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strawberry-nugget · 3 years

Text

𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘 | E.Kirishima x Reader

Pairing: Kirishima/ reader, Bakugo/ reader (mentioned)

Summary: You shouldn't want him and he shouldn't want you, it's sinful and forbidden. But he can't help coming back to you, and you can't do anything but take him in every single time. Until today that is.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Aged up characters (twenties), NSFW 18+, plot with some p//rn but it's not very detailed, unprotected sex (please use condoms everyone), cheating, casual penetrative sex, jealousy, the seggz is pretty vanilla though

↪A/N: tennis player Kirishima, tennis player Kirishima, idk how I came up with it but I can't get it out of my head, written for @doinmybesthere 's 3k event collab and based on The Hills by the Weeknd, don't be shy to tell me if you liked it, I almost wrote 4k in a day which is unusual for me

5.30pm [Missed Call: Red]

5.31pm [Missed Calls(2): Red]

The bubbling notifications are spamming your phone, each call, succeeding the other in persistence and length, making your phone crawl onto your coffee table in restless buzzing. To your salvation the device is on silent; you're just unable to bear the overwhelming sound of your ringtone echo through the empty walls of your apartment, to let it bounce between concrete like a slimy ball, only for it to hit you on the face with tremendous force.

It's one of those days that you can't answer Kirishima. Too perplexed in the wields of your mind, blaming yourself for this horrendous situation, delivering raw swears at him for simply existing.

You don't know how it came to this nor when was the exact moment things switched. Was it at the party that you met him? Or the thousandth time you took him in and let him ruin relationship after relationship. Either way it was horrible for not only you, but also him, and all the people that have been caught up in the sidelines of this rotten affair.

You shouldn't want this anymore and truly, you don't. You're tired of being the second choice, of hiding behind your little finger, crying yourself to sleep at night, only to put on a sultry face for every time he comes. Once, twice a month.

[New Messages: Red]

Babe, you there?

Read 5.38pm

[New Messages: Red]

Babe I got practice at 8.

I know you're reading those.

Read 5.39pm

[Red is typing…]

[New Messages: Red]

I'm outside btw

A fresh, tremendously sharp wave of anxiety rushes through you at the little notification -it can't be like this again, not today. The thudder in your chest is unbearable, heart too weak to stomach the weight of your decision, fingers too reluctant to type out your response.

He's probably smirking while staring at his phone, not a single care in his head. It's loathing to your mind as you confirm your speculation, shooting a glance out of your window, landing your eyes on his car.

He shouldn't be here.

His thousands dollar car doesn't belong in your urban street, not in your side of the town. And it's so dangerous that he's doing this to see you. You've played the worst scenarios in your head a thousand times, millions of headlines on sites and the news about this; Eijirou Kirishima, on his way to claiming a fifth Grand Slam, caught in affair with university student.

Atrocious, degrading, exposing. A hit to his career that would bother the media for a couple of weeks and paint your name in mud along the way.

Why can't he just be content with the model that he's with? You're nothing like her, not as pretty and you don't have her body, you don't have her face, but he still says he finds you better, says he knows you better, but he just can't be with you.

[You]

Can't do it today

Sorry

You're good to yourself, only when you deny him and only when you feel the satisfaction of being the one to do so. It's pointless to sulk over saying no. He can go fuck other girls, play with their hearts and leave you to your otherwise peaceful life. Even if it is just for today.

You don't have the chance to let a smile creep to your face when your doorbell rings. The jiggling sound bursts into your eardrums once and twice, three dreaded times and they're enough to make your stomach churn, your neck tight and your skin ache.

You contemplate on opening the door for him, subconsciously letting yourself feel like a vulnerable prey, who, after running away to save yourself, is choosing to walk into the wolf's den, so willingly that you can feel yourself drifting away with each step you're taking towards the door.

"Babe,"

The swing of your door handle, the crack of your wrist, the creaking of your door as it opens to reveal him; they're all embarrassing. You can't tell if they fall short on his ears, too caught up in the way he looks -all swollen muscles and tall legs. You're running out of courage to say no and he knows this.

He's not as innocent as this cheeky smile frames him out to be, he's not the sweetheart everyone wants him to be either.

He's Eijirou, who's selfishly standing on your door, who's barging his way in your apartment, who's grabbing your cheeks and slamming your face in his, biting your lips until he draws blood, just to punish you for standing up against him.

Your door is slammed behind him, one bend of his knee and it's falling into its rightful place. To shield the sins of your affair, to bring you comfort and privacy as he attacks parts of your neck, your chest. Places that only squeeze perfectly under his touch.

"Babe," He calls again, in between soft kisses. "What's gotten into you?"

You frown and try to look away, past his cocoa colored orbs, past the swelling that's taking over his lips -and yours- with a numbing, tingling sensation.

"Eijirou—"

"I don't have much time in between training, I got a game the day after tomorrow."

It's always like this, you know. He doesn't have to tell you twice or try to excuse his own self for what he does or how he acts. You're pushed between schedules, or slammed into his timetable like a truck when he feels like indulging with you again, hidden between the lines of his free time.

You're sure at this point that it's the thrill he's after. The sinful taste of your lips on his, how he feels in control while chasing after you, when you can't keep up with him.

His lips don't taste like sour cherry anymore, but you let them wiggle against yours with triumph, you let him want to catch his breath as he pulls back and you put the minimum effort in returning the passion you receive.

You pull back, ignoring the words he's whispering against your face, only to take in his features once again.

Soft black hair pulled into a low ponytail, spiky bangs that fly all over his face and his tips drowned in a fiery, foxy red. The only reminder for who he was before his tennis career blew up. For who he was before he turned into this cocky womanizer whom you're desperately after with a longing heart.

"I'm just not in the mood today."

"Well let's get you in the mood then huh?"

He smiles, nose scrunching and chapped lips hiding behind his gums as his hand moves to your thigh, tagging your shorts with furry. As if he's desperate to have you, right here and now. As if bending you over the couch will help put out a fire in him. That's how he always convinces you to keep this going.

He's making you feel like not having you this way is insufferable.

You're buried in the crook of his neck while being pushed onto the couch, nibbling a soft spot that you've found, rubbing his skin on the top of your tongue. You know how to do this without leaving a mark, you can hold back from wanting to take all you can get from him.

But today it's different. It's going to be the last time.

It's not like any other time you've told yourself that you are going to end this. Today you're going to leave a mark, you're going to bite your way into his skin and drink from his poison -the intimate attention he's only ever willing to give- and you'll get drunk in it.

"Fuck," He grunts against your lips. "Fuck, don't stop that feels good."

You don't stop, eager to listen to him, to breathe into his neck before you wrap your lips a little lower and closer to his collarbone. You should be asking if this will cause him problems, but gone is the guilt that veils your coinsense otherwise. You suckle on a spot and then another, stealing his groaning moans one by one as they fall from his lips, plushing them softly in a spongy part of your brain, where they can rest forever, until you've forgotten them.

"Get your shirt off Eijirou," You plea, ogling eyes watering from the pressure that's applied in the apex of your thighs and he's quick to follow your command, lips curling upwards in a sweetheart smirk.

You're going to miss the way the apples of his cheeks cover his eyes when he smiles like this. But there's no going back for you and him.

With legs that feel like burning rubber you hug around his horse, watching the way his muscles flex and fold with his snappy movements. His shirt, tousled and wrinkly, tossed in an unknown corner of your living room, only for him to guess where it is after he's gotten his fix of you.

Thick fingers probe at your sides, pulling your shirt downwards in a silent plea, take off your shirt, give him the satisfaction that he wants, indulge into this as much as he wants you to.

But today, you're not in the mood for this. So instead of pulling your shirt off, you unbuckle your pants, pulling them down at the most dreadful speed, making him bite his lip impatiently.

You won't miss this, the way he's expecting so many things of you.

And if he notices something's wrong, he doesn't say a word, presumably content with getting what he wants; the rear view of the gap between your legs, where he can bury himself and get lost for the next thirty minutes.

"Fuck baby," he moans. "Why do you smell so good?"

You grunt, averting your gaze from his as he pushes your bangs away from your face with the back of his hand. You want to miss his puppy eyes. Ghosting him won't be easier for you if you don't.

But damn if he couldn't read you this well, things would be easier.

"Not in the mood to talk?" You look even further away to avoid the question, "babe, you can tell me if you're not well, you'll feel better if you let it out"

You don't need someone to tell you how to feel. You've decided when the two of you are going to be through. It's set and done, even if he feels at the top of the world right now, you won't inflate his ego anymore.

"M fine Eijirou, put it in," You bite his lip, putting huge effort in making him forget about what he thinks it's bothering you. "Want you to put it in m'kay?"

Sultry, fake voice, he's heard it all before and he doesn't have the right to call you out for it. Whatever he does next, you're his for the moment and for the last time.

Repeating is your rightful way of convincing yourself of not giving up on your decision. If only he could have broken up before deciding to wet himself in you, if only you hadn't taken him so eagerly, if only you hadn't become just like him. Welcoming him despite availability status, afraid to lose him, saying that a little sex wouldn't hurt. If you could do this on repeat, then you could get rid of him quite as easily.

You're not better than him and he's taken your vulnerability to him for granted. He's loved the attention you've paid him from time to time, whenever he's given you so much as a mere call.

You should pretend to moan, to hurt his ego, but as he's delving into you, slowly, mellowy, his kisses feel like burning sunshine, August breeze against your skin, kissing your shoulders lightly. It hurts that this salvation is coming from his mouth, as it moves rhythmically against every inch of you.

"Fuck, fuck, ah, you feel so good, you know that?"

You don't answer, nor do you wrap your lips around him. You don't move them against his when he goes to kiss you, but you coo into his warm embrace once his hands come to cradle you in a tight embrace.

"I love you," He slips up and you contemplate on whether you have to start hating him from this very moment. "I just wanna be with you, I—" He grunts. “—this is why you don't believe him, but nonetheless you hold a moan in as well. "Fuck, I'll break up just for you.”

Now that's a new one. A new addition to the long list of red flags you have with his name on top. You can't fall for it. You absolutely can't. If you do, he'll treat you just like this, he'll fuck behind your back and kiss you goodnight before going off to sleep with someone else. Like he's slept with you, once, twice, thrice.

And you're going to hate being the one who's fooled, despite deserving it more than anyone else. And another girl, or guy, is going to be his subject of desire.

You shouldn't want him to be yours, but you're lewding your 'I love yous' out of your mouth like they're nothing, poisoning your heart until there's nothing left but dust and sucked up blood, all devoured by the greed he's made you feel.

"You love me too?"

"I do," You cry, rocked between him and the couch, neck hurting by the way he's digging his teeth in yours.

"I'll fucking leave everything for you babe,"

He shouldn't. He won't. You tell yourself he's only saying this because he wants to come, to make you feel dirty with his actions and fish out words that make him ecstatic or send him over the edge from your mouth.

Rhythms are peaking, his hips burning from his movements, foreheads are dripping in sweat, lips taste salty against each other. The perfect picture, the most tingling sensation, and you're too fucked to go back, or keep yourself content with him. It feels the same as the last time, a numbing knot in your stomach, commanding you to rip your heart out and throw it away, spooning mewls out of your mouth.

If you could, you'd mute him, not wanting to listen to how beautiful he sounds as he's coming down from his high. If you could, you'd look away, and wouldn't try to burn the image of his body as he's falling apart in your mind.

"That was—" The sigh that leaves his chest through his mouth is liberating, you can tell—"amazing. I still love you, so much babe."

His hand soothing the pain of his thrusts, does nothing to make you feel better. You want to shove it away, but you don't, unhappy with the way you're turning out to be.

"It's time for you to go, Eijirou, isn't it?" You remind him. A hand pushing him off of you and quickly smoothing your T-shirt over your legs to deprive him of the view that'd make him wear a smug of triumph.

"So quick to get me to go. Did you find someone else again sweetheart?"

You don't reply as you're putting on your underwear and pants, shoving his shirt into him with a heavy hand.

"You did, didn't you?"

"None of your business, go off to your practice, your girl, don't patronize me anymore."

He gruffs, beautiful features scowling in that stormy gaze that reeks of his authority, "Here I am pouring my heart on you and you found someone else"

"Eijirou, it's seven thirty, if I were you, I wouldn't be late for practice. You got a game the day after tomorrow."

No more dealing with his pouting, you're going to bawl your eyes out if you have to do it. The sooner he's out of your house, the sooner you'll get this over with; the tight lamp in your throat, the image of him smiling at you like this, him admitting feelings that he shouldn't have.

Hurting him isn't the role that suits you. Because you can't do it. You can't hurt that warm sunshine he has on his face. He has to be the one to hurt you like he's been the one to drive you away. It's too late for him to change or reverse your roles.

You don't want to fight and he knows it.

He knows you, so well, well enough to use you as he wishes to, letting you believe you're using him too. You're going to make him watch you slip away, and he won't do anything about this.

So he's eager to leave as you're pushing him out of the door, he doesn't cup your cheek with his hand, and doesn't kiss your forehead tenderly like he always does.

"You should come to this party Mina is throwing, let me meet your new guy."

Like hell you'd ever do this, he knows, but teasing won't hurt a bit. Eijirou can deal with you dating other men, he's claimed you well before, he'll do it again if he has to, especially now that he's decided to have you.

"Yeah yeah, and if I do, don't ever call me again, 'kay?"

You're too good to not do as he says, or not to fall back to him, and he's too good to not come back to you. To him, you're a match made in heaven, to you, you're a lost cause, burning in the fiery pits of hell as atonement for your sins.

He doesn't know that you'll fall apart before dressing up, how you'll tell yourself you're not doing this for him, but as a statement against him.

You're no better than him, in fact, you're worse.

…

The only problem is, that when Eijirou pulls up at Mina's party after practice, you're already there. Drink in your hand, flared jeans hugging your legs, layered tank tops that cover the bruising truth of this evening, laughing at whatever your friends are saying.

When he puts out his phone, calloused fingers furiously typing a text addressed to you, you're too far gone into another glass, dancing a little dance before grabbing everyone's cups to go for a refill, greeting them in that silent way of yours, drunken smile.

And then you'll pass him by and blink at him, you'll mutter a small greeting and he'll grab you by the hand and whisper in your ear just how hard he'll take you driving the night. You'll swoon, moan, forget about the drinks and follow him anywhere he leads you.

That's how everybody knows about the two of you.

This time, though, you don't cast a single eye on him. In fact, you're tainting him, walking past him while ignoring him, leaving him awestruck and hurt, like his confessions earlier in the day meant nothing to you.

It's a hit to his heart, how your jaw drops as you bump into Bakugo over the kitchen counter, eyes too wide at the sight of him. How your finger dances playfully on his chest and as you smile at him when he whispers something in your ear.

It's infuriating how you drop the cups near the sink and follow Bakugo outside, or how the blond waves at him with a pressed smile against his lips, signaling that he'll be busy for a while.

His insides churn, tummy aching in a feeling of guilt, one unlike anything he's felt before. Losing you doesn't taste in the way he thought he would, it's worse; sour and poisoning. It makes him flee the party, furious and bitter.

When he's back, his body is heavy, feet dragging him across his apartment, mind blank as he follows his basic routine before bed time, fixated on how easy it seemed for you to just ignore him and flee with one of his friends as soon as he came over to the party he invited you to, wondering how you could be so ruthless with him all of a sudden.

Sweet talking Kirishima with a smile of gold, the sweetheart of the professional Tennis scene and you're over him in the split of a second, pushing him away from you without an explanation or heart wrenching speech. Not giving him the satisfaction of some closure, just forcing the cold tempo of your sudden departure in the depths of his heart.

He pays no mind to the girl that sleeps beside him, back turned to him like she's oceans apart, despite the unspoken bound that's keeping them together. He'll leave her, make up for all the damage that he's done, in any way that he can manage to.

It all comes down to the fact that no one can love you like he does, no one can want you like he does. Someone can do it better, but you have to want him.

5.30am [Missed Call: Red]

5.31am [Missed Calls(2): Red]

[New Message: Red]

Fuck, with Bakugo out of everyone?

Delivered: 5.31am

[New Message: Red]

Did you have sex with him?

Babe answer me.

Delivered: 5.32am

[New Message: Red]

I'm breaking up with her tomorrow morning.

And I'll come over.

Babe.

Babe please.

Delivered: 5.33am

[New Message: Red]

I'll take you on a date and we can talk about us okay babe?

Let me know when you wake up.

I love you.

So much.

Delivered: 5.38am

Read: 10.23pm

[You]

(Attached Image)

Sorry 'Red' even if you sound like a total douche, cheeks forgot her phone at my place.

I bet on her answering your late night drama when she takes her phone back.

[Red is typing...]

Super thanks to @celestidarling for proofreading this and giving me the biggest pump of confidence to post

↪Up Next: Dragon King Bakugo

#eijirou kirishima #kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima x you #bnha #kirishima x y/n #bakugou x reader #Kirishima #mha fanfiction #mha #bnha fanfiction #kirishima fanfic #tw: cheating #kirishima smut #bnha smut #mha smut

589 notes · View notes

thegingeralien · 3 years

Text

Thought I might share my “doing homework with adhd” tips in case the might help even just one person (because that would make me feel happy).

Who am I to be giving you advice? Good point! I am still terrible at studying and I’m 26 and at University for the millionth time. But I have studied A LOT in my 22 years of schooling with varying degrees of success.

I see a lot of people, especially teenagers or first year university/college students, with ADHD asking for tips on how to study. But if you do a google search most of the websites and advice that comes up can be extremely ableist. So I hope I can help someone!

TIPS TO HELP YOU STUDY WHEN YOU HAVE AN ADHD GREMLIN BRAIN!:

1. Chewing gum!

- This might come across as a weird one, but it has actually really helped me. I use it as a form of stimming to help keep me focused and concentrating. Other forms of stimming can potentially end up being more of a distraction when you actually need to be reading or writing - but they can help if you just need to be listening. Try not to get a bubble gum or fun flavoured one though - as they can end up making your mouth feel dry, lose flavour quickly, and just give your brain way too many sensory things to become distracted with.

2. Buying colour coded stationary!

- New stationary can make me really excited to start studying, but that excitement never lasts long and the act of buying stationary can sometimes become it’s own hobby. That’s not what we are going for here. I really recommend, especially if you are a visual learner like me, to buy colour coded stationary. This means removable page markers, different coloured post it notes, highlighters, sometimes even pens. This way if your mind jumps from one topic to the other, it doesn’t matter. Go with the flow. Forcing your ADHD gremlin brain to focus can be extremely counter intuitive. So pick a colour for each topic, and stick to that system to find organisation among your own chaos!

3. Buy a really cheap, boring year diary with hardly any writing inside.

- Not sure if your school/university has their own diary but they can be perfect for what I am on about. Generally you can find them for really cheap, soft cover, no writing or designs within the dates. Just dates, days, weeks and lines where you can write your homework. This helped me a lot in High School. I wish I had kept doing it in University, but I am good with giving advice, and not so much with taking it. I used to decorate the outside of it however I wanted. Some years I would redecorate the same diary every semester. In the public holidays or holiday days I would colour those lines in with different highlighters to make it look like a rainbow. But every assignment due date, homework, draft, rewrite, form I had to bring back, library book due date, school activity days, ANYTHING to do with school I would write in there with reminds and check lists. Important due dates would be highlighted, general homework and daily to do lists t(o help me not leave my assignments to the last minute) would have a tick box beside them (because ticking tick boxes is free dopamine). Try to not put birthdays or fun things in it. This is a small way to stay on track so it helps you actually stay on track with the big things when you’re home.

4. Big whiteboards stuck on the wall where you can’t avoid it.

- This is not something I had in school, but I so wish I did. I have been using this recently to keep on top of house work (as maintaining your own house is tiring) and my small business or other things I really can’t avoid. If I physically write it down (not just in my phone) it psychologically does help you commit it to memory. Again, physically putting a line through a task you just completed is a hecking great rush of dopamine. But the biggest reason I love my white board, I can’t ignore it. It is stuck to the wall and is never out of sight, out of mind. I can’t put my phone or diary down and then refuse to look at it until I’m past the due date. Again, I’m not a perfect person, there are days where I don’t do anything I have written on the white board. But the great thing is, I don’t have to continuously feel like I failure, as I can wipe it all off the next morning or week and start fresh. I also put important things I have to remember that I’m doing during the week so I don’t forget them.

5. Icky Medication.

- I know not everyone wants to be on medication, and I understand. I am not forcing you to. No matter what your opinions are, you lovely gremlin who is still reading this post, regarding medication, you are valid and I respect you. My personal experience with medication has not been the best. I have been misdiagnosed for a severe chunk of my academic life which has seen me trying to focus and maintain school work under some even worse states then I am unmedicated! However, since receiving my diagnosis and finding the right ADHD medication for me, I have the ability to get so much work done without having to unnecessarily struggle. It’s unfortunately not magic, it will not turn me into a robot that makes me do work and turn out incredible, noble peace prize winning assignments (as much as I wish that were possible). I still have the ability to be a lump, doom scrolling through tumblr, forgetting to eat, and ignoring responsibilities. But it really helps me when I sit down and start that thing that isn’t fun. Yesterday it helped me hyperfocus on cleaning my office which was a terrifying room to be in. So it’s pretty close to magic in my opinion!

6. Accessing Disability Support at your place of learning.

- Not all of you taking the time to read this will have either a) an offical diagnosis or b) a good disability support available to you wherever you are completing your studies. And that is okay. This dot point just won’t be for you right now. But keep it in mind for a time when it might apply to you, as it’s something I never thought I would need, but will never take for granted ever again.

- If you have an offical diagnosis and Disability Support, make an appointment with the disability support adviser. DO IT NOW! Get your psychiatrist to write a diagnosis letter outlining that you have <enter superpower that makes you hilarious here> and that you are receiving <enter x,y,z treatment here> and that you would benefit from receiving <enter what you have always wished you had on the days you can’t make your ADHD gremlin brain do the thing here>. Now these benefits can be, but not limit to: automatic extensions on ALL assignments, extra time on exams, extra breaks to walk around while taking exams, special consideration when marking assignments, my university allows me to take exams in a separate room with only the other students in my subject who also have disability support (occasionally I have taken an exam alone with only a tutor present) so I don’t get distracted, permission to take fidget items into class or exam (I have the option to wear headphones, as long as I can display that they are not connected to anything). Maybe you can come up with some great ones for you with your disability advisor or your psychiatrist.

- The disability advisor will often go through your course outline with you at the start of each semester or year. This is annoying and a great time for disassociating, but can be useful in hindsight because you are made aware of everything that will come up during your class so you are not surprised. Because lets be honest, it is unlikely you are going to look at the course calendar too often.

- Side Note: I make an appointment every semester with my disability support officer for my area of study to make sure I have my special considerations for the year. Now I may go through the whole year without ever using my considerations. However, the fact that I know they are there takes an insane amount of pressure off of myself. If I’m having an insanely screwy loony tune mental health moment, I can email my coordinator my disability plan and say I need an extension due to personal reasons, and WHOOP, there it izzzzz.

7. Dedicated one thing or a few things that have nothing to do with food/alcohol/other substances to reward yourself with for doing the thing!

- This may not work for everyone. It doesn’t always work for me. I used to reward myself with food, but that only reinforced my stimming with overeating and my already bad relationship with food. And I feel as though that would be the same with any other substance that can be linked with addiction. (Addiction is a tough word, cause what aren’t I addicted to, I have ADHD, but hopefully you get what I mean!).

-Now, boring try and not choose this aside, lets think of somethings that work really well as rewards!

- My partner likes to come give me a kiss and a hug when ever they have written and reread a paragraph, you might buy a book when you get a really good mark, you might want to go make a cup of tea and watch an episode of your hyperfixation after studying for <enter a good period of time here>, you might allow yourself to partake in an activity you usually do while procrastinating (but at least this time you know you aren’t putting something off), talk to someone who you know will tell you they are proud of you as they understand the mental struggle you go through to concentrate (if you can’t think of anyone, it is 110% okay if that person are the amazing people on tumblr or the adhd tumblr chats. We will freaking pop a bottle of champagne for you cause we get it!).

- Try and make what ever you choose be something in a different room or away from your working space. Getting out can really calm you down.

8. Don’t be afraid to ask for assistance.

- This is true for anything, but I don’t mean just asking your teacher to give you extra help understanding the task and marking rubric. Many people online, tutors, librarians at your school, past or present students offer assistance rereading and making small edits (they won’t make it magical unfortunately) to your assignments. If you are like me and once you have written or completed the dreaded thing, you can not imagine or force your gremlin brain reread or edit the thing. So it can help to just delegate this to someone else, who hasn’t read it before, so they won’t disassociate or skim read it. They will often notice things you never would have even if you were neurotypical as that is just what happens when you have been working on something for so long.

9. Repetitive music.

- It generally helps if this has no lyrics. Lo-fi is amazing. Classical is alright too if it works for you, but both my partner and I agree that it can really assist you to keep up pace and focus when the beat is a high and repetitive (almost meditative) tempo.

10. Limit your screen space.

- This is a tip completely from my partner @dr-adhd who also has ADHD, is an avid PC gamer and is consistently in a battle with their gremlin brain to focus on completing their PhD. They have discovered that it really helps them to limit their screen space - simply put, work on one screen only. They have done more work more easily when they have their one screen on their laptop to focus on. Whereas their office has multiple screens so they could be playing runescape, watching YouTube, listening to lo-fi and doing work - which never worked (shocking right hahaha).

11. At the risk of sounding like a Mum... Put your phone and other electronics other than the assignment necessary one, away.

- I am a Mum, but to a fluffy puppy dog, so I hate to sound like my Mum when I was in high school, but she was right. Mobiles are the single easiest and biggest distraction in ADHD history. I often, even at coffee shops, have to turn my phone over so that I am not consistently looking at it every time the screen lights up to say the pizza place has sent me a coupon, or a carpet place that has been having a sale since I was born is... still having a sale, or a friend from school wants you to watch this TikTok. Even though you might not want to ignore your friends, because people pleasing, difficulting making/keeping friends and RSD are hecking real things, but they can all wait. Trust me, none of them are urgent. That TikTok will still be funny in an hour or two. And I’m probably completely right when I say that whomever just messaged you, never replies as quickly as you want them too. So I doubt they are going to think twice if you are MIA to finish your thing.

My partner or I might add to this later, but at the moment I already know that I probably wouldn’t read this wall of words if I was the one reading it, so if you are still with me, THANK YOU and I really hope I might have helped you. Sorry for the mound of words, but maybe you can reblog, screen shot, or save this and read a dot point at a time or refer to it when you need. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, I promise what ever it is, I’ve asked the same thing once in my life or something MUCH stupider.

#ADHD #Study tips #actually adhd #autistic #adhd #neurodivergent #adhd study tips #advice #adhdstudytips #studying with adhd #adhd advice #ask adhd #adhd mood #adhd life #adhd vibe #disability support #uni support #school advice

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

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I got major whumperflies reading Drowning parts one and two... are you planning on continuing it?

Drowning Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

@asrasmysoulmate

It's not much on the whump side, but lots and lots of care, comfort, and fluff with a sick supervillain in there.

Warnings: vomit, bathing, feverish whumpee, delirium, hallucinations

Hero gathered the wailing supervillain into her arms and held him like that for a long time. She should've watched her tongue. She should've... Hero sighed, there was no point in thinking about how she could've done better when the deed was already done.

Eventually, Supervillain's sobs ceased and were replaced by a vulgar motion. He was heaving, throat convulsing...

Hero shoved Supervillain's head to the side as his stomach's contents expelled themselves. After he finished vomiting onto the floor, he just laid there, head limp, and allowed the trails of puke to slid down his chin.

Hero was just standing there and staring at the scene infront of her. But, recovering from her shock, she lifted Supervillain up and carried him to the bathroom. Setting him lazily by the toilet, she grabbed an unused toothbrush and slapped some toothpaste on it.

Supervillain gagged again, pain coursing through his lungs and ribs. His stomach hurt, badly, and all he wanted to do was lie on the tempting cool floor...

"Hey, hey, hey, whoa. Are you okay?" Hero asked when she noticed Supervillain keeling over. Now, in the better light, he looked like pure trash. He skin was a ghastly shade of gray with vomit and spit still speared across his lips. Snot bubbled under his red nose and his eyes watered. Hero felt a twinge of pity- here was an insanely sick supervillain, most likely feverish out of his mind, trusting one of his sworn enemies. It was unnatural, but more importantly, unheard of.

"Wh... iturts," Supervillain slurred, quite frankly unable to form a complete sentence.

Hero furrowed her brow. She didn't understand what garbled nonsense made its way to her ears, but she hummed in response. Supervillain seem content with the miniscule answer he received and pressed his burning nose to the condensation build-up around the toilet bowl.

"Want to brush your teeth?" Hero asked, handing him the toothbrush. Supervillain clumsily took it only to drop it. Hero pursed her lips and prepared another. She couldn't risk more germs entering Supervillain's system.

She registered that Supervillain was way too weak and feverish to hold an one ounce toothbrush, so she pull him into her lap, allowed his wet head to relax against her chest, and started to brush his teeth.

He was so tired and fatigued that his lips loosely molded around the plastic brush, head nodding softly.

Hero tenderly brushed each tooth with dentist-like precision and motherly care- if that's not too ironic. All thoughts of their previous encounter vanished; he was in her care now and she would do anything to comfort him.

It was as if her already golden heart was fashioned with another serum of empathy. She didn't have to brush his teeth to get rid of the vile taste- it wouldn't kill him, so why would she?

She also didn't need to bathe him either, and certainly did not need to tip his head back so soap wouldn't get into his earthly eyes. She washed his face with a soft silk washcloth, gently so she wouldn't wake the now sleeping supervillain.

When her instinctual caring of the patient was done, and he was changed into a fresh pair of clothes, she laid him on her own bed.

Hero suddenly reeled backwards. What was she doing? It was like she was in a trance, caring for the villain as if he was an angel from heaven. Actually that might be an understatement...

Nevertheless, amongst doubts and courage, Hero continued to tend for his very needs. Right now, it was sleep; lots of rest and slumber to build up his strength.

Upon waiting for his awakening, Hero started to research about tending someone with pneumonia. Every single website practically screamed at her to take him to a hospital, but that couldn't be done. She couldn't risk other heroes finding and arresting him.

Supervillain stirred, muttering something sleepily. He blinked open his eyes and tried to roll over, but it caused a coughing fit to rack at his ribs.

"Hey, go back to sleep," Hero rubbed Supervillain's hair.

"Why t'robo... chasin'meh?" Supervillain said, scratchy and raspy. Hero followed his glassy gaze to the middle of her bedroom. There wasn't anything there.

"What do you see Supervillain?"

"Robo."

"Hmm," Hero replied, still stroking his hair. She did this until a feverish sleep took him under again. Then, she rushed into the kitchen, grabbed tylenol, a thermometer, and an ice pack wrapped in a washcloth. She returned to find Supervillain still unconscious, jerking with breaths as his sleeping body tried to draw precious air in.

Hero slipped the thermometer under Supervillain's tongue- it was easy now that his face was completely relaxed. When the thermometer barked at her the dreaded 103.5 degrees fahrenheit, she gently shook her ward awake and coaxed him into taking some tylenol.

She placed the icepack on his flushed forehead. The heat radiating off his body began to melt the ice in a short few minutes. Hero started to bit her lip, desperately trying to get this dangerously high temperature down. She thought of all the possible long-term effects...

No. She had to stay focused. Focused and collected. She propped Supervillain upwards to alleviate the mucus build up and went back to work at breaking the fever.

Whether or not Hero succeeded in the end, to draw the dragon away from the nest, didn't make the pleas from Supervillain any less concerning.

He would scream, ragged and fearful, whenever he would awake from a fitful doze. Sometimes, he would beg for mercy from the torture his delirious mind thought he was enduring.

"Stop it! Stop it please!" He sobbed, trying to curl up on himself- anything to escape his torturer's ruthless hand of strife.

"Relax, Supervillain," Hero mumured, her voice stern and firm due to the weary stress, but at the same time her usual chirp. The motherly chirp of a hen that usually brought Supervillain so much comfort.

At these moments, her voice would draw him into another unreality.

"Don' like," he mumbled. "Don' like panda."

Hero sighed, rubbing her tiring eyes.

"What's wrong with panda?" She asked, hoping he was talking about the plaid shirt he was wearing.

"Too warm," Supervillain earnestly explained- or to an extent. Really, to Hero, it sounded like he was trying to get a kitten off his lap. He wanted it, but his resolve was too kind to exactly remove the curled up furrball.

"Your blanket?"

"Fur bear," Supervillain chittered. "Yeh..." His voice trailed off as another wave of lethargic dizziness hit him. He whimpered, resting deep into the plushy pillow.

Hero smiled softly and cupped Supervillain's warm cheek. His fever was breaking, she could tell by the added tan to his blanched face.

It was nearly nighttime. The sun was setting, its rays hitting the pair. Hero sat with her legs crossed and examined his drooping face. He would fall alseep soon, whisked away to a land of darkness and dreams.

Hero left to take care of her own personal needs. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and showered. However, the shower was short-lived and the hero was still lathered in shampoo when she checked on the supervillain. She grinned and finished her shower.

Supervillain was just waking up again when Hero returned with her hair bound and wrapped in a towel on the top of her head. He weakly tried to touch the towel, failed miserably, but still grinned like a toddler and his train toy.

"Want to eat?" Hero asked, remembering the leftover soup in the fridge. Her patient nodded.

Hero fed the supervillain like she did in the morning, slow and coaxing. For the most part, her ward refused to allow the shiny metal to slide between his gums, but at last he consented.

Hero fed him- clutching the mattress to ensure her patience to not rush him. The friendly gesture of kindness ended with Supervillain back in Hero's arms as he dozed off. Hero almost nearly fell alseep too if it wasn't for the repetitive tapping on her door.

Knock, knock.

Hero's heart jumped and she quickly made sure Supervillain was covered. She locked her bedroom door and went to the frontdoor.

Knock, knock.

Maybe if Hero had a window or an eye-hole or something, she could've avoided the looming catastrophe.

Hero opened the door open, only to be thrown against the floor by blast of pure strength.

"Where is he!" Came the all too-familiar voice. It boomed throughout the house, focalizing on the entryway where Hero and the intruder were.

"I said," a dark figure stepped into the light, a hood obscuring the livid face underneath. "Where is Supervillain, Hero?"

The figure stripped off his hood to reveal none other than her fellow ex-prisoner, holding a sharp knife.

Villain.

#supervillain whumpee #hero caretaker #hero x supervillain #injured supervillain #feverish whumpee #sick whumpee #delirious whumpee #pneumonia #writing #heros and villains #comfort #fluff

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kingexpl0sionmurder · 4 years

Text

Earl Grey and Lavender - Shinsou Hitoshi

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Rating: 16+ Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi/F!Reader Words: 2,713 Warnings: Language (Bakugou has a potty mouth), adorableness, Denki is a crack head, I have weird taste in ice cream. AN: Welcome to my contribution to the BNHarem SFW server collab for June! The prompt was summer! I got lucky and nabbed Shinsou and this is just wholesome and adorable. Also yes, Earl Grey and Lavender ice cream is real, you can get it in the Harry Potter park at Universal and it slaps. Check the rest of the collab submissions HERE HERE is my masterlist Buy me a Kofi! ---

There was only one thing that you loved about working at The Ice Creamery during the summer, and that was the free ice cream.

The hot and shirtless guys walking past the shop on the daily were a nice treat too, of course. But the fact that you could have a free scoop of whatever flavor you wanted once a day was the highlight of your summer, and there was no man that could walk into that shop and distract you from it, no matter how handsome or stacked they were.

That was until you met Shinsou.

There was something about him that had you immediately attracted to him. Maybe it was the color of his hair, or his eyes, or the way he smirked at you and quirked his eyebrow when you made fun of him.

It started on a regular Friday afternoon. The shop was busy as usual, the summer bringing tourists to the beaches in droves. You happened to work at a location that was close to the water, so a lot of people would stop by on their way back to their cars or hotels for a cone or sundae. You were manning the freezer case, taking orders and scooping flavors, when you heard the bell jingle on the front door, signaling the arrival of new customers.

You barely spared them a glance, concentrating on scooping ice cream into the metal cup in your hands, and then spinning around to add milk and shove the cup into the milkshake machine. It wasn’t until minutes later when your co-worker came by, whispering excitedly in your ear about the pro hero Red Riot, that you took a good look.

A group of pro heroes were standing toward the back of the shop and peering at the chalkboard menus behind the counter, talking among themselves as they decided what they wanted. You could immediately recognize Red Riot, his bright red hair held back from his face with a bandanna. To his left was Ground Zero, the ever-present scowl adorning his pretty face as he glared daggers at the menu like it had personally offended him.

On his right was the pro hero Pinky, who was leaning against Cellophane, the two of them arguing over the merits of a waffle cone versus a sundae cup. Chargebolt was beside them, talking to a guy with purple hair that you’d never seen before. His equally purple eyes were trained on the menu above you, his lips twisted in a frown as he read through the flavor choices.

Deciding that you were probably being creepy by just standing there, you cleared your throat. “Can I help who’s next?”

Red Riot flashed you his shark-toothed grin, stepping forward and dragging Ground Zero behind him. “Hi! Can I get two scoops of rocky road on a waffle cone, please?”

“Sure! You want a regular cone or the chocolate-dipped?” Pointing at the different cones you had on display, you held back a laugh when you saw his look of confusion.

“Oh no, I don’t know!” The pleading puppy dog look he gave his grumpy friend was comical. “Bakubro, what should I get?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Clicking his tongue, he folded his arms across his chest and glared. The sour look was short-lived as he caved under the pouting bottom lip of his red-haired friend. “Get him the chocolate-dipped one. And let me have 2 scoops of mango, in a cup.”

“Please and thank you!” Red Riot perked up, grinning at you again.

You nodded, getting to work on the order, passing it off to your coworker who was working on the toppings, trying not to think about how adorable that entire exchange had been.

“Mina, I don’t know why you were even arguing with me, we all know you’re going to get the same thing you always get and then complain that you can’t eat it all.” Cellophane teased as he walked up to the counter.

“And then she’ll force me to help her finish it and I’ll feel like shit later because I ate too much,” Chargebolt added, shaking his head.

“Shut up! I just know what I like, okay?” Mina chirped, bounding up to the counter and leaning on the glass. “Can I get a banana split, please? Go hard with the chocolate sauce, I can handle it.”

“You got it. Is that for here or to go?” You grabbed a banana from under the counter and got to work on peeling it open.

“For here. We need to sit and cool off, it’s so hot out there!” She slumped forward, resting her cheek on her palm. “These boys are running me ragged. I don’t know why I agreed to go on this vacation with them.”

“Because you love us?” Cellophane supplied helpfully from behind her. “You’ve been putting up with us since we were 15, Mina. Did you forget how we are?”

“I think I was trying to repress it.” She deadpanned, winking at you. “But you keep reminding me, Sero.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Enjoying a glimpse into the personal dynamics of these pro heroes was the highlight of your day. Everyone knew them as celebrities who saved the world on the daily, but it was kind of cool to witness them being normal people firsthand.

Once you had the banana situated in the dish, you added the ice cream to the middle and added the whipped cream and copious amounts of chocolate sauce. “How’s that?”

Peering through the glass, she smiled. “Perfect!”

“I went HAM with the chocolate sauce as requested.” You slid it over to your coworker for the rest of the toppings. “Give her extra cherries.”

“Aw, you’re sweet. I like you!” Mina cheered, shuffling over to give her friend some room.

Sero ordered an orange creamsicle milkshake. “I know it’s lame but…”

Chargebolt patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not lame, bro. It would be lame if you just got plain vanilla.”

“I half expected Bakugou to get vanilla.” The purple-haired man spoke for the first time, his deep voice surprising you.

Snorting, Chargebolt laughed, clutching his stomach as he bent over. “I mean, he does go to bed at like 8 pm. He seems the type, doesn’t he?”

“Shh, Denki, he’ll hear you!” Cellophane pushed his friend, rolling his eyes. “You have a death wish, I swear.”

You glanced over to see their explosive friend was concentrating on his mango ice cream at a table in the back, Red Riot beside him and chattering happily, struggling to keep up with the ice cream dripping down his cone. You were pretty sure he couldn’t hear them, anyway.

“What can I get for you?” You asked the blonde, pouring the milkshake into a cup and finishing off the top with some whipped cream. You handed it to Sero with a smile, turning your attention to the electric hero in front of you.

“I can’t decide between the cotton candy and the bubble gum.” Sighing dramatically, he scrunched his nose. “Life is so hard.”

“Why am I friends with you?” His nameless friend looked exasperated. “Just pick one.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Shinsou. You don’t even know what you want yet.”

Shinsou opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“Why don’t you get a scoop of each? Then you don’t have to choose.”

Gesturing to you, the purple-haired man raised his eyebrows. “Look at that, Denki. I know that’s a foreign concept to you, but we call that problem-solving.”

“Shut up!” Denki pouted at his friend. “I know what problem-solving is, you overgrown troll doll.”

“Ha!” Eyes wide, you slapped your hand over your mouth, realizing you’d laughed a little too loudly.

“He looks like a troll doll, tell me I’m wrong! The way his hair defies gravity like that? It’s completely natural, too. He doesn’t even put gel in it or whatever.” Denki giggled, leaning on the counter.

“I wouldn’t sleep tonight, Kaminari,” Shinsou threatened ominously, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Great! Well, cutie, since I’m going to die tonight, I think I deserve a scoop of each like you suggested, in a cup.” He winked at you, and you blushed, nodding and moving to replace your gloves before you got his order together.

“I hope this doesn’t give you diabetes.” You said sincerely, handing him his ice cream, frowning at the sour patch kids he’d requested for the top. “My blood sugar is through the roof just looking at that thing.”

“Diabetes is nothing compared to how Shinsou will be murdering me in my sleep!” He said cheerfully. “Gotta go out with a bang, you know?” He saluted you and wandered over to the register to pay for his ice cream.

Finally, it was just you and Shinsou. You were relieved to see he was the last one in line as well, so you would have ample time to check him out and flirt with him shamelessly.

Remembering what Denki had said earlier, you smiled at him. “Did you figure out what you wanted yet? I can give you some suggestions if you’re not sure.”

Amethyst eyes trailed over the menu again. “I don’t know...”

Clearing your throat, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “I have a secret talent, you know.”

He blinked at you. “You….what?”

“I can tell what kind of ice cream is right for you just by looking at you.” You glanced down at your nails, feigning disinterest. “It’s a gift, I guess. I’ve got second sight when it comes to desserts.” You looked back at his face, fluttering your eyelashes.

Shinsou’s chuckle made you shiver. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.” He leaned against the counter, smirking at you. “Go ahead.”

Clapping your hands, you bounced on your toes. “Oh yay! Okay, let me see…”

You stroked your chin, squinting at him, watching him squirm under your gaze. He was wearing an old and faded band t-shirt over his black swim shorts, and you could see his biceps bulging beneath the short sleeves.

“Well?” He interrupted your blatant staring. “Have you figured me out?”

“Mmhm!” You turned and grabbed a cup, walking to the end of the freezer, and sliding open the door. You moved over the chocolate chip to reach a hidden tub of ice cream, filling the cup with 3 scoops of the pale purple treat.

“What is it?” Shinsou asked when you placed the cup in front of him and shoved and spoon in it.

“It’s a secret flavor. It isn’t on the menu, and they really only make it because it’s my favorite and I begged them to keep a tub of it for me. I’m allowed one scoop a day for free and this is what I have.” You pushed it toward him. “I’m trusting you with this secret. No one can know I have this.”

“You make it sound like it’s forbidden. Is there some kind of Ice Cream FBI that’s going to come in here and arrest you or something?” He smacked his palm on the counter, leaning in and speaking lowly. “Is it like the Vegan Police?”

Snorting at his Scott Pilgrim reference, you shook your head. “No, I just don’t want anyone to know because I don’t like to share it. But, I’m making an exception for you.”

“Why me?” He asked, looking surprised.

“I don’t know. It kind of matches your hair, so I feel like you’re worthy.” Shrugging, you crossed your arms. “It’s Earl Grey and Lavender.”

“Like the tea?” He looked down at it, puzzled. “Hmm. That sounds...good.”

“It’s a revelation. You can thank me later.” The bell jingled above the door, signaling that you had to cut your flirting short. “Let me know what you think, okay?”

Long fingers wrapped around the cup as he picked it up. “Thank you…” He squinted at the name tag on your shirt. “Y/N.” Clearing his throat, he smiled at you. “I’m Shinsou, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, Shinsou.” It took everything in you not to watch as he walked over to pay for his ice cream, turning your attention to the new customers walking up to the counter.

You busied yourself with helping them, trying not to glance over at the table in the back where you could hear Denki starting some kind of trouble. You were taking a chance with that ice cream flavor. It wasn’t for everyone.

You didn’t have any kind of sixth sense like you’d said, obviously. You’d just wanted to get him flustered and maybe get his attention. There was just something about him that told you he would like it. You just hoped you were correct.

Telling your coworker that you were taking your break, you got yourself your free scoop and headed into the back to enjoy it in peace. You were about halfway through it when she poked her head in the room.

“Some guy with purple hair is out here asking for you.”

Jumping up, you forgot all about your ice cream, leaving the cup sitting on the desk you had been leaning against. Patting down your hair, you walked out into the shop, noticing it was completely empty, save for the man who was looking for you.

He was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting patiently. You walked around the counter and smiled at him. “Everything okay?”

He stood up straight, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Everything’s great. I just wanted to thank you again.”

Waving your hand in dismissal, you blushed. “Aw, don’t mention it. Did you like it?”

“It was probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted. How did you know I’d like it?”

Smiling at him, you shrugged. “I’m a firm believer that your taste in ice cream flavors says a lot about your personality. You just looked like the type of guy who likes tea and reading books with a cat on your lap while you listen to The Smiths. That’s the kind of person who likes earl gray and lavender ice cream.”

“That’s eerily accurate. Is that the kind of person you are then?” He raised his eyebrow. “Cause if that’s the case, then I’m going to need your phone number.”

Your heart flipped in your chest at his words. “I could be. Give me your phone.”

Grinning, he pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, pulling up his contacts and handing it to you. “What time are you off work?”

Your hands were shaking with nerves as you typed in your number and handed it back to him. “I’m off at 7.”

“Good. Want to hang out after? My friends want to go to a bar, but we’re not sure what’s good around here.” He took the phone from you and slipped it into his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean if you’re not busy.”

Pretending to think about it, you teased him. “I mean, I guess I can make some room in my nonexistent social life for you and your friends.”

“I’m flattered.” He smirked. “As long as you’re prepared to deal with them, that is. They’re kind of a handful.”

“I think I can handle it.” The bell above the door chimed again as more customers came in. “I’ve got to go back to work though. Text me?” You bit your lip, glancing up at him from under your lashes.

“You can count on it.” He blushed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “See you later?”

Nodding, you walked backward a bit, not wanting to say goodbye so soon. “Yeah, see you later.”

You walked back behind the counter, watching as he left the store, your heart hammering in your chest. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket a few minutes later, your face hot as you blushed at the message you received.

Unknown: I think I have a newfound appreciation for ice cream. I wonder why?

You threw yourself back into your work, forgetting about the ice cream you’d left on the desk in the back room. That was the first time you’d let it melt before you’d finished it, and it was all because of Shinsou.

It wouldn’t be the last time, either.

#hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #bnharem collab #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinso hitoshi x reader #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #kingexpl0sionmurder writes

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blouisparadise · 4 years

Photo

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3070 words

Louis nodded along with what the guy was saying, apparently his arousal taking over his brain to mouth filter as he said, “Who would want to hide a fit bloke like you? That guys an idiot.” Louis scoffed, dramatizing the word ‘idiot’, giving the guy a sly smirk. The guy leaned an arm against the bar, turned his body to Louis and fixed him with a curious look before he held out a hand.

“M’Harry.”

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.

2) I Push You To The Limits | Explicit | 3846 words

Louis is a brat who likes seeing his boyfriend get jealous and possessive over him.

3) Overkill | Explicit | 4354 words

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

4) Too Nervous to be Lovers | Mature | 6445 words

Louis doesn't want to spend quarantine with Harry, his straight roommate, who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.

5) Fratboy In Love | Mature | 6830 words

Harry Styles was a frat boy who loved to sleep around and flirt with boys and girls. Louis was a good uni student who loved to stay in and study and wasn't much of a partier.

Insert his best friend Niall who talks him into going. Louis gets drunk and ends up sleeping with harry. The next day he leaves before Harry wakes and tries to avoid him at all costs. Thinking Harry wouldn't care since Louis was just another conquest. But what if Harry did care. And actually have a crush on Louis. Read and find out

6) My Sunflower | Mature | 7057 words

Louis would rather be sunbathing at the beach with his friends, not slaving his spring break away in his father’s flower shop.

7) Waiting | Explicit | 8023 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

8) Shine Light Upon Your Ground | Explicit | 8506 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/H, which the reader can picture as Harry or Henry Cavill.

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

9) Glistening Under The Sun (You're My Honey Soaked Love) | Mature | 8996 words

“Oh Petal,” he picks her up nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek as she nibbles on the lavender, “How lucky are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, the only thing we have to be sad about is that soon I won’t be able to hold you like this,”

10) Connected To The Heart | Explicit | 9059 words

Note: This is an coda scene for this fic.

“Your stage cue is way too close for you to be wearing that look you’re wearing,” Louis informs him. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, the silk of Harry’s dress shirt brushing against the backs of his knuckles.

“Twenty minutes,” Harry agrees. His breath is minty from the gum he was chewing earlier, fresh and warm. “Twenty minutes can be a long time, baby.”

This time, Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes. “Not nearly long enough for the way you always want to fuck me.”

11) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

12) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

13) Pull The Trigger | Explicit | 12007 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #16 on this list.

Louis has never been alright with killing. Will that change when he learns what it's like to be the one holding the gun?

14) Open All Night | Explicit | 12537 words

It’s six in the morning when Harry finally makes it back home.

Harry's a bartender, Louis' got a nice ass and a shit taste in men. They make it work.

15) Among Other Things | Explicit | 16073 words

“Harry, it’s 7:45, oh my god, my class starts at 8:15,” and Louis wants to cry. Harry’s busy under the bed trying to find the tiny silver key but Louis knows that fate just hates him and he needs to find a way to get up. “Harry, I—fuck,” Louis whines. Harry stands up in a rush.

“I can’t seem to find them. It. The key.”

Or, Louis’ the teacher of Harry Styles’ daughter. Their paths shouldn’t cross like this. This meaning Louis showing up to school handcuffed to a headboard.

16) A Bullet And It's Gun | Explicit | 18156 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #13 on this list.

Louis’ parents arrange his marriage with Harry. He’s fully ready to accept that he’s going to be a sad and lonely person for the rest of his life. But then Harry starts proving himself as more than just an asocial man with money.

17) By Such Slight Ligaments | Explicit | 26764 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

A late night visit to a patient sets off a series of events that will turn Louis' world upside down.

... Here there be monsters.

18) At Your Fingertips | Explicit | 27384 words

He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

19) Forgot My Roots Now Watch Me Bloom | Explicit | 28334 words

Lonely transit worker Louis pulls his longtime crush, Peter, from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he's in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Louis causes Peter's family to assume that he is his fiancée. When Louis doesn't correct them, they take him into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when he finds himself falling for Peter's brother, Harry. Loosely based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping".

20) Push You Out, Pull You Back In | Explicit | 31544 words

Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

21) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

22) Lidocaine And Palm Trees | Explicit | 44653 words

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

23) Sleeping On Our Problems | Explicit | 67369 words

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

24) Truth Would Be | Explicit | 91869 words

“You want me? I’m not a… a thing to be owned!” Louis stuttered, still very angry and confused.

“Hmmm…” The alpha tapped his lips as if he was contemplating something. “Last time I checked, the debt was paid off and the only thing I had asked in return was… you. So technically I do own you.”

“You are crazy…” Louis muttered as he began to back towards the door. Harry’s impossibly green eyes turned a shade darker, but his tone was still teasing and light when he said, “Maybe I am…”

The I-paid-off-all-your-debt-so-you-are-mine AU in which Omega Louis wants to be left alone by Alpha Harry but it's super complicated when he starts to not hate the alpha all that much.

25) Collision | Not Rated | 224594 words

Note: This fic was finished in 2018, but two new epilogue chapters have been added.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

238 notes · View notes

host-club-hq · 3 years

Text

Call of the Scar pt. 2

➼ pairing: harry potter x reader

➼ genre: sfw, fluffy, fantasy

➼ word-count: 2.9k

➼ summary: Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley embark on their great journey together in their fourth year at Hogwarts. What does this unsuspecting year hold for them this time?

➼ part 2 of many :)

➼ want to request? do it here. let me know what i can write for you :)

➼ talk to the characters!

The campsite is a ruin now, drifting in smoke. A child appears, tear-streaked, wailing for his mother. Harry is still lying upon the ground. His eyelids flutter...

A figure strides through the teeming smoke like a ghost. The man pauses, surveys the devastation before him, and lifts his wand into the sky.

"MORESMORDRE!"

A peal of thunder shakes the earth and an eerie green blooms in the sky. Harry squints painfully, gripping his scar and peers up. A colossal skull of emerald stars erupts in the sky, a serpent coiling from its mouth. A shriek pierces the night and Harry's eyes shift, finding the motherless boy a few yards away, howling in terror at the sky.

Harry looks back, toward the man in the distance, and sees he's coming forward. The shrieking boy turns and darts away. Harry's fingers reach for his wand, eyes squinting through the smoke, trying to see the approaching man's face, but all is still a blur, the smoke like black fog, the man a wavering wraith as he draws closer and closer...

"Harry!"

Harry's heart unclenches at your voice and he audibly sighs in relief. Hermione, Ron, and you- tiny dots- race across the campsite. The man stops, looks, then withdraws into the smoke and vanishes.

"Harry!" you call again.

"Thought we'd lost you, mate. And then..." Ron nods nervously to the sky.

"What is that?" Harry follows his eyes to the monstrous thing in the sky.

"Don't you know...?" Hermione asks, confused.

Just then, a popping fills the air and- one after another- ten ministry wizards apparate into view, wands poised.

"DUCK!" Harry exclaims, and the group does as told.

"STUPEFY!"

As they hit the ground, ten jets of fiery red light electrify the air inches above their heads.

"Stop! Those are my children!" Arthur dashes to the rescue.

"Are you lot alright?" Arthur breathes hurriedly.

"Which one of you conjured it?"

Harry and the others turn and watch Barty Crouch- a stiff man with a toothbrush mustache and steely eyes- emerge through the haze.

"Mr. Crouch, you can't possibly-"

"Do not lie! You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!" Crouch points his wand shakily to all of the teens, alternating between each one.

"Crime?" Harry states incredulously.

Crouch wheels, pointing his wand directly at Harry, eyes glittering lethally when... he notices Harry's scar.

"Barty. They're just kids." Amos interjects. Harry watches Crouch blink. You side-step in front of Harry and draw him close to you. Crouch lowers his wand.

"What crime?" Harry speaks again.

You turns to him and nod at the sky. "That... it's the Dark Mark, Harry. It's... his mark." you whisper carefully.

"Voldemort?" Harry questions. You shush him. "You can't keep saying that..." you remind.

A disturbed murmur ripples through the wizards at Harry's utterance of the name. Ron looks particularly pained.

"Why do you always have to do that?" He sighs.

"Those people tonight- in the masks- they're his too, aren't they? His followers."

"Death Eaters." Arthur confirms solemnly.

Harry considers his, then gazes back down the beach, toward the spot where the mysterious figure appeared.

"There was someone before. A man. There." Harry points. Everyone turns to look.

"A man? Who, Harry?" you eye him carefully.

"Dunno. One minute he was there, then... not. I never saw his face. Could've been anybody..." Harry is beginning to realize that his witness is of no value without any facial recognition.

Harry glances upwards, clinging to the sky like a stain is the Dark Mark.

Hogwart’s Express

Students hang out of compartment doors, talking and laughing while an old woman pushes a candy trolley up to Harry, Ron, yours, and Hermione's compartment.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" The trolley witch asks, out of breath.

Harry and Ron leap up, while you and Hermione continue to read the Daily Prophet. There's a photograph of the Dark Mark, a headline screams: "TERROR AT THE WORLD CUP."

"I'll have a pack of Droobles. And a licorice wand and..." Ron digs into his pocket and frowns. "On second though, just the Droobles."

"S'alright, I'll get it-"

"Just the Droobles." Ron firmly interjects for Harry.

Ron takes his gum and quickly ducks back into the compartment. Harry frowns, feeling guilty, when a sweet voice sounds.

"One Pumpkin Pastie, please."

Harry turns and finds a very pretty dark-haired girl standing by the cart. Sensing Harry's gaze, she looks up and smiles. Taking her treat, she heads off.

"Something sweet for you, dear?" The trolley witch leans to speak to Harry. He looks down at her.

"Huh? Oh. No. I'm not... hungry." He decides. Harry watches Cho's lithe figure retreat, watching until she slips into a compartment and is gone.

"Head out of the clouds, Potter." you call from inside the compartment as the trolley witch moves to the rest of the train. Harry diverts his attention to you, seeing you haven’t even lifted your head from the Daily Prophet. He rolls his eyes.

"This is bad. Very bad..."

Harry turns and sees Hermione shaking her head darkly behind the Prophet's screaming front page. Harry considers the image of the Dark Mark and accompanying article: "DARK MARK STIRS OLD FEARS (First Sighting in Thirteen Years)," then eyes the photo of the article's author, Rita Skeeter. Hermione snaps the paper shut and stares at him.

"It's hurting again, isn't it? It was hurting that morning too. The day of the World Cup?" your gaze is gentle and concerned, but Harry doesn't reciprocate. Ron, full of gum, stops chewing, eyeing Harry with trepidation.

"I'm fine." Harry snaps. Your hand withdraws from his shoulder without a word. Hermione's eyebrows furrow and her eyes briefly flicker from you to Harry with distain.

"Suit yourself. But at least tell him. You know he'd want you to." Hermione eyes Harry with determination. He sighs.

"DEAR SIRIUS"...

Harry rolls up the parchment, fixes it to Hedwig's leg, and lets her fly free of his hands and through the open window.

Hedwig soars high, leaving the train behind as she knits her way across the sky. On the horizon, a castle appears.

The Hall glows magically, decked out for the start-of-term feast. Albus Dumbledore addresses the House Tables from the top of the Hall while Flitwick, Hagrid, McGonagall, and Snape look on. Filch flowers from the rear doors.

"Mr. Filch, our beloved caretaker, has informed me that the list of objects forbidden within the castle now includes Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, Ever-Bashing Boomerangs, and Chocolate Marshmallow Bunnies." There is a mischievous beat before he continues. "I'm joking about that last one. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items and may be viewed in Mr. Filch's office." Dumbledore smiles.

"Mental. Always has been." Ron grumbles from where he sits at the Gryffindor table.

Harry grins and glances to the Ravenclaw table, seeing Cho grinning appreciatively at Dumbledore as well. You follow his gaze and smirk. "Catching feelings, are we?" you mumble just loudly enough for Harry to hear, who turns.

"What?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

"The Chang girl. Pretty, isn't she?" you glance back at her. Harry suppresses a smile.

"Shut up." He pushes you.

"Not likely." you shrug.

"Now. There is, apparently, a rather nasty rumor flying about the school that Quidditch will not be played this year. That rumor, I'm here to tell you... is absolutely true." Dumbledore announces with suspense. Indignation fills the Hall. Dumbledore smiles in amusement.

"There is an explanation. You see, Hogwarts will this year play host to a legendary event. An event that has not taken place in over one hundred years... the Triwizard Tournament." Excitement hakes the Hall, one voice ringing clear:

"You're joking!" Fred exclaims. You put a hand over her face and peek from under it, watching as your classmates watch your brother make a fool of himself and hiding from under the palm of your hand.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley. For those of you know do not know, the Triwizard Tournament was originally conceived some seven centuries ago as a way for the three largest European wizardry schools to engage in a series of magical contests while their respective student bodies experienced the benefits of cross-cultural social intercourse."

A crackling, albeit bewildered, silence hangs in the air.

"In other words: One got to spend the entire year getting to know people who spoke a funny language. Unfortunately due to a distressing high death toll, the Tournament was cancelled..."

Hermione's brows knit together with dark concern.

"Then why the bloody hell are they bringing it back?" you lean over Hermione's shoulder to voice her concerns. Hermione leans back and reciprocates her expression. "You're asking the wrong person, Y/N." she sighs.

"... until now. Tomorrow, delegations from the Beauxbatons Academy of Magical Arts and the Durmstrang School of Wizardry will journey to Hogwarts. This year, our home will be their home. I ask only that you endeavor to make it a happy one."

Students- Harry, Ron, you, and Hermione among them- crowd the parapets, buzzing with anticipation. Far below, Dumbledore has assembled the staff as a kind of welcoming party.

Suddenly a rumble fills the sky and a team of winged Horses cleave the clouds, pulling a gigantic powder-blue carriage. Through one of the windows, a beautiful woman peers down. With an earth-shaking thud, the carriage lands.

Just then, great bubbles roil the glassy surface of the Black Lake and a long black mast pierces the water, rising higher and higher. A black ship rises out of a great rushing whirlpool of water, looking skeletal and ghostly in the half-light. A dark figure strides out onto the deck- tall, thin, ad sleek.

Students scramble into position and turn expectantly to Dumbledore, who stands before the staff. You notice a man near the back and nudge Harry. It's Barty Crouch.

"What's he doing here?" you ask in a low whisper. Harry shrug without a word and diverts his attention.

"Please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!" Dumbledore bellows.

Music begins- light and fanciful- and a woman in a diaphanous gown strides into the courtyard. She is beautiful. She is elegant. She is ten feet tall.

"Blimey. That's one big woman." Seamus stares shamelessly up at her.

Then, one by one, a procession of stunningly beautiful Beauxbatons girls enter in graceful synchronization. Clad in silky, skin-clinging robes, they make a decided impression on Ron- and every other boy present. You and Hermione are less persuaded.

"It's indecent to stare at women like that, idiot." you shove your elbow into Ron's and he grunts.

"Lay off, would you?" He sneers, earning your tongue sticking out at him in retaliation.

Suddenly, one after another, they pitch themselves forward and cartwheel to the top of the courtyard where, allayed in a circle, they wait for their last two members: Fleur Delacour, a particularly luminous girl, and her 8-year-old sister Gabrielle, who is her double. Vaulting side-by-side to the center of the circle, Fleur pulls out a silk scarf, dangles it from her fingertips, and 'spins' Gabrielle like a top.

The courtyard roars with approval. Hermione rolls her eyes and you take notices.

"Can you believe the lot of them?" you sigh. Hermione nods in agreement.

"You're just jealous you're not as pretty as them." Ron snickers. Your expression remains unfazed.

"You do remember I'm you're twin, Ronald?" you inform with a sheer, angered tone. Both Hermione and Harry burst out laughing, Ron's cheeks growing hot as the smile disappears from his face. You smirk to yourself.

"Madame Maxime. Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear." Dumbledore welcomes with a large smile.

"Ah, Dumble-dorr. You are well, yes?" A thick French accent is heavy laden over Madame Maxime's words.

"Blooming." Dumbledore ignores the fact that his name has just been mispronounced.

Madame Maxime steps away, passing Hagrid. His beard twitches. Suddenly, the thrum of balalaikas fills the courtyard.

"And now... our friends from the north! Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang!"

Igor Karkaroff- tall, sleek and arrogant- strides forth, trailed by a regiment of stoic Durmstrang boys in dark fur cloaks. A pair of sleek black panthers- eyes glittering like gold- pad sullenly at Karkaroff's side. As Karkaroff reaches the top of the courtyard, he glances about imperiously.

"Dear old Hogwarts. It's so..."

"Perfectly imperfect?" Dumbledore suggests. Karkaroff smiles and turns to Snape, who nods curtly.

"Igor." Snape acknowledges.

"Severus. Long time, no see. And Barty. I almost didn't recognize you. You look so... tired. Sleeping well these days?" Igor grins.

Crouch glowers. Karkaroff smiles, then snaps his fingers. A quartet of Durmstrang boys bring torches to their lips and spit dazzling comets of fire into the air. Enthusiastic applause from all.

"Oh my God! It's him!" Ron gasps and straightens.

Harry looks. At the end of the line, brooding behind his shadowed brow, is Victor Krum. Just then, Flitwick- striking his finest conductor's pose- lifts his arms before a ragtag band of students and a discordant tune fills the courtyard. Instantly, the Hogwarts students serenade their visitors with a glorious cacophony, then Hogwarts Anthem"

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts....

Teach us something please

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff

For now they're bare and full of air

Dead flies and bits of fluff."

Karkaroff raises an eyebrow.. Maxime struggles to hold a smile. Dumbledore beams.

"We just might have the worst school anthem ever written." you groan as she cover your face with your hands while the school continues to sing the horrid song.

"I never will understand who wrote it and why." Harry sighs in exasperation.

"Dead flies and bits of fluff? Why in Merlin's name is that necessary?" you scoff. Harry chuckles.

"Maybe if they're talking about you." Harry mutters. You gasp and turn to him.

"How dare you? My grades are better than yours have ever been." you whack Harry on his upper arm and he scowls at you.

"Not better than Hermione's." Harry reminds with a smug expression to which you roll your eyes.

"Hermione is inhuman, no one can have the grades that she has." you inform. Harry considers this a moment and nods.

"You're right." He sighs.

"So we bid you truly welcome

You are a funny lot

But any guests of Hogwarts

Can't be all rot!"

You snicker to yourself at the last few words and Harry nudges you, struggling to suppress a smile himself.

"It's not funny." Harry's lips twitch upwards as he wags a scolding finger at you as you laugh.

"It's a little funny. Can't be all rot?" you snort and induce laughter within Harry, who covers his own mouth in attempts to keep from disturbing the welcome. "Stop it." He pleads and shoves your shoulder with his own.

"Quiet, the both of you. There's nothing to laugh about." Hermione scoffs, which only results in harder laughter from the two of you. Hermione rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. "Honestly."

"Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here." Dumbledore sighs as the song comes to an end- thankfully for the two students in stitches.

Everyone feasts. Bewitched by Madame Maxime, Hagrid stares down the tall table to where she sits... and absently spears Professor Flitwick's hand with his fork. Karkaroff eyes Crouch darkly, then turns and sees that Snape is watching him. Smiling thinly, Karkaroff tips his goblet.

Harry eyes the Ravenclaw table, where the Beauxbaton girls sit and Fleur converses with Cho. Ron stuffs his face and stares at Krum, who sits with the Slytherins.

"Brilliant, isn't he?" Ron speaks up as he chews slowly, in a trance.

"He's eating." you smack your brother's shoulder and push his face to look at something other than Krum.

"Why d'you suppose they've been put at the Slytherin table?" Harry's eyebrows furrow as he peeks over at Durmstrang every now and then.

"Birds of a feather. Durmstrang puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts." Hermione takes a bite of her meal as she informs the group.

Hearing this, Harry's eyes shift, considering Karkaroff.

"Wishing it was you over there instead of Krum, are you?" Ron suddenly pipes up. Harry turns to see who he's talking to- and it's surprisingly his own sister.

"Ronald, what in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Hermione sets down her fork and leans forward to glance at Ron incredulously.

"What? Everyone knows Malfoy's got a thing for her. As much as I hate to admit it. That guy's the worst." Ron grumbles. You scoff in disbelief. You turn to look at the Slytherin table and then quickly back to your brother.

"Now what would provoke you to say such a thing?" you laugh humorlessly. Harry looks to Ron expectantly.

"Malfoy's a git to all of us." He reminds. Ron sighs.

"Especially to Y/N- don't you see it?" Ron looks around expectantly. Everyone looks at him with vacant expressions and he groans.

"Everyone knows the boys who tease the girls the most fancy them." Ron states like it's obvious and everyone around him is an idiot.

"That's like saying Malfoy's got a thing for Harry. Harry, do you think Malfoy has a thing for you?" you glance over at Harry and stare at him.

"What? No. That's... weird." Harry shivers to even think about that. "I'd prefer you never mention that again." He requests. You ignore him a moment.

"Besides, Ron. I'm related to you. Of course he hates me." you snort as you return to your meal. Ron shrugs without another word.

27 notes · View notes

good-rwbyaus · 3 years

Note

Au where Whitley has actually been running the bank accounts since he was young and keeping the group financially viable

#Rising Snow AU - mod lilac - [ next ]

1. Beginning

It started when his father, smelling like expensive liquors and overbearing perfume, shoved a packet of folders at him and stated “You deal with it. Your father has a hang- headache” before staggering off back to his bedroom to sleep off yesterday’s social gathering.

He was ecstatic. His father began to trust him to handle things in the company. Before he was a mere fixture in the company, only present to speak pleasantries and let others know that Jacques Schnee had a well-bred son. But now he had responsibilities and power.

Whitley Schnee, soon-to-be-heir of the Schnee Dust Company since Weiss didn’t seem to care about it and Willow just left to join Atlas, will show everyone his worth, starting with.... a whole lot of complaints about their customer service.

_______________________________________

2. Complaints

“This motor is covered under warranty. I still have the original receipt. You have to take it back.”

“Sorry, but the warranty only covers usage in automobiles. You said you tried installing it in a motorcycle, so your warranty is void.”

“...A motorcycle is an automobile, sir.”

“Look smartass, you’re getting on my nerves. You’re not going to get a refund from the Schnee Dust Company, got it?”

“Excuse me!? I want to talk to your manager. Now.”

“I am the manager. Now stop wasting my time.”

“Wh-”

Click.

Whitley’s eyebrows creased sharply as he closed the Scroll. He took slow deep breaths trying to get rid of the anger trembling through his body. A Schnee is like ice. They do not show their rage unless they can leverage it for their purposes. His teeth gritted once more and relaxed.

Those two-faced bastards. He knew the customer service staff were no good when they started fawning over him, telling him that “of course they got complaints when they couldn’t fulfill their requests” or “we got everything under control.”

In reality, they were all just disgusting liars who couldn’t do their job. If he hadn’t been suspicious of them, they might’ve gotten away with it. Those people had to be removed before they truly caused an incident; he cannot let such unsightly things remain.

He picked up the phone.

________________________________________

3. Fired.

“You can’t do this to us! This is going against our contract.”

“Just because you’re your father’s son doesn’t mean you have any power here.”

“You’re going to speak to my lawyer about unfair dismissal, kid!”

It’s funny. The half-dozen or so people who were fawning over him just hours earlier were now cursing and shaming him. Of course they were angry. He just told them they were all fired a couple minutes ago and stopped saying anything when they started yelling like a mob. His lips trembled, trying to stop himself from smiling.

Gods. He was so angry that he’s finding humor in it. Do they really think they have power here?

Bang.

A bald-headed tall man - the manager he spoke to last - slammed his hands onto his desk, looming over him as if to intimidate him with the threat of physical violence. The noise made him flinch slightly, breaking his facade of calm and causing the other guy to smirk mockingly at him.

Bastard.

This farce has gone on long enough.

“Okay. You can keep your jobs...”

Immediately, the six people leered triumphantly with the one at the head of the pack messing his desk up proudly stood up.

“Good kid, see you know when you’re in the wrong.”

“Yeah, smart like your father,” said the man at his desk about to pat him on the head. Immediately, he swatted the man’s hand away.

“...as I gather the audio logs for our lawyers to peruse and determine how much damage you’ve done to the company’s image.”

That silenced the room better than a dead body being found in it.

“If you didn’t do anything wrong, you’ll have my apologies and a bonus for your troubles. But if you’ve damaged our image... well, a company’s face is priceless - but I can definitely try to get back some recompense.”

He lifted a finger which everyone else in the room followed.

“That’s your first option. The other option is to resign quietly, and I will not pursue this in the future. You can take the time to think about it.

“You can-”

“You’re all dismissed. If you linger around a second longer,” he glared at the group, “I’m going to assume you’re taking the first option and want to be escorted out.”

Immediately, upon realizing who had the actual power in the room, the group of six began to scramble out of the room, but just as the bald-headed manager exited out the door, Whitley spoke up. The words caused the man to stiffen up.

“Except you. You don’t get an option, manager. You're fired. Wait to hear from my lawyers.”

He steepled his fingers together, a vicious satisfied smile on his lips.

________________________________________

4. Security Card

...Okay. That was scary. He honestly thought that baldy was going to hit him at the very end. In the future, he was going to have a bodyguard in the room or Klein just in case. He loosened his vest slightly, the cloth sticking to his back from the cold sweat.

It was weird though. Why did something like customer service go all the way up to the level of the President?

Wasn’t that something for managers or department heads to solve?

“Maybe it’s just a test from father,” Whitley spoke out loud. He shook his head.

Yeah, that was probably it.

----

Little did he know that his carelessly stated statement was caught by a hidden camera in his room.

----

The next day he found a folder on his desk and a white card with the label of 00 on it.

________________________________________

5. Assignment

“Hey, Klein,” Whitley asked cautiously as the loyal man handed him a glass of water, “Did father come into my room yesterday?”

He didn’t know what to make of the butler at times or how to treat him. Father said never to treat the help too kindly or they’ll take advantage of it, but Klein was someone he knew since he was born. He’s never seen him be anything but loyal and attentive. He wasn’t like the people he just dealt with.

Maybe he would’ve just dismissed him as just the help, but after having seen a very recent example of two-faced people, he couldn’t quite agree with his father’s assessment of Klein.

“Your father has gone on va-,” the man paused upon seeing the contents on the desk, particularly the white card on his desk. “That card?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a card like this before,” Whitley replied, “What does it actually do?”

Klein stared at the card quietly before saying, “Only the Master of the House could’ve given you that card. It will open every lock and file in the Schnee Dust Company. It means the Master has given you authority second to them.”

“Father must really trust me after I got results, right?” he proudly stated as he started shuffling through the documents. In doing so, he missed Klein’s smile, both proud and pained at the same time.

The cursory review made his self-praising words die in his throat.

“Wait...He wants me to solve all these?!” Whitley yelled. It wasn’t that the entire packet consisted of a single problem. The entire seventy-two page packet was a large list of overdue problems and documents that required his attention.

“Where’s father?”

“He’s currently on vacation. He won’t be here for a month.”

“Didn’t he just go on vacation two weeks ago? There should be someone to substitute while he’s gone?”

“...No, sir. This is how it always has been.”

“Haha. You’re joking. Or is this part of the test, Klein?” He laughed but it soon died on his throat, seeing the man’s grim face.

“I will not lie to you, young master.” Klein remarked before adding with a nudge of his head, “There’s a note.”

He’s right. There was. The script was in cursive; it would’ve been elegant and soft if it weren’t for the shakiness in it.

‘You have the right idea. Sometimes problems need to find the right people.’

________________________________________

6. Delegation

This was stupid. The purchasing of toilet paper or whether it had to be 2-ply or 3-ply or setting the price of bubble-gum at the employee store did not need to pass through the president’s desk.

Hell. It’s like anything that involved the tiniest amount of money or required the slightest authority needed to make its way to his desk.

This was not a functional solution. He’ll die of exhaustion by the end of the week if that continued.

And the answers from the department heads were incredibly unhelpful.

‘It has always been this way.’

But it hasn’t. Looking through the records only he could access, everything changed when his father inherited the company from his grandfather. His father first fired anyone that disagreed with him and then diverted anything that looked like it involved money up to the very top. Maybe it was important back then, but those measures certainly didn’t need to be used now.

His father ruled with an iron fist when it came to the company. No one dared to challenge his authority now.

His father was smart. Intelligent. These actions didn’t match that. Was this just another one of his tests? He wanted to believe that, but...

‘The only person you can trust is yourself. Everyone else can betray you. Even family. Only trust others if you have power over them, that is trust.’

...It did match what his father would do. And if there was nothing else he learned from all those official dinners and parties, he knew how to read people, especially his father and his mercurial temper.

With how many of these documents have been untouched and unread, what exactly is his father doing?

Come to think of it. When was the last time his father sat in front of a computer instead of going on vacation or to one of his many dinners with his business associates?

He shook his head. Impossible. His father definitely worked hard. How else would this company be standing if he was that neglectful? Maybe these files were just like the 5% of untouched work since he had so much wor-

His screen flickered as he clicked on another file. The pillar of red pointing downwards made him pale.

[ next ]

#honorable-asshole #mod lilac #whitley schnee #willow schnee #rwby au #rwby fic #fwby #rising snow au

82 notes · View notes

emy-loves-you · 3 years

Text

Sweet Tooth

AKA 3 times Patton gave away his lollipops, and one time he took them back.

DLMR (Janus/Logan/Patton/Remus), Patton POV

Word Count: 3,768

Thank you to everyone that helped with this fic (especially @cute-and-angsty-princess for coming up with the original idea!)

Masterlist

The first time was a complete accident.

Patton had always had a love for sweets. Candies specifically. Jellybeans, chocolate bars, gumdrops, you name it. He loved every sugary treat Thomas had ever eaten, and he always had a few candies in his pocket just in case. It’s always a different candy each time. Somedays he’ll have Hershey kisses to eat between recordings, other days he'll have a pack of bubble gum to chew on and blow pretty pink bubbles.

Today, he had lollipops.

Patton vividly remembered these lollipops as a reward for doing his job well. Every time that Thomas did good at the doctor’s office or behaved in certain restaurants, his parents would get him a tiny flavored lollipop to suck on. They were overly sweet and just the right size, and every time Thomas had one Patton would be flooded with happiness because he did a good job.

And Patton felt like he deserved a lollipop today. Thomas had been struggling with a moral dilemma, and Patton had done his best to stand his ground without being pushy. It was difficult for Patton to find the middle ground between compliant and overbearing, but he was getting better at it with Janus’ help.

So here Patton was, sitting on the couch, a green apple lollipop in his mouth. He changed the flavor a little when he summoned it, so it was the perfect mix of sweet and bitter. He also made sure there was enough food coloring in it to stain his lips the prettiest shade of green.

(It had absolutely nothing to do with Remus giving Patton such a dazzling smile when he supported the dark side’s tamer ideas today. And it definitely had nothing to do with how Patton had wondered it the creative side’s lips would taste sweet or bitter, or if he’d still be able to feel them on his lips after they kissed, like the green color that stained his lips. Nope, not at all)

Anyways, here Patton was, enjoying a lollipop for a job well done. He was also updating a few of his scrapbooks, since he hadn’t done it in a while (a while being 2 weeks, but there were so many new memories to add, and so many old memories to look over and reminisce). He had just finished gluing the last photo in place when-

“BOOBS!”

Patton shrieked, though it was more amusement than fear, as he jumped off the couch. Remus had popped up on the other side, chuckling as the moral side regained his composure. “I got you this time Daddy-O!”

Patton giggled, sitting up. Ever since Remus had been accepted, Patton had grown used to his disturbing imagery and tendency to pop up anywhere. Remus had seen that as a challenge, and now tried to scare Patton whenever he could (Patton didn’t think he was trying very hard though, especially since he never used spiders and the goriest thing he used was a ‘beating heart’ made entirely out of cherry-flavored gummies).

Remus huffed, crossing his arms. “I did! I saw the fear in your eyes! I could smell your fear, from the top of your head to the tip of your-” He suddenly stopped, looking over at the table. “What’s that?”

Patton looked over and smiled around his lollipop. “Oh! It’s my scrapbook.” He got up and went to flip through it but Remus stopped him, just looking at the current page. He pointed to a picture of Remus and Roman working on an idea together, but the photo was obviously more focused on the green-clad twin. He was doing something that required careful precision, and his nose was scrunched up slightly while the tip of his tongue was peeking out under his mustache.

Remus had an odd expression on his face while he looked at the photo. “...I didn’t realize you were there.”

Patton blushed, looking away. “Well that’s the point, silly! It wouldn’t have been real if you were posing for it.”

He kept that same odd expression as he started at the photo. “I guess you’re right…” He suddenly looked up, staring at Patton with that same look on his face. “What’s with the new lipstick?”

Patton frowned. “My new lip- oh!” He pulled his lollipop out and gestured with it. ��It’s just my lollipop. I guess it stained more than I thought it wou- eep!”

Remus suddenly took the lollipop into his mouth, his mustache brushing against Patton’s fingers before he pulled away, taking the lollipop with him. The dark sides hummed, pulling the candy out of his mouth with a loud pop! “Green apple, my favorite! Thanks Pattypop!”

Before Patton could even think about forming words, Remus had sunk out, presumably to go enjoy the rest of the lollipop. Patton let out a strangled squeak and got up, grabbing his scrapbook and rushing back to his room.

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The second time was technically accidental.

It had been 3 days since what Patton had dubbed the “Apple Accident,” and he was now able to look Remus in the eye without turning into a blushing mess. It helped that Remus never mentioned the incident, being his normal chaotic self and acting like it never happened.

It was now just after midnight and Patton was searching through the cabinets for a late night snack. Technically he could summon a treat for himself, but he was tired and just wanted to explore the kitchen and see what he could find. He was thankful that no one was awake this late into the night, so they couldn’t walk in and see how red the father figment’s cheeks were from blushing.

He had just woken up a few minutes ago from a rather interesting (and unfortunately recurring) dream. It wasn’t anything… risqué, but it was still mortifying. It always started with Patton alone in a flower field, making flower crowns. He would be halfway done with his crown before one of his crushes joined him. Usually it was just one crush, but sometimes it was two or all three of them. And Patton would lean forward for a kiss just moments before he woke up, his heart racing. This most recent one had been a little different, ending with a yellow lollipop being gently tugged from his mouth and a gloved hand cupping his cheek-

Patton shook his head, blushing hard. He came downstairs to forget about that! He just wanted to grab a treat and ignore the way his heart pounded at the thought of-

Oh. My. Gosh.

At the top of the candy drawer was a lemon-flavored lollipop. He must’ve put it there when he refilled it yesterday. Patton tentatively took the lollipop out of the drawer, the small candy suddenly feeling much more important than usual. He shouldn’t…

Patton ripped off the wrapper and quickly put it into his mouth, sighing softly as the sweet-yet-sour flavor assaulted his senses. He felt like he was doing something forbidden, and that only added to the pleasure.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Patton jumped and spun around to see Janus in the doorway. He tasted the lollipop on his tongue and suddenly felt like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Janus! What are you doing up so late?” He suddenly remembered the dream he had and was thankful that the dim lighting of the kitchen hid his blush.

If the deceitful side noticed his gay panicking, he didn’t mention it. “I was just looking for something sweet to have. A little bit of self-indulgence before bed.” He stepped closer, and Patton noticed his attire. Janus was wearing a pair of silk black pajamas, just a size too big so the sleeves were loose and the collar dipped down to expose part of his chest. Pale yellow-green scales ran down his neck and chest, even stretching to the tips of his fingers on his left hand. It was almost mind-boggling to just see Janus without his hat and gloves, much less the rest of his usual outfit. Patton was starting to wonder if the scales covered exactly half of his body or if they formed some sort of pattern under his shirt when Janus spoke up. “Lemon?”

Patton looked up from where he was staring at Janus’ collarbone, his blush growing deeper as he cleared his throat. “Pardon?”

Janus took another step closer, sticking his tongue out again to scent the air around him (which Patton found extremely adorable). “Is that lollipop lemon-flavored? If so, where can I find another one?”

“Oh! Yes it is! I uh-” Patton thought back to the candy drawer behind him. It might have another lemon lollipop, but Patton wasn’t sure. And if it was the only one, then the only way he could have one would be- “I’m pretty sure this is the only one.”

If Janus noticed the lie, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he stepped closer, causing Patton to scoot back as far as he could against the counter. Janus smirked, slinking closer until he was inches away from him. “Well then...” He reached up to cup his jaw, the smooth scales on his hand feeling like electricity to the moral side. “...I guess I’ll just have to…” His other hand tugged lightly on the lollipop. “...take it.”

Patton’s heart was racing as he opened his mouth, letting the lollipop easily slide out. He tilted his head slightly, waiting to be pulled closer, ready to be kissed-

Patton didn’t realize that his eyes were closed until Janus pulled away. He opened his eyes to see Janus smirking, the yellow lollipop pressed against his scaled lips. Patton held his breath as the dark side wrapped his snake-like tongue around the lollipop and pulled it into his mouth, pulling a breathless gasp from the moral side. “Mmmh, sweet, just how I like it. And the lollipop’s good too, I guess.” Patton squeaked, blushing hard as Janus chuckled. “Goodnight, Sweet Heart.” Patton opened his mouth to respond, but he had already sunk out.

Patton stood in the kitchen for several minutes, just staring at the spot Janus had been in. His fingers reached up to trace his lower lip, the lemony sweet-yet-sour flavor still fresh on his tongue. He let out one last squeak before sinking out to his room, burying his face into his pillow and screaming.

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The third time was entirely on purpose.

It was the morning after his encounter with Janus and Patton was still feeling… something (bold, flirtatious, flustered? He couldn’t tell). So when the opportunity for another… interesting experience with lollipops arose, the father figment couldn’t resist.

Breakfast was over and almost everyone had left to start their day. Remus and Roman were in the imagination, Virgil was hanging out in his room, and Janus had left to go help Thomas have a full self-care day. Patton had just finished doing the dishes and was currently sucking on a cherry-flavored lollipop (he’d become addicted to lollipops recently. It had nothing to do with the two flirtatious encounters he had surrounding lollipops. Nope, not at all). Patton was sitting on the countertop while Logan moved around the kitchen, presumably getting his morning coffee before leaving. Patton was shocked that instead of turning on the coffee pot like expected, Logan opened up one of the lower cabinets and started digging through it. “Uh, Lo? What are you doing?”

The logical side grunted, trying to dig through the piles of pots and pans. “I’ve come to realize that my… fondness towards coffee is negatively impacting Thomas, Virgil, and myself in terms of overall anxiety and degree of focus. Janus suggested an alternative form of caffeine consumption.” He grunted again before grinning in triumph, turning to show Patton the tea kettle he’d found. “Some green tea with honey should be a good substitute for my normal coffee.” Patton then remembered four things at once:

There was no honey in the kitchen because he used it all this morning to make honey biscuits

When Thomas was younger he did a project on candy and learned that the first lollipops were just honey on a stick, which are called honey spoons and are used to sweeten tea

Logan is Patton’s third crush, and the only crush he hasn’t had a flirtatious lollipop moment with

Patton was still sucking on a cherry lollipop

Patton quickly waved his hand while Logan wasn’t looking, removing any traces of cherry and replacing it with a honey spoon. “Well, I know we used the rest of the liquid honey to make breakfast, but I do know where a honey spoon is.”

Logan turned back to face him, smiling gratefully. “Thank you Patton, I really appreciate it.” When Patton didn’t move to grab anything, he tilted his head in confusion. “Uh, where exactly is this honey spoon?”

Patton put on his most innocent expression. “Oh! It’s right here!” He pointed to the honey spoon in his mouth, the sweet treat starting to melt across his tongue. “As long as you’re fine with sharing with me.”

Logan blushed, clearing his throat as he adjusted his tie. “I...I could just summon another one…”

Patton tilted his head to the side, trying not to let his smirk show. “You could. Or…” He leaned forwards slightly, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “You could take mine.”

The logical side stepped forward, looking lost as he reached out but didn’t grab the honey spoon. Patton pulled it out with a soft pop, honey smearing across his lips as he handed over the treat. Logan went to grab the stick and their hands briefly touched, both of them shuddering from the contact. Logan sounded slightly breathless as he stepped back, pulling the honey spoon with him. “Thank you, Hon- I mean! Thank you for the honey, Patton.”

Patton smiled dazedly, his heart melted like the leftover honey on his tongue. “No problem! And Lo? I’d like it if you called me that again.” He quickly sunk out before he could see Logan’s reaction, popping up in his room. He squeaked as he realized what he just did and buried his face into his pillow, ignoring the blush on his cheeks.

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Things were starting to get out of hand.

It’s been a week since Patton handed over his first honey spoon to Logan, and a sort of competition has started to form. The rules were simple: if Patton was alone with a lollipop that corresponded with the side in question (green apple for Remus, lemon for Janus, honey spoon for Logan), that side takes it, and shows said lollipop off to the other two sides (Patton didn’t even realize that last part until he walked in on Remus showing off his freshly-stolen lollipop to Janus). Patton almost always had lollipops on him by this point, since at least one of them would show up every hour to snatch one in their own way. Patton had even altered the lollipops to the way they preferred them!

Remus liked his lollipops to be drenched in food coloring, so it stained his (and subsequently Patton’s) lips and tongue for hours, even after just a few minutes of eating it. The creative side would pop in and try to scare Patton like he always did. Then he would mess with the moral side for a few minutes before asking what flavor the lollipop was (he didn’t even need to ask that, Patton’s lips were always shamrock green when he had Remus’ lollipop). Instead of offering the green apple lollipop in his pocket, Patton would take it out and start gesturing with it. Then, when Patton was in the middle of a sentence, Remus would grab the treat with his mouth, his mustache (and sometimes lips) brushing against Patton’s fingertips before pulling away, taking the candy with him.

Janus liked his lollipops to have a really strong flavoring, so the taste lingered for hours after you tasted it. He would saunter into the room and make up an excuse about needing some candy for ‘self-care’ before asking if Patton had another one. Patton would ignore the lemon lollipop sitting in his pocket and lie, saying that this was the only one he had. Janus would then slither up to him, cup his cheek with one hand and gently pry the lollipop out of his mouth with the other. Then he would take it while commenting that it’s “not as sweet as you.”

Logan liked his honey spoons to easily melt into his drink, so when Patton handed it over there was a sticky trail of honey along his lips. He would always appear with a new mug of tea, spend a few moments chatting about what happened last time he saw Patton, and then shyly ask with a blush if the father figment could share his honey spoon. Patton would always end up getting honey on his lips as he handed it over, and they would both blush as their fingers touched before Logan stirred his tea and left.

Patton knew that he should end this game, but he couldn’t. Every exchange felt like a forbidden moment, like an unspoken rule between the four of them. Every minute of Patton’s day was filled with anticipation, and every night was filled with dreams of lollipops and flower crowns and kisses under the summer sun. He wanted to break the spell, he really did, but he was scared. He was afraid that if he tried to step off of the tedious tightrope they had made, he would fall and no one would be there to catch him. He was pretty sure that they wanted him the same way he wanted them, but what if he was wrong? No, it was safer to just ignore his feelings and savor their little game while they still wanted to play.

And that worked, for about a week.

You see, there was another unspoken rule that Patton hadn’t realized until now: whenever one of his crushes walked into the room, Patton was supposed to change his lollipop to match their tastes. Green apple for Remus, lemon for Janus, and honey for Logan. Plain and simple. Barring his first incident with Logan, Patton had been doing this subconsciously. And another rule that seemed to be unspoken was that his crushes always appeared at random times throughout the day. This wouldn’t matter if they decided to tell each other when they were visiting Patton,but they didn’t.

So here Patton was in his room, enjoying a blue lollipop (it was supposed to be cotton-candy flavored, but Patton wasn’t sure what it actually tasted like) when all three of his crushes decided to pop in at the exact same time. Patton decided to stay quiet, curious about what they would do now that one of their rules was unintentionally broken.

At first they just tried to intimidate the other two into leaving. That was a fun glaring match to see. Then they began making excuses as to why they needed to talk to Patton alone, which said moral side found extremely amusing. Then they decided that whatever flavor lollipop Patton had would determine who got to stay. Patton was confused by that one. Even though the candy was fully in Patton’s mouth, it was obviously not one of their flavors. His lips weren’t shamrock green, he didn’t smell strongly of lemons, and there wasn’t a glaze of honey across his mouth. Then Patton realized it:

They wanted him to change the lollipop flavor and choose. Choose between the three of them. Well, that won’t do at all.

With one snap, the blue lollipop was gone and each side had their respective lollipop in their mouth. They all looked ready to speak but Patton beat them to it. “Nuh uh, it’s my turn to talk now. Got it?” They nodded and Patton smiled, relaxing slightly. “Good. Now, I feel like we’ve reached a bit of a misunderstanding here. You think you can waltz in here, claim my lollipops like they’re yours, argue over who I get to give them to, all without me getting what I want?” He tutted, sauntering forward. “Shameful, all of you.”

All three of them looked away for a moment, blushing in embarrassment. “What did you want?” Logan, always straight to the point.

He chuckled, stepping closer to the logical side. “It’s simple really. I think it’s my turn to take a lollipop or three.” He grabbed the stick of the honey spoon and tugged gently, smiling when Logan willingly opened his mouth. Honey trickled down his chin as Patton took the lollipop, and he gently grabbed Logan’s jaw when he tried to close his jaw. “Nuh uh, I want all the honey.” He leaned closer, giving Logan time to back out before kissing him.

It was exhilarating, tasting Patton’s candy on Logan’s lips. The sweetness of the honey only made the taste of Logan even better. He savored the taste like he would never taste it again, sighing softly into the kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled at Logan’s dumbstruck gaze before turning to his next crush.

The human side of Janus’ face was bright red as he stared at Patton, the lemon lollipop hanging limply from his open mouth. Patton chuckled and cupped Janus’ cheek, taking out the lemon lollipop before pressing their lips together. The lemon was stronger, much stronger than Logan’s lollipop, but that only made him pull Janus deeper into the kiss, desperate to find the taste that was purely Janus. There was still quite a bit of honey on Patton’s mouth and Janus seemed to notice, his tongue brushing against his bottom lip. Patton groaned before pulling away, turning to his third crush.

Remus didn’t even give him time to catch his breath before pulling him close, smashing their lips together. Patton felt the creative side’s mustache tickle his nose and he giggled into the kiss. He couldn’t taste much of the green apple, the lemon flavoring still assaulting his taste buds, but he knew that his lips were being dyed that lovely shade of green as he kissed him.

When Patton finally pulled back, he sat on his bed, three lollipops in hand. His three crushes (boyfriends? Lovers? They needed to clarify that soon) trailed behind him, situating themselves around him. “You’re going to spoil your appetite.” Logan warned him as he looked down at the three treats.

Patton chuckled. “I know, and I don’t care. Because there are only three things I ever wanna have, and they’re all right here in front of me.”

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst @whatishappeningrightnow @idont-freaking-know @cute-and-angsty-princess @artsy-enby09 @girl-who-reads @larrymalecsolangelo

#sanders sides fic #oneshot #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #tw food

55 notes · View notes

cherryplasmids · 4 years

Text

☆ the lives you’ve left behind ☆

pairing: donny donowitz x reader

fandom: inglourious basterds—post-movie sequence

anon request: hi girl! i love your writing and i was wondering if you still write for donny donowitz? if you do i was wondering if you could do an angsty one? that's all i ask, you could take that and run with it however :)

notes: the reader has a kid — aldo is referred to the reader’s child as ‘uncle’ but that doesn’t mean they are actually related. also, aldo is married to a girl name jenny

— the child is a boy named Alex for filler purposes

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"That's your daddy," You whisper, pulling the tiny bundle of joy closer to your chest.

The infant, swaddled in a pale yellow blanket decorated with small brown bears, yawns but does not take notice of your words. Instead, Alex twists, stretches his arms out and settles back onto your chest. Without a care in the world, he just relaxes in the warmth that you've given him. An inkling of envy flashes through you—you would do anything to be that carefree again. But the war ruined everything, including your unbridled youthful attitude.

"Handsome, isn't he?" You question as if the little one will respond. You'd be more scared than anything if he does. You wave the 4x6 photo forward to entice your baby to look. "The most handsome man I've ever seen. Everyone thinks so too, even your uncle Aldo but he won't admit to that.

"But don't worry, baby. You'll be just as handsome and charming as your old man was."

As if he understands, the boy babbles happily, spit freely spilling over his lips and onto his cheeks. Grabbing a Kleenex from the bedside table, you wipe his face. It doesn't deter him. He continues to express his enjoyment through spit bubbles and random giggling. Your heart swells at the sight—his happiness contagious enough to erase your woes for the night.

When the sun rises, you'll tell Aldo all about the affection your newborn has been showing. He'll run down the street to coddle his nephew.

You don't continue until your baby boy calms down enough to the point where spit no longer seeps out of his mouth. By then, sleepiness is taking hold of him. He gives out a deep yawn. One of his tiny hands grips your right thumb while the other curls into a fist and rubs his eyes. A smile quirks at your lips. You take that as a sign to turn in.

“I’ll tell you about your daddy’s love for baseball tomorrow okay? I’ll even show you his prized baseball cards. but you can’t tell him or he’ll have my head.”

He’s knocked out by the time you lay him down. You pray he’ll sleep through the night, allowing you to earn to some much-needed shut-eye he’s deprived you of for months. After tucking him in, you tuck the photo of Donny under his pillow. You press a gentle kiss on his forehead, whisper a few sweet words to him, and then glide out of the room, leaving the door ajar in case he wails for your attention. You make do with this system until Jenny, Aldo's wife, takes you shopping for a baby monitor. She knows a lot more about baby care than you do.

Sleepiness is taking you hostage too with a yawn escaping your lips every 1-2 minutes but you had housework to complete before the morning arrives. Mostly just clearing out boxes of gifts the Donowitz family had sent from Boston. Some of them were open, others weren’t. Gifts like a microwave or other kitchenware were left in their respective box. You’ll deal with those on a later date.

There’s one box, though, that remains sealed. You inspect the plain cardboard container and see a word written across one side in neat cursive. But it isn’t the penmanship that has you gasping and dropping the box in shock.

No, it’s the word 'Donny' labeled across the surface that does.

It takes a moment or two for you to shake off the shock and another to get down to the ground. Sitting cross-legged, you stare at the box as if something will pop out and yell “surprise”—a harmful prank that will send you wailing for something you no longer had.

The knife seamlessly glides across the tape and you wonder when you reached for a knife in the first place. Your body is moving on its own accord without a thought concerning your mental wellbeing. While your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage, your hands steadily tear open the cardboard overlaps.

Taking a deep breath, you open the flaps and find a single sheet of paper covering the rest of the objects. It reads “for my darling daughter, with much love.” It’s signed “Mama Donowitz”.

Underneath the letter reveals a boatload of miscellaneous items from Donny's youth that he's shown to you with pride. His prized Lefty Grove signed baseball, favorite Wrigley's chewing gum, and his worn and torn favorite baseball glove stood out the most. Little things like that made you grin to the point where your cheeks reached your eyes. Anecdotes of Donny's childhood run through your mind—his voice echoing pure excitement. You take your time admiring each item, trying to permanently engrave them into your memory just like you had with his stories.

Then you find Donny's baby socks, embroidered with his name in red string. All resolve you bottled up for months disappeared instantly. You completely crumble.

You press the little socks to your chest as tears freely stream down your face and onto your neck, coating the bare skin with liquid. A wail bubbles up within you, crawling up your throat at a steady pace. But when you open your mouth to scream, nothing comes out. It dies in your throat. The only effort you can commit to is to rock back in forth, allowing sobs to shake your body. If someone saw you, they might have thought you were convulsing. They might have even called the ambulance.

The sobs don’t stop until hours later. By the time your heart calms down from its burning thrum, exhaustion envelops you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Aldo kicks some dirt on the side of the road while lighting up a Chesterfield. It doesn't take long for him to reach your house since it's down the road. He checks his wristwatch before knocking on the front door. He has about 45 minutes to meet Jenny at the factory. He'll spend 15 minutes here for coffee before leaving. You always made better coffee than his wife.

After some knocking and no response, Aldo takes it upon himself to check through the windows. Most of them are covered by curtains but the window facing the breakfast table isn't. He peers through, searching for you and his nephew wrapped in your arms.

Instead, he finds you on the floor with no baby in sight.

Aldo runs to the back door and searches for the hidden key. Besides the backdoor, he digs under the false rock where he remembered he put. It’s gone. The Chesterfield falls into the hole. He crushes it out and fixes the dirt on top. As an act of impulse, he stands up, goes to the backdoor, and punches out the small window panels on the door. The glass breaks easily and shards pierce his hand just as smoothly. Just glancing at it, he can tell his flesh is free from any lingering shards. A clean slice on his wrist bleeds moderately.

He reaches on the opposite side of the door and tugs at the locks. Not a second later, the door slams open, and you shoot up in an upright position.

Immediately, a fury of questions spews out of Aldo's lips, blending together and becoming unintelligible to your groggy brain.

"Is it morning already? I swear I took a five-minute na—" You see Aldo's bleeding hand and gasp, reaching out to inspect his wound. Your current position on the floor completely escaping you for a moment. Aldo lets you worry for right now.

You drag him up to the sink and run his hand over the open water. "Will I be alright, doc?" His odd accent leaves a few letters out. It reminds you of someone you try not to think about. "Ain't seen such a wound since the war."

Briefly glancing at him, he throws a wink and you gratefully smile. "You're the bane of my existence." You take his hand out of the water to wrap it in a big Band-Aid. It has crude miniature drawings of Mickey Mouse that make Aldo question them. "Just in case either your kids or mine get hurt, they'll immediately cheer up at seeing Mickey. Band-Aid should really invest in designing their product. Who knows how much money they could make?"

Aldo agrees as you finish. "You'll see another day, lieutenant"

He crookedly grins at you and thanks you for your service. You offer him some coffee which he enthusiastically agrees too. He checks his watch as he sits down at the breakfast table. Jenny will have his head if he's late. But he doesn't worry too much about that. She'll understand once he explains what happened.

"Mind tellin’ me why I caught a heart attack on this fine Thursday mornin’? Findin’ you sprawled out like freshly ran over roadkill?"

"Disgusting, Aldo." You say while passing him his mug of coffee. You turn around to fix yourself a toasted bagel with cream cheese. "I guess I was so tired last night that I fell asleep sorting out the gifts." You lazily wave your hand at the unsorted boxes on the floor.

Aldo walks over to the opened box in the middle of the kitchen and grabs the socks you dropped hours ago. He looks them over and notices a letter embroidered on the top. 'D' in red thread.

"Those are Donny's." You confirm. Aldo meets your glazed gaze.

Aldo sucks in a quick breath. It finally clicks in his head. Jenny will understand.

“Darlin—" You look up at him with such a depressed expression that immediately shuts him up. All he does is gather you in his arms and rests his chin on your head.

He hears you mumble something about how small Donny's feet were before you silently cry into his chest.

After a few seconds, Aldo's cheeks become wet with his own tears as he mourns over not only his friend but the lives he left behind.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 1,661 published: august 21, 2020 edited: n/a

#donny #donny x reader #Donny Donowitz #sgt donny donowitz #donny donowitz fanfiction #donny donowitz x reader #donny donowitz imagine #inglorious basterds #inglourious basterds x reader #inglourious basterds imagine #inglourious basterds fanfiction #x reader #imagines #eli roth #my writing #fanfiction #anon requests

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers (DT17 Season 2 Retrospective): The Most Dangerous Game Night! (Paid for by WeirdKev27)

Welcome all you happy people! As some of you will recall I do a lot of duck based retrospectives on this blog: Ride of the Three Cablleros! which took a look at all the Cabs major American adventures, Shadow Into Light, my Weblena colored look at Lena Sabrewing’s journey from abused teenager to magical protector, and the Della arc which I dind’t give a cool name but covered since Shadow Into Light read right into it’s final chapter and ended up perfectly synching up with the final month of the series. And of course i’m still working my way through the life and times of Scrooge McDuck with a plan to finish the main story in September barring any delays, sickness that sorta thing.

So it shouldn’t be at all a shock that having covered all of season 3 when it came out and covered the two season 1 arcs i’d be taking a look at Season 2′s three story arcs. So I probably would’ve covered them anyway.. but Kev, one of my patreons and the guy who commissioned Shadow Into Light AND Ride of the Three Cablleros, had expressed interest in doing the Glomgold arc from season 2 as it centers around his favorite character, Zan Owlson. He also wanted to do Della’s arc in time for mothers day, and was all too happy to combine both, and politely agreed to my request to do the Louie arc as well. To help soften the blow, I also suggested since he’s a patreon of mine on patreon.com/popculturebuffet he use his second review (You get one guaranteed review a month with 5 and he’s a 10 dollar backer so he gets two, and he’s earmarked marked one for House of Mouse through the end of the year) to help soften the blow a bit, which means some weeks i’ll be doubling up on this one. He agreed and it’s thanks to him that all of this happened so thanks bud. It’s also thanks to him I have money in the first place and I wouldn’t be here without him.

As for why I insisted on the Louie arc it wasn’t out of greed but out of pragmatism. I covered the Della arc purely on my own time, and gladly did so. But back then I also kept making the mistake of shoving retrospectives back again and again and again and that’s why there’s a rather nasty gap in my New X-Men retrospective I think severely harmed it , and a similar one for life and times which wounded it. I don’t mind taking smaller gaps of say a month when needed, but I learned from the experience I can’t just delay things constantly out of convince and expect it to work.

Not only that but the Lena and Della arcs only interact in the very last part. With these arc? While they don’t really touch at first and run parallel much like season 1′s arcs did, they start intersecting heavily as soon as Della gets back. Raiders of the Doomsday Vault! touches on both Della’s recent return and Glomgold’s bet with Scrooge, Happy Birthday Doofus Drake! has the A-Plot centered around Louie’s plot and the B-Plot centered around Della bonding with Huey as part of hers. And the final four is one one long, sustained arc, finishing up all three in the process. So yeah it was a package deal and as such this will be my third largest retrospective at 17 parts including the prologue. (As i’ll also be covering Della’s four issues in the IDW Comic released back in season 1). For the record my largest will be my Tom Lucitor Retrospective as 24 (in part due to doing the eclipsa arc for the same reasons as Dellas), and ride of the three cablleros at 20 is in a close second. This is going to be a long ride that will take most of summer, so buckle up, get your Louie Inc signs, Glomgold’ posters to jump through and black licorice gum ready and join me won’t you under the cut as we start this fantastic adventure together.

We open season 2 with all but one of our heroes proudly posing as they enter a temple. Scrooge even has his treasure of the lost lamp outfit on. Louie.. just looks tired and bored. One of the things I love about these reviews is that I haven’t watched most of the episodes since they first aired. Sure i’ve revisited some of my favorites like Dangerous Chemistry and the 87 Cent Solution, but I haven’t really DONE a full died in wool episode by episode rewatch of the series. I’ve got SO MUCH I haven’t watched, haven’t rewatched and haven’t even started, that I really DON’T have the time for it outside of my job. So it is VERY nice to get a chance to do so once in a while with it.

As such knowing Louie’s real motive this episode it makes this scene hit diffrently. On first airing Ducktales was back after a short hiatus, our heroes are operating at full speed and daringly charting through a temple: Dewey and Webby have become tighter than ever and easily stop a pit trap and Scrooge and Huey easily solve an arrow puzzle. But while at first glance Louie is just fed up because as he puts it later “I’m just loveably lazy”, knowing he’s really just burnt out, scared he’s going to die or worse like he likely thinks his Mom did because he’s not good enough.. it’s really tearjerking. Here’s an 11 year old who at his core feels he doesn’t belong in his family and just wants a friggin break from the dangerous shit they do. It hits even harder as a fan of the venture bros but i’ll save that for later. Point is he’s telling Scrooge he’s burnt out.

So then this happens...

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It really is almost the exact same joke, but diffrent enough since for one, Family Guy’s is driven by the refrenece (And god how I miss how their refrence humor used to have an actual purpose), where as here it’s to set up something else and hints for later: Louie having parsed how most adventures to at this point. While Scrooge is right in pointing out how every adventure is unique.. Louie’s not wrong that there is a small pattern to it: The Whoah! , The “Wait, What?” and the Aggggh!. Scrooge scoffs.. but Louie is proven correct as Dewey Whoas, a mechanisim trggers (Wait what?”) And everyone screams as they run from a giant wheel.

Back at home though it’s even more apparent poor Louie is miserable while his family is just jazzed. I can’t BLAME THEM, but I can’t blame him either for being, tired, worn out and just wanting ONE minute where they aren’t adventuering. There are some nice touches though as Scrooge runs off and finds a map in the idol: We see Duckworth removing the Scrooge as a Prospector painting based on Carl Bark’s painting of him from the foyer and instead replacing it with the painting of Scrooge, Donald and Della. It’s a nice little acknowledgment of how things have changed.. from Scrooge being alone and running from a painful past to having accepted it and gone back to being a family man. We also get Beakley just casually picking up Louie to vacum.

In the Triplet’s room.. which by the way why do they all share one room? In universe I mean, I mean is it saving on the power bill or does scrooge have the other rooms filled. Only four bedrooms are occupied: the boys, webby’s , Beakly’s (Which we never see but implicitly exists), and Scrooge’s himself. While the mansion isn’t LIMITLESS, it has to have more rooms than that. Is the rest just storage?

Out of universe though I do get why and i’ts why I let this concept of sharing a room when you have enough for everyone in the first place slide: it allows the boys to interact more easily outside of adventures by having all three in the same location. This episode is a good example of that as it kicks off Louie’s plan admirably: Louie is burnt out while Huey is excited.. and in another hint of Louie’s true gift he casually notices part of Dewey’s woodchuck uniform he was looking after is undone, simply making a quip about a sewing patch. He gets the idea for a scheme from there: to finally get his break by convincing Huey he’s slipping and exploiting his brother’s tendency for manic episodes.. which as someone with those I highly don’t approve and is far and away one of the more questionable things Louie’s done. And this is in an arc that includes him nearly wiping out all of existence.

Still it gets Huey on board but Scrooge and the wonder twins are a harder sell. Dewey and Webby are so jazzed on frinedship their even speaking in unions “This Needs to stop!” “I’ve tried but they really do enjoy harmonizing”

Louie insists the adventuring is driving them apart and making them less close.. and while Scrooge insits it brings them closer together he ends up proving his point when Louie fakes not knowing which triplet is which.. and Scrooge GENUINELY struggles with which one’s Huey and Which ones Dewey. Dewey’s face is at the top of the page.. and utterly and completely priceless.

And while I thought it was the same impressive face from night on Kilmotor hill turns out, nerp their uniquely hilaroius

Same mood though. But I do love this callback: almost a YEAR later, and Scrooge STILL is like...

But while movie night and make your own pizza night, which i’m pleased as punch to find isn’t just something my family does, don’t do anything one thing does... GAME NIGHT. Cue a glorious minute of David Tennant goofily shouting Game Night to everyone in the mansion. Seriously getting him was one of the series masterstrokes. The man has only done a few roles in voicework but damn is he a natural. Not eveyrone can adapt to it this fast. While I love Walton Goggins, it clearly took him a few episodes of invincible to get really comfortable with it. It’s why I have such respect for Voice Actors in general: I’ts not an easy job, it takes a lot of skill, and it can be often thankless. It’s also why i’ve made a concentrated effort ot more know of them by voice simply because they’ve earned that much.

Anyways Beakly pops Louie’s bubble that htis is not going to be relaxing for a very obvious reason: Scrooge is relentless against his enmies and game night makes YOU the enemy. He quickly has them pair off into teams, taking Donald right off the bat.

We also get one of the best jokes in the entire series “If you loose your out of the will” “(Genuinely suprised) I was in the will?”

It’s almost entriely in Tony’s delivery there. The surprise is just perfectly delivered. It’s also oddly touching as despite a decade’s estrangement and Donald understandably thinking he wasn’t in it in anymore, Scrooge NEVER removed Donald from it . Sure he’s thretaning it over game night but he clearly takes this ungodly seriously. Duckworth leaves to go do ghost stuff.. which is code for make up a flimsy excuse to run the fuck away. To make matters worse she’s stuck with Launchpad as a partner. Louie is left with Huey and immieditly regrets sending his brother into a panicy spiral as he’s already set up a creepy scheduling board.

So i’m going to go ahead and cover the Webby and Dewey Plot, and the acompanying Donald and Scrooge antics now to save us some time. I’ll come back to it at the climax of Louie’s plot obviously and to the episodes credit the pacing is exceptional, weaving in and out of both plots , Louie struggling to keep the whole shrinking plot a secret and the rest of the families game night, excelently, it’s just with my brain i’ts harder to do that in a recap so...

Game Night: Crush Your Enmies and See Them Driven Before You Scrooge goes to the Conan of Sumeria/Melissa School of Game Nighting. Or in short...

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Why HASN’T there been a Conan musical? So he and Donald dominate the first round, Charades, with Scrooge easily guessing almost EVERYHTING Donald mimes. As Webby puts it “When you’ve been around donald for 30 years you get good at non-verbal commuincation”. Granted they have a commuincation breakdown that results in this magic.

So Webby understandably assumes that given their best friends and Scrooge and Donald, while reconciled, hate each other, that they have an advantage. She is wrong. Not the first time: she also assumed she and Lena were just friends. It happens. you get a few wrong everyone does. Instead we get a great bit of Dewey utterly failing to guess it’s Scrooge despite Webby being obvious because Dewey’s brain is a riddle for the ages.

Jenga dosen’t really go great for either so they go solo for SCROOGEPOLY. Because of COURSE Scrooge created monopoly in this version. I simletaniously love and hate how eveyr piece is a top hat. I love it because it’s a hilarously quick gag.. but also hate it because one of Monopoly’s biggest draws is having so many diffrent peices. I mean some like the sports car make sense but then you have a dog for some reason and an ironing board. I mean I love that dog, he’s a good boy but I don’t understand why he’s in this. If anyone knows the weird old timey reasoning for either of these let me know in the replies or my asks.

This isn’t bad stuff mind, it’s just not really deep in stuff for me to make fun of. Apart from Donald ending up in jail... again. At least it’s not as bad as say goblin jail or that time he had to carve pinocchio’s nose into a shiv to surivive whale jail.

Louie: “How Long Before That’s Not Enough?”

Okay I kid, the subplot is good.. but that’s th epotatoes.. this is the potatoes iwth cheese.. look I love meat but potatoes don’t get enough love. They just don’t and you can do all kinds of delicious things to them. It’s why a good third of side dishes at most restaurants are potato based.

But yeah rolling it back a bit Louie is confident that even with the this will be mildly relaxing.. then Gyro bursts in thorugh the double doors proudly announcing his invention and pries himself in, ignoring Louie’s desperate attempts to shut him out.

Gyro is.. different in this episode. He’s peppy and while he’s mildly condescnding to the Gyropludians, more no that in a second, he’s far more enthuastic and freindly to everyone else and less of the awkward ballbag he’d been last season and would be again this season.

This feels like an ATTEMPTED course correct. See a lot of people, if understandably didn’t like how Gyro was in season 1. Fan of the original him from the comics and show iddn’t like the nice, friendly weirdo suddenly being a sour, condesencindg weirdo. Me I was FINE with the change from unintentional mad scientist to intentional one... I just feel they overdid it on the asshole as season 1 went on. In The Great Dime Chase he’s fine, he’s egosticial, angry and kind of a pill.. but he also clearly cares for his creations, rightfully hates the board for constantly doubting him, and is frustrated his creations keep going rouge. It was a nice balance.

The balance got thrown off entirely however once Fenton entered the scene. The crew just leaned WAY to hard into hwo much of a shitweasel he was to fenton: giving him an office in the bathroom with a cool quip, trying to beat him up (even if his rage over Fenton’s dumbassery was warranted that was not), and finally trying to take the gizmoduck armor back not out of any real concerns but because he’s worried he’ll loose his job... his job iwth the man who freely tolerates his creations going insane and really dosen’t care about his own colateral let alone Gyro’s. It came off as disngenous and that he simply didn’t trust FENTON with it and wanted and excuse to take the armor Fenton had clearly earned. He also pit manny and bulb against each other for a job which just felt out of character even for him to possibly fire one of his children which felt horribly out of character. Toniing this down was a good thing.. I just feel they overcorrected. They tried making him the 80′s version with a slight ego here, and when that didn’t work they just downplayed him for the rest of the season. He’s still around, in fact we’ll be seeing him again soon enough, and he still gets some great jokes... he’s just not really focused on at all. But they managed to fix their fix in season 3: they did have Gyro be a dick to Fenton again but gave proper context, had him apologize and framed it less as a funny joke and more as him being abusive because he was abused himself and breaking the cycle. He also kept the supporting role but kept the shadiness in it, with the earpiece bit from “Louie’s Eleven” being a highlight.

Gyro has a new device that can pick up tiny sounds and has found a tiny civilization in the ducks house, dubbing them Gyropudlians because he apparnetly likes Gullivers Travels. I do not really know what that’s about, nor have I seen any of the movies. Not even the jack black one made on a dare to see if they could actually sell a movie on the concept “This old story but as a jack black comedy”. And it went horribly wrong because they actually did get it greenlit and someone out there actually watched it. Not me... and I watched the Wrong MIssy entirely of my own volition. I’m not immune from making eye staining mistakes. This just wasn’t one of them.

Gyro ends up getting shrunk down because he naturally attached a shrink ray to it because...

So Louie shrugs it off correctly figuring out the arc of that sort of story: Gyro becomes a god, he learns a life lesson that sort of thing. Also I do applaud them for making the lost tribe not horribly racist.. that is a hard line to walk. They just make them generic instead which.. still better than racist. “Not Racist” isn’t a very high bar to clear but given this version went out of it’s way to be inclusive while the original show.. what’s a good metaphor for this.. hrmmm... these rakes are all the racism in the original show i’ve encoungered so far and probably will in the future, and i’m sideshow bob.

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Eventually though the Gyropudlians decide to decalre war on the giants because unknowingly the Ducks have been destroying their civilizations time and time again.. mostly louie but donald clearly peed a civiliztion to death..and i’m not grasping at straws there he left the bathroom and the other two possiblities for the floating city are too horrible to comprehend. Or it was just the sink and i’m a bastard... i’m probably a bastard.

So they blast the shrink ray around the kitchen and get Launchpad, so now he’s a part of this cliche. Beakly finds them.. is highly supscious, and Huey’s lie is.. not convincing... but this gets her out of game night with her overcompeitive boss so she takes the out and gets the fuck out and is not seen for the rest of the episode.. probably for several days. Look she does a lot around the house no one’s going to question if she comes back after a mysteirous absence with someone elses blood on her apron and several thousnd ddollars in brazilian cocaine. The sweetest cocaine of all. Scrooge is just used to it by now.

Anyways things continue to escalate as The Gyropuldians, Launchpad and Gyro launch an assault on the tower of infinity, aka the jenga tower and knock it over. The Good news is launchpad surivives and we get a great bit of the brothers hugging then awkarly and half assedly explaning it to cover. the bad news is the Gyropudlians considered it an act of war and have trained some flies to man the microphone shrink ray dealie.

It’s here we get the best scene of the episode: Huey is naturally worried.. even more so after he sees Louie’s response to the unfolding chaos: Curling up in a fetal position and rocking back in forth muttering to himself this was supposed to be a fun night in. Huey finally has had enough of this and wants to knwo wha tthe hell this is all about, shooting down Louie attempting to deflect it with his usual lazy schtick. Even at his laziest he’d pride self preservation over doing nothing. This is something worse. And while Huey is furious his rage is coming out of concern. While Huey prides himself on his brain... he has the biggest heart of the three. He’s the most empathetic and the one most willing to reach out to the others when they need him. Not that hte others lack it, Dewey was the one to welcome Webby into the group the most after all, it’s just Huey displays it the most. So his anger comes off entirely as genuine worry at Louie acting out of character and trying to avoid doing what eveyrone else does. And his response.. is heartbreaking...

“BECAUSE I’MMom was great at adventuring, and she still got hurt. I'm only good at talking my way out of it. How long before that's not enough? NOT GOOD AT IT OKAY?!”

Bobby Monihan.. really dosen’t get enough credit for this show. When he gets to really do something big with Louie he goes for it and he uttelry dominates the scnee here. Danny Pudi is no slouch mind.. but Monihan REALLy gets to show what he can do. His reasoning for his worries is also just as well delivered and heartbreaking.

“Mom was great at adventuring, and she still got hurt. I'm only good at talking my way out of it. How long before that's not enough?“

It just.. stings a lot. To find that Louie’s exaustion wasn’t out of self intrest.. but just out of fear. That he won’t be good enough at best and that he’ll end up like his mom: lost or dead never to be seen again as far as he figures. As a third of this arc will bear out, tha’ts not even remotely true, but out of the three Louie is the most pragmatic so while he says hurt.. he thinks she’s dead. And if she, someone as capable as scrooge or as close as someone whose not him can be, could end up dead... he’s living on borrowed time.

This is where the Venture bros comparison really comes out to me... because they had a similar if more spread out storyline in season 5, with bookish brother Dean, Huey if he lacked autisim but gained 80 dozen more issues, found out he and his brother Hank, aka Dewey in his teens, were clones because his dad is really bad at keeping his sons alive because he’s also bad at everything else including science, parenting, being emotinally open, making a cocktail that isn’t a crime against nature, sex, and not treating hank like garbage, which should fall under shitty parenting but I love my empty headed boy.

So why bring this up? Well besides self indulgance because I love both shows iwth a signifgant portion of my heart and frank flat out admitted to being a venture bros fan, and having Beakly take some cues from Brock, I love the accidental parallels here: both are arcs about a boy adventuer coming to grips with their mortality. Both withdraw, both are heavily depressed and both feel there’s no real light at the end of the tunnel for htem anymore.

And both.. are drawn out of it the same way.. by a concerned brother pulling them out of their misery and self doubt:

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It’s the same here... Huey helps Louie through it, understanding how he feels.. and like Hank did for Dean, proving to Louie he’s not alone. He points out that yes Della did get hurt.. but it’s because she went in alone. He’s got his family.. they won’t let him get lost or die.. because their not alone. The reason they can do all this stuff is because their together. Their all amazing alone.. but together their unstoppable. And i’ts fine Louie’s afraid.. but he can’t let that fear kill everyone he cares about.

So our boys run upstairs, but are a second too late as the gyro pudlians shrink the other four down, and the duo’s attempt to grow them just makes one of the gyropudlians giant instead. With things at their grimmist.. Louie finds his TRUE talent, looks at the situation. and takes charge. In the span of two minutes he completely turns the tide: he has launchpad crash his way out, which he does by pure accident because of course he does he’s nature’s perfect Himbo. He next has Donald and scrooge take on some guards to give Dewey and Webby some room and has Huey take out the giant with his sewing. His final part is to have Dewey and Webby work their way up to the ray gun.. which is a probelma s both have lost all confidence due to realizing they have nothing in common and can’t fathom how their friends. Scrooge’s reply? Of course their not.. THEIR FAMILY. It was then that a thousand debbigail shippers cried out and were silenced... I know I was one of them. I couldn’t speak for about a minute. It was awful.

And yeah.. I had been shipping Dewey and Webby up to this point, but it was becoming increasingly obvious they were being treated like brother and sister and then this happened. And in hindsight i’m glad I jumepd the hell off as they turne dout ot be blood related so I dodged a bullet there an found better ships for both. So no harm no F.O.W.L. clone accidental incest.

Realizing this the two find their second wind and save the day. OUr heroes are restored and things are good.

The next day, Louie faces the music with Scrooge and is terrified, not helped by Scrooge being dead serious... but his worries are for naught. Scrooge instead only has one thing to say

“You saw all the angles”

Something the crew conciously did was have each of the kids mimic one of Scrooge’s tennants, something that was heavily implied before but made fully explicit here: Dewey is toughter than the toughies, Huey is Smarter than the smarties... and Louie is the oft forgotten Sharper than the sharpies. Scrooge even lampshades how that part of his motto is often left out. And of course as frank made clear post series, Webby made her way into the family Square.

But back to the sharpie thing, I like this because it defines what that truly means, as it often comes off as similar to the smartie bit hence i’ts exclusion: It’s the ablitliyt to think quickly, strategize, a strategic, critical mind that can come up with a gambit in an instant and use everyone to the best of their abillity. It’s why for an example, Scott Summers is one of my faviorite x-men. Because while his eye laser things are impressive it’s this kind of cleverness and tactical insight, seeing all the pieces on the board and easily manuvering them, friend and foe, that makes him so awesome. And as scrooge muses it could make Louie even richer than he is. And in a truly touching gesture, Scrooge gives Louie the idol, confident in his Nephew’s potetial. His mother reached hers... he only needs time. So with that Louie’s arc truly begins and he hangs a shingle on the triplets door. Louie inc is born.

Final Thoughts: This episode caught me by suprise: I remember it being decent.. but damn if it wasn’t amazing on the rewatch, with the knowledge of Louie’s weakness helping but really it’s just a funny, tightly paced half hour of television. It has great jokes, a great emtoinal arc and in general is jsut well.. great. I didn’t see this poteitial the first time because I was more hung up on fethry finally appearing, the cabs finally appearing.. all the things in the distance after this ep. But this ep is just damn good and I wish i’d put it on my best of list. Top shelf stuff.

Next time on Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers: The second arc starts up as FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD returns as an amensiac south african fisherman and it’s up to Webby and Louie to unravel his past to figure out why he’s acting like this and if this is another one of his insane schemes. We also meet Zan Owlson buisnesswoman of the year and person about to go through some undeserved shit at the hands of a stupid man. Later Today: We return to Amity Park for more Danny Phantom and meet his second most intresting enemy as an innocent fuckup turns a spoiled brat into one of most dangerous enemies. Also PUPPIES and Tucker being the worst.

Wednsday: We grab onto some more ducktales as Donald returns to Ducktales 87. And judging by the content warning so does racisim.

If you liked this review stop my patreon RIGHT HERE. Seriously please do: you’ll find exclusive reviews, and if you join you’ll get acess to my discord, get to pick a short for my shortstravganzas, and help me reach my strech goals. And at my next one at 20, just 5 dollars away, ALL READERS will get a darkwing duck review a month and reivews of the two ducktales movie as well as the Danny Phantom TV Movie the ultimate enemy!

See you at the next rainbow!

#ducktales #season 2 arcs #louie duck #huey duck #scrooge mcduck #dewey duck #webby vanderquack #donald duck #gyro gearloose #bentina beakley #launchpad mcquack #duckworth #the most dangerous game night!#della duck

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

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Hell is just a beat away (2/9): Keen to show you the unhappy ones below you

Despite early promise, young Maul has turned out to be a disappointment, willfully delaying his training with secret attempts to make himself friends from scrap metal. He must be properly motivated, and so Darth Sidious sends him to a slave market on an impossible mission. It backfires. (A Star Wars: Darth Maul (2017) comic AU)

Warnings: accidental underage alcohol consumption, body horror, mention of sex slavery, violence against children, minor character death.

The attendant bends gracefully, smiling as she refills fine translucent cups. The first one is in front of Master Zalandas Fyaar, so the standard diplomatic protocol of privileging the Jedi emissary and guest apparently holds true even on this tiny corrupt world, and then comes that of the twi’lek’s own employer. The man who is Zalandas and Eldra’s new charge. His name is Martrey Woobudg, a tall harried human just like Fyaar, and the upstart frontrunner candidate for mayor of the capital of the Outer Rim planet of Teth. A second passes—a wriggling suspicion in the back of her mind, and then Eldra smooths it over—and then the beautiful twi’lek looks at Master Zalandas and bows and tops up the cup in front of Eldra, too, even though that one has barely been touched.

Woobudg and Master Zalandas pick up their drinks immediately, taking a break from hurried planning to praise the olid tea within. Eldra nibbles at the porcelain edge of her cup. The twi’lek attendant does not drink. She doesn’t even have a cup. Or a biscotti. Or a seat, and when fine hot droplets of tea splatter Eldra’s padawan tunic, and she realizes she’s actually biting down hard now on her crockery.

It’s not the fear of getting poisoned that holds Eldra back from enjoying her tea, although, considering they were called here after the third assassination attempt on Woobudg… maybe a little caution should be in order. It’s a serviceable excuse should Master Zalandas ask, anyway, even if it’s not the true reason, and neither is what Eldra privately decides is the painfully obvious and pointless braggadocio inherent in Woobudg serving imported Chandrilan tea, despite the well-publicized price-hike after last year’s ruined harvest there, and the fact that it absolutely genuinely does taste like unfiltered bantha piss. He’s serving his pricey swill to a couple of Jedi, moreover: to his protectors bound by duty, who do not revel in wealth.

It’s not that, though.

It’s not even really because this is only Eldra’s second diplomatic mission, and she’s sworn she’s going to take her job more seriously this time around. She’s going to make sure no-one, not even once, peeks in unnoticed through the doors and windows. That isn’t it either, and truthfully she’s paying attention far less than she means to.

It’s something far more petty and profane: the subtle spiced fragrance of the attendant’s perfume as she bends over Eldra to reach the china. Her dress, as expensive as the tea, made from rippling opaque silk in a slightly lighter shade of blue than the woman’s skin. It’s a fairly modest cut. Barely any flash of cleavage, despite Eldra’s vantage point. Chosen expressly for this meeting, Eldra thinks sourly, and who do you think you’re fooling?

It’s the attendant’s bearing, calm and open and as serene as any Jedi Master.

It’s the fact that Eldra’s still thinking of her as ‘the attendant’ even though she’s been flitting around the room for two hours now at least. It’s that she wasn’t introduced. It’s that she doesn’t have a cup. A biscotti. A seat.

It’s her teeth.

What would happen, Eldra wonders, if I asked her to come sit and have a drink with us? Besides the obvious, of course: Master Zalandas’ abject disappointment at Eldra’s dearth of diplomatic skill. Would the attendant keep smiling? Displaying her teeth? Or would she flinch the moment the hot nasty leaf juice hits them?

Because her teeth are white-lacquered, dainty, tiny, horrifying stumps. Eldra can’t stop looking at them. They’re almost worn down to the gums. Twice-sanded at least, probably. Once, to sharpen the natural edges further—Eldra runs her tongue over the edges of her own canines, her pointy incisors, like she’s been doing ever since researching for a class project the customs of the peoples of the polar tip of the northernmost continent of Ryloth, the place where she was told she’d been born—teeth sanded once, sharpened, and then, they were ground down again mercilessly to make them blunt.

“Another biscotti, Padawan?”

Watch your feelings, Eldra. Remember that you are a Jedi. Remember your duty. That’s what Master Zalandas means, and Eldra startles, self-conscious and guilty. She must’ve lost her bearing, been grabbing attention even with the question bitten back behind her lips. She nods, a quiet thanks for the reminder. She studies the window again, on guard for any assassin. She tells herself: this meeting is important. Martrey Woobudg is a reformer, an anti-corruption juggernaut, and his rise a chance to wrest Teth from out the criminal syndicates’ control and, ultimately, bring it into the regulatory orbit of the Republic once more. If he keeps his promises after he wins, the election will spell a sea-change for the poor, who’ll finally be able to go about their lives without paying massive bribes to every single government official they have the misfortune of meeting, and it will aid the rise of a stable middle class. It’ll keep out the Hutts, too. It’ll be a triumphant sign of progress. Woobudg is important. His safety is paramount. His fate determines the future of so many people; it’s so much bigger than the life of this one attendant. Eldra knows the brief.

And still, her eyes are drawn back to his twi’lek servant.

To his slave.

That’s why you sand down someone’s teeth until there’s barely anything left. Why you keep at it long after it hurts. Why the sharpest teeth are so popular on Ryloth in the first place.

No-one wants a sex slave capable of biting their throat out.

Dutifully, she attempts to listen again, to keep watch, but looking at Woobudg’s face it’s still all she can think of. Slaver, slaver, slaver. He’s important, and Eldra must protect him, and he’s a slaver.

Looking back at the attendant, she’s met by the serene smile again, full of awful tiny teeth.

Looking at her Master, she feels her own inadequacy.

Looking down at her own hands is no escape. They’re darker than the attendant’s, callused and oil-stained and nails half-covered with flaking black nail polish. They’re the hands of someone far too slowly growing into the knowledge that her body is a shell, a vessel, that she is a luminous being of higher purpose. They’re a Jedi’s hands, or will be, and through them the force flows and shapes the galaxy. They are the hands of someone who will know no emotion, but peace. They are the hands of someone who neither covets nor disdains expensive Chandrilan tea. They are the hands of a faithful servant of the Republic. They are the hands that will protect Woobudg from his enemies and facilitate the rise of Teth, come what may, because she knows right, and she knows duty.

She forces herself to meet Woobudg’s eyes when he looks at her, feigning attention, and hopes he didn’t just ask a question.

She fidgets with her twi’lek girl fingers.

⁂

Hiding and curled and dirty under the stranger’s ship in the now-deserted hangar, two hours after he crawled down there, Maul finally realizes he’s been underestimating his Master. This mission on Nar Shaddaa is not just a chance for the apprentice to prove himself. No, Master is wise and efficient, and he wouldn’t have a single purpose for anything He does when He could, instead, have a myriad. It’s not just a test of Maul’s skill and loyalty.

It’s also a series of lessons.

Yesterday, Maul had been so sure he knew the meaning of cold.

He’d read about it, after all, memorized all the ice worlds in the galaxy and the medical texts on hypothermia and studied the schematics of atoms bouncing ever more slowly off each other. He’d looked at holos of skin blistered and sloughing off from unwise exposure, and he’d been impressed. A little scared, maybe, and very excited to progress in his studies so one day he’d have a chance to experience winter. But Maul’s been hiding under the stranger’s ship for hours now, and Nar Shaddaa is cold. It’s not flashy, the cold, like the holos of icebergs and boiling water thrown up and coming down powder implied. It’s not exciting at all. The cold of Nar Shaddaa is quiet. It’s the floor leeching into Maul’s back and legs, until he can’t tell anymore where wet dirt ends and he begins. It’s uncontrollable shivering. It’s his nose leaking, leaking, leaking. It’s making him tired.

Mustafar bubbled and smoked, and even inside the training complex with its sophisticated uncounted layers of insulation—Maul had dug into the wall once, tunneling almost a quarter-way through with a droid’s breastplate repurposed into a shovel—even inside, during some of the periods that Maul had taken to calling ‘seasons’ after researching the planet of Naboo, it was often so warm Maul wished he was allowed to tear off his tunics, and an additional layer or two of skin with it. Sweating, panting, he’d read the word cold, and he’d wanted it badly. He’d dreamt, open-eyed, for so many hours, of himself rolling around in the cold white snow and chasing ice-weasels. But back then, on Mustafar, it was hot. And Nar Shaddaa is real, and it’s now, and it’s so so cold.

Maul can’t stay down here forever, or even for another minute. He wants to sleep. He wants to run, at the same time, to fight the Jedi apprentice until he meets victory or glorious death. He wants to have completed this mission already. He wants a lightsaber of his own, so he can hold it and bask in its warmth. He wants to sleep. Force, he wants to be asleep. He wants to wake up in his small boiling cell and realize this has all been a dream.

(He wants someone to hold his hand and say, “I’ll help you,” but that’s the most impossible thought of all.)

There is no point in wishing for anything, though. There has never been. He must act. He must stop sneezing. The slave auction will be in four days now, a short strip of time he just needs to overwinter somewhere, Maul tells himself, and even if he doesn’t want to go anywhere near Master’s Star Courier now that it has killed the teenagers that could have been Maul’s friends and the mangy brachno-jag besides, there are many other options. Many other ships. He’s curled down here, in the cold, under just such a ship.

He knows how to pick locks.

It’s not hard at all to gain entry to the ship, now that he’s thought of it. He could have done it in less than thirty seconds, if his hands were shaking less and he had the proper tools, the ones he’s been meaning to build himself for years but in Master’s complex on Mustafar there was little point and then he had to construct stilts and the vocoder-mask for his mission and he forgot—Maul could have sliced the lock in under twenty-five point five seconds, he decides, with the tools, but the ten minutes he actually fiddled with it were acceptable too, because neither the training-droids nor Master himself were there to witness it, and besides, he doesn’t have much practice yet. (He should lock the door again and re-slice it, and over and over, until he’s quick enough. He should. But there’s no-one here to watch, and Nar Shaddaa is cold…)

This one looks almost exactly like Master’s ship, on the inside. Maybe all starships do: a few red-plush benches around a low table in the main travelers’ compartment, overlooked by a massive idling viewscreen, two small side rooms with pairs of sleeping berths, a refresher with a sonic shower and a kitchenette and, most interesting of all, an unlocked engine room and a cockpit with a slightly different layout than the Star Courier had. Maul shall explore them in detail, as soon as he’s warmed up and fed and made sure there are no hidden traps in here. He didn’t dare take apart his Master’s property, but this ship belongs to someone who won’t, can’t, defend his claim against Darth Maul, heir of the Sith—soon-to-be Darth Maul, he corrects quickly—and power is the only true right in the galaxy. Through power he will gain victory, and what is victory in this situation but access to a stranger’s ship’s mechanics? A fuel tank blinks enticingly, and soon Maul shall learn its secrets.

Food first, though.

He upends his satchel over the low table and picks through his haul from the ill-fated convenience store visit. Bottles, ordered by color, to the left—a toxic orange looking one the furthest away, then brown, then the two water bottles with their beautiful waxing gibbous shape when seen from the top and the yellow labels with red writing—and the crinkly chips packages to the right, joined by the sandwiches and the jaw-mask and two pairs of huge glasses with dark lenses and wide red-black frames.

The orange drink is bitter and sickly sweet and probably poisoned, and when he pushes it away it tips over and spills all over the carpet. It deserved that ending, though. It was vile. It didn’t have the right to be drunken by a Sith Lord.

Trying to rinse the taste off his tongue is unsuccessful: the fancy water is bitter, sharp, oily, and Maul shudders. At least the sandwiches smell bright and meaty through their flimsi wrapping. They’ll mask the awful water he’ll have to sip from to avoid dehydration, and so he picks one, to devour while he explores the sitting area.

Perched in an overhead nook is a flickering holo of a weequay male kissing the top of a young weequay’s head, and he turns it off as quickly as he can.

The two blankets and five little pillows are far more welcome spoils, and so is the datapad wedged underneath one of the benches. Someone’s taped a scrap of flimsi securely to the back, too, with two neat rows of handwriting. A name, and then a series of numbers.

Maul types them into the datapad, and it lights up.

“Good evening, Johen,” the pad greets him.

There are pages opened already on the datapad, a search for restaurants on Coruscant and a school’s newsletter and—two catalogues. One of them is Grakkus’ slave auction, and Johen is already logged in.

It’s… in three days?

There must be a mistake. Master said it was in eight days, four days ago, and Master is never wrong, but there’s no slave auction on that date no matter which button Maul presses and where he navigates on the catalogue, just the one in three days, and then five days after, and another five days, and another…

Master doesn’t make mistakes. He knows everything, studied the secrets of the galaxy that the Jedi would keep suppressed, and the hidden weaknesses of far-off planets’ politicians, and every single one of Maul’s minute failures except for the secret dreams, and He would know the true date of this slave auction. He would not err, not when this mission is so vital to the grand plans of the Sith that he sent his own apprentice to complete it. He would never…

He wouldn’t…

But what He would do is test Maul.

A true scion of the Sith does not trust blindly in dates and dossiers, and Master knows that. He must have told Maul the wrong date to pass on this wisdom. He must have, and He didn’t even fear the risk that this momentous mission might fail, because He trusted that Maul would understand.

And Maul did.

Master made the right choice. It’s as if someone had pumped Maul’s chest cavity full up with helium, pulling him off the upholstery and into the cool air: he found the correct date, with time to spare. He procured food and drink and shelter by himself, anticipated the need to hide his childish face under a mask. He built a vocoder. He is powerful and devilishly clever, and more prepared to serve the Sith than anyone has ever been, in all the history he knows, and Lord Sidious knew this when He sent Maul to Nar Shaddaa.

Master has never put His true pride into words; despite the considerable skill of His tongue He likely never will, but this mission is plain proof of the sort Maul never dared to yearn for.

His Master trusts Maul’s skill.

The emotion is overwhelming, and Maul wraps himself up in his blankets, to trap the acknowledgement for a while before it can dissipate.

He is victorious already. He is vengeance. He is Sith.

He’s won three days early.

After half an hour, though, basking in his glory gets boring. His face is growing warm. He’s eaten two sandwiches, too, and forced down seven gulps of awful water. He should sleep, but he isn’t tired yet.

Maul doesn’t exactly know what to do with downtime. Or: he does know. On Mustafar, he had long stretches with nothing to do. Apparently, it’s physically impossible to keep training all the time. SRT-X (or Strut, as Maul had called it in secret) once put itself in front of Maul and showed articles to Lord Sidious, about a vain bodybuilder on Corellia whose arm muscles had eventually started breaking down from overexertion, and he’d nearly poisoned himself with the waste of his own overbulged dead muscle tissue. Strut didn’t survive that confrontation, which in retrospect Maul admits was completely fair. (At the time, he’d cried his eyes out, no matter how much Master had tried to make him to stop, but that too had been a valuable lesson: the Master is always right, and contradiction suicide. Even if the frequency of lessons had tapered off somewhat after that. Lord Sidious had probably independently decided to make Maul train less. He was wise that way.)

He’s had long stretches where he didn’t even feel like tinkering with his droid projects, or meditating, because occasionally the hatred just wouldn’t come. That was before Lord Sidious showed Maul what the Jedi had done to the Sith: nowadays, it’s much easier to feel hatred. (Or what passes for hatred, anyway. Mostly it’s nothing but protective anger, but that is just another failure he cannot admit even to himself.)

During those times when there was nothing to do, Maul often researched people. Master is a politician in His spare time, of course, as Maul overheard some years ago, and He makes people dance and shiver and obey with a single word. It’s almost more impressive than being a Sith Lord. To manipulate people… to talk them into being your friends… Maul might need that skill, especially in the future when he will become the Sith Lord and teach his own apprentice—he would need the skill just to find an apprentice—and so he started his research project. Which admittedly consisted of looking at the hololessons that Master left for him. But that was the best way to observe natural behavior. Which was why Maul watched them. Over and over.

He’s not brought the hololessons with him now, but he is in someone’s ship. Johan had a picture up with his child. Maul already learnt so much today, about cold and efficiency and never trusting anybody and stealing from supermarkets, and maybe there is something additional to learn here, about people. He wobbles back over to the small holo and brings it down to his nest.

There’s nothing else on the datadrive, though, nothing but the toddler cradled in her father’s arms. No instructions. No meaning. Maul tries to imagine what it would feel like, to be that small or that big, but nothing wants to move in his head except for the water strangely threatening to blur his eyesight.

His chest hurts.

His chest hurts, and pain is a message.

Maul wishes he knew what he’s being told.

He moves closer and closer to the holodevice—there must be some power trapped in there, to make him react this way—and then his nose bumps against the plasteel.

It hits the off button, and Maul is alone again.

He tries to fall asleep.

He counts: he nearly finished his mission. He learnt about cold, and efficiency, and not trusting, and probably something about babies. He found food and water and shelter. He nearly made friends with hooded aliens and a brachno-jag. He—

Maul shoots upright and logs back in to the datapad.

He’s forgotten to search the database for the padawan.

⁂

There is one location on Teth even worse than the tea room: the stage out in the open air where Candidate Woobudg is stubbornly campaigning for freedom.

That’s what he keeps shouting.

Freedom, with the might of the Republic guarding his back and his twi’lek slave kneeling at his feet.

Freedom, the people rallying below mutter. Eldra is walking amongst them, looking for threats, while Master Fyaar is standing grimly behind Woobudge. “Optics,” Woobudg had explained and Master Fyaar had acquiesced, and Eldra didn’t understand and did: the twi’lek attendant would look too much like a person, she thinks, if she was next to a Jedi who could have been her daughter.

Freedom! Freedom! All around her, and something pulls on Eldra’s sleeve. It’s the hand of a young red twi’lek man. He’s collared and his left breast is exposed, suckling a sullustan baby. The child’s family—slavers—are a few meters ahead, and that’s what must have given him the courage to beg, wild-eyed and hoarse, “Take me with you, please!”

Freedom!

“We didn’t…” Eldra looks away. “We did not come here to free the slaves.”

⁂

No padawan is listed anywhere in the catalogue for Grakkus’ slave auction. There’s no Jedi, no witch, no force-sensitive or force-null or Sith or any thing or any being in any way remarkable. Nothing, neither in any listing for any future auction nor in the archives of successful deals stretching six decades into the past. No padawan who is not for sale but just a member of Grakkus’ personal collection except a boy who died ten years ago. No references to a Jedi sold by a third party, or even any guest who might be a Jedi when Maul cross-referenced the user lists with holonet articles about his ancestral foes. Two Jedi artifacts, but it’s not like those count.

No person that could in any way be interpreted as the mission target that Master talked about, not even after Maul exploited a weakness in the catalogue’s search field to give himself access that Johen shouldn’t have had and scoured it all over again.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

No way to succeed.

He should have been afraid all along. Maul wasted two hours basking in premature victory and safety; he wasted three days being cautiously optimistic, when he should have been swallowing down his pleas for mercy ever since the very second Master announced He’d send him to Nar Shaddaa.

Send him to failfail.

There’s no padawan here.

What does it mean, that Master wants Maul to fail the very first mission he ever had? What did Maul do wrong? Why couldn’t He just punish—?

Master might have made a mistake, perhaps, Maul’s mind offers timidly. Maybe He’s seen news of a padawan that isn’t here, but Master does not make mistakes. Master knows everything.

Besides, it being a mistake—which it isn’t—wouldn’t make a lick of a difference to Maul’s chances of surviving his Master’s wrath.

Maul swallows a gulp of the oily water, then another, and it burns. That doesn’t make his mind stop spinning, makes him even more woozy and warm and nauseous, but his growing illness won’t matter anyway if Master wants him dead. If he doesn’t find a padawan, nothing will ever matter again.

He’ll be punished. He’ll deserve it. He’ll die.

Maybe this is another lesson. Maul is training to become the Sith Lord after all, and every true Sith must learn that failure is not an option. Their mission is too important for that. Revenge is too important.

(Even if it’s not really meant as a lesson, not truly, Maul has to believe it is. Otherwise, what else is there to do but wait for death?)

Maybe this is a lesson in improvisation. In overcoming terror. In never giving in.

There must be a padawan somewhere on Nar Shaddaa. Somewhere in this quadrant, at least. Somewhere in the galaxy. Master must have meant ‘Nar Shaddaa’ in some general sense that doesn’t just refer to the planet, or maybe the padawan He talked of was moved…

The one location where there definitely are some padawans is the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Maul knows. But there are also several thousand armed and trained Jedi Masters there, and while Darth Maul will absolutely kill them all to avenge his fallen Sith brethren and sisters and siblings, he generally assumed it would happen at least one or two years in the future. That he’d have time to build a lightsaber before fighting to the death against the Grand Master Jedi, and also grow a little taller. His battle plans always took those things for granted.

Maul will just search the rest of the galaxy first for a suitable padawan, he decides, and keep the all-out assault on the Temple as a backup plan. That’s not cowardice: he only has a few more days and travelling to Coruscant will take a lot of time. It’s just efficient to try and find a padawan somewhere else first.

Maybe even somewhere on Nar Shaddaa. Maybe the owner of this ship just wasn’t interested in Jedi padawans.

Maul could get a different result on a different ship. He has to.

⁂

It happens too quickly for Eldra to process. The rally ends and the people disperse, and then there is a sound like static—and then she’s on her back with Master Fyaar’s heavy body on top of her. The air is shivering with the heat of blaster bolts and thick with the stench of burnt flesh and hair.

“Eldra,” Zalandas Fyaar rasps out. “Eldra.”

Eldra looks up at her. Master Fyaar’s blonde locks obscure her face, but they cannot hide the stripe of cooked skin at the very top of it, flecks of bone showing through. More than anything, Eldra wishes she could see her Master’s eyes, see the clear blue serenity that reminds her that all is as the force wills it. More than anything, she wishes she could see a mouth twisted in disappointment at Eldra’s failure to notice the ambush. Freckles. Worry-wrinkles. But Master Fyaar cannot raise her head, because she shielded Eldra with it, and—

“Eldra.”

Eldra raises her hand to Fyaar’s wound. She’s good at healing, she gets far better marks there than for diplomacy or geography or sports, and this is cauterized so there won’t be an infection, she just needs manipulate a few cells, to stabilize…

“You’re strong, child. You will not fall to the dark. I know it.”

That sounds like a goodbye. It doesn’t have to be. It won’t… “Master, please—” Eldra can heal her, she is healing her, the wound is closing a little.

“Always remember you are a Jedi.”

“Master—”

“Remember yourself.“

Jedi Master Zalandas Fyaar doesn’t die because she gives up. She doesn’t die because Eldra gives up, or because Eldra fails, or because survival was impossible: the man who pulls Eldra away from her dying Master simply doesn’t care that they need to touch.

He pushes Master Fyaar to the ground—“This one’s toast!”—and pulls Eldra upright by her left lekku, and no matter how desperately she fights through the pain worse than anything she has ever thought she’d bear, like her brain is being squashed and really that’s what is happening, like every thought she has has been replaced by puke-inducing pressure and she does retch and vomit, but still she fights, because if she can just get to Master Fyaar and save her then everything will be okay.

She fights until she doesn’t see the rise-and-fall of her Master’s chest anymore, and then she screams, and then she stops.

⁂

It’s the twelfth ship now. Same procedure as the last ones. Maul’s working through the entire shipyard ship by ship. Slowly, he crawls over and stands up and waits until the world stops wobbling, and then he slices the lock of the cargo hold. He searches for datapads and tries to access any slaver database he can.

Somewhere, someone must be selling a Jedi padawan. They just have to.

⁂

Something’s being shoved in front of her. A holocam, Eldra registers, to—shoot a picture for the ransom note? But why would they… it would suffice just to contact the Temple; they know where they sent Eldra and her Master; they know they haven’t been in contact; the must know that something went wrong.

Unless they don’t know she’s a…

“How do we want her?” the man holding the holocam asks. “Sultry?”

“Nah,” someone behind her back replies. “Feisty little Jedi like her’ll fetch more as a gladiator or something.”

So they do know. The Temple will ransom her, she’ll go home and everything won’t be okay because Master Fyaar will still be dead but—

“Growl.”

But she’ll go home—

“Growl, you little piece of shit!” the one behind her shouts, and she snarls. There’s a clicking sound. “Again!” she bares her teeth and gets another click, and another, and one more. There. They got the holo they don’t need, and then soon she’ll go—

Eldra screams when a hand twists her lekku.

She screams and screams, and when she calms down, she’s alone in a cell, on the ground, covered in fresh vomit and terrified and confused. I wasn’t fighting! I snarled for the camera, she thinks. I did what they asked me to do, there’s no reason… except they could. Because I’m alone right now.

Because they killed Master Fyaar.

They killed my…

And she…

“Remember yourself,” Master Fyaar said, her last words, and here Eldra is with her fists balled and gathering strands of hate around herself like a shroud. “Remember yourself,” and Eldra could hurt these people so easily if she felt for their cells and made them boil. Eldra could make it painful, and slow. It would be so easy.

So easy to fall.

“Remember yourself.”

⁂

Maul is sweaty and hot and he feels the way he did when he wasn’t allowed to sleep for days. He’s finished one half bottle of the awful water, and it hasn’t helped: everything is spinning and blurry and he’s still thirsty on top. He’s also inside his seventeenth ship and ready to give up on Nar Shaddaa. He’s been seeing the same nine slaver auction databases on repeat, and there’s considerable overlap between the offerings, and still nothing Jedi in sight.

I can’t fail, he thinks, and hits refresh again.

I can’t just fail my Master, and he’s about to exit the database and the ship and the planet when he notices the flashing window at the bottom right.

An alert!

An alert prominently featuring a twi’lek girl baring her teeth at the holocam, but the person is almost incidental to his interest.

“Jedi padawan for sale!” the headline screams in flashing red. “Freshly captured!!!”

So this is his enemy, his target, the prize he has to fetch to fulfill his destiny: she’s young, though probably older than him, and her blue face is badly cut up. There are deep purple bruises on both her lekku, and despite the anger and toughness she’s trying to display she mostly succeeds in looking terrified.

Hah, Maul thinks to himself. I knew the Jedi were soft. I wouldn’t be this weak, if I was captured, which never would happen in the first place because I am Darth Maul, heir of the Sith Order.

He looks at the picture again, trying to find his hatred. She and hers slaughtered the Sith on Malachor; they live in pampered safety; they know nothing of the Force. They—she would just as soon kill him, hurt him, traffic him if their fortunes were reversed. She is his enemy.

Still, she looks just like a person, alone and scared.

There is no point in looking at her image any more.

Maul studies the alert carefully. She is going to be sold tomorrow—not the date Master had told him of, but Maul already established that it was a test. She is going to be sold in the palace of Xev Xrexus, but maybe Master had misheard the name or it was yet another way of probing Maul’s skill. The terror Maul felt because of these tricks was a valuable lesson, a reminder of the utmost importance this mission held for the Sith Order and how inacceptable any kind of failure would be. Maul, moreover, has seen through it: he is completely equal to the task. He will bring the padawan to his Master, and not deviate from the plan for a single second. He is much more skilled than anyone else would be, anyone who isn’t an awesome Sith and therefore, he’ll perform admirably and easily, and Master will be proud. Master will pronounce him Darth Maul, and the many years of training will have paid off. He knows this. (Thinking it really hard, over and over, is the same thing as knowing.)

She’s been captured—

Master must have foreseen it. He is, after all, gifted in the art of clairvoyance he had told Maul, always already aware of the mistakes Maul might make at any point. So it makes sense, it does, that Master sent Maul to this planet days ago on a mission to buy a padawan that was captured two hours ago.

Master is wise that way.

He planned…

And…

By now, Maul is so tired and thirsty—his brain flashing Master knew and but why in quick dizzying succession—that even the relief of having succeeded can’t boost his energy anymore. He locks the ship, overriding any key fobs, and sets an alarm for well before the padawan’s auction. He takes a bite of the awful chips he acquired in the shop, and throws up.

⁂

“Smile.” He does. “Growl.” He does. “Not like that.” There is a slap, and then he arranges his facial muscles differently. He doesn’t know whether he’s succeeded, until he sees the approving nod, and feels the lack of punishment.

There is his body and there is him, and no connection between the two. If he had a mirror, he could make it look more natural, but only an approach. There is no joy here. No anger, or not the kind they would have him display. No future. There are no brothers to watch. There have been no brothers, ever since he was selected and taken off-planet, off-home, too many days or years ago now to count. These people’s expectations are a thick leather shirt, riverdunked and allowed to dry on the body, so tight that he can hardly breathe. There is no space inside for himself, let alone dreams or brothers or rage. There is only a face to rearrange, to the approval of a master.

A different master, soon.

Maybe that master will kill Savage. Maybe they won’t. One way or the other, this will the last ever auction he is sent to. Savage will make sure of that.

#darth maul #eldra kaitis #savage opress #dimtraces makes things #hell is just a beat away #i'm awful at crossposting but i actually managed to write something again!!!

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ditch-witches · 4 years

Text

Rehearsal Dinner (George MacKay Smut)

So @iongaa really came through and murdered us with the aesthetic. Mother of God, how is she so talented.

requested: yes/no (your requests are always so intriguing, keep sending weird AUs for us)

pairing: stepbro!George MacKay x reader

warnings: literally everything. all of the sins. whoever can point them out gets a high five, okay?

word count: 5,414 (yikes)

a/n: there,,,, may be a ,,, part 2,,, because some of us got carried away,,

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you made your way downstairs, basking in the scent of breakfast cooking over the stove. You took a seat at the kitchen table beside your dad's fiance. She smiled at you over the top of the morning paper, taking a sip of her coffee. Your father moved to set a plate in front of you and press a kiss to the top of your head before plopping down in the seat next to you. "Glad you're home," he cooed, grinning proudly as you took a bite of your collection of breakfast foods and nodded in approval. "Thank you for coming back for the wedding."

You sent him a small smile, "Of course!"

His fiance spoke up. "Speaking of, George should be on his way..." she trailed off as she looked at her watch and your heart sank.

"I thought he couldn't?" You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. George was the last person you wanted to be around. His cocky smirk flashed into your mind alongside his parade of girls he always brought home. Your parents had been dating for a few years now, most of your time in high school and well into your college years, yet the two of you had interacted as little as possible, only "playing nice" for Christmas. Every time the notion of George coming home came into discussion, you usually took off. Due to your ability now to escape from his arrogance, you hadn't seen him in a year, shoving the wedge between the two of you as much as possible. Your blood boiled as your memories of him taking up most of the couch and kicking you out of the house were unveiled.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" His mother asked, bringing you back into present time. You hadn't realized just how out of it you were until your fork fell from your hand, now bent almost completely in half. You exhaled, immediately apologizing for the vandalism and standing from the table, saying you were fine. "Are you sure?" She called after you.

You looked back over your shoulder, plastering on a fake smile. "Oh yeah! It's fine, everything's fine!" You all but sprinted for cover in your room, leaning against your door as your heart pounded in your chest. You let out a groan. Out of all people: George.

You pulled the sleeves of your blouse over your wrists to warm up more, yawning slightly as you lazily held a mock bouquet in your hand. You were mixed into the plethora of George's cousins serving as bridesmaids, feeling awkward and out of place as you only knew two of them really. You were the maid of honor, merely because it was your father that was getting married but you knew if he had any say, you would have been on his side and George in your place. In the excitement of family members arriving and the church being way too overbooked for the weekend, you had almost forgotten the impending doom that was "rushing to get here as we speak." You blew a bubble with your already stale gum, earning an eye roll from one of the many women. You tilted your head at her with a sarcastic grin.

The wedding planner clapped his hands, capturing the attention of the room and lining everyone up. He put you towards the back, which you were prepared for, yet then ushered the groomsmen in. You locked eyes with an all too familiar expression, your eyebrow raising at the man. His eyes were exactly the same, but for some reason, it was like puberty had hit him like a truck. "Now, this isn't usually how this works, but by request of the couple, we're switching things up," the planner groaned slightly, and George moved to stand beside you.

You snapped your eyes forward, clutching the bouquet in your hand tighter. There was chatter all around the two of you as everyone attempted to find their places. You kept your mouth shut, not wanting to make conversation with him. You took George's arm and he smirked down at you. "You gonna ignore me all night, darling?" He jeered, peering down at you and you rolled your eyes.

"What circus animal did you bring home this time, asshole?" He chuckled at your remark, pulling you tighter to his side.

He wet his lips. "Why? So you can get jealous again?"

You scoffed. "Grow up."

"After you, doll face." He bumped his hip against yours. "What have you been up to since I've been gone? Still a virgin?"

Your ears burned and you clenched your jaw. "Like it's any of your business." You sighed, attempting to calm your frazzling nerves at just his presence.

"You are so easy to stir up, love," he muttered, chuckling darkly.

You shut your eyes momentarily. "Would you just shut up so we can get this shitshow over?" He moved his hand to settle over yours positioned on his arm, your skin blazing at his touch, making you look up at him. He leaned towards your ear and you found yourself wanting to get closer to him. The smell of his aftershave was almost enticing enough for you to forget you were hating him.

His breath was warm against your neck and his accent deep and fuzzy in your ear. "Oh, darling, what's the fun in that?" You felt flushed and winded as he stepped away from you, his hand leaving your arm. "Steady now. I don't wanna have to throw you over my shoulder," he muttered, a smug look on his face as he turned forward, his posture upturned. He knew what he was doing. You were slightly taken aback, snapping your mouth shut and letting him lead you towards the altar behind the other members of the wedding party. You were silent during the rehearsal, locking eyes with George every so often only to dart your gaze away from him. It was difficult to pay attention to the jokes the priest was making while George continued to undress you with his eyes, and for some reason, you were into it.

You were quiet on the trip to the dinner, your mind almost numb as your thoughts flashed to George's breath on your neck and his overstimulating smell, not to mention the feeling of his hands. You almost moaned before your mind jumped into the present, grateful because you were sandwiched between your grandmother and one of your uncles in the back of your father's car. One of your second cousins turned over his shoulder to look at you. "Who was the guy you were walking with? New stepbrother?" He jeered and your shoulders tensed at that thought. What the fuck, he was going to be your stepbrother.

"Yeah, that's George. Handsome kid, don't you think?" Your father piped up and you grimaced.

The cousin snorted. "Don't encourage that. They'll end up as the wHaT aRe yOU dOinG sTepBro trope." You signed deeply.

"My mother is in the car!"

"He's not my stepbrother," you grumbled, attempting to drone out his voice.

"Yet," he jested, making you roll your eyes. "If you're gonna tap it, tap it now-"

"We're listening to the radio, see!" Your dad intervened, cutting him off and turning up the radio while singing overdramatically to the music, leaving you now to your burning mind. You chewed on your fingernail as your anxiety began to shoot through the roof. Before you knew it, you were engaging in small talk with your cousin and her friend as the giant table was being set. Looking around at the expensive hall the dinner was being held in, the thought of how your father and future stepmother got the money for such a venue while putting one kid through college and the other through graduate school crossed your mind. Your cousin's friend was a nice way to get your mind off of George, he was funny and totally in love with your cousin, evident in the way his eyes brightened when she would talk to him or laugh at one of his jokes. The only eyes on you when you laughed were George's as he bantered with groups of men closer to his age across the room. He'd eye you over the brim of his glass, his strong hands making your mouth water as he would tap one of his rings against the crystal absentmindedly.

"So, how do you feel about your dad getting married? The new family giving you trouble?" Your cousin's friend asked, nudging your arm at his light-hearted joke.

You shrugged. "If he's happy, I'm happy. The woman he's marrying is a total badass too so, really it's fine." You ran a hand through your hair, shooting a glance towards George and he looked at you with a smirk. You felt like you needed a dousing of holy water to combat your temptations.

George seemed to be fighting his own urges as he excused himself from his party and walked over to your group, settling his hand on your lower back to whisper in your ear. "Come with me," he mumbled. "I'm going to steal her for a few minutes if that's okay with you guys?" He asked your cousin, her cheeks slightly red as she looked like she would swoon if he came near her. Her friend eyed you before the two shrugged you away with George. George walked beside you as the two of you walked out of the room and down the hall, turning a few corners until you could no longer hear the party. He slipped his hand into yours before pinning you to a wall swiftly.

"What are you doing?" You muttered unevenly, heat pulsing through your body as one of his hands rested on your hip, your hand absentmindedly pushed his sleeve up to expose his veiny arm to your touch. It was like your body had a mind of its own.

"You think I'm going to let you eye fuck me all night without repercussions, pet?" You swallowed at his words, the deepness of his voice making your legs almost jelly. His other hand ran up your body, over your breast to take part of your collar between his index and thumb as he rubbed the fabric between his finger pads. "Was that guy your little boyfriend?" He tisked darkly. "So cute," he mocked, his hungry eyes darting up to yours. Your mind was absolutely putty as his smell invaded your senses. You tried not to focus on his knee propped between your legs. His fingers ghosted against your neck until the pad of his thumb brushed over your bottom lip before you took his thumb into your mouth, your eyes burning into his as his jaw tensed, focused on the movements of your tongue swirling against it. The feeling of his fingers resting against your jaw during this action egged you. He drew his thumb from your mouth, running it down your chin before his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. "Dirty girl," he growled before crashing his lips against yours, making you moan against him as he pushed himself against you.

The taste of liquor on his lips blended with your flavored chapstick as your tongue slipped into his mouth. In a mess of tugging and biting each other, your body melted into his rough grasp. You wanted whatever repercussions his twisted mind could come up with. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted to you. You fought against diving your hands into his trousers to beg him to continue, but he broke away from you as you fought to catch your breath. Your lips were buzzing as the feeling of him still lingered. He brought his hand back up to your jaw again, tipping your chin up. "Say it," the devil's grin painted across his face before he continued, pressing his lips against yours once more, his teeth dragging your bottom lip slowly between his teeth. "Say you're dirty, darling," he ordered, his face hovering over yours as his hand squeezed your throat.

You moaned quietly as he regulated your breathing with his hand. You wanted to drink in his dark, commanding appearance. "I'm dirty," you panted. He stepped away from you and you nearly slipped down the wall, completely out of breath and flustered, missing his hands on your body.

"Pull yourself together," he jested darkly, sending you a smoldering gaze as he pushed his other sleeve to his elbow. It's like he already knew your weaknesses. "Answer me."

"Yes, sir," you responded, your mouth seeming to know what he expected. He nodded with a smug expression as he gestured for you to walk back into the room with him while you straightened your shirt and fixed your hair.

He stopped you, reaching to fix your collar and you fought against the blush growing across your body. His smirk grew. "God, you're trembling. It'll be difficult leaving you alone at dinner," he almost groaned. You fought against kissing him again as his dark eyes surveyed your expression, the gears turning in his mind at the sight of you. God, you wanted him.

You were shoved into a seat beside George, he sent you a small grin as he took a sip of his drink and the waiters began to serve the main course. You were positioned towards the end of the table with the rest of your cousins and George on the line between the "cousins' table" and where the older people sat discussing politics and climate change. Your cousins mainly discussed hot TA's and movies that were premiering. "George, what's your major?" George perked up at a question directed to him, oozing charm as he began to tell one of the younger girls at the table about his degree, but half of his response fuzzed out of your attention as his hand slipped to your knee beneath the table cloth. You froze momentarily, your breath hitching in your chest as your chewing slowed.

It was like he was completely unaffected, continuing the conversation as his hand slid further up your thigh, fingers curling to wrap around your inner thigh. Your eyes snapped to him, pretending to listen to him as well as his fingers ran circles against your sensitive skin. You sighed unevenly. The fabric of your skirt was ruffled as he was slowly reaching your heat. The conversation deterred and George leaned towards you a bit. "Take a sip of water," he directed, lowly, his eyes tearing away from you. You furrowed your brows slightly but as his expression flipped, you didn't question him, raising the glass to your lips nonchalantly and one of his fingers brushed against your core, making you almost choke. He chuckled slightly. "Smooth?" He asked loud enough that it eased the slightly worried expressions directed towards you.

You set down your glass, coughing falsely. "Wrong pipe," you grumbled. His hand pushed your legs apart as he took a bite of his food, unbothered. His fingers ghosted against your underwear and you bit back a moan wanting to vibrate through your body.

"Hey, did you hear about that senator that died last week?" Someone asked you, knowing full well you kept up with information like that.

You shifted in your seat, looking like you were attempting to choose your words carefully, but in reality, you were trying to get George to leave you alone for a moment. "Heart attack right? It should be fine-" your voice cut out as George's finger moved your underwear to the side and he toyed with your nerves more. His face was so neutral it was like he wasn't pleasuring you at all as he chewed, listening to your words. "I mean," your voice came out unevenly as you tried to calm yourself against his movements. "He'll be replaced before something drastic can happen." Your voice dropped an octave as his finger slipped into you. He positioned his hand to a more comfortable angle and your hand dropped to wrap around his wrist, beginning him to stop. "Too bad this one wasn't an actor," you joked.

"So, how do they go about replacing a Senator?" George questioned, his face almost breaking into a smile as your eyes shot daggers into his. His finger curled inside of you, making you breathe deeply, your eyes wanting to squeeze shut in pleasure.

You furrowed your brows, feeling like you were running a marathon. "Oh, come on, I know you already know how the US system runs."

His finger sped up and before you knew it, another one was added. "Yeah, I'm still not entirely sure though." He continued to sidestep so the attention of the section of the table was on you. You clamped your thighs together, hoping to stop his movements but instead drew his fingers deeper into you.

Your mind blurred. "Well, um..." You wet your lips, trying not to look like you were jonesing to grind against George's palm to finally get yourself off. Your hand ran up against his arm again, the veins bulging as his hands quickened, making you see stars as your climax was almost within reach. George's mom and your dad began to make their rounds at the table, thanking people as they went.

"Are you okay? You look kind of flushed," George commented, making his mother's brow furrow. You sighed, wanting to dig your face into the crook of his neck or kiss him: anything, you just needed more of him. He removed his fingers from you and you let out a small noise, he slyly wiped his hands on his napkin and you grabbed his hand beneath the table, lacing your fingers and squeezing as if to motion your urgency.

George's mother pressed the back of her hand against your warm cheeks. "I'm fine..." you commented, looking up at her momentarily, your hand gripping onto George's.

His mother sighed. "Are you sure? I can drive you home if you're not feeling well?" Your father came around the table at her words and you were more embarrassed than anything.

"What's going on?" The man commented, his smile faltering.

His mother frowned. "She's not feeling well, dear."

"Don't worry about it, mum. I can take her," George piped up, running his thumb over the back of your hand before letting go of you and standing up. A chorus of goodbyes called to you as you assured your father and his future bride that you were really fine, just tired, as George helped you into your jacket. You found it difficult to stand with how unsatisfied you were. You followed him out into the cold air around one side of the building as he almost stalked to an expensive-looking car. Your eyebrow perked at the vehicle. "Like it?" He asked, his smug grin making your blood boil.

"What was that back there?" You nipped, pulling on his arm so he was looking at you, his grin widening.

"Which part?" He got dangerously close to you. "When you couldn't handle my fingers, or when you were begging me to get you off?" Your breathing shallowed once again, either from how furious you were at him or how turned on you were you didn't know. His hand settled on your neck, bringing your lips towards his briefly in a searing kiss. "Don't worry, love. You have it coming for you still." Fuck, you wanted him to rip you in half. He dangled the keys in front of your face. "Wanna drive?"

You groaned slightly, unlocking his car and opening the passenger door, shoving him inside and climbing into his lap, shutting the door behind yourself. "Fuck you," you bit. His grin darkened and he pulled the lever on the seat, laying the seat down a bit further. One of his large hands slipped against your thigh again, grabbing at your ass and urging you to grind against him while the other settled in the crook of your neck. You kissed him hungrily, your need pulsing through your body with your new-found friction. He moved beneath you, smiling against your greedy mouth, knotting his fingers into your hair. You felt him getting harder with each of your movements. You fisted your hands in his jacket as you pulled away from him curling your hips to find your sweet spot. His hand explored your body, gripping your breast as he sucked at the thin skin against your collarbones, moaning into your hair.

God, he wasn't even inside of you but his encouragement was a high you wanted to ride as long as you could. His fingers dug into your hips and you half hoped he would leave bruises. You wanted him to mark you. The car windows began to fog as your movements and George's warm breath filled the air. "Fuck, I want you," he growled into your ear.

"Take me home," you almost whimpered, halting your actions. His hand moved to your neck again, pressing his lips against yours.

"Beg," he demanded. "Tell me exactly what you want, baby."

"I said take me home," you breathed. His dark eyes searched yours for submission, but you were quite flustered from tonight's events. You needed a few moments to collect your thoughts on what George could be thinking about doing to you as 'punishment'. You climbed off of him into the driver's seat ready to take his car for a spin. You noticed just how much George's actions had affected you as you felt your hands shaking to take the wheel. You could feel his eyes raking over you as you put the car in drive. You were determined to make it home in one piece and not a complete puddle of need, but even the thought of his eyes on you were making that task completely impossible.

"What to do, what to do," he almost tsked next to you. "You've really got me going tonight haven't you," he seemed to ask, but you knew he wasn't looking for an answer. You could feel his warm hand coming into contact with your leg, you wet your lips, attempting to shake the thought of desire he seemed to be flooding you with and keep the car under control. His hand slowly started to progress further towards your heat and for the second time tonight, you weren't all that opposed to the thought of his long fingers curling inside you again.

"We're here," you managed to squeak out. George was already out and at your door before you had managed to undo your seatbelt. He bent down, reached over you and undid it for you, making sure to keep his contact with every inch of you he could. His arms scoped you up to carry you into the house and up the stairs to his room. You hadn't been to his room since you had met him. It was sort of like a secret law that it was off-limits and a privilege if you were invited inside. Not even his mom was allowed into the dwellings of his layer. You had just enough time to notice the picture on the dresser was of the two of you and your blend of cousins posed on the family couch last Christmas before your body was thrust on to the linen-covered mattress. You had never seen his eyes this shade before, they were so dark and full of lust. You were drinking in every detail of him just as much as he was of you.

"Take your clothes off," he stated smoothly standing at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on your body. Complying quickly, you unbuttoned your blouse, slipping it off your shoulders to reveal your flushed chest. George's eyes widened at the sight knowing you were already in such need of him you could barely contain yourself any longer. He slowly mimicked your actions removing his dress shirt leaving you in awe of the man standing before you and the endless possibilities of what he wanted to do to you. His fingers danced up your legs teasing your all too sensitive core. His fingers traced your center just barely being covered by the cloth entrapment. You were ready for anything he was willing to give you. His body shifted, his arm reaching across you into the bedside drawer and revealing a pair of bright red furry handcuffs. Your breath caught in your throat, this was not what you were expecting and still, you felt ready for George's idea of punishment. You had never been bound before, but were more than ready to try anything to overcome your excessive need for friction.

"Place your hands out in front of you," he whispered into your ear, sending chills down your spine. You did as you were told feeling the faux material covered clasp around your wrists leaving your arms entirely under the command of George. You heard the clang of other cuffs being brought out, you turned your attention to him just as his lips crashed on to yours sealing your lips into a lustful kiss. His hands outlined your arms all the way to your wrists that were held together. His fingers wrapped around the metal pushing your arms above your head and locking them against the headboard. Your heart pounded with excitement as he traced your body down with kisses, brushing the inside of your thighs with his hands. You knew where this was leading and your body was ready. His actions halted just above where you needed him the most as he locked eyes with you almost teasing you with anticipation. "Tell me what you need," his dark tone murmured. You had no words. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The only action you were capable of was attempting to open your legs to answer his question.

His toned arms slipped under your legs wrapping around your hips as he positioned himself between you. Your toes curled in pleasure as his warm breath drew closer to you. It seemed as if time was in slow motion: you needed him and you needed him now. His eyes were still locked on yours as he came in contact with your heat. Your legs attempted to close in response to the feeling as you moaned in pain and pleasure from the restraints holding you back from grabbing his hair. The rumble of his laughter against you was almost enough to send you over the edge as he pushed your legs back open for better access to you. The sight of him down on you was more than enough to drive you crazy, but his pace was beginning to quicken and you didn't think you could last much longer. Your eyes drifted shut as pleasure was taking the better of you. George slipped a finger inside earning a gasp from your lips as he began to finger fuck you. Your high was approaching quickly and you needed more. "Faster," you mumbled.

"What was that sweetheart," George muttered against you.

"Faster," you begged. George complied, seeing you like this was driving him crazy. His fingers pounded into you as he sucked your nub. The knot in your stomach tightened. Finally, you were able to get relief from the tension George had built up all night as you released. "Oh fuck," you moaned as George hovered above you.

"Ready for round two love," he quipped darkly. You were more than happy to accept his rough kisses. His slight stubble was rough against your chin, you knew you'd pay for it in the morning, but tonight a little burn was the least of your worries. "Are you going to do as you're told," he whispered into your neck, accent gruff and domineering.

"Yes sir," you responded almost too naturally as his strong arms flipped you unto your stomach. He adjusted your knees underneath you so that you had support underneath him.

His hand wound into your hair as he slipped inside of you and began thrusting leaving you no time to adjust to him. Moans of pure bliss escaped your lips as his head neared yours. "Might want to keep quiet, love, someone's home," he whispered, his teeth grazing your ear lobe. Your need to scream for more now had to be muted and the only sound heard was the slapping of his skin against yours. George used your hips as leverage for his unwavering pace leaving you a mess of pleasure beneath him. His lips found their way to your neck as he nipped against the sensitive skin. You wanted him to mark you, to claim you. His hand from your hair became wrapped around your throat as he began to reach his peak. His hand slapped your ass with such force you knew there was a handprint, but you were too overwhelmed with the noises escaping his lips and your high threatened to disobey your control to be concerned with the sting. If anything it threatened to push you over the edge. George could feel you threatening to release. His strong hand wrapped tightly around your neck again, "Don't cum until I give you permission," he mumbled darkly against your shoulder. You tried your best to obey him fighting all erg to give in to the pleasure he teased you with. Slowing his pace he thrust deeper into you earning quiet moans from your lips. You couldn't hold on much longer.

"Can I cum," you whined. George grunted in response tangling his hand in your hair and thrusting deeper into you hitting your sweet spot with every move.

"Cum for me love," he practically bit against your shoulder sending you into a scream of pleasure as you were finally able to ride out your high against him. You could feel him twitch inside of you filling you with warmth. He unchained your hands from the bed frame allowing your body to return to your back. He flopped next to you and kissed you lightly. "That was amazing," he whispered against your lips. Exhausted from the escapade of the night you simply laid your head on his chest in response and pulled the sheets up for the both of you to drift off to sleep.

Your head pounded as you opened your eyes, the blinding light streaming through your windows serving to ruin your morning. You shivered slightly, realizing you were fully naked and a slight panic set in as you thought about last night, your body already aching from George's tactics. You shut your eyes momentarily, thinking about him on top of you once again, moaning in your ear, his hand around your throat, and realized the aching was worth it. You weren't surprised when you found the bed beside you empty, your ears perking up at the muffled sounds of someone in the kitchen. You quickly got dressed and trampled down the stairs. Upon entering the kitchen, you were greeted by your father like he had the day before, only instead of a woman at the head of the table, George smirked up at you. Your eyes glued to his, your body feeling heat once again.

You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together. "I thought the bride and groom weren't supposed to see each other until the wedding?" You asked, voice slightly uneven as you took a seat across from George, gingerly sipping the orange juice in front of you and attempting not to wince at the beard burn on your chin from George's slight whiskers the night before. George watched you carefully, a flash of pride in his eyes at your flustered state.

George's mother chuckled. "There are worse things to doom a marriage," she joked, flashing a wink up towards your father who was cutting some kind of fruit.

He shook his head. "So, where did you two run off last night?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Bonding," George answered coolly.

His mother raised her eyebrows. "Bonding? How? Wasn't she sick last night?"

Your mind was blank, but George was quick on his feet. "She got to feeling better on the way, so I took her to a strip club. She left with a man named," he paused, turning to you, a smug look on his face, "what was his name? Alejandro?"

Your eyes went wide with shock. "Ah! That's my girl!" Your dad called from over the stove and you groaned as George laughed making your eye twitching.

#george mackay x reader #george mackay smut #george mackay imagines #george mackay #1917 imagines #1917 smut #requested

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