject to make the process as smooth as possible. It was an effective strategy, as it allowed him to get the outline twice as fast. This time he wanted to fully capture his friend in the picture as he'd been trying from the start. Some part of him just knew it would be worth it, and that they'd both be thankful he put in all this effort.

Or, at least, he thought he knew...

"Actually, sorry about this, but…" Bumblebee was bashful but not especially hesitant as he moved to lay on his side, stretching as he moved into an entirely different position. The poor artist felt his spark drop at the loss of progress all over again, even as his friend tried to cheer them both up by looking as chipper as possible. "That was so much more uncomfortable than I was expecting. Go on!"

Bulkhead didn't say a word as he grabbed another canvas, and did his very best not to look as discouraged as he felt. It didn't seem like this was going to stop any time soon, as much as he wished it would, and that didn't bode well for his wish to get this done. Perhaps he'd been far too hopeful…

Still, he did everything in his power to stay positive and make the painting he'd dreamed of become a reality.

Painting faster than he ever had in his entire life, the big bot ignored the imperfections that came from moving so rapidly, setting his jaw tight as little flecks of paint spattered across the canvas. At this point, such little things hardly seemed to mind. What really mattered was getting this done. A familiar form began to take recognizable shape on the canvas, and the artist started to plan ahead for his next move from then on. Shading would come after these little details, which he'd be able to put together thanks to having a lot of his friend's appearance memorized. Hope blossomed in his spark as he finally saw Bumblebee in the picture he was painting.

Getting so close to what he wanted made seeing a repeat of what had happened before hurt more than it should have.

Catching himself, Bumblebee blushed and shrunk down on the spot, smiling bashfully in apology for his unintentional movement. It really wasn't something he was doing on purpose; he wanted to see his friend happy! Sitting still just didn't work for him. Seeing Bulkhead look hurt, however, made him feel especially bad for the mistake.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Bulkhead said with a sigh, putting yet another canvas to the side and looking quite deflated as he did so. There wasn't anything he could think to do that might change this, and he was ready to just throw in the towel. Perhaps this was just the one thing he wasn't meant to paint.

"Aw come on, why not?" Bumblebee pressed, aware of the answer but hoping there was something he could do to fix it. Staying still just wasn't in his programming, but perhaps… he could get some tape? That wasn't realistic, but he wanted to try something to make up for this. Bulkhead only sighed again.

"You won't stay still?" he said simply, frustrated but not antagonistic in his summation. It was something neither of them could change, and that left both more than a little helpless.

"I…" Bumblebee stuttered off, tapping his digits together as he saw his friend get even more sad. Unable to help getting a little defensive, he got up from the couch, throwing up his arms as the big bot cleaned up some of the mess. "Come on, Bulk! You know me! Staying still isn't my thing, and I can't force that!"

"Well yeah, but… couldn't you just stay mostly still?" Bulkhead asked, still not ready to just give up all at once. Even if he had no idea how to fix things or make it work, he wanted this painting too much to just give up, no matter how many canvases it took. All he needed was a little bit more time than he had been getting. His determination must have shown, because Bumblebee furrowed his brow ridges in consideration.

"I… I can try! I…" he faded off as the pressure weighed on him, and thankfully his friend caught that quickly. To be clear; he wanted this a lot, but he could never want anything badly enough to make Bumblebee uncomfortable. Perhaps it was best they rested a bit, to restore their patience and approach this with clearer heads. He certainly needed a minute to relax from all this frustration...

"How about a break? We've been trying for a while, maybe a bit of down time will help." he proposed, already feeling a little better at the prospect of cooling down. Bumblebee shared the sentiment straight away, visibly relaxing on the spot and letting out a tiny sigh of his own.

"Great idea Bulk! Let me just grab something…" he said happily, darting off and leaving the big bot alone with his supplies. Deciding to clean a bit to ease his mind, Bulkhead sorted the discarded canvases, hoping that he could paint over the unusable pictures with some white and reuse them. Seeing how much and how little progress he'd made at the same time made him wonder how he might improve on their next attempt. Nothing was coming to mind just yet, but that didn't mean he had lost hope. There had to be something on this planet that would motivate Bee to stay still, and by Primus he would find it!

As he was wiping up some paint that had managed to drip onto the floor, Bumblebee quite literally skidded back into the room, coming to a dead stop after running at full tilt.

"I'm back! Just wanted to grab my game!" the little bot declared happily, waving the device about as he went to sit back on the smushed couch. The game had been a gift from Sari as well; some kind of earth console that had been sized up a few times over to better fit the servos of a Cybertronian. Smiling in acknowledgement, the big bot nodded as he went back to cleaning. Digital music met his audials as his friend started up the system and began to play, reclining on the couch as he settled in for a much needed break. Bulkhead had only had middling success with the games popular on earth, owed in large part to his size, but he was at least happy his friend could have some much needed fun with them.

When the floor was finally cleaned up, he took stock of his slightly diminished inventory. There was still plenty of paint, and more than a few canvases, but if they continued at their current pace… He'd have to figure out a strategy before they tried this again, because otherwise this just wasn't going to work. Looking up at Bumblebee, he briefly considered proposing that they try this another day before his thoughts were systematically interrupted.

Laying on his back over the pile of stuffing that had once been a couch, the small mech was entirely engrossed in his digital world, optics focused only on the screen as his digits rapidly tapped away on the controls. Other than the occasional shift of his expression, he was entirely motionless. It took Bulkhead a moment to process what he was seeing. Bumblebee was so rarely still, and never for this length of time… He didn't need to think much before he was reacting the only way he could.

Moving as silently as a mech of his size was able to, he grabbed what he needed, gathering his paints around himself as he got a fresh canvas and sat down before his easel. He couldn't have asked for a better setup; the pose, the lighting, it was all perfect. It was almost too much to hope this was real. Considering how many false starts he'd had, most could probably understand why he felt that way.

Daring to take his time, the big bot made every brush stroke count, trying to think of all the reasons he liked Bee so much as he made each one. His friend was confident, energetic, brave… All those thoughts motivated him every second he worked, and the results were soon apparent. The form of Bumblebee began to take shape rather quickly, coming together far more smoothly thanks to how relaxed he was. A base layer was ready to go in what felt like only a few minutes.

Oblivious to everything, Bumblebee kept right on playing, occasionally sticking his glossa out as he did so. Bulkhead contemplated including that detail in the piece, but ultimately decided against it. This was going to be a somewhat more dignified painting than that.

When the time came to add lighting, he was almost over the moon, but he kept all the excitement to himself. Colors mixed together beautifully on his palette, forming the light and dark shades to the vibrant yellows and deep blacks that made up his friend's paint job. It was far more satisfying than painting even the most beautiful landscape he'd ever seen. Perhaps he was just a little biased on that front, but he did believe that painting things you truly cared about just brought them to life. One only had to glance at this piece to understand how much this bot meant to him.

It almost seemed like he was dreaming when each and every glance revealed Bumblebee to be sitting perfectly still, without a hint of movement beyond the minor. If this did turn out to be a dream, he'd at least be happy it was going so well. Fate had truly designed the perfect setup for them to finally get this done without any stress for either individual.

Everything came together with what felt like only a few of the most well done strokes he'd ever painted. At long last, the bot he'd wanted to paint so badly had been captured on canvas! It was so exciting he couldn't hold back an exclamation as he set his brush down theatrically.

"Done!"

"Huh?!" Bumblebee gasped, half jumping on the spot as his game nearly flew from his servos. Looking about in a daze, he put the pieces together when he saw his friend, at which point guilt crossed his features. Time had slipped away from him even more so than it had for the very busy Bulkhead. "What? I… oh, Bulk! I didn't mean to get distracted! You could have stopped me earlier, I wouldn't have minded."

Waving off the appreciated but unnecessary apology, the big bot only smiled and wiped some paint from his servos, rising from his chair to puff his chest out with pride. "That's okay, I'm already finished."

"How?" the little bot gasped in awe, checking his internal chronometer to see just how long he'd been wrapped up in his game. It had only felt like a few minutes, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten lost in a video game.

"Well, you were pretty content playing your game, so…" Bulkhead allowed his friend to put the rest of the pieces together, and in no time understanding dawned on the little mech.

"Oh, I gotcha!" Bumblebee replied happily, quite relieved to have not held them up. If playing video games was what it had taken to make his friend happy, then he was quite fine with that. All he wanted was to get a look at the results, which he was certain would be incredible. "Here, let me see!"

Feeling a bit of shyness amongst his pride, Bulkhead handed over the canvas, careful to avoid the still drying paint.

"This is amazing!" Bumblebee proclaimed without hesitation, trying to be delicate even as he felt a surge of excitement upon beholding the painting. Of course he knew his friend had talent, but this was incredible! "Look at me, I look even better than usual!"

Bulkhead looked down to the floor and shuffled his pedes, doing his best to hide the blush creeping along his cheeks. "Well, I had a pretty great model."

"That's gonna sell fast, Bulkhead. No doubt about it." Bumblebee praised as he gave the painting back, confident in what he was saying. It didn't hurt that he was a good looking bot, but his friend had really done an especially good job on this one, and he was sure it would be bought up in no time. Taking the piece, the big bot smiled softly as he beheld it again. It had taken a lot of courage for him to get this, and he was quite proud of himself for that. As such, he held the painting very near and dear to his spark.

"Maybe, but… I think I'm gonna keep it, actually." he said softly, wanting to see it every day. There was a perfect place for it where he could do just that, not that he would say where that was. Bumblebee didn't mind the decision in the slightest.

However, when the little bot ducked in his friend's room later to pick up a borrowed item, he learned the true value of the painting to Bulkhead. On a wall reserved for only his most precious of works, the portrait sat high in a position of honor. Usually unable to say everything that came to mind due to overwhelming volume, Bee had been rendered speechless by the sight. Only a soft smile revealed how touched he was by the gesture.

#transformers animated #tfa #bumblebee #bulkhead #commission #my writing #my commissions #fluff

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mooniefics · 3 years

Text

unforeseen circumstances [ 1 ]

pairing : porco galliard / fem reader

word count : 4.3k

tags : porn w plot, angsty lol, porn w feelings, doomed love

warnings : nsfw

summary : at first it had been necessary, a consequence of getting more and more information out of your target, but now you realize that the time spent with him had developed into a bond that was undeniably something more.

— originally posted 12 / 29 / 20 on ao3 —

intercept, infiltrate, escape.

that was the mantra you'd been repeating over and over again in your head for days. your squad was counting on you—paradis was counting on you—to do your absolute best out on the field, behind enemy lines. and you would definitely say that you had been doing well. you'd picked out your target just fine, maintained your cover effortlessly, gathered a hefty amount of intel that would mark your mission as a success when you delivered everything the commander back home.

in the same vein, you could admit, there had been a few hiccups here and there; a couple slips of the tongue that would've spelt certain defeat if you weren't so good at lying through your teeth, accidentally doing things that weren't in character of a diplomat's daughter, mostly small mistakes, nothing that wasn't easily rectifiable.

but, what was happening right now had to be the biggest hiccup of them all.

your hands were tangled in the thick mess of blonde hair, mussing it out of its usual brushed back style, lips moving fervently over his as you arched off the bed to press your body closer to him. you'd found that kissing him always left you breathless, thrumming with warmth and only wanting more. it was no different this time around when he pulled away, your chest heaving like you'd just run a mile as he pressed a messy line of kisses down your cheek and jaw.

"do you really have to go home after tomorrow, princess?" he murmured between pecks, hands beginning to work on unbuttoning your shirt.

"i told you i'm a countess, not a princess." you giggled, tugging your arms free from the sleeves and replacing your hands in his hair, "there's a difference, you know?"

"countess, princess, whatever, royalty all the same." he mused, giving a soft nip to your shoulder, "can't you ask your father to leave you here with me just a little longer?"

your face flushed at that, feeling a flutter in your heart at his earnest words rather than his impatient hands. it was those little requests, playfully delivered but nonetheless inviting you to really stay in liberio even if for just a day more, that reminded you of the weight of your duty. a small pang cut through the fog of arousal, your fingers tightening their grasp the slightest bit, guilt bubbling up behind the light airiness in your chest.

"you know i would if i could, porco." you replied softly, "but i've got business back home. my family's counting me for a lot of things."

and you weren't lying when you said that. you did have business and family back home, there was so many things that had to be done, and the only chance you had to get back home with the rest of your squad was tomorrow night, leaving this as the final evening you'd probably ever get spend with him like this. you tried not to think about those complicated details, but he made it easy to focus on him as his hands squeezed your breasts, rolling his thumbs over your nipples through the padded fabric of your bra.

"then i'll just have to make sure you remember me, huh?" you could feel him smirking against your skin, "give you plenty of reasons to come back real soon."

you let out a heated sigh at the feeling of him sucking at the crook of your neck, thighs clenching unconsciously from the low pulse of arousal stirring between your legs. you could tell that there was going to be a bruise in the morning, already hearing connie's vehement protests and sasha's prying questions in your head. screwing the enemy once was already bad enough, but this was now the fourth day he'd managed to get you in his bed.

this first night could've been excusable, seeing as you were both quite drunk after a carefree tour of the city, courtesy of him and his overconfidence, despite you knowing every nook and cranny of liberio from your time spent tracking his comrades' schedules. but you couldn't help feeling drawn back to him, and under the flimsy excuse of being able to get more information by being in his dorm, you had ended up back in his room within the next few nights as well. you technically did get a bit of work done, rifling through his belongings when he ventured downstairs to get you both a cup of coffee, but there was nothing of substances to be found besides some explicit magazines under the bed and a picture of his older brother tucked away deep in the drawers of his desk.

you knew you shouldn't get attached to him, you knew that you should just write these evening ventures off as meaningless sex to drive away the homesickness that had begun to set in. but you'd started to find yourself wanting to be around him more and more even before that first night, missing his scent of faint cologne that you could only smell when he held you close to him, memorizing everything from the flustered smile that broke out across his face when you'd kiss his cheek to the fuck-drunk grin you saw from your side of his bed the first time you'd slept with him. sure, he was arrogant and standoffish on the surface, but under that exterior there was so much more, more than you could ever hope to discover in the last twenty-four hours you had left in your stay. so you decided to let him bring you back here again, not even feigning protest when you both fell back into the comfort of his messy sheets and made out like two teenagers after their first date.

you could feel his hands trying to work their way under you, prompting you to arch your back off the bed so he could unclasp your bra. you gave a soft whimper when his teeth grazed over the fresh bruise, letting your eyes fall shut as he lavished your neck and shoulder with teasing, half-pressured bites and firm kisses. his fingers rolled your nipples between them, clearly relishing in the tiny whines and moans of his name that each pinch earned him. he turned out to be much more generous in bed than you'd first anticipated, always giving and giving without any expectation for something in return, seemingly content with just watching you fall apart in his hands, something which he made so ridiculously easy to do.

the moon outside cast a silvery glow through the window, illuminated his figure above you and making the more blonde locks of his hair glow golden. you let your hips roll up to meet his, earning a low groan when they pressed flush against the tenting bulge in his trousers. the places where he left his mark ached in the best way as he made his way down to your chest, earning another stifled whimpered when sucked at the valley of your breasts, fingers not stopping their slow routine that sent heat arcing up your spine. you muffled another whine when he bit at the soft flesh, tongue laving out to soothe the sting.

"ah.. p-porco, that..!" he didn't let you finish before he repeated the action to the other breast, firmly enough to print his teeth into your skin but not nearly enough to be entirely painful.

you were sure he could feel the way you were trembling now, how your shaky hands were tugging meekly at his shirt in a futile attempt to get it off. he pulled away with a chuckle, yanking it off of himself in one fluid motion and tossing it aside, planting a brief kiss over your lips before returning to his previous actions. this time his mouth descended over your nipple, tongue flicking over the pert bud and drawing more small whimpers out of you.

you were only keeping quiet out of the thought that the other warriors were in the dorms, and that they might come knocking eventually to tell you to shut up, but porco seemed more than happy to force more heated pants and moans out of you with little care for their volume. you squirmed under the power of his tongue, already feeling yourself practically soaking through your underwear as he swapped his attention to your unattended breast, hands smoothing down your waist to work at getting your skirt off. he managed to wrestled the lacing free more quickly than you thought he would, touch immediately delving under the loosened waistline and into your underwear.

"fuck," he groaned, thumb rubbing over your clit and making you up buck into his hand, "so fucking wet."

"stop t-teasing me.." you protested, feeling him move to nip and suck more marks at the underside of your breasts. you hadn't thought the skin would be so tender, but you couldn't help the moan that slipped from your lips at the sensation.

"makes sense that you're used to calling the shots," he spoke in a low tone, giving an apologetic lick to one of the larger bruises he'd left behind before proceeding further down your body, "but just trust me, alright? i'll make sure you'll never forget tonight."

you felt your heart skip at his words. "as if i could ever forget you."

you caught his small smile your own words garnered in the dim light, an expression that was boyishly shy yet prideful all at once, another image of him that you wanted to burn into your memory forever. after tossing your underwear aside to join the rest of your forgotten clothes, he guided apart your legs, pressing a soft kiss over your thigh before taking some of the pliant flesh between his full lips, sucking at it with enough pressure to make you whimper.

you knew what he was doing, littering your skin with bruises that would darken by the time morning came, leaving reminders of himself that probably would stay etched into your skin for the next few days, but definitely not more than a week. you assumed that he saw it as better than nothing, considering that the first time he left a mark on you he would always smirk to himself when he caught a glimpse of it, thumbing over it and kissing it when he could— figures that the prideful soldier loved to mark his territory. he took his time with this area, squeezing at your thighs and giving the occasional bite just to watch you squirm and whine, hazel eyes drinking in your visage as he teased you with the prospect of being so close to where you needed him.

"god, you look so good." he muttered after leaving the final mark, deciding that he'd drawn out his torture long enough, "i wish i could keep you like this forever."

you flushed brilliantly at that, your sheepish look garnering another quiet laugh from him before he settled your thighs onto his shoulders, fingers sinking into your soft hips and gently pulling you against him. the first lick was deliberately slow, laving up the entirety of your dripping cunt and stopping just at your clit, taking it into his mouth to draw small circles over it with the tip of his tongue.

you pressed one hand firmly over the lower half of your face to catch to moan that you couldn't swallow back and muffle the sound of your quick breaths through your nose, the other finding his hair and urging him closer. his mouth was exceptional, knowing exactly which places to lick and kiss, applying just the right pressure over you to make your toes curl and your legs shake, each low groan and mutter sending the delightful vibrations of his voice echoing across your skin. you did your best to not clench your thighs too firmly around his head, but your already vain efforts fell apart completely at the feeling of his tongue working its way into you, lapping up at the wetness that was now most likely dripping down his chin and making a mess of the sheets beneath you.

for all his hotheaded hubris, his smart mouth was good for much more than just spouting out arguments to defend his pride and dropping mediocre pick-up lines that would've been terribly cringeworthy from anyone else but were somehow endearing when he said them. one hand moved to replace the stimulation over your clit in his mouth's absence, the other sliding under your writhing form to find the small of your back, offering more support to the way your body arched into his mouth. the heat ebbing out over every inch of your flushed skin was overwhelming, leaving you drowning in the feeling of his skillful tongue and fingers, moans pouring out into the palm of your hand as you tugged at his hair and rolled your hips up into his touch.

"f-fuck.. c-c-can't.. i th-think..!" you could barely form coherent words, but you were sure he knew exactly what you were trying to tell him based on the way he redoubled his efforts over you, drawing out one last muffled whine before you came against his mouth.

you had expected him to let you ride out your high like he always did, eventually guiding you down with a steadily slowing rhythm and soft kisses to your trembling body, but he did neither, not even faltering as urged you even closer to his unrelenting attention.

"p-porco..!" you mewled, having to pull the hand at your mouth away to gasp in sufficient breath, "please—f-fuck—l-let me rest for a m-minute!!"

you met his gaze from between your legs, barely steady enough to match the intensity, not able to see his mouth but knowing he was grinning from the way the corners of his eyes creased. when you tried to unclasp your thighs from around his head, his hands quickly grabbed them and held your legs apart just enough to accommodate his place between them, his low chuckle at your desperate expression sending another jolt of pleasure sparking up your spine.

you couldn't stop the incessant trembling of your body, every muscle wracked with an uncompromising heat that drove breathless, unrestrained whines out of you as his tongue drew you back to that familiar peak in under a minute. each shaky clench on your hand in his hair earned you more low groans into your overly-sensitive flesh, your head craning back as far as the pillow allowed it to and heels digging into the firm muscle of his back as your lids squeezed shut, entirely immersed into the all-consuming heat that was fervid enough to bring tears to your eyes. you felt more than overstimulated as he finally let up and allowed you to fall back down onto the bed in a panting heap, pressing soothing kisses across the skin of your bruised thighs.

"do you need a break?" he murmured, not at all hiding how he was admiring your debauched expression.

"just a little one." you barely whispered back, still struggling to catch your breath and slow your heart.

he took mercy on you, slipping your legs off of his shoulders and stepping off of the bed to wrestle off his pants and boxers, giving you until then to regain your bearings. you let your wandering eyes settle on his dimly lit figure, the shadowed contour of the muscles lining his chest and arms looking even more defined in the faint radiance the window provided.

you would miss feeling the way they would flex under his warm skin when you smoothed your hands over the expanse of his torso, how you could feel his heart thud steadily against your fingers or hear it when you rested your head on his naked chest. just the thought of your departure was sobering in it own right, but remembering what you would have to take part in just after you would give your final farewell made you feel a lump knotting its way into the center of your throat. you tried not to let that dismay show on your face as he took his place over you once again, letting you pull him down into a kiss that was softer, less lustful than all the others that had come before.

"c'mon, getting sappy on me already?" he teased playfully. you didn't even have to open your eyes to know that he was grinning. you huffed, earning a small laugh and another gentle peck.

"no! just.." you met his gaze, suppressing your own smile at the sight of his cocked eyebrow and lofty smile, "just thinking about the next time i'll be able to come back."

another lie, but he didn't know, face softening at the pleasant thought. "you'll hear about it at the play tomorrow, but lord tybur's inviting all of marley's new allies to join hands against that island. things are gonna get busy from now on, and who knows? maybe you might have to come back and make another visit."

"here's to hoping." the hands on his cheeks wandered away to lace under his arms, forearms resting on his solid back and fingers gingerly grasping his shoulders, "i wouldn't mind spending a few more nights like this.."

"no need to be shy, princess," he smirked, punctuating the phrase with a more heated kiss that made your heart pick up its pace once more, the taste of you still discernible on his tongue, "you can be more honest than that, i won't tell on you."

you didn't correct him on your false designation this time, starting to enjoy it as more of a pet name than an official title. you felt the heat of arousal that had been dampened by your foresight flicker back to life when he dipped his head down into your neck, nipping and kissing at the array of marks he'd left behind, shifting his position so he could line himself up with your drenched cunt. you didn't realize you'd been waiting with baited breath until he eased himself inside of you, your shaky exhale drawing out into a low moan, the desire to be quiet completely forgotten as he started out at a slow, deep pace.

"fuck, i'll never get tired of this." he muttered, each thrust driving little pants and whimpers from your parted lips.

he seemed to want to draw out your intimate exchange as long as he could, knowing that you wouldn't last all night but wanting to savor this time nonetheless. and you were grateful for that, just as you were grateful for how he paid such special attention to make sure he always left you satisfied, or how he'd always managed to slip in those stupidly sweet comments that made you feel alight with a carefree airiness you hadn't felt in so long before you met him.

so the evening drew on, a cycle of whispered words and messy kisses, his grunts and groans mixing with your own breathy whimpers and whines, limbs tangling together to hold your bodies close and hips rolling to meet the others'. you came apart in his hands more time than you cared to count, more focused in how he would moan against your mouth when your nails raked down his back hard enough to leave reddened scratches over his tanned skin or memorizing the hazy look in his eyes when he stared down at you with that fuck-drunk grin, clearly spent but not wanting to throw in the towel until he'd given it his all.

satisfaction only came after you'd both finally reached the point of complete exhaustion, sticky with sweat and greedily gulping in gasps of the room's hot air, somehow still finding enough energy to breathily giggle at your tired expressions when you turned in bed to face each other. you waited until your skin had cooled off before you moved over to him, humming contently at the feeling of his strong arms doing most of the work of pulling you closer.

"come to the festival with me tomorrow." he said, voice low as it reverberated in the ear that was pressed to his chest.

"was that not already the plan, soldier boy?" you hadn't expected for your murmur to sound so tired, eyes already too heavy to keep open, the hand that was carding through your hair not making it any easier to cling to your waning alertness.

he let out a small chuckle, whether it was at the snippy remark or the new moniker you couldn't tell. "just making sure, princess."

the silence that settled around you both was natural, almost comforting, allowing you to hear the way his breathing had begun to steady out, and the slow beat of his heart that had just been racing alongside yours minutes ago. despite all your physical fatigue, you found yourself unable to fall asleep with him, the weight of all your thoughts keeping you anchored to consciousness. it didn't feel like tomorrow was the end, you weren't ready for the finiteness of reality to settle in just yet.

you nestled your face closer to his warmth, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to keep in the tears that had begun to well within them. it wasn't right, it wasn't fair, you deserved better than to have this happiness ripped away from you just as fast as you'd found it, he deserved better than the deceit and never-ending series of lies than you'd been stringing him along with.

"porco," you breathed, so quietly that you could barely even hear yourself, "i lo.."

you stopped. you couldn't say that. you couldn't think that.

you felt the tear that had slipped down the side of your face drip onto his chest, your arms around him hugging him tighter as you drew in a few deep breaths to calm yourself. you eventually forced yourself to sleep, knowing that you'd need it for the long day ahead of you, and hoping you'd find an escape from the unforeseen circumstances of your guilty conscious in your dreams.

the next day came and went so quickly, filled with loud music and chattering crowds and so much laughter, a happiness that allowed you to lose yourself in the fun of it all as you and him ate and drank from as many stalls as you could find. there were foods and desserts that you'd never seen before in marley or in paradis, curious instruments and street performances that he obviously wasn't used to either based on the eager sparkle that gleamed in his eyes. your feet were sore by the time the sun had begun to sink below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the entire city as you exited the avenue that had been bustling with life all afternoon now steadily emptying out as everyone readied themselves for the show that lord tybur would be hosting in the square.

you didn't let go of his hand as you both wandered down the city streets towards the square, worried that your palms would sweat or your fingers would tremble, giving away how much you were dreading reaching your final destination. you kept the smile that had been entirely genuine up until minutes ago plastered on your face, unable to come to terms with the inevitable end that was just a few meters and a side street away. and when the lines of wooden benches and large stage finally came into view, you felt that sinking feeling of your heart give way to an cold emptiness caving a hole in your chest, only able to follow him along as he guided you out of the walkway and onto an empty place on the sidewalk.

"i have to go sit with the rest of my unit, but i'll see you after the show, alright?" he told you without a second thought, entirely sure of the fact that he might have the chance to sneak you away for a few more indulgent moments before you had to return to your home country.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat, lips struggling to maintain their shaky smile as you answered. "definitely. we'll meet again here?"

he nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. you tried not to make the deep breath you took to steady yourself obvious, balancing up on your toes to press one last lingering kiss across his lips. it didn't last nearly long enough, only able to catch a hint of ginger and lime from the last drink you'd both shared before he released your hand and started on his trek to his seat, turning to give a wave and a smile over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd.

as soon as he was out of your sight, you pushed down all the conflicting emotions that had been threatening to smother you, not allowing yourself to cry even as you ventured away from the stage. the show would be starting in less than five minutes, and it wouldn't probably take more than ten for eren to give his cue.

you couldn't get that last image of his face out of your head, eyes bright, smiling widely down at you, so entirely unaware of the chaos that would unfold just after the curtain call. buildings would be destroyed, people would die, people he most likely knew and spoke to longer than he was aware of your existence, and a portion of the fault fell on your shoulders. and even from a block away you could hear the vibrant cheers of the crowd as the curtain rose, your brisk pace turning into a near run as you tried to escape the sounds of the townspeople, tried to forget the impending doom hanging over you as the go-time for the operation to lay siege on marley drew nearer and nearer with every step.

#porco galliard x you #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard smut #m.nsfw

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

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MODELING INTO THE MOVIES

August 8, 1936

By Jeannette Meehan, HOLLYWOOD

From the women’s angle, there are simply too many gorgeous newcomers in Hollywood. That fact is plain.

From the gentlemen’s angle, Hollywood is pleasantly crowded with the most alluring bits of femininity ever to delight the bald-headed row. This fact is even plainer. Oh, say it isn’t so, but there a new day dawning in the west for the Stage Door Johnnies.

Whence comes this influx of Eves? Who are these girls of such attractive physical make-up?

Well, sir, most of them are ex-models.

The highway and by-ways to Moviedom are past counting. Those most traveled have been the extra route, the beauty contest route or the I-have-a-relative route. Yesterday our newcomers were night club crooners, radio personalities and million-dollar heiresses. Today the majority of candidates for stardom are no longer being recruited from these avenues. It now quite obvious that any girl who has been a model approaches the casting office with an asset that permits her to pass up the waiting list.

Oh, phooey, what’s a model got that the others haven’t?

Well, when Radio Picture wanted five beauties for the fashion show sequence in “Roberta” they tested 30 girls, and then sent out an S.O.S. to the ranks of professional models. That was a year ago. Those five models so delighted the camera that they’re still under contract. (1)

Just a few months ago, when M-G-M went scouting for 22 modern Venuses for “The Great Ziegfeld”, they discovered that the ex-models had a lot more poise and personality than the kids who were merely movie struck. Eighteen of those 22 “Ziegfeld Girls” were former models. Fourteen of the 18 were given contracts. You just can’t argue with “figures” like that, or should I say with “figures like theirs"? (2)

“Model your way to the movies” isn’t just a catchy phrase. Models come to Hollywood already equipped with the elementary essentials which studios spend a great deal of time and money trying to hammer into inexperienced youngsters. Models have already served their apprenticeship to the art of carriage, grace and charm. They’ve already passed a certain type of beauty contest. The girl whose picture helps to sell beauty preparations has to have a face that leads you to believe that the product is worth trying. A pair of silk stockings modeled on muscle-bound or "spindle” legs would scarcely lure you to the hosiery department.

You never see a good model stumble over her train. She remains regal and sure-footed in the most confusing draperies.

Figuratively speaking, these girls are above reproach. Most fashion houses require that their models be above medium height, broad through the shoulders, slim through the hips, and that their proportions be symmetrically arranged. Thus, they’ve long since graduated from the routine of diets, masseurs, and classes for corrective posture that faces tire average beginner.

In other words, movie producers are finding out that modeling is a natural complement to screen work. Film executives are discovering that the girls who come to them from portrait and artists studios and from fashion salons are far ahead of those who approach Hollywood's pot of gold with no training.

Not only that, but these ex-models seem to be well-mannered, well-educated girls whose off-screen poise and chic rivals that of their screen betters.

Oh, dear are they gorgeous? They're enough to make us ordinary girls forget to look before we leap. Just for instance, take Pauline Craig [above] (3), an auburn-haired, statuesque beauty from Cleveland, O. She’s five feet six and one-half inches tall, weighs 118 pounds, and has a figure that only Jean Harlow (4) could be unconcerned about.

Miss Craig was a “Ziegfeld” girl - now she’s under contract. She skipped the first grade in motion picture training, and I guess we all know why. She was a model. Her glorious smile has appeared in hundreds of advertisements. As a fashion model she worked for I. Magnins. (5)

Are you wondering if these girls observe any general rules for the maintenance of health and beauty? Miss Craig will tell you that most of them prefer fresh air to smoky drawing rooms, and that they substitute milk for alcoholic beverages.

Incidentally, her hobby is collecting pictures of the Dionne quintuplets. (6)

Another girl recruited from the model ranks for “The Great Ziegfeld" was Wanda Perry (7), a vivacious brunet from Brooklyn. She's five feet five and one-half inches tall, weighs 120 pounds, and has brown eyes.

With her classic features and her superb figure, there was a great demand for her in New York’s portrait galleries and exclusive clothing establishments. She has posed and modeled for Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, McFadden Publications and for tooth paste ads.

With an already perfect camera presence, she is not to be enrolled in the studio's kindergarten for beginners.

Over at Paramount there’s a queenly blond named Elizabeth Russell (8), probably the best known of former New York models. A favorite of such distinguished illustrators as Russell Patterson, James Montgomery Flagg, McClelland Barclay, Dean Cornwell, Paul Hesse, and Steichen, the photographer. Miss Russell is now in possession of a flattering long-term contract.

Artists agree that her features are photographically perfect. Artist or no artist, they’ll look perfect to you! She has modeled hose, nightgowns, and coiffures. Her blonde beauty has helped to sell cigarettes, jewels, soap, sheets, automobiles and first-aid kits. Very soon she'll be helping Paramount sell “Girl of the Ozarks,” her first picture (9). Miss Russell is five feet eight inches tall, weighs 118 pounds, has blue eyes and naturally blond hair.

Another beautiful blonde who modeled her way to the movies is Louise Stuart (10), a former Chicago debutante. After graduating from Miss Mason's Castle (11) she went to New York to visit former school chums. It was during one of these visits that she was persuaded to pose for cigarette ads. One good look at her flawless countenance, and modeling jobs were her for the asking. With plenty of time on her hands, and nothing to do with it, she went to work.

Miss Stuart attributes most of her success with the test director to her experience as a model. Posing for artists and photographers, she says, gave her a self-assurance which she has never lost. You'll see her first in “Lady Be Careful." (12)

A third Paramount prize is Veda Ann Borg (13), a stunning, red headed girl from New York. Before the studio signed her to a long-term contract, her divine proportions and sparkling personality had created a sensation in the modeling field.

One of the most exquisite of Hollywood's newcomers is brunette Anita Colby (14) who stands five feet seven inches tall without her high-heeled shoes. Her face has smiled at you from magazine covers, commercial advertisements and from the pages of the nation's smartest fashion periodicals. Her beauty is attractively framed in poise, wit and charm. She is conversant with world affairs, music, art and literature. Pictorially speaking, she’s a model of perfection. Radio proudly points to her name on its contract list.

Radio has two other "model" charmers in the persons of Maxine Jennings (five feet eight inches tall), and Lucille Ball (five feet six and one-half inches tall). Miss Jennings (15), a former model for the famous couturier, Jean Patou, is a stately redhead as handsome a creature as you ever laid your eyes on. You'll soon be seeing her in featured leads.

Miss Ball (above), a blue-eyed blonde from Montana (16) and former model for Hattie Carnegie, is considered an important trump in the studio's hand. Her bosses have thus far cast her in wise-cracking roles, hoping to develop her into a counterpart of the late Lilyan Tashman (17) - but Lucille doesn't seem to need much help along those lines. Her poise, her suave delivery and her flair for clothes have already added to the gaiety of nations and have cannoned her well along the road to stardom.

One of the most beautiful of the "model" brunettes is Hester Deane (18) who is doing much to enhance M-G-M productions. Her likeness on the backs of magazines has caused many a gentleman to change his brand of cigarettes, and she posed for automobile body advertisements long before the studio discovered that her presence on screen would “up” the grosses.

She was born in Oklahoma City. Her education included art and music. Now, when she isn’t modeling or working in pictures, she designs clothes, takes piano lessons, and studies philosophy.

A good look at Mary Jane Halsey (19) will have different reactions on you, depending on your sex. If you’re a woman, you’d just as soon she broke her neck.

Miss Halsey was born in Milwaukee. After her family moved to Los Angeles she became a model for a famous cosmetician. She is five feet six inches tall and weighs 120 pounds. She has blue eyes, and ‘shhhhhh’, she writes poetry.

If these "model" newcomers get any taller, a few of our leading men will have to wear stilts. Extreme height, which has sounded the gong for many a beginners’ career, doesn't seem to be a handicap for the ex-models. When these lovely girls began to invade Hollywood, apparently the enthusiastic producers forgot all about the traditional physical specifications for screen heroines. There was a time when all actresses had to be extremely petite and slim, like Gloria Swanson and Colleen Moore, and, more recently, like Claudette Colbert and Margaret Sullavan (20). Unless you were a diminutive little trick about five feet two inches tall, and weighed less than 100 pounds, you might just as well have stayed on the farm. Greta Garbo and Kay Francis (21) were overlooked for a long time because of their height.

But the restrictions seem to have been called off. It appears that models can grow as tall as they like without the danger of facing dismissal from the casting office. Margaret Lyman (22), one of the prettiest of the model group to win a picture contract, stands five feet nine inches in her stocking feet, and weighs 129 pounds.

One of the most photographed models of the country, Miss Lyman has posed for Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, The New Yorker and for cigarette and soft drink ads. She has brown hair and brown eyes. She wears a larger shoe than Garbo.

And no less charming is pretty Jane Hamilton [below] (23), another popular girl who found her way into pictures through the route of her professional success as a model.

# # # FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) “Roberta” was released by RKO on March 8, 1935. It was Lucille Ball’s 21st film. Models were needed for the fashion sequences. The film also employed models Virginia Carroll, Diane Cook, Lynne Carver, Lorraine DeSart, Betty Dumbries, Myrna Low, Margaret McChrystal, Marie Osborne, Wanda Perry, Donna Mae Roberts, and Kay Sutton. In addition to Lucille Ball, Wanda Perry, Maxine Jennings, and Jane Hamilton were in the film and profiled in this article.

(2) “The Great Ziegfeld” was MGM’s 1936 biopic of Florenz Ziegfeld, the showman who glorified female beauty on stage. Lucille Ball was not in this film, but was later part of the cast of “Ziegfeld Follies” (1951). This film employed dozens of showgirls and models to play the Ziegfeld Girls. Those profiled in this article include Pauline Craig, Wanda Perry, Hester Dean, Mary Halsey, and Margaret Lyman.

(3) Pauline Craig (1914-97) made her screen debut in “The Great Ziegfeld” but only did five more films, leaving the business in 1939.

(4) Jean Harlow (1911-37) likely did not know or care about Pauline Craig, even if Craig’s figure did give Harlow a run for her money. She was known as the original platinum blonde sex symbol. She died at age 26, at the peak of her popularity. MGM closed for her funeral.

(5) I. Magnin & Company was a San Francisco, California-based high fashion and specialty goods luxury department store. It expanded across the West into Southern California and the adjoining states of Arizona, Oregon, and later to Chicago, Illinois, and Washington, DC, metropolitan areas. Mary Ann Magnin founded the company in 1876 and named the chain after her husband, Isaac. The chain was bought out by Macy’s in 1994.

(6) The Dionne quintuplets (born May 28, 1934) are the first quintuplets known to have survived their infancy. The identical girls were born just in Ontario. All five survived to adulthood. The Dionne girls were born two months premature. The Ontario government and those around them began to profit by making them a significant tourist attraction. As of this writing, two of the girls are still living.

(7) Wanda Perry was born Helen Beuscher in Brooklyn, New York, on July 24, 1917. When she was sixteen, she was named Miss New York City, and was offered a movie contract by Earl Carroll. Helen moved to Hollywood and took her mother's maiden name, Wanda Perry, appearing in films as a showgirl, an Earl Carroll Girl, a Goldwyn Girl, a dancer in "George White's 1935 Scandals," a fashion model, an extra, a bit player and a stand-in for Lucille Ball! Her final film was as an extra in Lucy’s Mame (1974).

(8) Elizabeth Russell (1916-2002) was the sister-in-law of Rosalind Russell. She started doing films in 1936 and finished her career in 1960. (9) “Girl of the Ozarks” (1936) was a Paramount film also starring Virginia Weidler, Henrietta Crossman, and Leif Erickson.

(10) Louise Stuart did two pictures for Paramount back-to-back in 1936. That was the extent of her film career.

(11) Miss Mason’s Castle is a reference to Miss C.E. Mason’s Suburban School for Girls in Tarrytown-on-Hudson, New York. It was open from the late 1880s to 1934. The castle was razed in 1944.

(12) “Lady Be Careful” (1936) did not feature Louise Stuart as is said here, although records could be incorrect. The film did feature Elizabeth Russell, however.

(13) Veda Ann Borg (1915-73) did her first film for Paramount in 1936, and was continually employed in Hollywood until 1963. She was the first actress cast as Honeybee Gillis in “The Life of Riley” TV series, replaced a short time later by Marie Brown, then Gloria Blondell.

(14) Anita Colby (1914-92) was born Anita Counihan. Early in her career, at $50 an hour, she was the highest paid model at the time. She was nicknamed "The Face" and appeared on numerous billboards and ads, many of them for cigarette advertisers. She did three films in 1936 alone, the same year she appeared on 15 magazine covers in a single month. In subsequent years she only acted in three more films, returning to modeling.

(15) Maxine Jennings (1909-91) did 10 films with Lucille Ball between 1935 and 1937. After 1938, her film appearances were sporadic. She made her final screen appearance on a 1968 episode of “Hawaii 5-O”.

(16) Lucille Ball (1911-89) is stated as being a blonde from Montana. She was actually a brunette from Upstate New York.

(17) Lucille is once again compared with Lilyan Tashman (1896-1934) a stage and screen actress known for her skill at verbal wit as well as her throaty delivery. She died at age 37, just one year after Lucille Ball arrived in Hollywood.

(18) Hester Dean became known as 'The Girl with the Fisher Body' after modeling for the Fisher Automobile Company. Her only film was “The Great Ziegfeld” (1936).

(19) Mary Jane Halsey (1913-89) was also in “The Great Ziegfeld” (1936) but by that time had done nearly a dozen films. She continued to act on screen until 1945.

(20) Gloria Swanson was 4′11″, Colleen Moore was 5′3″, Claudette Colbert was 5′5″, and Margaret Sullavan was 5′3″.

(21) Greta Garbo was 5′7″ (same as Lucille Ball), and Kay Francis was 5′9″.

(22) Margaret Lyman (1915-2002) was one of the models hired for “The Great Ziegfeld” in 1936. She did two more pictures before leaving screen acting behind.

(23) Jane Hamilton (1915-2004) was a Goldwyn Girl in “Roman Scandals” (1933) just like Lucille Ball. Hamilton, however, had done one previous film as a Goldwyn Girl, “Gold Diggers of 1933″. She did seven other films with Lucille Ball. Her final screen role was in 1949.

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darkhymns-fic · 3 years

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Blossoms in Flight

Estelle is having trouble working on her next book, so a visit from Rita was more than welcome - and possibly give her a solution to her writer's block.

Fandom: Tales of Vesperia Characters/Pairing: Estelle/Rita Mordio Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: So here’s a 3 month late bday gift for @taco-night-frenzy ! Please forgive. :) Enjoy some lesbians trying to fly together and it (mostly) turns out okay!

Inspiration just wasn’t striking.

Estelle put her pen down, heaving a sigh that traveled from the very pit of her lungs until it left her mouth. She had been at this for a solid twenty minutes, having cleared her schedule to give her some well-needed writing time. And yet, as the blank piece of parchment before her told her…the words wouldn’t come.

She just couldn’t understand it! She had all the essentials down for a productive writing session; a recently cleaned-up desk where a simmering teacup was set next to her right, flowers placed on the windowsill to give her room a pleasant fragrance, a locked door so that no well-meaning knight (Flynn) could come in and ask if she needed anything, and she had even put up some nice pictures on her wall, a few paintings depicting landscapes and wildlife. Many of them were so pretty that she found herself staring at them for quite a while… or was she just finding an excuse to not do the task at hand?

Estelle shook her head, even tapping her temples with her fingers. “Focus now! You can do this!” She had the habit now of talking to herself when she tried to get into a creative mood, though always making sure her door was locked before she did. “You’ve written one book, now it’s time to write another! So…let’s get started!”

Another breath, taking back the quill pen in her hand. She could hear the children from town playing outside, but she had made sure to lock the window to minimize outside distractions. It was the best way for her to concentrate! Although even just thinking about the outside got her curious to maybe leave her room for a break… Wait, no! This was the problem!

“Focus…” Estelle whispered, taking another deep breath, staring daggers at the page as if to will her words into existence. “Focus…”

The children outside were being quite loud though – sounding as if they were just at her room, knocking their hands against the wall! But she was on the second floor, so that was clearly impossible. It must have been just wishful thinking anyway… She liked to ta her walks outside and read her latest book to the group of children. In some ways, that had been her own source of inspiration as well-

“ -elle! Estelle!”

Oh, sometimes they’d shout her name like that too, especially when she was lost in thought, looking over the great tree of Halure, with its pink petals that floated over them all. She had only moved to this town a few months earlier, along with a few trusted knights, including Flynn, for protection. But she had never felt safer. Never, except when with-

“Estelle!! Open the window already!!”

A sharp gasp left her throat, prompting her to stand up. Her chair was knocked on its side from the motion. “What? Who’s- who’s there?” Was it that ghost that the children sometimes spoke of again…?

“I’m right here!!! Hello?!”

Oh, wait, someone was actually at her window. And going by that voice…

A smile lifted her face as she turned. “Rita? Is that you?”

Her home in Halure wasn’t too tall, but with her room on the second floor, only birds and the like would make it to her window. Often she would open it to the see the town outside, along with the pink petals that floated on the warm breeze, sometimes catching onto her hair. (And with her hair the same pink shade, she would rarely notice the petals until someone such as Flynn helpfully pointed them out). But instead of the town, she saw a sight that was even more heartwarming and exciting.

Rushing to the window that she nearly stumbled, her hands pressed against the glass to push it open – and nearly Rita along with it.

“Agh! Careful!” Rita flailed a bit but latched her fingers onto the windowsill, her brown hair a bit frazzled. She struggled with the action, especially as she seemed to be carrying a sort of mechanical contraption on her back.

Estelle stared for a moment before she realized to grab onto Rita’s hands to keep her steady. “I had no idea you were here! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t have to worry that much.” Rita sighed, gripping back Estelle’s hands. But she didn’t move to go through the window, at least not completely. The window was tall, enough to take in Rita’s entire height, so she deftly placed her feet on the windowsill, looking down at Estelle. “I was just out here knocking on your window for the past ten minutes…”

Estelle gasped. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I was just so busy trying to… well, focus for a while.” She shook her head, pushing away such worries. “But, I didn’t know you’d visit me!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rita frowned at that. “I told you I’d see ya again, just after I finished my latest project.” With that announcement, she jutted a thumb to the machine strapped to her back. “In fact, I used this to go and visit you!”

Estelle’s eyes widened with awe. “Wow… is that a new backpack?”

“It- It’s more than just a backpack! See the fan blades here?” She gestured to the things, currently very still, numbering about four blades altogether, seeming to stick out from Rita’s back like metal wings. “It’s my new flying machine. I told you that I’d show it to you.”

A memory jogged within Estelle. “Ah, that’s right! You did tell me that. I apologize. It seemed to have slipped my mind…” Still, she looked at the flying machine, how compact it was, fashioned from metal. “And all without any blastia?” Always she was impressed by the girl’s genius.

“Of course! It’s utilizing the law of physics anyway. Aerodynamics and such, so you just need to determine the lift, the weight, the drag and the thrust. Though mine works a little differently because of the shape of this, but I still have to calculate how the force of gravity affects it, and if enough thrust from the propellers can lift me up…”

Estelle nodded very slowly. She was impressed! Even with all the information making little sense to her.

Rita noticed. She blinked, cleared her throat, then crossed her arms. “Anyway… I was just in town… wondering if we could get tea together, you know…”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! I know how busy you are with research.” Estelle clasped her hands. “And I have plenty of honey this time!”

“Well, good! Tea is only good with honey, so you should always have plenty!” Rita was really quite adamant about this, which Estelle well-remembered. And if honey made Rita came by for tea more often, she would always make sure to have enough on hand.

The girl remained standing up on the windowsill though, occasionally adjusting the straps wrapped around her torso (perhaps trying to get it off?). Sometimes a rotor blade hit the sides, but Estelle didn’t mind the noise of it. In fact, she found herself a little in awe of the sight, Rita’s silhouette against the backdrop of the sky, where the stray petals of cherry blossoms floated in the breeze. They fluttered all around Rita, who didn’t seem to notice them in the slightest, too preoccupied with her machine.

Estelle must have been staring for far, far too long. “Uh, what is it?” Rita asked with a raised eyebrow. “I-I almost have this done so just get the tea ready!”

Estelle flushed just then. “Oh, Rita it’s not that! It’s just, um…” Recently, the words always seemed to escape her, not just from her pen, but just through speaking. It was as if anything significant thoughts she had just seemed to flitter away from her mind, like frightened birds. But Rita was right in front of her, so at the very least, she could keep track of what she wanted to say… “It’s just, you look really heroic standing up there right now!”

It was clear right away that Rita had no idea what she meant. “Huh?” Although her face also seemed a bit red. Flying must have taken a lot of energy and exertion, which made sense as to why she wanted tea so much. “I don’t…well… I mean if you think so…”

But the longer Estelle looked at Rita, the more she believed the image before her to be true. “Yes! Especially with the cherry blossoms falling around you. Like something out of a novel…” At that, she paused, blinked, then clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s it! The new protagonist should be someone like you!”

Rita seemed to get even redder, and Estelle wondered if maybe the heat of the day was getting to her. “W-what? Estelle, can you make sense please?”

Ah, that’s right. She hadn’t explained it at all to Rita. That was rude of her.

“Sorry. Actually… you caught me at a weird time.” She finally decided to move, going over to a side table in her room where a teapot and some cups were placed. Luckily, the water inside was still hot, and she carefully arranged a chosen tea bag for Rita’s own cup. “You see, I’ve been trying to start my new book for the past hour, but nothing’s coming to mind. It feels like I’ve hit a roadblock, so to speak.” She sighed, pouring the water into the cup. Oh, and of course added in some honey from a small dispenser nearby. “My first one came to me so easily, I just don’t understand what the problem is…”

“…Huh. Can’t say I relate much to that.” But once she turned to Rita with filled teacup in hand, she saw the girl scratch her head, looking at the floor. “Sorry. That was thoughtless to say.”

“Oh no! That’s alright.” Estelle shrugged, once again looking up at Rita against the window. She still looked so heroic, and also just so very cool. She wondered if it was possible to have a painting like this… It was just too bad Estelle couldn’t draw very well. “Maybe I just need to do something a bit differently… I’ve already tried so many different tea brews already.”

“…You really think the kind of tea you’ve been drinking is the issue here?”

“Well, this one time I accidentally switched out my chamomile tea with the ginger one, and it had me up all night!”

“Hmm…”

For a while, Rita seemed to have not heard her, preoccupied with thinking, which happened sometimes. Estelle would usually just let her go through it before interrupting her with anything else. But whatever her musing was, it didn’t last long.

Rita turned her head just over her right shoulder, looking out into the sky. The sun was just beginning to set, casting hues of orange light against Rita’s hair. The petals continued to float around, doing so in such intricate patterns, it seemed that they danced about her. Even the wind picked up, gently rustling Rita’s clothes, including the yellow ribbon wrapped around her arm.

Once again, Estelle could do nothing but stare.

“Well, if you need more inspiration for your book…” Rita said, before fully turning back to her with a smile, one that was full of confidence. “I think I know a way to help with just that.”

Estelle still held onto her teacup, blinking occasionally. “Really?”

“Yeah! The thing is, you’re going about this all wrong.” Rita then finally jumped from the windowsill onto the hardwood floors of Estelle’s room. She did so without any thought to what she still wore on her back, which must have been lighter than it looked. “Just sitting around waiting for inspiration isn’t gonna cut it. You have to go out and look for it! If I waited for inspiration to go and continue my research, I’d just get nothing done. And if something still isn’t working out, I move onto something else. It’s as simple as that.”

Estelle nodded along, fascinated as Rita paced about her room, spilling out advice that was truly so inspiring. “But then… where can I find my inspiration?” she asked with a bit of reservation. “I’ve tried taking walks around Halure, speaking with the children… but I keep having trouble just writing down a few words at most.”

“That’s routine, Estelle. And while routine is nice, it gets boring and expected.” Rita stopped her pacing, facing Estelle with crossed arms. “I only write for academic research instead of any creative writing, but it sounds like you need a new perspective.”

Maybe here was where Estelle got a little confused. She tilted her head. “A new perspective?” How could she do that?

Rita apparently read her mind then. She asked her question so matter-of-factly. “Ever saw Halure from above?”

This was the only time Estelle ever felt just a bit unsure around the genius researcher that was so dear to her.

“Are you sure this is the best way?”

“I told you that it’s fine! You don’t think I’m strong enough, is that it?”

“Oh no! I just worry I’ll hurt you if we’re not careful…”

But as Estelle looked up at Rita from above, she saw the determination in her eyes, the way she pouted cutely like so when she was being, perhaps, just a little bit stubborn.

The reason she was above was because Rita had instructed her to lay down, so that way it would be ‘easier.’ Estelle didn’t question it, and so she complied, using the bed in her room as the best place for her to lay down straight. Rita stood by her bedside, eyes hard, arms crossed.

“…Am I laying down wrong?” Estelle questioned. Sometimes she didn’t always understand directions very well…

“No no, it’s alright! Just… thinking how to do this right.” Rita took a deep breath, then uncrossed her arms to stretch them out. Her face was still a bit red, and Estelle wished she had served her the tea a bit earlier. But Rita had declined, determined to help her find her inspiration, as she had said.

With the flying machine still strapped onto her back, Rita stretched out her arms, then nodded. “Okay! Just be sure to hang onto me once I got you up.”

Estelle, slightly nervous, nodded. “Got it!” Still, she worried. Rita was a bit shorter than she was…

Could she really carry her that easily?

Rita had sounded excited at the idea she herself proposed, and Estelle couldn’t help but be caught up in that same excitement. But, now that the prospect was happening, a few doubts popped in her head – mostly concerning herself. For one thing, her dress was probably not the easiest thing to deal with for the person who would carry her…

But before she could voice any more concerns, Rita brought down the goggles she always wore on her head, placing them over her eyes, effectively hiding them away. Then she was bending down, arms slipping underneath the other girl’s back and legs. “And… okay, just, gotta use my knees…” Rita paused, her face a bit near Estelle’s, the heat from her cheeks a bit apparent. “Uh…”

“Are you alright?” Estelle asked, feeling ashamed. “We don’t have to do this if you changed your mind-”

“I didn’t! Don’t assume that!” And with a pout, Rita slipped her hands further so that she got a better grip on Estelle. “I’m just preparing! Okay… one, two…three!”

She lifted Estelle up so quickly that she almost tripped.

“AAAH I-I mean! I have this, don’t worry!” Rita re-balanced herself, holding up Estelle much more securely. She stood up straight, legs trembling slightly, taking deep breaths every so often. “Hurry and…hold onto me…”

“Oh, right!” Estelle wrapped her arms around Rita’s neck, head leaning into her shoulder. “This good?”

“Y-yeah…” Rita turned to look at her, mouth half-open as if to say something. It was hard to see her expression with those goggles on… But then she turned away again. “Anyway, let’s get going.”

Estelle nodded. “Okay!” Still, she hoped she wasn’t too heavy for her…

But she knew better now to make any mention of it. So, she stayed cradled in Rita’s arms as the girl marched over to the open window, careful to keep her back straight, all while muttering, “All in the knees… Just like Karol said, all in the knees…”

Estelle’s lower half of the dress practically engulfed Rita’s arms, at least from what she could tell from her angle. Maybe I should say something… But the thing was, she liked being carried this way.

Rita then hopped back onto the windowsill. The suddenness of the motion made Estelle squeak. Rita’s arms shook, but only for a bit. And then it seemed as if she ran straight off the edge out into the sky. “Keep your eyes open!”

Because Rita told her so, that was exactly what she did.

It wasn’t the first time she had been up in the sky – far from it in fact. Back when she traveled with everyone, they would ride on Ba’ul and the ship he carried, over towns and cities, over the sprawling grasslands, the oceans that seemed to lead forever into the horizon. She’d feel the wind in her hair, raise her head up to the stars, drawn to the brightest one.

But it was different now.

Held close to Rita’s chest, and hearing the whirr of the rotor blades of her flying machine above them both, Estelle felt something much more different now. Her legs dangled in the air, the petals flying close to her face, bringing with her the scent of the cherry blossoms… and she couldn’t help but keep her gaze on Rita’s face, the goggles covering her eyes to protect her from the wind.

Rita seemed to notice, and though she couldn’t see her eyes, she had a feeling the girl had been caught off-guard. “I-I didn’t mean keep your eyes open on me!”

“Oh?” Estelle half-shouted, the wind carrying away both of their voices.

“At Halure! Look at Halure! Y-you can look at me later!”

Estelle did worry excessively that she had done something wrong then, but with Rita’s insistence, she finally did so, following the petals that drifted around them, to the houses that lined the pathways of the roads, to the trees themselves that extended so high above the town and into the sky. Rita flew around the branches, moved along with the wind currents, all as children shouted excitedly from below.

“Told you I could carry you easy,” Rita announced, eyes straight ahead, the rotor blades continually whirring behind her. “Now you got a new view! Is it helping?”

And though Estelle did look all around her, in awe at the height they were at, at how even with Rita’s arms, there was always that faint sense of precariousness, one that sparked something wonderful in her heart. It was exciting and wonderful, and with the setting sun, the town had never looked so beautiful just now.

But even with all of that, her eyes kept going back to Rita, who had always been so, so inspiring to her.

She had to let her know. “Rita!”

A little shake, Rita turning to Estelle in surprise. “Huh?! Don’t just scream in my ear!”

Estelle was too happy, wrapping her arms around Rita’s neck even tighter, hugging her close. “You just look so very cool right now!”

“Estelle, wait! I’m gonna lose control of my flying-!”

Too late. A brief tilt in the air, messing up the already uneasy momentum that they had, and soon enough, were flying right for that same tree, pink petals flooding both of their sights.

When the great tree had been dying, its leaves wilted and its branches drooping low to the ground, so many had lost hope for it. Estelle had felt a desperate wish in her then, one that she could barely bury down, and didn’t want to. Even as monstrous blood infused with the roots, she had begged, she had pleaded, and that alone had been enough to bring it back.

If only she could do such a thing for her very own self so easily, with just a wish. I want to feel like I can do something again. But sometimes, she realized, one had to look outside of one’s own self to find that inspiration.

As Rita and Estelle flew haphazardly, they landed against one of the branches, with a blanket of blossoms cushioning their fall. Rita flailed, Estelle now effectively on top of it. “Agh! I got cherry blossoms in my throat!”

Still, Estelle couldn’t let go of her. She nuzzled her head against the others, feeling so giddy. “You’re just… so great, Rita…”

“You could have hugged me at any other time!”

Her smile hadn’t left, even as the rotor blades now whirred a little less effectively, their mechanisms a bit clogged from all the petals that went into its crevices. If this solved her creator’s block, she wasn’t sure just yet – but she wouldn’t trade this experience for anything else.

#tales of vesperia #rita mordio #estellise sidos heurassein #ristelle #fanfiction #oneshot

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