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incorrectlumityquotes · 3 years

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FULL REVIEWS: “I Was A Teenage Abomination”

So if you read my previous review you know that I didn’t like the last episode. That scene of Eda and King mocking Luz almost made me drop the whole show, but the lesson at the end convinced me to to give the show another chance especially since the season just started. Good thing I did because wow did the show deliver.

I’m not the biggest fan of the magic school trope, but I can see why people use it. The most common settings for fiction are schools, homes and work places because they all force people to come together and interact. And while I do think all magic schools look alike (almost all of them) because they’re just castles, I don’t know if Luz, Eda and King can carry an entire show by themselves. A school would force new and different characters in. Variety is the spice of life as they say. What Luz needs is more people her age to bounce off of and we got them.

The episode starts hilariously with The Owl House fam at the beach collecting crap from a dead giant ass slug. It’s when Luz suggests that she might some actual witch apprenticeship in her...witch apprenticeship that Eda accidently lets it slip that magic schools are a thing that exists in The Boiling Isles. BTW, if everyone could do magic on The Boiling Isles, wouldn’t magic school just be called school or is there a separate school system where magic is just an elective you can opt out of? I’m thinking too hard.

Luz decides that being knees and elbows deep in garbage isn’t for her and walks off to find our first new friend, Willow.

Willow is just a little sweetheart. Friend to all plants, kind of a pushover, but kinda really not. She lets Amity walk all over her but that could be just because of their past history together. But as soon as Amity is out of sight, Willow lets the anger flow through her like the Emperor’s dialogue in a Star Wars movie. Also looking back on this episode, it’s so weird to see Willow wearing the abomination purple uniform. I guess because she wears plant track green for the rest of the season that seeing her in her old uniform is unnatural or something.

And here comes the spice of life, baby. When I first heard about Amity I didn’t think twice about it until I heard that she was going to be voiced by Mae Whitman. Freaking Katara from Avatar: The Last Airbender, Yuffie from Kingdom Hearts 2, April O’Neil from TMNT 2012, Rose/Huntsgirl from American Dragon Jake Long, Tinker Bell in...Tinker Bell and Roxy from the live-action Scott Pilgrim movie. I had to see it. And wow. She’s so good at being such a bitch. It’s delightfully mean-spirited. But I think if you compare her performance here to later episodes (especially her first lines) you can sort of hear how Mae Whitman finds her groove to become Amity. Kinda like when you hear Marco Diaz in Star vs the Forces of Evil in the first episode and then in the last episode. But that’s nothing new.

My first impressions of the character were that she was going to be a Draco Malfoy clone, especially after how she put down Willow. Also this filled out enough Harry Potter tropes to make me think that they were going to go down a checklist or something. That’s just the way the world is now. Someone says magic school, first thing you think of is Harry Potter.

Luz has seen enough hentai to know where this is going!

But seriously back to the episode. Willow is surprised to see a human on The Boiling Isles and we see Luz pull her first scheme to help Willow: dress her up in as her abomination and sneak Luz into the school. Willow gets a good grade and Luz gets to see the school. Easy peasy, one two three-sy.

Another thought that I remember having when I first watched this episode was what the H is an abomination? I’ve known people to use the word when they don’t really like something but other than that I have no clue. It’s not the Marvel villain, and it’s not something that causes a feeling of disgust. It’s not even a biblical reference. I checked. It’s more like a golem, but whatever. It’s Dana’s fantasy world. So it’s not really a reference to anything.

And then we have our other friend, Augustus. A supposed human expert who thinks Luz should’ve had gills. Luckily Luz knew an Augustus in the human world that everyone just called Gus, so new nickname. He’s...smaller than the others but we find out in a different episode that he’s actually younger than everyone else and skipped a grade. He’s smart but still a kid.

“Boy, let me tell you what!”

Luz helps Willow get a good grade and this pisses off Amity something fierce because she’s (in this episode) the kind of person who needs someone who she knows she’s better than to feel good about herself. But we find out in a later episode it’s because she’s a stickler for the rules and abhors cheaters. (That’s a good word, abhor.)

Amity’s freakout at the cafeteria gives her an opportunity to call Principal Bump into the situation, but I’m still stuck on Luz being excited over a PB&J. LIke seriously? What has Eda been feeding her? Or not feeding her? She knows her has to feed Luz right? Humans gotta eat too. I have concerns.

Yeah no, your ass would be fired.

Bump tries to bump (lol I’m funny) Luz and it’s out that she’s not an abomination; she’s an intruder. The climax happens which is fine, but Luz punching out abominations reminds me of my argument on why zombies aren’t scary. I mean, if they are decaying flesh how would they have super strength or any strength? It makes no sense. If abominations are just walking piles of goo how would they have super strength? Magic? Is that gonna be your answer to everything?

“Curse you Boiling Isles public school system!!!”

I forgot to mention the B-plot with King and Eda and I really like it. I love the comedy in this show and the B-plot has all of my favorite jokes in this episode. I just get upset talking about it because I know some asshole is going to call it filler. I remember a time where “filler” was used to refer to anime only episodes or story arcs that were produced to let the manga catch up with some more chapters. Now everyone uses it to refer to stories they don’t like. Not stories that don’t further the main plot, but stories they don’t like.

Animation is difficult and takes a lot of time and money. If they do something, they do it for a reason. If it doesn’t further the plot then it develops the characters. It’s okay for a comedy to just have an episode that tells jokes. That’s the point of a comedy, to be funny. It’s okay if an action show just wants to do a fight scene or a set piece. That’s what action does. But I know some dipshit is gonna reblog or reply and argue with me about what filler means or what it really means and yada yada yada. Free tip, do that and I’ll block you because this is my blog and I can do that. Also, fuck you.

“I have no son!” My favorite line of the episode.

The episode ends a little too neatly with Willow telling Luz that everything was resolved offscreen. Willow is now in the plant magic track. Amity is begging Bump for a good grade, and Luz is banned from Hexside. For now...

FINAL SCORE: 5 - Loved it!

This episode was a bunch of fun. It was super funny, introduced some great characters and saved my interest in the show. I knew I made the right choice to give this show another chance and it paid off. I wondered why they would introduce the school only to have Luz be banned but I just figured we would have more sneaking in scenarios. Egg on my face, huh?

Still this episode was a great time and I couldn’t wait for the next one.

#the owl house #my works #full review #full reviews

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earthstellar · 3 years

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TFP Megatronus x Orion Pax Experimental Concept Playlist: The Timescale of Cybertronian Lives + Music from 1890 - 2021

I know there are tons of playlists for these characters out there, but I’m trying to do something a little less conventional with this one; Please hear me out!

Two Playlists in One: Love Throughout The Ages

The first half of this playlist is almost all new music mixed in with some hits from the 60s, 70s, 80s, etc. to give variety, plus tracks from different genres so that hopefully everyone has a song they can enjoy in there somewhere.

For the second half of the playlist, I wanted to emphasise the idea of how long the war on Cybertron has been going on for, and just how old this conflict and the people involved actually are.

Cybertronian Timescale: Long Lives and The Perception of Time

We think of the Orion Pax / Megatronus stage of their relationship as being relatively brief, which it was in comparison to how long the war has been going on for as of TFP, but these are people who live for centuries. The scope of that is staggering.

Optimus Prime and Megatron have known each other personally (either positively or negatively) for longer than modern human civilisation has existed.

So to me, the best way to touch on that idea of time, musically, is to have the first half of the playlist be modern music, remixes, etc. and then the second half is well known and lesser known hits throughout early radio/TV (with many tracks on this playlist pre-dating those forms of media as well).

What’s on the Playlist, Then?

My grandmother was born in 1914, and her music collection spans nearly 100 years. It’s all good stuff.

I have included some of her favourites, which she always called her “sweetheart jingles”, on this soundtrack. I think many of them work surprisingly well for the Megatronus/Orion Pax relationship.

Many of these songs will probably be unknown by the vast majority of people who might want to listen to this playlist, which is also appealing to me. (I hope if this is your first time hearing some of these, that you enjoy a few of them!)

My parents were born in 1944, and I remember all of the classics they would play; Some of those tracks will be more recognisable as this was the era when radio and TV became far more common and accessible, but I picked the tracks that I think best apply to the pairing and the relationship between the two characters at that point in their lives.

The link to the playlist is below after some notes on Cybertronian language evolution!

Quick Thought: Cybertronian Language Over Time and Era Specific Speech Patterns

While thinking about my grandmother’s music collection as I assembled this playlist, I thought about some of the words and phrases she used commonly that are now totally non-existent in modern conversational English.

She had what would probably sound to most people like “1930s radio voice” or a more Trans-Atlantic Accent way of speaking; She grew up in the Northeast USA and so she had a very distinctive way of stressing the vowels in words. It’s not just the words themselves, or how they were pronounced, but the tone and pace of speech was also very different.

This got me thinking about Cybertronians, age, and speech:

Bots as old as Ratchet may have grown up with a totally different spoken language version of Cybertronian, and we already know that there are regional dialects, multiple written forms (glyphs), and era-specific types of Cybertronian language.

But the way they speak, as I mentioned above with the stressing of vowels and the tone and pace of speech, might still be different due to the different eras, even after language packs/programs are downloaded and updated periodically as needed. We already know Cybertronians have regional accents, so it stands that generational accents would also possibly exist as well.

Such a difference in speech patterns could possibly be used as a primary indicator of relative age on Cybertron, as physically they don’t age in the sense human beings do.

Back to the Playlist: Link + Track List + Notes on Audio Prior to 1930

The playlist is here on YouTube.

Scroll down to get to the second half (oldies section) if that’s what you’re here for!

Please note that the songs are not arranged in any particular order aside from the first half being newer music and the second half being far older music.

Also note, where original recordings are available on YouTube for some of the older songs, I have used those original recording versions.

However, keep in mind that there may be a couple seconds of “fuzz” at the top (start) of those older tracks, because they have been recorded from records or wax cylinders, which are formats of music that typically had a “pause” on the track to allow for needle and speed calibration when playing them manually. Modern records don’t do this in quite the same way and nobody uses wax cylinders anymore, but older records typically did. If this bothers you, skip ahead about two seconds or so, and it will resolve.

Tempo may seem slightly “fast” on two of the tracks due to difficulties with the medium and modern recording tech/methods, and one track has some persistent “fuzz” throughout due to the original recording being rare and therefore it is a “best copy available” type archival recording, but otherwise I’ve managed to find the clearest audio possible for the vast majority of the older songs!

(Fun music note, the “click track” in modern digital music was partially inspired by the clicking of the needle hitting the “countdown grooves” on old cylinders and records, which creates an audible mild clicking sound as the needle finds the groove and provides time for usually a half rotation or full rotation of the record before the track actually begins to allow for adjustment before the music starts! If the clicking is too fast, dial down the rotation speed, for example.

This itself was inspired by classical metronomes as well as the actual physical method of playing the music in this way, but it’s cool to see how this persists throughout musical history even now when we don’t need the click for digital production for quite the same reasons/applications. It’s all about timing, no matter the medium or era!)

Due to the method of how some player piano rolls were credited, often by roll company and not by individuals, the actual artist name is often not available for those tracks. Where possible and where known, I have included credits to the artists/musicians. I have done my best to research and find the artists in these recordings.

I have also included orchestrions and other “automated” music in addition to a player piano track as I think it’s interesting; These are often very old compositions being played on these machines, and as such are designed to reflect the earliest days of their relationship.

Songs range from the years 1890 to 2021, and I will add more as I manage to find YouTube videos with some of the older songs I’m still looking for.

By the way, if you need a love song for like an actual partner or crush that you have, I’m just going to say it now and point out that a lot of these classics are great to use in real life for cute purposes. My partner of ten years agrees, and my grandparents were married for over 60 years and sang many of these daily, so obviously something here works well. You’re welcome. ;)

Below the cut is a track list of the second half of the playlist, as it’s 7 AM and I’d like to emphasise the “classics” section here as it’s the central theme of the concept.

I will add to this list as more tracks are added:

You’re the Top - Cole Porter

What is this Thing Called Love - Leslie Hutchinson

I Get a Kick Outta You - Cole Porter

Puttin on the Ritz - Phil Spitalny Orchestra

What a Day - Carl Fenton

Come Fly With Me - Frank Sinatra

Earth Angel - The Penguins

Ring a Ding Ding - Frank Sinatra

In my Merry Oldsmobile - Billy Murray

Singin in the Rain - Gene Kelly

Dream a Little Dream of Me - Doris Day

Unforgettable - Nat King Cole

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis Presley

Good Golly Miss Molly - Little Richard

Bei Mir Bist du Schoen - The Andews Sisters

Shine on Harvest Moon - Ruth Etting

1920s Dance Sequence from Don’t Knock the Rock

In the Mood -Glen Miller Orchestra

Dream Lover - Bobby Darin

When the Ragtime Army Goes Away to War (Artist Unknown)

After You’ve Gone - J. Lawrence Cook

My Sin (Artist Unknown)

Flick Flack by Albert Vossen (Unsure; Song + Artist Unknown; Orchestrion)

Lotosblumen Walzer by E. Ohlsen (Hupfeld Violina)

Waltz no.2 - Dmitri Shostakovich

Jupiter - Gustav Holst

Love Potion no. 9 - The Clovers (Please note, this song mentions the word “g*psy” once in the beginning of the track. Skip this song if you would prefer not to hear it; I have done my best to only include songs that are friendly to the modern listener, but where needed I will make annotations such as this one to ensure nobody has to hear anything potentially offensive, as is unfortunately often the case with older music/lyrics.)

Come a Little Bit Closer - Jay and the Americans

Sh-Boom - The Crew Cuts

Oh Boy - Buddy Holly

#long post #playlist #megop #megops #cybertronian culture #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #maccadam #maccadams #megatron #optimus prime #orion pax #music #concept playlist #megatronus

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starkerforlife6969 · 4 years

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To Be a Widow Part 2

starker, winter spider thanks again to the wonderful @wandering-night19

Peter’s past three husbands have all died under suspicious circumstances. Detective Stark was convinced that pretty Peter had something to do with it, but more and more lately, Peter’s dangerously loyal butler Bucky has become his prime suspect..read the OG post here and my part 1 to this here

The ropes binding him are impeccably knotted. No doubt, then, that Barnes has done this before.

It doesn’t stop him from testing them, from flexing his wrists and seeing if there’s any give at all, any sort of slack, any sign from God that he’s looking out for the loveable genius that is Detective Tony-

“Stark’s a liability.” Barnes hisses, voice tight and furious, even as his hands wrap bandaging over Peter’s wrist. Tony had barely even scratched him in his attempt to flee, but Bucky trails his fingers over Peter’s skin like he’s handling some precious gem, some delicate flower.

Peter sits on the edge of his bed, swinging his feet and humming. “I think we can reign him in.”

Bucky kisses Peter’s now bandaged wrist, slipping down onto one knee like a knight before his King. “He hurt you.” He beseeches quietly, almost a whine, an attack dog, a wolf, desperate to avenge his master.

Peter strokes his fingers through Barnes’ hair, soothing, the same move he used on Tony. “James...”

“Just let me-” he cuts off, a shuddering whimper, and Tony frowns, straining to see and- ah. Peter’s slipper clad foot is pressed into Bucky’s groin.

Tony feels hot under the collar, and he pulls hard on the restraints once more. Something creaks at the back of the chair and he freezes, but those honey eyes are on him. Peter smiles.

“James wants to hurt you, Tony,” Peter sighs, fingers tugging at Bucky’s hair, loving but firm. “He’s very protective of me, you know.”

“Yeah,” Tony pants, “I guessed as much.” There’s no getting out of his through brute force. Even if he managed to get out of the rope, Barnes has got a few feet on him, and Peter’s spry and nimble and surprisingly strong. “So,” if in doubt, talk it out, “you two are...”

“It’s not so much about us,” Peter drawls, “it’s much more about me. I’m trying to expand my business, Detective.”

“What business?”

“B Enterprises.”

“Never heard of them.”

Peter beams at that, getting to his feet, long silk robe of red trailing after him. He heads over to his desk, covered in important looking documents and lethal, heavy paper weights. He pours himself some scotch and toasts Tony. “Exactly. We operate in a...” Peter muses for a moment, “in a less than official capacity, I’ll admit. But we needed money. I got us some.”

“You’ve killed three people-”

“I haven’t killed anyone, Tony.” He hums sweetly. “But of course, all that aside, we do have a bit of problem now, don’t we?”

Tony swallows hard. “You gonna kill me?”

“Nonsense.” Peter waves him off, “I propose we all sleep on it. James?”

Tony barely has a second to register the grin on Bucky’s face, before he’s being hit by something blunt.

***

In the morning, sunlight trickles in.

It appears the cold spring has left then, and the beginning a of new summer threatens.

Tony blinks the black spots out of his vision, body aching. He’s still in Peter’s bedroom, still bound to a chair in the corner of the lavishly furnished master suite. Peter’s fast asleep, chest rising and falling, the height of comfort, no fear or concern creased into his angelic face.

Tony jerks when he realises Bucky is standing no less than two feet away from him: watching.

“Jeez,” Tony mutters into the quiet, trying to slow his pulse, “do you not sleep?”

“I will rip you apart.” Bucky whispers, looking like a spring about to burst.

Okay, maybe another way out. Not brute force, but finding a groove and digging. He can do that. “Sure,” he nods, “except pretty boy won’t let you. Keeps that leash on pretty tight, huh?”

Bucky says nothing to that, but his eyes are ice blue. Piercing.

Tony prods a little more. “You know, just because he didn’t have a physical hand in the killings doesn’t mean we can’t convict. We can still-”

He words are cut off suddenly when Bucky’s hand wraps around his throat, air immediately deprived, he starts to panic, can barely hear Bucky hissing into his ear. “You ever even dare hurt him I will rip you into pieces, I will-”

“Oh, James,” comes a sleepy sigh, and Tony’s dropped like he burns Bucky’s hands, gasping, choking for air, looking over to see Peter sitting up, curls a mess, adorable and defenceless. He looks like a kitten. “What did I say? I said: try not to kill our guest.”

Barnes looks like he wants to do nothing more than rip Tony’s head right off his shoulders.

Peter holds out his arms, wiggling his fingers, and Bucky goes, led by a siren, into Peter’s warm embrace.

***

Breakfast is a very dignified affair.

Tony’s unbound, but Bucky stands in front of the only door, a gun at his waist.

Peter is in black satin, shoes like polished opals, lips cherry red. The table is laden with food: bright, vibrant pieces of fruit, pinks to oranges to ocean-blues, and Tony doesn’t dare move to serve himself, so sits with an empty plate, watching Peter place a few blueberries into his own bowl.

“Please, Tony,” Peter purrs, “help yourself.”

There’s no trembling now. Peter’s completely at ease. Certain. The frailness from yesterday is gone. He’s strong, nimble, elegant. Tony pokes at a piece of pear, but doesn’t eat it.

“I’d hoped we could speak openly today, Detective. About a constructive way forward for all of us.”

Tony lifts his eyebrows. “I thought there was only one way out. You threaten to have your lackey over there kill me if I ever tell the truth.”

“Well, there’s no need for that,” Peter murmurs, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “You can tell anyone you like. Stories are just that, after all. From what I can tell, you haven’t a shred of evidence against me.”

“The books-”

“Gone now. An oversight. Thank you for alerting me.”

Tony smiles without humour. “Fine. So I have no proof. You’ll just let me go?”

“Well, I’d rather we left things on a more friendly note,” Peter pouts, long lashes batting oh-so-sweetly. “After all, Detective, I thought your desire for me was overwhelming you. A kind of madness, didn’t you call it?”

Tony can feel his cheeks heat, but he refuses to be ruffled. “A momentary lapse in judgement.”

“Really?” Peter sighs, reaching under the table, touching Tony’s knee. “That’s disappointing. I feel there’s a lot I could offer you.”

He refuses to get aroused. Refuses to react. “No, thank you.” He says curtly. “There’s nothing you have that I want.”

At that, Peter laughs. Melodic and triumphant. “Well now, I don’t think that’s quite true. I’m sure you’re used to being the smartest person in the room, Detective, but I’m afraid with me around, you might have to settle for second place. You can read people? As can I. You crave control. I can give you that- or, at least the allusion of it.”

He hates how he feels intrigued. Like a puppet with an invisible master.

Peter’s voice drops into a whisper. “I could submit to you so sweetly. All yours for you to take whenever, however you want. In return....perhaps you don’t spread those nasty, baseless rumours about me. Perhaps you leave my tragic case alone. Along with any other tragedies that might befall me.”

Tony wants to laugh. Wants to mock Peter at using his body as his bargaining chip but he wants. He wants that. Wants to feel that body beneath him, he wants-

“I could play love with you, Detective,” Peter offers, more gentle, and he reaches out to take Tony’s hand, twining their fingers together. “I could be a widow, shaken, unsure if love is for me after all, but then you...you change that.” His honey eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Detective Stark. Thank you for keeping me safe, I’m so-so grateful.” Peter grins, and Tony realises he’s leaned in, holding hands tightly. “You could hold me. Play house with me, from time to time. I’ll make dinner, dance with you, I’m very good at playing pretend, Tony.”

Tony gapes, words stuck in his throat. The kid’s a master. An actor. Sliding into each role.

But he can feel danger along the back of his neck, and he turns to see Bucky, barely contained in his jealousy.

Peter takes Tony’s chin and guides his eyes back to him. “James won’t hurt you, Tony,” he promises, “he’s just protective, that’s all.”

“You play pretend with him too?”

Peter’s mouth lifts into a smile, and Tony hates the audible jealousy in his own voice. “No, Tony,” he murmurs, a beautiful lie, “I only play pretend with you.”

***

Bucky grits his teeth watching as Tony walks down the drive and gets into his car. As soon as he’s gone, he hurries upstairs to the master bedroom.

Peter is stretched out on the bed like a pleased cat, naked, covered in red marks.

Bucky wants to howl. He immediately gets a wash cloth and some warm water, cleaning Peter up.

Peter spreads his lily-white thighs further apart, and Bucky groans at the sight.

“He was rough with you.” Bucky whimpers, swiping in gentle strokes, fumbling to soothe any aches.

“Only because I let him be,” Peter reminds, looking at Bucky over his shoulder, pink lips curving into a smile. “We can take him out whenever we like, sweetheart.”

“But you won’t.” Bucky mutters, two fingers sliding into Peter’s little hole. Gentle and soothing. “You like him.” It’s an accusation.

Peter rolls his eyes. “I like being adored, James. That’s hardly a surprise, is it?”

“But...”

“Are you feeling left out?” Peter pouts, teasing. “You want to be the one to rule me, is that it? No,” he looks him up and down, and Bucky bares himself to the gaze. Wants to be seen. “No,” Peter nods again, “you want to wrap me up in cotton wool. Keep me safe, don’t you?”

Yes. Bucky thinks desperately, nodding hard. Yes, that’s what he wants.

“He was so rough with me,” Peter hiccups, going pliant and soft into the bed sheets, slipping into Bucky’s favourite role. “Hurt me, Buck, he hurt me. Will you make it better?” He cants his hips up invitingly. “Please?”

Bucky leans down, eager, kissing down Peter’s spine, tongue finding-

“Oh!” Peter gasps, clutching at the bed sheets, “that feels-”

Yes. Bucky thinks, holding the boy’s hips, making him feel good. This is what he wants. This is what he’ll always want.

And he’ll do anything to keep it.

Tagging: @plueschpop @thestarkerisobvious @fogdog1738 @icandoakickflip @starker-stories @yeehawmyoatmeal @starker-prompt-dump @goldenmogar @everyonelovespetey @starkerintheparker @prettieststarker @itsrachael @silkystark @deliciousflapbanditfarm @prettyboy-parker @starkerrifics @angelstarker @firefandoming

#starker #winterspider #manipulative peter #widow peter #detective tony #butler bucky

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robo-writes-haikyuu · 4 years

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Tooru Oikawa as a Father (Tooru Oikawa x fem!reader

Request:�� Hi! I'm new to the fandom and Oikawa is one of my favs. could you do a Oikawa x f. reader Where they are married and have a few kids. (Reader could even be pregnant)Just some domestic fluff like Oikawa coming home after a hard day of practice or something along those lines.. It's totally up to you.You can throw in a bit of spice if you want to. Thank You!!❤ (I honestly think he would be a great dad. Fun & protective the kinda guy who lets his daughter put clips in his hair and he would wear them even while going out and he would gossip with his daughter saying stuff like "NOO, She didn't!! 😂 sorry this is not part of the request just a random thought. And this kinda turned out long sorry about that too 👉👈)

This is the purest thing oh my god 😭 I also 100% agree that he would be a fantastic dad, because he’s pretty much a big kid himself. I hope this is kind of what you wanted! I was going to give them more kids but for some reason it didn’t turn out that way. I enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it!

Pairing: Tooru Oikawa x fem!reader

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: tooth-rotting domestic/parental fluff, a hint of spice at the end

You and Oikawa decided to settle down in Argentina, where you got married and had a little girl a year later. It only made sense; you wanted to travel the world, and Oikawa could pursue his volleyball career.

You were trying to make dinner while balancing your two-year-old daughter on your hip and your phone between your shoulder and ear. You’d been stressed out becauseOikawa had been training extensively for the next league while you were trying to keep everything afloat at home. Luckily, your job allowed you the luxury of working from home so that you didn’t have to pay for a daycare or babysitter.

“Who’s that, honey?” You whisper excitedly to your daughter as you hear the front door open.

“I’m home.”

She babbled and widened her eyes in curiosity. You put her down and carefully placed her feet upon yours as you held her hands above her head to walk her over to the front door.

“Da!” your little girl chirped upon seeing her father’s beaming face.

“Hi sweetheart,” he squealed, shrugging off his duffel bag and crouching down to scoop her up. She giggled as he nuzzled his nose into her cheeks, peppering quick kisses all over her face. You smile and wrap your arms around his torso.

“Hi love,” he whispers sweetly to you as he tilts your chin up to meet him with a kiss. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You were always relieved when Tooru got home in time for dinner. Your daughter was a picky eater and he found the most creative ways to make her eat.

“Quick,” he says frantically, swooping the cracker around in the air. “The UFO’s gonna make a crash landing!” She sits there with her mouth agape and he slips the cracker into her mouth for her to taste. She closes her mouth to register what just happened, and then slowly suckles on the cracker.

Your heart couldn’t help but melt every time you saw the way Tooru was with your daughter. Even after an entire day of practice, he always somehow managed to muster enough energy to be fully present with her; it probably helped that he’s pretty much a big kid himself.

She’ll garble absolute nonsense to him and he’ll respond to her as if sis is spilling the hottest tea. He’ll pretend to whisper something in her ear and she’ll erupt into a fit of giggles. She’ll try to do the same thing to him, leaning in and whispering gibberish into his ear, and he’ll let out the most animated gasp, inciting yet another round of giggles.

You’ll be getting ready to go out and you step away from your hair products for two seconds. When you come back, all of your hairclips are missing. You walk into your bedroom to find that Tooru had all of your hairclips (specifically the sparkly pink ones) pinned all over his head, with tufts of his locks spiking out in all directions. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, while your daughter was on your bed pining the hairclips all over his head. They were looking in the mirror to admire his look, and he’d be trying out poses, adjusting his angles, and saying things like “the sparkles really make my eyes pop~” and “do you think mommy will think I look pretty?” You just chuckle and roll your eyes.

That night after putting your baby down to sleep, you two snuggle in bed and watch a documentary on ancient alien civilizations. Tooru wraps his arms around your waist and tucks his nose into your hair to inhale your scent. You turn your head to face him and gently rub your hands up and down his arms with a sleepy smile on your face.

“I’m so lucky,” he says, gently placing his lips on your neck. “I’m so happy I get to come home to you and our baby girl every day.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” you say as you turn around to face him. You cradle your hand around his face, tenderly stroking his cheek with your thumb. “My handsome king.”

“Y/n-chan~!” A giddy smile sneaks onto his face and he bashfully buries his face into your shoulder. “Stop it~! You’re making me blush~!”

Even as a fully grown adult, this dork absolutely thrives off of praise. He particularly loved it when you called him your king; his ego would skyrocket every single time. So, you made sure to only use it once in a while or else it would go to his head.

“I only speak the truth,” you giggle as you kiss his cheek. He continues to play up the act, coyly covering his face and nuzzling into your chest. You chuckle and brush your fingers through his hair, massaging small circles into his scalp. You could feel his breathing steadily relax as he let out a content sigh.

“Am I a good dad?” he asks.

You blink, completely taken off guard. “Where did that come from?”

“I worry I don’t spend enough time with you two,” he says, resting his chin on your chest and look up at you. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. You always seem to know how to handle everything, while I feel like I don’t do much at all.”

When you decided that you were going to try to have kids, you were worried about Tooru’s busy schedule. You remember even back in your high school days when Tooru struggled with past relationships because of his challenges with prioritizing volleyball over relationships. When you two started dating in college, however, it actually surprised you how much his view on relationships matured. He always somehow made time to see you, even when he was utterly exhausted from games and practices. Not once have you ever felt like he was neglecting you nor prioritizing work over his family.

The thing with Tooru is that, as extra as he can be, he puts effort into the little things. He didn’t have to throw a parade or have jets write your name in the sky (although you wouldn’t put it past him). It was the good morning kisses, the little ‘i miss you’ texts, and playful pinches on the butt that were the backbone of your relationship. He always reminded you that he loved you and cared about you, so you didn’t need these grand gestures.

You thought back to when you were pregnant. He doted on you constantly. Wacky cravings, he would try to find the most creative recipes that satisfied every single craving. Morning sickness? He would get up extra early and make you hot soup to settle your stomach. Feeling fat and gross? He kissed the grooved stretch marks and loose skin on your belly, always reminding you how breathtakingly beautiful you were to him.

Once your little girl was born, he was an even more doting father. He knew when you were too tired to get up in the middle of the night to feed her, so he would do it. While he wasn’t exactly excited about changing diapers, he was more than willing to do his fair share of them. Oh my god, and when your daughter smiled at him for the first time? It was as if everything in his life led him for that moment, when he looked into your little girl’s eyes and saw his own glimmering right back at him.

You press a reassuring kiss to his forehead and brush his hair out of his eyes. “I wouldn’t have had a baby with you if I didn’t think you were going to be a good dad.”

He turns his face up to you with a devilish grin, a stark contrast to what you saw earlier.

“You know,” he says in a low voice, bringing his lips to your earlobe. “We could always make another one.”

You bite your lip, “I have no objections.”

Not my best writing but I hope you liked it 🥺

Simp with me! 💗

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essaysbyciara · 4 years

Text

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Seven: Backseat

Warnings: Language, mentions of sexual situations

Peace, loves! We’re back. Thank you to all who hit me up about this story. My laptop died back in July so I’ve been trying to write on a tablet which…yeah. A struggle is a nice way to put it lol😔. Go ahead and catch the vibes and thank you for the reads, likes, comments and follows. Y'all are the realest.

“I thought you didn’t smoke”

“I don’t. Doesn’t mean I haven’t…”

You take a strong pull of Dave’s blunt in conjunction with heavy breathing caused by his right hand causing a madness in the between. The cracked window of your car brings enough of a cool down so that the both of you won’t pass out from the nighttime haze and the heat travelling from your bodies. Finally, after two weeks, Dave understands your love language; he can’t keep his hands off of you even as you try to take a break from him. He lifts up your left leg with ease, draping your thickness over his right toned, tatted up thigh. The madness is now turning into magic.

“Dave…let me ch-chill. Shit.” He immediately relents, pinching your quivering thigh with that same right hand while grabbing his dutch away from you.. As you sit in puddles of sweat and Dave’s ruins, you stare at the stars above you. It’s the clearest night you’ve seen since you arrived in the city. It just so happens to be your last.

Dave catches your gaze at the night sky through the skylight above you. “You good, shorty?”

“Yeah, I just…” a slight chuckle escapes your lips. “…I can’t believe I’m smoking blunts and fucking in a backseat like high school.”

Dave feels the ping of your words. It’s the first time in the two weeks of your summertime escapade that he’s reminded of how different you two are.

He felt the slight of your words. You and his relationship always reminded Dave that he had some growing up to do. Because of his lack of a place – and the privacy that comes along with it – you two got it in whenever and wherever you could; after his brother went to work in the AM hours, when Aunt Jerri left the house for bingo, in the backseat of your car. Your surroundings would never get in the way of what you two were there for.

Just like Dave wouldn’t let anything stop him from getting at you the day you met. It was an unseasonably cool day for a block party. He and his boys were on the stoop, shooting the shit as always, when Dave saw you walk outside of Aunt’s Jerri’s house carrying trays of food. He knew all the girls from the neighborhood but he never laid eyes on you before. Your cut off shorts toed the line between modest and disrespectful. A white crop top tee and Air Max 90s sandwiched your goodness in the booty shorts you bought with the intention of showing off.

You turned around to see this caramel-covered king, 6’5, tatted from root to tip, body sweating through a white tank top inquiring if you needed any help. You froze like the bucket of ice Aunt Jerri laid down in front of you. He caught you by surprise. You didn’t remember boys from this part of town looking this damn fine. Dave was beyond that. The man you were supposed to be in the Bahamas with didn’t look like him either. Suddenly you were happy he bailed on you.

“Oh. My bad. I didn’t see you there…” You acknowledged Dave’s reach around you to grab a bottle of water from the same ice bucket that mimicked your gaze.

“Yeah, you bad…” Your right eyebrow never arched so high. It wasn’t the only body part that moved. You didn’t know how to respond to Dave’s street-laced flirtation, only to let your tongue peek out the side of your mouth, leaving Dave no choice but to stare at your lips. Dave’s stare and loitering in your presence caught the attention of your Uncle Trace. As Trace schemed Dave down to the basement to grab more lawn chairs, Aunt Jerri gleefully tapped you on the shoulder to remind you that what happens in Philly, stays in Philly. Trace told Dave to not let anything happen.

But as you kept talking, Dave slowly fell into your grooves. Dave didn’t know that you fit in so well because of your summers visiting Aunt Jerri, Uncle Terrence and the rest of the characters that made up your Dad’s side of the family. You acclimated to the energy. Half of your DNA was Reed Street, North Philly; the same as Dave. You two fit especially well in the spare rooms, backseats and basement meetups to you hid from Trace and the rest of the world that thought you had no business together.

But after this last backseat episode, you would be going back to the place that made you so different; to your senior grant writing job, your townhouse and your Roth IRA. Dave was just months into an overnight warehouse job that paid just enough to give him some change to save money to move out of the spare bedroom of Pardi’s already packed rowhouse. He was a work in progress while some would look at Dave as a sign of regression.

But for you, in that moment, nothing – and no one – would or could be better than Dave.

Until he disappeared and you met Yahya.

Right now, you hate Yahya’s guts. It’s been weeks since he told you that he’s taking on Dave’s case on a pro bono basis as a favor to Aunt Jerri. Still seething as you tried on wedding dresses, you kept your cool just enough to keep peace between your mother and her arch nemesis. This time you sided with your mother.

Yahya caught the rest of your static. He caught the silent treatment all weekend, the AM news radio station being the only background noise as you and him drove Aunt Jerri to Union Station. Once her and her hot pink suitcase rolled out of view, you went at Yahya’s neck. You never called Yahya so many words for “inconsiderate”, your Masters in Communication coming in way too clutch. But Yahya passed the bar, so his combative energy matched your loquaciousness. Onlookers got a good look at you two spar as he weaved through Beltway traffic.

To say that you were mad that Yahya took a case this close to the wedding would be a lie. You knew him to have a kind and caring heart, a heart that wouldn’t let injustice slip by. If this was anyone else’s plight, you’d be all for Yahya’s gracious spirit. But it was Dave. Dave who ignored you not once but twice. Dave who, in the very backseat of the car you’re yelling at Yahya in, told you to give him a few weeks and he’d be down to see you. The same Dave who defied all of the rules – and Uncle Trace’s threats– to get at you. Only to leave you. Dave needed to reap that.

But the Dave you knew – despite what others thought – wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was just a hair over eighteen when he caught the gun charge that sent him to prison. A gun he carried because he witnessed his brother die in front of him. He kept it on the straight ever since. Dave was saving up money for his own place, you understood the grind. He was a stone-cold sweetheart covered in a North Philly veneer. He didn’t sow a seed worth anything for this to happen.

Despite the battle on the Capitol Beltway, Yahya and you came home to convene the most obnoxious session of make up sex known to man. Damn the celibacy. Y’all needed to be on good terms and he needed to get Dave out of jail.

—

“How it’s going, love?” Your dining room is becoming Yahya’s makeshift work office. You couldn’t help to sneak down at night to read some of what Yahya’s been putting together for the case. Seeing Dave’s name all over his papers remind you of how many times Dave’s name escaped from your lips.

“Man, it’s good. We got enough for this bail hearing. I think we can secure a bail low enough that his family and the local justice coalition can afford.”

“Good. Let’s get him home…”

Yahya smiles at your enthusiasm toward Dave’s case. Despite the ninth-circle-of-Hell type of sex you two had in the aftermath of that fight, Yahya knew you steamed from him taking a case just mere months before the wedding. Yet your insistence to know details – like spotting you reading his notes – remind him of why he wants to marry you in the first place. “What date is the hearing?”

“The sixth of next month. You should come up with me. Watch me in action…”

“I can’t. I can’t be in that courtroom. I’d make you nervous.” And make yourself nervous to see Dave.

“You make me nervous regardless, Y/N. But I was thinking you’d want to see your friend get out of jail…”

Your breath stops dead in its tracks.

“My friend? Dave isn’t my friend.”

“That’s not what Jerri told me…”

Although you support Yahya, you still kept you and Dave’s past relationship a secret. Knowing Aunt Jerri, keeping secrets ain’t in her resume. You grip the kitchen counter to brace yourself for Yahya’s inquisition. He passed the bar on his first try; you got some work to do.

“Yeah, about that, I … didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Of course some puppy love shit ain’t relevant. It’s cute, actually.”

Nothing about what Yahya is saying to you makes sense like it does to him. As Aunt Jerri told Yahya about Dave’s case, she slipped in a farce that you and Dave “dated” when you both were kids, Dave buying you water ices and shrimp egg rolls from the “chinese store” whenever you asked. You two allegedly fell out once puberty hit the both of you like a ton of bricks.

So when Yahya peeped Dave staring at you from across the living room of Aunt Jerri’s house, he knew that as the look of a man who now knew he let something good get away. He knew Dave ventured down to the basement not to grab a bottle for Trace but to rspit game at you. Yahya knew you would turn him down, having seen it before. When Dave grabbed your hand , Yahya wasn’t jealous nor hurt: you were set to be his wife. He won. The baddest girl in the world belonged to him.

You start breathing again as Yahya explains Aunt Jerri’s novella of you and Dave’s teenage love affair. In her own twisted, demented yet genius way, Aunt Jerri covered for you. She knew that if she gave Yahya the honest details, he would – as a man –hesitate to help Dave. Apparently you both thought Yahya wasn’t mature enough to handle the truth.

Aunt Jerri’s lie is broken up by the high pitch screeching of your cell phone. You run to answer.

“You have a collect call from PICC. Do you accept the charges? …”

How many times can you stop breathing in one night?

“Hello?”

“Hey, yo… it’s Dave. I hope ain’t hitting you up at a bad time. Ms. Jerri gave me your number…”

“Oh, no … it-it’s cool. I, uh… how are you holding up?”

Dave couldn’t believe that you asked your fiance to help him get out of jail. At least, that’s the narrative that Aunt Jerri sold Dave on as she and Dave’s mother sat in front of him during their biweekly visits. Dave’s face, once pretty-boy and perfect, carried more wear. His jaw slipped when he talked, causing him a pain sometimes much worse than what happened that night in the store.

“This bail hearing is in two weeks.”

“Yeah, Yahya just tol-” You didn’t want to keep bringing up Yahya’s name. Though that man is Dave’s savior, he’s still the one that’s in the way of a final go around with Dave. “…the 6th, yeah.”

“I want you there.”

“You do?” Your aversion toward sitting in the courtroom subsides as Dave’s voice – sexy as ever, even through a prison phone – calls for you to be there for him.

“Yeah. If I get out, I got a chance. Especially with your dude as my lawyer. Thank you for that, for real. That’s why I’m calling, to be real. And I want you to be one of the first people I see when I get out..”

You wonder what story Aunt Jerri told Dave but you can’t take any more of her creativity. “So you comin’…?”

“…you have less than fifteen seconds left on this call…”

“I’ll…”

“…this call has ended. Goodbye…”

“…be there, Dave.”

Taglist: @yoursoulstea @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse

#dave east #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul-mateen ii #yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader #dave east x reader #old habits die hard

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Beside The Dying Fire (part two)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1

Word count: 2862

---------------------------------

In a whirl of spears and flicking ears and stomping hooves, the stranger had been ushered away from the village. Several people looked nervous, while others were outraged at the idea of an intruder in their territory; there were only two entrances into the town, one in the very front and one in the back that led to the interrogation area and holding cells. The rest of the perimeter was covered in a wall of thorns that Katherine’s father had enchanted to grow. That meant the stranger had to fight off the painful, prickling plants to get into their village.

And that was not good.

Katherine rubbed her forehead tiredly. She had to spend several minutes calming down townsfolk (and stopping Anne from singing a way-too-jolly doomsday song), assuring them that everything was going to be okay. After all, what’s one little Tiefling to all of them?

When she finally finished her “forest princess duties”, she walked back over to Faedi’s hut to check on Catalina, only to see the Aasimar outside, on her feet, wearing her steel-plated shoulder paddings and holding her sword. She almost looked silly in the armor with her protruding pregnant belly, but her face was serious and she looked ready to stab someone.

“Catalina,” Katherine sighed. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I did,” Catalina said. “But then I got bored and wanted to come help. So I still kinda half-obeyed you because I stayed inside for awhile!” Her shoulders slumped with a rattling of metal; if the pads hindered her because of her pregnancy, she didn’t show it. “But I missed everything! What happened?”

Katherine couldn’t help but laugh slightly at her friend. Even in a time of possible crisis, Catalina still knew how to lift her spirits just by being herself.

“There was an intruder, that’s all,” Katherine told her, steering Catalina back into the hut. “A Tiefling.”

“Oooo,” Catalina said in interest.

Katherine wondered if she felt for the stranger or was fearful of her like the others. After all, Aasimars and Tieflings were very similar to each other, with just one being of celestial touch and the other being of infernal touch.

“Why are they here?” Catalina asked.

“I don’t know,” Katherine answered as she began unbuckling Catalina’s shoulder pads. “I’m going to go see them after this.” She caught Catalina opening her mouth and quickly added, “You can’t come with me.”

Catalina pouted, ruffling the golden feathers in her hair. “That is SO unfair! I can be useful! Look, I can be intimidating, watch,” And then she made an intimidating face. Katherine laughed loudly.

“You are so cute,” Katherine said, earning a wrinkled nose and glare from Catalina. “You just stay here for now, okay?”

Catalina huffed and slumped down onto the bed. “FINE!”

Katherine smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, love.”

After making sure Catalina wouldn’t escape and follow her, Katherine headed out to Ghent’s prison.

Not that it could really be considered a prison. It was a giant tree that her father had hollowed out with his magic. The prisoner would be stuffed inside the trunk and then the hole would be wrapped in enchanted thorny vines to keep them in.

Maggie was standing guard outside the tree, still holding her spear. She was probably the only other person in the entire village who believed they needed a security system, and she wanted to be head of the guard. She was very cunning and ambitious, always wanting to prove herself, like how she jumped into a proper position when she saw Katherine coming.

“The prisoner has been safely detained,” Maggie said.

“Thank you, Maggie,” Katherine said. “I’ve just come to see them.”

Maggie nodded. “Just shout if you need anything stabbed.” She gripped her spear and smirked.

Katherine thanked her again, then walked over to the cell. Inside, hugging their knees as far away from the vibes as possible, was the Tiefling.

Unlike the rest of her kind, her sweaty, dirt-spattered skin was a strange pure white color that gleamed like polished pearls in the faint light. Scraggly, white-blonde hair stuck to her lean face, falling around her bony shoulders. Strands of thorns were tangled around her stubby horns, which curved back over her head, and long, whip-thin tail, and there was mud stuffed in her cloven feet. She was small, thin, and lithe, and looked very tired.

“Hello there,” Katherine greeted softly as she sat down in front of the tree. “My name is Katherine Howard. What’s yours?”

The Tiefling didn’t answer. She didn’t even look over at Katherine.

“Why are you here?” Katherine asked.

Again, no answer. The Tiefling showed no signs of being cooperative.

Katherine sighed. “Sweetheart--”

That got the Tiefling to glance up. Her eyes were a startling grey color.

“Sweetheart,” Katherine said again, slower this time. “I need you to work with me. I don’t want you to be hurt. Can you please tell me your name and why you are here?”

The Tiefling looked at her for a long moment, then curled her tail in close and hugged her knees tightly. The poor thing seemed very shaken, or perhaps she was just too exhausted to speak. Katherine sighed again.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be interrogated, then. I wish you luck.”

So, an hour later, the young Tiefling was hauled out of the cell and to the place of interrogation. For Ghent, that was a pond.

The pond was further into the forest, where the trees opened up to the sky. Paths were cut through the surrounding shrubbery for easy access to places to watch. Thick cattails and reeds lined the edges of the water, which rippled peacefully with aquatic life. Several rocks led up to a large, flat stone at the center of the pond, and there was a larger, sloped rock in front of it. Katherine’s father took his place on top of that one, while the prisoner was prodded onto the flat stone with sharp spears.

The area was soon packed with people. It seemed as though the entire village came to watch and see the weird-looking Tiefling, not that Katherine blamed them. A Tiefling had never been to Ghent before. Several children were gawking at the girl with wide, adoring eyes, pointing and whispering things to each other. As Katherine passed by, she heard a small faun say something about the Tiefling’s tail.

Katherine climbed onto the tall rock where her father, Edmund, was already perched. He was an old, but wise wood elf with neatly-combed dark brown hair, even darker brown eyes, and ears like knives. Clad in animal furs and wielding a heavy wooden quarterstaff, he held himself like a real king and not just the chief of a forest village.

In the crowd, Katherine spotted Maggie and Anne near the back. For once, Anne didn’t have any instrument in her hands, but Maggie still had her spear and she was shifting from hoof to hoof, her gait haunches bursting with energy. Closer near the rock Katherine was on, was Catalina, who had stubbornly attended despite Faedi’s orders for bed rest. Catalina caught her gaze and flashed her a smirk that said, “No baby is keeping me from missing drama.” Katherine chuckled in reaction.

One of the villagers in charge of leading the stranger, a big, burly Tabaxi that had the pelt patterns of a cheetah, leaned down and clasped a pair of metal shackles around the Tiefling’s wrists, then quickly stepped away. The Tiefling glanced back at him with a wounded expression, then frowned down at the restraints. Edmund thumped his staff on the rock, and she squinted up at him.

“I am Edmund Howard, Chief of Ghent,” Katherine’s father said, his voice booming around the clearing, resonating with the wind. “This is my daughter, Katherine. We welcome you to our village.”

The Tiefling just blinked at him, then tugged lightly against the shackles. The tip of her tail flicked back and forth like a calculating cat’s.

“Have nothing to say?” Edmund said. He waited, but got no answer. “Hm. Not to worry.” He tapped his staff twice on the rock. “Shall we formally begin? What is your name?”

Grooves and swirling symbols engraved around the shackles lit up white and the Tiefling’s body shuddered. She wide-eyed them, now tugging more frantically against them.

“Hyurk..” She grunted.

“I don’t think I specified,” Edmund said, “Those shackles are enchanted. If you lie, the pain will worsen. So advise you to tell the truth.”

Katherine always hated the shackles. They seemed cruel, forcing people to say things against their will. Though, she did fine Catalina’s experience with them the first time she came to the village extremely entertaining.

( “Does it really hurt when you lie? I wanna see! Ask me a question, Kat!”

“What’s your favorite kind of pie?”

“Apple-- OW, DRAGON SHIT--”)

“Joan,” The Tiefling forced out through gritted teeth. She was shaken, clearly in pain. Her voice was soft and youthful, but also hoarse, like she hadn’t drank water in decades.

Joan, Katherine repeated to herself in her head. What a beautiful name.

“Surname?”

“Meutas”

“Where are you from?”

“A-a small village. Near the ocean. I think it was called Shul? Yeah, yeah... Shul. I was from there.” Her neck tendons strained as she spoke.

“Are you a traveler?”

“No.”

“Where are you parents? You’re awfully young to be on your own.”

“I don’t know.”

“How old are you?” Katherine butt in suddenly, earning a scolding look from her father.

“Fifteen.” Joan answered, and Katherine felt a wrench in her heart for the little one.

“Why did you come here?” Edmund regained control of the interrogation.

Joan looked like she attempted to fight back and not answer, but it didn’t seem to go well from the way her body jerked with massive discomfort, like she was about to be sick. Her tail slid across the top of the rock and dipped into the water.

“Didn’t mean to,” Joan gasped through a wave of pain. She must have hesitated slightly. “Was running. Stumbled in. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

Edmund raised his eyebrows in interest. Katherine glanced at Catalina, who was giving Joan a pitiful look. Her hands were folded protectively over her pregnant swell.

“Running from what?”

“Just travel-- Agh!!”

In response to her lie, Joan’s thin body crumpled over on itself. Her tail lashed like a snake on fire, and she moaned in obvious pain. She almost fell into the water, but the Tabaxi held her up firmly by the shoulder. Katherine could see his claws digging in. Through heaving breaths, Joan let the truth spill out:

“Th-these people. I-I really don’t know their names. Th-they just don’t like me ‘cause I’m a Tiefling and I look funny. I-I think they w-want to hurt me, s-so I avoid them.”

Katherine didn’t like this anymore. This wasn’t interrogation, it was torture. This poor, innocent child was being stripped of her will and humiliated.

“And did you just lead these people to us?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” She was stammering horribly. A sheen of sweat glistened over her milky white skin. She looked ill, like she was being forced to function with a fever. That was the effect of resisting the magic.

“Do you want to hurt us?”

“Nnnnnggg...” Joan moaned as her stomach appeared to cramp. “N-no... J-just wanna...rest...for a little while...”

There was a hissing sound, and Katherine realized that was the shackles. Smoke was rising from Joan’s wrists.

“I-I’m gonna throw up...” Joan gurgled.

But nobody except Katherine seemed to notice or care.

“Hm.” Edmund studied the girl closely. Then, he waved his staff in front of him and whispered an incantation that sent ice through Katherine’s veins. “Let me look into your head, Joan. I must know what you’re hiding.”

The whispers that eddied throughout the clearing sounded like thunder in reaction to the statement. Some people looked fearful, while others looked excited. Katherine glanced at Maggie and Anne, and saw that they were both wide-eyed in interest.

It was unknown if the fragile living psyche could stand such a trauma of having someone look through their head. It was a violation that nobody, no matter what they had done or who they were, should have to go through.

Katherine exchanged nervous glances with Catalina. This was cruel, they both agreed. The stranger was just a girl; she didn’t deserve this. They watched as their chief held his hands out to Joan and closed his fingers into fists.

“Who are you really, Joan?”

Joan’s eyes popped open wide. She rasped, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Do not resist.”

The words did nothing.

Joan’s head jerked back before her whole body hauled forward, doubled over on her knees. Only the whites of her eyes could be seen, with a faint glow coming from the sockets; blind.

“No. Please stop, I--”

She cut herself off with a heartbreaking whine. Blood snaked from her nose. Tears soon joined them.

“P-please stop,” She panted. “Please...”

“Submit.” Edmund growled.

But the girl did not.

She began shrieking, body seizing wildly, tail spasming out of control. Her eyes, blank and white, faced the grey sky, but were unseeing. Tears ran red, and she cried blood. The vessels in her ears burst, next, then her mouth, and then her entire face became a horrific shiny red because she was bleeding from every orifice in her head.

Katherine grabbed her father’s arm and shook him. “Father, stop!” She yelled. “You’re hurting her!”

Edmund didn’t hear her, though. He was lost, too.

“That’s enough, Father!” Katherine tried again, but to no avail.

Thunder rumbled deeply overhead. Small tide pools of blood collect on the surface of the stone. Joan’s fingertips and nimble claws flushed crimson and then bled; the spell was starting to attack her extremities. If Katherine had to take a guess, it was probably to make her submit to the investigation of her mind.

Katherine gave up on her father and jumped down from the rock. She landed heavily in knee-deep water, but ran through it as fast as she could to get to Joan. Catalina hurried over a moment later.

“For a pacifist village, you guys got some brutal interrogation methods,” The Aasimar said in an attempt to lighten the mood. But Joan was still suffering under the spell, so Katherine couldn’t think about humor at the moment.

“We have to free her,” Katherine said. “My dad is going to kill her. She can’t take this.”

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Catalina said as she took out her sword.

“Are you going to STAB my DAD?” Katherine yelped.

“No!” Catalina snapped. “Just trust me! Oh, and cover your ears.”

Katherine obeyed, immediately slapping her hands over her sensitive elf ears. She watched as Catalina raised her sword skyward, noticing the way the silver seemed to glow with charged energy, murmured an enchantment, and then brought the blade down onto the stone.

The resulting crack of thunder was like nothing Katherine had ever heard before. Even with her ears covered, she still felt like she went deaf for a moment as a booming, apocalyptic crash exploded throughout the area. It rattled Katherine’s bones in her body, and then she realized that was just the ground and water quaking with the noise. She nearly buckled underneath the overpowering sound, but managed to stay on her feet as her ears rang painfully. Rain began to pour down heavily.

Behind her, Edmund gasped sharply, staggering backwards from the shock of being startled out of the spell. His eyes were wide, bulging in their sockets. Many loyal villagers ran to his aid, while others pointed their weapons at Joan, who was laying face-down on the stone, unmoving. Katherine fanned the closest Tabaxi and his spear away as she propped Joan up in her arms.

“She’s alive,” Katherine told her friend. She unlatched the shackles, revealing bright red blisters burned in Joan’s wrists. “She needs to be tended to. Come on.”

Scooping Joan up into her arms, Katherine hurried through the water, back down the path to the village, and to her treehouse as quickly as possible. With the help of Catalina, she dressed the blisters around Joan’s wrists with old man’s beard lichen and cleaned her face off with a wet rag. By the time they were done, the storm had turned into a mini hurricane outside. Katherine shut the shutters on her many windows, which usually aired out her home when it wasn’t raining, while Catalina watched over Joan closely.

“I think you may have flooded the forest,” Katherine said.

Catalina shrugged innocently. “I helped. I think I did good.”

Katherine smiled at her. “You did do good, Lina. Thank you.”

Catalina puffed out her chest proudly. “Hell yeah I did!” She then looked down at the little Tiefling laying in Katherine’s bed. “What are you going to do with her?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Katherine said, sitting down next to her friend. For now, Joan looked peaceful as she slept. “I don’t think she has anywhere else to go. Maybe Father will let her stay here. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

#dnd au #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #uk tour six #tour katherine howard #katherine howard #tour catherine of aragon #catherine of aragon #tour anne boleyn #anne boleyn #tour joan on the keys #tour maggie on the guitar #beside the dying fire

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fierte-verte · 4 years

Text

Wolfstar Fic Recs

A/N: Here we are, the product of my internet scavenging in these past couple weeks. For all of you who love Remus Lupin and Sirius Black as much as I do (in fact maybe a bit too much), these are some amazing works that I’d recommend 10/10. Happy reading, and please remember to leave some kudos or comments for the authors!

⭐= Personal favourites

Chaptered Works

⭐ Sweater Weather by lumosinlove [123k, Hockey AU]

Remus works for the Gryffindor Lions as a physical trainer, and has been half in love with Sirius Black, the Lions' heartthrob captain, for a while now, but he never expected Sirius to return the feelings. Read if you like cute nicknames, slow burn, and pining. Yep. That's it.

⭐️ Vaincre by lumosinlove [Ongoing, Hockey AU, Sequel to SW]

Remus is ecstatic to be joining the Gryffindor Lions as a player this upcoming season. Follow the Lions' year as they get ready to try for their second Cup - but in hockey, nothing stays the same for long.

Furious by loveinkwell [Ongoing, Fast & Furious AU]

Sirius Black’s street racing crew has some unfinished business to attend to, and Remus Lupin is just an innocent bystander who's about to catch it all on tape.

Soltnse by lumosinlove [62k, Modern AU]

Sirius, a young Russian billionaire hires Remus, who is working part time as a call boy to make ends meet. Things happen, feelings occur.

The Kitchens by lumosinlove [59k, Royal AU]

Sirius and Remus: A king and a commoner from two different worlds who will break all the rules for love.

Of Cinema and Stick Notes by bluepeony [12k, Office AU]

Remus Lupin is the office bore. Sirius Black is the office sweetheart. They fancy each other, on a purely aesthetic level.

⭐ How Remus Got His Groove Back by RealityShowJunky [42k, Non-Magical AU]

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.

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.

Je veux être aimé (I want to be adored) by Kattlupin [23k, Call Me By Your Name AU]

From the moment Sirius Black arrives at the Lupins French Countryside Villa, Remus Lupin’s life is forever changed as he navigates what it means to fall in love for the first time.

Amor Vincit Omnia (love conquers all) by pixelated [30k, Ancient Rome AU]

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

Celestial Bodies by pixelated [14k, Modern AU]

When his attractive new neighbor asks him to pose for some paintings, Remus Lupin reluctantly agrees—but he doesn’t expect to find truth, trust, confidence, and maybe even love in the middle of it all.

The Walls Between Us by wildknees [109k, DADA Professor Sirius AU]

It's Remus' final year at Hogwarts and he doesn't know what to expect with Professor Black as the new DADA teacher. Voldemort is gaining power, the wizarding world is in dispute, and Remus has no idea where he fits into all of it.

Home We’ll Go by appalachian_fireflies [10k]

"I can't, I don't know how," Remus stuttered as Molly dropped the infant into his arms, who immediately ceased crying and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Nonsense," Molly said. "Be a dear and keep him from falling while I feed Ginny."

"Ba!" Ron giggled, and slapped Remus in the face.

Molly is the emergency contact for the Order when those listed can no longer be reached. Remus' life finds a different path.

The Impossible Season by coyotesuspect [21k]

Six months after falling through the Veil, Sirius comes back. As a seventeen-year-old.

Remus takes him in.

Put Your Head on My Shoulder by jennandblitz [45k, Greasers AU]

Godric’s Hollow, Devon, is the epitome of a small town. The handful of teens living there spend their summer at Evans’s coffee bar, thinking wistfully of Marlon Brando and Marilyn Monroe, and getting on with life. That is, until a motorcycle gang roll into town and stride into Evans’s as if they own the place.

⭐ Pas de Deux in the Upper West Side by taotu [30k, Ballet AU]

Remus Lupin is a principal dancer with the New York City Ballet. A lead role comes up for grabs in the company's newest ballet and Remus is determined to have it. But only when Sirius Black — oozing talent, charisma and all the elements of a world-class distraction — joins the company does it hang in the balance.

⭐ Banana Split by RealityShowJunky [10k, University AU]

A story in which college sweetheart Remus Lupin couldn’t shake off his not-really-boyfriend, rich frat boy Sirius Black, even if he wanted to.

Now I Wanna Be Your Dog by pixelated [20k]

Sirius clunks about in his Doc Martens and listens to The Stooges and smokes cigarettes and wears his hair much too long and spends more time serving detention than not.

And is way too forward about his sudden feelings for Remus.

(A story about teenagers and summer love in the 70s.)

The Annunciation by bigblackdog [17k, Renaissance AU]

Sirius expects nothing but misery when his mother forces him into a monastery under the thumb of Brother Marvolo, the prior whose sensationalist preaching has prompted a fervor for damning "indulgences". And he is miserable. Until he catches sight of the mysterious scullion with gold leaf curls.

Taste by jennandblitz [29k, Vampire AU]

In 2094, Mother Nature has taken everything back, even the humans.

If Sirius were a human, his stomach would be rumbling. But instead, it’s like a dull ache behind his teeth, tension between his eyes, an itching at his fingertips. Not quite hunger but hunger all the same, a tightening of his senses to search out the one thing he needs to survive.

Peregrinitos by Chromat1cs [43k, Dance AU]

Madrid, Spain — 1983. Two dancers from across the proverbial and literal earth join the same company. Amid the swirling atmosphere of new beginnings and old confusion, Sirius and Remus must figure out how to keep dancing and stomp out the embers of internal infernos while holding fast to the rhythm of each passing day.

Come What May by madsholland [16k, Moulin Rouge! AU]

The story of a young English poet, Sirius Black, who falls in love with the star of the Moulin Rouge, cabaret actor and courtesan Remus Lupin.

One-shots

Let Nothing You Dismay by montparnasse [19k]

There are a few things Sirius really didn't count on for Christmas of 1979. The extreme sexual confusion is one of them; Remus Lupin is approximately seventy-eight of the rest.

La Carbonilla by TheBoneWitch [5k, Cinderella/Pirate AU]

Tonight was the night. Tonight was the heist.

The Great Golden Gormless Worm of Flobber by sheafrotherdon [3k]

A lovesick Sirius is a desperate thing, and Remus Lupin insists on being oblivious.

Let’s Go Out With a Bang by orphan_account [2k, Non-Magical AU]

When Remus is ready to throttle the next customer who is rude to him, he ends up meeting Sirius Black, and his entire day is turned round for the better. Especially when it ends in an after work snog.

A Store of Happiness by coyotesuspect [10k, Raising Harry AU]

Harry spends the summer after his third year living with Sirius and Professor Lupin.

Three Card Monte by enjambament [14k, Ocean’s 11 AU]

In which you can’t cheat an honest man, or, in which Remus and Sirius steal a piano.

What Always Was by dogsunderfoot [9k, Non-Magical AU]

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are friends caught up in the same dilemma: trying to find the perfect man. Why is it so difficult to find someone who is perfect for each of them?

Grimsfall by pixelated [11k, Modern/Magical AU]

There is a legend in the old city of Grimsfall that a large, black creature used to emerge from the forest at night, and anyone who met its gaze would be driven to madness before the thing dragged them into the depths of hell.

The London Underground Book of Love by Children_of_the_Shadows [5k, Modern AU]

The cardinal rule of the London Underground is to never, ever make eye contact. It is a rule that, among many others, Sirius tends to follow despite his otherwise rebellious, non-rule-following nature. So the first time he makes eye contact with a human being in the subway comes as much of a shock to him as anyone else. Especially when he's unable to look away.

⭐ Here Now, Gone Yesterday (or Back To The Future) by nerakrose [21k, Time-travel AU]

Teddy and James are in the middle of breaking up when Remus and Sirius - teenaged, travellers from the past - drop into their life.

⭐ Signs of Affection by KittyCargo [8k, Deaf Remus AU]

“Hello, everyone! My name is-” the professor did something quick with his fingers and the interpreter paused for just a moment before continuing, “-Remus Lupin. I’ll be your teacher for ASL I."

When Sirius learns that he'll have a Deaf student in his class next year, he takes an ASL I summer course at his local community college. He didn't expect the professor to be so attractive though.

Fire On Fire by WolfstarGarden [11k, Ballet AU]

Sirius’ frown deepened. After a moment he murmured in a low voice, “I don’t understand you at all, Remus Lupin. Oh, but I would so very like to.”

A flush crawled boiling heat up Remus’ neck as he fumbled for an answer. “Goodness Sirius ... I’m no one special.”

Sirius’ gaze didn’t waver. He said simply, “I think you could be very special to me.”

It’s Not the Years, Honey, It’s the Mileage by Thistlerose [4k]

Sirius visits Remus on his thirty-fifth birthday. Things are a bit awkward at first.

⭐ pair of tossers with a cat by moonymoment [10k]

Something seemed to dawn on Remus then; something so obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. He furrowed his brows and looked at Sirius quizzically.

“What?”

“Are you…” Remus began, gaping slightly, “jealous of the cat, Sirius?”

Sirius looked down.

“I’m not jealous of the cat.”

“You’re jealous of the cat!”

“I am not jealous of the bloody cat.”

Remus finds a stray cat on the street and brings it in. Sirius is not impressed. Chaos ensues.

Make Moony Smile by Lady Amina [5k]

It begins with the innocent intention to Make Moony Smile and spirals into friendship chaos from there.

When Remus seems down, James and Peter try their best to cheer him up. Remus has his own agenda.

Swipe Left for Safety by Remy_Writes5 [3k, Modern AU]

His finger hesitated over a picture of someone who absolutely couldn’t be real. He had long, dark hair that fell well past his shoulders and grey eyes that Remus thought must have been either contact lenses or photoshopped. High cheekbones and sinful lips the man looked like a model. Remus was not about to get catfished by a picture that was probably of someone famous that he just didn’t recognize. Besides, what kind of a name was Sirius anyway? It was obviously fake.

He swiped left. Not today, Satan.

“Hard pass on that guy, huh?” Someone said from above Remus. “Ouch.”

Dizzy by nikkiRA [5k]

James pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is this what it’s like to have children? You watch them fumble through life like lost puppies and you want to help them even though you know you should let them figure stuff out for themselves?” He places his hands on Remus’ shoulders. “Moony. Darling, dearest Moony. Sirius has been keen on you since fourth year.”

The Treasuries of Firenze by jennandblitz [14k, Renaissance AU]

A chance encounter in a market sends Sirius Black spiralling down a path he couldn't escape, even if he wants to.

Up in the Air by RealityShowJunky [6k, Non-magical AU]

Between running the family business and raising his sixteen-year-old brother, Sirius Black’s life is nothing like he dreamt it would be. Luckily for him, a chance encounter with his college sweetheart shifts everything back on track.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fic rec #sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter #marauders #fic rec #ao3 #fanfiction

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rose-demica · 4 years

Text

You sit at the side of the pool and soak your aching feet in the cool water.

Fandom: Ouran High Host Club

Series: Unnamed WIP

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori / Violetta Tatsuya (OFC)

Tags: @evilskank-inthemegacoven

This one does fit in with the WIP, so slight spoilers maybe? I don’t know, this was one of the one shots that made me realize how much I like writing these two and their secret relationship.

Violetta sighed slipping her feet out of the stiletto heels she had worn, carelessly tossing them at the foot of a lounge chair. The fact they had cost her a few hundred dollars mattered little. The dress she wore hiked up to her knees with no difficulty, the long gown moved easily around her. She slipped her legs into the luke warm pool water, sighing with relief as the water not only soothed her aching feet, but came up to her calves as well. "That's Lady Hitachiins favourite design, should you be getting it wet?" A familiar smooth voice called out from behind her. Violetta sighed once more to herself, rolling her head back to look at the dark haired man who had followed her. "I'm not." She stated, gesturing towards the fabric folded across her lap. She could understand his concern, the sapphire gown was beautiful. A diamond studded sweetheart neckline refracted the light that touched it. The back was swept down as low as it could be modestly, the diamonds following the fabric around her chest and lower back. The fabric was sheer and silky down her body, a slit running from halfway down her thigh to the end of the dress.

The dress showed off too much skin for Kyoya's liking, his girlfriend was modelling for the new Hitachiin line of American Prom dresses. A favour for her favourite twins. Not that the youngest Ootori didn't appreciate his girlfriend's amazing body, he was just unimpressed about the amount of other men that were admiring her, lusting after her as though she was an object simply there for their gratification, she was so much more than just that. "You could." He walked closer to her, taking off his jacket to drape it over her shoulders. "You look stunning." He kissed her head, before straightening up. "You don't look too bad yourself." She responded, tilting her head back to smirk up at him. Kyoya chuckled, bending down to kiss her sweetly. "Come on, we should get back to the party before those bothersome twins realise their favourite model is gone." He offered her his hand as a means to help her up. Violetta accepted his hand, smiling when he smoothly pulled her up towards him, the fabric fell back down her legs, his jacket falling from her shoulders as he spun her into his chest, twirling her around the pool side. He paused, long fingers tracing down the thin chain that sat nestled around her neck, the sapphire heart pendant he had gifted to her before they were together. Vi's hands rested softly on his chest, eyes locked on his face as he looked at her, his keen gaze seeming to soften slightly. "Violetta, I lo-" Violetta threw her weight behind her hands, shoving her lover into the pool behind him, he flailed before splashing into the water. Violetta shrieked, backing away to avoid the splash, but only breaking out in laughter when she received the Shadow King's menacing death glare. Slowly he made his way to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out of the water. Slowly he peeled off his once-white-now-see-through shirt top and tie, dropping them in a pile on the ground, with a flick his black dress shoes and socks joined the pile. Leather belt flinging water as he pulled it off. Left in only low slung pants as he growled and approached her. Violetta had just enough time to smother her laughter. Standing tall despite the anger her boyfriend openly directed towards her. The Youngest Ootori unable to scare her as easily as he could the others. "Can't get the dress wet remember?" She taunted, motioning to his dripping state. Her attention was drawn to the water droplets that rolled down his torso, finding the grooves between his abdominal muscles. The distraction was enough for Kyoya, reaching to her side and gathering a large amount of the fabric of her dress in one hand, with a sharp tug the fabric tore free of her body, pooling on the ground. An arm around her waist and another under her legs had her trapped firmly in his grasp. As he carried her towards the pool. "Kyo-" Violetta squirmed, trying to free herself, threat cut off by a scream when he jumped into the deep end of the pool, taking her with him. He released her then, and they both surfaced at the same time. Violetta splashing Kyoya with a soft smile. "You arse." "Didn't get the dress wet." He responded with a chuckle, swimming towards her. Vi immediately swam towards the shallow end, more than aware he was chasing after her. "Is my make up running?" Violetta stood turning to face him, hands swipping under her eyes. "You look beautiful." He whispered, catching her wrists and pulling her towards him as he stood just that fraction deeper than her. Violetta's legs wrapped around his hips, hands slung over his shoulders and resting in the water behind him. One of his hands cupped her face, the other rested on the small of her back to keep her held to him. "You always say that." She replied, resting her forehead on his. "It's always true." He kissed her before she could scoff and roll her eyes. Refusing to relinquish his hold on her, not that she fought to get away from him this time. "I need to get back." She eventually whispered, unwilling to do so, but more than aware of how much they both wanted to keep their relationship a secret. "Mmm." Kyoya hummed in agreement, on the same wavelength as her. Slowly he walked towards the pool edge getting shallower as he did so, lifting her to sit on the side rather than on him. Her legs remained wrapped around his waist. "That dress took ages to put on..." Violetta sighed, looking to the pile of fabric. "We could just leave?" Kyoya offered, resting his hands either side of her body and trailing kisses down her neck. "Hmm, tempting." Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging his head back to capture his lips with her own. "But suspicious." She added, pulling back. "So is the fact we're both soaked." Kyoya stated, motioning between them. "Well whose fault is that?" A raised eyebrow from her and a chuckle from him. "I do believe it's yours ma cherie." He made to kiss her again, but a throat clearing startled them both. Jumping away from each other and looking to the person who had caught them. "Violetta, darling, there you are. I wanted you to change gowns. Ootori-chan, I have a suit you can model. Come now." Lady Hitachiin smiled as she spoke, eyes focused on the young couple. Violetta refused to make eye contact, oddly fascinated by her fingernails. Kyoya was not so shy, watching as maids and butlers filed in with fluffy towels and clean dry clothes. "I heard the scream, got here in time to see you thrown in the pool. I had all the doors and windows overlooking here covered, organised new clothes and got back just now. I saw absolutely nothing." Violetta smiled mischievously at Kyoya, before turning to the older woman. "Sorry. We made sure not to get the dress wet." Yuzuha threw her head back openly laughing. "Come on." A well manicured hand was offered, helping Violetta up and leading her towards where the household servants had set up two impromptu changing rooms. Kyoya's eyes followed Vi as she walked away, her hips swaying as though to tease him, as if her near naked state wasn't enough. It was entirely his fault of course, he had removed her dress, leaving her in only her black lingerie. A towel was wrapped tightly around her as she was led out of sight. Instantly Yuzuha Hitachiins bright eyes were on him, a spark of fury entwined with protectiveness. "Violetta is like a daughter to me, you dare hurt her, and I promise you, Ootori or not, you will suffer." She hissed at the young man who still stood in the pool. "Not that it is any of your concern, but I have no intention of ever doing anything that could hurt her." Kyoya replied, pulling himself upwards and out of the water. A butler raced forward to sling a towel over his shoulders. "Intent and actions are not the same Ootori, you know this." Yuzuha walked away from him before he could come up with a reply, leaving him to the mercy of the butlers that were to help him dry, change and redress. A gasp drew his attention to his girl, he could hear her chattering away in French somewhere behind him, marveling over the beauty of her next gown. "You nearly ready?" A soft voice directed at him. Kyoya quickly finished changing, tugging on the deep violet shirt he had been given to wear. "Ready." A butler answered on his behalf, quick hands tying up his shirt, helping him into the jacket and shoving him out of the changing room. Violetta was waiting for him, her back turned to him as she spoke with Yuzuha. Kyoya froze, what he could see of the dress was amazing. It was the same deep purple as not only his shirt, but also Violetta's eyes. Silver vine like designs seemed to originate from the top of the halter, winding down around the corset outlining her hourglass shape before flaring out down down the left hand side of the gown. Unlike the sapphire gown, this one seemed to poof out more, giving an illusion of a princess. "Took you long enough." She teased, turning to face him once she felt his gaze on her back. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the full impact of Yuzuha's handiwork. The top was tight around her torso, the silver designs winding along the hemming of the top, diving down between her breasts to head around the back, the silver flare made half the dress seem to change colour as her weight shifted. "They won't let me wear my necklace." Violetta's hand rested on her bare neck, silver bracelet on her wrist sparkling in the light as she did so. A butler nudged Kyoya, passing him a box, he snapped it open, taking the offered necklace, motioning for Violetta to turn so he could fasten it around her neck. Her hands pulled her hair out of his way, the now dry curls resting over her left hand shoulder instead. His fingertips danced over her skin, ignoring their audience to press a kiss over the delicate silver chain and onto her skin. "Better?" He whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist. Vi's hand rested over his, slipping her fingers through his. Other hand lifting up the necklace to see it better. It was a thin and seemingly delicate silver heart made out of the same silver that composed the chain. Amethysts were encased along one side of the silver, sparkling in the little light there was. "Much, thank you." She replied, turning her head to kiss him on the cheek. It wasn't until they heard a click that they remembered their company, looking up to see Yuzuha with a camera in hand. "Beautiful, these pictures are... I have no words..." She sighed, flicking through the camera roll, ignoring the furious couple. "We had a deal Madam Hitachiin." Violetta spoke, sounding a lot calmer than Kyoya knew she was, her hand gripping tightly onto his own. "You agreed that photos could be taken and used for publication." Yuzuha agreed with a nod, "I agreed to pose for photos with the intention of being published. This violates those terms, also Master Ootori has not agreed to any photos being taken." "Actually..." Kyoya whispered, "I did. When I agreed to wear this suit and join you when you wore that dress." He corrected, her grip tightened further, but he was careful to show no pain or fear. "Am I not your lawyer?" She hissed, anger redirected him at the implication he'd signed paperwork she hadn't first approved of. "It was a surprise my love." He defended himself, resting his other hand on her hip. Violetta sighed, leaning back against him, the fight leaving her. "Kyo, this could-" She started to complain, "A modelling gig or two will not harm our professional lives, you have an amazing Body Vi, there is nothing wrong with showing it off a little, and it'll be easy enough to convince the public the photos were staged." He knew her arguments before she could even make them. "Fine." Vi relented with a sigh, turning beneath his hands to wrap her own arms around his neck. "But only because you brought me more shiny things." She whispered in his ear, "Darling, I'd buy you all the shiny things in the world if it would make you happy." He responded with his best 'host club voice'. Cradling her body closer to his own. "I know you would, but we both know it wouldn't." Came her soft response, before she stepped back, breaking out of his grasp. "But look at these shoes!" She exclaimed excitedly, lifting up the hem of her dress to reveal silver shaded stiletto heels. Thin straps held them around her ankles, dangling little bits of silver string on them, fake amethyst like gems at the end of each strand. Another studded band held the base onto the base of her feet just above the toes. "I love this whole outfit." Violetta sighed, dropping the fabric and running her hands down it. "You look breathtaking Vi." Kyoya complemented, knowing she was feeling slightly insecure without even needing to look at her. "Allow me to show you off." He offered her his arm with a playful bow, Violetta curtsied before accepting the offer, breezing past Yuzuha, too wrapped in each other to notice the camera flashes. All eyes were on them as the walked down the staircase into the main ballroom. Woman envious of both the gown, and the fact Kyoya was escorting her. Men murmured amongst themselves about how the youngest Ootori had snapped up one of Japan's most eligible bachelorettes, how her father was refusing all marriage proposals. Boys stared in disbelief, lusting after the woman encased in violet and silver. "That turned out spectacular!" Kaoru announced meeting them at the base of the stairs. "Still think gold would have suited better." Hikaru sulked, sliding up to his brother. Both twins wrapped an arm around Violetta, Kyoya taking a step back to allow her the limelight. She was laughing as they pulled her onto the dance floor, spinning them between her. "May I cut in?" Kyoya caught Violetta around her waist mid spin, holding her close. Vi laughed, tucking herself in under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. "Course." Kaoru smiled, hooking his arm through Hikaru's and dragging him off the dance floor. Kyoya ran his hand up her arm, before folding his hand around hers, his hand resting on her hip. Violetta's hand replaced her head on his shoulder, allowing him the lead.

#ouran high school host club #Ouran High Host Club #Kyoya x OFC #Kyoya #Kyoya Ootori #Lady Violetta Tatsuya #Kyoya / Violetta #ouran fanfic

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erintoknow · 5 years

Text

Adrestia

i started this fic over a month ago and only recent finally figured out how to actually write it dang blast

fallen hero: rebirth, no spoilers, ~1.9k words

“Watch out, that’s Puppetmaster!”

A spike of adrenaline courses through you and you can’t help but cackle as you dive feet first through a a stack of boxes, sending crates of delicate electronic equipment everywhere. “Out of the way losers! I’ve got a a timetable to meet!” You can hear alarms sound around you as the factory goes into full alert, the clanging of barring gates. You grin under the mirror sheen of your helmet. That suits you fine, keep the small fry penned up and out of the way? You’re too kind.

The wall in front of you collapses into dust and you tear through the office, grabbing at papers at random. What you take doesn’t actually matter, compromising their records is the goal here. Still you make sure to capture as much as you can on your in-suit camera so you can review everything later. You never know what kind of dirt you’ll find.

Damage done, you refer to your map, dissolve another wall and follow your thread out, back to the main entrance. As expected by this point, its Lady Argent, hands at her sides poised to rush you, a half-circle of rent-a-cop security goons behind her to block you in. “A factory, Puppetmaster? This a step down for you.” She hunches down, fingers lengthening into sharpened claws.

Your face twitches under your helmet. “Don’t read the papers, Argent? It’s Banshee.” You hiss. Your voice, filtered through your helmet has a hollow reverberating sound, like a bell. You take a quick count of Lady Argent’s back-up, who’s most pliable to tying up the rest. None of the officers seem to trust Argent. Good. That makes this easier.

The metallic woman looks unimpressed. “Can’t say I care what you call yourself.”

That does it.

One of the rent-a-cop’s guns goes off ‘prematurely’, firing wide to your left, the rest follow in blind panic as you dive to the side. Argent is too focused on you, but with the Rat-King’s help you’re able to pull the rest of the goof troop into your song, pulling their attention in random directions. One of the shots dings Argent in her shoulder, bouncing off to through ground and to her credit she doesn’t look for the culprit, making straight for you.

You run your hand along the ground as you move, leaving a split in the asphalt as the Nanovores chew through material. Lady Argent tries to cut you off so you encourage two of the goons to stumble into her way as you continue your circle around them. You can’t afford to move slow enough for a deep groove, but if this works as planned, all you need is to prime the cut.

If it works.

Argent huffs, shoving one of the men the side, only for the another to conveniently take position between the two of you. “Get out of the way!” It doesn’t slow her down long, but it’s enough for you to finish the circle. Under your helmet you grin, heart pounding.

All that’s left is the magic word. You give the Rat-King the command to pull the strings and yank everyone back in.

You dash forward and slide down, just under the swipe of her claws. She turns to stab down at you as you come to halt. You roll out of the way and kick her arm aside on your way back up.

You check to make sure everyone’s inside the circle you’ve carved through the asphalt. “Look alive boys,” is all the warning you give before an explosion rocks the ground under everyone’s feet. You leap back as the asphalt caves in under their feet. The coast is clear enough for the moment that you can risk taking a quick check of everyone’s mental state; a lot of fear and alarm, but the headcount is still the same. You think.

Hopefully.

You shake your head. Focus. Don’t get distracted.“Well, that’s not supposed to be there!” You call down to Argent, exaggerating the sarcasm in your voice. You watch Argent and the rest pick themselves up, clear rubble off their buddies. You have to steel your heart against it, remember who they are, what they represent. You admit though, Argent makes it easier, she’s staring up at you, a single silver middle finger outstretched.

You try not to laugh. Focus. Remember the goal. Don’t get distracted. “Maybe instead of chasing ghosts you should take a look around down there, hrm? Might be surprised what yo-“ You cut yourself off, the Rat-King pulling your attention away just in time to sidestep Herald's dive.

That’s a surprise, is Herald's back in action already? Weren’t they keeping him on the press circuit while his leg healed? Well, that’s his mistake to make, you suppose. You strike at his back as he goes past and send flyboy spinning head over heels down into the hole. Is he strong enough to carry Argent out? You don’t intend to stick around and see, it’s time to make yourself scarce.

You don’t need to hear the stomping of boots in the hallway to know your time is almost up. You seal the envelope in your hands and push it across the desk to the man in the three piece suit cowering before you. “Looks like the party has arrived. Do consider what we’ve talked about, won’t you dear?” He hesitates so you reach into his mind and give him a push before stepping away. By the time the riot police have broken down the door the envelope is gone, inside his vest.

You watch the police fill the other end of the room, shields up and guns drawn. The idiots. They’ll kill your hostage if they shoot like this. You don’t see or sense any of the Rangers. That’s just fine with you, if maybe a little strange. The man in charge steps forward, hand on the trigger finger. “Banshee, you’re under arrest. We have you surrounded.” You don’t need to read his mind to know from the look on his face and the way he’s holding his gun that the man is regretting coming in to work today. What does the LDPD think they’re doing? They’re no match for you. Sure, you aren’t immune to bullets, but when has that ever stopped you?

You reach out to his mind and encourage him to lower his gun before he sets off the whole room. “Banshee?” You laugh, the distorters warping it into a shrill, discordant noise, then say innocently, “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

You crouch down, bracing yourself, placing a hand on the floor. You’ll only have a second before the tension of situation wakes them up again. “I’m just a ghost.” There’s a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen and then the nanovores eat a hole in the floor directly beneath you, dropping you down. You grunt, letting the armor absorb most of the shock, though the landing still plays hell on your knees. You’re going to regret this in the morning.

Above you the room erupts in shouts of alarm and someone fires their gun, setting off another gunshot, then another. You grimace in frustration and reach back up to give them a metaphorical shake of the shoulders. You can’t have them killing your new plant.

You break into a run, following your thread to the nearest elevator shaft and breaking the door open with a mixture of force and nanovores. As you make your escape sliding down the elevator shaft you can’t stop yourself from humming a few bars, the chittering of the Rat-King creates an accompaniment in the back of your head.

Hitting the basement level you barely manage to clear the doors when Lady Argent is on you, all knives and quicksilver. Her claws dig into your arm before you’re able to get her to back off with an uppercut to the head. Argent flexes her jaw and gives you a predatory grin. “I had a feeling I’d find you down here Ghost.”

You study her face, waiting for a sign of any sudden movement. Getting predicted like this is embarrassing but you need to save the over-analysis for when a woman capable of opening you up like a can-opener isn’t staring you down.“Ghost? I– I wasn’t being literal up there.” You’ve got to reassert control of the situation. You make sure to put an edge to your voice, “It’s Méabh, sweetheart.” You just came up with that one on the spot. You kind of like it. “If you’re going to play lap dog, at least remember to fill in the incident report form correctly this time, will you?”

Argent’s grin turns into a scowl. “Ugh. I don’t actually care,” and she moves in.

The subway tunnel shudders, loose bits of concert drizzling down. An abandoned pet project from a self-obsessed billionaire thinking they could revitalize a city located on fault line with an underground rail system. Rich people. It had been a good hideout for a while. Now?

Now you can feel your heart pound in your throat as the two of you exchange blows. When you try to slide past her, Lady Argent is ready for you, raking claws against the side of your armor, trying to find a point of purchase to pry you apart. You grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you. It’s a stupid move, and you pay for it with razor filings running down your sides but because it’s stupid she doesn’t expect it and you’re able to knee her in the gut and kick her away.

You hate fighting Argent in an enclosed spaces like this. It’ll be a game of attrition as to whether you can get away before she can land a clean hit. The two of you are back to circling each other when you bump up against a support pillar.

Maybe….? You mentally check your map.

You’ll need to stall Argent. “Well! We met again, Lady Argent.” As you talk you rest your hand on the concrete pillar beside you, coaxing the nanovores to get to work. “Accosting a private citizen in the sanctity of their own home? People are going to talk.”

Lady Argent narrows her eyes, “Méabh.”

“You remembered this time, I’m touched.”

There’s a shark-toothed grin and the distinct feeling that she’s sizing you up. “You haven’t changed your name yet?”

“Oh, still thinking it over.” You give a theatrical flip of your hand. “I don’t suppose you have a suggestion?”

“My only ‘suggestion’ is bringing you to justice..” She keeps her focus trained on you, ready for the moment you make a move. Part of you is surprised she’s still letting you talk. Is backup on the way? That’s not Argent’s style.

“That’s a good thought about justice.” You rap your armored fingers against the pillar, testing to see if it’s hollowed out yet. “There’s been a distinct lack of it in this city, don’t you think?” …Maybe you should go with your first choice for a villain name? You’d been resisting because it seemed, well, too obvious. But nothing else was feeling right.

“Oh please, is boring me to death with clichés the best you can do?”

“See, it’s that kind of thinking that’s the problem. Lets the real bad guys stay on top.”

Argent finally notices how you’ve kept your hand pressed to the pillar, and growls. “What are you up to?”

“Are you talking about, like, in general or just right now?” You can’t help it, you cackle. “Because I’ve got a list.” You push hard against the concert. The stone breaks like glass and the ceiling sags from the sudden lack of support, tiles crashing down around you. “Right now?” You drop your voice for effect. “Adrestia is cleaning house.”

#fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fhr #fhr/Ariadne #mc #lady argent #villiany #make up your mind chickadee

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rougespecial-blog · 5 years

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sweetheart hand pt. 2 // brian may

summary: a continuation of sweetheart hand. after the party, the (art) studio.

a/n: mostly fluff and then some smut. sorry for the delay! if tumblr hasn’t sorted out their tagging shit by now...... hm. this is around 5,400 words. i was thinking about this twombly work when i was describing the painting. also can you believe this image cause i can’t.

there’s something terrifying and invigorating in equal measure about a blank canvas. you stare the expanse of white down determinedly, crossing your arms and trying to conjure something up in your mind’s eye. it’s a beast of a thing, five feet tall and six feet wide, and anything you try to visualise comes up short. fuck it. you’ve been avoiding it for weeks. you’ll just have to dive in.

you’ve hit almost every mark of your normal afternoon pre-painting routine - the curtains are thrown back to let the natural light in, you’ve made yourself a strong cup of tea and there’s a note on the door in case anyone decides to call around. the only thing left is to take the phone off the hook. it’s an old bakelite monster with a rotary dial - you could afford to replace it, but you’re fond of its look. plus, the horrible, grating sound of its ring is reason alone to stop it from disturbing your painting.

well. not that you normally have any hesitations about it. you haven’t done anything so undignified as waiting around for someone to call since you were a teenager.

———-

it was only after you’d kissed brian on saturday night that you realised you’d probably been a goner since he leaned carefully against the kitchen counter and asked you for a glass of champagne. the hours you spent with him had been so easy, slipping by in what felt like minutes. there was a quiet measure in the way he carried himself, the deliberate way he chose his words even when he was speaking a million miles an hour.

and the kiss itself. not the first, really, but the second one. the one he pressed to the softest part of your inner wrist. watching you with those clear eyes, the whole thing so stupidly intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. after that, there was no hope at all. you had mumbled something absently about fixing the record, pulled back - hesitant but dimly aware you needed to gather your thoughts for a moment. when you turned away from the record player he was standing there all tall and willowy, waiting for you, arms folded. there was the slightest tilt to his head, the way men ask questions. yes, you had thought, in response to nothing in particular. and you kissed him again.

when you found tom at the end of the night - or start of the morning, rather - and asked him to call a cab, he had taken one look at you and grinned from ear to ear. you knew you were probably an embarrassing colour, lips flushed and clothes slightly askew. you didn’t even want to think about the state of your hair. he was bitterly disappointed, though, when he started to interrogate you in the taxi home.

‘was he good?’ you shot him an incredulous look. ‘that’s none of your business.’ ‘oh, my god. you didn’t shag him?’ ‘don’t make me dignify that with an answer, please.’ ‘i can’t believe you.’

it was a reaction you were accustomed to from tom - the polite term for his taste in lovers would be indiscriminate - but you found that you couldn’t even muster up pretend-annoyance at his prying questions. you were too content, watching the city slip by and thinking that your memory of the past few hours already felt like the kind of vivid dream you have on the edge of waking up - the ones you want desperately to remember. you had just kissed brian - for an age, like a teenager - curled up on a loveseat, paying no mind at all to the few strangers in the room. his hands were gentle at your neck, in your hair, under your blouse. you’ve been a grown woman for a while now, and you still felt your stomach flip when he touched his mouth to the hollow of your throat.

———-

it’s monday morning, now, and you haven’t shaken the feeling. it’s elusive, almost intangible - somewhere between anxiety and anticipation, the feeling of closing your eyes before a kiss. you had taken a pen and scrawled your number on brian’s arm before you left, pressing your lips to the last digit, right at the crease of his elbow. as a joke, mostly. but he had promised he would call so seriously that you found yourself believing him. stupid, you know, the idea that he wouldn’t meet a hundred women as charming as you and twice as good looking every weekend. better to enjoy it for what it was.

still, you leave the phone on the hook.

you’re a little embarrassed with yourself as you make your way to your palette (more of a drop sheet these days, really) and begin to mix. you wonder briefly about the colour of embarrassment, but the more paint you pour the more you realise what you’re after is the colour of a glance. a colour that looks the way someone else’s mouth tastes. it goes on in broad strokes - you want to cover the canvas in it, to feel like you’re wrapped in it. the shade you end up with is a champagne pink like sunburn, streaked through with hints of a vivid red. a little derivative, maybe, but you can work more into it.

your studio is the ground floor of your townhouse, what used to be a fairly spacious foyer and sitting room. creating it had been a labour of love over an entire spring a few years back. your own handiwork, mostly, tearing out walls, painting, varnishing until you ended up with the space you wanted. a good half of the floor space is covered in tarpaulin, with canvases, paint and brushes strewn wherever you like. it looks chaotic, but you know where everything is at a moment’s notice and there’s no one here to ‘helpfully’ tidy up after you - one of the main reasons you had to stop sharing a studio with tom. the rest of the room is still half a lounge, mostly wasted due to your reluctance to let guests in. things you’ve collected yourself and gifts from friends fill the place - huge potted plants, turkish rugs, a gorgeous painted trunk tom brought home from glasgow. and, of course, the ‘lounge’, a low-slung thing that’s mostly an excessive collection of pillows and throw blankets. for when you inevitably need something to throw yourself on mid-work, convinced you’ve never painted anything halfway decent in your life.

your canvas is totally awash in grey and pink, stained with red - like the blood-shock colour around the pit of a peach - when the phone rings. you nearly drop your paintbrush getting to it, only stopping to admonish yourself for being so pathetic. you let it ring once, twice more, and then pick it up.

‘hello?’ ‘hi, er - is this an alright time?’ you smile to yourself, tracing a groove in the wooden sideboard with your fingertip. ‘i’d say so, yeah.’ ‘great, that’s - oh, fuck, sorry. i haven’t - it’s brian. you know, from saturday night.’ ‘brian from saturday night? i’m not sure i - oh - wouldn’t happen to be a maths teacher, would you?’ his laugh is bright and genuine. ‘i think we got halfway through a good chat about fractals and then something came up.’ ‘of course. i’ve really been hanging out to finish that.’ ‘well, does this afternoon work? i can pick you up if you feel like a coffee.’ you pause, glancing over at your canvas. ‘i’m slightly in the middle of something,’ you confess. ‘on a bit of a momentum swing.’ ‘oh, of course. i should’ve - bit of short notice, sorry. are you free next -? i mean, if you’re not -’ your cheeks are nearly hurting from your smile, now. ‘brian. did you want to pop around instead, maybe? i’ll make you some coffee.’ he pauses for a moment, as if taken aback. you wonder if he thought you were just trying to avoid seeing him. silence, still. you falter a little. ‘or - you know, tea. if you’d prefer. it’s not contingent on the drink.’ ‘are you painting?’ the question surprises you, along with the shyly hopeful way he asks it. you look over at the canvas, at the layers of vivid underpainting starting to form something.

‘i am, actually.’ ‘sorry, it’s just - i remember you mentioning on saturday night that you didn’t really like anyone around your studio while you’re working.’ ‘i do make exceptions, you know.’ ‘that’s what i mean,’ he laughs. ‘i like being the exception.’

your exception arrives not a half-hour after you give him your address and hang up, with a knock at the door so gentle you nearly don’t notice it. you know it’s him, but you glance through the peephole anyway. he’s waiting patiently, clutching something in brown paper under his arm. the shade of stubble across his face is darker than saturday, and he’s wearing a pinstriped linen shirt that only makes him look leaner. he grins when you open the door, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek. ‘this note,’ he laughs, gesturing at the handwritten thing you’d attached to your door. ‘i’ve never known a lady to say such things -’ ‘oh, piss off. artists are persistent types. you have to be clear.’

you lead him in, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s paused in the threshold of the studio, looking around. ‘this is gorgeous,’ he says. ‘you’re telling me you keep it all to yourself?’ ‘mostly,’ you shrug. ‘i wanted to say - sort of a thank you, i guess, for letting me -’ he holds the paper bag out to you, one nervous hand moving to the back of his neck as you take it. you bite down on a smile. a book, and two blood oranges. you look up to him to say thank you, but he starts rambling before you can. ‘the oranges were just - god, your neighbour has the loveliest tree hanging over their fence, i suppose you’ve noticed, and you mentioned that you forget to eat when you’re painting - so i just grabbed them - and i thought the colour of them was so brilliant -’ ‘thank you, brian -’ ‘the book’s the main thing, of course, it was outside that old bookshop on king and i saw mark rothko and thought of you straight away, so there’s - you might already have a copy -’ ‘i don’t. really, thank you. i love them.’ he finally quiets, smiling softly. you lean up towards him, in what might have originally been a plan to kiss his cheek that quickly became sidetracked. you have never been known for self control. he makes a soft, surprised noise as your lips meet his but responds quickly, bringing a hand to your jaw. ‘thank you,’ you tell him again.

you set your gifts down on the coffee table, gesturing for him to make himself comfortable somewhere among the clutter. ‘i can make you a cup of coffee or something - i’d just like to finish up this corner, and then you’ll have my undivided attention.’ ‘take as long as you like,’ he says earnestly. it’s only then that he takes a proper look at the work in progress behind you. his mouth falls open slightly as he leans forward to inspect it. ‘you can get closer, if you like,’ you smile. ‘it’s not a gallery.’ ‘it bloody well should be,’ he says. you might have rolled your eyes if someone else had said it. ‘did you - this is all you? god, it’s brilliant.’ ‘careful, i’ll get a massive head. it’s really only a tenth done. if that.’ ‘well, yes, it’s unfinished - but there’s such a sense of motion - the colour, it’s like -’ ‘it’s a kiss,’ you say, half unsure of whether you sound insane. ‘it’s a painting of a kiss, i suppose.’ the look he gives you is brilliant, his eyes full of quiet mirth but also a certain fondness. nothing needs to be said, really. ‘i’ll go and get you that coffee.’

when you come back downstairs he’s pacing the room carefully, taking in the works littered around the place. he tilts his head - something you’re starting to realise is a habit - as if considering each one in turn. you’d feel scrutinised if it was anyone else, almost embarrassed. you’ve been painting for half your life and still aren’t really used to the feeling of strangers looking at your work. but with brian, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a stranger. you indulge yourself for a minute, perched at the bottom of the stairs, watching him.

‘fair’s fair,’ you call out eventually. he turns to you, an eyebrow raised in question. you nod at the acoustic guitar leaning against the lounge. it was a gift from a friend, and you’ve always liked the look of it even if you have no idea how to play. ‘i’ve shown you mine. let’s see yours.’ ‘excuse me,’ he laughs. ‘you’ve seen mine. at the launch party, remember?’ ‘that was different,’ you say, crossing the room to hand him the cup of coffee. ‘you had a band, and an adoring audience. that would be like seeing my work with all the trimmings at a big gallery opening. this is just me. now i want just you.’ he chuckles at your point, but doesn’t argue it. sitting down, his legs are almost too long for the sagging lounge. he places the coffee at his feet and picks up the guitar. ‘any requests?’ you know he’s being facetious, poking fun at your total lack of knowledge where his music is concerned. as of last time you met, that is.

you sit next to him, curling your feet under you and leaning on the back of the lounge comfortably. ‘i do have one, thanks very much,’ you say. ‘i forced tom to loan me one of your albums. he had the first one -’ ‘christ, you’re being serious -’ ‘- and it’s the second track, i think about a minute in - there’s this lovely little guitar part. i mean, it might be lovely, i haven’t the faintest if it’s actually special.’ ‘doing alright, you mean.’ he’s smiling the same way he did when you realised he wasn’t a maths teacher - looking perfectly amused. ‘that’s the one. i’m no good with names.’

carefully, he starts to tune the guitar. you laugh at his initial wince - it hasn’t been tuned properly since you got it, you suspect. when he’s satisfied, he strums a tentative few chords and gives you a cautionary look. ‘i haven’t played this song in a little while,’ he warns. ‘i’ll be forwarding all feedback to rolling stone,’ you say, and he huffs out a laugh, elbows you half-heartedly.

the light, pretty melody that’s been stuck in your head since you first heard it sounds infinitely lovelier being played right in front of you. you’re about to say as much when brian surprises you with a line of the song. should be waiting for the sun, he sings, half under his breath. you had no clue he even could.

he looks up and locks eyes with you, plays a few more notes and then falters to a stop. ‘sorry,’ he says, his smile sheepishly crooked. ‘you just - that felt like stage fright, for a moment there.’ ‘i’ve been told i’m extremely intimidating,’ you joke. ‘well, that, and…’ he trails off, looking towards your unfinished canvas, then back to you with nothing but sincerity in his eyes. ‘i’d really love to kiss you again, if that’s -’

you don’t give him time to finish the sentence. he barely has time to move the guitar out of the way, mindful of the fresh mug of coffee on the floor, as you close the distance between the two of you and kiss him resolutely. he cards a hand through your hair to cradle the nape of your neck, and you feel the press of rings you hadn’t taken notice of before. it’s hard to get proper leverage sitting side-on like this, so - without really being cognisant of what you’re doing, more running on instinct - you sling one leg over his and straddle his lap. he breaks the kiss, leaning his head back. you sense he’s thinking the same thing that you are - that this is where you finished off the last time you saw each other.

‘i haven’t stopped thinking about this since saturday night,’ he says. his hand is still resting in your hair, and he curls his fingers in it gently. he has some of the loveliest hands you’ve ever seen on a man, you think. one is resting on your thigh, and you trace a fingertip along the ridge of his knuckles. ‘i always take the phone off the hook when i paint,’ you confess. ‘but i couldn’t. not while i was thinking that you might call. is that ridiculous?’ ‘thinking that i might call? i mean, that’s ridiculous. the idea that i wouldn’t.’ you smirk, slipping a hand under the neck of his shirt to rest at his collarbone. he’s warm beneath you, and you can feel his steady heartbeat. ‘you’re a rockstar, brian. don’t bullshit. i’ll know.’ you nod at your impromptu lie detector, your palm pressed against his heart.

‘no bullshit. alright, then.’ he rocks forward, catching you with a hand at the curve of your back. ‘sunday morning, i called half the artist collectives in london asking after you. i wanted to see your works before i saw you again.’ ‘so you could decide whether or not to pursue me?’ he laughs, ducking his head and pressing a soft kiss to your chest. ‘so i could understand you better. i thought it’d be like a window into your thoughts. but then the only collective who knew you -’ ‘drunk tank?’ ‘- that’s the one - they told me you were all sold out at the moment, and the only gallery pieces you had were at some place that didn’t open until tuesday - so i thought, sod it, i’ll come and see them in person.’ he raises his eyebrows expectantly. you pretend to mull the story over, biting your lip. ‘it’ll do.’ he clasps a hand around yours, clutching it to his chest. ‘it’ll do! have you ever felt a pulse this honest?’

‘alright,’ you concede, laughing. ‘now mine.’ you take his hand, pressing his fingertips against the base of your throat. ‘sunday morning, i woke up at tom’s around midday and the first thing i asked him was -’ ‘hang on,’ brian mutters. ‘can’t quite get it properly -’ you cut yourself off, inhale sharply as he kisses your neck, openmouthed. ‘go on,’ he mumbles. he runs his tongue along the pulse point, teeth grazing against your skin. ‘prick,’ you laugh, curling one of your hands in his hair. ‘the first thing i asked him was if he had any queen records, and he laughed at me, but loaned me your first.’ ‘god, you’re sweet,’ brian says fondly, but he’s distracted, kissing further down your neck. those careful hands at your ribcage, inching the hem of your shirt up.

impatient, you pull the shirt over your head. you’re not wearing anything underneath - you never do at home. he makes a short, pleased noise when this becomes obvious, almost a disbelieving laugh. his hands are fleeting, wanting to be everywhere. his lean fingers, silver-ringed, teasing against your ribcage, breasts, nipples. you arch your back into the touch, feeling - somehow - even less inhibited than you were on saturday night.

you make short work of the buttons on his shirt, parting it to reveal what shouldn’t be the body of a rockstar - there’s a grace to him, a certain lightness - there’s the height, of course, and he’s broad in the shoulders but still somewhat delicate. you love the look of him. the dark hair beneath his arms and between his hips, the line of his collarbones, the pronounced adam’s apple. as you’re taking him in he doesn’t stop touching you, leaning forward with one hand spanned across your back, kissing the inside curve of your breast.

it’s tempting to just let him keep going at this forever. his attention is ardent, eyes closed, taking one nipple in his mouth and running his thumb over the other until they’re so sensitive it makes you whine. when he gently pinches one and rolls it between his fingers you gasp, grinding your hips down against his. he groans, humming against your skin, the vibration sending a shudder through you.

it’s with complete seriousness that he looks up at you and says your name. ‘yeah?’ he presses a wet kiss to your sternum, hands still at your breasts. glances up again. ‘you can have me,’ he says, ‘any way you want me.’ you feel your stomach drop when he says it, taking in the earnest look and the shining eyes and the flush that reaches his shoulders. you press your splayed fingertips into the middle of his chest. ‘finish undressing, then,’ you tell him, half-smiling.

you watch him shrug off the rest of his clothes as you stand and step out of your jeans. before, the sight of him in your studio felt natural, comforting. now it sends an electric thrill through you, the diminishing evening light casts over him as he lounges back and waits for you. you move to kneel over him and he rests a hand on your thigh, otherwise waiting for you to decide. his cock is jutting hard against his lower abdomen. you trace a hand gently up it and feel his palm twitch against you as he tenses.

‘what did you want?’ you ask him, thoughtful. ‘on saturday night?’ ‘i wanted to know everything there was to know about you,’ he says, his voice raw. you wrap your hand around his cock to punctuate your meaning. ‘i mean - what did you want?’ the sound he makes is half laugh, half shaky groan as you touch him. ‘i wanted to fuck you right there,’ he says, ‘everyone else be damned. i wanted to make you come.’

his hand trails up from your thigh to between your spread legs, his index finger tracing a teasing line. when he feels how wet you are, he groans. ‘i wanted to feel this,’ he continues, running his guitar-calloused fingertips over your clit. you balance yourself with a hand at his chest, still touching his cock in slow tandem with what he’s doing to you.

when you edge forward and lower yourself over him, aligning yourself, the head slides against your clit and his breath catches. he’s propped up on his elbows to watch, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. there’s a stillness to him as you take him inside, giving you time as you adjust to the stretch. when you bottom out, all of him inside you, he tips his head back and swears hotly, the end of it turning into a groan. he brings one hand to you, touching your clit as you rock your hips back and forth.

‘just like that,’ he murmurs. ‘get yourself off on me, come on -’ he starts raising his hips to meet your movements, just slightly, enough that you feel impossibly full, the press of him deep inside. when you arch a certain way he hits a spot that nearly knocks the wind out of you. he must see your reaction, the way your eyes flutter shut in bliss, because he laughs, fondly, and thrusts up again at the same angle. you can’t stop the moan that escapes you, then. he hums, delighted, quickening the slip of his thumb over you and touching your face gently with his other hand. ‘god, you’re not far off, are you?’

you can only shake your head no. it’s a little embarrassing, but you’ve been keyed up since saturday and all there is now is the desperate need to finally come. you turn and kiss his palm, bite the heel of his thumb gently. he squeezes you minutely, affectionately. he’s hit your rhythm, in perfect tandem with your body, a shine of sweat across his chest. you clutch at him as the wave of your orgasm starts to pool in your belly. he fucks up into you, gasping, the hands that were gently touching you now gripping your thighs tightly. almost accidentally, he hits that angle and you nearly collapse forward, your orgasm hitting sharply. when he’s sure you’ve ridden it out - sure that he can’t tease anything more out of you - only then does he collapse back against the lounge, stomach clenching with his deep breaths and - there it is - soft laughter.

‘my god,’ he says, slinging an arm across his eyes. ‘i’d imagined it. but i couldn’t- you looked perfect.’

when you think your legs are working again you raise yourself from him, gently, moving to kneel beside the couch. when he realises what you’re doing he sits up, tries to assure you that you don’t have to, but you quiet him. ‘i want to,’ you say. ‘besides, i haven’t got - ah - anything.’ and he laughs at that, laughs until he’s cut off with a groan as you take him in your mouth.

it doesn’t take long, his hands in your hair, warm against the cradle of your neck. when you glance up he’s watching carefully from eyes half-lidded. a gaze that would be filthy from across the room, let alone now. after a moment he finds your hand at his thigh, gives it a polite, if desperate, clutch as a warning. he holds his breath as he’s about to come and then releases it in a string of profanity, of your name, of wordless moans.

lying back against cushions and blankets - half of them strewn on the floor in your hurry to get into his lap - you watch him watching you. you can’t help but be reminded of sitting in that armchair across from him at the party, feeling helplessly seen. not just that appraising look of his but some of the things he said, striking insights into the way you think. he reaches over to trace his fingers up the inside of your arm.

‘penny for your thoughts?’ ‘i never got to finish that corner,’ you say. he chuckles as he pulls himself to stand, tugging his boxers and trousers back on. you take his linen shirt from the heap on the lounge and slip it on, doing up a couple of buttons. as you stand up and step back into your underwear, he’s shaking his head at you. ‘i won’t make you leave without it,’ you laugh. ‘indulge me.’ he relents, picking his coffee up from the foot of the sofa. it must be completely cold by now. ‘did you -?’ you bite your lip, apologetic. ‘i might have to make you a fresh one.’ he waves his hand dismissively. ‘i can manage. do you want one?’ ‘that would be lovely, actually. the kitchen is upstairs, to the left.’

you wander over to your painting, your tools untouched since brian’s arrival. taking a slender paintbrush and a board covered in silver-grey paint, you slowly track a thin line across some of the pink, thick enough that it drips down the canvas. the look of it is ephemeral, spectral over the shocking red. you hear brian’s footsteps down the stairs. they slow when he notices that you’re painting. it takes all of your effort to stay facing your work, finish the line by tapering it off into a swathe of ghostly white. by then he’s right behind you, close enough to lean in and kiss the back of your neck. the work can wait. you turn and he hands you a mug of coffee.

‘so what does a monday evening look like for you?’ shit. you’d mostly forgotten about the outside world. ‘there’s this exhibition opening tonight,’ you say. ‘friend of a friend of a friend. i’ve been sort of dreading it for a while now, but that’s how these industry things are.’ ‘stay in, then. with me.’ he’s so matter of fact that you nearly laugh. ‘i can’t - there’s an expectation, i guess - sort of an etiquette thing -’ ‘you’re sick. you’ve come down with something awful.’ ‘and instead?’ ‘instead we can go up the road for a bottle of wine and some dinner,’ he says. ‘you can complain about these industry types, i’ll make you laugh effortlessly, you’ll be dying to see me again.’ you roll your eyes at him, taking a sip of your coffee. ‘that first part sounded alright.’ he sticks out his lower lip, humming as he pretends to weigh it up. ‘alright. let’s start there.’

you almost feel like you’re getting away with something - the rush of bunking class in high school - as you walk over to the phone and set your coffee down. you don’t realise until you’ve dialled tom’s number and it’s started to ring that brian has followed behind you. you don’t pay it much mind until you hear one knee hit the floor with a soft thud. you look over your shoulder at him, eyes wide, and mouth something along the lines of what are you doing? he only grins. he knows exactly what he’s doing. his broad hands are at your thighs, gently turning you to face him. as he runs a thumb upwards, pressing against your inner thigh, tom picks up the phone.

‘hello?’ ‘hi - tom - it’s me,’ you say, flustered. ‘hello, darling. where am i meeting you tonight?’ brian leans in and kisses the top of your thigh, then noses at your underwear. one of your hands flies to his head, curling in his hair. ‘um - that’s the thing,’ you manage, slightly impressed with yourself. ‘i don’t think i can make it.’ ‘oh, god, why on earth not? don’t make me do it alone.’ in one sudden movement, brian leans in and hooks your leg over his shoulder and pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, pressing his mouth against you. you gasp, leaning back against the sideboard for balance. knowing it’s probably a losing battle, you try to hide the sound in a fake cough anyway. ‘i’m sick, tom - really sick -’ you cough again to stop yourself making a helpless sound as brian licks over you, hot and insistent - ‘- i’ve been really tired all day.’ ‘oh, you bitch. you’re with him now, aren’t you?’ brian looks up at you, the same dark, intent look in his eyes as the one just before you’d kissed him. one hand holding your thigh for leverage, the other at your cunt, a long finger pressing inside you. ‘yes,’ you say - more of a squeak, really. ‘sorry - i’llmakeituptoyou.’

you all but slam the phone into the cradle, leaning back, finally letting out the sound you’d been keeping in - albeit barely. brian sucks a wet kiss over your clit, then turns his head to graze his lips against your thigh, his stubble scratching gently. ‘that was extremely underhanded,’ you tell him, breath heaving. ‘sorry,’ he says, though his crooked grin tells you he’s not in the slightest. ‘i thought i could wait until you were finished, but the way you looked…’ ‘the way i looked answering the phone?’ ‘yes, answering the phone.’ he kisses your thigh again, nipping the skin playfully between his teeth. ‘or walking to the phone.’ another kiss. ‘or hearing the phone ring.’ you scoff at him, rolling your eyes. ‘come on. don’t act like i’m the first man you’ve brought to his knees,’ he says. ‘oh, that was good! now i know where all these lyrics come from.’ ‘i’ve been told i’m a natural crowd pleaser.’ you slip your leg off his shoulder and nudge him with your knee half-heartedly. too pleased, too satisfied, too smitten to really tease him back. ‘come up here, then. show me.’

#bohemian rhapsody fanfic #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #!!!!!!! i hope this works lol

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riseandshinelittleblossom · 5 years

Text

This is a lighthearted one shot. Written by @explorer-of-gems @whenyourheartskipsabeat and myself. I feel bad taking credit since these lovely ladies did most of the work, but here it is!

Summary: Liam and his friends meet up with a trio of best friends in a nightclub in Cordonia.

Pairings: Liam x OC (Clare), Hana x OC (Gwen), and Maxwell x OC (Elsa)

Disclaimer: Just borrowing these lovelies from PB

“I can't believe I let you two drag me out here!” Gwen rolled her eyes, elbows propped on the bar of the overcrowded nightclub.

“Well why the hell not? We're on vacation, Gwennie! We should be out on the town..” Clare piped up. She was already a couple of drinks in and feeling kind of loose.

“I know, it's just not my scene is all.” The usually blonde woman commented. She took another sip of the umbrella-baring cocktail that their third friend had picked out for her.

“It's not really mine either. But so far the beaches haven't produced my one true Cordonian fling for this vacation, so I'm willing to try things Clare's way.” Elsa laughed.

“See? That's the spirit, Els! Now come on you two sticks in the mud...I'm ready to dance!” Clare flipped her brunette hair over her shoulder as she grabbed her friends and sauntered out to the floor.

*******

“It still just feels so naughty, sneaking out of that palace like this. Liam won't you be in trouble?” Hana asked, her petite hips swaying gently to the music that was reverberating through her body.

“If he gets caught.” Maxwell commented, clapping the King on the shoulder.

“I am the King, I can do whatever I want...within reason. I have this evening free and the guards will find me eventually I'm sure.”

Maxwell could scarcely contain himself any longer, the beat filling the air causing him to involuntarily begin to fist pump.

“Guys I've got to get out there! I'll see if I can find us four foxy ladies to dance with.” He winked.

“Three, Beaumont. I'm not here to find love on the dance floor. I'm here to make sure you don't get my best friend killed.” Drake commented and Hana giggled.

“Come on, Maxwell. Bring on the foxy ladies!” She exclaimed taking the brunette man by the hand as he lead her to the floor. Liam rose to his feet, following his best friends onto the dance floor. Maxwell was a wild one, the definition of a party animal.

*********

The ladies were lost in the rhythm of the music. Elsa was bobbing up and down awkwardly, this just wasn't her scene. She felt embarrassed.

Why did she allow her two best friends to drag her here.

Clare never had a problem fitting in at any club. She was looser than her friends and always up for a good time. Definitely the more confident member of the gang.

Gwen was more like Elsa. Although more bookish, nerdy one could say. She was sure she looked vexatious as she watched her two friends dance. She ran a hand through her purple-pink hair, courtesy of Elsa and Clare daring her to dye it. Ordering a fancy drink with fire in it , she sat on the bar stool. Suddenly she felt a small tap in her shoulder. Turning, she saw a brunette with an olive skin complexion in a flowy pink dress smiling nervously at her.

“Hello. I'm Hana.” Gwen smiled politely.

“Gwen.” She informed.

“So . . .” The brunette shifted on her feet. “Would you dance with me? Please? I was dared by one of my friends to get your number, but I don't quite understand what that means ...” These quickly spoken syllables were ended vaguely as the shy beauty looked, presumably, to one of her friends appearing quite lost.

Gwen followed her line of vision to see a man with shaggy brown hair and an amused smirk sipping his drink as he enjoyed the show. She rolled her eyes at the dude.

Turning to Hana she smiled,

“I'd dance with you . . But I don't quite know how to do so . . ”

“I agree,” Hana responded glumly, “This swaying style and the upbeat music is very different to what I'm accustomed to. Every dance lesson I ever took was with a partner. And more of a waltz or tango, sometimes a ballet.”

“You know ballet, the tango and how to waltz?!” Gwen's eyes nearly popped out. “I didn't know I was in the presence of a grande danseuse!”

Haha blushed fiercely , “Oh well . . .Not really.”

Gwen smiled as she grabbed her hand and took her to the dance floor. “Hmm. But do you like it ?”

Apparently her nervousness at being embarrassed had vanished the second this hottie appeared. They smiled as they twirled around each other dancing to the funky tune.

Hana’s eyes widened with surprise, “I, um ...You're the first stranger to ask me that.”

Hana's elegant pianist hands subconsciously went up from Gwen's neck to tangle her fingers in her vibrant colored hair.

”I'm sorry to hear that.” Gwen smiled sadly. Hana gazed at the hot stranger. There was definitely something different here. She slowly started to smile.

“Don't be.”

Gwen shuddered at the whisper as the brunette’s breath danced across her skin.

“Why?” Gwen cocked an eyebrow.

“Because if you weren't the first one who actually liked me for me, I wouldn't be able to kiss you.”

Gwen blushed magenta at Hana's smirk. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

Drake’s jaw dropped open as he saw Hana- little shy but graceful and talented not-to-mention gorgeous Hana- making out with the stranger in the middle of overcrowded dance floor.

“My wallet’s gonna be empty soon.” He grumbled.

*********

Liam and Drake were still on the dance floor, The grumpy marshmallow was finally getting down with the beat- all it took was a finger or ten of whiskey and he found his groove. His best friend, the usually stoic King glanced at Drake but something or someone had caught his eye behind him.

A lump formed in his throat at the sight of this beautiful dancing Queen. He gazed down her body, biting his lip. This brunette beauty could dance. She looked absolutely stunning in her blue cocktail dress with silver, killer heels. He elbowed his tipsy friend in the side, nodding in her direction.

“Wow.. She's got some moves,” he grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Geez, Drake. I point out a beautiful lady and that's all you can say?” Liam tutted, rolling his eyes.

“Eh.. Whatever, Li. I told you, I'm not here to score. But go forth and conquer.” he chuckled, tapping him on the shoulder.

Stoked by Drake's words, Liam moved through the crowded dance floor to her side. Clearing his throat and tapping her on the shoulder, his heart leapt when he saw the beautiful senorita up close. She was even more beautiful now. He smiled at her as he tried to form a sentence, his brain apparently falling at the first hurdle.

She smirked, waiting patiently for him to say something, anything. Confusion etched across her face as the smile faded.

“Hi!” she chuckled, trying to get the handsome stranger to talk. “I'm Clare…. And you are?”

“I'm...um..uh…um,” Liam sighed, still struggling to form even a slightly coherent sentence.

“You are um...uh...um?” she smirked, stifling a laugh. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Ahem. My name is Liam and it's a pleasure to meet you, Clare.”

“Hey!! He speaks!” she chuckled as she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, sorry. I was mesmerized by your beauty.” Liam smiled as he took her hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“Well, aren't you a charmer?”

“I try… especially for a beautiful dancing queen like yourself.” Liam smirked at her. He was so smitten with this brunette vixen. She was so unlike any other woman in Cordonia. “Can I dance with you?”

“Sure… if you can keep up.” she grinned as she sauntered away from him, glancing over her shoulder.

“Oh, I can.” he grinned, biting his lip as he followed her like a lovesick puppy.

*********

A few feet away, Maxwell laughed.

“Score one for His Majesty.” he grumbled to himself as he watched his King follow the bouncy brunette. He turned quickly on his heel, his broad shoulder connecting directly into the bare spine of a small-framed redhead. She stumbled forward, the rum and coke in her hand splashing down the front of her backless, sequined top.

“Hey! Watch it, jerk!” she squealed.

“Oh my…” Maxwell's eyes went wide as he took in the sight before him. “I'm so sorry, Sweetheart. I'm a bit clumsy, I suppose.”

His azure eyes connected with hers and her jaw went slack.

“I..it was an accident. Probably my fault anyway.” she told him shyly, swiping at the stain on her top.

“Well at least let me walk you to the bar. We can get some napkins and I can replace your drink.”

Maxwell didn't wait for her to reply before taking her by the elbow, one hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the drink station.

When they reached their destination he grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and offered them to the girl.

“Thanks,” she laughed. “I'm Elsa, by the way.”

“Maxwell. It's nice to meet you, although I wish it had been under better circumstances. I'm pretty sure I've ruined your blouse.”

Elsa waved her hand, “A blouse can be replaced, but a chance encounter with tall, dark hair, and handsome? That's a once in a lifetime thing.”

She winked, shooting him a couple grin and Maxwell felt his cheeks flush. He leaned into her sniffing the air.

“So that was a rum and coke,then?” He asked.

“Bingo, Hotshot. That's quite the sniffer you've got there.”

*********

Back on the dance floor, Liam was struggling to keep up with the beautiful girl on his arm, she had such energy. She was like the female version of Maxwell. He shuddered to himself- that was a comparison he wanted to forget. She was so damned gorgeous. Glancing around quickly he saw men staring at her, ogling her. He didn't like that one bit, she wasn't an object.

He dropped his head to hers, bringing his mouth to her ear.

“Are you staying nearby?”

She looked up at his baby blue eyes. Biting her lip, she nodded.

“Yeah I'm staying down the road at the hotel by the water.” she smirked as she planted a kiss on his cheek.

He was about to say something, when he noticed a crowd of clubbers pointing at him, whispering amongst themselves.

“Shit..” he sighed as he dropped his head back to her ear “Do you want to get out of here?”

“And do what?” she grinned as she brushed her butt against his crotch.

“Ahem…” he smiled as he let out a low groan, feeling his member twitch against her “How about we go back to your place and have some fun?”

She grinned at him as if he had said the magic word. Turning in his arms, she splayed her hands on his muscled chest, slowly brushing them downwards to his member, rubbing it through the fabric.

“Let's go.” she purred at him with a wink. Grabbing his hand, as she led him across the dance floor to the exit sneaking kisses and touches as they went.

*********

Maxwell and Elsa sidled up to Drake, Hana and Gwen at the bar, pointing at Liam leaving the nightclub with his arm wrapped round the beautiful brunette.

“Heh.. I think our King has scored.” he laughed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Gwen and Elsa's hands flew to their mouths as they gasped.

“Wait, who is that man with Clare?”

Drake and Hana shot Maxwell a look.

“Okay, seriously guys… who is that man with Clare?” Elsa scowled at her new friends, waiting for an answer with her eyebrow raised.

“Ahem… His name is Liam and…..” Hana sighed clearing her throat.

“And??”

“He's the King of Cordonia….” Drake mumbled under his breath.

Gwen and Elsa stared at each other, dumbfounded.

“He's… He's the King? Like, of the whole country?!” their mouths dropped open.

“Damn, girl. That's one hell of a holiday romance. She's definitely got the moves….” they smirked to each other.

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lizartgurl · 5 years

Note

I wish you would write a fic where Emma’s celebrates her first birthday at the manor

ANDI I LOVE THE NEW ICON IT’S MAGICAL

And this…this got way too long.

Mary and John Grayson were murdered on April 1, 2006. A little over a month later, on May fifteenth, Emma Mary Grasyon, her mother’s namesake, was supposed to celebrate her twelfth birthday in a place that was still strange, where the only family to celebrate with her was her little brother. Neither of them were in a mood for celebrating.

Emma woke up that morning with eight-year-old Richard snuggled against her, squeezing the life from his plush elephant, Zitka, named for their elephant friend from the Circus. She had been a “Welcome Home” gift from Mister Bruce, an attempt to make the vast and empty Wayne Manor feel more alive.

Emma had lion of her own, named Simba. The circus had tigers, but not lions, so her little friend was named after the Lion King who also had to witness his father falling to his death.

Emma tossed Simba across the room, he softly hit the door and fell to the floor as Alfred the Butler opened it.

“I assume Master Richard had another nightmare?” He asked quietly.

Emma nodded, slowly sitting up. Being called “master” or “miss” was still something she was getting used to.

“Then I will bring his uniform in here and make sure to keep the pancakes warm. I believe it would be best to let him sleep for now.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, and made her way over to the wide expanse of a vanity, brushing her back into a ponytail, just as she always did.

Alfred didn’t leave, dusting off Emma’s school uniform that had been pressed and set out on her desk chair the night before.

“Did you sleep quite well last night, Miss Emma?” He asked.

Emma snapped the elastic into place, “Just fine,” She assured him.

“If I may,” Alfred pulled a burgundy red ribbon from his pocket, carefully tying a bow around her ponytail.

“Happy Birthday, Miss Emma,” He gave the young girl a soft smile beneath his perfectly groomed mustache.

Emma made the effort to smile up at the old butler. “Thanks, Alfred.”

Thirty minutes later, Richard was running down the stairs, struggling to straighten out his school uniform as he sprinted to join Emma, Bruce, and little ‘Bella at the breakfast table.

“Morning, Champ,” Bruce said, not looking up from his paper. Emma noted that he was reading an article by Clark Kent, one of his friends, about the ridiculousness of the argument of “Batman versus Superman.”

“What’s he say?” Emma asked. Richard punctuated her question by piling tons of whipped cream onto his stack of pancakes, already drenched with syrup. Five-year-old Annabella watched Rick’s experiment of how high he could pile the cream before it fell over with wide brown eyes.

Mister Bruce grunted, “That Batman and Superman would work better together than fighting.”

Emma gave a “huh,” slowly chewing her strawberries and pancakes.

“I bet Superman would win.” She said, taking another bite. Bruce raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“No way!” Rick declared, already standing on his chair. “Batman has all those gadgets and stuff! And he’s smart! He’d find a way to stop Superman!”

“But why would they be fighting?” Annabella asked, forgoing the fork and eating her pancake with her bare hands. Alfred rushed forward with a damp cloth to stave off the syrup.

“That’s a good question, sweetheart,” Bruce leaned forward to kiss his daughter’s forehead, “But you are right, Richard, I bet Batman could take Superman down if he really had to.”

“Well,” Alfred interjected, “I happen to think that Superman could whip Batman’s tush if he so desired.”

Emma, Richard, and Annabella burst into laughter. As if Alfred’s accent weren’t already perfect, the way he said “tush” was still hilarious to a couple of kids.

“Okay, okay, I guess they probably wouldn’t be fighting in the first place,” Bruce stood up to help Alfred clear the dishes, “In fact, there’s been talk that they’re going to start a team with some of the other heroes.”

“Like Wonder Woman?” Emma gasped.

“And Flash?” Richard asked through a mouth of whipped cream.

“And the other heroes who helped them with that alien invasion a couple months ago. Now chew with your mouth closed, champ, and hurry up, we gotta get you two to school.

Middle School would have been absolute Tartarus for “charity project” Emma Grayson if it weren’t for Bette Kane, Bruce’s cousin and heir to her own fortune. Emma giggled as Bette stood up in the middle of social studies to give a five-minute rant about how the myth of Medusa was just a bunch of Greek men with their togas on too tight projecting all their fears onto a woman and how that was still evident in today’s society. The teacher was stone-faced for ten minutes while the class applauded her.

“Alfred told me it was your birthday, today, so I brought cupcakes!” Bette said at lunchtime. They were huddled in their own corner of the courtyard, no one was going to bother them here. There weren’t any candles allowed on school grounds, but Bette sang her the “happy birthday” rendition from Emperor’s New Groove, and Emma had another reason to laugh, though she regretted that the chocolate cupcakes Bette brought tasted nothing like Aunt Kayla’s birthday cakes.

Not even Rick had wished her a happy birthday, she sighed as the three Wayne children arrived home from school to an empty manor. Bella, still in kindergarten, ignored her homework in favor of the gardens, and since Rick was still in elementary school and summer break was fast approaching, he followed. Alfred went with them to supervise after making sure that Emma was content in the Manor’s library with a plate of milk and cookies.

Emma soon abandoned her boring few assignments, scouring the shelves for anything interesting to read. Her eyes fell on a copy of “The Mask of Zorro,” novelization. It sounded only slightly more interesting than “Pride and Prejudice”, but it seemed that it didn’t want to come off the shelf.

With a yank, she managed to pull the book forward, but not completely off the shelf. The floor beneath her feet shook, and that section of the shelf crawled forward, just enough that it could slide in front of another section.

Right behind the shelf was a cool, dark staircase, illuminated with tiny blue lights, curving down and out of sight.

She jumped back, unable to process this discovery, and a few minutes, the shelf returned to its proper position with a loud cranking noise.

She turned and ran from the library.

Alfred was in the kitchen, patching Annabella’s knee, so Emma ran straight for Rick, lining up sticks and pebbles to create his own version of Gotham city.

“Richard! You gotta come see this, now!” It only took minimal dragging to get Rick all the way to the library, but a lot of cajoling to get him to stand right there and be patient while she found the right book. Then, he was the one dragging her down the stairs to see what was hidden at the bottom. Emma was the only one of them who noticed when the door shut behind them. With no apparent way out, she followed Rick to the bottom.

“Woah,” Rick gasped as the stairway opened up into a cavern. Stalactites still hung from the top, interspersed with small groups of annoyed, fluffy bats, but the stalagmites on the floor had been cleared for catwalks, computers, suits in display cases, a giant playing card, and a giant mechanical dinosaur, of all things.

“This is awesome!” Rick shouted to make his voice echo with the dripping water.

Emma had a sneaking suspicion that they shouldn’t be there, and tried to back up, only to run into a wall. But it wasn’t a wall. She turned, and it was Bruce, glaring down at the both of them, arms crossed over a giant, black, Batman symbol on his chest.

“You’re him,” she squeaked.

“Batman!” Rick gasped.

Bruce just sighed, “I didn’t think you would be home from school yet. Get back upstairs, both of you.”

“What? Why?” Rick whined.

“Because I’m Batman, and I said so.” Bruce growled.

Richard glared at Batman’s cape as he sashayed away, confident that was enough to make them obey.

“You can’t make me, you’re not my dad!” He ducked under Bruce’s arm and swung from one catwalk to the next, deftly balancing on the rails as he rain, taking shortcuts a grown man like Bruce couldn’t hope to achieve, even if he was Batman.

As out-of-place as she felt, Emma was curious, about the cave, and about her foster father being Batman. He had been there the night that her family died. Why didn’t he save them? Batman was supposed to be a detective, wasn’t he? So why didn’t he stop Mister Zucco?

Inflamed by a sudden bout of anger, Emma leaped up onto the railing, copying Richard as she ran after Bruce. She landed on his cape for a moment, enough to distract him from grabbing Rick, and then leave him confused over which child to catch first. That gave her enough of a lead to make it to his giant computer.

Bruce caught Richard fairly quickly, a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder as he steered him to where his sister was waiting, but not quite hiding. He was a little ticked to find Emma sitting in his favorite chair- the only chair in his hideout, as a matter of fact- in front of the computer, eyes narrowed and arms folded tightly.

“You know where Zucco is,” She accused coldly, the GPS on display for all to see on the screen behind her.

Bruce couldn’t find an answer as Richard looked up to him, shocked and hurt.

“You were there that night,” Emma stood up, rigid and shaking, “You could have stopped him, and you didn’t. And now Mami, Tati, Aunt Kayla, and Jonny are dead, and Uncle Joseph is paralyzed for life.”

“You’re right,” Bruce admitted, which surprised both Graysons, “I could have stopped Zucco and his men, and I didn’t. I doubted that Zucco would do something so bold in plain sight, and it cost your family their lives.”

Emma’s eyes stung and Bruce released his grip on Richard and took her by the shoulders, kneeling in front of her. “That’s why I took you two in, because I know what it’s like to lose your family, and because I promised myself that I was going to stop Zucco from ever doing something like this again.

Richard sniffed loudly, and Emma wiped her own tears with the hem of her school jacket. “Let us help you,” She begged.

“No,” Bruce said with finality. He stood up, pulling Batman’s familiar cowl over his face. “You two stay here. I’ll take down Zucco and be back in time to tuck the two of you and Annabella into bed.”

Still, Emma and Richard persisted, following him down to the “Bat-Mobile, waiting on a rotating platform to shoot off in any direction at a moment’s notice.

“You two can’t get involved with this,” Bruce insisted, “It’s too dangerous.”

“So was the acrobatics we did at Haly’s.” Emma huffed.

“No. Now get upstairs before I call Alfred,” the top of the Bat-mobile slammed shut, and shot off through the waterfall that concealed the cave’s entrance from the rest of Gotham.

Emma’s hands shook. She didn’t care if Bruce was really batman or Wonder Woman or whatever. Tony Zucco had killed her parents, and she wasn’t going to stand by and let him hurt anyone else, either.

“Emma,” Richard said quietly, “Do you know where Alfred put our old costumes?”

Emma knew her little brother was thinking what she was, and as she grinned at him, her eyes landed on a couple spare masks and sheets of kevlar, just big enough to be called a cape.

Batman caught Zucco and his men breaking into the Graysons belonging left in storage under Joseph Grayson’s name. When he woke up, he was strapped to a spinning target on the grounds previously occupied by Haly’s circus. You could still see some of the darkened dirt where the Graysons had fallen. Zucco was throwing knives at him with reckless abandon, while his men watched and laughed.

“Look out, Batman!” Zucco cackled. Another knife flew through the air, aimed for his heart, but something knocked it to the ground. A dull batarang, one he’d left behind at the cave for Alfred to sharpen.

“Excellent shot, Miss Grayson,” Alfred’s voice manifested over his comms a moment later, as one of Zucco’s thugs had his feet yanked out from beneath him, and another was struck with a batarang to the shoulder.

“Alfred,” Bruce growled so that Zucco couldn’t heard over the sudden commotion.

“I’m afraid that they insisted, as you typically do,” Alfred quipped. “And I can’t very well quarantine all three children in the house at once.”

Bruce rolled his eyes as Emma Grayson, golden wings splayed across her red tunic top, eyes hidden behind a mask, and protected by a yellow skein of kevlar, sliced away the rope holding back his hands.

“Thank you,” He grunted, crouching to the ground. His belt had been stolen, but he grabbed a knife from the target board. With a flick of his wrist, it knocked the fedora clean off Zucco’s head.

Out of Batarangs, Richard and Emma each grabbed a couple knives that had nearly killed Batman to fend off the thugs that were now running at them.

Then Emma saw the gold dangling from Zucco’s pocket. Her mother’s necklace, a robin on a branch, made from solid gold. A Wedding present from John to Mary. She screamed with fury, using her knife to slice the hand Zucco was using to reach inside his coat for another knife. She went for his face next, but it was Batman who grabbed her wrist, blocking her from Zucco, who lay whimpering on the ground.

“He deserves it!” She spat, “He killed them!”

Bruce kicked Zucco in the face with his heavy boots, down for the count as he gripped Emma’s arms tightly.

“It isn’t up to us to decide who lives and who dies. That’s how they think,” He nodded to Zucco, then to his men, who had been casually taken out by a few easy flips from junior acrobat Rick.

“Emma,” Bruce tried again when she refused to look him in the eyes. “Would your parents want you yo give in to your anger, to go down a path that’s very hard to return from, just for them?”

Lip trembling, Emma shook her head, and threw her arms around Bruce, sobbing. Rick joined them a moment later, also crying.

They watched from a distance a few minutes later, as Commissioner Gordon arrived to arrest Zucco’s gang for murder, and thievery. Emma absently traced a heart in the dirt with her toe, holding Richard’s hand.

“I’m proud of you,” Bruce said as the police caravan drove away, “Both of you.”

He drew something from the pouch of his retrieved utility belt. “I believe that this belongs to you,” He held out Mary Grayson’s robin necklace to Emma, securing it around her neck.

“Happy Birthday, Emma.”

#lizart writes #my ocs #nightingale #young justice oc #batfam oc #other people's ocs #shadow #nightwing #robin #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman

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