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gael-garcia · 6 months

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SAG-AFTRA deal on AI is looking terrible, actually 😬

#SAG Actors, I want to make you aware of some of the language in the #AI portion of the tentative SAG agreement.

Though SAG leadership made much effort to protect members in AI, there are many issues you should look at. I have saved the most serious issue for the end. 1/

If a “digital double” is made of you during a film, they must get your consent and inform you of their intentions for its use, EXCEPT "when the photography or sound track remains substantially as scripted, performed and/or recorded.”2/

This is going to be left up to the studios/streamers’ interpretation. And so, any subtlety regarding how you chose to look or move for the character during the shoot could potentially be changed. Your hair, your clothes, your make-up, etc. 3/

Also, your physical placement in a scene can be changed, like your nearness or distance from another character, or even moving you from the front seat of a car "to the back seat of the car." This suggests not much agency on your part to control your character or performance. 4/

Under “(Digital Double) Use Other Than in the Motion Picture for Which the Performer Was Employed,” it says that "No additional compensation shall be required for use of an Employment-Based Digital Replica that was created in connection with employment of a performer who was… 5/

… employed under Schedule F.” It appears that if you were paid Schedule F for the first film, you don’t get paid for the sequels, where they’re just using your digital double instead of you. I suggest members get sharp clarity on this. 6/

If a “digital double” was made of you in a separate manner (on another film or privately made by you), it's referred to as an “independently created digital replica” (ICDR). There is no minimum compensation listed for studios/streamers to use an ICDR of you in… 7/

… any film they want; only consent. You will apparently need to negotiate any compensation on your own. 8/

Neither consent nor compensation is necessary to use your “digital double” if the project is "comment, criticism, scholarship, satire or parody, a docudrama, or historical or biographical work.” So, you could find yourself in a project you never consented to… 9/

…doing things you never were informed of, for no compensation at all. This is the “First Amendment” argument the #GAI tech companies are fond of trotting out. 10/

Another consent exemption is granted to "adjusting lip and/or other facial or body movement and/or the voice of the performer to a foreign language, or for purposes of changes to dialogue or photography necessary for license or sale to a particular market. 11/

The substitution of swear words is not new, but that your “body movements” would be changed suggests you’ll be used like a type of rag doll in post-production. 12/

There are still a few concerns with the Background Performers’ details, but there’s one that stands out as especially sad. "If the Producer uses a background actor’s Background Actor Digital Replica in the role of a principal performer, the background actor shall be paid… 13/

…the minimum rate for a performer… had (they) performed those scene(s) in person.” So, if an extra is “bumped up” to a principal cast member, they never get to experience that position on a set. But you get a check after the fact. 14/

And the most serious issue of them all is the inclusion in the agreement of “Synthetic Performers,” or “AI Objects,” resembling humans. This gives the studios/streamers a green-light to use human-looking AI Objects instead of hiring a human actor. 15/

It’s one thing to use GAI to make a King Kong or a flying serpent (though this displaces many VFX/CGI artists), it is another thing to have an AI Object play a human character instead of a real actor. To me, this inclusion is an anathema to a union contract at all. 16/

This is akin to SAG giving a thumbs-up for studios/streamers using non-union actors. This would be like the @Teamsters putting in their contract that it’s A-OK for the employer to utilize self-driving trucks instead of them. 17/

@Teamsters I find it baffling that a union representing human actors would give approval of those same actors being replaced by an AI Object. And don’t forget, those AI Objects are a mash-up of all actors' past performances, adding insult to injury. 18/

@Teamsters Bottomline, we are in for a very unpleasant era for actors and crew. The use of “digital doubles” alone will reduce the number of available jobs, because bigger name actors will have the opportunity to double or triple-book themselves on multiple projects at once. 19/

@Teamsters The use of these “digital doubles” will most likely preclude the need of a set or the use of many @IATSE crew and @Teamster drivers. 20/

@Teamsters @IATSE @Teamster Audition odds will change. Winning an audition could become very difficult, because you will not just be competing with the available actors who are your type, but you will now compete with every actor, dead or alive, who has made their “digital double” available for rent … 21/

@Teamsters @IATSE @Teamster … in a range of ages to suit the character. You also will be in competition with an infinite number of AI Objects that the studios/streamers can freely use. And a whole cast of AI Objects instead of human actors eliminates the need for a set or any crew at all. 22/

@Teamsters @IATSE @Teamster You are a complex & remarkable human. Don’t let the CEOs convince you otherwise. Seek out filmmakers & showrunners who value your basic worth & committed to human workers on their projects. These are the ones who will make work that matters. We’re going to be OK. Just hold on. /

#sag aftra #sag aftra strike #ai #sag aftra deal #sag aftra contract #text #post #justin bateman #wtf yall. board too eager to say yes i was wondering why their vote was 86%#who voted against

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jamneuromain · 2 months

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Hii!!! I just read A Whiff of Blood and it was amazing!!! Omg its been a while since I read Lloyd being caring without having another motive. This is pure goodness 😍

I was wondering if there could be a scene where y/n asks to leave work early bc she has a date. Lloyd says fine but ends up at the same restaurant as her with Danny to spy🤣 and y/n saw them and this will be the first time she yells at her boss. how would the boss react? falling for her even more or trying to save his dignity and ego 😎

Hi babe! So sorry that this one-shot is taking forever to come out (and I've made a little adjustment to it :3 hope you don't mind

A Rush of Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader, Lloyd is being a (surprisingly) softie(?

Summary: You asked whether you could leave early for a date, while Lloyd decided not to keep his feelings bottled up any more.

W/C: ~4.5k

A/N: This is the final sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love for Mob!Lloyd<333

Lloyd can’t help but look at your empty seat for the fifth time in a row. The boring-ass meeting for the quarterly revenue of his properties drags on, yet you haven’t returned for a while now.

Lloyd checks his watch.

It’s been fucking two minutes and forty-two seconds since you excused yourself with your phone buzzing in hand.

The ticking watch gets him more annoyed and impatient by the second. Two minutes and forty-four seconds, two minutes and forty-five seconds, two minutes and forty-six - where the heck are you?

You pick up the call as soon as you reach your desk, “Allie?”

“Hey hon. Bad news, I’m stuck at the airport. There has been a huge blizzard here in Alaska and all flights are banned from taking off.” Allie remains her chirpy sound, but a hit of restraint peeks from her words.

Allie has been your friend since high school. You’ve bonded over the mutual love of boy bands during your teen years. Though you have moved on from your love of pop singers/bands, Allie maintains her enthusiasm for K-pop idols.

“I’m in the middle of a conference, so, sorry about making this short,” you sigh, “I assume they can’t get any plane in or out for today?”

You scheduled for fine dining with Allie at one of Lloyd’s restaurants later this evening. At this rate, you are no longer surprised if he owns the Hollywood landmark too.

“Not in this damn weather, no.” She curses under her breath, “Not for three days as far as I’m aware.”

“Jesus.” You rub your temple as it is throbbing, “Sorry about the weather. I’ll reschedule the dinner.”

“No… don’t be.” Her hesitation on the phone sounds slightly suspicious.

“Allie?” You raise your voice dangerously, “What did you do?”

“Don’t be mad,” she holds a pregnant pause, “I’ve got this really cute boy – he’s a year behind us, by the way – and he’s working now in LA, Scott McCall – that’s double C in McCall, and I planned to introduce you two during dinner.”

“The fu- Allie!” You whisper-yell in the phone, “You’re gonna dump me and let me have dinner with a completely random person?”

Allie squeezes a few dry laughs over the speaker, “Eh- Sorry?”

“You better pray there’s no plane in three days because I’m going to crawl through the phone lines and strangle you if I have the chance.” You sputter a curse, “And burn all your K-pop albums.”

She gasps, “NOT THE ALBUMS!”

Typical Allie.

“Seriously though, you had the chance of meeting him two months ago... at an exhibition. The gallery downtown near the bakery? The Retro-modern Exhibition? The one you left early? It took him a lot of strength to get to me and then to you, so … just try, okay? If it doesn’t work out, it’s fine.” Allie sounds unlike her usual self, “If it works out … I guess you’d have a great story to tell your kids.” She can’t help but joke at the end.

“Yeah yeah, ha-ha, very funny.” With a sigh, you agree to her match-making plan, “Fine. But I really have to go back to work now, ‘kay?” You roll your eyes instinctively when the other end of the phone passes a squeaky “yes” to your ears, “I’ll be there on time. Dinner, six thirty, he’d better not be late.”

“You’re my life-saver. Mwah! Love ya’ bye!” After blowing a kiss via mid-air, Allie hangs up the phone as if fearing you will regret your decision in less than a second.

You end the call at the same moment the door to the conference room swings open, and out came a few executives for his real estate.

“Sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you put your phone into your pocket, straightening your shirt because you have been leaning on your desk. You know how much Lloyd hates disturbance, and creases on a shirt.

Lloyd purses his lips with a frown, an expression he wears often to indicate he’s not happy.

“If it’s okay for you, Mr. Hansen, I’d like to leave early today.” You request rather boldly.

For three years of your work as a secretary, the only other time you left early was a medical emergency of your mother. She fell down the stairs, hit her head, and had a broken femur. Though it wasn’t much of a big deal when she was transferred to a ward later, it scared the hell out of you to take the call from the local hospital, telling you your mother was sent to the ER in an ambulance.

Lloyd was generous enough to grant you a week of leave, but you got back on Day 5 after making sure your mother was well and taken care of.

“Is your family alright?” He asks, clearly still remembering the last time when you got kidnapped on the street, for which he had to assign Claire – a bright young lady, whom you’ve grown fond of over these past weeks – to act as your bodyguard and occasionally your assistant. Under Lloyd’s orders, she went to oversee the security cam installation at your apartment door.

“They are fine.” You suppose it’s better to tell him the truth regarding your leave, rather than having him meet you in his restaurant a few hours later, “I uh… have a date tonight.”

“A date?” He raises his eyebrows, repeating syllable by syllable, “A date, you say?”

“Yes, a date.” It feels like a betrayal all of a sudden, a betrayal of your work ethic. Your throat tightens, “Ahem, I’ll be leaving at five, if that’s alright with you, Mr. Hansen.”

Lloyd studies you for a moment.

“Okay.” He shrugs, sounding carelessly, “If you finish the work for today.”

You are pretty sure that there’s no more itinerary for either Hansen or you after this meeting, but you still play your role as a dutiful secretary and ask, “Anything else you would like me to do?”

“Call James and tell him to pick up the loan I gave out to the Dawson scum, five mil’ in cash or non-bearer bonds. If Dawson returns even one dime short, I want his arm broken. And deliver the drycleaning to my place by five tonight. Tell my butler, while you’re at it, he can hold off the repair down at the basement, this can wait till January. And,” he pauses, “I want you to tell Dani, head to her place personally, and tell her that I’m cancelling the Cuban appointment.”

“Yes, Mr. Hansen.” You pick up the landline straight away, ready to dial James’ number.

“You are not taking any notes whatsoever.” Lloyd narrows his eyes, “What are the tasks I just gave you?”

Lloyd seems extra grumpy today, plus you are not a note-taker anyway. You cover the speaker with your palm, though puzzled as to why he’s moody all of a sudden, but comply with his demands, “Call James, collect the debt from Dawson; get the drycleaning to your house by five, and tell your butler Marlin not to rush on the basement repair; and lastly, tell Dani you’re cancelling the Cuban appointment.” And you have no clue what this “Cuban” appointment is. Darn, Lloyd does keep a whole lot of secrets from you, “Anything else, Mr. Hansen?”

Fuck.

He sounds like fucking Cinderella’s stepmom dumping beans into the fireplace. Since when did he get off on ordering you around doing meaningless chores? He could perfectly do them himself, not to mention some of the biddings he has just told you were unnecessary – the basement repair? It was a damn doorknob getting stuck, not a pipeline that leaks like a faucet.

“Claire’s not here, take Avik with you.” He grumbles, returning to his office and slamming the door shut.

Avik is a silent, tanned man who often acts as Lloyd’s muscle. He emerges from thin air – or probably from some corner, standing rigidly behind you like a statue.

“Hey Avik, mind if I drive?” You put a warm smile on your face, swinging the car key on your finger.

Avik merely nods, gesturing that he’ll walk in front of you.

After picking up Lloyd’s drycleaning and telling Marlin the exact words from Lloyd's mouth, you head off to your next assignment.

Dani.

Dani is a woman approximately your age, speaks fluent Spanish, English, and Italian, probably a couple of other languages that you couldn’t understand too, and rumored to be Lloyd’s ex.

She is a charming lady living in a mansion away from the glamourous nightlife of LA, but not shy of parties. In fact, you’ve accompanied Lloyd to a few that she hosts, and if you ever need a party planner, she would be your No. 1 choice – if you can afford it.

You tap on the steering wheel somewhat anxiously, checking your watch. It’s five to six, and Dani’s residence is halfway across the city, and you have yet to finish the job that Lloyd told you to.

It feels like double standards when you explicitly told Allie that your date cannot be late.

Dani’s lovely butler, Mrs. Santos invited you in, leading you to the guest room.

“To what do I own this honor of having Lloyd’s personal assistant arriving at my place?” Dani flips her hair and giggles.

“Lloyd has sent me to tell you that,” you still remember the strange code phrase word by word, “He’s cancelling the Cuban appointment.”

Dani carefully studies you for a moment, before bursting out laughter, “He… He said that? The Cuban appointment?”

Darn, even when she’s laughing, she’s charming as always.

“Yes.” You answer her question, “If there’s no message you want me to forward to him, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Dani hangs a mysterious smile on the corner of her lips, her honey-toned skin practically gleaming as she speaks, “None. But if you don’t mind me asking, do you have any plans for tonight? I want to borrow you for one of my parties – you know,” she shrugs, “connections and all that.”

Dani’s parties are always filled with delightful cocktails and exquisite people she knows from all over the world. It’s a perfect chance to refresh your connections with all sorts of people – thieves, CEOs, fences, politicians - part of the reason why she asked you to stay.

Yet, you were already booked for tonight.

“Sorry,” you politely rejected, “I’d love to, but I have a date tonight.”

“Well, you-” Dani points at you with her perfectly manicured finger, sounding cheerful, “are welcome at my place, anytime. You can bring your date here even, if you need a place to chill.”

“Thank you, Dani.” You respond, “Have fun at your party.”

Dani cocks her head to the side. The bright flashy diamond earrings peek from under her hair, swaying as if they were about to fall. She hums thoughtfully before wishing you a pleasant evening.

As soon as you step out of her estate, Dani picks up her phone and dials Lloyd’s number, “I recall a certain someone claims that he needs absolutely no help landing a girl,” She twirls her hair around her fingertips, chuckling, “the Cuban appointment, Lloyd? Wow, you must be really desperate. Now, you want me to help you sabotage her date? That I can do...”

With Lady Luck by your side, you’ve successfully reached the restaurant five minutes early with someone already at your table, while Avik sits at a table on the other side of the aisle, keeping an eye on you.

“You must be Scott.” You pull your chair to sit, trying your best to ignore the bulk of muscles on your righthand-side, watching as the young man across the table hastily puts down his water glass and stands abruptly with his face flushed.

“H… Hi.” He can barely stop the grin on his face, “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Allie is right. He is cute.

Scott scratches the back of his head, plopping down on his seat, asking hesitantly, “If this is not too intrusive, how did you get a reservation? My friend has been dying to try this place for a week and the nearest spot available is three months later.”

“My boss is a close friend of the restaurant manager.” Lloyd practically runs this place. The manager gets scared shitless every time he needs to deliver the quarterly books to Lloyd and he asks you to do it in his place. Hence, he’s greatly in your debt. But you are not going to tell Scott you work for the largest gang in the city, so you feign your interest and ask, “What about you? Allie didn’t tell me what you do for a living.”

His face goes flushed pink again, “I uh… I work as an assistant curator,” he adds, “but I paint.”

“Oh really? That sounds fun. What do you paint?”

Scott chats on and on about his love for contemporary art and various ways of making a beautiful moment permanent when you notice Avik stands up and leaves.

“… sorry,” you apologize to Scott, for you have missed the question he asks, having paid too much attention to the bodyguard Avik who doesn’t seem like returning, “what was that again?”

Scott shuts his mouth momentarily before managing a small smile, “I was just thinking that we should get the waiter. Is there anything you like on the menu?”

The food was divine, and the wine was savory too. Though the waiters seemed a little distracted – you guessed it was probably their boss telling them to stay away from your table for you to enjoy your date. After exchanging pleasant conversations, you know it’s time to end this lovely date.

Before getting the check and leaving, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Scott nods with his curls bouncing.

Scott is nice.

He is smart, funny, and cute with his untamed curls.

You put on a thin layer of lipstick. Looking into the mirror, the polite smile breaks away when you watch your reflection.

Scott is a decent guy. Why don’t you like him?

A vague outline rises in your head, before evaporating.

Stop it. You tell yourself. Scott is a nice guy. You should enjoy this date.

Only when your figure disappears behind a few tables, did someone sit on your spot.

“Evening.” A moustache man traces his finger on the cup from which you drank, crossing his legs, “Scotty, right?”

Scott clenches his hand on the arm of his chair, but Avik appears quietly behind him, grabbing his shoulders to have him sit down. A hard piece of metal is pressed to the back of his head. It doesn’t take much common sense to understand that Avik has a gun pointing at him.

“Don’t get all flustered,” Lloyd pours some wine into both glasses, “I’m just here to… be nice.” A wicked grin creeps up his lips as Lloyd continues, “The woman who you’re dating tonight?”

Scott gulps, squeezing a “yeah” out of his teeth.

“That’s my girl.” Lloyd dead-pans, massaging the light smudge of your lipstick on the glass, “So, if you have any wrong idea, or any thoughts about her…” Lloyd has a cold gleam in his eyes, shakes his head and tuts, “Don’t.”

Poor Scott has his face drained of colors. His lips quivering, “I-I’m not- I don’t want to be part of this…”

“Good.” Lloyd smirks. Drinking from your glass, he licks his lips to savour the sweet honey taste of your lipstick, before giving his final order, “Now be a good boy, say your ‘nighty night’s, and get the fuck out of my turf.”

“Boss.” Avik’s eyes dart to the lavatory, signalling that you are approaching this table.

“Aaaand that’s my cue.” Lloyd stands up from the chair, looking content, “Keep this little interaction between us, will ya’?” He pouts, “I’d hate if she gets upset.”

By the time you reach this table, Scott sweats in buckets like he has just been to a sauna.

“Is everything alright?” You can’t help but ask.

“Yeah… yeah.” Scott could barely mask his trembling voice, or keep his eye contact, “I’m … feeling uncomfortable… right now.”

“Is it the food? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“No… I mean, I think so. The asparagus was raw.” Scott wipes the sweat off his pale face, “It’s been lovely, but …”

Your eyes dart to the table where Avik was sitting. Nope, he isn’t there. For a second you thought that Avik might have terrorized Scott into backing out. Such a stupid idea, why would Avik do that? You throw this thought to the back of your head, before suggesting if Scott needs a lift home, or to the hospital.

Scott nearly jumps from his spot upon hearing the offer, which confuses you as he avoids speaking or looking at you, as if you were a plague.

He takes his belongings, bids you good night before sprinting out of the restaurant.

What the fuck have you done???

You trouble yourself with the question when Avik returns to your side without a single sound, “Avik, I was wondering where you’ve been.”

“The backroom where I can observe the surveillance footage, ma’am.” His voice booms, “Shall I drive you home?”

“Yes, I suppose.” You sigh.

Avik gestures for you to walk, but you stop in your tracks.

“Avik?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Did you have any food yet?”

You did not see him ordering anything when he was sitting across the aisle, nor do you believe that he’d risk losing his job over some half-cooked asparagus.

“… No Ma’am.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. The exhaustion of trying to satisfy Lloyd’s tasks and doubting whether he’s being paranoid again takes over you for so long, you seem to lose a little bit of human emotions – neglecting dutiful Avik, as a result.

“Sorry about that, Avik.” You apologize, feeling slightly better that you’ve come to your senses after a long day, “I’ll have them prepare something vegan for takeaway.”

“…thank you, Ma’am.”

Grabbing a waiter passing by, you tell him about your request, before resting on your chair.

Out of sheer boredom, you tap on your glass, scraping the lipstick smudge off the crystal-clear surface with a used napkin.

Avik coughs as if he has just choked on his own spit.

“Everything alright, Avik?”

It seems like you’ve said this for the second time tonight.

“Yes. Ahem. Yes, all is well.” Avik clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Because you can totally have tonight off. I’m more than capable of driving home myself.” You offer sweetly, expecting him to take the suggestion and leave you here.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Avik replies rigidly, his shirt collar tightening around his tanned skin as he speaks, “Thank you, but your safety is my priority.”

You should have known better than to negotiate with Lloyd’s muscle. They follow his orders like workers around a queen bee. Pursing your lips together, you decide not to spend time bargaining with Avik, but scroll on social media to distract yourself.

Avik lets out a long, slow exhale when you are focusing on your phone. He’s great at bodyguarding, but terrible at being a double agent.

The takeaway package arrives shortly – or it could be you are too tied up in the TikTok drama to notice time slipping away from the tip of your fingers. Avik takes the wheel while you sit in the back, trying hard not to think about the sudden change in Scott’s attitude.

It’s not like you don’t enjoy Scott’s company. You do. But Scott’s dashing out of the restaurant leaves a certain impression that you don’t think you’d forget anytime soon. Maybe the food was raw. Or burned. Or he had some pills. Still, it doesn’t explain why he ran out of the place like a bloodhound was chasing him.

Or is there something wrong with you? Something he’d grow repulsive of?

“Stop the car, please.” The thoughts in your head are preventing you from breathing. With Avik’s puzzled frown in the rearview mirror, you shrug, “You can go park the car. I want to have a little walk and some fresh air.”

After what must be an internal debate in Avik’s silence, he slowly stops at the curb, agreeing for you to have your fresh air.

The street is silent, not a living soul in sight. You close your eyes and breathe in the fresh air.

Oh well, maybe the air is not so fresh after all, with the smell of gasoline and dust and … smoke?

You turn around.

Lloyd’s Rolls-Royce follows you like a toddler in small steps, with a hand outstretched from the window that flicks his cigarette stub to the curb.

“Mr. Hansen?” You could’ve been dreaming. Why would Lloyd’s car follow you? Why – “What are you doing here?”

Lloyd steps out of the vehicle, popping a peppermint into his mouth. Crushing the candy with his jaw, he mumbles, “Just having a late-night stroll.”

A ridiculous idea comes into mind, and you ask in disbelief: “Are you following me?”

“No.” Lloyd stares at you straight into your eyes, but you’ve seen him lie better, “This is my turf. And you can’t ban me from patrolling my own territory.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes.

Sure. Patrolling. Very convincing. He just happened to stumble in front of your apartment building among hundreds of thousands of streets.

“Of course.” Maybe it’s the wine, because for crying out loud you would be tongue-tied if you were to say this at work, but the sarcasm drips out of your tone like water out of a broken faucet, because you are not in the mood. At all. “Good night, Mr. Hansen.”

“I had a great night.” Since he counts the scurrying of one horny young man as a win, Lloyd casually drops, “Can’t say the same about you.”

What the heck is wrong with him?

Now it’s definitely the wine that does the talking, as you poke him square in the chest with your index finger, your voice littered with fury, “It’s after-hours, and you don’t own my after-hours, in case you don’t have a watch, okay?”

Lloyd offers his characteristic lop-sided smile, “What - you’re gonna buy me one?”

“No?!” You huff out in disbelief. Has he taken hallucinating drugs? Why on earth is he acting funny? “This is not - look, Mr. Hansen-”

Lloyd steps closer. You get that whiff of smoke from his body, and the musky cologne that he occasionally uses in rare circumstances, and your words somehow get stuck in your throat.

“Lloyd.” He pronounces his name, loud and clear, “C’mon sunshine, lllllloyd.”

Lloyd. The name rolls to the tip of your tongue. It feels natural and soft, unlike Lloyd Hansen himself. But the syllable drives your heartbeat wild. He is your boss. You are obligated to call him Mr. Hansen.

Well, maybe not obligated. But you would feel more comfortable calling him Mr. Hansen. The name Lloyd sounds like an over-step of your work relationship.

Your work. Your beloved secretary job. Which is fine. Which you enjoy, as you handle his affairs with some effort. But the name. He’s asking you to call him Lloyd and that sounds more intimate than what you should be calling your boss.

“I- ” You are at a loss of words. What does he want? Does he want you to be his mistress? Which is ridiculous, because you don’t want to be the type of canary living in a birdcage and sing for him whenever he pleases. More importantly, he cannot be having thoughts about you – or does he want this to be a one-night thing where he could pull up his pants and comment on how long since he had a good fuck?

-stop it. It’s an insane thought. He’s not interested. So are you.

You accidentally look at his eyes, and you recognize the burning desire rooting deep down. It scorches you instantly as your eyes meet, before you lower your head to avoid the demanding gaze.

“You’re my boss…” You mutter weakly, knowing well that this stupid excuse does not prevent you from enjoying (or feeling safe at) Lloyd’s presence – most of the time, when he’s not bloody or throwing punches – or from the plain fact that maybe, just maybe that you feel a little different towards him, and that for the briefest of moments, you wished that he was sitting across the dinner table tonight, taking you out on a date.

Lloyd’s expression goes still for a second.

You can’t tell whether he’s mad or upset.

He sighs, taking a step towards you to close the space between you two, before framing your face in his hands and whispering in frustration, “God, you’re so dumb.”

His lips are soft, contrary to his mean words. They land on you with a bitter taste of burned tobacco, as his tongue swipes the seam of your lips, forcing an embarrassing mewl out of you.

It felt like Lloyd and his roughness. It felt like an iceberg breaking into chucks, whales lifting their head to breathe and the dam that withholds feelings inside your head cracks. It felt … right.

He slowly breaks away the kiss, sighing again, right next to your lips, his moustache making your cheek itch.

“Am I about to get a kick in the balls?” He asks softly, nose gently rubbing on yours.

“No…no.” Not that you don’t want to, because how dares he! Following you and kissing you like that! But because your head turning into a warm mush.

“Good.” He nibbles on your lips, you can feel his lips curving into a smile, “ ’cause I kinda like them.”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.” He lands another kiss on you before pulling away. The bad-boy grin visible on his face.

You feel like you need to say something. Anything. So, you open your mouth and: “Do you want … a cup of coffee at my place?”

Lloyd cocks his eyebrows in surprise, but there’s no way he’d let slip of this chance, “Sure, why not.”

The mush in your brain refuses to leave. Your body acts on auto-pilot, leading you away from him.

You don’t even notice that he’s not following you this time, until he calls your name out of the blue, with a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Yes, Mr. Hansen?”

Lloyd decides to let slip of your poor choice of words this time, simply pointing his thumb in the other direction: “Your home is this way.”

Taglist (Also tagging those who might be interested): @stargazingfangirl18 @sarahdonald87 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @magnificentsaladllama @biteofcherry @petalj @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @thezombieprostitute @yiiiikesmish @warriorblu @vonalyn @notathingjustthere @lokislady82 @irishhappiness @toozmanykids @alicedopey @cakesandtom @universitypenguin @openup-yourmind @helenaeisenhower @wilsons-striped-ties @tittittoee @bean-is-reading @yearningforsappho @esposadomd @salvatoreitmeanssaviour

Find A Whiff of Blood Masterlist here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen fluff #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen fic #mob!lloyd hansen #the gray man #a whiff of blood

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harry-on-broadway · 6 months

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Fancy Dress

Word Count: 3.4K || Rating: M

A/N: So this was supposed to be posted in time for Halloween, but better late than never I guess. It can be read on its own, but I've been thinking of it as a sequel to last year's Harryween one-shot. It's not much, but I hope at least a few people enjoy it. 🫶🏻

***

“Gonna dress up for me again this year?”

Those words had echoed through your head since he’d whispered them in your ear as the first glimpses of dawn pushed through the cloudy London skies. His body, warming yours as he inched closer to you on your pillow, threw off heat, stronger than any radiator you’d ever encountered, and you scooted closer to him in an attempt to ward off the chill of the room.

“What are you talking about?” Your voice was hoarse, still thick with sleep.

“For Halloween.”

“You hate Halloween.” You twisted in his arms to roll over and face him. “You’ve made that clear many times.”

“A man can change his mind.”

You sighed. “What happened to ‘Tour’s over. Let’s do something quiet this year?’ Hmm?”

Harry traced a line down your spine and you shivered under his touch. “Doesn’t have to be a big deal. Can be just the two of us.”

“Well, I’m planning on dressing up as ‘woman who wants to snuggle and eat candy with her boyfriend.’ Accessories include sweatpants and a hoodie, as well as candy and an Apple TV remote.” You felt his laugh against your hair. “Best news of all, it’s a couples costume,” you continued.

“Oh is it?”

“Mmhmm. And if you don’t want in, it’s OK. I’ll just call my other boyfriend.”

“Your other boyfriend?!?!” Harry easily flipped you so you were lying trapped underneath him and began pressing feverish kisses against your skin as he tickled your sides. “You better take that back.”

“Giovanni would never do this,” you laughed.

“He has a name?!”

You laughed even harder as Harry doubled down on his efforts, forgetting about Halloween all together.

***

Harry didn’t let the topic rest over the next couple of weeks, sending pictures of costumes – some tame, some a little sexier – throughout the day, earning a fair number of eye rolls from you.

“What? I’m just trying to brainstorm.”

You looked up from your computer. “Why is this so important to you? Halloween’s never been a big deal. And it’s essentially been a work event for you for the past two years.”

“I mean,” he shifted in the seat. “Last year was really…nice,” he said thoughtfully. “I liked getting to spend time with you.”

“You liked having sex,” you corrected.

“Which technically counts as spending time with you.” He ignored your glare and turned thoughtful. “I’m just kidding, but really, I liked getting to spend a fun night with you and would love to do it again. If you feel the same way.”

You softened hearing how much that night meant to him. “Doesn’t it feel less special when it’s not a surprise?”

“I’m going to be honest, love, I really don’t care how it happens as long as you’re naked in my bed.” There was a slightest hint of a blush across his cheeks, and you felt a heat flame across yours as well. You’d been together for awhile now, with no plans of leaving each other anytime soon, but such an intimate admission felt vulnerable.

“You are such a boy,” you chided, not willing to let him onto the jolt of pride you felt at being so openly desired by him. “But we’ll see how I feel.”

“I can work with that,” Harry said, turning back to his phone, a sly grin on his face.

***

The invitation arrived a few days later. A friend of a friend who he hadn’t seen in ages was throwing a “fancy dress party,” which despite your early assumptions was not a black tie affair. You weren’t that enthusiastic about going, and you could tell Harry was forcing himself to be excited, not wanting to let a friend down.

“It’ll be fun,” he said, sounding more like he was convincing himself rather than you. “We don’t have to stay the whole time either.”

“Whatever makes you happy, babe,” you said, kissing his cheek. “Pick out whatever costume you want and we can go from there.”

Picking the costume was easier said than done and the two of you spent much of the next week bickering over who had the better idea. Harry’d been pushing for Barbie and Ken, but you’d dismissed the idea as overdone. And your own suggestion of Paolo and Isabella was shut down by Harry who said he didn’t get the reference. It wasn’t until you all were flicking through the channels on the couch when you all came up with your idea.

“It’s perfect,” Harry said, grinning at the screen.

“And super easy,” you added.

Which is how you all found yourself walking into the party dressed as two characters out of The Notebook, thanks to the blue dress you’d found in the back of your closet and the white button down Harry had pulled from his. You’d offered to splash some water on him to add authenticity, but he declined.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting but the party was a surprisingly low-key affair. Classic simple costumes – vampires with plastic fangs and lipstick blood stains and black cats with felt ears – mixed with some that were more of the moment, ranging from a half-assed Barbie and Ken to what appeared to be Harley Quinn and the Joker.

“Told you,” you whispered against his ear, as he passed you a drink, looking on as a Barbie walked by looking for her Ken, earning you an elbow to the ribs.

“Nice look,” Johnny said, fixing a drink of his own. “How did Harry convince you?”

“It was actually a group effort,” you said, with a laugh.

“Felt a little like fate. We were watching TV one night, the movie was on and it was like a lightbulb went off,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around you.

“It was easy too,” you chimed in.

Even though you all had been together for a while, Harry’s circle was so vast that you still hadn’t met many of them, making the party a little nerve wracking, a bunch of faces that weren’t familiar yet. But Harry stayed by you the entire night, hand in hand, steering you around the party, introducing you to his favorite people, and shielding you from the ones he wasn’t as fond of. Going into the evening, you all had made a pact to stay for only an hour, but two had passed by the time either of you looked at the clock.

“OK to stay a little longer?” he asked and you’d nodded, before turning your attention back to Erin and her story about a costume contest gone wrong.

Three hours in, you found yourselves on a couch in the back of the house. The room had unofficially been designated at the quiet zone, with a few people taking calls or a breather before returning to the party. Harry flopped down on the end of the sofa, pulling you onto his lap before sighing contentedly.

“Are you tired?” You rested your forehead against his as pressed a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“A little.”

“Well that’s too bad,” you said softly. “Guess I won’t be able to give you your treat tonight.”

At the mention of the treat, he perked up tremendously. “I mean I’m not that tired. I’d hate to miss it after you put in the effort.” His eyes were steely as he held your gaze.

“You don’t even know what it is!”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t think you could ever disappoint me.”

You grinned and shifted in his lap, causing your dress to slip up and you guided his hand up your bare leg to rest just under the hem of your dress. His fingers groped blindly and when they reached the edge of your lacy undergarments his eyes widened.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered against your neck.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?!”

“I mean you haven’t seen it yet…”

“I’ll bloody well be pleased with anything you wear,” he breathed against your neck.

“Thirty more minutes and then we’ll head out?”

“Fuck that, we’re leaving now.” He gently pushed you up and out of his lap before standing and nearly dragging you to the door.

Harry made a beeline for your coats and bags, and when he had them in hand he caught your eye and nodded towards the front door. You held up a finger and signaled for him to wait before enacting the second phase of your plan. Slowly, you walked up to the first person you could see, thanking them and chatting some more about the party. You repeated this for the next person and the next and the next, until you finally found yourself reunited with Harry.

“Ready?” you asked.

“It’s not funny.”

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Making me wait when I’m…” Your eyes drifted down to his pants. “How bad is it?” he asked, almost wincing.

“Not bad, baby, but we should probably do something about that.”

“You don’t say? Please, for the love of God, get in the car.”

You laughed, enjoying having him beg for you. “Whatever you say.”

What followed was the most tense car ride in recent memory. Harry’s leg bounced up and down, his hand gripped tight on your thigh as he looked ahead. His breathing was even and measured but the intensity in his eyes told you he felt anything but. You smiled, pleased with the effect you had on him.

When the driver pulled through the gate, Harry thanked him, quickly and politely, and you did the same, scurrying along when Harry all but pulled you up the path, jamming his key in the lock and throwing the door open. You closed the door behind you, securing the deadbolt when Harry spun you around and pressed you against the door.

He held your face, angling it to look up at him and he took a shaky breath, before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was surprisingly restrained, almost chaste, but you savored the way he felt so close against you. Again and again he kissed you. Lips, neck, cheeks, no part of you went unnoticed. You wanted to show him the same affection, but he wouldn’t give you the chance. His hands found your shoulders, pulling your coat off, and then working the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his lips trailing in the wake of his hands.

After a few moments, you managed to pant out a single word. “Upstairs?”

Harry pulled back, his lips plump and pink from his efforts, his hair messed from the way your fingers had been threaded through it. “Yeah,” he managed to nod, looking dazed, and you took the lead this time, pulling him towards the stairs.

In your haste to get to the bedroom, you tripped, over the step or your own feet, you weren’t sure, and landed face first on the carpet, Harry tumbling down after you.

“If you wanted me on top of you love, all you had to do was ask,” Harry muttered, as you shoved his shoulder. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“No worse for wear. Shall we try this again?” He pushed up from the stairs and offered his hand, which you gladly took. Slower this time, you all continued up the stairs and into the bedroom, where Harry sat on the bed, pulling you onto his lap. “Sure you’re good to do this.”

You nodded. “Yes, I just need a minute to get ready.”

“Get ready?” Harry arched his brow. “Tell me more.”

“You need to close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes…OK.” He shut his eyes and you wriggled out of his grasp, walking over to your dresser and doing your best not to make a sound as you fished around for the headband you’d stashed there earlier.

“What is this?” Harry called from across the room. “Some sort of Notebook roleplay? Do you have a thing for Gosling too?”

“Hush, or you’re not getting your treat.”

That silenced him and you double checked to make sure the accessory was secured on your head. You shimmied out of your dress until you were wearing nothing but your second costume. If you were honest, costume was a liberal description of the flimsy Halloween store lingerie you ‘d been wearing all night. According to the package, you were a dark angel, but the only thing angelic about it was the halo that was precariously perched on top of your head. You stood in front of the mirror, surveyed yourself and tried to summon the confidence to tell Harry to open his eyes.

“Are you taking your clothes off? I thought that was my treat!”

It was almost funny how outraged he sounded, like a petulant child robbed of a promised prize.

“Oh I think, you’ll like what I’ve picked out for you,” you shot back. At least you hoped he would. Once you contorted yourself into the black wings that came with the ensemble, you turned to face him, still sitting on the bed with his eyes shut. You padded over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, as you climbed astride him. Once you’d settled into his lap, you uttered the word he’d been waiting for. “Open.”

His eyes flew open and you had to fight a laugh at how comical his face was. Eyes wide and mouth open he was like a teenaged boy who’d yet to see a pair of breasts, as he glanced between yours, covered in a sheer, lacy bralette and your face.

“Fucking hell what is this?”

“You said you wanted me to dress up…”

“Yeah, I did. I did say that,” he said, wetting his lips, his eyes transfixed on your chest.

“And I didn’t really know what to dress up as since you weren’t doing a show this year and we didn’t really have a theme and I couldn’t think anything on my own and this was the only thing left at the store and –”

He cut you off with a kiss, more passionate than those he’d first given you in the entryway. “It’s perfect, love. Better than I could have imagined.”

He held you tight against him as he kissed you, his fingers tangled in your hair and yours in his. You tightened the grip of your legs around his waist as you returned his kisses with a passion you didn’t think you’d ever felt before. In the heat of the moment, you rolled your hips, dragging your center over his lap and feeling every inch of his growing erection through the flimsy fabric of your panties. You moaned at the sensation and did it again. He felt even harder than before and you shuddered involuntarily at the thought of him inside you later.

“You like that baby,” he huffed against your mouth. “Does my angel like that?” he asked as he bucked his hips.

“Yes. Yes, please,” you replied, practically begging for more.

“Going to be good and let me take this off of you?” His hands were on your hips, stilling your movement.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip, nodding, not trusting yourself to speak. Suddenly you felt Harry’s teeth against your shoulder as he used his them to pull your bra strap down, the movement scratching at your skin in the most delicious way, before Harry trailed kisses down your arm, soothing the sting away. He repeated the action on the other side before placing a kiss on the side of your breast and wrapping his tongue around your nipple. Hands still on your hips, he gently pushed you, encouraging you to rock back and forth on him once again.

You were so sensitive that even the smallest action had a massive effect. The combination of his mouth and the rhythm of your hips moving in time together had you feeling the beginnings of an orgasm deep within you, a feeling that was only magnified as he moved across your chest to your other breast.

“Love,” Harry said after a moment, pulling away from you.

“Yes?”

“I-I-” He started again. “We need to do something otherwise I’m not going to last.” His cheeks were red, whether from passion or embarrassment, you weren’t sure, but you nuzzled against his neck.

“That’s alright, baby. I’m all yours.”

“Yeah, you are,” Harry said, almost as if he didn’t believe it. “Wanna get up for me?”

You climbed off of him with wobbly legs, nearly landing on your ass – and taking Harry with you – in the process. But Harry scooped you up in his arms, helping you get comfortable on the bed, as you all laughed off the moment of clumsiness.

“Do you want to take this off?” you asked, gesturing to the cheap black wings that were shedding all over the white sheets.

“No, I kind of like them,” Harry said. “It’s uh…kind of sexy,” he mumbled, against your neck.

“Noted.”

“May I?” He’d hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties, waiting for your nod of consent, which you readily gave him. He slowly pulled them down your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him, before moving his lips down your body.

It was almost a ritual at this point, the way he explored you as if you were uncharted territory each time he had you naked in front of him. You’d been told this wouldn’t last forever, that all couples eventually tired of each other, that sex became a routine thing, a means to an end. That may be the case, but you secretly hoped that you and Harry were the exception to this rule.

He’d made his way down to your thighs at this point and you opened your legs wider, inviting him in. Your back arched when you felt his fingers inside you, testing the waters.

“So wet for me already and I’ve barely done anything. Careful love, this will go to my head.”

You made to kick him, but he dodged your attack and managed to hit that spot in the process, drawing a cry from you.

“Was that good?” You could hear the teasing smirk in his voice.

“You know it was.”

He crooked his fingers, earning another moan from you as you tried to pull him up to you. “Ready so soon?” he asked, as if he wasn’t already aware. He lined himself up with you and thrust forward with no preamble.

His sheer size still took your breath away – quite literally – and you breathed heavily at the feeling of him, all of him, inside of you.

“Easy, love. Slow,” he said, calming you as he gave you a moment to adjust, waiting until your breath had steadied before gently rocking forward.

You angled your hips up, meeting his pace and trying to drive him as deep inside of you as possible. You brought your legs higher around him, giving him more freedom to move and his pace accelerated.

The sounds coming from your bedroom were, quite simply, ugly. Between the moans and groans and heavy breathing, the grunts that meant move over or shift this way that you all inherently understood, the sounds of sweaty bodies rubbing against each other. It was brutal, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Love, I’m going to come,” Harry said, words urgent against your ear. “I’m not going to be able to hold on.”

“It’s OK baby,” you said, encouraging him. He was always so selfless, you wanted him, just once, to take a moment for himself. “Just let go.”

His hips stuttered, once, twice, three times in quick succession and you felt the tell-tale warmth and wetness of his orgasm between your legs.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he wheezed. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

You sighed softly, contentment radiating through you. “You don’t have to. Sometimes it’s nice to just…”

“Yeah…”

The two of you lay there like that for a while, ignoring the stickiness of the sweat, and for you, the itchiness of the costume pieces that were still on you.

Finally, Harry rolled off of you, and you cuddled into his side.

“That was a very nice treat,” he said, voice hoarse. “I think we both need more treats.”

“I’ll second that. And I promise next year will be even better.”

“Next year?” Harry said aghast. “I think you deserve one of your own right now.”

***

talk to me! || master list

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles ff #harry fic #harry styles one shot #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

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lno-x · 1 year

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What about character design in Tristamp?

A person had a question for me, what is it about character designs in tristamp? It's like Vash from Tristamp and Vash from Trimax/98 adaptation are COMPLETELY different characters, and my answer to that is: they are REALLY DIFFERENT CHARACTERS, and I'll explain why right now.

To begin with, I would like to note that I have a great deal of trust in the Orange studio and its co-founder, Eiji Inomoto. Orange is one of the best CG studios in Japan, known for such acclaimed adaptations as "Beastars" and "Land of the Lustrous". These are not just some studio, but a really big guys, and by big I mean that Inomoto's experiments with the frame rate in the film adaptation of Lustrous at one time were a revolutionary thing in animation, which was picked up by the animators of the spiderverse and then that's all led to the beloved dynamic animation of the "Puss in Boots" sequel. I mean, these are THAT big guys. I'm not talking about the fact that Inomoto boosts the development of 3D in the anime industry as much as possible and literally shits from a high bell tower on the fact that everything is spitting with 3D animation purely out of principle.

Okay, the studio is cool, it is unlikely that they will make a bad product, we figured it out, but what about the designs? They don't even look like themselves! Vash does not look like a mop at all, he has lost his leather pants and berets, and looks like some kind of sucker in sweatpants and a windbreaker, and Meryl gives the impression of a schoolgirl who has strayed from the school excursion, instead of the stately lady in caprons, as we used to seeing her. Only Wolfwood hasn't changed much, except that he doesn't know how to tuck his shirt into his pants and has undergone whitewashing (which, by the way, I'm not ironically upset about). So, is that mean designs is bad as hell? Nope. Just because things look different doesn't mean it's inherently worse. Again, remember that tristamp is a REMAKE, and their task is not to stupidly repeat the same thing, but to breathe new life into the franchise, looking at it from a different angle. And I think they did a FUCKING GOOD job on it.

In interviews and at conventions, director Kenji Muto and producer Katsuhiro Takei have repeatedly said that they are big fans of the original manga and the film adaptation of 98, but it was important for them to touch and reveal those aspects of the story that their predecessors did not reach their hands on.

That is why, despite the fact that the Tristamp is very close to the original source (manga), the studio plays out many details differently or even saves them for later, so that the audience can fully experience the development of the characters. Therefore, in Tristamp, everyone looks much younger than their previous versions and / or very different from them.

The easiest way to prove this, however strange and unexpected it may seem, is by the example of Meryl. In the manga and anime 98, we immediately see her as a stately lady with a bunch of derringers under her cloak, but they don’t tell us how she came to this and what led to this. Yes, there is literally a page in the manga about some colleague who told her about self-defense and sort of taught her how to shoot, but finally he is drawn on one frame and, in general, we don’t give a shit about him.

While in Tristamp, this colleague has a name and is one of the most main characters - this is Roberto. Throughout the series, he acts as Meryl's senior mentor, protecting her whenever possible and pulling her out of trouble by the scruff of the neck like a kitten. That is why she looks so youthful and charmingly stupid compared to her previous version. Throughout the series, she literally hits herself with her heel in the chest, saying I AM!!! MERYL!!! STRIFE!!! I AM NOT NEWBIE!!! while Roberto calls her the same way, ignoring all her protests in this regard, and I think this was done for a reason. Specifically, in Tristamp we see her almost in the past, when she has not yet learned to protect herself and be fully responsible for her decisions, although she is very eager to do so. Although Roberto is a character, for the most part he is still a crutch and trigger for the development of Meryl. Through his death and the transfer of HIS gun to her, we see right before our eyes how she changes and from a shy "newbie" turns into the confident Meryl Strife. And after the timeskip, they generally show us the scene of exactly how she becomes the senior and takes Millie under her wing. And by the way, her image visually changes too.

I repeat once again, there was no such development of the character of Meryl in the manga, in the 1998 film adaptation nether.

Orange build her development completely differently and in their own way, despite the fact that she, in fact, is the same Meryl Strife no less than other versions of her. She just a little different character, which goes to the image already familiar to us, passing through kind of other events

The same thing happens with Vash! At first, he doesn't look like himself at all, but towards the end, we see how he takes on a more recognizable image. I think that in fact by the second season they will all mature and look much more "canonical", this can be seen from the concept art but in general

Tristump characters go a different way and get a different development, as happened with Meryl above, therefore, I I think we should perceive them rather as completely different characters that have common roots

And by the way, the studio Orange discussed everything very closely with Yasuhiro Nightou (author of the manga) and he gave her green light and creative freedom, because he saw how reverent people are about their job and want to develop the story. He even drew his and studio designs together!!!

All in all, the tristamp designs are really quite different from the original, but I don't think that's a bad thing, as the studio does it purposefully and cleverly to give them the development that the manga or the '98 film adaptation lacked.

Again, this is my personal opinion, and it’s worth notice here that I’m far from being an old fan and I flew into the fandom just a month and a half ago, so the character design initially did not cause me rejection, like many old fans.

But in this tirade, I tried to be as objective as possible and describe what was what, thanks to come in my ted talk

#trigun #tristamp #trigun stampede #long reads #long post #i love meryl stryfe if you dont get it yet #meryl stryfe #roberto trigun #vash stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #lno-x talks

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chiriwritesstuff · 2 months

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'My Wife in IT' - Chapter 1 'The One with the Baby Monitor' Sneak Peek!

A CEO! Joel Miller x IT Specialist Wife! AU / 'The Girl in IT' Sequel!

Sneak Rating: E (MDNI, 18+)

You guys, it's finally release week for our 'The Girl in IT' sequel, 'My Wife in IT'. Did you all miss our lovebirds? I most certainly did! Let's take a little peek at what our newlyweds have in store for us...

Chapter 1 out this week! (Sneak is under the cut!) Are you ready for it?!

"Ellie, what are you doing?" Bill asks, raising an eyebrow as he peers from behind his newspaper. "What's with that contraption?"

"It's the new baby monitor I bought for Joel and Sugar. We're testing its distance capabilities," Ellie explains.

"…in the lunchroom?" Frank interjects, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Don't you have your own office for that?"

"The lunchroom's farther than my office," she replies absentmindedly, adjusting the controls of the monitor. "It'll only be a few minutes, and then I'll be out of your hair," she assures, clicking the monitor on. "Okay, let me just text Sugar—"

She pulls out her phone, unlocking it. "…Just one sec," she mumbles to herself, fiddling with her phone. The monitor crackles loudly to life, and Ellie's eyebrows furrow in confusion as she adjusts the controls. "…What the?"

"Ohhhhhh!" Your moan echoes through the monitor, and Ellie's hand trembles, causing her phone to slip from her grasp in shock. "Fuck, Papi, please!"

"If you weren't already knocked up with my child, I would just have to breed you like a good little wife, do you want that, Mami?" Joel pants, the slapping of skin echoing throughout the lunchroom. "Do you want me to breed my pretty little wife?"

"Yes, Papi, PLEASE! Put a baby into me, I'll be such a good fucking wife, your sweet pretty little wife-" you babble incoherently.

Ellie looks between Bill and Frank in horror, Bill's eyes wide with shock while Frank's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Oh, Ellie, you brilliant devil!" Frank exclaims, excitement gleaming in his eyes. "Turn it up! It's getting interesting!"

"Frank!" Bill scolds, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Ellie, TURN IT OFF!"

Ellie rushes to the baby monitor, her hands trembling as she fumbles with the controls, the moans growing increasingly louder with each passing second. "Shit, I can't figure out how to turn it off! Bill, please, help me!" she pleads, her voice strained with panic.

Bill quickly strides over, his face flushed with embarrassment and determination. Without hesitation, he reaches for the monitor and forcefully smashes the off button, silencing the unexpected sounds.

As the room falls into stunned silence, Ellie lets out a shaky breath, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I… I'm so sorry," she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bill offers her a reassuring smile, his own embarrassment evident. "It's alright, Ellie. Let's just pretend that never happened, okay?"

Frank bursts into laughter, unable to contain himself any longer. "Well, that was certainly an unexpected lunchtime entertainment!" he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Damn, Ellie, you got me here thinking I'm God's Favorite, blessing us with that! what a fucking power move! Will you teach me your ways?" he gushes, clapping. "BRAVO!"

"Frank," Bill groans into his hands. "Please, shut the fuck up."

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hitlikehammers · 3 months

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intimately entwined

rating: e (but not how you think) ♥️ cw: the deepest intimacies in the most unexpected places knocking someone on their ass ♥️ tags: established relationship, care-taking, casual intimacy, fluff, relationship development, slice of life, idiots in love

for @steddielovemonth day three: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special

and yes, again: these boys probably grow up to star in the rockstar-husbands-with-the-sex-toys fic je ne regrette rien which will have a sequel flavoured revival via @subeddieweek in April whaaaaaatttt

“Another.”

And the way it’s said: it’s almost fucking expectant too, Jesus Christ, this man.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

Because, like, Eddie needs to know it is. He needs to check, then double check, then triple check because…because this feels like a wholly different step, y’know? This feels like crossing a kind of line they haven’t even dared to tiptoe near just yet, wholly different from all the other lines they’ve navigated, both reckless and careless but together, always, and that helps, in theory. It helps to know that no matter how they’ve fumbled or triumphed in this, between them: it’s been hand in hand. Before, and during, and after.

Still, though. This is…this just feels very fucking different. The kind of boundary with implications that feel heavy and expansive under Eddie’s ribs. Maybe it should seem less monumental compared to other shit they’ve done, and most of that with far less deliberation and hesitation for them, at that. But this does, it…Eddie genuinely believes this pumps weird and novel through his veins, because it is different; and incredible for it, no question. Terrifying. Wholly beggars belief, honestly, and Eddie never really understood that phrase meant but.

He thinks this thing fits it, to a T.

“I said it was, didn’t I?”

Eddie blinks, recenters: was it okay?

And this, this…brilliant perfect little shit: Eddie can hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. He can hear the amusement as much as the loose-ends of frustration. Like Eddie is being absurd here.

Which: what the actual fuck; seriously.

Like, like: goddamn seriously.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a little hesitant, a lot fucking dazed; “yeah you did,” because…he did. From the beginning, from even before they settled int to start this: Steve had been…vocally enthusiastic. Not that Eddie hadn’t been! He’d mostly just, he’d just been—

“You think I’m fucking with you?”

Again: without having to see Eddie clocks the eye roll, the not-even-subtle challenge in it.

Alongside the nugget of genuine hurt held for if it turns out true and that: no.

No, Eddie will not fucking have that, so.

Okay, he won’t have that, but also first:

“I mean, yeah—“ because umm…their sex life is a little undeniable.

Steve snorts; how. How

“Here and now, jackass,” he snipes back and Eddie…Eddie really and truly doesn’t fucking know what to do with this. How cal, Steve is. How focused and dedicated to the task. How monumentally and profoundly, just…

How this is sitting in his chest as so much more than the rest of it somehow in a way Eddie cannot wrap his mind around to understand and it’s frightening. Not understanding something so clearly and intimately important; so clearly fucking intimate.

“Not exactly,” Eddie ultimately settles on speaking rather than continuing to gape, continuing to stew in his terror as his heartbeat picks up but speed, it comes out more choked than he’d been hoping; less convincing by a mile as a result. “I don’t think you’re fucking with me like, like it’s something intentional,” and Eddie seeks out Steve’s gaze directly then because that’s it, that’s the hurt part he needs to root out and not crush to bits because he doesn’t crush any part of the man he loves, ever; no.

No, Eddie needs to root that out so he can draw it into the pounding in his chest warm and safe to be cradled and adored until it snuffs itself out in contented fucking joy, for being loved right. Like it deserves.

Which might be part of the problem in the present case just: this time it’s a problem for Eddie.

“Like not mean or anything,” he reiterates, to make absolute sure of this part too; “I just…”

Steve watches him as he struggles to put any part of it into words, can’t even move, or fidget like this: caught, and kinda giddily so underneath everything else, and maybe he needs to lean into that base sensation, see if he can chart his way out from the center versus stumbling around the sides:

“It can’t be, like, enjoyable,” is what he ultimately settles on saying as clear as he came because honestly, that sums up the bulk of it.

Plus he’s learned by now to trust Steve to reach around his rougher edges and find the heart of his meaning, or else, and probably more often: hold his hand as the send out a search party between them for the right words.

Because that’s still it, isn’t it: together.

And of everything else, Eddie doesn’t have to even pysch himself up to trust in that; it just it. It comes natural like breathing.

“Umm,” Steve draws out, a little incredulous; “why not?”

Why not? Why isn’t this exchange clearly one-sided?

“Because,” Eddie tries to find his words, or at least some of them: “I guess, what do you get out of it?”

Steve’s the one glancing to lock their gazes and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t feel ashamed where he might have early on. But he recognises the similar dive where it still lives in his stomach for the gentle warmth that Steve stares into him. Like he sees Eddie’s question, and loves Eddie enough that he won’t dismiss it.

“One more,” Steve instructs confidently, just-shy-of-demands.

“Steve—“

“If you hate it we never have to do it again,” Steve counters; a compromise; “promise.”

“That’s not—“ because fucking hell, as if Eddie could ever hate it.

“One more,” Steve reminds him with the patience of a saint and…Eddie’s moving almost without any thought for it at all, like his body runs the way of his heart and moves for Steve be rote, which.

Kinda, yeah.

“Blow,” Steve’s instructing and Eddie’s doing the moving-by-instinct-because-Steve-says thing again; knows he’s blinking owlishly as he purses his lips and does as he’s asked.

Blows. Ever-so-gentle.

“Okay,” Steve assesses and then grins: “okay, that’s it. Perfect.”

Eddie won’t fucking argue. Not least because it’s true.

Though he’s more invested in the perfection looking up at him like this.

“Verdict?”

And okay, Eddie thinks maybe he has words now, at least inside his head: intimacy wasn’t something he’d ever had before Steve, and frankly was never something he was hanging hopes on ever getting, again—before Steve.

But it wasn’t just because he didn’t have other options that Eddie banked on intimacy equalling sex, either. Because once he did have Steve, it just shifted to the idea of sex as a way of showing love. The more of himself he could give to Steve, the more intimate they’d become: the more of him that was Steve’s for the taking, the more of Steve he look reverent into himself, body to body: that was intimate. That was a relationship, how it looked as it grew. First time Steve came inside him. First time Eddie licked him open. First time he fucked Steve’s gorgeous goddamn thighs.

That kind of thing.

But Eddie’s not sure even the heaviest, headiest sex has ever left his heart as much of a thumping, fluttery mess as just this, which doesn’t feel like just anything: Steve. Sitting in front of him. With a bottle he drove out to Indy to get just for Eddie. Because Eddie wanted it. Because Eddie would like it. Because it might make Eddie happy and it did, it really really did, and—

Steve’s just painted his fucking nails the most gorgeous shiny black, only the slightest bit straying off on the skin, too, and it’s somehow hitting Eddie deeper than the first time they fucked, the first time they stretched each other open, the first time they 69’d in the sheets.

This is apparently what knocks Eddie on his ass for just how deep the love goddamn goes.

“That.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, blinking back to the moment where he was busy getting caught up in the new revelation of what intimacy looked like, not to mention caught up in admiring his nails: “what’s ‘that’?”

And Steve’s smiling beatific, incandescent, as he pokes Eddie’s cheek, no, more specifically: as he pokes Eddie’s dimple.

“What I get out of it.”

And Eddie flushes hot under Steve’s touch, then, as it all adds up and seeps in strong enough to shake his core before reshaping him from the inside out as Steve taps the little divot in his skin playfully:

“That.”

Which is how Eddie realizes full on and forever, probably something he already knew, just somewhere under the surface: the intimacy was the sharing of the joy. And in love, especially a love like this one: joy itself is the payoff.

Joy, like everything, is shared by default.

Eddie lifts his eyes, meets Steve’s smile so wide, and relishes the color on his nails as a sign of it for seeing; relishes the dizzy cadence pumping in his chest as proof for the rest of him, to feed and nurture this depth of loving for all the simple things, undimmed and forever until his heart stops doing anything at all. Because there is no pay off, even if there is always something to get out of it. Out of all of it.

Because love is them; together.

Intimately entwined to the goddamn cells.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland

♥️

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 1 month

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Sapphic vampire fiction mini reviews, ranked from least favorite to most:

House of Hunger: Bland characters, a story that barely scratches the surface of the implications of its premise, and a central relationship with nothing underpinning it make for an aimless story with a climax that hits like a limp noodle. If the dynamic between a vampire and her indentured maid appeals to you, try The Wicked and the Willing instead.

An Education in Malice: For a Carmilla retelling, the titular character really lacks bite. Laura at least has some interesting contradictions in her, and De Lafontaine could be quite compelling if we saw things through her eyes, but the central relationship isn't built on a lot, and Carmilla herself is really disappointingly bland. The prose comes off as overwrought and melodramatic in the first act, and the constant leaning on poetry feels gratuitous, but it picks up steam and becomes appropriately gripping by the one-third mark, and it carries the book enough that I had an enjoyable but rather shallow experience. I struggle to think of a reason to recommend this over In the Roses of Pieria, which plays with similar thematic and aesthetic elements much more adeptly. Also, it's a pet peeve of mine when a story makes a point to establish a specific historical era for its setting but has characters that feel utterly modern.

The Deathless Girls: This book does a much better job with its sense of time and place, and the characters and their motivations are quite strong. I only rate this one low on this list because the main characters don't actually deal with vampirism as a condition until the very end of the book. On its surface, the premise might seem quite similar to A Dowry of Blood, but there's actually very little thematic or narrative overlap.

Ex-Wives of Dracula: An excellent exploration of the queer teenage experience in conservative small town ~2015 USA along with some pretty novel twists on vampire and horror movie tropes. Strong, vibrant characters with a rich, messy, and compelling relationship carry a solid mystery plot and some pretty pointed critiques of its setting, but the actual climax and resolution don't quite hold up to the quality of the rest. Also I simply must warn anyone who didn't grow up in the time and place this book explores about the profound and casual bigotry and nastiness of that setting, which this book replicates to a T.

The Wicked and the Willing: A thrilling and compelling dark romantic drama centered on a British vampire in 1920s Singapore, her newly hired and desperate to escape poverty personal maid, and her majordomo who is struggling to keep her conscience under control after years of aiding and abetting her mistress's dark appetites. Extremely strong character writing pairs with deft exploration of themes of colonialism, entitlement, class divisions, sexism, and the ways in which certain types of status can and cannot afford one leeway to be nonconforming in other ways. Intermixes diagetic and non-diagetic BDSM very organically also, if that's your thing.

In the Roses of Pieria: Rich prose dripping with atmosphere follows an obscure academic as she digs into a series of ancient correspondences and discovers a millenia spanning love story between two vampires. The character writing is solid, if not quite as impressive as some other entries on this list, but the quality of the prose more than elevates it. The text makes elegant and powerful references to Sappho throughout, and the whole experience is heady and compelling in ways that I struggle to describe in greater detail. Funnily enough, the vampires are the least interesting part of the world building. This one has a sequel coming, and I can't wait.

A Dowry of Blood: A darkly enchanting epistolary novel that takes the form of letters written by the first of Dracula's wives to him as she attempts to make peace with killing him. She unpicks a delicious and horrifying knot of feeling and history as she revisits their millenia together, recounting and reckoning with the manipulations and abuses that defined the good times and the bad. The characters are evocative and rich, the narrative voice by turns sparse, longing, furious, contemplative, and mournful, and the story simply springs to life. It accomplishes an incredible amount in approximately 200 pages, and I absolutely cannot recommend this one enough.

#the wlw review #im sure there are countless more sapphic vampire stories #but these are the ones ive read #ignoring a few outliers that don't really explore vampirism

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auteurdelabre · 2 months

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PLEASE, MISTER MILLER? (Sequel part 5) BFDJoel! x f!Reader

Chapter summary: You and Joel navigate long distance, your parents and the realization that college graduation is just around the corner.

series masterlist

rating: 18+

a/n: Y'all this chapter is a fuckin beast. I had to break it up because its lookin' like another marathon chapter and I am a slut for comments so I had to break it up. Please comment, reblog, all that good juju and you'll make your girl real happy.

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

I miss you.

[HIM💜]Miss you too, baby.

Send me a pic.

[HIM💜]

NOT THAT KIND.

[HIM💜]

Much better. You're cute, Miller.

[HIM💜] You're not so bad yourself, Snowflake.

I wish you were here, Joel. I keep waking up thinking you'll be next to me.

[HIM💜] I feel the same, baby. I keep looking over in bed expecting to see you and that way you smile when you’re all sleepy. Then I get all blue when it's nothing but empty mattress.

[HIM💜] Is it cheesy if I say I can't wait to hold you again?

Not at all. I’m counting down the days until graduation.

[HIM💜] Coming up quick. You excited?

Sorta. What are you doing right now?

[HIM💜] You alone?

Yep.

[HIM💜 CALLING]

Joel's face pops up on your phone, smiling at you from what looks like a hardware store. Warmth floods you as you gaze at him. You see that he’s dressed casually, a grey t-shirt over his broad torso, a baseball cap over his tussled curls.

"Hey, baby." He smiles broadly at you and you swear you can feel your heart skip a beat.

"Where are you?"

"Paint store." He holds up a color swatch if several shades of dark green. "Whadda ya think of this color?"

He holds the simple up closer to the camera. Some of his curls peek out near his neck under his hat. You can still feel their silken texture wrapped around your fingers like some sensual ghost.

Fuck you miss him.

"Nice," you offer. "What's this for?"

"Wanna repaint my bedroom," he says grinning like an excited schoolchild.

“Why are you repainting your bedroom?” You ask amused. Joel’s face contorts from beaming excitement to a somber flinch and you regret asking it.

"Tess moved out last weekend," Joel says almost timidly. “And uh, I wanted to repaint. Fresh start and all that.”

Your stomach jumps at those words. Tess moved out. For the past few months you and Joel have been in regular contact via phone and texting. He mentioned that the divorce papers were drawn up, that Tess had agreed to it with an almost upsetting lack of emotion. But actually knowing that she had moved out? That feels momentous.

"Woah, so it's really over," you croak with a nervous shiver breaking out along your body.

"Was over for a long time, baby," Joel assures you. "This just makes it official."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just feel guilty. Feel like I should be more upset but I'm just so fucking relieved."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You pause, uncertain where you two stand. Yes you said you wanted to continue this together. But what does that mean exactly? Maybe now that Joel is single again he’ll want to play the field. And why not? He’s early forties, gorgeous and has the most wonderful, caring personality of anyone you’ve ever met. Why wouldn’t he want to sleep around and have fun before committing himself to a relationship again?

"You've gone quiet, baby."

You give a smile to yourself. "Just thinking."

"Thinkin' 'bout what?"

"Just that you're getting divorced, and maybe... Maybe you want to sow your wild oats or something." You cringe at your phrasing. "Maybe you don't wanna be tied down in a relationship right away.”

You aren't expecting the sharp laugh from over the line. You love how his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. You watch him move to a corner of the store that’s a little quieter, a little more private. Then he switches the call to voice only. You raise the phone to your ear, heart thudding.

"Don't you think you're the one that should be sowing wild oats?" Joel chuckles. "You're the one in her twenties."

"Nah, I've done enough of that," you admit shyly.

"So've I," Joel tells you and he sounds earnest.

"Maybe you don't wanna be tied down in a relationship you know?" You offer feebly. "I mean, maybe you wanna date around or... I dunno."

You trail off feeling embarrassed.

"Only interested in datin' one girl and it's the one I’m talkin’ to," Joel says evenly. "Same girl who has me smiling like a fuckin' idiot at my phone so much my brother commented on it at work."

You can't help but blush, even though he's not even there to see it. "Yeah?"

"Yep. Had to tell him it was a dating app just so he'd leave me alone."

You laugh at the thought. You don't know Tommy other than what Joel tells you, but he sounds like trouble. The fun kind.

“I’m lookin’ very forward to seein’ her next month,” Joel offers and you feel your lower belly pool with arousal at the sound. “Thought I’d book us in at the same hotel but only one bed this time.”

“Mmm I’d like that,” you coo, sighing softly at the thought.

“Yeah?” Joel’s voice is so low it’s a purr. “Eager to make up for lost time?”

“Mhmmm.” You can’t help but feel the tug of lust skittering across your body. “I can’t stop thinking about all the things I wanna do to you, Mister Miller. My pussy is dripping just thinking about it. How do you wanna fuck me first?”

“Fuck,” Joel hisses out and you giggle at the sound. He turns the phone back to face time and you see his pupils blown wide.

“Don’t do that to me here, honey. Not while I’m lookin’ at paint samples. Now, be a good girl and tell me, what do you think of this one?"

He holds up the paint sample again. It’s a dark green, too dark for a bedroom in your opinion. But You think back to sitting on the hotel bed with Joel during your time together. Of him telling you that Tess took control of everything down to the color of his bed sheets and you hesitate.

You don’t want to do that to him. You don’t want to control him.

"I like it," you answer, narrowing your eyes slightly. "It's just..."

"What?"

Joel is frowning at the screen now, looking concerned at your thoughtful silence. He raises a brow when you look back at the phone.

"It's a really nice color," you concede. "I love green."

"But?"

"But nothing."

"Baby," Joel says gently, a softness in tone that draws your gaze to his waiting eyes. "C'mon now, no lies here."

"Doesn't matter what I like."

"Matters to me."

You feel anxiety pricking at your body, making you nibble the inside of your cheek. Joel watches you through the phone, you see people wandering the aisle behind him.

"I think it might be too dark," you finally offer. "But that's only because to me a bedroom should make you feel calm and relaxed. I've always been partial to blues. But honestly, Joel, that's just personal preference. You should get what you're drawn to. With all that green it's like you're sleeping in the forest which I know you like."

Joel nods, lower lip stuck out in thought. All of a sudden you hear a key at your door and you panic.

"Shit, I gotta go."

The call ends just as Sarah walks into the dorm room yawning. She almost trips over the cardboard boxes the two of you had been packing earlier.

"I'm so sick of essay formatting," she says with a groan as she tosses her backpack onto the ground.

"Same." You peek at her over your phone. "There's an iced coffee for you in the fridge."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" Sarah sings, taking the coffee from the fridge and throwing herself on the bed next to you.

You wouldn't love me if you knew why I bought it.

You give a short smile, giggling as she rubs her shoulder next to yours, urging you to give her more room on your bed. She's often remarked that despite you both having the same college -dorm -issued mattress that yours is far more comfortable.

“It’ll all be worth it when I’m walking around South America with Charlie this summer,” Sarah sighs. “Three whole months of museums and delicious food and-“

“Fucking,” you finish for her. She blushes wildly before pushing you with her arm.

"I feel like you've been buying me a ton of stuff lately," Sarah muses all of a sudden. "You never let me pay for dinner and this is like the tenth time you've had coffee waiting for me. What gives?"

You force a natural looking smile on your face.

"Dunno. Guess since we won't be roommates next year I'm just trying to enjoy you while I can."

And because I've been fucking your dad in secret for months and have no intention of stopping.

Sarah gives a sarcastic laugh before growing somber. "Are you nervous about graduation next month?"

"A little," you say honestly, your eyes drifting from her face to the popcorn ceiling above you. "I still haven't told my parents about grad school."

"What?" Sarah drains the last of her coffee before propping herself up on an elbow and looking at you severely. "Why?"

"Dunno."

That's a lie. You know exactly why. Because you're parents are the least supportive, most caustic people you know. Sarah frowns at you over her drink.

"You're gonna have to tell them eventually."

"Yeah I know."

“Have you seen Conrad lately?”

“Not since the trip,” you answer with a small smirk.

Thankfully you haven’t seen Conrad since that night months ago when he caught you and Joel fucking in your bed. You’ve seen him in passing around campus a few times, but he usually just goes red in the face and strides past you.

"I'm so glad you dumped him," Sarah tells you with a guilty smile. "I was so worried he was gonna propose in Ibiza and be stuck rearing his moron kids. But ever since you got back you've been different."

"Different?"

"Yeah," she nods giving a knowing smile.

She pushes herself off of the bed and goes to the boxes she’d been in the process of packing before classes. She sits herself down on the rug, staring up at you looking into middle distance, still laying on the bed.

You take a moment to covertly look through your photos of Joel. Fuck you miss him. You look at the photo of him at the gallery, of him in glasses, of the two of you in bed, of him carrying your bags to the elevator. You smile.

"Is it the married guy?"

You don't answer. You don't want to answer. You don't want to know what Sarah thinks about you being with a married man, especially when that man is her father.

You sit up and join her on the floor, going through the box you yourself were packing before Joel called. It’s your collection of trinkets collected during your time in school. A ticket stub from your first theatre going here, a cut out from the school paper where you’d submitted an article on the anthropology of monogamy, amongst other clutter that makes you smile.

"Well if it is, it seems like he's making you really happy," she offers tentatively. “Honestly in all the time I’ve known you I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

“Well I did get into my Masters program,” you remind her. “And I am graduating with honors.”

“Right,” Sara concedes as the two of you continue packing up your modest dorm room, wrapping her horse figurines in newspaper. She glances over into your box of trinkets and spots the carving Joel made for you. The one that you’ve rubbed down with your thumb over months of keeping it in your pocket.

“You still have that?” Sarah says with a sweet expression on her face. “Isn’t that the one my dad carved for you?”

“Yeah,” you nod, forcing yourself to sound neutral.

“I love that you kept it,” Sarah says with a hand over her heart. “My Dad loves carving these things. I have so many from over the years. Soccer balls, horses, mermaids. Even a dragon from when I was really obsessed with them.”

You love hearing stories about Joel and so you listen intently while trying to appear casual. But every time you get a new piece of information something in you bubbles in delight. The thought of your Joel in the world maybe carving at this very moment.

Your Joel.

“Well it was really nice of him,” you say. “More thoughtful than anything my parents ever bought me.”

Your eyes trail to the dress hanging over the door of your closet and you sigh. The latest gift from your parents, a dress for graduation. A virginal white dress with ruffles that doesn’t suit you at all.

“Oh my God do you remember this play?” Sarah asks holding up your torn ticket. “The fucking lighting guy kept missing the cue and the actress was in darkness half the show?”

The two of you collapse into giggles at the memory and you realize with a small devastation that Sarah is the closest thing you've ever had to a best friend. She's supportive and encouraging. She helps you study, she was there for you when you broke up with Conrad, she was the first person you told about grad school because she was the one that insisted you apply.

“Who cares what your parents think? This is your life!”

There's a very large part of you that hates how you're keeping everything from her even though you know there's no other option. It runs a thread of fear through you that makes you question how you and Joel can continue.

Would Sarah support it? Or would she be disgusted? You don't really know. You've never been on Sarah's bad side before. When you and Joel have talked about it he's been clear that he wants to be the one to bring it up to Sarah 'if it gets to that point'. But when will you both know you’ve reached that point?

“Tell me more about married guy,” Sarah insists, nudging your knee with her socked foot. “I wanna know everything.”

“He’s…well, he’s great. Handsome and smart and he really listens to me,” you eventually admit with an amused pull of your lips. “He makes me really happy, Sarah. I’ve told him stuff I’ve never told anyone.”

Sarah’s eyes go soft. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes drop to your hands and you feel tears start at the corners. “I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust him. He makes me feel… Cared for.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence as you continue packing up your dorm items. Suddenly Sarah pipes up.

“Is he good in bed?”

You try to swallow the disgusted expression on your face, but she catches it. Her eyes widen with amusement as she tosses a throw pillow at your head. You catch it, trying to will the panic from your expression.

“What?” Sarah gives a small giggle. “You used to tell me everything you and Conrad did, which wasn’t much by the way. But now you’re a vault?”

“It’s uh, just different with him,” you say quickly lowering your eyes to the newspaper you pack your collectibles in. “It feels more… special. I dunno how to describe it. Next question.”

“Are you in love with him?”

You barely pause.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah I am.”

///

Sarah leaves for her evening class later that night and you sit staring at your phone. You want to call Joel and tell him how much you miss him. You want him to speak filth into your ears so you can come. You want to be in his arms with his full mouth on yours. You just want him.

The future is so precarious in many ways. When you’d received your acceptance letter into your Masters program you’d been delighted. When you’d called Joel later that day he’d been so fucking supportive it brought tears to your eyes.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tell your parents. Couldn’t stand the knowledge that a man you’d known for less than six months had known exactly how to support your successes better than your own parents did.

But it’s time now. Graduation is next week and they’ll be coming out to ask your plans. They’ll take you to your fancy dinner and they’ll espouse how a future in Anthropology is a hobby. How you should have gone into Business or something more realistic. And you’ll sit there like you always do with your eyes on your plate willing the evening to be over.

Get it over with.

You punch in your parent’s number and raise your phone to your ear. Your stomach twists when you hear the sound of the phone ringing as you hold your cell to your ear. Despite the fact that you're calling them on any other line, it almost feels like the ring home seems more barren, more echo-ey.

The phone clicks and you hear your mom bark out your name. You wince.

"Hey mom."

"Hello. Did you get the dress?”

“Yes Mom,” you say in an obedient tone.

“Well, it’s quite late. Is anything the matter?"

"No," you say feeling your heart in your chest. "I'm calling because I wanted you to-"

"We received the graduation tickets," your mother continues, not even listening to you. "Not even assigned seating. Ridiculous."

There's something about calling home that makes you feel impossibly small and insignificant, but not in a comforting way. More the reminder that you could be squashed under foot at any moment.

"Yes well that's why I'm calling, sort of-"

"Speak up I can barely hear you."

You sigh deeply, trying to steady your voice. "I wanted to let you and Dad know that I got into that Master's program for the fall."

There is a loaded silence and then you hear your mother cover the phone and murmur. She’s probably telling your father. Finally her voice comes back over the line, crisp and abraisive.

"I hope you don't expect us to fund that daydream.”

You knew it was coming and yet it doesn't remove the sting entirely.

"Nope. I've got enough scholarships to cover it so far. Just need a part time job for extra expenses. I just wanted to tell...." You trail off.

You hear the sound of your father calling your mother's name in the background.

"Your father is tired, darling. He has to be awake early and the light from the phone is keeping him up. We'll see you at graduation."

The line goes dead and you throw your cell onto the bed angrily. You can't wait until fucking graduation is over and done with. You can't wait until you're parents are out of your life for another semester.

///

Sarah’s in class. Wanna chat a bit?

[HIM💜] Can’t baby. Tommy fucked up one of the orders and I gotta get it fixed quick.

The tone is sharp and you can hear his irritation flowing through the screen. You go to type out your response when another one of his comes through to the screen.

[HIM💜] I’ll give you a ring later tonight.

It’s final, resolute. He doesn’t have time for you right now and that’s totally fine… Except his words from earlier are echoing around in your brain. Eager to make up for lost time? Fuck yes you are. You can already feel arousal pooling between your lips.

In the months between spring break and now you’ve done your fair share of phone sex. Joel is remarkably adept at getting you off with only his voice, his words and the distant sound of his belt rasping against his zipper as he strokes himself.

You sent back racy photos every now and again, nothing too obscene for fear that Tess might see. Your face is never included for the same reason.

But right now you’re so fucking horny for him and you need to make him come for you. Probably because you know you shouldn’t bother him. It’s that bratty urge that pops its head out every once and again, urging you to push him, to test him, to make him want you, hard for you even when he shouldn’t.

You look at one of your packed boxes and are suddenly inspired. You pull the tabs open before reaching in and pulling out one of your packed winter items. The snowflake skirt. The skirt that tipped the scales in your relationship. You smile.

You shimmy out of your jeans, shirt and panties before pulling the skirt on and standing in front of the mirror. After a moments deliberation you remove your bra as well, giving yourself a once over and smiling in satisfaction.

You get onto the bed and begin to do a selection of seductive poses, aiming your camera, setting it on a timer and trying your best angles before deciding on a few that turn you on. Your first selection is the snowflake skirt hooked up over the globe of your ass. You’re leaned forward, presenting to the camera. The result is a peek of your glistening folds framed by your skirt on your pale pink sheets. Filthy.

You giggle just at the thought of sending these to Joel while he’s in the middle of work. Your fingers dance over the screen of your phone.

I miss you.

[HIM💜] I told you I was busy, baby.

You feel another bubble of laughter begin as your finger hovers over the selected thumbnail of your naked form. You toss over the idea in your head a moment before pressing send and waiting. His response is almost immediate.

[HIM💜] Are you insane? I’m at work.

I didn’t know you were gonna check your phone!

I was just sending it for later.

[HIM💜] Little liar.

Just missing you. You missing me?

[HIM💜] You know I am. Now stop it.

You can almost hear it in his growled timber.

You giggle before sorting through your remaining photos. You send him the one of you lying on your back, tits out and pussy wet and spread wantonly with your fingers. Your skirt is bunched up around your waist. Your eyes are half lidded looking up into the camera and you bite your lower lip. It's fucking debauched and you send it with a little thrill in your stomach.

He doesn’t reply right away and a part of you is worried that he’s not checked his phone. You wait a few moments before typing out your message to him, a small smirk on your face.

I'm so wet just Thinking about your cock. How good it felt. Wish you were fucking me right now.

[HIM💜] Quit it.

You shouldn’t be as turned on as you are, but you can’t help it. Your fingers begin to rub your clit in earnest, knowing that he’s looking at these photos at work. Knowing that he can’t just stroke his cock in his office. With your free hand you type shakily.

Wish I was sucking your cock under your desk, Mister Miller. Want you to fuck my mouth in the middle of work with people around. Wanna make you come down my throat.

[HIM💜] You like acting like a filthy little slut?

There’s the inherent menace of that statement combined with your arousal that sets the next action into motion. You press voice record and place the phone next to your head. Your breathing is heavy and labored. You imagine Joel in bed next to you, the smell of him, the way his beard rasped between your inner thighs. It’s not long before your groaning and coming hard on your fingers, whimpering his name.

With shaky breath you send the voice memo off and slip into a drowsy warmth. His response is delayed a few minutes, likely because he’s listening to it. The thought amuses and thrills you. Finally a beep sounds through.

[HIM💜] Two can play this game, baby.

///

He doesn’t call you that evening but you’re so busy with studying for finals you don’t really notice. It’s not until your morning lecture the next day that you get a text from him. Distracted you glance at the number and see his name. With a smile you assume it's a cute message and click it, shocked when you see the very obvious erection barely hidden in his boxers.

Your heart jumps and you glance behind you to ensure that the other classmates in your lecture hall haven’t seen. None of them glance your way; all are focused on the professor talking at the podium about your final exam next week.

WTF JOEL. I’m in class!

[HIM💜] Sorry baby. Just missing you.

He’s not sorry at all and you both know it.

You go red in the face before dashing out of your class and into the nearest bathroom. It's mercifully empty and you take the nearest stall. You open your messages and feel a giddy thrill go through you when you see he’s sent through a video.

There's a mixture of embarrassment, terror and thrilling excitement that goes through you at the sight. Joel sent you a dirty video. He's never done that. You can only assume it's payback from your texts yesterday and you couldn't be more delighted.

You lean back against the stall, not even feeling the cool metal because you’re so focused on your cell phone. With trembling fingers you pop your ear buds in and press play. Joel's husky baritone immediately floods your ears and you close your eyes.

"Those were some filthy fucking photos you sent me yesterday," his voice murmurs off screen, sleepy and rumbled. "And sending ‘em to me at work. Naughty girl. I was hard all fuckin’ day."

You smile gently to yourself at the thought of it. Joel stuck behind his desk, jeans tight as his erection pulses desperately. Your eyes open now and you see that he’s lifted his phone to point at his waist. He’s lying in bed, you recognize the sheets. He’s naked now, but he’s not pointing it at his cock yet.

"Don't know that you deserve this video at all," Joel teases and you watch his lower belly twitch. "You're lucky I like you so much."

That little comment thrills you. The camera points down, showing you the glistening head of his cock. Beads of pre-cum already dot it.

"Betcha wish you were licking this thick cock right now, aren't you my sweet little slut?"

His wide hand lazily strokes, making you whimper to yourself in the empty stall.

"This is your come baby," Joel mutters behind the camera. "Been saving it up all day. Thinking about you and t-that... Video we made. Watched it this mornin'."

He breaks off and you watch his wide hand start to jerk his cock more hurriedly, moving more towards the head you desperately wish you were licking.

"You looked so fucking good. T-that innocent way you looked up at me with my cock stuffed in your pretty mouth."

Your pussy is throbbing at this point, watching your sexy boyfriend jerk off for you while he babbles filth in that sexy twang of his.

"You like being my little slut, baby?" Joel croons. "Like knowing I'm carrying around that video? Watching you suck my cock anytime I want?"

Fuck yes you do.

"And you look so fucking eager for it," Joel breathes and you hear that familiar urgency in his voice as he nears his climax. "So desperate to swallow my cock... Tits painted.... Painted with my come."

You’re absolutely soaked, your nipples stiff peaks under your t-shirt. You want nothing more than to be on your knees in front of him, his cock in your mouth. This is pure torture.

“And then those f-fuckin’ photos,” Joel groans and it’s a debauched sound that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “That perfect fuckin’ pussy so wet for me. The way you’re.. touchin-“

Whatever he was about to say is lost in the garbled grunt of his orgasm. His hands stutter and then he comes in thick ropes spurting from between his knuckles, his moans ragged and broken from behind the screen

"All for you, baby, this come is all for you," he's rambling as he erupts. "All yours my good, good little slut."

And then the video ends. Another message has come through.

[HIM💜] Just a preview for next week. Have a great class, baby.

You stand in the stall panting and wet. You're so turned on its insane.

How the fuck are you supposed to last until graduation?

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klausinamarink · 3 months

Text

You Said I Would Live, So I Did

rating: M | cw: temporary character death, minor gore, blood and injury | wc: 3k | tags: angst with happy ending, canon divergence, disabled Eddie, hurt Steve, injury recovery | prompt: Love is healing each other’s wounds

sequel to this

written for @steddielovemonth

If Steve had nearly lost his voice from that nervewrecking day when Eddie had floated in the trailer park, then Steve was shredding the column of his throat into nonexistence as the exact thing was happening in the Creel House attic.

Eddie’s right arm was broken thrice. His left leg followed soon after. Then his left eye burst with a horrid pop, splurts of blood already staining the side of his face.

All Steve had to do was keep watch of Eddie while the others went to the Upside Down to distract the bats and kill Vecna. All he had to do was to wait for the right moment to return the headphones over Eddie’s ears.

But then the Cunninghams had come over with Jason Carver and a few of their friends.

It wasn’t easy to fight them off, especially when Carver held him at gunpoint while the adults instantly believed Eddie was currently listening to Satan’s messages to destroy their perfect town. But Max had come in swinging. Literally. She had held onto Steve’s trusty nailbat and showed them another reason why she liked the moniker Mad Max.

Steve had his back turned on Eddie for too long.

After the last adult finally scuttled and Carver went unconscious on the ground, Steve couldn’t use the music in time.

Eddie suddenly dropped. Steve just barely caught him in time before his body hit the ground.

“I got you, Eds. I got you right here. You’re gonna be okay. We’re taking you to the hospital-” Steve was rambling, trying to keep his composure as he held onto Eddie. Because he can’t take Eddie to the hospital without making his boyfriend cry out in pain whenever he moved an inch.

“I wa- I want-” Eddie was gasping for air, choking on nothing and everything. His chest was frantically raising up and down, each round making his breath more winded. Steve swore he had heard a few of his ribs breaking right before Eddie had fallen.

“What is it?” Steve asked as calmly as he could despite the wet tremor in his voice. He wanted to look away from Eddie’s face, half of it streaming out thick blood and viscera from the socket. His surviving eye was still glazed over with a few specks of brown with a red tear stain dropping down his cheek.

“W-Wayne,” Eddie gasped out painfully, “I want Wayne!”

“He’s on his way right now.” Steve lied. He had no idea if Wayne and Nancy and Robin were okay and actually coming back. He twisted his head over to Max, whose terrified gaze hadn’t left Eddie since he started floating. “Max! Call an ambulance!” He couldn’t believe how much of his voice still held.

Then Max was staring at Steve, her blue eyes welling up as she started shaking. Steve looked back to see Eddie had gone limp. His heartbeat, frantic and jackhammering against Steve’s palm just seconds ago, was no longer there.

“No. No, no, no-” Steve’s voice stopped working then, even when a sob worked its way out of his ruined throat. He pulled Eddie closer, his hand cupping the back of his head when glowing red cracks started splintering the wood right underneath them.

—

There was still blood under his fingernails.

Steve stared at them dully. It was a better distraction than the mechanical beeping and the faint throbbing on his sides. The demobat bites were long stitched-up during those early chaotic hours of waiting. His throat had already been looked at, but nothing but a pack of ice, water, and an easy rest was prescribed.

Steve had almost laughed. He hadn’t gotten an easy rest since he saw a monster burst out of Jonathan Byers’ ceiling.

He couldn’t lift his eyes up. Not because he was tired, no matter how his brain felt it had turned into jelly and dripping out of his ears, but if he brought his gaze up, then he would still see Eddie.

Eddie, who laid in bed with half of his body in thick casts and bandages around the left side of his face and an oxygen tube down his throat, comatose even after two and half days. Eddie, whom Steve had promised over and over to protect him even before Vecna laid his nasty claws on him.

But Steve failed to do exactly that and had let Eddie die.

Because of him, Vecna’s plan succeeded and tore Hawkins in half.

Even though it was a fucking miracle that Eddie’s heart started pulsing again, Steve couldn’t forget it. He could scrub the blood and grime off himself and the high-pressure of his shower wouldn’t do shit to erase the sudden lightweightness of Eddie’s body in his arms. Steve’s stomach swooped with nausea at the recollection. He had always complained of Eddie being so heavy despite his flat ass whenever Eddie had taken the opportunities to randomly launch himself at Steve, who had always caught him even if he was already holding something.

He never wanted to know how light Eddie had felt after dying, but now he does and it was going to forever haunt him.

The doors opened. Without looking, Steve greeted tiredly, “Hey, Wayne.”

Big mistake. He heard the man pause before his boots strode over to him. Neither of them hadn’t talked in between the chaos of the ‘earthquake’, the brief volunteering at the high school, and Robin’s attempts to distract him out of the hospital. Now, they were in the same room and Steve braced himself for a punch. Actually, Wayne wasn’t that physical. So Steve braced himself for a cold warning to leave and never show his face again.

Instead, Wayne gently clamps a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

It makes him look up then. Wayne’s wrinkles had deepened and his eyes were slightly red. He looked more exhausted than Steve had ever seen.

“You need to rest up,” Wayne said gently. Why was he still nice? He shouldn’t be. Not after Eddie-

Before Steve could protest, Wayne led him to a small couch at the corner. It was horribly uncomfortable and itchy but once he laid down, Steve immediately fell asleep.

—

Steve hated dreams.

Most times, he lost the fight. He was manhandled, forced to watch as Carver shot a bullet into Eddie, splattering brains across the ground and walls. Sometimes it was Max who was shot. Whenever the floor broke apart, Steve let himself fall and burn in the gate instead of dragging Eddie away. Eddie’s bones broke, all four limbs like the others. Sometimes his eyes melted first. Sometimes his ribs burst out of his chest. Sometimes his neck snapped as well. Sometimes his skin peeled itself from his hands and turned into claws. Sometimes he came back fine and unharmed but then he dropped with wide unmoving eyes. Sometimes it was one of their dates that never went that way it had actually happened because Eddie would float up and then they were in the attic again.

Every time, Eddie’s mouth twisted into a snarl, “You’re a shitty liar, Steve Harrington.”

Steve started to lose count how many times he’d woken up with a scream caught in his throat.

—

Three weeks later after Vecna shattered half of his body, Eddie woke up.

Steve wasn’t there when it happened. Robin and Dustin had pushed him to shower and change so he went to his house, sat under the shower as it turned cold for probably an hour, and came back to the hospital just in time for Dustin to suddenly shove his face against Steve’s chest and blubbered out-

“He’s awake.”

In another universe, Steve would have sprinted immediately towards Eddie’s room with nothing but immense joy.

Instead, he felt utter cold numbness as Dustin took his hand and dragged him there.

There were doctors fretting around Eddie. Wayne was holding Eddie’s uninjured hand like a lifeline with teary eyes. The other kids were clamoring at the foot of the bed.

During the commotion, Eddie’s eye had flickered over and met Steve’s. There was a crinkle of hope and relief behind them.

Steve was back in the attic, split between the before and after of Eddie’s eye losing life behind them, mere seconds before the ground split.

For the first time, Steve ran away.

—

To his credit, it had taken a week before anyone found him. And by anyone, it was Robin of course.

“What are you doing here?” Robin wrinkled her nose as she looked down at him, hands in overall pockets. She was upside down from where Steve was laying down.

“Enjoying the view.” Steve gestured up with the can he was drinking from.

Robin looked at the sky and glared back down at him, “It’s cloudy and about to rain, smartass.”

Steve giggled, chasing the tipsiness while it lasted. He never stayed high or drunk long enough after the Russians injected their truth serum in his veins. “You called me a smartass.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Robin groaned as she squatted down and pulled him up to a sitting position. Steve tried to swat her away but she refused to let go.

“Where the hell are you?” Robin asked. Steve raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to the wide wheat field they were in. Couldn’t be Indiana without them.

“No, where-” Robin snatched the beer can out of his hand despite Steve’s protests, “-the hell are you?”

Steve glared back at her. “Don’t speak riddles- ow!”

Robin hit him square on the cheek with the can, which was better than another hit on the head. Then her fists curled into the stained collar of his shirt and Steve was treated to the up-close view of her snarling teeth.

“Why the fuck aren’t you at Eddie’s side? Why aren’t you with everyone else giving him support to start physical therapy? Where were you?”

Steve swallowed. The tippiness was already gone. He had been holding it for about.. two hours? That had to be a new record.

Robin shook him violently, “Where-?”

“Nowhere!” Steve yelled. His voice carried across the fields for a few seconds before the echo died. He continued before Robin opened her mouth again, “I just want to be nowhere in Hawkins because I let that town fall apart! So what if El is fixing the fissures, none of it changes that everyone knows it’s my fault they were even there!”

Robin had loosened her grip but Steve kept going, the pieces of himself that died with Eddie he had tried to bury under the broken floorboards at that attic resurfacing. It all came out watery and salty in his mouth.

“I told everyone - you, Wayne, Dustin, Nancy - that Eddie will be fine! Nothing would happen because I would stay with him. But something happened and he died! He died in my arms, Robs, and now he’s awake and I can’t just let myself pretend that I looked away for one second and let Vecna kill him while I could have done something.” Steve sucked in a shaky breath. He looked into Robin’s eyes and tried to smile like used to.

“Steve…” Robin was no longer angry. She looked like she was about to cry.

“His heart stopped.” Steve whispered. It was a well-known fact among the party. Dumb Steve was distracted and Eddie got his bones broken and was medically dead for a minute. “I felt his heart… it just stopped.”

He had spent the rest of that week listening and feeling Eddie’s heartbeat. It had become his own song, the lifeline between them. It had both assured Steve and nearly drove him mad. It was a sacred prayer made between their devoted lips on that blissful night when Eddie had survived.

“You will live. You will live.”

Steve should have known better than to pray. No one listened to his prayers since he was seventeen.

His teeth started chattering, a habit from clenching his jaw so hard whenever he was about to cry.

“His heart stopped and I had to hold him while the gates opened.” The tears finally slipped. “Now ask me again where I was.”

Robin doesn’t. She hugged him tight, making no comment even as the rain broke out or when Steve wiped his snot over the shoulder of her shirt.

—

Steve lingered at the door for another minute before he took in a deep breath and finally stepped inside.

To his surprise, Eddie was alone. Steve briefly wondered if this was Robin’s work but he shook that away. He approached the bed quietly, not willing to announce himself yet.

“I know it’s you.”

Steve froze. Eddie made a quiet chuckling sound before he turned his head towards Steve’s direction. His sole eye had cleared slightly, more brown than white. Most of the thick bandages were removed in lieu of a simple eyepatch. There was a thin tube running out under it.

“Like my new look?” Eddie tilted his head up slowly, probably not to jostle the tube. “It’s modeled after my ancestor Edward Blackbeard. Can’t grow the beard though, something about hygiene.”

It was almost a shock how Eddie retained his humor despite the worst week of their lives. Yet it was so Eddie that Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“If you can’t grow a beard, then your hair genetics are terrible.” Steve joked back, letting himself sit on one of the chairs.

Eddie opened his mouth to mock-retort back, but winced soon after. He was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again, slowly this time, “Apparently I have so much leftover brain juice that the docs need to drain it out before I get approved for physical.”

“Ah,” was all Steve said.

“Yeah.”

They fell into silence again, less comfortable than Steve was used to. He glanced at the casts around Eddie’s arm and leg, all covered with doodles from the kids. It clenched at his heart.

“You know what was one of the things he showed me?”

Steve snapped his gaze back up. Eddie wasn’t looking at him.

It was the first time that either of them dared to breach the topic of Vecna’s visions.

“W-What?”

“He showed how you were an asshole at school, but mega-worse. Made you into someone who was with me just for the sex and weed.” Eddie shrugged like it was no big deal. “Then you ran away even when I called for you to come back.”

Nausea hit Steve like a freight train. He just stared at Eddie because that was what Steve had done.

He had run away because when he saw Eddie looking at him after being comatose, Steve had seen the exact opposite of that moment’s future. Steve had been convinced that Eddie would never forgive him for not saving him and Steve would rather flee like the goddamn Cowardly Lion than face another spit of anger.

“Eds-” Steve started but Eddie was looking back at him and he wasn’t done.

“You know I never believed that last part? Because I knew what kind of person you were and you would never leave.” Eddie’s eye flashed with anger. “So why, on the day I finally woke up, you looked at me in the eye and ran?”

Steve came apart. There had to be something wrong with him, that maybe Vecna secretly targeted him before his ass got fried up, because he was good at shoving the worst of his emotions down. But he had been making more waterworks in the past month than the Niagara Falls.

Steve clenched his nails into his thighs as he blubbered out, “I’m sorry, Eds, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Eddie made some kind of dying animal noise at the back of his throat. Steve felt sick again. He was back at the stupid attic, Eddie on his lap as he breathed too fast and Steve wanted him to slow down before he choked on his own blood-

“-eve, Steve, come here, c’mon.”

He felt his upper body moving. Then he was pressed against another below him. A hand on the side of his head.

“Listen, listen, Stevie.”

Steve bit his lip and stayed quiet, waiting for what Eddie to say next.

But he only heard an ongoing rhythm of babump-babump-babump-babump against his ear.

“You hear that, sweetheart?”

Steve shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears racing down his face.

“Remember what you said that night? That no matter how we defeat Vecna, that I will live.”

“You died.” Steve blurted, “You died and I got Hawkins destroyed.”

Eddie was silent for an awfully long time. Steve felt him swallow a few times before he replied firmly, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Huh?” Steve finally lifted his head up. Eddie still looked angry but it seemed directed elsewhere entirely.

“I took that risk to be the bait. I knew that there was a fifty-fifty chance I would make it out unscathed. I knew what I had to do, but no matter what-” Eddie paused for a moment, clear drops of tears falling from his eye. “I will live.”

With a shaky breath, he smiled wearily at Steve, “And look at me, sweetheart. I kept that promise.”

Steve cried again. He desperately wanted to kiss Eddie but his boyfriend was clearly still in pain, so he carefully cupped his hands under Eddie’s jaw, mindful of the bandages and tube. “I’m so sorry I ran away. I was scared you would hate me, well you kinda did now-”

Eddie shushed him, “Please stop doing that. I never hated you, I was just mad and now I’m not anymore.”

“Still-” Steve was cut off by Eddie leaning forward, bopping his nose against Steve’s. Eddie made another wince and the two of them waited for whatever pain to subside before Eddie spoke again.

“If you promise to be there every day of my physical therapy and don’t be a dick about my missing eye and whatever of me needs extra care, then your sins will be forgiven.”

Steve gave out a watery laugh, “Easy promise.”

#klaus writes #steddie #stranger things #steddielovemonth #was eddie’s ‘death’ inspired by sarah’s death in tlou? perhaps.#also I may have written this as more loose than the og prompt so hopefully that’s fine

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ladamedusoif · 4 months

Text

Reunions (The Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 27

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boy Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x Museum Professional F!Reader

Word Count: 2420

Warnings: Smut; fingering; oral sex (M receiving); PiV sex; a lil bit of praise kink; discussion of ethical theft from museums (yes really); The Thief is a charming gentleman cad; no use of Y/N; no physical description of reader other than that she’s wearing a midnight blue dress; alcohol consumption; strong language

Rating: 18+ MDNI

A/N: Intended as a sequel to My Kiss, Only For You - a reunion for the Thief and our museum professional, as he seeks to explain himself.

The museum is always a hive of activity ahead of the annual Winter Ball, the jewel in its fundraising crown. Doors closed to the public a few hours earlier, and since then the exhibition halls have begun to be transformed by an army of decorating staff and caterers, with flower arrangements, lighting displays, and round dining tables being set up throughout the building.

You watch the hubbub from the upper galleries that lead to the offices occupied by the curatorial staff and other professionals. A colleague from the ceramics department joins you, cooing over the extravagant setting taking shape below.

“They’ve had more demand than ever, this year,” they whisper. “The stolen ruby story has generated so much publicity for us! And it means the director can really ham it up when asking for donations from the big cheeses.”

You swallow hard but maintain your composure. You still dream about the night of the theft. Sometimes you’re cursing your own stupidity, sometimes you’re trying to shield the ruby from a hooded, faceless figure.

More often than not, though, you’re reliving the sensation of being eaten out on your own desk by a devastatingly handsome, well-dressed man with nimble fingers and a mouth made for sin.

***

Tonight, he has chosen a double-breasted jacket in a claret-coloured velvet, teamed with perfectly-cut, understated black dress pants, a white shirt, and a black bow tie.

He never fails to congratulate himself on his anonymity: his donations are made under an assumed name or in the name of his charitable trust, and his ability to fade into the background until he wants to be seen means that no one will pick him out of the crowd, recognise him, remember him.

Unless, of course, you’re there.

He always ensures that he excuses himself after the initial drinks reception and before the sit-down dinner - too awkward, too intimate, and he’s almost always seated at a table full of bores. He knows this building like the back of his hand - and knows, too, that the phalanx of additional catering and wait staff means that the back corridors and entrances to the museum will be open and less heavily patrolled. Ever since he pilfered Katarzyna’s Kiss, the security has been amped up - but tonight, he observes with a smile, the attention of the guards is firmly on the display cases and not the myriad ways to navigate this beautiful building.

He climbs the stairs to the hidden gallery that overlooks the main exhibition hall, and takes out his opera glasses to survey the crowd below. He knows the museum staff are unlikely to be seated too near the big cheeses - the directors would never think to put the people who really know their stuff front and centre, after all - so he focuses his attention on the tables around the periphery of the room.

And there you are.

A dress of midnight-blue velvet, he surmises, accessorised with simple drop pearl earrings. He knew you had taste. Knew it from the minute he first saw you, expertly leading specialist tours around the museum. Understood it when he brought you to dinner, and became so entranced by you that he almost forgot he was planning to steal a priceless ruby. Confirmed it when he made you come with his mouth and tongue across your own desk, savouring the delicious taste of you on his lips.

His cock twitches at the memory. He pats his upper breast pocket, finds the envelope, and disappears into the darkness again.

***

You wait at the temporary bar for your post-dinner dirty martini, feet starting to ache in your new shoes and eyes watching the clock so you can get out of here as soon as it’s polite to do so.

“One dirty martini, and a message for you, miss, from the gentleman.”

The bartender pushes your martini in its Nick and Nora glass and a white envelope across the bar.

“From who?”

“The gentleman, miss. He said you would understand.”

You spin around, about to ask the bartender if they recognise the man in the crowd so that you can speak to him directly, but when you turn back they’re gone.

***

You hide behind a display case of Egyptian canopic jars and sit on the floor, taking a few fortifying sips of the icy-cold martini before you dare to open the envelope.

Chérie, how beautiful you are tonight, dressed in the colour of the night sky! Forgive my unusual method of communication - I did not want to make myself known to the boring mass of guests.

I have never stopped thinking about you. I hope for a reunion. Say you’ll come, chérie. I wait for you.

Your Gentleman Thief.

The card is printed with an address located on one of the fanciest residential streets in the entire city.

***

The apartment building is quietly imposing. As you approach the main door, fear strikes you for a moment. This is a thief, after all - a charming one, true, and a handsome one, but still a thief, and one who misled you to get what he wanted.

And yet.

The doorman looks you up and down and opens the door into the lobby, directing you towards the elegant, wood-panelled doors of the elevators. “Seventh floor, miss. The gentleman will meet you there.”

You look at your reflection in the elevator mirror during the short ride. Presentable. Not bad. Probably crazy.

A ping signals that you’ve arrived, the doors open - and there he is. For a moment, you feel as though the ground is about to collapse beneath you, as those penetrating coffee-brown eyes meet yours once again, and that charming smile spreads across his handsome face.

“Chérie, you came to me,” he says softly, embracing you with a soft kiss to the cheek. “I’m so glad. Come, come - this way.”

***

He guides you to a gorgeous mid-century sofa, seamlessly taking your coat and bag as you move through the palatial apartment, decorated with a perfectly curated selection of artworks and artefacts.

“A drink, mi amor? I do enjoy playing at mixology, so I can conjure up whatever you desire. A sour? A sidecar? A boulevardier?”

Your mouth is dry, and you realise with a start that you haven’t said a word yet. “A martini. Dirty. Gin.” You swallow drily. “And a glass of water. Please.”

He prepares the drinks, mixing up a sidecar for himself, and settles beside you on the couch. He somehow looks even more appealing than he did the first night he brought you to dinner, his dark red velvet jacket unbuttoned to show off the perfectly-fitted waistband of his black, tailored pants, and his arm draped invitingly over the back of the couch.

“To art,” he murmurs, holding up his glass in a toast.

“To art,” you echo.

Silence hangs in the air for a few moments until you turn to face him. “Why am I here?”

He quirks an eyebrow and does a half-smile as he appraises you. “Why do you think you’re here?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t play with me again. Please. I won’t be taken for a fool, not a second time.”

A confused, somewhat sad expression sweeps across his face. “I do not think you are a fool, chérie. Far from it.”

“You tricked me.”

He puts his glass down on the elegant coffee table. “I did. And I am sorry. But I meant what I said - I can’t stop thinking about you, and… I want to explain.”

You glance around the room, taking in the extraordinary wealth on display. “Explain? You’re a thief. You steal. And I don’t know why I’m even sitting here with you.”

“I am a thief,” he concedes, shifting closer to you and reaching for your hand, “but all is not as it seems.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“All this, this fortune - I did not earn it. I inherited it, simply by virtue of being the descendant of exploitative capitalists.”

“So why not give it all up? And why steal?”

He chuckles and looks at you in a manner akin to a naughty schoolboy. “I like nice things, chérie. And so do you, I suspect.”

You cannot stop the flicker of a smile that ghosts across your lips.

“You haven’t answered my second question.”

He inhales deeply. “I steal according to a moral compass, and the belief that not everything belongs in a museum - especially if it was stolen in order to put it there.”

Your expression is deeply sceptical. “Two thefts don’t make a…well, a right.”

He nods. “I agree, but my theft often leads to repatriation or returning items to their rightful owners or where they belong - which, I believe, is rather better than wanton looting by colonial powers. Don’t you agree?”

He sips his drink and continues. “So, that’s what I do. I have extraordinary wealth and privilege, and all the time in the world to research and plan. And I try to use those resources - and my intellect - for some kind of good.”

You sip your drink and shake your head. Is this some kind of weird cheese dream, brought on by the mini soufflés at the gala?

“Most people just fund a few galleries, you know.”

He chuckles. “I do that, too. But this is so much more fun, don’t you think?”

That fucking voice. His eyes twinkle mischievously and you can feel an ache between your legs. Fuck, he’s sexy.

You shift closer to him and put down your glass, reaching over to brush an errant curl away from his face. “What if you get caught?”

He bites his lip as he looks into your eyes. “Haven’t been caught yet.”

You trail your fingertips across the greying patches of facial hair along his jaw, noticing how his breath hitches at your touch. “And do you often seduce museum staff as part of your, um, work?”

He’s so close now that you can almost feel the brush of his moustache off your upper lip. He shakes his head. “Only you, chérie, and it wasn’t just for the work, I swear. I mean it, I can’t - I cannot stop thinking about you.”

You feel his hand drop to your leg and snake its way under your dress, caressing the soft flesh of your thigh and making you whine with pleasure and anticipation. “What do you think about?”

He shifts you back onto the couch and moves himself into position above you, hands tracing the outline of your body before he shucks off his expensive jacket. “I think about this,” he whispers, kissing your neck and décolletage. “I think about what it would be like to undress you, to have you completely bare, to play with your tits and your pussy as much as you liked, make you come over and over.”

Your hips buck upwards to meet his, and you moan as you realise how hard he is. You pull up the hem of your dress and slip down your panties, watching as his dark eyes widen, before unbuttoning his shirt and turning your attention to undoing his pants.

“And then what do you think about, thief?”

You pull down his boxer briefs and pants and lick your lips at the sight of his cock: hard, thick, a pearl of pre-come already glistening at the tip. You shift your body down a little so that you can easily lift your head and take him into your mouth, making him cry out at the sensation.

“What do you think about, thief? Tell me.”

You flick your tongue over the head of his cock and take as much of him into your mouth as you can, enjoying how wrecked he looks above you.

“Think about…fuck, think about this… think about oh, fuck - fucking you, taking you, having you, as much as I want - oh, fuck!”

You release him with a pop, move your body back into position and guide his hand between your legs. “Am I wet for you?”

He groans, eyes dark with lust, and nods, slipping two thick fingers inside you and fucking you with them until you come, back arching and eyes rolling with sheer pleasure.

“I need to have you, chérie,” he hisses, and you feel his cock already pressing against your pussy. “Do you want me? Use your words.”

You pull your dress up around your waist and open your legs for him. “Yes. Yes, I fucking want you. Need you.”

He reaches for his elegant black leather wallet and swiftly produces a condom packet, rolling the rubber carefully over his cock before shifting into position against you.

“I’ve wanted this since the day I met you, chérie - wanted you,” and with a steady push he’s inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way. He fondles your breasts as you both adjust to the feeling.

“Fuck me, thief.” You are direct, clear - and he obeys, dragging himself almost all the way back out before thrusting back into you and steadily building up a rhythm that has you both moaning with pleasure as he fucks into you over and over again, hands gripping your hips and lips finding yours in a messy, needy kiss.

He slips a finger against your clit and works it until you’re coming on his cock, smiling to himself when he feels your cunt clench around him and the wetness drip down onto his balls.

“Good girl, chérie,” he coos, kissing the soft skin of your breasts, exposed over the neckline of your dress. “I’m going to go a little faster now, a little harder, okay?”

You nod your assent and cry out as he fucks you harder and deeper than you’ve ever been before, legs wrapping around his warm, solid body to pull him even further into you as he comes with a loud groan and collapses onto your chest.

***

He awakes to the smell of freshly-brewed coffee and an empty bed. An envelope, simply addressed to ‘My Gentleman Thief’, is propped up against the coffee machine. He opens it with a smile.

Thief,

I wanted our reunion more than I dared admit. And now that I’ve had you, I have a feeling I’m going to want you all the more.

I suspect, too, that you have many more stories to share - preferably over dinner, and then before bed.

You know where I am.

Find me.

Chérie

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #the thief x f!reader #the thief fanfiction #the thief smut #the thief casillero del diablo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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wendingways · 11 months

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Wendingways' Star Wars fic recs

The vast majority of these are fix-its. Some are time travel/time loop. Most revolve around PT, TCW, and OT characters. A lot are also gen, as it turns out.

The order of the list has nothing to do with how much I enjoyed each fic, because I've enjoyed them all in different ways, for different reasons! Fics that seem to be really popular have been placed toward the bottom of each section, because I'm guessing they already appear on a lot of other rec lists. Aside from that, the order is pretty much random.

*Chapter and word counts may not be up to date. I try to go through once in a while to update the details for WIPS, but it's a lot to keep track of!

Complete multichapter fics

Finding Obi-Wan; T, 86.9k. Obi-Wan, having disappeared from the Jedi Temple, wakes up with no idea who he is or what the Force is and gets pulled into all manner of messes (yes, Hondo gets involved, of course he does), while Anakin refuses to believe he's dead and struggles to find him.

Blood and Copper Oxide; T, 36.3k. "Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader crash land on a planet that shouldn't have existed. Luke can't escape Vader and survive the planet at the same time. Darth Vader can't capture Luke and fight off the innumerable threats the planet sends his way. They might have to work together instead." Very cool story!

The Skywalker Secret; T, 39.8k. Anakin time travels back to the Clone Wars following Endor. The story is told mostly through the eyes of perplexed observers, and has an excellent ending; it's very satisfying and lovely!

Lunches at Anakin's; T, 93.1k. After Endor, thanks to the Force's meddling, Anakin finds himself alive but stuck on Tatooine, where he ends up reluctantly mentoring a Force-sensitive girl. (Technically complete, but part of a series which is not complete.)

(Tooka)Cat Scratch Fever; not rated, 17.7k. Luke adopts a tooka which turns out to be his father, under a curse by Sidious. (I would probably rate this one as T.)

In the Tall Grass; T, 18.5k. "After a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along." This one is so cool, it has such a fairytale feel to it! And there's a sequel!

Shadows of the Future; K+, 129.3k. Obi-Wan dies on Mustafar and is sent back to TPM, where he bonds with Anakin and begins to change the future for the better.

Gut Feeling; T, 7.5k. Amusing little multichapter wherein Piett is assigned a new aide who goes by the name of Lucas Starkiller (who is clearly not Luke Skywalker, definitely not), and from there becomes embroiled in treason.

May Death Find You Alive; T, 11.0k. Anakin gets stuck in a time loop where Obi-Wan keeps dying.

Empire Reimagined; series, T, 341.7k. A saga of Luke, Vader/Anakin, Piett, Veers, and Leia covering from ESB-era to post-ROTJ. Epic friendships abound! (Series not marked complete, but the last completed fic doesn't leave you hanging.)

Mirjahaal; T, 132.8k. Another lovely Wishful fic in the spirit of Empire Reimagined, involving favorite characters and somebody else who's a surprise!

The Exiled; T, 20.1k. "Leia has tried everything to help her baby son. She has turned to every expert on the Force she knows-- all but one. (Ben and Grandpa go camping)" (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Cloudy Symbols of High Romance; G, 22.1k. This one's a bit of a relict! Posted pre-AOTC, way back in 2001, it's a cool take on how Anakin and Padmé's AOTC-era reunion happened, and omg, it's so much better than AOTC. It's actually cute, and you can see why they like each other, and man does it make the knowledge of what's coming so much the worse.

Kintsugi; T, 16.7k. Quietly tragic, even though nobody dies and it's broadly a fix-it. Not a comfy fic, but one which is well done.

What Lurks in the Dark; T, 155.4k. "A simple mission to check out an abandoned weapons factory turns into a dangerous fight for survival. Trust is broken, loyalties will be tested, and dark secrets are brought to light. Because sooner or later, the truth always comes out."

The Beauty in the Beast; T, 46.1k. "When the Force decides it's had enough of Darth Vader and wants Anakin Skywalker back, it dumps his long-lost teenage son on his doorstep with an ultimatum: unless Vader renounces the Sith and turns back to the Light within three months, Luke will die."

Sibling Revelry; T, 24.9k. "After Bespin and before Endor, Darth Vader is shocked to discover that Luke and Leia are twins. Especially since Imperial Intelligence just told him that Organa and Skywalker are, erm, a tad closer than previously suspected..." A hilarious comedy of misunderstandings!

The Sith Who Brought Life Day; G, 13.3k. A rather entertaining take on how Vader found out who blew up the Death Star.

This Life of Ours; T, 53.9k. "On the run from the empire and the remaining Jedi alike, Vader must come to terms with his past and his future, all the while learning to care for the boy that is his only connection to his life as Anakin Skywalker." (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Teach the Padawan. Save the Galaxy.; series, T, 387.4k. 4 books complete, but the series itself is not complete. Ben Kenobi goes back in time and becomes Obi-Wan's master instead of Qui-Gon.

Legacy; G, 175.5k. Post-ROTJ Luke and Leia time travel to the Clone Wars.

there but for the grace of god; T, 49.2k. Young Luke winds up time traveling to the Clone Wars, where he causes both confusion and conversations that will lead to a brighter future for the TCW crew and the galaxy in general.

Precipice; M, 231.7k. "An AU in which Anakin Skywalker does not follow Mace Windu and the others to Palpatine’s office after they leave to arrest the Chancellor. As a result, he doesn’t get that final push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall." Padmé and Anakin each raise a twin and work to bring Palpatine down.

Don't Look Back; M, series, 533.7k. 2 books complete, 1 in progress. Leia gets sent back to AOTC-era, and omg is she a force to be reckoned with! Very detailed, very political series.

Oneshots

Negative Static Stability; G, 8.1k. Vader and Leia meet when Leia is 5; lessons on the workings of ships ensue, along with some good old Artoo scheming. Adorable!

Palpatine's Greatest Hits II: Imperial Boogaloo; T, 1.3k. Just Palpatine being salty. It's very fun! "Fortress Dramaticus" has got to be one of my favorite bits, coupled with Palpatine's ongoing disgust at its lack of shields and certain people's inability to learn certain lessons. And his disgust at Vader's Kenobi obsession. Okay, the whole thing is great. Go read it!

Dust to Dust; T, 4.7k. "Darth Vader goes back in time. The Galaxy is saved; he is not."

Puppet Kings; series, T-M, 18.8k. Really nicely done, dark oneshot trilogy (complete) about Luke, Vader, & Co. I'm not usually one for horror and tragedy, but I read the first fic in the series and didn't want to stop!

Amelioration; T, 8.2k. "A recently liberated Vader attempts to ameliorate the future by changing the past." A different sort of angle, and an interesting fic!

The Horrendous Space Kablooie; T, 6.2k. "9 year old Anakin wakes up on the Executor. Chaos ensues." Well worth reading! Can't say more because I don't want to spoil anything.

The Agony of Tarkin; G, 4.8k. "An extra in the Imperial Opera Company discovers he has been assigned the role of Darth Vader in its upcoming production of The Agony of Tarkin." Another hilarious fic in the vein of The Sith Who Brought Life Day and Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic.

Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic; G, 7.0k. "Palpatine makes a choice to hide his fiscal manoeuvres in the Financial Department. The Financial Department takes advantage of this lack of transparency to do whatever they want. This saved the Republic." It's always fun to watch Palpatine shoot himself in the foot, and all the better when it comes completely out of left field.

Out of Step; T, 4.9k. Nice little oneshot with post OT-era Obi-Wan and Anakin stuck into their TPM-era selves.

FIVE HUNDRED AND ONE THING THE MEMBERS OF THE 501ST LEGION OF THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO; T, 4.9k. A hilarious list composed by General Kenobi. I laugh myself silly every time I read this. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

501 MORE THINGS THE 501ST ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO; T, 3.4k. A sequel to the 501st list fic, also very funny, although it only has about 250 entries, not 501. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.) Listed with oneshots because the extant 250 entries can be read as a complete list.

Where Have We Come?; T, 2.0k. "The first time was one of the hardest and the easiest. Obi-Wan loses at Mustafar, but instead of dying he wakes up at the dawn of the last day of the republic, doomed to repeat the worst day of his life, over and over again." Time loop!

you drew stars around my scars (but now i'm bleeding); not rated, 1.1k. Post-Twilight of the Apprentice, Ahsoka and Anakin. I'd rate G or T. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

still dancing with your ghosts (sleeping with your memories); M, 1.1k. "Everyone knows about the Massacre, and how no Jedi made it out alive. The Jedi refuse to let anyone forget." I do not cry easily at fics. This one made me cry.

The Trick is to Keep Breathing; T, 3.5k. "She's older now, and so is he. Far older now. She wonders: will he have lost any power with his age? Will he be shorter, weaker? An old man on a ventilator? It's hard to imagine that he won't still be dangerous. But then, that's exactly what she's counting on."

Tuning up your TIE-Fighter to prove you’re better than the bastard currently running the TIE-Fighter Program for fun and profit; G, 7.1K. "As a rule, Vader didn't really do anything with his social media account, but then the rant of some kid from Tatooine about the inefficiency of TIE Fighters began trending, the pilots and engineers on the Devastator started fixing their ships and Vader got invested."

Multichapter fics that are incomplete but still appear to be alive as of now

Turning Point; T, 9.8k. After Vader dies on the second Death Star, he's sent back in time to the year 69 BBY, on Naboo, where he picks up an unfortunate barnacle in the person of the teenage Sheev Palpatine. Quite entertaining, and I can't wait to see where it goes!

The Good He Seeks; T, 70.1k. "After killing the Emperor, Darth Vader agreed to serve the fledgling New Republic and destroy the last true-believers of the Empire he had once helped create. But he's living on borrowed time." Though I do enjoy pure fix-its, there's just something that really gets me about fics that are fix-it-ish, but life is messy, the characters are messy, there are no easy answers or perfect solutions, and every positive development really feels earned. So far, this is one of those fics, and I'm loving it!

The Galaxy Revolves at a Million Miles a Day (Around Me); T, 40.7k. After dying on Executor during the battle of Endor, Piett finds himself trapped in a time loop which he must break. I'm a sucker for time loops, and this is such a good one!

The Sleepover to Restore the Republic; T, 56.1k. This many Skywalkers, clones, and associated friends, relatives, and coworkers were never intended to be thrown together, and when they are, boy oh boy. Gloriously chaotic and funny. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Nameless, on the Edge of Nowhere; M, 100.7k. Vader survives ROTJ, but both he and Luke made it out of the second Death Star via random hyperspace jumps in separate ships. After getting by for a time, the not-fully-Sith-but-not-fully-redeemed Vader ends up with the Rebellion, where Leia becomes his handler. Slow build, and a really rewarding read thus far! (Also, I love the OCs in this one; they all feel very natural and vivid, and like people in their own right.)

Multichapter fics/series for those okay with living on the edge (inconsistent updates, long hiatus, or abandoned)

Headaches; T, 31.2K. "When Luke overhears his aunt and uncle arguing, he follows old Ben to Daiyu. Skywalker shenanigans ensues." Oh my goodness, the pure child chaos that is in this fic, it's an excellent time. Hasn't updated in almost a year, but what's there is so good!

Balance on the knife edge; T, 136.6k. After dying on Malachor, Ahsoka time travels back to Mortis, during the Clone Wars.

The Thunder Answered Back; M, 13.1k. "Count Dooku survives his duel with Anakin Skywalker only to wake up as a captive in the Jedi Temple on the evening of Order 66 and the siege. Betrayed, maimed, and surrounded by slaughter on every side, he must choose his path forward - and choose it quickly. RotS AU." Featuring Jocasta Nu.

Synchronous; G, 67.9k. "It's the usual time-entangling fiasco: 'Find the disturbance. Rectify the wrong. Fix the anomaly. Bring balance to the past so the Force may be balanced in the future.' There is a slight miscalculation, however, and Luke Skywalker finds himself in the Clone Wars while having to masquerade in the body of his late father Anakin Skywalker. Leia and Han aren't so helpful either."

In the Midst of Darkness Lays a Sleeping Light; T, 26.0k. Series, wherein Palpatine turns Vader into a dragon. (It goes great for both of them. Totally.) Angsty and enjoyable, and an interesting exploration of dehumanization/rehumanization.

To Set Up a Sith; T, 35.2k. "Teenage Luke tries to help his unwitting Sith father make a friend, with a little help from his ghost mom and the Force." Interesting story with fun and sweet bits, and I'm super curious about how it will turn out if it's ever finished!

like a lazy ocean hugs the shore; T, 10.7k. After Vader kills him, Fox gets stuck in a time loop around the time when Fives is killed.

Living Every Day; T, 82.9k. "When Satine Kryze survives her encounter with Darth Maul, it changes the galaxy. But even more than that, it changes the lives of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Skywalker family."

Dancing with Ghosts in Your Garden; T, 979.3k. Star Wars PT and TCW characters, but in a Hogwarts setting. It works surprisingly well! There's a little more teenage romance than is my personal preference, but it's a cool AU and quite long if you're looking for a fun, imaginative fic to absolutely bury yourself in for a while. (And it looks like Ahsoka might finally be entering during the next year of the fic!!)

What We've Become; T, 82.0K. "Darth Vader and Ahsoka’s fight on Malachor takes a different path, and Ahsoka actually is able to save her master. Or rather, she’s able to convince him to save himself. Diverges from canon in the last few minutes of Twilight of the Apprentice and goes increasingly AU from there."

better late than never; G, 41.4k. Ahsoka wins at Malachor, Vader redemption fic.

Madhouse Promenade; T, 13.0k. "In a bid to save his new apprentice's life, Darth Sidious siphoned the life force from Padmé Amidala, ultimately killing her. Ten years later, after finding out the truth, Darth Vader finds himself haunted by her ghost, and Padmé finds herself face-to-face with what her husband has become."

Hard Reset; T, 33.4k. "Anakin Skywalker wakes up to his worst nightmare, and he doesn't even know all of it yet." Aka Vader gets amnesia, and Anakin is confused about everything. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

The Ghosts on Coruscant; T, 143.6k. After surviving Mustafar and living as a rebel for eight years, Padmé is captured by the Empire, and Vader finds out.

Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns; T, 616.6k. ST-era Leia time travels back to ANH.

Old Man Luke; M, 109.4. ST-era Luke and Leia time travel to the Clone Wars.

Comics (all wips)

Dark Chasm; T, 21 chapters. "On Bespin, the truth is revealed, and Vader bids for Luke to join him. Luke looks down into the dark chasm and makes a choice."

Imperial Babysitters; T, 17 chapters. Cute comic/art series with Luke being raised by Vader, Piett, and Veers.

Our New Hope; T, 57 chapters. "After Ahsoka Tano discovers 12-year-old Luke Skywalker on Tatooine, she takes him under her wing and around the Galaxy. Meanwhile, Darth Vader has found Bail Organa's force-sensitive daughter and has started training her as a Junior Inquisitor. A chance encounter between the twins brings their worlds together."

The Tinies; G, 76 chapters. Cute comic with Vader and Padmé raising Luke and Leia.

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genshin-scenarios · 7 months

Text

Reunion: The End of the Night [Part 7]

Read the first series (Adopt a Wanderer) here! An AU where Scaramouche/Wanderer gets isekaied to your world - a found-family series.

Summary: The last chapter of the sequel is here! Featuring the Lantern Rite, you and Kuni are now traveling around Liyue.

Wordcount: 2758

Part 1

Part 6 <-

Initially, you weren’t sure if Kuni would agree to stay at Wangshu Inn until the both of you stepped out on its highest balcony, and the bustle of people below immediately dissolved into a jaw-dropping view.

No wonder Xiao frequents this place. You can’t imagine any other sight that would soothe the mind such as this. It almost made you a little jealous of those that lived in Teyvat, for being witness to sceneries so beautiful as part of their everyday lives.

Needless to say, you’ve since acquired neighboring single rooms at Wangshu Inn and started to traverse Liyue at your leisure. It was only a week or two before the Lantern Rite, so there were many commissions available to help local businesses prepare for the event.

Kuni was not as enthusiastic about working as a delivery-person, but at your reminder it’s a two-in-one of exploring and earning mora, he relented.

You’re actually kind of impressed at how fast he’s able to fly around. Meanwhile, you were simply trying to act natural when meeting people like Xiangling and Hu Tao at the harbor. You knew they lived here, but you really underestimated how fast your heart would beat when faced with characters you’ve only seen on screens!

Kuni likes to make fun of you for that, saying you’ll spontaneously combust at this rate since there were many more recognisable figures that you’d run into - and while it was true, you can’t help but feel a little excited every time. You definitely almost tripped and fell off the stairs when you realized Xiao was on the rooftop one night. But you digress.

Right now however, such things were at the back of your mind as you and Kuni were in the Minlin area - more specifically, to explore Jueyun Karst and the Hanguang Stone Forest, after Verr Goldet asked if you’d be willing to drop off supplies to crafters that frequent there for inspiration.

“Making crafts and weaponry in honor of the adepti is quite common during this season, especially in terms of commissions from high-profile customers. Normally we send our messengers there, but since I noticed one of you has a vision and is quite adept with flying around…”

You’d be getting paid a high sum for this after all. And, well… You did want to get Kuni some qingxin flowers to replace the ones you gave him in Sumeru, seeing as you did say as much with so much confidence before. He says you’re ridiculous for going to such dangerous places when you could just buy some from a shop, but you also wanted to share the tranquil view with him (despite how Kuni said otherwise, you find that his cat-like characteristics extend to lounging on tall vantage points. Perhaps he liked being able to see everything that was going on in this way).

“We should’ve turned this into a picnic.” You muse, tucking your feet carefully under your legs as you look around. Kuni managed to fly you up to one of the more spacious peaks in Hanguang Stone Forest. The weather is nice, and you’re taking a break from deliveries. “I can see myself having quite a nice nap out here.”

“The more you talk, the more I wonder if you’d survive alone.” Kuni’s words hold no malice, but you’re a little surprised that he’s chatting now, seeing as he’d opted to let you do the talking with the craftsmen earlier. “What if you roll over too much and plummet down?”

“Well… you wouldn’t let me die in such a lame way, right?”

“...”

“...Right? Hey—”

“You two up there! Might you be adventurers?” A stranger’s voice echoes from the bridge below, effectively stealing away both of your attention.

“Um, yeah!” You yell back. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“There’s a swordsmith stuck on Mount Hulao! He’s gotten trapped in the amber.” The person holds her head in exasperation. You feel a little bad for the lady; it seems like this isn’t the first time trouble has found this mysterious swordsmith. “If the two of you are able to rescue him, I’ll pay you for your services. Mora is no problem.”

When Kuni meets your gaze, he can only heave out a sigh. “Fine, fine. Let’s get this loser.”

“We’ll do it!” You give the lady a thumbs up. Without a moment to waste, she gives you instructions on the swordsmith’s location once you descend the stone spire.

She marks another spot on your map. “And this is where our lodges are located. Once that idiot is rescued, please return him here. I told him not to rush to the mountains so early in the morning, but he kept insisting he could collect the amber from Mount Hulao as a finishing touch to his creation…”

“No problem, we’ll be back as soon as we can.” You assure her. “Um… may I ask if you’re his co-worker, or…?”

“Oh, I’m a painter.” She raises a hand to her heart, giving you a proper introduction. “My name is Lian. Both me and Yichen were commissioned to create works for this year’s Lantern Rite, as part of a larger collection to be on display at Liyue Harbour.”

“So this sword he’s putting finishing touches to is for that?”

“...Not exactly.” Lian purses her lips. “You can ask him more about it later on, if you wish.”

You manage to find Yichen quite easily, seeing as he’s only made it halfway up the mountain before getting caught by the clever defenses of Mount Hulao. With a bit of brute force, Kuni manages to break the poor guy out of his amber cocoon.

Thankfully Yichen gives up on the idea of continuing his search for amber - after an hour or so of being stuck inside it, he says it’s lost the original charm he envisioned - and you make it back to their lodges in one piece.

“Why use amber from that place anyways?” Kuni raises a brow. “You could simply buy any jewels you need as part of your budget.”

“It’s not about that,” Yichen explains, “One night, while we were out here to gain inspiration from our surroundings, I fell asleep while sketching decorative designs for the blade. I had a dream of the most beautiful sword, crafted from a gemstone of wonderful, rich origins… but it’s too last minute to order some from the city, where everyone else has already booked out materials.”

“And it doesn’t feel the same to get mass-produced gems.” Lian adds, reading his expression with ease. “You’ve been wanting to leave a sword here as an offering to the adepti, right?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Well, you made an extra blade. And talk in your sleep.” She shrugs. After handing you the payment for rescuing Yichen, Lian gives him a pat on the shoulder. “Maybe next time you’ll be able to finish it and deliver it to the mountains. There’s no need to rush.”

“By wonderful, rich stones… would noctilucous jade from the Chasm work?” You speak up.

“The Chasm?” Yichen’s gaze lights up. “Have you been there?”

“We passed through it.” Fishing out some samples you took with you from your backpack, you show them to Yichen. “I don’t know if these are enough - we sold the rest on the way to the harbor.”

The only reason you still had them on-hand was as emergency funds. Who would’ve thought they might be able to contribute to this man’s wish?

Almost in a daze, Yichen’s expression melts into a smile. “Yes… These would work splendidly! What is your price? I can pay a bit over market rates, since these are of a better quality, and—”

“You can do all that after you finish crafting your blade.” Kuni interrupts him. At your surprised look, Kuni tilts his head. “What? It’s already midday. If he wants to deliver that thing soon, he might as well get started.”

“I’ll be sure to return this favor! Please give me a few hours - it shouldn’t take too long for me to shape the jade!”

You never would’ve expected yourself to be dazzled by weapons of all things, but the finished product truly was a sight to behold.

As a sword fashioned for ceremonial purposes rather than an adventurer’s use, its hilt is engraved with small stones of noctilucous jade. The entire edge of the blade is plated with the gemstone as if coated in sky-blue paint, sharpened with masterful precision. You’re not sure how he’s managed such a thing, but it leaves the sword twinkling in a deadly manner. It’d look absolutely stunning under the sunlight.

“And now to test it.” Yichen looks down at the sword in his hands, before bowing his head and offering it to Kuni. “If you would… I’d like you to do the honors.”

“Me?” Kuni looks like he’s about to decline, but hesitates. “Why?”

Yichen straightens, giving Kuni a smile. “Well, aside from the impressive display you put up while rescuing me, the way you observed my workspace when we first arrived gave me the impression you were a little familiar with sword making.” He pauses. “But, you can also call it intuition. Between the four of us, I simply believe you’d wield this sword the best.”

“Hmph. Human reasoning really is nonsensical.”

Something in the air changes as Kuni picks up the sheathed blade, adjusting to its weight and equipping the scabbard so that the sword would rest by his hips. His gaze lowers as if recalling a ritual from long ago, making his way to an open area surrounded by amber trees.

There is no music, but you, Lian, and Yichen all fall silent. The wind picks up, twirling through the air while carrying gold and orange leaves.

Kuni takes a step forward, his hands shifting with graceful movements. He does not have a fan as one normally would with a sword dance, but in place he conjures anemo to take its form. Teal and ochre swirl around the timeless wanderer, and in the middle of it all is sapphire that unmistakably draws the eye.

It is blue in the richness of the sky and sea, harnessed into a blade that flirts with the light as Kuni flourishes it, guiding it through the air.

He cuts through the falling leaves, slicing them clean in half. It’s like time has stopped to witness his actions, preserving the fall of orange just a second more.

Suffice to say, Yichen absolutely begs Kuni to follow him up to the mountains to place the offering. (“It wouldn’t be right otherwise!”) The entire group treks up Mount Aocang, which you identified as the safest option for visit.

Lian gives you a painting of Kuni’s sword dance before you leave, along with another drawing of the both of you walking together at the front with a flabbergasted Yichen. Kuni doesn’t say much about this outwardly, but you notice the way he keeps an eye on where you keep it - safely tucked within your backpack.

“After the death of Rex Lapis, the adepti showed up at Liyue Harbour during a time of great need.

“They’ve since retreated to their abodes, but I just wanted to leave something as a sign of gratitude. Liyue Harbour is my home, after all. I’ll always thank those that help protect it - and to the two of you, for helping me accomplish this much.

“If you two ever need help while in the city, feel free to look for us. We’ll do what we can!”

On the day of the Lantern Rite celebration, where the giant mingxiao lantern would come to life and soar above the harbor at night - you find yourself wandering through the city to take full advantage of its offerings.

With delicious food, riddles, and shadow puppet shows to watch, there’s never a dull moment. At some point Kuni got roped into helping children mend their dolls, but he much prefers to get some relative quiet from the crowds; you end up in a shop that makes their own mingxiao lanterns, and allows you to customize yours before sending it off to the sky.

Instead of writing your wishes on the paper slip as instructed by Master Lou however, you place an additional slip on the table between you and Kuni, silently willing him to take it and read its contents.

Like school-children passing notes, Kuni raises a brow at the way you’re pretending you’ve been on-task the entire time. You stand up and chase after one of the staff members to ask a question, leaving him alone at the desk.

He would’ve expected your handwriting to struggle fitting onto a paper so small, but the words stand out in tiny, tentative letters.

‘Did you ever regret meeting me?’

Kuni silently pockets the note and finishes off his wish, tying it to his mingxiao lantern and exiting the shop. The lantern looks like it could be the stage of a shadow puppet show. Or perhaps, more optimistically, a page where the wishes written on paper could be brought to life. With how unpredictable the shape of a flickering fire can be, Kuni doesn’t doubt that a drunk man could witness a dream simply by watching the lanterns up close.

He joins you at the docks, where children and adults alike crowd around the harbor and balconies, awaiting the start of the fireworks show. Once the musicians begin playing, the lanterns in your hands start to glow, raising themselves into the air.

They gather against the night sky like a sea of fireflies, and as much as Kuni wants to say it’s simply an ocean of floating trash… the sight is something that brings him to pause.

“I’m not particularly mad or bitter about the past.” Kuni says quietly. It might’ve gone unheard beneath the music of the streets if he wasn’t standing next to you. “Even if you’re a bit of a liability, traveling around with you and making sure you don’t run into trouble aren’t such bad memories to have.”

The music swells, and something in your chest twinges with it. The melody goes tentative, tentative, before marching into a crescendo you recognise by heart.

“In that case, I have to thank you.” You reply, eyes on the lanterns that’re so far away now. “I never would’ve thought that offering shelter to a lost person would bring me to this day. But I don’t regret any of it.”

A whistle shoots through the air, drawing your line of sight up, and higher, to where the first firework blooms. It’s followed by a chorus of more multicolored lights, delivered from Naganohara Fireworks across the ocean. Perhaps one day, you and Kuni could visit Inazuma, or Mondstadt, or wherever else the wind blows. For now though, this sight is more than enough to captivate you.

The fireworks are fleeting, yet as you drink in the display of explosive lights, the moment seems to hang just a second longer for you to savor it.

Eternal, yet not. A long time ago, in a different place, Kuni had witnessed fireworks from your apartment window for the first time. Against the tempered glass, both of your reflections could be seen in tandem with the fireworks far away.

You’d asked him if he wanted to go outside for a better view, but Kuni had said this much was enough. Perhaps there was something about its beauty that deserved being admired from a distance - or, he might’ve seen similar sights from a beach in Inazuma, far from where the main city stood proud.

“...You know what? If we ever get separated, or if you’re the one who loses their memory - I’d fight to hell and back to make you remember again.”

“You say that as if I would forget.” Kuni replies, stating the loud implication as if it were fact. Maybe with his will, it might as well be.

“I’ll take that as a promise.” You lean against the balcony of the harbor, fireworks still going off around you. No one would know any better about an outlander being in their midst. “I’d have to annoy you day and night otherwise.”

Humans are horrible at keeping promises. “You’re lucky I know you.”

“And I’m glad that you do.” You smile, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Whatever happens now will be up to the both of you; destination, purpose, or dream.

The last firework explodes before the moon, larger than life and resounding against the darkness.

Happy Lantern Rite.

(End.)

Ending notes: thank you so much for reading this far! It’s certainly been a journey while writing ‘Adopt a Wanderer’, and I hope ‘Reunion’ was a fun sequel to read!

My initial concept for the series was just this feel-good, comfy fic with Wanderer (who at the time was still called Scaramouche quite often, time flies…) Now that it’s officially ended, I’m allowing requests to be made with this series as its context! So if you want a more romantic spin on it, or certain moments/alternate timelines, feel free to drop it in my inbox and I’ll write them when I have time!

Following that, I’m also working on a fanbook version of ‘Adopt a Wanderer’! It’ll essentially be a compilation of the og series and this sequel, but more properly edited and featuring bonus content (plus some spot arts and a cover!)

If you’re interested in getting the PDF copy of the book, just check my pinned post for more info!

That should be all from me for now, and uh… to those that follow me for other characters, I swear I’ll get back to my normal posts soon. You can also drop requests for them if you’d like, according to my pinned post rules and etc. Hope you’ll all have a good day/night!

#genshin scaramouche x reader #genshin wanderer x reader #genshin impact balladeer #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x you #genshin reader insert #genshin impact writing #genshin x reader

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remadorafest · 8 months

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Mark your calendars: REMADORA FEST COMING JANUARY 2024!

Though the poll results favored March, @remuslupinfest begins posting in March. It'll be best for creators to have enough time for both fests, so we're going first in January. If you are a writer/creator and plan to contribute to Remadora fest, please consider writing for Remus Lupin Fest as well! Pros include more Remus and Remadora goodness. Cons: nonexistent.

This will be the timeline for the Remadora Fest:

Prompting: opens 25 September and closes 25 October

Claiming: begins 31 October

Works due: 31 December

Posting: begins 3 January 2024

Under the cut you'll find guidelines on what the fest is looking for.

Fics must be a minimum of 1000 words. All ratings permitted. If/when there are more mature topics, content warnings are a must.

All visual art is accepted, with the exception of AI generated images. No AI artwork or writing is permitted.

All works for the fest must be new and must be able to stand alone. You can add sequels or prequels as you see fit, but the work itself must be able to stand as its own entity.

The works must be centered on Remus and Tonks's relationship. It can be told from others' perspectives but Remadora must be endgame. E.g. if you are planning to write a Remadora break-up fic, this may not be the fest for you.

This will be an anonymous fest. Works will be posted anonymously at first and author reveals will come at the end of the fest.

AUs are permitted. As long as Remadora is endgame and central to the work, you can shape the world as you see fit. (Ex: you can genderbend the characters, you can have Remus and Tonks be the same age, make it a Muggle AU, etc.)

This fest should be a welcoming space for everyone. The following will not be tolerated: bashing, harassment, bigotry, misogyny, transphobia, racism, and/or hate speech. Be kind.

If you have a question, send an ask.

We're looking forward to a smashing time! Please reblog and share!

#nymphadora tonks #remadora #remus lupin #remus x tonks #remadora fest #tonks x lupin #lupin x tonks #remus x nymphadora #ronks #nymphadora x remus #moony x dora #dora x moony #tonks x remus #hp fests #harry potter fanfiction #hp fandom

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secretwhumplair · 3 months

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Appraisal

1,162 words | Mirai and the serpent king (sequel to Arrival)

Content | Slavery, dehumanisation, slave being sold, nudity, bruising, branding, ableism re: voice, implied past and future noncon

Notes | Serpent king pov! Will oh will he decide to buy Mirai?

Taglist | @yet-another-heathen @echo-goes-aaa @whumpinator

Eshihir had purposely left this audience for the late afternoon. For one, there were far more important matters than the indulgence of his little pleasures these strangers promised; and then, it was always good to let traders simmer for a bit, giving them opportunity to contemplate the importance of them and what they had to offer to him.

The slave was very pretty. Even from this distance, he could tell as much. He was an elf, wearing nothing but a short linen tunic, just soft enough around the edges to not be off-puttingly skeletal— his keepers must have seen to it that he kept his weight—, his golden hair falling down to his waist in soft waves—they, too, must have been somewhat maintained—, and his face gave a general air of sweetness, although Eshihir couldn't make out its details.

»Let him come forward, I will inspect him,« and when the slaver holding the slave stepped forward, chain in hand, he sharply added, »Just him.«

The slaver glanced up at him and wisely decided not to argue. They unhooked the chain from the collar and gave the slave a shove forward.

The slave hesitantly climbed the stairs until he stood at the edge of the dais; Eshihir leant forward curiously. He could smell the little thing’s fear. His face was very charming indeed, full lips and soft cheeks and large, liquid eyes so dark it was impossible to tell the colour, cast down under long lashes.

His hair, although shimmering, was not as well-kept as it could be, tangled here and there, dry with a promise of greater shine, and Eshihir caught himself already imagining how it would look with proper maintenance. They had him; he would buy the elf; even telling himself he wouldn't if grievous faults yet came to light was a lie. But of course, he wouldn't show them that.

»Undress,« he commanded softly, and the elf pulled his tunic off without hesitation, making no move to cover himself. He must have been through this before, likely many times.

His figure was what his uncovered legs and arms had promised; what Eshihir took note of now, however, were the bruises on his arms, and even more on his thighs. For some reason or another, wanton cruelty or disobedience, his masters had been rough on him.

The terror seeping off the elf seemed to offer an answer; and at any rate, Eshihir had no reason to worry he couldn't overpower the slave, gently even, if need be.

»Are you in pain?« he asked, quiet enough for the slavers not to understand.

The slave winced and glimpsed back at his owners, rather than lie or answer truly, and that immediately raised Eshihir's suspicion.

»Can he not speak?«

»Oh,« one of the slavers replied. »Ah. No, he can, but, you see, he is very good at keeping quiet also which is preferable. But of course,« they added hastily in response to his piercing look, »answer his Majesty, slave.«

Eshihir looked at the slave questioningly.

»I'm well, Master. I-I'm a little sore but nothing to worry about.« He even attempted a smile, which would have been cute if it wasn't so clearly a grimace hiding fear, but Eshihir was too preoccupied with his voice to dwell on it.

High-end elven slaves were prized for their singing voices as much, if not more, as for their beauty; but the elf's voice had come out a rasp, rough like unpolished stone, broken.

No wonder the traders had tried to conceal it. They must have instructed the slave not to speak.

It didn’t really matter, of course, knowing himself well enough to recognize his mind was made up, but knowing they had tried to deceive him did not endear the lot to him.

»Turn around.«

The elf turned, parting his hair and pulling it forward over his shoulders to reveal his back, with a routine that betrayed how well he knew what was expected of him.

Two brands were seared into his back, carefully centered not to mar his beauty more than necessary. They were foreign, of course, but being as he was in the habit of buying foreign slaves on occasion, he had studied the brands used throughout the realms. The upper was elven, marking the little thing a poacher; likely the reason he had been sold into slavery, by his own people then. The lower was the mark of a prestigious auction house in Illodea, famous for selling rare and exquisite goods. The slave had travelled far.

Beyond that, he continued to be a delight to the eye. The roundness of his curves on top of the golden shimmer of his velvet skin tested Ehishir’s resolve to save the pleasure of touching the beautiful little thing for later, but he persevered.

»Back to me. Open your mouth.«

The elf presented his teeth with the same rote with which he had endured the rest of the exam; they were fine, and Eshihir decided to leave it at that.

He leant back, giving the slave a quiet, »You may re-dress.«

He affected some contemplation while the slave pulled his tunic back on, then stood there, his head demurely bowed. Eshihir had barely noticed himself moving a loop of his body around the slave’s feet, but he was glad for it to make it clear the little thing was not to leave, now that he was as good as his. He waited long enough to make the traders squirm, then he said, »I'll give you 250 gold pieces for him.« That should be enough to make them go away at haste.

The slavers looked appropriately shocked by this supremely generous offer; one, however, caught himself. »Make that 400.«

Eshihir rose until he was looking down at them from twice their height, moving forward fluidly, and bared his teeth; he kept his body looped around his new slave, only shifting the loop along his body. »I know your stories take me for a beast, but do not take me for a fool. I was not opening negotiations with the likes of you.«

»Yes, your Majesty,« one of the other traders replied hurriedly, pulling his partner back. »You are very generous. May he bring you much joy. Thank you muchly.«

Eshihir gestured for a guard to escort them out, not bothering to hide a snarl of disgust.

At least, not before he turned to his new slave. He smiled at the little elf—he was still terrified—then, on a playful whim, he asked, »What is the highest price you’ve fetched before? Do you know?«

The slave glimpsed up at him, the fear as clear in his face as it was in his scent. »I—I believe 140 gold.«

Eshihir chuckled. »Sounds about right.«

Perhaps he should have the impertinent trader whipped for every gold piece he’d tried to overcharge him. He sent a housekeeping slave off with the new arrival, then went to finish up the day’s business.

#whump #whump writing #slavery whump #my writing #mirai and the serpent king #mirai #eshihir

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