#YOU TREAT ELEVEN? SOMEHOW YOU THINK HE'S TALKING ABOUT WANTING MORE THAN JUST FRIENDSHIP? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahiddenpath · 3 years

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If you could give Daisuke, Miyako, and Iori their own crests, what would they be?

This is a really tough one! I do love that they “inherited” crests; the whole “these kids gets mentors” was so cute? A great way to bring back the older kids in a meaningful way. I personally think the 02 crew “had it together” in ways the original crew... kind of didn’t, lol! But they did have a lot of benefits (ability to go home, Koushiro as an advisor, mentors, two members who already knew what was going on, etc).

I also really love the observation that Adventure emphasized individual development (finding and earning and internalizing their crest traits, evolution is triggered by understanding yourself) and 02 emphasized team development (jogress/evolution triggered by strong bonds between teammates, inheriting wisdom from the ones who came before). So... I guess I hate to mess with that? But I do also see the appeal of giving them their own traits...

THIS GOT INCREDIBLY LONG, but it’s a really cool post, I think! So please read on beneath the cut!

Daisuke

Honestly, I think miracles works pretty well? I’ve heard people say that Daisuke just... Does whatever he wants/follows his gut, and it tends to work out; ie he’s more “lucky” than “an effective leader.”

Personally, I... Truly admire Daisuke’s faith and optimism and just... Just raw belief in everyone? I have anxiety, so sometimes my brain loves to tell me that a thing I’ve done a million times with no problems will somehow explode in my face. Can you imagine just... Choosing to always believe, and acting like everything will be okay? I don’t mean “sticking your head in the sand and going LALALA THIS IS FINE,” I mean taking action without hesitation, even when things are scary.

Like, yeah, maybe that’s not always valid IRL- you need to plan and be realistic and accept and reevaluate when your plan isn’t working- although I’d argue that Daisuke learned to do that over the course of the series (I remember him saying the team should rest at some point, and everyone was surprised that he didn’t want to press on, except Ken).

But I also maintain that Daisuke’s ability to believe in himself, his team, and just a general “things will be okay” is what creates success that almost seems... miraculous!

Also, I think he is suuuch a great meld of courage and friendship, because he pushes on when things are scary (courage) and is able to do so because he believes in everyone (friendship).

So, I’m thinking something like faith/confidence/trust. And having listed some similar-ish words...

I’m going with trust.

What incredible things you can do, when you believe in yourself, your team, and the future.

Miyako

I’ve seen other people assign her the crest of “passion,” which I think is great!

I think the thing about Miyako is that she’s, like... Always on, always 150%, so dynamic and vibrant and just... her cup overflows with energy and... Miyako-ness.

It’s clear to see how she relates to her “purity” side. It took me a long time to understand what I think the crest of purity means, thanks to a lot of... ickiness around the word “pure” in western tradition, which is also why I am loathe to throw the word “innocence” into my definition. Basically, I think the crest of purity means that Mimi and Miyako don’t dissemble/hide how they really feel. You’re always getting their raw, honest truth. And, because Mimi in particular is spoiled, she can come off as childish- which is where people like to throw in the word “innocent.”

[The general selfishness of children is related to them not knowing yet that they aren’t the center of the world- psychologically; Freud would call it “being ruled by the id.” It’s just a developmental stage, and doesn’t really indicate actual selfishness. You know how Winnie the Pooh is a sweetheart, but can make things miserable for other people by just assuming he can help himself to everything?]

But Mimi also displays a child’s heart in terms of being kind and sweet and sensitive and wanting to help... and then swinging back towards the id at the drop of a dime, lol!

Like Mimi, Miyako is very comfortable giving her opinion and drawing attention to herself, and she doesn’t seem to be holding herself back... But we do eventually see that things can weigh on her, and that she’s sometimes putting up a front when her energy actually isn’t at 150%.

I think the “love” part is a bit harder to pin down, but then... The word “love” is incredibly vague, and means a million different things to different people, which is why I kind of hate discussing the crest of love! I like to think of it as “the crest of compassion” to focus discussions; sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it.

It’s kind of funny to think of Miyako with the crest of love compared to Sora. Sora tends to show love by watching over people, being kind and supportive and brave even when she’s struggling and hiding the signs of her struggle/dismissing her own struggles, doing things for others, often without even letting people know she did anything.

In comparison, Miyako shows compassion by being present for people she loves, telling them bluntly when they need to shape up (which, frankly, a lot of Digimon characters really need. We need waaaaaay less staring into each other’s faces and never answering concerned questions and waaaaaaay more *slap* GET IT TOGETHER! God, ilu Miyako), and being honest and open about how much she cares for them.

So yeah, passion!

Iori

One of my favorite Chosen, this sweet good boy that I lovelovelovelove!

So one thing about Iori is that, while I can write big honkin’ analysis of how Daisuke and Miyako show their inherited crests... Um, I think Iori is his own thing. Like, I don’t... super get honesty and knowledge off of him. I mean, the honesty thing, sure. His Grandpa taught him not to lie, we had a whole ep based on that alone. As for knowledge, yes, he wants to know the truth and get to the bottom of things.

But... Neither crest ever felt like a slam dunk for him? Even though it’s easy to see how “honesty” and “knowledge” coalesce into “a desire for truth,” which is further illustrated in his career as a (presumably upright and truth-seeking) lawyer. Like, it’s right there in front of your face, Hidden!

BUT LEMME PULL UP A CHAIR, CAPTAIN AMERICA STYLE, AND HASH WITH YOU.

The thing that, to me, stands out about Iori most is that he’s grounded and centered. Have you seen that post recently that explains how Daisuke tried, just one time, to treat Iori like a little kid (he says, “shut up, little brat”)? And Iori- who is about three years younger than Daisuke, and much more withdrawn- politely but firmly replies, “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

AND YOU KNOW WHAT? DAISUKE APOLOGIZES AND NEEEEVER TALKS DOWN TO IORI AGAIN.

Iori is like... He’s like eight, my dudes! Rolling with a bunch of eleven-ish year olds! He’s personal friends with Miyako, a twelve year old, before Adventure 02 even opens! And we don’t often see him being doted on and protected like Takeru and Hikari were in the same situation.

YOU WANNA KNOW WHY? The simple answer is that he’s mature, but I wanna say that he’s grounded, the ultimate earth sign type (I think Digmon is a pretty clear metaphor). He doesn’t get flustered or swayed. He knows where he is, where he stands, what he must do. On the one hand, this makes him mature beyond his years, reliable, able to stand up for himself and be an equal team mate among kids who are older than him.

The downside is that “that which cannot bend must break.” I’m sure you’ve read a zillion metas about how Iori sees in black-and-white originally and has trouble changing his world views and learning to forgive... But he does all of those things, maturing further into possibly just... just... Can you even imagine him as an adult?! HE’S TOO POWERFUL.

So, if he were an Adventure character, I’d say that his crest is integrity, and he has to go through his adventure to learn what that really means for him- to develop from stubborn, black-and-white thinking to true integrity.

THANKS FOR THE ASK!

#02 crew #digimon meta #crests for daisuke miyako iori #faves #daisuke motomiya #miyako inoue #iori hida #Anonymous

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skygirl5 · 3 years

Text

12 Prompts of Christmas - #11 - Hot Chocolate

ELEVEN - Hot Chocolate

Three days later, Rick sat in a small café alone at a two-seater table. He faced the front of the shop, though with it being so crowded it was a little difficult for him to get a clear view of the door. He could see it open and close, but the faces of those passing through were a bit more difficult to discern, so he found himself rising up out of his seat each time the door moved to check to see if the person he was there to meet had finally arrived.

When Kate called him the day after they ran into each other at her precinct, Rick could tell she was a little hesitant to meet up with him. She started out by saying it was a busy time of year, which he completely understood; it was for everyone. He promised her that he would meet on her schedule as he was extremely flexible, so she agreed to an early afternoon coffee meet-up, which would be before her 3 p.m. shift.

Rick arrived atypically early to the shop, wanting to make sure he wasn’t late, and also to give himself a few moments to prepare and collect his thoughts. He’d wanted to meet up with Kate for so long he needed to make sure he grounded his expectations in case the connection he’d felt between them that Christmas Eve night had been more of a fluke—or if, in the many years that past, he’d romanticized it a bit too much in his mind.

The most interesting thing for Rick was the fact that his interest in seeing her again did not really have anything to do with physical attraction. Of course, he found her physically attractive; she was exceptionally beautiful, but the connection he felt with her was more than that. The way they talked with ease and somehow the perfect amount of humor and seriousness was something he had rarely experienced. Even though it had just been a few hours on one night, his gut told him there was more to their connection. He wasn’t sure at that point if it would be romantic or platonic friendship, but he wanted to speak with her again to find out.

After about ten minutes, he finally saw Kate step through the door of the café. Her eyes immediately began scanning the crowd, so he stood and raised his hand above his head so she would see him. After a moment he saw the recognition on her face and smiled as she sidled her way through the tightly packed tables on her way to his spot on the far side of the café, which had been the only available two-seater table when he arrived.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he greeted her.

“Sure, no problem.”

“What can I get you to drink? My treat.”

“Oh, um…hot chocolate? Please.”

“You got it.”

He walked up to the counter, ordered hot chocolate for her and a flat white for himself, and then waited patiently for their drinks, trying not to make it too obvious that he was observing Kate from where he stood. He watched her ritual of removing her coat, hanging it on the back of her chair, and then sitting down with her handbag in her lap. If anything, the prior five years had made her more beautiful. Where her chestnut toned hair had been in a ponytail during their first interactions, now it hung long and framed her face in a lovely way. Her face had certainly lost the youthful edge he remembered, but maturity looked good on her.

Their drinks in hand, Rick returned to the table and slid into the petite chair clearly made for someone of a much smaller stature, but he made it work. She thanked him for the beverage and pulled it close, cradling the cup with her hands. “Not much of a coffee drinker?” he asked conversationally.

She laughed. “Oh no—I love coffee. I just…well, I was really trying to power through something at work yesterday and had two or three cups too many.”

He chuckled. “So, you’re detoxing.”

“Something like that. Plus, I really only have hot chocolate in the winter.”

“Fair enough. I, ah, really appreciate you meeting with me.”

She took a gentle sip of her drink and nodded. “Sure. I guess it was kind of crazy that we ran into each other again.”

“Crazy? I’d call it fate,” he said with a simple smile.

A skeptical expression crossed her face. “Fate?”

“Sure. Seems like the stars have aligned for us twice now. So…how’ve you been?”

She shrugged and said, “Can’t complain. How about you?”

“I’m doing very well, thank you.”

Kate danced her fingers across the edge of her mug as she gazed at him. “It was, um, nice to meet Alexis. She seems like a really great kid.”

“Thank you. She really enjoyed the experience from figuring out what decorations to make, making them, and then hanging them all up. I think it’s so important for her to learn to give back early on.”

“Definitely.” Kate agreed. “Are you guys doing anything else like that for the holidays?”

Rick hummed as he took a ginger sip of his drink, but it was still quite hot, so he set the cup down and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, we usually take a few bags full of toys to the less fortunate kids in the city. We’ll be doing that next week, so they have them in time for Christmas. What about you? What kind of celebrating are you—oh, hey,” he interrupted his question when a memory surfaced, “how’d your dad doing?”

Kate appeared slightly surprised. “Oh, um, he’s…yeah he’s doing pretty good. He’s been back to teaching now for a few years and, though I know he has some difficult times, I know he finds it very rewarding.”

Smiling at her he said, “That’s great; so glad to hear it.”

“But otherwise, um, I guess I don’t have any special plans. I’m working the days around Christmas, but the weekend after I’m getting together with my boyfriends’ family.”

“That’s nice. How long have you guys been together?”

“Ah a little over a year,” she said.

Rick nodded. Seeing as he and Gina were technically still engaged but not exactly speaking at the moment, he couldn’t say he was disappointed. Nor was he surprised; someone as amazing as Kate seemed to be would be a lucky addition to any man’s life. “Well, good for you.”

After another sip of hot chocolate, she cleared her throat and said, “So you had some questions about the NYPD?”

“Yes…well, actually, I had a thought. Would it be possible—rather, would you be okay with me shadowing you for a little while?”

Her eyes grew wide. “Shadowing?”

“Yeah. I mean, I can ask a bunch of questions and you can answer, but it’s so much better for my research if I can actually see you in action, so to speak. I’ve done it before,” he added quickly when he could see her lips melting into a frown. “Not with the NYPD but…but with other law enforcement agencies.”

“Well…I’d definitely have to run it by my captain.”

He nodded. “Of course, of course; I don’t want to get you in any sort of trouble. Oh! I’m friends with the mayor if you think that would help smooth things over.”

“You’re friends with the mayor?!”

“Sure; we play poker together.”

She tilted her head to the side and concluded, “You must have a very interesting life, Rick.”

He laughed. “I certainly have no room to complain.”

She was quite for a few moments but then said, “Ah…yeah, okay. I guess you could shadow me for a day.”

“I…was thinking more like a week.” He suggested before plastering an innocent smile on his face.

She gave him a look. “Three days.”

“Done.”

“Assuming my captain agrees.”

“Of course.”

She took another sip of her drink and then leaned back in her seat, considering. “You really think it will be helpful?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. I really pride myself on my books being authentic and there’s no better way.”

Again, she considered him for several moments. “So…if Derrick Storm is CIA…does that mean that’s the other law enforcement agency you shadowed?”

Rick opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. His brain had stuttered to a stop when debating on whether or not to react to how smart she was or how familiar with his works she was. Or both. “I, um, can neither confirm nor deny…” he said a bit cheekily.

Much to his pleasant surprise, she appeared rather impressed. “Well, I don’t see how shadowing me will be nearly as interesting as that but…I hope it helps you.”

Grinning at her he said, “I’m positive it will.” Then, he sipped his coffee again and leaned back in his seat, excited to follow the path of his relationship with Kate wherever it took him.

#castle #caskett #castle fanfiction #castleficathonwinter2020 #12PromptsofChristmas #my fic: 12 Prompts of Christmas

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hms-chill · 4 years

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42 and/or 73 for the prompt things

42. “I need a hug”

73. “Oh, are you ticklish?”

Somehow, Henry had thought that being a prince here would be different. Eton was full of the sons of politicians and billionaires, and Philip had fit in well enough, so he’d thought surely he would, too. But so far, he’s mostly just been gawked at, fawned over, and asked for his autograph. Everyone wants him in their house, or in their group project, but it’s always more for the fact that he’s a prince than anything about him. That is, until a boy slides in next to him in chapel, holding out a hand with, “I’m Pez, like the sweets.”

“Henry.”

“Nice to meet you, Henry. Are you drawing a spaceship?” Henry blushes, trying to hide it, but Pez leans in for a closer look. “It’s wicked.”

“Thank you.” Henry’s pretty sure that drawing a spaceship isn’t proper princely behavior, but he can’t find it in himself to care, especially not when Pez is treating him like an actual person for the first time since he’s come here.

“We’re meant to be doing a group project in English tomorrow,” Pez says, leaning over to whisper when the pastor starts. “You’re good at English, I know because I see you reading all the time. Be my partner? I’ll do the presentation.”

“Okay.” He’s not sure how to feel about Pez noticing him reading, but he’ll do anything for a partner who will let him get out of presenting for the class. Pez grins at him, and when they are assigned a partnered project in English, the two of them partner up. It’s the beginning of something that Henry’s not sure either of them could have seen coming.

Their first night working together, they’re in Henry’s room, and Pez decides halfway through that it’s too boring, and he’s going to change it. He drags Henry into his own room, and Henry’s not sure he’s ever seen so many bright colors. The furniture in Buckingham and Kensington and Holyrood and every other palace he’s grown up in is the same series of jewel tones or gaudy golds, but Pez’s room is an explosion of every color of the rainbow, each of them turned up to eleven. He looks around with a grin, then says, “pick something.”

“What?”

“For your room. It’s too boring; you have to pick something to make it not boring before we can keep working.” So Henry does; he picks a lava lamp (one of at least three scattered around the room), and Pez helps him find the perfect spot for it before they go back to their project.

He’d never tell anyone, but Henry leaves it on all night, just watching the lava blob up and down and wondering if maybe, he’s made his first friend.

Their project goes well, and that could be the end of it. Henry is half expecting that to be the end of it, but Pez sits next to him for lunch, and they talk about Star Wars and football and what they like to do when they’re not at school. Pez is the first person outside his family to ever laugh at Henry, and Henry doesn’t mind. That Christmas, he asks for a big Star Wars Lego set, and he and Pez build it together during Lent Half. It’s the first thing Henry’s brought for his room. He also brings back socks to help grow Pez’s impressive collection of bright socks and further his fight against Eton’s uniforms, and Pez is absolutely delighted.

From there, he and Pez become inseparable. They do every project together, they pass notes in chapel, and they’re almost always together at meals. After classes are done for the day, they can be found in one of their rooms, and slowly, Henry’s starts to get more personality. Philip comes to visit one day and clearly has some thoughts about it he won’t voice, but Bea loves it, and it makes Henry feel happy. Pez says that’s all it really needs to do, and Henry has to agree with him.

Still, it’s not all perfect. Even with a friend like Pez, one who’s loud and excitable enough to draw as much attention away from Henry as possible, there’s still the simple fact of his royalty. There will always be people who want to push and prod at him, always people wanting pictures or autographs or a chance at a limelight. And sometimes, it gets to be a lot. The first time it gets to be too much while he and Pez are friends, Henry goes where he always does, a little stand of trees where no one finds him. He thinks he’ll be fine there, just by himself, but somehow, he’s not particularly surprised when Pez sits down beside him.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Henry says. He might be crying, and princes probably shouldn’t cry, but he can’t bring himself to care. This is Pez.

“Okay. Can I help?”

“I think... I think maybe I need a hug.” And Pez doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t try to understand anything. He just hugs Henry tightly.

He hugs Henry tightly, and when Henry calms down a bit, Pez wiggles his fingers near Henry’s stomach experimentally. Henry pulls back with a squawk, and Pez grins.

“Oh, are you ticklish, your highness?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you are ticklish? Come here.” Pez reaches for him, managing to get to him before Henry can get away, and he pins him to the grass and starts to tickle him. Henry’s never met anyone who would tickle a prince, but if anyone would, it’s Pez.

“Oi, stop it! I’ll... I’ll call security,” he manages though his laughter, but they both know it’s an empty threat. Still, Pez sits back on his heels, grinning a bit.

“Better?”

“Better. Thank you.” Henry’s not sure if he can convey his overwhelming gratitude in those two little words, but Pez is the first person he’s met who doesn’t treat him like he’s anyone particularly special, and it’s more refreshing than he’s willing to admit. Pez nods, and Henry gets the feeling Pez knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Of course, mate. What are friends for? Now, come on, or we’ll be late for prayers.” He helps Henry up off the ground and brushes leaves out of his hair on their way back to their house. And if Henry hadn’t been confident in their friendship before, he knows now that he and Pez are going to be friends for a long, long time.

On AO3

Hi! This isn’t romantic, but I hope that’s alright? Given the trajectory of Alex’s and Henry’s relationship, I couldn’t think of a point where one of them would ask for a hug when they wouldn’t know exactly where the other is ticklish.

Also, as a side note, nothing has radialized me like reading Eton’s wikipedia page. I am disgusted, I am revolted, I dedicate my entire life to our lord and savior, and this is the thanks I get? Anyway, the one redeeming grace of this classist school is Eton Pop Waistcoats, and Pez gets into Pop purely so he can wear one.

Want to support the Hannah Makes Art fund? You can buy me a ko-fi here!

#henry fox mountchristen windsor #pez okonjo #rwrb #my fic: rwrb #ask and answer #red white and royal blue fic #red white and royal blue ficlet

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strawberry-skies-xx · 3 years

Text

a million reasons to let you go

C H A P T E R N I N E

word count: 3279

tags: eventual hiccup/astrid, slow burn, fluff, angst, happy ending, feral hiccup, hiccup whump, bamf hiccup, protective astrid, protective hiccup, interrogation, aftermath of torture, implied/referenced torture, hurt/comfort, stoick’s a+ parenting, stoick’s bad parenting, hiccstrid fluff, hiccup and toothless friendship

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

Hiccup wakes up with Toothless’s growl rumbling by his ear, and when Toothless feels him shift, he moves his wing and loosens his paws enough to allow Hiccup’s head to peek past his wing, watching Stoick and Astrid from where they stand in front of his cell.

Astrid is staring at him, but Hiccup doesn’t look at her. She made her choice, so Hiccup makes his, and instead he focuses on Stoick, who glares down at his position with Toothless.

The Viking chief walks forward and crouches down in front of his cell, gaze meeting Hiccup’s. “I want to know your name,” he says, voice rumbling and threatening. “I want to know what ye were doin’ on my island, and why ye’re with a devil like that.”

He glares at Toothless, and both Toothless and Hiccup growl at the same time. Hiccup retreats back underneath Toothless’s wing. He isn’t in the mood for dealing with Stoick, or Astrid. He doesn’t want any of this. The prison is cold, he’s cold, and all he wants is to soar the skies with Toothless again, without Vikings in the way.

Stoick doesn’t have the same feelings. He persists, banging on the bars hard enough to make Hiccup flinch, and Toothless roars at him, curling tighter around his human half, glaring fiercer at the Vikings, teeth bared. Hiccup pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, wrapping his arms around and studying the pattern on Toothless’s wing.

“Tell me your name,” he hears Stoick growl, and Hiccup pulls himself in tighter. His predicament is dropping down on him, now, closing in and suffocating him. He’s in Berk’s prison, surrounded by Vikings, with his father. No way out, and they could take Toothless and hurt him at any time, they could do so many things and Hiccup couldn’t stop them-

Hiccup breathes. Slowly, in, out. He feels Toothless sense his near panic attack, feels his chest push against his back as he exaggerates his breathing, letting Hiccup easily match his own breaths to Toothless’s.

Hiccup puts one hand on Toothless’s scales, tracing the patterns and focusing only on tracing the patterns. Toothless is here, now, and not hurt. They’re safe, they’re mostly alone, and whatever comes in the future will be dealt with together, like always.

Stoick, however, is unsatisfied, and Hiccup tenses further as his tone gets darker and yet more threatening.

“How about this,” he growls. “You tell me your name, and I give you food.”

Hiccup twitches, burying his face in his knees. The people on the Dragon Hunter ship starved him too; he doesn’t know how long he’d last on Berk, already feeling the hunger pains start up again from when they’d last given him a small meal of hard, dry bread on the Hunter’s ship.

And then there’s the matter of it being his father starving him. Even if Stoick doesn’t know, it still hurts Hiccup, both knowing that his father would stoop to that level for a boy who is friends with a dragon, and for his son, however unknowing he is. They’re the same age, and Hiccup doubts that Stoick hasn’t been reminded of his exiled son at least once during his capture. He’s taken a cold sort of satisfaction from it, even.

“Chief,” he hears Astrid say, half indignance and half forced calm, and he stills, listening intently.

“Yes, Astrid?” comes Stoick’s voice, sounding as if it’s been forcibly pulled from that threatening growl of his and barely held back.

“Isn’t that a bit… harsh?” Astrid’s voice replies. Hiccup raises his head from his knees, hearing the slight sound of Toothless’s ear twitch as he listens as well. The anger from Astrid’s betrayal still burns through him, but it lessens slightly - just slightly - listening to her defend him. If that’s what this is. He can’t assume. Assumptions about Astrid are what got him here in the first place.

“It’s interrogation, Astrid. It’s what needs to be done,” Stoick says harshly.

“Yeah, I know, but…” she pauses, and Hiccup slowly moves to the side. Toothless lifts his wing to allow Hiccup to slide over, knees still pulled against his chest and arms wrapped around them, half-visible from beneath Toothless’s wing and watching Astrid from where she stands facing Stoick.

She glances over, meeting his gaze from beneath his hood. He tilts his head in both passive interest and silent judgment, and watches the minute, subconscious shift of her body, recognizing that what she says now will be a part of determining whether she is trusted again in the future. Toothless watches her next to Hiccup, and her eyes flick to him as well for a brief moment.

She looks back up at Stoick. “He’s as young as I am, Chief. I’d see doing this to an adult, but even then… he’s not a murderer, Chief. He washed up on our island. He hasn’t killed anyone, or committed any crime.”

Washed up. So Astrid lied to Stoick about where she found him - which, he still regrets that Toothless trusted her enough to let her help him rescue him, and that he pushed Toothless to those measures in the first place with his capture. He has to make it clear to her that that won’t happen again, not after her betrayal, even if he’s grateful for the rescue and the lie.

“He made friends with a dragon,” Stoick growls in response.

Stoick looks at him, starting when he sees Hiccup and Toothless both watching back. Hiccup meets his gaze, tilting his head like he did with Astrid, in only passive interest this time, but he studies Stoick too; the gray streaks in his beard, the lines on his face and the way he’s aged since Hiccup last saw him eleven years ago, and then Stoick looks down. His shoulders drop and he turns his face away after a long moment.

“You’re right,” he says, more defeatedly than Hiccup’s ever heard him. “I was being too harsh.”

“You try talking to him,” he continues, gruff again and no longer vulnerable. “I have things to do.”

Astrid watches Stoick leave, and then turns to Hiccup, who is seriously considering moving back beneath Toothless’s wing. He feels it lift slightly in silent, tempting invitation.

He stays, though, if only to hear her out. She gave him a chance, when she could’ve killed him and Toothless on the Hunter’s ship. It’s only fair for him to return the favor, and some traitorous part of him wants to give her a chance anyway, despite her betrayal and even if he hadn’t let her get close enough to both him and Toothless.

“Hiccup,” she says as she sits down in front of the cage, in that same placating quiet voice that somehow works on him, instantly calming some deep, buried part of him and holding his attention the way nothing else but his inventions do. He shoves it down, keeping his gaze to mere interest and judgment and nothing else. “I’m on your side,” she pleads. “I don’t want to hurt you, you have to know that.”

Hiccup’s brow furrows and his tone is steely. “I’m in Berk’s prisons,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate. He knows she knows, by the way her shoulders drop slightly.

She looks down. Hiccup watches her every movement, having spent enough years with dragons that he can tell the intent in even the smallest motions, the most minuscule twitches. It’s a kind of body language that most humans don’t learn by themselves, but dragons communicate only in those signals, except when they exaggerate them. Hiccup had to learn them, or he wouldn’t survive.

“When I found you on that ship, you were starved and injured, bruised and branded. I took you back to the cove, but Toothless-“ she pauses as the Night Fury gives a soft growl at his name - not harsh, though. They’re both listening too intently to truly threaten her. “Toothless was hit with two arrows. We barely made it back.”

Hiccup goes still, and then he looks at Toothless. His other half glances back, guilt in his eyes at Hiccup’s silent question of why didn’t you tell me. He knows now why Astrid couldn’t leave him; Toothless was injured, too, and he feels traitorous hope rise in him thinking about Astrid bandaging Toothless and then trying to help him.

The moment breaks a pause later, when Astrid continues and both their gazes are torn away to look back at her.

“I bandaged Toothless, who’d passed out, and left him in the cave, but Hiccup…” she looks up at him, and Hiccup feels the deep, buried part of him leap at the pained desperation in her eyes. “You were unconscious too. You’d been hit hard by the fall, and you were already severely injured. I had to take you to Berk. I couldn’t sneak away to treat you with medicine every day, and Gothi needed you in a healing sleep anyway. I didn’t have a choice. If I did, you wouldn’t be here.”

Astrid glances down again, staring at her knees. Hiccup watches her, and feels Toothless’s gaze turn to him, the soft breath of air on his shoulder whispering question.

Astrid’s body signals read guilt and regret and despair, in the way she pulls her knees up to her chest like him and she stares down at them, wrapping her arms around them and slumping her shoulders. Hiccup watches her for a moment longer, and then he puts a light hand on Toothless’s wing, lifting it so he can rise into a crouch with his hands for balance, and move towards her.

She doesn’t look up as he does, but he sees her body freeze. She knows he’s moving, knows that he stops a breath away from the cell bars and hesitates.

He watches her again, just for a long moment to be sure. He’s been with dragons eleven out of nineteen years of his life, he’s learned their mannerisms better than he has humans and the expression in his eyes is that of sharp draconic interest, gaze flitting from place to place on her body, from golden-blond hair to lowered crystal-blue eyes, to slumped shoulders and long, pale fingers interlaced from where her arms wrap around her knees. There’s nothing that signals her betrayal again, and every part of his traitorous body wants to forgive her, wants to see her smile at him and be able to talk to her freely again. It’s not something he’s used to feeling, and it’s maybe that which allows him to follow it just a little, and reach out to the bars.

“Astrid,” he says quietly, nearly a whisper, flinching slightly as she looks up sharply. This is foreign territory for him, and the draconic, Toothless part of him is shrinking away in alarm at the unknown of it all.

His reach for her turns into an aborted movement as he instead curls his fingers around the cold iron bars, heart rate speeding up. He doesn’t know what to say, now, because she isn’t forgiven. This is Berk’s prisons; she’s not forgiven, but he will let her build her case. That is all she can do, build her case and maybe Hiccup will forgive her in the future, after all of this is over. Maybe she will be able to gain his fragile trust again.

Toothless whines worry behind him, a low hiss of threat and betray-us threaded beneath it. Hiccup doesn’t respond, instead glancing down at the floor. Astrid shifts, her body reading briefly surprise at the way he ignores Toothless.

“I will listen,” he says simply, looking back up and meeting Astrid’s gaze. He watches it dawn on her, watches the way she realizes what he means and the way her entire body sags relief.

He will listen to what she has to say, and what she does, and then he will decide whether he can forgive and trust her again. It’s a chance; not forgiveness, not trust, but a chance, and some part of him, buried deep, wants to simply trust her again, wants to revel in the warmth of her again.

“Thank you,” she says.

Hiccup tenses after a long moment, glancing away and shifting slightly away from the bars, the suffocating feeling of being close to humans starting to press in on him - and then somehow, like she always managed to do before, Astrid recognizes that he’s done with the encounter and she stands up without another word.

He looks up at her as she looks down one more time, the nearly overwhelming sense of danger at the way she looks down at him and back-to-Toothless almost forcing him to turn away.

He stays just long enough to hear her final words, though, spoken softly and somehow calming his draconic instincts just enough for him to watch her leave.

“I’ll find a way to get you out,” she says. “No matter if I never regain your trust, I will get you and Toothless out.”

She turns away and leaves after a long moment. Hiccup watches; you already have my trust, from some buried part of me, he doesn’t say. And, from an even deeper, human part of him that he’s smothered for eleven years: come back.

The door slams, and Hiccup watches the door for another long moment before he turns back to Toothless, walking over to him and clicking question and where are you hurt? and why not tell me? about his injuries.

It’s another two days before Astrid comes back with Stoick; in that time, Stoick has come twice, once with food and water and another with a weapon. Both times, Hiccup refused to answer his question, instead sitting in stony silence even when Stoick dragged him out from underneath Toothless’s wing and nearly got his hand bitten off for it.

Hiccup ignores the sound of the prison door slamming and the heavy, familiar footsteps that follow, curling up tighter in the safe curve of Toothless’s body and feeling the dragon give a low purr in response.

His eyes flick open, though, when he hears the soft, familiar scuff of Astrid’s boots in front of his cell, and he feels Toothless shift as well, both of them listening intently.

“Dragon-boy,” Stoick rumbles, in that angry-yet-defeated growl he’s adopted over the past four days.

Hiccup hesitates. He can still feel the heated touch of Stoick’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, dragging him out from the safety of Toothless’s wing, and more than anything he wants the Chief to leave. Astrid can stay, he wants her to stay and just… be near him. She’s comforting in a little the same way Toothless is, as someone he can trust and turn his back to no matter what, and he won’t be hurt.

But that isn’t going to happen, and he’s already been hurt. So Hiccup sighs and shifts just enough to sit up and lean against Toothless’s side, barely visible from beneath Toothless’s wing to the two watching him but able to see them nearly perfectly clearly.

Stoick is crouched in front of the bars, and his eyes lock onto Hiccup when he appears.

“I’m going to try this again,” he says. “You will tell me your name, or I am going to separate you and that dragon so you don’t see each other again.”

Astrid inhales sharply, her gaze flicking to Hiccup and meeting his own as he looks at her, eyes wide and his fingers pressing into Toothless’s scales. Toothless gives a low whimper next to him, nudging his nose into Hiccup’s side.

Hiccup turns to him, rubbing his hands on black scales and meeting Toothless’s mournful gaze as he looks up at him.

Toothless warbles that soft noise that means love and affection and together and eternity all in one. Hiccup responds with a similar sound, pressing his face to Toothless and closing his eyes.

Won’t leave you, he says, in a series of draconic clicks and whistles.

Toothless whistles Alpha hurt you-me back, glaring at Stoick, and Hiccup glares as well before they look back at the other and Toothless warbles sorrow.

It’s been a long time since Hiccup ever prioritized his identity and past over Toothless, but now he does, a glimmer of a hope forming as he presses his forehead to Toothless’s nose, humming the quiet sound of us, and then he pulls back and walks to the bars. Part of him wants to run; every instinct is telling him to run, but he stays and raises his chin and stares defiantly up into the angry green gaze of his father.

The hope that he was bluffing dies when Stoick gives a nod and reaches to unlock the cell door.

Hiccup doesn’t look at the key, or give any indication of what he’s going to do, but as soon as the door swings open he ducks underneath Stoick’s reaching arm and starts running at full speed to the door.

The cell door slams behind him and Hiccup turns at the sound of Toothless’s shriek, seeing him with his claws against the bars and Stoick glaring at Hiccup.

“Come with me or your dragon dies,” Stoick says.

The sheer horror of it makes Hiccup shriek no in a noise more dragon than human, and Stoick pulls out a dagger in a deliberate motion.

Hiccup is moving forward before he knows what he’s doing, ignoring Toothless’s hisses and whistles of no and save-you-leave-me, pausing just two feet from Stoick. His eyes are down, staring at the ground, heart still racing and mind still stuck on the thought of Toothless dying, cold horror paralyzing him with fear.

He flinches when Stoick grabs his shoulders, roughly pushing him to walk upright down the corridor of empty cells until they reach the end. Hiccup looks up only to see Astrid’s eyes, filled with pain and apology as they watch him, and then Stoick opens the door and pushes him inside.

He drops to a half-crouch and instantly leaps to the corner, crouching there in as small a form as he can make himself and turning to look at Stoick as he glares at Hiccup before leaving with an annoyed huff.

Astrid watches Stoick, and then she turns to Hiccup, walking to the cell bars and crouching down. She reaches her hand through hesitantly. “I’m sorry, Hiccup. I don’t have a plan yet, but I will get you out. I promise.”

Hiccup doesn’t move, finding that he’s far past verbal interaction with humans today, let alone physical, and Astrid slowly pulls her hand back after a long moment, slumping slightly when she sees Hiccup press himself into a tighter curl, the only visible part of him his green eyes as they look sharply out from beneath his fur hood.

He doesn’t move as she leaves without another word, and it’s only when the prison door slams that he tilts his head back and lets out a mournful dragon-call, grieving and hurt.

There isn’t a response. Hiccup buries his head in his knees and staves off the panic and the fear, channeling it into his long-accumulated anger at his father and at Berk.

He’s so tired of this cell, tired of being locked up in Berk and unable to fly with Toothless. They’re meant for the sky, meant to weave through clouds and dive down to the ocean and soar up to the sky, meant to be free. The cage presses in on him like a heavy weight, unnatural and strange and human.

He buries his head in his knees, spending the hours thinking until he falls asleep in the cell.

next chapter >>

#httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd fanfic #httyd fic #feral!hiccup #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #hiccstrid

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alloftheimagines · 4 years

Text

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part three

masterlist | series masterlist | part two

words: 2.6k+

warnings: drinking, Jonathan being kind of an asshole, hints towards death, swearing and spoilers

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter. this chapter takes place at the halloween party from st2 but some stuff probably isn’t accurate because i haven’t watched it in a few months.

summary: she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

The cul-de-sacs are bustling with groups of trick-or-treaters as Jonathan parks outside the house. Frances sits beside him, touching up her makeup simply to busy her hands so that she wouldn't have to acknowledge the awkwardness between the two of them. Her father had decided to lift her grounding on account of it being Halloween, though he thought that she and Jonathan were taking Will trick or treating, not rocking up at a house party full of drunken teens.

Even from the car she can see the party already in full swing, with familiar faces loitering in the front yard, drinking from kegs upside down and vomiting in the bushes. Reluctantly, she pulls her camera from her neck, knowing it would only get damaged otherwise. "You mind if I leave this in here?"

"No, of course not," Jonathan says, hands still gripping the steering wheel despite the fact they were no longer moving.

"You sure you don't wanna stay with Will?" she asks, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I don't mind, honestly. I know this stuff isn't usually your thing."

"Didn't used to be yours, either." There is no venom in his voice, though he says it under his breath as though it's something he's trying to suppress.

Frances takes a deep breath, focusing her attention on the waning moon above them. Despite the laughter and music outside, the car felt too quiet. "If you have something to say, Jonathan, you should say it."

"You don't think things have been weird between us lately?" he says, finally loosening his grip from the steering wheel and turning in his seat to face her. "You seem distant. We barely talk. I don't even know if we're ..."

"If we're what?" She blinks, though she knows what he wants to say. Together.

"I don't know, Frannie," he sighs, pressing his back to the seat and looking up as though maybe God could help him spit it out. "Are we okay?"

She pauses, knowing that if she says yes it would be a lie. "Look, it's no secret that things have changed between us. I just have stuff going on, okay?"

"Like what?"

"Just stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."

"You used to tell me everything," he mumbled. It's true and Frances knows it: Eleven hiding out in her father's cabin is the first secret she's ever kept from him in their ten years of friendship and two years of romance.

Something else catches his eye, drawing his attention away from the car and what's happening inside of it. That Something is Nancy Wheeler, walking hand in hand with Steve Harrington across the lawn. They stop to greet a few of their friends before disappearing into the orange glow of the hallway. Only when they're out of sight does Jonathan focus on Frances again.

"If you want an out, take it," Frances says passive-aggressively, placing her hand on the door so that she can make a quick escape if necessary. "If you don't want this anymore—"

He frowns. "Who said I didn't want this?"

"Do you?"

"Do you? You're the one pulling away from me."

Frances scoffs. "Don't put this all on me, Jonathan. You just spent a solid minute watching Nancy walk into a house while I was sitting right next to you."

You see his muscles twitch with tension and he straightens up. "We're gonna do this again?"

"No," she rolls her eyes, opening the door, "we're not."

Without another word, she steps out, slamming the car door behind her. Jonathan is motioning to her in frustration, but she ignores him, marching into the party and getting pulled into a current of bodies. The bitter stench of beer lingers on sweaty clothes as she pushes through them, waving at a few people who are sober enough to recognise her.

She heads straight for the punch bowl, grabbing herself a plastic cup and pouring it carefully. Halloween music is blasting through the speakers in the corner and she sees Steve and Nancy bobbing along to it, though Nancy's expression is tense as always. A year ago, Frances would have been dancing with them. A year ago, Barb would have been there, too. Now that she was gone and Jonathan was constantly ogling Nancy when he thought she wasn't looking, they had no reason to stay friends.

"Look at that," a voice shouts from behind Frances. "Our little grasshopper made it to the party. It's been a long time since I've seen you at one 'a these things."

Frances grimaces at the nickname, turning around to find Tommy standing so close that she has to press herself to the kitchen counter to avoid his hot breath hitting her face.

"Byers taken you off your leash?" Carol chimes in from behind, an arrogant smirk playing on her lips.

Behind them stands a beer-stained Billy Hargrove, his torso bare beneath his leather jacket. He gives Frances the once over, his tongue swiping across his lips the way it always does before he takes a swig of his drink.

"Don't you ever get bored of yourselves?" Frances questions monotonously, gulping down her own drink quickly.

"Come on, Frannie, we're kidding," Tommy laughs, pulling Frances into the living room where the music is deafening, but not as deafening as the laughter and shouting. "You gonna dance with us or what?"

"Don't be stupid, Tommy," Carol shouts over the music, looking smug. "Her boyfriend is lurking over there in the corner."

Frances follows her point and finds that she's right: he is standing in the corner, but he isn't looking at her. He's looking past her at Nancy, who's pouring herself a drink in the kitchen. "I don't think he's gonna be my boyfriend for much longer," she says without thinking.

Her view of them is intercepted by Billy, who is skillfully juggling four cups in his hands. He holds one out for Frances and she takes it gratefully, chugging it down and wincing at the burn it leaves in her throat. "Trouble in paradise, angel?"

"No paradise," she retorts. "Just trouble."

"You need to let go. Enjoy yourself," he smirks. "Or is 'fun' not in your vocabulary?"

"It is," she hits back, finishing her drink before Tommy and Carol have even started theirs. "My definition is probably just a little different than yours."

"Come on," Tommy urges. The song changes as he's speaking, Duran Duran earning a cheer from the crowd surrounding them. Carol throws her arms around Tommy, her drink spilling from her cup. Tommy doesn't notice the stain it leaves. "It's a party. Dance."

"Yeah, Hopper," Billy repeats, grinning as he laces his fingers, clad with leather, finger-less gloves, through Frances's. "The world won't end if you dance. Promise. No one has to know you actually had fun at a party."

She glowers but, after one last glance to find that Jonathan is no longer standing in his earlier position, lets Billy tug her about. Laughter spills from her as he twirls her under his arm and throws her into a less than graceful dip. Dizziness causes her to stumble as the alcohol makes her feel suddenly light. She falls into his bare chest, her hands brushing against his hot skin, sticky where the beer had dried.

"Look at that," he says, grinning at her as they begin to sway. "She laughs."

"Don't flatter yourself," Frances responds, smiling despite herself. "It's the spiked punch. Has an adverse effect on me."

"Then I'd better get you some more. I'll be right back."

Frances nods, taking a seat to catch her breath. Tommy and Carol are no longer in sight, and she searches again to see if Jonathan has noticed her dancing with Billy. Instead, she sees Steve marching through the crowd, his face pale. He walks straight out of the door, but not before his shoulder collides with Jonathan's, who she now sees standing against the wall, looking lost. His eyes follow Steve's retreating figure, and in a moment, he's walking the other way.

Frances searches the room again to see if Nancy is anywhere around. She isn't, and even in her drunken state, Frances thinks the likelihood is that she's the reason for whatever just happened—which means she is the person that Jonathan is looking for.

Without expecting it, Frances is pulled from the couch by two forceful hands, and she finds it difficult to get her bearings as she's spun around through the crowd. The hands belong to Will, one of Tommy's friends and someone she sometimes talks to in class. He looks more wasted than her, yet is somehow steadier on his feet. Feeling numb, she let's herself be dragged around like a rag-doll and nods as though she can hear what he's saying as he leans into her ear to whisper something. Her eyes are still on the kitchen, though, waiting for Jonathan's return. She hasn't even noticed that Billy is dancing without someone else now, their drinks long forgotten.

"Stop," she whispers as nausea begins to crawl in the pit of her stomach, pulling herself away from Will and away from the crowds. Her forehead is damp with sweat, her chest tight. She's about to head into the kitchen for some space to breathe when Jonathan appears from the hallway, propping an intoxicated Nancy up. He walks her out of the back door without so much as looking in Frances's direction. She follows them slowly, stumbling to the window so that she can watch them leave. When they get onto the lawn, Jonathan picks Nancy up, carrying her to his car bridle style. He's never done that for Frances, not even when they were nothing more than friends. He despises her drunken self too much, despises how stupid and sloppy it makes her - and yet clearly it works in Nancy's favour.

Her heart sinks as he drives away, realising that not only is her boyfriend in love with someone else, but he's left her with no way of getting home, either.

A voice in her ear causes her to jump. "I haven't forgotten about our drinks. Just got distracted."

Billy is holding two cups, wearing a stupid smirk that makes her scowl. She knows it's weak, though, when she realises that her cheeks are damp. His smile falters when he sees, too.

"Woah, what's wrong?"

Nothing," she mutters. "Forget the drinks. I need to go."

"Go where?" He puts the drinks down on the counter, following as she dodges a few drunken people crowding around the punch bowl. The cold October air hits her all at once as she steps out, and she shivers, her ears beginning to throb in the sudden quiet of the night. "Hopper?"

"Don't call me that," she spits, crossing her arms over her chest to keep warm as she trips across the lawn. "Everyone calls my dad Hopper, not me. My name is Frances."

"Alright, Frances." His fingers wrap around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"No," she replies bluntly, pulling her arm from Billy's grasp and looking around disconcertedly. Only now does she realise that she has no way of getting home. "Just leave me alone, Hargrove."

"That's not gonna happen. You're drunk."

"Everyone's drunk," she spits back. "It's a fucking party. That's what you wanted, isn't it? For me to loosen up, have fun? Am I having enough fucking fun now, Billy?"

Billy frowns, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He doesn't seem cold despite his exposed chest. "Jesus, what's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Frances says, her voice quietening as she realises how crazy she must seem to everyone else. If she wasn't still buzzed, she knows would have been embarrassed and blushing by now. "I just need to go home."

"Okay, fine, he nods, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he focuses on Frances. "Is your boyfriend drivin' you home?"

The mention of him causes tears to sting her eyes again and she looks away sadly. "Not my boyfriend anymore."

"Jesus Christ, how long was I gone?"

"He took Nancy Wheeler home. He ... he left me. We're over." Saying it out loud, her breath visible against the cold, makes it feel real. "That means we're over, right?"

"He left you stranded and drunk at a party to take home some other chick." He shoves his hands in his pockets, tightening his jacket across his torso. "Doesn't sound promising."

She nods, inhaling shakily. "It's been over for a while. I just thought he cared about me more than this." Realising her own vulnerability, she straightens up, wiping her cheeks quickly. "Not your problem, though. Sorry."

"I can give you a ride. I haven't drank anything for a while. I'm sober enough."

"No—"

"C'mon," he points at his blue Camaro behind you, "my cars right there. The party's shit anyway. I don't plan on stickin' around."

"You don't have to do that, Hargrove."

"I'm not gonna leave you here. I'm not a complete dick."

Frances purses her lips at the jab, but follows him to the car anyway. "Could'a fooled me."

He's about to unlock the passenger side door when he pauses. "You wanna walk?"

A shadow of a smile graces her lips and he shakes his head, holding the door open for her to slide in. "Just don't puke."

Frances is surprised by how well-kept the inside of the car is, though the smell of cigarette smoke clings to leather seats and causes a tickle in the back of her throat. Billy slides into the driver's seat, turning on the radio. Danger Zone blasts through the speakers, and he turns down the volume until it's nothing more than a low hum before slipping the key into the ignition.

Despite the company, Frances relaxes into her seat as she puts her seat-belt on and the car groans into motion beneath her. It's warmer in here than the party, and her numb hands begin to tingle with feeling again.

"Where do you live?"

"The trailer by the lake," she replies tiredly, pressing her head against the cold window pane. "You know it?"

"Yeah, I know it."

She watches as his restless, ringed fingers tap against the steering wheel. There isn't much else to say between them for a few moments, and a silence falls between them, concealed only by the music. It isn't uncomfortable, though Frances can't help but feel weary of Hawkin's newest wannabe bad boy—maybe because the alcohol-induced buzz is now more of a distant hum in her veins, weighing her down rather than making her feel light.

"No camera tonight," Billy points out when the road thins and the trees thicken, signalling that they were almost home.

"Shit," Frances curses, holding a hand to her head. "I left it in his car."

"There goes a clean break, huh?"

"That was never gonna happen, anyway," she sighs. "I don't even think he knows it's over yet."

"What do you see in him anyway? Isn't he kind of a loser?"

"Let's just ... not have this conversation."

"Alright," he agrees, parking up as they reach the trailer. The lights are off, but that isn't surprising. It's barely lived in now, only used so that nobody gets suspicious and finds out about El. "Your dad home?"

"No. He's working," she lies, unfastening her seat-belt. "Listen, thanks for this."

"You still think I'm insufferable?"

"Depends," she responds, laughter glistening in her eyes. "Did you do this just so I'd take it back?"

He shrugs. "Guess you'll never know for sure. You good from here?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She opens the door, stepping out unsteadily. "Thanks, Hargrove."

He gives her a wave of dismissal, winding down her window to call her back. "For the record, angel, I think you can do way better than Jonathan Byers."

She turns back, rooting through her purse for her keys. "Yes."

"Yes?" he repeats, looking up at her through his eyelashes as she gets further away.

"Yes," she says. "I still think you're insufferable."

If Billy replies, this time, she doesn't hear it.

part four

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edensbuttercups · 4 years

Text

Golden lights - Part nine

Pairing: Jaskier x reader Summary: Myristica and the reader get to know each other. As the healer ends up staying in the cottage to help, new relationships form and old ones evolve. Word count: 2k A/N: This chapter was kindly brought to you by the boredom that came from a german lesson. I had so little motivation to follow yet so much motivation to write so... thank you german lesson? Anyway, here we go, the longest chapter I’ve written so far. Hope it’s good, hope you like it, hope you’re good and hope everything is going well. Love you all 💖

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part Ten Part Eleven

The men were soon ushered out of the house, leaving the two women and the baby alone. Myristica sat next to you, laying her bag on the table and gently opening it. She looked at you sweetly and smiled, before standing and preparing some hot water to let the herbs sit in. “How are you?” She asked, and though her back was still turned, you could feel the pure interest she held in those words. “I’m doing well. She wasn’t an easy birth, but I’m fine. It will take some time to be the good old me again, I guess, but I’m healing fast and I feel great.” “That’s good. I know we’ve just met, and it’s totally fine if you don’t agree, but… would it be alright for me to stay here for some time? I’ll be able to take care of you whenever you need, without you needing to send Geralt to fetch me.” She poured the hot water in a small glass, the water now stained of a light green that could almost be mistaken for blue. “That’s fine by me.” You smiled at her, your eyes meeting before she sat next to you, handing you the sweet-smelling drink.

“Your eyes are beautiful.” You uttered without thinking, noticing the beautiful shades of blue and violet that you were surprised not to have noticed earlier on. She looked down, happily taking your compliment and reaching for your hands, holding them. “You’re going to be a great mother. I feel a beautiful energy coming from you and your husband.” “Energy? And we… we’re not married.” “Your souls are married. You’re connected, you and him.” She inhaled softy, taking a moment before asking you “Do you believe in destiny?” You nodded slowly, looking out to see your lover peaking from the window, ducking when your eyes met. You kept your eyes still, waiting for him to pop back up, and when he did, he smiled shyly at you and waved, before walking away towards Geralt. “You two knew each other before falling in love, right?” “We were childhood friends, I guess. Our paths crossed again around a year ago.” “You were meant to find each other. You both need each other, you both hold a piece of the other inside of you, a part that makes completes you and makes you a better version of yourselves. Keep him close, alright?” You laugh and nodded, standing up to check on Aurora, who had just woken up. You and Myristica talked while you took care of your daughter, before welcoming the men back in just before sunset, preparing a small feast. You placed some fresh bread on the table next to various other delicious treats while Jaskier rocked Aurora to sleep, sweetly singing her a lullaby. “So, Geralt, I was speaking to Myristica and we’ve come to the conclusion that it would be better for her to stay here for the next week or so, so I guess you’ll someone to share the room with for a while” you smiled awkwardly, placing a hand on his and waiting for an answer from him. He instead just glanced first at you, then at the healer, then back at you and finally at Jaskier, that had successfully finished his show with the award of having a sleeping child in the next room. “I could stay in the village. It won’t be a problem” he finally replied, grabbing some bread and biting into it. “Afraid of me? I swear I don’t bite, unless that’s what you’re into” the healer answered, winking. Geralt looked away, knowing full well that if he could’ve he’d be blushing by now, but he chose to ignore her comment and shaking his head, knowing that adding anything would only make for a more awkward situation. “I’m just joking, big man. Stay. We can share the room, it’s not a big deal. And if tomorrow morning you’re still not convinced, one of us will camp out every other night.” She finally said, looking at you and then back at Geralt, nodding. The evening went by fast, the atmosphere changing from tense to familiar, moving to the garden just after dinner. You all sat around a makeshift fire, Jaskier with his lute in hand, strumming along to made up songs, Myristica dancing, pulling you up and moving you around while Geralt stood still, occasionally looking at you and his new roommate before going back to observing the stars.

Over the course of the next few weeks you learned more about the healer, and as the two of you talked and shared your stories, you felt the connection between the two of you grow stronger, seeing her more and more as the sister you had always desired but never had. You knew her heart was pure, and even though you knew she had had some dark moments in the past, some painful memories she wouldn’t share, you never dared push her further. She was playful but strong, she was daring yet knew when the time to stop came. You noticed how Geralt looked at her. Whenever he wasn’t busy tending the garden, fetching food or playing with Aurora, he stood close to you and Myristica with the excuse of being nearby in case of need, but you saw the was his gaze lingered on her, the way he listened when she laughed and the way he studied her movements whenever she prepared a mixture. You weren’t sure if she had noticed, yet you saw her doing the same, somehow being a lot less subtle than him. “Myris?” you called her attention, stopping her from her monologue, concentrated on showing you what dried herbs would make a meal more delicious and how to tell which ones belonged together. “Yes?” she didn’t look at you, so you gently placed a hand on her arm and caught her gaze. “I’d like some time alone with Jaskier. We haven’t been alone in quite some time, and I’d love to spend some time at the beach with him. Can you and Geralt stay with Aurora?” “Just the two of us?” she suddenly looked nervous, which you would’ve understood had they not been sharing a room for weeks now. “Is that a problem? Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off him?” you whispered, laughing. She looked at you, a shocked expression lingered for a second before she started laughing loudly. “You have no idea!” she winked at you. “That’s not what worries me. I was wondering about Aurora. You trust us with her?” “You’ve been here for two weeks now. Geralt has been an absolute darling, playing with her, and I can tell that he cares. And you’ve done the same. I trust you.” You smiled, touched when you saw a small tear fall from her eye before she quickly wiped it away. “Thank you. I’ll go tell Geralt while you and Jaskier get ready. There’s some leftovers from last night if you want to take them with you for a small picnic!” “Sounds great.”

“So, we’re alone” Myristica said, holding Aurora close to her chest and rocking her lightly. The Witcher turned to look at her, smiling when he was sure she wouldn’t see him. He didn’t want to ruin the friendship they had slowly started building over some feelings. “You, me and Aurora. We could steal the famous lute and start a band; I’m pretty sure Aurora would be great on the drums.” He joked, picking up a wooden stick and placing it in Aurora’s hand, which in turn started to bang in around. “See? It would be perfect.” Geralt pointed at the spoon moments before it hit his hand. He hissed, pulling away and pouting at the girl, making her laugh. Myristica pulled her up and smiled triumphantly. “That’s a good girl!” “Hmm” Geralt grunted, lifting his eyes to meet hers, a smile on both of their lips frozen in place. “I’ll put Aurora down. Her bedtime’s around now anyway so…” she trailed out the last part, bowing slightly and winking at him in a playful manner. She walked out of the room and returned shortly after, no baby in sight, but a charming smile in its place. “So, we’re alone” she said once more “and this time it’s just the two of us.” She got closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, inching closer to his mouth as they gently swayed to the soft music of the wind running through the fields. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent, taking in the moment, before their lips met in a gentle kiss. They bodies intertwined, holding on to each other as if the whole world depended on it.

“I bet you can’t catch me!” You shouted as you ran towards the sea. “Playing this game again?” he teased, chasing after you, throwing his shoes of as he ran. You ran into the sea, the cold water splashing against your back and making you gasp. You waited for Jaskier to be near you before placing your hands around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. “Got you.” He whispered between kisses. “Or maybe I’ve got you.” You smile mischievously before pulling him down with you to meet the cold water. You had grown used to it quickly, but he hadn’t yet, and upon impact you felt his body tense and pull away, trying to escape the sweet embrace of the waves. You swam out and splashed each other before swimming back to the beach and lying next to each other, the waves kissing your legs rhythmically as you laid within the arms of your lover. It had been some time since you had been alone, and you treasured each moment. You breathed in his smell, and he placed a kiss on your head. “Do you remember the first time we snuck out? That time in the forest?” “When I got stuck on a tree? And you had to climb up to save me…” “…only to get stuck too? Exactly.” You laughed “That was the first time I realized the full extent of my love for you. And today is another of those times. I love you. So much.” “I love you too” you smiled and pulled him into a short kiss, sighing when he pulled away. “Sorry, love, but I’ve got a whole speech prepared and I can’t afford to get distracted by a kiss. Today isn’t the first time I’ve realized this, but It’s the first time I’m officially telling you.” “Officially?” “I might’ve whispered it a couple of times while you slept but that’s beside the point. The point is…” He breathed in once more. “I love you. And I’ve said that before. But I also want to spend the rest of my life with you. And you probably had already figured out that much, but I want everyone to know how much you mean to me. And it doesn’t have to be a big thing if you don’t want it to be, I know we’re both lovers of doing the opposite of what is expected of us, but…” he sat up, pulling a small box out of his pocket “I’d love to be called your husband, and I’d love it if you agreed to be called my wife.” He pulled out a ring from the box, a simple silver ring with a small flower welded on the top. He looked at you, his eyes full of expectations, and dreams, and hope, and yours matched his, for the exception of the tears that had started to pour out of them. You smiled and jumped in his arms, hugging him tightly. “I’d love that. I’d love it. I love you.” You kissed him once after every word, both of you crying and laughing and holding on to each other as if the whole world depended on it.

#jaskier x reader #the witcher fanfic #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #the witcher oc #reader #fanfic #julian alfred pankratz

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 5 years

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Mike and Eleven are an unhealthy couple, and other ST relationship notes

Relationships have been shown to be a big part of Stranger Things from the beginning. In Season 1, we’re treated to The Party’s unique dynamic, Nancy’s rocky romance with Steve, Joyce’s interactions with her ex-husband, and Johnathan and Will’s brotherly bonding. We are also introduced to Eleven, who more or less instantly bonds with Mike. These relationships allow us to get to know the characters in a more intimate way, and help drive the narrative. In Season 2, we get deeper into these relationships and also see new ones bloom. We witness the special bond that Mike and Will share, the abusive dynamic of the Hargrove household, Dustin and Lucas spar over Max while she adapts to being adopted by a group of nerds, Steve and Nancy’s relationship fails and Johnathan and Nancy’s begins, and even Karen get frustrated over her boring rut of a marriage. We also see Mike, at least early on in the season, desperately reach out to Eleven, and it’s indicated he’s been doing this for just shy of a year (353 days I believe). In Season 3, a heavy-handed theme is “we don’t understand each other.” This is displayed prominently by multiple relationships. It’s most obvious with Johnathan and Nancy, where I believe it was directly stated. Nancy feels he doesn’t believe in her and her journalistic hunches, while he feels she isn’t considering how badly he needs that internship since he lacks her familial resources. Joyce and Hopper’s relationship goes on a roller coaster stemming from Hopper seeing Joyce as playing around with him as he tries his best to open his heart again, but Joyce still has grief over Bob and understandable paranoia about the lab holding her back. Max and Lucas seem ok, showing some playful banter, but we’re also told they’ve broken up five times. Seeing as how they’ve only been together for about 7-8 months or so. That’s a sign of a lack of understanding, but sadly we don’t get much more out of Lucas this season. Karen is tempted by Billy to bring some excitement into her life, though Ted is shown to be rather content with his boring family life. We’re also treated to the heartwarming friendship of Steve and Robin, which is teased as a romance through yet another misunderstanding. This brings me to the crux of this post (finally), and that is Mike, and his horrible (or horribly written) relationships in Season 3. I can totally buy his attachment to Eleven. She helps him find Will in Season 1, and is traumatized by her disappearance (and apparent death) during the final battle with the Demogorgon. It’s completely understandable that he’d be affected by that, possibly feeling guilty and responsible, and desperate for her safe return. It’s totally realistic for a 12-year-old to develop a crush on a girl in a short amount of time such as the week he knew her. It’s unbelievably realistic for him to be immensely happy and relieved when she comes back in Season 2, safe and sound. It’s totally in-character for him to be a nervous wreck when she goes to close the gate. At no point, however, does this have the appearance of a romantic relationship, at least not a true and healthy one.

In Season 3, however, he is completely obsessed with her. It’s revealed by Lucas that he’s been neglecting his friends. He’s been seeing her every day, at least since summer started, and there are implications that Eleven primarily only sees Mike (Max is shocked to see her, we see no interactions between El and the others, she’s still not allowed to be out in public, etc.). This girl has had no opportunity for social or emotional growth in the roughly year and a half since she’s been out of the lab. Her question to Max (”How do I know if I like something?” or something along those lines) should be jarring. She’s never considered anything for herself. Pre-dumping, she and Mike are shown basically just making out. There’s no conversation, no getting to know each other, no simply enjoying each other’s company. The only time we see them with the others, Mike and El very quickly leave, which the others know means they want to make out. El is supposed to be friends with them too, but she seems equally obsessed with this relationship. It’s been months since the Snow Ball, they should be out of the honeymoon phase even if Mike’s opportunities to see her during the school year were limited. So, unpopular opinion, Mike and El share an unhealthy relationship. He’s more annoyed than upset when she dumps him, while El has a blast hanging out with Max. It’s nice to see her grow with this, but she’s quite honestly depicted as being better off without Mike as a boyfriend. I’m not saying they couldn’t grow into a better couple, but we see nothing like that in this season. They make up in the hospital, and Mike awkwardly tries to talk about feelings in the grocery store, but they just aren’t hearing each other. They don’t understand each other. They still don’t at the end, to be honest. While many people seem to think they rekindle their relationship before the Byers’ move, Mike seems legit confused. He stands there, stock still, as El kisses him. He doesn’t kiss back, he doesn’t close his eyes, he doesn’t put his arms around her, he doesn’t return her “I love you”, and, as she walks off, he doesn’t get a goofy grin, a sad smile, or a hopeful look on his face. He stands there, confused, as if that kiss was unexpected and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. That wasn’t a boy who had been going out with this girl for the past three months post-Starcourt. If they were meant to be seen as a happy couple, tragically being torn apart, then the writers did a terrible job of it. It’s almost too obvious that we’re supposed to compare this to Mike’s strained relationship with Will, though at the same time it’s like we’re meant to forget all of that. There’s curiously no acknowledgement to any of the bonding they shared in Season 2, even through flashbacks. Will is portrayed as being upset at the slightest sign of Mike and El’s romance. He doesn’t show frustration with Max or Lucas, and he’s amused at the prospect of helping Dustin contact his camp girlfriend. If this wasn’t intentional, then it’s either poor acting or poor writing. Both Mike and Will become single-minded, Mike towards El, and Will towards D&D. There’s many possible explanations (besides the aforementioned bad writing) that could explain Will’s change of character, but that’s a post for another time, if people are interested. Will reaches his breaking point in a conversation that reads more like a breakup than anything else. Again, though, it’s clear they don’t understand each other. This is where the “Is Will gay?” speculation hits a crescendo, as he angrily states it’s not his fault Will doesn’t like girls. Will is...devastated, shocked, terrified? It’s hard to nail down. Mike is immediately remorseful, though his apology is severely lacking. Will’s parting words of “I guess I did. I really did.” again seem more like a breakup. I’d like to go on more, but besides Mike tracking Will down in the rain (not unsignificant), we see little between them until the goodbyes. Their scene is shorter than Mike and El’s, but significant in that it’s the only goodbye Will is shown having (apart from all the hugging). They speak in code again, with Mike worried Will may replace him, and Will reassuring Mike that could never happen. It’s worth mentioning that the smile Mike shows in this scene is the most genuine we see all season from him. I’m not sure what to think about it all. Mike and Will’s relationship is somehow portrayed as stronger and deeper that Mike and El’s, but simultaneously less significant. It makes more sense for Mike to be closer to Will than El, and it’s curious that he and El are never shown trying to get to know each other. My ultimate conclusion, drawing on personal experience and someone with degrees in psychology and counseling, is that Mike and El are bad for each other, at least based on how they’ve been depicted thus far. They’re shown to be better outside of their relationship. Ultimately, Mike lost both of these relationships at the end. While we know the three of them will meet again, they simply have the hope of visits and calls. Mike is left visibly upset as the Byers family drives off, but it’s ambiguous as to whether Will or El leaving upsets him more. I don’t think he knows the answer to that either. As he enters his mother’s embrace, he appears in a state of shock. This scene parallels him being comforted in season 1 when Will’s fake body was pulled from the water, even going so far as to include the same song. It’s possible he’s coming to a realization involving Will, which could explain the shock. I think the simplest explanation, though, is that we’re supposed to be as confused as Mike as to what all this means. Mike starting to consider that Will is more than just his best friend would be a breath of fresh air for a story like this, but I doubt it. If you made it this far, let me know if you’d like more posts from me. I have thoughts on the effects of trauma on the characters, theories for season 4, and general opinions about seasons 1-3.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #eleven #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #joyce byers #jim hopper #joncy #byeler #mileven #jopper

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itsmyfandomandilikeit · 5 years

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I'm 26 arcs into Worm: The Stick Up Brian's Butt

So I'm listening to the We've Got Worm podcast and they keep talking about KingBob, the guy on reddit who really related to Alec and ended up understanding him (and by extension Aisha) far better than most of the other readers.

I haven't really gone into this on this blog, I've been reading Worm for like six months now and I don't update that often, but throughout this read I've been the KingBob to Brian. It's gotten to the point where I actually took a few mental health breaks from reading Worm. I know a lot of people thought Brian was boring and dumb. I'm almost done with Worm now and I feel like the inclusion of Brian this story elevated it, for me, from a fun superhero story to something intensely personal, something that was almost a struggle to read. I know from spoilers that Brian's part in this story is almost over. He isn't my favorite character (Dragon) or even my favorite Undersider (Aisha) but I felt like I should write something before this is over. It wouldn't be an honest blog otherwise, as infrequently as I post.

But Kuno, you say. You're a 22-year-old white female engineering student. Why the hell is this the character you relate to?

For a collection of dumb reasons that add up to a large part of who I am. From the time I was eleven to the time I was about twenty-one, I had night terrors. Seven times a night sometimes, I dreamt vividly of the people I loved getting hurt, hurting me, getting killed, killing me. My students and pets melting in my hands. My mom and I clutching each other on the freeway as we're stopped in traffic, a terrorist approaching our vehicle with a shotgun. We don't make it. The dreams made life almost impossible. Seeing people during the day and being absolutely certain they would die before I saw them again. It didn't matter how many times I saw them come back okay. They never would.

I'm afraid of everything. Every missed phone call is a sudden death. Every text message brings terrible news. Every possible situation brings danger, but if my friends go, I can't let them go without me. Something could happen. They'd be safe as long as I could see them. If I was looking at them, everything would be okay. Some child psychologist I spoke to at a young age noted I was a "natural leader". To this day, I lead because I am a control freak. I am afraid of what would happen if I let someone else be in control.

Interlude 15 fucked me up.

My fatal flaw extends from this. I'm terrified that people will see me as weak. I dated a boy on my robotics team when I was in high school. I treated him like shit in public because I didn't want anyone to think I cared about him, even though he was my boyfriend. What would they think of me if they saw there was a person I treated as an equal? Horrible things. I became a better girlfriend to another boy, years later, because someone mentioned to me they thought I could be a good girlfriend, and that it was rough, calloused girls who were the weak ones. It was the perfect two sentences to convince me that for people to see me as strong, I had to be a good girlfriend.

In the We've Got Worm podcast, Scott and Matt always mention that each of the Undersiders brings the team down somehow, their inputs to every situation silly or stupid. I was confused. I always thought Grue's avoidance of conflict, always taking the slow, deliberate path, was the right way to go. Then I realized that, to many, this behavior indicates brokenness. Maybe they're right.

Yeah so I said I'd talk about the stick up Brian's butt in arcs 25 and 26. I don't think he has much to say for the rest of Worm so here we go. I'm building off a lot of what the WGW guys say, but I think I can take it a little farther.

So in arc 10 the WGW guys point out that Brian resists letting Taylor back on the team until the precise moment when it becomes apparent that everyone else wants her back, when he suddenly changes tactics to talking about how they "need her for offense". They make the imo correct deduction that this is because he's afraid of looking weak. Everyone knows Taylor likes him, so, logically, to be Stoic Leader Man he should want her to go away. He needs permission to want her back on the team. Once he has that permission, he is all for it.

I know that sounds convoluted but trust me as a person with exactly these issues this makes perfect sense.

Arc 11, Brian has still not decided to be Taylor's friend again. This is because she's on the team to be offense. Their friendship doesn't help nobody's offense. When Lisa calls him and tells him he needs to lay up on her, that to be her friend would be good, he goes directly to Taylor's house and declares them... best friends. Because Lisa has given him permission to do so.

I hope you're following because I'm aware this is stupid.

In arc 12, I'm gonna veer a little to the side. Let's talk about Brian's second trigger, just so that I can educate the public on exactly how this came around. Keep in mind that trigger events happen from a long period of a specific type of stress coming to a head. And that Brian's previous trigger happened from feeling like he maybe couldn't help Aisha for a long time, and then suddenly being hit with the fact that he definitely couldn't help her.

Arc 1: The Undersiders save Taylor who was saving them from Lung Arc 2: Brian punches Rachel for attacking Taylor Arc 4: Taylor gets blown up by Bakuda, Brian sits in her hospital room and stares at this for presumably a while Arc 5: Taylor looks like she's been hanged, having fought Lung again Arc 7: Taylor and Rachel are attacked by the ABB, Brian shows up late. Taylor is attacked later the same day by Sophia, Brian shows up pretty late. Taylor propositions the boy, he tells her he thinks of her like he thinks of his sister. I am 100% certain at this point, looking back, that this was an early indication that the second trigger process was starting towards a lack of ability to keep up with Taylor. He wasn't just saying he thought of her like he would think of her if they were related, he thinks of her like Aisha specifically, the one his power is attached to. His little brain is drawing the equivalences already. Arc 8: Broken spine, betrayal, yadda yadda Arc 9: Sophia attempts murder because it's Tuesday Arc 10: Brian pretends to not want Taylor to come back Arc 11: Brian does his now-classic "walks into room/why is Taylor injured/maybe she should not be doing this" routine Arc 12: Repeat of arc 11, except now he starts stumbling over her name. He tells her she should have let her people die. If there's a point onscreen when he realizes there might be something going on, this is it.

Point is, this has been stewing in the background since as early as arc 1 and as late as arc 7 but probably actually started in arc 4. It wasn't out of the blue, it was the logical culmination of the entire story's events thus far from Brian's perspective.

Arc 13: Yeah, you know what happens here. In the final chapter, he tells her he thinks about her too much, but even though he received a new set of superpowers and a vision from aliens telling him that he probably loves her, the vision is definitely wrong and he just feels like he can't keep up with her.

She's been attacked by everyone. Lung, Rachel, Bakuda, Sophia, Armsmaster, Leviathan, the Merchants, Mannequin. He doesn't want her to keep fighting, he feels he needs to be the one to do it. At the same time, he knows he's not powerful enough. No one power is enough to deal with all of these threats.

No single power.

But he doesn't love her. That would mean he was weak.

He doesn't even agree to have dinner with her in 15. He allows it to happen because Aisha set it up. She knows what's going on, and she has given him permission to have this.

Aisha had to be the one to give him permission because his previous powerset was for her, and now it doesn't work with her, either. At the same time as his second trigger was stewing under the surface for Taylor, he was losing his power's connection to Aisha because their powers didn't work together and he kept being forced to forget she exists. He had lived for her before, and being Super Big Brother was exactly what Brian wanted to be. Now, Aisha doesn't want to be lived for. She wants to be her own person.

Brian spends the next several arcs simply living for Taylor.

I strongly suspect that the side effect of Brian's power is that it makes him pathologically need to be 100% responsible for others. No matter how dumb everyone's plans are, he always has to be there. No matter how stupid it is, Coil told him being a villain will allow him to get his sister back. No matter how dumb it is, he tells Taylor she has to sit out running from the Nine in arc 13 because she might be tired. He pays for it.

Brian's powers will probably never actually allow him to get over Taylor Hebert. It's like Taylor and bullies. No amount of therapy or time will get Brian's shard to let the fuck go.

So when the girl whom you are physically incapable of not thinking about leaves and goes to prison and tells every single person on the planet exactly how weak you are, who goes to an even more dangerous situation where you cannot follow her, what can you do?

The only possible thing. Try your absolute damnedest to pretend you never knew her.

You walk out of that meeting with the most powerful people in the world because she is there. You go find yourself somebody else. Another girl. Taylor hated her little boobs? This girl has big boobs. Taylor can't stay away from violence? Cozen seriously appears to have never even seen a corpse.

When Taylor comes back, Brian greets her with the new girl on his arm. He tries to shake her hand. Time has passed. There's nothing between them any more.

The next day, Grue is presented with the choice of pushing back against Taylor and standing with the new girl, whoever she is, or supporting Taylor. He chooses Taylor.

Of course he does. The situation calls for it. The situation has given him permission.

#worm #parahumans #brian laborn #ward #kuno speaks #thanks for reading to the end #i know this was long and personal #talk to me about it if you want #please

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reignsforever · 4 years

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I'm so down for that.

Unwind Me by delgay

“Think you can manage that? Sitting next to me, without picking a fight?” Michael challenged.

“Can you?” Alex returned.

“No idea,” Michael admitted with a sideways grin that never failed to make Alex’s stomach turn over, “But I’m eager to find out.”

Alex is avoiding everyone, but he can’t seem to escape Michael.

When I'm Oceans Away by neapeaikea

While searching for an alien child, Michael runs into Alex, ten years after Alex ran away from Roswell and broke Michael's heart.

A Soft and Elegant Semaphore by InsidiousIntent

Roswell New Mexico is moving forward. Alex Manes is not.

Breathing by EmmaArthur

Kyle calls Liz to tell her Alex is in the hospital with pneumonia. She discovers that she's missed quite a lot of her friend's life lately.

Note: Pretty much anything by this author is a stellar read. Including, Looking Straight At The Sun

We All Act a Little Bad Sometimes by lostin_space

Alex confronts Isobel and Max on how they treat Michael.

I Never Look Away by Adillard

Post 1x13 fic. With Rosa alive and Max dead, there are a lot of things to figure out. Michael and Alex have to work through things and talk about things that neither wants to.

Mostly Malex with more of Echo to come- my version of season 2 :)

Mostly focuses on Michael and Alex's perspective of things.

More chapters to come-

A Simple Life (but with aliens) by BeStillMySlashyHeart

“I’m leaving Roswell,” he said again, firmer this time. “But I don’t want to leave you.”

Michael’s brow furrowed and he shifted to look at Alex. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I like you. A lot. And I don’t want to lose whatever this is between us. It sounds crazy, I know, we hardly know each other, but-”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed and his face lit up in wonder. “You feel it too?”

Alex moves back to Roswell ten years after leaving but it's not a fractured maybe of a relationship he's coming home to. No. This time, he's coming home to his family.

[The Season 1 rewrite no one asked for where Michael and Alex have been in a long distance relationship since high school and it changes things]

We both carry a switchblade in our sleeves by soberqueerinthewild

An Isobel & Alex post-finale friendship fic. Includes self defense classes and a whole lot of sass.

Team Mutual Support System by Obsessivecompulsivereadr

“Are we developing a mutual support system here?”

“Why not?” she asked. “We’ve both been fucked over by people who were supposed to love us. Who better to understand me than you?”

The Cost of Greatness by BeStillMySlashyHeart, reachedthebitterend

“You broke up with Maria,” Alex said quietly, his surprise evident in his voice.

Michael nodded again.

“Why?”

Michael stared at him before laughing lightly. “Are you serious?”

Alex blinked. “I didn’t think you’d-”

“What? Leave her?” Michael leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping on the arm as he looked at Alex. “I meant what I said Alex. Being with Maria was easy and it was good but that’s all. And I just- I’ve had great. I want great. And I know that I’ll never find it anywhere else. With anyone else.” He leaned forward. “I want you, Alex.”

if you ever wanna be in love (i'll come around) by fraudulentzodiacs

Alex is through walking away, now he's going to prove it to Michael.

Like you wanted it forever. by caitlesshea

In the months since Maria and Michael have started dating, Alex has steered clear of both of them. So what does he do when Maria calls in a panic and can't find Michael? Help of course. He's family.

A Secret Marriage AU nobody asked for.

But I Still Care by Sismyn

Alex tells Rosa the story of Malex. She doesn't like the current ending.

How Do We Fix What's Broken by Sweetgirl2019

Picks up where the finale ended. The aftermath of everything that happened. Lots of angst and a violent exchange in the first chapter.

words echo out yesterday by estel_willow

He keeps telling himself ten more minutes. He’ll wait another ten minutes and then he’ll leave, go back to the cabin and think very carefully about his life choices. He never quite knows what to do with himself when he’s waiting, sitting and hoping for the sounds of Michael’s truck to rumble into view. He’s not good at waiting when there’s no military payoff but here he is, regardless, sitting and waiting for someone who may never come. He checks the time again.

Ten more minutes, he thinks. Ten more minutes.

sometimes letting go is part of loving, (but I never want to) by itsmylifekay

In the wake of Michael and Maria and alien conspiracies, Alex is just trying to keep moving forward, to do what he can to fix the mess his life has become. That generally means avoiding Michael. Unfortunately, the universe has other plans.

Or, five time Michael holds on and one time he doesn't.(it ends well, I promise)

Hearts will hold by InsidiousIntent

He never falls out of love, but he thinks he definitely falls in love, actually.

Note: This one fucking hurts and includes Michael cheating on Alex with Maria, if that’s not your thing.

Cosmic Agony by BeStillMySlashyHeart

The problem with not letting many people in is that when you need someone, it's a short list.

Michael and Alex are both dealing with a lot and in their lowest moments they can only turn to each other. Somehow, this develops to the point where they can no longer go to sleep without the other.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering Michael's dating Maria.

Just You & Me by Sweetgirl2019

After Michael chooses Maria in the finale, Alex decides he needs to make a change. When Michael realizes his mistake, will it be too late?

Now Who’s the Coward? by a1_kitkat

Kyle is angry at how Michael & Maria treated Alex so when he sees the couple together, he gives them a piece of his mind

every traveler, please come home by AndreaLyn

Michael gets sent back in time to relive the best and worst day of his life. Then he does it over and over until he realizes that he has a chance to fix it.

he made me feel (like i belonged) by estel_willow

He heard the sound of giggling from inside and then Michael's voice, soft and low. He knew he should move away but some masochistic part of him had him standing where he was as he heard Maria say Michael's name in a way that definitely wasn't platonic and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. He felt nauseated.

Blood was pounding in his ears and Alex just stood there dumbly for a moment before he shrugged off his backpack and put it on the floor, just underneath the steps where it was obscured but Michael would know it was there as soon as he moved the trailer to go into his bunker.

He breathed out again, past the cloying tightness in his chest. Hadn't they just talked about starting over? Doing it the right way? Hadn't Maria promised him it would never happen again, that it had meant nothing? The way she moaned his name didn't sound like the moan of a dirty, no good, Texas rounder.

This Is Gospel by BillieJoeArmstrong

A weird glowing rock forces Alex to tell the truth.

I just want you to know who I am by littlecountrymouse

It takes them the whole weekend with a break in the middle to get through as much of Michael’s heritage as possible, but it’s eleven PM on Sunday night, and that little voice in Michael’s head reminds him that Alex still hasn’t asked about the situation with Maria.

Not even twenty seconds later, Alex pipes up, his voice carefully neutral, and Michael wonders if the smart little shit is more telepathic than Isobel, or if he just jinxed himself.

“So, why Maria?”

trying to find my peace of mind by alexmanes

Alex doesn't understand why his husband has been so distant lately, but he's determined to get to the bottom of their marital problems. One way or another, he's going to get the answers he so desperately wants.

#fanfic: recs #malex #inbox: anons #inbox: answered

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years

Text

Harlan (White Bison Minotaur)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Minotaur x Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, Minotaur Boyfriend, Monster Boyfriend, Reader Insert, Friends to Enemies to Lovers Content Warnings: Sex, Kinks, Light Bondage, BDSM, Sex Toys, Spanking, Whipping, Pegging, Ass Play, Female Dom, Male Sub, Biting, Safe Sex, Condoms Words: 6746

Another commission and more art by @oddacle! A young woman trying to move up in her company is disappointed when she's passed over for a promotion for her best friend, but it's a development in his love life that forces her to distance herself from him. Please leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Heard about the promotion yet?” You asked Harlan over the lunch in your office.

“Only rumors,” he replied, eating his salad like he’d gone three days without food. “With Canus leaving to start his directing career, it leaves a spot open for a new Senior Content Director.”

“I want that promotion,” You told him vehemently, stabbing at your plate of pasta. “I’ve been at this company for years and I’ve worked my ass off. I deserve it.”

“You can have it,” He said, chuckling. “I’m fine where I am. This company already treats me like the sun and moon live in my ballsack. I don’t need anymore ‘special favors’.”

Easy for you to say, You thought to yourself bitterly, though you’d never say that to him out loud.

Harlan was an absolutely massive white bison minotaur, handsome and sweet, with bright red eyes, long pearly horns, a pale blonde beard decorated with braids and beads. He stood head and shoulders above you, and everyone else, even without the horns. He’d been your best friend since college, and you both had applied for this job at the same time after graduating.

White bison minotaurs were an extremely rare, and as such, people bent over backwards to make them happy. People put high value on creatures who were rare, seeing them as paragons of good fortune, so Harlan was used to getting anything he wanted; he didn’t even have to ask for it. Despite being close friends with him, you had always resented the fact the people just handed him anything he wanted for no other reason than he was considered lucky.

But this was different. This promotion would prove your worth at the company, and you would have done it with your own wit, determination, and effort. No one was going to take it from you.

“It’s still just a rumor at this point,” Harlan said, watching your face. “Don’t get your hopes up. The higher-ups may just close ranks. They did it last time someone retired.”

“I’m working on a big get for the streaming service,” You said, shaking your head. “You’ve heard about Rebel Yell, right?”

“Wasn’t that that dystopian show that got canceled halfway through the second season a year ago that has a huge cult following?” Harlan asked.

“Yep,” You said. “I’ve been talking to the creators of that show, and they want to continue working on it. I’m negotiating a renewal deal as well as buying the rights to run the original episodes on Binge.”

“That would be huge!” Harlan said, excited. “Subscriber projections would be through the roof if you managed to get that. They’d be insane not to promote you.”

“Exactly,” You said pointedly. “I’m so close to it, I can taste it.”

“Well, you deserve it,” Harlan said, wiping his mouth. “But you’ve also been working too hard lately. We haven’t hung out outside of work in months. Let’s get a beer tonight.”

“Can’t. I’ve got to double down on this acquisition. I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers like I did with Keepers. That one set me back months.”

“After, then. Promise?”

You sighed. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

He stood up and threw his plastic salad tray in the garbage, and stared at you judiciously.

“Do you ever think about quitting this job?” He asked you.

“What?” You replied, appalled. “No! I’ve spent the last seven years getting to where I am in this company. I’m not going to throw it away when I’m this close to a lead position.” You looked back at him, frowning. “Do you think about it?”

“Sometimes,” He admitted. “I just… I don’t feel like I’ve earned any of this. They keep pushing me into higher positions with no training, throwing me into projects I don’t know anything about, and every time I make a mistake, they just brush it off and blame it on someone else. I feel like everyone resents me here, even you.”

You stayed silent and didn’t meet his eye. You loved the big guy, but he wasn’t wrong. When you started your internship at Styx Media, which was the owner of Binge Streaming Service as well as a production studio for indie films, it had taken years for you to find a foothold and climb out of the archives, whereas Harlan had been promoted in less than a month.

It was infuriating. You’d had to fight and claw to get to where you were. Harlan was no more skilled than you. In fact, he was less so, since most of college he goofed off and yet somehow managed to make valedictorian. Even now that the two of you had equal positions in the company, he was still making more money than you. He often offered to help, but you refused. You didn’t need his charity.

“Got to get back,” He said, changing the subject. “Jensen has some kind of advertising project he wants me to help him with.”

“You mean, do for him? Jensen is a leech,” You said dismissively.

“Yeah,” Harlan sighed. “I may have gotten this job on merit, but I still want to do well. Helping Jensen is the least I can do.”

And now you felt like an asshole.

“Harlan,” You called after him as he started down the hall.

“Yeah?” He asked, poking his head back in.

“Let’s do pizza and beer tonight,” You said.

He smiled crookedly. “You sure? You won’t be too busy?”

“I think I can spare a few minutes to have a beer with my best friend,” You said.

He grinned widely at you, ducking his head. “It’s a date.” He disappeared down the hall, the beads in his blonde beard clinking against each other as he walked.

That evening, you met him at your favorite pizza place and ordered two slices and a house beer with a lime wedge. He ordered an entire veggie pizza and a pitcher of lager to himself.

“How’s Jensen’s advert project?” You asked him.

“No shop talk at dinner,” He said sternly, booping your nose before picking up a slice and folding it in half. “Besides, I’d rather hear about what you’re doing when you’re not at work. Feels like we haven’t caught up in a while about our non-work lives.”

“What non-work life? Work is my life.”

“That’s kind of what I’m worried about,” He said. “You do know there’s more to life than work, right?

“Not for me,” You said, sipping your beer. “Not till I’m in that corner office with a legion of people working under me. I have a goal and I’m so close to reaching it. I’m not giving up.”

“I’m not saying you should, I just think you need something else in your life. Like…” He sighed and sat back. “Like, maybe, us.”

“Us?” You echoed. “What do you mean, us?”

“You and me. Dating.”

Your head rocked back. “What?”

“I think it could work,” He said, looking sincere. “You and me have been friends forever, and I think we could be really good together.”

You gaped at him. “You’re serious. You want to date?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Is that so weird?”

You sighed unhappily. “Harlan… you’re my best friend and you know I love you, but… I don’t have time for a relationship. My job comes first and I can’t compromise my work ethic for anything or anyone. Not even you.”

Harlan was silent for a minute. “So… your job is more important to you than our eleven-year-long friendship.”

“I…” You tried to argue with that, but you weren’t completely sure that wasn’t true.

“It’s fine,” He said, not meeting your eye. “I figured you’d say no, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.” He flagged down a waitress and asked for a to-go box, throwing some money on the table.

“Harlan, I…”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” He said, taking his half-eaten pizza and walking out of the restaurant.

Things were a little weird between you and Harlan for the next week, but during that time, you’d managed to secure the Rebel Yell deal, which was a huge win for your department. They even threw you a party.

During the party, as everyone was milling around, eating cake and drinking champagne, you approached Harlan for the first time since the pizza place.

“Hey,” You said hesitantly.

“Hey, there,” He said, smiling at you. “Congrats on the deal.”

“Thanks,” You replied. “Listen, I want to apologize about the other night. Of course you’re important to me, but my career is important to me, too. I just hope you don’t think it means that I don’t want to be friends with you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” He said, patting your shoulder. “I’ve always known your career was your priority. I was being selfish. Besides,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve actually met someone.”

Your heart thudded against your chest and your brain blanked for a moment. Cold washed over you. Your lungs forgot how to breathe.

When you regained composure, you said. “Oh, that’s great! What’s their name?”

“His name is Greg, he works in I.T. He’s nice, I think you’d like him.”

“I’m sure I would.” Stupid Greg.

“I felt this instant connection to him, you know? Just like,” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. We’ve only been on three dates, but I think this could be a serious thing.”

“I’m happy for you, man,” You said, giving him a playful slap on the arm. “He sounds great.”

He laughed shyly. “Yeah. Seems like we’re both getting what we want, huh?” He gave you a quick squeeze before walking off, meeting a tallish man with a ponytail and kissing him on the cheek.

“Yeah,” you said, watching him. “Seems like.”

Harlan introduced you to Greg, who seemed nice enough. You still didn’t like him, though, but you had to convince yourself that it wasn’t because you were jealous. You’d turned Harlan down; you didn’t have any right to be jealous.

A few weeks passed as normal as they could. You were trying to keep your mind on your work, finding new content for Binge and investing in new creators, but Harlan kept creeping back into your thoughts. It wasn’t like he hadn’t dated people before, but there was something different this time. Maybe it was because he had told you he wanted to date you, or maybe it was because his relationship with Greg seemed to be moving like a bullet train, but whatever it was, it made you uneasy.

The two of you managed to keep your friendship steady, although he had lunch with you less and less often. He still called and texted everyday to talk, or sent you an email when he wasn’t busy. You couldn’t understand why all of a sudden it felt like you’d swallowed something burning whenever you heard his voice or read his texts.

Finally, at one of the morning board meetings, your boss, Mr. Richardson, stood up and called for silence.

“Alright, now, I know you’ve all heard rumors that there is a promotion up for grabs,” He said, and there was a murmur among those sitting at the table. He waved his hands to calm them. “I know you’ve all been dying to know who’s going to get the open Content Director position, but we wanted to take some time, observe your performances individually, and one of you stood out. One of you exemplifies what this company is trying to do. And today, that person will be rewarded for their hard work.”

You took a breath and swallowed, your heart in your throat.

“Congratulations, Harlan!”

The whole table cheered as Harlan froze, wide-eyed. The anger rose up in your chest, but you forced yourself to clap along with everyone else. Harlan’s eyes cut to you, and you looked away, your jaw working. He knew you were pissed.

“Get up here, Harlan!” Mr. Richardson said, and Harlan reluctantly got up from his seat and joined him at the head of the table, shaking his hand a little awkwardly. “Get used to calling this guy ‘boss’ from now on.”

Harlan looked like he would rather be anywhere else, but he plastered a smile on his face while everyone congratulated him.

Later, back in your office, you were trying to complete some work, but your anger blinded you. You finally gave up and just sat back in your chair with your eyes closed, trying to calm yourself.

A knock at your door opened your eyes, and you said, “Come in.”

Harlan slowly poked his head in. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey,” You said flatly. “Congrats on the promotion.”

He sighed. “You okay?”

“Me?” You asked, getting up to put files that you should be working on away in a cabinet. “Yeah, I’m great. I’m just great. Don’t you worry about me.”

“I am worried about you,” Harlan said pleadingly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked him, looking up at him for the first time since he came in. “Shouldn’t you be settling in to your new corner office? Don’t you have a new job to do?”

“I don’t want this job!” He protested.

“You didn’t exactly turn it down, did you?”

He sighed. “Greg… thinks I should take it. He thinks it’s a good opportunity for me.”

“Oh, well, if it’s what Greg thinks…” You said sarcastically.

“I thought you liked Greg,” Harlan said.

“This isn’t about Greg!” I retorted. “Could… Could you just… leave, please? I need time to deal with this.”

He hesitated. “When you stop being mad, let’s talk, okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” You said dismissively. “Go. I have work to do.”

He disappeared and you was left alone in your dinky office with poor lighting, surrounded by work that wasn’t going to get done that day.

Before the end of the work day, Mr. Richardson called you into his office.

“Hey, there, wanted to talk to you for a second,” He said as you came in.

“What about, sir?”

He got up and sat on the edge of his desk. “Look, I’m not blind. I know you wanted that senior position and you fought hard for it. But the decision came from higher up. It wasn’t my call. If it had been up to me, you’d have gotten that job.”

“Thanks sir, that means a lot.” You replied.

“In fact, that’s actually wanted to talk to you about,” He continued. “We have another senior position available, but it’s at our London office. It’s yours if you want it.”

My eyebrows climbed. “Seriously, sir?”

“Seriously. You interested?”

You put a hand to your head. It was exactly what you wanted. But… in another country? Leave everything behind? Your family, friends… Harlan?

“Can I have a little time to think about it, sir?” You asked.

“Sure, but don’t take too long. There’s a few people vying for this job, although not as qualified. If you hold out too long, it’ll go to one of them.”

“I understand, sir,” You said, holding out a hand. “Thank you so much for recommending me.”

He shook your hand. “Don’t thank me. Your work speaks for itself. They’d be lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate this more than you know.”

The next day, early in the morning, you got in early to work on the files you hadn’t done the day before, and Harlan met you at your office door.

“Before you--” He started, but you stopped him.

“Don’t worry about it, Harlan,” You said. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He asked trepidatiously.

“No. I thought about it. There are other opportunities for me. There’s no point in being pissed at you.”

“Great,” He said in a relieved exhaled. “Because I wanted to tell you something, and I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “You’re my best friend and I wanted you to know first.”

You took the envelope he gave you, which was gold with embossed white lettering. Opening it, you found a card that said You Are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of-- and you stopped reading. Your heart dropped into your toes. Pins and needles stabbed at your spine and a stone lodged itself in your stomach.

“I know it’s only been two months, but I love Greg very much. I want you to be my best man. Or woman. Or whatever.”

“Wow,” You managed to say. “I’m… I’m so happy for you.” You pulled him into a hug so he couldn’t see your face.

“So will you? Be my best man, I mean?” He asked you.

“Of course,” You forced out. “I’d be happy to.”

You held him long enough to put something that resembled a smile on your face and released him. He grinned his great, big, sweet grin at you, and the knife twisted.

“Well, I’ve got some more invites to hand out, but I wanted to make sure you got yours first.” He pulled you into another hug and said. “Thanks. Love you.” And made for the elevator with a departing grin.

You went into your office, locked the door, and cried. You don’t know how long you were on the floor, sobbing into your knees, but you stopped when you heard people out in the main area. Getting yourself together, you wiped your face, reapplied your eyeliner, walked out of your office, and marched into Mr. Richardson’s office.

“What’s up? Are you alright?” He asked.

“I’ll take it. I’ll take the London job.”

June 14, 10:25 A.M.: Hey! How are you settling in? Is London as awesome as you thought it was? Call me when you get a chance. June 16, 3:22 P.M.: Hey bud, I wanted to ask you about some wedding details. Are you going to bring a plus one? We’re working on the seating chart. Call me later. June 20, 7:02 P.M.: You doing okay? How’s the new job? I know you’re probably busy, but message me when you get a chance, okay? Miss you, buddy. June 21, 9:19 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan June 23, 5:47 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan July 4, 10:34 P.M.: Wish you were here. The fireworks are awesome this year. July 10, 6:54 P.M.: Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while. Just text me and let me know if you’re alright. July 10, 7:01 P.M.: If there’s something wrong, you can tell me. We’re still friends, right? Call me. July 10, 7:25 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan July 28, 2:56 P.M.: I called your office today. They said you were busy. Are you avoiding me? Why? Did I do something? Talk to me. August 3, 12.01 A.M.: Happy Birthday! August 3, 8:23 A.M.: Missed Call from Harlan August 3, 11:31 A.M.: Missed Call from Harlan August 3, 2:59 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan August 3, 5:49 P.M.: Why aren’t you answering my calls? August 15, 6:20 P.M.: Look, just send me one text, okay? Just one so that I know you’re okay. September 8, 2:46 P.M.: It’s kind of bullshit that you got this big, new job and won’t speak to me anymore. If you don’t want anything to do with me, the least you could do is call me and tell me yourself. You’re being a coward by ignoring me. September 8; 3:04: P.M.: Fine. Have a nice life. December 13, 1:58 A.M.: Listen, I know you’ve got your own stuff going on right now, but I could really use a friend. Please call me. Please.

That was the last text you got from Harlan. You almost broke and replied, but the sting of hearing his voice would have been too much.

Nearly a year after getting the job in London, during which it took some time to get used to living in a different country, you were invited to a conference to discuss the success of the international campaigns and to encourage further expansion back in the US. You were worried you’d run into Harlan, but this was a work function, and as Content Director, it was pretty much mandatory.

Being back in the states was weird, but the familiarity was comforting. You got your key to your room and went up, intending on taking a quick nap to get rid of the jetlag. It ended up being a nine hour coma. You woke at three in the morning starving.

The only thing open in the hotel was the bar, which had basic bar food and you figured it was good enough. You threw on a comfy shirt and a pair of jeans and headed down to the lobby. There were more people in the bar than you expected to be at this hour, but then again, there was a huge conference going on. Lots of people had problems with public speaking, yourself included, and needed some liquid courage to get themselves on stage.

You sat at a table and ordered a beer with a lime wedge and some nachos, which would tide you over until breakfast. As you sat, waiting for your beer and food, feeling… a lot of things. You’d grown up in this town and coming back home had brought up a lot of memories. You’d driven past the playground where you spent most of your Saturdays as a kid, past your old office and the pizza place where Harlan had suggested the two of you start dating, past the campus where the two of you had gone to school.

You didn’t even know why, but you could feel tears welling up in your eyes.You hadn’t realized how homesick you were until you actually came home.

A shadow fell over you, and a hand set a plate of nachos and a beer in front of you.

“You and your lime wedges,” A familiar voice said.

Through your tears, you looked up in horror and saw Harlan standing in front of you, wearing a t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it and a pair of extremely tight black jeans.

You weren’t proud of it, but you ran. You ran out of the bar and into the elevator, escaping back to your room. You closed the door and bent over, gripping your knees and gasping for breath.

A banging on your door startled you, and you jumped.

“Let me in!” You heard Harlan say. “I know you’re in there! Let me in! Stop avoiding me!”

“Go away!” You yelled.

“This is because of the promotion, isn’t it! You’re still pissed that they gave the job you wanted to me, aren’t you! Well, you can feel better about yourself now because I quit months ago!”

“What?” That shocked You into opening the door, where he was standing, still wearing the bar attire. You suddenly put two and two together. “You quit? Why the hell would you quit? That was our dream job.”

“It was your dream job that I sniped out from under you and I never stopped feeling guilty about that.” He said.

“You didn’t have to feel guilty about it, I got a better job, so you were welcome to that one!” You shouted.

“I never cared about that job!” He yelled back. “I never cared about that company! I only applied when you did so I could be close to you!”

You was stunned into silence, your mouth hanging open.

“Look, can I come in, or do you want to conduct this shouting match in the hallway?” He asked. Wordlessly, you stepped aside. He came in and sat down on your bed, his hands clasped between his knees.

“What are you talking about, you only applied for me?” You asked him.

He sighed and cocked his head in irritation. “Everyone, every single person I’ve ever known, has treated me like some good luck charm. My whole life, people have gotten close to me because they thought that I could do something for them, that by being near me, they could share this luck I’m supposed to have. They thought it could get them good grades or a good job or whatever they wanted. You were the only person who didn’t seem like you gave a shit about that. You were the only person who wanted to be my friend for me, and not what I could do for you.”

He stopped talking and stared at his hands, which were shaking.

“I applied at Styx because I wanted to stay with you, the only person who treated me like a person and not a walking, talking rabbit’s foot. So when you shut me out after going to London, it felt like you had used me to get where you wanted, just like everyone else.”

“Oh…” You said. “Oh… no, Harlan, that wasn’t it at all.”

“Then what was it?” He asked, getting angry. “Why did you just start ignoring me once you got that corner office, huh? What made you so busy that you could send me one text? That you could pick up the phone? No one else had a problem getting a hold of you! So why couldn’t you talk to me?”

“I…” You swallowed, your throat tight. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” He said, getting up and advancing on me. “Why can’t you tell me? I thought we were friends! I thought you actually cared about me! But you’re just like everyone else. You just like the company! You’re just like my parents! You’re just like Greg!”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, your brow furrowing in confusion. “I thought you and Greg were getting married.”

“If you had picked up or answered any of my texts, you’d have known that Greg left me,” Harlan said, angry tears in his eyes. “He left when I quit. He just wanted the life being a big-shot got me. He didn’t want me, he wanted the money. The lifestyle.”

“I… I’m so sorry, Harlan,” You said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have, would you?” He said loudly, his tears spilling down his cheek. “You never bothered to check, did you? You went off and couldn’t have given a shit about me.”

“That’s not true!” You yelled.

“Then how! Tell me how you could just write me out of your life like the last decade meant nothing! What did I do that offended you so much, you just had to get away from me and never talk to me again? Tell me!”

“You got engaged!” You blurted out, pushed to tears yourself. You stepped away and gripped you hair. He was never supposed to know.

“What?” He said, confused. “But… you said… you said you didn’t want…”

“And I didn’t,” You replied. “When you started dating Greg, I figured it was no big deal. I hadn’t ever care when you dated before because they never got serious. But when you got engaged… I… I just… It felt like I’d been shot. And you asked me to stand at your wedding, and I wanted to be there for you, but the thought of standing beside you while you married someone else made me want to die. So… I ran. I ran away. It’s all I could think to do.”

You turned to see him staring at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You laughed mirthlessly, wiping your nose and sniffling. “What was I supposed to say, Harlan? ‘You can’t get married because I’m in love with you but I didn’t realize it until you got engaged? Oh, and you have to choose between me and your new fiance?’ Is that what you’d have wanted me to do?”

“No, but…” He stood up and approached you, looking down at you. “You’re really in love with me?”

“Yes, I am,” You admitted reluctantly, staring at his chest and not his face, fearing his reaction. “I just didn’t--”

You were cut off by him picking you up bodily and pushing you up against the wall, kissing you hard. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you kissed him back, grabbing handfuls of the fur on his neck and tugging him closer to you. It wasn’t gentle; by the time you broke apart for air, both of your lips were bleeding.

“I’m so sorry,” You said, breathing hard. “I’m sorry I shut you out and left. I’ve never been in love before and it scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay,” He said, hugging me close. “It’s okay. We can start over.” He held you up by tilting his hips up and removed his shirt. He then took your shirt and pulled it over your head, revealing your exposed torso. He pressed his lips to your breast, sucking it into his mouth, and you gripped his horns, moaning breathily.

You jumped down and unbuckled his belt, opened up his pants, and reached inside. He groaned as your hand encircled his length, already straining against the tight fabric of his jeans.

“Let me apologize properly,” You said, getting ready to kneel down, but he stopped you.

“No,” He said, shaking his head. “People always want to please me and I’m sick of it. What can I do to please you? That’s what I want. I want to please you.”

You bit your lip and smiled slightly. “Really?”

“Yes,” He said. “Tell me what you want.”

“Okay,” You said, thinking. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” He hurriedly started to undress, and you said, “No, slowly.”

He grinned and began stripping, making a show of it, while you leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, watching. Eventually he stood there, nude and glorious, and you pushed yourself off the wall and walked up to him.

“Now take off my clothes,” You told him. He knelt down and took of your shoes, socks, pants and underwear. He started to stand, and you said, “No, stay there.” And he stopped and returned to his knees.

“Put your hands behind your back.” You said.

He complied. You went to your luggage and found your sturdiest pair of leggings, and tied his hands behind his back.

“Hurt?” You asked.

“No,” He said.

“Good,” You said, and settled in a chair just across from where he was kneeling. Using your foot, you traced a line down his body, starting from his lips, down his neck, chest, abdomen, and just above his cock, which pulsed and jumped in his lap. Harlan was breathing hard, but he stayed still. You pulled your foot away and slowly opened your legs, resting your heels on the arms of the chair, and reached a hand between them, slowly circling your bud, making sure Harlan was watching.

Oh, he was watching: he was practically drooling. You slowly rocked your hips against your hand, the muscles in your thighs tensing and relaxing as you did.

“Let me--” He began, but you stopped him with the ball of your foot.

“No talking unless I tell you,” You said, and he clamped his lips shut.

Your fingers sped up, and you moaned and writhed, watching him the entire time. His muscles were straining against the restrains and he looked desperate to touch, but he obeyed and stayed still.

“You’re being a very good boy,” You told him. “How about you use that tongue of yours as a reward.”

He wasted no time in scooting closer and pressing his long, flat tongue against your slit, licking and sucking enthusiastically. You gasped, grasping his mane and pulling, and he moaned against you.

He had an extremely talented tongue, and your legs were shaking in a matter of minutes. You cried out over and over, not really caring if your neighbors could hear you.

“Make me cum,” You gasped. He was happy to obey, and within another few seconds, a wave of ecstasy hit you and you pulled harder on his hair.

“Stop!” You ordered, and he pulled away as you relaxed and tried to catch your breath. He sat in front of you, waiting for your next command.

“Go to the bed and lay down on your stomach,” You told him breathlessly. He stood and did as you told him, his hands still tied behind his back. You went back to your luggage and opened a special bag, taking out your favorite toy and a bottle of lube. You also took out your pack of condoms. Using condoms was the easiest way to keep your toys clean.

“Spread your legs,” You told him, and he complied.

You put a small amount of lube on your fingers and massaged his pucker, and he groaned against the blankets.

“Does this feel good?” You asked him, slowly inserting one finger.

“Oh, god, yes,” He said, his voice muffled.

You slapped a hand over his ass cheek hard, and he jumped and cried out.

“You want more?”

“Yes, please,” He begged.

You took the toy and covered it in a condom, then slicked it down with lube, and placed it against his entrance, slowly pushing into him. He whimpered over and over and it disappeared inside him. You pulled out and pushed it back in a few times before letting rest fully seated. He clenched down on it.

You got your belt out from the bag. You bent down and sank your teeth into his right cheek, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave an impression. His body tensed and he moaned loudly. Your rubbed the bite mark before slapping it, and he grunted sharply.

“More?” You asked.

“Yes!” He shouted.

You lay the belt on the bed where he could see it.

“You want this?” You asked him.

He nodded, but you grabbed his snout to stop him.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I want it,” He breathed.

You got back off the bed and poised yourself behind him, holding the belt in your grip. Carefully, you bent the belt double and reared back, cracking him across the ass. Your first strike was tentative, but he groaned appreciatively and said, “Harder, please!”

The next strike had more power behind it, and by the time you were done, he had several red welts across his ass. He was breathing heavily and moaning, and thanking you profusely. The toy stayed firmly in place the entire time.

You crawled on the bed and lay down next to him.

“You okay?” You asked him, caressing his face.

“Yes,” He said, kissing your palm.

“I’m going to have to get a harness and fuck you silly,” You said, pressing your thumb against his lips.

“I would greatly enjoy that,” He said, kissing your thumb and sucking on it.

“Are you done or can you keep going?” You asked him.

“I’ll go as long as you want me to, Boss,” He said.

You grinned. “Call me that again.”

“Fuck me, Boss,” He said.

“Mmm,” You moaned, biting your lip. “That sounds really good.” You sat up and untied his hands. “Lay back on the bed and put your hands above your head.”

“Yes, Boss,” He said, doing as you told him without hesitation.

You tied his hands to the headboard securely and kissed your way down his body. When you got to his cock, you stroked it for a minute before grabbing the lube and condoms. You tore open a wrapper with your teeth and rolled the condom down onto his member, checking for holes, and then lubed him up. You crawled up his body to kiss him.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Yes, Boss,” He said obediently.

You grinned at him as you sank down onto him. He was big, bigger than any of your toys, but the feeling of being completely filled from bottom to top was mind-blowing. You ground against him for a minute, during which his eyes rolled back and he grunted.

You bounced against him, your hands braced on his chest, your breasts rolling with every thrust down. You lowered your body while riding him and bit down hard at his nipple, and his body rose up underneath you. He shouted loudly.

“Too much?” You gasped.

“No, Boss!” He cried out.

You licked the nipple you had bitten, and he moaned.

“Keep moaning,” You told him, rocking against him faster. He obeyed. God, you loved it when he obeyed. You moved at a frenetic pace and he rolled his hips in time with your thrusts. He pulsed inside you and you clenched around him. The pleasure rose up and hit you just as hard as it had before, doubled by the sensation of him cumming inside you and the delicious sounds he made.

As the pleasure ebbed, you collapsed onto his chest, gasping for breath. He was just as winded as you.

“Are you okay, Harlan?” You asked.

“I’m incredible,” He said. “No one has ever done that for me. They always want me to be in control.”

“You liked it, then?” You asked as you sat up, fighting the vertigo.

“Oh, god, I loved it,” He said. “That was the best.”

“Good to know,” You said, reaching up to untie his hands. As soon as they were free, he hugged you tightly, kissing your face.

You felt him soften and slowly fall out of you, and said, “Let’s get cleaned up.” You got off of him and pulled the toy out of him. He groaned softly.

He got up after you and pulled the loaded condom off, disposing it in the trash. You took the one off the toy and threw it away as well. In the bathroom, you washed the toy and dried it, then put it, the condoms, and the lube back in their special bag.

In the bathroom, Harlan had started a shower and held out his hand to help you into it, then stepped in after you and closing the curtain. You rubbed his bruised behind and the bite marks on his chest, and he caressed your skin and kissed your shoulder.

“How did you even know what room I was in?” You asked.

He laughed. “I told the front desk you ran out on your tab.”

“Won’t your boss be wondering where you are?”

“You’re my boss, Boss,” He said with a smirk. “Besides, I don’t care about that job. I only enjoyed working when I was working with you.”

“Aww,” You tsked. “I wish we could work together again. I’m sorry I took a job so far away. I didn’t realize how homesick I’d be.”

“Come back to work with Styx in the States again,” He said.

You sighed. “That feels like a step back. A demotion. I want something else.”

“Like what?” He asked, scrubbing your back.

It hit you like a bolt of lightning. Of course, it was so fucking obvious.

“Like starting my own media company.”

He stopped and turned you. “Wait. Are you serious?”

“Yes! I hate working for other people, I want to be the boss, you know that. That’s why I’ve been fighting and clawing my way to the top of Styx. But starting my own company, I’d be the boss from the beginning.” You scratched his chin under his beard and his eyes closed in pleasure. “Want to be my partner?”

His eyes opened wide. “What, really? You want me to be co-owner?”

“Yeah! Between my expertise and drive and your natural charisma, I think we’d be an unstoppable team!” You bit your lip. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” He said. “Are you only talking about being business partners or… are you saying you want to be with me?”

You grabbed a fistful of his beard and tugged him down. “Are you questioning me?”

“No, Boss,” He said, his eyes sparking.

“Good,” You replied, kissing him. “Because you’re mine. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Boss,” He said, smiling.

You kissed him deeply while the water ran over the two of you. In a few hours you’d be giving a speech about international synergy, and after that you’d be tendering your resignation. But you knew this was the right step. You and Harlan were going to do great things together, but most importantly, you’d be together, just like you were always meant to be.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

Extra shirtless art!

#Exophilia #Minotaur #Minotaur Boyfriend #Monster Boyfriend #Lemon #Friends to Lovers #Interspecies Relationship #Reader Insert #Reader-Insert #Female Dom #Male Sub #My Writing #Commissions #Oddacle

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antiquecompass · 5 years

Text

Untamed Fest Day 2: Dynamic

Summary: Wherein Sizhui has a best friend and a crush and parents who care, perhaps, maybe, just a little too much.

(So, like I said yesterday these fics are going to bounce around the ages of 11-18 for the Juniors. In this one Sizhui is 14. It’s also pre-Sizhui/Jingyi. Don’t worry, nothing will get above Teen in this entire series, and only then bc I, and therefore characters I write, curse like a sailor.)

When it came to personality, at least inside the confines of Lan Academy, Lan Sizhui had taken after his Papa. He projected an aura of quiet leadership and confidence; fair in judgment, but willing to mete out and take punishments. Even at fourteen, he was already one of the leaders on the Student Council; the youngest Vice President in a decade. Sizhui had entered the Academy at the age of eleven, determined to prove any doubters wrong, and had done so quietly and efficiently, just like a Lan should.

Lan Jingyi did not lead quietly, though he was still a leader among their class. Lan Jingyi had the type of dynamic personality that drew others in, fluttering around him like butterflies, but he ignored most of them to keep the company of his two best friends. He was loud, opinionated, and always willing to make his feelings known. He wasn’t the way many thought a Lan should be, but he was very much a Lan, through and through, just willing to openly show the more stubborn parts of their personality that people forgot they had under their veneer of genteel manners.

It was often said that together, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi truly made the perfect Lan. A balance of the best, and worst, traits. Sizhui was calm and quiet, Jingyi excitable and loud, but where Sizhui often had self-doubts, Jingyi had enough pride and confidence for the both of them. They’d grown up as a pair, rarely apart, settling into their roles and friendship with an enviable and familiar ease. So many years together, being so known to each other, they were a hard pair to defeat in anything--be it something as simple as a classroom debate or something more serious as an actual fight to defend someone’s honor. Since they were always found in each other’s company, they’d become the pride of the family and the Academy.

Sizhui was proud to be the one-half of such a whole.

Sizhui also had a problem.

He knew he had a crush on Jingyi. It’d been there for years. Apparently he’d told his fathers at the ripe old age of five that he was going to marry Jingyi one day, and while it’d been a story retold often at family gatherings for laughs...well, Sizhui may not have truly meant it at five, but at fourteen, it was definitely a future he wanted.

And somehow he knew that wasn’t normal.

He knew it was normal, for him, to have a crush. His fathers had taken great pains to inform him about different sexual and gender identities and forms of attraction and the like as soon as he showed the first hints of a boyhood crush. So he knew a crush, especially on attractive, kind, funny, caring Jingyi wasn’t unusual. They’d been best friends since they were four. There was no one else his age Sizhui trusted more than Jingyi.

But Sizhui was worried that he’d passed the crush stage long ago and had been firmly planted in something that he was hesitant to call love, because he was only fourteen, but knew that clearly picturing a future with Jingyi that saw them married and raising some kids of their own as the most natural course of their relationship probably meant something significant.

He knew most Lans fell hard, fell once, and fell in love for life. But Sizhui was a Lan in name only.

Perhaps Nurture had won this round versus Nature.

He still needed to talk to someone before he embarrassingly blurted out his love for Jingyi straight to his face, probably when the other was devouring a basket of chicken wings. That would be Sizhui’s luck. He’d probably make poor Jingyi choke. And then he’d have to give him the Heimlich or something, and Jingyi would probably spit out his chicken bone right into Great Uncle Lan’s face, and then Sizhui would have to go find a grave plot to bury himself in after he died from the collective embarrrassment.

So, yeah, he needed to talk to someone.

**********

Dad’s office occupied the single turret tower of their massive house. He jokingly called it his gargoyle hoard, and often sang songs from Disney’s take on The Hunchback of Notre Dame as he climbed the stairs to the tower. Or he called for Papa with, ‘Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, let down your hair’ which never made much sense to Sizhui since Dad was the one in the tower, but they all indulged Dad’s whims and humor.

From the outside the tower looked imposing in its stone and dark shingled roof, but inside it was full of vibrant color. All of his books were here, crammed on an overstuffed bookshelf, containing every edition of every book he’d published in every language available, a handmade wooden sign hung above it declaring, A Leap of Faith. Art of his various characters hung on the wall, some official that he’d commissioned, some of his own making, but most sent by fans from around the world in the barrels of mail that came to the house each week.

It was a cluttered mess of genius that perfectly encapsulated his dad.

Today Dad was behind his desk, hair pulled up into a messy bun, with fingers covered in paint as he worked out some new character designs for his latest story. He was slowly moving from elementary reading level books to Young Adult, but his new series would straddle that border of Young Adult and New Adult--that vague spot where the characters weren’t young teens, nor in their mid-20s, but still had their own stories to tell. It was a story he’d been wanting to tell for years, based largely on his own life, but set in a mystical and magical modern world.

His papa was unceremoniously sprawled out on the battered couch that had followed his fathers from their apartment in Cambridge, to their home in Boston, to this massive estate in the Berkshires. Sizhui smiled to himself as he pictured his classmates faces if they ever saw the great Hanguang-Jun with such imperfect posture, wearing only worn sweatpants and a t-shirt older than Sizhui. His hair was also pulled up into a messy bun, a red pen clutched in his teeth as he read through the most recent edit of Dad’s new book.

Sizhui smiled as he watched them. His parents had always been so full of warmth and love--for him, for each other, for all their family--that Sizhui knew he’d been spoiled in care and affection. And he wanted that, the connection that they had. He knew it wasn’t effortless, every relationship took work and dedication and effort, but they made it seem so very easy.

“Sizhui, why do you linger?” Papa asked, eyes barely leaving the bound pages in his hands.

“Because he is a good boy who waits until he’s invited in, even though he knows he never has to,” Dad said, waving him inside. “What can we do for our favorite son?”

“Your only son, since you never did give me that sibling I asked for,” Sizhui teased.

Dad smirked. “Not for lack of trying,” he said.

“Wei Ying,” Papa admonished from the couch.

Dad patted the chair next to his desk. “Come. Sit. Speak. Bond. I feel like we never talk anymore.”

“We had an entire family conference just last night,” Sizhui said as he took his seat.

Dad frowned. “But that was school stuff. I want gossip, Sizhui. I want the deets. I want the 411. Give me the dirt. Spill the tea. Or the beans.” He looked to Papa. “What else do the kids say these days?”

“None of what just passed your lips,” Papa said.

Dad frowned. “So mean, Lan Zhan.” His pout became more pronounced as he turned to Sizhui. “See how he treats me? Betrayed by my very own heart and soul.”

Sizhui shook his head at them, but grasped on to the opening. “So, about that.”

He didn’t know what he expected to happen but Dad actually gasped and Papa sat up so fast he nearly tumbled off the couch.

“Is it happening?” Dad asked. “Did it happen?” He pulled out his leather planner, full of post-it notes, napkins, and various other bits and bobs. “I had you two down for at least another month from now, but your Papa insisted it would be before Halloween.”

“What?” Sizhui asked as he looked back and forth between his parents.

“Sizhui,” Papa said as he walked over to the desk. “Did Lan Jingyi not ask you out on a date?”

“What?” Sizhui asked. He felt the blood rush to his face, in his ears, blocking out all other sounds. “What?” he repeated.

Dad grimaced. “Whoops. I think we broke him. Bad parenting penalty.”

“No--I---what?” Sizhui asked again. “I just wanted to know how you, like, know if you like someone more than a friend and you’re running a bet on my dating life? With my best friend?”

“To be fair, your Uncle Huaisang runs a bet on everything,” Dad said.

“Wei Ying,” Papa cautioned.

“Fine,” Dad said, pushing his planner to the side. He sat forward and grasped Sizhui hands. “Sizhui, if you’re asking us this question, do you not already know the answer?”

Sizhui nodded. “But, how can you be sure?”

“In your own heart, what do you feel?” Papa asked. He knelt to meet Sizhui’s downcast gaze. “You don’t have to tell us, or even him, but you’ll feel so much more relief if you acknowledge your own truth.” His smile was small as he patted Sizhui’s knees. “It was the only way I was able to manage all the years when your dad still didn’t know his own feelings.”

“It must’ve been torture,” Sizhui said.

Papa smiled and met Dad’s eyes. “It wasn’t so bad, in the end. But you and Jingyi are different. You don’t have the restrictions on you that Uncle put on me and your Uncle Xichen. You don’t have the physical distance between you. If you want to, you can start dating now. If you feel like you’re ready.”

Sizhui tried not to hunch his shoulders and make himself smaller, but the uncertainty ate at him. “But what if I ruin our friendship? I don’t think--I couldn’t take him hating me.”

“Oh, Sizhui,” Dad said as he clambered over the desk and hugged him. “Jingyi could never hate you. I know you know him better than that, but if you want more, well…”

“Leap of faith?” Sizhui asked.

Both his fathers nodded.

If the Lan-Wei family had its own motto, Leap of Faith, would be it. If they had their own crest, it would be a rabbit surrounded by the words, Daring, Determination, Devotion, and Honesty. His fathers had raised him with those values, and Sizhui did his best to own them, and now, he knew, he could either rely on them or try to patiently wait until Jingyi came to him.

If at school the dynamic of Sizhui and Jingyi made the perfect Lan, at home, Sizhui was very much the best, and worst, of both of his fathers.

“Oh, I know that look,” Dad said as he kissed the top of Sizhui’s head. “Poor Jingyi isn’t going to know what hit him.” Sizhui could feel his wide grin against his hair. “It’s going to be awesome.”

Part 2

#untamedfest #fandom: the untamed #long post #verse: lahl #fic: tales from lan academy #the untamed #my ridic writing #day 2

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alarriefantasy · 5 years

Note

Hi could you suggest some fics with rich Harry and normal Louis?

Here you go, love!!!! :)

Rich Harry Fic Rec

Do you know just how pretty you are? by Brxvery

Words: 3k

Louis’s always been treated a little bit more special than everyone working for the Styles family.. He knows that Harry is behind some of it- with that strange gaze always on Louis.. He doesn’t exactly understand it until Harry shows him.

When Bad First Impressions Lead To Love by jacinth

Words: 3k

What do you do when you’re trapped in a summer house for 2 months with a snobby rich boy who made you cry the first time you met?

Every Breath We Drew by sohappily (somuchitshurting)

Words: 7k

Harry is alone; Louis needs a loan.

you think you’re all that, huh? by orphan_account

Words: 10k

au. louis leaves school to become a maid for one of the richest men in britian who’s son complicates his life a bit.

Opposites Attract by louisgrindsonharry

Words: 11k

Or, the AU where Harry’s an innocent little preppy kid and Louis has lots of tattoos and piercings and Harry wants wants to know why he cant’ stop thinking about the boy who walked him home.

Put It On Me by stylinsoncity

Words: 14k

Harry’s bachelor party doesn’t go as planned.

You’re something by tessalane

Words: 15k

or Harry is one of the most successful and richest men in the world right now, running a company with his best friend Liam. He’s not happy until he meets the cheeky bartender Louis dressed as an elf, who’s working to go to Uni.

Sweet Cheeks by NoShitSherlock

Words: 17k

Louis is an innocent, pretty in glasses, flustered mess of a high school sex-ed teacher who gets far too many dirty compliments and taps on the ass from his students. Harry, the lacrosse senior star and bad boy of Rowan High, gets transferred to Mr. Tomlinson’s sex-ed class after humiliating his previous teacher. It’s just what he likes to do.

Harry becomes set on humiliating Mr. Tomlinson who just so happens to be his next door neighbour, but it backfires when sexual comments get made. There’s one thing about Harry Styles: he doesn’t do teachers.

Until he does.

Nothing’s as sweet as you by harrystylesandstuff

Words: 17k

Louis flies to California with his squad to party but end up falling for a cute giant in a pink apron selling frozen yogurts.

AU where Louis spends his life without shoes and eats too much frozen yogurt to hang out with a clumsy Harry who’s rich af. With a special appearance of Louis’ hot friend Luke and Niall’s hat. It’s basically filled with fluff and Californian vibes and I needed to get it out there.

Meet me in Stockholm by indierection (amandamoraisa)

Words: 18k

Or that one where Zayn and Louis accidentally kidnap Harry and he happen to develop Stockholm Syndrome and a bondage kink.

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Words: 23k

Harry’s a sheltered rich kid and Louis’s a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry’s house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

Show me wealth, I’ll show your heart by harrystylesandstuff

Words: 30k

Or AU where Harry has more money than he can handle, Louis can’t handle not having any, and they both find out the greatest wealth isn’t countable.

Million Dollar Man by selflovelouis

Words: 47k

“I’m putting myself out on a limb here but…” Harry pauses, reaching out to grab a hold of Louis’ hands tentatively. Louis’ a bit taken back, but his hands are so warm and Louis’ hands are so cold from handling the ice in the back. “You shouldn’t have to work in a place like this, I could… I could take care of everything. You can quit here and pursue Broadway full time,” Harry says, voicing quivering and Louis can feel his hands shaking and Louis holds onto them tightly.“I don’t understand, are you an agent or do you just invest money in young actors?” Louis asks, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he chews on his bottom lip.“Let me take you out, hm? We can talk more about it. I can pay for your tuition and…” Harry trails off, and Louis gasps quietly, leaning in towards Harry.“Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you asking to be my… sugar daddy?” Louis asks, lowering his voice and Harry can’t help but chuckle.“Something like that, yeah,” Harry replies, squeezing the boy’s hands and smiling at his flushed cheeks and innocent expression.

CEO by aace1234

Words: 58k

Louis has just graduated university when he meets the successful, dominating and rich Harry Styles.

Louis has no idea how well known Harry is and he falls hard.

Harry has one thing on his mind and it’s Louis, he’s not used to relationships and caring about someone, but he knows Louis is different somehow.

Louis comes with a lot of surprises and three very overprotective brothers. Harry finds himself falling for the boy and when the past becomes intertwined in their lives, things become even more serious.

Anonymously Yours by DirtyLarryStylinson

Words: 64k

Louis creates a fake, female social media account to talk to the new, straight boy, Harry Styles, on. Along with this, Harry is getting closer and closer to Louis and his friendship group, and things are taken way too far online.

Further than Louis had ever intended.

And secrets are revealed on how Harry feels about Louis…

Little Cub by aace1234

Words: 68k

Harry is head of the underground, he’s ruthless, possessive, feared and powerful.

Louis is a student, his dad works for Harry but Louis has no idea about the underground world.

What happens when Louis Dad causes trouble and Harry kidnaps Louis for revenge.

And I’ll judge the cover by the book by harrystylesandstuff

Words: 73k

Or a Private University AU where Harry is a queer posh prince, Louis is a closeted troublemaker, and neither expect to understand each other the way they will.

Strawberries & Cigarettes by dimpled_halo

Words: 76k

Summary: Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

satellite by suspendrs

Words: 100k

Or, Harry finds out that someone’s been living in his house without him knowing, but instead of kicking him out, he falls in love with him.

Deuxsphere by sweetlullabies

Words: 158k

Harry’s first year at uni is guaranteed to be a breeze as long as he stays focused, steers clear of flying footballs, and completely avoids boys who are in bands.

Enemies with benefits by ssii8

Words: 267k

Where Harry is captain of basketball team and Louis is captain of football team and they hate each other.But somehow this doesn’t stop them from having sex, tutoring each other once a week, or going to each other’s house for a night when things were too difficult at home.

And everything is perfect until they start to feel something more.

#ask

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hamlets-ghost-zaddy · 5 years

Text

queen of peace

Part 3/10

Shifty Powers x Reader

Summary: He fights with a rifle, you with a needle. When the toll of taking lives grows too high on him, you’re there to stitch his ripped seams and patch him together again (after all, you’re awfully good at taking what’s old and giving it new life)

In the writhing shuffle to exit the dance hall, you shouted plans to Shifty, calling your available times and confirming his available dates over heads. Then, when Saturday midmorning finally comes, at a quarter-til eleven sharp, Shifty Powers appears on your front doorstop. Right on time—frightfully on time.

And now, quite implausibly—and downright unthinkable just over a month ago—an American perches in a chair at the sewing shop’s worktable. He’s squinting mightily at a long, boring needle pinchied delicately between his fingers while a trail of thread is pinched in the other. For your part, you’re trying desperately not to be so endeared.

A furrow draws his eyebrows together, a pucker of wrinkles separating the two, his mouth remaining a stoic line, but you’re most fascinated with his nose—slowly scrunching like an intrigued rabbit—as his eyes narrow yet further. You bite your bottom lip to keep from offering advice; you’d already wrestled a normal-size needle from his boyishly clumsy fingers, worried he’d stick himself, and swapped it out in favor of a longer, boring needle, really only good for khaki and softer leathers. Which, to be fair, you reason, watching his tongue poke out from between his teeth, the thread almost going through the needle’s eye, would be most of the fabrics he’d be patching in the field.

“Nearly there,” Shifty mutters, and you hum.

You feel eyes on the back of your neck, and glance up to catch your Mother peeking around the corner from the kitchen. Meeting your eyes, she raises her eyebrows at Shifty before withdrawing on quiet feet. She must have just come in from her weekly Saturday morning mass down at the parish.

Though you’d never admit the sting it caused in your chest, behind your eyes, you know some part of your mother hadn’t believed you when you regaled her with a recount of the dance. You tracked her skeptical frown at the promises of the American nurses, the praise lavished on the wits and humor of one George Luz, even the sewing lessons with the boy from Virginia. Logically, you reason it’s because your mother’s ability to hope was irrevocably fractured in the Blitz, dying under the atelier along with your father. Yet, the recesses of your mind felt it like a slap of doubt across the cheek: like she didn’t think the nurses would come with orders that’d save you both from financial ruin, or that you could hold a conversation with him—never mind sewing lessons. And maybe, that same corner of your mind whispers, you were foolish to feel that something-ness at the dance hall, to dare believe the tiny seedling of an acquaintanceship? Friendship? Relationship? whatever it was had been truly planted between you and Shifty?

Then, the nurses appeared yesterday, noontime. Then, a modest autumnal bouquet arrived—a riot of oranges and yellows, a note of cheeky thanks for your ‘tip-off’ attached—from George Luz after teatime. Yet, when you mentioned Shifty, when you walked down to the shops with him to help him pick his own needles and thread, as you sit next to him, he feels like what you have to prove most to your mother—or maybe prove to yourself?

Shifty trumpets, “I got it!” affectively pulling you from your thoughts. He beams at you, holding the threaded needle up as a pennant of victory, and you can’t help grinning back just as wide. “Only took forever, but look!”

An urge crashes over you, a wave on a pebble beach, to take his hand in yours, to kiss him in congratulations, but you shove it aside, pretending your skin hair isn’t standing on end with the keen awareness of Shifty and how he’s looking at you. You say: “Doesn’t matter how long it took; what matters is that you did it yourself. Do you remember how to tie a knot at the end of your thread?”

His grin fades into an abashed smile, small and embarrassed. “No, ma’am, sorry.”

And there’s no way around it, you have to touch his hands—your rough callouses locking with his for a flashing moment that sends electricity humming into your bones, sparks winking in your eyes—and gently you take his hard-fought threaded needle. Demonstrating as your narrate, you explain, “Work your thread into a big loop, and then roll it between your pointer finger and thumb so that they cross. Then, you pull on either side of the loop and it ties itself into a knot.” You show him the crossed loop, but untangle it without knotting it. You offer it back. “Here, why don’t you try?”

Shifty looks as though he can think of many reasons he ought not to try, apprehension pulling his eyebrows down, but then he nods with singular determination. Fixing his eyes on the thread, a focus you imagine was before limited to the rifle range, he mimics you, looping the thread into a great circle. “Like this?” he asks, face turning to you, askance of assurance.

“Yes, just so.”

With the thread pinched between his pointer finger and thumb, slowly he rolls the threads togethe. “And then you work ‘em so you can knot ‘em,” he mumbles, and you hum your agreement, your eyes memorized by his hands. Though blockish, dwarfing the thin metal needles and trivializing the delicate thread, the more you observe him, the more it becomes apparent he treats all the supplies you’ve placed in his hands—all the instructions you’ve given him—with reverence. He’s sensitive to his own out-of-placeness in your workshop, with a needle in hand, but he politely—with the differential glances to you, the muttered apologies and seeking of assurances—asks if he might carve a little place for himself here, by your side, in your world of thread and fabric. The thought makes your breath catch, distracts you from Shifty’s coaxing of the thread, and it’s when his pull makes the thread spindle out of a knot and back into a taut, clean line that you focus again. “Darn it,” Shifty grumbles.

“It’s—it’s okay,” you manage, shaking yourself, hurriedly looking up at him, wanting to ease his disappointment but then your noses bump, but your skin whispers against his, dry and chilled from the autumn weather but warmed by your blush, his blush. And when did you move so close? Why am I practically sitting in his lap? Why—shoving your scrambling thoughts aside, quieting your mind the only way you know how: by shocking yourself.

You cradle his neck and you’re not sure who kissed who.

His lips are soft, cool and steadying, slotting with yours so he can suck softly at your lower lip, and you could have been kissing rain. Shifty’s scent—boot polish, and autumn bonfires, and a summer day after rain—drenches you, leaves you soaking and your muscles whirring with revitalization, and you shift your mouth to kiss him deeper, with more urgency—a shower turns into a deluge.

Then, he jerks back, and your question has its answer: you know who kissed who, because he’s blinking at you with rounded eyes, skin draining of color. He’s pale, as though he just stepped in from a rainstorm. While you feel alive, rain cleansing your mind, your soul, he looks like he caught his death. “Um, I, uh, sorry, I…I…” he stutters.

A match has been taken to your skin: you flame with embarrassment and you hurriedly interject, “No, no, I’m sorry, that wasn’t—um. I, sorry. . .I’m sorry, forgive me, just pretend that never happened and work on getting a knot in that thread, alright?” Squaring your shoulders back to the worktable, feeling Shifty’s wide eyes still glued to your profile, you add, “I wanted to teach you some stitches today, and we won’t get anywhere at this rate.”

“Um, okay,” Shifty agrees, diligently following your instructions as you coach him through tying a knot again—at a safe, unkissable distance, this time. You can see the edges of his frown as he bends his face low over his needle and thread, know his mind is a scramble of unintelligible thoughts as yours is. If you could make sense of the kiss yourself, maybe you’d offer some clarity—another apology—but all you properly think is, as the lesson continues and you demonstrate straight stitches and whip stitches for Shifty, that surely the first sewing lesson will be the last.

. . .

Yet, despite everything, the next Saturday morning, Shifty appears on your doorstep at a quarter ‘til eleven—sharp! Then, the following Saturday, and the one after, until November tumbles into December, and you’re staring down the fifth sewing lesson promising to be characterized by blushes, occasional jokes and hand-brushes quickly reined in by the ghostly memory of the kiss and resigning yourself to rigid constraint (it’s the a now careworn pattern established by the other lessons). You could slap yourself for your impulsivity in kissing him—an impulsivity you’ve never known yourself capable of—and maybe it had to do with the look Mother gave you, or the pressure of annoyance when she and Margaret decided you were attending the dance for you.

Or maybe, you dare to think in the early hours of the morning, awake and staring at the pale shapes the streetlamp outside your bedroom window casts, I wanted the seedling between us to sprout; I wanted it to be more than something delicate.

But delicate it was, and it couldn’t withstand the ferocity of a premature kiss.

Once, you heard a nature program on the BBC as you hemmed a pair of trousers talking about forest fires. Forest fires, the program said, were devastating only to humans, but were really a very natural part of the renewal process of a forest—burning away all the ancient, old vegetation and allowing new life to bloom. And, as you perch in the sitting room on Saturday mornings, waiting for Shifty to arrive, you allow yourself to think about that kiss. You wonder if, somehow, you mistook a fire for a rain. You could only hope—pray—it would scour away the old and allow something new to sprout.

Yet, with the approach of the fifth Saturday lesson, this habitual thought is far from your mind. The Tuesday before, finds you finishing a round of orders for the American nurses: new Christmas dresses and knitting accessories for the nurses’ sweethearts as gifts. It’s tedious work, allowing you to wonder if you ought to make something for Shifty. And, even if you did decide your tenuous relationship allows for gifts, what could you possibly give him?

The nurses wanted knitted neckties and bowties in seasonal colors, but you balk at the idea of such a frivolous gift, only appropriate when the Christmas season rolled around. You need something practical—a mountain boy like Shifty necessitates practicality—something that demonstrates you know him and like him, but, uh, not like that. But what if he doesn’t get you anything? What if your gift makes him feel awkward, sends him shuffling his feet, because he figures out the subtext of the gift: you do like him a horrible amount, and your seemingly innocent gift gives you away? What if it forces him to out and say it: he doesn’t like you like that (‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ he’d tack on, you can just hear him) and he’d tried awfully hard to be your friend with these sewing lessons but, gee, with this gift? Well, friendship is downright impossible.

And around, and around your mind went for most of the afternoon as you fulfill the nurses’ orders, treading over the hypotheticals until you wear a rut into your brain: until you’ve convinced yourself to not give a gift. There could only be one outcome: disaster.

Mother touches your shoulder at about three. She always takes a break now to rest her hand—you both silently fear the pain in her fingers is arthritis, but neither of you will put a name to it—to brew a pot of tea. Placing a steaming mug in a cleared patch of the worktable, she says, “Cuppa for you, darling.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you reply, thoughtlessly turning from pinning a hem to plant a kiss on her waiting cheek.

“You’re welcome, darling,” she relies. “And, dear?” You hum around the straight-pins you stick in your mouth, easy access to continue pinning. “There’s a young man here to see you. An American. He’s in the sitting room.” Full attention captured, you blink at her. Reading the question in your expression, she answers, “Not Darrell, another American. A George Luz, and he says that Margaret sent him—well, I suppose he said ‘Maggie;’ do you know when she started calling herself Maggie?”

You hum distractedly as you swipe the straight pins from your mouth—why is George Luz here?—your voice vague as you say: “Not sure; I think she’s trying to recreate herself. Did he say what he wanted? George, that is?”

Mother shrugs elaborately. “Hemming his uniform pants, I think? I had a hard time understanding what he needs; he was talking an awful lot.”

Snorting, you set aside your pinning. “Yes, that’s George. I’ll bring him back.”

“Do you think he’ll want tea?” Mother asks.

You ask who wouldn’t want a cup of tea, your Mother laughing and hurrying to put another kettle on. Taking a formative sip of your own tea, you straighten your skirt and smooth a hand over your curls, before peering in on George Luz—comfortably installed in the sitting room, feet propped up on the ottoman and leaning deep in your father’s old chair. His grin is slow-growing and ineffably mischievous at the sight of you. “Hey doll,” he greets, tossing a lazy wave as he climbs with lumbering sways to his feet. “Been too long; you been hiding from dear old George, huh?”

Briefly, you consider pointing out you saw him not three days ago while you were coming out of the grocers and he insisted you give opinions on his latest ploy for Rose Beckett (Evie Lowell was a distant memory when he saw Bess Thompson—then Rose Beckett; George seems more interested in falling in and out of love then actually pursuing any of the objects of his ‘ardent love’). Instead, though, you conduct him to the workshop, saying, “Mother says you want your trousers hemmed?”

“Oh, yeah,” George agrees, nipping back into the sitting room to grab the parcel with, presumably, his trousers, before hurrying to rejoin you. “Curse of being a small fry; the Army doesn’t really make pants that fit me right.”

“But at least it keeps me in business,” you reply, aiming for a joke and you’re rewarded with George’s bright laugh. You point him to a changing stall, and return to your pinning, listening vaguely as he treats you to a description of how his company’s headquarters has been all glammed up for Christmas—tinsel, holly, the whole works.

George pops out of the changing stall—and he certainly wasn’t exaggerating about the Army not making pants in his size, the pant-leg goes well past his shoes—with a flourish of: “When do you folks decorate? It’s only seven days until the big day, you know; is that an English thing to wait to put decorations up?”

“Oh, um,” you mutter. You have decorated: in the whole of the house, the sole decoration is a poinsettia a widower in the parish gifted to Mother (you know better than to tell her you suspect kindly Mr. Westerly fancies her). Your budget didn’t allow for any of the fresh Christmas garlands, and certainly not like you had in London apartment and atelier. “I just haven’t gotten around to it yet, and I don’t want Mother doing it on her own. Her back, you know,” you cobble together, averting your eyes, and you desperately hope George can’t sniff out the weak framework of the lie. “Would you stand on the block, please?”

Obligingly, George steps up on the tailor’s block, and you pull up a stool and tin of straight0pins. He’s oblivious to your awkwardness, he pattering happily: “So, you know how I got a pass to go down to London last week? I found some great things for the guys for Christmas; I got Joe a new shaving razor because he’s been complaining he looks like a hobo, and then Guarnere a whole box full of these old porno—er, forget I said that.” Pause. “Anyway, have you been?”

“To London?” you ask around straight-pins. You finish rolling one of George’s pant-legs, and sit back, judging how the fabric breaks at the ankle. “Do you know if the Army has any regulations on where the pant-leg hits?”

“Just above out dress shoes, I think,” George replies, distractedly, tacking on: “I meant have you been Christmas shopping?”

“Oh,” you reply, unrolling the pant-leg slightly to accommodate George’s directions. “I make all of my Christmas presents. Saves a little money.”

“Ah, something handmade!” he says, disproportionately delighted. You raise an eyebrow at him. “I should have expected as much; you’re queen of whipping things up, and I guess it only makes sense. I mean, you and Shifty are two peas in a pod, and he’s been driving everyone nuts with leaving wood shaving around the barracks. He’s carving wood animals for Christmas presents.” Misinterpreting your expression, George elaborates: “I asked him what he’s making me.”

Sliding a straight-pin into his pant-leg, before swiping the rest from your mouth, you ask: “Is he making something for you?”

George gusts out a sigh. “Yeah, a squirrel.”

“What?” you squawk. “Why?”

“He said it’s because they chatter as much as I do, but he said it with that accent of his that I can’t figure out if it’s a joke or insult or what.”

Frowning at the pant-leg, you observe: “Doesn’t sound like Shifty.” Shifty, you’re confident, couldn’t say a mean word to a cockroach, even if he tried. Three weeks ago, you accidentally served him a stale scone, and he politely ate it—complimented it even!—before you realized your mistake with sinking horror. He offered a praising phrase about Margaret’s frankly horrendous water-painting gifted to you for your birthday and hanging in the workshop. Completely unprompted, he lavished his soft words onto all subjects—all people—and it makes your heart twang achingly.

How vile had it been for him to kiss you that he had looked at you like that: pale, startled, sickly?

George is delightfully unaware of your inner turmoil, and you thank Heaven for his ability to blissfully chatter. “That’s what I thought, but I asked the other guys about it and all Malarkey had to say about it was that Shifty apparently eats squirrel.”

Politely, you offer, “How dreadful” even as you duck your head to hide your laughter at George’s exaggerated horror, shifting your stool to begin pinning his other pant-leg, carefully matching it with the other leg.

“Right? Thank you,” George declares, vindicated, and you wonder what other shit the guys in George and Shifty’s company gave him.

“What other animals has he carved?” you interject before George can indulge on another tangent, secretly hoping George might list an animal and you somehow magically just know it’s for you; you’d know if you ought to make a gift to exchange.

“Why are you asking, Nosy-Rosy?” George asks, leaning to squint down at you. Straightening once you fuss at him to hold still—an excuse to evade answering you readily cling to, if only for a few seconds—he continues, “You’re trying to weasel out of me what he’s making you, huh? Well, I’m not telling you; Christmas gifts are supposed to be surprises and I wouldn’t be jolly old Saint George if I ruined it for you.”

But it is answer enough: ‘what he’s making you’ reverberates in your ears, ringing loud and keen, as your heart plunges to somewhere behind your knees. In a fog, you finish pinning George’s pants, sending him to change. Your hands automatically except the plates Mother offers you when she trots in with George’s tea and crumpets fresh out of a package from the store—crumpets you made Mother promise would be kept until the Christmas Eve tea with Margaret and her family—but you’re too dizzy to argue, too cotton-brained to keep up with the bantering conversation George keeps up over tea or how Mother insists he come for tea whenever he likes.

You’ve fallen into a chasm where all you’re sure of is Shifty making you a gift, and the persistent wonderment of why on earth he’s doing that.

tags: @maiden-of-gondor, @gottapenny, @wexhappyxfew

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #Shifty Powers #shifty powers image #shifty powers x reader #angst #romance #my writing #i promise this is going somewhere /sweats/#george luz is a bro

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