#YOU AND ME BOTH MY SPICY LITTLE RAT BOY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

melghi · 2 years

Text

Hi guys this is the second part of " A trip with a lot of surprises" in the enemies to lovers universe of Julieta and Agustin. Let's see how it goes.

Señorita: Miss

Corazón: sweet heart

Conejita: little Bunny

I will update tomorrow too✌️

-------

Leaving the box with arepas on the first row of seats, Agustin noticed both Bruno and Felix were seated in the musicians' spot, it was the last row basically. Most likely the twins, Carlos and Tony have convinced them to join them. Those two always carried their instruments everywhere they went. An old but sturdy guitar, a drum that has seen better days and a 2 sets of maracas.

Before he could continue paying attention to how his companions had settled in.

Agustin got off the chiva to go further back and help Julieta get on. This bus was very high and had no aisles to walk through, but you had options if you wanted to change your seat.The first one was getting off and then climb again wherever you wanted, the second one, was jumping over the stalls, and your last and wildest one was hanging from the structure like a monkey.

Also, you had to be careful with the sides, there were no doors but chains that could be removed or put on, that was its only security. He had never understood how they were used especially to celebrate parties, he couldn't even imagine getting on one of these while drunk.

"Allow me please, it wouldn't look good if la señorita Madrigal were to fall and hurt her cute butt." the bespectacled boy whispered to the brunette as he climbed up again and offered her his hand. When she walked past him, he slowly let go of her hand. It almost seemed to hurt them."

"Thank you," Julieta replied, giving him a mischievous smile and sliding into her seat between Pepa and Johana.

"Move shepherd, you're blocking my view of the little lambs," Manuel snapped. "Dumbass meat isn't transparent."

A couple of sheeps accidents and that's your name for the rest of you life.

Only when Manuel saw the disapproving faces of the Madrigal sisters, he snorted and stopped bothering Agustin, giving him one last push. Manuel went on his way and got into the row behind the driver, next to the arepas, as Wilmer, Juaquin and another 2 guys followed him.

Rolling his eyes, Agustin swung to sit next to Bruno, taking the seat nearest to the edge. The seer grinned at him sheepishly as he gave him a maraca.

"All right everybody, Father Juan is already waiting for you up on the mountain. Besides you, we'll pick up some people along the way, that's right guys, 3 years ago we made a road," laughed the driver. "That makes things easier for everyone."

Seeing how the kids organized themselves, the driver pointed out quickly, "Girls it would be a good idea if you put the little ones between you to avoid accidents." Susana obeyed and sat Rogelio, Margarita and Maria between her and Daniela, she then turned her head and asked johana for a blanket to tuck the little ones in, it was 8:00 a.m. but still, it was cold.

"Alright let's go," shouted Mr. Perez. Screams of Excitement were his answer. "Tony, play something spicy man."

With that the journey began.

-------

Bruno was excited, he didn't think he would feel good when they arrived at the middle of the town, but when he saw his friends, he began to feel better.

Besides his sisters, Felix and Agustin made Bruno feel at home, he owes them a lot. Especially Agustin, Bruno almost made his sisters murder him a couple of months ago, the seer let out a chuckle at the memory of what had happened.

A cute squeak brought him out of his thoughts. If anyone thought he wouldn't bring one of his rats they would have been dead wrong, Bruno thought as he pulled a small rat out of his pocket.

Fergus loved to go on adventures and then tell him, through his incredible acting, what he had seen during the day, he was a very talented actor, so as a director, Bruno had to nurture the experiences of his actors.

Of course, sometimes it was a little difficult to know what his furry friend was trying to tell him, like the other day for example...

A strong cough to his left, made him look worriedly at his friend. "Wow Gus, everything ok?" Bruno asked as he gently tapped him on the back.

"cof, cof... Cof, sure. It's nothing," Agustin assured him while looking at the rat in his friend's hands.

"New member?" Agustin smiled tensely.

"Yes, his name is Fergus, he's one of the best of his generation," Bruno said proudly.

Agustin nodded slowly, encouraging Bruno to star talking non-stop about all the stories they hadn't done yet. The bespectacled guy changed his attencion when he felt a pair eyes on him, subtly turning his head a little, his eyes met Julieta's.

"The rat!" he said, moving his lips without making a sound. Realizing the brunette didn't understand, He frantically started to point with his eyes at Bruno's lap.

Oh boy, the brown and white rat from the alley!

When the little guy noticed his observers, he gave them an innocent but dangerous look, it remembered them.

Shit!

If her eyes could have popped out of their sockets, they would have done it by now. Julieta couldn't believe it, what is that little animal doing here, Bruno!?

Okay calm down and act normal, Julieta! she yelled to herself in her head.

"Julieta!" One of the girls in the front called out to her, making the brunette jump.

"What?" Julieta said quickly, but upon looking at the surprised faces of her friends, she cleared her throat and answered more calmly.

"I mean, Yes?"

"Sorry july, but could you please tell the driver if we can stop for a moment, we've been driving for 2 hours and I need to go to the bathroom, I saw about 30 minutes ago, there is a store nearby, I'm embarrassed to ask."

The girl was kind, Julieta had no problems with her, but she was madly in love with Manuel, ugh! and she was Vanessa's best friend, so they were not very close. Although she would help her this time because that girl just saved her from a breakdown.

"Sure," Julieta answered with a condescending smile.

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

Once in the store, their companions began to look around to see if there was anything they wanted to eat, especially the children.

Julieta, for her part, stood one the side, next to the bathrooms trying to look for Agustin with her eyes, while Johana and Pepa went to ask the twins for more famous songs and of course, a few kisses from Felix.

"That was scary, wasn't it? said a voice from behind her, making her jump.

"Agustín!" Julieta mumbled, with her hand on her chest.

"Sorry, Conejita. I didn't mean to scare you." her tormentor replied affectionately.

Julieta could only roll her eyes, it was impossible not to melt at how tender Agustin could be.

"Do you think Bruno's pet, said something to him?"

"I didn't know Bruno besides seeing the future talked to animals," Agustin chuckled.

"You never know, what if someday one of our children could do something like that, it will be our end." Julieta said with exasperation not looking at him.

"Ohhh." Agustin purred.

"What?" replied the brunette with annoyance.

"One of our children you say? Who knew my Conejita would want to have not just one but several children with little old me, my god" Agustin sang.

Blushing beyond belief, julieta stammered. "D-don't be silly, I-I never said that! Besides, they couldn't o-only be ou-, mine. Pepa could have children with Felix or Bruno could.... Well Bruno, I don't know about Bruno, b-but I-."

"No, no easy love. I promise you 1000 children if that's what you want, I'll sacrifice myself." Agustin quipped, as he moved closer to Julieta from behind, putting his chin on her shoulder and hugging her closer, away from curious eyes.

"Don't b-be," Julieta's scolding was interrupted by a nibble on her ear. "W-who says I want children with y-you?" the brunette mewled again as Agustin flushed them together.

"Your mouth says no, but the rest of your body says yes, so I'll have to convince that little mouth of yours."

Agustin growled and put an arm around Julieta's mid riff as his other hand sprawled across the Lenght of her body to Raise up her dress enough to get to her slick sex.

The brunette sobbed quietly as she pressed her back into his chest while Dropping her head on his shoulder. "G-gus someone might see us," julieta said feebly.

"Should I stop then?" Agustin grunted.

"I'll kill you if you even think of stopping, this is my prize, you idiot." Julieta rasped as she put one of her hands behind her torturer head pulling at his hair while the other one, rested on top of the hand that was driven her crazy at the moment.

It was mortifying.

And that just made it better.

If someone had asked Julieta Madrigal before if she would had ever let a guy ever approach her and do these kinds of things to her before marriage, she would have said, "Never, that would never happen, I would look for a man incapable of thinking about those things, someone serious and courteous like me, leave those things to Pepa".

Agustin was serious and courteous, but he was also a wolf in sheep's clothing, ready to make anyone who was careless lose their minds, she was lucky to be his prey. No matter how much she denied it.

The good thing was she was his drug too and that thought made her so goddamn happy.

Agustin would agree with her, no women on earth would drive him nuts like the woman on his arms right now, she was pure magic, she was heaven and hell all at once and at this moment, she was been a brat.

"I-i, Gus please, i'm c-close." Julieta sobbed while bitting her lips.

"I don't know, my supposedly good girl was insulting me 2 seconds ago, besides, she said she didn't want to have children with me, that hurt me, Love," Agustin started to slowly remove his hand.

"No, no, no, no, no sorry, sorry, sorry, I'll be good." Julieta pleaded while scratching his hand.

"You'll be good and not a spoiled brat? Agustin hissed as he Grabbed one of her breasts squeezing it, while his other hand pinched her clit.

the brunette's eyes rolled back in her head, she was torn between crying and cumming.

"yes, yes, yes, just please..." Julieta cried, arching her back.

"How many children do you want then, Conejita? I'll give you as many as you want." Agustin taunted her as he bit her neck.

"Come on, love, answer daddy." Agustin ordered as he pick up the pace.

That did it.

"Three, three, three! Sss oh fuc-." Julieta bucked againts his hand uncontrollably until she had no strength left, if it wasn't for her companion who was holding her with care, she would be on the floor.

"Good girl." the bespectacle gentleman kissed her sweetly on her cheek. "let's rest for a moment, Corazón."

#agustin madrigal #encanto #julieta madrigal #the madrigals #fan fics

20 notes · View notes

mythiccheroacademia · 4 years

Note

Hey I love you hc so far I was wondering if you could do one if s/n was about to get in a fight with this girl but Aizawa canceled there quirks but that didn’t stop s/n from putting her hand on her and beating her ass. How would Bakugou,Todoroki,Izuku, and Shinsou react to that

that’s so sweet of you, honey bunny! thank you sm for this ask! ive been itching to write something spicy lmao. i hope you like this!

A/N: i hope you don’t mind, but this s/n will be female-identifying just because if they’re going to get physical (and it’s not for hero training), i’d rather it be between two girls. i personally am not comfortable with the idea of a man putting his hands on a woman over something that’s not life or death.

Warnings: lots of cursing and a few punches

PSA: I don’t condone violence! Especially between women. I think us girls need to stick together. However, if someone is coming at you disrespectfully, they need to get checked and that's on period. Just try to use your words rather than your hands hehe

Before I forget, Happy 2020 everyone 💜

Bakugo Katsuki:

y’all know this man is the king of using his fist first and words later

you’re pretty sweet and laid-back and you mind your own business

anyways, there was this girl didn’t like you for some reason

all she did was gossip and talk shit about you

bakugo told you he’d help you jump her but you were trying to the bigger person and told him you’d talk it out

you and the girl met during lunchtime, you took Mina to help mediate

you politely confronted her

she denied it and called you crazy

you pulled out the receipts

her “friends” sent you all the screenshots

“why are you so obsessed with me?” you ask

“who would be obsessed with an ugly bitch like you?”

“sis, who you callin’ a bitch?”

now Mina wants you to throw hands

like why is she calling YOU a bitch when she’s the one that’s talking shit and you don’t even know her???

things start to escalate and you both are screaming at one another and attracting the attention of your friends

she uses her quirk on you and everyone gasps

like, what the hell?

Aizawa immediately uses his scarf and cancels your quirks and orders both of you to the office

but you’re seeing red at this point

“you’re lucky i’m being held back bc i’m not afraid to pull up on a bitch, and that’s on period”

“shut the fuck up you dirty looking rat”

you don’t know if Aizawa loosened his wrappings or not, but you were able to get free and you went in

Mina and Bakugo cheer

the other girl got suspended

you got two days under house arrest, but you thought it was worth it

bakugo was proud and wouldn’t stop bragging about it

“tch. of course my girl beat her ass. she can check that, dumb bit--”

you hit his head, “boys aren’t allowed to call girls bitches, idiot. but thank you baby”

Todoroki Shoto:

you dated some guy from another school who cheated on you with some girl

you were pretty torn up about it

you broke up with him without a second thought and found someone much better :)

you didn’t know the girl or care about her, so you just forgot about her*ladies, remember to check your bf first before the other woman. she’s not in a relationship with you, he is*

but for some reason, she wanted to torment you

you two went to U.A. but were in different classes

you didn’t see her much, but when you did, she’d make sly comments

it got on your nerves, but you just let it go

shoto told you she wasn’t worth the energy

but then she saw you and todoroki at your locker and said,

“probably won’t be long until I fuck her boyfriend again,” she giggled to her friends

you slammed the locker shut, that was the last straw

“if you have something to say, say it to my face”

“i think you heard what i said, bitch”

“what’s your problem with me?”

“you think you’re all that bc you date the hottest guys in school, but they only want you bc you’re a skank”

shoto looks the girl dead in the eye and says, “then what does that make you?”

the girl gets so angry

but at you???, and uses her quirk on you

shoto pulls you out of the way

aizawa comes out of nowhere and cancels all three of your quirks

it’s meant to calm you down, but the girl is trying to go at you

“you’re nothing more than a $5 prostitute and once everyone passes you around like the whore you are, i hope you get an STD and die”

yeah, all bets were off after that

even aizawa was like 😧

shoto put your hair up for you

“fuck her up y/n”

quirk or no quirk, you beat that ass

Midoriya Izuku

*y’all are in your second-year*

izuku is weak for strong-willed women

literally went 😍🤤 when you told him he should ask you out

you spend a lot of time with each other and he knows about the situation with your (equally as strong-willed) ex-best friend

your ex-friend started to spread disgusting rumors about your little sister (who also goes to U.A as a first-year) just because it got out that her crush liked your sister

izuku, trying to be your hero™, thought y’all should talk it out so he brought both of you to the lunch table

bless his heart but this boi don’t know

you both sat in silence before you glared at your boyfriend

“why am i in front of this girl?”

izuku: 😯

“don’t address me like i’m some child” she says

“then stop talking about my sister like some little ass girl, bitch”

“shut the fuck up, bitch! ain’t nobody care about your ugly ass sister!”

“yo izuku, why the fuck did you place me in front of this low down dirty bitch”

izuku again: 😮

he immensely regretted this

izuku tries to calm you two down, but things just get worse

suddenly there are mentions of area codes and he didn't quite understand how they correlated to how well people fight, but he didn't have enough time to think about it

he’s trying to hold you back now

someone called aizawa over because you two started using your quirks

your sister is begging you to chill out but you’re too furious to listen

aizawa cancels your quirks before things go too far

izuku got so scared because he knows the punishment for fighting and he would hate it if you got expelled because of his dumb idea at peacekeeping

“y/n, please calm down! it’s not worth it”

even with your quirks gone, you two are rolling around the ground, punching, scratching, and screaming awful things at each other

yells at bakugo for cheering you on

Hitoshi Shinsou:

you know this man is shady af

you two make snarky comments to each other all the time

he loves the way you hold your head up high

he just loves your confidence, it was one of the things that made you so attractive to him

so it hurts him when you started being insecure and timid

he asks you what was going on, but you just say you’re tired

but after a while, you breakdown to him about some girl that’s been bullying you

he knows how it feels to be demonized, so he comforts you, and offers ways to defend yourself against the bullying

very mature™️, very adult™️

it seems to work for a little bit, but then it gets worse

her words start getting to you and, instead of being sad, you start getting angry

but its that really calm type of angry

shinsou defends you a lot, but one day you tell him it’s okay

then you tell the girl, “next time i see you, it’s on sight baby girl”

it was in a sickly sweet tone that sent shivers down everyone’s spine

on the lowest of keys, it turned shinso on

he’s like: 🥰😏

you and your bully were then paired up for combat training

you two fight each other and you’re going at her with everything you’ve got

shinsou is at the side, cheering you on

he thinks you look hot when you’re angry

also, he’s so ready to see you destroy that girl

for educational purposes

it’s obvious that you two are fighting with ill-intentions and aizawa is forced to cancel your quirks

she doesn’t stop running her mouth though

“you deserved to be picked on”

“oh word?”

“did i stutter?

there was a moment of intense silence as you stared at her

then shinsou yells, “snatch that hoe, y/n!”

and you did just that

you don’t know what happened to her

but you got detention, but your boyfriend gets it too for instigating

so both of you just eat sweets and gossip to each other

#mha #bnha #bnha scenarios #bnha headcanons #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #midoryia x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #todoroki x reader #mha x black reader #bnha x black reader #bnha x poc!reader #bnha ask #mha ask

4K notes · View notes

rason-rodd · 3 years

Text

All The Time We Need - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Reader and Jason meet again after two years being apart and reconnect with their long lost love.

Warning : Angst, Fluff, Smut

Author’s note: A OS definitely inspired by my 2-years long hiatus and that somewhat acknowledges it. It was almost cathartic writing it and allowed me to reconnect with Jason on a writing scale. You can read it as a sequel to “Summer Love and Swimming Pool” or not. Some moments are a bit too cheesy to my taste but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. NSFW Part is at the end. You can skip that part if you want to.

You actually realise Time flies when you take time to acknowledge it. And sometimes acknowledging is like getting buried under a mountain of sand and feeling each grain slowly chocking you and reminding you there is no escaping. The sands of Time cannot be stopped, nor can they be shoveled. They run and slip through your fingers like dust in the wind and the tighter you try to grasp them the faster they go. And when they’re gone, there is no catching them back. That’s why Time is scary. Because no matter what you do, it won’t allow you to go back or to put an end to it. And it will certainly not allow you to forget about it either. Time will pave your life until the day you die with a constant reminder that, unlike it, you’re not eternal. And the saddest thing is it doesn’t care about what you think of it. And yet, it seemed like Jason Todd had managed to tell Time to go fuck itself. “How long has it been?”

He hadn’t changed a bit. Looking as handsome as ever. Always and eternally sporting the same disheveled short black hair and the same mischievous yet tortured blue eyes, eyes that had put you in more trouble than you could remember. “Two years or so … I don’t know.” All you could remember was a passionate summertime infatuation that had burnt your body and your heart night and day like a hot and dazzling sun. A fading yet intense memory you secretly cherished and replayed in period of loneliness and that you couldn’t seem to be able to replace on the timeline of your life. “Still so beautiful, I see.” You scoffed and he chuckled. “What?” “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He scratched his head; arm muscles compressed in a leather jacket à la Jason that made you wonder how he could bear wearing such a light jacket in such freezing weather. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You goggled at his smile, childish, adorable yet naturally so seductive. The same smile that used to make your legs shake and turn to jell-o. “I didn’t know you were back in Gotham.” “Right back at you. Last time I heard of you, you were in this little town … Hopletown, was it?” “Appleton.” He corrected. “Looks like Timbo talks about me in my absence.” “You’re his brother. Of course, he talks about you, just like everyone else in your family.” Judging by his signature small crooked smile on his face he seemed touched by your words, taking even time to ponder over them. Did the family really think of him in his absence?

Shivering, you tightened your wool coat around you, attempting to prevent the cold wind to infiltrate under the cloth and steal your body heat, as you let Jason think about what you had just said. But your reaction didn’t go unnoticed and it managed to pull him out of his train of thoughts. “Do you want to go somewhere warmer? We could have something to drink, catch on. I’m sure you got plenty to tell.” “Not plenty but I could use a hot tea.” You confessed, already imagining the spicy smell of cinnamon and chai in your nostrils and the hot steam caressing your cold face. “Amazing.” He grinned, genuinely happy and excited, a bit like a little boy at a toy store, and lowered your beanie to properly cover your ice-cold reddened ears. That gesture got you confused for a small second but it was so sweet and caring you eventually smiled. Ah Todd, always the overprotective type I see.

***

“So, what are you doing in Gotham City? I thought you wanted to ‘travel the world Dora The Explorer-style and get the hell out of this cesspool’?” He quoted you and your genuine chuckle made him smile but only briefly as you gained back your seriousness in a matter of seconds.

He could tell you were not the same girl he used to date two summers ago. You had changed, matured. You had become a woman, a woman who seemed to struggle with responsibilities so heavy they could crush her at any second. You looked tired, weary… sad even. The cheeky light in you was gone. And he wanted to know why. Not out of curiosity but to help you. “Well, I did travel and it was awesome, like a dream come true. But I guess we always wake up from dreams eventually.” You looked down at your tea, looking at your pale reflection in the hot water, melancholia hitting you like a train. “My mother got sick and, well, her savings were not enough to pay for all the medical care so … let’s say I had to swap my backpack for a satchel… I work at Wayne Enterprises now. Bruce hired me, out of pity I suppose.” “I’m sure it wasn’t out of pity.” You shrugged and Jason grabbed your hand and you looked up at him. “And I’m sorry about your mother. I know how it’s like to …” “Do you still think about us?” You abruptly cut him short, not willing to keep talking about your personal issues or to plunge Jason back in dark memories that you know were very hard for him to handle. Sure, you could have chosen another question, another topic of conversation but the thing was that those words were niggling at you since the moment you two broke up. “I mean do you happen to think about what happened between us?”

Jason didn’t answer at first, more out of surprise than out of hesitation because there was none. There was just one answer to that question. Of course. Of course he had thought about you all over those two years. Of course he had thought about what happened, about the moments spent with you – however ephemeral they had been -, about that love he had felt and had never learned to completely erase despite the women who had entered and exited his life. Of course there had been nights in which he had replayed the lustful burning memories of you in his arms, against him, against his naked body. Of course was the answer. But not the answer he gave you. “Come with me.” He forced you to get up and slammed a fifty-dollar bill against the table, not caring about the hot chocolate he hadn’t finished or the blueberry muffin you had barely touched. “But … the change.” You tried to protest. “Fuck the change. I want to show you something.”

***

Out of all the places in Gotham, you never thought he would have brought you here. “Why are we here, Jason?” It was an ancient building, far from the fancy city centre and only a few blocks away from Crime Alley. Dilapidated, covered in colorful yet ugly graffiti, this place looked liked a landmark for drug dealers and junkies and it was an understatement to say that, without Jason’s company, it would have normally made you feel unsafe and uncomfortable. “I grew up here, before Bruce took me in.” You glanced at Jason who was staring at the place with both disgust and melancholia. “I’ve always hated that place. But it was home. And I guess it made me… I guess that is because of that place that I somehow became the man I am today… I mean, if Jason Todd hadn’t grow up here with a junkie mother and a lousy father he would have never met Brue Wayne and never became …” He stopped, on purpose, you could tell it. “Even if I hate to, I come back here when I want to think of my past, when I’m looking for a reason to keep on fighting. This place is like my temple, a memento of who I am. Damn, you must think I’m crazy.” “ No, not at all… ” You smiled and put your hand on his arm to reassure him. “Just very Romantic for the bad boy of the Wayne family.” You teased him, knowing perfectly that literature always been Jason’s hobbyhorse and that the whole bad boy thing was a persona, a thick armour he had made to protect himself. “Blame Alfred. He’s the one who made me ready Wordsworth.” He joked, appreciating the small banter. “Follow me.” You took the warm hand he offered you and followed him inside the decaying building, minding your step and trying to ignore the dirt and the potential rats.

Once on the third floor, Jason pushed a rackety wooden door that cracked and squeaked on its hinges and you entered what once was his house. “You grew up here?” You asked only to fill the heavy void caused by this dreadful place. “It was the living room. Used to hide under the table there when my parents were fighting.”

You looked around you, trying to imagine a small Jason living in here. You always knew about his crappy childhood but there is a huge difference between what you had imagined based on the stories Jason had told you in the intimacy of your bedroom and this place. “You asked me why we’re here.” You turned around and spotted Jason knelt on the dusty wooden floor, a small dusty shoebox that he had just taken from under a floorboard between his hands. “I’ve had this since I was a child. Used to keep the things I loved most in it. Somehow, even after I left this place, I never could take it away from here.” He handed it to you and you slowly opened it, careful not to drop it. You could tell this box was important to Jason.

The content left you silent and you sat on the floor near Jason to study it. “I never really opened it. I don’t like getting stuck in the past. It terrifies me.” You frowned, thinking about all the nightmares, all the anxiety attacks he used to have back in the days you were together. “I never showed it to anyone either but hopefully that’ll answer the question you asked me in that coffee shop.” The question? You had forgotten about it, way too overwhelmed by the sudden solemnity of this moment. “Never?” “You’re my first. You should be proud” He tried to joke to lighten the mood and it worked for a couple of seconds. Then, you saw it, among a dog toy, a broken necklace, a batarang and other small tokens. A photo of you two kissing and smiling. A Polaroid you had personally taken on the day when Tim had offered you the camera to illustrate your travel book. “You kept it.” You declared in a whisper. “I told you. I keep the things I love most in that box.” You stared at Jason, at the cracks of melancholia and the vulnerability in his beautiful blue eyes he allowed only a few people to see. “Of course I thought of you over the years.” You were not the cheesy romantic type. Jason was - something rooted to his love for gothic literature and poetry you supposed. But that sincere and pure confession got you all … flushed? bothered? You couldn’t really pinpoint the feeling but you could feel the shaky warmth spreading in your body, now paralyzed by the beauty of that moment. “Did you … think of me?”

If Time could stop, you would have chosen this moment to stop it. Here, now, away from your stressful life and its issues, away from all fears and all pains, with Jason and only him, forgetting about the past you’ll never be able to change or the future that vows to be uncertain and scary, thinking about what truly matters, now. “What do you think?” He chuckled and you saw his hand slightly twitch, as if he was hesitating to do something. And so you took it in yours and shared an umpteenth intimate look only he could read. “Sometimes I wish I’d never left.” Meaning, sometimes I wish I would have stayed and be with you. “Trust me, princess. You made the right choice. Your life would have been miserable with me.” He tried to reassure you, in vain. After all, he could barely convince himself? “More miserable than the one I have right now? I seriously doubt it, Jay.” You frowned and finally got up, leaving Jason’s box on the ground, to watch at the sunset and its red golden rays from the shattered window. “What do you think would have happened had I stayed?” You had your ideas; small little ones of pure love, happiness and bliss that Jason would have managed to lock in that little box of his. “I have a better question, Y/N. What do you think can happen right now?” He was towering you, expecting an answer, waiting as he was gazing at your skin glowing under the soft light of the sun and at your shining eyes. “You tell me, Todd.” This sentence echoed in Jason’s head as a call.

And so his thumb brushed your cold cheek and you looked up at his face, your eyes glued to his features observing them and all the small details you hadn’t noticed before. A little scar thin as a needle on his right brow and a much bigger one, an invisible one that you could see in his eyes, the scar left by all the losses and the pains he had gone through recently. Roy, Bizarro, Artemis. Maybe Jason had changed as well after all. Maybe there was no secret to stop time. But he didn’t let you ponder over this and gently pressed his lips on yours.

He needed that. He had thought about it all day and the truth was, you had too. You welcomed his kiss without hesitation or second thoughts and came to press your small body against his - which seemed so tall and strong in comparison to yours – to instinctively look for safety and protection. “I missed you, princess.” He whispered close to your mouth for a brief second before capturing your full lips with his again. “I missed you too.” You confessed, hands over his hard chest, feeling his heart beat loudly under your palms. Jason was holding you close now, his arms tightly circled around your form as if he was scared for you to leave, scared to be alone again. His fingers weaving in your hair, his head buried in the nape of your neck, he was pecking your delicate skin, smelling the sweet and heady perfume, glad it was exactly like the one he remembered. “Damn, Y/N. You’re still driving me crazy.” He murmured as he allowed his hands to slide in your coat and under your jumper to caress your bare back, awakening a cheekiness that you thought was long gone. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You quoted him.

***

As soon as the door to your apartment slammed shut, your coat dropped to the floor and with hasty hands, Jason threw your beanie across the room, showing an excitement you had almost forgotten. It almost knocked an old crystal vase over but he couldn’t care less. He had waited long enough. Two years to be precise and he couldn’t wait a second longer. “Bedroom?” He asked between two hungry kisses that were making you almost suffocating against him. “ At the end of the corridor.” You whispered, already breathless, as you managed to finally get rid of his leather jacket. “Okay.” He suddenly grabbed you to hoist you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, squeezing it on purpose. A lustful yet cheerful action that made you yelp in surprise. “I’m already making you scream? Perfect.” He declared with an amused smile as he rushed towards the bedroom, with you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips devouring yours. “Wrong door.” You said as he tried to open the bathroom. “Fuck.” You giggled and very soon your body finally bounced on your bed as it landed on the soft mattress.

You attempted to sit down to admire Jason but before you could do anything the hasty young man was already on top of you, right in between your legs, his lips already kissing your hot belly as his hands were slowly pulling up your jumper above your lace-covered breasts. That’s when your first moan finally escaped your mouth. “God. I missed that sound.” Jason mumbled against your shivering skin as he cupped and squeezed your round breasts. “Do it again.” He demanded, his tongue licking you up until it reached your cleavage. “Jason.” You moaned his name, feeling a very specific humid warmth forming in between your legs as you fingers were struggling to get rid of his green t-shirt. He cursed and knelt on the bed to take off your jumper that he carelessly tossed on the nightstand. It knocked the lamp and the radio alarm clock to the ground with a loud clinking noise. “Can you stop breaking my stuff?” You joked and he apologized with another amused bright smile. “I’m sorry, princess” “Are you? Show me how much.” You declared with an audacious confidence you hadn’t seen in a while. “Yes, ma’am.” Jason winked and immediately unbuttoned your jeans to pull them down along with your panties, revealing your wet and rosy womanhood begging for his attention. He sighed and took a deep breath when he saw it, glad to rediscover that little part of you. Slowly, his calloused fingers went to caress it, making you draw a sharp breath as your fingers tightened around the covers. You didn’t want him to tease you too long and you somewhat you know he wouldn’t. Not today. He was too excited and needy for that. And so were you in a way judging by the certain frustration that made you mewl when Jason’s expert finger slowly entered you while his thumb came to tickle your swollen clit. You wanted him now but you had to admit you had missed his fingers down there, the same way you had missed everything about him. Which reminded you there was something you had to do. “Let’s even the odds, shall we? I want to see how you handle such a sweet torture.” “Sweet torture?” He repeated with a cute chuckle as you unbuckled his leather belt. “How am I torturing you, Y/N?” You unzipped his black trousers and immediately plunged you hand in his underwear to gently grab his already hard cock, making Jason curse even more crudely than before. You chuckled and free his shaft from his boxers to jerk him off. He was as thick and long as you remembered. You bit your lower lip, impatient to feel him inside you. “Like what you see?” “Shut up.” You knelt on the mattress and immediately took his tip between your lips to suck it like a lollipop, enjoying the taste of his bitter pre-cum on your tongue and the sound of Jason’s sharp breath in your ears. “Damn it, princess.” He managed to say with half lidded eyes. You licked his penis with a grin before finally welcoming it in your mouth with a lustful moan. How much you had missed it. “You know. I think I get what you mean by sweet torture now.” Jason confessed as he weaved his fingers in your soft hair, torn apart by two ideas: one, let you continue your amazing blow job. Two, fuck you like he never did before. But you did not listen and started bobbing your head the way you knew he loved, taking his dick as deep as you could without gagging around him. “Fucking hell, Y/N” Jason groaned as he grabbed your head between his hands to accompany your pace. “You’re fucking amazing.” Then, his hand gently slapped your ass and he bent over to kiss it with a loving smile that was swallowed by another growl of his as his abs violently tensed with pleasure. “Alright, enough.” He pushed you flat on your back and placed himself between your legs again. He kissed your folds and licked your slit to wet it even more than it already was to finally lingered on your clit that he sucked eagerly, forcing a guttural crying moan out of your tightly sealed lips. Damn, that tongue! “I thought you said enough.” You complained, your voice as low as a whisper.

Jason chuckled and smiled brightly before he eventually knelt in between your spread thighs. “God, how gorgeous you are.” He declared as he tapped his hard cock against your reddened lips, a cheeky gesture whose sole purpose was to make you beg. You knew it. “You want this?” “Fuck, Jay.” You grumbled, moving your hips vigorously against his shaft, looking for a way to finally welcome it inside you. But Jason ignored your whim and bent over your body. “You want me?” His face was so close to yours you could feel his hot breath caressing your lips. “Yes.” You murmured. “I want you, Ja…” He did not let you finish your sentence and caught your lips with a burning eagerness, his hand around his cock guiding it inside you, making you moan in his mouth. “Fuck.” Jason growled between his gritted teeth as he felt himself slowly sinking inside of you. “I almost forgot you felt so tight.” “ I almost forgot you were so big.” You cleared your voice, an inexplicable mechanism to relax and allow his cock to fully enter and stretch you. “I know. Sorry.” He winced, adjusting his position on top of you to admire how beautiful you were around his penis and how perfect you pussy was for him. “Damn. I don’t know if I’ll last long, princess.” Jason admitted with a shiver and you cried out when he suddenly pulled out to push himself back inside of you with one long exquisite move. “That’s alright. We’ll do it again.”

Those last words made Jason grin in a way he had never done before as he was genuinely happy that you didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, a casual lay to remember the old good days. So he immediately took a nice pace that quickened after each new thrust and you let your hands caress his smooth chest from his strong pectorals down to his divine abs and the chiselled V below his navel, finding him simply handsome. Then you nudged his rear with your ankles, pressing his hips closer to yours to take him deeper inside of you, and started moaning his name again, a strong wave of pleasure forming in your core, ready to drown you. “Jay!” His mouth met your neck and sucked on the thin skin with ardour. “Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” That was too much to handle. “Yeah” You cried out, tears of bliss watering your eyes. “Cum for me then.” He didn’t have to say it twice. You dug your nails in his back and screamed loudly as your walls clenched around tightly his thick cock. “That’s it, princess.” He said as you kept calling his name on and on, sending him closer to a most awaited orgasm that he eventually reached and let explode in you under the shape of a loud growled “fuck” and beads of white seed right inside of you. “Y/N” Jason groaned between his gritted teeth as he thrust hard and deep in you for the last time, his sweaty forehead against yours. “Jay!” You shouted again while clawing at his back painfully enough to make him wince and hiss. Then he stopped moving, exhausted and breathless just like you, and watched you sink in the mattress trying to catch your breath. He caressed your hair as you both slowly came down from cloud nine. A kiss on your nose and he whispered. “You’re okay?” and in spite of the silliness of the question you nodded. “Never been better.”

Your lips found each other again and Jason let himself lie down on you, placing his head on your breasts, listening to your hearts pounding and to your loud ragged breaths. “I missed you.” He whispered and he held you body against his. “I missed you too.” You repeated as you planted a kiss in his wet dark hair. “Did you have to keep your jeans on?” The question escaped with a laugh and Jason chuckled. “You know me. Didn’t want to waste any time.” He managed to gather the little energy he had left to sit down and finally remove his trousers as he thought he would feel more comfortable without them. “Oops. I think I broke your clock.” He grimaced as he noticed you the broken device on the floor and the flickering numbers flashing up endlessly on the screen. “I don’t care.” You said as you pulled Jason back against you. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

#Jason Todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #fanfiction #one shot

204 notes · View notes

crossdressingdeath · 3 years

Text

Twin Treasures ch. 2 v. 1

So that's chapter two edited and updated here; here's the original for you all.

Madame Jin stares at the two boys in front of her, ignoring her husband’s sputtering. “It’s only been a month.”

Wei Ying fists his hands in his filthy golden robes. “I-I’m really sorry!”

“You set the kitchen on fire,” Madame Jin says.

“I didn’t mean to,” Wei Ying says quickly. “I was just trying to get some rice! …And then I knocked it over. And it landed in the fire…”

“Nearly burning down Koi Tower in the process!” Jin Guangshan interjects.

Wei Ying flinches. It really was an accident! The rice had just been a little out of reach, and he’d dropped it trying to get it off the shelf. “I… I…”

“It was my fault,” Jin Rong says suddenly.

“Your fault?” Madame Jin asks. Jin Guangshan’s eyes slide from Wei Ying to Jin Rong.

Jin Rong nods. “Wei Ying asked me to get the rice for him, since I’m taller,” he explains. “But I… dropped it. It fell in the fire. Sorry.”

There’s a smile beginning to creep onto Madame Jin’s face. “In that case, why did A-Ying say he was the one who started the fire?”

Wei Ying twists his fingers together. “I… It wasn’t…”

“He didn’t want me to get in trouble,” Jin Rong says. “He said… He said it was his fault, since he’s the one who asked me to get the rice.”

“I see.” Madame Jin looks pleased, for some reason. Has she been looking for an excuse to punish her son? “Well, Sect Leader Jin, it seems to be a simple mistake. I see no need to cause a fuss. After all, it would be terribly embarrassing if the other sects heard you had tried your own son for arson.”

“I… Well.” Jin Guangshan coughs, very carefully not looking at his wife. “I see no reason to make a fuss over such a… minor incident. Although I would hope my son would not allow himself to be dragged into such nonsense by an orphaned street rat again. His reputation would suffer if he were to…” He trails off at Madame Jin’s glare.

Beyond her furious look, Madame Jin doesn’t bother to respond. She turns to the children. “Boys, come with me. I need to talk to you both.”

“Yes, Mother.” Jin Rong bows, then grabs Wei Ying’s wrist and tugs. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Um… okay.” Wei Ying allows himself to be pulled out of the room after Madame Jin and Jin Rong, leaving Jin Guangshan alone in the throne room.

Madame Jin leads them back to Jin Rong’s room in silence. She doesn’t speak until the door closes behind them. “Well? Would you two like to tell me the truth now?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jin Rong says.

Madame Jin chuckles. “Come here.” She rests a hand on Jin Rong’s head. “A-Rong. Do you think I can’t tell when my own son is lying to me?”

Wei Ying flinches. “I’m sorry!” he squeaks, feeling dread creep along his spine. “It was all my fault, I made him!”

“No he didn’t!” Jin Rong says quickly. “It was my idea!”

“Boys, boys!” Madame Jin laughs. “I’m not angry. I just want to know what happened. The truth, please.”

Wei Ying sniffs. “I… I just wanted to make something for you…”

“For me?” Madame Jin asks gently.

Wei Ying nods. “You’ve been so nice to me, and you gave me a home and clean clothes and lots of food, and I wanted to do something nice for you, too!”

“I see.” Madame Jin reaches out and pats him on the head. “That’s very sweet of you, A-Ying.”

Wei Ying smiles shakily. “But… But I couldn’t reach the rice, and it fell over… and then it spilled into the fire…”

“That’s when I came in,” Jin Rong adds. “I heard him shouting for help and came to see what was happening.”

“He put the fire out!” Wei Ying says. “…Eventually.”

“Knocking all the spices onto yourselves in the process?” Madame Jin raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Mother.”

“Sorry, Madame Jin!”

Madame Jin sighs. “Honestly, you two. Such a mess. I’ll have the servants bring you water to bathe with. Clean up and change, alright?”

“We will,” Jin Rong says.

“And the two of you will stay in this room until tomorrow morning,” Madame Jin adds. At their complaints she says, “You did set fire to the kitchen. There has to be some punishment.”

“Yes, Mother,” Jin Rong sighs. Wei Ying just nods, not sure what to say.

Madame Jin smiles and pats them both on the head. “I’m very proud of you both,” she says gently. “A-Ying, it was very kind of you to try to cook for me, although I want to be clear that it isn’t necessary. I will make sure you’re taken care of no matter what you do, do you understand?”

“Yes, Madame Jin,” Wei Ying says quietly.

Madame Jin hugs him quickly and turns to her son. “A-Rong, it was very brave of you to lie to your father to protect A-Ying. You’re older, so it’s your job to look after him; I’m glad I didn’t need to tell you that.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Jin Rong says, a proud smile appearing on his face.

Madame Jin hugs him too, then stands. “Very good. I’ll have the servants bring you both dinner later, alright?”

Both boys nod and she smiles again, then makes her way to the door, where she pauses. “Tomorrow I’ll begin teaching both of you how to cook. We don’t need any more kitchen fires.”

Jin Rong looks like he wants to groan. “Yes, Mother…”

“Thank you, Madame Jin!” Wei Ying chirps.

“You’re very welcome, A-Ying.” Then she’s gone.

The two boys sit in silence until the servants come with water for their baths. Wei Ying grabs Jin Rong’s sleeve before the older boy can step behind the screen to bathe. “I’m sorry!”

“Sorry?” Jin Rong echoes. “Why?”

“I… I got you in trouble,” Wei Ying says. “Sect Leader Jin was mad. I’m really sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Jin Rong says. “Mother didn’t mind, and if she doesn’t mind she won’t let Father do anything.”

“But…”

“It’s fine,” Jin Rong insists. “It was an accident! If Father’s going to blame you for the rice being too high up, then…” He cuts himself off with a cough. “Go take a bath, you’re filthy.”

Wei Ying giggles. Jin Rong grabs a clean robe and throws it at him. “Okay, okay! I’m going! But Ge- Um, but Jin-gongzi needs to bathe too!”

“Shut up!” Jin Rong snaps, stepping behind the screen. “Why are you calling me ‘Jin-gongzi’ all of a sudden?”

“Well, Jin-gongzi is the heir to the sect,” Wei Ying says lightly. “And I’m just an orphaned street rat, after all! Your reputation would suffer if I was too familiar with you!”

Jin Rong’s spice-covered outer robes come flying over the screen and land on his head with remarkable accuracy. “Shut up!” he says again. “…Just call me Gege. It’s fine.”

Wei Ying stares silently for a moment, then smiles to himself as he peels off his dirty clothes and hops into his own bath. “Yes, Gege!”

“Um,” Jin Rong says. There’s a silence broken only by the splashing of water. “Can I call you Didi?” he blurts out.

Wei Ying’s smile stretches even wider across his cheeks. “Yes!”

He hears Jin Rong laugh. “Okay… Didi!”

Wei Ying giggles. “Okay, Gege!” he chirps.

…

After cooking lessons (a disastrous idea, Jin Rong thinks; Wei Ying is small and clumsy and keeps knocking things over, but Madame Jin just laughs and picks them up again), Madame Jin insists on teaching Wei Ying cultivation.

Jin Rong can’t deny being happy about that. He’s older than Wei Ying so he gets to be his shixiong, and he’s stronger and faster so he gets to show him how to do everything! And Wei Ying watches him practice with wide, awed eyes and shouts praise across the field like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen. And he learns fast! Within just a few months he’s already excelling at the basics. Every time he figures something new out, he always comes running to show Jin Rong before anyone else, even Mother.

His little brother is so cute. He bets none of the other sect heirs have such cute siblings.

(He’s definitely better than Jiang Cheng’s sister.)

“Gege, Gege!” Wei Ying looks over and grins at him, waving his practice sword (not even seeming to notice the weight, Jin Rong notes with some pride) and forcing the nearest disciples to duck out of the way.

“Didi.” Jin Rong has to drop his own sword as Wei Ying bounds across the training field and throws himself into Jin Rong’s arms. “Shouldn’t you be training?”

“I’ve been training all morning,” Wei Ying whines, leaning his full weight against Jin Rong. “Gege, we should do something fun!”

“Like what?” Jin Rong picks up his sword, ignoring the way Wei Ying flails to maintain his balance. “We still have work to do.”

“But, Gege!” Wei Ying says. He grins. “I know a secret!”

“Do you?” Jin Rong asks, interested despite himself. Wei Ying has quickly ingratiated himself to most of the servants who don’t directly serve Jin Guangshan, so he gets all the best gossip. “What is it?”

Wei Ying is bouncing up and down on the spot. “Not telling!”

“Yes you are,” Jin Rong says. “You always tell me, you’re terrible at secrets.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!” Wei Ying pouts at him. “I’m not bad at secrets! Just for that I’m not going to tell you, so there!”

“Tell me,” Jin Rong says. “You know you want to.”

“No I don’t!” Wei Ying insists. “I’m not going to!”

“Tell me.”

“No!” Wei Ying folds his hands over his chest. “…Unless…”

Aha! “Unless what?”

…He’s never claimed to be above bribing his brother.

Wei Ying lights up. “I want spicy food!” he demands. “Really, really spicy food!”

“Fine, fine,” Jin Rong says. “We can go down to the kitchen and I’ll talk to the cooks.”

But Wei Ying shakes his head. “I want Gege to make it!” he insists.

“What?!” Jin Rong scoffs. “Sect heirs don’t cook, there are people who do that for them!” At least, that’s what Jin Guangshan had said.

“But Madame Jin said that cooking is an important skill,” Wei Ying says. “And Gege’s cooking is the best…”

“Well… That… Of course my cooking is the best!” Jin Rong says quickly. “I’m the heir to the Jin Sect! I’m good at everything!”

Wei Ying nods emphatically. “Gege is the best!”

“And don’t forget it!” Jin Rong glances over at Wei Ying’s instructor. The woman looks amused, but also a little impatient. “Finish your training for today, then I’ll take you to the kitchen. Okay?”

“Okay!” Wei Ying scoops up his sword again and begins to run back, then turns. “You promise?”

“Yes, yes, I promise.” Jin Rong shoos him away. “Hurry up!”

“Yes, Gege!” Wei Ying chirps. Then he whirls around and scurries back to his instructor.

…

Jin Rong isn’t actually very good at cooking. He isn’t going to admit that to Wei Ying, though. He promised! A good sect heir always keeps his promises!

So here he is in the kitchen, scowling at a bowl of what’s supposed to be congee. “It’s…”

“It looks good!” Wei Ying chirps.

It looks bright red and a little gross. Is Wei Ying just making fun of him? “Are you going to eat it, then?”

“Mhm!” And he actually does. Jin Rong watches in horrified awe as Wei Ying gulps down the entire bowl of congee without a single complaint. “It’s good, Gege!”

“…Really?” Jin Rong asks. “I mean- Of course! Because your big brother is good at everything!”

Wei Ying nods agreeably. “Mhm! I have the best big brother!”

Jin Rong is not flattered by that. He isn’t! “Now it’s your turn.”

Wei Ying tilts his head to the side. “My turn?” he echoes.

Jin Rong sighs. “You promised that if I made you spicy food you’d tell me a secret,” he reminds his brother.

“Oh, right!” Wei Ying grins and beckons him closer, even though the cooks seem entirely uninterested (and probably already know; Jin Rong wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been the ones to tell Wei Ying this little secret in the first place). “I heard Madame Yu is bringing her daughter here from Yunmeng to visit!”

Jin Rong groans, all his curiosity replaced by annoyance. “Again?”

Wei Ying blinks at him, confused. “Again?”

“I guess Mother wouldn’t have mentioned it to you,” Jin Rong says dully. “I’m engaged to Jiang Yanli. Have been since I was born.”

“That’s… bad?” Wei Ying asks.

“Of course it’s bad!” Jin Rong complains. “I don’t like her. She’s boring, and she’s no good at cultivation! But Mother and Madame Yu decided we were going to get married, so I don’t have a choice.”

“But if you don’t like her then why don’t you just tell Madame Jin?” Wei Ying asks. “If she knew you don’t want to marry Jiang Yanli…”

“You think I haven’t tried that?!” Jin Rong snaps. There’s a brief clatter as the cooks scurry off to look busy. “You think I’ve got a choice? Are you stupid?!”

Wei Ying flinches. “S-sorry!”

“Of course Mother knows I don’t want to!” Jin Rong continues, ignoring him. “She just wants me to marry her best friend’s daughter! What I want doesn’t matter! And Jiang Yanli isn’t helping, she actually wants to get married!”

“But… that’s not fair,” Wei Ying says quietly. “Mama said that marriage is supposed to make people happy.”

“Well, it doesn’t work like that!” Jin Rong snaps. “Don’t be such a kid!”

“So what if I’m a kid?” Wei Ying whines. “You’re a kid, too!”

“Yeah, well…” Jin Rong shoves the younger boy, hard enough to knock him back a step. “I’m older, so I know better!”

“Gege knows lots of things,” Wei Ying agrees far too quickly, steadying himself against the counter. He’s staring at Jin Rong, eyes wide.

Jin Rong sighs and forces himself to relax, reaching out to pat his brother on the head. “…Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Mother always says a good sect leader should know when to apologize.

“It’s okay!” Wei Ying insists. “I don’t mind!” And he smiles, bright as the sun.

His little brother is just so cute. “Jiang Yanli’s going to be so jealous,” he says proudly.

Wei Ying tilts his head to the side. “Why?”

Jin Rong scoffs and pokes Wei Ying’s forehead playfully. “You’re so dumb, Didi,” he teases. “Obviously because my little brother’s way better than hers!” All Jiang Cheng does is whine and yell at Jin Rong. He bets Wei Ying will be way better at cultivation than that kid, too, once he’s had more practice!

Wei Ying blushes bright red, a delighted grin spreading over his face. “Gege’s the best brother, though!”

Jin Rong tries to stop himself from smiling. In the end he has to turn away so Wei Ying can’t see. “Obviously I’m the best,” he says. “I’m the heir to the Jin Sect of Lanling! I’m the best at everything!”

“Except cooking,” Wei Ying points out with a mischievous little giggle and a smile in the direction of the cooks.

“What- You said it was good!” Jin Rong complains. “You liar!” He lunges playfully at his little brother, all remaining annoyance forgotten.

“It was good, it was good!” Wei Ying yelps, scrambling away from Jin Rong’s hands.

“Too late! I don’t believe you!” Jin Rong grabs him and sets about his brutal vengeance.

“Gege!” Wei Ying shrieks with laughter as Jin Rong’s fingers dig into his ribs. “Stop it, stop it!”

“Never!” He tightens his grip. Wei Ying howls. “If you lie to your brother you have to face the consequences!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Wei Ying tears himself loose and runs to hide behind one of the cooks. “I won’t do it again!”

“Hey, get back here!” Jin Rong can’t stop himself from laughing. “Cultivators should never run from a fight!”

“It’s important to avoid fights you know you can’t win!” Wei Ying retorts, peering around the woman.

“So you admit I’m better!” Jin Rong crows, ducking around the cook. Wei Ying circles the other way.

“Only until I get more practice!” Wei Ying insists. “I’m going to beat you one day!”

The cook laughs. “Boys- Ah, Jin-gongzi, Wei-gongzi,” she corrects herself. “If you’re going to run around, don’t do it in the kitchen.”

“Sorry, Auntie!” Wei Ying chimes.

“Sorry,” Jin Rong echoes. He grabs Wei Ying’s wrist. “Come on, Didi, let’s go!”

They run from the kitchen, leaving the laughter of the cooks behind them.

“So,” Jin Rong asks, “you’re going to be better than me, huh?”

“Mhm!” Wei Ying nods. “I’m going to be the best cultivator ever, and then I’m going to stay by your side and protect you forever!”

…His little brother is the absolute best. “You can’t do that,” Jin Rong says, mostly to keep himself from doing something embarrassing.

“I can’t?” Wei Ying asks, eyes wide and sad.

Jin Rong nods. “Mother said, remember? I’m your big brother. It’s my job to protect you!”

Wei Ying’s face lights up and he bounces over to wrap his arms around Jin Rong’s neck. “We can protect each other!”

Jin Rong returns the hug. “Yeah. It’s a promise!”

(And sect leaders should always keep their promises.)

#twin treasures v 1

12 notes · View notes

honestsycrets · 3 years

Text

What She Really Wants X: What Really Matters

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | hvitserk has a way of getting what he wants. magnus is sick of being one-upped.

❛ tags | verbal arguments, wedding oriented, referenced underage sex, referenced sexual interaction, underage relationships, original characters.

❛ sy’s notes | i've actually had this fic done for some months and totally forgot about it until i was in my drive. thank you @chibisgotovalhalla for making me feel good enough to post this. It’s more a connecting chapter.

What Magnus hates about Hvitserk (aside from everything) is how whatever he said, went with you.

The world could crumble, pebbles could shake boulders on your house, and you would still have Hvitserk on your mind. Because he was your first-- and no one could beat a first. No matter how he worked or raged for a new beginning or for better for Mads. It was still Hvitserk at the end of the day. Mads’s eyes had almost popped out of his skull when Magnus joined the clustered group of friends and parents. It hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“What did I miss?” he asks because he knows Mads by the expression slapped over his face. That boy has been like his son. He raised him. Loved him.

“Nothing,” Mads quips quickly, snapping his head back around to the field. His coach howls something long and loud. Mads jabs his finger in that direction. “The game is about to start. C’mon Soren.”

Despite the fact that Magnus knew there was a certain something very wrong, he didn’t speak as you returned to a very familiar set of bleachers alongside Mad’s new girlfriend. She was pretty. There was a soft and innocent glitter behind those big brown eyes that reminds him of a simpler time in yours. He makes a note to ask Mads after the game all about her when Hvitserk stops on the uppermost stair, guiding you in after Alaia.

It’s not until they sit, and your hand is laced in Hvitserk’s, does he notice the gems glistening on your finger.

“What’s that?” he asks, leaning over Alaia’s lap. The girl squints at the rings too, watching it glisten, and smiles when she realizes that she’s forgotten to say something. She speak words that make his stomach drop. As if someone had hauled him off to sea, strapped that very same boulder shook loose by his crumbling world, and threw him out into the deep sea. He was drowning and couldn’t find a way out.

“Oh my god! Congratulations on your engagement, mama,” she beams. “Can I see the ring?”

Magnus sputters. He’s caught between your jovial smile and Hvitserk’s smug smirk as his eyes burned into the glittering gem. Hvitserk’s hand leaves yours, taking a drink of the metal tumbler that he brought with him as if that would draw attention away from what he’s done this time.

“There’s two?” Alaia asks.”Papa you didn’t. You’ve gone so far!”

Hviserk chuckles and swashing alcohol between his cheeks before swallowing the spicy liquid.

“We were engaged in high school. Hvitserk thought I should wear both.”

“Gonna put that money to use,” Hvitserk mutters, the faint scent of yeasty alcohol on his breath kissing your cheeks. He looks out to the field and catches Mads sheepishly waving. He waves back. “Been waitin’ to get married to my old lady for years.”

“It’s going to be so great,” she claps her hands together. “I’m happy for you.”

The field cheers through the end of the national anthem. Two dozen players jog onto the grassy stage, flicking the ball between their feet. Go Mads, go! Alaia squeals until her voice becomes high pitched, grating, and odd. She’s the kind of girl that should be on a cheerleading team, but belongs on the football team. She’s outgoing, witty, and you find you like her.

For all that screaming, Mads’s team loses 2 to 1. Alaia beats you off the bleachers and zooms down the stairs to find your son. You’re stuck with the impending explosion that has been boiling to ahead all evening. It finally overflows as people filter out of the bleachers like a herd of stampeding cattle. Their loud chatter blocks out the bulk of conversation.

“You really thought that was a good idea.” Magnus curls his fingers under the cold metal of the bleacher seat. “He hasn’t been back a year and you’re already going to marry him.”

“What is with you? It is her choice,” Hvitserk interjects.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Fuck off, rat faced motherfucker.” Hvitserk snaps. “You don’t know when to quit bitchin’.”

It’s spiraling. You know the men well enough to know when Magnus and Hvitserk are headed for trouble. Hvitserk loves a good fight. He lurches up in his seat, probably ready to chuck him down a few flights of bleacher stairs. You grasp Hvitserk’s hand, settling it on your thigh for to restrain him from doing something that you knew he’d regret. Not for his sake, but Mads. Rather than answer Magnus, you stand up and wipe your skirt down.

“Mads is waiting. C’mon baby.”

You leave him feeling unheard. In the seventeen years that Mads had been alive, he’d not once felt this way. He had been the father figure here. The one who took the kid out to these father events that you lost with the death of your father and the disappearance of your family from Hvitserk’s clutches.

Then he came back. He gave Magnus that same, age-old shit-eating grin, and disappeared behind you. It wouldn’t have burned so much if he wasn’t at the exact same school of the past. The same one where he got his teeth knocked in-- right here. The bleachers may be different but the area is the same. It’s the same place where everything changed. He sits there long after you’ve disappeared down the steps to meet your son.

“Where’s morbror?” Mads, sweaty and panting, has his hand slung over Alaia’s shoulder.”I thought he was coming for burgers.”

You reach for Hvitserk’s hand and lace his fingers with yours. Hvitserk stands behind you with his hand latched neatly around your waist. He cradles your hip as you come up with the latest of poorly formulated excuses.

“He has to go to work in the morning, baby.”

Better you lie than Hvitserk.

Alaia is way too touchy.

You recognize it in the way she clings to his arm on one hand and punches him with the other. Whatever the cost was, she had to be touching him. All over him. Not just a little friendly kiss or holding hands, but you know for a damn fact that she strokes his thigh or trails up the taut pale muscles of his flat belly.

“They’re fucking,” you say pointedly.

Hvitserk throws a look over his shoulder to where they were a few rows down. Alaia slips a salty-sweet strawberry candy between Mads’s lips. Alaia’s other hand is certainly not on her own lap, that’s for sure.

“Huh?” Hvit says around a half eaten sausage. He takes a swig of his booze, “Ya think?”

You thwack him in the arm and glance at the dark aisle beside you. The movie Mads wanted to watch was old. So much so that the theatre reflected its age. “How is he not fucking her? Hvitserk!”

Hvitserk took a glance down. From what he could tell, Mads was the shy one. He glanced down to what had to be a handsy— because he had plenty of those in his day.

“Calm down. He ain’t initiating anything.”

“So she’s a predator?” You hiss.

“C’mon baby, they're the same age.” He says, as if that’s exclusionary, and as if that made any difference in the world. “Ain’t like he’s screamin’ for help.”

There’s a shush— the next few aisles down.

“Aw, you poutin?”

No reply. Hvitserk glances toward Mads and Alaia, content with his choice, and slips his hand underneath the lip of your skirt. He considers himself a rather patient man but your worries when all he wanted to do was relax? Na.

“Hvit stop— We used to be like that. Remember?” Hvitserk cuts you off, rubbing his thumb where he shouldn’t, cutting an outrageous smile.

“This isn’t about us.”

“Ain’t it?”

It’s not. The soft tingles of his fingertips, caressing your thighs, runs shivers up your spine. Your hand falls on top of his wrist, holding him firmly where he was. Hvitserk glances down toward his hand, then back up. An easy fix: you loved it when he pressed his lips to your neck.

“You’re doing it again.”

Hvitserk’s lips part, broadening his shit eating smile. “Doing what?”

Oh, he knew what. But he loved being called out for it.

His far isn’t bad at football.

“Fuckin’ what the fuck was that!”

The ball whizzed into the goal behind him and Mads was left wheezing for breath. Not because he was tired. The old man might only be thirty-six but he sucked at playing against him. Hvitserk plucked up the football between his fingers and spun it over and over between his finger tips. He twisted his head from the goal to the ball in his hands.

“A goal,” Mads gestures. “You know? Or, guess you don’t since you ain’t scored all night.”

“Shits rigged,” Hvitserk says, dropping the ball and kicking it back to Mads.

Mads shrugs and suggests, “Should’ve picked something you’re good at. You won’t beat me at this.”

“Tch,” Hvitserk throws his arms behind his head. “I ain’ good at shit.”

Except maybe selling drugs and chasing prostitutes. All of which his father has made exponentially clear he doesn’t want Mads doing. Mads stops with his sneaker on top of the ball, rolling it up and back, then flicks it between his feet.

“Have to be good at something. Don’t you have a hobby or something?”

Hvitserk peels off his white shirt sodden with sweat and uses it to wipe away the moist sweat dribbling past his eyebrow. He gestures his hand to the dark wooden wedding band that was strapped to his finger. The wedding is next week and while he’s not technically married yet, Hvitserk wore it as some sort of unspoken promise.

“My hobby was women. Not allowed to do that shit anymore. Getting married next week, yeah?”

“Wow, well, uh.” Mads picks up the ball at his feet and searches for words. It’s always nice-- when your own son is amazed at how amazingly shitty of a person you were. Hvitserk chews his cheek, running his thumb along the drawstring at his hips to tighten it up. They walk lazily with one another to start the trek back home.

“I...” Hvitserk starts. “Liked to paint.”

“Gang signs?” he teases. He imagines his father with a can of spray paint or something-- tagging some poor idiot’s unsuspecting business.

“Na, women-- like Renoir.”

“Ren who?”

“I fuckin’ hope ya ain’t going to France like that,” he tsks his tongue, throwing his hand around Mads’s shoulder, chasing away the thought of the Wolves that were so at the forefront of his mind. “Take a class in French first.”

“I’m taking Spanish.”

“Spanish? Wha’s so important about-- oh wait. Fuck,” Hvitserk almost laughs, but it comes with the realization that Mads’s little girlfriend was, in fact, Hispanic. He ruffles Mads’s sweaty hair, shaking loose droplets into the air. “Tha’s my boy.”

There are moments in which Mads feels like his father’s son.

Today was one of them.

The date sped up on him faster than it should have.

This time, Hvitserk was insistent: the wedding had to happen as soon as possible. After all, he was thirty-six. He wasn’t going to be a man that was forty and single. No, he wasn’t. Not if he had everything he wanted; a woman and his very own grown-ass son. He had something to prove to that son. That he was serious about his family.

“What’cha think,” Hvitserk grumbled. His hair, newly cropped short, waved in silky honey waves around the side of his face. His jaw was peppered with a new sort of scruff, worlds apart from his clean-shaven, long-haired past. The suit was slim, crisp, monochrome like you liked it. Better be like you liked it: he wasn’t the type to wear suits for just anyone. His woman? Special exception there.

His son stood back. “Yeah, looks nice.”

“Yeah?”

He slipped in front of the mirror and gave himself a once over. He turns the ring on his finger over and over until he has residual finger ring burn. He bites down on his lip, ripping it between his teeth. It wasn’t just saying goodbye to his single man’s life; it was the fact that his remaining brothers were coming. Bjorn, Ivar, and Ubbe. Would Mads like them?

“Where my boots?”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. There’s a powerful thud at the door, then another. Booming laughs fill in the hallway just outside the room. Hvitserk exhales strongly. His large hand lands on Mads’s shoulder with a clasp.

“Those would be your uncles.”

Mads, the little baby, looks panicked as the door cracks open. Ivar knocks open the door, dressed in a deep maroon and black suit. It’s crisp and formed to his chest. You should at least like it-- given the shit that Ivar has given you this year, he looks good. Why would be expect anything less?

“Man c’mon,” Hvitserk rolls his eyes. “Could’ve waited man. My kid--”

“Why would I wait?” Ivar hums, hobbling forward. “You’ve been keeping my nephew hostage from me. Come here boy.”

“With good reason,” Sigurd can’t help but to comment. “You don’t really want to know him. He’s a--”

“Would you both shut up,” Mads hears another man say. He has ruddy hair and a ruddy beard, with sharp blue eyes. He is almost considerate-- if not for the wolfish look in his eyes, he could almost be considered the most placid of the brothers. Instead, he seems to be someone who is always planning. “You’ll scare him away.”

Hviserk settles a lily in the pocket to his suit and fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves. Strange, he thinks, how you pick lilies. They’re a bittersweet flower for him to this day. When he bought you flowers, they were roses. Whatever possessed you to chose lilies, he’s not sure. It couldn’t possibly be-- Thora. No, you couldn’t remember her.

“Far,” Mads looks over and pleads for some guidance in those soft, bright eyes of his. His eyes snap toward Ivar’s dragging feet, then the drunken stamped in from huge Bjorn and comparatively more calculated steps from Ubbe. “Help.”

“What is there to be afraid of, hm?”

“Go on, go to Ivar.” Hvitserk swings his hands at his hips. Mads looks up the broad body of the blond man and inches toward the darkest haired brother. Probably not the safest of brothers to be speaking to but he’s heard his name multiple times before. Uncle Ivar was scary. And safe. “They won’t hurt you. They’re my brothers.”

“You want a drink, boy?!”

“A dr-- drink?”

Hvitserk wonders why he ever thought he could be a Wolf.

Asta has always been supportive. Too supportive. You knew, somewhere inside, she wasn’t happy about your choice to get married to a man that had gotten her into some trouble. Her whole life could have gone down the tubes thanks to him.

“Are you sure about this?” she said in her slim baby pink maid-of-honor dress. Your hairdresser affixed a soft baby pink pearl pin into your hair. “You can always wait like we said.”

“Waiting…” You glanced down toward your dress, smoothing out the dress’s slim bodice, leading out into its flowy a-line tulle skirt. Your loved the crisscrossing pearls that formed the straps over your shoulder and connected front and back-- maybe a little sexy for your hypersexual husband-to-be. Everything had gone perfectly. Your make up-- a natural, gentle shimmery pink. Everything was soft and natural, and pretty-- and you were so damn happy. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“I know.”

“And I want to do it,” you held the bouquet of fresh pink lilies. “I want him.”

“That’s too much information,” she teases.

The door creaked open behind you. While subconsciously, you knew that it wasn’t him-- you needed to know. “Magnus isn’t coming, is he?”

“It’s just me, mor.”

You exhale forcefully. You knew it would be a stretch to ask Magnus to give you away. After what happened to your father, Magnus had agreed to do so with whoever you chose. For sixteen years you banked on that promise. Only now, when it came down to it, he refused to do so.

“It’s a silly tradition anyway.”

Asta begins to protest that she can do it when your son, bless him, intervenes by kneeling down by your knee. His large hands overtook yours. Your hairdresser stepped aside after having affixed the veil to the top of your head. Everything had been going so well. Something… had to go wrong, right? That was the way that days went. They could never be absolutely perfect!

“I’ll do it. I can give you away.”

“You’d do that?” you ask him, unbelievably. You look between Asta-- and Alaia, who looks angelic in a puffy pink dress beside your son. Mads perches kneels beside you, looking like all the man you ever hoped he could be in every sleepless night that you spent up with him as a baby-- wishing that Hvitserk was there. Knowing that your mother said he could never be.

“But you thought I should wait.”

“Yeah but; I love you. That’s what matters, right? That you’re happy?”

That, more than anything, was enough for you. You press back the insistent prick of heat at the corner of your eyes and nod. As you stand up on clumsy metal heels, your boy is there with his hand encouragingly around your waist. Alaia looks for your bouquet of assorted blush and white flowers: lilies.

For a moment-- just a moment, its you and him. No one else matters in the grand scheme of things. He settles the bouquet of flowers between your fingertips, pulling the sheer veil back over your face. “You look… perfect, mor. He’s missing out.”

“Yeah, that’s what matters, baby.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm

#hvitserk x reader #hvitserk/reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #hvitserk's heathen feast #honestsycrets fics #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #hvitserk x you #hvitserk/you

82 notes · View notes

hungarianbee · 3 years

Text

sightless but steady

A/N: I wanted to try my hand on Warritt the All-Seeing for a while now. Writing a blind character who’s not *really* blind is both fun and a challenge. I have a lot of feelings about the Viper witchers, and so I snuck a lot of headcanons (about Ivar, Warritt, Letho, Auckes) into this piece. You can read about them in detail at the end of the fic. TW for: mention of non-descriptive torture

It is a relatively quiet night at the Blood Gate Keep. The young adepts went to sleep hours ago, safely tucked away in their quarters. To the average witcher, Gorthur Gvaed lays dormant, echoing the silence of its occupants.

But not to Warritt. In his room, the Viper bundles himself in furs, sitting in front of the lit hearth with his back to it. The fire’s heat seeps into his bones, touching his exposed neck, and he tilts his head back into the sensation. To him, the keep always feels just a tad cold. It’s nothing, compared to the Bear’s Haern Caduch or the Wolves’ Kaer Morhen in winter, but the Vipers’ mutations keep their temperatures lower than the other school’s.

As he flicks his fingers, his magic activates the Supirre Sign again, keeping it steady with years of practice. Just like that, the night comes alive around him.

Beneath the sound of the firewood cracking, he notices that there are rats in the walls again, scratching at the stones with their tiny claws. He makes a mental note to alert Evil-Eye to their presence later, then moves on. A floor beneath him, Gerring of Kharkiv is playing with his knives, just as usual. The fast tack-tack-tack reverberates in Warritt’s ears as the knives embed themselves in the wooden surface of the upturned table. A mouser’s yowls break it up, and he pushes the Sign further, taking note of the steady heartbeats of the snakelets. As he concentrates, he feels several that are too fast to be asleep. Auckes, he thinks. And Letho.

Warritt shucks his furs, taking one with him and folding the rest on his unused bed. With a reverse Igni, lowers the temperature of the hearth, leaving the wood smoldering. The smoke of it settles in his barely open mouth, sticking to his palate. Throwing the fur over his shoulder, he opens his door, just as Ivar Evil-Eye takes a corner in his direction, the scent of blood and iron trailing after him like an avenging wraith.

Up until this point, the Viper Grandmaster was pacing his office, as was his bad habit, then changed course, and took a detour around the Keep to the snakelets’ sleeping quarters. To air his head, most likely, and to make sure that everyone was safe. That Letho was safe. There is a lot of weight on the witcher’s shoulders that he refuses to share with them, he knows. Some days, when the pacing gets agitated and Warritt can hear his rapid breathing when he talks his way over an issue, he thinks that this will be Evil-Eye’s end. A fire can only burn bright for so long without kindling.

“Master Evil-Eye,” he greets quietly.

The thumping of Gerring’s weapons stop. A shift of skin on fabric as the man looks up, breathing carefully steadied. He’s listening. Warritt minimizes his Sign to the palm of his hand. He’s been told the yellow glow is quite noticeable. “Anything I can help you with?”

Evil-Eye shakes his head to himself, but breaks the motion midway. A heavy sigh. “I can’t deal with the brats tonight,” he admits. His tone is weary. Warritt tries to imagine what his expression must look like, but it’s been too long and the visuals appear murky in his mind. Something that might match the scents of frustration and fatigue. After all, Evil-Eye doesn’t have to hide from him; he can’t see. Then, the taste of ash ignites, becomes spicy with rekindled rage. “Did you know about Letho of Gulet?”

He can’t even finish the sentence as Warritt flashes his fangs at the leader. The hiss that leaves between his teeth rattles in his throat. “No! I would have stopped Daibesyck. Any of us would have. And you know that.”

In his rise of emotion, his Supirre sputters out. He casts it again with one hand, the other going up to rake through his curls.

Evil-Eye stands still, like a statue. Then a new tension enters his shoulders, and he turns away. “I’ve dealt with Daibesyck,” he states. Disdain colours his voice. “The worm wanted me to thank him. To acknowledge what a marvelous achievement he did, finding the perfect subject for his little successful experiment.” He breathes through his venom. “I paid him in kind. He stopped screaming a few hours ago.”

Warritt’s face tightens, even as dark satisfaction courses through him. He knows. He heard. But it wasn’t aimed at him; it’s a confirmation for their little eavesdropper. This time tomorrow everyone will know that they are one mage down.

“How’s he?”

Evil-Eye cracks his neck to the side. “He’s feverish, still. He asked for you.”

“Then I will be there.” And that’s that. Warritt lengthens his steps, taking the fur beneath one arm, the other still pulsing with Supirre. The Grandmaster matches him until they reach Letho’s quarters, where he lags behind, stopping just by the door.

The blind witcher makes his way to the bed. The scent of sickness leaves a sour note on his tongue, but that’s not his main concern. Because in this close proximity, he’s sure of it - Letho’s usual outline changed.

As he climbs into the bed he bundles the furs under Letho’s bald head, hoping that his own scent will ease the young witcher. A stone sits in Warritt’s stomach; last time he’s been in his presence, the kid had a crown of soft curls. His calloused hands slide on broad, impossibly muscled shoulders that emanate a heat that is uncharacteristic to witchers, then cup the back of Letho’s neck gently.

“Letho,” he calls, and the snakelet twitches under him, turning towards his chest. He can barely fit. A soft sound escapes him, almost a sob, and his hands come up to shield his still sensitive eyes. Warritt immediately releases his Sign to plunge the room in darkness, shushing him. “It’s Warritt, bud. I am here, just as you asked.”

“Warritt,” Letho parrots back, slurring. Without the Sign, Warritt is not prepared for the fingers prodding at the heavy scarring by his eyes, but he lets it happen anyway.

With impossible strength, Letho pulls Warritt down and curls his arms around him in a constricting hug. Warritt stifles his wheeze, breathing through it, and he presses closer still, wrapping himself around the kid as much as he can, tucking him under his chin and tangling their legs. One of his hands comes up to squeeze Letho’s nape. The pressure seems to calm the young witcher, and he mindlessly bites down on Warritt’s leathers on his shoulder, just to hold him still. Warritt notes absentmindedly that Evil-Eye slipped away when he wasn’t paying attention.

They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Letho’s breathing evens out, slipping into an uneasy sleep. His muscles twitch and release, and Warritt rearranges them so he’s plastered to the snakelet’s back, hugging him tightly, not minding the cold sweat.

“Auckes,” he calls softly. He hears the creak of soft leathers in the rafters as the boy shifts warily. He drops down, landing without difficulty.

“Bloede,” the little snakelet curses in Elder, silently but with feeling. “How did you know I was here? You didn’t even use your Sign.”

“Language,” Warritt chides. “You were so loud I could hear you from a tower away. You were lucky Master Evil-Eye was in a cordial mood, he would have had you for breakfast.”

“Not true,” Auckes sulks.

The boy’s radiating disbelief warms him. He gestures with one hand, beckoning, and Auckes slips onto the bed, curling over Letho. The boy shakes a little and Warritt scents the residue of distress on him, so he presses a warm hand between his shoulder blades, drawing slow circles.

Auckes presses into his touch, then blurts out. “If I asked you, would you shave my head?”

Warritt doesn’t stop his motions, despite his surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

For a long moment, Auckes doesn’t say anything, just clenches his fist in Letho’s sleeping shirt. He smooths the soft material between his fingers anxiously. “Letho cried ,” he whispers it like a secret, and his tone belies his astonishment. Letho never cries. “He saw his reflection, you know.”

“I don’t know, Auckes,” prompts Warritt gently, lying through his teeth. “Why would he be upset because of that?”

“He’s big. And bald. He tried to hug Serrit and hurt him. Twas an axi-” he trips on the word in his haste, then tries again, slowly. “Ac-ci-dent. He didn’t mean it, I know. It scared him. And Serrit said that he wasn’t mad, so it’s okay.”

Warritt hides his sad smile, endeared by Auckes’ sharp perception and big heart. “Aye,” he breathes.

Another beat passes between them.

“I want you to cut my hair, so Letho knows it’s okay, too. That he’s not alone.” Auckes’ voice is so very small, like the breeze in Tir Tochair’s sheltered meadows.

Warritt’s throat constricts. His fingers follow the thin braid that hangs on each side of Auckes’ face, then cards into his soft ponytail.

“Alright,” he rasps. “Alright.”

--------- * ---------

Note: Auckes canonically can speak really good Elder. The little curse word “Bloede” can be translated to “bloody hell”.

Headcanons:

Warritt is the big-brother of the keep - he’s both a blind badass and the resident kidwrangler (and everyone clearly knows it)

Warritt is a genius - this is kiiind of canon, but regardless: he has an unorthodox thought process; he likes thinking outside of the box, and that’s how he isn’t bothered by his blindness and modified an already existing Sign (Supirre in canon; and also Igni in this fic)

Vipers are not shy of physical touch, on the contrary! - a little bit of cutagen here; Vipers like to coil up together in almost constricting hugs. Even those who haven’t gone through the Trials adopt this habit; the physical touch (hugs) is something they can claim as their own good thing

Letho went through the Grasses twice, like Geralt (aka twicegrassed) - compared to the rest of the School, Letho is an outlier. I explained his proportions with him surviving the Trials twice

Ivar was unaware of the further experimentations, and he flipped - a hc i adopted from @lookoutrogue. Ivar himself went through multiple Trials, that’s how he ended up with his mutated eye. My throwaway mage OC, Daibesyck was tortured to death because he went over the invisible line Ivar carved, hurting one of his own and disrespecting his authority

Auckes shaved his head in solidarity for Letho - originally i thought he would have done it when he was older, but tiny Auckes said no, i wanna do it now

Gerring of Kharkiv wasn’t supposed to appear, but he didn’t budge. So I guess now he’s an insomniac old witcher who likes to waste time and furniture with knife-throwing *shrug*

#my shit #the witcher #warritt the all-seeing #ivar evil-eye #letho #auckes #gerring of kharkiv #school of the viper #continent cake shop #little auckes made me cry #tell me what y'all think #i'll crosspost this into AO3 in a bit

71 notes · View notes

herstarburststories · 4 years

Text

Pure Witch

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: While waiting for Rowena to help with a case, Dean distracts himself with the reader. Suddenly, the bar is under attack and you are the one who saves the Winchester brothers with magic. Dean didn't know you were witch-- but neither did you.

Warning: unprotected sex (y'all are better than that)

‘’Dean, can you focus for a bit, please?’’ Sam sighed, not for all surprised at his brother’s behavior but surely tired enough to cut him off. He had spent most nocturnal hours searching for a specific spell to save a victim from a herb coma after they didn’t find a hex bag that had probably been hidden by a sorceress. He’d finally given in and called the most powerful - perhaps more notably the only allied - witch they knew. Waiting for Rowena with less than two hours of rest while Dean ate hamburgers in heart attack form wasn’t comfortable. The fact that he was about to get up and flirt with a random woman when he was trying to be patient at her delay and not to freak out because of it was unlikely to help either.

‘’Come on, Sammy. What’s the point of saving people if you don’t get a little nookie once in a while?’’ He winked at the other Winchester just to be greeted with an eye roll. ‘’Also, Rowena is two hours late.’’

‘’Dean-- Dude, come on!’’ Sam protested when his older brother left the table, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he walked towards you.

‘’Hey, sweetheart. Can I sit?’’ Dean smirked at you and you nodded, waving your hand at the empty chair. If it was any usual day, you would be most likely to push him away with a dumb excuse, especially after he came up with cheap sweet talk, but he was pretty enough to entertain you a bit more, not to mention his velvet voice. Besides, it wasn’t a usual day. You could use a human shaped source of stress relief in a random bar. ‘’I have to say, you are drinking my favorite beer.’’

‘’Then you can have it,” you said, pushing the bottle to slip on the table. Dean grabbed it. ‘’Not really my kind. I like cocktail better.’’

‘’Cocktail over beer?’’ He arched his eyebrows, not so subtly judging your taste.

You put your hand on your chest, mouth wide open in a circular form while you talked in an offended yet playful manner: ‘’You come to my table and judge my favorite drink? Outrage! I am really hurt, you know? I might have to go lick my wounds now.’’

Dean features quickly changed from worried that he had somehow offended you and threw his chance with a hot girl away to amazed. Spicy girls, he liked that.

‘’Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I could help you with your wounds.’’ He rolled his head to the side and licked his lips before taking a sip of his beer. You giggled, rolling your eyes at his cheap attempt of a flirtatious line.

‘’Well, since we are already talking about licking wounds, my name is (Y/N). And I think we can agree that a good, old whiskey is better than both of them.’’

‘’Dean Winchester, at your service.’’ The green-eyed man offered you a wide smile followed by a wink. ‘’Yeah, whiskey gets it all.’’

‘’After tequila, of course,” you teased, just to see which reaction you could get from him.

‘’Tequila is better than whiskey? You didn’t just say that.’’ Dean raised his eyebrows. It made you laugh at how indignant he seemed to feel about it. Head tilted to the side and gaze locked with your bright eyes, he remained on the topic. ’’It’s the same as saying that salad is better than burgers or that Bon Jovi is better than AC/DC.’’

I love what you’ve got

Let’s get together, baby

Yeah, we can get hot

The guitar echoes from the song trembled through the bar’s bathroom when Dean threw your back at the wall, pushing his knee between your legs as his lips met yours into a needy, violent kiss. A weak howl left your mouth once you felt his hardness tickling against your bare leg thanks to the little skirt that barely dressed you. It hiked up with the sudden movements, almost letting show what was underneath. Unfortunately, his jeans made it a bit frustrating. He was way too dressed than either of you would like. Both of you were.

Dean’s hands tightened around your waist in a possessive act; it was an unspoken desire to get more of you-- all of you right there.You pushed him away, devil grin on your lips as you watched his confused features replaced by feral, wild eyes when you unconfined yourself from your shirt. The pretty fabric of your green bra seemed to hold the green of his eyes to your breast, as if it was the only part of you that mattered.

The eldest Winchester denied his urge to ravish you just long enough to abandon his shirt as well as his flanel. In an instant, he was all over you again; licking your neck and going down to kiss your chest. You placed your hands on his shoulders to keep yourself steady. Your knees were too easily weakened at Dean Winchester’s touch to be considered trustworthy.

‘’Dean…’’ His name came out as a beg, a prayer for this man to give you what you needed. ‘’I want you inside me. Now. I’m so wet for you.”

‘’Fuck, sweetheart. You fucking get me when you talk like this.’’ He groaned in response, pecking your collarbone before he raised his head, locking his gaze with yours. His pupils were dilated, like a hunter’s glare when catching their prey. You could bet yours were awash in the same heat, full of lust and flaming hunger.

Opposed to losing any time, Dean put his hands on your back and lowered them while you unbuttoned his jeans, watching their particular path and enjoying how the naked parts of your body felt against his fingertips. He was certain that your pussy would feel just as good if he fucked you with his fingers, but he needed his cock inside you, and you felt such urgency for it, too. Perhaps later Dean could do all he wanted, in a bed or in the back seat of Baby. For the present time, the bedroom would be more than satisfying. He finally reached your ass, holding it as you gave into an impulse to jump.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as Dean pulled you up and pressed your body to the wall again as you finally finished unbuttoning his jeans, pushing the material down. Dean groaned in annoyance when he noticed that your skirt was lifted, but your panties were still on. You were visibly wet for his amusement, yet an obstacle to his need. Not willing to give away any further second, the hunter tore it apart.

‘’Hey, I liked that-- Dean!’’ Ultimately, your complaint was interrupted by Dean pushing into you. Fuck, it felt so good to have him inside you, his cock squeezed between your wet, tight walls. He held your thighs, mouth finding your breast in a kiss and then a bite. Dean pulled your bra, touching your erect nipple before pressing his tongue against it and sucking it. ‘’Dean!’’

His thrusts quickened in rhythm, and you tried to follow it, moving your waist to his pelvis. His cock pushed deeper and harder inside you, making you arch your back and groan when Dean found your G spot, repeatedly hitting there.

‘’Fuck, (Y/N). You feel so nice around my cock. Wet and tight, just like I like it. Your pussy is so good to me, sweetheart.’’

Your nails scratched his shoulders. You pulled him close, and Dean looked up at you, vivid green eyes reflecting what his body and groans already said; your body was his. At least it was for now. You didn’t care if your favorite lace was crumpled on the floor or if you were fucking an aleatory man without protection or even if you would leave marks on his back. All that you cared about was his cock deep inside you, fucking you, and it seemed like he felt just the same.

He leaned forward, catching your lips in a passionate kiss. His grip tightened around your skin as your mouth escaped his in tease, encountering Dean’s neck and sucking on it there. It won a soft grunt of him, almost a whine. You giggled between groans, soon sealing his lips to yours together once more. The two of you part only to moan each other’s name in intense pleasure as the pace of his thrusts hastened.

The bar’s rock playlist was replaced by rougher music: punching noises, chairs breaking and screams from the few people on the bar who quickly tried to hide or run. If an hour ago Sam cut a sharp glare at you and Dean walking to the bathroom, the last one was a victorious gesture at him while pointing at you. Currently, he was hopefully looking at the bathroom door stuck between killing a demon and fighting another when his brother finally appeared, followed closely by you. Both of you were disasters from wrinkled clothes to messy hair.

A ginger woman was hiding behind them and holding a book, flipping the pages fast as the boys furiously defended themselves from the things approaching them. ‘’Rowena!’’

‘’(Y/N), stay here!’’ he said in a commanding voice before running to Sam. They were fighting those human-looking creatures that shined when they got stabbed. It was clear that they weren’t normal and neither were their killers. You gulped, breathlessly watching the scene unfold in front of you. What could you do? You barely had any fighting skills other than self-defense. Besides, Dean and his partner seemed to know what they were doing. That is, if they were the good ones. What if you had just fucked an assassin?

‘’I’m trying, Samuel!’’ the redhead hissed, still skimming through the book’s writing. She appeared to be looking for something that she couldn’t find.

The things kept showing up and instead of just fighting, now one of them was able to throw things at Dean, Sam and Rowena. You were horrified. The new addition seemed to be a witch. But those weren’t real. Neither were things that died like there were storms inside them! What was happening?

The supposed witch gave the trio a bloody smile, taking calm steps to get to them. His hand gestured to the side, as if he was killing a mosquito, and Dean flew against the wall. Another move and Sam had the same destiny, seeming glued there next to his brother.

‘’Rowena, like the rat I knew you were. Looking for allies with the Winchesters? That is beyond humiliating, even for you,” the man talked sharply, disgust almost palpable in his tune. It was crystal clear that he thought he was better than the red-haired woman. Your blood fired up in your veins; you were scared and irate. The situation itself was similar to a horror movie’s scene, and the way he spoke towards her was just quite like a woman’s daily horror movie, especially when it came to the workplace. It hit a delicate spot for you. Dean and Sam tried to get away from whatever those things were with what you’d soon learn that was a spell that kept them stuck to the wall. ‘’You should thank me for being so merciful, rat.’’ He grabbed a strange knife and pulled his hand up, a malicious grin on his face as he pushed the lethal knife to Rowena.

Before he could finish his attempt, you screamed, ‘’NO! GET AWAY FROM HER!’’

The reflex on the blade twinkled, everyone’s attention on you. Dean was more nervous than before, Rowena was surprised, and the man looked like he had just heard a joke.

Glaring at you with a superior gaze, he moved his free hand. Instantly, you were slammed against the wall like the Winchesters. You hated it, feeling impotent. The fact that the man who put you through this state appeared to be unbothered himself with that only increased your anger, fear slowly sliding away to give room for your fury.

‘’The rat has a pet, too? How lovely. I might kill you first and then kill her with my knife stained with your blood. How does that sound to you, bitch?’’

‘’Leave her alone!’’ Dean shouted. His eyes never strayed, still connected with the vision of you.

‘’Standing up for the little rat and got a Winchester seal of worry? Forget about just killing you. It’s going to be a long torture. I’m going to make you my little pet before I kill you, bitch.’’

‘’Do you feel more like a man or whatever you are when you call me a bitch? Or when you call her a rat?’’ Your remark came angrily. Who did he think he was? You didn’t notice, but Rowena was searching for something in the book again. ‘’Your little ego gets rubbed when you do that? Maybe you get turned on? You are so fucking annoying, bitch.’’

‘’Respect me, whore.’’ Your throat started to close, the scarcity of air ravaging your lungs. ‘’I’m better than you and her. I’m more powerful than anyone in this room. You should be thankful that I’m directing words towards a little, arrogant slut like you. You fucking b--’’

His words filled all of your body with an intense savage rage. You didn’t think; you just wanted to make him quiet-- to bite back. Your eye color switched to a gloaming green, just like the smoke that filled the bar. An enormous noise was heard; the man had been thrown against the ceiling and then on the floor. His neck was noticeably broken, a pool of blood around his body. The earlier creatures ran away as Dean and Sam fell to the ground.

‘’What the fuck was that?’’ Dean asked, holding his gun up.

You didn’t look at them. You were shocked at yourself, glaring at your trembling hands. Their afterglow dissipated from white and green to the normal color. Your eyes had come back to normal as well, and the smoke was no longer around.

‘’Did I do that? He is dead. He is-- Oh my. What were those things? They weren’t human, right? And he wasn’t a human either? What happened to me? My hands, they--’’

Sam rested his hand on the barrel of Dean’s gun and tilted his hair sideways. You didn’t know what you had just done. You probably weren't aware of your nature. ‘’I’m Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother. She is Rowena, and I think you are like her. A, hm, witch. I guess you didn’t know that, yeah?’’

‘'I am what? No, that’s not possible. I don’t even know if I believe in God-- I’m probably an atheist,” you denied quickly, shaking your head side to side.

‘’Oh, darling. After all that you still believe that there is nothing else but humans?’’ Rowena grinned, empathic to your situation but mainly surprised by your ability.

‘’It’s certainly not the God I was taught to believe in!’’ Your face was pale and your damp eyebrows slightly raised together. ‘’I-- My. Are witches like, the higher power? Are you God?’’

‘’Well, I guess you could--’’

‘’Rowena, no.’’ Sam stopped her. He understood briefly what having a normal life and changing it abruptly to a supernatural one felt like. The way you were acting screamed nervousness. ‘’We were combating demons and a witch. I know that it is strange and surprising, but it’s real. Everything is real. Werewolves, vampires…'' He offered a gentle smile-- friendly, even. "Witches.’’

‘’God too, but He isn’t quite what we learn as kids. Neither are angels. Actually, most are assholes,” Dean tacked on, tucking his gun away under the hem of his shirt. He couldn't believe that he just had hot, sweaty sex with a witch. At least not even you knew that. You glanced at the three of them, completely disoriented.

‘’You are an Alstonia Sympathin. It is very rare. I myself thought your race was extinct,” Rowena said, gaining more confused glares from all of you. ‘’You know, how werewolves have a pureblood line? Well, she is like a pureblood witch.’’

Breathing deeply, you rubbed your throat in a futile attempt to calm yourself. ‘’What does it mean?’’

‘’You are one of the most powerful witches alive, darling.’’ She curved her lips in return, still holding the book to her chest as she answered, ‘’And you haven’t even started yet.’’

289 notes · View notes

sunshine-jack · 3 years

Note

Hi Hi!!! I’m Cilla 👀✨to totally copy you I also identify as a Dean-coded Cas!girl haha!

I’ve been obsessed with adding to My fic rec !

I had coffee and cookies for breakfast ! ✨

If you have a fav fic or one you’ve recently read I’d love to hear about it !

Have a lovely day!!!!

Hi Cilla!!!

I have had 3 cups of tea today and they were all decaf candy cane green tea!

I’m sorry I didn’t respond earlier, I had to run errands and do homework before I could sit and go through my AO3 history to pull out my faves!

(I’m gonna put them all under the cut because I think this might get a little lengthy, oops)

HOOOOOOO boy where to start. I have consumed so many fics recently. It’s pretty much all I did during December.

I’ll start off by saying I really enjoy human!Cas and AUs in general, specifically college ones right now (sue me, I’m in year 6 of undergrad)

I organized these from shortest to longest:

How to Say I Love You With Socks -> Adorable. Pure fluff. All about cute socks.

The IKEA Curse -> If you read any of these, read this one! Very cute!

One White Lie -> Also fluffier. Makes me laugh and cringe simultaneously.

There's Only One Sure Thing That I Know -> Hilarious concept. Very domestic and cute.

Everybody Needs the Light -> I read this one the other day and loved it so much!! Pre-canon Deancas meeting.

And This, Your Living Kiss -> AKA the “Poet Fic”. Incredible. So well done. Made me cry even, and got me to start writing my own poetry!

A Complete Kingdom -> This one is BONKERS. Absolutely incredible read, but READ THE TAG WARNINGS. I read it all in one sitting with a bottle of wine and then was so unsettled by the end I had to watch comfort spn episodes to feel whole again. So good I started describing it to friends who don’t watch spn.

alone together -> Quarantine fic! Very cute, lots of Deancas dumbassery. Will make you look up and say “Oh I get it, they’re both just idiots.”

300cc -> A college AU inspired by the Poet Fic. Gets a little spicy. Very fun, lots of dumbassery, and they use a lot of spn characters really well!

Yellow -> AU where Cas is in witness protection for ratting out his mob family. Very fun read, and Dean is a raging bisexual in this one.

Still Breathing -> High School AU where Cas is in the foster system and gets placed with the Singers! I really like the slow reveal of the backstory in this one. Read the content warnings beforehand! (Also I know I follow this person on here but I can’t remember their blog right now so I’ll tag it later??)

Four Letter Word For Intercourse -> I mean, come on. Of course this one is on the list! VERY spicy. I don’t particularly love smut, but this storyline is SO GOOD. Also one that I described to friends who don’t watch spn, because it’s amazing.

And there you go! Sorry it got so long, but those are the main ones from my recent history that I really enjoyed! I would love it if you wanted to send me any recommendations of your own!!

#julie speaks #ask tag #castielsbeeslippers #HELLO I LOVE YOU

20 notes · View notes

lesbianrobin · 3 years

Note

If you had to rank all the 14 ST characters in the main group from most to least fav what would your ranking look like? (And by main group i mean the characters including murray and erica, and excluding karen, basically everybody involved in the final battle in 3x08)

ok let me preface this by saying that i literally love all of these characters i don't hate any of them okay?? let's go... ascending order for the drama!!

14. murray. no explanation needed. no offense to brett gelman he's phenomenal and i honestly think murray is really funny, but he's more or less just a plot device with some comic relief slapped on top.

now things get spicy <3

13. erica. love her to death! but she's fairly one-dimensional, once again primarily a comic relief character. maybe in s4 she'll get some more depth like the older kids have, but for now she's sort of a default next-to-last :/

12. will... no tea no shade but the kid's barely in the show! i absolutely want good things for him but like. i barely even know him. yknow? he’s only above erica bc he’s gay and she’s a capitalist. also that scene in s1 right before he gets snatched by the demogorgon when he just runs straight to the shed and grabs a goddamn shotgun and loads it fully ready to defend himself... that shit slapped good for him!!

11. this Will be controversial among some and i Know this character is many people's favorite... if you follow me already this is probably not going to surprise you but. nancy. i just think her character is kind of inconsistent, so i have a hard time really clicking with her :/ sometimes i love her and i think she's so cool and funny and hot (that hospital scene in s3... my GOD what a badass!) and other times i would like to fistfight her.

also let me get this out of the way right now: i'm aware that jonathan's character is ALSO super inconsistent!! i know okay??? i know!!!! please nobody judge me for how high rat boy gets on this ranking okay i'm literally making this up as i go along so idk if he's next or if he's like in the top five but i have a disease called Unreasonably Invested In Wildly Speculative Meta-Analysis Of Stranger Things which makes it impossible for me to be normal about jonathan and this is my ranking so i pick the bad taste!!!

10. joyce! i love her bro she's MOM and she tries so fucking hard all the goddamn time and she's so STRONG and kind and adorable... joyce is honestly a very unique and refreshing character ESPECIALLY if you’re considering stranger things within the horror genre which is often defined by these very specific archetypes of mothers and motherhood that i can get into if anyone is interested but like basically. love her <3

9. dustin <3 what an icon... i love him i love how he straight up killed a man and hardly flinched because it was to protect his friends and i love how he and his little girlfriend have a song they sing together and i love how he either has an insanely warped perspective on things due to low self-esteem or he just sometimes flatout lies to gain sympathy either way he’s a BABY and he’s so FUNNY and KIND and even when he’s scared he keeps going... ugh god and i love how even when he doubts his friends’ devotion to him he NEVER ever questions his devotion to them and he never ever considers leaving them behind or not stepping up to help them... he’s so brave!

8. mike is such a fucking BITCH but even more than that he is an ANGEL... literally his range who is doing it like him??? nobody!!!! graffiti’d the bathroom stall at school... hates cops.... what a legend. also i like how fucking goofy and dumb his hair looks in s3. also he’s very soft with his friends and it makes me cry. ALSO he literally stepped off a fucking CLIFF he was ready to DIE FOR DUSTIN and i know all the kids have risked their lives for each other but this wasn’t even a monster yknow this was just... bullies.... threatening his friend..... and mike couldn’t fucking let it happen bro he was ready to just step off the edge to keep dustin safe and it’s SO MUCH... and god the kindness he showed el when they first met!!! he’s a total angel and a total shithead and it’s amazing.

7. lucas my tiny baby hero.... he’s so strong and cool and capable yet at the same time he’s such a COMPLETE dork!!! he very seriously believes his slingshot wrist rocket is a lethal weapon and then he ACTUALLY USES IT AS A LETHAL WEAPON TO SAVE HIMSELF AND HIS FRIENDS!!! he hacks off a giant monster’s freaky tentacle arm thing with an axe to save his friend AND he keeps a bunch of action figures and random dice on his bedside table bro he just thinks they’re neat!!! like... i genuinely love him so much god he cares so much about his friends and he’s so brave and smart and loving... i know he is not tiny anymore but he is my tiny baby hero okay...

6. hopper! big man care for little girl... protect and love kids... dance to dad music... be goofy and hot... have trauma.... admit his faults and attempt to grow from them.... what's not to love?

5. jonathan... look i can’t explain it except that he loves his goddamn baby brother so much and i’m a sucker with extensive headcanons alright!

4. el!!! feral little darling girl!!! i literally cannot articulate the love that floods my heart whenever i see her face or think about her for too long she’s just... so strong but more than that she’s so incredibly KIND!! when she has every reason to be selfish and cruel and yeah at times she does let herself get a little mean but on the whole she’s always so goddamn kind and loving and selfless no matter how afraid she is or how she’s hurting... and i hope that with her powers gone in s4 she’ll maybe learn how to see herself as more than a tool to protect those she loves yknow but that’s off topic skdncmn i just think that el is such an incredible character with such depth!! she can be so grave and mature yet she’s still such an innocent child at the same time, and i think that both the writing and mbb’s acting are handled such that both of these things WORK and feel real and they make el (and her trauma) so believable. i just love her to death.

3. robin, light of my lesbian little life!! unfortunately she's wayyy too much like me to snag the top spot lmao. maybe once we get another season with her she’ll trample the competition but for now my baby is in a solid third place <3 i’ve never seen a lesbian on screen who i felt so accurately represented me and my experiences!! she feels so real and in just one season she’s become one of my favorites on the whole show, and i cannot fucking wait to see what else we learn about her and what development we see from her in s4.

2. as u may have guessed... max!! i know i said this was my subjective opinion but here i’ll just say it: max is objectively one of the best characters on the show. she’s so strong and funny and quick on her feet while harboring some real pain and insecurity at the same time, and both of these aspects of her character are married perfectly, logically connecting to one another and joining with sadie’s incredible acting to create an amazing character who feels just... so real!! i absolutely adore her and i CONSTANTLY tear up just from thinking about her skdncmn...

1. what if my number one wasn't steve. like can y'all imagine???? if i just said like will or some shit???? genuinely i did consider giving max or robin top billing here but i just Can't i've dedicated too goddamn much of my life to steve harrington to deny that he's my one and only. is there anything to say that hasn't already been said? look at the bitch. just look at him.

what other answer could there be?

#asks #em talks #long post #stranger things

26 notes · View notes

fantasticstoryteller · 3 years

Text

New Dynasty Chapter 13

[Way to go idiot.]

{What happened to not killing anyone today?}

“She deserved it,” muttered Wade as he trudged back to the Tower. He was still sick at the thought of what those kids must have gone through—but they were in good hands. As much as he ribbed on Stark, the man would make sure the kids would be safe. Or Pepper would.

[He’s never going to trust us again.]

{Why don’t we bring him food? Used to work when we patrolled together.}

“If we do get him food,” mused Wade, “it’ll have to be enough for everyone.” Maybe some good, greasy food would help wipe away the shadowed looks on those eyes.

[Tacos?]

{I bet those kids have never had spicy food in their lives. We should go bland.}

“Pizza it is!” Fortunately, the best pizza place was on the way to the Tower—and it was his favorite worker behind the counter. “Good Morning Sunshine!” he caroled as he walked in.

The young man rolled his eyes. “Dude, my boss has been getting on to me about the hot sauce.”

“Not to worry,” Wade said expansively. “I’m here to order fifteen—”

[Did you see those kids?]

{What if they have high metabolisms like Peter?}

“Thirty two pizzas. An even mix between cheese and pepperoni, if you please.”

“It’ll be a couple hours.”

[Good. That’ll give Peter some time to forgive us.]

“Perfect.” Wade dropped into a booth. “I’ll be right here.”

In exactly one hour and fifteen minutes Wade paid for the pizzas, piled them high on top of each other, and continued on to the tower.

[This is an accident waiting to happen.]

{Naw, the author wants him there with all the pizzas.}

Wade makes it to the Tower without incident (the author said so), and as he was standing outside the doors actually opened for him. “Guess Friday couldn't see who’s behind the pizzas,” he muttered as he stepped inside.

“Mr. Stark would like to see you in the lab,” the computer informed him.

[Wow. She knew who we were and the doors opened.]

{Where’s the lab?}

“Good question. Friday, where’s the lab?”

In answer the elevator pinged as it opened. It took a moment of desperately shifting (and in the end he had to enter the elevator in a crouch), but he got in without knocking over any of the pizzas.

[I swear these suckers are going to fall.]

{Enough foreshadowing!}

After what seemed an insane amount of time, the elevator doors opened. The crouch thing got all the pizzas outside without knocking over any of the boxes and he took three steps into the hall—only to have a small weight barrel into him from the ceiling, knocking over all the pizzas. He looked up at the weight, to see the girl from earlier clinging to him like a burr, eyes wide and frightened. She was making small, nonverbal sounds of distress and sucking her thumb for dear life.

“Deadpool!” he turned to see Banner and Stark picking their way through the pizza boxes. (Miraculously, none of the boxes had opened to ruin the pizzas against the floor.) “Good, you caught her.”

“Caught her?” asked Deadpool warily. When he entrusted the kids to Stark, this was not what he had imagined.

Banner leaned against the wall, wheezing. “She climbs,” he said.

“She climbs?”

“Walls, ceilings—”

{So that’s why she dropped on us.}

“—don’t know why she freaked out,” continued the doctor.

“Because Pepper’s right,” said Peter as he calmly came towards the group. “You’re both insensitive jackasses,” he added.

“Peter!”

Peter ignored them as he walked over to Wade and the little girl, who was clinging desperately to him. “Hey,” he said gently as he pulled out two tipped cotton swabs. “It’s okay,” he said. “We just want to swab the inside of your mouth, like this.” Peter opened his mouth and ran one along the inside of it before capping it. “See? It doesn’t hurt. Will you let me do that?”

The thumb sucking slowed, and the girl looked at Peter. Then, carefully, as if she was worried he was lying to her, she took out her thumb and opened her mouth. Peter quickly swabbed the inside of it and capped it (keeping it separate from the one he took of himself).

Wade shuffled his feet as he looked at the pizza boxes on the floor. “I brought food,” he muttered.

“These had better not be hot sauce pizzas,” growled Tony.

Wade gasped, both hands going to his cheeks. “Me? Bring hot sauce pizzas?” Tony rolled his eyes and Wade chuckled. “Seriously Tin Can, these are for the kids. I got an even mix of cheese and pepperoni.”

Peter bent and helped Wade pick up the pizzas, the kid on his back clinging like a burr. “What happened?” Wade asked.

Peter rolled his eyes. “It didn’t occur to either of the geniuses over there that the kid might be scared of needles.” He held a stack of pizzas in one expert hand and handed the swabs to Banner.

[He doesn’t seem mad.]

{Look at how he’s keeping all those pizzas steady!}

“Every time I forget you used to deliver pizzas you do something to remind me,” Wade said as the two of them—three of them—head to the elevator again.

Peter chuckled. “If you hadn’t ratted me out, I wouldn't have had to quit.”

“You expect me not to scream to the world that Spiderman delivered my pizza?” Peter rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and the girl on his back relaxed—slightly. She was still clinging like a burr, but didn’t feel like she was trying to burrow through the suit. She was also still sucking her thumb noisily next to his ear.

The elevator opened to chaos. There were children screaming as they ran around and Pepper was chasing one little girl yelling, “Put that down, you’ll poke an eye out!”

“Honey, we’re ho-ome!” caroled Wade as the two of them walked in. “And I brought food!”

Pepper abandoned her chase to look at him and open her mouth. “Kid food,” Peter interrupted before she could speak. “He got pizzas for the kids.” Peter started putting the boxes down on flat surfaces and opening them so that the kids could see the food. The chaos slowed, stilled.

The children stared at the food—but none of them made a move towards it. Pepper took advantage of the silence to go into the kitchen and grab plates. “Once you have a plate you can get pizza,” she said as she started passing out plates. The children stared. The girl on Wade’s back didn’t move at all. Pepper made a slightly exasperated snort, grabbed one of the children, steered the child towards the pizza, and then put several slices on the plate. “Sit down and eat,” she ordered.

The child sat, right there, and began to eat. Pepper moved along giving the same orders to each child—and each child responded the exact same way. Soon the only child that wasn’t eating was the one on Wade’s back.

“You know,” Wade said to the kid, “you can eat too.”

Fingers, which had released their grip, suddenly dug into his suit and the thumb sucking got more pronounced. Peter gently pried her fingers out of the leather. “Listen,” he said, “Deadpool isn’t going anywhere—”

“I’m not?”

“—and will still be here after you eat. You can eat.” The girl looked up at Peter, with wide amber eyes, still clearly frightened. Slowly, she crawled off Wade’s back and slid down the suit to his lap. Peter handed her a plate of pizza and the girl inhaled. Wade wasn’t sure she was pausing for breath, but she didn’t seem to be choking.

“She seems to feel safe with Deadpool,” Pepper commented.

“Yeah, I think she should come home with us.”

[Wait, what?]

{Isn’t he mad about the whole killing thing earlier?}

“Is that a good idea?” asked Wade as the kid continued to eat in his lap.

“Sure it is. We have three rooms.”

[Oh, boy.]

{At least he’s not mad at us.}

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

5 notes · View notes

coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Blood Sister | Feeding Habits Update #5

Hey People of Earth!

Are we back for another Feeding Habits update? Today let’s chat chapter six!

Blood Sister is the first chapter in Harrison’s POV and also the longest chapter in the book (a little over 8k words). It took me about a month to write!

Scene A:

Harrison gets back to the NYC apartment he shares with his mother after running errands to ward off either the spirit that haunts their walls or to rescue whatever is stuck in them. His mother preps for a dinner as Harrison has invited his old pal Reeve over.

Scene B:

Harrison removes a litter of kittens from behind the drywall. One of the kittens is dead. Strangely, a German Shepherd puppy is also in the litter.

Scene C:

Reeve appears in a glamorous blur and makes an interesting first impression on Suz who seems slightly stunned and endeared by her.

Scene D:

At dinner Reeve confronts Harrison about his “straight-edge” lifestyle since moving to NYC and he realizes her judgements about his life being monotonous are very true--he lacks purpose.

Scene E:

Harrison and his mother clear the dishes and Suzanna confronts him on the fact that he hasn’t told her that Reeve is in fact Lonan’s sister. Suz knows the boys’ relationship is complicated, and plays Devil’s advocate by outright asking Reeve how her brother is. Reeve, who hasn’t seen Lonan longer than Harrison, has assumed Lonan lives with them or is close by, and feels semi-betrayed that Harrison has kept his whereabouts a secret.

Scene F:

Reeve and Harrison drive to a garden and he’s reminded of the event that lead to him and his mother’s return to the east coast.

Harrison meets Winona outside a convenience store, the same woman Lonan meets in ch.6 of Moth Work. She takes him to her mansion where she’s hosting a party and introduces him to her husband. Harrison makes multiple bad decisions which you can probably figure out for yourself!

Scene G:

Harrison wakes up in Winona’s house and is confused to see her and her husband standing over his leather jacket. If we remember what happened in ch. 6 of Moth Work, Lonan gets beat up by Winona’s husband and has Harrison’s jacket & angel chain stolen. We can assume from this scene that Winona has a) recognized the jacket and b) chosen him to come back to her house for the purpose of also beating him up (which happens).

Scene H:

Reeve and Harrison jump a fence into a garden to give the dead kitten an unorthodox “water burial” in the garden’s fountain. Reeve confronts him on why no one has seemed to care about her whereabouts for the last year, and also suggests the only reason he wanted to see her now is because he misses Lonan. Harrison miserably drinks too much wine.

Scene I:

Harrison wakes up in the cold, very drunk, and Reeve is gone. A security guard looms over him. Harrison asks the confused man if he thinks he was separated at birth. Harrison isn’t referring to feeling like he’s been removed from a sibling bond, like the kittens, but a deeper, “indissoluble bond” formed between two people (like the kittens and the puppy). This connects to the title “Blood Sister” as Reeve suggests she and Suzanna may be connected in this way, to the kittens, and to Lonan and Harrison.

This idea of “indissoluble bonds” was reinforced when I listened to Stephanie Harlowe’s coverage on the Parker-Hulme case, and this was the title of her video! This idea of an immutable connection between two people who are forever separated, like the dead kitten despite its death, still being connected to its siblings, was very relevant to how Harrison feels about Lonan.

Excerpts:

Here’s the entire first scene <3

Something has died in the drywall. Suz insists there must also be a ghost—she hears cries when she sleeps—so when Harrison returns to their apartment with both a handsaw and a bottle of holy water, she’s more than pleased.

Today, it snows in New York City, and no amount of brushing off his hair and jacket rids him of the snowflakes he tracks in. His face stings with the bitter early March air, and he’s resettled easily into the east coast grit; he likes the taste of instant coffee and the smell of gasoline.

Harrison shoulders off his jacket, the leather rigid with frost, and undoes the loop of his scarf one-handed. The apartment smells overwhelmingly of cloves and apple peel, and he is unsurprised when his mother rushes over to him, flushed from the kitchen heat, her #1 Dad apron bunching at her hips, and pushes a highball glass into his palm in exchange for his findings.

“It’s a secret recipe,” she says, twiddling through his errands. Suzanna lifts the bottle of holy water to eye level, unscrews its cap, and daps two soaked fingers to her lips just as he dips his fingers into the glass, around its rim, and then into his mouth. The hot mull of liquid bursts against his taste buds, citrusy. “Wish I believed in this shit as much as I believe nutmeg is my new holy saviour.”

Harrison downs the rest of the glass’s contents, the cider’s spice grafting down his throat. Its heat clings to the roof of his mouth, a subtle burn that numbs his tongue, but he likes it, its sweetened acid like a rucking back to life.

“Is that the secret?” He runs his pinky along the base of the glass so the last drops of liquid climb up his fingernail.

“The Lord?”

Harrison laughs and accepts the holy water she hands him, rescrews its cap in place. “Nutmeg.”

Suzanna takes his empty glass and whisks toward the kitchen. On the stove burbles two saucepans and one Dutch oven, the fan whirring like the pleats of an accordion.

“Maybe it’s both,” she says.

You asked for the entire second scene? Here Harrison finds the litter of kittens:

The first thing Harrison removes when he saws through the drywall lining the two-prong outlet is a dead kitten. Its body shifts onto his hand with damp weight, like an overripe pear, its silver hair glass-like under the beam of his flashlight. Though it sits comfortably in the pit of his palm, though he knows he cannot kill or revive it, his first instinct is to lay it on the beach towel Suzanna laid out because he fears he’ll crush it with just one pulse of his thumb.

Its eyes are the size of his pinkie nail, gently shuttered like it’s drifted to a lawless sleep. The animal will remain in this state—only death, but as he looks at it, braying its hairs back with his forefinger, he considers alternative options. Harrison knows little of necromancy, but considers anointing it with the holy water, lighting a red-cased candle in front of it, chanting a verse from Revelations.

With the flashlight secured between his molars, Harrison pulls out four more kittens, all that mew as they cling to his fingers, their noses twitching against his skin like it’s feed. They burrow into the beach towel, trampling over one another with blind fervency, all shimmery silver. In comparison to their deceased sibling, they wriggle, pink-nosed, and don’t settle against the grain of the towel, always wagging, like earthworms.

Harrison believes he’s done—removed the dead animal and rescued four more. Good work which he’ll take to a farm just outside the city—Suzanna has a friend. He’s nearly clicked off the flashlight when he sees it, just a subtle glint of something else—an animal that isn’t silver, but a dry brown.

At first, he thinks it’s a rat that’s raked through the walls to where it is now, but the longer he shines the flashlight, the more he sees it is not a rat, or even a kitten. What sits, jittering behind the outlet, is a pup.

Like the kittens, its nose twitches back and forth, its eyes small enough to be the ovular black beads on Suzanna’s rosary which hangs, decorative, above the front entrance. “It’s a cleanse for the spirit,” Suz said when he questioned her reasoning for bringing religious memorabilia into a house of two atheists. “Dianne from church told me.” Dianne is a beer-bellied schoolteacher, proud pothead and mother of four who frequently volunteers at the church’s weekend functions with his mother. “She’s into that kind of thing. Seances. Jesus Christ. I think she mentioned they had something spicy going on in college.”

“Something spicy?”

“Spicy. Like hot wings. Habaneros. One-night stands. I don’t know Harry, it sounded illicit.”

They both grinned.

Harrison does not know when him and Suz began getting along. There was no one date or time, no anniversary to look forward to for their official reunion. One moment he struggled not comparing her face to the one he knew in his early teens, and the next, they crouched over a salad bowl of burnt popcorn, taking turns painting each other’s fingernails with the same shade of red nail polish—Crazy for Carmine

The dog can’t yet focus its eyes on anything, but Harrison swears it stares at him. It fidgets from its position crouched on the outlet, so when he extends his hand, an offering, he’s surprised when it crouches onto the tip of his finger, shimmying into his palm. It’s even smaller when he holds it, plum-sized, and velveteen. Its eyelids flicker like the apartment’s bad TV signal, and when it opens its mouth to cry, its teeth, no larger than the tip of a toothpick, prick up.

“You’re not a tabby,” he says, drags his fingers through the suede-like gloss of its fur. The pup curls against his knuckles, murmurs languidly until Harrison pets its head again.

“Did you say something, Harry?”

Harrison stands from his crouch when his mother materializes from her bedroom, the animal still pared delicately in his palm. When he glances at her, he’s surprised to see she’s changed out of her usual loungewear, a tank top and bell-bottoms, and into a patterned shirtdress that sways to her knees. The Matisse-like design, organic shapes, all the colour of a celery stalk, drapes to her knees, flounces when she twirls for him.

“I thought we agreed on business casual,” he says, but smiles wider the longer he looks at her. Tulle gathers in a funnel down her waist, pluming her so she looks less like his mother and more like a fairy.

“I’m taking the business side, and you’ll take the casual.”

“She’s just a friend, Mom. She’s not expecting anything.”

“She’s got an English last name,” Suz says. Her eyelids glitter with gold pigment, her lips tacky with rouge. “Of course she’s classy.”

Harrison thumbs the back of the pup’s head and shifts closer to Suzanna when she cocks her head toward it.

“I think Reeve is more than classy,” he says. “Maybe stylish. Exclusive. Superior. Glamorous.”

Suzanna shifts the pup from Harrison’s hands to her own, neatly patting its head with her pinkie until its murmurs soften. When she holds the animal, it’s like he no longer stands behind her. It’s just her in her Matisse dress and the dog, comfortably blinking in her hand. “You found a puppy in a litter of kittens?” she says, less of a question, and more of a declaration of wonderment. She lifts the animal to eye level. Its nose wrinkles, like the skin of a fig. “Looks like mama picked up a stray. A beautiful stray. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Reeve making only iconic appearances:

Reeve appears in their doorway wearing cat-eye sunglasses, a bottle of pinot noir slatted between her arm and chest. Though it’s been storming since early morning and there has been no sun in the city since the week previous, her appearance is so believable—cheekbones subtly tanned like she’s mastered the timing for a perfect sunlike glow, the sunglasses teetering neatly on the tip of her nose and staying there, like they’re a dog she’s taught to sit and stay—that Harrison’s almost convinced she commissions the sun to come out twice daily for a private show, just for her.

“We booked an appointment,” she says, letting herself into the apartment in a faux-fur blur.

Harrison swivels as she unzips, tooth by tooth, the red skin-slick vinyl of her gogo boots. Her hair falls in an untamed fringe around her forehead, the front sections pinned back by an array of rainbow-coloured butterfly clips. It mimics the fray of her jacket, fluffed around the hood’s perimeter.

Reeve dusts snow off her corduroy culottes, readjusts the collar of her black turtleneck. “When I moved to the city, I forgot how gruelling the winters can become.” She taps the heels of her boots onto the welcome mat so slush flakes onto the rubber before slipping her feet out elegantly, like Cinderella. “I almost believed New York City existed in a fictional bubble where everything remained dry and hot, like in Egypt, or the Mojave. When I asked for a hellish climate, I was hoping for sun and the occasional forest fire. Not ice and more ice.”

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” Suz speaks where Harrison’s words shrivel. She steps from the kitchen to the entrance, her dress flouncing when she extends a hand toward Reeve. “William Shakespeare.”

Reeve looks up. The cold has pinched her cheeks pink, drooled water to her eyes so when she blinks, tears sprout to her jawline. “Suzanna,” Reeve says, and embraces his mother with willful ease, like they’ve been girlfriends for a decade, like they purchase pavlova from the same patisserie at the same time on Thursdays, like they help each other whip perfectly fatty meringues at the same baking class so they can master the same pavlova and never buy it again. “I’ve heard nothing about you and yet I feel we’ve known each other for years. What do they call that? Blood sisters.”

So here’s the whole third scene lol:

At dinner, Reeve pops the cork of a bottle of pinot noir with her teeth before Suz tells her she and Harrison don’t drink. She’s in the middle of saying she’s a prophet, the bringer of wine, her lips parted around the cork, traces of her lip gloss gumming around its circumference.

“No alcohol?” Reeve says, spitting the cork into her palm so a glob of red transfers onto her skin.

Suz stirs a serving dish of clams with an olive wood spoon, their shells phosphorescent in the artificial light. “Harry and I have taken a break from spirits. Except for the holiest one of course.” She points to the roof as if signaling to the man upstairs and dishes a spoonful of clams onto Reeve’s plates, the shells chiming against the ceramic.

“That’s so reverent.” Reeve pricks the edge of a clam with a toothpick and swallows its frill into her mouth. “So virginal.”

Harrison accepts a spoonful of clams from his mother and adjusts a sprig of rosemary so it lies perpendicular to the plate’s edge. Olive oil gums under his fingernails and soaks into the fibres of a slice of bread he rips at the crust.

“I always assumed you’d be a partier if you ever moved back to the city,” Reeve says, and it takes Harrison a moment to realize she’s speaking to him. “Disco. Karaoke. Cocktails. Men who buy you cocktails.”

“Has that been your life in New York, Reeve?” Harrison sucks a lobe of clam between his lips. Its brine coats his tongue in a burst of salt and cilantro.

Reeve tips the bottle of wine to her mouth, its red gift bow shifting, silverish with light. “You could say that. I just expected more. Not that your life now is boring. But I assumed there would be more glamour.”

Harrison sops up a dribble of oil onto a shear of bread, and says something like, “I thought so too,” before swallowing.

“We have glamour,” Suz says as Harrison absently eats more clams. She points to the chandelier the two found at the bottom of a New Jersey dumpster, yet to be installed, sitting in its crystal glory on the floor. She explains the story of how it came to be as Harrison eats and listens for the mewing of the kittens, thinks about their one dead sibling that now lies curled inside a shoebox, separated in eternal rest.

Reeve is not wrong. Life in New York City has been far from glamorous. He shares this apartment with his mother who pays for all of the rent—it’s been months since Harrison could hold down a steady job. He tries with odds and ends—repairing a neighbour’s bathroom sink, tacking sconces up outside the apartment for a hundred bucks. His room is a décor-less box that smells like wallpaper even though it’s sanded smooth and painted with two coats of an eggshell-finished oatmeal white. There is no dancing, no music, no colour, no partying, no alcohol or men with alcohol. Not anymore, at least. Her statement should not sting—this is the utter truth. The apartment is repetitive shades of indistinctive creams, furniture he and his mother pick up off the curbs of wealthy homeowners, incomplete, yet his home, nonetheless. No matter the story Suz tries to spin—look at the exposed brick, look at the counter space, look at the custom-moulded baseboards the previous renters installed—he knows what Reeve has said is true. Life in the city is comfortable but monotonous—an unrelenting kind of normal.

“We found kittens,” Harrison says, promptly interrupting the women’s conversation that has quickly moved away from the apartment to their favourite places to eat gelato. Suz’s clam drifts off her toothpick; Reeve almost chokes on a gulp of wine. Harrison swipes a chunk of bread through olive oil and chews. “That’s glamorous.”

Reeve sets the wine bottle back onto the dinner table and folds her hands over the other. Her manicure is chipped, just the remnants of a tortoiseshell marble. “What kind? Calico?”

“They’re just kittens. And a dog.”

“You found a dog in a litter of kittens?”

Harrison eats one last clam and finishes his portion of bread. “Glamorous,” he says, his mouth half-full.

The beginning of scene 4:

While Suz and Reeve discuss room décor and clear the plates, Harrison checks on the kittens. Dishes clank rhythmically as they’re soaped, rinsed, dried, the ceramic whimpering in time with the kittens. He hasn’t named any but understands their differences. Though the quadruplets share the same silver coat, one has a slightly larger nose than the rest, one has a fleck of gold in its blue eye, one has pinstripes scrolled across its forehead like a branch of lightning—small details like this differentiate them.

In his palm, the one with the golden eye crawls, its underbelly sateen. Tomorrow, he’ll make the drive just outside Brooklyn where he’ll drop the kittens off at an old farmhouse. Suz’s friend from rehab is selling it, some Theodore Harvey, but his wife fosters animals, and was delighted to have the new additions. Though he hasn’t spoken to his mother about this arrangement, he also knows tomorrow he will keep the dog. Juniper, he’s named her—June with the eyes like a solstice.

When his mother pokes him, he jumps, and the kitten shimmies off his palm.

The sounds of dishes clinking morphs into the filmy mutter of a talkshow Reeve watches, sipping absently at her gifted bottle of red wine.

She nudges a pastry into his hand, where the kitten once sat, the skin of the pasteis de nata oiling his hand. He crunches into it as she watches patiently, as if waiting for a review, and its caramel flavour ruminates on his tongue.

“This is good,” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

“$4.99.” Suz smiles and takes a nibble herself. “For six.”

Together they stand over the kittens, passing the tart back and forth until Harrison gives the final piece to his mother. The apartment whirs with the calculated singe of automated laughter and the purr of the kittens. He knows one sits dead in a shoebox on his bedroom dresser. The ground too hard to dig, a burial still necessary.

Suz licks a crumb from her thumb and wipes her palms along the skirt of her dress. Their focus shifts to Reeve who lies sprawled against the two-seater, yelling something at a contestant on the show who’s gotten an answer wrong—tulip, not two lips. That’s fabulous. You are fabulously a failure.

“You didn’t tell me she was Lonan’s sister.”

Harrison pokes at a flake of pastry and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans. Reeve’s bangles clatter in a cyan jangle as she applauds at the same contestant she previously ridiculed. There are so many things he could say to his mother—he knew Reeve first, Reeve isn’t just Lonan’s sister to him, more like his own, but when he adjusts himself, swallowing and tidying the hem of his shirt, all that comes out is, “I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“I would’ve like to,” Suz says. “Does she know? That you don’t know where he is?”

Harrison’s fingernail catches on a loose thread, and he yanks it out so even Reeve glances back at its upholstered plink. “I know where he is, Suzanna.”

Reeve and Suz being icons (direct continuation from the above):

Harrison turns back to the kittens who plow over one another like ants. Heat flushes his throat, prickles his cheeks and ears and suctions like a vacuum. Though Suzanna eventually leaves, joining Reeve on the couch, propping her feet on the same coffee table so their polished feet touch, toes pink like raw cherry tomatoes, though he knows they’re both right in knowing and not knowing where Lonan is, though he knows it should no longer matter to him, he finds himself leaning against the table where the kittens encase each other in a plastic shoe bin, ticking his fingers at his side.

He does not know what the reality television show is about. From the blots he hears from the TV’s can-like speaker, he concludes it’s something about botany, love, vengeance, fertilizer. No one theme—it does not even know what it is itself. Suz has materialized with another tart, and she and Reeve nibble at it with fervency, so close, their tongues almost touch as they dart across the custard. The sight is almost viper-like, their teeth notched forward, and it should be venomous, or at its worst—friendly, but all Harrison sees is girlish, maternal intimacy.

Suz and Reeve laugh at a contestant who wears a tartan printed jumpsuit and mismatching earrings—one the shape of a pineapple, the other an urn-like bead she claims holds the ashes of her great aunt. They outline her figure with their pinkies. They clutch each other’s hands. They flush like beets and wipe crumbs from each other’s mouths.

Reeve’s momentary lapse into delicacy:

Harrison turns his back and pretends to tend to the kittens. They all know he does nothing but thumb the backs of their heads, let them suckle against his fingertips—they all know, and yet, he continues doing it. Silence cuts through the apartment like hot glass.

If Reeve and Suzanna still touch toes, it’s because neither want to loosen the other’s pride. The only sound in the room belongs to the television which has moved away from dishwashing to a watering hose—four for four, as if this is a discount, as if anyone will truly need that many watering hoses.

“I haven’t seen your brother since late August,” Harrison says once the commercials simmer back to the gaudy laughter of the reality television show. At first, he doesn’t look at Reeve. He knows what he’ll see—some form of betrayal. She didn’t come here looking for Lonan. She hasn’t even asked for him, but he knows what he’ll see when he looks at her. Best friends do not keep secrets.

When he concedes, he is right. Reeve looks at him from under a thick smear of kohl, her eyes focused, like slate beads. Her lips are pink from wine and she unhinges a fleck of opal nail polish from her thumb. Her mouth does not move, a straight line that cranks with her jaw.

“Where is he?” she asks, fluttering her lashes when Suz pats her arm. If Harrison is right, Reeve hasn’t see her brother since she peered in on him when the two shared the tent, pearled a few smoke rings from Harrison’s cigar, and left for the east coast. Before he left, Foster filled him in on the details of her eventual cross-country desertion, though there weren’t many. How he’d last seen her at the motel, a margarita wobbling in her palm, what she’d said to him, to stay special, that there weren’t many people like him left, and how she had vanished like vapour by the time they realized to check. While Reeve hiked across the country by herself, he and Lonan swam through nighttide and badly waltzed in a four-by-four bathroom. She made an anonymous life in New York City, hailing cabs with just her eyes, and learning the easiest ways to shoplift. Alone. Her last memory of Lonan one where he pretended to sleep so he didn’t have to say goodbye to her.

“Las Vegas the last time I saw him,” Harrison says. He feels the urge to apologize for something, to hug her, or cry. Though her expression unbends from severe back to her perfected mould of glitzy conviction, her momentary lapse into delicacy startles him. He looks back to the kittens who seem more interested in themselves than him.

Reeve tightens her grip around the neck of the wine bottle and tactfully sips, her pinkie erect, her lips pursed just the right amount. “What happened?” she asks and sets the bottle onto the coffee table. She lets a dribble of wine fall from her mouth so she can dab at it like a wounded animal.

Harrison and Reeve in the car:

Harrison brings the box with the dead kitten and Reeve brings the bottle of pinot noir. Together, they settle in her red Beetle convertible, a car she insists she pawned for a quarter its listing price, though he figures from the way she settles in it, carefully placing the wine bottle in the cup holder, wiping her hands on her thighs as if checking for grease, that it must belong to a roommate or boyfriend, if she has either. The car smells faintly of pineapple and vanilla, a scent not unfamiliar to him, the waft strengthening as the tree-shaped air-freshener swings closer to him with every turn.

Reeve asks vaguely of his time in the city, how life has been for him and his mother since they moved from Vegas in mid October. Her mouth flutters with speech, each word like the hull of a hard candy she specially tastes before sharing. Has it been marvellous, just as you thought? Don’t you ever wonder how a city could become so brilliant? Isn’t the weather maddening? Don’t you adore it? She asks about Foster, what living with him was like, what saying goodbye to him the week previous was like—was it tragic—and he could tell her his move in with him and his mother wasn’t much of a plan—not a last resort either, but a salvaging. A necessary resuscitation. Reeve’s lips as dubious as shadow puppets.

Here’s some of the flashback with Winona at the convenience store:

The woman stood under the hex of the convenience store’s light, spooling her in a feverish blue. The sun had been down for hours, but its residual heat clung to Harrison’s arms in tacky gusts that wound up his fingers. Like the woman, he reached for his cigarettes. Vehicles spun across the highway just beyond the gas station, and when he raised his head after lighting the cigarette, the woman was staring at him.

“Aren’t you too young to be out without a parent or guardian?” she asked. Her hair was the colour of his mother’s candlesticks, a waxy boxed red. Her rings waggled in the false light.

“Maybe,” he said, a curl of smoke looping out of his mouth. “Can’t remember which life I’m on. There are so many. I could be ninety-seven. Tomorrow might be my birthday.”

It was September in Las Vegas. White licks of car exhaust laced the black sky, and though it wasn’t cold, Harrison pulled his jacket tighter around his chest.

Winona tries to figure out whether or not Harrison is a local by getting to know his eyes/face lol:

Harrison dropped the butt of his cigarette and stomped out its embers. When it was fully out, he fit his hands into his jacket pocket and approached the woman. Up close, her trench coat was pebbled with lint, a bead from her charm bracelet missing. She crushed her cigarette too, and when her hands were free, she stepped toward him with both palms out, and pressed them to his cheeks so he felt both the heat of her skin and the watery bite of her jewelry. She examined each plane of his face as if they were sides of a prism. Her perfume, a vinegary sort of citrus, stung his eyes the closer she got, the fur of her jacket’s trim brushing his chin when she pressed to her toes for a better look.

“You could be so many things,” she said, tilting his jaw at the same moment her pinkie slid from the jab of his nose bridge to his top lip. She pushed her face closer to his and inhaled, her plastic nail marking his skin with a pixel of glitter. “You’ve got the face of an angel. Which means you’re good. You’re sacred. You’re discreet.” When her finger poked into his mouth, her knuckle snagged on his canines. “Could also mean you’re a fraud. A criminal. You know, Lucifer wasn’t always the fallen angel.”

A bit of the party:

Winona’s front lawn was manicured, cropped neat at its soil scalp. Clusters of people huddled in different places—four gargling in the stone fountain just before the iron gate, two drinking from three martini glasses at once, a group of on their backs, arms wound like a wicker basket, shot glasses teetering between their teeth like human serving tables.

Winona parked opposite the house that pulsed with light. Harrison got out when she did, and with ease, she punched into the gate, leading him past her perfect lawn, her party guests, as if they were simply garden statues.

Inside, more people concentrated, all stopping Winona for a moment to say hello as she passed. She moved in a way only the owner of a house would, her strides easy, like she knew exactly where to take him and when.

“I know it’s busy,” Winona said, adjusting her volume for the holler of party guests. “I promise it’s always like that. Who is it that says we need partners for life? God or my therapist? This is that but every week. You meet so many people.”

Harrison listened to her haphazardly. Though he’d been in Las Vegas for a month, he hadn’t been out except for a few errands at the grocery store or for cigarettes, despite his mother’s insistence he quit. The party was overwhelming. Bass from the stereo caught him by the throat and held him there as he and Winona threaded through her house that seemed closer to a mansion. The interior smelled like cleaning bleach and fruit cocktails, and he could hardly walk without someone rearing into him. He should’ve left, known better, done better, but it thrilled him, every moment of the party’s chokehold.

When Winona pushed through her French doors and out to the back pool, Harrison tailed her closely, unsure he’d be able to keep pace if he lost sight of her, even for a moment. The backyard smelled artificially floral, like orchids, tuberose, the grassy melt of citronella candles.

Some of my fave Harrison dialogue:

“You should’ve told me you were into vintage. Cheap but chic. I like it, angel.” Her ring finger smushed into his jaw, and then against his hairline.

“What’s vintage about me?”

Winona laughed, though her eyes remained glass-like. “Your jacket, of course. You’re thrifty. Into second-hand.”

~~theme makes an appearance:

It was only later, when he stumbled, bloody knuckled, through their front door, stepping over partygoers and martini glasses, that he understood. He hadn’t come to the party thinking about Lonan but managed to attract the same people. He hadn’t drunk the magenta liquid thinking about him but managed to exit the house stumbling, as he did, his knees knotted like a newborn lamb. There was something inconceivably indissoluble about them—their bond mirror-like, one making one decision, and the other mimicking it with vigour, unknowingly inseparable.

God tier denial:

“What do you miss about him?”

Harrison blinks. He hasn’t expected her to speak to him again, in fact he’s pictured the night whittling into gauzy silence, them setting the box afloat in the fountain, and then leaving once more, wordless. Reeve drinks another sip of wine. Its scent stings, like earthy cranberries.

“I don’t,” he says, which is a lie, and they both know it. Harrison has never been a good liar, but especially a bad liar around Reeve who’s always managed to snuff out the truth. She looks at him in absolutes, like she sees his every answer scraped into his cheek and doesn’t need to check his work. Her eyes are feline and rimmed with kohl and aquamarine mica—she doesn’t need anyone to tell her the truth because she holds it in her fist. “He has a girlfriend. He’s happy.” Harrison rations more wine down his tongue, three times as much as he’s intended to drink.

“But what do you miss about him?”

Harrison misses nothing. He sleeps little and smokes too much because he misses nothing. He walks by himself, eats by himself, talks to himself because he misses nothing. He jumps from job to job, person to person, place to place because he misses nothing. He wakes up in dazes the colour of blackberries because he misses nothing. He blinks dreams from his eyelashes like they’re bad spells because he misses nothing. He holds himself, he drinks himself, he leaves no company for anyone because he misses nothing about Lonan. He misses absolutely nothing.

Harrison sits up and lifts the dead kitten’s box. He feels Reeve’s gaze when he lowers it into the fountain, the box giving into the slosh of water, and feels her gaze once more when he sits back and drinks more wine. The moon makes him miserable, its silver gloat like a reminder, of how easy it would be to look at it and see Lonan’s face appear in its dime. He doesn’t register how much he drinks, just that it feels better than not drinking. He doesn’t register that Reeve never takes the bottle, that it’s just him and its open gape of wine. As the kitten swirls around the fountain, he tries not to think of its siblings back at the apartment, all mottled over each other like burrs. An unbreakable bond, and what that means, even as one of them sits alone, gurgling along the current of a fountain.

If you didn’t ask for angst before, you sure did now:

He does not remember falling asleep, and so waking up feels illusory, shimmery, like a mirage. He focuses on dart of yellow light and a man wearing a security uniform telling him he can’t be here, here being the garden, past the fence, under the fountain. Snowflakes have clumped against his eyelashes and he blinks twice to dislodge them. The man must ask him if he’s intoxicated, never noticing the shoebox floating in the fountain, because Harrison says, “Who’s to say? I miss so many things,” and isn’t talking about the bottle of wine or Reeve that both seem to have vanished, as if they were never there. Harrison blinks again, searching for Reeve’s outline somewhere in the crisp bushel of dead foliage, but she never reappears—has he imagined the entire thing, or is she magical, effervescent, invisible? What was the last thing she said? Drink it all. It’s good for you. It’s like your own personal healing tonic.

“Do you think it’s possible I was separated at birth?” Harrison asks the security guard, who leads him by the elbow out past the iron gate and into the parking lot where he stumbles over a patch of glazy slush and onto his knees.

“Are you a twin?”

Harrison draws his index finger through the slush, doodling nonsense—letters of his name, an eyeball, a singular, faceless nose. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Your twin?”

Harrison shakes his head.

Snow and slush dredge his jeans and the hem of his jacket; a streetlamp filters him and the security guard in foamy yellow. His skin has numbed from sitting out in the cold too long, and in some places, prickles with heat, like the fritz of pine needles. Reeve has dissolved in the fresh spatter of snow that settles on the pavement, his fingers. The fur fringe of her hood gone, the slick of her boots. She will not be here tomorrow. He may never see her again, and yet this is not what makes him ache in the way he does.

His hands move for him. Dividing the snow in slopes, curves, lines—letters. When he’s finished, he rests his chin on his own shoulder and dries the slop of slush from his nail. The security guard leans over, bends down to get a better look, but Harrison doesn’t have to look to know what he’s written. Chiselled so the flurries fill its gaps, like cement. His name will be erased by dawn. Lonan.

So that’s it for this very, very long update! See you for chapter seven!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #mothwork #feedinghabits

28 notes · View notes

thefallenangelsgang · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Meme Tag (oh boy)

@just-another-wasteland-merc tagged me for this and let me tell you I am honored. I don’t even have a fic out yet and here she is. I’m tagging my best friend and rumored gay lover (when will that rumor ever die?) @helena-bug, all around fandom mom and lover of Macready @theartofblossoming, and newcomer to my feed and lovely person @dumbwastelander. And anyone else who wants to do this can name me as their challenger if they so wish!

Name:

Sm0lp0tat0

Fandoms:

Lets consolidate this to things I write for, shall we? Fallout, The Hunger Games, and Minecraft Diaries (mainly for nostalgia factor I’m probably not going to post it anytime soon)