#I’ve been reading more than writing lately.. is that a crime? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveinhawkins · 1 year

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There’s a table in the school library that’s nestled in the corner, right by a radiator; Steve has claimed it ever since his double block of ‘private study periods’ began.

Not that he’s planning on doing any studying: it’s the last day of school before the winter break, and while his face has healed up from the whole Billy Hargrove Incident, he still finds himself feeling wiped at random—like his body’s having a delayed adrenaline crash ever since he pulled Dustin out of that freaky vine-infested tunnel.

So really, this spot should be ideal for a couple hours of not having to think.

And it would be perfect, if his eyes weren’t instinctively drawn to movement at the front desk.

Because for the past god-knows-how-long, Eddie Munson has been in a back-and-forth with the librarian.

It had started when he ambled up to the desk with a healthy pile of books in his hands, placed them down neatly, all ready to be stamped. Flashed a charming smile.

Steve was too far away to hear the words, but he got the gist that whatever the librarian had said amounted to no, absolutely not, because Eddie scooped the books back up, dumped them on a table a little distance away from Steve’s, then hemmed and hawed before returning to the desk with a more modest pile than before.

He was sent away again with presumably the same refusal, and so the pattern repeated until this very minute: he’s returning with just one book in his hands, his smile less charming now, more desperate.

But… no luck.

Eddie slouches back to the table in defeat. Just stands there, staring down at the books.

And goddamn it, Steve thinks, now he’s invested.

“Hey. Munson,” he says in an undertone. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t miss the weird kind of double take Eddie gives him, but at least Steve knows it’s not because of his face being a mess this time—seriously, drawing looks from students when all he wanted was to get in line for crappy cafeteria pizza had not been fun.

“Nothing,” Eddie says with a shrug, and he flashes another wide smile that makes Steve think bullshit. “Apparently I racked up a mountain of late fees. Who knew?” He sighs, glancing at his wristwatch. “Guess I’ve got enough time to just read the—oh. Um. Hey?”

“These books?” Steve confirms, having already stood up to look at them.

Eddie blinks a few times. “Yeah, these—uh, Harrington, what the fuck do you think you’re—?”

Steve heads over to the front desk with the books. It’s not all that difficult of a decision to make; he remembers Tommy H had his own library late fees in freshman year, but got nothing more than a simpering, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again, sweetie,” just because his mom knew someone on the school board.

“For checking out, please,” Steve says, not bothering with a smile as he hands over his library card.

The only resistance he gets is a raised eyebrow from the librarian before all the books are stamped.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, voice flat; he doesn’t take the books when Steve tries to give them to him, so Steve just shrugs and goes back to his seat, sets the books pointedly on the edge of the table.

“Look, man, it’s up to you, but I’m not gonna take them. They’ll just be sitting here.”

Eddie huffs. He goes over to the books, his hand twitching towards them before drawing back, like he’s at war with himself.

“You—you didn’t have to do that,” he gets out as if it physically pains him to do so.

Prickly, Steve thinks.

“It’s no big deal,” he says. “My account’s gathering dust, so someone might as well get the good of it.”

At hearing that, Eddie looks a little less defensive. He chews on his lips for a few seconds, then says, his tone serious, “Harrington, I’ll—I’ll forget. Like, with the holidays… like, I guarantee you, even if I write a million fucking reminders, I’m gonna take these books and forget to bring ‘em back for months.”

“Oh, no,” Steve says dryly, “lemme go alert the press, I just heard a blatant confession to a crime. Dude, just take them, what do I care if your homework takes you months to—”

“It’s not even for school,” Eddie interrupts through gritted teeth, “it’s dumb, it’s just—”

“Jesus Christ. Lemme call the press again, sounds like you’re reading a book for fun.”

Eddie stares at him. Steve raises an eyebrow in challenge—he could do this all day; just the other week, he’d beaten Mike in a brutal staring contest that felt like it went on for hours.

Eddie breaks first. “Fine,” he says with another huff, but he’s less agitated when handling the books—lingers thoughtfully on their titles, puts a couple in his backpack. The rest he opens at seemingly random parts, but it looks like he knows what he’s searching for.

And then it seems as if he’s just going to pick up the remaining books and walk away—Steve expects him to, honestly—but he ends up staying where he is, gives Steve a look of consideration, almost like he’s a book worth reading, too.

“You stole my table, you know?” Eddie says.

“Uh, no,” Steve says automatically, then adds with more confidence, “I was definitely here first.”

Eddie snorts. “Nope. My senior year, uh,” he shrugs self-deprecatingly, “the first time around. That was my spot. Was pretty possessive over it too, think I signed the table, like, underneath.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise in interest; he runs a finger along the underside of the table and soon feels it: an E.M scratched into the wood.

“Huh,” he says. “Guess you’re right.”

A pause.

And then Steve surprises himself.

“There’s, um, room here, if you want? I’m not gonna use the whole table.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s a long enough silence in which Steve considers just telling him to forget about it, but then—

Eddie sits down opposite him.

It’s not as awkward as Steve was expecting: Eddie seems focused enough on his books, on bringing out a battered looking journal with sheets of paper that look like they’re hanging on by a thread. He roots around his backpack some more, retrieves a ballpoint pen with a quiet, triumphant, “Aha!”

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve isn’t even making an attempt to look busy; his own side of the table is bare.

“Didn’t know you were left-handed,” Steve says after a moment.

Eddie looks up from his note-taking. He smirks, waggles his eyebrows briefly. “Fitting, huh? Spooky.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

And Eddie actually laughs—hushed, but it still counts as one.

He soon returns to being absorbed in whatever it is he’s writing, which means Steve has less of a distraction when the familiar wave of tiredness washes over him.

He tries to sit up as well as he can, conscious of the fact that he’s not alone, but the radiator is the perfect temperature, and the steady scratch of Eddie’s pen has a soporific effect. He’s distantly aware of the fact that his head is nodding down with dwindling energy to try and stop it—hears Eddie’s voice, as if from very far away, rising in question.

Steve sniffs sharply, jerks his head back up and blinks hard. “What?”

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie says quickly, and he sounds genuine. “Didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says.

“Uh, okay,” Eddie says. His lips twitch. “That was an awfully long blink then, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve retorts mildly. He stretches slightly, hides a yawn behind his hand. “Did you actually want something or—”

“Nah, wasn’t important.”

Steve frowns, unconvinced. The side of Eddie’s left hand is covered in ink, and Steve can see where his pen has started to die on him as his writing gets more faded across the page.

Steve puts a hand in his pocket, brings out another ballpoint and throws it at Eddie.

The pen bounces along the table, and Eddie manages to catch it one-handed.

“Good catch,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He sounds almost uncertain.

Silence falls. It only takes another minute or two of hearing Eddie writing away for Steve’s determination to stay awake to waver again. He slumps forward with a mumbled, “M’just gonna…” and lays his head down.

Eddie stops writing.

“Hey, man, are you… okay? Like, if you feel… if you wanna go home I could take you to the nurse? Or—”

“I’m fine,” Steve says into his folded arms. “S’just… the aftermath of… stuff. No big deal.”

“Oh?” Eddie says tentatively.

Steve lifts his head up a bit, squints dubiously. “C’mon, Munson. You must’ve heard the rumour mill.”

Billy Hargrove had spread it all over the school, how he had ‘taught King Steve a lesson.’ In all honesty, Steve hadn’t cared all that much about how he himself came across in whatever story Billy created, was just relieved that at least Max and Lucas’s names had been kept out of it.

“I don’t put much stock in rumours,” Eddie says carefully. “Folks can say… all kindsa things.”

Steve nods faintly. Fair point.

“Okay, but you can take a little bit of stock in this one. Like, a smidge.”

Steve demonstrates with his thumb and forefinger.

It’s only when Eddie doesn’t smile in response that Steve realises he’d been hoping to make him laugh again. Maybe.

“Huh. Well. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Steve says tiredly.

“Harrington. I’m not stupid, y’know? That was more than a… a stupid fight after school or something. Like, I can remember what your face looked like.”

“Gee, thanks.” Steve sets his head back down, closing his eyes.

“I didn’t—I just meant whatever it was, it… it went too far. Way too fucking far.”

Steve yawns again, doesn’t bother hiding it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He’s resigning himself to the thought of waking up with a stiff neck before Eddie sighs and says, “If you’re gonna sleep, Harrington, don’t be an amateur about it.”

Steve looks up in time to see Eddie reaching underneath the table with one leg, hooking his ankle round the empty chair next to Steve and shoving it closer to him.

“Three or four’s probably the best amount for stretching out on,” Eddie says. “Uh, speaking from experience.”

Steve smiles. “Noted.”

He manoeuvres himself until he’s lying much more comfortably across the seats, using his backpack and coat as a pillow.

Frustratingly but predictably, despite his fatigue, sleep doesn’t come easily, so Steve looks underneath the table and asks, “What’re you writing about, Munson?”

He can see Eddie’s boots, how one foot is tapping away, as if in time to a song no-one else can hear.

“Um, I was just… getting inspiration for… it’s kinda like. Like a story, but—”

“Don’t hurt yourself, dude,” Steve says, “I know what a campaign is.”

The foot tapping stops.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” Eddie says.

He sounds a bit far away again, though Steve knows that’s just in his head; he can feel his eyelids drooping.

“You’ve got…” He sighs, voice trailing off as he finishes, “No idea…”

Eddie launches into a speech; Steve can follow it well enough for a little while, Eddie rambling about the kind of decisions he thinks his players will make in the game, but eventually the words become a blur, and he drifts off just like that, into an unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

He wakes with the lightest of touches to his shoulder, a soft, “Steve?” that nevertheless makes him jolt to full alertness in a blink, reaching for a bat he doesn’t currently have.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps, almost falling back against the table. “What the hell kinda military training d’you have, Harrington?”

“Just have good reflexes,” Steve says, hopes it sounds casual enough as he breathes through his suddenly racing heart.

“Yeah, that’s one way to fucking put it. Anyway, uh. Sorry, didn’t mean to, like, startle you, but you slept right through the bell, man.”

Steve sits up; the library is empty apart from them, the librarian shooting them a not so subtle glare. And he realises that while everyone else was rushing out of school, eager for the holidays to start, Eddie must’ve stayed. Waited for him.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, quickly puts on his coat.

“God, sorry, you didn’t have to—if I’ve made you late, I’m—”

“Nah, don’t sweat it.” Eddie puts his backpack strap across one shoulder. “I wasn’t in a hurry. Um, are you… like, good to drive? I can give you a ride, if—”

“I’m okay,” Steve says, struck by the consideration behind the offer. He means what he says though; he feels pleasantly refreshed. He smiles self-effacingly. “Think I need one class where I can just sleep, and then I’ll get through the day.”

Eddie gives a playful scoff. “That’s already a thing, Harrington, it’s called first period.”

They walk out of the library together, and Steve finds that it’s kind of… nice, honestly. He keeps waiting for some awkwardness to creep in again, but it never does.

“Big holiday plans?” Eddie asks, smalltalk that should be stilted, but it just sounds like he’s sincerely interested in the answer.

Steve shrugs. “Not really. Oh, I’ve got—you know the Snow Ball thing tomorrow, at the middle school? There’s this kid I know, I’m gonna give him a ride there, but—”

Steve breaks off with a fond shake of the head, knowing that there’s this kid I know doesn’t really give it justice, doesn’t say the full truth: that Dustin Henderson has somehow wormed his way into Steve’s goddamn heart forever.

“His mom’s invited me over for dinner tonight,” he continues. “Think he wants, like, a dress-rehearsal of his outfit or something, which is probably the closest he’ll ever come to admitting he’s nervous. I kinda feel for him, honestly. God, do you remember being thirteen? Everything seemed to matter so much, and most of it was just… stupid shit.”

They’ve reached the parking lot, and Eddie gives Steve a sideways look with a bemused smile.

“Woah, Harrington, we’re still in school, remember? Don’t think we’re meant to sound so world-weary yet.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah.” He gestures at Eddie’s get-up. “Bet you’ve never once cared about the stupid shit, though.”

What people think.

Eddie’s smile turns more knowing. “Shockingly, Harrington,” he says, “I didn’t come out the womb like this.”

They both hesitate; they’re at Steve’s car now, Eddie’s van parked in a space that’s further away. There’s no reason, really, for the conversation to continue any longer.

But Eddie still lingers.

“Uh, enjoy your dinner, I guess. If the… dress-rehearsal goes shit, just tell the kid it’s good luck for the real night.”

Steve laughs. “He’s in the Drama Club, so that might work, actually. Thanks, Munson.” He opens the car door as Eddie nods, starts to head off to his van. Seized by a sudden impulse, Steve calls, “Happy holidays!”

“Yeah, you too.” Eddie turns, tapping at his temple exaggeratedly. “Won’t forget about the books, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You better not,” he says, tongue-in-cheek.

He starts the car and heads for Dustin’s house, honks the horn when he drives past Eddie’s van, catches Eddie waving.

Steve thinks he quite likes the idea (regardless of whether it’ll put his library account in jeopardy), of the books finding a permanent home at Eddie’s place. Briefly imagines Eddie writing with an ink-stained hand, curled up safely in a world of his own—where the only monsters are the ones that live in between the pages.

#i’m forever in love with ‘first’ meetings i cannot help myself. can’t help writing about winter in spring too apparently #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and dustin

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somekindofpoet · 11 months

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Missed Connection 6

Summary: A flight delay causes a chance meeting between R and Jenna Ortega

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! smut, language

A/N: I'm aware the Barbie timeline doesn't match up but tbh it was so funny I couldn't not do it. I stayed up way too late writing and editing this so there are 100% going to be mistakes here. Heed the warnings above...happy Pride month you filthy animals <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A stack of papers is slapped on the desk in front of you, the force of it fluttering your hair. Jenna’s hand is on your lap, gripping your fingers tight.

Sam’s office is larger than you thought it’d be, more extravagant. Proof of her success hangs on the walls, degrees, photos of her clients, a picture of her with Obama. It smells like leather and jasmine, and it screams prosperity right in your face.

Clearly, Sam is excellent at her job. Which is probably why she’s fuming right now.

“Have you two seen this?” She asks, gesturing at the stack of papers.

You wince, glance down at the top page. You fight with all your might not to snicker. Jenna’s fans were clever and bloodthirsty. You succeed in not laughing, but as soon as Jenna sees the photograph, she snorts, quickly covering her mouth, her eyes wide and apologetic.

The pages are screenshots of memes from Twitter and Instagram. The top one is a photo mimicking the new Barbie movie posters of her and Ken’s mugshots. The problem? The faces have been replaced. With yours and Jenna’s.

Jenna’s photo is brilliant, possibly one you took from the Met Gala. She’s smiling from ear to ear, looking proud of herself. Above the photo is her name, and below it, in the photoshopped mugshot board, the text says ‘UNDERAGE DRINKING’.

Yours is your actual mugshot, and you’re half amused, half furious that someone dug it up. Your name is above the photo, and on your mugshot board it says ‘ASSAULT’. It’s amusing, but the funniest part is the tweet attached to it.

“Y/N could assault me any day, no one’s blaming you Jenna babe!”

When the screenshot was taken, there were over 300k responses to it. You’re sure that number has tripled now.

Jenna reaches over, her eyes bright with curiosity, and flips to the next page. It’s filled with replies, most of them agreeing with the original tweet. When you see the one at the bottom of the page, you lose your battle to remain collected and join Jenna in her giggling.

“Jenna better be careful. Y/N has an assault charge and she can fuck it up, I can tell. If I were her I’d be extra protective of my pus-“

You don’t get to finish reading it because Sam slaps her hand over the page, glowering at you.

“Oh come on, Sam,” Jenna says between laughs, “they’re so funny!”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change, “They’re vulgar, and it’s hurting your image.”

You glance at Jenna, your laughter quickly quelled by Sam’s irritation. She huffs and slouches back in her chair, her hand pulling away from yours to shrug.

“Change my image then.”

Sam presses her fingers over the bridge of her nose, an action you’ve deemed to be her signature move when she’s speaking to Jenna.

“The goal was to avoid the child star gone wild trope, J. You’re killing me.”

“Sam, please,” Jenna scoffs, dropping her arm to rest behind your shoulders, “it’s not like I’ve gone full Miley. Maybe it’s time the world realized I’m an adult now.”

Jenna’s arm over your shoulder and her fingers softly grazing your back through your shirt have you entirely distracted. It’s been a week since you confessed your crimes to her, and you’ve been practically inseparable since. She worked with Sam, and they chose to post a photo of the two of you to her Instagram, casually announcing your relationship.

Since then, the internet and the media have exploded. It didn’t take long for the tabloids to publish your rap sheet, but luckily Sam had a plan for that. The day your misdeeds were printed, a ‘mysterious’ leak was also posted about why you had an assault charge. The large media groups tried everything they could to scold Jenna for dating you, but her fans went absolutely feral for you.

So feral, Sam was worried it was getting out of hand. Hence the meeting in her office.

“J, your mother is going to actually murder me. And you can kiss any teen movies goodbye,” Sam says, pulling the papers back toward her as she notices you eyeing them again.

Jenna nods, “That’s fine with me. I don’t want to play sixteen-year-olds anymore. And you don’t work for my mom, you work for me. I’m sure she’ll love Y/N when she meets her.”

You blink hard, gulping at the thought of being introduced to Jenna’s family. Luckily she’s too focused on Sam to notice your nervousness.

Sam sighs, “You’re right, I work for you. So I’m telling you, we need to do something to get them off this,” she gestures at the pictures, “and on to the next thing.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jenna asks, leaning forward with interest.

Sam scratches her chin, “Not sure yet. But I’ll call as soon as we come up with something. Until then, please, for the love of god, keep it PG.”

You can tell Jenna wants to fight her on that point, so you rest your hand on her knee, coaxing her down. She glances at your hand, biting her lip. Looks over at you and nods at Sam.

“Fine, PG. Got it.”

Sam eyes you warily, “And you?”

You frown, taken aback, “What about me?”

“PG, understand? No funny business, no brawls-“

“Sam!” Jenna exclaims, but you smile and squeeze her leg gently.

“I understand. These hands will remain inside the car at all times.” You say, lifting your hands to show Sam your palms.

She narrows her eyes at you. You can’t tell if she’s fighting a smile or if she wants to strangle you. Probably a bit of both, you figure.

“Alright, go on then,” Sam flips her hands at you, shooing you both out of her office.

The minute you’re in your car, Jenna is pulling you over the center console, her lips practically fused to yours. The last week consisted of several dates, a lot of kissing, and some heavy petting, but you hadn’t had sex yet.

You both agreed to take things slow, especially after the background check mishap. But it was becoming exceedingly difficult, especially when every touch caused both of you to jump into overdrive.

You pull back, and Jenna whimpers, her arms still tight around your neck. It takes everything in you not to lean back in, not to crawl into the passenger seat and strip her down, paparazzi be damned. But you promised Sam, and you’ve already done enough to tarnish Jenna’s good girl reputation.

You chuckle, press a quick kiss to her pouting lips, “We promised to keep it PG.”

She pouts harder, allowing you to pull yourself a little further out of her grasp, “What if I had my fingers crossed?”

Her sulking makes you really laugh, shaking your body with giddiness, “I would not be able to sleep at night if I knew your mother might see pictures of us having sex in the car on the streets of Hollywood, Jenna.”

Her expression lights up, her fingers trailing down your arm igniting goosebumps on your skin, “So you were considering it, though.”

Your eyes widen, you shake your head, “No…I…uh.”

She quirks a brow at you, her smile telling you she sees right through your mumbling.

You drop your head, smiling bashfully, “It may have crossed my mind.”

A full smile breaks across her cheeks, her dimples on full display. You know your eyes must be something close to pitch black at the sight, your mind subconsciously trying to take in as much of the image as physically possible. She leans back in her chair, still smiling, pulling your hand into her lap as you drive away from the curb.

You’re anxious to get home, the promise of a movie night on your mind—the possibility of moving your relationship a little faster even more present.

There’s tension crackling between the two of you the entire drive back, unspoken but understood. When you lead her into your front door, you’re half expecting to be shoved onto the nearest horizontal surface. It may have happened, too, if not for Mr. Burton.

The second Jenna walks through the door, he comes bounding off his shelf, his black tail held high, and his ears pricked up. The cat had fallen for her, he seemed to enjoy her even more than he tolerated you. It would make you jealous if it weren’t so damn cute.

“Mr. Burton!” Jenna cries out, scooping him up and holding him on his back like a baby.

He purrs happily, pressing his head into her chest, his front paws curled under his chin. You’ve never seen him so docile. It makes you laugh softly, earning a glare from both Jenna and the cat.

“Don’t laugh at him,” she says, “he’s just a baby. Aren’t you?”

He meows on cue, and it’s enough to make you roll your eyes and leave them in the entry way. You settle into your couch and turn on the tv, flipping through apps and searching for something good to watch. It’s only noon, but you had no other plans, so a movie sounded like the perfect way to spend the afternoon close to Jenna.

She carries Mr. Burton into the living room and delicately places him on his cat tree with a kiss on the top of his little head.

“I think he loves you more than me,” you say, feigning irritation, but your soft smile gives you away.

Jenna curls into your side on the couch, smiling triumphantly, “Of course he does.”

You gaze down at her, “Can’t blame him, I guess.”

She wraps her arm around your waist and rests her head on your shoulder, “What’re we watching?”

Your cursor hovers over the Scream franchise, “Let’s watch this one.”

“I love the first one!”

“No I want to watch the ones I haven’t seen yet,” you say, squeezing her side.

She shoot’s up, reaching over to steal the remote from you. You hold it out of reach, laughing at her terror.

“We can’t watch those ones, y/n. Seriously! I’ll crawl out of my skin if I have to see myself on that screen.”

“Awh come on J, I haven’t seen them!”

She scoffs, reaches across your body for the remote again, “Absolutely not. Watch them when I’m not here.”

You laugh around your words, teasing her, “No, I like to watch Wednesday when you’re not here. Have you seen her? Good god, she’s sooo-“

“If you finish that sentence, I will walk out of this house.”

She’s fully leaning over you now, still struggling to wrestle the remote from your outstretched arm. It’s cute, watching her struggle, or it was at first. Now she’s in your space, you can smell her perfume, and you’re rapidly losing interest in watching a movie. She realizes her proximity at the same time you do, stopping her struggle to turn and look down at you.

The remote hits the floor when she climbs into your lap, her knees on either side of your legs. Your breathing picks up as your heart begins to pound. Her eyes are dark, her lips parted. She blinks once, so slowly it’s like watching her move in half time.

The tension between the two of you snaps almost audibly, and everything gets very hot, very fast. Her hands are everywhere, her mouth on yours, her body pressing into you. You slide your fingers under her shirt, her skin warm on your palms. When she sighs into your mouth, it’s like you’ve just swallowed absinthe, the way it makes your entire body burn.

Her shirt hits the floor faster than the remote had, and your lips leave hers in favor of her throat. She pulls you into her, pushing her hips forward hard into yours. You both groan at the pressure she’s creating, igniting the pace like gunpowder.

Your kisses grow sloppy, trailing down her neck and over her chest. You’ve both abandoned taking it slow at this point. All you want is fast, fast, fast. Her pants are unbuttoned, and your shirt is halfway off your head when her phone rings.

You slow your movements, glancing over to it, buzzing on the couch next to you.

“Ignore it,” she says, breathless and pulling you back to her lips.

It stops ringing, and you’ve nearly forgotten it because she now has your shirt off and her lips on your neck. And it rings again.

She stops her lips and growls into your skin. The effect the sound has on you is embarrassingly immediate. Your fingers press into her sides, trying to relieve some amount of the pressure building in your lower abdomen.

The phone rings again, and she sighs, sitting up and reaching over to grab it. She stays in your lap, and you sit there dumbstruck, watching her analyze the phone.

“It’s Sam, I’m sorry,” she says, rolling her eyes and answering the call.

When she presses the phone to her ear, the skin of her chest is far too tempting to resist. You lean forward, kissing her there as she drops her head back, not stopping you.

“Hello?” She answers, a little breathy. “Sam, it’s not-“ she gasps as your lips travel to the top of her bra, but she still doesn’t stop you. “It’s not a great time right now.”

The hand that isn’t holding the phone runs across the back of your head, her fingers tangling in your hair and keeping you in place.

“Speaker? Seriously can this wait like, a few hours?”

You pull back, your eyebrows raised. A few hours? The thought sends you into a whole other gear. When you start to lean forward again, she pulls her hand from your hair and places it on your chest, stopping you. You look up, and her face is more serious, she shakes her head.

You want to pout, push your lip out like a child at her self control. Instead, you stay where you are, waiting. Hoping the call ends soon.

It does not. She pulls the phone from her ear and taps the speaker phone button.

“Okay, you’re on speaker, she can hear you,” Jenna says, her tone clearly irritated.

“Great,” comes Sam’s voice, “we’ve come up with the plan.”

When neither of you speak, she carries on, “You’re going to Coachella.”

You frown in confusion. What did Coachella have to do with anything?

“I know, my sisters are coming with me,” Jenna says.

“And so is y/n. It’s the perfect way to get people talking about the two of you, hopefully without mentioning the mugshot. And they’ll get new pictures which should put them off on a new tangent.”

All you heard was that you would be meeting the Ortega sisters. Anxiety courses through you, nervousness at the thought of being introduced to the family. Jenna sees it cross your face and rests her hand on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing your neck. She looks down at you, awaiting your answer.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, wide eyed and clearly anxious.

“No,” Sam says, “pack your bags. You’re going home, J.”

——

The entire two hour drive to Coachella, you’re a nervous wreck. Your hands sweat, your heart beats wildly, your mind races.

Jenna being in the passenger seat helps, some. She spends most of the ride assuring you her sisters are going to love you. The other parts of the ride, she’s asleep with her hand wrapped in yours and her head knocking into the window every time you hit a pothole.

When you pull into the hotel parking lot, you gently shake her awake.

“Hey, Jenna, we made it.”

She lifts her head, blinking sleepily. She squints out the windshield, eyeing the hotel.

“Mmkay,” she says, then proceeds to rest her head back against the seat and fall asleep again.

You chuckle, your heart growing at least three sizes at the sight of her sleepy face. You turn the car off and climb out, pulling your bags from the trunk and leaving them near the passenger side. You open her door and squat down, shaking her again.

“Hey, sleepyhead. We’re here. Let’s go get checked in.”

She grumbles, yawning and stretching, “Okay, okay. This bed better be as comfortable as your car.”

You finally drag her to the counter, shocked at the lack of a crowd around the hotel. No one knows she’s here yet, or you would have been swarmed on your way in.

You wait close behind her, waiting your run to check in. Once the receptionist pushes over the key cards, Jenna hands them off to you, still bleary eyed. She starts to head for the elevators, but you call after her.

“Are you going to wait for me to get my room?” You ask her.

She frowns, jerking her head back, “You have the key right there.”

You look down at the key, look back at her. The puzzle finally falls into place.

“Oh…oh. We’re sharing a room.”

“Do you not want to?” She asks, running her eye with her knuckles.

“I…I…I mean…if you want to then…I’m okay with it.”

She smiles, rolling her eyes playfully, “Then let’s go.”

You follow her like a puppy on a leash through the hotel lobby and into the elevator. She sways, still heavy with sleep. It’s only 9 PM, but she looks ready to collapse. You pull her into your side, letting her lean into you, and she wraps her arms around your waist, resting her head on your chest.

She beelines straight for the bed before the door even closes in the room. You settle the luggage in the armchair and at the door of the bed and wander to admire the suite.

“This place is so nice,” you say, mostly to yourself.

“Yeah, you can appreciate it tomorrow. Come lay with me, I’m so tired.” Jenna whines from the bed.

You turn and see she’s made herself comfortable over the blankets, resting high on the pillows. She stretches her arms out, reaching for you. Who are you to say no to her?

You kick your shoes off and climb onto the bed, letting her pull you over to lay on her chest. She runs her fingers through your hair, humming quietly.

“Thanks for driving. I don’t think I would have made it.”

You snort, “You were asleep before we even got halfway.”

She hums in agreement again, “Car rides are my weakness, I can’t ever stay awake.”

You don’t respond, just smile. Her shirt is soft on your cheek, her nails scratching lightly at your scalp.

“Are you still nervous about tomorrow?” She asks you.

You close your eyes, nodding against her silently. It’s hard to feel anxious when she’s scratching your head, her heartbeat steady in your ear, and her breathing lulling you into a peaceful relaxation.

“Don’t be anxious, baby, they’ll be nice. I promise.”

Your eyes shoot open, your heartbeat ticking a notch faster. You push yourself up on your elbow, picking your head up to look at her. She smiles curiously at you, trying to figure out what caused you to move.

“What did you just call me?”

Her face turns the most gorgeous shade of pink as she realizes what she’d said. She bites her lip, looking a little unsure.

“Do you not like it? I’m sorry I can-“

You don’t let her finish her apology. You’re on top of her in less than a blink of an eye, your lips on hers in a frenzy. She’s quick to respond, her hands sliding up your shirt and her nails scratching at your back. You sit up and pull the shirt over your head. You don’t plan to slow down, but the look on her face gives you a moment for pause.

She looks perfect. Absolutely, perfectly divine. The freckles across her nose and cheeks, the stray hairs hanging in her face, her soft brown eyes, and her lips. Oh, the things you would do for those lips.

Your admiration is cut short when she pulls you back into her, almost rough in her haste. You’re not sure when her clothes come off, somewhere in between your tongue slipping into her mouth and her lips pressing into your neck. It’s all a lust fogged haze, cloudy in your mind until you’re naked and your stomach is pressed between her legs.

You want to go slow, savor the moment of your first time together. You want to go fast, rush into the ecstasy that is sure to come. Your indecision is dissolved when she rolls you onto your back, taking the control out of your hands.

You think you might be dreaming, when she trails kisses down your ribs, her hands gripping your thighs. Normally, you’d feel uncomfortable being so out of control, but the look in her eyes is enough to keep you planted.

She kisses the inside of your leg, looks back up to lock eyes with you, “Is this okay?” She asks, her voice low.

You gulp, nodding. You can’t trust your voice not to crack, so you keep your mouth shut. But it doesn’t stay that way for long.

You gasp when she presses her lips to your clit, and you nearly black out when she licks an exploratory stripe through you. She wraps her hands around your legs, her hands squeezing the tops of your thighs as she licks you, sucks you. She moans between your legs, and you see stars, your fingers reaching down to intertwine with hers.

It would be embarrassing, how quickly you’re writhing underneath her, if you had the wherewithal to care. But you don’t, and your back is arching off the bed, and your fingers are squeezing hers, and your throat is raw from how heavy your breathing has grown.

You’ve wanted this for longer than you care to admit, and it’s even better than you’d imagined. With a breathy sigh, you’re cumming under the pressure of her mouth, turned to absolute putty in her hands. She kisses her way back up your body and you’re flipping her over before the shivers of your orgasm have even left your bones.

Any inclination to savor the moment is burned away by the flames raging in your stomach. You have to have her. Now.

The kisses you trail down her body are hasty, sloppy, hurried. You’ll enjoy the expanses of her skin later, right now, you only have one thing on your mind.

The sound she makes when your mouth meets her is like the origin of the universe. It’s unexplainable, it’s perfect, and it’s all for you. You want to split apart, give her every piece if she just keeps making those sounds.

Her hands are in your hair, tugging at your scalp. You reach up, your palm running up her arm, asking her to be patient while you enjoy her. Your lips wrap around her clit, and you suck. She lifts her hips into you, seeking more from you. She’s unraveled and greedy, and it’s everything you hoped for and more.

She whimpers when you lift your head to kiss her thigh, hips lifting again, wanting. Your finger dips into her entrance, and you look up at her. Before your eyes even find hers, she’s already nodding, pulling at you. You push a finger in and ascend, your lips crashing into hers as you feel her tight around you. You give her a second before adding another, swallowing her moans when they leave her mouth.

She feels so good around your fingers, you wonder if it’s even possible that she’s enjoying this more than you. But the way she squirms under you, and her nails raking down your back tell the gospel truth of her pleasure.

She jerks her head away, gasping for air. You lick at her pulse, kiss the sweet and lightly salty skin of her neck. Her chest presses up into yours, her nails digging into your skin, her groaning in your ear. Her orgasm is intense and long, and it has her sighing your name between inhales and exhales. It’s the most moving hymn you’ve ever borne witness to. It’s poetry.

She slumps into the bed, and you’re close behind, falling over on her side. You’re both silent for a while, gathering yourselves and slowing your breathing.

After a few minutes, she rolls over, half her body resting on yours. She presses a kiss to your sternum before placing her hand there and eating her chin on it. You smile down at her, still high on your bliss.

“I’m calling you baby every single day from here on out,” she says, her voice practically a sigh.

You lean down, kiss the top of her head, “Clearly, I hate it.”

She giggles, kisses your neck, and sighs again. She settles in on your side, you can feel her eyelashes flutter closed on your skin. Her breathing evens out so fast you’re in awe at how quickly she falls asleep.

You ruminate on the events of the night, hanging on to every detail as long as you can before you’re falling asleep too.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #missed connection

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mysterycitrus · 4 months

Note

i know you've been talking about jason lately so i'll ask about smth different... robin jason (sorry)

idk idk lately i've been wanting to take a peek at his robin comics for the sake of writing fic (ofc...) but i'd like to hear what u think before that, a summary of sorts if u may (i also wanna contrast what u say with what i get out of it so yeah)

i feel like his robin days are so muddled by his identity as red hood later on, and even before that it was his death. u had people constantly blaming jason for dying in text (or else they'd have to admit bruce can make mistakes and everyone in dc is allergic to doing that) and painting him like someone reckless and violent (classist editorial u need to DIE), and then people in fanon painting him like a sweet fella who would do nothing wrong and as well as being bruce's Only Actual Son etc etc for the sake of making the situation around him all the more sadder (yeah yeah pathetic meow meow we've all seen it)

and i'm just curious bc i rlly wonder what the actual comics say about him, most likely something in the middle of this? exams are killing me but my god i'll come back to life after im done just to read jason robin's days... have a good day !!!

the difficulty with reading about jason as robin is that there are three primary periods that all differ fairly dramatically from each other — pre-crisis jason todd is a strawberry blond acrobat who’s almost adopted by dick grayson before becoming robin; post-crisis jason todd is a kid from crime alley who steals the wheels off the batmobile before becoming robin; and post-crisis, post-utrh jason todd is a very angry, very violent kid who becomes a cautionary tale after he gets himself killed (something he is often blamed for).

we can walk the line here. pre-crisis jason isn’t particularly relevant because so much of robin!jason’s stories depend on his reinvention after the reboot. all the crucial factors leading up to death in the family — growing up in the alley, both his mothers, his relationship with the robin mantle, his developing relationship with dick grayson, his slow schism from bruce, his relative isolation from other superheroes — are all crucial to who he is, especially after his death.

fanon about jason is annoying because there are valid criticisms that can be made about how he’s written with regressive, classist stereotypes, but as always it pivots way too far in one direction. jason wasn’t the “happy” or “angry” robin in the same way that dick wasn’t the happy or angry robin — they’re both characters that possess more than a single emotion. it’s true that jason was later written to be more explicitly violent (to contrast him with dick) but also like… they’re both pretty similar characters that differ in interesting ways. dick created robin to be a symbol of hope and joy. jason carried that on when he took up the mantle. they can both be angry at stuff without the world falling apart. it’s not that serious.

the dialogue about dick being a child soldier but jason being the true son makes me want to tear my hair out. jason became robin because bruce missed dick and was afraid of being alone. they’re both his gd kids. acting as though bruce wayne doesn’t love dick grayson so much that extra-dimensional beings can clock it is so fucking stupid. it once again ties into fanon’s obsession with each character only getting to be “one” thing. tim is smart, which means he’s the smartest. jason said robin made him magic, which means he’s happy all the time. dick chased after zucco in a grief spiral, which means he’s the violently angry one, with no other character traits. dick can’t have been nice to jason because he’s nice to tim, etc. seems a little silly, no?

i think i’ve only read jason’s brief run as robin once, though ive gone through a death in the family + a lonely place of dying a bunch of times, so ig my advice for reading him is to keep in mind the context in which he was created. dc comics was reeling from losing dick grayson as robin, and were really throwing anything at the wall to get something to stick. many, many negative tropes are baked into his introduction, and thanks to writers like jeph loeb and scott lobdell they have compounded over time. jason’s updated backstory is, with actual critical intent by the writer, a really good examination of how poverty and class will affect how someone views the world. his death was not his fault — and removing sheila haywood from that warehouse purposely makes his story less tragic. he was a good kid! and he was angry for a good reason. if jason had lived, i believe he would’ve carried on the robin tradition and left bruce behind once their differences became insurmountable.

#jason as robin: baby. jason as red hood: really really annoying #jason todd #red hood #batman #bruce wayne #dc comics #the ask and the answer

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songbirdtales · 8 months

Text

Keepsakes (AstarionxTav)

Author's note:

The more I'm writing the more this is turning into the slowest of burns. IDKY I'm eating up Astarion and Gale rivalry but its fueling me lol. Enjoy!

Tav sat by the fire with a ragged stuffed bear. The tattered toy had tears in several limbs and had been partially decapitated. Tav has some rags and a needle set aside as they examine the damage, mentally calculating their supplies.

“You’ll kill your eyes like that.” Gale stood over their shoulder, his arms crossed behind his back as he surveyed the scene.

“Good thing I’ve darkvision, yeah?” They offered him a fanged smile, the levity of conversation welcomed.

“Still, if you’ve need of, you’re welcome to use my tent. I keep it well lit for late night reading.” He was doing it again, this dance they’d been at the last few days. This dance of over generosity met with deflection when Tav would probe at his intentions. Sure, perhaps it was simply friendly companionship, but the dissonance in his words and actions made Tav feel there was something Gale wasn’t telling them.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you awake, we need you fresh tomorrow.”

Gale held his hands up as if he’d been caught in a crime. “No need to worry, I’ll be sleeping by the fire tonight. It’ll be empty regardless of me.” An arm opened to gesture back towards his tent. “You’re welcome to it as you please.”

And again they went. “Thank you, Gale. I’ll keep it in mind.” He couldn’t say much to that. Tav looked to their rags, then back up to the wizard. “Gale, could you help me with something actually?”

“Of course!” He was so eager. “How can I help?” Tav almost found themself pitying him. He wanted them so bad, and although Tav couldn’t deny there was a physical attraction, they didn’t want him like that, and they respected him too much to play with his heart.

“Do you have any scrap cloth?” Tav held up the moth worn rags, some had holes in the center with very little usable fabric, it made for a rather limited stock.”I’m trying to mend this toy I found in the village we passed through.”

“The goblin infested one? I hadn’t even noticed.” That’s what he was growing to like about Tav. They were thoughtful, even if they weren’t exactly a hero. They were a chaotic neutral soul from everything he’d seen. He didn’t mind that, but he found it unfortunate how they seemed to attract the worst kinds of characters, himself included. “I think I have a few pieces I can spare.” He nodded towards his tent. “I didn’t know you liked dolls.”

“I’m not sure I do, but mending things like this is familiar, and I could use something familiar right now.” Their eyes had turned back to the toy in their hands. They grabbed their supplies and stood, ready to follow him back to his tent, which is exactly what they hadn’t wanted to do. Still, they could keep this from escalating in a direction they didn’t want. Everything was still fine.

“I understand. I’ve been grabbing every book we pass. It’s the most I’ve read in ages. It’s comforting.” Gale said as they walked side by side to his tent. His strides were longer and quicker than Tav’s, Gale actively having to alter his pace and path to keep at their side. His body language betrayed his excitement, and Tav felt nothing at the sight but anxiety. Tav paused beside his sitting cushion as Gale stepped forward, kneeling into the tent and gathering some slashed clothes. “There you are,” Gale beamed as he handed the cloth to Tav.

The cloth was good quality, heavy and strong, but it had been brutally cut up in battle to the point it wasn’t much worth repairing. The blood had been mostly washed out but the reminisce of stains lingered. All in all, there was more than enough good fabric for their bear.

“You really took a beating the other day…” Tav mused as they looked over the torn robe. They’d not really thought much about how brutal the Gnoll on the road had been.

“You should have seen the other guy.” He joked back, laughing a little until he noticed Tav wasn’t laughing back. He quickly tamped the laughter down to awkward silence.

Tav offered Gale a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re ok Gale. You’re a valued part of this party, and I don’t know how we’d fare without you. So, do try to be more careful, yeah?”

“Of course.” He said with a nod, his eyes struggling to keep contact with Tav’s demonic glow. His gaze only turned up when Tav spoke again.

“Well, I better get started if I want to get some sleep tonight.” Tav said as they switched spots with Gale, his body naturally following their movement as if they were both being pushed by opposite currents. Tav got down and crawled in, sitting in the pile of cushions Gale had amassed and formed into a reclined seat. They curled their legs up, propping their supplies on their thighs as they began to tear the gifted cloth into smaller segments.

Gale didn’t leave, sitting down on the cushion outside. He grabbed something nearby to seem as though he had a task himself, but it was truly just an excuse to watch Tav work. Tav didn’t mind, even if they saw his act for what it was. Eventually he actually did become fixated on his task, the two working silently, fueled by the other’s presence. It was peaceful, familiar, like working in a library. Gale had no idea how long they had been at this, but as he pulled himself from his work to speak to Tav, he paused.

Inside the tent Tav was passed out in his pillows. The bear had been noticeably mended in parts, but it was not yet done. Gale got up from his seat and kneeled into the tent. His hand reached for the blanket, pulling it across the tent to gently drape it over Tav. A warm smile bloomed on his lips as he let them sleep. Only then would Gale leave, heading back to the fire.

“There you are,” The annoyance in Astarion’s voice was palpable as he approached Gale at the fire. “Where have you been off to?”

Gale knew the smell of jealousy well, and Astarion was worse than he’d like at hiding it. “Just doing a little late night carving.” Gale reached in his pocket and produced a small wooden figurine. It was crudely carved, but even Astarion had to admit it vaguely resembled a cat in a cat’s most basic shape.

Astarion stared at the deformed wooden cat for a moment before looking up at Gale with the least amusement Gale had ever seen from him. “Do you know where Tav is?”

Gale had to actively resist smiling but the faintest glimmer of a triumphant grin couldn’t help but pull at his lips. He’d cross his arms over his chest. “I do.” He said simply and curt as if he had no intention of elaborating. Anger twitch to Astarion’s face, and just as he was just about to speak, Gale spoke again, cutting him off. “They’re already asleep for the night. Poor thing, utterly exhausted. I’d let them be.”

Astarion’s face had more warmth to it than Gale had ever seen, the heat of his anger barely contained. “I asked you a question. Do not make me repeat myself.” That normally beautiful face was twisted and sharp as Astarion glared daggers into the human wizard.

The grin grew broader across Gales lips at Astarion’s posturing and he’d nod back over his shoulder. “I thought it best to leave them be.” He was so smug about it, as if he’d won some unspoken competition.

Astarion glanced over in the direction Gale had gestured quickly at first before realizing Gale had nodded to his tent. His gaze came back to Gale as a glare. “No need to make things weird, Gale. We’re all adults here.” If his tongue wasn’t so sharp, Gale might have noticed the projection in Astarion’s words, but both men were preoccupied with their egos. The condescension in his voice was cutting, leaving Gale speechless long enough for Astarion to turn sharply away and saunter off.

Gale sighed as the Elf departed, a wave of relief washed over him that his jugular was still intact. “Dramatic.” He finally scoffed.

Astarion was at Gale’s tent in a matter of strides. Still fuming, he knelt beside the opening of the tent and pulled the flap aside with his arm. The sight of Tav, fully clothed, dead asleep, with a partly repaired stuffed toy was not what Astarion had been expecting. Instantly the wind was knocked out of his anger and the fire of it died, leaving Astarion frozen. Any action he’d thought to take was now wildly dramatic if not inappropriate… for a moment he was almost aware of his jealousy, until Tav stirred.

A soft, sleepy sound came from Tav as one eye struggled to pull itself half open. Their arms were just about to start pushing themself up when Astarion reached out a hand. He didn’t touch them, but his hand hovered just overtop their back. They didn’t push up into the hand, they didn’t have the strength. They were exhausted from the near daily feeding.

“Hush, go back to sleep.” He urged in a sweet whisper as his eyes turned about the tent. Gale had this packed with all sorts of magic nonsense, but his eyes fell back to the stuffed bear. He was fascinated instantly, not because of the toy, but because of the magic radiating from it. They had pulled apart Gale’s bloodstained shirt for thread and stitched it in a way he’d seen before from the witches of Baldur's Gate, a way of hiding protections and curses in the stitch and weave of clothing. Though in this instance it was very rudimentary, Astarion couldn’t help but wonder how a tiefling bard knew such magic.

“Are you hungry?” Even half asleep, Tav’s mind was preoccupied with the camp, making sure everyone was safe. He almost admired that about them, if only for the wrong reasons. He was impressed that someone could have the willpower to keep all of this together.

“Not tonight darling.” His hand reached for their hair, gently shifting some loose strands from their face. He’d lean over to their ear and whisper, “Sweet dreams,” as Tav’s eye fell shut once more.

He lingered, hesitating, his eyes shifting back to the bear before deciding it was best to leave what questions it gave him till the morning. Astarion would wait until he’d gotten a few steps from the tent before letting his real thoughts catch up to him. He was hungry, but a boar would have to suffice. It would look bad on him to drink Tav’s blood while they’re passed out in another person’s tent, and he needed to keep appearances up if his very simple plan was to succeed.

The next morning Tav woke up early. Gale had aligned some objects in his tent to take the first light of dawn and amplify it and wake him, Gods did it work, Tav almost wished it hadn’t. They were groggy, vision fading in and out of focus as they crawled out into the sunlight. They sat on their knees and stared at the horizon in silent reverence for a time. Their thoughts swam with everything that had happened leading up to the blighted village; the abandoned temple, the grove. It all came back like recalling a vivid dream, surreal and fragmented, yet so clear.

They let their eyes close as the still cool air washed over them. Tav’s breath fogged in the morning chill as they let out a deep, tired yawn. Their fangs snapped as they closed their mouth and rubbed the sleep from their eyes. As they crawled back in the tent to retrieve their craft, they noticed something shine in the morning light. A single white hair. Tav cocked a brow but gathered it with the rest of the fabric and the bear.

Everyone was still asleep as Tav ted lightly towards and past the fire. Even Astarion was still in his trance from what it seemed so Tav went towards the river. As soon as their back was turned, a sanguine eye popped open. Astarion was silent as he followed Tav towards the water. He watched as Tav washed their hands and face in the running water before settling on a rock and pulling their bear back out.

“Good morning, Darling.” He watched them closely, the breaking of the silence practically made Tav jump but they didn’t hide their work. They’d been threading their needle and paused, tucking the needle into the bear so as to not stab themself with it on accident.

“Good morning,” Tav sighed in relief, a soft smile pulling across their face before their hand twirled in a flourish towards him. “You dropped something in Gale’s tent.” They held out the single silver hair between two fingers, offering it back to him. “You should be more careful with a wizard.”

Astarion scoffed and looked between Tav and the hair. “How do you know that’s mine?” The two stared silently at each other for a long moment, Astarion set in his flimsy denial as Tav’s hair was much longer, much more yellow, and much less curly than the strand in question. He’d groan a little. “Fine, yes, it’s mine.” A hint of irritation simmered in his tone before shifting into that arrogant sarcasm. “I’m surprised you’re giving it back instead of using it in your little curse doll, make me fall in love with you.”

Tav choked on laughter, doubling over as their cheeks puffed before their lips burst open. Their hand clapped over their mouth to muffle the sound so as to not wake the others. “I don’t need magic to steal a heart.”

They turned their hand down, ready to flick the hair away towards him but Astarion reached out to snatch it before they could. He didn’t keep it, brushing it off his hand on his trousers. Tav looked back down to the bear and held it up a little.

“Besides, these are for protection. It’s something my mother taught me to do. When I saw this in the rubble, I thought I might give myself something familiar to do. This one’s for Gale, since it’s got his blood and all on the thread.” Those blue eyes turned up to Astarion curiously. “I can make one for you next time I find a stuffed animal.”

“Don’t expect me to give you my bloody drawers.” Astarion huffed.

“No need for that.” Tav was still chortling as they picked up their needle to resume work. “I'll be honest the blood was dramatic of him, but I’m thinking of making one for everyone. Give my hands something to do while we travel.”

“Really?” His tone shifted as he leaned just a little closer, that perfect, sly smile on his lips. Tav knew a performance when they saw one, and this was well rehearsed. “Nothing else to busy your hands with?”

Tav knew this game, bored flirtation. It was one of their favorites, and considering there was nothing else to do besides fixate on the imminent fear of death, why not play along? Their hair swayed as they tilted their head, strands still caught in their horns and loose down their back. Their hair was long, past their shoulders and with a hint of a wave. “Yet.” They hummed in response, a curious look on their face, studying his reaction.

Astarion recoiling as a very confused “What?” come from him before he’d clear his throat. He wasn’t used to someone flirting back, normally they were too intimidated. “I mean, What about your uh, violin? Or is it a Lute?”

Tav backed off, their smile growing wider at his stumbling words. “I’m fine playing classics by the fire, but I’m a bit reluctant to work on my own stuff around the fire with strangers. Besides, most of them want to sleep as soon as we get back to camp. I'm not gonna keep them up.”

“Oh come now,” He’d put the charm back on, gesturing to the camp. “I’m sure Gale would be thrilled.”

Tav’s face soured, their nose scrunching a little as their lips thinned. “Yeah…” They didn’t seem excited by the idea. “You… never heard me play in Baldur’s Gate, did you?”

Astarion laughed and found himself a seat on a nearby stone. “Darling, I have no idea who you are beyond our time together with the rest of our companions.” Tav squinted as they caught sight of a glimmer of honesty. When he didn’t care about something, he had no filter, and in that they could see just a hint of what hid behind the mask.

An easy smile grew across Tav’s lips. “What kind of music do you think I make?” They asked with pure amusement.

Astarion stared blankly at Tav for a moment, blinking a few times as the gears in his head turned. “What other kind of music do bards make besides adventure ballads?”

Tav instinctively covered their mouth as they laughed again, truly amused by his ignorance. It drew Astarion’s eye instantly. “I mostly sing about grief and death, heartbreak and vengeance. It’s not exactly the mood I want to bring to camp.”

“It can’t be that bad.” He said as he crossed his arms. “Come, let me hear some of this emotional music. It can’t be that much of a downer.”

Tav rose a brow, his challenge wordlessly accepted. They reached into their back for a small book where they worked out their lyrics. “Here’s something I’m still working on.” They cleared their throat and began reading the lines like poetry. It was an eloquent verse, and very clearly described having dreams of murdering their own father.

Astarion was thrown off in a completely new way. The longer they read for, the more his expression contorted as Astarion tried to mask his concern. They only got two lines in before Astarion held one hand out and averted his gaze. “Th-that’s enough. I get it.”

“Yeah,” Tav was holding back laughter. “I don’t need to be playing songs like that at a time like this. I’ll get my musical fix by playing their favorites by the fire, but I figure it’s better to save the heavy stuff.” Their eyes turned to the sky, the sun was just about to peek over the trees, the morning star fading as the sky lost its pastel hues. “Never gets old.” They sighed, as the sun came up and the warmth of its light washed over them both.

Astarion flinched instinctively before letting out a deep sigh of relief. “No, it does not.”

They sat in the silence of the sunrise for a moment before Tav’s voice gently broke it. “I know everythings scary right now, but I truly believe that if we stick together, we can survive this. And if not, at least we’re free, for what it’s worth.”

“I think freedom’s worth everything.” His eyes were fixed on the water, watching the river glisten as it ran. The flashes reflected in his eyes, making them sparkle like rubies.

Tav let themself stare for longer than they should have, taking in the contours of his features, the shapes of his shadows, the lines in his skin. They didn’t care if he caught them, though he seemed too fixated on the water to notice. “So do I.” Tav’s voice melted into the sound of the river, so soft Astarion barely registered they’d said anything at all.

By the time he’d looked back to them, Tav was standing, holding the now fully mended bear in their hands. They tilted their head as they gazed at the bear, checking their work. They bit their lower lip in thought, as if trying to remember a forgotten step. Finally, they went to the river crouched beside the edge. With one finger, Tav reached to wet their nail, holding the drop in the carved point of their nail before bringing it to the forehead of the bear. The toy looked a little cleaner, Astarion could even feel the magic of it was more pure. The protection charm was complete.

“I’ll try to find you a different animal. Maybe a goose?” They said with a joking smile.

Astarion clicked his tongue, squeezing his still folded arms as he pouted. “Take your time.” He had no desire for a hagcraft charm.

Tav shook their head as they left Astarion at the riverbank. The elf glanced back towards the fire to see Tav giving the now well awake Gale the bear. He seemed more fascinated with the magic than the bear itself and began to info dump about thread based magic.

Astarion’s face felt relatively hot as anger gathered in him. He covered his face with a hand as his mind still raced from that one word. He didn’t like this, whatever feeling this was. He didn’t recognize the feeling as it gathered in his core, this twisting in his guts, as if he’d eaten something rotten, yet still starved. Was it really hunger? He’d fed that night and this felt different. He’d already made them his mark, so why was he starting to panic?

It was then that a new thought came to Astarion, what if Tav can see through his game? How well could he really wrap them around his finger if they knew it was fake? And what did that mean for the security of his simple plan?

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thestarrynightslover · 9 months

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The Day You Finally Caught a Break

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 1,574

Warnings: FLUFF. Mentions of sex crimes and crimes involving special victims (all very slight).

Summary: After living in a boring routine, the detective (y/n) (y/l/n) catches a lucky break with her colleague Jay Halstead.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: So, this is my first fic in a while and I am aware that it is very cheesy but I just felt like writing something cheesy. Anyways, I hope you like it!

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

The day started just like any other would: waking up earlier than necessary, going for a run, doing some yoga, reading, and finally getting ready to go to work. Sure, to a lot of people that might have been a great morning, having all that time to do all that stuff… The only thing was: you’d been running on nothing beyond routine — one that had become quite boring, to be honest — for a couple of years now. Which made you that weird cop who actually enjoyed the worst cases just because it gave you some sort of purpose, some sort of change. Holding that thought, you were supposed to feel lucky once you and your team got deeper into your current case. But, even with the most boring of lives, a person — a decent human being — couldn’t feel lucky for even knowing something like that happens in the world, much less for having to know every sick and twisted detail of a case that involved sex trafficking, pregnant women, all sorts of assault and child abduction.

After it was “over”, around midnight, all of Intelligence seemed to silently agree on staying as long as necessary to finish their reports. Everybody thinking the same way: finishing this today, I can get outta here, get drunk, and put it in a box in the back of my head — where it’ll stay forever. As soon as someone would finish the paperwork, they’d grab their coat, mutter something resembling a goodbye, and rush out of there like the room was on fire. Molly’s wouldn’t be open anymore and none of you really wanted to spend time with each other to risk having to talk out what had happened. And then something strange happened.

Instead of just leaving like your partner Kim and his partner Kevin before her, Ruzek just stood at the door frame, waiting. For Upton. What? He kept looking at her desk so it was pretty obvious but the confirmation came when the detective got up saying: “Hey, Jay, I’mma get going now. You okay if we do our thing some other day?”

By the time Halstead looked up, she was almost reaching Adam which shocked the shit out of you but didn’t seem to faze him much, who only answered: “Yeah. Sure. Night, guys.” And then there were two—the only two Intelligence members who never exchanged more than a couple of polite measures.

Nevertheless, your gossip-starved soul got the best of you, who ended up blurting out a “They’re together?” to no one less than Jay Halstead. For a minute or so the other detective just looked around the room, as if expecting someone to jump out of nowhere and answer your question. But, after your eyes eventually met, he decided on answering.

“Eh… I don’t really know”, he started, while scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve asked, you know?”

“Ah…” Was all you found to say after he stopped for a moment, but he continued.

“That’s just not really how it works between us. But the other day he did show up at her place late at night, which was suspicious. To say the least.” The words just flew right out of his mouth, surprising both of you, who started chuckling awkwardly at the recognition, “this is the first actual conversation we’ve had after all this time working together, isn’t it?”, he asked, ultimately.

“Yeah, I think it is,” you said, now full-on laughing. “God, I can’t believe that the first time I worked up the courage to actually talk to you was to ask for gossip!” You exclaimed, knowing that your cheeks were probably burning up with embarrassment.

“To be honest, I kinda needed to share that with someone. Especially after this moment here.” He confessed, making you laugh and forcing himself to laugh a bit more to try and hide the fact that he couldn’t stop staring at you. It just went wrong when his mouth betrayed him by saying: “You look so damn cute right now!”

"Well, it isn't every day that one finds out that the detective Jay Halstead is a gossip. Which makes me wonder who the cute one really is…"

"Oh, so that's where you're going with this?" He asked with his eyes twinkling. "Because I can prove just how not cute I am…"

"Oh?" You replied simply wondering what kind of proof he could provide against that.

"In fact, I have just the perfect idea, but, for that, you'd have to agree on going out with me first." Jay himself couldn't believe he finally managed to invite you out.

"Ooh, as in a d- date?" Who were you? Stuttering? C'mon!

"A date, yes." He answered, making you feel relieved and nervous again all at the same time.

"Yeah, I, uh, I wouldn't mind that at all. We can try and think of a date that works for both of us…" You suggested.

"Well, on Wednesday I'll be off, how about you?" Jay asked quickly.

"Oh no, that day I have somethings Platt wanted me to do. How about next Monday?"

"That's a no for me, 'cause I'm pulling doubles next week.*

"Damn…"

“Maybe this is a crazy idea but have you finished your report yet?” He asked quizzically.

“Uh, hitting the send button right now. Why?

“Then what if we do it now?”

“The date thingy?” You asked shyly, afraid that had been just a momentaneous thought that came out of his mouth too fast.

At that, he looked at you in awe, mesmerized by how adorable you were. “Yes. The date thingy.”

A million thoughts crossed your mind, including the one that that was a lifetime opportunity and that you should be better dressed, but figuring that saying something like that would only make you miss the opportunity, you settled for asking: “But where would we go? Like, it’s past 1 a.m., Jay, I don’t think there are a lot of places open…”

“Well, I might have a few ideas… Do you trust me?” He asked, holding his hand out to you, who grabbed it at the same time as you grabbed your jacket and purse with your other hand.

“Do you really need to ask that?"

And, like that, some time later you found yourself pulling up to the address Jay had texted you, which was in Canaryville, and it turned out to be an old movie theater that apparently was doing a week of classics with sessions at all times of the day. How Jay knew about that, though, was a mystery to you.

"Hey!" You heard him calling as he crossed the street. "You made a better time getting here than I did!"

"Yeah, well, my car might be faster than your old one," you replied, shrugging innocently.

"Haha, very funny," he deadpanned.

"Hey, this is a cool idea but how did you know it is happening?" You asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, you just don't seem a lot like a movie nerd to me."

"Well, there are still many things you don't know about me. But this one specifically is because I grew up around here and the owner is a friend of my family, so he always lets Will and I know about what's going on with the place."

"Hmmm, that explains it!" You exclaimed with a tad of satisfaction for not being too far off about him.

"But I do enjoy movies, okay?" You made a face of disbelief at him. To which he replied with: "It's true, alright? I'll admit that these days I haven't had much time for it but when I was growing up around here, this place was practically my second home!"

"Oh, so you've brought many others here, I'll assume!" You teased, suddenly feeling more comfortable and consequently more confident.

"Don't! Don't assume that! Growing up I wasn't very successful with the ladies and after that changed I haven't come here often…"

"Ooh, so that means that I'm your first?" You mocked, putting your hand to your heart, "Wow, I'm truly touched now!"

"Yeah, sure, have your fun with me all you want! All I really care about is the fact that I finally managed to get you to go out with me, so I can only hope you'll enjoy yourself." Him saying that, while gazing so intently at you, was making you weak on your knees and got you blushing a bit as well. So you tried to get the attention off you.

"Okay! Then let's pick a movie and watch it already, 'cause tomorrow's probably not gonna be any shorter."

A couple of hours later you and Jay were walking down the street towards a Waffle House while chatting and laughing about the movie like two best friends, which felt really nice but also made you a little confused about the being a date of that date the two of you were on. But, after you both had cleaned your plates at the diner, Jay came onto your bench to clean the corner of your mouth with a napkin, and next thing you knew, you were kissing very passionately in public like a couple of teens, forgetting about the rest of the world altogether, which made you realized, once more, how dull and colorless your life was previous to that moment so you held on to it and you held on to the man behind it.

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comradekatara · 3 months

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The main difference between Sokka and Zuko's sexism and how it gets mucked up in the fandom is, I think, in large part due to the very 2000's era writing. Sokka's sexism is very explicitly you can't do that masculine thing, because you're a GIRL, which is immediately pushed back against in the text of the show by both Katara and Suki in a very rah rah girl power, girls can do anything boys can kind of way.

Zuko's sexism is expressed mostly in asides, and snarky comments, never in a way that is directly attempting to limit or bar a female character from doing something, and, most importantly, no one ever calls it out because that type is sexism was just unremarkable in late 90s to early 2000s era media. The text highlights Sokka's sexism and ignores Zuko's, so of course so do we.

right, like sokka gets a Very Special Episode about how girls can do anything boys can do, and zuko gets a Very Special Character Arc about how the iraq war was unjustified. zuko mistreating various girls throughout the show is in no way his most obvious crime, while sokka being kind of sexist at the very beginning of the show is nevertheless his most obvious flaw (to you. i understand him tho) so people harp on it as if it’s a fundamental pillar of his character rather than merely symptomatic of the larger overtones of his character. i’ve noticed that because atla is such a digestible text, most people refuse to interpret it or tease out its subtext (beyond looking for evidence for their ships). but just because the text is highly legible doesn’t mean that it’s shallow, and many of the implications that lay dormant are simply waiting to be unpacked and dissected! i hate ppl who are like “you should’ve been paying more attention in english class” for various reasons, but you guys (as in, general statement about atla fandom, not you, the person reading this, specifically) are so bad at close reading it’s dire. that ridiculous person in my replies yesterday who was like “utena is just not that deep,” but it’s an entire fandom. oy vey iz mir

#lizardlicks #asks #sokka #zuko #hot takes #also utena fans who are following me here but not on saionjeans are missing out btw #namely because i am discussing a far better show #(no offense atla)

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sunsafewriting · 1 year

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for the prompt: do a flip universe + TLOU

“Well, obviously more than one. Two or three, at least, right?” Ava says.

She's got her head in Beatrice's lap, having usurped the print-out Beatrice was reading a few minutes ago. It's inarguably the best setup in the world: she's got the whole rest of the couch to stretch out on, and both of Beatrice's hands on her — one gently stroking back her hair, the other resting on Ava's arm.

“Three seems like a lot,” Beatrice replies.

But that’s not a no, and Ava can work from there. “Diego will help us, won't you, bud?”

He looks over at them from where he's sitting on the carpet, sketching out a new comic. He prefers to draw on the floor rather than at the table, which is presumably because the artistic vibes are simply better lower to the ground. “Totally,” he confirms.

Ava beams at Beatrice, reaching up to catch her wrist, to sweep her thumb over the soft skin there. “See? We can do three. Or four.”

There’s a moment of deliberation, but Ava knows when she’s won. Not only does Beatrice have about six different tells — microscopic, but observed by Ava over the years and lovingly documented — but also Ava has a compelling track record when it comes to this sort of thing.

“Okay. Three,” Beatrice agrees. “But four is definitely too many.”

“True. It might get confusing.”

“Also, I don't feel that a zombie apocalypse is likely enough to merit four separate survival plans.”

“HBO makes a very compelling case, babe. A lot of things can go wrong.”

Which Beatrice is aware of, because she sure doesn't turn a lot of pages of her book while Ava's watching The Last of Us on the TV.

“Plus, it's best to be prepared,” Ava adds. “You love being prepared. This way, we have a backup for our backup.”

While Ava still prefers a general guns-blazing, swing-first-think-second approach to life, she has come to appreciate the value of planning ahead. For example, she’s managed to streamline her morning routine to maximise the window of time she has for making out with Beatrice before one of them has to go to class or work.

“I have paper,” Diego says. “We can write them up now. I think the most important thing is probably to get a catapult, or a sword. But there aren’t a lot of good places around here to get swords.”

“Put down get a sword as step one anyway, that’s a great start,” Ava tells him. “I also vote that we steal a really cool car for step two. Obviously, it has to be heavy-duty enough to plough through zombies, but the most important thing is that it’s super dope. Better than Mary’s. I’ve got to have this, because you know she’s going to out-apocalypse me.”

“Steal a car,” Diego echoes back. “Brackets, cool.”

He’s been getting very into brackets, as of late. Also semicolons, but he seems to just pepper them into sentences whenever he wants, with no regard for their intended function. Although it’s very possible that he actually does understand how they work, and is just drunk on the power of learning a new punctuation mark.

“Clean water. Or some means of effectively decontaminating water,” Beatrice suggests.

Ava shakes her head. “No, that’s too legit. We can put that in our, like, good plan. The second plan. This first one should just be based on what you’d most want to do if all of society fell apart.”

“I’d most want to make sure we had clean drinking water.”

“It has to be ridiculous and fun. Like, we should also steal a boat. The zombies most likely won’t be able to swim. And I think I’d rock a captain’s hat.”

“Or a pirate hat,” Diego supplies. “Boat is step three. Hat is step four.”

“Exactly. See?”

“This is starting to seem less like a survival plan and more like a list of your dream crimes.”

“The beauty of the apocalypse is that nothing is a crime,” Ava tells her. She kisses the back of Beatrice’s hand and then nudges it back up to her hair. Beatrice automatically resumes her steady, gentle motions, and Ava settles into the feeling with a pleased hum.

“Well, I don’t really have a list of dream crimes.”

Ava can’t say that comes as a surprise. Beatrice does have a list of dream bookstores to visit though. If the zombie situation isn’t too out of control, they could totally manage to hit a few of those locations post-apocalypse, too.

“You can borrow some of mine,” Diego offers generously.

Ava nods. “And then we can put your clean water in the third plan.”

“I thought it was going in the second?”

“I demoted it. I think our second plan should be to secure a mall. Then we’ve got everything we need. We can just lock all the doors and keep the zombies out. Boom. Nailed it. Can’t have a boat in a mall, though, so that needs to be its own separate plan.”

Malls are also currently in Ava’s good books because when she went to buy a jacket last week, she got to kiss Beatrice in the changing room. But they’re also strategically defensible strongholds. Never let it be said that Ava's decision-making is too heavily influenced by opportunities to make out with Beatrice. Even though it is.

“That’s so smart,” Diego says, scribbling down the idea on another sheet of paper. “Malls even have water, too, so that works for everyone.”

“And we should get a horse for the mall.”

“How does the horse help with the zombies?”

“I don’t know, but that had horses in The Last of Us, and it just feels right.”

“So then also cowboy hats,” Diego reminds her.

“Of course.”

#we have been watching TLOU and im super enjoying it #anyway doing little short prompts is fun so little stress #sunsafewriting #avatrice #ava x beatrice #avatrice fic #avatrice fanfic

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wyattjohnston · 4 months

Text

Lowkey LoveFest 2k24

These are prompts for you to fill (aka please don’t send me numbers expecting me to write something!)

pick a prompt (or two or three), write a little fic and post it. that’s it. that’s the event.

important info:

post in the week of feb 7 to feb 14

tag me so i can read and reblog it

there is no word minimum or limit

if you have signed up for my winter fic exchange, please prioritise that over this

you do not need to tell me what you have claimed (multiple people can use the same prompts!)

if you start writing something and finish it late, or don’t finish it at all, there is no penalty

you are writing this for you (and your readers!) not for me, or any other specific person, so you tailor it to yourself

check out the prompts under the cut!

The Fluff

“You’re the only person I wanted to see tonight.”

“How do you always know the exact right thing to say?”

“Are you about to monologue your feelings for me?”

“Dance with me. Right now.”

“There is a mischievous look in your eyes right now… and I don’t hate it.”

“We’ve got forever, what’s the rush?”

“Let’s get out of here. Just the two of us.”

“Yes. It’s always yes.”

“I am going to. You’re welcome to join.”

“I think he’s magic; it’s like he’s cast a spell over me. I don’t want to stop it.”

“Don’t ever stop looking at me like that.”

“It should be a crime to be that hot.”

“Simple. I love you.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but if I had to repeat my entire life I would do it exactly the same just to end up here.”

The Angst

“When you picture your future, do you see me in it at all?”

“You’re right there and somehow I’m lonelier than I’ve ever been.”

“How exactly am I ever meant to get over you?”

“It’s never going to be me.”

“Stop making promises you aren’t going to keep.”

“Come talk to me when you’ve actually sorted out what you want.”

“I don’t want to be your dirty little secret anymore!”

“Fine. Throw me to the wolves. See how that works for you.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again.”

“Maybe this isn’t the right time for us.”

“If you’re going to break my heart, please do it gently.”

“Every time I talk to you, I end up with more questions than answers.”

“Please just one last kiss before you leave.”

“It’s so hard. It’s always so hard.”

#lowkey lovefest 2k24 #i kept the silly little thing i called it in the feelers post because i am not clever enough to come up with something new #I did however come up with all of these prompts so please don’t steal them and include them in any other prompt list without at least askin

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aslisjournal · 6 months

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Maya Angelou

#maya angelou #I’ve been reading more than writing lately..is that a crime?

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andypantsx3 · 9 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Thank you to @itoshisoup @saetyrn9 and @seravphs for the tags!! I am late and so I apologize if I’ve missed any other tags while I was out!!

I want to say I think this is such a cute idea. I am very proud of how hard I’ve worked on my fics, and I am grateful for the chance to give my Andie director's cut lmfao even if I kind of wanted to curl up like a pill bug writing this.

Um, I think in no particular order, these are my top 5 recs of the moment:

Deceiving the Duke | Shouto x Reader

When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a lady’s maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

I am a huge fan of regency romances and I have incredible respect for them as massive drivers of the romance genre as a whole. So it sort of shocked me when I was talking to Mermie and Cat and we realized we hadn't seen any x Reader regency fics (although I am certain they are out there)!! As much as I love a good pro hero AU (my bread and butter), I really appreciated the chance to try my hand at something that's a little lesser explored in this niche. It's kind of messy in retrospect but I had so much fun working on it that I'll let past Andie off the hook for that.

2. ab intra | Shinsou x Reader

When a wave of disturbing crimes sweep the city, underground hero Hitoshi Shinsou is assigned to work the case with you. What’s even more frustrating than his obnoxious personality is the fact no one will tell you why he’s involved. Things only get more suspicious from there.

This fic was the first time I really sat down and tried my hand at a case fic. I was reading a bunch of Japanese police thrillers at the time, and although my attempt does not measure up, it gave me the tools to understand how to better execute on case fics in the future. Again I really liked trying my hand at something I'm not necessarily good at, because it was fun and I learned a lot. This is probably my most distinct out of all my fics in terms of tone and subject material!!

3. unconventional | Midoriya x Reader

HeroExpo is incredible, and that’s not even counting the really cute hero fanboy you just met. Well, you think he might be cute under that Deku cosplay. It’s hard to tell because it’s really, really good. Like, too good.

I was so nervous to try my hand at Izuku that I actually thought about not publishing this one several times. But this ended up being one of my all-time favorites to write and I get really nostalgic for the time of my life I was in while I was working on this. The fic was so light and fun and such a comfort to write, and to this day I am very touched by how kind people are about Izuku's characterization. It makes me feel really good. 🥺

4. vested interest | Shouto x Reader

You’d just thought Shouto was absent minded, accidentally leaving behind a jacket or a sweater or his vest. You didn’t realize this was a thing. (In which Todoroki Shouto—despite his quirk—has zero chill, and uses his clothes to ward off other men.)

I am probably best known for my Shouto fic if i could keep cool, but vested interest is actually my favorite child!! In retrospect this one is messy too but I had the absolute time of my peddling my little shit Shouto agenda. This fic actually forms the backbone of how I characterize Shouto currently, with just a touch more of spoiled youngest child energy than I had been doing previously. :) Viva la jealous Sho.

5. incendiary | Bakugou x Reader

When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

This is the fic I have worked the hardest on and I am very proud of it (and excited to publish the next chapter when I get back)!! This is my only attempt to tackle an issue of real substance and I am very grateful for the perspective I have been given by my sensitivity readers @cat-slippered and @darkenedniqhts.

I also feel really protective over this one as it got plagiarized and slightly rewritten into something that exploded in popularity and massively outstripped this fic. Though handling that situation was uncomfortable, and this feels like a strange thing to say, it was a good ego check for me. It reminded me that I still have a lot of growing to do as a writer if I want my ideas to be unique and memorable enough that a situation like this won't arise again. I will work hard.

My no pressure tags (and sorry if you've already been tagged!!) @restwellsoon @bobawithpomegranate @darkenedniqhts @cat-slippered @ofmermaidstories @willowser @lorelune @petrichorium @heich0e @sipsteainanxiety @shibaraki @kedsandtubesocks @potionpeddlerpatchy @meggsngrits @coopigeoncoo @crowned-peony @stellamancer @namodawrites @streimiv @ghost-flakes @ghostbeam @kimkaelyn also @procrastination-artist @bluebird-in-the-breeze @acerathia bc I love ur stuff even if I know u have a smaller fic count.

#ur not hallucinating i keep editing to add more ppl i wanna hear talk about their stuff

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jesslockwood · 11 months

Text

Detecting the Haunted Masterlist

Chapter One

Non Request / Request

@hufflepuff1619 : Hello!! Can I please get a request for Lockwood & Co. The reader is a detective (I been reading lots of mystery books lately lol) and one day, she stumbles into Lockwood while she is trying to solve a crime and his charm doesn’t work on her and one day, he saves her from a ghost. Thank you! Have a good day.

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing(s): Anthony Lockwood x Detective!Reader

Warnings: a bit of Swearing, Talk of Gore, Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of a past M*rder/S*icide (not a lot of detail but still there), and a bit of Angst towards the end.

A/n: AHHH it’s my first Lockwood and co writing! I have plenty more coming too!!! I apologize I kind of rushed the ending but I was too excited to get this out lol. I hope you like this! This is now also going to be a series.

You hated him. You absolutely loathed his smug self who thought he could charm his way out of being in the way of a DEPRAC investigation. Your investigation. He had gone on a tangent of giving you nicknames like you were his significant other and trying to flirt his way out of trouble for the past twenty minutes, wasting your time.

“So you mean to say that you just stumbled your way into a murder scene, which I might add is trespassing at the minimum, and that was a crime scene with literal yellow tape all over.”

“Yes, That’s exactly what I'm saying. And The death glow in there is brighter than the golden radiance you give off, Love.”

Your face was hot from fuming over the idiot that was Anthony bloody Lockwood.

“You do know, Mr. Lockwood, that although hired from an independent source, this is a DEPRAC case. And it is my case. And in this case, you’ve probably contaminated all the evidence now for us. Now you need to tell me who hired you?”

“Unfortunately I can’t say. Client privilege with our agency. I can tell you they're afraid of whoever was out there trying to get them and by the looks of it’s not only the body here, there’s definitely a haunting. Yes, the body may be a part of your investigation, but my Team was hired for the other problem in this house.” he says as smoothly as a snake.

“Well then perhaps you should be arrested for withholding information.”

He thinks for a moment, “Let's strike a deal. If we get to clear the house and make it safe, I’ll give you a name.”

“And why should I strike a deal with you? I last heard of your agency when you burned down Mrs. Hope’s house.”

“Well, you need a discreet agency, especially in what I’m assuming is a high-profile case like this, plus, I’ll even let you come in with us to make sure we don't burn it down.”

You couldn't think of a reason to say no. Especially if there was a haunting, your team wouldn't be safe.

“Fine. but if there isn't anything I’ll know.”

You both start walking towards the house with his associate Lucy in tow.

“Curious, how would you know? Some sort high tech of DEPRAC equipment, darling?” he inquires.

“No, I have talents.”

He looks almost slightly shocked that you said it.

“I have Touch and Sight mainly. Sights more of my strong suit.”

He nods smiling, “Same here. Guess it was meant to be.”

You roll your eyes at that.

“How’d you even get into detective work then? I'm assuming you never did agency work, as the only time I’ve heard of you was for your exemplary detective work, and you don't look older than myself,” he asks.

“Cut the charm, Lockwood.” you pause to take a deep breath before telling them, “Long story short, My father was a detective, and before he went undercover, He made me promise I wouldn't sign up for an agency. He knew the work all too well, having worked as one himself long ago. So I didn't. I still had the itch to do something with my talents, so I signed myself up to work for DEPRAC.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Not sure.” you stop at the door not wanting to dwell on his death, “What’s in your kit? I’m hoping for no Greek fire.”

You try to not snort when he slowly opens his long jacket proving he had some.

“If you use that, just know, I will have to arrest you.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” he mutters under his breath, before opening the duffle bag. You see what he has and give an approving nod.

The sun was starting to go down and it was nearing curfew.

“James, tell everyone to clear out. But everyone needs to come back at dawn, sharp.” You order your colleague.

He nods, looking skeptical, before getting everyone to pack up their things and leave.

You three enter the house, the draft was definitely there. And Lockwood was right, the death glow on the body was there, but fading as your team neutralized the body in the entryway, to make sure it wouldn't come back.

“I swear to god if you touch this body and ruin the evidence, I’ll make sure you never work again,” you say to the both of them.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of touching it.” Lucy grimaces looking at it.

“Right, Lucy, see if you can hear anything near, Y/n, you stay close to me and I’ll get you up to speed on the information we have on this case.”

You nod, as he starts filling you in about how the person who was living with the man here, was in an abusive relationship with him, and eventually, the woman sliced her significant other, before turning on herself with the blade. The home used to be an in-home business, a barber shop the man used to run. The house was renovated before the problem started, to be a glamorous home, until something started stirring.

You shudder only imagining what could’ve been lurking.

“Care to share about that death?” He asks, pointing to the body.

“The body you see is fresh. The neighbors called it in after hearing a gunshot this late afternoon, so it definitely isn't from the manifestation, and we still don’t have all the facts as to what happened, but we do know he’s a relic man.” You inform him.

“Gunshots overall are unheard of, and in this neighborhood? Very Odd.” he ponders, inquisitively looking you directly in your eyes. It caught

“Yeah, yeah, 'cause the only guns you think of are your non-exist ones.” you joke, trying to divert the burning in your cheeks, as it felt like his eyes were looking into your soul.

he put a hand over his heart, saying Ouch, but your focus was up the huge stairway. It was marbled tiled, all the way up, with a substantial curved staircase against the wall, with an old, detailed metal railing, that looked once to be gold.

You were now assuming they were getting paid a pretty penny for this job, whoever this was paying them. Something felt off up there. You couldn't pinpoint it, but it made your stomach churn.

“Shall we?” he points to the stairs.

“Shouldn’t we wait for-”

“Lucy? Trust me if something happens Lucy will hear it. She is the best listener or eavesdropper in London.”

“Heard that!” she yells across the room, “I’ll be right behind you, I just want to check that last room to see if the temperature drops, which I doubt it will” she reassures you.

Lockwood hands you a torch and your hands brush, giving you goosebumps, before you both start heading up, with him behind you slightly.

“Just remember to turn off the torch so it’s easier to see death glows, and if you see anything, don’t panic, just let me know since I have the rapier.” he winks, with his sly smirk. You couldn’t think of a good response to that, so you kept walking up, feeling colder by the minute.

Your breathing became heavier, due to the freezing nature of the stairway as you walked up, looking around for signs of anything.

As soon as you hit the landing, you touched the railing, feeling a sharp sensation on your palm.

You looked at your hand and nothing was wrong with it.

“Alright, love, turn off your torch, I see something at the end of the hall, you stay close to these first few rooms.”

You nod, agreeing but feeling weary of the idea of splitting up. You sigh turning off your torch.

He wanders closer to the death glow at the end of the huge hall before you look into a room near you, you feel something take over you, as you wander into the room. As you stepped into the room you start walking on broken glass and tears started coming out of your eyes as you felt sorrow run through you, like when your dad had died. But you couldn't control yourself at all.

You pick up a piece of glass, squeezing it so tight, your hand had started bleeding. You turned around, raising the glass up to yourself, but before anything could happen, you felt yourself being grabbed and tumbled into the wall where you could see Lockwood, holding your wrists, and you dropped the glass.

You look directly at him, shaken up a bit.

“Was I?”

“Yeah, you were ghost locked,” he says looking into your eyes, before wiping the tears from your face the proximity of his face was so close to yours as he examined you. That alone gave you goosebumps.

He notices the blood from your hand, moving his head and reaching up, and before he could do or say anything, you peered over his shoulder, to see the ghost of a woman coming straight for you.

“Look out!” you yell as you quickly shove yourself and Lockwood away from the wall, tumbling you both to the ground, out of her way and you fall on top of him. You're almost breathless as you quickly roll off of him, grabbing a salt bomb from his belt, before throwing it directly at her as she screams and disappears for the moment.

Lockwood grabs his rapier and unsheathes it, before quickly getting to his feet, as a precautionary

he helps you get up to your feet.

“Thanks for you know, saving me,” you say, as gently grabs your hand to examine it.

“Same to you. I think I’d be ghost touched if it wasn't for you.” he pauses before saying, “I think you should go home.” he says looking away, almost avoiding your gaze as if you could read his soul if you looked.

“Why? We do have an agreement, so where is this coming from?” You ask before he pulls out a handkerchief wrapping it around your hand.

Before he could say anything, Lucy interrupts, “Lockwood, I think I found the source’s area-”

she pauses almost looking like she was a deer caught in headlights, like just trespassed into a private moment.

“Do you two need a moment?”

“No, I was apparently going home,” you say harsher than you thought it would come out.

“Y/n I-”

“Just do your Job, and Report back to James tomorrow.”

“I'll Walk you out,” Lucy says, before following you down the stairs.

“I know Lockwood can seem harsh, but I think you should know it has more to do with himself than you. I think he likes you, a lot, and when he cares for someone, he wants them to be safe. Just try to remember that.” she tries to console you before giving you a hug as you leave.

You see James waiting in his car outside, and you roll your eyes, before getting in.

“You seriously couldn't leave?” you laugh.

“C’mon like I could. I can’t leave you in the company I don't know. Plus I did technically leave for a bit, to get this,” he gives you a brown bag with all your favourite goodies in it.

“Thanks, James, you’re the best.”

As you drive away, you couldn't help but worry about the boy that saved you. Not just physically but he brought back the spark in you that you thought was gone. The one that you thought had died with your father.

“Hey, James, maybe it’s time I looked at my Dad’s file.”

“You don’t mean?”

“I do. I need to know how he died undercover.”

You say, before looking down at the handkerchief on your hand that Anthony Lockwood gave you.

Taglist: @waitingforthesunrise

#anthony lockwood #Anthony Lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #lockwood and co #save lockwood and co #locknationscomediansday #locknaitons comedians day #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood fic #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood fanfic #anthony lockwood oneshot #renew lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lw&co #lw&c

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felixeis003 · 1 year

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plot heavy codywan fic rec

I have so many words to say about this fic so let’s start by getting to the main points ;

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38064841

Rasphody in Blue by @kckenobi (88k words) is one hell of a fic that I will recommend until the day I wither and die. If you’re looking for a modern setting au with investigations, crime, orchestras, jazz, a very well-paced story, betrayal, angst, themes of loneliness and grief, found-family, look no further!! No really! Gods, go read it, right now, I BEG YOU. I cannot fathom how it doesn’t have more kudos than it already has.

Now onto a more chaotic review of me dumping my thoughts on it in a random order directed at the author. I should’ve left it as a comment really, but now I’ve written it here it’s too late, oh well. Read, don’t read, it doesn’t contain any major spoilers, but if you’d rather have less information of the fic and go into it blind, then maybe don’t read it haha

- Firstly, GODS, the plot hooks. From the first chapter I was on the edge of my metaphorical seat. (I was in my bed.) Seriously, the plot hooks are so well placed I could not put it down. (I finished it at 2am. I didn’t even go to my class this morning I was too tired. But that’s on me. It is as much a demonstration of how captivating the story is as it is of my poor decision making.) The pace was so wonderful, seriously. I always picture a movie in my head when I read something, and with your writing it was so easy to do so, the perfect balance of dialogue, introspection, descriptions! Argh!

- How you wrote loneliness. (’you’ meaning the author, if you’re reading this.) Okay to be fair those themes get to me, they always have, but let me tell you, I was bawling. I had to put down the fic because my eyes were too blurry to read. You bastard. I hate you but I love you. Arghdvjfd. The part that went “The thing about loneliness is that in the end, it is a more loyal companion than anyone else has ever been. It becomes a shell you settle into, something familiar. Not a home, no longer a prison either. But a skin, something you reside within without really thinking about it, a barricade that walls off your heart from the rest of the world” Do you live in my head??!!! You got it exactly right. You little shit I had to sit out the fic for two minutes it stole the breath outta me!! I cried!! Again!! Are you okay?? Because I sure am not!!

From the first few sentences I was in love with the whole orchestra setting. Oh my gods. All of it is so perfectly woven with the characters. (Cellist Obi-wan is now one of my all time favorite Obi-wans. It’s just so perfect.) I can just imagine all of the scene translated into a movie/tv show with one of those scenes where the classical music, shots of the character playing their instrument and shots of the dramatic action are superposed. So wonderful. I am also weak for the whole ‘your passion is there for you no matter how bad things get’. And how music was always there no matter all the GUT WRENCHING TERRIBLE ANGSTY SHIT Obi-wan goes through. Can relate to that.

#fic rec #star wars fic rec #star wars #fanfic #codywan #codywan fic #please read it #i'm begging you #i need to know i'm not the only one being emotionally destroyed by this fic #i will drag all of you with me in the angst spiral

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thetypedwriter · 7 months

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The Secret History Book Review

My biggest complaint of the last few books I’ve read is that there hasn’t been enough character development. There’s been plenty of plot, ample action, and steamy sex scenes, but nowhere near enough character progression and interactions.

Thankfully, The Secret History has character development in droves. One might argue that character interaction is the only thing The Secret History has and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt is a book I’ve been wanting to read for a very long time. It has a host of things I really adore: dark academia, a close-knit friend group, an appreciation for Greek and Roman literature, and complex characters whose morally gray choices make them intriguing, yet grotesque.

The whole plot of The Secret History can be boiled down to this: California outcast, Richard Papen, decides that attending a rural Vermont college called Hampden is the solution to all his life’s problems and an escape from his abusive father and careless mother.

There, he becomes intrigued by a secluded group of students that study Greek under the illustrious tutelage of Professor Julian Morrow.

Obsessed, he eventually gains entrance into this sequestered group and becomes embroiled in the drama, tension, and attraction that saturates the group members at all times.

A number of the group attempts to revive a bacchanal, returning to their violent and primal urges. During a successful bout of this Greek tradition, a local farmer is brutally murdered–by them. Citing that they were out of their minds, they bury the man and go about their lives with the public completely unaware.

However, one member of this special group, Edmund “Bunny” Corcoran, catches on and becomes increasingly agitated and volatile. Not only because he was left out of the horrific activities, but also because a man was killed and no one was facing consequences.

Fearing that he’ll tattle on them and expose their crime, Henry, one member of the group, convinces the others to kill Bunny.

They succeed, rather easily actually, and what follows is the disintegration of their lives as a result. It is a brutal and raw dismantling of their mental health, their relationships, their futures, and their happiness, all derived from this one act that seemed too easy at the time.

Seeing as Bunny is killed only a third of the way into the book, I thought much more was in store for the characters plot-wise. But instead of focusing on crazy shenanigans and shallow action, Tartt devotes her time to the characters and the slow loss of their humanity and grasp on the present through a deluge of addiction, bad choices, and gnawing guilt.

The process is so slow and grueling that you don’t even notice how terrible things are for the character’s until it’s too late.

The second thing I’ll note outside of the plot is Tartt’s writing. I think she’s a great writer.

She has some really poignant lines that made my breath grow thin. They were so beautiful and apt for the particular moment in the story which made me really appreciate her writing style.

However, her writing was a lot more contemporary and easy to follow than I was expecting for someone who garnered so much attention for her novel The Goldfinch.

The characters themselves were the stars of this novel. My biggest criticism of Fourth Wing, the last book I read, was that all of the characters were either perfect angels or the most vehement of villains. The Secret History is the opposite.

All of the characters make abhorrent choices, but despite this I don’t think they’re evil (even though you very much could categorize them this way).

The reason I don’t automatically see them as terrible people is because Tartt does such a good job of highlighting their humanity. She describes their frustrations, desires, interests, and the good moments of genuine trust, friendship, and affection between the group and not just the duress, ire, and violence. This dichotomy is difficult to achieve and yet Tartt does it so well.

My only slight criticism of this book is Richard, the main character. Richard is very much a bystander to the events around him and seeing the novel through his eyes is both enriching and frustrating. Richard, far more than the others, seems closed off, reticent, and ignorant.

As the last member to join Julian’s select sect, he comes into the group not quite knowing all the nuances and histories that the others do.

This makes the reader simultaneously feel like they’re on the journey with Richard, but also out of the loop for many of the inside jokes, pointed comments, or tense altercations, especially as Richard himself doesn’t always ask for clarification, details, or explanations.

Richard, while he does take part in the murder of Bunny, isn’t involved in the bacchanal and is only included in fragments in the drama to come afterwards. It’s an intriguing part on Tartt’s behalf that she chose to write from Richard’s POV, one I’m not sure I agree with.

The other characters outside of Richard are both fleshed out and oddly shallow. I know characteristics of all of the members of the group, but would have difficulty describing any of them to an outsider who hasn’t read the story.

There’s Henry, Bunny, Charles, Camilla, and Francis. As a writer myself I know how difficult it is to flesh out multiple characters. I don’t think Tartt did the worst job, but I also think she could have done better at giving me an idea of who these people are at their core.

There are a slew of side characters that expand the setting, breathe life into the school, and make for more robust conversations and interactions, but none of them are super significant.

However, I don’t get the impression that they’re meant to be. They’re side characters, stay side characters, and play their role as needed. The main characters of the group are what matter and that is shown bright and clear with every page.

The Secret History is a good read. I’m not quite sure what expectations I had of this book and if they lived up to it, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

It wasn’t a frenetic read that made me unable to put it down, but every time I picked up the book, I found myself engaged and completely sucked in.

Recommendation: If you liked We Were Villains by M.L. Rio and Ninth House by Leigh Barugo, then you will like The Secret History. In fact, you might like The Secret History even more because it’s considered the original of all these dark academia stories to begin with. Try it. You won’t regret it. I know I certainly didn’t.

Score: 8/10

#the secret history #donna tartt #popular fiction #popular books #book blog #book review #book recommendations #book rec #books #top books #favorite books #book recs #8/10

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 7 months

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PROPAGANDA

AMY ROSE (SONIC THE HEDGEHOG)

1.) Amy’s characterisation has experienced several generations of misogyny, right from her genesis: She was designed as a girlfriend, but it eas then decided they didn’t want Sonic to have a girlfriend. First instance she’s a damsel in distress that he resents for being there and crushing on him, and this is echoed in the comics. She is then presented as pathetic, chasing and stalkerish, as well as sidelined in the games in favour of other characters despite being very strong. Her stories are often those with the most emotional weight, but the reading is coloured by other characters underestimating her importance there. She then enters a pushy and blind era where she becomes a mockery of her past self. A universe reset rebranded her as a feminist, but that often comes off as a bit pickme, and they frequently failed to hold her femininity and also combat capabilities in hand at once. She is finally getting a bit more stable characterisation and treated a bit better, but I still don’t trust the writers with her. Ultimately, it often felt like the creators didn’t like her, and only had her there because they were made to; and that sucked as a little girl sonic fan.

2.) She started out as the token Girl One in a 90’s property, and her first appearance was as a damsel in distress, which isn’t great to begin with, and she wasn’t playable for a long-ass time outside of spinoffs. The Sonic Adventure games redesigned her, made her playable, let her fight back against her would-be kidnappers, and gave her a major role in saving the world by letting Shadow talk to someone not game with destroying it. Then from Sonic Heroes to Sonic and the Black Knight, and the anime Sonic X, her character was reduced to ‘hehe funny obsessed fangirl is obsessed’ a lot of the time, losing her compassion and a good deal of her social awareness. In Sonic 06, she literally said that she’d sacrifice the rest of the world for Sonic, which, my girl would NEVER in SA2. The Archie comics weren’t kind to her either, as their explanation for the redesign was that Amy wished to become older, so they aged up her body, BUT NOT HER MIND EW EW EW. I’m sure there are other crimes the Archie comics did to her, but that’s not my knowledge base. THEN the writers tried to backpedal in the early 2010’s, but by attempting to undo all the 'crazy’, they took out Amy’s drive and convictions (Sonic Lost World just letting Amy sit and watch Sonic do all the work my beloathed). The Sonic Boom spinoff series tried to pivot and make their version of her a girlboss, but Rise of Lyric was SO BAD. Sonic Boom: Fire and Ice made an alternate version of her a damsel in distress, again, which while technically true to Amy’s roots, does not fit her Boom characterization AT ALL. The Sonic Boom cartoon was a screwball comedy, and they at least lampshaded a lot of Amy’s previous writing problems, but they didn’t give her much to do either, mainly making her 'the sensible one’ whenever Sonic wasn’t available for deadpan responses. They’ve been doing a bit better lately, with Amy usually involved in world-saving matters, and she was prominently featured in Sonic Frontiers, even if she was trapped in Cyberspace. The IDW comics are also treating her wonderfully, from what I’ve seen.

3.) when she was created as a character, she was made solely to be sonic’s love interest. in sonic adventure, they tried to rewrite her and flesh out her character more by making her realize she’s more than her crush on sonic and she finally realizes she’s strong enough to do things without him. sonic team IMMEDIATELY undid that in sonic heroes which came out soon after. they made her entire character in that game obsessed with sonic and based her entire story around him. she was obsessed with him unhealthily in that game because god forbid team sonic let’s a strong female character exist. many of the sonic games took away her quality of being strong without sonic by writing her to only be obsessed with him and not do anything without him. in many modern games, she’s improved more, but misogyny has really screwed her over as a character.

ABBIE MILLS (SLEEPY HOLLOW) (CW: Racism)

1.) Abbie starts out as one of the two protagonists of the show, only to get almost entirely sidelined as early as season 2, getting less and less screen time and allowed no relationships, either platonic or romantic, while the other lead Ichabod Crane has a seemingly infinite amount of them. It got bad enough that her actor wanted to leave the show, which they did by having her sacrifice her soul in the season 3 finale for the male lead to live, and then they ended the show after season 4 anyway, because guess what, it’s a bad idea to entirely sideline and eventually kill off one of your leads!

2.) She was killed by the narrative to advance her white male co-protagonist’s plotline and I’m still mad about it, Abbie deserved so much better. This is an example of racism in the narrative too and it extended to the production of the show, see news coverage:

3.) Look, I only watched the first season but they killed her off the show SHE was a co lead of!! Misogyny AND racism, all rolled into one. I remember seeing the fan reactions and I was so mad on their behalfs. They wrote her off her own show and from what I recall, gave her less and less screentime leading up to that. Truly, she deserved so much better and I will always be upset by this.

#polls #round 2 #week 4 #new #cw racism

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