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sebastianswallows · 6 months

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The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient #whew here we go 😭#I dread to think of adapting the masterlist for this lol #I might make a separate post just for all of its chapters #there will be 40 in total

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apoptoses · 1 year

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💖 What made you start writing? 🧠 Marius ! And/or Pandora.

💖 What made you start writing?

wow wow make me embarrass myself right out of the gate here lmao

honestly the answer is YOU, and @hekateinhell and @rainbowcarousels. like i inhaled all you guys's fic last fall and read your meta and stuff here on tumblr and it just looked like you were all having so much fun and being creative? and then i thought maybe if i tried writing and liked it, other people would talk to me about armand and i could make VC friends. and look at us now!!

and i've always been a maladaptive daydreamer, whenever i get a new blorbo i end up playing out scenes about them in my head so i thought maybe writing would be a good outlet for those thoughts. and then instead of being a weirdo who stares into space thinking about armand getting fucked dumb i would be ~plotting~ and my adhd symptom would become something productive lmao

i wish i had some deeper, more inspirational reason but 'i wanna make friends and put my weirdo thoughts to good use' is really all there is to it.

🧠 Marius ! And/or Pandora.

okay okay marius head canons, let's go:

cat guy. like cats were highly respected in ancient rome and as a guy who likes to own fine things, he would not have been down to have pests in the house. so he's always been the type to sit out food for local strays and have a favorite or two he lets wander his home. i like to imagine him giving some philosophical monologue to pandora about how vampires are similar to cats, they're both instinctual killers and pandora being like 'are you really trying to mansplain cats to me in order to justify to yourself how much you enjoy petting the stray that lives in your garden?'

i see him being a really thoughtful gift giver. he has such a hard time expressing remorse and admitting he did something wrong, so he became great at picking out presents to compensate. and besides he just has great taste. definitely the guy everyone in auvergne wants to pull their name the year lestat insists on playing the mortal game of 'secret santa'.

i feel like it would be easy to assume he hates modern art because he's such a classicist. and maybe he did at first, he didn't get the purpose of painting with such a seeming 'lack' of technique until he stood in front of a rothko himself. and with his vampire vision he saw all the subtle variations in red that covered the canvas and he got it, he was deeply moved.

definitely went all in on architecture during the egpytian revival period and had home with a facade that replicated an ancient temple. (this didn't make akasha give him any special attention. not that he would admit to hoping for that or anything, he was just keeping up with the times, obviously)

he and daniel briefly terrorized a pub trivia night by sweeping every category every time they showed up until the owner gently requested they not come back since other patrons were tired of losing. he can't help that he's well read and his companion has a great wealth of knowledge on pop culture, okay?? mortals these days are such sore losers.

some guys are into shoes, some are into watches, we know from canon that he loves gloves and so he absolutely has a pair of bespoke leather gloves in every color for every occasion. driving gloves, white lambskin gloves for formal events, fur lined gloves for winter, he has multiple drawers in his closet for his collection. no i don't need smut with him doing obscene things to someone while wearing these gloves for kinktober why do you ask

i could go on but THERE YOU GO, i hope my niche and useless thoughts about him were entertaining at least 🥰

#apoptoses answers #vc headcanons

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banannabethchase · 2 years

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Mox has a Grindr date, but he's not quite sure who he's looking for. He sees the tall, handsome blond guy walk in the door, and assumes, incorrectly, that's his guy. And that guy has incorrectly assumed as well.

A mistaken identity prompt from Sarah @sarahcakes613! This fic gave me surprisingly a lot of *grinds teeth while trying to word* but I had a bunch of fun with the concept. I hope you enjoy!

Mini playlist:

Hey Cowboy - Devon Cole

Giddy Up - Shania Twain

Throat Goat - Kim Petras

Oh My - Gin Wigmore

“How do I look?” Mox yanks at the collar of his shirt.

“Like a horny mess.”

Mox throws the shoe at Eddie, who leans so casually to the left that it’s like he expected it. He probably did. Dickhead. “Seriously!” Mox says, fidgeting. “I don’t want to freak the guy out.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “So you think the handcuffs are a good way not to freak him out.”

“He specifically requested a – a visual.” Mox’s face is burning. This is hell. “So he knows it’s me.”

Eddie laughs, something that he’s clearly trying to hold back. Mox considers if it’s worth taking off the other shoe. “And your go-to was handcuffs?”

“I panicked!” Mox says. “Look, I haven’t – you know I don’t do the internet thing.”

“I know,” Eddie says, and he seems kinder, now. Maybe. “I’m sorry. I just – you really went from zero to sixty, Grandpa.”

“Shut up.”

“Luddite,” Eddie says, the grin back. “Mr. ‘I don’t use twitter, but I’ll go on Grindr to hook up with a guy who wants me to bring handcuffs.’”

“Okay, the handcuffs were my idea,” Mox interrupts.

“Christ, you’re an idiot,” Eddie sighs. “Go find your fuck buddy, and I’ll help you make a new Facebook profile when you get back to get hooked on multi-level marketing schemes.”

“That was one time!”

Eddie’s still laughing when Mox gets his boots laced up and slams the door behind him.

It’s – it’s not a bar, technically, but it’s barlike. Enough to make him a little itchy. Dark atmosphere, country music playing in the background. He should have googled this place before suggesting it, but he liked the name when he drove by it last week. A new place, Rowdy’s Bar and Grill. He’d hoped it would lean more toward grill, which is does, but still. At least he there’s the bar area and a seated area. He’d rather wait by the tall tables, though, where he has more space to move.

He’s standing at a bar table, drawing circles in the condensation dripping off his glass of Coke when the door shuts heavily. He looks up – nope. The guy he’s looking for is blond. The guy who just walked in, while gorgeous, is not the elusive Jamie.

It happens about ten more times, and the handcuffs in Mox’s front pocket are starting to get heavy, a weight like embarrassment. Mox is beginning to wonder if he should have insisted on a face picture instead of just the basic description and handcuffs, halfway through a detailed water-drawing of a skull and crossbones, when the door swings open.

And Mox has to sit.

The man walking in is broad shouldered with curly blonde hair, the kind of profile they’d write epic poems about in ancient Rome, and a pair of jeans that leave nothing to the imagination.

Mox swallows a giant sip of Coke. Fucking this up is not an option. He lets the guy order a drink, and catches his eye as he scans the room.

“Hey,” Mox calls, and, thank god, the guy looks at him. “Over here.”

The guy, Jamie, he supposes, nods and walks over. “Hey. You the guy?”

Mox nods. “Yeah. Come sit.”

Jamie slides into the barstool across from Mox, and nods down to his pocket.

“Handcuffs,” Jamie says, grinning. “Subtle.”

“Well, it makes it easier for people to find me,” Mox jokes. He feels good. He’s making it work.

Jamie slides into the barstool in front of him, face more serious than Mox would expect for a first date, but everyone handles jitters differently.

“You got the details on the package?” Jamie says. It’s forward. It’s blunt. It’s good.

“For you, baby?” Mox says. “Of course.”

Jamie blinks. “Um. Okay.” He glances around the room, a little hesitant. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Right, course,” Mox says. “Uh. I live around here, with my best friend. Eddie. Mid-thirties, unless I forgot about my birthday again.” He pauses. “I really like The Troggs.”

Jamie stares at him. “Right. Uh.” He pauses.

“What about you?” Mox asks. “I don’t know a lot about you. What’s your – deal?”

Jamie blinks. “I mean, I’m kinda well known across the country, in my line of work. Got a decent list of references, if you want to know about my previous success rates.” Mox is about to ask if he accidentally hired an escort when Jamie interrupts. “Alright, enough of the small talk. Tell me about the guy.”

Mox pauses. Did Jamie think he was bringing up Eddie as a…as a thing? They were, back a couple years ago, but figured out they worked better without dicks involved. Maybe it’s written on his face? “Oh.” He swallows. “Oh, he’s, uh. He’s not an issue here.”

Jamie tilts his head to the side. “So…we’re dealing with a woman? Nonbinary person?”

Mox blinks. “No, he’s a man.” He stares, a sheet of horror falling over him. “Um. You’re Jamie, right?”

Jamie stares at him. “No.” The man who isn’t Jamie, then.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who are you?” Not-Jamie asks. He starts scanning the room rapidly, a controlled panic. “How many guys you got here? You from the Cartel? Irish mafia?” His gaze settles on Mox, burning. “Fucking Christ, if it’s House of Black with a hit on me again, I’m gonna have to change my goddamned name.”

“Whoa,” Mox says, hands up in front of him. “I don’t have guys. Well, except for Eddie. And he’s cool with this. I mean – wait, who are you?” He can’t stop asking. This was too – the guy walked up to him and intentionally mentioned the handcuffs. How do you fuck that up?

The man in front of him studies him with painstakingly precision. Mox feels like he’s being undressed, only more vulnerable. “You’re not a cop.”

Mox scoffs. “Fuck, no.” He doesn’t break eye contact, but the blue eyes in front of him are piercing. “I’m Jon Moxley.” He sticks out his hand, still not convinced he’ll get it back intact. It’s worth the risk.

The man studies Mox’s hand for a second, that careful gaze, and then reaches out to shake it. “Hangman,” he says. “Hangman Page.”

Mox raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t let go of the grip. “You some sort of hit man?” His laugh isn’t fearful, but it’s not…it’s not normal.

“Bounty hunter,” Hangman replies. “Was coming here to meet up with a cop, get some details…” He trails off. “There’s this person running around, going after kids.” Hangman’s eyes darken. “I intend to bring him in, take the cash, and make sure he’s not able to hurt anyone again.”

Mox considers it. “And you’re so sure he’s the bad guy because?”

“Because there’s video footage of him committing the crime,” Hangman says, steady. He takes a sip of his drink. “Only way I’ll take a hunt. It’s gotta be confirmed.”

“Dignity and morals from a lawman,” Mox says. He shifts when he realizes he’s mirroring Hangman. “Never see that.”

“I ain’t a lawman. I just know when somebody’s got to get put away.” He looks down. “Are you sure you’re not a fuckin’ cop?”

“I’m not a cop!”

“You’re wearing fuckin’ cop shoes!” Hangman says, and, okay, fine, they’re shiny, but Mox likes his boots to look nice.

“They’re combat boots!”

“They’re cop shoes,” Hangman repeats.

“I like the way they look.”

“Of course you do.” Hangman leans over, gives a pointed look over by Mox’s pocket. “The handcuffs, then?”

“It – I thought I was meeting a kinky motherfucker!” Mox is starting to feel panicked. He’s not used to being off guard, to being the one laid out on in front of somebody else, defending himself. He tries to convince himself he doesn’t like the challenge, but his dick would call him a liar. “It was the way he’d recognize me!”

There’s a split second of an interested smirk on Hangman’s lips before it disappears. “You go on a first date and you think of handcuffs?”

Mox licks his lips. “You ever been on Grindr?”

Hangman adjusts in the barstool, posture loosening. “Point.” He takes another sip from his glass, eyes locked on Mox’s the whole way. Mox adjusts in his seat. “Where’s your date?”

Mox slumps back into the barstool. “Thanks for reminding me. Dick.”

“Hey, I’m just making conversation, since I’ve probably blown my chance to run into the cop, if he’s here.” His eyes dart around the room again. “Been talking to you too long.”

“And, you know, doing business with a beer in your hand is probably a bad look,” Mox muses.

Hangman pauses, frowns, then looks at the glass in his hands. “Oh, no. This is ginger ale.”

“Ah,” Mox says. He holds up his glass. “This is Coke.”

Hangman’s smile goes genuine, almost sweet, his glass meeting Mox’s. “To Coke and ginger ale, then.”

The conversation flows easily, Mox talking about the person Jamie allegedly was, and he appreciates that Hangman doesn’t mock him for being stood up. Eddie’ll take care of that when Mox gets home.

It may be the fourth Coke getting him jittery, but Mox finds himself leaning in closer to Hangman as they talk about some of each of their work escapades.

“Yeah, and then he threw a glass bottle at my head,” Hangman says, leaning forward to show him a scar right above his eyebrow.

“No shit! I have one there too!” Mox points. “Least of my scars, honestly, you should see my back.”

Hangman raises an eyebrow. “That an invitation?”

It wasn’t. But it is now. Mox licks his lips. “You want it to be?”

Hangman laughs, low and tempting. “Maybe.”

Mox shifts in his chair, leaning a little further forward in his chair. He nods toward the door. “Wanna hit the bathroom?”

“Should of known you’d be one for the bathroom hookup,” Hangman laughs. “I guess I should tell you my actual name first, huh?”

“Oh, I just thought you popped out and your parents were like, ‘aw, he has blue eyes and curly hair, let’s name him Hangman.’” But Mox can’t deny the curiosity.

Hangman’s smile holds a little darkness behind, the kind of dirt Mox wants to get his hands into. “I’m Adam,” he says, putting out his hand to shake Mox’s. Mox takes it, and it feels like foreplay. “Adam Page.”

“I’m still Jon Moxley,” Mox says, and he doesn’t want to let go of Adam’s hand. “Meet me in the bathroom in five?”

Adam chances a look around the room. Mox gets a look at him, silhouetted in the red bar light, and he thinks Adam looks a little like a god. “Not even sure if we have to wait, but sure.” He licks his lips, turning back to Mox. “If you gets you going.”

“See you soon, then.” Mox sends him a wink and slides off the barstool. He does his best not to look behind him as he makes his way toward the bathroom. It’s surprisingly clean, for a divey restaurant like this, and it’s got a couple of roomy stalls. Perfect.

He rolls his shoulders, bounces on his toes a little to rid himself of the nervous energy. He can do this. He can suck a dick with the best of them, but it’s been a while and part of him worries he’ll be rusty. The other part of him remembers what he did to his last one night stand, and Yuta’s been texting him for tips and ideas ever since then, so. The worried part is small.

The door to the bathroom swings open, and Hangman walks in like he owns the place. His expression is less confident, a little more pinched.

“Hey, Hangman,” Mox says. “Looking for someone?”

Hangman laughs, head tilted down. But at least he’s back to smiling. His hands are shoved in his pockets. “Uh, I forgot to mention.” His voice is less confident now, the barest hint of a shake. “I kind of. Have never.” He pauses, looking up to meet Mox’s eyes briefly. “I’ve never had a one night stand.”

Mox immediately laughs, and regrets it. “No! Not funny. I just – you could’a fooled me.”

Hangman’s smile comes back. “What, like you’re such an expert?”

Mox walks up to him, covering the space in two shorts steps. He feels a strange compulsion to calm this man, to make him comfortable. “I mean, I got references,” he flicks his eyes down to Hangman’s lips, “unless you wanna figure it out for yourself.”

Hangman – or Adam, Mox supposes. He should start thinking of him as his real name, if his dick’s about to be in his mouth. Adam wraps his fingers around the collar of Mox’s shirt, pulls him in. There’s a second of hesitation, but Mox leans in to close the last moment between them. Their lips meet, a slight hesitation from Adam, but then he’s all in. Hands slide up the back of Mox’s jacket, pulling him closer, lining their bodies up together. Mox gasps into Adam’s mouth, tongues sliding against each other.

“Hold on,” Mox says.

Adam pulls away, blue eyes darker than he remembers. “What?”

Mox kicks the trashcan in front of the door, grinning. “Don’t want any visitors. Or interruptions.”

Adam crashes back against him, pressing him against the wall, and he pulls Mox’s shirt up, pressing hands against his stomach, sides, around to his back. Mox focuses on drawing those little sounds from Adam’s lips as he reaches down and grabs his ass, hauling him up a little closer.

Adam leans down, pressing his lips to Mox’s neck where it’s exposed in the v-neck.

“Your handcuffs are hitting me,” Adam mutters against Mox’s neck.

“Yeah?” Mox huffs, hands gripping at Adam’s denim jacket. “You want me to break ‘em out?”

“Maybe next time.”

It’s enough to get Mox to yank Adam’s mouth back to his own, to taste those words before they fall into the air. The idea of a next time, the idea that this won’t just be one quick fuck in a bar bathroom. He wants to hold it tight. Adam stumbles into him, crushing him against the wall, and Mox is temporarily struck with the image of this happening in a bed, on a couch. At a home.

Oh, he’s fucked.

He moves his lips to Adam’s jaw, throat, bites a bruise into the warm skin to draw a truly great moan. He know the guy would be a talker.

He walks them backward until he has Adam away from the sinks and against one of the walls. “You good if I blow you?”

Adam laughs, dropping his head back, the clonk a little louder than it probably should be. “Yeah. Course I am. Oh, my god.”

Mox grins up at him, and gets his belt undone. It takes longer than it should, because the damned thing is overly ornate, and slowly slides Adam’s jeans down his hips. He chances a glance upward, concerned about the tension in Adam’s thighs, but Adam’s just looking at him with an gaze so intense it makes Mox want to shiver. “Good?”

Adam nods. “Just – don’t make fun of me for my boxers, okay? I didn’t know I’d be – this.”

Intrigued, Mox gets a better look. “Really?”

“I thought I was on a job!” Adam groans, running a hand over his face. “Look, they’re lucky, okay?”

“Your Dolly Parton boxers are lucky?” Mox asks. “Please tell me you wash them.”

“Of course I wash them! What do you think I am, a dirtbag?”

Mox shrugs. “You work with cops.”

“I do the jobs cops can’t do,” Adam retorts and, fair, so Mox decides to pull down the, frankly hilarious, boxers and get a look at Adam’s cock. When he licks his lips, he hears another clonking sound.

“You keep hitting your head that hard, you’ll knock yourself out,” Mox says, spitting into his hand.

Adam lets out a delirious kind of giggle. “Fuck.”

“Okay if I blow you?” Mox asks.

Adam stares at him. “Yes. Oh my god. I already said yes.”

“Just checking.” And then Mox sinks down on him. Adam makes more of those little, unhinged noises as Mox flicks his tongue against the slit as he pulls back, sure to keep working. He grabs at Adam’s legs, nails digging into the golden skin. Adam makes delightful little noises, rests his hand on Mox’s jaw, and it feels almost demure, subtle, cute for a bathroom hookup.

Mox reaches down to press at his own dick, which is growing more and more interested as each second passes by. Adam laughs.

“You really get off on this, huh?” he mutters, voice low. “What would happen if we got too loud and somebody walked in?”

Mox pulls off. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Hangman.” He chances a wink, getting a flustered groan in return, and gets back to work.

It’s clear it’s been a while, with the speed at which Adam starts pulling at Mox’s shoulder. “Close,” he gasps, “if you don’t wanna – if you don’t want me to.” He cuts himself off with a groan.

Mox wants him to. He so wants him to. He gets his hand a little more involved, focuses his tongue on the head of Adam’s cock, and the way Adam’s hips push in proves him right. Adam’s coming down his throat within a second, and Mox takes it with a smug satisfaction. Serves that date who stood him up right.

Adam tucks himself back into his boxers. “Get up here,” Adam groans, grabbing handfuls of Mox’s jacket in his fists. Mox stands, trying to figure out how to ask if Adam’s cool with getting him off, too, when Adam’s shoving his hand down the front of Mox’s jeans.

“Whoa,” Mox laughs, “let me get my belt off first.”

“Gotta get you,” Adam says, a little desperate. The blown-out pupils haven’t dissipated, haven’t gone back to the normal blue. “Want you.”

Mox leans in and kisses him, holding back in case Adam’s not a fan, but Adam dives in, licks inside Mox’s mouth like he’s chasing the taste of himself. Mox’s dick throbs in anticipation.

For all his reported inexperience, Adam makes up for sheer frantic enthusiasm. He sucks dick sloppy, like he’s so focused on doing it well that he’s not worried about how it looks.

Mox is obsessed.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he says, testing a theory, and Adam looks up at him and, fuck, moans around his dick. Mox’ll have to put that in his back pocket for later.

He rests his hands on the top of Adam’s head, silently asking permission, and Adam pulls his mouth away. Mox pulls his hand back.

“Oh, no,” Adam says, grabbing his hand. “Keep doing that. If you don’t pull my hair, what’s the point of it long?”

Mox laughs, but it’s quickly cut off when Adam takes him in his mouth again. He slides his hands into Adam’s curls, soft and smooth against his fingertips. He doesn’t pull too hard, just enough to hold Adam where he wants him. Adam responds to it, pulling against it just a little so his eyes flutter shut.

“There you go,” Mox murmurs, and he gives a little test of a push with his hips. Adam leans in further, taking more of him, and Mox is beginning to think he won’t be able to let this be a one night thing. Goddamn his weakness for pretty men with good smiles.

Adam does something particularly interesting with his tongue, something so good and unexpected it makes Mox lose control, and it gives him the half second to say, “I’m gonna – ” before Adam looks up at him, then dives back onto his cock with a single-minded goal.

Yeah. He’s gonna have to get this guy’s number.

Mox comes with a hoarse groan, fingers tightening in Adam’s hair. He shivers a little as he feels Adam’s throat work, swallowing down everything like it was no chore at all.

“Hey,” Mox says, running his fingers through Adam’s hair. It’s a little fucked up now. It looks good on him. “You good?”

“So good,” Adam mumbles, voice sounding beyond wrecked. He stands slowly, a little smile playing across his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“Like you have to ask,” Mox says with an eye roll. After fixing himself in his underwear, he pulls Adam in by the back of the neck and kisses him, shuddering as he tastes himself, and wonders how stupid it would be to ask Adam back to his place tonight.

They pull away, and Adam rests his forehead against Mox’s in a way that’s way too charming. “This was a really dumb idea,” he laughs, fingers playing with the zipper of Mox’s leather jacket. He looks up, dead into Mox’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Can I get your number?” Mox asks. “I mean, in case I need you for a reference. Or a repeat.”

Adam grins. “I’m only in Ohio for a few days,” he begins, “and I go all over the country, for the job.” Mox pretends he isn’t deflating. “But you can call me whenever you want.” He reaches into Mox’s jacket pocket, and pulls out his phone. He points it at Mox’s face to unlock it, fiddles for a second. Mox isn’t able to stop himself from tucking a curl behind Adam’s ear. “I put my number in here. I, uh,” he steps back, a little smile on his lips. “I probably should get back out there, just in case the cop shows up. They’re doing a shit job of catching that scumbag and,” he gestures to himself, “well, in that way, I’m the best.”

“In a lot of ways,” Mox teases. He takes the phone back. “Go catch your guy, Cowboy.”

“Bounty hunter,” Adam corrects, his smile growing. “I’m a bounty hunter.”

Mox shrugs. “Kind of a cowboy, too, though, right?” He nods down at Adam’s belt buckle, at his boots, as he does up his own pants.

Adam shrugs. “A little bit. Yeah.”

They get themselves together in a bit of an awkward silence, dancing around each other as they check their clothes, their hair, their faces.

Adam wiggles his phone at Mox when he’s finished drying off his hands. “I’ll text you. Yeah?”

Mox nods, feeling strange as Adam walks backward toward the door. “Yeah. Soon.” He smiles.

Mox is in a bit of a daze as he makes his way out of the restaurant, into his car, and back home. He tosses his keys into the bowl by the door.

“Hey, playboy,” Eddie calls from the couch. “How was the date?”

“He never showed.” Mox throws himself on the couch next to Eddie.

“Aw. Sucks for – wait.” He frowns. “If your date didn’t show up, why do you look all freshly fucked?”

“I don’t look freshly fucked!”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You got that somebody-sucked-my-dick glow about you.”

“There may have been another guy,” Mox tests. “Who thought I was a cop.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “And you let him get on you after that?”

“Honest mistake,” Mox says. He can’t fight the smile. “I thought he was my date. We both fucked up. And, uh. Blew each other in the bathroom of the bar.”

Eddie groans so dramatically he almost throws himself off the couch. “Great. Now we’ll have another one like Yuta hanging around all the time.”

“I don’t know,” Mox says. “He’s a bounty hunter or whatever, so he’s only in Ohio for a little. He might not be back in the area for a while.”

“Oh, I see what this is,” Eddie says, grinning, “a clandestine hookup with your boyfriend from Canada?”

“He said he was from Virginia,” Mox retorts.

Eddie laughs. “Sure. Because that’s the word you should be reacting to in that sentence.”

Mox opens his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzes. There’s a little cowboy emoji followed by a blue heart. He smiles. He can’t help it.

“Oh, boy,” Eddie laughs. “You’re down bad for this guy, aren’t you.”

“Shut up,” Mox replies. But he texts Adam back. text me when ur in ohio hangman

The response is almost immediate. Will do 😉.

#HangMox #Hangman Adam Page #Jon Moxley #Look at me WRITING A FIC!#I finished the motherfucking misery of a thing! I did it!#in which Sara writes #wtf i like wrestling now???

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ashilrak · 1 year

Note

h-humbly requesting something more of our lord and saviour professor brighton

*falls to ground and sobs* a headcannon will suffice! we beg for food!

(this is in no way meant to be pushy or demanding i just miss him thank you very much have a lovely day ashilrak)

LMAO thank you, thank you

I honestly haven't thought of Dr. Brighton in a long while. I have two docs in my folder for related fics, but they're both catered to others' tastes more than my own lol and are unlikely to move past the idea stage. I've been in a more exploratory mood with writing lately, and the fic with Dr. Brighton is, in general, not something to be taken seriously LMAO

The idea that I find most interesting right now though is someone finding out about the affair and reporting it to NRU's administration (though honestly, there's a lot to play with in regard to power dynamics and normalization of these sort of relationships when talking about such close cultural ties to Ancient Rome). They both know that Apollo admitting he's Dr. Brighton would erase all these troubles, but Apollo doesn't really want to do that because he likes playing in his domains without the recognition, and Percy is left to deal with the fallout. Leaning into the drama and power plays and Percy's life being a little bit ruined/judgement from peers, constant comparisons, references to ancient cultural practices, etc, with a(n un)healthy dose of porn and tension.

I'm sure this isn't exactly what you were looking for, but I hope it scratches the itch ksks

#Ask #Nonny #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Perpollo

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kittttycakes · 7 months

Note

It’s been eleventy thousand years and I’m so sorry for going AWOL, but I’m clawing my way out of the grips of work and back to fandom (or at least trying to)!

I just finished the last chapter and oh my lord. So many feels. Too many. Not enough! Argh! I don’t even know what to say!

I am so in love with the masterpiece you have created and I can’t imagine how you must be feeling now that it’s done? Exhausted? Exited? Accomplished? Relieved?

Your fic (although the word fic doesn’t seem to do it justice) is a huge achievement and such an incredible part of this fandom and I am so grateful for everything you have poured into it and the hours of time I have been able to spend amongst your words with Hob, Grace, and Dream.

I was thinking that in writing As Heart for Heart that you have stepped into the role of Morpheus, Prince of Stories, and selflessly crafted and shared this incredible universe with us.

And in a similar vein, I am definitely a creature of Desire (I know it’s selfish and greedy of me) but even though the ending was perfect and everything I’d dreamed of, I can’t help but want more!

Anyway, I hope you’re not too burnt out from the whole ordeal and am sending you all of the gratitude and good vibes for whatever it is that will bring you joy!

It’s so good to hear from you! I hope work abates for at least a little while so you can take a breather. Fingers crossed!

I have felt all of the above in various intervals! I think I’ve said before, but this is the longest piece I’ve ever written by orders of magnitude, and the first chaptered fic that I’ve ever managed to complete, so I am allowing myself to be proud of myself for doing it.

That is!!! Such a huge compliment and I can’t tell you how much it means to me. I’m so, so happy that you enjoyed it. I put a lot of my heart into this fic and to have other people also like it as much as I do is incredible. I love stories, I love telling them and I love reading them, and knowing that this story worked is amazing.

There will absolutely be more coming! I have plans for a shorter, extended epilogue-type sequel, plus a few slices of life I’d like to do, and then finally circling back to finishing all of the Promptober 2023 drafts I started and didn’t finish. I love all three of them too much to be done yet.

Once life settles down a little more (I’ve moved! Which is wonderful and exciting but god was it exhausting to prep for and now the horrors of unpacking…), I’m hoping to be able to write the many ideas that I have for all three of them (looking specifically at the Ancient Rome AU and the 20s AU and the sequel…). I am always happy to talk about the three of them, it sparks so many ideas!

Thank you so so so much again, it means the world to me!

#anon <3

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majestyeverlasting · 2 years

Text

Not Alone Tonight

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Ex!Fem Reader

Summary: Life's weighing down on you more than it ever has before, but it's the middle of the night and there's only one person and revelation capable of easing your mind.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Welp... here it is! I had so much fun writing this. I wouldn't exactly call it agnsty, per se, but the strong feels are most definitely there. And we all know I'm a sucker for happy endings (hence this being an ex's to lovers fic).

Only the moon sees you knock on Eddie’s front door. It’s a gentle sound that joins the symphony of insects and distant voices of the restless. Wayne’s truck isn’t in the driveway, and you’re left holding onto hope that Eddie’s awake to hear.

Once upon a time, your late nights were spent with him. Listening to him languidly strum his guitar, kissing him as if there was more comfort to be found in his pillowy lips than the grasp of sleep.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, but relief floods you when the lights in the living room flick on. A moment later, the lock clicks, and the door opens to reveal Eddie rubbing his eyes with a lazy fist. Wisps of hair frame his face from having escaped the ponytail at his nape, and a pair of plaid boxers ride his hips. Though his shoulders relax at the fact that it’s just you, a new tension immediately builds itself back up. One laced with concern.

It had been months since you were last here. Months since you uttered a series of words that chipped both of your hearts.

I can’t do this anymore.

But he doesn’t think twice before ushering you inside, one large hand resting at the small of your back. You don’t realize how chilly it'd been until you’re met with the warmth of the trailer and his proximity. Within a matter of seconds, you come to realize that the faint smell of tobacco and musky pinewood has never smelled more like home.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” He rasps, clearing his throat afterwards.

His eyes flit over your frame with palpable tenderness. Partially to scope out any injuries, but mainly to solidify the fact that you’re truly standing in his trailer, bathed in the dim lamplight’s glow. Wearing an old sleep shirt, plaid pajama pants, and a pair of beat-up Vans.

Your drained expression prompts him to go to the kitchen and pour you some water. His body moves on autopilot the whole while, feet cooled by the tile.

Once the cup is in your grasp, you take a few sips as he watches you with an intensity that almost aches. For the first time in a long time, he’s at a loss for words. But his mind still moves a million miles a minute trying to piece together what could possibly be wrong.

The hopelessness in your eyes resides alongside a degree of heaviness he’s never seen you bear. As crystalline tears brim on your waterlines, you raise the cup back to your lips so you have an excuse not to speak just yet. The water chills you from the inside out. Eddie doesn’t dare look away.

The moment your gazes meet, your walls finally crumble to dust, leaving you amid the ruin. Just like in ancient Rome, it was only a matter of time.

You don’t notice you’ve begun to cry until he’s easing the cup from your grasp, and setting it aside so that he can take you into his arms.

You tuck your face into his neck and try your best to restrain the broken sounds rising up your throat. The moment he begins rubbing your back, they escape, vibrating into his warm skin. The two of you stand like that for a while, and when he finally pulls away to look at your face, you want to hide.

“I’ll listen,” he promises quietly. You try to hug him again so you’ll have an excuse not to look into those big brown eyes, but he doesn’t let you. An embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks as he speaks again, “Please talk to me.”

There used to be a time when that was all you ever did. The two of you had it easy like that. There was always something to say, hardly a dull moment. Even the silences shared with him had been worthwhile, brimming with ease.

“I’m sorry.” It’s barely a murmur. But you manage to work a little more bass into your voice. “I know it’s late and I probably woke you up, but I just couldn’t… I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

You wipe your cheeks with a shaky hand. “I just feel—I don’t know…everything?” Shame weighs on your words. “But nothing at the same time.” More tears begin streaming down your face.

Eddie swallows thickly. He isn’t ready for this—whatever this is, whatever you need him to be—it’s a sudden realization. But every fiber of his being wishes he was. He used to know just how to quell your worries, but it had been months since he last saw you. All he had was the memory of who you had been. Surely, there was nothing he could do, no words he could offer, that would bring you comfort. Not anymore.

But here you were. And he was damn willing to try.

“Is it okay if we sit down?” He almost misses your soft question.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course,” he stutters out.

With your vision partially blurred by tears, you follow him down the hallway into his bedroom. The small, cluttered space still looks and smells the same. Before joining him on the edge of his disheveled bed, you pluck a few tissues from the box on his dresser to dry your eyes.

When you finally settle by his side, your thigh ends up pressed against his, and you don’t scoot away. There’s a new tattoo on his forearm you hadn’t noticed before: a small skull wearing a crooked crown. It looks more professional than the others inked on his milky skin, and you almost want to reach out and trace it.

“How long have you been feeling this way?” He picks at the calluses on his palms. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to drift right from the moment and start ruminating about how unfit he is to help you.

He has some of the prettiest hands you’ve ever seen. Slender fingers, and perfect little cuts to attest that he works with them diligently and well.

You remember how good they once felt mapping your skin. It was always his mercy that you found yourself under. The entirety of who he was could’ve been likened unto a holy wing that you found refuge under, and no place in the world felt sweeter.

And with you, Eddie finally had something precious to call his own. Someone to care and look out for, who trusted him. But when apprehension crept its way into your mind, it made you wonder when all of that was going to change.

You didn’t know what you were going to do the day he decided to withdraw his love for the sake of placing it elsewhere.

So, unconsciously, you began to distance yourself from him so things wouldn’t pan out the other way around.

And when the day came that a gaping chasm stretched between the two of you, it was you who turned your back and walked away, even though he was willing to build a million bridges if it meant getting back to you.

If only you hadn’t been so foolish.

“I’ve felt like this for a while.” You finally answer, watching as he continues fussing with his hands. “On and off since we broke up, actually.”

He stills.

Because maybe he is fit for this conversation after all. Maybe the crushing emptiness you’ve been experiencing is an extension of what’s been gripping him too. But he doesn’t dare assume because it’d been you who drew the line in the first place.

“I think I get what you mean,” he says quietly. “I’ve been feeling pretty shitty lately too.” Something about his tone has shifted. There’s an underlying waver as if a wound is being prodded. “But I know it’s not permanent so I just, you know, keep it chugging.” He shrugs weakly. “Try not to let it eat me—that wouldn’t be good. I’ve got too much shit to do. Bills to help pay.”

“It gets better,” he continues. “I don’t know when.” He musters the most consoling smile he can manage, but it hurts to see.

You truly were the reason things ended up this way.

The thought makes guilt gnaw at your bones with a renewed, unrelenting hunger.

It doesn’t stop as fresh tears sting in your eyes. Eddie pushes himself up to get you more tissues, and as soon as he reaches the dresser, a restrained sob escapes you.

It’s a sound that makes you feel raw and vulnerable, like a live wire left exposed to splutter in vain. But you’re too tired to care. Not because it’s late, but because almost every waking second without him has felt ten times harder due to the weight of regret.

You’d been okay for a while. The initial pain had fizzled to a merciful dullness. But over the past few weeks, you couldn’t get him off your mind. With summer still young, you’d been traveling with family and spending time with friends. You couldn’t help but wish he was there to make memories with as well. You’d backed out of calling and coming to see him so many times.

Tonight was the night you caved. You had to see him, to hear his voice.

When he makes his way back to you with the tissues, he kneels in front of you rather than returning to the bed. The intimacy of the gesture makes you blink down at him curiously.

He hates that the sight of you crying shakes him up, makes him wish he had all the right words to say.

“Careful,” he gently takes hold of your wrist, “it’s gonna get in your eyes.” You lower the tissue from your face, taking notice of the tiny white crumbs clinging to your lashes.

“Here, close them for a sec.”

You listen, and feel him gingerly brush them away. Before lowering his hands from your face, he lets his thumbs brush against your cheeks to wipe the moisture away.

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

He’s still sitting on his knees, studying you. Like he’s at an altar searching and trying be found. It looks like there's so much else he wants to say. You beat him to it.

“I’ve just missed you.”

That’s what’s been throwing everything off. Shaking both of your worlds.

His brain convinces him that he heard you wrong.

“What?” His voice is soft, eyes impossibly more fawn-like.

You gently pull on one of the curls framing his face. “I miss you,” you tell him. “And I still think about you more than I’d like to admit.” The only sign that he’s still with you is how much his blinking has sped up. He’s otherwise frozen. “I’m so sorry, E. For everything.” There’s so much sincerity in your voice that he can feel it seeping into his skin.

You helplessly shake your head. “I was just afraid. It wasn’t you I doubted, it was myself. I doubted if I was deserving of your time, your attention,” you admitted. “You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

He felt the same way about you.

The sound of a truck engine makes the air go quiet. Eddie snaps out of his trance to stand up and go peep out the window.

Based on his small hum, you know it’s Wayne.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” You ask, suddenly feeling hyper aware of yourself.

Eddie was still replaying everything you had just said, not wanting it to slip away. He looked a little dazed.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he says after a couple beat. “He usually makes it home a little later than this.”

When you hear the front door open, your heartbeat still upticks up like you’re about to get caught doing something you shouldn’t. It isn’t long before the dull thunk of a pair of boots pad closer and closer to Eddie’s closed door. Then comes a gentle series of knocks.

“Ed?” he calls out.

“Yeah?”

Wayne’s never been one to over impose. But he cares far too much to be indifferent. Especially when it comes to the happenings under his own roof.

“You two okay in there? Can I peep in?” Eddie looks at you for approval, and when you offer a small nod, he opens the door.

One look between you two is enough to have understanding brewing within the blue of Wayne’s eyes. He always has been the quiet, observative type. Nothing went past him. The puffiness and redness of your eyes surely aids him in reading between the lines this time around.

He knows you haven't been at the trailer since the breakup.

“You alright, sweetheart?” It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve seen him, but the low, steady timbre of his voice makes you feel safe all the same.

“I’m getting there,” you answer honestly. “It’s been a long night.”

He nods. “Lord knows I’ve had a lot of those." That draws a small, sympathetic smile out of you. “But you’ll look back one day and realize they made you stronger. That’s what I always tell this one.” He steps into the room a little more and gives Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze.

“You two are good kids. Whatever you’re trying to navigate right now… I know you’ll figure it out. Take it from an old man.” He chuckles, a kind sparkle gleaming in his eyes. You’re grateful for it because it makes you hopeful.

Wayne’s words even seem to have made Eddie’s shoulders relax. He looks looser, more assured.

“You’re not that old,” he insists, the smile you love finally curling on his lips. It changes his whole face and makes you forget it’s nearly two in the morning and you’ve just walked back into his life.

“‘M older than you,” he quips. “And, hey. If you two don’t do anything else tonight, make sure you try to get some rest, okay? Can you promise me that?”

“Yes,” both of you say.

His words linger in the air even after you and Eddie are alone again.

The bed dips as he takes a seat by your side, letting out a long sigh that makes you study his face. Wishing you brush the faint freckles on his cheek.

I love you, you want to say. Because you do. Deeply. And you love who you are when he's around. It’s why you fumbled out of bed and drove all the way across town to get here. It’s why there’s more hope in you now than there has ever been before. It’s why you’re certain you very well may combust into ash if you leave without getting a second chance.

“Eddie…” you look into his eyes and realize you’re both searching for the same thing. Waiting for the same revelation to unfold and embrace both of you. It’s him who sets it free.

“I love you.”

This time it’s you who thinks you heard wrong.

“I never stopped,” he says. “Don’t plan on it anytime soon.”

The only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around him. It’s awkward because you’re both sitting, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You would stay like this forever if it meant getting to bask in the warmth blooming within you. The warmth of forgiveness and an opportunity to act outside the binds of fear.

If they weren’t before, the stars are surely beginning to align now.

“I never stopped either.”

•••

For breakfast.

-Wayne

Eddie found that note, along with some money, on the kitchen table the next morning. It was enough for both of you to go to that one diner you liked. He’d come back into the bedroom to let you know, only to see you still curled up under the covers of his bed. The clock displayed that it was nearly noon.

When you eventually did stir and start moving around, you realized you had nothing to change into.

“I can’t go in this,” you’d said, motioning down your body. The sun shone through the window and lit your skin. Eddie tilted his head and smirked a little, as if considering the idea.

It felt just like old times again. As if everything had merely been put on pause between the two of you.

“I mean…you technically could.”

“But that’s tacky, E.”

“Says who?” He chuckles at your incredulous look, and moves to rummage through one of his drawers. You startle when he blindly tosses a pair of denim shorts over his shoulder. Your shorts. Then another pair. And to your surprise, a few shirts.

“Take your pick.” He turns around to face you.

“I thought I made sure to get all of my—wait, I’ve been looking everywhere for this.” You pick up a pretty v-neck shirt from the floor.

“You missed a few things.” He smiles at you then, genuinely, and you couldn’t help but give him a small one back.

Breakfast ends up going better than you anticipated.

Reality sunk in halfway through the ride there. What if you don’t know what to talk about anymore? What if it’s weird eating in front of him after so long? They were all silly questions that dissipated the moment you sat across from him in the booth, and he playfully tapped your foot with his under the table.

He took you to Lover’s Lake afterwards. And you perched yourselves on a large rock right on the bank, watching the afternoon sunlight glimmer on the water.

After a while, Eddie hops up to pick up a flat stone he’d been eyeing on the ground.

You watch him turn it between his fingers a couple times before winding his arm back and swiftly swinging it forward.

The rock bounces off the surface of the water a few times before sinking under. He turns back to you with a proud grin.

“C’mere,” he says.

You immediately shake your head. “I still don’t know how—you go ahead. I like watching.”

“I’ll try teaching you again. C’mon.”

You remember how that went the very first time he’d offered: him biting back a smile as you complained that gravity and nature were somehow rigged against you. When you finally decide to push yourself up, he grins and begins scoping the ground for another rock fit for skipping.

His hair curtains around his face as he looks down, and you find yourself shamelessly looking at him. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and blue jeans that don’t quite fit to his thin waist. They’re sagging just enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers.

Along with the sound of his Reboks crunching in the mix of dirt and grass, you can hear the water softly lapping at the shore.

Twenty-four hours ago, you never would’ve pictured yourself here. Even now, it doesn’t seem real. More like a picture-perfect scene clipped from a strip of film, and pasted into your life.

This time around, you were going to dare to believe that you deserved him in your life.

“Hey, I think I found one.” He toes a rock with his shoe. When he looks at you, his expression falls a bit due to the intensity of your gaze. “What happened?”

“You.” Because it’ll always be him. “Thank you. For everything. Answering the door last night, listening to me, not being angry after I was the one who walked away.” His eyes flit to your lips after you position yourself in front of him. “You’re the only good thing about this place sometimes.”

Eddie stands there soaking in your words, torn between the urge to kiss you or thinking of something romantically sophisticated to say. But he never has been much of a wordsmith. So he gently takes your face in his hands and captures your lips with his. They’re so soft and warm that a fire starts in your belly. You move slowly, tentatively, at first.

But as your hands find his waist, a deeper passion stirs within both of you, composing a rhythm of gentle nips and languid laps of the tongue. When you feel him beginning to smile, you can’t help but smile too.

He pulls away to murmur against your lips, “Definitely worth the wait.”

He’d been dreaming of a moment just like this; that somehow the universe would bring you back together.

What the two of you don’t see is Steve and Dustin walking a ways away. It’s the younger boy who suddenly stops after looking up from his compass, causing Steve to run into the back of him. He opens his mouth to complain, but is promptly shushed.

“Do you see that?” Dustin asks.

“Dude. See what?”

“That.” He dramatically points to where you and Eddie stand at the bank of the lake, laughing against each other’s lips. “I thought…”

“They did break up. Like a few months ago or something.” After staring a moment longer, Steve shakes his head in partial indifference and maneuvers around Dustin.

“Let’s keep it moving, curly. Stranger things have happened.”

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

Eddie Munson Masterlist

To join my "taglist," turn on notifications for @taleseverlasting

#eddie munson #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #4 stranger things fic #eddie munson ex's to lovers

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wolfstarlibrarian · 3 years

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🎊 Happy New Year! 🎊

To celebrate the Lunar New Year, year of the tiger, the Librarian has made a list of fics to go along with each of the Chinese zodiac. Some interpretations are literal, some less so, but hopefully all of them bring a smile or help you pass the day in cheer.

🧧 Wolfstar Chinese Zodiac Fics 🐯

🐅Forever Is a State of Mind -orphaned account

Deaf Dance Choreographer, Remus Lupin, has a simple life. Working, taking care of his son, and running his YouTube sign channel. When he unwittingly becomes involved with Deaf Pride Activist, Fleamont Potter, he doesn’t realise how much his life will change. Especially after he meets YouTube star and makeup artist, Sirius Black.

🐇Sailor Moony AU Part 1 & Part 2 by @mlim8 & @whipbogard

So Moondom’s official mascot is a bunny 🐰! The kingdom is almost overrun with them (with how fast they breed lmaooo) and Remus is too shy to practice asking out the prince of his dreams with a real person so - The rabbit is a good substitute that won’t judge!!!

🐉A Brief History of Dragons by @eyra

It's lovely up here; all meadows dotted with wildflowers, wind-beaten tracks criss-crossing this way and that through the fields, weaving inland to the pinewoods. The sun's hot on his back as he passes ramshackle stone walls, long since crumbled to piles of ancient rubble and scree, and then the path winds downwards, still following the line of the coast until Sirius finds himself outside an old white cottage, tucked away behind the hill with a rose garden that faces out to the sea. Sirius moves to Cornwall for the summer and meets a rude, beautiful boy who is writing a book that may or may not be about dragons.

🐍Beekeeping in the Daylight by @halictus-writer

Sirius is helping James and Lily conquer as many of their irrational fears as possible before they have their baby, in order to not pass on their fears. One day, Sirius takes a panic-stricken James to a friendly (and handsome) beekeeper. Slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers.

🐎AMOR VINCIT OMNIA (love conquers all) by @prettyremus

Remus, a servant boy to the cruel Emperor Voldemort, meets Sirius, a charming nobleman. Together they fight for freedom and love in Ancient Rome.

🐑Beneath a Big Blue Sky by @eyra

The four-by-four heaves its way down long, twisting lanes, little more than dirt tracks scuffed into the surrounding fields and hemmed in by serpentine walls of flat, grey stone. They truly are in the middle of nowhere: the countryside rushes past, all rolling green hills and vast, endless skies, and it's odious. Sirius wants to murder James with his bare hands. Sirius and James accidentally find themselves on a Yorkshire farm during lambing season. The farmer’s son thinks that’s a bit annoying, actually.

🐒How Remus Got His Groove Back by @theprongsletthatlived

After two years of noncommittal sex: Remus tells Sirius that he loves him. Sirius firmly rejects him. Remus tries to move on. Sirius is not happy. OR Remus Lupin becomes king of the cockroaches, Fabian Prewett writes a book, Gilderoy Lockhart is a catfish, and Sirius Black realizes he's a fucking idiot.

🐓Where Your Fingerprints Linger by @remuslives23

Sirius Black is a party planner and Remus Lupin is the stripper who has the audacity to turn up to one of Sirius' parties. Despite an immediate attraction, a misunderstanding means that they part on bad terms, but a meeting at a wedding leads to an agreement to share one night of passion. Just one night. Nothing more.

🐕Dog Filled Days Aren't Over by jlpierre

When post-breakup Sirius sends a photo of a dog from his new phone, he doesn't expect to send it to someone he doesn't know. Never mind someone named Moony.

🐖I love you like a pig loves not being bacon by @apieformydean Moony never reads the pick-up lines when Sirius can see him. He only ever read the first one he wrote him (‘Are you a hipster? Coz you make my hips stir.’) and he flushed to the tip of his ears. It was two months ago and Sirius writes him a crappy-sappy pick-up line every time he visits The Marauders. And Moony comes almost every day. aka ‘I write a bad pick-up line on your cup every time I’m your barista’ AU from somewhere around tumblr.

🐀 Animagi by @evandarandahalf He likes everything to do with his antlers at the minute. Sirius is pretty sure that if he could show that much enthusiasm for the rest of his form, he’d have the transformation down no problem. - The creation of Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

🐂 Valentine, Texas by @shipsnsails In August of 1969, Sirius takes a job in west Texas.

#wolfstar fic recs #wolfstar #remus x sirius #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #marauders #chinese new year #year of the tiger #there are probably more fics with sheep or dragons but how can I not pick Eyra's?#And sorry I know a lot of these are older fics/repeat recs but it's REALLY HARD finding animals besides the animagi in fics #😅#If you have more recs reblog with the additions pls! Love it see it #it took two years to finally make this list omg

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knoepfchen · 3 years

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this is one of my all time fav tog comfort fics: /works/26550265 the descriptions of the magic, and joe's characterization are so so lovely!! you may have already read it but i think it's wonderful enough for multiple rereads!!

Thank you for sending me this when I asked for TOG comfort fics last week, nonnie!

I received a bunch of recs, which (like this one^^) I'd already read, so I thought I'd pull my favourites together into one big rec post that I can add to when the need arises.

Laurel's TOG fic recs for rainy days and cold nights (Kaysanova edition)

chrysalis by @bewires (Kaysanova, E, 38k, modern AU) What can I say about the pumpkin gnocchi verse that hasn't been said already? It's the ultimate comfort fic; it has comfort food, healing family dynamics (found and biological), comfort sex (both first time and established!), and Joe and Nicky giving each other the unwavering support you only get when your love is one for the ages. Also, they have a cat. This fic takes you on an emotional rollercoaster but makes sure your seatbelt stays on the entire time.

men of their word by @sixth-light (Kaysanova, E, 18k, history-flavoured AU) I would wholeheartedly recommend EVERYTHING on sixthlight's AO3, but there are two things they do better than almost anyone in this fandom: Idiots to lovers plots and (history-flavoured) royality AUs. I can't make this post without at least mentioning the 'very dumb academics' verse and 'all winners here' for comfort reads, but 'men of their word' is a perfect mix of the two things above, with a bit of identity porn thrown in for free.

the profession of my fingers by @werebearbearbar (Kaysanova, E, 25k, canon) Most people tend to rec Melly's 'we could be an ancient tale' or 'there's a trick with a knife (i'm learning to do)' AUs, which are both excellent and deeply sexy longer reads, but my favourite of hers is this first one I read. Just Joe and Nicky loving each other through the ages, working through some emotions, and getting in and out of hairy situations (I'm sorry!). It's brilliantly researched, and exactly fills the gap canon leaves you with right after watching the film.

I did think, let's go about this slowly by @emjee (Kaysanova, M, 10k, modern AU) There are. so. many. fics. of emjee's I'd recommend, but this one is PEAK comfort fic. First of all, Joe and Nicky both work at a library, it's a delicious little slowburn, and it comes to a head on a snow day. Does it get any more comforting than that?

with rome below us by whimsicule (Kaysanova, Gen, 13k, academic AU) A fic based on this post by @tovezza, you know, the one with Nicky being a priest and Joe being a professor, they meet in Jerusalem and then things happen. This one is told from Nile's POV (she's Joe's PhD student) and does the most marvellous job of it.

The Pride Pact by @kaydeefalls (Kaysanova, M, 20k, modern AU) Joe is new in town and as he falls in with Nicky's friend group they promise each other "not to make it weird" by sleeping with one another. You can imagine how well it goes. More than that though, this fic is incredibly warm inside out, funny and sweet, and it gives you their friendship before it gives you their relationship, and you'll love it for that.

Familiar (but new) every time by Yuliares (Gen-ish, T, 13k, post-canon) Reccing this because I've never agreed with their characterisation more, feels like it could genuinely be something that happens after the film and the sequel. A great fic for all your found family needs.

you know i dreamed about you (before i saw you) by BeeLove (Kaysanova, E, 20k, witch!Joe AU) This is the fic anon recommended! It's SUCH a cute read, with witch!Joe moving into a cottage by the woods and finding a cursed rabbit. He tries to help by breaking the rabbit's spell (you may guess who the rabbit is), and it's honestly just so good and atmospheric, like a walk through the forest. There's beautiful fanart too!

Bonus: The Voice of Experience by @werebearbearbar & @morallygreywaren (Kaysanova, T, 22k, modern AU) Look, this is basically a self-rec, but it is a very comforting fic: Think "You've Go Mail", think food blog, think snarky Joe and Nicky, thinl epistolary idenity porn, think falling in love with the same person twice. It was a great experience to write and it's an easy, comforting read :)

#tog #the old guard #tog fic #tog fic rec #fic rec #kayssian #nicolo di genova #kaysanova fic rec

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reginarubie · 3 years

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So yeah, I know… no more wips — again blame my muse and @woodlandcrochet because she was the one who basically prompted my muse with this story — but this one was the most voted in my stories — the story in which I update ideas of fics I will write and ask which one you’d rather read first — so, since it seems like I have not yet got it out of my system I did post the story with the first chapter.

This is set into an AU in which Valyria never fell, the Targaryens instead of moving to Dragonstone managed to find a way to use blood-magic to avoid the Doom and have become at first princes of the Freehold — you know like Augustus became princeps of the Republic of Rome — and later became Emperors.

Jon — who is named Jaehaerys — is the son of the last Emperor and Lyanna — who is from a lesser branch of the Karstarks — his concubine and he rises into power as Emperor of Valyria while Sansa —princess in the North — is forced to hide in Bear Island and gets captured by a raid and is brought to the Imperial palace where she meets Jon and they fall in love, he rises her from slave to Empress and who know what else may happen?

Kind of inspired by many real-life historical romances — like Suleyman and Hurrem, Ahmed and Kosem, Edward of York and Elizabeth Woodville and Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York — and with some influences from the Ancient Rome empire and the Ottoman Empire.

If you are interested… here it is 🤩

#jonsa fanfiction #sansa stark #jonsa #fanfiction #fanfic #jon snow

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musetta3 · 3 years

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Writing Prompts, Pairings, and AUs

I’m excited to announce I am part of the Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle! Send me a writing prompt (@dadrunkwriting or general) and I’ll do my best to fill it. Check out the list below for character pairings, prompts, and AUs on offer. <3

Update 12 February 2022: I have included a list of completed prompts, and prompts that have been sent to me already, so you can know which ones have or will be filled

Note: Please refrain from sending ‘for anyone’ prompts, if you can. The more specific, the better I can fill the prompt!

Another note: no smut prompts at the moment, but that might change later on. I’ll make an announcement, when that happens. <3

Behold, OCs on offer (I don’t mind writing generic Hawkes or Inquisitors or Wardens, either. But I do like writing my OCs because they’re my babies <3). Click on their names to learn more about them on my Tumblr blog.

Valena Cousland, my warrior Warden who wants to be queen

Solona Hawke, my mage Hawke who just wants a book. and her dog.

Revka Cadash, my non-protagonist, middle-aged dwarven OC who’s the Carta’s leader in Kirkwall. And a ball of chaos. With arrows.

Aranehn Lavellan, my super-reluctant Inquisitor that gets lost in the Hinterlands often and prefers her herb garden over Orlesians. (I don’t blame her <3)

Rana El-Khoury, my modern girl in Thedas. She’s a Lebanese opera singer who hit her head and woke up in Kirkwall. While she can’t fight, she can sing, and quickly establishes herself as a bard in Kirkwall. Likes bringing modern inventions to Kirkwall. Actively searches for a way back home. Love chocolate.

Keep reading under the cut for Pairings, Prompts, AUs and Completed Prompts!

Generic Pairings on Offer/no world-state attached

Romantic (my favorites are bolded)

Fenris x Hawke

Sebastian x Hawke (bonus: Fenris x Sebastian x Hawke love triangle)

Varric Tethras x Hawke, Cassandra, or Inquisitor

Varric x Revka Cadash

Josephine x Inquisitor, especially a Trevelyan (the politics! the drama! the dinner parties with the in-laws! how fun!)

Hawke x Merrill

Morrigan x Alistair

Alistair x Warden

Aveline x Donnic

Hawke x Anders

Cullen x Inquisitor

Solavellan

Platonic/Friendship

pretty much any of the DA2 crew being buddies

Hawke & any of the DA2 crew

Varric & Hawke

Fenris & Sebastian Vael & Donnic

Dorian Pavus & Inquisitor

Varric & Inquisitor

Revka & Inquisitor

Revka & her cousin Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash (a friend’s Inquisitor, the head of the Fereldan Carta)

Revka & any of her numerous family members

Josephine & Inquisitor

Warden & pretty much anyone from the Origins crew

Warden & Anders

Warden, Hawke, or Inquisitor & a pet of your choice

Revka & a pet of your choice (including her messenger crow, her dracolisk, her pet nug, and/or her terrier)

Songstress and the Swordsman Universe:

Set during my fic, The Songstress and the Swordsman. Songstress takes place during Act 3 of Dragon Age 2, but extends out into pre-Inquisition territory. Sebastian Vael moves to retake his throne, with Fenris as his commander. Much court intrigue, political scheming, assassinations, political marriages, and council meetings ensue.

Romantic

Fenris x Rana El-Khoury

Marian Hawke x Anders

Sebastian Vael x Cecily Seymour (my OC, the Teyrn of Ostwick’s daughter; starts as a political marriage that becomes a love match)

(past) Merrill x Tamlen (this would technically be set in Origins, before the Dalish Warden origin)

Platonic/Friendships

Rana El-Khoury & Varania

Fenris & Sebastian Vael

Fenris & Varania

Fenris & Varric

Fenris & Merrill

Hawke & Isabela

Rana El-Khoury & Merrill

Fenris & Varania’s son, Leto

Girls night with Rana, Cecily, Merrill, and Varania (or any combo of them)

Boys night with Fenris, Donnic, Sebastian, and Varric (or any combo of them)

AU fun!

Modern AU

Band AU (want to read about Fenris playing bass guitar? me, too <3)

Historical AUs like 18th century, Regency, Ancient Greece or Rome

Pretty much anything with Tevinter, Seheron, or Antiva also makes me happy, so if you ever think of a prompt with that setting, that’s cool.

Prompt Lists

Please copy + paste the entire prompt in the ask, so I know exactly what write for you. :) And feel free to elaborate/specify/expand!

Blue’s Epic Scarlet Pimpernel Prompts

Miscellaneous Dialogue Prompts

Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy

Dragon Age Specific Dialogue Prompts

Trope Bingo

Hand Holding

50 Kisses

Prompts with Children

Sensory Prompts

Short and Angsty Prompts

Florence + the Machine Prompts

Winter Holiday Themed Prompts

Completed Prompts:

Scarlet Pimpernel: Hiding from the enemy in a hollowed-out tree (Cullen/ my Inquisitor, Aranehn Lavellan); Coming Soon: Disguised as the enemy agents to escape through the front gates (Hawke/Anders); ‘Lud, madam!’ (Revka Cadash); Coming Soon: "Please, you move too fast." "My heart dictates the pace" (Inquisitor x Josephine Montilyet)

Sensory Prompts: Aloe being slathered on a sunburn (Anders & My Warden, Valena); Fireworks close enough to feel in your chest (Revka Cadash); a shimmer of water droplets in the sun (Fenris / Hawke)

50 Kisses: Coming Soon: "Forehead or cheek kisses" (Hawke x Varric)

Non-Sexual Acts of Intimacy: Holding hands across the table (Sebastian Vael / F!Hawke); Coming Soon: one falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap (Sebastian Vael / F!Hawke); One falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap (Fenris / my oc, Rana); Sharing a dessert (Fenris/Rana El-Khoury, my OC); Coming Soon: Finding the other wearing their clothes (Varric / my oc, Revka Cadash); Coming Soon: Modern Band AU version, adjusting the other’s necklace/accessory (Fenris x Hawke)

Hand Holding: Coming Soon: cold hands in warm hands (pairing TBD); Coming Soon: not really paying attention, both doing something else, but still holding hands (Varric x my OC, Revka Cadash)

Florence + the Machine: I’m not calling you a liar, just don’t lie to me (Cullen / my Inquisitor, Aranehn Lavellan); Coming Soon: ‘It’s a fine romance but it’s left me so undone’ (Fenris / Hawke)

Misc. Dialogue: “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.” (Hawke/Anders); Coming Soon: ‘I will if you will’ (Fenris & Isabela); Coming Soon: ‘You’re supposed to talk me out of this’ (Hawke & Isabela); Coming Soon: “No one has a heart of stone.” (Varric x Cassandra)

DA Dialogue Prompts: ‘I think I’m going mad’ (Anders & my warden, Valena); Coming Soon: "This is why the Maker left.” (Varric x Hawke)

Short & Angsty: ‘You don’t mean that’ (Fenris / my oc Rana El-Khoury); Coming Soon: ‘because I care about you, okay?’ (Varric x my OC, Revka Cadash);

Modern AU: Coming Soon: Varric / Cassandra

Modern Band AU: ‘and there was only one (tour bus) bed’ with Fenris, adjusting the other’s necklace/accessory (Fenris x Hawke)

I can’t find the prompt list for it: Coming Soon: ‘Right now, the only duty I care about is to you’ (platonic Aveline & my OC, Solona Hawke);

#writing prompt #prompts #inbox open #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dadwc #da drunk writing circle #send me a prompt #if you'd like #<3

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Note

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity.

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them.

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now.

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time.

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold.

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor.

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.”

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him.

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis.

“... Does this mean we get to go home?”

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up.

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention.

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her.

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.”

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.”

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.”

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?”

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing.

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.”

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon. ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years.

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own.

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him.

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees.

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

#CM SPOILERS #If only I could write fic full time xD #GOD I've been dying to write all that down for weeks #and then you my beautiful anon sent that ask and I jumped at the opportunity #sorry I used you for this but I'm so glad I did #I hope you enjoy it if you don't mind all the spoilers #also if anything doesn't line up with canon I am SO SORRY I legit haven't finished season 11 #and I haven't met any of the new team. Not even Luke #But they would all be there #full cast. chaos. It would be awesome #katyswriting #criminal minds fanfiction #no pairings #Aaron Hotchner

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lostcauses-noregrets · 3 years

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Hi Lost! I admire your work a lot, both here and on Ao3. As a writer myself, I was wondering if you have any recommendations for writing longer AU fics (like HMS Maria, one of my favorites) I’d love to try writing an Eruri fic set in Ancient Rome but I have no idea where to start. I tried writing a fantasy AU once and it got too overwhelming so I abandoned it. Sorry this is kind of a lot, just wondering if you have any research/planning tips! Thank you so much!

Hi @greenflower21 thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoy my writing, particularly HMS Maria, it’s a bit of a niche AU so I'm always delighted to know that readers enjoy it.

I’m not sure I’m really the best person to be giving advice on writing longer fics though because I am the absolute definition of a Pantser – I write by the seat of my pants, without outlines or timelines, and often I have only the vaguest idea of plot. Usually I have a very rough idea of how I want a fic to progress, but I have to start writing to find out where the story is actually going to go. This is a bit of a high risk writing strategy, as it’s very easy to wander off track, get bogged down, or write yourself into a corner. There’s also a danger that your timeline will disintegrate as you’re writing. HMS Maria is a case in point. I knew the rough direction the story would take, and there were certain incidents I wanted to occur at particular points, but I had no idea what was going to happen on route from A to B. This also meant I had absolutely no idea how long the story was going to be, and typically it turned out to be much longer than I’d originally planned, which is a real danger with this style of writing. However I never lost sight of where the story was going and I hope I managed to retain its internal consistency. The timeline is a disaster though, if you poke it too hard the whole story will fall over. I knew the fic would end with the Peace of Amiens in 1802, but because I didn’t know how long it would take to get there, the internal timeline probably doesn’t bear scrutiny. Now I’ve finished the fic I need to go back and tweak the dates to make sure the timeline hangs together.

The opposite approach to Pantsing is Plotting, where you plan every detail of your story before you start writing. Sometimes this involves spreadsheets. Plotting is a much more sensible way to write longer stories, as this approach will give you a clear road map and timeline to follow, however there’s a risk that you might lose some of the spontaneity of writing and there’s also a chance that by the time you’re written your plot outline, you’ll have lost interest in your story. HMS Maria is the only fic that I’ve ever attempted to write an outline for. This is it in its entirety:

Rose. Levi.

Articles of War. A flogging. A second flogging.

Isabel overboard.

Water party

Shore leave

Cutting out.

Prize. Return to England. Levi’s commission.

Off to the Indies. Peace of Amiens

Erwin’s house

Yeah. Not very helpful XD

I don’t think one approach to writing is necessarily better than the other, it’s just a case of experimenting with both approaches to figure out what works for you. Also if you google Pantser vs Plotter you’ll find loads of useful writing advice.

When it comes to writing historical fic, my advice would be to immerse yourself in the period as much as possible. Read everything you can get your hands on; fic, novels, history books, articles. If you can get ahold of contemporary sources, read those too, they’re invaluable and will give you a real feeling for the period. I knew nothing about the late 18th century, sailing or the Royal Navy when I started writing Age of Sail fic ten years ago, but I started learning from fanfic, before moving on to novels, history books and contemporary sources. (Melville’s White-Jacket is almost like a primer for writing Age of Sail fic.).

Writing period typical dialogue can be tricky as a lot of it will be jarring, obscure or incomprehensible to modern readers. Ideally you want to include enough period expressions and turns of phrase to give a flavor of the historic setting, without making the story difficult to read. In HMS Maria, Erwin speaks a bit more formally than he does in canon or in most modern AUs, while Levi is pretty much just Levi, though I did temper some of his more modern profanities.

Some readers and writers of historical fics get a bit up their own ass about anachronisms. Personally speaking, I think it’s a question of balance. I can forgive some creative anachronism if it serves the plot and doesn’t throw me out of the story, because ultimately the story is the most important thing. I’ve come across some writers who get so hung up on period details that they forget to tell a compelling story. At the end of the day, if I want historical authenticity I can just go and read a history book. If I’m reading a fic, I want plot and character development and slow burn and enemies to friends to lovers, and ohmygod there was only one bed. Basically all the good stuff, and if you can throw in a bit of authentic period detail along the way, then that hits the sweet spot for me

I have no idea if any of this is of any help, but ultimately I think the best advice when it comes to writing is to keep trying until you figure out what works for you, and don’t be discouraged if some stories don’t go in the direction you originally intended. Good luck with your writing!

#asks #writing #lostcauses fic #hms maria #historical au #age of sail #snk

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

October Writing Challenge 2021 - Day 7

Seeing as Ava doesn't have the slightest intention of killing Charlie on the spot, this is obviously set before whatever is going to happen in their fic Larger Than Life. Same goes for every other prompt featuring this OTP.

There is a director's cut showing what happens after the end of this prompt, but that will be released some other time, (if you guys want to see it that is?) because... get to know them first, will you? 😅

Ava’s eyes darted frantically over the page of her textbook. The words written on the old, crumbling paper were Latin, and even though Ava was fluent in the ancient language, it did slow her down considerably. The writing was small, the ink already faded in places, and she bowed deeper over the page to better see in the dim, grey light shining onto the table from the tiny windows.

It was just this one more report, and she would surely be a huge step closer to finding what she was looking for; she just had to finish before…

A deep sigh coming from the sofa behind her broke Ava out of her concentration. She closed her eyes in annoyance and breathed in slowly through her nose, exhaling through her mouth.

“What is it now, Charlie?” Ava asked, and there was an audible strain to her voice.

She knew Charlie didn’t distract her on purpose, and she should probably be more patient with him, but her patience had run thin at the hundredth time they had played this game; that had been a good hour or so ago.

The ginger-haired head of her boyfriend appeared over the backrest of the sofa he had been slouching on. He sighed again as his eyes travelled to the windows and the biblical flood pouring down on the other side of them.

“”I’m sorry we’re stuck inside,” he said, like he had every time one of his heavy sighs had forcefully returned Ava from her mental venture into ancient Rome. “This isn’t at all how I planned your visit.”

Ava turned around in her seat. “I keep telling you, I don’t mind. The weather isn’t your fault. At least that way I’m getting some research done. Theoretically,” Ava added with a glance at the page she had been trying to read for quite a while now.

“You’re not supposed to be researching,” Charlie said and got up. “You’re supposed to see the beauty of Romania. There’s so many things I wanted to show you.”

Ava tilted her head to have a better look out of the window, but all she could see was the rivulets of water running down the glass. It had been chucking it down with rain ever since she had arrived in Romania a few days ago.

Neither Charlie or she were fazed by a little rain, but the constant bad weather had turned the earthen paths leading around the dragon reserve and everything surrounding it into streams of water and mud. They would have been able to apparate to go places, of course, but even so it really wouldn’t be too pleasant to be outside.

“We could play cards, if you want to?” Ava offered.

She really wanted to go back to her book, but it was apparent that Charlie was struggling a lot more with being cooped up inside than she was; she hated to see him restless like this.

“We did that yesterday, the whole day,” Charlie said and shook his head. “I won’t be able to look at a deck of Exploding Snap for years to come.”

“Hm,” Ava contemplated loudly, “how about we cook something?”

Charlie crossed his arms on the backrest of the sofa and rested his chin on them. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then I’m out of ideas, I’m afraid,” Ava sighed and turned back to her research.

She heard Charlie get up and walk over to her, his bare feet surprisingly light on the wooden floor. Judging only by his burly figure, it was easy to forget how fluent his way of moving was, just as it had been back at school when he had breezed over the Quidditch pitch.

“What is it you’re reading about anyway?” Ava heard him ask, surprised at how closely he was standing behind her.

“Old recordings about the catacombs beneath Rome,” Ava said, her eyes lighting up eagerly, “The expanse of them is fascinating, and many of them still aren’t properly explored.”

“Is my brother making you do all this preparation work?” Charlie asked and leaned over Ava’s shoulder to get a better look at the tiny writing.

“He won’t even be part of this expedition,” Ava smiled broadly, “if all goes according to plan, it will be my first assignment without Bill.

“They’d be stupid not to send you,” Charlie told her with a broad smile, “you’ve been working so hard on this. So awfully hard,” he repeated and his smile turned decidedly more mischievous.

His big hands came to rest heavily on Ava’s shoulders and rubbed at the tension which came from the hours Ava had spent hunched over her studies.

Before she could stop herself, a sigh escaped Ava’s lips at the relief in her strained muscles and the pleasant warmth of Charlie’s body behind her. She leaned back against him and allowed herself to get carried away by the touch of his rough hands that never were anything but gentle with her.

“You’re working way too much, in fact,” Charlie mumbled into her ear, his voice suddenly a good bit lower than before. Ava felt a shiver run down her spine as the faint trace of red stubble on his cheek grazed her skin.

She ignored the increased beating of her heart and turned around just enough so she could see him; she cocked an eyebrow at him. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Her challenging smirk vanished when Charlie quickly pulled her from his chair and kissed her with a hunger that surprised Ava.

She wrapped her arms around Charlie’s neck as she kissed him back. Her head was spinning,and the intensity of Charlie’s kiss took her breath away. She pulled him in, inviting him, and his hands were everywhere, her hair, her face, her back, her waist.

Ava let her own hands wander up his back beneath his shirt; Charlie’s skin was always warm to the touch but now, he was positively burning.

Ava could feel the edge of the table in the small of her back, and heard the rustling of parchment when Charlie grabbed her around the hips and lifted her onto the table. She reached behind herself to push her precious books out of reach, but Charlie only used the moment to lean in, and Ava had to use her hand to support her weight instead.

“Careful Charlie,” she said breathlessly between kisses, “my books…”

“Forget your books,” Charlie replied as he trailed kisses from her lips and down her neck. Ava squealed in surprise when he suddenly got hold of her, lifted her off the table again and threw her over his shoulder.

She laughed as he carried her over to the small wooden stairs that led to the gallery that made up the second level of his lodge where he had his bedroom. “What are you doing?”

“Getting dessert,” Charlie said, and although Ava couldn’t see his face, she positively heard the smirk in his voice.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” she pointed out, holding on as best as she could.

“Well,” Charlie grinned, “I might have just changed my mind.”

#charlie weasley #ava campbell #avarlie #october writing challenge #october writing challenge 2021

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

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Come Alive

A huge thank you to @kiragenta for letting me write a fanfiction based on their incredible art!

Masterlist, Kiragenta's art that inspired this fic (please go check it out and give it some love!), Kiragenta's Tumblr; passerotto means little sparrow: someone who is learning how to fly

This was honestly the most fun and probably one of my favourite pieces to write. And, with their permission, here is one of the two panels that @kiragenta did!

Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he's only a little surprised.

Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn't have a destination so whichever way he goes he'll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.

The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don't even look the same but they're both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.

"You like them?"

"They're beautiful," He nods.

"Then you must have one,"

And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. "When people look at my flowers the same way you do," She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. "Their souls are made of sunshine."

A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, "Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look."

"Thank you," He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, "For everything."

"Something is going to change to day passerotto," She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, "The winds of the sea say so."

Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and...

"Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square."

"I will," He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, "Do you—" He swallows, "Can you recommend a place I should visit?"

"Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?"

He shakes his head, intrigued.

"Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time."

"Thank you," He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, "And I'll come back at the end of the day."

"Goodbye Perseus." She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.

It's only when he's past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he's standing in an archway and there's a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he's known the world since he was stardust. He feels...alive.

He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It's as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he's ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.

He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.

But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.

His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he's standing in front of them.

"Hi," He waves, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Hello," The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. "How are you?" American, he deduces.

The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.

"I'm good thanks. I just—" He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. "I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?"

"Oh," The American girl laughs brightly, "Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home."

"And you can just do all three?"

"According to my girlfriend here," She points to her right.

"It is true." He can here the girl is native Italian. "Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice." She nods deftly.

"Okay," He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn't reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. "Thank you."

"Bye," The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend's and tugging them both away.

The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There's something about its eyes he cannot get over. It's the way they burn. No that's not right. They almost...... crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them.

He's surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn't even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.

"For freedom." He whispers.

And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.

"For love."

He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let's his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.

"For home."

And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn't want this to end.

The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—

He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.

He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.

"What the—" He splutters, "Who— How—"

His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.

"Hello," The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn't know.

"You were a—" He gasps, "And now you're a—"

Words. He needs words. What's language? What's the alphabet?

"Where am I?" The statue— no, boy—asks.

Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.

"I'm sorry," The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. "Could you help me? I don't know where I am?"

"Yes," He answers rawly, "Apparently neither do I."

"What's going on?" He can hear the frown in the boy's voice.

"You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you're... well a human?" He chokes out.

"I was what?" Those eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Yes. See that stand there?" Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. "You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club." He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. "What's your name?"

"Jason." He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, "Jason Grace."

"Hello Jason, I'm Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive."

#Jercy statue AU #Jercy #Jason grace #Percy Jackson #Thank you again to kiragenta for the idea #Your art was so beautiful and inspiration just struck me like a brick #Jason #Grace #Percy #Jackson #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series #PJSSG series #PJSSG fanfic #not edited

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