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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Millie’s Massive Fic Rec Post

To celebrate 700 followers I’m showing all the love, people. What you’ll find here are fics that were sent to me who I agree deserve a bit more love as well as fics I’ve read and adored. They’re split into characters so all you need to do is scroll to find your fave and bask in its glory. There is some swearing but it’s only because it’s the only way I know how to express my feelings. This is also my thank you to each of the authors involved for taking the time out of their day to write these fics for free. There are also some authors I know I’ve forgotten and I am so so sorry if I have, I promise you it wasn't intentional, I love you all very much.

As always, I love and appreciate you all. Let’s get started on this ridiculously long post!!

Harry Potter:

Don’t Walk Away - @kalimagik - THE ANGST. I was on the edge of my seat through it all; I knew what was coming but did I look away? No. I was completely sucked it and that ending... oh my god, I was broken. If you’re looking for an incredibly written piece of angst that has you in tears, then this is the fic.

Dandelions - @lupins-sweater - The first post of A Very Harry Potter Summer and it was kicked off so brilliantly!! This fic had me wishing for my very own Harry to take morning walks with. It’s so wonderful; it has you wanting a summery morning and dandelions to make wishes on.

Always You - @bl597 - inspired by Louis Tomlinson’s song Always You, so I was already sold on that front. It’s an angst piece - Harry pining from afar, regretting his decisions but with a happy ending. I love that it's written from his perspective, that he realises what he’s done. I really do love this fic, and I aim to work my way through her masterlist!

The Truth Behind The Kiss - @justauthoring - the anticipation from the first sentence, I was on the edge of my seat. I loved every single word of this fic, it’s written so well. I just, I need you all to read this fic bc it is SO GOOD. Harry, Triwizard tournament, feelings, fluff - it has it all.

For how long? - @siriusly-addicted-to-writing - It seems for Harry fics I am drawn to angst even though I write nothing but fluff for him. This fic is no different. Dani, this fic is wonderful, I love it. You capture the angst brilliantly! Go read this everyone!

Ron Weasley:

“can we pretend I never said that?” - @hello-everyfandom - I love this so much! Ron calling himself ‘the snog master’ had me snorting out loud - it’s great. And then the dialogue continues to be brilliant. I really enjoyed this fic! Ron needs more attention people!!

Crossing Lines - @kalimagik - ADORABLE. CUTE. WONDERFUL. Oh, Ron. Everything about this fic is marvellous. The relationship between Ron and the reader, the realisation, the meddling. It was perfect, so so perfect.

birthday - @lupinsdarling - FLUFFY AND CHAOTIC AND I LOVE IT. Why oh why doesn't Ron get more love? Why doesn't this fic have more attention? It’s so fluffy and Ron is so bloody cute that my heart physically hurt while reading this. It hurt because it was so PURE.

Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley:

Girls in one room - @eleven-times-lively - Hermione x Reader - oh my god I snorted at Ron, I love it. And the fluff? There’s so much fluff, I can't deal with the fluff. If you’re going to read a Hermione fic, read this one!

just as lovely - @vanillann - this is so pure! it’s so wonderful, and the relationship between Hermione and the reader is so cute!

Hug ur friends drabble - @firewhisky-kisses - Ginny x Reader - it’s the cutest thing I’ve read, oh my god, is it cute! I love everything about this, Steph is so talented! But I go into that further down.

Neville Longbottom:

Never the Bride - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Dee’s fic reads as a rom com, it’s so brilliantly done. By the time you're at the end, you feel as if you’ve just watched a two hour rom com and need to squeal into your pillow because of the feels. I love this fic.

Moonlight Swim - @kalimagik - Neville. Oh, Neville. This fic stole my heart and it won't give me it back. The idea of a moonlight swim with Neville? Here for it. And the confession? *chefs kiss* incredible.

Healing - @firewhisky-kisses - I cannot put into words how much I loved this fic,. Steph is just so incredibly talented and writes Neville so wonderfully. Healing is the first fic of two and that second part had me in happy tears because Neville deserves the world. I go back and reread this a lot when I need to boost my emotions, so thank you for this Steph.

Good News - @peachesandpinks - Let me explain something here, Ron repeatedly and without fail hypes up fic writers to the point where she makes me cry happy tears at her comments. Her writing (and I'm going to swear now) is fucking brilliant. I love it, I adore it. Ren has a way with words that I only hope to master. This fic? Marvellous, magnificent, wonderful - pick a synonym and go wild. It’s so sweet and wholesome - what more could you possibly want other than to be on her taglist?

Tally Marks - @obsessedwithrandomthings NEVILLE WITH TATTOOS PEOPLE! NEVILLE! WITH! TATTOOS! Do I need to say anymore? Yes? Okay. Dee is a fantastic writer but she writes Neville perfectly. We have had many conversations about her love for Neville and her love for him shines through in this fic. She writes with such care and I love reading everything.

Draco Malfoy:

The Purist - @mxl-foy - This series is so good. Like, so good, that if it was a physical book, it would be sat on my shelves. I would religiously check her account every time I came onto Tumblr to see if a new chapter was posted, and if there was, you best believe there was a happy dance. It’s so incredibly thought out and plotted. And there’s going to be a part two! It’s so great!

Notes - @malfoys-demigod - This is so sweet! I live for fluffy Draco as you all know if you read my Draco fics, but I adore reading fluffy Draco as well. This fic is so adorable, I love it!

Always so Cold - @teheharrypotter - Five times Draco gave you his sweater and the one time you accepted. I love these sort of fics, they’re my indulgence fics. Jealous!Draco is one of my favourite things to read as well. and he’s so dramatic. I couldn't ask for more in a fic, definitely one of my favourites.

the distance between us - @sdicapriox - This is a genius idea. I love this idea, and I love how it was executed. Almost 10k words of brilliance. I love the reader and her first letter to Draco and her entire personality - fish funeral? genius. I really like how you portray Draco and the effort you put into his internal monologue, it really is something excellent. The ending as well, I won't spoil, I just urge people to read this.

Heartbreak - @slytherinprincess03 - you have to have a little bit of angst in a Draco fic rec right? This fic has it but the ending is perfect and fluffy, gah! I love it!. Not to mention, Draco is such a gentlemen in it. I can't wait to see what else you write, lovely!!

Hardly A Date - @fanficflaneuse - I love this fic. I love it so much. I tend not to read sibling!reader but I adored this. The relationship between Harry and the reader, and then Draco and the reader. It’s amazing. I could rant for hours and hours about how much I love her work - her series are out of this world and she captures Draco’s character perfectly.

George Weasley:

Red with Rage - @kalimagik - AGH ANOTHER OF MAGGIE’S FICS. The prank? Genius, and that end line - incredible. Her characterisation of the twins is so good, I love reading her fics. She deserves more than 300 followers! So if you don’t already follow her, go now!

When Everything Changes - @strawberriesonsummer - Based on the song Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran. This is so pure, it’s so fluffy. George is adorable in this! I can't wait to read what else you write for George!

Come back to you - @dreamer821 - JJ, JJ, JJ. Ugh, this fic is a work of art and George is so bloody caring. I mention this a lot but the relationship between George and the reader is so important to get right and JJ does it flawlessly. My heart hurts for this fic and that last line, LOVE IT. I live for how JJ writes George, I could read her work all day. GO READ HER STUFF, YOU WON’T REGRET IT.

Fred Weasley:

The Right Bird - @dreamer821 - I’m not only just involving this because it was used in my writing challenge but oh my days, it is so wonderful. The relationship between Fred and the reader is just *chefs kiss* perfect. JJ has such a way with words and I just love how she depicts Fred.

Lost, are we? - @prongsies - I think I’m going to make my way through your masterlist because I loved this so much. The teasing was so cute, and Fred helping her at the beginning? Ahhhhh brilliant.

Watermelon Sugar - @prongsies - COMPLETING THE FINEST SERVICE TO THE HP FANDOM AND WRITING FICS INSPIRED BY FINE LINE - I SALUTE YOU. This is so good, so so good. The references to the song are used so well and that little bit of fluff at the end? Amazing. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put the song on repeat now...

Percy Weasley:

Nothing We Can’t Forgive - @firewhisky-kisses - This series really does showcase Steph’s talent. She’s an incredible writer and this fic deserves all the attention it can possibly get. It’s the first Percy fic I’ve ever read and I’m already planning a reread. Steph captures Percy’s character flawlessly whilst also depicting his healing in a manner that is so relatable. I’ve linked the masterlist because once you start reading, you won't want to stop.

Sight is Relative - @hufflefluff-writer - This fic has a blind reader which I think makes it all the more beautiful. Amelia’s characterisation of Percy really is wonder, she captures him brilliantly. The fic after they eat is quite literally breathtaking. The description of colours, the dialogue - it’s fantastic.

Hufflepuff!Reader Headcanons - @soft-nerdy-wolf - I loved this from the beginning where the reader was already helping Percy out of his comfort zone by disregarding curfew. Then the further, I read, I loved more and more because of how fluffy it is! And the confession? So so sweet! This needs more attention!

Bill Weasley:

Estrellita - @fanficflaneuse and @hufflefluff-writer - It is a fic inspired by the Sound of Music, what more could you possibly want? It’s so delicate and incredibly written by two extremely talented writers. The relationship between Bill and the reader = adorable. The whole series is so fantastic, I’ve linked part one and you’ll find the rest on Amelia’s masterlist, which you’ll need because you’ll be reading the entire thing in one sitting, I swear.

Charlie Weasley:

As Family the First Time - @kalimagik - you’ll have noticed that Maggie features a lot here but that’s because she is so damned talented that I adore most of her fics. The first Charlie Weasley fic I read and I fell in love. It’s just so fluffy and humorous with features from the whole Weasley family. Basically, by the end of it I was ready to raise dragons in Romania with a certain Weasley.

Meeting the Weasleys - @soft-nerdy-wolf - This made smile all sorts of stupid. From the beginning, I wanted to own Hepaestus (the perfect name for a dragon in my opinion - Zeus’ own forger, amazing.) And the fluff with Charlie straight after? I love, love, love it as well as the fun relationship they have. And the pranks with Fred and George? Ah! I just love.

Dragons blurb - @hufflefluff-writer - I know it’s only a blurb but oh my god, I loved it, I love it. Jealous!Charlie and a buttload of fluff - the best to boost your mood.

Cedric Diggory:

A Ghost Story - @wondernimbus - So beautifully haunting. Ysa has a way with words that make you feel as if you're physically there, living the fic alongside the characters. There aren't really any words to describe how talented Ysa is - all I can do is urge to read her masterlist and discover for yourself.

My Boys - @potterverseimagine - Cedric and dogs - I am in love. This fic is so sweet and pure and playful. Playful Cedric is so great omg and this fic is full to the brim with it. I just... ah I love this so much. AND HE’S ALIVE. I LOVE FICS WHERE HE’S ALIVE. Thank you for this!!

It’s a Date - @angelinathebook - Lena, this is so good. You need to write more Cedric! Ah, I hate those boys so much but I love Cedric!! This is so good! Cedric needs more love 100% - if you haven't read this already, you need to read it now!!

Sirius Black:

Lost Time - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Reader standing up for who she loves against Bellatrix? Yes, we love that. Slow burn romance with Sirius? I love that even more. Dee never fails to astound me when she writes Sirius, and I know she won’t fail to astound you too. Seriously (lol), go through Dee’s masterlist, read her works, you won't regret it. She’s the loveliest.

Our Godson - @nebulablakemurphy - Christina is so talented. The letters!!! Are so good!!! AND WHEN THEY FINALLY MEET? My heart! Christina, it's as if you broke it and then rebuilt it again all in the span of 2.8k words especially with that ending. I love this fic, and you will love this fic.

Curiosity - @siriusly-the-best-gryffindor - I don’t know what else to say that I haven't already said in my reblog but I love this fic. I am heavily pierced and heavily tattooed and I love seeing a reader as the same. I love all of this fic, it 100% needs more love!

The Jimmy Jab Games - @im-a-writer-right - A Sirius fic inspired by Brooklyn-99. I loved every single chapter, it made me so happy. And that final chapter, I was smiling like a fool throughout. Sirius is a dream through this, and that bet? I love! I’ve linked the masterlist because you won’t want to move as you read.

Secrets and fears - @firewhisky-kisses - Steph does it again with the masterpieces. Honestly, I squeal a little whenever I see her in my notifications with a new fic because everything she writes is stellar, and this is no exception. If you’re going to read anything tonight, let it be her masterlist. If you haven't read her latest Sirius piece as well, you are sorely missing out.

Remus Lupin:

Protect - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Oh man, this one hurt. There are so many feels to this fic, so many layers. The enemies to lovers? Amazing. That ending as well - so fucking good. Like everything Dee writes, so fucking good.

Sleeping Beauty - @poppin-potter - This is adorable. There’s no other words for it. The relationship between the reader and Remus is so cute, I was smiling all the way through it. Not to mention the relationship between the reader and the Marauders, so bloody good. And that ending? It was so peaceful, like I was reading and I was like yeah, I would’t mind a piece of that.

Pain of reality - @heloisedaphnebrightmore - I had to involve some Remus angst, and oh my word. You smashed my heart into pieces in the beginning and had put it back together by the end. Heloise is an incredible writer, so so talented. This is a Remus fic you cannot miss out on!

Bruise and Scars - @peachesandpinks - Soulmate AU and Marauders Era Remus. What more could you possibly want? It’s poetic. If you look to my Neville section, you’ll see why I love Ren’s writing so much but let me tell you, I am a SUCKER for Remus. Always have been, always will be. You will not regret reading this fic or any of Ren’s fics.

Nights like These - @teheharrypotter - another fic in A Very Harry Potter Summer and the description in this fic is so good! The way the summer night described has you feeling every moment of it. And the conversation between Remus and the reader is so beautiful, where they touch upon their grief. It’s a wonderfully written piece of work.

James Potter:

Numb Love - @heloisedaphnebrightmore - Unrequited love is like my guilty pleasure because I love the angst of it, and this fic. Oh this fic, it destroyed me and I loved every single minute of it. How this fic doesn't have more notes, I have no clue. It’s a masterpiece of emotions.

Reading between the lines - @approved-by-dentists - ohhh this fic is great, I love the flirtation between the reader and James in the beginning all the way to end. It was one of the first James fics I read (I’m late to the party, I’m well aware) and omg I love it. Just go read the fic!

Book-thief - @wondernimbus - I’m going to repeat my words from earlier, there are no words to describe Ysa’s talent. James Potter and a bookshop and I was sold. She captures his character so brilliantly. Just... go binge her work.

Summer revelations - @pregnant-piggy - I keep saying this about all the fics I put on here but I love this fic! I love it! First, I love James. Second, I need those muffins - seriously, where can I get these muffins? And their realisations and confessions! It’s such a pure fic, I’m absolutely in love with your portrayal of James.

Newt Scamander:

Cheeky Niffler - @eleven-times-lively - reader is an archaeologist - from that moment, I was sold. I loved reading this, I loved the idea and I love Niffler as it is! I always need more Newt in my life and this is perfect.

Online Love - @strawberriesonsummer - Modern AU! I really loved this idea, I love the idea of Newt with a phone and ringing the wrong number. It’s such a wonderful fic, I haven't read Newt in so long so this was such a lovely one to read! I can’t wait to read what other Newt fics are posted!

desire - @blisfvll - I am a huge fan of their works; their Draco fics are incredible and their Newt fics are just the same. This had me feeling all sorts of emotions, and I loved every second of it.

You stared Newt right in the eyes. - @fantasticnewtimagines - I didn't know what the title to this was so I just type out the first sentence, I hope you don't mind! This is a delicious piece of angst with a lovely, happy ending. I adore this piece so much because it conveys so much. I love it!!

MARVEL:

I want to take a moment to appeal to the followers of mine who also enjoy reading marvel. @shaynawrites23 has started to write some marvel fics and even entered my writing challenge and her fics definitely deserve some attention! She’s a wonderful writer and her fics are so cute! If you’re a fan of Bucky, you’ll love these fics!

Catty

Soulmate

Rosy Proposal

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flightlessangelwings · 3 years

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Work of Art ~ Chapter 1/2

Marcus Pike x tattooed!fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, pining, an asshole boss, Marcus being the bestest, reader dealing with misogynistic comments, kissing, insinuated spicy times

Notes: This idea was brought to me by @the-purity-pen and I got so carried away that I broke it into 2 parts lol. Thanks so much Leeann! And thank you to @we-can-be-himbos for beta reading! I loved writing this so much and I’m so excited to share this with y’all so I hope you like it! Moodboard made by me

This was not the ideal situation to walk into when you came in for work this morning. Your job as a receptionist and concierge at The Lustrio, an upscale and expensive hotel, had been fairly tame and quiet for the past five years you had been there. This was the first time there was an incident, and of course you were the one to run headfirst into it.

The Lustrio was very fancy with a rich, high-class clientele. The rooms were lavish and went for hundreds of dollars a night. Even the lobby was a sight in itself, and sometimes people walked through just to look at the exquisite art and ceramics on display. The architecture and design of the space was a work of art in and of itself. You and your coworkers were used to the usual flow of traffic throughout the day paired with people checking in and out.

While walking in to start your shift, you noticed broken glass everywhere, a priceless piece of art was gone, and the overnight security guard was unconscious on the floor. The sun hadn’t even risen yet and you immediately rushed to the bodyguard’s side as you dialed the emergency line. In no time, the lobby was filled with police, paramedics, and FBI agents. You felt like your world was turned upside down, even if it wasn’t your personal property that was stolen.

Luckily, the security guard was just knocked out, and you had gotten there just in time for him to be alright. As you watched them wheel him away, your boss, Rodderick White, approached you with his usual scowl on his face.

“Well this is just fantastic,” was the first thing he said to you during this whole debacle, “Fix your jacket too, you look disheveled.” You didn’t expect him to ask if you were alright or anything; he seemed to have a grudge against you for some time and you were used to his comments. If you weren’t so overwhelmed, you would have commented on the fact that he didn’t even seem bothered by the theft in the first place but you were too flustered to fully notice.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking Rod,” you snipped back. But you decided not to push your luck with him today and adjusted the collar of your shirt and lined your jacket to look more presentable. The uniform wasn’t horrible: a black blazer over a white button down shirt and black vest with your choice of black dress pants or skirt with black stockings. It just got warm at times with being covered up completely, and the tightness of the shirt collar sometimes felt suffocating.

“Rodderick,” he grumbled back before he cleared his throat and put his mask of friendliness on, “The FBI wants to talk to you.”

You sighed. You knew they would want to interview you since you were the first in that morning, but you weren't looking forward to it. “Yes sir, Mr. White,” you used your fake customer service voice as you followed where the various agents gestured for you to go.

The FBI unit had set themselves up in both the larger and smaller conference rooms that were just a short walk down the hallway from the lobby. In the large one, they had laptops and equipment set up. You noticed several agents were already busy trying to get a lead on the case. The smaller room that you were led in to was set up for interviews. Once you reached the doorway, you were met with a single agent who you assumed would conduct your interview.

“Nice to meet you,” he greeted you with a warm smile and an extended hand, “I’m Marcus Pike, the agent in charge here,” you took his hand and gave him your name, “I”m sorry this happened here. I hope you’re alright. Can I get you some water or anything?”

It was nice to know that a complete stranger showed you more kindness and concern than your boss who you had known for years. You brushed off the frustration you had with your boss, along with the lingering feeling of the warmth from the agent’s soft hand in yours. He was handsome for sure, and had big soft brown eyes and a smile that lit up the room. A sprinkle of scruff lined his jaw and framed his face perfectly.

“I’m fine, thank you,” your voice was genuine when you spoke to the agent and you followed him into the room where you sat down at the conference table.

Agent Pike closed the door behind him and the two of you were alone in the room.

Suddenly, you felt nervous, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. He must have noticed the nerves on your face right away before he gave you another sweet smile and said your name in a calm voice, “You’re not in trouble or anything. We just need your account of what you saw.”

Just those few words from him instantly made you feel better. Normally, you wouldn’t fall for someone’s charm like this, but something about this agent just seemed so genuine. Genuine and kind were two qualities that were hard to find in a person.

You felt yourself heat up as you gave him a nervous chuckle, “Since it’s just us in here, would you mind if I took my jacket off? I’m a little warm,” you tried to play off your jitters. When he nodded you added, “Just don’t tell my boss. We’re not supposed to be out of uniform at all when we’re here.”

Marcus laughed and looked down at the table, “Your secret is safe with me.” He looked back up when he heard your laughter, and this time it was his turn to be nervous.

With your jacket off, you were left in your short sleeve white button down shirt and vest, and you undid the top couple buttons to give yourself more room to breathe. But it wasn’t just the exposed skin that caught Marcus’ attention. He saw for the first time that you were almost completely covered in tattoos, and he couldn’t help but stare.

Marcus was absolutely a fan of art; it was what drew him to work for the art theft department in the first place. He also liked to dabble in art himself in his free time. To see how much artwork you had on your body made him stare at you in admiration. Marcus had thought that the lobby was nice to look at, but you were a work of art on a whole other level.

“Sorry,” he focused his attention to the papers in front of him to tear his gaze away, “I like your tattoos,” he added in a softer tone.

You smiled at him and Marcus thought his heart would break out of his chest. “Thank you, Agent Pike,” again, your voice was genuine. Truthfully, you thought his reaction was cute. You were used to worse anyway, and you could always tell when people stared out of interest or admiration versus disgust. Agent Pike definitely liked what he saw; you could tell already that he was not a subtle man at all.

“Marcus, please,” he met your eyes again and you both shared a moment where time seemed to stop for both of you.

“Marcus,” you repeated in a whisper and he echoed with your name.

Marcus had to bring himself back to the task at hand. He redirected the situation back to what he originally was supposed to be talking to you about. He asked you a series of questions about your morning, what you saw, the time you arrived, if you noticed anything in the past few days, etc. You answered all of his questions honestly, and your story lined up with events perfectly. Not that Marcus was concerned it wouldn’t.

“We have an idea of who it might be,” Marcus told you as he slid you a sheet of paper with the suspect’s photo on it, “Does he look familiar?”

You took the photo and furrowed your brows as you studied it, “Yeah,” your voice dropped, “He checked in a couple days ago. I remember I was the one who checked him in. He had a weird energy about him that gave me the creeps, but he didn’t try anything. Haven’t seen him since.”

Marcus clenched his fists involuntarily and suddenly felt the need to protect you. He wasn’t sure why; the two of you were practically strangers. Yet, even in your first meeting, he felt like there was something there. Even with his past history of failed relationships, there was something about you that just called to Marcus. Something about you told him that you were worth taking a chance on.

“Well we’re following up on him. My team is the best so we should have him soon,” Marcus turned serious as he fixed his gaze on you again. He waited for your eyes to meet his before he added in a more concerned tone, “Just stay safe until then.”

Something about his tone made your heart skip a beat and you felt your chest tighten. You could tell from the look on his face that he meant it, and his worry for you was genuine. Normally, you wouldn’t be flirtatious with a stranger, let alone an FBI agent, but you responded in a sultry tone, “I’ll be safer when you catch the guy.”

Marcus’ breath caught in his throat as he clenched his fists again; he definitely did not expect that tone from you. All he did was nod as he composed himself and slid his card across the table, “My number is on the back. If you think of anything else or need anything,” he paused as the tension in the room suddenly felt thick, “Call me.”

It took Marcus Pike and his team less than a week to catch the art thief, and when they did, his first thought was of you. He was pleasantly surprised that you had actually texted him the day after he interviewed you and he used the opportunity to make sure again that you were ok. He wanted to ask about your boss too, since he saw the older man berate you for seemingly nothing before Marcus and his team left. But, he decided not to push that envelope yet.

“Welcome back, Agent Pike,” your voice greeted him when he walked into the lobby.

Marcus was thankful you were at work when he came by and he greeted you with a smile and your name, “Nice to see you again,” he looked around, “Looks like you all got everything cleaned up well.” A look around told him that Rodderick was either busy in his office or off for the day, and for that Marcus was grateful. He wanted to talk to you anyway.

You whispered something to your coworker beside you and stepped around the desk to be closer to Marcus, “Like nothing ever happened,” you tried to make a joke but your eyes told a different story.

He read the question in your eyes clearly and it gave him the biggest pleasure to tell you, “We got him.”

Your face lit up and the relief on your face was clear, “I’m glad to hear it,” you let out a heavy breath, “I can’t offer you a free night or anything… At least not without Rodderick’s approval,” you said your boss’s name with snark and disdain and Marcus couldn’t help but let out a short laugh.

“I’m ok,” he replied lightheartedly before he paused and stared at you for a moment, “Can I ask you out to dinner instead?”

For a moment, you thought you had passed out. He couldn’t have actually asked you out, could he? But when you finally caught up to yourself, you responded with a soft but enthusiastic, “Yes.”

You took a deep breath as you stepped out of your Uber in front of the restaurant. It was a nicer place than you usually went to, but Marcus picked the place and insisted on treating you. You picked out a nice outfit for the occasion, and made sure that it was sleeveless to show you tattoos since you remembered that he really liked them. A smile lit up your face as you thought about the look on his face when you shed your jacket the day you two met.

But Marcus’ voice shook you from your throughs, and you looked up to see him dressed nicely in front of you. In his hand, he had a single flower for you, and you wanted to tear up at the gesture. It was something small, but you could tell how meaningful it was. With a thanks, you took the flower and hooked your arm around his as he led you inside.

At dinner, conversation flowed so easily. Marcus told you all about his career and his interests, and you did the same. You even made the joke that this was much better than an interrogation, which made him laugh. Everything seemed perfect, and both you and Marcus felt happy and comfortable with each other.

“So I have to ask,” Marcus started, “Are there any stories about your tattoos?” when your face flashed a look of apprehension, he clarified, “I’m not criticizing at all. Actually, I think they’re exquisite. Really a work of art.”

You bit your lip as you grinned. No one had ever complimented your tattoos quite like that before, so you indulged his question. You told the story behind some of them, and picked out your personal favorites, “I wanted to be a tattoo artist at one point, but it just wasn’t in the cards for me,” you sighed, “Maybe in another life.”

“Maybe in that life I’ll run the flower shop across the street and admire you from there,” he quipped back and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea.

But, stares from a man at another table caught Marcus’ attention. Your back was to him, so you couldn’t see, but Marcus did not like the way the man eyed you. A soft frown came across his face as he met the man’s gaze before he turned away. Marcus couldn’t help but think how rude it was for the man to blatantly check you out while you were obviously on a date with him. Of course, he knew you were beautiful and attractive, but he didn’t like the way the man stared at you.

“Marcus?” you asked when you noticed his expression dropped, “You ok?”

Your voice brought his attention back to you, “Yeah,” he answered with a half smile, “Fine.”

Just as you were about to open your mouth again, a voice interrupted, “Hey,” a deep rumble called your attention and it was the man who stared at you. He hovered close to you as he stared disapprovingly, “Don’t you have enough tattoos for a woman? Disgusting.”

Before you could even react, Marcus jumped to his feet to face him head on, “Don’t you have anything better to do? What she does with her own body is none of your business,” the anger in his voice caught you off guard, “And she is beautiful the way she is,” he added in a lower voice as he grabbed onto the man’s collar, “She’s a damn work of art.”

It was the last thing you expected, but you appreciated how fast Marcus was to defend you. But, you noticed the man’s anger also flared so you got to your feet too, “Hey, Marcus it’s ok,” you put your arms out between the two men to try to break them up.

Marcus glanced over at you for a moment before he decided to let the man go. He knew from the look on your face that you didn’t want to cause a scene. Asmuch as he wanted to just punch the guy, he decided to let it go. The man scrambled away the second he could, and Marcus let out a heavy exhale to calm himself down as you looked at him with wide, pleading eyes.

The way he immediately defended you lit something up inside you, and you wanted to cry from the rush of emotions. If you weren’t in such a nice restaurant, you would have tackled him in the biggest hug, but you kept your cool for now, “Thank you, Marcus,” you spoke in a hushed tone. Your hand dropped down to take his and you gave him a tight squeeze. You hoped your emotions came through in your grip.

And the way he smiled at you made your heart stop for a moment. Instead of sitting back down, Marcus squeezed your hand back, “How about we get out of here?”

You nodded as he left enough money to cover your bill and tip on the table and led you outside. As much as Marcus wanted to pull out all the romantic stops for you, he decided to change his plan for the evening and led you down the street to a diner, “How about pancakes a la mode for dessert?”

“I’m good with anywhere, Marcus,” you replied with a smile, “As long as it’s with you.”

In no time, you were seated in a booth for part two of your date. Honestly, you felt much more comfortable in a more casual place, but you meant what you said: you were happy anywhere as long as you were with Marcus Pike. Conversation picked up right where you left off and things just felt so natural with him.

“Hey,” Marcus suddenly turned the conversation in a more serious direction, “I’m sorry about that guy at the restaurant. He shouldn’t have said that to you.”

A flutter in your chest rendered you speechless for a moment before you swallowed hard, “It’s alright, Marcus,” you shrugged it off, “I’ve gotten worse.” You were bothered by the guy’s insult, but over the years you’ve learned to shrug those people off. But the look of concern on Marcus’ face made your heart flip in your chest, “Thank you for what you did though,” you added with a soft smile of your own.

Marcus seemed satisfied with that and his face relaxed, “What kind of date would I be if I didn’t defend the most beautiful woman in there?” he chipped back with a wink.

When you stuttered in an attempt to find the right words, Marcus laughed at you. Clearly, it had been some time since someone treated you the way he thought you should be treated. But, Marcus was determined to never let you feel unwanted or alienated again. He took pity on you and steered the conversation back to something light and the two of you talked over a pot of coffee for hours until you both decided you should leave.

Marcus put his arm around you as he guided you outside again and you fiddled with your phone in your hand as the two of you stood on the curb, “I guess I should call an Uber,” you mumbled as you made no attempt to do so.

He just watched you in silence as he thought about how nice it felt to hold you close. And Marcus couldn’t help how badly he wanted to kiss you, but he didn’t want to cross a line so he held himself back.

However, your voice interrupted his thoughts as you turned to face him with a determined look on your face, “Listen Marcus, I don’t normally do this on a first date but,” you reached out to cup his face in your hands and slowly pulled him in close to you. You paused for a moment to give him a chance to pull away, and when he didn’t you pressed your lips together in a short, soft kiss. When you pulled back and caught his eye for a moment, you saw the fire in his eyes and you crashed your lips together again. This time, the kiss was more desperate and heated.

Marcus tightened his grip on you and held you as close as he possibly could as he deepened the kiss. The two of you let the rest of the world fall away as you got completely lost in each other. The kiss was sweet, yet fiery, and you both could feel the unspoken words in each other’s lips.

When he finally broke away, Marcus whispered breathlessly, “I don’t normally do this on a first date, but would you wanna come over to my place?”

With your forehead pressed against his, your voice was just as hushed, “Yes.”

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike x you #Marcus pike fic #marcus pike x y/n #the mentalist fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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sometimesitrytowritethings · 3 years

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A great big special thank you to @peachy-mags for the full version of the fantastic companion artwork for this piece! (https://peachy-mags.tumblr.com/post/654049235542622208/)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Canon-typical violence

Summary: After years of service to Angelo Bronte, who would have thought that the arrival of little Jack Marston could change your life forever?

Notes: My submission for @rdrbigbang! Be sure to check out the AMAZING companion art for this fic from @peachy-mags!

-----

Another beautiful morning in Saint Denis. You breathed in deeply, reveling in the calm peace that so rarely enveloped the town. There was a slight nip in the air that you knew would fade away as the morning drew on, the sun rising and casting everything in a pale-yellow light, before the city itself awakened. It was your favorite time of day.

A cup of coffee steamed in your hands as you slowly made your way through the gardens at Angelo Bronte’s mansion. One of the perks of being a live-in servant, you supposed, was unfettered access to the (admittedly slightly ostentatious) statue garden out back - given that Signor Bronte himself wasn’t occupying the space. After a few minutes of slow, calm pacing, you found yourself standing in front of a marble statue of some Roman goddess, Aphrodite?, and taking a sip of your coffee.

It was hot and bitter, the perfect juxtaposition to the cool morning that you would allow yourself to enjoy for a few moments longer. Soon, you would need to make your way inside and ready the table for breakfast, but for now you could enjoy this moment. This peace.

Unfortunately, that peace was almost immediately broken by the sound of terrified cries coming from inside the house. It was not all that uncommon to hear screams and sobs from inside the building, due to the scrupulous nature of your employer, but these sounded different. Almost childlike.

Curious, you made your way back indoors, trying your best to steady your pace so as not to draw unwanted attention. Setting the coffee cup in the kitchen next to the large washbasin, you nodded to the cook, Giovanni, before opening the door to the servant’s stairwell.

The crying was louder here. Anguished and frightened sobs broken only occasionally by cries for “Mama”.

So it was a child?

Quietly, you crept up the creaky stairs to the hallway, where several of Bronte’s more scrupulous henchmen, Gene, Alfonso and Irvin, were gathered around a door. The crying was even louder now, and most certainly coming from the room where the henchmen were standing guard. Above the desperate sobs, you could just make out the sounds of your employer trying to shush the child, albeit unsuccessfully.

“Now, now, my boy,” he soothed, his accent unmistakable. “There’s no need to be upset, I’m sure your family will come after you soon enough.” The boy continued to cry for his mother in between sobs. Signor Bronte’s tactic wasn’t exactly working.

The men standing guard had spotted you, and closed their ranks tighter. You knew how this went - you were never allowed to see Bronte’s victims. In fact, as far as you were supposed to know, Bronte participated in no underhanded dealings whatsoever. Which was, of course, completely wrong, and you had figured that out long ago. But for the most part, you tried your best to ignore the dealings - for the sake of keeping yourself alive.

But this was a child.

You had to do something.

Carefully, you moved closer to the line of henchmen standing in front of the door. They were larger than you, Signor Bronte had a habit of finding and employing practical giants to act as his henchmen, but they were also silent.

“Signor Bronte?” you called, standing nearly face-to-chest with one of the large men. “Is everything alright? Can I be of service?”

The men in front of you reddened, irritated at your immunity to their intimidation tactics. They stayed silent, however, and maintained their position as a wall of flesh between you and the crying child in the room.

After just a few moments, you heard your name being called with a familiar Italian lilt . “Come in, come in. We could use your help,” he hailed for you over the steady sobs from the room.

The three men at the door reluctantly parted to let you enter the brightly lit room. A fire was burning low in the hearth, likely more of a symbol of comfort than to actually provide any heat, and your boss sat on the side of a large, gaudy bed.

The boss of the largest crime syndicate in San Denis was a feared man, but if you met him in the street, you would never know. He was small, with a prominent nose and dark eyes that never overlooked anything. At home, his dark was hair slicked back under a floral headband, and his red housecoat opened in the front to reveal an unbuttoned white collared shirt. To anyone who didn’t know him, he could have passed as any rich, european immigrant.

But you knew better. In the middle of the luxurious home, beneath the extravagance of his clothing, sat a cunning, intelligent man who had clawed his way up from hell itself. He was cutthroat, manipulative, and would not hesitate to sell out his closest comrade for a step up the ladder. Knowing this, it didn’t surprise you to see a small boy curled up on the large, gaudy bed, his clothes muddied and his light brown hair in tangles. He couldn’t have been older than four or five, and was screaming adamantly for his mother.

Instinctually, you rushed to the bed and sat next to him, taking the spot that had been occupied by your boss. “Now, my dear,” he said as he stood, clearing his throat and adjusting his housecoat, “this young man is Jack, and he will be staying with us for a while.” You looked sympathetically at the boy, still sobbing and curled up in front of you, before giving your boss a solemn nod.

You hated this; seeing the boy in such a familiar state. A state that you, yourself, had been in for years upon your arrival in San Denis. Hopefully his parents, unlike yours, could pay off whatever debt they had soon. “If you could stop his screams, I would appreciate it. He’s giving me a headache,” Signor Bronte continued, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose with one hand as he headed toward the door. “Get him some breakfast. I’m sure he hasn’t been fed since those hillbillies in Rhodes took him.”

Without another word, he walked from the room and the three henchmen followed closely behind him. As he entered the hallway, you could hear him speaking to them in Italian, “Let’s hope these bastards come for him soon. I want to have the little shit out of here as soon as possible.”

The door closed behind them, and you were left in the room with the poor, frightened child. You sighed and slowly moved closer to the curled up figure on the bed. Making sure you were as gentle as possible, you reached out to place a hand on his tiny shoulder. “Jack?...” you said his name, low and calm, as if you were trying to tame a spooked horse. He curled even further into himself, but you noticed his sobs had started to die down to exhausted whimpers. “Jack?” you tried again, pulling your hand back to yourself and placing it in your lap. Calmly, you gave him your name before continuing, “I’m very sorry about all of this, Jack. I know it’s very scary…. I-”

What could you tell him? That you had been in the same situation when you were just a few years older? That your parents had never been able to come back for you? That you had spent the majority of your life in service to Angelo Bronte, notorious mafioso, in order to pay a massive debt that had been racked up by your father when you were eight?

No. He didn’t need to know those things. He didn’t need to know the likely reality of his situation.

It was rare that Signor Bronte dealt in child kidnappings, but when he did? The poor kids were lucky if their parents were able to retrieve them.

“I’m sure your ma and pa will show up for you soon,” you soothed, hoping it was the truth.

The poor boy, whose sobs had now turned into quiet sniffles, stayed curled up with his back to you, unmoving. You reached out a hand gently, brushing his dirty hair away from his forehead, only for him to flinch from your touch. You couldn’t blame him.

“Alright, Jack,” you said quietly, standing from the bed. A nearby armchair held a throw blanket that you spread gently over him. “Why don’t you get some rest, I’ll bring you some water and some soup in a bit, I’m sure you’re starving.” The floor creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to the door. He didn’t move. He didn’t look up at you. He just stayed on the bed, a shaking, sniffling bundle. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sighing, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind you. You didn’t think he would run away, he seemed far too exhausted and overwhelmed for that, but you have seen desperate people do crazier things. The least you could do was make sure he wasn’t accidentally hurt trying to make his way past Gene, Alfonso and Irvin trying to escape.

You made your way quickly back to the servants stairwell and down to the kitchen, where Giovanni was waiting for you with bated breath. A joyous, loving man, an immigrant from Italy alongside Angelo Bronte several decades ago, Giovanni was one of your closest friends - possibly the next thing to family that you had had since coming here. Over the years, he had taught you as much as he could about Italian cuisine, all the while boasting about the restaurant that he would surely open one day.

At first, you had scoffed. Hardly anyone in Angelo Bronte’s service managed to leave and start their own life. And, with as much as Signor Bronte boasted about Giovanni’s food, it wasn’t likely that he would be let out of his repayment contract that easily.

Hardly anyone actively sought out Angelo Bronte as an employer. In fact, you suspected that the only actual well-paid employees were the contract killers he sometimes took out to keep his hands clean - but again, you weren’t supposed to know that. The rest of you were given room and board and a pittance of a salary, in exchange for paying off whatever debt was owed to Signor Bronte. For you, it was your father’s sizable gambling debts. For Giovanni, it was the cost of keeping his nieces and nephews alive after their father, his brother, had suddenly passed. Bail, loans, gambling - every one of his employees had a past, and every single one of them owed their future to Angelo Bronte.

“And, my dear, what is the news?” he asked, turning from the freshly baked bread that he had just taken out of the oven to face you.

You gave him a somber smile and picked up a slice of tomato from the cutting board in the center of the kitchen island. “A boy,” you explained, leaning against the island and taking a bite of the vegetable. You glanced over at the washbasin and saw your coffee cup had been cleaned. Giovanni was a saint. “Maybe four or five? Small, either way. I…” you trailed off, but the both of you knew what was going through your mind. You felt bad for him, you didn’t think he deserved this.

Giovanni nodded, and turned to the stove. “Well, my dear, let’s give the boy a warm welcome, shall we?” he responded before pulling a large pot from the back of the stove and looking inside. “We have some leftover minestrone from yesterday, why don’t you warm some up for him while I finish Signor Bronte’s breakfast? There’s some stale bread in the pantry you can add to it. I’ll call in Anne to set the table,” he handed you a wooden spoon and was out the kitchen door, where you heard him calling for the older woman.

Your smile was significantly less downtrodden after speaking to the man, but you still could feel anxious, worried butterflies in your stomach as you collected a bowl, spoon and glass. After a quick glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, you also slipped a small chocolate bar into your apron pocket, hoping it would help cheer the boy up, even a little. Within just a few minutes, you were headed back up the creaky stairs to the room where Jack was housed, hot soup and cool water in hand, and armed with a secret chocolate bar.

Quietly, you opened the door, balancing the soup and a glass of water with your left arm as you entered. The room was silent now, except for the low breathing of the boy on the bed. If it weren’t for his red-puffy eyes and the chapped rings around his nostrils, he would have seemed peaceful. Like nothing was wrong at all.

You stood for a moment, looking at the poor boy. Should you wake him? He was bound to be starving, but you were sure he was exhausted as well. You hesitated, but decided against it. You could leave the soup and water on the bedside table and check on him throughout the day - he deserved his rest.

Slowly, quietly, you crept across the room to the side of the bed and set the soup and water down, followed by the chocolate bar. You glanced quickly at him, relieved he didn’t wake, before making your way back to the door.

Just as you were about to leave and go about your duties for the morning, you heard a small cough and a hoarse, timid voice from the bed. “Wait…” he said. You turned to see the boy propped up on his arms, looking at you with puffy, shining eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

Looking at him made you want to cry. How could anyone hurt someone so small, so fragile, so helpless? How could someone be so cruel as to take him away from his family and thrust him into this god awful world?

He was already so exhausted, so frightened, so sad, you couldn’t leave him to sort his feelings out on his own. You could convince Anna and Giovanni to take your duties for the day. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded at him and moved back toward the bed to sit with him. “I won’t.”

---

Slowly, Jack began to settle in. Although he was still obviously upset, the boy proved to be far more flexible and resilient than you had expected from someone so young. Whether from his natural resilience or from your constant reassurance that his parents must be doing everything in their power to get him back, you weren’t entirely certain. You spent plenty of time with him, making sure he was doing alright, and eventually he chose to sleep on a small cot in the servants quarters, next to your bed.

He was prone to constant chatter during the day, and you soon learned quite a lot about him and his family. He apparently had plenty of aunts and uncles, who all moved together around the country. They had been down near Blackwater for a long time, where Jack had apparently left his favorite storybook, but then something brought them north to a small ghost town “with lots of snow, it was real cold!”. Luckily, they hadn’t been there long before heading south again to “a place by a river with lots and lots of trees” where, notably, his Uncle Arthur had taken him fishing. Most recently, they had moved down to Lemoyne, once again near a river, but this time Jack described it as “really hot and nothing ever dries and it always smells like fish.”

An accurate description if you had ever heard one.

In the meantime, although he wouldn’t talk much to the others, most of them couldn’t help but dote on him. Giovanni had a habit of slipping him sweets throughout the day. Anna and the other maids would occasionally bring him books or toys that they had found around town - he was amassing quite a collection. And from Signor Bronte himself, Jack received a brand new outfit made from the finest cotton. You suspected it was most likely to keep the worn rags out of the man’s sight than to actually please Jack.

But, despite the gifts and the treats from the others, Jack clung to you. On laundry days, he would help sort and fold. When cooking, he would clean the vegetables without a second thought. During cleaning, he happily carried supplies around after you, handing you what you needed whenever asked. Although you had told him multiple times that he was more than welcome to sit and read his new book, he preferred staying by your side.

Almost as if he was afraid that, if left alone, he would be taken again.

And at night, it always came to a head. In the dark and left with no distractions, you could hear his whimpers from the cot next to yours. You could hear his murmurs and quiet cries for “Mama” as he dreamt. And it hurt. You couldn’t bear to see him so miserable.

After the third or fourth night, you reached down and brushed the hair from his head. “Jack?” you whispered, looking at the small boy with all the affection of a loving mother. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

He didn’t wake. Instead, he sleepily lifted his hand to yours, and held it in his until the sun rose.

The first few weeks went by similarly. Working during the day, with Jack at your side, helping you out as much as a child could, and comforting the poor child during the night with reassuring words. Soon, the reassurance and affirmations turned into stories - tales about dragons and castles, about magic and the sea.

About two weeks into his stay, you spent the day preparing for a large feast alongside Giovanni, Anna and with plenty of help from Jack.

“You didn’t finish your story last night,” he said, pounding away at a ball of bread dough with his tiny fists.

“Oh yes I did,” you teased, looking the boy dead in the eye with a grin. “You were just too sleepy and fell asleep before the end.” As you joked, you set down the knife and pushed aside the tomato you had been chopping to poke him lightly in the side.

His joyous laughter lit up his face. “Hey!” he whined in between bouts of giggles. “That tickles!”

“I know, silly,” you returned not relenting your tickle torture. “That’s the point!” You did acquiesce after just a few moments though, not wanting to actually cause him any pain.

“Alright you two, calm down, now,” came Anna’s voice from across the room. She was a lovely, portly older woman, with graying hair and a smile to light up a room. If Giovanni had been your father figure since coming here, she certainly took the place of your mother. “We’ve got plenty to prepare for tonight. Signor Bronte is having the Mayor over to talk about his party.”

You let your giggles die down, and nudged the red-faced child next to you. “Now look what you’ve done, Jackie,” you teased softly, ruffling his hair before going back to chopping vegetables.

“Nuh uh,” he responded, giving the bread dough a thorough punch before looking up at you again with a childish grin. He had lost a tooth recently, which only made it all the more adorable. “Can you tell me the end of the story?” he asked after another moment, turning back to the mound of dough on the table. “It was so good, I wanna hear the end. Pretty please?”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Alright, alright,” you chided, picking up yet another tomato. It wasn’t a particularly good story, just a thinly veiled version of… well, you didn’t want to dwell on that, but if he wanted to hear it, you would oblige. “Where were we?”

“Hmmm…” he mused, stopping kneading the dough for just a second to recall. “Well, the king and queen had just sent the princess to talk to the mean dragon, and then he caught her in a trap, remember?”

“That’s the beginning of the story, Jack.”

“Well, that’s as far as I remember,” his giggles echoed through the room and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright, fine,” you feigned irritation that he definitely could see right through. “Well, the princess had been caught in a trap by the mean dragon, but he didn’t hurt her. He… he just wouldn’t let her go home. He wouldn’t let her see the king and queen again so she could be happy.

“‘Your king and queen need to send a knight to come get you,’ the dragon told the princess. ‘Little girls cannot roam the forest on their own.’

“And so, the princess waited, and waited and waited and waited. She learned to read, and write, and she even learned to speak Dragon, which were talents unheard of for princesses in those days.

“She had lots of friends who came and went, and even though she couldn’t go back to the king and queen, she... she wasn’t so lonely… and she learned to find happiness in the small things, like the smell of coffee in the morning, or turning the page of a brand new book, or even the glow of the sunrise on spring dew.

“After a while, she finally realised that she didn’t need the king and queen to be happy. She could make her own happiness… And she did…” you trailed off at the end, returning your focus once again to the vegetables. The other two adults in the room remained silent. You couldn’t have been more blatantly obvious. “The end.”

Jack was quiet for a moment as well, hands stilled on the dough as he looked at the ceiling in thought. “That wasn’t a very good ending,” he said quietly, looking up at you.

You had been caught.

“The princess should have run away, or she should have asked one of her friends to take her when they were leaving,” he continued, determined.

You chuckled solemnly. “You’re probably right, Jack,” you murmured. “I think she was just… scared. The world was dark and scary for her, and she weren’t a very brave princess, and she was worried about what would happen to the king and queen if she left.”

“But that’s not true,” he interjected, throwing one final punch at the bread dough before Anna came to collect it from him. “She was real brave! She lived with a dragon! And dragons are real scary!” He was handed another mound of dough which he immediately proceeded to punch with all his might. “And maybe some of her friends come back to save her! Maybe she helped lots of people while they were living with the dragon, and then they come back to help her! That would be an even better ending!”

Another chuckle. He was far too adorable and far too naive for this house. “Maybe, Jack,” you responded, plastering a knowing smile to your lips. “That would be a good ending.” Clearing your throat, you wiped your hands on your apron and turned to face the small boy. “Alright now, you. Finish up with that bread and then we can get cleaned up for lunch. I think Giovanni is making us spaghetti.”

---

The hot water splashed out of the bucket, spraying suds across the floor. Jack giggled and picked up a handful, blowing it in your direction.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The kid sure did know how to make even the most boring of chores into a game. Looking around first to make sure no one caught you messing around, you picked up a handful of bubbles and plopped them onto his head. This brought out a shrieking laugh from the boy. He really was settling in. For better or worse, at least he seemed to be happier.

Finally, you told him gently that you needed to finish the laundry, and then the two of you could go outside for a walk. This, somehow, convinced him to calm down, left playing with the bubbles and giggling to himself until he was interrupted by a voice calling your name from the hall.

Signor Bronte.

“Get these men drinks,” you heard, his spoken Italian echoing across the hall.

Immediately, you put the wash down and wiped your hands on your dirtied apron before hustling to the liquor cabinet. “Wait here, Jack. I’ll just bring the whisky out and be right back,” you instructed, quickly gathering six whisky glasses and a serving tray.

This had been your job for years, you could practically do it blindfolded. As one of the youngest servants in the house, Signor Bronte tended to like to have you wait on his more esteemed guests. It was degrading, but it kept you in his good graces. You had seen enough servants come and go to know that complaining about your role would get you nowhere. Or worse.

Quickly, you pulled a decanter from the cabinet, and left the room with the tray full of glasses in your hands. Already in the hallway, you could hear the conversation between the men in the room. “Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, John Marston,” introduced one of the strangers, his voice confident.

You brushed past Irvin, who was standing guard at the entrance, into extravagant parlour. Upon entering the room, you could immediately see that these were not the typical guests that Signor Bronte would waste his good whisky on, but you hardly had time to look at them individually. They seemed dirty, rough, and completely out of place in the richly-decorated parlour.

“The pleasure is mine, all mine, please,” he said, summoning you forward. You warily step between the chairs to place the tray on the table and pour the glasses, handing them to each man in turn. First, to a tall, thin man with dark hair and a frustrated scowl etched into his face. Next, a muscular man with light brown hair and bright teal eyes, and finally, another dark-haired man, his hair slick with pomade and dressed in clothing that looked like it used to be expensive.

“So, can my friend have his son?” says one of the men - the one who had introduced them all earlier. You nearly froze. Can my friend have his son?

Jack.

It took you just a moment to gather your wits before you turned to your boss, handing him the last glass. He took it with a nod to you and a chuckle, before looking back at the men in front of him. “Of course, of course!” he grinned, taking a sip of the whisky. You immediately got yourself out of the way, standing behind the couch in case you were needed for anything else, as you had been taught. “But… should I be out of pocket over a misunderstanding? Of course I know you would not want that…”

“No,” answered the man, slightly reluctantly. You noted that none of the other men had yet spoken, this must be their leader.

Bronte seemed satisfied with their response, choosing to ignore the reluctance with a jovial laugh. “No, no no. So, how about this? You perform a simple job for me and you get your son back,” he explained, rubbing his hands together like the villain he was.

Finally, one of the other men spoke.“What is it?” the larger of the two groaned, beginning to stand up, as if he knew he would be assigned to this task.

Bronte, of course, made light of the situation, waving his hands through the air as he spoke, “A couple of people have taken to grave robbing in the cemetery.”

“That is a fine place for it, the best,” joked the leader. You cringed, but Signor Bronte seemed to enjoy it.

Your boss burst out laughing, from the gut this time. “I love this guy, don’t you love him?” he laughed, looking at you. You nodded, plastering a smile to your face until he turned back to the other man. “I love you!” He paused for a moment to pour himself another glass of whisky before continuing his explanation. “See they’ve taken not only to desecrating the dead, but they've done so without paying a tribute to the living. Thing is, they see my men, of course, they run a mile. So maybe you two head off, huh?” he said, indicating to the men on the couch before pouring yet another glass of whisky and handing it to the group’s leader. “And you, Mr. Van der Linde? Why don’t you tell me more about my manners?” he finished speaking and held up the glass to the other man, Mr. van der Linde, for a toast as the other two men stood to leave the room. “Salute.”

“Salute,” parroted Mr. van der Linde, clinking his glass with your boss’s. The other two men exited the room, as your boss and Mr. van der Linde continued conversing. Their laughter was real, but something in the room was tense, fake. Two men cut from the same cloth, both trying to one-up the other without making it completely obvious.

You had seen this enough times to know that this would only end badly for at least one of them - if not both.

The hour dragged on, as you stood in the corner, ready to jump into service if need be. Your mind drifted to Jack - now sitting alone in the washroom - and that you would soon be saying goodbye.

It was bittersweet, this feeling that came over you. You wanted him to be happy, to be home with his family, of course, but over the course of the last few weeks, he had wormed his way into your heart. He was the family, the son, that you would never have. And it broke your heart to have to let him go.

But you knew better. You couldn’t keep him here. Not for you. It was better if he were able to go home, to see his mother and his family, to see his dog that he missed so much. That was the life he needed, the life he deserved.

You felt the tears well in your eyes as you stood, waiting for your orders. A little over three hours had passed, and the men were still away. Signor Bronte and Mr. van der Linde were well into their cups, and you were not surprised in the least when your boss stood and unceremoniously sent his guest on his way.

“And the boy?” asked Mr. van der Linde, standing from his position on the couch and reaching out a hand to shake.

Signor Bronte took it, gave it a quick shake and began to stagger out of the room. “Yes, yes,” he slurred, turning to you on his way. “Bring him down, would you?”

“Yes, Signore,” you nodded, looking from your boss to the other man. It was really happening. It was really time to say goodbye.

To say Jack was excited at the news was putting it lightly. He had nearly bounced with joy when you had told him that his Pa was here to pick him up. You had led him down the stairs and out the front door to where Mr. van der Linde was waiting patiently. Jack nearly tackled him to the ground in his excitement.

“Uncle Dutch!” he called, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist.

A loud, barking laugh left the man as he patted Jack’s head. “Well hello there, son,” he said, a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you around camp.”

You smiled, looking at the two of them. This was the right thing to do. But then, Jack did something wholly unexpected. He led Dutch to you, and introduced you.

“She’s been real nice since I got here,” he explained to the older man. “She told me stories and brought me candy, and today she even put bubbles on my head!” his excited giggles echoed across the yard.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dutch said, looking you up and down before reaching out for your hand, which he then pulled to his lips in a theatrical show of chivalry. “And thank you so much for taking such good care of our boy.”

You plastered another smile to your face and gently pulled your hand away, wary of potentially offending the well-armed man. “Of course,” you responded. “I was happy to-” you were cut off by the well-timed sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones, and a loud, rough voice ringing in your ears.

“Like I said, we’ll see where we’re at once we got Jack,” said one of the men from earlier as their horses came to a halt in front of the gate. They dismounted and were immediately let in by one of the front guards.

Upon their arrival, Dutch seemed to immediately forget your existence, instead striding towards the two men with an exasperated, “Well, you took your time.”

And then there was Jack, nearly bursting with excitement at the sight of the men, he couldn’t wait until they were through the gate before he ran to them with a cry of, “Pa!”

The sight warmed your heart. Jack was quickly picked up and clutched to the chest of the taller, dark-haired man as the other moved past you to hand something to the guards. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said, rubbing the back of Jack’s head and holding him close.

However, Jack, completely oblivious to the nature of the situation, wiggled free of his father’s arms and, instead, grabbed his hand and pulled the man in your direction. “Pa, come here, come here, you have to meet my friend!” he said, voice loud and excited, as he introduced you to his father. “She’s been helping me since I got here. She tells the best stories!”

The man looked down at Jack with a loving smile and then up to you. “That so?” he asked the boy, reaching out to shake your hand. “John Marston.”

You took his and introduced yourself as Jack rambled on, “Yeah! And she taught me how to make bread real good, want to see?”

“Sure, you can show us when we get back to camp,” John acquiesced, still holding tight to the boy’s hand, who then proceeded to drag the two of you over to the one man you did not yet have a name for.

“Uncle Arthur!” he called. The man, having dropped off whatever he had needed to give Signor Bronte, was leaning against a column and smoking. “You have to meet my friend too.”

“Is that right?” he said, smiling at Jack. He pushed himself off the column and snubbed his cigarette on his boot, moving toward the three of you. “Nice to meet you, miss,” for the third time that night, a hand was held out.

You shook it and introduced yourself, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

John, looking both relieved and exhausted, heaved Jack back into his arms. “Thank you for taking care of him, I-”

Immediately, you stopped him. “It weren’t no problem, really. He’s a lovely boy,” you explained, once again trying to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. Taking care of Jack had easily been one of the highlights of your life. Having someone need you, someone that loved talking to you, someone who was simply excited to be around you - it was such a drastic change from how you had lived for so long. And, even if you would never experience it again, you wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for the world.

John nodded, you didn’t have to explain any further. “Comeon, Jack, your ma’s been worried sick.” Jack nodded to his father enthusiastically, a grin on his face, before turning and surprising you with a big hug.

You bent over to hug him back, patting him on his head when you heard your name. “You’re coming with us, right?” he asked, his tiny face buried in your dress. You looked around at the others, Arthur had paused in his tracks, John was frozen in place, Dutch was stopped near the gate. No one said anything for a moment.

You don’t know how to break it to him.

So, you pull his face from your skirt and kiss him gently on the forehead, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “I’m real sorry, Jack,” you say, looking him in the eye, “but not this time.” You felt tempted to say something like I promise I’ll write or You can come see me any time but you knew both of these things weren’t true. He would get home to his family, and in a few days you would just be a stranger from his childhood. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood again, ruffling his hair and turning him to face his father. “Now, you go on back to your family, alright? Teach them how to make some good bread, like I showed you.”

His head was shaking as he looked back up at you, tears welling in his big brown eyes. “But…”

This hurt. More than saying goodbye to a child you had only known for a few weeks should. “I know, but…” you started, still not entirely sure how to explain yourself. “I have to stay here. This… this is my home.” You pull him to you once again in a tight hug and place a kiss on the top of his head. “You be good for your parents, alright?”

You can feel him nod under your chin, but he does not respond. It’s easy to tell that this is a new feeling for him - being so happy and so sad all at once. You wished you could tell him that its only temporary, and he will never have these conflicting feelings again. You wished you could have gone with him, broken free of Angelo Bronte and this life. There were so many things you wished you could do at that moment, but you couldn’t. Or you wouldn’t.

With a light sob, Jack wraps his arms around you one final time until he is gently pulled away by his father. “Comeon, son. We should get going.”

They walked to the gate together, John’s hand on his son’s back, leading the way. Jack was hoisted high onto a horse, and you could vaguely hear them talking to him, trying to cheer him up. “We have a new camp set up, Jack, you’re going to love it,” says Dutch before they ride off down the street.

Finally, you allow your tears to fall.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

---

The days pass slowly after Jack’s goodbye. There is little entertainment to pass the time. No dumb jokes, no begging for stories. It was exactly as it was before. Still, it felt like something was missing.

Early in the morning, a few days later, you walked around the house as usual, coffee in hand. You mused over the tasks for the days ahead: the Governor's garden party was in about a week, so it was time to start preparing. Clothes needed to be pressed, shoes to be shined, and, most importantly, mounds of food needed to be cooked.

Giovanni’s cooking was, although rarely shared outside of Signor Bronte’s home, lauded as some of the best in town. So, of course, Angelo Bronte’s personal chef would be graciously catering the meal.

It was supposed to be a sign of generosity, you theorised, but in reality it was all a show to keep Signor Bronte in the San Denis elite’s good graces - and to worm his way into another favor from the mayor.

You chuckled lightly to yourself as you paced slowly around the perfectly manicured gardens. Marble statues, imported from Italy, gazed down at you, unmoving. Quietly, you began to hum a short tune, not noticing the figure at the fence across from you.

“Mornin’,” he called, his voice low and gruff, just as it had been when you had first met him.

You look up from the grass to the man, in surprise. He was leaning aginst the fence, patiently smoking a cigarette, and waiting. For you? “Ah, good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you call, making your way to him. He stubs out his cigarette on his boot and turns to fully face you. Only now, in the morning sunlight and away from the stress of Angelo Bronte, do you notice how attractive he is. Light brown hair framed an unshaven face, a strong jawline, light smattering of chest hair showing through the top of his unbuttoned collar. “It’s lovely to see you again. How is Jack doing?”

Arthur smiles at you, and the sun suddenly seems slightly brighter. “Boah’s doin’ good,” he says, leaning forward on the fence, one arm above his head to balance himself. “He’s happy to be home.”

You shoot him a small, bittersweet smile before turning your gaze to your coffee. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Misses you, though,” he continues, once he realises you aren’t going to say anything more. You look up at him, and notice he is fishing something out of his satchel. A small, folded piece of paper is passed through the bars of the fence, and you gently pluck it from his hand. “Sent this. Special delivery.”

You gently unfold the paper, and see a row of several stick figures, several people and what looks to be a dog, standing in front of some trees under a sunny sky. Under each of the figures, you can see several names scribbled in an adult’s hand.

Pa, Ma, Jack, Cain, Uncle Arthur… and you.

“Been told to tell you,” he continues, reaching through the fence with the hand that had been keeping him balanced and pointed at the figures on the paper. “That’s you… with us…”

You laugh lightly, glancing from the paper to the eyes of the man in front of you. A handsome teal, complimented by his, admittedly dirty, blue shirt. How had you not noticed him before? “This is real sweet of him, thank you,” you breathe, slightly softer than you had intended. You turn again to look at the drawing, hoping he didn’t notice the blush that had suddenly stained your cheeks.

The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun rise above the horizon. “You could come with us, you know,” he said after a minute, pulling another cigarette from his satchel and lighting it. “The boah would shoa be happy to have you ‘round.”

You smile at the thought. Waking up in the fresh air, telling Jack stories, getting to know his family. It would be lovely. But at the end of the day, it was easier said than done. “That… that’s a nice dream,” you told him, smiling.

He huffed, and took a long drag from his cigarette. “It’s true,” he tells you, leaning against the fence once more. “The life… well it ain’t pretty. Sure as hell not as pretty as livin’ in a mansion. But it’s free. You ain’t gotta answer to no one you don’t want.”

You scoffed and found yourself kicking at the grass beneath your feet. It would surely be better than what you had here. Hell, it would be easy enough to walk through the gates with the intention to never come back. And, what was even keeping you here? Your family? You hadn’t seen them in years. Giovanni? Anna? They would both leave if they could.

But, you knew it wasn’t possible. You’ve seen this kind of thing before. One of your fellow servants found a means of escape, only to be back within a week. If they weren’t found and killed onsight. Angelo Bronte had eyes in every corner. Flies on every wall. He would find you.

“I… I wish I could.”

You went to bed late that evening, your conversation with Arthur resounding in your head. You could come with us, you know. The boy would sure be happy to have you around. The thought had even permeated your dreams, enveloping you in a fantasy world. A beautiful campsite by a river, a group of people, happy, laughing, free. Jack and Arthur and John and Dutch, and even Giovanni and Anna. They were all there, and they were all happy.

But, of course, the threat lingered. What had started as a beautiful dream quickly turned sour as Angelo Bronte entered the scene, scaring away your friends, capturing you and dragging you back to San Denis, into a mansion that looked more like a prison with every step. You would never escape him. You could never be free.

You had woken early in the morning, covered in sweat and sheets kicked from the bed. Breathing heavily, you glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. It was early, but not early enough to warrant going back to sleep. Groaning, you stepped quietly from your bed and pulled on your dressing gown. Your morning ritual would begin earlier today.

The air was crisp, but your coffee was hot - the perfect combination for waking a person up in the morning. The birds sang in their early morning chorus as the slowly rising sun cast everything in a calm, light blue. It was earlier than you had been up in ages, and you were fully prepared to sit in the garden, alone, and bask in the peacefulness.

To your surprise, however, the increasingly-familiar smell of cigarette smoke and campfire reached you. You turned to the fence, the same place as the day prior, to be greeted by the rugged cowboy, leaning casually against the railing. Tired as you were, you couldn’t keep the smile from lighting up your face.

“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you say, making your way over to him, coffee cradled in both hands. You took a sip, thinking that you may need to start making two cups if this becomes a habit. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How’s Jack?”

Arthur’s grin immediately made your stomach flip. “Mornin’, miss,” he responded, tipping his hat to you. He lazilly flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground before leaning against the fence again, his arm above his head, like he had done the day before. “Boah’s doin’ good. Still talkin’ ‘bout you.” His grin never left his face as he looked at you.

You cleared your throat and maintained eye contact even though you were sure you could feel the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Well, ain’t he a sweetheart?” you tease, only partially talking about Jack.

He chuckled and reached into his bag, mirroring his actions from the day prior. “I been asked to deliver this,” he said, pulling out a string of slightly crumpled red flowers from his bag. They were strung together, tied at the stems, into a long, vibrant necklace.

You gingerly took the necklace from him with a smile, examining it. Wild yarrow. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” you respond, pulling it over your head before striking a cheesy pose for the man in front of you. “How do I look?”

God, you could look at his smile all day. “Gorgeous,” he responds, only slightly teasing, and you are suddenly struck with a feeling of giddy embarrassment. It was rare that you got on with someone this well, this quickly. But with Arthur Morgan, despite his rough exterior, you felt strangely comfortable.

The two of you stood together, talking through the morning sunrise until you were very nearly late for work. When the sun was almost fully above the horizon, you found yourself giggling and dashing into the house, with one last glance to the cowboy at the fence, eyes shining.

And so it went.

For the next week, like clockwork, you would wake, go for your walk, and meet Arthur Morgan at the fence. Gifts, supposedly all from Jack, were exchanged - a nice rock, a beautiful notebook, a seashell, a fountain pen - and you sent your fair share of notes back, including candy for the boy, and a (stolen) flask of good whisky for your postman.

Soon enough, you found yourself gladly waking earlier in the morning - butterflies in your stomach as you made your way outside to greet him. Your mood was better, despite Jack’s farewell only a week ago, and even your colleagues had taken notice.

“What’s got you walking around here all smiles lately?” Anna had asked on the morning before the Mayor’s garden party, as you sat together, adding finishing touches to several large pies that were to go into the oven.

You scoffed, still unable to wipe the smile from your face, and looked at her over the stack of pans in front of you. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you responded. “Now don’t distract yourself with me, we need to get this all ready to take this afternoon.” Your chiding didn’t deter her, as she continued pestering you the rest of the day.

Her teasing had very little effect on your mood, however, despite the large amount of work ahead of you. And, so, the day passed quickly, in anticipation of the coming evening. It was well known throughout San Denis that Angelo Bronte had one of the best chef’s in town under his employ, so the household staff was asked to provide a portion of the catering. It was a massive, and time consuming project, but it was well worth the work.

You finally had the opportunity to get out of the house, even if it were for just an evening, which would be an incredible change of pace. Almost before you could even gather your bearings, you were slipping into your best uniform, and were on your way to the even larger home.

You had been to the Mayor’s home a handful of times, but it still left you in awe. If you had thought that Angelo Bronte lived in the lap of luxury, but this home was somehow even more opulent. Marble pillars, statues lining the hallways, mahogany floors, golden chandeliers, art on every wall. You had to make a conscious effort to not allow your jaw to drop as you walked through the hallways to the kitchen. There was no time to dawdle, guests would be arriving shortly.

With an unintentional grunt, you hoisted the box of chopped vegetables you were carrying onto a table, and got to work helping Giovanni finish up a large pot of étouffée. It took some time, but after some significant effort from yourself, Giovanni, and Anna, as well as plenty of help from the Mayor’s own servants, the food was served and guests were mingling in the garden.

You leaned carefully against a counter and wiped sweat from your brow. Cooking for upwards of 100 people was exhausting, not to mention that the kitchen was absolutely scalding. You could use a large glass of water and a breath of fresh air.

Nodding at your colleagues, you told them as much before stepping into the hallway and taking a deep breath of the cooler air. If you were lucky, no one would be on the upstairs balcony, and you could head out and watch the fireworks for a few minutes. As you made your way to the back staircase, hoping that the balcony would be empty, you spotted a flash of a black tuxedo and familiar light brown hair in front of you.

Arthur Morgan. Now what was he doing here?

With a smirk, you carefully followed him up the stairs, catching a further glimpse of him as he entered the first door on the second floor. You hadn’t been up here before, but with the way he was walking, you could be sure that he wasn’t sneaking off to the toilet.

Glancing around, you saw no one else in the hallway.

Good.

Slowly, carefully, you pushed open the door to what appeared to be an office. And there, in all his glory, was Arthur Morgan, rummaging through the Mayor’s desk. As you snuck in and quietly closed the door behind you, he slipped a small stack of papers into his tuxedo jacket.

You took a moment to look over him. Damn, he cleaned up well. A recent haircut, clean shaven, and a brand new tuxedo made him look like an entirely new man. Not that you had any problem with the bearded, dirt-covered version of him that had been meeting you all week.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” you said quietly, startling him. He turned to you, wide-eyed, his hand instinctively flying to where his pistol was usually holstered. He was red in the face, adrenaline pumping, and you had to admit that it was a very good decision to not allow weapons at this party.

Upon seeing you, however, he noticeably relaxed. Face still red, he glanced quickly around the room before moving toward you, a predator stalking its prey. “Could say the same to you,” he whispered, voice low, as he backed you slowly toward the door.

That familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach rose again as he neared, but you held your chin high in defiance - and then you did something even you didn’t quite expect. You kissed him.

Lunged would be a more accurate description. You closed the distance between the two of you in a second, lips crashing with his. You had only known him for a week, but somehow it felt like you had been wanting to do this your entire life.

After a moment of shock, he returned the kiss, lips frantically moving with yours as he wrapped his hands around your body. He was warm and strong, and smelled of campfire and cologne and you wanted to get lost in him. You wanted to lose yourself with him. Reaching up, you ran your fingers through his hair until you reached the base of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

He moved with you, slowly, steps matching yours, until your back was flush against the door. For only a moment, he pulled away. You heard the light click of a key and he was on you again, hands fluttering over your hips as he began to work his lips down your jawline. You had to swallow the moan threatening to spill from your lips as you pulled him impossibly closer, fingers toying with the ends of his hair. Then you pulled.

He leaned back with a guttural groan, following your hands as you gently pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. His cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. You couldn’t help yourself as you pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and crashing your lips to his.

The taste of him, the feel of him, it was overwhelming and you wished you could be surrounded by him like this for the rest of your life. Silently, lips still on yours, he turned the two of you so that your back was against the nearby bookshelf. You lifted a leg and wrapped it around his, grinding into him without breaking your kiss.

Before you knew what was happening, his hands moved from your hips to pull up the skirt of your dress and finger the waistband of your bloomers. A nip at the bottom of your lip brought out a groan from you as he slowly made his way into your underclothes, exploring until he found your core.

Gently, he toyed with your lower lips, ghosting his fingers along the outside teasingly. If you were in any other state of mind, you would have been embarrassed about the way your hips began moving - wantonly, desperately, trying to maneuver his exploratory fingers exactly where you wanted them.

But Arthur Morgan was apparently not feeling cooperative. He pulled away from your kiss and brought his hand out of your bloomers at the same time, leading you to throw your head back against the bookshelf with a desperate groan.

The twinkle in his eyes matched the mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you, your breathing heavy, cheeks flushed. The cocky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying this. This torment.

With a sudden burst of courage that you didn’t know you had in you, you found yourself pushing him backward. Hands on his chest, you led him roughly to the mayor’s desk, and lunged. Lips crashed once again with his, the taste of whisky and tobacco overwhelming you once again. Your fingers toyed with his tuxedo jacket before slipping underneath and sliding it from his shoulders.

As good as he looked in this outfit, he was far too clothed for your taste.

Next came his vest, unbuttoned with help from him as you both lost your patience. You peeled his suspenders off until they hung loosely at his sides, and finally all that stood between you and his bare chest was his shirt. He yanked it roughly from his pants, the two of you unbuttoning it as quickly as your shaking fingers allowed, and flung it across the room before leaning in for another desperate kiss.

As his lips met yours once again, you felt him push you back toward the bookshelf as he untied your apron to pull it over your head. Next, his fingers unbuttoned the high collar of your dress, quickly followed quickly by his lips as he placed kisses and nips on your flushed skin. He trailed ever downward - to your collarbone, to your cleavage - drawing moans from your parted lips.

Desperately, you reached for his face and pulled him back up to you, caressing the smooth shaven skin as you kissed. Once satisfied, your hands wandered downward, toying with the hair splayed across the hot, hard panes of his chest. Slowly, teasingly, you followed the path of his hair with your fingers until you reached the top of his pants, and his breath hitched in your mouth.

Your kiss slowed and turned into a peck as you undid the button and pushed his pants down, revealing muscular thighs framing a growing bulge hidden under his underclothes. Pushing down the thin cotton finally revealed his swollen member, which you took gently into your hand as you pulled him in for another heated kiss.

He groaned into your mouth, growing impossibly harder with each stroke, until he pulled away to look you into the eye. His face was flushed, his hair in shambles, and you swore you had never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life. You nodded, and allowed him to hoist up your skirt and slide into you through the slit in your bloomers.

In unison, groans left both of your mouths. You were balanced precariously on a bookshelf, your leg wrapped around his waist as he sank into you, head thrown back in pleasure. Once he gathered his bearings, he slowly, torturously slowly, began to move.

He thrust in and out, in and out, his face buried into your shoulder. Each thrust was paired with a small grunt and a gasp from you. You reveled in the feeling, the warmth, the intensity.

His hands gripped your hips through the fabric of your dress, pulling you closer to him with each thrust. You wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him up to you. Your lips met, tongues entangled as tiny gasps swelled up from your throat. It was all you could do to keep in the loud moan that was threatening to spill from your lips.

With each thrust, the bookshelves shook, sending a few trinkets to the carpeted floor with a light thump. You should be more careful. The thought echoed in your mind for only a second before it was whisked away by another thrust that shook you to the core.

As he grew closer and closer to completion, his thrusts became faster, more frantic, and you found yourself clutching the edges of the shelf for balance.

Finally, he pulled one of his hands from your hip and wormed it between your bodies to find the place where he had teased you so well before. And then he pressed. And rubbed. And stroked. And finally, in a glaring flash of white before your eyes, you found yourself biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming his name. Your body shook, your breathing came in harsh gasps, until you could finally open your eyes.

Not a second later, Arthur took a few final thrusts and pulled out of you, stroking his member once, twice, and then spilling himself on the floor with a series of loud gasps. A shaky breath followed as he fell onto you, his head balancing on your chest to catch his breath.

Finally, there was silence, only broken occasionally by a heaving breath. The two of you huddled together against the bookshelves, clinging to each other until you could regain your balance.

You found yourself leaning hard against the shelf behind you, running your fingers through Arthur’s mussed hair. “Those last few gifts… the journal, the pen… those weren’t from Jack, were they?” you asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

A low chuckle came from Arthur, still bent forward with his head balanced on your chest. “I s’pose I’ve been caught again…”

The party ended with a spectacular fireworks show, which you and Arthur watched together, now fully clothed and hidden from sight on the empty balcony. Shortly after the last firework had lit up the night sky, he left you with a lingering kiss that you swore you felt on your lips for the rest of the evening.

To say your head was in the clouds would have been putting it lightly. You would have never expected such a rough, dirty man to be your knight in shining armor, but here you were.

Your good mood carried over through the party cleanup, into the night, and even on into the morning during your daily walk. Glancing at the gate where he usually stood, you were slightly disheartened to see his spot empty. Your smile faltered for just a moment, before you reasoned with yourself. He was probably just tired, or hungover, and just because he had showed up every day for the last week and a half did not mean he could keep up that habit forever.

So, you sat and waited for nearly a half an hour at your normal meeting spot, before heading back inside only slightly disheartened. He had a life outside of meeting you, you reminded yourself, it was unfair to assume he would be there every day when he had never promised this.

Despite your disappointment, your good mood persisted through the day. Through stained laundry, through dusting and mopping, through cleaning a massive pile of cooking dishes from the night before - you couldn’t have wiped the smile off of your face.

And then he didn’t show up again. And again. And again.

For over a week, you missed Arthur’s presence on your morning walks. You found yourself waiting at the fence each day, coffee and the morning paper in hand to pass the time, only to end up disappointed once again. At the very least, there seemed to be a lot of dramatic news to report that week - a trolley station robbery ending with a crashed trolly on main street, a wealthy man on a steamboat robbed for all he was worth - but that information only helped pass the time you spent waiting for him.

Outside of your morning walks, your mood slowly soured. Maybe Arthur had gotten what he wanted. Maybe the dirty, lecherous outlaw’s only goal was to bed you and be on his way. Maybe Jack had forgotten you completely, and with nothing new to deliver, so had Arthur.

You took to writing angrily in the journal he had gotten you, having no other reasonable outlet for your emotions. Originally, you had wanted to toss the damn thing into the fire, but - without someone to vent to, without someone who could understand the depths of your frustration - it seemed like such a waste. Instead, you chose to use the gift for its intended purpose, and wrote down all of your frustrations toward the man who had gifted it to you, before stuffing it underneath your pillow and falling asleep for the night.

There it lay, throughout the day and night until you finally did see Arthur Morgan again. A loud crash, followed by gunshots and yelling in Italian and English from the back gardens, met your ears as you cleaned up after dinner with Anna and Giovanni.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte! Send out every man you got!”

The three of you had no guns, and even if you had it sounded less like a gunfight and more like a massacre. Quickly, you locked the doors, hoping that it would be enough to deter the intruders. And then, huddled together out of sight with your friends, you waited.

The back door was kicked open with a gunshot and a loud bang. More gunshots, screams, and crashes echoed through the hallway and into the kitchen. You heard the yells get closer, before the kitchen door was shot and forcefully kicked open.

This was it, this would be your end.

Only, it wasn’t.

Standing in the doorframe was none other than Arthur Morgan, shotgun in hand, eyes frantic… until he caught sight of you.

“Comeon,” he said, rushing over to where the three of you were huddled together and pulling you up by the arm. “You three gotta get outta here,” he ordered, gruffly, hurriedly, as he opened one of the larger windows. “We only came from the back, so head to the front and go somewhere safe.”

Giovanni and Anna looked from each other to you, and then to the open window, hesitant. Another volley of gunfire reached your ears from inside the house. There was no time for debate. “Go ahead,” you told them. “We can trust him.”

That (plus another few rounds of gunfire in quick succession) was all it took. Giovanni nodded to you, grabbed Anna by the forearm, and they were out the window and running across the lawn to safety. You breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Arthur. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to ask, but there was no time.

As if sensing your hesitation, he took you by the shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “Go,” he said, face buried into your hair. “Get to the Fontana, I’ll meet you there when this is over.” You could have sworn you felt a light kiss atop your head before he pressed a crumpled ten dollar bill into your palm and lightly pushed you in the direction of the open window. “Get outta here.”

You nodded, mouthing a quick “thank you” before climbing through the window. In the distance, you could see Anna and Giovanni, silhouetted against the night sky. They were running as fast as they could, to safety, and you felt a pang in your chest. They had been the closest thing you had had to a family for so long. The three of you had been forced together by fate, and had come out a team. But… where would you end up if you followed them?

Likely back in the service of another rich man. But, maybe it would be better. Maybe the freedom you found yourself longing for was to be found in the familiar, the known. Could you really abandon your friends, your way of life, for the promise of a man you had known for little more than a few weeks?

Quickly, you glanced in the opposite direction, toward the city. Toward the Fontana. Toward the promise of freedom. The clock was ticking, you needed to decide. Now.

Torn between what was and what could be, you took a deep breath and took the advice of a child who was far too wise for his age. You ran toward the Fontana. You ran as fast as you could to a new life.

The sound of gunfire and screams followed you to the gates, where it then became overwhelmed by the shouts and sirens of incoming police. Luckily, you were able to slip outside of the gate and get partially down the street before they stopped in front of the house.

Bowing your head, you quickly made your way down the cobblestone street and into the city, away from the violence. By the time you reached the Fontana Theater, the gunshots had all but faded into the hustle and bustle of the city center, and you became acutely aware of how much you didn’t belong. It had been years since you had been anywhere outside of Signore Bronte’s mansion other than the grocery and occasional trip to the tailors. It had been even longer since the last time you had been to a Magic Lantern Theater. And you knew, with your hair mussed and maid’s uniform, you must stick out like a sore thumb.

Luckily, if your memory served, the theater should be dark enough that no one would notice. You slowed your pace, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, and proceeded to the ticket counter, purchasing one ticket to the three upcoming shows. That should be more than enough time, you hoped.

You entered the dimly lit room and practically collapsed into one of the seats. Now that you had managed to escape, now that you were in relative safety, the adrenaline you had felt earlier had completely vanished. You were exhausted. You were confused. You were scared.

Now, you could only wait, and hope that Arthur would be back for you as promised.

In front of you, the film started with a flicker. The recorded voice of a man telling the story of several forest animals as a series of images were projected onto the screen. The room was silent, except for the recording, and you found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open.

What must have been a few hours later, you were shaken awake by an unfamiliar man. You were startled for only a minute before you realised that he was the same man who had sold you the tickets earlier. “That’s the last showing for the day, miss,” he was saying, quietly, pulling his hand away from your shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be on your way, now.”

You blinked and looked around the room, now flooded with light. It was empty except for the two of you. “What… what time is it?” you stammered, voice cracking lightly.

“‘Bout 11:30,” he responded, looking quickly to his pocket watch to confirm. You had been asleep for a solid 4 hours, and Arthur hadn’t yet arrived. “You should get on home.”

Home. Where was that?

You stood, nodding abashedly at the man. “Thank you,” you murmured before making your way out of the theater and into the dark streets.

It was quiet, the same kind of quiet you had grown so used to on your morning walks. However, instead of finding it calm and refreshing, you found yourself longing for the noisy streets. The hustle and bustle of San Denis that would overpower your thoughts, that would drown out your anxieties.

Instead, you were alone, left to mull over your current situation on the steps of the theater. The long, dark tendrils of doubt crept into your mind as you waited. Did you make the right choice? Did Arthur abandon you? Was all of this some horrible trick? Tears spilled silently from your eyes as you waited. Exhausted. Frustrated. Sad. The only thing to break you out of your thought spiral was the occasional drunk would wander by, heading home for the evening.

Eventually, the ground where you sat grew cold, and you found yourself falling asleep against the wall of the theater, huddled up like an abandoned animal. You could sleep here tonight, in case he did show up, and head … somewhere … in the morning. A hotel, maybe? A workhouse? You didn’t know where, but that was a thought for the morning.

It was only when the steady clip-clop clip-clop of horse hooves made their way down the dark street that you willed yourself to look up. Coming slowly into view through the darkness was a lone rider on a horse. He looked exhausted, frustrated, as he stopped his horse in front of the theater and dismounted, glancing around the area until he spotted you.

You stood on legs that were strangely both stiff and shaky and made your way over to him, where he pulled you into a tight hug.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, once again burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to leave you so long.” You nodded against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as tears of relief threatened to spill. “Let’s get you home.”

The ride went by in a blur. Not that you were moving fast, but rather because you were so exhausted that everything was a bit of a haze. You must have arrived at the large, dilapidated mansion early into the morning, before anyone was up to disturb you, because you could not remember the journey into Arthur’s bed for the life of you.

There was no crunch of the grass as you slid off the saddle, no creek of the stairs, no groan of the bed as the two of you lay down together. Nothing. All you could remember was that you were here. You were safe. You were home.

You awoke around midday, sunlight streaming through the broken windows of a small-rundown room overlooking the swamps of Lemoyne. It was sweltering hot, but you found yourself cuddling closer into the strong arms that were wrapped around you. The scent of the swamps mixed with whisky and tobacco, campfire and gunsmoke, as you nuzzled into his chest.

He was breathing deeply, soundly, as you lifted your head from his chest to look around. The room itself was old and dilapidated, it would barely serve as a shelter during any storms that may strike. In the far corner stood an old shelf, filled with photos and trinkets. Next to it, a small table with a map, and across from that, a larger table, stacked to the brim with weapons and ammunition.

Arthur’s room.

You stood, intending to make your way over to examine the trinkets across the room, but were instead gently pulled back to bed by the man behind you. “Mornin’,” he grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as he held you close.

You acquiesced, leaning back into him and basking in his presence. “Mornin’, Mr. Morgan,” you whispered back to him, gazing over his face. His eyes were still closed, but he couldn’t keep a small smile from forming as you spoke. Gently, you brushed hair away from his forehead and planted a light kiss to the revealed skin. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, finally opening his eyes to look at you. You could have melted in the soft, loving look that came your way. “Nothin’ to thank me for,” he said, reaching up to run his thumb along your cheek in admiration. “Just needed to get you out alive, is all.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I feel like that deserves thanks.”

A scoff came from the man beside you. “Nah, it was all selfish, really,” he explained, his gaze travelling over every inch of your face as if he were committing it to memory. “I just wanted to keep you ‘round.” With that, he planted a quick kiss on your lips and sat up, turning to his satchel that had been tossed to the floor by the bed. “It weren’t pretty last night… ‘n’ I’m glad I got to you before it got worse.”

“What happened?” you asked, watching as he pulled the satchel to him and began to rifle through it.

“Bronte… well he done his best to screw us over,” he explained. “Set some traps for us… ‘n’ Dutch made sure he paid for it.” You figured you knew what he meant, but let him continue anyway. “Bastard’s dead - some poor alligator’s breakfast.”

To your surprise, you felt incredibly conflicted. The man had essentially kept you hostage for the last few years, but he had at least taken care of you. He had by no means been a good person, but… you had grown some sort of strange affinity for him over the years. And yet, you didn’t find yourself shedding a tear for him. If anything, it was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, like you could finally breathe freely after so long.

You didn’t know what to say.

“I did manage to get hold of these, though,” he said, pulling several items from his satchel. You gasped when you saw them, and felt the tears that wouldn’t fall for Bronte begin to well up. In Arthur’s hands were a child’s drawing, a flower crown, a very special rock, a beautiful journal, and a fountain pen.

Now, the tears did fall as you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you, Arthur,” you said, burying your face into his neck. “Thank you so incredibly much.”

With a small chuckle, he set the momentos down on his lap, and wrapped his arms around you as well. “‘Course.”

The two of you stayed like that, reveling in each other’s embrace, for a few perfect, blissful minutes. So this is what it felt like to be wanted. This is what it felt like to have someone really, truly care about you. This is the feeling you had been waiting for for so long.

It wasn’t a minute later before there was a tentative knock on your door, and Arthur pulled himself away from the hug. “I think someone might be excited to see you,” he said, nodding toward the door.

You looked over, calling for the visitor to come in. As the door swung open, you were greeted with the sound of your name excitedly being called, and the sight of a child, red with excitement, standing in the doorway. Jack. “You’re here! You’re really here!” he exclaimed, darting over to you and jumping into your arms. He was followed by a smiling, dark-haired woman, and a man who you recognised as John. “I knew it! I knew you would come live with us!”

“Of course, Jack,” you childed, squeezing him tight. “I could never leave you.”

He squeezed you back, before pulling away and grabbing your forearm to lead you out of the room. “Come on!” he said, leading you forward. “You have to meet the rest of our family!”

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #f!reader #rdrbigbang2021 #rdrbigbang

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fansplaining · 4 years

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A Note from Fansplaining

If you’re subscribed to Fansplaining on iTunes or another podcatcher, you’ve probably seen that we put out a short statement this week in lieu of a new episode. Because we’re committed to making all audio we release fully accessible, we’ll transcribe the clip at the bottom of this post, below the cut. But fwiw, it’s mostly just explaining what’s in this post:

Black lives matter. We condemn white supremacy in all its forms. We believe the police should be defunded and dismantled. And we want to make sure everyone who listens to our podcast knows about ways they can contribute to this fight, and ways they can support the Black community (please note that these are U.S.-centric). We’ll be back with a new episode soon, but this is more important than anything we could say right now.

Places to donate

If you’re out of work or have lost hours in the past few months, you may not have money to spare. But even small donations—$5, $10—add up. A few organizations we recommend:

House of GG, a Black-led organization, is fundraising to build a permanent home in Little Rock, Arkansas where trans and gender-nonconforming people can both be housed and receive leadership training.

G.L.I.T.S. is fundraising to buy two buildings to create a permanent place to house and support Black trans people in New York City, as well as sign leases for space to use in the interim.

Sista Afya, a Chicago-based organization, is fundraising to keep its therapeutic services, social events, and wellness experiences under $15 and to hold large scale events like a free arts festival.

For a larger crowdsourced list, see suggestions here.

Ways to get involved if you can’t physically or monetarily participate

If, like us, you live in New York City, here’s a great resource for actionable things you can do from home. Here’s a national list, though for more granular detail for your town/city/region, you should search social media. Some great google doc action happening right now!!

As a reminder, when contacting elected officials:

Always write your own email, rather than use a form. People who work or have worked in these offices strongly advise this, and report that form emails are regularly filtered out, often directly into the trash.

Always write a postcard rather than a letter. Letters are scanned for things like anthrax and can get held up for days; postcards go straight through.

Ensure you know the official’s position on whatever you’re asking about before you call or write. If they’re already supporting or sponsoring a specific piece of legislation, call them anyway and thank them. They use constituent numbers to show that their positions have a lot of public support.

Particularly for white and non-BIPOC: reach out to your family members, as much as you feel safe doing so, and speak with them about Black Lives Matter and the issues of the day. If you have language barriers with your family members, or just need a place to start, Letters For Black Lives is a great resource that includes material in many languages.

Stream this video—all ad revenue will go to bail funds, families of victims of racist police brutality, and other Black-led organizations.

Resources on anti-Blackness and racism in fandom

Because we are a fandom podcast, we encourage white fans in particular to continue to listen to Black fans and other fans of color when it comes to racism in fandom. If you’re new to the podcast or haven’t dug into the full back catalogue, we recommend prioritizing:

Our pair of episodes on race and racism in fandom—especially anti-Blackness in fandom—featured eight different guests. Episodes 22A and B: “Race and Fandom Part 1” and “Race and Fandom Part 2.”

Ebony Elizabeth Thomas was one of our earliest and one of our most recent repeat guests. You can listen to her talk about race, children’s literature, and fandom in episode 7, “The Dark Fantastic” and episode 120, “Ebony Elizabeth Thomas.” Once you’ve listened to these episodes, buy or request that your library purchase a copy of her book, The Dark Fantastic.

Tanya DePass is the founder of I Need Diverse Games. In episode 42, “Fresh Out of Tokens,” she discussed fan/creator interaction and intersectionality in the context of games specifically.

Rukmini Pande is a well-known scholar of race and fandom. She first joined us in episode 29, “Shipping and Activism,” to talk about the ways that ships intersect with politics; then, she returned in episode 89, “Rukmini Pande,” and discussed her academic work. Once you’ve listened to these episodes, buy or request that your library purchase a copy of her book, Squee From the Margins.

In episode 48, “Con or Bust,” we interviewed Diana Pho and Mark Oshiro, two board members of Con or Bust, an organization that raises money to help fans of color attend conventions.

For further reading, Fan Studies Network North America has put together a great list of resources.

Transcript

[Intro music: “Awel” by stefsax]

Flourish Klink: Hi, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth Minkel: Hi, Flourish.

FK: Welcome to not an episode of Fansplaining. Um, we almost completely canceled recording at all, but we decided that we wanted to record a short thing, because we know some people only receive us through their podcatcher or whatever and don’t ever go to our website or our social media. So it felt important that we actually record something short today.

ELM: All right. So, just off the bat, at the risk of sounding like a terrible brand black .jpg with white letters, I think it should be obvious to everybody right now but it’s always worth restating—Black Lives Matter. We strongly support everything that is happening right now. We both strongly believe that the police should be…what word are we gonna use? Dismantled?

FK: Yes.

ELM: Dismantled. Like, we, like, you know—and like, strongly condemn white supremacy, which is the foundation of our country and much of the world.

FK: Right. So…

ELM: Very broad statement here, but like, you know, it’s definitely worth stating in explicit terms and not couching it around, you know, just to outright state support for Black people and the fight that is going on right now.

FK: Completely. And we really struggled with whether or not to record an episode because, on the one hand, there’s a lot of topics that we think would be really good to talk about that are within the purview of this podcast—stuff like the way people are using social media to organize, stuff like the entire conversation around K-pop fandom and the way that’s been going down. There’s like five things.

ELM: Spoiler, spoiler: It’s been going down poorly.

FK: Yeah.

ELM: Wait, side note: just anyone, please please please, cause I know a lot of people listen to this podcast and are in fandom but are not in K-pop fandom, if an article that you’re sharing about K-pop fans mobilizing doesn’t acknowledge the, like, rampant anti-Blackness happening within those spaces right now, they haven’t done enough research.

FK: Correct. And also, it’s both that and also if you see the narrative that K-pop fans are only bots, that’s also the other flip bad side of the coin.

ELM: Well, we should—now we’re gettin’ right into it. We’re not actually doing an episode. We’re not actually doing an episode. Yes.

FK: We’re actually gonna talk about this at some point in the future. Right now it feels like, you know, just being two white women talking about this stuff feels like not the thing to do right now? And we also don’t want to right now ask Black people to come on to our podcast and talk about things in a deeply traumatic and horrible moment. So we’re going to put a pin in the podcast and we’re gonna come back with all of those topics and a bunch of guests and basically begin to address this stuff, hopefully in a moment that’s less fraught. Is it ever gonna get less fraught? I don’t know if it’s gonna get less fraught.

ELM: That being said, let’s play it by ear! Because I could not tell you what’s gonna happen two weeks from now, but like…

FK: [sighs] Yeah, I really don’t know either.

ELM: Just, we’ll see. So in the meantime, we are going to put a post on Tumblr so it’ll be shareable, and we are going to include resources—places to donate, in particular places that aren’t getting as much attention. More grassroots stuff that we’re seeking out right now. And also ways to be active and involved for people who don’t have the money or physical ability to be protesting right now, because I am very aware of the narrative of “You should be in the streets! And if not then you should donate!” And it’s like, well, what happens if you are unemployed and also physically unable to get out there? There are so many ways that you can really be, actively lend your support right now.

So we’ll put those in there, and then also, we shared on Twitter a thread of great resources about anti-Blackness and racism in fandom, and since this is a fandom podcast we’ll be sharing some of those in that post as well, because it’s all connected.

FK: Absolutely. All right, everyone out there, stay safe, stay strong, if you’re in the streets stay in the streets, and we’ll be back when we can.

ELM: OK, bye Flourish!

FK: Bye, Elizabeth.

[Outro music: “Awel” by stefsax]

#fansplaining #fan culture #fan studies #fandom

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asmywhimseytakesme · 3 years

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As promised, here is a list of my favorite tropes in fiction. I may continue to refine this over time.

Note, I am not pulling these from a website, I’m writing these up myself. There may be a page on tv tropes for all or most of these, but I’m trying to articulate to myself what I like and why I like it, so I’m naming my own tropes and writing descriptions that are specific to my own taste. I’m also including a short list of examples for each.

Needless to say, if you know of a book or show that includes some of these tropes (the more the better) and it isn’t mentioned here—PLEASE TELL ME. And of course, these are just my preferences and opinions—if you disagree, that’s fine, we just don’t like the same things 😁

These are organized loosely by category—character tropes, relationship tropes, and plot tropes.

Under a cut so people who aren’t that interested in my specific tastes don’t have to scroll forever.

Character Tropes

Mastermind—

An extremely clever and competent character who reads people, pulls strings, and often has a grand scheme the other characters are unaware of. Usually a good guy (at least my favorites tend to be), but doesn’t have to be.

Eugenides (Queens Thief), Miles Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), Peaceable Sherwood (the Sherwood Ring), Lord Peter Wimsey (the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries) Sir Percy Blakeney (the Scarlet Pimpernel), Sherlock Holmes

Note: all the above examples are male characters, but I don’t consider this a gender specific trope. I would love recommendations of female characters who fit this trope.

Not Just A Soldier / Not Just A Mom

I originally had these listed as two tropes, and then realized that they were just inverses of each other. They each have to do with fulfilling gender stereotypes in some ways, while subverting or transcending them in others.

For a male character in the genres I read, Not Just A Soldier is typically a fighter of some kind, and really good at it. Basically, on the surface he appears to be a very Masculine Male Manly Man. But! It turns out he is also just a really nice guy. And not only that—he’s smart, and he’s good with kids!

On the flip side, Not Just a Mom seems at first glance to be your typical motherly feminine character. But! That isn’t her entire personality! She also has a (not particularly feminine) career and hobbies outside of parenting, and she is confident and competent doing those things—AND (this is important) those non-mothering things she is good at are essential to the plot. (This tends to be less of an issue that needs to be specified with male characters, grumblegrumble.)

So on both sides, we have a character who is fulfilling gender stereotypes on one hand, but subverting them on the other.

Not Just A Soldier examples: Costis (Queen's Thief), Din Djarin (the Mandalorian), Cazaril (the Curse of Chalion), Uncle Iroh (ATLA)

Not Just A Mom examples: Hera Syndulla (Star Wars Rebels), Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan and Ekaterin Vorsoisson Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), Katara (ATLA)

Adventurous Parent

A parent who continues to be cool and have adventures and stay involved in the plot even after becoming a parent (a GOOD parent, of course).

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian), Dr Mensah (Murderbot Diaries), Hera Syndulla (Star Wars Rebels—-we’ll see if this holds true now that she actually has her own biological child?? Assuming she’ll show up in future Star Wars projects—I’m hoping to see her in the Ahsoka series🤞)

Reluctant Ruler

It seems like many bad guys would kill to be king—and many good guys would really, REALLY rather not be in charge, thanks. But when a good guy is forced by circumstances beyond their control into becoming a ruler, and they decide that they might as well try to do a good job at it, and then THEY ACTUALLY DO—this trip has my whole heart.

Maia Drazar (The Goblin Emperor—this book is basically the perfect example of this trope and I love it SO MUCH), Eugenides (Queen’s Thief), Sophos (Queens Thief), Aral Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), And hopefully Din Djarin in Mandalorian season 3? OH PLEASE YES I NEED THIS.

Broken, but loved

The name basically says it—these are characters who believed themselves broken, heartless, and unlovable, but others chose to love them anyway. It’s important to note that they are NOT “saved by love”, but they do CHOOSE to try and be better because of love.

This trope just GETS ME EVERY TIME GUYS. It makes my heart hurt in the most joyful way.

Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries), Attolia (Queens Thief), Zuko (ATLA), Medraut (the Winter Prince)

Friend Indeed

This is a simple one—a character who befriends someone who is in the middle of a difficult situation, when it would be much easier to just keep their distance.

Ratthi (Murderbot Diaries), Csevet (The Goblin Emperor), Kuill (the Mandalorian)

Magic Schmagic

The character in a fantastical story who can’t do magic, doesn’t know about magic, and doesn’t WANT to. They just wanna carry on being their own non magical, mundane selves and we love them for it.

Sokka (ATLA), Din Djarin (the Mandalorian), Digger (Digger), Gideon (Gideon the Ninth)

Relationship tropes:

Found Family

Ok, this is a popular one so don’t think I need to explain it. Since these often involve large groups of characters, I’m just going to list a few of my favorite pieces of media where this trope features prominently.

Star Wars Rebels, the Mandalorian, Digger, Murderbot Diaries

Reluctant Friendship

Where two characters are thrown together and one or both doesn’t particularly want to be friends with the other, but as they move through the adventure together they gradually come to like each other and form a friendship.

I also love the romance side of this trope but I’m just as happy to read about a platonic relationship.

Ben and Nathaniel (This Was Our Pact), Kaidu and Rat (The Nameless City), Kamet and Costis (Queen’s Thief), Digger and Shadowchild (Digger),

Magical Animal Sidekick

A character who forms a deep personal bond with a magical creature. It doesn’t have to be an actual creature—in a sci-fi setting this could also be a sentient robot or ship.

Temeraire and Laurence (His Majesty’s Dragon), Ani and Falada (Goose Girl), Murderbot and Art (Murderbot Diaries), Ezra and the Loth Wolves (Star Wars Rebels)

Prose/plot tropes:

It’s Complicated

Related to the Mastermind character trope, the distinction here is that this is a plot that wasn’t manipulated by a single character intentionally, rather it’s a complex series of interactions and misunderstandings that are all revealed to be interconnected in the end.

The Court Jester, Howl’s Moving Castle, To Say Nothing of the Dog, Digger

Sarcastic, Witty, and/or Colloquial narration

The name says it all. I usually prefer this in 1st person, but it can be fun in 3rd person too. In 3rd person it might be the narrator who is witty, or it might just be the main character's thoughts that are witty as related by the narrator.

1st person— The Thief, Murderbot, Digger, Dragonhaven

3rd person—Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Gideon the Ninth

Written For You

First person narratives are interesting and tricky because there is the question of WHY narrator is telling the story, and who they intend it for. I love first person stories where the narrative is specifically addressed to a person or group, which adds a level of meaning to the story. This isn’t the same as a story told in diaries or letters (though that can be fun too).

The Thief and A Conspiracy of Kings, the Winter Prince, All Systems Red, Dragonhaven

The juxtaposition of Magic and Mundane

I deeply love stories that mix magical things with mundane details of life in a deliberate way. I feel this makes real life feel a bit more magical, and helps magic feel a bit more real. This juxtaposition can be a central idea of the plot, or might simply be present in the way a narrator describes things.

This may be my favorite trope of all, come to think of it (though there are a lot of great ones listed above, so maybe I shouldn’t start naming favorites…) most of my own story ideas center on this idea to one degree or another.

Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, His Majesty’s Dragon, Digger, Hilda, Queens Thief, Dragonhaven

Tropes I would like to see less of: prophecies, hereditary magic, a Chosen One, Soul Mates, fate/destiny. Yes, many of the stories I love involve these tropes, they’re hard to get away from in the genres I prefer to read. These tropes are Iess exciting to me first off because they’re done so often, but there’s a bigger reason I’d like to see less of them, which has to do with characters agency. I’m much more interested in a story that is about a character who CHOOSES to do the right thing, not because they were Chosen, but because they CHOOSE themselves to do the right thing. In the same vein, characters who CHOOSE to build and maintain a relationship are so much more interesting and, frankly, romantic to me than people who are just meant for each other BECAUSE FATE OK. Just.... no. People making tough choices because it’s the right thing to do makes for a much better story (aim my opinion) than people who do the right thing because DESTINY. So the overall theme here is, more character agency! (And as I said above—if you disagree, that’s fine! This is just me listing my preferences and opinions.)

If you read all that—wow! To all those who made it this far, thanks, and if you have any book/show recommendations that involve these tropes, please tell me about them!!

#tropes i like #personal #on writing #on reading #book recommendations #queens thief #the mandalorian #star wars #murderbot diaries #digger comic #studio ghibli #hmc #atla #howls moving castle #vorkosigan saga #and uuiuuh a bunch more but those are the main ones

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shes-an-oddbird · 3 years

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Merry Christmas to my Fitzsimmons Secret Santa giftee @springmagpies ironically started working on my Christmas at River’s End Mall fic a couple of weeks before I received your fantastic prompt: working at the mall during the holidays! It was a fun coincidence and it was nice to work on this as a stand alone fic that could exist in the same universe as that story.

I also wanted to make a moodboard to go with it since I’m so inspired by yours! I hope you enjoy it!

The Good & The Bad Of Seasonal Jobs

Summary: Leopold Fitz hates his seasonal job demoing the poorly made gadgets on the top of everyone's Christmas lists. Jemma Simmons loves her seasonal job wrapping those gifts. Together they make a a perfect team, even if they haven't officially met yet. Until Jemma is presented with a task that dampens her Christmas spirit and her and Fitz team up to get it back.

His expertise is being wasted.

Fitz is convinced they’ll be by to revoke his credentials any moment now.

If he sells one more shotty piece of home gadgetry with the promise that it will improve their customers everyday lives he might as well tear up his doctorate degree.

But he’s still short the cash he needs to get home for the holiday so here he is. Standing in a crowded mall, demoing cheaply made drones, remote control cars and robotic animals. Couldn’t one of these manufacturers create a monkey instead of the typical dog and cat? Are opposable thumbs that much of a challenge?

He knows the morning rush is starting to settle when he can hear the slightest jingling coming from the gift wrap kiosk across from him. A noise that would normally put him on edge has become a bright spot in his day. It came from the silver bell worn by the gift wrapper, Jemma, who worked the kiosk. She kept the bell tied around her neck on a long blue ribbon and with every move she made it rattled a cheery sound that added to the festive atmosphere in the mall.

He wasn’t much for Christmas cheer himself. He wasn’t a complete grinch, despite what Hunter might say, but if all of his income from the lab didn’t go straight to student loans, rent and food he definitely wouldn’t have bothered with the seasonal work at all.

Every time his spirits started to fall though, he’d glance over at Jemma to find her glancing back at him. No matter if it was irate customers or screaming children or an upset manager, she was close enough to hear and observe and would shoot him a supportive smile.

They had yet to actually speak to each other but they had found other ways to communicate. One of the most in demand drones of the season utilized a camera and messaging system. She had taken to writing notes on scraps of wrapping paper that he could read through the drone camera and he was able to send back messages to her.

He would love to talk to her in person but the more and more he learned about her from their notes the more and more nerve racking that prospect became. She was brilliant. A double PHD. She worked for a lab he interviewed at a while back but had ended up recruited for a project at another lab across town. He almost regrets taking the project now, the one she was in the middle of sounds fascinating and he thinks they’d make a good team.

But then again, that would involve talking directly to her.

Which would happen, eventually.

It’s early afternoon, kids not yet out of school but late enough that mall walkers and nannies with young ones were heading home. This was the time when they usually found a chance to “chat.” He readies the drone to fly it over to her station but stops when he sees she’s got a customer. A well-dressed man, expensive suit and a pair of matching jewelry boxes in his hands. He spends a moment talking to her, a charismatic smile on his face. She’s not impressed if he’s flirting. She nods curtly back at him as she takes the boxes and he leaves.

Fitz watches her shoulders sag and her demeanor change as she examines the boxes before setting them aside and turning to fetch some paper. Her bell jingles and she stops in her tracks. She removes the necklace and tosses it aside before returning to the task.

Fitz doesn’t know what it was the man said or did to ruin her day but after she’d done so much to improve his bad moods, he felt like he should do something. He quickly packs up the drone and waves to his manager that he’s going on his break.

****

Jemma couldn’t imagine a better holiday job.

When Daisy had told her she could probably get her the open gift wrapper position at the mall she had jumped at the opportunity. It wasn’t exactly science, although Daisy claimed she’d made an art out of it. Just because she liked her patterns to precisely line up and her ribbons to match, it wasn’t that special.

She does love the look in her customers eyes when they pick up their presents.

She also loves the light in the customers’ eyes when they hand her their gifts to be wrapped and she just knows they had found the perfect thing for their loved one. Sometimes the gifts would come along with a story, the hours they waited in line, the dozens of stores visited, the didn’t-plan-on-it-but-I-saw-it-and-thought-of-them. She loved that. It made her want to wrap each gift with just as much love and care.

She thinks that might also be why she maintains her Christmas cheer while Fitz, who works at the shop across from her station, is so grumpy all the time. Poor Fitz. He gets the customers before she does. When they are frustrated from having been on their feet all day with the end not in sight. Their kids tugging and pulling and screaming and begging for this and that. And a manger breathing down his neck, pushing him to sell drones that she knows he thinks are poor quality and will inevitably break.

He’s an engineer, she found out one day when he was messaging her about the poor controls on the drone after apologizing three or four times for nearly hitting her with it.

The day is starting to quiet down for the afternoon lull. She’s caught up on all of her work and is gathering up scraps to write her notes to Fitz on when there is a tap on the wooden counter. She looks up to see a tall well-dressed man waiting for assistance. He’s got just two matching boxes in his hands so she thinks she can knock them out quickly and still have plenty of time to chat with Fitz before the afterschool rush hits.

“Yes, how can I help you today.”

He grins down at her with a charming smile and an unconvincing look of innocence in his eyes.

“Yes, you certainly can, I’ve got a sort of special task.” He places the identical jewelry boxes down between them. “You see this one here, is for my wife,” he slides the first box forward, “and this one,” he places his hand on the other box, “this one if for, well not my wife.” Jemma narrows her eyes in confusion, “so you understand it’s important not to mix them up right?”

Then it hits her and her stomach fills with dread. She looks at the boxes again. They’re branded on the side with the logo of the expensive jewelry shop down at the other end of the mall. “May I?” She asks, reaching out for them. She opens the first to reveal a pretty gold bracelet with a woman’s name engraved in cursive and three sparkling charms. She opens the second box to find a second bracelet, exactly the same except for the name. “Um, they’re lovely.”

“So we don’t have a problem here?” He asks.

Did they? Could she refuse service to this guy because he was cheating on his wife and possibly misleading some other poor woman? Its certainly what she’d like to do.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Perfect, I’ll be back for them this evening, dinner with the girlfriend first, then dinner with the wife.” He taps the counter again. “Do them up real nice for me.”

Jemma nods and collects the boxes. She moves them to the back worktable and starts to select a wrapping paper when the bell on her necklace jingles and she stops. Her bell was tradition. She wore it all through the holiday season thinking the gentle sound was a pleasant way to spread holiday cheer. But now, now it was like it was mocking her.

She takes the bell, pulls the ribbon over her head and tosses it aside.

Maybe it’s a side effect of her frustration or maybe it’s her desire to give the woman being two-timed something individually beautiful; whichever it is she wraps the two bracelets exquisitely. The paper is elegant, the ribbon satin and she even takes the time to add little decorations like pine bristles and bells. She carefully inscribes the cards for the top and gently tucks them under the ribbons before placing them with the rest of the gifts ready for pick up.

It’s exhausting. She has an overwhelming desire to close-up for the day or call out early so that she doesn’t have to be here when he comes back for them. Fitz isn’t even at his usual post, ready to make her laugh.

Someone clears their throat behind her and she spins around on her stool. Fitz is standing at the front counter, two to-go cups in his hands. She’s unsure how to proceed for a moment. Her and Fitz hadn’t actually spoken in person since they started their seasonal worker comradery.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He shifts back and forth unsure what to say either.

“Thirsty?” She asks, curious about the two cups. Maybe one for now and one for later?

“Oh, no, um one is for you, I hope hot chocolate is okay.” She feels a smile fight its way through her gloom. She can’t help it, hearing his voice for the first time is thrilling. He’s Scottish. Which she had learned from their messages, he was trying to earn money for the ticket home, but it still threw her off just a bit.

“Thanks, but why?” Why today, she really wants to ask.

“I don’t know, you’re always so positive and then that guy came by earlier and you looked upset, I just thought this might cheer you up.”

“Oh, thank you.” She except the cup and the warmth spreads through her chilly hands. She takes a sip and the warmth runs through the rest of her. She savors it for a moment then cringes. “Was is that obvious, that I was upset I mean, do you think he noticed?”

“I doubt it, seemed a bit self-absorbed to me.”

“He’s horrible, bought his wife and his girlfriend the same bracelet for Christmas and didn’t want me to mix them up.” She gestures to where the boxes sit on the very top of the pile.

Fitz face scrunches up in disgust. “What a wanker – sorry.”

She tries not to laugh. “Its okay, he really is, would you like to sit down, I’ve got a second stool back here.”

“Sure, I’ve got a little time.” Jemma excitedly sets aside her beverage and flips up the countertop so he can join her. They settle onto the stools and he swivels his back and forth nervously. “Its strange talkin’ to you in person.”

“Not bad strange, I hope.”

“No, no definitely not bad.”

She ends up asking him about how his work project is coming along and he tells her about the snags they've hit but that its really coming along. He thinks they could use a good biotech person to which she has to decline, being in the middle of her own project. Their conversation slows and Fitz chugs the last bit of hot chocolate before looking for a bin.

"Its under there." She points to the trash can next to the stacks of gifts. Fitz tosses the cup and examines the mountain of presents.

“So why not just switch the cards on these?” He asks as he grabs the bracelet boxes off the pile and places them in front of him.

Jemma frowns. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Fitz asks as he traces the cards with his finger. “Its not like the guy doesn’t deserve whatever would come of it.”

“Well yes he would but it’s my job, I can’t just let my personal feelings effect how I do things, besides he could take it out on the mall if he wanted to, May shouldn’t have to deal with that.” She reasons.

“I think May would on your side.”

“I still can’t Fitz.” She insists as he slides free the tags.

“Fine.” He slips the cards back onto their respective boxes. “Still want to get back at him for ruining your day.”

“Fitz I promise, today is turning out to be pretty great, here – “ Jemma picks up her discarded silver bell necklace and carefully loops it around Fitz’s neck. Her fingers graze his neck, just above the collar of his work polo and she draws them back quickly.

“What um, what’s this for?” He asks reaches for the bell.

“It’s for spreading Christmas cheer, I think you’re doing a better job of that right now than I am.”

****

Fitz promises Jemma he’ll return her bell at the end of the day. They’re both working open to close and by nightfall the mall is bustling. Friday nights are always busy, usually with teenagers but now with everyone shopping for Christmas its wall to wall people. He’s out demoing drones again. They draw the biggest crowd into the store and the manager had convinced May to let them project the camera’s video feed on to the big screen downstairs at the mall’s Christmas set up.

It keeps him busy. Trying to find interesting things to focus in on. He does enjoy the opportunity to stray farther and farther from the shop. From the balcony he can swoop the drone down to the kids waiting in line for Santa. They wave excitedly and screech with joy when they see their faces up on the screen.

As he retreats the drone back to him there is an audible ‘aww’ of disappointment but if it gets too far away it’ll loose connection and he’ll have to go fetch it when it crash lands. As it comes back up over the railing he does a fancy little spin hoping Jemma is watching. The bit of trick flying always earns him a smile and an eyeroll but when he looks over he sees she busy.

The man from earlier is back to collect his packages. He wishes Jemma would have swapped the cards on them or that he had just done it for her. He knows he shouldn’t but he swings the drone around anyways, he’s a good distance from the guy but its enough to startle him when it wizzes past his head.

“Watch it with that thing!” He snaps.

“Sorry, shotty controls.” He apologizes and holds up the remote guiltily. Still scowling the man take just one of his packages and leaves in a huff.

“Fitz, that was dangerous.” She chides but doesn’t sound as cross as he suspects she could be about it.

“I wasn’t gonna hit him.” He lands the drone on Jemma’s workstation. She’s fiddling with the bow on the man’s other gift. “Why didn’t he take that one?”

“Dinner with his girlfriend, didn’t want to be caught with it.”

Fitz rolls his eyes before returning to the store.

Their long day continues on and the crowds slowly start to dwindle. There are a few stragglers getting in last minute purchases but most of the patrons are either waiting on restaurant reservations or letting out from the evening’s first seatings.

Fitz has just finished charging up the camera drone before locking it up for the night when Jemma rushes into the store.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore I have to do something or say something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That guy, that horrible, horrible man just kissed his girlfriend goodbye and marched right over here to get the bracelet for his wife who is waiting for him at the restaurant literally around the corner and I just can’t take it, he’s so arrogant and and awful and – “

“Okay, okay, calm down.” He places his hands on her shoulders gently hoping to sooth her frantic motions. “I thought your hands were tied, that you could do anything.”

“They are,” she stresses, “but it’s so unfair Fitz.”

“Okay well,” Fitz doesn’t know how to help in a way that doesn’t get them involved. He could march right up to the guy and confront him but he suspects that will end very badly. If there was away for them all to figure it out on their own maybe with just a push on their side.

“You said you saw the girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“You think she’s still here?”

“Maybe, I saw her head downstairs, I assumed that she was leaving.” Fitz takes Jemma’s hand and rushes her over to the balcony. Her eyes scan the small crowd below. In a small seating area by the North Pole set up a woman has set down her things on an armchair and is pulling on her gloves, Fitz sees the shimmer of a bracelet on her wrist. “That’s her.”

“Okay, go try to keep her there.”

“But I can’t tell her, I can’t just delivery that sort of news she may not even believe me.” Fitz is already shaking his head at her protests.

“That’s the thing about Christmas isn’t it, adults don’t believe in Christmas spirit and Santa and all that because for them seeing is believing,” Fitz rushes back into the shop and grabs up the camera drone. “Let’s give them something to see.”

****

“Excuse me, Ma’am, excuse me.” Jemma races up to the pretty blonde woman who has just finished pulling on her coat and scarf. The woman looks at her startled.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Jemma froze. She didn’t want to be the one to pass along such horrible news. But she only needs to buy Fitz some time. “I, I – I’m sorry you don’t know me, my name is Jemma Simmons, I work upstairs at the gift wrap station, I actually wrapped that lovely bracelet you’ve got there.” She says, pointing to the piece of jewelry the woman is trying to free from her coat sleeve.

The woman smiles. “You did an incredible job, my boyfriend wanted to claim it was his own work, but I knew he could never manage anything like that, he can be such a slob.”

“Among other things.” Jemma mutters quietly but not enough that the woman misses it. Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Is there a problem?”

“Um, no, well yes you see – “

“Aww, check out the big screen.” Someone calls and both women turn to the large television. Jemma recognizes the feed from the drone immediately. The camera is trailing along a line of guests waiting to be seated at the restaurant upstairs. They wave cheerfully at the camera which comes to a stop on the man and his wife as he gifts her the bracelet and she excitedly rips open the package and throws herself towards him in gratitude.

Jemma worriedly turns to the woman who has lowered her attention from the screen back to the bracelet. One identical to the one on the screen. For a moment she looks terribly heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry, I feel like I’ve just ruined your holiday.” Jemma’s not even sure she hears her. She’s about to ask if she’s alright but then a look of determination crosses her face and she looks up at her with a smile.

“Thank you, um, you set this up?” She gestures to the screen.

Jemma nods cautiously.

“Prefect, can you make the feed go away, there are children here and they really don’t to see what’s about to happen to him.”

Jemma breathes a sigh of relief. “Consider it done.”

By the time she texts Fitz and returns to her kiosk he is already there looking rather pleased with himself. “You’re not even going to ask if it worked first?”

“Didn’t have too, heard the woman coming when I was clearing out of there.”

“Oh dear, I hope it doesn’t get out of hand, I still feel awful.” She says as she leans against the counter next to him.

Fitz nudged her shoulder with his. “Jemma they were being two-timed, if it was you you would have wanted to know right?”

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Then let it go, please, because I need you to go back to being the cheerful one, it’s too much work for me.” Jemma laughs and nudges his shoulder back. He slips the bell off from around his neck and carefully drapes it back around hers. She looks up at him, her whole body feeling jittery and her eyes land on his. She thinks, and blushes at the thought, that she would kill for a bit of mistletoe right now.

She aims for his cheek instead. Landing a thank you kiss on his scruffy jaw and watching happily as he turns a cute shade of pink.

“Um – “ He stutters out.

“Excuse me.” Jemma and Fitz step apart quickly. Standing a few feet away are the blonde woman from downstairs and a second woman who looks elegantly dressed and perhaps a little frazzled. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt, I was told I might owe you both a thank you?”

“Oh no, it was nothing – “

Fitz cuts her off. “No please thank her, she’s convinced she’s ruined your Christmases.”

“Well, its certainly taken a turn, but for the best in the long run.” The second woman says. She looks between the pair of them. “Actually, as a thank you, would you two like our reservations, someone should have a romantic date night.”

Jemma blushes and Fitz clears his throat. “Oh we’re not together and we should really be working actually –“

“Yes working, right.” Fitz scoops up the drone and hurries off.

Jemma watches him go before turning back to her company. “Thank you, that was very generous of you to offer.”

“Of course.” She says. “And please, don’t worry over this.”

“Yes, its our problem and its being delt with,” the blonde woman agrees. “Should have known something was up, all the time we were together, and he never once looked at me the way that man there looks at you.”

Jemma doesn’t know what to say in response. She looks back at Fitz who glances up at her at the same time and sends her a boyish smile.

“Have a good night Jemma, you’ve given us a lot to think about, maybe we’ve given you something to think about as well.” The women leave and Jemma is left standing at her gift wrapping kiosk, fiddling with the silver bell around her neck.

#fitzsimmons secret santa #fitzsimmons #leo fitz #jemma simmons #fitzsimmons fic

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de-profundis-ad-astra · 4 years

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CHARACTER INTRO Charlotte Moore | Operative 390593 | Codename: Gatsby | Project Masterlist

Quick Facts:

Physical Description:

Although she only stands about 5′3″, Charlotte possesses an uncanny ability to look down her nose at everyone - especially those who stand taller than her. A talented gymnast as a child, it’s followed her through life and into her career. She’s small, lithe, but the muscle she packs underneath that smooth, pale skin is nothing to trifle with. When she knows she’s in control, she leans back on her hips and relaxes. When she’s commanding respect, or showing off, she stands at her full height, hands on her hips, chest out, head high like the lioness she is.

Strong as she is, it’s Charlotte’s doll face - the delicate features that sit right in the happy medium between soft and angular, the heart-shaped face, big green eyes, and full lips curled into that alluring smile - that got her into the intelligence sector of Legion. If she can’t get you to talk with her smile… well. She’s well versed in enough extraction practices that she’s practically turned it into an art form. But it’s the hair that draws her victims in, those thick curls the color of flame that might seem a little too easy for one to get their hands lost in.

Although she’s got buckets of money at her disposal, Charlotte’s tastes remain comfortably within the high-end casual range. With her work, she never knows when she’ll need to break into a sprint or smash someone’s head into a table. So she blends in until she needs to stand out. And when she stands out, that’s when she looks most like her mother - all exquisite dresses and jewelry and makeup - and she despises it.

Personality

Charlotte is a fantastic actress, and ambitious as hell. She can fake anything for a front. When she sets her sights on something, nothing, and I mean nothing, will stop her from achieving her objective. It’s why she was able to beat the Trials in record time and earn a codename. When she knows she’s being watched, she never stops smiling, always smirking like she knows something no one around her does. Actually. She does that all the time.

Charlotte loves her job. It makes her feel powerful and in control - a welcome reprieve from her previous jobs, where she was anything but in control. But, when her mother company puts out a warrant for her death, she doesn’t hesitate to abandon everything and never look back. She doesn’t have much to look at, really. It’s easier to focus on what’s ahead.

When Charlotte throws herself into a road trip but has no choice to bring along an unwilling companion or risk her own safety, her patience is tried over and over. Mostly, she’s frustrated with her new teammates, and only keeps them around because with a conflict of this magnitude, they’re a necessity. She’s a far cry from a loner, but Charlotte does have a heavy preference for working alone. Others have only ever slowed her down. So when working as a team becomes an inevitability, she fights it, and fights it hard. How could anyone stand to be on a team? How could she trust anyone but herself to watch her back? Who could tolerate that level of vulnerability?

The funny thing about being vulnerable is that it’s so easy to pretend like you’re not. And then, when presented with that moment where she can’t hide it, Charlotte has to act. And she doesn’t do it for anyone else, no. She wants answers. And she will stop at nothing to get them, even if it means forsaking her humanity.

Charlotte Moore is her own god and martyr.

Blurb

Director Soren reached into a drawer, removed a slim file, and placed it on his desk with a certain amount of delicacy. Placing one hand flat over the cover, he slid it towards Charlotte. “The panel has decided to grant you one more chance to prove your worth as a Named Agent of Legion.”

Charlotte nodded with recognition. Over a week had passed since what they considered the unmitigated disaster that had been her last meeting with her disciplinary panel. To Charlotte, it had been just another Tuesday. What was meant to be a review of her most recent discipline case had devolved into what he could only describe was an amalgam of arguing and backtalk until Charlotte was ordered out of the building and given strict instructions to remain on call.

This was the first she’d heard from Soren since. Hence the excitement.

Charlotte tilted her head, her eyes locking on the folder like a piece of meat. Her fiery curls fell over one shoulder with the motion. “Can’t say I’m hard pressed to disagree with the decision. What’s the job?”

“Getting you this opportunity was a hard fought victory,” said Soren, deflecting. “I do not suggest you take it lightly.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” asked Charlotte, her eyes rounding and mouth falling open partway. The portrait of innocence.

Her whole career, actually, might have lead one to believe this. But Charlotte never passed up an opportunity to gibe at her handler.

Director Soren easily saw through the ruse. “Anyone reviewing your service record wouldn’t need to make it far to know your history of insolence.”

Air hissed from Charlotte’s nose as she exhaled, the soft features of her face hardening into hard planes and angles. “Fine,” She huffed, her long, thick eyelashes fluttering to conceal the way she rolled her eyes before her focus narrowed back to the file. Without asking, she reached for it.

Soren yanked the folder back before she could touch it. She leaned back with a puff. “You swore an oath to support and defend this corporation. To bear allegiance to it and no others. Do you still swear it?”

Charlotte’s heart soared at those words, wings fluttering against her ribs. Excitement rose in her throat, and she tamed the face-splitting grin that threatened to break across her face to a mild conspirator’s smile. “I do.”

“You swore to serve as a living example of this corporation’s philosophies and beliefs and to uphold these values at all times. You took this obligation freely and of your own accord. Do you still swear it?”

Charlotte allowed some of her control to slip, and her resulting smile reminded Director Soren more of a predator baring its teeth than an expression of happiness. “I do.”

“Do you swear to give yourself wholly to this assignment and complete the request of its commissioner?”

“I do.”

“Thank you,” Director Soren withdrew his hand, and Charlotte greedily snatched the file off his desk. She flipped it open, immediately faced with the small headshot of a stern-looking blonde clipped to the inside of the cover.

Charlotte snorted, “Hell of a mugshot. What do we want from her.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Charlotte repeated, incredulous. “Then why—”

It dawned on her, then, and she trailed off. Her handler’s expression gave her everything she needed.

“Oh, Cecil,” Charlotte breathed, placing a hand over her heart. “You shouldn’t have.”

Taglist

@firefeatherx @goldenhour-goldenboy @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @phoenixhalliwell @havenforafrazzledmind @living-reminder @beatriz-silva-00 @phoenixhalliwell @pascalz @worldominatorx @givemethatgold @agirllovespancakes @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @veuliee @briskywalker @radiomacbeth

#my writing #writeblr #writing community #character introduction #character intro #legion #charlotte #my stuff

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xxpadfootxx · 4 years

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🐾Won’t Leave You: Chapter 12 (The Lightning & the Flame)🐾

A/N: This is the last chapter of this series! Thank you for reading it all the way through, I applaud you if you’ve stuck with it this far 😂anyway, I’m sorry if this series has not been on par with my other work, this was my first work ever and I haven’t edited it in ages 😂Regardless, it was fun to write and I am grateful for you guys for reading it!

~~~

Ochako stared up at the plain, unassuming door that she knew belonged to Izuku Midoriya. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty but she was excited. She wanted to stay with him this weekend as they used to, hanging out and making snacks while binging a show like Criminal Minds or Sherlock Holmes, trying to guess what happens by using crazy theories to come up with the most outrageous solutions. This time, she could feel it, was different but she wanted to make this trip with him feel as normal as possible. Taking a deep breath to boost her resolve and wiping her hands on her pants, Ochako stepped up to the door and knocked. It only took a few moments before a beaming Izuku stood in the doorway, his hair even messier than usual and his eyes bright with excitement.

“You’re here!” Izuku exclaimed, moving to the side and motioning with his hand toward the inside of his home. Ochako smiled back at him, her nervousness forgotten and strode past him and into the house. She looked around as she stepped into a narrow hallway that opened up towards the back into what she assumed was the kitchen area. The floors were made up of smooth wooden planks that ran the length of the house in neat vertical lines while the walls simply complimented the space with a cream paint color. She peered down the hallway and immediately spotted Izuku’s room which was labeled with a large sign in the shape of All Might’s hair followed by a door that she assumed was the bathroom. Izuku walked up beside her and leaned down with his hand extended.

“Would you like me to take your things?”

Ochako smiled down at him and took a step back, bowing lavishly.

“I thank you, my lord, for this outstanding service.”

Izuku bowed back without hesitating, a smile teasing the corner of his lips.

“Anything for the queen.”

He then scooped up her bag and jacket before trotting off down an extension of the hall to drop it off in her room. He came back a moment later, finding Ochako in the living room.

“It isn’t much, but it's home,” Izuku said with a satisfied nod.

“It’s perfect,” Ochako said, spinning in a slow circle around the living room before plopping down on the couch. She sighed and ran her fingers over the soft couch cushions, relaxing fully into the comfortable seat.

“So, what should we do now?” Ochako asked, glancing at Izuku who was watching her with a bright smile.

“Let me think…”

___________________________________

Their clothes lay scattered all over the floor. The room was dimly lit and the curtains were drawn, the nearby streetlights casting weak golden rays into the dark room. The blankets were rumpled and the pair were comfortably snuggled up to one another.

“Wow, that was fantastic.”

“I know right? That was really fun!”

“I’m glad you liked it, I was a little worried you’d be disappointed in me.”

“Izuku...” Ochako turned to her friend and raised her eyebrow. “I would never be disappointed in you just because you choose a bad movie. I’m happy just to hang out with you! But this movie was not a disappointment at all, I can’t believe I’ve never seen that!”

Izuku smiled and winked at her.

“Good I’m glad you liked it, Ochako.”

Izuku yawned and stretched his arms above his head, groaning as his joints popped.

“I’m exhausted though, think it’s time for bed?”

Ochako nodded. She was a little worried about tonight especially since she was sleeping in a new place but she had faith that she could be comforted by Izuku’s presence alone, even if they were in different bedrooms.

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired too,” Ochako stood up, stretching her arms as well, her pajama shirt riding up to reveal a little bit of her waist, before rolling her shoulders and bending down to help Izuku up. Izuku took her hand and pulled himself up, stumbling back a little and brushed off his pants.

“Alright so, we do not have a guest bedroom and my mom’s bed isn’t the most comfortable so you can stay in my room if you want. Don’t worry, I’ve cleared out most of the All Might memorabilia for you so it shouldn’t be too overwhelming.” Izuku rubbed the back of his head and glanced at the floor again, his cheeks gaining more of their ever-present red hue.

“Thanks, Deku, but you really don’t have to give up your space for me, I am fine sleeping in an uncomfortable bed, it can’t be that bad can it?”

“No, I insist. You are not causing any trouble by being in my room. I’ve already put your stuff in there anyway.”

Ochako shook her head but smiled at him.

“Thanks, Deku.” They stared at each other for a moment until Ochako broke the silence, blushing. “Alright, well I better go get ready.”

Izuku nodded and gave her a small wave.

“Goodnight!”

“Goodnight.”

The pair parted ways as Ochako headed into Izuku’s room for the night. When she walked in, she was amazed at how much he had removed for her but the wall paint color, bedsheets, and wall art still screamed Izuku’s name with the bright All Might theme. Even dumbed down, it was still kind of an attack on the senses but it was so him. She quickly got used to it and grew more comfortable in the space. She went to bed that night feeling a little less disturbed than usual.

__________________________________________

The scream tore Ochako from her sleep so abruptly that she hit the back of her head on the headboard behind her when she sat up, jolting into a sitting position like a spooked rabbit. She had not been in a deep sleep but she had been in a deeper sleep than in the past few weeks so being shocked into a waking state like this left her disoriented and frightened. Ochako shot out of bed and nearly blasted through the door, racing to the kitchen where she found a large kitchen knife in a knife block on the counter. She whipped around and bolted to Inko Midoriya’s room, knife raised over her head. She shoved open the door and stumbled into the room in her haste to get through the doorway. Her head whipped from side to side, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger. Her eyes finally made their way to the bed where she saw Izuku. The green-haired boy was flailing around, his arms raised into the air like a cat when it falls off of a railing and his legs had long ago kicked the blanket to the floor. His breathing was panicked and his mouth was open in a frozen ‘O’ shape. It would have seemed almost comical had it not been for the fear coursing through Ochako’s veins. Ochako slowly began to approach him when he screamed again. The sound sent an ice-cold shower down her spine but this time she actually heard the word that was interlaced with that scream.

“OCHAKO!!!!”

Ochako abandoned all precautions and raced to his side. He screamed her name again as she reached him, unaware that she was right beside him. She could see the sweat beading on his face, the color drained from him like a blank canvas. She tried calling out his name first but when he did not answer she climbed onto the bed near his feet and climbed on top of him. Grabbing his shoulders, she shook him as hard as she could, her own breathing moving so fast that it burned her throat. His skin burned beneath her hands, she could even feel the heat rising from his shirtless chest, his body was feverish. It only took a few seconds before his eyes fluttered open, those bright green eyes full of worry and blinding white fear. She barely had time to release him and move back a little bit before he pounced on her. Ochako squeaked in surprise as his arms wrapped themselves around her body and pulled her as close to him as possible. Ochako felt the knife that had still been latched in her hand drop to the floor with a dull thud. Izuku buried his face in her neck and one of his hands found their way to the back of her head, grasping her hair and rocking her back and forth. Ochako just sat there stunned as Izuku rocked her, sobbing into her hair. After a short while, Izuku sat back, his hands placed on her shoulders so that he could just look at her. His eyes roved all over her face, the intense worry and love in them making Ochako squirm.

“Deku, are you-”

She couldn’t even finish her sentence as he leaned in and kissed her. His lips were sweet and soft but contained an intenseness that took Ochako’s breath away. They fit on hers like the perfect puzzle piece and even though she was surprised beyond belief, she allowed all other thoughts to melt away and let her instincts take over. Ochako closed her eyes and savored the taste of him on her mouth. Suddenly, his warmth was gone and she had to put in real effort to avoid letting out a disappointed sigh. She opened her eyes and saw that Izuku was still holding her shoulders but he was avoiding looking at her face now. He was shaking and his skin was still heated above normal but even in the darkness, she could tell that the color had come back into his face.

“I-I-I I’m s-so s-sorry O-Ochako. I don’t know what came over me, I just had this horrible dream but it wasn’t real and I was just so relieved that I-”

Now it was his turn to be cut off mid-sentence as Ochako leaned in and kissed him back with the same passion as before but more ferocity. Izuku fell back onto his elbows as he released her shoulders and allowed himself to be overtaken by her kiss. They both closed their eyes as Ochako leaned into her actions. After a few moments, Izuku decided to take charge again and leaned forward, pushing Ochako back a little bit so that she was sitting on Izuku’s knees. Ochako sat back a little and uncrossed her legs to wrap them around Izuku’s waist, pressing her chest against his. Taking into account this new development, ignoring all doubts, Izuku tentatively inched his tongue out of his mouth and touched Ochako’s lips in a hesitant question. Her answer was clear as day when she opened her mouth without hesitation, allowing him in. Their tongues were clumsy and hesitant at first but as the pair grew more lustful, they developed a rhythm that evolved into an elaborate dance. One of Izuku’s hands held her steady at the back of her head while the other found the way to Ochako’s hip, his thumb tracing little loops on the skin that had revealed itself at the base of her thin nightshirt. Ochako was on fire, her skin burning with passion and her veins alight with her own self-kindled flame. Izuku felt like lightning, the electricity generated from their passion causing every hair to stand up on his body as it raced through his bones and down to his very core. He felt like he could run forever at the speed of light, his body felt light and airy as if he were floating on fluffy clouds in the sky. Following his heart, Izuku decided to intensify the feeling of heat and electricity between them by activating One for All. Green streaks of lightning skittered across his skin, lighting it so that a dim green glow was cast around the room. He did not use the power behind One for All, he just created a little static between him and Ochako. Izuku’s electricity, both from his quirk and the kiss, kindled Ochako’s flame into a roaring inferno, scorching her inside and out. To others, the kiss may have seemed like something simple, innocent, sweet, but to this pair of young heroes, the kiss was everything they were and who they wanted to be. The kiss flushed out their fears as they poured themselves into every movement and every stroke of their tongues. It represented their frustrations and their longing and their comfort around each other. It displayed their relief to finally find peace. Izuku and Ochako simultaneously rose up on their knees, their bodies pressed against one another and their limbs tangled together as each person tried to hold their partner as close to themselves as possible, afraid to let go. The moment passed after both an eternity and a third of a second, both heroes in training craving more but also a little overwhelmed. The pair broke apart and sat in silence, their heavy breathing being the only sound that filled the room. They waited, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before darting away to look at the blankets or the floor. Ochako suddenly cleared her throat.

“Well, that was... interesting.”

“Was it a bad kind of interesting?”

“No! It was… it was…” Ochako cleared her throat again.

“Incredible.”

Izuku smiled in the darkness and moved a little closer to her.

“I am really sorry about all of this, I didn’t even ask you, and I just kind of jumped on you when all you were trying to do was help me out of a scary situation. I know you just told me you liked it but, I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable with all of this. Was I moving too fast?”

Ochako shook her head.

“I have wanted to truly kiss you ever since you kissed me for the first time back in the hospital. We’ve both just been really busy and a lot of traumatic things happened all at once. I have been such a mess for the past few weeks that I didn’t think you’d be comfortable being with someone who is basically the walking dead during the day time with how little sleep I get at night,” she said.

Izuku swallowed loudly and moved even closer to Ochako.

“I, uh, had a dream about that night with the villain, where you almost didn’t make it. I had a dream where I did lose you, where I couldn’t do anything and even though I could feel how close you were to coming back to me, you were just out of reach. This dream scared me so badly, it is the dream I’ve been having consistently for the past few weeks, that when you shook me awake and I saw that you were alive and well, I just had to hold you close to me. I had to prove to myself that this part, you being here and healthy, was not part of the dream.”

Izuku was now close enough to look Ochako in the eyes despite the darkness of the very early morning.

“Once I was one hundred percent sure that your heartbeat was not my imagination, I realized at that moment that I could not let another moment pass where I let my doubts control me, that I could not let another moment pass by where I hesitated and missed the chance to do something with you that I almost lost entirely. You may be alive now but for those few minutes, you were gone and it was for those few minutes that my brain went through not only every moment we’ve ever had together but also all of the things in the future that I was sure would never happen.”

Izuku was glad for the darkness as he blushed a deep red that could only be rivaled by red hot lava.

“Things like hanging out with you, kissing you, going out on dates with you, possibly g-getting m-married someday,” Izuku gulped. “H-having ch-ch-children with you, rising through the hero ranks with you by my side. It is because of this sharp realization, that hit me harder than a bus, that I gained the courage to kiss you. I could not let another moment go by without letting you know how I feel and at that moment, I don’t think words would have done the trick.”

Ochako turned her body to fully face Izuku and raised her hand to cup his cheek. Izuku hesitated but soon did the same.

“Izuku, do not apologize for anything tonight. We have both been through a rough time these past few weeks and although that would not normally be a proper excuse for a surprise kiss on a girl, I believe that our relationship goes beyond that. We had connections way before this villain turned up, the traumatic event just gave us the courage to act on our buried emotions. I am so grateful to have you in my life, you have always given me the strength to fight. Hell! You are the reason I was able to hold up against that villain for so long! I just kept thinking about you, how you would think in that kind of a situation, how you would solve my kind of problem. But I also pictured your dazzling smile and your kind face along with the encouraging words that you always give me that mean so much to me despite probably being small and insignificant to you. Living through that torture would have been a lot more difficult without you.”

Even in the darkness, Ochako could tell that Izuku was crying. Dropping his hands from her cheek, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a sweet but firm embrace. He was still shaking from earlier but it had been reduced to almost nothing and his breathing was a lot more steady.

“Ochako, you are the strongest person I know. I could not have gone through half of the stuff you did without caving or giving up. You are a flame that never burns out, holding your torch up high no matter how strong the blizzard around you gets. I could never do something like that. Although I am honored, I did not help you survive, you helped yourself by remaining true to who you are. You are the brightest flame in my life and I will fight to protect you from those howling winds for the rest of my life.”

Now it was Ochako’s turn to blush. She buried her face into his chest, his skin warm to the touch and his breathing a soothing rhythm that calmed her fluttering heartbeat.

“I love you Izuku.”

Izuku’s breath caught and Ochako felt her mind cringe, fearing the worst.

“I love you too, Ochako. I always have and I always will.”

The pair released each other and looked at each other for a few seconds longer before Izuku crawled back to the back of the bed. Ochako continued to sit at the foot of the bed as Izuku leaned over and unplugged his phone, turning on the screen to view the time.

“Well, it is 4:00 am right now, it’s time to go back to sleep, don’t you think?”

“Together?”

“Of course,” Izuku said, patting the space beside him. Ochako slowly crawled up to the spot where Izuku had motioned to and curled up there, bringing the blanket up to her chin. Izuku rolled over and curled his body around hers, his hand snaking over the bed until he found hers. He pawed at her hand once in a silent question and Ochako opened her hand. Their palms connected and she wrapped her fingers around his, happy to finally indulge in her feelings for the green-haired cinnamon roll. Her eyelids started to droop and exhaustion began to set in. In no time the two teens were fast asleep, small smiles teasing at the corner of their lips as they allowed all of their worries to melt away into the night.

#mha fanfiction #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha #izuku x uraraka #ochako x izuku #izuocha-fanfic #IzuOcha #izuku midoriya #urakara ochako #mha ochako #ochako #deku #dekuchako #uravity #my hero academia fanfic #my hero academia

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paperficwriter · 4 years

Text

To the Radio Demon on His Birthday

And now for something completely different! This was a request from @tallslimbabydoll, whose fantastic art inspired quite a few scenes for this fic. I sort of fell down the rabbit hole of this series. I'm pretty into it, and I had an absolute blast writing this. It's a really fun setting, and the characters are colorful.

I sort of read this as a future AU in the show, with a pinup Charlie who does burlesque and a certain demon overlord who is very into her.

Cut is for length AND for content!

“And now...the weather.”

A pause, and then, a short barking laugh.

“Oh, can you imagine a segue like that? Here, in fair Pentagram City, where the temperature only ever changes from mildly suffocating to infernal to cataclysmic? And that last one is just the very late season…recent indeed, my fair listener.”

Alastor gazed forward out the window of his radio station at the literal hellscape below. From this high up, he made out all manner of sinner souls making their way through the streets -- stalking, hawking, talking, some even just walking -- as they arose from their hideaways, the most recent purge only a few days before.

The studio wasn’t actually much, but it looked the part, which was the most important thing in Alastor’s eyes: all black and red and wired. Always wired. None of this wireless nonsense that Vox and Velvet seemed so keen on. No, no, that wouldn’t do. He sat at his wooden table that shined black as onyx, in his ebony leather chair with the crimson oak accents, and even as he held his own microphone, the one that was as a part of him as the crescent moon smile on his face, he leaned forward into another one that glowed with an infernal red energy. There were only a few other things on the desk other than the long snakes of wires coming from the mic and the switchboard: a red phone that only rang when he wanted it to, a pad of paper that never ran out, a blood ink pen, and two photos.

One of his mother, and the other...

Screech. Below, a car swerved and went through a small crowd of miniature demons, the maniac behind the wheel laughing through the opened window...but not for long. Alastor smiled as the ‘victims’ grew into huge forms, massive and rippling with muscle, and peeled the top of the car open like a sardine can, pulling the driver out and tearing him apart like an old doll.

He wouldn’t be dead for long, but his body was swept into one of the piles with the Exterminated demons nevertheless.

“Ah, yes, the days following a visit from halo bombers, the masked assassins, our winged adversaries...the red dawn is all the more bright in our eyes, is it not? I’m sure that I do not need to tell you where I will be spending my evening by week’s end, do I?”

Frankly, he’d rather not, truth be told. He’d much rather keep these events to himself, stow them away like trinkets and baubles, just for himself. But, well, and risk what, then? The chase, the challenge, it all keeps things so entertaining.

And he would never risk getting bored when it comes to her.

“Returning to her weekly toe tapping and tasteful twirling, our very own Princess Charlie Magne will grace Mimzy’s club. I know that I’ll certainly be in attendance, though, as always, only the friendliest reminders that…”

Alastor’s voice took on a staticky, growling consistency. Anyone listening - everyone listening - would get that feeling down their backs, the one that accompanies nails on chalkboard and knives sharpening against one another. They would see the gathering of sigils and the crispy edges of something like erasure at the corners of their eyes. And they would know Alastor was smiling still, smiling wide, smiling at their discomfort and their expense.

“The polite rules of the show dictate one looks with their eyes and not with their hands.”

And just like that, the miniature nightmare would be adjourned, and in his bright vibrant accent, Alastor gave his send-off. “Thank you for joining us, all you damned here and there! From Pentagram City, the Radio Demon wishes you a fond goodnight, and remember…”

He leaned forward into the microphone he held and the one on his desktop both. Alastor stared into the eyes in the other photograph, the one of Charlie herself in all her demonic splendor. The huge body of her hair decorated just so with black lilies and strings of diamonds, wearing a corset with stockings and dangerously high heels, the kind that added miles to her already endless legs.

Her nose crinkled just so, and in pretty handwriting to her right: To Al, my biggest fan! With love, Charlie. P.S. Don’t forget!...

He read the last line aloud.

“Keep smiling.”

---

When Alastor was out for a night on the town, he always wanted to walk wherever he was going. Certainly, he could be there as simple as picturing the place in his mind, then riding the shadows and whisking himself effortlessly through an eldritch underground. The very same power that he harnessed to broadcast his voice, his acts, through the Nine Circles of Hell, even that would be sufficient to do something as simple as move him from one place in Pentagram City to the other.

But no. The simple locomotion of walking, putting one foot in front of the other, aware of the people and creatures and things around him, it was like New Orleans again. Not in scenery - nothing beat the French Quarter on a night in July, when you wore the heat like a second suit - but in action and energy.

So many bodies. The very pulse of life in Hell worked itself like a torn artery gushing rather than a heart beating. Even dead, it was alive, in a realm where there should be nothing there were jobs and money and drugs and somehow even the emotions that should have extinguished with humanity’s mortal coil. After all, the people themselves didn’t look like “people,” really; their demonic countenances were of their own making, redesigned and reflecting the way they saw themselves. And yes, perhaps, some looked more humane than others. Alastor himself kept some semblance of himself from when he was Alastor Alive instead of Alastor, Radio Demon.

Though given the almost cartoonish apparitions around him, screaming for shots and blow jobs and booze...some were more creative than others with how they chose to show themselves off.

And then he came to the front of Mimzy’s, where saloon-style doors had been painted a too-bright pink (“How can you say they’re too bright, Al?! They’re the shade of your eyes!” “One of many shades, old friend, and I don’t have to look on them myself, now do I?”) and Vaggie stood as bouncer, brandishing that Exterminator’s spear like it was equal parts protection and comfort.

She was leaning on it, and he took his microphone and gave it a tap, nearly sending her sprawling. Vaggie snarled as she righted herself, about to brandish the blade in his direction before she recognized who he was. “The first rule of good customer care, my dear!” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Service with a smile!”

“Qué te den por culo,” she growled venomously, pulling at a piece of her hair in aggravation, her one eye narrowed and the ‘x’ on the other side of her face pulsing in rage.

“Oh no, thank you!” He didn’t give her a backwards glance as he headed in, waving his hand to magically part the crowd that had, as always, so rudely positioned themselves in the way of the club proper. “I’m quite taken!”

Or he would be, Satan willing. If Charlie would just say yes.

Mimzy had made a few renovations to the place over the last fifty years or so, to match the culture of the world above...or at least to try. What resulted was frankly a bit of a mishmash, but the chaos of it, the unpredictability, how it was always just a little different each time he came in...that’s what kept Alastor returning.

There were these thick poles with shapes cut into them to make them look like the Copacabana in the fifties...and over time there were pieces missing from them, or phone numbers scratched into their porcelain facade. Then there was the black and white checkerboard floor, splashed with dark stains that had long since burned themselves into the varnish, the disco ball above with the jagged edges that reflected menacing glints like knife blades when it caught you at the wrong moment.

And there was the stage...that glorious stage, its red velvet curtains disappearing into shadows high above everyone’s heads, the band beside it as well as all kinds of sound equipment that was much too modern for a man of Alastor’s taste.

And sometimes, if he would stare long enough at stage left, he would see just the flick of a feathered boa, or, if he was lucky, a half of Charlie’s gorgeous face, smiling and blushing as she couldn’t help but sneak a peek at everyone who had come to see her show, her burlesque, gift to Hell that no one but Alastor really deserved.

Certainly not the hoarde on the floor. Definitely not the whores he had to share his special accomodations with.

At the VIP table, there were far too many of the Overlords in attendance: Vox, of course, Valentino, Velvet and there was the owl one too, tonight...that one was royalty from some other area of this world, but Alastor wasn’t entirely sure from where. Stolas, that was his name. He had tried to forget because the way he spoke so softly to Charlie made him want to choke him and turn those long legs of him into a knot until--

“Well, look who decided to drop by.”

Alastor snapped out of his homicidal daze, his smile fresher, eyes bright and full and attentive. “Vox, you are as astute as you are asinine. How are you, old sport?”

The face on the screen rolled its eyes as the Radio Demon took his seat on the outside of their crescent moon booth. A haze of smoke that smelled like both tobacco and something far more herbal already hung like gray clouds above their heads. Everyone already had empty glasses in front of them, in all forms for wine, liquor...even a coconut? Complete with a little umbrella. How tropical.

Alastor snapped his fingers, and from near the door, he could hear a scuttling of tiny feet, and an impish voice. “Excuse me! Pardon me! Move, move, move, mo-- oh, hello, sailor! I’ll be back in a minute, get out of my way!”

When Niffty appeared at his side, blinking up at him with her one huge eye, her arms were full of three mixed drinks, a silver and bakelite cigarette holder and a tin box of Lucky Strikes. “Great job, Niff! You always know exactly what I like.”

“Anything for you, Mr. A!”

Velvet sneered as she took yet another picture of the stage to add to her online photo album, an act that Alastor never really understood. How was she supposed to be in the moment when she was so occupied with giving people proof she was there? “We all know you could literally do all that yourself, Alastor. Why do you always have to bring your help everywhere you go?”

“Why, mixing drinks like this is one of Niffty’s many talents,” he said as he watched her disappear back into the crowd. He pulled out one of the Lucky Strikes and affixed it to the accessory, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. It burned sweetly as he took a drag and followed it with a sip of the drink. He would use his magic to make sure the ice didn’t melt. He wasn’t a monster, after all, drinking watered-down old fashioneds. “And she likes to come to the club to oggle the real men, although she certainly won’t find any in this vicinity.” His eyes shifted quickly between the three Overlords.

Perhaps he would have given them a hard time for a little longer - it was a fun pastime after all - but just then a tinkle of piano keys carried itself across the assembled, signifying the start of the show. For the most part, everyone in the area facing the stage quieted down, but there were a few lesser demons who decided they could continue childishly shrieking laughter unrelated to the class act that was coming.

And if portals opened beneath them to send them ten miles away from the show, Alastor is sure he wouldn’t know anything about that…

The music changed then, the piano accompanied by a lightly static-touched brass introduction. The giant curtain drew itself back to reveal a backdrop reminiscent of the classic circus of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. It made Alastor recall his mother taking him by one Sunday afternoon, near Congo Square, against his father’s wishes, though she cared about as much for the bastard’s opinions as he did. Prints of red and white tents faded with a sepia overtone to show their age, and signs welcomed people to view the freak shows and animal acts.

One placard had also been made in the same aesthetic, telling one and all to come to the Happy Hotel. Alastor’s smile somehow widened a bit. The sweet lass was going to continue to hold onto that name as long as she could, wasn’t she?

In the middle, a circular platform had been placed with a candy-striped pole in the center, and just as the jazzy swing came in full force, there she was. Princess Charlotte Magne, Charlie, his Charlie, the Devil willing, tapped her way across the stage wearing something that was a play on a ringmaster’s suit, though certainly not one that any mustachioed man would wear. Her legs were bare but for fishnet stockings and shiny heels outfitted with metal taps, and the black overcoat was cut long in such a way that when she got to the pole and rode it around, the tails swirled around her like a cape.

At first, Alastor was concerned, because above the slightly frilly panties she wore that had been styled to look like black pinstripe pants, above the very form fitting blouse and bowtie, her signature flowing hair was missing. The only thing that sat atop her beautiful head - long lashes, red cheeks, shining black lips - was a fairly standard top hat.

But then, as an electric current carried through the music, she reached up with one gloved hand and took it off, the cascades of thick tresses, the full body of gorgeous blonde hair, opened up and floated into perfect place on her shoulders and down her back.

The onlookers roared and only then did Alastor realize that he had burned down an entire cigarette without even enjoying a puff from it. He got another going as she tossed the hat into the crowd, and Alastor forced himself not to leap into the small mob and take it for himself. He had an image to uphold, after all.

Next, she spun, turning herself around to show how the coat, when removed, fell in a rippling cascade to the floor, kicked away in time with the music’s percussion crashing. And for a moment, she just danced, on the pole, off the pole, her smile dazzling and her eyes sparkling. Charlie loved this, and that was something that truly pulled Alastor in. Certainly it was entertainment, but it wasn’t plastic and glass. It was a real passion, one that showed through every spin on the stage.

Then, it was time for one of Alastor’s favorite parts: the peeling of the gloves. He crosses and uncrosses his legs as he notices her using a new technique. Bending down to stroke her hands over her stockings, she barely lifted one heel before putting the tip of her index finger under it. When she rose, it slid off to reveal her bare arm, her painted nails.

The other, she pulled off behind her back as she cheekily grinned over her shoulder.

Demons and demonesses both were alternating between swooning and catcalling at the stage, all other conversation and company ignored for the gorgeous Charlie, and the volume only grew as she hopped up on the pole, nimble as a cat, holding it between her thighs as her hands became occupied unbuttoning her shirt.

The music was swelling. It was coming into the bridge and beyond, even the jazz of it picking up a more urgent pace. She had timed it so well, timed it to where she could get right there, to where she tears off the shirt and bow tie both, and when Alastor thought he would finally see her breasts, albeit covered in the tassels or diamonds or whatever she chose to wear on them, there was a black and white corset. She couldn’t leave it like that, could she? He gulped down a whole other drink as she climbed up the pole and began to spin downward, fast and then faster, a whirling dervish of mesmerizing sexuality, her momentum (and probably some well-placed fasteners ready to be released) taking the corset off and sending it over the stage.

As the last notes of the piano carried out the song, so too did gravity carry her to the floor, into the splits, each breast covered with a striped cone, not unlike the pole itself. The thong panty was the only thing keeping what lay between her legs up to the imagination...and even then, not particularly well.

The curtain fell as the assembled rose and cheered, clapping and drooling on the ground. Alastor too...well, the applauding anyway. The girl deserved it for that, yes, yes, she did! Very entertaining indeed!

Always something new! She was brilliant!

He finished his last old fashioned and lit another Lucky Strike, and after only a few minutes, the shrieks of delight returned, because Charlie appeared from the left of the stage, Razzle and Dazzle at each side. She was wearing the top hat again, this time on top of her beautiful hair, and the black and white corset was on. Even over the hum of the masses clamoring for her attention, her heels made their distinct tapping as she walked among them.

Ah, but she was everything he wasn't, wasn't she? Where the crowd parted for him, eyes averted, none keen to get the attention of the Radio Demon, every face was focused on hers, leaning in, wanting for her attention.

"Charlie, over here! Let me buy you a drink, baby!"

"Princess! Lemme give you a show, huh?!"

"Oh baby, what happened?! I liked what you were wearing at the end!"

Even in spite of the less savory comments, the wolf howls and whistles, the catcalls… Her sweet smile never faded. She took their tokens of affection - flowers, roses, boxes of chocolates, hotel cards, napkins with phone numbers - and each one she passed to either Razzle or Dazzle, the little goat demons quickly becoming now like miniature pack mules.

A few she did offer her hand to, and those ones… Those were the ones that made Alastor's lip rise a bit, the cut sigils in his hands begin to burn like his blood would spill and they would go up in flames on the spot, the horrible little wretched--

"Hello there!"

The honeyed sound of her voice was what pulled him away from the brink of homicidal fracturing. It was like a warm wash over his whole body, because there she was, right in front of them.

"I'm so glad you see all of you! The first show after the yearly cleanse is really important to me, for morale. And I think it's good for everyone to see the important figures of Hell here, you know?" She gave a little bow. “So it means a lot that you came. To me.”

"We are delighted, of course, my dear." Stolas stood on his long elegant legs before her, towering even as he bowed. “Your mother is so proud of you, I’m sure.”

Charlie laughed a little. Lilith was always on tour, and Alastor hadn’t seen her in years at this point, which wasn’t as long a time in Hell as on Earth, but...Charlie was still so young, one would think she would try to be there for a few of these wonderful numbers of hers.

“Cholly,” Valentino drawled in the way only he could, a thick blunt in one of his many hands. “Come on, sweetheart. This dog and pony show is cute, but you could be living the dream if you came to my studio...I’ll make sure you get only the best, baby girl.”

“That’s so sweet, Valentino. But as always, I have to gracefully decline. I--”

“Indeed, Val,” Vox interrupted, leaning forward over the table top, his massive screen reflecting on the surface. “She’s literally the Princess of Hell, what are you going to offer? Blow? Stiff shag carpeting?” He turned on the charm quite literally, his face seeming to change channels to one full of charm and bravado. “Now, Charlotte, what I could offer you is something worth its weight in gold. A business deal. We could air your talent all across the Nine Circles and give a whole new meaning to the boob tube.”

Charlie took her hand back from where Vox had been cradling it like a valuable object. “Thank you for the offer, Vox, but you know my rule: no making deals. Not with any demon. I’m sure you understand.”

Vox sulked while Valentino laughed in his direction, the acrid smoke from his weed-laced stogie blowing across Vox’s massive face.

As Charlie finally approached him, Alastor waved his hand across the tabletop, summoning two long flutes and the most expensive champagne currently in existence in the world above. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the cork popped off, and the bottle floated through the air and filled up each glass. It was their little ritual, after the show. She was always there to enjoy a glass or two with him, depending on how busy she was.

And doing it like this also left his hands available to pull Charlie into his lap, and of course she giggled, letting him. “Hi, Al,” she said, with a familiarity that none of the other Overlords received.

“Darling Charlie,” he said, offering her a glass. She took it.

“So what are you going to offer me? Riches? All of Pentagram City?”

“Ha ha! Oh no,” he said, “no deals from me. You set that tone the day we met, my dear. Remember? No handshakes, no...how did you put it? Voodoo strings attached?”

She drank from the glass, nearly choking on it. “How could I forget?”

"But I suppose I could try… Just for fun."

She raised an eyebrow, the glass at her lips. Try me, her expression challenged.

Alastor's hand moved just a fraction at her waist, squeezing without pulling her too tight. "Perhaps I'll give you the most valuable thing I own. Something that I would never offer to anyone else, even those dearest to me."

"And what would that be?"

With her sitting on his lap, he spoke directly to her and only to her. He would not have a single one of those loathsome busy-bodies hear him, lest he erase them all just for being present. "Me, my dear. This nobody radio spokesman, his monocle and his microphone, all yours, now and forever.”

“But what would you get, Alastor?”

“How could you ask me such a thing, dearest? You, of course, and that on top of an end to my eternal torment of having to watch you from afar every week. I’m sure there would be some other perks too…”

Charlie laughed, but not in a way that seemed to be mocking him. Never like that. Never in a way that made him feel any ill will toward her. Indeed, all he could really feel was an even deeper fondness, a delight in continuing the chase, even though it probably would have made his heart explode if she had indeed said ‘yes.’ “Oh, Al,” she said, giving his shoulder a small smack. “I’m so glad you always come to my shows. You’re so funny, it always makes me smile.”

She leaned in and gave him the softest peck on the cheek before finishing her drink and rising.

“See you later, Al.”

Alastor just barely held it in before she walked away, until he and his microphone, and frankly the seat that he was in, burst into flames.

---

June 6. Only a handful of weeks later, and it was Alastor’s birthday. One would think that it wouldn’t mean much to one such as the Radio Demon, but...Alastor loved his birthday. He had fond memories of being treated well on his birthday, and his mother would take him on outings his father wasn’t allowed to go on, and she made him a huge cake.

That’s when he got his first radio. What had she done to get it? He didn’t know.

After that, it was all history.

Now, he made his way back to Mimzy’s, where the whole place had been opened up for him, for everyone. Electroswing played over several record players in all corners of the club, and although there were probably a few stereos set up, they were out of sight.

“Alastor!” The curvaceous Mimzy pushed several demons bodily away so she could take his hands in hers, giggling while her feather swayed along with her flapper dress. “Happy birthday, love.”

“Mimzy, my gal, you really do know how to throw this old dog a bone, don’t you? Did you invite all my friends?”

“Pssh!” She bumped him in the side. “Honey, you know if it was just your friends this place would be deader than a nail in a coffin!”

They laughed together, just as they always did. And always would, Alastor imagined. No one else had the same kind of twisted sense of humor as he did, after all, or that same certain chemistry, except for maybe--

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the birthday boy himself!”

"Rosie!” Alastor strode up to the black-eyed demon, kissing the air on either side of her cheeks while she did the same. “A pleasure to see you as always, beautiful. So glad to have you show tonight.”

“Why, or chance missing out on my dearest friend’s special day?” She reached up to straighten his suit coat and tie. “Not for all the world! Here, my dear. For you.” Presenting a wrapped box with a bow, she placed it into his free hand.

“What could this be? It’s small, so I do hope you didn’t take anything off Vox he’ll miss too much…”

“Oh, you. So nasty, Alastor.” She still laughed behind her hand.

Alastor slipped his microphone cane under his arm so he could tear past the wrapping paper, open the box and-- “A new monocle! Oh, Rosie, you know me so well.” It was identical to the old one, but it was one of their many birthday traditions. Normally he would have thrown out the old one, but instead he put it in his pocket.

“So that you will never miss sight of the important things, in front of you as plain as the nose on your face.”

There were other gifts too - a free blowjob certificate from Angel Dust, a casino chip from Husker that said ‘UP’ on one side and ‘YOURS’ on the other, a promise for a fanfiction commission from Niffty (he didn’t exactly understand that one) - but then, an hour into the night, he saw her, and even just her presence was enough to make every birthday but this one mean nothing.

Charlie wore a champagne dress in the fashion of the twenties, not as short as the flapper skirts but with a long slip up the side. Her heels looked like they were made of glass, and there were sparkling jewels in a band across the top of her hair, pushed back in all its splendor from her face. Her long gloves were gold, as was the glitter atop her beautiful eyes, which caught his with a smile.

Someone was talking to him. He immediately walked away in mid-sentence.

No one could be as important.

“Good evening, Miss Charlie,” he greeted, the static in his words evening out to the soft velvet tone of his natural speaking voice. “Gosh, you sure do look pretty tonight.”

“Happy birthday, Al,” she said, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear. “It seemed like the type of occasion I would like to be presentable for.”

She offered him her hand. He took it. And when he pressed his lips to it, she didn’t pull away.

“I didn’t think I’d see you,” he said, though he didn’t seem serious, which made her smile.

“Oh no?”

“I thought you would be hiding in a cake until midnight.”

There it was, her laugh again, bright and vibrant and slightly musical, like windchimes in a hurricane. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not especially.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to a quiet corner where there was a high-top table he could lean on, a window overlooking the city behind: the clocktower, the red landscape, and above, a hint of Heaven, the silverish orb cut by clouds. Though he didn’t like gazing at it for too long; when one looked at Heaven, it would end up feeling like Heaven was looking back. “Because then everyone else would get to watch you too, and it truly is hard on a man, already having to share every week…”

“Well,” she said, reaching out to tug the cuff of his sleeve. “I’m not always doing it for all of them, you know. Sometimes I just have one or two people in mind, who could be out in the crowd…”

“If only you tell me who the other person is, I could casually introduce them to massive bodily harm. By complete coincidence, of course. An unfortunate accident! Ha ha!”

“Alastor!” There was a smile she hid, even though she did playfully slap his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll never hurt someone over me. I’m not going to stand to lose sleep over the thought that you would do something untoward and damn yourself even more, in light of what I’ve been trying to do with the hotel.”

Alastor tipped his head at a rather sharp angle, his smile never even faltering. “Well, dearest, I’ll consider it, but...I guess that all depends on one thing…”

“And what’s that?”

His red eyes grew heavier, and he gazed at her from top to bottom. When he spoke, the words came out a dark tease. “What did you get me for my birthday, Princess?”

Charlie’s mouth opened and then closed, and Alastor really did intend to laugh and tell her that he was only teasing, that her presence, that the time that he could spend with her was gift enough. But then, she was grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the stage. “I have just the thing,” she said, her eyes and face lit up with excitement. “Come with me, Al, I know just the thing.”

Beneath the surface, Alastor’s heart beat fast, a snare drum facing a repetitive beating while a whole line of dancers Lindy-Hopping across it. But he wasn’t about to show how thrilled he was.

“That is, if I’m not stealing you away,” she said, pausing.

“My dear girl, by all means, it would be my pleasure to be stolen by you.”

She giggled, and they were off. Through the silent dark behind the curtain, down a small hall to the currently locked-up VIP lounges.

“Are you going to give me a dance?” he guessed.

“Not just any dance,” she said as she closed and locked the door behind him. Turning on the light, the room glowed with a soft yellowish burn, not blinding but creating a shimmer across a black couch and a table so clean that the ceiling above - glittering with pieces of glass that had been embedded into the surface like stones under a river - reflected off of it.

And then she moved a black velvet cloth, and underneath...the biggest martini glass that Alastor had ever seen.

“It’s a dance no one has ever seen,” she murmured, crawling across the table into his lap. She reached behind him - oh, the smell of her, honey dust and a little gingery, across her skin, lips so close - and pulled out a bottle of champagne, a glass and his favorite Lucky Strikes. “I was going to debut it next week...and I was thinking you would get a preview.”

The corners of Alastor’s mouth went softer, and he lit up one of the cigarettes, blowing the plume of smoke into a heart over her head. “That, darling, would be an honor.”

With a little trill of delight, Charlie hopped off the couch, much to Alastor’s disappointment. She went over to a stand that held a music device of some kind, a stereo, and she picked at the settings.

“I certainly hope I haven’t taken someone’s spot,” he commented, glancing at how conspicuously clean the space was.

“I use this area as rehearsal space. Sometimes Vaggie will come hang out with me and give me some notes, but...Angel Dust doesn’t get to know. I don’t trust him not to use it.”

“Very wise.” He popped the cork off the champagne bottle, and it tickled his nose as he smelled it. Pink, and strawberries, and bubbles. Very Charlie. He poured a glass and drank it, setting the bottle on the table. “Ready when you are, vixen.”

She blushed over her shoulder as she straightened, and just like that, the room filled with the sound of trombones, horns and great orchestral instruments, like there wasn’t one but several big bands playing in the corners of the room.

Charlie spun around, her gown following her as she pointed a finger at the glass. It filled with champagne, like it was pouring from a giant bottle in the ceiling.

And then the dance began. Alastor stared up at her adoringly as she kicked her long legs in time to the music, twisting with her hips and raising her hands like she was dancing with an invisible partner. She brought up her hands like she was putting them on someone’s shoulders, and when she stepped back, her gloves magically slid off.

When she looked up at the glass, she did a little twirl before she removed her jewels: the necklace at her neck, the bracelet she wore...even that seemed lurid in a way, even though she was probably just being practical so they wouldn’t be lost in the liquid. Then, the band of dazzling jewels came out of her hair and it flowed all the bigger, full of volume, an entirely separate beast on her head.

Now that no one was here, to see him, to see her, Alastor allowed himself a whistle. She winked. Such a coy, vampy thing…

Although they weren’t the tap shoes like she had at the circus show, she did a little stepping across the stage with such casual skill that he didn’t realize she had stepped out of the glassy heels until she was flipping herself upside down on the pole-like stem of the martini glass. Then, she expertly bent, grabbing the edge and swinging herself up.

Alastor had figured that would be it, that she would be in the basin of champagne, soaked to the bone. But no; as her toes touched the other side of the glass, she lifted herself above it, not even the hem of her beautiful gown skimming the surface.

The gown that was quickly kicked off as she did a handstand on the edge of the glass’s lip.

“Oh my,” Alastor sighed to himself, trying to be as covert as possible as he reached down the rearrange himself. How could this be happening? He was usually so aware of himself, able to control his animal nature , as it were, but...there was something about being here, like this, alone with her…

Alone with her, in a shimmering corset, those legs - sweet Lucifer, those legs - adorned with garters and stockings that went from her thighs to her toes as they spun around like a ballerina doll in a music box around the glass.

Then, she bowed, her back to him, and leaned down low to trail her fingers up from ankles to the clasps, unsnapping them and allowing the stockings to loosen. Her hands went to the corset binding at her back and made quick work of pulling the strings out of their knot, though it was clearly some magic in how they disbanded after that…

When she glanced over her shoulder at him, the curve of her back and waist coming into view, he could still only see just what she wanted him to see; none of her breasts, not even her ass.

Not until she did a little pirouette and took her frilly white panties off, tossing them in his general direction.

He launched himself from his seat, then. The champagne in his glass had been drunk but the bottle fell with a crash as he grabbed them, burying his face in them, eyes rolling in his head. They went into his jacket pocket.

Finally, once the stockings had been peeled off her legs while she held them at a straight angle above her head, the music reaching its crashing conclusion, Charlie finally met the water with a delighted laugh, her bare body covered in the bubbles as she kicked her feet, hair spilling over the edge.

When the room became silent again, she gazed at him and breathily asked, “How was that?” She didn’t make a move to get out. Only batted her long lashes at him.

Now, Alastor was a man of principle. His moral compass, though broken and put back together with glue, kept him on a straight path. Not a proper one, or one that most people would find right or kind, let alone good...but he would certainly never take advantage of someone in the situation that Charlie had created for herself.

That said...he also knew an invitation when he saw one.

So off went his jacket, at least, because that was the only thing he had the energy or concentration to deal with. One nimble hop later and the champagne splashed in the martini glass as he got inside, immediately soaked through and between Charlie’s legs.

No pasties this time. Not even a thong. Only her creamy skin, pert pink little nipples, a happy little shriek and a smile. Sweet. Devoid of any ignorance as to what she wanted. Which was obviously him.

Their first kiss was like an entire lifetime without kissing that had led to this moment. She was grabbing his hair and pulling him in, even though it made her slip a little below the surface. He brought her back up, pressed into his front, and licked the champagne from her lips.

“Al…” Before he could interrupt her, she sucked his bottom lip and gasped, “I’ve wanted you to do that forever. What took you so long?”

“Obviously my predilections of coming off as a gentleman, dear girl.” He picked a strand of wet hair from her face, pushing it back. Already, his long body dragged between her legs, and she grabbed his shirt. “A bias I am finding myself stripping away as we speak…”

“Instead of your pants?” Her cheeks glowed pink, and he could tell that even though she was trying to be bold, part of her wondered if this was really happening. Just as well as he was, frankly. A tiny part that he was smothering, but...a part nevertheless.

“Those will come too, in time,” he whispered, mouth finding her neck, so soft, sinful in how easy it was to nip and bite at, although she was eagerly reaching down to hold his small waist tight against her body. The wet clothes should have been more bothersome, and yet he just simply could not be bothered to deal with them as he rutted against her thigh.

“Al...Alastor…”

Beneath the water, he could see the sweet little tuft of blond over her mound, and his long fingers parted her folds easily, pressing two in and using his thumb on her clit. The bud was hard, and it made him wonder what it would be like to do this in a place where they both were not submerged, to feel how wet she could get. After all…

“I could smell your arousal on those undergarments you gave me,” Alastor cooed, dropping his head down to her breast and dragging his teeth. “I think you knew I would, Princess…”

“Don’t say things like that.” She was whining, opening her legs wide until her dainty feet made a skidding noise against the angled sides of the glass. “I can’t handle it…”

“Do all your dances get you wet? Or is that just for me?” She didn’t answer, hiding her face in his shoulder, shaking hands so close to orgasm clawing at his back. He would cherish those scratch marks… “Be mine and I promise there would be more…”

As if on the cue of saying that, he pulled his fingers out, which wrung a frustrated half-groan from her, but the loss was quickly replaced by his cock that had been pulled out of his pants, pushed down only far enough to free it. Grabbing her with one hand and the edge of the glass with the other, he thrust in hard, and she immediately started to fall apart, already hovering on the cliff face of her pleasure, now plummeting down into it…

Until he pulled her back, slowing the roll of his hips, making shudder. “What...nooo...Al…”

“Don’t make me beg.” Maybe it was the exertion of taking her like this, but it came out like a crooning under his breath, like his own song. “Don’t make me wait anymore. You know I can treat you so well, Charlie...I can be so good to you…”

“Good…” She kissed him again, tongue in his mouth, feeling over his sharp teeth. “So good…”

When he urged her legs around him, he fit so perfectly, tight and close, filling her with him as he moved in with rhythmic, repetitive thrusts, his eagerness apparent as he panted around her lips, sucking her jaw as the edges of reality blurred, like the end of a radio station before the knob is turned to static.

“Please, Charlie...please...be mine, or erase me from this afterlife. I would rather be the Overlord of nothing, if you won’t have me…”

“D-don’t...mmm, yes, yes, right there... don’t say that…” When he pulled back from him slightly, meeting his gaze, her eyes were conflicted with desire and emotion. “You mean...more to me than anything. I am so glad that you exist…just...let me…!”

The girl was insatiable, it seemed. Although he was being rather cruel, wasn’t he...withholding her delight. Alastor flipped her over, a new, full moan of delight coming from her lips as he went at her from another angle. He was following her close now in pursuit of his peak, climbing, a hand reaching under her to grope at her chest. “Then...mmm, let us share this existence...please, Charlie...say you’ll be mine, I will show you true ecstasy…I--”

“Yes!! You...mmmmm, you win, Alastor...please, please let me come…!”

Twisting her head to face him, she kissed him as he found the apex of her heat again and rubbed, both of them coming, and he filled her up with him and for a moment, his hearing going to a flatline, a steady tone of nothing, and in his shadow he could see his own demonic smile, his antlers sprout, his body growing to tower above the world. Everything filled with that endless pleasure, that loss of control, and he blacked out from it.

“--tor. --Astor? --Alastor!”

The sound of her voice called him back, and when he awoke, he was collapsed beside her in the martini glass. Now, the sensation of carbonated fluid soaking through his clothes was a little more prevalent, but he smiled. “You took my breath away, my dear!”

She laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. This one lingered, different from the ones she always gave him at the club. “Did you hear me?”

“My ears are still ringing, in fact.”

“Not that,” she said, giving him a little splash. “My answer...I gave you an answer, Alastor. After...well, all that.”

Stroking her wet hair back, Alastor rubbed at the top of her ear between his fingers. “Tell me again…”

---

It is a few weeks later. They are at Mimzy’s together in their own private booth, and the Overlords are glowering from their normal station. Charlie is in a corset with a silky negligee over it, and although she isn’t performing, there’s nothing saying that she’s not going to give Alastor a private show.

After Alastor’s birthday, she had intended on performing the martini glass act, but then she reconsidered.

“I want to tweak it,” she says from Alastor’s lap as they sip yet more champagne. He would have thought she’d be tired of it, but she still wants it. She says she’ll only drink it with him now, but they’ll see. “After how your birthday went, I kind of want it to be special. Just for us.”

“You’re going to make me blush.” Then, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small box. “Speaking of things that are special, I might have gotten something for you, love.”

Charlie opens the box to find the monocle he replaced during his birthday with the one from Rosie. It has been threaded onto a silver chain, and she holds it to her chest. “I love it. Put it on me?”

He does, sneaking a kiss onto the nape of her neck. It sits perfectly between her breasts.

“Perhaps in time I’ll get you something else that’s round...and smaller. And you’ll wear it somewhere else.”

Charlie’s lips curl into a smile, and she picks up her glass, eyebrows raising. He knows exactly what she wants.

“To my dear Princess Charlotte Magne,” he says, voice full and triumphant. “My beautiful lady, my demoness, love of my unlife. My one and only.”

She lets her glass touch his with a soft tink and she tips her head to whisper, “Yours,” before slipping into one of many kisses.

#my paperfics #hazbin hotel #charlastor #charlie magne #alastor #alastor is charliesexual #future au with burlesque!#dirty paper warning #dirty paper

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laine-o · 4 years

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who are some artists u take inspiration from / are some of ur inspirations? love ur art btw :)

Wow I’m so sorry it took me awhile to get back to you anon! This was a hard one. I haven’t thought of my inspirations lately since they have changed a bit. I tried to keep these relevant more to my anime art since that’s what I’m more known for, but some are influences on more of my original art that I hope someday I’ll feel brave enough to share with you all.

From left to right, top to bottom.

CLAMP (Magic Knight Rayearth) - they were the reason I started drawing manga/anime artwork at all back in early 2000′s for me. The only “shoujo” artists on this list, I was really taken by the eyes they drew at the time and it still can be seen a little bit today, though I’ve really tried to steer myself away from the large pointed eyes with thick lashes and elongated bodies that plagued my art for a long time. I’ll always love their compositions, use of color and just how they use marker.

Yusuke Murata (Street Fighter fan art) - known for Eyeshield21 and One Punch-Man. This man can draw anything. His sense of anatomy, foreshortening and movement is breathtaking. I love the lighting and rendering as well. He also has a knack for creating really original faces and he doesn’t have the “same-face” syndrome problem. Just top-notch. I don’t aim to be as shonen in style as him, but I hope to start being able to add more dynamic poses into my work.

Kyohiko Azuma (Yotsubato!) - known for Azumanga Daioh and Yotsubato! I really love the comedy and slice of life genres lately. I love softer styles and I really adore the more simplistic approach he has to his character design that really allows the slice of life genre to shine through his art. Despite the simplicity, it still is very anatomically technical. It’s simple, but warm and effective and very soft. His skill in backgrounds as well is phenomenal. I think it’s a whole atmosphere he creates and the story he tells in his illustrations that I would love to apply to my own work if I can. I also related a lot to an interview where he stated he struggles blending little Yotsuba into the world he created because she’s so different stylistically from all the characters, so it’s a lot of fun and helpful to see how he accomplishes this throughout the manga and the panels.

Masashi Kishimoto (Naruto) - of course one of my biggest influences due to all the SasuSaku I draw. I think his style is very effective. It’s also I think more on the simpler side actually (if you compare it to CLAMP and Murata’s). But it’s so dynamic and full of strong composition and memorable character designs. I really appreciate how by his influence, I never really stopped drawing thanks to the characters, Sasuke and Sakura, that he created that had such an impact on me.

Xia Da (Song of the Long March AKA Choukakou) - This one is a manhua artist. Her inking and watercolor artwork is absolutely phenomenal. Definitely someone I look up to when I’m inking my own pieces, I would love to be at her level of skill someday. Primarily an inspo for inking.

Kamome Shirahama (Atelier of Witch Hat) - another artist with phenomenal inking skills that I really admire. She’s also really good at drawing children! But I definitely believe she can draw anything, the fact that she has crossed the barrier to illustrate comic covers for both DC and Marvel is just incredible to me and a testament to how much skill she possesses. Primarily an inspo for inking.

Kozue Amano (Aria) - Known for Aqua, Aria, and Amanchu (lots of A’s!). Her ability to design precious soft characters, gorgeous scenery, and write a beautiful and gentle slice of life fantasy tale has always made her one of my absolute favorites. I absolutely love how she colors her works.

Adachitoka (Noragami) - this is a team who does characters and background art. It’s not a secret that I love watercolor. I also love the movement and action and fighting scenes from this manga. The fact that this team is female and broke through with a popular shonen series is simply amazing. I hope to be as good as they are in drawing figures and in watercolor someday.

James Gurney (Dinotopia) - the master of creating fantasy worlds and making it look like it EXISTS with his painting skills. His “Color and Light” book is an absolute staple (I have it always ready as reference) and it’s a must if you want to give your lighting that more realistic feel. I think my love of lighting really came from growing up with the Dinotopia series. He is always constantly sharing his wisdom as well on his website and twitter and just an amazing and inspiring person for generations of artists.

Makoto Shinkai (Kimi no Na Wa) - This movie’s aesthetics (especially the lush backgrounds), surrealism, and existentialism really spoke to me. I adore the starry skies and heavens and clouds. Screencaps of his movies fill my phone as a quick reference whenever I’m rendering some complex lighting or trying to create some sort of composition with the sky.

Studio Ghibli/Hayao Miyazaki (Kiki’s Delivery Service) - nothing really needs to be said especially given my love for the details in all the movies, the fantastic scenes involving flying in the sky, the gorgeous backgrounds, and the delicious food. Always a good choice to use as a reference for anything with nature or even cluttered cozy houses and rooms and greenhouses. It’s still a desire to delve more into world building for me and I’ll be using these movies for reference. I also keep tons of their artwork in my phone as reference.

Satoru Takizawa (Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild) - Known for his work with Twilight Princess and Breath of the wild. You know where I’m going with this - he is the MASTER of ambient lighting. I love his rough and loose painting style that I wish I could achieve someday, but I still have a tendency to over-render. A great resource for learning how to world-build and for concept art.

Andrew Loomis - anatomy and figure drawing master. At the end of this list, but not the least important by a long shot. His book I think is not the most beginner friendly in terms of seeing basic shapes and breaking down the form (I think his construction is still more on the complex side), but it’s a good place to start and keep grinding until it “makes sense.” It took me years, but once it started clicking, I have him to thank for it because my anatomy was an absolute mess because of my background of starting from CLAMP’s art style. Buy his book and make it your bible. Attend figure drawing classes. If you want to illustrate people no matter how simple, you must make studying anatomy a part of your process.

Lastly - some original artists to check out who I like the inking, watercolor skills, and concepts of that closely align with my interests for my own original art.

meyoco - twitter, instagram

maruti_bitamin - twitter, instagram, tumblr

Qinniart - twitter, instagram

Some mangaka honorable mentions -

Takeshi Obata (Death Note, Bakuman)

Kaoru Mori (Emma, Otoyomegatari)

Satsuki Yoshino (Barakamon)

This was super long, I apologize, but it’s something I’m passionate about. I love art to pieces. I think a lot of what I admire is very technical - anatomy and lighting. I think my influences also reflect my aim to be more proficient at watercolor and inking. And lastly, world-building, fantasy/cosmos, and background art. I think a lot of what I really love though, is color and lighting and that’s found within any of these artists. :)

Thanks for the question anon! You allowed me to geek out on art for about an hour while I wrote this out.

#anon #asks #my asks #laine-o responds #Anonymous

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weasley-gal · 4 years

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Cindy’s Top Ten Movies of 2019!

Ahhh...2019. In the interest of building suspense, I could be all cagey about this countdown, but let's face it: For me, 2019 was the Year of Rocketman. As lousy as the real-world year was, it was salvaged by Rocketman. Someone suggested in jest (maybe?) that Rocketman should be numbers one through ten on my year-end list, and that would be fair enough; HOWEVER...I did like some other movies this year, so I'm gonna give you--yes YOU, dear reader(s)--ten of my favorites. Just know in your hearts that the other nine fall way behind number one. Way, WAY behind.

The usual disclaimers:

A movie's position on my year-end list does not necessarily reflect its original Weasley score. Some films age well, bear up, and even improve under repeat viewings. Some...well...some do not. Also, I live in a rinky-dink town, so great movies like JoJo Rabbit and 1917--pictures that almost certainly would have found spots here or gotten very close--have not made themselves available to me yet. This is disappointing, but unsurprising. I'd hung my entire holiday break on the prospect of seeing 1917, only to discover on Christmas Day that its Christmas opening was limited release, and I have to wait until January 10th. Humbug. Finally, I think three or four of these movies already made Variety's "worst of" list for 2019, so kindly do not be too shocked when I diverge from The Serious Critics (TM).

Without further ado, presenting my top ten films of 2019:

TEN

"The most important qualification for any leader is not wanting to be leader."

THE TWO POPES

2019 threw me a nice surprise on its way out the celestial door, with the Netflix original The Two Popes. It's a deliberate, thoughtful, and timely film carried by a pair of the year's most exquisite performances: Jonathan Pryce as Pope Francis and Anthony Hopkins as Pope Benedict XVI. While the subject matter is weighty, this movie is an absolute delight.

NINE

"I'm glad I'm a revelation and not a disappointment."

DOWNTON ABBEY

This big-screen adaptation of the popular television series Downton Abbey, is, in fact, something of a revelation. A totally new story in the familiar and much-loved setting, with just the right amount of fan service, it is a joyful exercise that hits nearly every note perfectly. Making its case for the big screen are breathtaking costumes and production design...and Mr. Barrow finally seeing a bit of happiness doesn't hurt, either.

EIGHT

"We're gonna bury Ferrari at Le Mans."

FORD V FERRARI

At a glance, Ford v Ferrari might seem like a film appealing exclusively to car enthusiasts; however, that assumption does a great disservice to both the film and the viewer. Ford v Ferrari is an inspiring story about people. It's a nail-biter from start to finish, it has heart to spare, and it's fronted by great turns from Matt Damon and Christian Bale. Beautifully filmed race action makes this one to see on the biggest screen you can find.

SEVEN

"It always fits...eventually."

SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE

Technically, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is a last-year movie, but for me it's a this-year movie, and--despite its being the very first film I saw way back in January, 2019--it's far too great to leave off my best-of list. A Marvel property in the hands of Sony, Spider-Verse is smart, funny, touching, and better than the entire Avengers catalog combined.

SIX

"This is a twisted web, and we are not finished untangling it, not yet."

KNIVES OUT

Knives Out is a great piece of original cinema crafted from artful twists, clever humor, and terrific performances, layered with a gorgeous Gothic setting and an ominous score. Written and directed by Rian Johnson, this perfect murder mystery is a huge creative and financial win for the cinema, and I recommend it without hesitation or qualification.

FIVE

"This is the worst...and best...and most terrible...excellent thing that's ever happened to me!"

THE KID WHO WOULD BE KING

Hands up if you missed the Kid Who Would Be King at your local cinema? Yeah, I see you, ALL of you. The good news is that one of the year's most wonderful pictures is now available for streaming and download, and you shouldn't make the same mistake twice. The Kid Who Would Be King is a charming movie, great fun for people of all ages. Truly one of the year's best.

FOUR

"Si vis pacem, para bellum."

JOHN WICK: CHAPTER 3 — PARABELLUM

The John Wick franchise has become quite the phenomenon, and deservedly so. Continually upping the action ante in Fast-and-Furious-like fashion, these movies are so much more than just your garden-variety shoot 'em ups and beat 'em ups. John Wick is the role Keanu Reeves was born to play, and Parabellum raises the stakes for Wick while doubling down on masterful fight choreography and stunning cinematography. Here's to many more adventures for John Wick!

THREE

"Bruce is the direct line to all that's true in this world!"

BLINDED BY THE LIGHT

Blinded by the Light is another terrific picture that didn't exactly set the box office on fire. Inspired by the true story of one Springsteen superfan, and built on the Boss's epic catalog, it's a hopeful tale about overcoming prejudice and the limitations set for us by ourselves and by others, one of the year's most inspiring movies.

TWO

"Tell the truth to everyone, whenever you can."

YESTERDAY

Yesterday is yet another of 2019's under-appreciated gems, a beautiful, unique movie fashioned around the timeless music of the Beatles. Himesh Patel is a delight in the lead, and--while the premise requires suspension of disbelief--Yesterday is a charming picture that captivates with its "what ifs?" as well as its iconic soundtrack and enchanting cast.

ONE

"You were never ordinary."

ROCKETMAN

My number one movie of the year, and of the decade, was set on May 31st, when I saw Rocketman for the first time. I saw the movie at least twice a week as long as it was at my local cinema. I've watched at least part of it every day since it became available for home viewing. Outside of a week or so around each of the wonderful concerts I saw this summer, I've listened to nothing but the Rocketman soundtrack since the end of May. My phone and all my desktops have Rocketman wallpapers. I've joked (hmm?) that I only speak Rocketman now. The truth is, I'm not interested in speaking anything else. Pre-Rocketman, it had been a decade since a new movie made its way into my all-time top ten. Then there was Rocketman. Pre-Rocketman, my favorite acting performance hadn't changed since 1993. Then there was Taron Egerton's astonishing turn as Elton John. Pre-Rocketman, I was finding reasons to stay away from the movies. Then there was Dexter Fletcher showing us the beauty of real imagination. Rocketman is more than just a well-crafted film that reflects on an iconic artist's inspiring life. It is a film that uses Elton John's art to tell his story in fantastic, creative fashion. It is a film that uses exquisite detail in its styling and costumes to further its vision. It is a film that draws something sparkling and new out of a classic discography. It is a film that is not bound by dull, linear timelines or small minds. It is a film that surrounds a performance for the ages with others that bear it up. It is a film that shows, however dark the times, you will find the light. In doing all these things, it is a film that is saving lives. Rocketman is a film that is, in every way, magnificent. Thank you, Dexter Fletcher and company, for giving us this beautiful movie. Whatever the critics say and whoever wins the prizes as Awards Season bears down upon us, nobody has done anything more valuable this cinema year.

A few Honorable (and Dis-Honorable) Mentions:

While Taron Egerton deserves all the awards, all the time, for his work in Rocketman, there were some other performances this year that also gave me life:

Jamie Bell (Rocketman): Without Bell's Bernie Taupin as his stalwart cornerstone, Egerton's Elton could not have flown. It's a lovely, understated performance that has been grossly underappreciated.

Tom Holland (Marvel Cinematic Universe): Holland is a real gem, a standout who consistently steals the show from bigger names who get weightier work in the MCU. No matter how good, bad, or painfully bloated the movie, Holland is an absolute delight.

Renee Zellweger (Judy): Who knew it was even possible for me to stop hating Renee Zellweger? Well played, 2019.

Rebecca Ferguson (The Kid Who Would Be King/Doctor Sleep): There was little I enjoyed more this year than watching Ferguson chew her way through this pair of pictures. Oh, and if I start walking around wearing a hat, don't ask, m-kay?

Chris Evans (Knives Out): God, I love seeing Chris Evans do *anything* besides Captain America. Bonus points if he gets to be funny. He's really funny, despite his obscenely gorgeous mug.

John Boyega/Oscar Isaac (Star Wars: Episode IX — The Rise of Skywalker): These two, individually and together, draw joy out of what's otherwise a fairly mundane exercise. If Finn and Poe somehow jumped to another saga in the Star Wars universe, I wouldn't complain.

The Cast of Jumanji: The Next Level: Top to bottom, a perfectly cast film, and a lesson in how the right actors can elevate any property.

As a matter of interest, if you watch the Irishman and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood back to back, you can effectively calculate how many hours you'll wish you had back when you're on your deathbed.

I would like a word with Gary Oldman's and Sebastian Stan's agents, please.

Cats: Make. It. Stop. Please, just...make it stop.

As this most challenging year winds to a close, I wanted to offer a sincere thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my reviews, and especially those who engage on any of our various platforms. Special thanks to Daniel for allowing me to be a part of his great page, and for tolerating my unceasing randomness. (Hotel Transylvania 4 in 2021, my friend!) I take no one's support for granted, and I’m ever grateful for you all. I wish our readers many blessings as this festive season comes to a close and we roll into 2020. See you at the movies!

#movies #top ten #rocketman #yesterday #blinded by the light #john wick #the kid who would be king #knives out #spider-man #into the spider-verse #ford v ferrari #downton abbey #the two popes

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leoswritingcorner · 4 years

Text

an oracle in olympus pt. 4

wow, this one didn’t take as long! nice.

lucky meets another olympian

part 4 of ?

A week goes by, and then another.

Lucky thinks it's safe to breathe again. No deities have appeared, or tried to spirit her away - save for Lucy and Jamie who occasionally stopped by. The day after they brought her home from Olympus, Jamie had gifted Lucky with a new phone.

“This is, like, one of my older Iris-Phones! It still, like, totally works great though!” Jamie explained, holding the cell out to Lucky.

Lucky took the phone and looked over its sleek and advanced design.

“So it’s an...iPhone?” she asked. It was dusty pink and had various heart stickers Jamie had stuck around it. Jamie blew a raspberry.

“Apple, like, wishes it could be an Iris-Phone. But, like, mortal phones can’t, like, connect to our devices or get service from Olympus. I cleaned out, like, all the contacts, except for Lucy and me. So you can like, keep in touch with us!” She said, smiling brightly. “Also, we’ll keep you, like, posted with Cherry too.”

The phone buzzes and a text pops up on the group chat. Two ½ Immortals. Lucy thought it was a hilarious group name.

good morning, charmz! xoxo

Jamie’s message pops up right after.

Happy Fri-YAY!!!! You made it through your second week of work!!! (ten heart emojis followed).

Lucky leans against the wall of the breakroom and types a quick reply. Thanks, y’all! I’m about to start so I’ll text ya both after. Still nothing from Cherry? She taps send and Jamie responds promptly.

Nothing yet, dear :( :’(

Of course. Nothing. Lucky tilts her head back and sighs. She’s relieved. She thinks for a moment, she might be okay with Cherry never finding out anything concerning Tyche and herself. She could go on being normal Lucky Siddalee Day, twenty-four year old from Savannah, Georgia. Someone who didn’t have anything fantastical happen to her.

The sight of the ceiling darkens as she closes her eyes, and lets herself a moment of peace before the likely hustle of today’s work. Completely normal.

It begins slowly, a gentle tingling in her chest. At first, she passes it off as remaining nerves. But this felt different. Her skin prickles as if pins were being poked against her, only then to feel a brush of something light as feathers. It makes her breath hitch in her throat. Lucky’s hand presses to the spot on her chest that kept Hades in question. It felt warm, and only grew warmer as the sensations she felt intensified more and more.

Wake up. Remember. Wake up! Remember!

The words flash through her mind like lightning. They repeated over and over frantically, as if a voice begging from somewhere hidden.

“Lucky! Hey, are you here?” Rebecca’s voice calls. Lucky’s body jolts and her eyes fly open to see her friend’s head poking through the doorway. “C’mon!” Her coworker urges. “You got three field trips today. Two elementary classes, and one middle.”

Lucky can barely remember the sensations she had felt and her thoughts are her own again. She nods to Rebecca. “Yeah, I’ll be right out.” She answers shakily, slipping the phone into her vest pocket. Taking one last glance into the mirror, she adjusts her work clothes. Blouse and vest, neatly pressed, pencil skirt and short heeled shoes - professional, but comfy for long tours. Especially leading groups of hyper primary students.

“Welcome to Jurassic World.” Lucky sighs at her reflection.

4:30 PM comes around and only thirty more minutes stood between Lucky and the freedom to enjoy her weekend. The museum is mostly empty. A few people here and there, but mainly all moving towards the exit doors. She spies around the Grecian Mythos and Art exhibit, feeling a swell of pride flow through her. Each piece here carried a piece of history on it. Sculptures and painters from centuries ago, able to live on in the artwork they created. She was able to be part of it all. Lucky smiles proudly to herself and sits down on the bench, across from Apollo Sauroktonos and lets feeling come back to her feet and legs with a relieved breath.

The peace only lasts a moment when she feels someone’s presence by her. They take a seat next to her and huff. “I never liked that.” They mutter.

“Hm?” Lucky blinks, glancing at them. It was a young man, likely around her age. Even from just his profile, she can tell how striking his looks were. Almost just like a well carved statue that stood the exhibit. He turns his head to her and grins.

Lucky stares at him. His eyes practically shine and glimmer in the setting sun from the window. “That statue,” he says motioning his head towards Apollo Sauroktonos. Lucky blinks and takes a quick glance at it. “It...I dunno, it just didn’t capture something,” he continues, leaning back. “Or...too much of something.”

At that, Lucky laughs lightly. “Well, funnily enough it’s still debated if it’s of Greek or Roman origin,” she begins. “I mean, it is a copy of an original work of Praxiteles,” she explains. Now he’s the one laughing.

“You were a nerd then, T,” he says, “And you’re a nerd now.”

At that, Lucky freezes. Any relaxation that came to her body left, and each muscle within her tensed in alert. He just called her ‘T’. She turns her head back to him and he’s watching her. His eyes really were shimmering gold, as if they held the sunlight within them, practically dancing. That’s when she notices the soft golden hue against his skin. Another Olympian was making an appearance to her.

“I heard you were back, Tyche,” he says with a smile. “Why didn’t you tell me? Hell, I thought I’d be the first one you’d get a hold of.”

Lucky opens and closes her mouth, and shakes her head. “I don’t...um.”

All words of the English vocabulary have suddenly left her, except for ‘uh’, ‘um’, and ‘er’ all coming together in a mash of indistinct muttering.

He pauses, looking over her and realization begins to come over. “Shit, you don’t remember, do you?” He questions. Lucky shrugs helplessly.

“But you gotta remember!” He insists. “I mean, like, we totally love each other!”

Lucky feels her breath catch tightly in her throat. “Y-You’re Clyde?” She asks in a small voice.

At that he pauses and lifts a brow.

“Clyde?” He repeats, nearly offended. “No! T, it’s me. Lucas.” He says, pointing to the statue, then to himself. “Y’know, Apollo.”

Apollo, god of the sun, music, light, and oracles…

If anything, something should have stirred within her if she was really Tyche. Lucky stares at him, and tries to imagine, to remember. She takes a breath and he looks at her hopefully.

“I’m so sorry, dude.” Lucky breathes out. “Nothin’ is clickin’. There’s a chance I ain’t even Tyche. My name is Lucky.”

Lucas frowns, and the light that seemed to shine from him slowly began to dim. The glow of his skin fades slightly. He sits back, looking forward.

“This can’t be. The best oracle…,” he says quietly to himself.

“Um.” Lucky starts awkwardly, standing up. “I’m really sorry. L-Listen, it’s sunset and it’s close to closin’-”

“That’s it!” Lucas snaps his fingers. Suddenly, there’s a brightness to him again. “I have an idea. We- uh, Tyche and I used to love to do this when we could. It’d piss off Zeus.”

Lucky looks at him puzzled. “Anythin’ pisses off Zeus.”

Lucas chuckles, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a pair of keys, flipping them around his finger. “Not as much as taking a mortal for a ride across the sunline.”

Lucky feels her mouth drop open slightly. Lucas jingles the keys. “C’mon, one time across the horizon. If anything, that’ll jog your memory for sure.”

Oh what in the blazes was she doing? Was she really about to get into some strange yellow Camaro that was actually Apollo’s chariot? With updates? Lucas opens the door for her and with a resigned sigh she carefully slips into the car and buckles up.

Guess she really was doing this.

Lucas gets into the driver’s seat and looks to her. “This was one of our favorite things to do. If you don’t remember this, I don’t know what the hell you will remember. Ready?” He asks, starting the engine.

“Ready,” Lucky nods, strapping the seatbelt a bit tighter.

Lucas revs the car a few times before peeling out. Lucky gasps, her body sinking against the seat. His hands move the steering wheel with grace and ease. Lucky dares a glance out the window. No one seemed to notice the car speeding by. A song pulses through, with Lucas tapping a hand along to the beat. “Lost in Yesterday by Tame Impala.” He calls over the music. “One of my favorites to work to.” Lucky’s eyes dart back and forth between him and the road ahead. Still, they manage to avoid cars, people, traffic of all sorts until it all becomes a blur. The sun seemed to come closer to greet them. Lucky cringes, holding her hands up, hoping to block away the brightness.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Lucas says, fishing around the middle console. “Here, Izzy helped me make these. Totally able to block out the sun rays and all that harmful shit,” he says, holding a pair of sunglasses to her. Lucky puts them on. They were tinted a brownish color but she could see everything before them now, sun included.

“We should be over the Pacific now,” Lucas informs her.

“What?” Lucky questions. Sure enough, the road was gone and the car moved over the waving waters of the ocean. Lucky covers her mouth, and looks to Lucas. He grins, turning the car just when it seemed to come to the curve of the horizon.

“Now for the fun part,” Lucas says, as he changes gears with a loud noise. “Sun’s locked.” He nods, revs the engine, and they take off again.

They drive across the ocean, complete darkness before them, and Lucky watches in awe as night gives way to dawn. Beams of light breaking through clouds that rolled and swirled before vanishing. Hazes of orange and yellow flew along beside them and over the car. Her eyes go wide with wonder as she laughs. “Oh my stars.”

Lucas chuckles. “Open the window.” He encourages her. Lucky shoots him an unsure look, but he lowers the windows of both sides. He reaches out an arm, keeping one hand steady on the wheel. Lucky watches with wide eyes as the mixing colors of dawn fly around his hand. “It’s safe.” Lucas assures her.

The wind whips into the car and sends her curls flying back as Lucky leans closer to the window. Hesitantly she reaches out, and feels the cool of the air and spray of the ocean below. Colors seem to dance around her hand and fingers. A stunned and excited look comes over her face. She was practically touching the sunrise. Growing up she had always watched the sunrise back in Savannah, and even a few times on Tybee Island over the beach, but all of those sights now fell short to being the one who lead the dawn across the skies.

Lucas stops the car, and shifts the gears again. There’s another loud noise and he settles back. “And done. A new day here on the other side of earth,” he says proudly. He gives her a grin and presses his fingers to his lips, making a chef’s kiss. “one of my best.”

“Wow.” Lucky breathes. She tips the sunglasses down, and looks at the forming colors of pink and purple of morning. “That was...i-incredible.”

Lucas laughs. “I guess. Tyche freaking got a kick out of it, just like you are.”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Lucky laughs. “Thank you for that experience.”

Lucas shrugs. “Thought it would help,” he says, glancing at her. “So...did it?” Lucky looks away from the scene outside and to him. She doesn’t know what to say. Her heart sinks and her stomach feels heavy with a sort of combination between sadness and guilt. She honestly wished that she could say yes. Lucky shakes her head.

He sighs and leans his head back. Lucky isn’t sure if it’s the sunglasses and the light of dawn messing with her, but she thinks she sees growing tears in his eyes. “Well,” he finally says after a moment. “guess I’ll just have to bug you till something clicks.”

“Ah, join the club,” Lucky huffs. But she flashes him a good natured smile. “Why don’t ya tell me, a bit more about you and Tyche?” She asks. “It might help. Was she a good oracle?”

Lucas turns to her. “A good oracle?” He repeats. “She was the best, and I worked with the girls at Delphi. But Tyche,” He sighs “Tyche was meant for something great. She was favored by most of the gods in Olympus. But mainly me.” Lucas adds.

Lucky snorts, rolling her eyes. “Course.”

“You got her attitude I see.” Lucas chimes. “So we’re on the right path.”

Lucky giggles, resting back. “Guess so. Any stories with y’all?”

Lucas thinks for a moment before laughing. “Oh yeah, there was this time when we went cow tipping in Hermes’ herd and one of them turned out to be a minotaur…” He tells her between laughter as he starts up the car, driving off again.

The sun lingers behind them as they drive back into the night. The reflection of the rising moon catches Lucky’s eyes. A thought like a whisper comes through her mind before it leaves just as softly.

Where are you Tyche?

Saturday morning arrived and Lucky missed it. Lucas had brought her home around 10 pm, and who knew traveling through bended time and space would tire her out? At least they stopped for burgers. Lucas had told her some more stories about Tyche, and some of their misadventures; including accidentally setting off a fire at the Theophania festival. He added his information to her phone.

Now Lucky has three gods on speed dial.

A consistent knocking from the door echoes in the small apartment. Lucky snorts awake. She was on the pullout couch, lost under a swarm of quilts and blankets. The Forrest Gump DVD menu played on loop. “Ugh.” She groans, pushing herself up.

She doesn’t see the half drunk bottle of Rosé at the side of the couch, and she barely pays mind to the scribbles written in a notebook that she kicks under the couch as she stumbles to the door. “Who is it?” She calls out.

The knocking continues. Getting louder and harder.

“I said ‘who is it’ for, Pete's sake!” Lucky snaps, flinging the door open.

Eric stares her down and Lucky stares back up at him.

“Mortal.” He greets sharply.

“Trophy husband.” Lucky retorts.

Eric sneers. He’s not dressed as primly as he was in the underworld. This time he wore a dark peacoat and casual clothes underneath. On the lapel of his coat, however, was a silver pin of a skull covered with rose vines.

“What do ya want?” Lucky asks, keeping the door half shut. “Did Cherry find somethin’?”

“No.” He shakes his head.

Lucky scoffs. “Then why are ya here?” She asks, shutting the door. His hand flies out, blocking it from shutting completely. With a surprising strength he opens the door. Lucky stumbles and glares at him. “What is your damage, flower-child?”

“I’m here to get answers for myself. Are yah really Tyche, or not.” He says, stepping inside. “This is a shit hole.” He states, looking around the studio apartment.

Lucky glares at him. “Ya didn’t have to come in, ya know.” She crosses her arms. “What do ya mean you’re here to get answers?” She demands. Her eyes follow him as he takes a step further into the apartment.

Eric doesn’t answer her right away, he instead surveys the room, as if trying to find something, a clue of some sort. Finally he turns to her, “I want to see if you’re really Tyche or not. Not just some hack mortal.”

“How will ya do that?” Lucky asks, hoping he didn’t catch the slight waver in her voice. She crosses her arms tightly and tries to muster up a glare.

Eric grins, answering her lowly. “I have my ways.”

#an oracle in olympus #lucky day #lucas shaw #again shout out to erica for being the best beta ever!!!#apollo!lucas stole my heart as i wrote this

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