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formosusiniquis · 3 months

Text

in the library there lived a hobbit

Steve Harrington has always been a romantic. He spends his time in his head imagining possible futures with strangers, but one in particular has really caught his attention: the mysterious son of Wayne who comes to Baby and Me every week with his granddaughter Lucy.

When opportunity knocks, Steve is quick to suggest that this mysterious dad starts volunteering at the library. Enter Eddie Munson, a high school crush, and now Steve has to deal with the fantasy single dad he'd been imagining being real, in the library, and reading fantasy books to kids twice a week.

aka my fic for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington WC: 20k | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags/Themes: Children's Librarian!Steve Harrington; Single Dad!Eddie Munson; Getting Together; Modern AU; Fluff; Fantasy/Daydreams Vs. Reality

It's been an absolute joy to bring to life @oriarts beautiful artwork please, please check it out here

And a very special thank you to @thefreakandthehair for beta-ing this for me, check out her stuff here

There's a snippet below the cut, but you can of course read the full thing now on AO3

They didn't really write advice columns for men who work with kids and suffer from terminal cases of baby fever. He knows: he's checked. Although, the reference librarian who helped him was Robin, so Steve can't really rule out the possibility that she missed something in her haste to write her own article.

Actually land a date, move out, have babies. Love the agonized aunt of your future children, Robin

It isn't like it was information he didn’t already know. Steve is very aware that he isn’t in the place for kids yet, mostly in the literal sense: romantically single, platonically in a two bedroom apartment with Robin with no space for their own stuff, let alone a kid.

So instead, for thirty-five minutes a week, he gets his fix by leading Baby & Me.

“Give you some help settin’ up, Kid?”

Steve’s startled from his mindless rhythm of setting out the chairs in the activity room and brought back from his baby-fueled drifting by one of his favorite story time guests.

“They pay me to do this; not you, Wayne,” he says, not bothering to turn all the way around. “You can fill the silence if you really want to do something though.” Steve’s set him an impossible task: Wayne is a talker the way Dustin has good manners. The only grandpa who comes to story time, he’d been coming for a month before a particularly bold widow and her youngest granddaughter got a name out of him— but not the date she’d been hoping for.

He takes his usual seat in the circle, across from where Steve is still standing, arms crossed and empty.

“Where’s?” Steve asks.

Wayne quirks his brow down. When Steve follows it all the way down to the floor, Lucy is happily making her way to them in a slow and effortful crawl across the room.

“Been doin’ that since the last time we’s here,” Wayne says.

“Is that why you all missed last week?”

“Nah,” he waves the thought away, “Lucy Joan caught a cold. Didn’t think you’d want ‘er spreadin’ it to the rest of the kids. ‘Course her Daddy was a wreck, had to pry him out with a crowbar to get him to go to work this week.”

Pink cheeked with a gummy smile, Lucy is the picture of health today. She’s made it to Steve now, tugging on his pant leg trying to stand. Crawling is going to lead quickly into walking he suspects.

She doesn’t make it to standing, her tugging taking on a new message. Steve has a rule about picking up any of the babies, a need to create personal boundaries for him and them, but her big, brown doll eyes are harder to resist each week.

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things reverse bang #strvbb #stranger things reverse bang 2024 #librarian steve harrington #single dad eddie munson #my fic #steve and robin #modern era fic #stranger things fic

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dearharriet · 2 months

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okay hello hi me again with a james potter request if u feel like it 🦌🦌 how about a drabble about reader calling james a pet name for the first time like baby or honey or something and he just melts on the spot and gives her the biggest lovesick puppy eyes ever and then begs her to always call him that and refuses to answer to james because ‘that’s baby to u!!!!!’ Or something<333 love u hope you’re well

ty for the request! <3 (wc: 495) fem!r

“It says we could use banana as a substitute for egg, did you know?”

You shuffle to James’ side as he pauses in the baking aisle, craning your neck to see his phone over the bulky shoulder blocking it.

“Oh yeah,” you hum, “I’ve seen that.”

James turns his wrinkled nose your way, a wink of amusement in his eyes.

“That cannot be good.”

Scanning the row of mixes beside the cart, you palm his side, his shirt soft and thin under your fingers.

“No, it’s kind of alright, actually.”

You blink back up at him, smiling, even when his big eyes bug even further under his glasses.

“You’ve tried it?”

Laughing, you encourage the cart forward again, and James with it.

“Can you see what we need next, please?” You croon. James’ eyes soften, and he looks back to the recipe page as he walks.

“Er, do we have baking powder?”

“Yes.”

He scrolls an inch further.

“Lemons?”

“I was thinking we’d just use that lemon juice in the fridge,” you say, shrugging.

“What?” James stops walking. “Baby, no.”

He steers the cart around, making a break for the produce section. “We are making these cupcakes right, my darling. I need all the best ingredients.”

You just laugh and trail after him. “It really won’t make a difference…”

As you catch up to him, James is hoisting a full netted pouch of lemons out of its sales basket.

“Jamie, we only need one,” you say, a bemused smile pulling at your lips. He looks to you, still holding the lemons up like a fresh catch.

“That’s quitter’s talk. We just need to make more cupcakes, s’all.”

He drops them in the cart, and then creeps toward you.

“Whatever you say, baby,” you tease.

James freezes before he can reach you. A slippery grin parts his lips, creasing around his eyes.

“What’d you call me?”

Flipping back through your words, you realize what you’ve said too late. In your mind, James and baby have been synonymous for a good few weeks now, you’ve just been trying to play it cool, and for good reason.

James will never let this go.

“I—” You huff, relenting. “Baby.”

In a split second James is around you, lemons forgotten in exchange for a snug embrace that warms your cheeks.

“James, we’re in public.”

“Who?” He asks, a grin pressed against your temple, and a strong hand between your shoulder blades.

Cushioning your chin on his chest, you look up at him. James has bigger heart eyes now than he did on your first date, which is saying a lot.

You know the two of you look painfully smitten, and that any passersby might be bothered by the PDA, but it’s hard to stifle your affection for James.

“Can you call me that more often?” He asks gently, so lovelorn that it nips your heart a little. “I really liked it.”

And how can you say no to that?

thank u for reading! xx

masterlist

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anghraine · 2 months

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Okay, breaking my principles hiatus again for another fanfic rant despite my profound frustration w/ Tumblr currently:

I have another post and conversation on DW about this, but while pretty much my entire dash has zero patience with the overtly contemptuous Hot Fanfic Takes, I do pretty often see takes on Fanfiction's Limitations As A Form that are phrased more gently and/or academically but which rely on the same assumptions and make the same mistakes.

IMO even the gentlest, and/or most earnest, and/or most eruditely theorized takes on fanfiction as a form still suffer from one basic problem: the formal argument does not work.

I have never once seen a take on fanfiction as a form that could provide a coherent formal definition of what fanfiction is and what it is not (formal as in "related to its form" not as in "proper" or "stuffy"). Every argument I have ever seen on the strengths/weaknesses of fanfiction as a form vs original fiction relies to some extent on this lack of clarity.

Hence the inevitable "what about Shakespeare/Ovid/Wide Sargasso Sea/modern takes on ancient religious narratives/retold fairy tales/adaptation/expanded universes/etc" responses. The assumptions and assertions about fanfiction as a form in these arguments pretty much always should apply to other things based on the defining formal qualities of fanfic in these arguments ("fanfiction is fundamentally X because it re-purposes pre-existing characters and stories rather than inventing new ones" "fanfiction is fundamentally Y because it's often serialized" etc).

Yet the framing of the argument virtually always makes it clear that the generalizations about fanfic are not being applied to Real Literature. Nor can this argument account for original fics produced within a fandom context such as AO3 that are basically indistinguishable from fanfic in every way apart from lacking a canon source.

At the end of the day, I do not think fanfic is "the way it is" because of any fundamental formal qualities—after all, it shares these qualities with vast swaths of other human literature and art over thousands of years that most people would never consider fanfic. My view is that an argument about fanfic based purely on form must also apply to "non-fanfic" works that share the formal qualities brought up in the argument (these arguments never actually apply their theories to anything other than fanfic, though).

Alternately, the formal argument could provide a definition of fanfic (a formal one, not one based on judgment of merit or morality) that excludes these other kinds of works and genres. In that case, the argument would actually apply only to fanfic (as defined). But I have never seen this happen, either.

So ultimately, I think the whole formal argument about fanfic is unsalvageably flawed in practice.

Realistically, fanfiction is not the way it is because of something fundamentally derived from writing characters/settings etc you didn't originate (or serialization as some new-fangled form, lmao). Fanfiction as a category is an intrinsically modern concept resulting largely from similarly modern concepts of intellectual property and auteurship (legally and culturally) that have been so extremely normalized in many English-language media spaces (at the least) that many people do not realize these concepts are context-dependent and not universal truths.

Fanfic does not look like it does (or exist as a discrete category at all) without specifically modern legal practices (and assumptions about law that may or may not be true, like with many authorial & corporate attempts to use the possibility of legal threats to dictate terms of engagement w/ media to fandom, the Marion Zimmer Bradley myth, etc).

Fanfic does not look like it does without the broader fandom cultures and trends around it. It does not look like it does without the massive popularity of various romance genres and some very popular SF/F. It does not look like it does without any number of other social and cultural forces that are also extremely modern in the grand scheme of things.

The formal argument is just so completely ahistorical and obliviously presentist in its assumptions about art and generally incoherent that, sure, it's nicer when people present it politely, but it's still wrong.

#this is probably my most pretentious fanfiction defense squad post but it's difficult to express in other terms #like. people talking about ao3 house style (not always by name but clearly referring to it) as a result of fanfic as a form #and not the social/cultural effect of ao3 as a fandom space #you don't get ao3 house style without ao3 itself and you don't get ao3 without strikethrough and livejournal etc #and you don't get those without authors and corporations trying to exercise control over fic based on law (often us law) & myths about law #and you don't get those without distinctly modern concepts of intellectual property and copyright #none of those things have fuck all to do with form!#anghraine rants #fanfiction #general fanwank #long post #thinking about this partly because the softer & gentler versions of fanfic discourse keep crossing my dash #and partly because i've written like 30 pages about a playwright i adore who was just not very good at 'original fiction' as we'd define it #both his major works are ... glorified rpf in our context but splendid tragedies in his #and the idea of categorizing /anything/ in that era by originality of conception rather than comedy/tragedy/etc would be buckwild #ivory tower blogging #anghraine's meta

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

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orchid

a/n: thought about splitting this one up into multiple parts, but no, you're just getting one big fic. yet again, just a daydream I had that I scribbled down, just vibes, nothing fancy. also the tiny apartment she lives in, that's just where I lived a year ago. like a ghost in the attic (also also also, I almost exclusively worked on this in the middle of the night, so if it’s not up to par with the rest of my works, I do sincerely apologise)

update: i will not write a part 2 for this story so please stop asking me! you are giving me a stomach ache

summary: “Alright, so even though I’m not, why is it that it would be such a bad thing if I theoretically had a thing for him?”

warnings: Sirius Black x reader, modern!au, college!au, starving artist!reader, posh boy Sirius, very light enemies to lovers energy, probably extremely inaccurate country club, reader works at the country club, playing 20 questions, kissing, sexual comments and references but no actual smut in this one, alcohol consumption, a little bit of light B & E as a cute date, small tolkien reference, open ending (kinda)

word count: 6023

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“All right, listen up folks,” bellowed the short snappy figure of your boss, “it’s gonna get a lot busier starting today since a lot of the member's kids are coming home on break from boarding school and university and whatnot, so that means not only will there be more people to keep happy but also a lot of stressed-out parents who await the luxury that they are paying for. I expect you all to be on you’re A-game, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr Barrett,” echoed throughout the room like a choir.

“Good. Now get back to work everyone!”

Just as the herd started to thin, Mr Barrett waved you over before you had a chance to slip out, “Y/l/n!”

Watching your work friends duck out before he could call upon them as well, you gave in to the newly formed reflex and said, “yes sir?”

Not lifting his eyes as you stepped closer, he kept them glued to the clipboard in his hand and ordered, “go restock all the bars.”

“Um, why? Didn’t Tim just do it last Monday?”

“He did,” Mr Barrett finally glance up at you and explained sternly, clearly already being over this conversation, “and now I’m telling you to go do it again. Look, these folks' kids are coming home. So, trust me when I tell you that it needs to be fully stocked.”

“Alright,” you exhaled and scurried out at the irked wave of his hand.

You hadn’t been working here at the Millington club for that long, but even when you consider the fact that you had to mosey up to a bunch of insufferable rich folk, the paycheck was still a lot better than any other place you’d ever worked at, consequently making it tolerable.

Now balancing a heavy cardboard box jam-packed with various clanking liquor bottles, you made your way through the glamorous halls of the club, first making your way down towards the east side lounge. Glancing down at the clinking flasks, you couldn’t even begin to calculate how many months of rent you would have to give for even just one of these lavish drinks.

As you entered the posh sitting room and made your way over towards the bar, a collection of rowdy voices caught your ear.

“No way, I don’t believe it.”

“No, I’m telling you, mate,” you sat the box down on the marble countertop and glanced over to spot the young raven-haired man answering his friends, “it’s true, right there in the library.”

“What genre was it in?” one of the two young men asked. They were all three spread out on a few small queen Anne couches, clustered in the corner, as if they owned the whole establishment, “biography? That corner’s pretty private…”

“Um, I was a little too preoccupied to notice,” the cocky boy scoffed, “you know, with my head being all the way under her skirt and all.”

Kicking his feet up onto the mahogany coffee table in the middle, the bespeckled one in the group chuckled, “only you mister I lost my virginity in a threesome could just casually have that happen to him on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Who was it with anyway?” the other one asked.

Furrowing his brows, the man in the centre of the story genuinely didn’t seem to remember, “I think her name was Emma? Something like that.”

“Didn't your mother tell you it’s creepy to stare?” you flinched at the sudden and sneaky arrival of your co-worker’s familiar voice, uttering directly into your ear.

“Jesus fuck, Lucy! Don’t scare a girl like that! I could have dropped one of these,” you held up the expensive bottles in hand, then swiftly went back to putting them away.

“Please don’t tell me you have a thing for him,” she ignored your annoyance, crossing her arms.

“What?” was she referring to the brash handsome man you couldn’t rip your eyes away from just a second ago? “No! I don’t even know who he is.”

“Wait, you don’t know who that is?

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Nope.”

“That’s Sirius Black,” she told you as if the name alone was common knowledge, but then continued as the lightbulb over your head clearly didn’t turn on, “Orion Black’s oldest son?” still nothing, she tried one last time, “as in the Black automobile company? That super old posh one?”

“…the one that the royal family drives around in?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” she threw up her arms and continued to look at you as if you were an idiot.

“Alright, so even though I’m not, why is it that it would be such a bad thing if I theoretically had a thing for him?”

“Because that man right there, gorgeous as he might be, is the biggest playboy on the planet. He doesn’t even know what the definition of a relationship is, let alone love. Y/n, I know you. You, my wonderful friend, is a relationship type of girl, not a casual sleep-around like it’s nothing type of girl. So, trust me when I say, don’t go there.”

“I wasn’t gonna!” you said defensively as she finally turned around and left you to your work.

Bending down to open up a small cabinet, you kneeled on the polished hardwood floor and scurried to finish your work of restocking the bar.

“Hey love,” you heard after only a minute had passed. Glancing up, you saw the very same man you had been so fixated upon earlier, casually leaning his forearm against the counter. He looked like he could have just stepped out of a ralph lauren ad with how impeccable his clothes were.

Shooting up, nearly bumping your head on the way, you felt your heartbeat pick up as his dark eyes bored into you, “hi! Can I help you with anything?”

“Me and my mates over there were just about to go do something a little more fun than what this snooze fest has to offer,” he gesticulated, then added rather smoothly, “you look like you could use some fun, you should join us.”

“Sir, I can’t just leave,” you cocked your head, “I’m in the middle of my shift.”

“So, when do you get off?” he asked, but then as you simply averted your gaze, scrambling for a polite way to untangle yourself from this mess, he pushed, “oh, come on, I know you want to.”

Keeping your eyes low, you shook your head, “I’m not really supposed to socialise with members.”

“Ah,” he leaned in a little closer, lowering himself to your eye level, “you’re a real good girl, aren’t you?”

Eyes growing wide at his suggestive word choice, you blushed, “e-excuse me, sir?”

“I noticed the way you were looking at me,” his studying gaze didn’t waver for a second.

“Oh, that wasn’t-“

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you won’t.” He then leaned in even closer, “hey,” nearly whispering into your ear and effectively sending shivers down your spine, “if it fits your schedule better, we could just go into the billiard room right now…”

“Why would we-“

“My friends can stand by the door if you’re nervous,” he interrupted once more, reaching up to push a lock of your hair behind your ear, “no one will bother us, promise.”

Completely stunned by his bold proposal, it took you a few seconds to decline, “sir. I-… I’m gonna go back to work now…” then slowly picked up the now empty cardboard box and exited the room, leaving Sirius alone to pick up the pieces.

“She’s new… I want her.”

That was all Sirius had uttered to his friends before making his way over to hit on the new girl, occupied restocking the bar.

Now standing there, alone and blinking hard, not understanding why his usual charm hadn’t worked on you, he heard his friends come up behind him.

“How did it go? You meeting her in the bathroom or what?”

“She turned me down…” he was still frozen, staring out the door you’d disappeared through, with a stunned smile on his lips and a determent glint in his eyes. His words didn’t sound unhappy, simply surprised and even a little amused.

“That’s nice, good for your health to be turned down by a pretty face such as hers. Also means you are in fact human after all,” Remus pulled out his box of cigarettes and swiftly tugged one into the corner of his lips to lite it, “so, that’s nice to know…” noticing the look in Sirius’s eye, “come on,” he wrapped an arm around his neck, “we’ll just go out tonight. Get you nice and pussy drunk. That’ll make you forget her in no time, promise.”

“Funny seeing you here,” you didn’t even bother to look up as the slightly familiar voice found your ears.

“Yeah,” you kept your eyes on the list in your hand just a little longer, “it’s almost like I work here or something.”

Finally glancing up, you met the intoxicatingly dark eyes of none other than Sirius Black, “you’re funny…”

“So,” you started moving along, not letting his bugging hold you back from executing your work, “is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

His long legs made it a piece of cake for him to follow along with you, “go out with me.”

Stopping your stride, you sighed, “Mr Black-”

“Please, call me Sirius,” he interrupted you with all the charm in the world.

“Mr Black, excuse me for being blunt but when will you get the hint?”

“Y/n, hey!”

This dude really doesn’t quit.

“You know my name now,” you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, well I asked around a bit about you. That was just one of the many tantalising facts I learned about you,” he winked, and you tried your best to ignore the butterflies that cheap trick had successfully sent fluttering throughout your stomach.

Moving to leave the room, he swiftly blocked the door, making you see nothing but his annoying smirk, “seriously dude, what will it take for you to just leave me alone?”

“Go out with me,” he shrugged lightly and crossed his arms.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Feeling like you might explode if he didn’t get out of the way, you exclaimed, “because I’m not I’m not gonna sleep with you!” your eyes grew a bit wider at the proclamation you’d let slip out.

“Oh really?” he simply smiled, clearly just taking it as another challenge.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you hoped that the conversation would get less uncomfortable if you couldn’t see his jaw-dropping visage anymore, “yeah, I’ve heard what people say about you.”

Completely loving it, he clearly took that as a good thing, “really?”

“Yeah, well it’s like a fucking ghost story around here, so I didn’t have much of a choice. You’re just that kind of guy and that’s fine! But you just need to know, all that charm, it won’t work on me, so you might as well just turn around now. I am not just gonna be another notch in your belt, another hot new little thing for you to pass the time with, okay?”

Eyes still shut, you thought for a second he had left with how long he took to answer you, “okay, fine.”

“Fine?” you finally blinked your eyes open.

“Fine,” he smiled, “I won’t sleep with you.”

“Great!” you threw up your arms and moved to exit the room, though he stepped in front of you again, leaning down to be at your height.

“I mean, it’s probably gonna be really hard for you to resist after the date I’ve got planned out, but sure, if you don’t want to.”

Gnawing the corner of your bottom lip for but a moment, you gave out, “if I say yes to go on a date with you, one date, will you leave me alone?”

Face only inches from your own, his smile grew wider as he agreed, “deal.”

“Mr Black! Welcome back, sir,” not only the security guard but also an older gentleman in a crisp suit had greeted you both at the entrance of the unusually vacated museum, “enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Henderson,” Sirius politely shook his hand before planting it on the small of your back, guiding you further inside.

Glaring up at him as if he was an alien, he finally questioned your gaze, “what?”

“What are we doing in here?” you spoke in a near whisper, “the museum closed like 2 hours ago.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, climbing the big stone steps that lead up towards the first exhibit, “my family’s a big donator to this place, so I just pulled a few strings.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you simply followed him into the first breathtaking room and breathed out, “okay…”

Even if the company was somewhat challenging, you couldn’t deny how the beauty hung up all around you made the evening at least tolerable. Your little art heart was too weak not to swoon at the sight of all the impressionistic pieces that were on display in this season's unique exhibit. Iconic pieces you could have only dreamed about studying this close.

After a surprisingly long while where Sirius miraculously shut up and simply let you roam and relish in the paintings, you took a deep breath and decided to actually make the smallest of efforts to test if your companion did in fact have any more depth than a teaspoon.

“So,” you started as he settled in beside you, his dark eyes washing over the landscape in front of you, “you’re home from uni for a bit?”

“Yep,” he buried his hands in the pockets of his black trousers, “oxford.”

You felt so strong for not just bolting in the opposite direction. “You’re an oxford man?” you scoffed, “should have figured…”

“Like my father was and his father before him,” he added rather coldly, sounding like this was a rehearsed reply that pained him to recite.

“What do you study?”

“Business,” he kept his answer short.

“Oh yeah?” you glanced over, trying to break through and see if his outsides matched his insides, “is it fun?”

Brows furrowing, he turned to meet your gaze, “what does that have to do with it?”

“You don’t enjoy your major?”

“It’s just,” he inhaled deeply, uncomfortably trying to end this specific chat, “school, you know?”

“No, I actually don’t,” you informed him, slowly moving towards the next painting.

“No?” he followed.

“I don’t go to school,” you informed.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay…” he averted his gaze, but still felt the need to explain his confusion, “I knew you liked art, so I just kinda assumed that you went to school for that or something…”

“Why bother paying a ridiculous amount of money in order to learn about something that I’m already really good at? No one is gonna deny me the right to create art just because I don’t have some fancy degree in it. If it’s a masterpiece, then it’s a masterpiece.”

“Yeah, I guess so…” you could tell how foreign your words were to him, “so that’s what you do for a living? You paint?”

“It doesn’t pay the bills, but that’s not really the point now is it?” you reflected with a small smile, “just because it’s what I do doesn’t mean I earn a large profit from it, if any at all.”

For a moment, he just went quiet, staring at the many paintings with a slightly glossed-over look in his eyes. You were trying to catch his glances, read what it was that was going on inside that head of his, but your timid attempt at finding a new topic to blossom suddenly became the most effortless task in the world the second that he casually rolled his sleeves all the way up to his elbows.

“Wait, you have tattoos?” tumbled out of you as soon as you spotted the ink.

“Yeah,” he gave a small shrug.

“How did I not know that?” you asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Guess my pretty face was just a bit too distracting for you to notice,” he winked, regaining a bit of his usual confidence, “do you have any?”

“Yeah, a few. Though they’re just some stick-and-poke ones one of my friends gave me.”

“Aw, my first tattoo was a stick-and-poke one! I was 15 and it was at boarding school in the bathroom,” he remembered fondly.

“Oh yeah? Your parents must have loved that,” you chuckled.

“Oh, they don’t know.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, well, clothing can hide a lot and they only really see me a handful of days out of the year anyways, so… what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Maybe he wasn’t so terrible after all… After finding a sliver of common ground, the rest of the conversation just flowed after that, making the remainder of the evening not just tolerable, but even enjoyable.

Nearing the end of the tour, you felt his shoulder lightly bump yours, “you like it?” ripping you out of the trance the art piece in front of you had induced.

“I mean, it’s a Monet,” you gestured towards it, finding his question a bit silly, “I think it’s physically impossible not to like it.”

“Darling, I wasn’t talking about the painting,” he clarified, smiling warmly down at you.

“Oh,” you looked up at him and couldn’t help but be blatantly honest, even if it meant that you had been wrong, “yeah, I guess it wasn’t half bad…” then cast your vision back on the painted pond and added as casually as you could muster, “but we are so not doing anything like this next time.”

“Next time?”

“I swear to god,” you sighed, shutting your eyes, “if you don’t shut up in less than two seconds, I won’t hesitate to change my mind. You were just starting to grow on me.”

“Yes, ma’am, wouldn’t dream of it, I’m just standing here, looking at the art,” you heard him smile and peeped your eyes open to find him boldly still staring at you.

“You sure we’re allowed to be up here?” Sirius asked, following you up the last bit of the clinking metal staircase in the seemingly abandoned factory you’d without context dragged him into.

“Oh, don’t tell me that you're scared,” you playfully glanced over your shoulder at him, “doesn’t your daddy’s lawyer always bail you out of all the shady fun you and your friends get into?”

“Who exactly do you think we are?” he scoffed lightly, though didn’t deny your claim.

“So, you’ve never committed a petty crime before? A party animal like you?”

“I have never done anything wrong in my entire life,” he shot back sarcastically.

“Right you haven’t,” you chuckled, trying without success to bust open the rusty door, putting all your weight into it, “give me a hand, would you?” you requested breathlessly, his frame quickly following your command, stepping right up beside you, readying his shoulder and waiting for your go, “okay, one, two, three!” you both gave it a big shove, making it fly open and reveal not only the factory’s small, flat rooftop but also the most breathtaking view of the city’s skyline and the rabidly disappearing sun.

Seemingly not impressed by the dingy surroundings, Sirius grumbled, “now do I get to know what we are doing tonight?”

“No sense of adventure…” you sighed teasingly, “I’m not telling you, you’ll have to find out yourself,” you sauntered over towards the small ledge by the section of the roof that sunk down a bit and had a bunch of vents and things. Taking a seat, you gestured to the cold concrete beside you and said, “now, sit.”

“You want me to sit?” he eyed the dirty surface mistrustingly.

“Yeah,” you smiled, patting the spot with your fingers, “come on, you can sit on my jacket if you’re such a wuss.”

“Oh my god, fine, I’ll sit down,” he moved towards you, “just keep your jacket. Don’t want you to freeze to death.”

“You don’t? That’s reassuring to know,” you jested as he carefully took a seat beside you, dangling his long legs over the edge.

“So… this is your big plan?” he asked, completely unimpressed, “sit on a filthy rooftop together?”

“Don’t mock when you don’t even know what it is yet,” you raised a defensive hand and then proposed confidently, “now, ask me a question.”

Furrowing his dark brows, he bit his lip in order not to stifle a laugh, “a question?”

“Yeah, you’ve got 20, so use them wisely,” you explained the childish game.

“Oh my god…” he groaned as he caught on, although still played along, “okay, is it a thing?”

“Yes.”

His pristine hair blew in the wind as his eyes scanned the city below for clues, “is it big?”

“No.”

“Am I physically close to it?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Okay, so it’s small and close by, but I can’t see it…” he recited underneath his breath, “is it, fuck, I don’t know,” he grumbled, both completely over the game yet also way too invested to just quit immediately, “your phone in your pocket?”

“Good one, but no!”

“Fuck, I don’t know! Am I even close?”

“You are closer than you might think.”

“Can I just get a little bit more of a hint?” he pouted in your direction.

“Fine, it is within a meter of you.”

Head whipping around confused, “um, that’s literally just you. Is it you? Are you really calling yourself a thing right now?”

“No!” you snapped, slightly offended that he’d even think that, “just use your imagination for fuck sake. Don’t they teach you that at boarding school and fancy universities?”

Letting out a long exhale, he just kinda zones out a moment, genially scrambling for the answer and scanning every visible inch of you. “…I truly don’t know,” he then squinted his eyes at you, “was this some sort of test? Did I fail it?”

“No, calm down,” you pulled your backpack around to the front, ripping the biggest compartment open and fishing out a bottle of bargain beer for the both of you, “here,” you handed him one.

“What is this, a price for losing?”

“No, that was the thing,” you placed the corner of the bottle’s cap up against the hard edge below you and gave it a swift tap, effectively popping it off and sending a lava flow of bubbles soaring down the dark glass and soaking your hand.

“This was it?” he hesitated, but eventually mimicked your manoeuvre to open the lacklustre beverage.

“Yep,” making the last letter pop as you raised the bottle up towards your lips.

“You’re terrible at twenty questions,” he chuckled, taking a small sip.

“You’re the one who couldn’t figure the answer out!”

“Yeah, because there was no way I was ever going to be able to figure that out! You can’t just be like Bilbo and ask for a person to guess what’s in your pocket, it has to be something the other person would be able to figure out.”

“That’s never how I played it, but if you wanna go again, play by your rules, then go right ahead, I’ll guess this time.”

After the last of the beers, you’d brought with you were a thing of the past, after several rounds of that child-like play had flown by, the harsh chime of his phone interrupted your guessing of what you were pretty sure was the small spire visible in the horizon before you.

Like a reflex, he fished it out of his pocket, and you watched as the soft smile quietly vanished from his features as if it had never been there to begin with, snuffed out and forgotten like last season’s fashion. It hadn’t been the first time you’d witnessed his phone be a mood killer, it happened at least once whenever he had been in your presence.

“What is it?” you asked, tossing the game to the side to make room for the growing concern you simply couldn’t ignore any longer.

“It’s nothing,” you watched his face twitch slightly as he read the message that plainly bothered him. Taking a deep breath, he tugged it away in his jacket and circled back to the quickly forgotten game, “you, um, still have 4 more questions till you run out-”

“Sirius,” you cut him off, determined to figure out what was troubling him, “who was that?” not giving you an answer, he simply averted his gaze. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. Who do you think I know that I could spill all of your deep dark secrets to? My neighbour Mary who’s about 90? Oh yeah, she would have a field day, if she actually remembers to put her hearing aid in,” you joked, in an effort to get him to relax and open up, “come on, you can tell me.”

After a good long moment of him thoroughly biting his inner cheek, he finally spoke, “it was my dad. He wanted to remind me that I’m supposed to start sitting in on meetings beginning by tomorrow. Start doing my part for the family business and finally grow up. He wants me to follow in his footsteps. And I know that it must sound fascinating, running a huge company like that, but it truly isn’t. It’s just a bunch of long boring meetings with boring money-hungry people talking about boring numbers. It has absolutely nothing to do with the cars themself.”

“And that’s not what you want?” you asked softly.

“That’s not the point,” he uttered, sounding downright exhausted.

“Isn’t it? Do you want to follow in his footsteps?”

Staring out into nothing, he slowly let the truth slip out past his lips, “no...” the tiny word instantly hitting him like a truck, “fuck. I’ve never actually said that out loud before… I don’t wanna do that… I don’t know what it is that I want to do, but I sure as hell know it isn’t that. I don’t wanna become another soulless businessman like my father.”

“Can I ask you something?” you asked him gently.

“Sure.”

“Why are you still studying business if you know that’s not what you wanna do?”

Exhaling heavily, “because I think what scares me even more than this future they’ve got all mapped out for me is the unknown. I don’t know what will happen if I hop off the train, but at least I know what it looks like inside and I know where it’s headed.”

Without giving it a second thought, you reached out and took his hand in yours.

“You’ll get off. Might not be today, but someday you will.”

A soft smile spread across his lips as the stressful thoughts slowly melted away with the aid of your touch and he turned his attention back to the date. “I gotta admit, this wasn’t at all what I expected.”

“What did you think? That I was gonna take you to dinner at a michelin restaurant? Some day you will learn that money can’t buy you everything. I mean, just look at that view,” you nodded towards the blushing skies above, the sun now nearly disappeared down behind the many roofs of the city.

“Yeah,” he breathed, not taking his eyes off of you for a second, “it’s beautiful.”

Not soon thereafter, when the dark night started to bloom and the date was due to end, you took him up on his adorably chivalrous offer and let him walk you back home. However, when you reached the outside of your building, he wasn’t the only one anymore that wasn’t ready to part ways yet. When you fumbled with the keys and he eagerly asked, “could I maybe walk you all the way in to your front door?” all you did was nod, because right now in this very moment, just one more minute of his charm was all you desired.

“Just what floor did you say you lived on?” he puffed from behind you once you’d reached the third floor of the old apartment building.

“I didn’t,” if you’d told him that you lived on the fifth floor, right underneath the roof in a tiny shoebox of an apartment, he properly wouldn’t have dared to climb the steep stairs with you. “And just because you're walking me to my door doesn’t mean you get to come inside, okay?”

“Got it.”

Even though he looked to be in phenomenal shape, you still noticed his attempt to hide how much of a tole this trek really was for him.

Once you finally reached the small dark door to your home, out of sight and out of mind down a narrow hallway, creaking it open, his eyes widened at the sight of your tiny apartment, “oh my god, that’s your apartment?” he didn��t even have to poke his head inside to be able to view every single millimetre, seeing as the whole flat in its entirety was probably the size of his bathroom.

“That’s my apartment,” you confirmed, not finding the size as jarring as he did.

“Is it even legal to live up here? Aren’t these attic rooms for storage or something?”

“They used to be, but now I promise it's totally above board.”

After letting out a small chuckle, he then took one last long look at you standing in the doorway, smiling warmly down at you, “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled, and when he then turned to take his leave, you stopped him, “hey Sirius?” still close, he turned around, “can I-, could I maybe-…”

Taking a step closer to you, he stared down at you and uttered, “what?”

“…can I kiss you?”

Not hesitating for even a second, probably just in case you would change your mind, Sirius bent down and boldly kissed you. The feel of his soft lips pressed against yours and his tongue confidently asking for entrance surprisingly didn’t increase your nerves, it minimised them. It felt oddly comfortable. Like you’d already done it a thousand times before.

“Goodnight,” he breathed out, lingering just a little longer.

“Night.”

The persistent knocks at your door finally came to a screeching halt as you swung it open and revealed the unexpected figure of Sirius.

“I need to talk to you,” he insisted, sounding out of breath, probably having sprinted up the stairs.

Furrowing your brows at the less-than-warm greeting, you asked, “Sirius? What are you doing here? It’s 11 o'clock at night,” pushing past you, the small stumble he took as he crossed over the threshold didn’t manage to escape your perception, “hey, what’s going on?”

“Everything’s going on!” he bellowed, making you quickly close the door behind him and cross your fingers that the walls in your building weren’t as thin as you feared if he was going to continue at this dramatic volume.

Whirling around to plant his unfocused eyes on you, you saw right through him and asked, “are you seriously drunk right now?”

Fully ignoring your question, he sank down onto your small couch and spoke wearily, staring out into your dimly lit home, “you messed everything up.”

“Excuse me,” you crossed your arms and closed your light robe a bit more to cover your less then modest pyjamas up, on the verge of just ripping the door open again so that you could kick him out, “I haven't done anything-”

“You messed up everything!” his unsteady eyes finally met your glare, “everything was just fine before I met you, there was a plan, a good plan,” he gesticulated with his right hand, “I didn’t see any problem with the plan till you had to show up and turn it all upside down,” you felt your heart start to sink as his intoxicated words impacted, “you ruined it all. You ruined me. For the first time in my life, the world is a truly terrifying place. It’s never been that way till you showed up,” you noticed his clenched jaw begin to quiver, “you are like a bright light, showing me just how dark my life actually is. I didn't ask for that perspective! I was perfectly fine just wandering around in the dark!”

“Sirius,” you reeled back, completely stunned by the tornado that had just interrupted your evening routine, “what are you-”

“You scare the shit out of me, Y/n,” he exclaimed, cutting your question off before it could fully form, “no girl has ever done that, except for you. Fuck, I love you! That terrifies me!” he sank down even further, nearly laying down at this point, overwhelmed by the storm brewing between his ears, “but what scares me even more is the thought of losing you.”

Completely stunned, you found your body slowly dropping down upon the mattress of your bed, sitting there at a complete loss for words, flabbergasted as you watched his low groans and curses gradually fade away until you picked up on how his breaths had slowed, and his lids had grown heavy, exhaustion snuffing him out like a flame.

Curled up on the windowsill, backlit by the morning sun, you raised your eyes from the sketchbook balanced on your bent knees, to reference the dark-haired man still passed out on your tiny couch.

Even after you’d not so silently riffled through your pantry this morning, checking to see if you had any resemblance of a hangover cure hidden away in there, he still slept like a baby, through all the crinkly bags and accidentally dropped containers.

Though now, as you weren’t really making any noise at all, simply emanating the silent scratching of your pen against paper, you saw him stir, inhaling sharply as he awoke.

“Morning sleepy head,” you tried to be mindful of your volume, the light wince your tone evoked from him clearly affirmed your suspicion of the horrible state the night before had put him in.

Craning his neck to look at you, he sat up, squinting in confusion as the bright morning light washed over him, “Y/n, what, um,” his voice sounded like it had been through a meatgrinder, “what am I doing here?”

“You don’t remember?” you sat the sketchbook down beside you but kept your seat in the window, merely shifted a bit.

“I-… Did something happen?” his palm lifted up to shield his mouth in worry, “did we-”

“Oh my god, no,” you got what he was hinting at and quickly cut in to correct him before your cheeks had a chance to turn an even brighter shade of red, “you showed up here last night, completely wasted.”

“Oh…”

“Yelled at me for a little bit and then you kinda just passed out.”

“Fuck…” he sighed, jaw clenching from guilt, “Y/n, I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be,” you crossed your arms tightly across your chest, “what even happened last night? Were you just at some club and randomly decided to come and shout at me a bit?”

“I wasn’t out,” he shook his head, still not meeting your eye, “I was at this stupid party with my family, some fundraiser I think, and became maybe a bit too pissed and got into an argument with my dad,” taking a deep breath in, he spoke, “I told him that I’m dropping out of school and that I don’t want to take over the company.”

“Oh…” it nearly came out as a whisper.

Taking shelter behind his hands, he lightly ran them down his face, “I’m really sorry,” he said earnestly, “I shouldn’t have bombarded you like that. I don’t remember what I said, but you don’t deserve any of it.”

Every word he had uttered the night before still played on a loop inside your mind, “…none of it?”

“No,” he finally met your gaze, “not one.”

Your churning stomach tried to prevent the words from flowing out, but your now fully bloomed feelings eventually prevailed as you found yourself asking him softly, “not even the part where you told me you love me?”

#lea’s writing #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black x female reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #orchid #marauders era imagine #sirius black fanfic #sirius black angst #modern!old money!sirius black #artist!reader ᰔ

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 1 year

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video stores, shopping malls, and ren faires part 2!

Pt. 1 | On AO3: video stores, shopping malls, and ren faires | song for this chapter

-----

There’s about an hour ‘till closing when Claudia Henderson drops Dustin off at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hi Ms. Henderson!” Steve greets the woman as she enters, Dustin just behind her with a backpack on his shoulder.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Claudia, Steven dear?” she chides.

“At least once more, Ms. Henderson.” he returns, turning on the charm that more and more frequently only worked on women hers and Ms. Byers age than on the ladies his age that he tried (and failed) to flirt with during his shifts.

Dustin grimaces, “Dude. Don’t flirt with my mom.” He scoots past his mom and heads towards the back of the store where he knows there’s a worn-in couch and wi-fi waiting for him.

Claudia shakes her head at her son, but continues on. “Thanks again for agreeing to watch him, Steven, he’s been super excited about it!”

“Oh, has he now?” Steve grins politely, but he knows he’s going to give Henderson so much shit about this.

“Moooom..” Dustin whines through the open window to the back of the shop.

She leans in closer to Steve like she’s telling him a secret. “Dusty said he was excited to spend time with his brother.”

Steve’s throat clenches tight at that.

“Oh shoot, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!” she says with a wink. “He’s had dinner already, but I’m sure he’ll try to get some sort of junk food out of you.

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, maybe early evening, and I’ll take you both out for dinner then, how’s that sound?”

He shoves past the emotion in his throat “Sounds great, Ms. Henderson, I’m looking forward to it.”

She gives him a smile, and calls towards the back of the shop, “Bye Dusty-buns! Behave!”

“Goodbye, mom!!” Dustin yells back, fully annoyed.

She and Steve share a covert snicker, and she heads back out the entrance with a final wave.

As expected, the last hour continues on without a customer showing up

Steve spends the entire time after Ms. Henderson leaves trying to get the persistent sticky film off the cracking linoleum of the tables; the register’s been counted since the last customer left about an hour before Dustin arrived, and he does NOT want to mop, so he just focuses on restocks and the tables.

Dustin comes out of the back at some point and plops himself onto a tabletop in the middle of the store, telling Steve all about his time at his nerdy summer camp (to which Steve sends back the appropriate ‘mhm’s and ‘Oh yeah?’s to his story while he cleans).

He zones back into the conversation when Dustin says “...hang on, I’ll go grab it from my bag and I can show it to you!”, jumping down off the table to go grab whatever it is that he was talking about.

As soon as he leaves, through the stark quiet of the empty mall, Steve hears the notes.

Thirteen notes. Whistled from somewhere in the building, that both strike him through the heart with overwhelming happiness and freeze him where he stands.

He has no clue as to why, but it’s as if his body recognizes the emotion that he’s supposed to feel upon hearing the tune, but his mind only registers it as vaguely familiar .

“What the fuck?”

“What?” Dustin says, coming back up to the table Steve’s been scrubbing with some sort of…thing in his hand.

“Nothing, forget it, what’s that now?” Steve nods toward the device and goes back in on the table in front of him.

He finishes with the last table just in time for closing, 9 pm, and for Dustin’s explanation about….okay, he still doesn’t know what it is that Dustin was showing him, to also come to a close.

“Okay Henderson, I’m just about done here, wanna help me with the cage?”

“Duh.”

“Alright, lets close this up and go out the bac–”

He hears the notes again.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

They’re both quiet, listening for the sound again, but nothing comes.

Dustin grabs the hook from next to the entrance to bring down the metal cage. “You hearing things Ste–”

There they are again.

“Ah ha! You heard it too! What the hell is that?”

“Uh, whistling? C'mon Steve, I know you’ve had a good couple hits to your noggin, but do you not remember what whistling is?" Dustin teases, but when Steve doesn’t say anything, “Steve? You still know what whistling is, right?”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah, obviously man,” Steve waves him off, “I'm just trying to find out where that’s coming from. I swear I know that tune from somewhere."

He mumbles the last as he steps out of the entrance to Scoops, walking slowly towards the center of the floor. He doesn’t get far, however, before he hears it again, coming from his right.

Whipping his head around, there are only two stores down that leg of the mall with the lights still on, Wyatt’s all the way down at the end, and the vintage Sam Goody record store two doors down from Scoops.

The whistle cuts through the quiet of the building and Steve follows the sound, the only thought that registers is that he’s glad whoever’s doing it seems to have the song stuck in their head so he can follow it better.

It’s definitely coming from much closer than Wyatt’s so he sneaks back to the wall and follows it to the record store.

“Damn it, I know that tune! Why can’t I place it??” He whispers, potentially to no one since he doesn’t know if Dustin followed him.

“I don’t recognize it at all.” Okay, Dustin followed.

The two sneak up to the mostly closed store and hide behind one of the columns that make up the doorway, its metal cage door still most of the way open, and listen.

They hear it getting closer to the entrance from inside the store before it gets drowned out by the rattle of the gate closing.

Whoever it is whistles the tune once more then goes quiet.

Steve sits and waits, still scrubbing through his memories to try and find the song. Soon enough though, Dustin whispers “C'mon man, let’s go.”

“No way dude, I gotta know who it was at least!”

“Well then look!”

Steve moves to peek around the column and scans over the aisles of vinyl…only to come up empty. They must’ve gone into the back.

He turns back and says as much to Dustin, “They must be about to head out, I didn’t see anyone in there.”

“You’ll figure it out another day then. Can we go?”

Steve sighs, but nods, a weird melancholy coming over him, knowing he’s not going to figure out what that song was.

He takes a single step back towards Scoops when the person starts singing; the lyrics match the earlier tune and their voice is low and raspy.

It legitimately makes Steve weak in the knees and sends him to the floor.

“What the hell, are you okay?”

“Shush!!" Steve scoots back against the column and sits there in the dusty corner, listening to the song.

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas with ne’er a fear of drowning and gladly ride the waves of life if you will marry me.”

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

He does know this song.

The memory of his grandpa Otis singing this to his grandmother almost every morning while he stayed with them over summer is so clear now that he has hold of it, but how the hell does this person know it?

‘Dammit Steve, remember the lyrics!’ He scrubs his face with his hands and scans his memories for the next lines, pleading with his brain to give them up.

“No scorching sun nor freezing cold will stop me on my journey,” the person continues, quieter while they shuffle around the store.

It’s the next line that triggers Steve’s memory: “If you will promise me your heart, and lo—“

“And love me for eternity.” he sings aloud the next line, his butt getting cold from sitting on the floor.

“Who's that? Is someone there?” A jingling sound comes closer to the door, they must’ve been near the back of the store, did he sing that loud? Did this person have super hearing??

He looks over at Dustin, wide-eyed, to which the younger boy gives him an encouraging ‘shoo’-ing motion with a similar wide-eyed, smiling expression.

Steve stands and steps around the corner to face the other half of his duet before he can chicken out.

He’s greeted with the sight of Eddie Munson, local freak of Hawkins High, and subject of Steve’s longest standing, and most annoying crush. His long, dark hair is down but half hidden under a red bandana, his bangs and a few whispy pieces are pulled out from under it to fame his face. Dark jeans, a band tee, some retro reeboks on his feet and his store vest still over his shoulders...damn he's cute.

‘Has he been working here all summer? Oh fuck, that means he’s seen me in my uniform.’ his thoughts catch up to where he is. ‘Shit! I’m still in the damn thing! This is so embarrassing, can I still leave and not have it be weird..?’

Steve’s mouth and brain ignore his frazzled thoughts and take the reins for him, continuing the song on their own and sliding him past the gate into the store towards the other man as he does.

“My dearest love, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me,” he feels his face grow into a grin and reaches for the other man unconsciously to start the dance he’s known associated with full and true love all his life. “But I’ve no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me!”

Eddie, who’d gone stock still, also seems to have a brain that’s working for him on its own accord and reaches back to take Steve's outstretched hand.

As soon as their fingers touch, Eddie unfreezes with a glowing grin and bright laugh, stepping with Steve in the long-learned dance as he continues the song. “But I would bring you rings of gold and even sing you poetry, and I would keep you from all harm if you would stay beside me!”

“I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry, I only want your hand to hold,”

Eddie cuts in with the echoing response “I only want you near me!”

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold! For the dancing and the dreaming! Through all life's sorrows and delights, I’ll keep your laugh beside me!” the two race on together, picking the song and dance up in pace; kicking out their feet opposite the other while both their hands are grasped between them, Steve spinning Eddie out from him and pulling him back against his chest with his arms wrapped over and around him…Steve hasn’t felt this light in years.

The very last verse of the song has them locking their forearms together and spinning, practically prancing, in a circle. “I’ll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er a fear of drowning and gladly ride the waves of life,” Faster and faster until:

“If you will marry me!”

Steve picks Eddie up at the waist, much like his grandfather would his grandma, spinning him through the line until they can’t hold the note any longer.

He sets Eddie back on his feet and they double over in laughter. Dustin, having entered the store at some point during their dance, is looking on like they're crazy.

“Munson! How do you know that song?!” Steve finally gets out, face hurting from how much he’s grinning.

“How do I— how do you ?? My mom would sing it constantly, even taught me the dance! How the hell do you know it?”

“That’s my grandparents’ song! Literally, like, okay not literally, I’m sure he didn’t write it or whatever,” he shakes his head and waves his hands, getting back on track, “but my grandpa would sing it to my grandma while he was doing his whole courting thing to get her to marry him. They’d sing and dance it almost every morning! How’d your mom get it?”

“She learned it from—“ Eddie's eyes widen in realization “From the couple whose house she helped take care of when I was little…”

Steve gapes at him in wonder. “Was that my—?” ”Was that your—?” they start at the same time, both men breathe out laughter.

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie shakes his head in delighted disbelief, eyes twinkling.

“That’s me Munson.” Steve can’t seem to stop grinning. “Better get used to that name too, cause as of now, we’re officially engaged.” He nods with finality, and heads back toward the exit, and waves at Dustin to follow.

“Oh yeah? That how it works? Maybe you need to sing it some more to convince me.”

Steve spins with a grin, walking backwards. “Anything you need, Future Mr. Harrington.”

Eddie splutters, his face turning a lovely shade of pink, but manages to quip back, “Who says I’m taking your name??”

Steve stops, pretending to think. “Hmmm. You know what? You got me, I’ve been writing ‘Steve Munson’ in my notebooks for years now.” Steve relishes in the bright red blush that spreads over the other man’s face at his (truthful) admission.

He gives the other man a wink and smirk before turning back and sliding out into the mall.

As soon as they are, Steve is accosted by Dustin's teasing.

“Ew! That was so gross and smarmy!” he’s grinning and jumping around, obviously trying to copy the footwork he just saw while they walk back to finish closing down Scoops.

Steve smiles, thinking back on Eddie’s flushed and happy face, his wild curls spinning out from him, the feeling of his hands around his slim waist, the feeling of Eddie in his arms…

Huh.

That was…definitely a series of thoughts he just had.

“It was the truth, Dusty.” He admits aloud.

“Pfft, yeah, sure Steve.” Dustin dismisses him, and Steve just shrugs it off, immediately imagining how funny it’d be, Dustin not taking him seriously until he’s invited to be Steve’s best man at his and Eddie’s wedding.

—-

“Aw fuck, it was right there, you even told me!”

“I did, yes.” Steve nods, leaning all his weight on the counter closest to him, elbows on the countertop. “Though I was just as surprised by the thought at the time that you are now.”

“How does he still think that you don’t like him?” Will laughs.

“He thinks I don’t like him?” he says, frowning over to Robin, down at the other end of the counter from him.

“Don’t look at me! We literally just had to force a musical number upon him in order to get him to figure out his own feelings; I don’t even want to know what we’ll have to do to convince him of yours.”

“I don’t know how much more obvious I can be, Bobs.”

Robin snorts, and the three teens start talking over one another at that. “You’ve already been–?”, “How’ve we not noticed…”, “Apparently you could be more obvious.”

“How Max, how?! Apparently he’s already proposed and Eddie’s none the wiser!”

“Don’t yell at me, Dustin.”

Steve huffs at the twos’ arguing, his brow furrowing further.

He looks back at Robin and before he can even get a word out, she says “I’d love to help Dingus, but I’m going to be absolutely no help in the ‘Guy’ area.”

Steve lets his head fall down between his shoulders, she’s right of course, but It’s actually Will that comes to his rescue.

“I might have an idea.”

Part 3 here!

woo!! part two! tbh, it's 10 pm and to me this looks good and is coherent but i'll probably re-read it tomorrow and have an annurysm...

anyway, shoutout to @/stevie.boy_19 on tiktok who made this video that i haven't stopped thinking about (obv.)

tagging those who seemed interested on part 1, hope that's ok!! @ent-is-indecisive, @mightbeasleep, @eyesofshinigami

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multific · 7 months

Text

Love In Oil Colours

Chapter 7: Tormenting Dreams

Astarion x Fem!Reader

Summary: You just wanted to see the paintings. To see what new exhibits there were. You never expected for a simple oil painting to reveal so much about you and your past.

It felt as if the world was against you.

Wherever you went, whatever you did.

People always found you.

Even when you moved to the most isolated place, someone always found you.

You built this place. Made it a home and yet you were afraid to leave your house.

Because when you did. Someone was there. Watching you with wide eyes as he stood there frozen by the gates to your garden.

"Witch." he whispered and you felt a shiver ran down your spine.

"Get inside." Astarion said as the man began to run.

You turned away as you knew what would happen now, your husband will hunt him, more men would come and you will be forced to move again.

You loved this house. You wanted to stay but you knew you couldn't.

"It is simply torture. Does no place exist where we could live together peacefully?" he asked and you smiled at him.

"Maybe afterlife?"

"I'm not ready to do that. You are far too young my love. You need to live and explore. See the world."

"I only wish to see you."

"It would be wrong of me to."

"I wish nothing but to be with you. You must know that."

"I do. I refuse to turn you into the monster that I am. And I also refuse for you to die. What would I do without you?"

You ran your hand down his face, offering him a smile as an answer then a kiss.

"This world is not made for us. But I love you too deeply to lose you, Astarion."

Your selfish love would be the end of you.

But you didn't care.

You were truly going mad.

It got to the point where now even during work you were only researching the painting and the painter. It got to a point where your boss told you that you need to keep your performance up or you will have issues.

But the worst of all, you didn’t care.

This mystery was consuming you alive.

You needed to know more.

You were slightly convinced your dreams weren’t even dreams. But if they were memories, could they be your ancestor's memories? Or your own?

No. That would be impossible.

The above photo is not mine! Credit goes to the owner!

Series Masterlist

Oil Taglist: @b33l1ghtfu11h0n3y @usuallyunlikelyfox @andromeda-gaylaxy @girl-with-an-orange-cat @joyfulfxckery @perseny @a-tong

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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jack-kellys · 2 days

Note

For the bad things happen bingo: Jack + bridal carry?

oh well hey there stranger. it was very much my instinct to have jack be carried but im actually so strong and didn't (quite) cave. also i made this a treat for u

available bingo squares here, ao3 series here! there r also some details in my ao3 tags/notes that make a few things about jack more objective.

Jack doesn’t like his new job, but he’s used to being good at things–adapting to things, maybe–that he doesn’t quite enjoy.

Selling papers hadn’t been his life’s goal or anything, but he needed people to look out for him and a roof so he got damn good at it all. Same goes for these ridiculous cartoons for Pulitzer: Jack keeps his head down, his trap shut, and his pencil busy. By now he’s learned that making a bunch of very similar drafts is the way to go, so the old men upstairs can mull and hum and mutter about which reads the best when they all read the damn same.

What is great about this newer gig is Katherine. Without it he’s not sure he’d see nearly as much of her as he’d like, and there’s so many doors to nothing and cramped little hiding places for them to giggle and tease and kiss in when they take a break from work. And since Jack isn’t technically granted any breaks, all Katherine needs to do is talk down to his boss with a cold glare and the whole matter is solved. And more importantly, they can go back to locking lips. The best days are when Davey comes by before the evening edition comes out after school, and the three of them share a cigarette. Katherine’s started to look at Davey the way Jack knows he has been for a while now, and he’s not sure what it means, but it makes butterflies reawaken in his stomach again.

What’s not great about the gig is observing Katherine’s work life.

Since the strike, she’s not needing to type up just one article anymore- by now it’s three, and when the Sun’s offices close for the day she ventures over to the World because she has a key and uses the typewriters there. Her father never stops her. And Jack sees her, because, you know, his rules for himself could also be stricter, but he’s used to that schedule. Up at dawn and asleep after he collapses has been his life, never hers. Jack watches her try to adjust- she’s always shooting him an upbeat smile, usually excited to be writing–and writing and writing and writing–when it’s something that interests her, but Jack doesn’t think he’ll get used to seeing circles under her amber eyes anytime soon.

It’s November now, late in it, the time of year where there’s already a dent in supplies at the lodge that makes Jack sweat since it’s harder to steal in the winter. Jack’s at his drawing desk early this morning, wanting to have some time between when he gets out and the evening edition to try and hit up a few shops for medicines they’re running low on. Blink’s got a nasty cough right now, and the boy’s trying to puff out his chest about it, but Jack knows the truth.

He heads up the stairs for a quick smoke break after a few hours, and catches Katherine coming in the front door from the cold in a hurry.

“Hey,” he says, greeting her just inside the main door. “You’re here early, what’s the deal at the-”

Jack observes her, and Katherine must read his mind. She sighs, shaking her head.

“Jack, I’m okay. Rough morning,” she excuses. There’s no way a rough morning can excuse the redness surrounding her nose, the bags underneath her eyes so obvious they nearly look purple, which pops against how pale her skin looks. “And it’s cold out, too, so-”

“You catch Blink’s cold?” he asks. A middle ground, since whatever is going on with her looks worse than a cough.

“Maybe,” Katherine agrees, which means she’s got to be feeling worse than a cold. “I’ll take it easier today if it makes you feel better.”

“It’ll make you feel better.”

Jack glances down, feeling her fingers against his own. Katherine threads her hand into his, before lifting up, dawn-pink lips pressing a small, cold kiss to his dark knuckles.

“Go draw, Mr. Kelly,” she says to him, taking her hand away. “I’ll see you at three.”

Three is too long, and Jack can feel the time ticking by in the back of his mind, each hour making his palms itch worse. It’s not easy for him to get up and away–and especially into other parts of the huge building–without Katherine, so if she doesn’t make sure to come down and visit him he can’t really go up and see her.

He practically rockets into motion the moment the clock strikes three, shuffling his drafts into his portfolio and shoving it into his desk, tugging his coat on, hiking his bag over his shoulder, then stands-

-up too fast. He wobbles, gripping the back of his chair and blinking his sudden spinning vision straight. Jack takes a breath, and finally exits the room, glaring at his boots. He hates whenever Mush’s hypothesis is proven a little right- Jack’s got something weird with his blood, wrong with the iron in his body. It gets him jumpy in the winter, gets him worried about everyone and the cold.

Glancing around the hall, he sneaks up the stairs to where Katherine prefers to work- Bryan Denton’s office, who’s been out on assignments after shifting from the Sun for two months now and taught Kath a lot of what she knows. Jack knocks, before pushing open the door.

“Oh, Kathy,” he sighs, smiling slightly. Her head’s tucked on the typewriter’s keys as if it were a pillow, arms rested under her chin as her chest rises and falls evenly. Jack’s sort of glad she fell asleep- doing all this work for hours on end in her condition hadn’t been Katherine’s best idea.

Jack crosses over to her, drawing a hand through her hair. He pauses.

The ends of her wavy fringe his sweaty, he notices. Jack swipes his hand over her forehead.

Hot- burning hot. And her hands are cold when one of his own closes around them.

“Kath. Katherine,” Jack says, and says again. He shakes her shoulder gently. “Katherine, come on. Wake up, sweetheart.”

Slowly, her eyes flutter open with a small moan. Katherine’s eyebrows scrunch, confused- probably wondering why the first thing she’s seeing is an ‘f’ key.

“Did I…? Jack?” she mumbles, lifting her head. Her face turns to his, and she pouts, blinking sluggishly. “Oh, I didn’t go down to you, did I. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” he reassures, two hands on her shoulders now. “Day’s over, yeah? Lemme get you- I’m gonna take you to the lodge for now. So you can rest some more.”

She shakes her head, expression pinched.

“Not necessary,” she insists, carefully standing up. “Everyone falls asleep at their desk, right? Right. One time- one…”

She sways suddenly, but catches herself just as Jack’s muscles go taut.

“One time.. thing,” she manages. She takes a step, and her dull eyes flutter, and Jack’s taut muscles send him surging forward as she falls sideways, only six inches or so from the side of her head slamming into the wall. Jack catches her, thank god, her form crashing heavily into his outreached arms. He hefts her up shakily, her temple finding his shoulder to rest on while his arms curl around her back and under her knees.

“Kath?” he tries. “Katherine. Katherine.”

She doesn’t wake, expression lax save for the strained twitch of her brow.

“Fuck,” he hisses, because he’s alone, with his unconscious partner, in an office that isn’t his and in a building that doesn’t like letting him inside. And Kath’s not waking up. Jack’s heart starts to pound louder, it feels like- sounds like.

Stairs. Stairs. He needs the stairs.

Jack rushes to them, doing his best not to jostle Kath as he starts downward. He needs to mind his footsteps- Katherine is practically his height, and her dress could easily cause both of them to go sprawling.

He makes it down, trying not to breathe too hard, and shoves with his back out the front door.

“Jack? -Kath?”

Jack’s head swings to the right, and Davey’s there.

“What happened?” the boy rushes out, striding over to Jack. “I was waiting for you two, they wouldn’t let me- is she alright? What-”

Jack lets Davey touch her forehead, watches him recoil and his eyebrows shoot up, before he traces her cheek gently.

“She’s sick. Came in and worked a whole day anyway,” Jack mutters. The November breeze makes Katherine shiver suddenly, but she still doesn’t wake, only looks more pained. Jack bites his lip.

“Hold her for a moment?” he asks Davey.

“What?” Davey splutters, eyes going huge. “Jack I can’t- I dunno if-”

Jack sets her in the taller boy’s arms anyway, and quickly sheds his coat. “Knew you were strong enough, Dee.”

“Whatever,” Davey mutters, narrowing his eyes at Jack, who sets his coat over Katherine. “Jack, you need that.”

“I ain’t sick,” he says, and carefully takes her back into his grasp.

“You’ll get sick. Or, you’ll-”

Jack starts walking. He’s fine. His nose is already chilled to the bone, but he’ll manage. He hears Davey quickly keep up, and they walk in strained silence for a while.

“You know, it’s my textbook on anatomy I had Mush borrow,” Davey murmurs. “And I read a good amount of it.”

“Good for you,” Jack mutters, though his body tenses up more than it already is as another gust of wind blows through.

“It ain’t good for you to be out and cold like this,” Davey continues, and Jack keeps his gaze pointedly forward. “You’re already losing color and it’s only been ten minutes-”

“Dave,” Jack interjects, gazing down at Katherine. His coat’s helped, maybe, but she still shivers and burns and shakes in his arms and he wishes he could somehow grip her even closer. “I’m worried about her, alright? Lemme- just lemme hold her.”

Davey goes quiet for a moment. Before too long, Jack feels the boy’s arm come around his waist, rubbing his back, warming him.

“Okay,” Davey says softly. “Okay, Jack.”

They make it to the lodge, and the front door of it is all Jack can focus on. He lets Davey open it, and he heads in with her, going up the stairs, away from the colder first floor. He sets her in Racer’s lower bunk, since that’s always a safe bet. Pulls the covers up.

Now what.

There’re other things he should do, he knows that, but his brain can’t seem to connect the dots, the red string of his thought process being held limply with no direction.

The hand on his back returns, and his name’s being said.

“-ck, you should get some rest too,” Davey’s saying. “You listening?”

“Always,” is Jack’s smart reply. “Yeah, I- well, I gotta run down to Mush first if he’s around, let ‘im know what’s going on.”

“Well, I can do that,” Davey brushes off. Then, he takes Jack’s hands, finding his wrists and cupping his palms around them. “You need to warm up, and rest, Jack, you just carried Katherine for a mile.”

“Yeah but I-” Jack shakes his head slightly. His shoulders hike as he fights a sudden shiver, slipping out of Davey’s hands as the red string finally lands around a thought. “I gotta grab some extra blankets, too.”

“Jack-”

He stands up, gripping the bottom of the top bunk to steady himself, blinking a few times. Fine. He’s fine. He’s going- he was going to get… something.

The red string suddenly slips away, and his head aches, his chest clenches, and he’s really, really cold. His vision flits between darkness and wood bunks as his eyelids flutter. Stronger arms than he thought he knew slip under his own right as he feels he’s about to sink, though, and his face lands against a warm chest. He yawns, lightheaded, brain feeling separate from the rest of his body.

“Breathe,” Davey’s saying, urgently. “Jack. Jackie, can you hear me? Just breathe, in slowly, out slowly.”

Jack’s trying to focus, but he’s not totally sure why he can’t, and his knees want to buckle. Davey’s strong, holding him up like this. Jack doesn’t feel like he’s holding anything.

He feels his eyes close, which makes the breathing easier but the focusing harder. Davey’s holding him close, safe. He’s tracing the side of Jack’s head soothingly with a finger in the space between his braids, and Jack lets himself yawn again, though this time his brain feels less like it’s suffocating than it did a minute ago.

“You gonna let me find Mush?” Davey says softly, but Jack can picture the ‘I was right’ smirk that’s probably residing on the boy’s pink lips. Jack simply nods into his chest. He lets Davey sit him on the bunk, still leaned into the other until he feels Davey shift him- trying to lay him down. Jack thinks he falls asleep before the boy even can- he remembers Davey’s chest as his resting spot, not the pillow beside Katherine.

He wakes groggily a couple hours later, his suspenders and dress shirt missing. His shoes are off, too, and there’s wavy, auburn hair tickling his nose and someone’s back he’s tucked into. Just barely, he raises his head, opening his eyes just enough.

Katherine’s awake, thank god, attire loosened. Jack’s arm is rested over her hip, but she’s petting someone’s hair, looking down at someone the way she looks at Jack. His head raises higher.

Davey’s fast asleep sitting half on the floor, face pillowed by his arm on the bunk mattress and hair being delicately combed through by Katherine’s fingers. Suddenly she pauses, and glances behind her. Jack meets her gaze, and she looks exhausted, but she gives him a tired smile. Jack tries to return it despite the fog going through his brain.

“Go back to sleep, Jackie,” she whispers, so gently it nearly convinces his eyes to shut then and there. “You’re off duty, alright?”

“How long’s he been asleep?” he asks her anyway. He leans over her a little, arm slipping away from her waist to find Davey’s cheek to caress.

“Maybe an hour,” she provides. “Adorable, hm?”

Jack hums his agreement, but feels his head bob downward, despite his desire to ask Katherine how she feels. Jack wraps himself closer around her middle, nuzzling his face between her shoulder blades. The hand that isn’t resting against Davey’s cheek finds Jack’s hand over her stomach, their fingers threading together. All three connected, like one snaking string. He smiles to himself.

“Sleep, Jack,” Kath says again over her shoulder. He listens.

#JATHRID #BABYS FIRST OFFICIAL JATHERID FIC!!!#jack kelly #katherine pulitzer #davey jacobs #newsies #newsies fanfic #newsies fics #fizz writes #fizz answers #mutuals #newsies the musical #jatherid #thanks isabel :) im decently happy with how this turned out!! idk how its almost 2.5k words tho wtf #also jack is anemic as shit. basically.#im weird and i normally make canon era jack anemic and modern au jack have cfs. idk why [i do]#rizz does bthb!

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dearharriet · 3 months

Note

Congrats on 150!! For your celebration I was thinking Bad idea right? Is soooooo Sirius black.

you are sooo right, my love, that’s exactly who i had in mind haha. thank u sm for the request! (wc: 765) (cw: pg-13 smut)

There’s nothing hotter than a secret meetup, which makes your circumstances all the more unfortunate. It’s hard to hear anything above the thumping bass of the club, but the crackling phone line meets your ear like a challenge. Sirius is on the other end, working like a dog to persuade you to meet him, and you can’t hold out much longer.

“Darling,” he begs, tugging at your heart with his old nickname. “I miss you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have dumped me, then.”

He sucks a breath in like you’ve actually wounded him. Feeling the conversation run long, you glance around the corner to make sure your friends are still where you left them, dancing obliviously.

“I know it, love. Only a raging idiot would let you go. I’m a jealous prick, and I don’t deserve you.”

He’s really groveling, you think, lips curling into a smirk. You could probably say anything now and he’d agree with you.

“For once, I think you’re right. You don’t deserve me. If anything, I should go home with one of the guys here,” you breathe, your voice pitching down. “Let him have his way with me, and then send you a scanty photo to cry about.”

Sirius’ breath catches. “You’d have every right.”

The pit in your stomach grows, and you know some stranger would never satiate it. Sirius is wrapped around your finger, and you’re so tempted to take him up on his offer.

“But,” continues Sirius when you leave the line dead, “you know they’d never make you feel the way I can.”

That’s the final straw.

“Send me your address,” you murmur hurriedly, already assembling a plan to escape your friends. Sirius halts it in its tracks.

“Stay there, I’ll come get you,” he says instead, his voice husky and dark. I’m so in for it, you think.

Twenty minutes later, Sirius finds you loitering a block away from the club, mace in hand. He leans across the center console to open his passenger door, and you poke your head in.

“Hey,” you breathe.

Sirius jerks his head up as a means of greeting.

“Get in.”

You do as he says, sliding into the familiar seat beside him. It’s been months since you’ve seen him, but he looks exactly the same; still the hottest man you’ve ever met.

Sirius is watching you, too, taking in your skimpy top and short skirt with hungry eyes. If you had any doubts about the chemistry still standing between you two, they’re immediately banished.

“C’mere,” Sirius grunts, patting his lap. You can’t get there fast enough.

He feels so good under you, familiar and warm. His hands don’t hesitate the way that strangers’ do, they just grip the meat of your thighs with abandon. Similarly, you don’t hesitate to plant your mouth on his, weaving into the song and dance you two have performed a thousand times.

“I meant what I said, doll,” Sirius groans as you pull back to attend to his spotless throat. “I really have missed you.”

“You have me on your lap, Sirius, you don’t have to convince me anymore.”

He chuckles at that, grabbing meanly at your ass.

“You always were too sharp for me.”

Pulling away from his bobbing throat, you scoot yourself closer to his pelvis, finding him hot and ready beneath you. You don’t feel sharp. If anything, you’re more convinced you’re not thinking at all.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, and that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. Lust is fine, but everything else has to stay off the table.

“Sirius.” You suck harshly at a spot under his jaw and he hums, in pleasure and in question. “Shut up,” you say, and then cover his mouth with yours again, tugging at his silky hair. He smiles into your mouth and you lick behind those wicked teeth, knowing them as well as your own.

“Take your pants off,” you suddenly demand, and Sirius looks at you like you’re crazy. “What?”

“We’re not having car sex on a well-lit street, babe.”

You frown. “It sure seems like we are.”

Sirius laughs, a touch hysterical. “Uh-uh. No way.” His hands come up to untangle yours from his hair. “My place or yours?”

With a huff, you pull yourself off of him, dizzy and warm with desire. Without a word, you buckle yourself in, silently relenting to his terms. As he sets a big hand on your flushed thigh, you glance over at him, and you know you’ve made a terrible mistake. Still, you’re not about to turn back now.

“Your place,” you say, “baby.”

thank u for reading! <3

masterlist

join the celebration!

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lupinuslilium · 1 month

Text

Wolfstar Oneshot! ~ 1.9k words

Modern AU, the marauders are university students on holiday. Background Jegulus (no one knows), pining Sirius, oblivious Remus.

CW: negative self-talk, homophobia, references to physical and emotional abuse.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Sirius looked up as Remus closed the door behind him. He swallowed down the sharp retort already crawling it’s way out of his throat, internally chastising himself for his irritation at the concern in his friends eyes.

He sighed and threw his phone to the side, stretching out his limbs. He had been lying on the comfortable guest bed, scrolling mindlessly. He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t even really want to think. Down the hall, his brother was sleeping in the room beside James’— Sirius’ room�� he had to keep reminding himself. His room, after he had shown up at the Potters weeks earlier. Regulus slept in his room, bruised in the same way Sirius had been and refusing to talk about it.

He finally looked at Remus who was sat on the edge of the bed, studying him as if he was a complicated bomb he had been sent to diffuse. Sirius supposed it might be true, James certainly wasn’t here attempting this conversation. Not after the argument that had ensued upon Regulus’ arrival. He was embarrassed by the cruel things he had said to James in anger, in anger and panic and misplaced jealousy. He always reacted without thinking, always jumped to the worst conclusion. Then the guilt came and he’d avoid thinking about the apologies he owed. Sirius steeled himself and met Remus’ eyes, eyes that were so annoyingly big and brown and concerned for him. He managed what he thought was a rather diplomatic,

“No, not particularly”

The corner of Remus’ mouth turned up. That fucking crooked smile that made Sirius forget why he was sulking. The smug bastard. He readied himself for another argument, prepared himself for Remus to push him, for him to say everything Sirius didn’t want to hear. Instead Remus said,

“Okay, do you want to watch a film then?”

God Bless Remus Lupin. He nodded and reached down to the floor beside the bed to grab his laptop. Remus batted him on the shoulder to shuffle over and made himself comfortable beside him while Sirius opened Netflix. They fell into an easy silence, broken only by the sounds of Mr. Potter doing the washing up downstairs and a breeze slipping through the cracked window. Sirius scrolled through their movie options.

“Oh I’ve heard this is good, have you seen it?” Sirius asked as his mouse hovered over a thriller.

“That looks absolutely terrible” Remus scowled at the screen

“What! No it doesn’t. Look, it’s got Jake Gyllenhaal, you love him.”

“I do not love Jake Gyllenhaal, why would you think I love Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“You love his big blue eyes.” Sirius smirked to himself.

“Oh yeah, how could I forget. I love his big blue eyes almost as much as I love it when you shut the fuck up and pick a film”

Sirius chuckled. Something that had been coiled tightly in his chest was unfurling, he hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he was holding his shoulders until he was teasing Remus. He replied,

“We’re watching this one because I’m the one in emotional distress and you’ll only want to watch something entirely depressing or The Lord of The Rings and I’m not in the mood”

“Fine” Remus sighed while Sirius clicked play. He stole a glance at that crooked smirk and suddenly became aware of Remus lying on the bed mere inches away, his head angled toward him to see the screen, the soft orange light from the bedside lamp glowing through the mess of brown hair atop the other boys head. He turned his attention firmly back to the screen and they settled into the film, which Sirius conceded wouldn’t win Jake any awards (though he of course didn’t voice this opinion). He was actually feeling quite calm, interested in the film, though distracted by Remus’ ankle sometimes brushing up against his when-

“It’s not your fault you know” Remus said about twenty minutes in.

Sirius hit the space bar with more force than was necessary.

“I thought we had established that I didn’t want to talk about this?”

“We don’t have to talk about it. I’m not even talking to you, just you know, speaking to the room at large.”

“Well, shut up”

“You don’t even have to listen, I actually would prefer if you’d mind your own business. I’m just choosing to say out loud, to anyone who might be interested and would like to know, that what happened to Regulus is no one’s fault but his parents”

Anger flared in Sirius as he turned his head to the left and was met with warm brown eyes. Remus held his stare, unflinching stubbornness written all over his features. Fuck you, Sirius thought, Fuck you for your comically long eyelashes, fuck you for trying to make me feel better, and fuck you for knowing that I’m going to take the bait.

In little more than a whisper and without breaking his stare, Sirius said, “We don’t even know what happened. Because Regulus won’t say, and because I left him there. I knew what they were capable of and I left him there. So yeah, it is my fault, at least partially.”

Remus’ eyes softened a bit and Sirius hated himself. The boy in front of him was all shades of gold. Like the hour before sunset, when everything is so still and warm and heartbreaking that it almost hurts to look at. Remus almost hurt to look at. He was his friend, his best friend, and after James Sirius didn’t think he was allowed any more best friends. Whatever higher power had granted him James Potter, Sirius didn’t know but he had spent everyday since in a perpetual state of gratitude. Then he was granted Remus Lupin and he knew he didn’t deserve him, yet he still looked at him and wanted. He was selfish, impulsive, aloof on his good days and cruel on his bad. Still, James and Remus and all of his friends gave him their patience and empathy and love. Suddenly he felt close to tears.

Before he could turn away, Remus replied, “You had no choice Pads, you know that. He wouldn’t leave with you, and you had to get out of there. You can’t protect him from everything and you can’t make his decisions. He’s safe now and you’re safe now. That’s it. There’s no blame to be ha—“

“Then why did he call James?” The question that had been eating at Sirius all day.

Regulus was his brother. It had always been them surviving in that household, looking out for each other. Looking out for each other even when they stopped really talking to each other. Sirius had always taken the brunt of his parents’ cruelty to protect Regulus, and then when Regulus needed help, when he needed somewhere to go..

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat “Why would he call James and not me? If he doesn’t blame me, why would he call James”

“Sirius…” Remus began but he was too overwhelmed to listen. Regulus was always his to protect, no one else would. It was one of the first things he had learned and though he knew it was irrational, knew that they were adults, that Regulus made his own choices, deep down he still felt that anything that happened to Regulus was because of him. His mother had instilled that in him.

And suddenly he became overwhelmed by the proximity of Remus. By his smell and his stupid eyelashes and his stupid nose and his stupid hoodie that was perfectly soft and somehow too big for the giant fucker and his smart-ass mouth that pissed him off but still somehow always said the right thing. And he was overwhelmed by his mother’s voice in his head telling him that he was a fuckup and an idiot. Telling him he was disgusting, telling him to stop acting so fucking gay. The words choked him and the scars on his body reminded him that everything was his fault. His fucking fault. It was his fault that Regulus had been there on his own. His fault that his family hated him so completely. His fault that he woke up everyday and wanted his best friend in a way that wasn’t fair.

He sat up as the tears started spilling down his cheeks and his breathing became difficult. He hid his face in his hands. The only person who had ever seen Sirius cry was James but in that moment the only thing he could do was cry. So he cried, he cried in relief that his brother was safe and in anguish that he hadn’t been there to take the force of his mother’s rage. He cried because he knew if he had stayed he wouldn’t have survived. He felt a large hand on his back and for maybe the first time, didn’t feel embarrassed to be crying. Remus’ presence was warm and steady, patient and completely disarming. He started to catch his breath and heard Remus say quietly,

“I don’t know why he called James, I honestly don’t. But I’m glad that he called anyone, and once he’s more settled you guys can start sorting all this out. You’re a good brother Sirius, anyone can see that you’d go to war for the kid. Just don’t be so hard on yourself, and try not to be so hard on James, okay? You know how he loves being the hero, he probably called Regulus himself”

Sirius huffed a laugh, “Fuck, I owe a lot of apologies don’t I?” His voice was still slightly muffled by the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Yeah, you do.” Remus continued, “but fortunately James is a very forgiving hero” Sirius laughed quietly again and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He finally lifted his head and turned to look back at Remus.

“Oh, fuck you” Remus said and rolled his eyes.

“What??”

“Of course you’d still look pretty right after crying your eyes out.”

Sirius barked out a loud laugh

“Aw, Moony, you think I’m pretty?” Remus pushed his shoulder away, “you always know exactly how to make me feel better.” He reached for his water bottle on the bedside table, still snickering.

“Do you?” Remus’ voice wasn’t teasing.

“Do I what?”

“Feel better?” There was such earnestness in Remus’ gaze.

“Yeah, I do” Sirius leaned back on the pillow, turning to face Remus “do you still want to watch the movie?”

Remus smiled “Yeah, go on. I do actually love his big blue eyes”

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leo-actually-draws-things · 2 months

Text

If GlamMike got his hands on an Illusion Disc

For Context a little more on the settings of it, and why it varies under the cut (and a bonus)

Bonus from a seperate au called the Extended College AU, it was originally for OCs in a DnD campaign I'm running that got their own au, and then to make the town more full a bunch of fandoms were added

Technically in the EC AU Michael is 15, in the modern era (a freshman/first year in high school) but I wanted to draw the Michael from that Au and how he would've mellowed out by the time he himself is in college (honestly the reason I made these in the first place was EC!Michael)

So yeah EC Michael (future version being 21, with his boyfriend about to be fiancé, and a less than a year old son)

#back to '83 au #fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf michael afton #fnaf micheal #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #my art #fnaf glamrock freddy #glammike #michael afton fanart #michael afton #Extended College Au #ec is a normal non-corpse color look at him; not pale as a ghost good for him good for him #he's pursuing art at the local college and he loves his son Gregory #it is also jeremike just like back to 83 is #mike's trans in EC because William isnt a murderer; its the modern era; and despite Will being a shitty dad he doesn't really care #helps his uncle with design concepts for new animatronics too; yes he did base Glam!Freddy and Glam!Bonnie on him and Jeremy in that one #its an au where Mike is living his best life honest (he did hurt Evan a bit to still be guilty but Ill ramble about that later)#Back to 83 might be something you'll see late in the fic so ssshhhhh spoilers ;)#also his piercings are Glam!Freddy's and his chin makeup is spider bites <3

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themoon-andits-stars · 9 months

Text

Drunk on Something Stronger

(Loosely based on the first verse of Cornelia Street. Like very loosely)

Draco couldn’t say where his sudden burst of confidence came from.

The liquor in his veins, the pounding music vibrating his very being, the strobing lights making it impossible to tell how drunk he really was.

Maybe it was the way Harry’s front pressed against his back. The way his hands slid down Draco’s sides and across his stomach. How Draco was able to tilt his head back slightly so Harry’s lips brushed against his ear. The way he could hear Harry’s breath hitch with each movement of his hips.

Whatever it was, Draco felt electric with it.

He found himself turning to face Harry. Harry’s hands found a perfect fit on the small of Draco’s back while Draco’s arms hung loosely from Harry’s shoulders. He brought his face closer to Harry’s, lips so close that a single breath would result in connection.

Draco then moved towards Harry’s ear, his lips brushing against him. “I have a place just down the road,” Draco said just loud enough to be heard over the music. He pulled back to eye Harry whose face was flushed red. His pupils dilated and his mouth parted perfectly.

Harry began to lean in slightly, eyes flicking down to Draco’s lips. Draco smirked and leaned back slightly, reveling in the small look of disappointment that flashed across Harry’s face.

Draco began to turn when Harry’s arms loosened enough around Draco for him to make a clean escape. He made his way outside of the club knowing that Harry was not far behind him. He leaned against the wall by the door and waited for what could only be a few seconds before Harry finally stepped outside.

Draco hung his arms around Harry’s shoulders while Harry’s hands found their place back on Draco’s waist. Draco leaned in, their face only inches apart. He could hear the hitch in Harry’s breath as their lips barely brushed. “The nights only just started,” Draco whispered.

He slipped out of Harry’s hands and began walking down the road, smirking to himself when he heard the sounds of Harry following.

part 2 || part 3

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dorian-winter · 8 months

Text

Hey, I posted the first chapter of a fic inspired by @sebbianas post. This one. ✨

I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope that the people that liked the original prompt might enjoy this, too :)

The story is written from several POV, and the first chapter features Sirius' as well as Regulus' POV. The second chapter will then have Remus' and James' POV for a change.

Here is the summary:

Remus and James work at a fast food chain as delivery guys. The black brothers become their loyal customers, as it seems they have really taken a liking to the taste of the pizza they offer.

What James and Remus don't know, however, is that after 20 days of Pizza for lunch straight, Sirius and Regulus hate Pizza. In fact, they can't stand Pizza's guts. They've eaten so much of it, the memory of it will last them a lifetime. Still, they don't stop ordering.

They hope that at least one of them will muster up the bravery soon to ask one of the cute delivery boys out, so they can finally stop having Pizza for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner.

Thanks again for the permission to write this based on your AU! ✨

#jegulus #wolfstar #fanfiction #jegulus ff #wolfstar ff #ao3 #Regulus Black #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #James Potter #the marauders #marauders era fanfiction #modern au #delivery service au #humor fic #ao3 fanfiction #chapter announcement #mlm fanfic

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uncleskyrule · 5 months

Link

Words: 262 Fandom: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Rating: G Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Link/Zelda, Flora/Wild Characters: Link, Zelda, Wild, Flora Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Can be read as regular LoZ or LU, POV Zelda, Link/Zelda Fluff, Talking Link, Established Relationship, Dating, Fluff, Romance, Cute, Snow Day, Birthday, Flirting, Slice of Life, Drabble, Linktober, Linktober 2023, Collaboration, Fanart, Inspired by Fanart Series: Part 4 of different era, same spirit, Part 10 of nine heroes, one spirit, Part 37 of Linktober Summary: After a morning of snowboarding and skiing to celebrate Link’s birthday, Zelda treats Link to some hot cocoa in the little café next to the snow gear rental shop.

Linktober 2023 Day 29: Aquatic/Water Snow

The inspiration for this fic was this art of LU Wild as a snowboarder by my lovely friend and collaborator @inumbrapugnabimus-maybe

Though this fic was written for our LU modern AU (”different era, same spirit”), it can be read as regular BotW Zelink.

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crispyjenkins · 11 months

Note

Assassin's Creed fic 👀 I am always a sucker for (good) Desmond Miles fic, hell yeah, would 100% read those if you posted them.

👀 👉👈 you're my new favourite, anon. this isn't close to being done but i'm very fond of it so here's a lil preview~ inspired by esama's study of flight, but with a twist! (gen, time travel/reincarnation, found family, william miles' a+ parenting, accidental subterfuge, desmond goes by miles mostly)

Inhaling a careful breath, Ezio pauses half a flight from their destination and Leonardo halts on the step above him, frown deepening in concern. “Ezio?” he prompts, when he still doesn’t say anything.

Ezio sighs. “We have thirteen recruits now,” he explains, turning to lean his back against the staircase wall; the cool temperature of the stone actually calms him somewhat and allows him to go on, “He’s been with us a few months, now.”

Tilting his head curiously, Leonardo bends closer to him. “I thought you had stopped recruiting for the time being.”

“I had.” Ezio rubs over his face quickly, such discomfort usually unsafe to display so openly — then again, Leonardo is hardly his enemy. “One of my discepoli, Adele, noticed him first.”

“ ‘Noticed him’?”

“... In my defense, I was away on a long assignment.”

Leonardo just looks bewildered, an expression that’s usually quite amusing to see on the man, but Ezio can only cough awkwardly.

“He, ah, was here a week before anyone thought to question him.”

His old friend blinks slowly at him, Ezio can almost see the calculations happening in his mind, before his whole countenance brightens enough to make Ezio wince.

“You mean he infiltrated the Brotherhood? And nobody noticed?” he asks gleefully. “Oh, Ezio.”

Refusing to flush in embarrassment, Ezio crosses his arms with a humph. “As I said, I wasn’t in the hideout at the time. Geniuses some of my recruits may be, but they all thought I had sent him here. Adele was the one to notice he had previous training, and asked him where he had met me.” Letting out a long breath, Ezio does smile, just a little. “The whelp didn’t even deny having snuck in, ’said that this is where he wants to be and was tired of waiting for chance to put him in my path, or I in his.”

Leonardo laughs brightly, moving to rest against the wall across from Ezio. “And Machiavelli didn’t kill him immediately?”

“No, Valeria convinced them all to keep it quiet until I returned from my contract, the little hellions. She even used me as a meat shield when Niccolò finally found out.” Ezio loves his recruits to distraction, they’re his brothers and sisters and siblings and he would gladly die for any one of them. He would also like to never face down Machiavelli’s sword and rarely-used hidden blade ever again. Once was already in excess.

“And the recruit?”

“Miles defended himself, of course. At least long enough for Niccolò to become intrigued by his skill.” He’s still testing the theory, but Ezio is fairly certain even the rank of millite is too low for him, though why Miles would be hiding his prowess is a concern all on its own.

Leonardo has known Ezio far too long, and far too well to not guess at his unsaid meaning, his lips tugging back into a thoughtful frown. “You think he was trained by another Assassin?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he admits with a sigh. “He certainly wasn’t trained by any of our branches.”

“Miles, Miles Miles,” Leonardo muses to the sloped ceiling. “Unusual name. Germanic? Or French, perhaps?”

Ezio had been considering contacting his brothers in Spain, despite being almost positive that Miles wasn’t trained by them; he hadn’t even considered the French branch. Actually, did the French branch even exist anymore? He thinks he recalls hearing of its decimation around the time of the Inquisition.

“There’s a thought,” he agrees slowly, rubbing his jaw. “I’d have to ask la Volpe or another older member about their fighting styles, I only ever crossed blades with Helene, and she hadn’t been an Assassin in many years by then.”

“Ah, Helene... Dufranc, was it? Yes, yes, the lovely rogue from Barcelona. ‘Mon petit Assassin’, if I recall correctly?”

Glowering, Ezio kicks his friend’s foot at the reminder of the nickname he only escaped upon return to Italy. Some of his Spanish brothers still tease him about it in their letters. “I regret ever telling you about that,” he grumbles, much to Leonardo’s amusement.

Though, he quickly sobers and meets Ezio’s eyes under his hood, pinning him there easily. “Why am I here, old friend?” he asks, softly, but leaving no room to wriggle out of the answer again.

He really isn’t making this easy, is he?

Ezio can only hold Leonardo’s gaze for a few moments more, before he has to look away. “Miles is a bastard from a Veneziana whore. He never met his father.” He needn’t look to know Leonardo gets it immediately, but Ezio still goes on, “My students aren’t nearly as subtle as they think they are, and I do not know if it would have occurred to me without their whispers.”

Leonardo understands this immediately, too. “Ah, does he not bear significant resemblance to you, then?”

Ezio shakes his head. “My recruits seem to think so, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten far too in my head about it and am no longer sure if what I see is simply what I want to see.”

“Oh, Ezio,” Leonardo sighs, standing straight to reach across the narrow space between them and put a hand on his shoulder. “I would be glad to meet him, old friend. Then, after, we will sort all this out, just as we always have.”

Despite himself, Ezio finds himself relieved by the comfort, and reaches up to squeeze Leonardo’s hand, before removing it and stepping away. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and nods to the bottom of the stairs. “Miles is usually sparring one of his brothers or sisters around now, come with me.”

“Or siblings,” Leonardo reminds him with a soft laugh, following at his heel.

#title's gonna be from poor isaac by the airborne toxic event #this whole fic is based on the trope of time travel des not knowing how to lie for shit and people making assumptions (à la study of flight #except their assumptions turn out to be mostly right #des isn't ezio's kid tho 👀#anyway i love desmond almost as much as i love obi wan if that tells you anything about my current state of mind #crispy writes #i also have a modern-era bleed effect injury angst thing and an altdes where they both go back in time which is a MESS of a fic #but it's power couple mostly established relationship where everyone thinks altaïr found another adha and they aren't exactly WRONG #seriously i could gush about desmond endlessly #anon #cj answers #savage price

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