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#xxx now he's trying to figure out how to manifest his own
little-diable · 1 year
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The Book Thief - Prof!Tommy Shelby (smut)
A big thank you to @zablife for inspiring this, I am still not over this idea. Yes, this is very much fueled by my own professor crush, y'all just have to endure it – I'm manifesting my trip with him to be just like that. I did struggle with writing this, my modern!Tommy never works, so it's not nearly as poetic as you may expect it. Nevertheless, please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Professor Shelby is taking his students on a trip, a trip that ends up with his book stolen by the reader – perhaps this is what they've needed to finally get closer.
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), legal age gap, professorxstudent
Pairing: Professor!Tommy Shelby x fem!student!reader (2.7k words)
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“Stop it.” (Y/n)’s friend murmured, eyes focused on her phone. It took (y/n) a moment to reply, to snap out of her trance, not understanding what her friend was talking about. “You’re staring, and he’s either too stupid to notice or has good self-control.” 
A chuckle bubbled out of (y/n), heat flushed through her, trying to set her eyes on the passing by scenery, biting down the need to look at him again. They’ve been on this train journey for hours by now, and even though she had the perfect spot, allowing her to study Professor Shelby, she cursed herself for being this drawn to the handsome man. 
“I wish I could sit with him, talk about the book he’s reading, it looks so interesting.” She whispered her words, hoping that nobody but her friend would pick up on it, the ever growing crush she had been fostering for her professor ever since she had met him years ago. Her friend finally lifted her gaze, eyes no longer focused on her phone, but flickering between (y/n) and their professor. 
“Steal his book, I’m sure this would finally get his attention.” Both couldn’t help but chuckle, but while her friend was simply teasing her, words dripping with sarcasm, (y/n) found herself pondering over the idea, wondering how long it’d take him to realise that she was the book thief. Something inside of her forced (y/n) to sit straighter, eyes moving back to the professor and the book he was no longer holding in his hands. 
Their eyes met, just for a second, a second that left (y/n) tensing in her seat, hands balled into fists to try and hold his gaze. Professor Shelby was the first to avert his gaze, eyes wandering to the window, before he rose from his seat. All (y/n) could do was watch him move down the hallway, leaving his book behind. 
This was her chance, and before her friend could even begin to understand what she was doing, (y/n) stood up and snatched the book from his table, hiding it in her bag. Her eyes met the wide ones of her friend, and with a smirk tugging on her lips, (y/n) placed her head on her friend's shoulder, closing her eyes to give away the impression that she was napping. And as the professor found his way back to his seat, she grasped her bag extra tightly. 
— 
“I can’t believe you really stole his book.” (Y/n) was laying on the bed of their hotel room, watching her friend unpack her bag with a smile tugging on her lips. “He looked so confused, do you think he’ll figure it out? Will you just give it back to him eventually?” 
“I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about it yet.” She reached for the book, letting her thumb stroke along the title, “Inferno” by Dante Alighieri. Slowly she opened the book, silently chuckling as she read his annotations, the words he had highlighted, the notes he had scribbled down. 
“If you want to gain his attention, you should read it when he’s near.” For a second (y/n) tried to imagine the words he’d speak, how he’d call her out on her theft. Fuck, she had it bad for the man, even though the two had somewhat of a troubling relationship. Professor Shelby wasn’t a man you’d describe as kind, nor as genial, he had a dark touch to him, something (y/n) found herself dreaming of late at night. 
Her thoughts were spiraling, trying to figure out how she should go about this situation. Perhaps she’d pull the book out when he was close, just like her friend had told her to, but while she had been confident in the train, able to steal the book without thinking twice, she felt her confidence slipping, silently cursing herself for being this stupid. 
“Do you think he’ll be angry?” It was a silent whisper, words her friend had a hard time picking up on, and yet all she did was chuckle at (y/n), shaking her head. 
“Don’t tell me you regret stealing his book. This is the price you pay for being stupid.” 
It was evening by the time (y/n) found herself sitting outside of the hotel, on a bench. Her friend had left to explore the town with the other students, while (y/n) had opted for staying in to read the book she had stolen. For the past hours she had found Professor Shelby’s gaze lingering on her every now and then, staring at her as if he knew that she was the book thief. 
She kept turning the pages, too focused on the book to notice him stepping closer, cigarette hung between his smiling lips. The professor studied her for a few moments before he sat down next to her, “I take it you’re enjoying the book, eh?”
“I,” (y/n) stumbled over her words, wide eyes set on his features, the smirk he wore, the eyes that reflected her frame. “I’m sorry?”
“‘S alright, as long as I’m getting it back eventually.” He took a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the evening – a cloud filled with secrets only those able to listen to the whispers of darkness would understand. The professor kept his eyes focused on (y/n)’s features, the nervous eyes of hers, how her gaze kept flickering back down to his book. “So, tell me, where did that confidence of yours come from?” 
“What?” No other word managed to pass her pressed together lips, unable to hold a conversation with the man she had been crushing on. 
“What shall I do with you, (y/n)? First you steal my book and now you can’t even tell me why you did it?” The cigarette fell to the ground, doused by the heel of his shoe. Cold hands found hers, taking the book from (y/n) – but not before stroking his thumbs along the back of her hands, making her shudder. He took in the page she had been reading, eyes flickering up to hers before he softly murmured, “But the stars that marked our starting fall away. We must go deeper into greater pain, for it is not permitted that we stay.”
“Don’t know why I did it, I was curious, I guess.” She fumbled with her hands, hating how nervous she felt around him, cursing her body and soul for reacting to the man like that. It was a simple spiel, a game she had lost the first day her eyes had found his piercing ones, letting go of the confidence she had once held, one with the darkness he emitted. 
“Curiosity will be your eventual downfall.” He closed the book and placed it down beside him before he turned back towards (y/n), eyes finding her lips for a second. “I feel your eyes on me, too curious for your own good, tell me, what do you think about when you stare at me? I bet you don’t even pay attention to my lessons.” 
His chuckles left her tensing, eyes averted, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Only as his hand reached for hers, forcing her to stop fumbling with her fingers, did she lift her gaze once again. “A lot of things, things I probably shouldn’t think about.”
“Mhm, I guess that’s something we both share.” It was a bold move of his, urged on by the fire simmering inside of them, unable to part, to let go of one another. The dam had been broken, the water was rushing, forcing them closer together, moving slower than their hearts had asked them to. “Shall we discuss the book inside?”
She froze, unable to reply with her dry mouth and her racing heart, only able to nod her head. The professor rose from the bench, watching her follow him with cautious steps, mind unable to tell if she was yet stuck in another daydream. No words were spoken as they found their way to his room, she froze before crossing the threshold, wondering if she should really do this, yet the way he was watching her, with eyes so piercing, she felt herself unable to breathe. 
“Tea?” He had turned from her, making the distance grow between them as if she was a boat making it through the sea and he was the harbour she had left hours ago, unable to look back. Her instincts took over, seizing the chance her mind had desperately tried to imagine for years. One step was followed by another, and another, till (y/n) came to halt in front of him, eyes searching his piercing ones. “I need your spoken consent before I touch you, (y/n).”
“Touch me, professor, please.” A whisper made for his ears only, finding comfort in the quiet bedroom he had lured her into. With a gasp she was pulled against his chest, arms finding their way around his neck, allowing the man to kiss her. The kiss wasn’t soft, not like she had imagined it to be, the kiss had something daunting to it, foreseeing their end before their journey together had even started. 
(Y/n) was moved backwards, sitting down on the mattress as he parted from her, staring down on his panting student, “Tell me, what do you want, love?” 
“Want all of you, been wanting this for so long.” An almost desperate whine left (y/n), eyes fluttering close as his hand found her chin, allowing himself to look at her for another moment or two before he pushed her against the mattress. His hands worked on her trousers, gently pulling them down her leg. He moved slow, wanting to give her mind enough time to catch up with the movements of his hands, giving her the chance to pull away should she feel uncomfortable. Lured into his trap, (y/n) no longer had the strength to make it through the fog of lust she was caught in, hoping that he’d guide her through it all. 
“So ready for me, desperate for my touch.” His lips found her thighs, kissing their way up to her dripping core, while one of his hands toyed with the fabric of her panties. (Y/n) had her eyes closed, trying to ground herself, to focus on his touch, but the moment his hand found hers, interlacing their fingers, (y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, getting lost in his pupils. 
A gasp left her as he pressed his mouth against her heat, lapping at her folds like a starving man, addicted to the taste he’d forever remember. The devil was nestling between her thighs, finding shelter in the body she was sacrificing to him, there was no escaping, no parting from the being that was binding her to him. 
“Oh god, don’t stop.” (Y/n) groaned the words, tightening her grip on his hand. He was touching her with care, making sure she was enjoying this as much as he was. Her walls clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled by him, needing to feel him buried deep inside of her. (Y/n)’s eyes rolled back into her head, finding comfort in the darkness he had pushed her into. 
He sucked on her bundle of nerves, struggling to bite down the smirk that tugged on his lips, enjoying the moans that clawed through her, wanting to hear her chant his name like a prayer. Soon she’d cum, the eventual high he’d take from her within the next moments, wanting to feel her wrapped around him, pulsing from his burning touch. 
“I-” the word was broken by the heavy gasp that left her, eyes fluttering open to watch him part from her, letting go of her warm body. “What are you doing?” 
The professor’s chuckles echoed through the room, wrapped around her as she watched him unbuckle his belt, stepping out of his clothes to free his hardening cock. Her eyes wandered up and down his frame, rising from the mattress to pull him in for a kiss, letting him free her from her shirt and bra. His shirt followed moments later, bare bodies searching one another, finding their way back to the mattress. 
“Love, which quickly arrests the gentle heart, seized him with my beautiful form. That was taken from me, in a manner which still grieves me.” The quote from the book rolled off his tongue, hand stroking her cheek, allowing the two to freeze the moment just for a little while. She stared at him with awe, pulling him in for another kiss to murmur a soft “Need you” against his lips. 
“Let me get a–” he was interrupted by the soft “Wait” she spoke, shaking her head.
“I’m on the pill, fuck, want to feel all of you.” He didn’t dare move, nodding his head before he spat into his palm, pumping his cock a few times. Their eyes didn’t part as he pushed into her, ripping her last breath from her. She needed a few moments to adjust, moments he used to take in the way she pierced her teeth into the skin of her lower lip, how she tightened the grip on the hand he was holding, deeply inhaling. And all it needed was her “Please” for him to start moving. 
Her walls fluttered around him, not used to being stretched like this, the sweetest pain she’d remember for weeks to come, dreaming of this moment whenever her brain got a chance to rest. She clawed her fingernails into his back, needing to hold onto him as he fucked her into the mattress, neither slow nor careful, but set on leaving marks all over her body. 
It didn’t take long for (y/n) to start quivering beneath him, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes of holding on for as long as possible, not wanting to cut this moment short. Her heart was pounding, calling out to his in a language his heart didn’t seem to pick up on, not racing nearly as fast as hers was, gently resting inside his fleshcage. 
Their bodies moved in sync, forcing him deeper into her with every thrust, set on making (y/n) remember this. Her cries rang in his ears, sounds so beautiful the professor wasn’t sure if this was just a trick of his brain, catching him in a moment of weakness. But the way she scratched at his skin, breaking the layers to draw blood from his back made him realise that this was all but a dream. 
“Need to cum, fuck, please let me.” Her begging left him groaning, moaning against her lips as he allowed (y/n) to let go. She couldn’t see clearly, vision blurred, but her mind left her clinging to the pictures of him, memories stored away for moments of desperation. Her orgasm rocked through her, making her shiver, needing to cling to him as her walls clenched down on his cock. 
He followed moments later, pulling out to release himself on her lower stomach, heavily panting. Silence engulfed them, a silence both cherished, needing to thumb through their thoughts as he let go of her, to reach for a towel. The professor cleaned her with a concentrated look, not wanting to miss any spots before he laid down next to her. 
(Y/n) found herself pressed against his chest, drawing in his comforting scent as a wave of tiredness clashed upon her. For the first time since crossing paths with the man, (y/n) felt content, finally able to relax around him – comforted by the thought of him tightening his grip on her, lips pressed against her forehead.
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a-smile-hides · 4 years
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FORBIDDEN - I.R.
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Pairing: Ivar x reader
Sum: Ivar is forbidden to meet up with the woman he likes to, one day, make his mate
Hello 😊 So, I recently noticed that I now have 200 followers and for that: thank you all for sticking with me! Really, this has been so much fun so far! A while ago I bumped into a post of @rosepetals-flyingbirds​. They came up with a writing challenge and I wanted to do something, but then I got sick and kind of forgot about it… Oops. But now that I am better and with this 200 followers-thing I thought why not? Thus, I randomly selected one and just wrote whatever came to mind. It is an alpha x omega one, but without the smut. Not comfy writing that. I’m not used to writing something from the omegaverse, so I made it a bit of my own. Mixed with all kinds of stuff. It’s kind of focused on the time before a man becomes an alpha. Hope it is not a problem haha. Honestly, it was kind of an experiment. I worry too much, I think. It is set around season four, when Ivar was still a young man. Still cute and vulnerable. Remember that? Haha. Hope everyone enjoys – and again: thank you xxx
The prompt: 46 – “This is chaos”
---
At the edge of the forest, near the remains where according to the stories, the great Ragnar Lothbrok used to live, sat Ivar the Boneless. His eyes were closed as his chest went heavily up and down. His jaw clenched while low curses passed his lips.
The young man was fed up with the world around him. There he sat. A crippled wolf. Not respected by anyone. The only one of the brothers that had not left his home. The only one that was not a true alpha yet.  
At birth, it becomes clear in the first days if the child is to be an alpha or not. It was no surprise to anyone that the sons of Ragnar were destined to become alphas. And so, they were seen and respected as the dangerous and fearsome alpha’s they were meant to be. Björn and Ubbe had each left Kattegat to start their own pack with their mate, Hvitserk was still looking around for the one that could bare his pups and Sigurd had found his mate a few days ago. The mark on his neck was still fresh when he turned his back to his hometown.
And so, Ivar was the last and only son of Ragnar left in Kattegat. His trades had started to manifest already. He had become more aware of the harsh, cold wind that blew through the trees, yet he never felt cold. As the young prince made his way through Kattegat, he would often be overthrown by a sudden want to mark this territory as his. But most importantly, his senses became aware of possible mates around him. It had been a cloudy but pleasantly warm day when his nose first caught a whiff of your scent.
Ivar was sitting under a tree at the edge of the forest, that day. His fists clenched by his side while his mind pondered for possible answers why his trades manifested so slowly. He could feel the alpha inside of him grow with each passing day, and still with one look at the eager man, you could see and feel he wasn’t a true one. It was that sudden wind that carried your scent that made his pondering come to an end. Immediately captivated, Ivar had quickly crawled into the forest, not caring about anyone seeing him. His only goal was to find the source. It took him some time, but eventually he arrived at the end of the forest, far away from the heart of Kattegat. There, Ivar first laid his eyes on you. A young, beautiful omega. Ivar had quickly hidden himself behind a tree. He was careful not to let himself be found by his own scent or betrayed by the growing alpha inside of him who seemed rather pleased with the view. Like this, Ivar was able to take a good look at the one who seduced him to this place. Ivar couldn’t help himself, but a fine grin appeared on his face. He knew right then and there that he wanted you to be his.
The snap of a twig made him hide again and you grit your teeth in the direction of the sound, but as the intruder stepped forward Ivar watched how a relieved smile grew on your lips. Ivar growled lowly as a man stepped towards you. He was tall and broad. A wide grin was plastered on his face that was lathered with scratches and dirt while he proudly showed off the rabbit he had caught. Gritting his teeth, Ivar closed his eyes. He would never be able to attack this man… Not yet at least.
The young prince was more than glad to hear the word “sister” pass the brought man’s lips. Ivar’s eyes fell on your neck. He found no evidence of a mark. For some reason, you had no mate by your site yet, no alpha that had claimed you…
After that day, Ivar kept tracking your scent and looking at you from a place hidden in the shadows. It wasn’t easy. Every day he found you and the man you called your brother somewhere else. It looked like it was only the two of you, never staying anywhere more than a day.
With all those ‘visits’ it was inevitable that Ivar could keep his presence a secret. And on one surprisingly cold morning, your eyes met his when he was trying his best to hide himself behind a small bush. The frightened look you greeted him with, made him doubt himself, but he quickly got up and crawled towards you. He knew his legs could scare you off. But the man was too determined.
He wanted you. And what he wants, he gets.
Ivar’s determination was a real source of irritation for your older brother. When the two men first came face to face, he had laughed at the ‘crippled boy’ and asked you to change your mind. Still, Ivar stubbornness and capability to track the two of you down, made him change his mind. After a while, your brother had to acknowledge that whatever Ivar lacked in speed or physical appearance was nothing compared to his mind and urge to prove himself. And so, he let the two of you be.
Ivar looked up at the sky above him, snorting as he reminded himself of the unfairness in this entire story. During the past months, he had watched how his older brother Sigurd presented one gift after the other to the girl he now may call his mate. He gave her everything her heart could desire, until the day came his eyes turned red and he placed his teeth in the small bonding mark on her neck. Right now, Ivar was going through the same process. Almost every day he showed up with a small present, but to his annoyance your neck remained empty of his mark. Sighing out, he looked down to your resting figure on his chest. One of your hands was resting on his chest, playing with the collar of his shirt. A corner of his mouth turned up as the grey band on your wrist caught some sunlight, making it shine brightly. This together with the pendant around your neck were one of his many crafts that he used to keep your interest solely on him.
Ivar suddenly growled lowly, his face became dark as his whole body tensed up. If the Gods were not joking around before, then now they were straight up laughing in his face. For the only woman, aside his mother, that truly showed interest in him was you. And due to his mother’s love, he was hindered from enjoying yours.
Aslaug saw Ivar as her God, her love, her everything. And that gave him many advantages, but also held him back. A treasure is meant to be protected. And Aslaug was sure to protect hers from any potential harm.
And in her eyes, that ‘harm’ was you.
It was ridiculous to think that she saw danger in your eyes. But once convinced, it was impossible to change her mind. As a sole ruler and a woman, Aslaug may look fine and vulnerable, easy to be ignored or overthrown. But the queen has a few tricks on her sleeve to ensure her position would not be lost to the first man or woman that grew tired of her reign. She is known to be a master with words and always kept a practically close eye on her people. This together with her family heritage and famous background has allowed her to remain in the top position for all these years.
Ivar had shared this information with you but was surprised by your lack of caution. However, his mind was not eased, and his restlessness only increased. For he knew what kind of hidden power his mother possessed. She was not a witch like so many accused her of being, nor had she mages hidden in the forest with whom she could bargain with. No, her power lay in something much more simpler.
With a light chuckle, you brushed your finger along his jaw, effectively making him snap out of his racing thoughts. Ivar pursed his lips.
“You never take anything serious.” He grumbled, his eyes scanning the area while his nose tried to detect any indication of your brother, who went out hunting for food.
The small smile on your lips widened until your teeth were on full display. “I know when it’s time for fun, Ivar”
Ivar scowled and turned his head to the side.
“You should start having fun as well. Might safe your face from an everlasting scowl.”
That made Ivar growl again, although this time more playfully as he pushed you back and tried his best to hover above you. His movements were limited due to his legs. And once again, they made him hiss out in pain as he held himself up with his arms. The dark look on his face warned you not to make any bidding. And you had to bite your lip to follow his command. Ivar muffled a chuckle while he licked his lips, a futile attempt to hide his smirk.
“Oh, the things I will be able to do…” He whispered out.
Maybe it was the thoughts than immediately went through your brain or the fact that he was so close, but a tiny, almost nervous giggle passed your lips. The sound was like music to his ears and made the young wolf eyebrows raise. The confusion on his face, that only seconds ago looked so terrifying, made your laughs only increase.
Ivar dropped his head, one hand grabbed your side and squeezed lightly while his mouth curved into a smile. How was he ever going to get you under his control?
But then your sweet and light giggle got muffled by the deafening sound of a horn being blown somewhere far away. The sound made you and Ivar sit up. Your eyes dashing around in frantic search for your older brother. You hoped that whatever was out there would not get to him. While Ivar’s worst fear had come true. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight as he looked at you with saddened eyes. He knew what that sound meant.
Hidden in a chest in his mother’s chamber lay a long, curved horn. The object was part of her family heritage and was promised to him once he came of age. Although the object may appear fragile and uninteresting, the piece was famous for the consequences when a wolf would blow on it. A wolf trapped inside a situation where he or she can see no escape from, may blow on that horn. In that way, the Wolvenhorde, an ancient family of wolves will come to their aid. They are the most powerful and feared pack out there. And Aslaug had the power to call out for them.
With a firm grip on your arm, he turned you towards him. His face had become pale, and his nostrils flared as his voice got lower with every word that passed his lips.
“Listen. She knows. That – That horn was a signal. A signal to an ancient family. I’ve warned you of -“
You shook your head. “But, Ivar-”
“No!” He shouted. “This is chaos. You don’t get what we’re up against. You must leave. Flee. I-I” His voice broke. “I cannot protect you against them…”
A shiver went down your spine at the sight of your lover. The man sat broken on the ground; his eyes focused on the forest in front of him where the sound had come from, while his hand pushed you away from him. All this time he was dreading it, praying, and hoping to never hear that horn. He was counting the days until his eyes would turn red and he would be true alpha. Then he would be able to turn his back on this place, just like his brothers had done, and live his life like he wanted.
But now his mother had still power over him. And somehow, she had found out he had left her to be with you. She had used that horn to find her son. The Wolvenhorde was summoned. And their goal was to get rid of the thorn in her eye: you.
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Thank you for reading xxx
Tag: @fairyofvoid​
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sergeantsporks · 3 years
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Douxie Appreciation Week Day 2: Found Family
“How about New Jersey?”
Nari jumped. “No. Not New Jersey.”
Douxie frowned at the map. The time ship was parked, hopefully not where anyone would notice, and they’d stopped to, well, to figure out where they were going. He’d just sort of gotten on the ship with Nari, Archie, and no plan to speak of. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But they’d need to touch down eventually, to get supplies. Maybe find a place to stay for a while, so they weren’t on the time ship all of the time. “Why not? There’s a troll colony there—they’d probably at least give us a place to start.”
Sparks of magic flew off of Nari. “There is… a coven of witches.”
Douxie frowned. “A—a coven? Like, just a group of wizards?”
“Careful, Douxie,” Archie remarked, “Your Camelot upbringing is showing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nari jumped into the air, floating cross-legged. “Many use the names for magic users interchangeably. Arthur and his knights were especially guilty of this, and Merlin was not much better. But there are fundamental differences between them— especially  between witches and the rest.”
“Spellcasters use, well, spells,” Archie jumped in, “It’s the most basic level of magic—you say a spell to channel the energy, and magic happens. Almost any person can cast a spell, if they have even the barest spark of magic in them. Some are much better, and have a natural aptitude for magic. Those are spellcasters.”
“Wizards have an item that amplifies or helps their spellcasting,” Nari interjected, “Like your staff, or your bracelet. They still use spells, but the magic effect is greater.”
“You were born a spellcaster,” Archie continued, “Once you got your bracelet, you became a wizard. Your staff made you a master wizard. Sorcerers cast spells without a magic item, and without a verbal spell.”
“Like Claire,” Douxie offered, “Or a lot of Morgana’s magic.”
“Precisely. Witches… well, someone who is fully a witch cannot cast a spell on their own. They can capture the arcane energies, but cannot express them. So they use potions to create an expression of the energy, or a talisman. They capture the energy and store it in an item that can use it. No one really practices one form of magic over the other—Morgana practiced sorcery, but also used a staff. Merlin was most certainly a wizard, but to make a staff, or the amulet, a degree of witchcraft was involved—the different forms of magic are closely linked. A few, though, they can be separated. There are spellcasters who are only spellcasters. Like I said, it’s a beginning step. And…”
“Witches,” Nari said quietly, “Practicing some witchcraft, as Merlin did, doesn’t make you a full witch. But only being able to practice witchcraft does. Sometimes, a group of witches will bond, form a community where they all share their particular specialty of magic-item-making with others. Their weaknesses are covered by another member, and their strengths cover the others’ weaknesses. That is a coven.”
Douxie leaned against the side of the ship. “So, why are we talking about witches like there’s something wrong with them?”
“There’s not,” Archie remarked, jumping up on the railing, “Being a witch is perfectly respectable.”
“So… New Jersey?”
Nari shook her head. “No. The coven there… like Archie said, being a witch is perfectly respectable. They are an important part of magic. But like any other type of magician, there are… bad oranges?”
“Bad apples,” Douxie informed her.
“It is all fruit. The coven in New Jersey… they have not always been in New Jersey. Like much of the magic in America, they traveled over from Europe with the colonizers. And while they were in Europe, I… had a rather bad interaction with them.” She sank a few feet lower in the air. “It… took time to recover from.”
A spark of anger crackled in Douxie’s chest. “What happened?”
“They caught me,” Nari said, and it was obvious, so painfully obvious that she was trying to be flippant about it. “Witchcraft is about storing the arcane energies of the universe, like other forms of magic are about harnessing that power in the moment. The universes’ supply replenishes itself, usually so quickly there is no discernable difference. However, the most powerful of magics can drain the energy to the point where there is no arcane energy in the area for a time.”
“In anyone but a witch, this usually manifests in fatigue on the magician,” Archie commented, “It’s the universe’s way of making the spellcaster stop so it can rejuvenate. Harnessing that much energy tires the conduit, your body, out, so you stop casting, giving the universe time to replenish the energy. It’s not always the reason for magic fatigue—that also depends on the amount of energy you can handle, which is what separates magicians from regular people casting spells and beginner magicians from long-term magicians. But witches… they don’t use their own body as a conduit. They use an item. So they can pull and pull without any consequences.”
“Except the consequences that using that much energy will have on the world around them,” Nari snapped.
Douxie blinked. “Nari?”
“They… used a stasis trap,” Nari said quietly, “They used a stasis trap to catch me, and then they used me as a power source. Bellroc and Skrael found me eventually, and the coven scattered before they could attack.” Nari rubbed her arms. “It took nearly a century for me to heal, and I lost my staff to them.”
The spark of anger fanned up. Usually, Douxie was pretty good at staying positive. But that—that was  disgusting . “Okay,” he said finally, in a voice that was just a bit too cheerful, “How about New York, then?”
Nari gave him a bright smile. She was trying too hard, too. “Sounds wonderful.”
Xxx
“Douxie?”
Douxie felt a small spark of panic. Nari sounded worried—and there wasn’t too much that could get her worried. “Yeah?”
“I think I saw someone I know today.”
“Bellroc? Skrael?”
“No.” Nari glanced back at the door, like whoever it was might have followed her. “One of the coven witches. I—I think she came up from New Jersey.”
Something cold and steely seemed to solidify inside of Douxie. “Okay,” he said carefully, “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll strengthen the apartment defenses. Stay inside until I get back, alright?”
Nari nodded, and Douxie slipped out the door, locking it behind him. Right. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling for any signs of magic. There. A knot of it… very close. The witch had followed Nari.
Douxie stalked outside, following the feeling to see a young woman—or, at least, she looked young. But if Nari remembered her from before… She was walking the direction of the apartment. Right. That wasn’t going to happen.
Douxie strode towards her, tapping her on the shoulder. “Hey.”
She whirled around. “Who are you?”
Douxie held his hands up defensively. “Relax. I’m… like you.” He let a small spark of magic turn his eyes blue. The witch relaxed.
“Yeah? What do you want, I’m busy.”
Douxie held up the wrist with his bracelet. “I’m having a bit of a… malfunction, and I’m new in the area. You know where I could find a witch who can fix this?”
The witch held her hand out, and Douxie hesitantly unbuckled the cuff, dropping it in her hand. She turned it over. “Hm. Wizard item, huh? Can’t help you myself, but someone in the coven might know what to do.”
Douxie snatched the cuff back. “Great, can you take me to them?”
The witch sighed. “Yah, look, I’m busy tracking this insane magic energy, could keep the coven in business for CENTURIES—”
An asset. A tool. That was all Nari was to them—that was all she was to the Order, all she was even to Merlin. Did anyone care about  just Nari ?!
“It’ll still be here, and uh…” Douxie gave his wrist cuff a little smack. “I’m kind of worried this thing is going to blow up the next time I use it.”
The witch threw her hands up in the air. “Gah! Okay, okay, I’ll take you. Geeze. C’mere.” She linked arms with Douxie and twisted a ring on her finger. There was an odd twisting feeling in Douxie’s gut, and then they were standing in a living room lit by candles. The witch dropped his arm like a hot potato. “Hey, anyone home?”
A few other witches filed in, glaring distrustfully at Douxie. “You brought a wizard in?!”
“Not a wizard,” Douxie’s witch corrected, “A  customer .”
One of them eyed Douxie. “Oh? What for?”
Douxie summoned his staff, thumping it on the ground. “Have you heard of the wizard Merlin Ambrosius?”
The witch snorted. “Who hasn’t?” he asked.
“I was his apprentice. I am his successor. He appointed me master wizard.”
Douxie’s witch rolled a hand. “Get to the point!”
“Right. Now, tell me if you’ve heard of this person; Nari of the Eternal Forest.”
“That’s… what I… was tracking…” Douxie’s witch replied, her face paling.
Douxie thumped his staff again, sending out a pulse of blue magic that knocked most of the witches off of their feet. “She is under  my  protection.” Another thump. “You will not chase her.” Thump. “You will not attempt to capture her.” Thump. “And if I see you near her ever again…” one more thump. “I know where your coven base is. I will protect her at all costs, do you understand?”
Douxie’s witch staggered to her feet. “You-!” she grabbed a nearby crystal and sucked the fire from the candles, throwing it at him. Douxie twisted the magic, grabbing the fire. It smoldered in a ball above his hand, and tendrils reached out, burning a hole through the witch’s skirt, close enough to heat-sear her, but not enough to actually burn her.
“You will leave Nari alone,” he said in a low voice, “She is my responsibility. And more importantly, she’s her own person and shouldn’t be treated like nothing but a tool!”
The witch gave him a glare. “Really? You really think you aren’t using her as a tool?”
A surge of magic pulsed through Douxie, like the arcane energies had decided that they’d like to be a mood ring today. “I,” he growled, “am apparently the only friend she’s got.” He stalked towards the witch. “And if you  ever  try to lay another one of your fingers on her  I will  personally  make sure you regret it.”
The witch looked up at him, and something that might have been fear flashed in her eyes. “What are you doing?!” she hissed, “the talismans, why…”
“If you choose to use your magic to hurt others, then you don’t deserve it,” Douxie growled, “And if you ever try to harm Nari again, I will take away your magic  permanently.”  he had no idea how to do that, but they didn’t need to know that.
“O-okay! We’ll leave her alone! Just... put the magic back.”
“Swear it.”
“I- I swear. We won’t. Don’t take away the magic, please.”
“Good. It’ll come back. This time.” Douxie slammed the door behind him, making it down the street before his legs wobbled and gave out and spots danced in front of his eyes. What was it Archie had said about conducting too much magic?
“That was impressive,” his familiar’s voice said in his ear.
Douxie chuckled breathlessly. “Thanks, I think I’m about to pass out.”
A fly flew off of his necklace and shape-shifted back into his cat. “I didn’t think you were just going to strengthen the defenses. I figured I’d follow in case you’d like any help. But I think you handled that quite well on your own. The looks on their faces were  priceless .”
“Thanks. Glad you’re here, Arch, because I don’t think I can make it back home on my own. I feel like pudding.”
“Sure, you sucked up all the energy in the area and just held it. The universe is probably wondering what in the seven rings you’re doing.”
“’m protecting Nari.”
“Oh? Looked like a bit more than just ‘protection.’”
Douxie chuckled again. “Okay. Maybe it was a little itty-bit revenge for her, too. Shame I didn’t see her staff.” A wave of dizziness swept over him. “Oooookay. We need to get home before I pass out.”
Archie shifted into a horse, and Douxie hauled himself up, clinging tightly to his familiar as they raced up from the small New Jersey town back towards New York City. They stopped outside the city, Archie shapeshifting back into a cat and the two of them getting on the subway. They made their way back to the apartment, where Nari was waiting, pacing. “What  took  so long? I feared...”
“Good news!” Douxie said cheerfully, “You don’t have to worry about the coven anymore! They will stay well away from you.”
Nari’s eyes widened. “What did you do?!”
“Paid them a little house call.”
Nari let out a startled laugh. “Why would you do that?”
“Because,” Douxie said seriously, “It’s about time that someone started caring about you for you.”
@moppetwithamanbun@einahpetsyarcip@ohfuzzbuckets
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Eternal Flame- Kol Mikaelson 7/?
A Hundred Dead Witches!?!
Summary: 'You never know whats in a persons heart until you truly know them' - Belle French, Once Upon a Time
Singing. Thats all what Alexandra Gilbert has cared about since she was young and all she would care about until she met him.
With Alexandra fighting vampires, werewolves and all between she may do a thing she vowed never to do, fall in love.
And to think it all started with a walk in the woods...
Tonight was the night of Illuminations, a town tradition that has been going on for centuries so a group of us had volunteered to help or in my case forced to. While hanging lanterns from the trees Carol Lockwood decided to make a speech to the volunteers deciding to thank the people actually doing the work instead of sitting around making speeches along with introducing Tobias Fell. 
"Remind me why we're here again?" I whispered to Mark but before he could answer Sam butted in. 
"It's my uncle Tobys night, my mom's forcing me to volunteer and I'm sure as hell not doing it on my own." Making me roll my eyes at the bassist. 
  "Yo, what'd I miss" James said coming behind us making me jump out of my skin giving him a push. 
  "Nothing the speech is about to begin." Sam informed him. 
  "The first illumination..." He started, going on about history of the town and the founders. 
"I'm gonna dip. Finish my lantern" I whispered to James making him look at me incredulously. I just looked at him and blew a kiss at the drummer before a quietly and as slyly as possible trying to escape the wrath of Sam Fell who although may look skinny and weak can destroy you. 
When it looked like I was in the clear for now I walked up to Caroline and Bonnie who were tying lanterns to a branch.
"-comment on that." 
"Comment on what?" 
"There. You Commented" 
"I'm confused, what are you commenting?" Asking the duo confused at what is going on and what is being commented. 
"What do you want me to say Caroline?" She asked clearly distressed before finally addressing me "I went against the balance of nature when I brought Jeremy back to life and now, I'm paying the consequences. Whenever he wants to see Anna and she wants to see him, she's still here". Jesus this is fucked up. 
"Bon..." I started looking at her sympathetically before Caroline butts in 
"I want you to tell me you're not okay with it." 
"I'm a thousand times not okay with it. I just don't know what to do about it" she said looking deflated at the entire situation making me throw my arm around her shoulders in comfort. 
"You, Bonnie Bennett are the most powerful, smartest and amazing witch. You'll figure out, trust me. You're Bonnie Bennett for Christ sake!" She smiled at me giving a small laugh before a blue Camaro comes out of nowhere pulling up with a raven haired vampire driving. 
"Greetings, blondie, witchy, brainy. I think you got your voodoo wires all crossed when you got rid of Vicki Donovan." She tells us with an annoyed expression on his face. 
"Vicki Donovan?" I questioned confused to how a dead vampire was being brought into this conversation, 
"What do you mean, why?" Bonnie questioned the annoyed/annoying vampire in front of her. 
"Because I'm pretty sure I just got spit-roasted by Mason Lockwood's ghost." He explained. What the hell did Damon do to that poor and attractive werewolf? 
"What?" Bonnie asked very confused. 
"And why exactly do you think that?" I asked wondering how Mason Lockwood was the first person he thought of.
"Maybe because he chained me to a chair and shoved a hot poker into my chest. let's say I'm having deja vu." With this being told me and Caroline both look at Bonnie who looks very confused and conflicted. 
"I thought you said ghosts couldn't interact with people." Caroline said talking straight to Bonnie thinking how it can't be possible that Bonnie may have been wrong. 
"They can't" 
"Yeah well, I don't have time for a vengeful Lockwood. When I kill someone, they're supposed to stay dead. Whatever you screwed up fix it." He ranted towards the witch after that he drove away extremely quickly and most likely above the speed limit. 
Across the road was Matt watching the interaction of the four of us. I was the first to cross the street to talk to the quarterback with Caroline and Bonnie following closely behind. I asked him quickly if he had seen Vicki.
"I haven't seen Vicki, I swear" He told us all before looking down upset about having to go through the loss of his sister a second time "I sent her back like you told me to do."
"Are you sure?" Bonnie asked making sure that Matt actually did get rid of Vicki "Because she has just as much reason to haunt Damon as Mason Lockwood does."
"90% of the people who have been killed in the past two years has as much reason to haunt Damon as much as Mason Lockwood." I added making Caroline nod in agreement.
"She's gone Bonnie. If she was here, I'd know it" I gave him a small sympathetic smile it clear that he was severely upset about this whole ordeal.
"Why do you think its Vicki and not Mason?" Caroline asked the witch.
"Because if any ghost other than Vicki Donovan has a physical foothold on our side, that means Damon's right." Words I never thought I'd hear "and something has gone really, really wrong." Bonnie states looking extremely worried about this situation and what would happen if all the ghosts from our past come to literally haunt us.
"I've had enough of this ghost stuff to last forever. So can you guys can leave me out of this one" Matt tells the three of us, I nodded understanding that if that happened to me, I wouldn't be able to get out of bed forget going to work. He walks away from us, and you can hear Caroline talking.
"I feel so sad for him. It took a lot for him to send his sister away."
"Yeah" Bonnie replied shortly.
"I highly doubt I could do that, if I got to saw my mom or dad again... I don't know if I would be able to let them go." I stated feeling so much sympathy for the blue-eyed boy. "It took a lot of guts anyway." This made the other girls nod.
"So much strength in a man." Caroline continued looking at both of us.
"Caroline it's never going to happen, get over it." Rolling my eyes at her Insinuating that Matt would be a perfectly good boyfriend as she's done for the part two months.
"I've got a ghost problem to deal with, Caroline. Save the Jeremy lecture for later" She snapped while grabbing her bag all of her stuff falling out when the strap broke. I bent down and helped her pick up her things and just as she was going to put her grimoire up it opens itself to a page in the center of the book.
"Did that just..." I asked the witch and vampire not believing my eyes.
"I think so." Bonnie said cocking her head to the side while picking up the book reading the page that the book opened itself to.
"Okay please tell me that's a recipe for witch cookies" Caroline half joked half serious about the page Bonnie was currently reading.
"It's a manifestation spell. It's used to reveal veiled matter." Bonnie told us the meaning of the grimoires spell.
"What's veiled matter?" Caroline asked and before Bonnie answered I said in shock.
"Ghosts." looking at them all.
"What do we do? Do we do the spell? What is the spell exactly?" I questioned Bonnie repeatedly wanting the ghosts to be a thing in the past and look into the future.
"I think we need to go somewhere more private."
***
Caroline pulled her car up to an abandoned creepy looking house. the three of us enter the front room me and Caroline a little bit more apprehensively than Bonnie.
"So, this is where you brought Jeremy back to life?" I asked Bonnie looking around the room severely creeped out, the interior being as bad as the exterior.
"Yeah. Sorry, I know it's creepy, but we needed a private place to do the spell." Bonnie apologized getting ready to do the spell.
"Hmmm. There's no chance it's haunted by the hundred dead witches who were horrifically burned to death in this very spot, is there?" Caroline question clearly scared, and that question alone made me just as scared.
"A hundred dead witches?!"
"They're not here anymore. And they made it clear they were never coming back." she reassured us both trying to calm our nerves or well attempted to.
"Right. You pinkie swear?" Caroline asks trying to make a joke in the tense environment. Making me give her a look. I got the candles out and gave Caroline a lighter so she can help light the candles with me for Bonnie to start the spell.
"Ready do you need us to do..." I started turning around to see Bonnie already starting to start the spell "Right. Okay" I looked at Caroline while Bonnie was continuing to do the spell getting louder every chant a breeze beginning to surround us getting stronger and stronger by the second making everything in the room moves. Seeing all of this makes my eyes widen and start to worry about Bonnie and how safe this is for her.
"Bonnie, I don't like this. Bonnie..." Caroline voices my thoughts while also looking around that was until we saw something shocking.
"Oh my God, is that your...?" I started but couldn't finish due to the pure shock of what I as seeing. All three of us shocked Bonnie can't say anything, it even leaves Caroline speechless. The silence was broke with Bonnie saying quietly.
"Grams."
*************************************************
A/N:
Small chapter but next is quite long an different than others as a special character will be appearing. Hope you enjoyed, Part two will include more of the boys (a slight twist).
Please correct any grammar, spelling or British slang.
Any positive or negative feedback is appreciated.
Thanks for reading lovelies xxx 
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gothic-safari-clown · 3 years
Text
The Mind’s Power Over the Body
Part 15: The Nicotine Crutch
Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine  / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen 
Word count: 1328
TW: smoking
"No more favors," Jonathan began, sitting across from Carmine Falcone, the man himself. "Someone is sniffing around." The mobster leaned forward aggressively.
"Hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, Doc." Jonathan repressed an eye roll. Falcone always seemed to insist upon calling him that, regardless of the fact that he had a perfectly good name. "I'm bringing in the shipments." That did succeed in irritating him visibly; Jonathan's eyes narrowed slightly, and he pushed his head forward in a mirror of Falcone's body language.
"We're paying you for that."
"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors." The older man shot back with no hesitation. Both exasperated and amused, Jonathan sighed and removed his glasses.
"I am more than aware that you are not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone."
Yeah, how could he be?
Keep quiet, you.
"But you know who I'm working for," Jonathan continued, "and when he gets here-"
"He!" Falcone interrupted, his sudden nervousness manifesting in the sharp way that he raised his hand. "He's coming to Gotham?"
Good. That was the exact reaction Jonathan had expected. Ra's Al Ghul was indeed coming to Gotham, and soon. "Yes, he is. And when he gets here, he's not going to want to hear that you have endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of a little jail time."
At that, Falcone nodded solemnly, suddenly taking the visit very seriously. "Who's bothering you?"
Finally. "There's a girl at the DA's office." Again, Falcone nodded; he was familiar with this problem.
"We'll buy her off."
"Not this one," Jonathan shook his head. If only Miss Dawes were that simple.
Oh, I wouldn't say she isn't simple, just stubborn.
Jonathan chose to ignore that comment, regardless of his agreement.
"Ah, idealist, huh?" Falcone shrugged, entirely unaware of Scarecrow's antics. "Well, there's an answer to that too."
"I don't want to know," Jonathan replied truthfully. Scarecrow was bound to get overzealous of whatever was in store for the infuriating woman and become even more of a chore than usual.
"Yes, you do." It was clear by the look on the older man's face that he thought he was doing a power play by insisting upon an explanation.
Does arrogance come with ignorance or the other way around?
It didn't matter either way; he sat through Falcone's childish power trip, and just as expected, Scarecrow loved every second of it. How tedious.
Once finally on his way back home, Jonathan reflected on how wholly pointless Falcone's rambling was. He couldn't for the life of him figure out where the old man had gotten the idea that he held any power in the operation; if he hadn't agreed to bring in the shipments, someone else would have. He was easily replaceable.
His thoughts turned to El waiting at home. He was sure now that she wouldn't try to administer the toxin to herself, but this morning he had sensed a return of her previous reservations for the project. It was to be expected; he had known of her psychopathy for a long time, but it seemed that she remained unaware of it. It was just like her to be aware of everyone else's problems except her own; he supposed it was easier to integrate that way. And after all, she had been repressing it for decades; it was hard to overcome that sort of thing in a few days.
It didn't matter anyway. Jonathan was confident that she would accept it by the time this was all over. All that was left to wonder was how long it would take.
.xXx.
Meanwhile, Elianna found herself smoking on the fire escape. Once Jonathan had left the apartment, she had gone to the window to watch for his car leaving, and as soon as it did, she had taken an errand of her own to the gas station down the street.
She had forgotten, however, to watch for her friend's return. Upon hearing the door unlock, she cursed to herself. She had never had to sneak around when smoking before; she forgot to be on the lookout. However, at this point, it was too late to hide it, so she took another long drag off of her third cigarette, mentally kicking herself.
"El?"
"I'm out here." She sighed, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. She could almost hear Jonathan's confusion as he approached the window, replaced quickly by mild irritation.
"What are you doing? I thought you quit years ago." He inquired, carefully climbing out onto the fire escape with her.
"I did." Another deep inhale. "Turns out that stress is a hell of a relapse trigger." Jonathan sighed as he sat next to her.
"I know I don't have to tell you that it's bad for you..."
"Then don't."
"But there are other things you can do to relieve stress." He waited for a response as she took one last long drag before extinguishing the now used up cigarette as she blew out slowly.
"I don't care. This helps. Not actually, obviously, it can't take away the stressful situation, but it's something I can control." She flicked the butt out onto the street below before opening the carton for another, lighting it smoothly.
El thought that she knew better than to offer one—Jonathan had never smoked anything a day in his life—and was shocked when he reached for the little box and removed a cigarette. She turned to look at him sharply, the first time she had looked at him since he had gotten home, and he took the lighter from her hands.
"What are you doing?" He shrugged in response and lit the stick between his lips, making a face at the taste.
"Believe it or not, I'm stressed too." He explained as he took it from his mouth and breathed out. "That tastes awful, though." El laughed.
"Yeah, it helps if you squeeze the filter." She reached over and did so, hearing the pop between her fingers. "Not much, but still." Jonathan took another experimental puff; she was right on both counts.
"I don't see the appeal," he said, raising it back to his lips for another hit. El chose not to comment on this.
"So, is everything taken care of?" He nodded.
"As good as. From this point on, we should focus on mass production and getting it into the water main. We should have enough, but I'd rather be prepared."
"Prepared for when?" El watched his face, cigarette forgotten.
"We're scheduled to go into operation in a few weeks."
El was surprised. That soon? She felt that she had only barely dipped her toes into the project; she needed to earn her way into the shared immunity that Jonathan had offered her. Would a few weeks be enough time?
"Then I need to get used to the toxin; we have to do it again," she insisted, trying and failing to keep the urgency out of her voice.
"You just did last night. You need a break!"
"Did you take breaks when you were experimenting on yourself?" Jonathan floundered for a moment.
"No."
"That's what I thought. We're doing it again."
"Fine. But we're going to work tomorrow. It'll have to wait until Friday." El thought about arguing for a moment, but she knew that her friend was just as stubborn as she was, and judging by his tone of voice, this was not an argument that she would win.
They sat on the fire escape for hours, chatting about mindless things and eventually finishing the pack, at which point they finally went back inside.
Elianna went to bed that night knowing that the next few weeks would be big. She wondered again if she had made the right decision by moving to Gotham and fell asleep running through the moral quandary that her actions presented and wondering why she couldn't bring herself to really care about the destruction and chaos that she was abetting.
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smrwine · 5 years
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Alone amongst the flower petals, Harry slowed his directionless wandering to a stop, and found himself at the cornerstone of quaint civilization. Summer and it’s visitors had clearly kissed the Tuscan walls of this suburb. With the heart of Florence merely within walking distance, and the historically romantic architecture just across Ponte Vecchio, it was to be expected that the streets would be alive and crawling with curious drifters alike.
The noise had settled down by now. Early September promised near vacant streets with all the same sweltering heat, humidity, and beauty of August. 
As a hopelessly detailed poet, Harry was inspired by it. 
The dark red roses lined in windowsill boxes were withering down to their stems in preparation for autumn, but the leaves from the vines growing up along the buildings and sculptures, blossomed and trickled down to brush the very tips of any unsuspecting passer by. The linen that hung from the sturdy clotheslines billowed gently in the late summer wind and the fountain behind him pitter pattered quietly and tranquil. Harry couldn’t imagine a sight more calm and simple, and absolutely picturesque.
With a deep inhale, he lifted his sunnies, and allowed the burnt sienna colour of the city to overwhelm him. He let his eyes slip closed as he leaned back against an iron railing and committed the scenery to memory. The sun beams were relentless even behind his shut eyelids and washed the back of them a bright orange and red. 
As Harry tipped his sunnies back down against his nose, he heard the unmistakable click and wind of and old film camera - one similar to the one he brought along with him. Harry tilted his head upward and opened his eyes to a man stepping out onto his back balcony.
Bellissimo, Louis.
The suburb was just quiet enough for Harry to hear the deep voice coming from inside the shadows of the home. The lad on the balcony was illuminated by daylight and was visibly glistening under the Italian heat. His fringe was just long enough to sweep across his forehead, and his face was dusted pristine with little facial hair. His expression was broody and somewhat irritated as he squinted hard, shielding his eyes from the abrasive light of the sun.
Harry nearly looked away, knowing he probably shouldn’t stare at a stranger for as long as he has, but then the man popped a cigarette between his lips, and lifted his shirt slightly. The golden flesh of his belly mostly distracted Harry from noticing that he was actually lighting up beneath his shirt - a skill that seemed to only belong to him. Another click of the camera sounded off and a winding of the film followed. 
Sembra che tu abbia un ammiratore.
Harry overheard the hushed voice in the shadows, unaware of what any of the mumbling meant. 
The boy on the balcony turned and peered down, blowing his smoke towards the wind, giving Harry a curious look. Harry knew he should have tilted his head down by now, caught in the act with only sunnies to hide behind, but he felt his smile grow as the other lad smirked his way.
“Ciao.” Harry dimpled, impressed with how smooth the greeting rolled off his English tongue.
“Ciao.”
His voice was endearingly timid. Soft and light. Airy and petite, just like the look of him. Harry watched as the man turned back and posed with effortlessness - leaning against the balcony rail, catching the light against all his sharp angles, and cocking his hips in a subtly alluring way. The cigarette was more of an accessory, never once touching his lips after being lit. The outfit he was dressed in wasn’t figure fitting, or styled in any particular way, but he seemed to make it playful on his own, lifting the hem to expose his skin and letting the material nearly swallow him up. 
Every few clicks and winds of the camera, his eyes would flicker back towards Harry, making sure he was still there watching him, and not the world renowned view just a few blocks away. 
“Ti stai godendo il panorama?” the lad posed once more for the camera, and then directed his full attention towards Harry.
His expression was expectant and a little bit pointed. Harry felt embarrassed, not having a clue how to respond, or what he even said in the first place. He quickly reached for his back pocket, remembering he had a little black book he scribbled down notes in. Some pages were filled with Italian greetings and phrases, and others were just with observations. He flipped through his writing, hoping he had written down something of value, when a sweet little line caught his eye.
“Sei il sole che illumina i miei giorni,” he read out loud with god awful pronunciation. “Sei bellissimo.”
Harry cringed inward, but as he closed his book and looked back up to the pretty man, he was relieved to find him giggling, and blushing at the attempted flirtation in language Harry knew nothing about. 
There was an obvious attraction, at least on Harry’s end. Just from merely observing him from below his balcony ledge, Harry could tell his lips were made for loving, and his body was meant to be handled in delicate grips. He wouldn’t mind sacrificing the city as his muse if it meant it would manifest in this wonderful being alone. 
“Ti va di venire su e magari dirmi il tuo nome?” he spoke carefully, moving to lean over the balcony rail. “O restare ad ammirarmi da là ti basta?”
That soft tone took possession over Harry, he only wanted to hear him speak more. 
“I’m sorry. I’m an English fool—I have no idea what you’ve just said to me,” Harry shrugged with his palms facing upward, feeling just a bit witless. “but I do love the sound of it. Your voice is incredibly comforting and you’re really quite dreamy. Sei Bello, bello—Sei un gioiello.”
The man above him dipped his head with a bashful smile, seemingly only catching on to the compliments and endearments Harry memorized just a week before. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The click of the shutter was crisp between their silence, but neither of them bothered to pay it any mind. 
Harry lifted his sunnies over his eyes and tucked them safely in his hair. Goodness, he was even more stunning in the natural, mid afternoon daylight. The city as his back drop made perfect sense now as he took in the unfiltered version of him. 
His eyes said more to Harry than either of their languages could ever convey. Open, curious, and just on the right side of interested.
“Occhi d’angelo.” Harry tried, and successfully pulled yet another pretty laugh from him. 
The man shook his head with a coy simper on his lips, and went back to posing for the camera in front of him. The clicks and shutters went on for just a bit longer. Harry knew the person’s film reel couldn’t go on forever and that he’d at least have a minute in between switching rolls to get another small portion of the man’s attention. 
Harry gave his neck a rest, rubbing out the tension from keeping it craned upward for so long. He took a seat upon a stone ledge of a garden bed, patiently awaiting his one opportunity at a foreign type of romance.
“Mi chiamo Louis.” the man spoke without giving Harry a second glance, and took a great long pull of his nearly burned out cigarette. “What’s your name, darling?”
Harry perked up at the sound English, immediately standing up on his own two feet again, and moving closer. 
“Harry, my name is Harry.” his brain tripped over itself trying to come up with a way to ask him out, whilst still trying to speak his language. “Domani? Qui, domani? Can we meet here again?”
The man smiled at his poor pronunciation and mixture of languages, but seemed to sympathize with his determined efforts. His eyes were soft and adoring, and Harry hoped to be looked at the same way for the rest of his time spent here. 
“Tonight,” he answered, stubbing out his cigarette, and turning to fully face Harry over the rail. “I’ll show you a side of Florence you’ve never seen.”
xxx
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viktuurificwriters · 6 years
Text
Getting to know Lucycamui
Lucycamui ( @lucycamui ) is one of the most decorated writers in the YOI fandom, and it’s no wonder she is for she has written many enjoyable fics.
Notable in Lucy’s writing is her ability to add humor to a fic without neglecting the more serious parts of the story. She gives proper attention to how she ties everything together so it won’t come out awkward and unrealistic. Even with her Siren AU, a collaboration she’s making with @crimson-chains , where every chapter is a ficlet, everything flows so well even when each chapter can stand on its own. Readers wouldn’t feel disconnected from her writing.
Everybody already knows of her, but let us get to know more about Lucy under the cut.
Lucy was born on November 13. Although she has both American and Russian citizenship, she lives in Japan for work. She trains employees from different multinationals operating within Japan on various international business skills, like presentation, negotiation, and discussion skills.
Although a prolific writer, she finds writing for work exhausting. Midway through and at the end of her contracts, she has to write long reports on each individual’s progress. Usually, after completing those, she wouldn’t want to write another word for a few days.
Writing for the fandom, however, is something she finds invigorating. As proof of this, she has published nineteen fics for YOI.
“Writing for myself is so much fun,” says Lucy. “I can craft and escape to whatever world or mood I want. What could be better than that?”
Lucy usually gets her ideas from personal experiences or observations. “Be my Sex Coach, Viktor!”, for example, is based on something that actually happened to a friend of hers, and Lucy was Phichit in that situation. Her friend didn’t get any sex homework, but her first date with the porn star did go wrong like Yuuri’s.
Although BMSCV’s opening is rather silly, Lucy makes it work, effectively pulling readers in. The fic is realistic in the way it shows how sex is not always hot and beautiful. Yuuri does a lot of mistakes that makes readers wanna facepalm, and yet people still read the fic because the true beauty of it lies in Yuuri learning how to be more confident with himself and to be more open with his desires.
 Other times, Lucy comes up with an idea because it’s something she would like to read but can’t find anywhere. She could either lament the lack of it or try creating it herself. When she can’t stop thinking of a certain scene or line, the idea grows from there. It mostly begins in the middle of the story, but as Lucy plans her plot, she figures out how to get to that scene or line.
Like a Fairytale started because Lucy had this image of Phichit as a fairygodperson who kept making mistakes because he wasn’t properly trained yet in magic, which is why the spell expired at midnight. Lucy had to map out her idea to get there, writing three different opening scenes before settling on one.
When she sits down to write a chapter, she often writes it for one or two long sessions. She can’t handle writing in piecemeal because it feels like she’ll disrupt the tone or pacing she’s set.
In BMSCV, she worked on for about twenty-four hours straight on some chapters. BMSCV chapters are generally longer than her other fics, plus she had to pause in writing to research something, like finding the actual form a person needs to fill in when visiting the sexual health clinic in Detroit. Writing smut also takes more time for her.
Lucy may take short breaks to eat, drink, and stretch, but when she’s in the “I’m writing this until I’m finished” mindset, there is no stopping her. When she gets stuck, she talks to Cryingoverspilledvodka about the idea or vision she has, bouncing off ideas with her. “I think there are lots of chat logs between us that has one of us going, ‘I was thinking xxx but I am having trouble figuring out xxx,’” shares Lucy. “And then the next message, without the other even replying is, ‘OH! Wait! Never mind, maybe... Maybe I got it!!!’”
The hardest scene Lucy has ever written is Yuuri’s GPF Free Skate scene in BMSCV, for there were a lot of things she wanted to convey. Lucy watched the scene of him skating it in the anime around twenty times to make sure that her version would reflect the thoughts he’s having.
Lucy says that, up until that scene, Yuuri had not skated his free program well because he could not grasp the feeling of love he was trying to show through it. Reflecting canon, Yuuri tells himself to think about love and its different manifestations in his life. All those different loves had to return continuously and naturally to Viktor every time.
“I wanted to show Yuuri's program and how he works through it, all while not realizing how flawless it is because he is rather lost in those thoughts of love,” says Lucy. She wanted Yuuri to realize that the love he had been missing was Viktor, without showing it in a way that shouts, “I’m in love!” at the end. That scene also needed to give Yuuri certainty in his feelings, so that when he arrives at the press conference and has his confession, he no longer questions what he feels.
“So writing Yuuri skating, thinking, feeling love, winning, and then naturally coming to the point where he says, ‘Huh, maybe I'm in love,’ without it coming out all forced and questionable... that was a real challenge,” says Lucy.
And she is amazing for having achieved that.
Not only does she know her characters well, she’s also exemplary in the way she structures her fics. She takes you right into the story, not bothering to go through unnecessary expositions, but revealing the characters’ backgrounds as she goes instead of stating it all in the beginning.
“Anyone can become a writer,” she says. “There is no requirement to be one.”
When Lucy began writing, she didn’t feel certain emotions as strongly as she does now. But as she developed through practice, her values and perceptions have changed as her writing has too.
“We all experience life, emotions, and the world in different ways,” she says. “We're not all going to define things in the same way, and we'll all feel certain things stronger than others.”
People may feel emotions and see the world differently, but there’s a beauty in that. They can write from there and share with others what they know and what they want to convey. And if they want to write about something they don’t know, they can learn it. The world is becoming a bigger place because of the writers who seek to understand and of the readers who are there to share in their understanding.
Lucy is one such writer. She has written about love hotels, sirens, and fairytales, who knows what else she can share with us?
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thejamesoldier · 7 years
Note
81 Bucky x Reader?
Thanks lovie for sending something in! This was so fun to write bc let’s face it, we’re all jealous hoes when it comes to Bucky xxx
Prompt #81: “Who’s texting you? - “Umm. Nobody.”
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{im sorry but this gif is actually making me cry. he’s just so beautiful someone stop him}
A Naked Face & A Phone
There were a couple of Things that happened that ultimately led to your downfall.
The first Thing was Bucky got a phone.
The second was Bucky shaved for the first time since the 40′s. Like not stubble management, but actually full on shaved. Naked face and all.  
Both were huge steps for him and you were so proud. You didn’t tell him that because you’re not Steve and it’d be weird. The only reason Bucky and you have ever spoken is because your the only one he let’s work on his arm.
Stark brought you in because you’re the best of the best when it comes to modern cutting edge technology (which Tony never said straight out, but it was implied and coming from Tony Stark you were flattered). Originally you were only supposed to conference with Stark about creating a new arm for one Sergeant Barnes. Help him with ideas and such because two geniuses were certainly better than one. But when you both brain stormed up a possible first model to present to Barnes before actually making it (because Barnes knows more about it than you two ever would and it would be stupid not to have him involved in the process), he took one look at the graphs and walked out without saying a word.
Tony almost chased him down being offended, furious, and exhausted from about two weeks of no sleep and too much coffee trying to make this for him with you. But you held him back and talked some of Barnes perspective into him. You figured the idea of any kind of surgery on his body would with out a doubt be one of Barnes’ big red ‘DON’T PUSH ME’ buttons on the PTSD panel in his brain.
It took a month of hard conversations and more model work-throughs before Stark, Barnes, and you decided on a final draft. You and Stark manifested this final theory into reality to make the first physical model of Barnes’s new arm. When it came time to put it on though, Barnes took one step into the surgery/tech room, one look at the metal table in the center of hovering machines and assistant drones, and plummeted into one of the most heart wrenching panic episodes you have ever witnessed. It down right broke you in two.  
It took another month for Barnes to be comfortable enough to even look Tony and you in eye (not that it was personal, you had to keep reminding Tony of that), and then another month after that to agree to try again. You couldn’t blame him for his fears. Honestly, if it were you, you would have given up long ago. But Bucky has the kind of soul that is so resilient, so strong even at it’s weakest, that he truly does belong in those comic books and museum murals. He deserved to be made a constellation in the sky to be look up to an awed at. Bucky astounded you.
Of course you’ve never told him that.
It turned out that Barnes was only comfortable with you touching him and securing the new arm because during his time with Hydra, no woman ever worked on him. Sure there were women scientists, but the actual surgeries and operations and tune-ups were left to the male “doctors”. Tony, for once, wasn’t offended if maybe a little troubled. Tony understood it wasn’t about him, it wasn’t even about Barnes, it was about fear and how it controls the mind and body, irrational or not.
It’s been about a year and a half since you attached that first new arm; a year and a half of you hopelessly and secretly pinning over Bucky Barnes.
Currently, you’re sitting in your own tech room (after the realization that Bucky wouldn’t allow anything to be done to him unless you were doing it, you were permanently hired) at Stark Tower, sitting a little crooked on a rollie-stool, bent over at an odd angle, nose deep in Bucky’s newest upgraded arm: JBB Model #024.
For the last hour you have been trying to get a set of wires to cooperate in his forearm and are heavily relying on your stores of patience to not do something childish or over dramatic in front of Bucky. Bucky still couldn’t make himself sit in a chair with a high back or head rest, so instead he sits on a stool too, metal (or vibranium – courtesy of T’Challa) arm resting on the sturdy work table between you. A bunch of tools and gadgets are displayed haphazardly on the generous wide tray. At the beginning of your tune-up the tools were all perfectly organized by purpose and necessity, but as this process dragged on a lot longer than originally planned, you got sucked into the mechanics of his arm and sacrificed your pretty tray for a messy one.
Your eyes hadn’t left the inside of his arm the entire time, blindly grabbing at tools and things as you could not pull your focus away or relax the line that felt as deep as the grand fucking canyon inbetween your eyebrows. Bucky watched every tick and snap you made in his arm. At the beginning he had to watch because he never was aloud to watch before, making sure you were doing what you told him you were doing. He sometimes felt the need to apologize for treating you like a Hyrda doctor, but one look at your face and he knew you understood and weren’t even the slightest bit offended.
He was so grateful.
Bucky now watched yes to oversee progress, but his gripping fear lessened the more he trusted you, and instead his eyes had wandered to watching you. He hadn’t looked at a woman and thought, ‘She’s pretty’ in such a long time that when it happened to him in the middle of one of your regular tune-ups, he had to exercise every inch of self control to not jolt in his seat. You thankfully didn’t notice but Bucky was left with a big ol’ ball of yarn to grapple with now.
As he observes you now, focused like the world will end if you break your concentration for even a second, he gives himself permission to admire you. He’s as familiar with the planes and lines and curves of your face as you are with every inch, inside and out, of Bucky’s arm. You’re simply beautiful, and Bucky feels so refreshed at having such a human thought but also nervous because shit how does this work again? and he’s kept this precious feeling he has for you tucked safe away inside his chest. No danger of being found out because if Bucky is good at anything, its holding onto things.
Barnes believes he’s too fucked up for you, but there’s no law against admiring you from a far (or one foot away) is there? He doesn’t remember that there was. Staring is only rude if you’re caught, which he made sure he never was.
As you tinker away you’re so absorbed in your work that you don’t feel Bucky’s gaze on your face, never have. You go into this zone when you work where everything blurs out, time, hunger, thirst, rest, your surroundings, and its a curse and blessing. Tony is the only one (and Bruce) who gets that.
Now nothing short of the world blowing up could pull you from your focus –
Beep beep!
Your ears register the sound of a phone vibrating and for some reason your brain deems this ‘world blowing up’ serious because you tear your eyes away from the godforsaken wires, to see Bucky blinking down at his Stark phone, large thumb tapping across the screen.
Your sore fingers want to twitch but instead you let your left eye do the twitching instead. Before you can stop yourself because who the fuck is texting Bucky?!! you finally, after a year and a half, trip up.
“Who’s texting you?” You would like to say your voice was casual and friendly, but instead it sounded hoarse from not having spoken in a while and surprisingly sharp.
Bucky’s thumb pauses. A number of reactions and emotions flutter and tumble through him at your tone. Plus the fact that you never once have been distracted, or even made small talk, while working on his arm before and now of all times you break your streak? Bucky ends up settling on feeling mushy and warm but also like gongs were being banged on in his stomach when he hits send, locks his phone, and stuffs it back into the front pocket of his jeans before responding.
“Umm. Nobody.” Now Bucky had no idea why he lied. Obviously someone had texted him (it was Sam yelling at him in capslock accusing him of eating the last of the oreos he had called dibs on; Bucky was totally guilty of this quote ‘HEINOUS CRIME’), but for some reason a foreign instinct told Bucky to be cryptic. To be mysterious.
Barnes’ words hit you like a slap in the face. The obvious fact that you had expected him to tell you was beyond embarrassing. He might be yours in your head, but in reality he barely said two words to you. Of course it wasn’t your damn business to demand to know who’s texting him! Bucky’s looking at you from the corner of his eye like you might have another head sprouting out of your skull or something. Your heart cries and hides under metaphorical covers.
Bucky keeps his profile to you, side-eyeing you with what he hopes is a dark horse (as Nat had called him) sexy confidence, but seeing your face heat up and your eyes blink back an expression of unfiltered humiliation, before you practically stuff your face inside his arm as you get back to work, he realizes you may have misinterpreted him.
Fuck, he thinks, barely stopping himself from huffing like a child, this flirting shit is harder than I remember.
You almost can’t take the never ending Niagara Falls level of embarrassment pouring over your head and soaking your body to the bone. You want to vomit. You want to stab yourself in the eye with the electric tweezers in your hand. You also couldn’t stop even if you wanted to the rush of theories running through your head at who could be texting him. The phone is new, barely a week old so you comfort yourself that he couldn’t have gotten loads of girls’ numbers…
Yet, you’re inner asshole adds.
You know Nat is trying to rope Bucky into her matchmaking game, the same one that she’s been doing with Steve. Your heart gives an extraordinarily uncomfortable squeeze in your chest, but you’re proud to say you didn’t wheeze. You only continue working on the wires, praying you can fix them because sitting here under Bucky’s obviously disgusted eye is Purgatory itself.
Bucky hears your heart do an impressive chorus of pumps and jolts, the only hint that you’re as effected by this as he wanted you to be. Okay maybe he didn’t want to make you feel humiliated, but the confirmation that you cared was so satisfying; he actually loved you wanted to know who was texting him. Your exterior expression is back to its professional masked coolness and Bucky is hit with the itching urge to try to do something to break it again. To peel you out of your formalities and get you offering –
Offering? Bucky’s eyebrows would have knit together but his face is as cool and empty as yours, Offering him what?
Its another ten horrible minutes from hell before you finally fix those fucking wires. As quickly as you possibly can you carefully re-plate his arm, making sure everything is secure and smooth, before near leaping out of your seat and sprinting for the sliding glass door even if this is your workshop. Shut up, escaping was vital to your survival at this point. You shout some excuse about really having to go to the bathroom before Bucky can say anything, door already sliding close behind you.
Bucky stares after you, outwardly impassive, but inside there’s a hurricane of What the Actual Fuck Am I Doing?
It’s been a week since your outburst. You keep torturing yourself with re-runs of the moment to remind yourself why you need to avoid him at all costs. I mean not that you spoke that much anyway, but still you made extra sure. You wish you were cool enough to not have to avoid him and could hide your feelings so effortlessly like Natasha tried to teach you, but you were much more pathetic and therefore, weren’t good at hiding your feelings. You’re surprised you’ve gotten away with it this long. If it was a normal dude you would have been caught much sooner, but since Bucky is so far from normal you realize that’s been your cop out.
Now you’re panicking. Because Bucky, while oblivious to certain things while he re-learns how to be a man, was and still is one of the world’s most deadly assassins with instincts and reflexes as sharp as a fucking laser. Nothing got past him in a professional setting, but now that he’s realizing he can apply those same skills to everyday communication in reading people you have a fairly good dooming feeling that your time has run out.
He’ll emotionally snipe your ass so quick you won’t even know what hit you.
Bucky’s arm tune-ups are weekly. Sometimes more than once a week if there are any minor training incidents or the like. Tomorrow he’s due back in your workshop and you’ve been laying sprawled out on the carpet of your bedroom in your place in Queens for the better part of three hours.
You’ve been meticulously going over emergency procedures, installing ‘self-eject’ buttons, on multiple situations that could occur in that room. You know your end is here but goddammit you’re going in prepared. You know you might be over-dramatizing things, but you’ve been head over heels for this guy for a year and a half. You give yourself a little slack.
It’s tomorrow and your about ready to vomit sitting, or more like jittering on your stool obsessively organizing and re-organizing your tools. Your hair is tied back into a loose ponytail to keep your hair out of your face as you work, but you are tempted to yank a few strands out to hide behind. Before your nerves can get the better of you and release a curtain of your hair, Bucky strides in.
You don’t look up right away, pretending to be professionally preparing your tools for the tune-up. It’s not until Bucky grunts his usual hello and sits down, before you brave a quick glance up and do a painfully embarrassing double take. Your lips part, your fingers drop the tool you just picked up, and your lungs peace out.
Thing #2 happened. He shaved.
The once rugged look Bucky sported had disappeared completely. The loss of stubble on his face revealed the elegant lines of high cheekbones and a diamond cut jawline, high arched eyebrows sitting low and enticing over crystalline cobalt eyes, a swath of coal lashes that cast soft shadows on either side of a swooping nose sitting above the deep valley of his cupid’s bow. It all collected into this handsome portrait of old world charm and beauty.
The sound of your tool clanking against the metal of your tray wrenches you out of your staring. You fumble with it some more making an awful ruckus. Bucky is smiling fondly at you scrambling cross the work table and gently places his metal elbow down in the usual position you like it when you first start. When you eventually wrangle your tools back to their spots and a loud silence reigns over the two of you, you gently run your fingers over his arm before starting the tune-up.
Your cheeks are like two bonfires that adamantly refuse to go out. Bucky watches you blush and blush and blush and blush as you dive nose first into his arm. It’s downright adorable. He hears your heart pump unevenly and fast, doing it’s best imitation of Thumper in your chest. Bucky rolls his shoulders a little and swallows against a dry throat. He takes out his phone and opens up the messaging app.
“Sorry!” You squeak when your fingers twitch at seeing Bucky fucking texting again who the hell is he texting?! and a sensor on the inside of his bicep sends an electric jolt into Barnes’ shoulder.
Bucky feels the jolt but doesn’t do anything but smile when you look up all doe-eyed and jumpy.
“Didn’t hurt.” The supersoldier says kindly, looking in your eyes and letting his smile ink into his gaze. You bite your lip, flutter your lashes in a nervous flurry, and snap your eyes back down to his arm.
Bucky is so damn smug with himself. Knowing for sure that him possibly communicating with other people makes you jealous. At first he didn’t know why you were acting the way you were, he just knew he liked it. It wasn’t until he really thought about it that it came to him. Bucky doesn’t want to play with you, he just wanted to run a few tests of his own before going in for what he so charmingly called ‘Real Obvious Flirting Initiative’.
With a small steadying breath and without taking his eyes off you, Bucky types out a text. His smile grows with your terribly hidden jealousy as you listen to the thick pads of his thumb tap the screen. When he’s finished typing, he checks to make sure there are no weird autocorrected words then hits send.
Your phone goes off with a ding! in your back pocket. You pay no mind to it and continue to work, subconsciously plotting ways to steal his phone and see who he has in his contacts. Threatening every female in his contact list is too much right? Right, yeah too much. Maybe you could accidentally break the phone? No, Stark would get him a new one. Probably even a better one at that. You continue your devious train of thought while pacing on through the tune-up.
Thankfully Bucky doesn’t pull out his phone again, so when you finish you don’t have to bolt out of the room. Again. You look up and deliver (what you hope is) a professional smile and a nod, wiping the grease and fluid off your hands with a rag. Bucky stands, looks down at you and winks.
You’ve never felt so close to death (and maybe heaven) in your entire life.
When Bucky leaves you breathless sitting dumbly on your stool, you pull out your phone and subconsciously check for any messages. 
Today 16:30
Unknown Number: Hi
You furrow your eyebrows and respond.
Today 18:12
You: Who is this?
It’s not a second before you get a reply. 
Unknown Number: Next tune-up you’ll find out
Things went pretty smoothly from there. Sickeningly cute actually but you weren’t complaining (only Tony did but what’s new).
Hi so I hope you liked it! I had a blast writing jealous!reader and smug af!bucky xx
Don’t be afraid to submit something if you so desire! Drabble Prompts are here .
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cluelessnamelessao3 · 3 years
Text
But It’s Not Funny
15. I’m Not Laughing Anymore
You would be lying if you said that you were doing well.
Despite the zoo adventure and other various simple hangouts, you were still preoccupied over the conversation with Frisk and Flowey. There was worry embedded in your heart over the condition of those kids and their fate. There was a sense of fear that hadn’t left you since that day.
Though, you had stopped trying to research. There was just nothing to research—at least nothing with even an ounce of validity. You had toyed with the idea of talking to one of the monsters, like, perhaps, Toriel, but you were hesitant. Frisk seemed very keen on secrecy, did Toriel even know about their purported powers?
You could talk to Alphys, maybe. She seemed the most qualified of any, what with her background, to explain monster and human magic. Yet, still, how could you frame your line of questioning in a way that didn’t expose Frisk? How would you explain your sudden interest in magic, souls, and the history of the monsters? Prior, you had been relatively accepting—preferring not to question your friends about their past but allowing them to share what they wished to when they wished to do so.
Then, there was Sans. He was the first person you had considered talking to, however, you had a sickly gut-feeling upon the notion. Additionally, you remembered Frisks words—after all, how could you not? They had played in your mind on repeat, occupied your night-time musings, and haunted your daydreams.
“No one knows…?” you had asked.
“Well, I think someone does… but I can’t exactly talk to him about it. He hates it. He made me promise that I wouldn’t reset.”
He. He hates it. He. He made them promise. He.
There were few “he’s” that Frisk could be referring to. Though, what were the odds? Surely, Frisk knew far more of the monsters than you did. What were the chances that they were referring to Sans? Perhaps, Papyrus?
You tried to picture Papyrus in the situation, but it just didn’t fit. Someone that sweet and that hopeful could not be privy to such devastating information.
Which, inevitably, led you back to Sans. You could certainly see the effects of trauma in his tired bones—hah, making puns even without your skeleton friend. Considering these things brought you also to a memory of Sans’ late nights. He often seemed like an insomniac, unable to sleep for the thoughts in his head. He’d confided in you about his nightmares; you had thought at the time that they were just fears and worries manifesting in his dreams. You remembered him talking about violence, about things that had happened, yet had never truly happened. Most poignantly, you remembered him admitting that sometimes it was hard to know what was real and what was not.
All evidence pointed towards the mysterious “he” that Frisk mentioned being none other than Sans.
Still, though, you were reluctant to ask him. The feeling resided deep within you; from a place you couldn’t identify. You just knew, it was not a conversation you wanted to have—or perhaps, you just weren’t ready for it yet.
So, it brought you back to Alphys. Perhaps, it would not be so hard to talk to her about magic without revealing anything—you questions could be disguised as curiosity that you had not entertained out of respect for them.
You needed to talk to Alphys, though it struck you that it would be difficult to question her with Undyne around. You needed to talk to Alphys alone.
Would she even want to talk about magic? Or, for that matter, what happened in the Underground?
Your phone buzzed, bringing you back into the present moment.
You looked around you, taking in the colourful shop around you and the quiet of a slow afternoon. Although Frisk had been allowed to resume working again—a fact you had been excited (and apprehensive) about, Frisk hadn’t come in today, apparently having too much work to catch up on in school. You hadn’t minded, knowing that the middle of the week was always slow for you in any case. Though, you did miss their company.
Gingerly, you grabbed your phone off of the counter and checked it. Just one message flashed on the screen, from Sans.
Sansational [12:50 pm]
knock knock.
You rolled your eyes, though a soft smile did grace your lips.
XXX–XXX–XXXX [12:51 pm]
who’s there?
Instantly, a response appeared.
Sansational [12:51 pm]
wendy
You played along, texting back “wendy who?”
Sansational [12:52 pm]
wendy you think we can go on a date?
For a moment it felt like your heart had stopped; for all too long you simply stared at the text message. Date? You thought, feeling not entirely unhappy with the notion.
However, before you could formulate a response, your phone dinged again and then again. As you opened the thread again, two more responses popped up.
Sansational [12:52 pm]
uh * coffee date
like we did before
lol
oops
You could feel a wave of disappointment wash over you, though you couldn’t identify why. You shook yourself and typed out a response.
XXX-XXX-XXXX [12:53 pm]
cant leave now, at the shop alone
after work?
Sansational [12:53 pm]
how about dinner?
 The rest of the day went without much incident, although Greater Dog did come in for a quick groom—apparently their family was taking photos today and he wanted to look his best. You smiled at the image of their huge family getting together for pictures—how cute.
As you were cleaning up the backroom and locking up, there was the sound of the door chiming.
Without looking, you called out, “Hey, we’re closed!”
“That’s the hope,” came a familiar gravelly voice.
You smiled, emerging from the backroom with a dirty, hair-covered rag in hand, “Oh, hey Sans! I didn’t know you were coming here.”
He looked you over, you with your apron and washcloth, with dog fur littering your clothes, and your hair tied back—though now strands of it were sticking out at odd angles.
Sans appeared as cool as ever, hands in the pockets of his deep blue jacket, wearing his typical gym shorts and converse. It fit him, despite the fact that you had never seen him partake in anything remotely sports-related, or for that matter, active.
“Thought you might be bonely without the lil’ squirt.”
You nodded, “Yeah, actually, I used to love working alone, but now? I’m so used to having someone with me.”
Luna, at that point, trotted up to Sans with her tail lowly wagging. She sniffed at him curiously, ears at attention, though they relaxed once he placed a skeletal hand on her head.
As he pat Luna, you finished cleaning and closing up the store.
The two of you chatted idly as you worked, and he continued to give Luna the attention she deserved.
With him here, you couldn’t stop thinking about Frisk and their words. It would be so simple just to ask—“hey, do humans have magic?” Or anything about the conversation without giving too much away, yet, when you looked at him, something stopped you.
Perhaps, it was the clear exhaustion rimming his eye sockets, or the subtle way his shoulders were hunched. Perhaps, it was something in you that was making you hesitate.
“Almost done?” His voice broke into your thoughts, drawing you back from your musings.
“Just finished!” You said with glee, before adding, “Can we stop at my place first? I definitely need to wash-up.”
You gestured at your fur-covered self.
“Fur real,” Sans laughed, “S’no paw-blem.”
You snickered at his joke, then got ready to leave.
 It was a short walk to your apartment building; however, you had the uncomfortable sense of being watched. Every time you looked around, though, the streets were empty. Sans had noticed your nervousness, even trying to question you about what was wrong, but you couldn’t quite articulate what was bothering you.
Still, you arrived uneventfully.
“Okay, just give me like fifteen minutes to shower and dress, then we can go.”
He just nodded from his place on the couch, Luna already having clambered into his lap.
Fifteen minutes later, you were fresh and ready to go.
“So, where to?”
 You arrived at Grillby’s as afternoon rolled into the evening, it was still brisk outside—winter still in full-swing, though it hadn’t snowed yet. The sky was clouded and dark, the air cool and still, but you felt warm as you spent time with Sans.
After securing a booth, Sans ordered a bottle of ketchup, a burger for himself, and one for you. He also ordered two drinks, though you weren’t sure what they were.
Grillby was serving, today—you were always in awe of how much he could do. He cooked, he cleaned, he worked the front, all while keeping rowdy customers from causing a scene.
Soon enough, there was food in front of your face and drinks were served.
Sans, as per his usual, absolutely drowned his burger and fries in ketchup—also taking a sip from the bottle for good measure.
You shivered, watching, before digging into your own plate.
The drink was as colourful as the previous you’d had on other occasions and though you had the temptation to drink it quickly, since it tasted so good, you had also learned your lesson from the last time.
It settled your nerves, making you more at ease. You hadn’t even realised how tense you had been beforehand.
“How’re you feeling?”
He always seemed to sense your mood.
“Better,” you answered truthfully.
“What was wrong?”
You paused, trying to figure out what to say, “I had a lot on my mind—what with the attack on Frisk and everything.”
“Did Frisk talk about it to you?”
You shrugged, lying, “Not really…”
Sans quirked a brow, then sipped his own drink, “I see.”
Suddenly, you saw an opening.
“Why?” You asked, “Did they talk to you about it?”
The expression on his face was unreadable before an easy grin took over once more.
“The kid and I get along, but we’re not exactly—I’m not exactly the person they go to with their problems.”
That surprised you, after all, you had seen the easy way that they joked with each other. They seemed like good friends, though with the context of your conversation with Frisk, it almost made sense that there would be some underlying problems between them.
He finished his drink, prompting you to drink yours a little faster. As you took the last dregs of it, he ordered another round.
“You trying to get me drunk?” You asked cheekily.
“Just trying to,” he paused, holding his drink up, “raise your spirits.”
The pun took a second to hit you, but you laughed wholeheartedly.
“Do you know why they call alcohol spirits?”
“No?” He responded quizzically.
“It’s because when they make alcohol, they distil it, and when they do that it is like they’re taking the essence, or the spirit, of whatever they use to make the alcohol.”
“Why do you know this?”
“I know a lot of things.”
He raised a browbone, “Oh?”
“You’ll just have to find out!”
“Oh, I will,” he said with a smirk.
The tone of his voice gave you thrills, though you weren’t sure why. You were feeling pleasant—pleasantly full of good food, pleasantly warm with the drinks, and pleasantly at peace with your company.
“I don’t know a lot about monsters, though,” you admitted.
“Well, I don’t think the humans knew about us.”
You nodded, sipping on your drink thoughtfully. Maybe, it would be alright to press a little bit.
“How did you guys get underground?”
Wrong question. The lights of his eyes disappeared for a moment and reappeared just slightly dimmer than before.
“It… is complex. I guess, the short of it, is that humans forced us into the Underground.”
You hummed in agreement, having already knew that much.
“Do you know much about magic?”
“Not a lot,” you said, thinking about the conversation with Frisk. Despite all that you had learned, you, in truth, still did not know a lot.
“Well, monsters are made of magic and can use it, but humans used to have magic too.” He stopped to take a drink, almost as though gathering his courage, “Several mages—human magic users—got together and used their powers to trap the monsters below Mount Ebott.”
“That’s awful, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged.
“Humans don’t have magic anymore, do they?”
Something in his grin twitched, but he kept his easy smiling façade.
“As far as we know, most don’t.”
You noticed his word choice—not “they don’t,” but “most don’t.” It confirmed Frisk’s proclaimed powers. He knew something, but you weren’t sure what or how much.
“What’s with the sudden curiosity?”
You felt sheepish, not wanting to reveal anything that Frisk and you had talked about.
“I just wanted to know more about you guys, you know? That’s what friends do, they’re interested in each other’s history.”
The words felt like a lie, although they weren’t technically untrue. You were curious, you had been curious, but you certainly had other motives for asking these questions now.
He seemed to accept your answer, though.
“To patella you the truth, I don’t like thinking about it that much.”
Guilt washed over you like a sickly pestilence, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“S’okay, natural to be curious. I’d tell you anything you want to know.”
“You’re not ribbing me?”
He chuckled, “No bones about it. I appreciate that you wanted to be sensitive. I’d rather you know the truth from an actual monster than those crazy theories you humans post online.”
At that you laughed, your face flushing with some embarrassment, “Yeah, it didn’t take me long to figure out those were a skeleton of crap.”
He laughed, too, the sound rich and deep. It made you feel warm; it made your stomach squirm. You liked his laugh. Well, you liked his voice, too, with its almost sultry cadence.
“Would you show me your magic sometime?”
His skeletal face became tinged with blue, though you weren’t sure why.
“Sure, I can show you a trick or two.”
“Cool.”
 A couple of hours later, the two of you were certainly feeling the effects of those drinks, but it was entirely pleasant. Conversation came easily and naturally between you; the dinner—you hesitated to call it a date—had been a much-needed reprieve from everything that had happened in the last few weeks.
“You ready? It’s getting late…”
You nodded, checking your phone, and feeling a sense of surprise at how quickly the hours had passed.
“Geez, didn’t realise the time!”
Sans made to get up, reaching out a hand for you to take, “Need a hand?”
“Is that a clock pun?”
He snickered, you grabbed his hand gently, and he pulled you out of the booth and the restaurant. You liked the feeling of his bony hand as it engulfed your own. He was soft, but still firm.
You didn’t let go, even outside, and he didn’t protest.
The two of you walked down the street, hand in hand, in easy silence. All too soon, you reached the doors of your apartment building, but you didn’t want this night to end just yet.
“Want to come upstairs?”
He wiggled his browbone at you, to which you sputtered and blushed.
“Not like that!”
“I didn’t say a word.”
0 notes
acmecomics · 7 years
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HAWKEYE #2
INFAMOUS IRON MAN #1 2ND PRINTING – Victor Von Doom is the infamous Iron Man!
INFAMOUS IRON MAN #2 2ND PRINTING
INHUMANS VS X-MEN #1 (OF 6)
INHUMANS VS X-MEN #4 (OF 6)
INJUSTICE GROUND ZERO #5
LOOSE ENDS #1 (OF 4) (MATURE READERS)
MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS #10
NAILBITER #26 (MATURE READERS)
OLD MAN LOGAN #17
REBORN #2 (OF 6) 3RD PRINTING
RIFT #1 (OF 4)
SAVAGE #1 (OF 4) 4TH PRINTING
SPIDER-GWEN #16 SITTING IN A TREE PART 2 – Don’t miss the Spider-Gwen parts of this numbered crossover with Spider-man!
STAR WARS DARTH MAUL #1 (OF 5) – Last of the first printings! Don’t let this one escape!
SUICIDE SQUAD #4
TRINITY #3
UNWORTHY THOR #4 (OF 5) – An instant day one sell out from our shelves!
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BRIGHTEST DAY TP VOL 01 – The follow up to Blackest Night!
BRIGHTEST DAY TP VOL 02
BRIGHTEST DAY TP VOL 03
CHEW OMNIVORE EDITION HC VOL 03 (MATURE READERS)
COSMIC ODYSSEY TP
DC UNIVERSE BY ALAN MOORE TP
EIGHTBALL CARICATURE NINE STORIES TP (MATURE READERS)
FLASH TP NEW 52 VOL 01 MOVE FORWARD
FROM HELL TP (MATURE READERS)
GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY/ALL NEW X-MEN TP TRIAL OF JEAN GREY
GUARDIANS OF GALAXY TP VOL 01 COSMIC AVENGERS
INJECTION TP VOL 01 (MATURE READERS)
JLA TP VOL 01 – By Grant Morrison and Howard Porter.
JUPITER’S CIRCLE TP VOL 02 (MATURE READERS)
LOW TP VOL 03 SHORE OF THE DYING LIGHT (MATURE READERS)
MARCH GN TRILOGY SLIPCASE SET – This one continues to fly off the shelves!
MIRACLEMAN PREMIERE HC BOOK 01 DREAM OF FLYING
MIRACLEMAN PREMIERE HC BOOK 02 RED KING SYNDROME
MS MARVEL TP VOL 02 GENERATION WHY
MS MARVEL TP VOL 03 CRUSHED
PRIDE OF BAGHDAD SC (MATURE READERS)
RAT QUEENS TP VOL 01 SASS & SORCERY (MATURE READERS)
REVIVAL TP VOL 07 FORWARD (MATURE READERS)
RINGSIDE TP VOL 01 KAYFABE (MATURE READERS)
ROCHE LIMIT TP VOL 02 CLANDESTINY (MATURE READERS)
SAGA TP VOL 04 (MATURE READERS)
SAGA OF THE SWAMP THING TP BOOK 01 (MR)
SHARKNIFE GN VOL 01 STAGE FIRST
SHERIFF OF BABYLON TP VOL 02 POW POW POW (MATURE READERS)
SPIDER-MAN TP KRAVEN’S LAST HUNT
THOR GOD OF THUNDER TP VOL 01 GOD BUTCHER
THOUSAND FACES HC (MATURE READERS)
TRANSFORMERS TP VOL 05 CHAOS THEORY
UNBEATABLE SQUIRREL GIRL TP VOL 01 SQUIRREL POWER
WALKING DEAD TP VOL 01 DAYS GONE BYE (MATURE READERS)
WALKING DEAD TP VOL 03 SAFETY BEHIND BARS (MATURE READERS)
WALKING DEAD TP VOL 07 THE CALM BEFORE (MATURE READERS)
WALKING DEAD TP VOL 09 HERE WE REMAIN (MATURE READERS)
WALKING DEAD TP VOL 15 WE FIND OURSELVES (MATURE READERS)
WALKING DEAD TP VOL 19 MARCH TO WAR (MATURE READERS)
WALKING DEAD TP VOL 25 NO TURNING BACK (MATURE READERS)
WICKED & DIVINE TP VOL 02 FANDEMONIUM (MATURE READERS)
WICKED & DIVINE TP VOL 04 RISING ACTION (MATURE READERS)
WOLVERINE OLD MAN LOGAN HC
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G-MAN TP VOL 02 CAPE CRISIS
This Week’s Comics & Merchandise 02.15.2017! NEW COMICS (RECOMMENDATIONS IN BOLD) AMAZING SPIDER-MAN CLONE CONSPIRACY #5 (OF 5) - Peter Parker's most personal challenge to date comes to an unpredictable conclusion!
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