#the tale of all time told in three simple stills
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#columbo#season 2#the most crucial game#the tale of all time told in three simple stills#fun tidbit those boots are clearly backups. og columboots were peter's personal shoes and no way in hell was he gonna risk ruining em#columbo will literally be doing fluid mechanics math in his head while absentmindedly walking into fluid
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Overdue Books and Ghost Stories
Summary: If the scholars at the Akademiya are so smart, why can’t they remember a few due dates?
Word Count: 6.4K
Tags: Alhaithamx GN! Reader, Shy! Reader (you hate eye contact), Librarian! Reader, Fluff, SFW, attempts at humor, pure fluff, written before 3.6 so Alhaitham is still acting grand sage, slowish burn?, Akademiya setting, slight mutual pining, Sumeru boys drive the librarian insane, especially a certain gray-haired bookworm.
Authors note: I just wanted something light-hearted and fun to write as a reward for getting stuff done. Shy people who force themselves to be responsible and hate eye contact unite! Enjoy!
He’s being followed.
Alhaitham can feel the fleeting presence lingering just a few seconds behind him.
The warm late afternoon breeze caressing through his grey locks, his cape trailing behind, and belt clattering with each fluid step. Teal-orange eyes faced forward towards the hectic stall-lined streets, but his attention was focused on the ghost that trails him from behind.
Every merge into the crowded pathways lined with vendors, every sharp turn down hidden allies, every street he circles back on, the traces linger like a dream fleeting from the memories of deep sleep.
He can’t allow a ghost to accompany him home, lest it decides to haunt the house.
Alhaitham had wasted enough time walking in aimless circles, if he can’t throw off the ghost, he concludes he must exorcise it.
Long legs pivot into an alley confined by stone walls and empty of shouting merchants and haggling shoppers. One, two, three slow strides towards the pale dead end that faced him.
“I know you’re there. Might as well stop with the games.”
Ghosts don’t exist outside tales told to innocent children to keep them tucked tightly under the covers. However, the iniquitous villains that terrorize the plot do, and they’re known as humans.
Were they going to fight or flee?
The presence behind Alhaitham finally materialized into something more than a fleeting dream. He glanced over his shoulder, hand ready to summon his sword. Behind him stood an unassuming figure, with no sensible ill intentions, their hands up as a sign of surrender.
Eyes adverted elsewhere like a child caught trying to sneak one more piece of candied Ajilenakh Nut.
The viridescent robe that enveloped your figure paired with the matching barrette, there’s no mistaking your identity. Another scholar from the Akademiya, great.
With power comes prestige, two notions Alhaitham couldn’t care less for. He was more than satisfied as a simple Scribe filing away applications in the archives away from searching eyes.
Those days were a luxury stolen from him by the title of “Acting Grand Sage”.
Now it wasn’t an uncommon sight for some researcher to come floundering through the crowded halls of the institution towards the ashen-haired man. From time to time there would be the bold student, agglutinating to his side with their wasted attempts at a conversation.
With great power comes great inconveniences.
Inconveniences that unabashedly believed their polite smiles could divert his teal gaze away from the insincerity. That offering a cup of coffee along with a rehearsed elevator pitch could sow the seeds of a superficial bridge.
One where they’d walk across with forms awaiting a signature along dotted lines or a towards a potential high seat at the Akademiya.
Their desire for this absent bridge coerced them to shallow down their pride, spurring this fruitless endeavor despite the Acting Grand Sage’s indifference and unreturned interest in small talk.
First, he was pressured into taking a position he didn’t want, then he became the target of people’s irrelevant aspirations, and most damning of it all even his privacy’s being invaded. To put it frankly, Alhaitham’s tired of it all.
Surely, it couldn’t take this long for the great institution of wisdom to select another leader, when can he finally stop this sham act?
“I’m off the clock, come find me on the next working day.” He’d prefer it if you didn’t.
The frigidness of his words with their thinly veiled politeness didn’t cause a single muscle of yours to budge.
“The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has been overdue for 6 weeks now, please return it to the House of Daena immediately.” A hand extended out in front of you, open and expecting.
No introduction, no chivalrous greeting, no frivolous small talk. Alhaitham certainly wasn’t expecting this from the strange ghost that stalked him.
Oh, so that’s where your eyes were. Honing in solely on the book currently clutched by his hip. One of the many books he signed out of the House Daena on a whim, simple academic works to stimulate his mind during the respite between busybodies and paperwork.
One he then promptly cast to the side by the beckoning of a journal from the restricted access collection. Only after a pile of files was removed from his desk that his eyes rediscovered the title.
“I understand, I shall promptly return it by the end of the next work day.”
“No, a student has requested this title for a week now, after they’re done with it, you may sign it out again.” Voice firm and steady as you gestured for the book to be returned to your hand.
No. An unfamiliar word spoken in a tone now foreign to the towering man.
His keen eyes observed your homogeneous uniform of standard greens and gold, you must be a regular librarian employed by the Akademiya. The Akademiya currently under his jurisdiction.
How bold of you, or has this job already drained you of all sense of self-preservation?
Regardless, your statement wasn’t without merit. The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium doesn’t belong to him, and who was he to inconvenience a standard employee this Wednesday afternoon?
It wouldn’t serve him any benefit to be in the ire of a librarian, Alhaitham concludes it would be wise to just surrender the book. So he relinquished it.
From your pocket, your other hand produced a slip of parchment.
“Here is the late fee, please address the payment to the House of Daena by next Wednesday.”
Instead of offering the Acting Grand Sage a cup of coffee, you offered him a fine in exchange for confiscating his book.
With a slight bow, the ghost was exorcised, ambling back into the busy streets of Sumeru City until your back disappears from his teal eyes.
Alhaitham was left with no introduction, no coffee, and no book to spend the evening with. Even still, his mind has found something else to ponder about to pass the time.
Alhaitham slowly rejoins the buzzing city streets, the chattering voices carried by the cool breeze that rustled his cape and made his ash locks brush his cheeks.
‘How refreshing,’ he thought.
When the current Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya was announced most people never heard his name before. Have they ever shared a class together? Were they ever in a group research project together? How could someone so brilliant escape the eyes of eager upstarts?
They could’ve had a prominent headstart in their careers if they’d built those bridges all those years back.
To be fair, you would’ve fallen into the clueless demographic as well. Were the two of you in the same graduating class? If your job didn’t require you to check the library ledgers every day, his name would’ve eluded you.
Even with a brisk thumbing through of the ledgers, it’s hard to miss the repetition printed on the pages.
Alhaitham was a regular name to be found in the library ledgers, you’d even argue he’s the biggest patron of the House of Daena.
However, it wasn’t the only pattern that would jump out to even the blindest man in Teyvat. What would be printed next to each book signed out by Alhaitham? Overdue.
Yes, you would think a man brilliant enough to plan the greatest insurrection in Sumeru’s history could remember a few due dates. But the ledgers refute that impression.
Before, the Scribe turned Grand Sage would simply return the books 1 or 2 weeks overdue and pay the fee at the same time.
Was it due to the increased responsibilities that now befell him or the increased financial freedom granted by a bigger paycheck that caused this pattern of extended tardiness?
Regardless, The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has returned back to the House of Daena, much to the delight of a hysterical student who pushed off a paper for a bit too long.
That Wednesday afternoon was the first time you spoke to the mysterious man of infamy, in an alleyway tucked away from prying eyes. He gave you the book without much of a fight and accepted the punishment without complaint.
If only it was always this easy.
First impression overall? The whispers in the halls were an inaccurate depiction of Alhaitham. To you at least, he was a rather tolerable man with a good sense of regulations, handsome hands too.
Was your first impression bad? Impudent even? Script rushed by the pounding metronome of your heart, skipping over a few key sentences, like an introduction.
Oh, you also forgot to call him Grand Sage… Surely he won’t hold such a petty grudge over that, he seems sensible.
You flipped through the library ledgers one last time before your duties ended for the day, stopping on a page as you pursed your lip at the familiar name next to The Critique of Pure Reason boldly stamped overdue.
If only the Grand Sage would fix this sloppy habit of his.
Alhaitham is very much aware of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, the frequency illusion. The tendency to notice something more often after noticing it for the first time. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the exact inception of this phenomenon he was experiencing, a certain meeting in an alleyway.
–
“General Mahamatra,” A distinct cadence enticed the Ashen-haired man’s focus away from the matra delivering his daily report.
There’s a hush that befell the halls of the Akademiya today, no reason to speculate, it’d obvious to even the dimmest of fools. Cyno, the General Mahamatra, returned today from the sandy wastelands.
In fact, Alhaitham had just concluded his brief discussion with the electro wielder a few moments prior. The General left the paperwork delivery to the woefully ignored matra currently in front of the dendro wielder.
The faint reverberation of the dreaded title paralyzed the few scholars and researchers that dared roam the in presence of the General. Intense scarlet eyes centered on the viridescent clad librarian that called, your eyes seemed occupied with the object encased by tan fingers.
“Law and Order of the Pursuit of Wisdom is overdue.” A steady cadence incited the General.
“By how long?” Spoke an authoritarian tone.
“8 weeks, General.” There wasn’t the slightest pause from you.
The dense tension within the enclosed space was palpable, many pairs of eyes fixed on the scene happening under these fluorescent lights.
The seconds counting down to the decisive moment, what will become of the incautious librarian after this show-down?
…
“My apologies, I should’ve returned the book before I embarked, may I pay the fee now?” The treacherous edge was absent from the general’s voice.
With a swift nod, you turned on your heel, leading the General Mahamatra toward the judgment awaiting him in the House of Daena. A sight so flipped on its head, the witnesses of this event couldn’t seem to decide which direction was up anymore.
–
“Mr. Kaveh.”
A librarian intercepted a certain famed architect’s search for a certain Grand Sage evading the responsibilities piling up on a polished desk.
A spectacle was certainly about to happen in the House of Daena, Alhaitham gathers from his position just covered by a towering bookshelf.
“Oh, yes?” The furrow between blond eyebrows dissipates in an instant, his fury distracted for now by the polite use of his name.
“Were you the one to sign out The Death and Life of Great Design, Mr. Kaveh?” You held out the title in question, holy text for every architecture, your impassive eyes trained on the cover.
“That’s correct, I’m certain I returned it in time, has anything arisen?” The light of Kshahrewar raised a brow at the sudden inquiry.
“Would you mind explaining this, Mr. Kaveh?”
The book was pried open, revealing to the world the chaotic collage of jumbled words and sketches haphazardly scribbled among the print with the faintest whiff of wine.
Even from this distance, the bold vandalism was observable to his teal eyes. So was the slackened jaw of the architect with his now saucer-sized eyes.
The closest equivalent Alhaitham could compare your current expression with was a parent’s gaze toward the discovery of a crayon mural on a wall. Three pairs of eyes observing the blatant defacement of literature.
“The replacement cost of this book is 141,471 mora, it was an antique print.” Your hands gingerly shut the covers, hiding the book’s shame away.
“H-how much??”
“I’ve written the amount down on this form, please address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of this month, Mr. Kaveh.” From your pocket, you presented the blonde with a fine that exacerbated his dreadful finances.
With this, your performance concluded, a mannered bow before swiveling back to your post at the library’s front desk. Leaving the famed Kaveh silent and color absent from his face, the slip of parchment pathetically pinched between ailing fingers.
Stepping back into the shadow of the shelves, Alhaitham reaches a hand up to enable the feature of his earphones that preserves his sanity. He already had a premonition of what was to greet him, might as well enjoy the fleeting moments of silence while it lasted.
–
The sky over Sumeru was a brilliant blue, tufts of fluffy clouds cushioned the earth from the harshest rays of the sun, but not enough to embargo the comforting warmth. It’d be a shame to throw away such beautiful weather in the confines of an office.
Enough justification for Alhaitham to enjoy a quiet reading session under a hidden pavilion, just to the side of a neglected pathway at the Akademiya.
Just because a place is neglected, it doesn’t mean it’s completely abandoned. The scurrying of two sets of steps made their presence known along the uneven path.
“Please return Handbook of Qualitative Research to the House of Daena,” your stony voice perked his ears.
Those words weren’t directed towards the unseen Acting Grand Sage, no, they were addressed towards the researcher whom you were just a few seconds behind. Impassive gaze concentrated on the overdue book in his arms.
The exasperated man huffed out a breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his dry eyes drooping under the weight of the discolored skin hanging under them. Alhaitham hypothesizes that this must have gone on for a while.
“Listen, I know it’s overdue, I promise to return it once this report is finished.” The researcher tries to quicken his strides.
“No, it’s late 4 weeks now, please hand over the book.” That signature gesture made its appearance, palms open and expecting, your pace never once faltering.
“Could you please make an exception, just this once?” Tired exasperation morphing into a sharper edge.
“There are three other patrons queuing for this book, I’ll add you to the list and notify you once the title is available again.” Indifferent eyes never once left the imprisoned book.
Ah, your words became the straw that broke the Sumpter Beast’s back.
“Three? THREE??! I don’t have the time! If they’re students they can wait, this project has dragged out for months, months! It’s only now drawing to a close, oh for the love of Lesser Lord Kusanali, just let me-”
Fatigue overboiled into raw frustration, the researcher now lively as ever, moved senselessly close to your face.
One boot-clad step makes its appearance from behind a pillar. It’d be best to de-escalate the situation now before the potential for a physical alteration manifests into reality.
Especially for a librarian that’s too focused on a book to recognize the looming threat. As Acting Grand Sage, maintaining order was the priority.
Instantaneously, a lone finger shot out towards the azure sky, with it followed the wearied eyes of a man mid-manifesto. The hypnotically soothing hue of the vast space momentarily ceased the researcher’s grievance, reminding him of the bigger picture, of the bigger world.
Bringing him comfort with the realization that these sleepless nights won’t be permanent, that this too shall pass.
Was that the goal of your diversion? Probably not. Regardless, the hostage has been rescued into your secure arms, back where the book belonged.
The view of the sky must’ve reminded the researcher’s body of its limit, as his movements faltered back sluggishly. Bloodshot eyes blinking at his now empty hands.
“Please address the payment to the House of Daena by next week.” A slip of parchment produced from your pocket fills that void for him.
Without another word, the librarian trekked back up the beaten path, leaving behind two very silent men. With only the researcher’s figure left in sight, Alhaitham’s mind quickly lost interest.
Withdrawing back behind the cover of the marble pillar, he couldn’t help but recount the details.
‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’. All names coined by the sleep-deprived minds of slouching students and destitute scholars awaiting the saving grace that was their paycheck.
Perhaps it’s that inorganic cadence of your voice. Or how one of your hands reaches out to demand the return of printed works while the other indited the transgressors with a note worth months of coffee.
Maybe it’s the focus of your catatonic gaze solely upon the books in question, denying wrongdoers a chance of mercy formed by eye contact.
An itch tickled the back of Alhaitham’s throat, the same sensation that tugged the corner of his lips upwards towards the brilliant sky.
How did such a fascinating individual slip away from under his nose for so long?
Almost there, just a little longer, the doors to the House of Daena came into view, you’re so close to reprieve. One hand still clutching the freshly recused book against your chest, you pried the door to the staff room open. Empty.
Thank the Archons.
Ducking into the sanctuary devoid of library patrons and chattering coworkers, sealing the solid wood behind your back, you could finally breathe.
Lungs burning for the taste of oxygen again, the pounding in your chest subsiding with each greedy gulp. Drained figure finding solstice against the sturdy door.
You achieved your goal, so why were you so defeated?
His eyes got close, dangerously close. In your peripheral, the puffiness of his eye bags were in full detail. Your lids shut firmly as if shutting out the intrusive thoughts that threatened to infiltrate your mind.
It’s fine, everything is fine, your eyes never met. There’s no arrow in the back of your heel, the script has not gone off course.
What a childish Achilles heel, eye contact, the most basic requirement for a conversation between peers and people. One you can’t fulfill. Even the briefest moment of connection will crumble the mask you dawn, exposing the puny coward to the world.
One look and you’ll be thrown off script, your career’s saving grace.
Book overdue?: “Please return [Title] and address the late fee payment to the House of Danea by next week.”
Damages?: “Please compensate the House of Daena for the damages done to [Title] by next month.”
Need a book that isn’t available?: “I’ll add your name to the waitlist for [Title] and inform you when it’s returned.”
Lines rehearsed time and time again, now ingrained into your tongue, spoken by instinct. It’s not a conversation, it’s merely a stage play, performed by a coward shielded by a crafted blanket of indifference.
‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’.
Better that they interpret your aversion to eye contact as malice instead of cowardice. After all, the world is not kind, especially not towards the meek. Papers and delegated responsibilities suddenly thrust upon those too shy to voice their dismay.
What could the meek do? Nothing. So they’ll silently grit their teeth and bare it all as a doormat trampled by those whose voices don’t stumble and shutter.
A scheme you’ve fell victim to time and time again within the walls of this hallow institute of knowledge. An experience under oath by oneself to never repeat again.
The intermission is over, the performer must return back to their positions. You unlatched the door, stepping back into the fluorescent lights of the House of Daena.
Alhaitham is aware of the frequency illusion, however, he’d argue that it’s no longer an illusion. The ghost has come back to haunt him. For what reason? Alhaitham’s not sure. Surely his books aren’t that overdue, and if they were then why hasn’t your hand appeared in front of him?
Instead, you left traces, whispers of your presence in the form of handkerchiefs and pressed flowers on slips of paper.
The evidence found beside the Acting Grande Sage’s lunches and piles of applications, his teal eyes always just catching the briefest viridescent wisp fleeing the scene of the crime.
The ashen-haired man finds great delight in abstruse books, the rare feeling of reading a line more than once to grasp the concepts formed on the page.
He enjoys the sporadic occurrences that challenge his sharp mind, it’s good to feel fresh thoughts run through.
Has Alhaitham found an archaic journal tucked away in some dusty corner? Perhaps he found a handwritten copy of a book, one with fewer than ten in existence. Was it a long-forgotten text that challenged contemporary beliefs?
Surely, to baffle the man known as Alhaitham, the scripts must have something reality-shattering. Like something saying that the azure sky, with its moon and sun, were nothing but mere imitations.
No. It wasn’t any print signed out from the restricted collection in the House of Daena that had Alhaitham’s mind pondering the slightest nuances. It was the librarian, currently penning his name down in the ledgers, that perplexed the towering man.
Humans are flawed in the sense that they’re uncomfortable with the concept of ‘unconditionality’. Everything has a fair price and equivalent exchange. One back was scratched in return for the same. So, what did you want?
Were you trying to form a bridge? One crafted from slips of paper and thin decorative fabric? If so, then why has your introduction yet to reach his ears?
The eyes are the window to the soul. Windows that offer indispensable insight into the other person’s agenda and convictions. For the Acting Grand Sage, it’s easier for him to gain access to the restricted vaults in the House of Daena than the librarian’s eyes.
Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is a menace? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?
Could it be the nagging of Kshahrewar students, whining over the unavailability of their holy text, that made you hypersensitive to the treatment of printed works?
The students should direct their grievances towards the ‘light’ of their Darshan, the one that defaced their holy text. You’re a librarian, not a magician you can’t make books appear from the abyss.
It was a coincidence to witness the Grand Sage, Alhaitham, enjoying a shawarma wrap under the shade of a stained-glass pavilion. There’s nothing wrong with a man just having his lunch. However, there was something very wrong with how his other hand held a book.
Paper becomes discolored in the stained area and transparent as molecules of oil fill the spaces between cellulose fibers. Over time, the parchment will become brown and brittle, the ink lifted by the fatty acids.
But what can you do? Interrupt the Grand Sage’s lunch? Lecture a superior on proper book care procedures?
You’re not dense.
Still, you could take some preventative measures. Done in the form of a handkerchief carefully folded just behind his right shoulder. He seemed too engrossed in the text to perceive your proximity to him. It was just for a few seconds anyways. You retreated.
The next incident happened within the wall of the House of Daena, where food and drinks were strictly forbidden. It was a slow day, with nothing much to do besides returning a few books back to their proper homes along the hundreds of shelves.
During one of the many trips pushing the cart back and forth along the path, a certain head of ashen hair with teal streaks fell into your peripheral. It must be a slow day for him too. The Grand Sage certainly made himself comfortable, desk piled with stacks of books strewn about.
The purse on your lips returns as one side of your cheek is sucked in. A few of the books were opened and placed paper-side down on the smooth table. You witnessed him losing interest in his current text, letting it join the spread bodies of its fellow brethren.
Laying a book face-down breaks the binding and weakens the hinges, where the covers attach to the pages. Some of those titles have existed for more than double your combined ages, think of their poor spines.
Out of pity for the aged scripts and for your own patience, while passing his table from a pocket you slipped out a clumsily made bookmark.
Fashioned from scrap paper, craft supplies, and one of the many Sumeru Roses that dotted the paths in this nation. A new hobby of yours that’s proven itself useful.
With your duty fulfilled you returned back among the towering shelves.
–
The job of a Grand Sage is demanding, much more demand than the job description of a librarian, you understood that. However, surely there are enough hours in the day for him to have lunch and read separately.
The position of Grand Sage means he often has to determine the best policies and actions. So why can’t he read one book at a time, close it properly, then pick up the next?
Being the Grand Sage must be time-consuming and hectic, but he could at least send someone to return his books before the due date.
How many handkerchiefs did you purchase in the last month alone? How many yards of decorative string? Is it possible to make the Sumeru Rose endangered? Would it be appropriate for you to itemize your purchases for reimbursement by the Akademiya?
For a person that enjoys reading printed works, it seems that he’s only concerned with the contents of the book and not its physical well-being. A menace to literature.
You were the unlucky sheep tasked with delivering the new budget proposal for the House of Daena. Stepping into the grand office after an unnecessarily long elevator ride, you wondered what violations will greet you this time, or if the elusive man was even here.
Ambling towards his desk, eyes focused on the budget in front of you, only switching position once the polished wood came into view.
Ah, he had another book face-down on the desk with one of your bookmarks just off to the side. He almost had it. Glancing up, your world momentarily stilled.
The Grand Sage was in his office after all. Chest gently rose and fell, face supported by the back of his knuckle, long lashes closed. Thank Archons, he’s asleep. Your heart restarts its tempo.
Your eyes quickly snapped back to the cover of the book, The Symposium, you recognized that title from this morning’s flip through the ledgers. It’s overdue.
There’s not even a point in sighing, you expected this. Flipping over the philosophical work you gingerly placed the bookmark in properly, then shut the covers closed.
Curious eyes wandered back to the sleeping figure in the board seat. His ashen hair looked soft as it fell across his face, lips slightly parted as quiet breaths exhaled.
From his lips, your greedy eyes began to trail down his covered arms, all the way down to the bare break that exposed his robust arm-
You stopped yourself, he’s asleep. You must be reading too many books from a certain island nation.
Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is attractive? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?
You left two pieces of parchment on his desk.
‘I’ll give a one-week extension, please return this title to the House of Daena before then.’
Alhaitham certainly didn’t expect to find this from ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ when waking from a nap, he wondered if it was conquered by the remnants of sleep.
Or perhaps it was their parting gift, one last lingering trace before the ghost that haunted him for these past few months retreated back into their world. No more handkerchiefs left by his lunches. No more pressed flowers to decorate his desk. His teal eyes were unable to catch a very specific hue of viridescences.
Did the ghost slip out from under his nose again?
–
There isn’t much of a reason for Alhaitham to be at the Pardis Dhyai, after all, he’s not a Amurta scholar. Just a chore from this temporary position. His boot-clad steps made their way up the stone path blooming with lush vegetation, the view was almost enough to make up for the troublesome journey.
Keen eyes honed in on familiar ebony ears from the doorway to the greenhouse. Oh, Tighnari is here? What a rare sight.
“Please pay the late fee by the end of the week.” A certain cadence seized his attention.
“Yes, yes, I get it,” Tighnari sighed, moving to place his closed pen where he left off in the book.
“Chief Forest Ranger, please use this instead.” From your pocket emerged an all too familiar violet.
“Oh? Did you make this yourself? Mm, a Sumeru Rose, on my way here I noticed that these plants don’t seem as plentiful recently.” The forest ranger observed the bookmark in his gloved hands.
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
Oh, so you gave those bookmarks out to anyone indiscriminately. It made sense, you’re a librarian, employed to help the patrons of the House of Daena with their literary needs.
It didn’t mean much just to hand out a few slips of paper. Something annoying and greener than the foliage scratched at Alhaitham’s neck.
–
At the Pardis Dhyai, you had a duty to fulfill, as did he. Not an appropriate time to initiate a conversation.
Thus, the ashen-haired man can only mull over the situation in the stillness of his own home. A blond architect sent out to fetch groceries to account for a certain damages fee.
A lone finger taps rhythmically on solid oak while the opposite hand supports his pondering head. As quickly as you came, you left just as suddenly. As capricious as the wind, slipping through the gaps of his fingers just as easily.
How does one catch a ghost?
Beryl gaze travels the length of the workspace, over the scattered sheets and abandoned quills, landing upon negligently stacked covers. A scheme conquers itself into existence.
Throughout history, many methods and rituals have been used to summon beings from the great beyond. As a scholar, who was he not to test those hypotheses?
The Norton Anthology of World Literature; Overdue 5 weeks
Academic Charisma and the Origins of the Research; Overdue 5 weeks
Cases on Academic Rights and Justice; Overdue 5 weeks
The Symposium; Overdue 8 weeks
Patron: Alhaitham
Ah, you can’t let this continue. It’s time for ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ to collect their dues. Even if you wanted to bash your head into the ledgers.
–
Just beyond the threshold of a pavilion offering shelter from the sun's rays stood a familiar caped frame. Unabashedly reading The Symposium, back resting against the pillar.
Plugging the title into your script your lungs muster up a deep inhale, it’s time for the coward to dance on stage.
“Grand Sage.” You stopped a few paces away.
There was the gentle clatter of his belt and cape, the weight of his gaze now resting upon your shoulders, but your eyes were honed in on the cover in his clutches. You got his title this time.
Alhaitham feels he should give bygone scholars and minds more merit, a ghost can be summoned, an incentive is needed for the ritual.
“Please return The Symposium immediately, and address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of the week.” Like rehearsed, your hand reached out, palms awaiting the smooth back of the book.
His half-gloved hand shut the pages together, rotating the book horizontally, it slowly travels the distance to your hands. Your eyes chaperoned every movement, legs eager to return backstage to the House of Daena.
Just as the smooth cover brushed against the clammy skin of your palms before your fingers could fully enclose around it, the title suddenly took a detour. With it followed your attentive eyes.
It’s a childish scheme really, like a schoolyard bully using his vertical advantage to hold the object of desire just out of reach. As the saying goes, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Such elementary actions hold some merit… because they worked.
Attentive eyes clashed with teal, stunned irises that dilated faster than the thump of your heart. You got to witness the Grand Sage’s features in all their glory for the first time, so his beryl eyes also held some citrine in them.
Instantly, your neck snapped to the side. But it’s already too late, the coward dropped their mask, shattering at their feet. Revealing to the world the scarlet face of the wimp whose sheet was stripped off their heads, there was never a ghost, only a performer.
You were standing in the shade, yet it felt as if you stumbled into the desert.
Alhaitham’s indebted to the fact you don’t look people in the eyes, such an event would prove disastrous for this institution of wisdom and rationality. Such a sight should have limited access he deems.
A sweet breeze blows through the pavilion, cooling his cheeks and yours the same, however, the ears hidden under his earphones still burned.
Throughout the House of Daena, the soft fluttering of pages turning and quills scribbling down notes could be heard. At the front, a librarian glances at the clock slowly ticking down to the hour of freedom.
“I would like to return these,” spoke a husky voice.
Your eyes traveled up from the freshly stacked books up toned forearms, reaching their final destination on a pair of impartial teal irises.
Opening up the ledger, you swiftly flipped to a familiar name. Scanning the titles you noted each one down.
The Uses of Literacy; due in 2 weeks
The Great Conversation; due in 2 weeks
Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity; due in 2 weeks
Patron: Alhaitham
“Thank you for returning the books before due, have a great evening.” You bowed a little at the Grand Sage. Gathering up the books into your hand and placing them in the return cart.
It’s past 5:30 pm, the Acting Grand Sage is now off the clock. Thus, he didn’t let one second go to waste. Long legs taking swift strides out of the grand doors of the Akademiya, skillfully dodging the searching eyes of ambitious scholars.
Ambling down the stone pathways to the bustling city center.
Entering the favored tavern of any famished local, Alhaitham places his order. Watching the clock as Lambad packed his two to-go bags.
Dropping the mora off on the counter, Alhaitham seized the freshly made dinners into his hands, exiting the tavern. Merging back into the crowded pathways until he reached his front door. Shifting the bags into one hand, he turns the silver key to his abode.
Placing the takeout bags onto the polished kitchen table, his teal eyes once again wander towards a clock, 6:10 pm.
He prepares two glasses and a bottle of wine from a secured cabinet. It’s the weekend now, there’s no risk in enjoying a few glasses tonight. Just as the ashen-haired man finished setting the table, the unlocked door lightly creaks ajar.
Your frame soon comes into view, arms stretched above your head to loosen the tension that comes with a desk job. A breathy yawn followed the release of tight muscles along your back, walking into the kitchen where Alhaitham stood.
“You’ve worked hard today.”
You hummed in agreement, hand gently rubbing the fatigue from your eyes as the delicious scent of tandoori roast chicken beckoned your nose.
Food and drinks were strictly forbidden in the House of Daena, and you’re quite ravenous. Advancing toward the paper bag located on your side of the table with an eager bounce in your step.
Only to be blocked by a toned arm.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, my librarian?” Inquired a low voice.
You glanced up at the hurdle that dare separate you from a delicious meal, lip pursed out just the slightest bit.
“I returned my books before due, desired behavior requires positive reinforcement.” There’s a glint in his beryl eyes.
You huffed, you should’ve known he was feeling a bit cheeky today from the moment he stepped foot into the library. Still, he’s right, good behavior deserves a reward.
Tenderly your hands clasped around his soft cheeks, guiding his face downwards as you straighten your back. His ashen locks tickled you as you awarded the towering man his prizes.
Your lips gingerly press themselves against his features, the warmth of your burning cheeks felt soothing to him, and you could feel the upward pull of his lips.
Once on the forehead, once under his eye, once on the nose, and… one final time against his soft lips.
Quickly pulling away, the slow blink followed by a slightly quirked eyebrow tells you enough about his thoughts.
“The last one was a thanks for the food.” You turned your flaming cheeks away, settling down and releasing your meal from the confines of the bag.
Your lover hums in understanding, a cheeky smirk ever so clear on his usually stoic face. Regardless, he moves to his side of the table and unpacks his dinner, filling two glasses with fragrant wine.
A clink signified the start of your dinner ritual, performed away from prying eyes.
Somewhere during the comfortably quiet dinner, Alhaitham’s hand by habit inched towards the book placed just off to the side, violet bookmark recording his last endeavor among the text.
Just as quickly as it started, his hand stopped. Like a stern swat, your eyes pierced into the back of his hand. A silent warning. He withdrew his hand back to his side, deciding to practice proper dining manners, for you of course.
Satisfied, your attention returns back to the seasoned meat and sauces on your plate, fork and knife quickly getting to work.
Alhaitham’s perfectly spiced food took a backseat in his mind, eyes more interested in observing the endearing fullness of your cheeks as you chewed.
Inquisitive irises returned his stare, he sees the teal that reflected off. How could the corners of his mouth not lift at the sight in front of him?
Please keep your eyes on him, so that he may continue to watch you for now and for the far future. His librarian.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#alhaitham x reader#al-haitham x you#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham x yn#genshin impact x you#genshin x you#genshin impact x reader#alhaitham x you#genshin x reader#genshin alhaitham#alhaitham fanfic#alhaitham fluff#genshin fanfic#genshin fluff#vivalabunbunfics#al haitham x reader#alhaitham scenarios#alhaitham imagines
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Types of Traditional Thai Dance in Man Suang
We see two styles of traditional Thai dance-drama (Lakhon Ram) in Man Suang: Lakhon Nok and Lakhon Nai.
Lakhon Nok
The film opens with Khem performing the role of Sang Thong in what looks like a local event for a lord.
And we also see him in the iconic golden outfit for his performance as Phra Lor.
Lakhon Nok is traditionally a folk style dance drama performed by commoners.
The theatre took place away from royal palaces and was often performed at temple fairs.
Originally, Lakhon Nok was an all male dance style but these days women perform it too.
The stories are fast paced and the movements are typically more relaxed and not as refined as those you would find in Lakhon Nai or Khon, the two dance styles most associated with royal performance.
Costumes can be very simple or more elaborate.
The stories are often based on Buddhist Jataka tales and folklore with fantastical creatures like ogres, mermaids and spirits in abundance.
Traditionally any kind of story could be told except The Ramakien, Inao and Unnarut, which were reserved for royal performances of Lakhon Nai or Khon.
Popular examples of Lakhon Nok include:
Sang Thong
Phra Lor/Law
Phra Aphai Mani
Lakhon Nai
Wichiendej asks to see Khem as Inao, the hero of the Lakhon Nai dance drama.
Lakhon Nai was originally performed exclusively for the royal court by an all female group.
We do overhear Mae Kru Phikul arguing about this in the background of one scene. Shortly after this time period men would be allowed to perform in Lakhon Nai as well but I imagine it was still quite a transgressive act in this tumultuous time frame.
Only the king and members of his court were allowed to watch but during this time period, Rama 3 turned against royal dance as an art form and ordered a stop to both Lakhon Nai and Khon performances. This is likely the reason that Mae Kru Phikul ends up at Man Suang.
Characteristics of Lakhon Nai include extremely refined dance movements, adhering to traditional Thai aesthetic principles.
This is why we see Khem going to such drastic measures in his training montage, because he would be required to dance to a much more technical higher standard than he would have had to do when performing Lakhon Nok plays.
Costumes are elaborate and exquisite as befits a royal court.
The plots of Lakhon Nai come from three stories:
The Ramakien (a Thai version of the Ramayana)
Inao (The prince of the Panji tales.)
Unnarut (stories of the son of Krishna.)
There are other types of Lakhon dance styles but these are the two that are showcased in Man Suang.
I was a little surprised we didn't see Khon, the famous masked dance drama style of Thailand but it was another dance form originally exclusive to royal courts so I can also understand why it didn't show up in the film.
#man suang fic inspiration#man suang meta#mansuang#man suang#thai dance#traditional dance#lakhon nai#lakhon nok#lakhon ram
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Neteyam x reader.
I suppose I’ll just have to do myself. This is literally my first time writing fan fiction which I have been an avid reader of myself for years!! Due to the lack of Neteyam fics I’ve decided to take the reins into my own hands!!!
Please go easy on me!!
- - - - - - - -
This is set before the humans come back to Pandora and the Sully family are still living in the forest.
- - - -
Isn’t life strange? How can a simple touch change an entire friendship? Perhaps it was only myself who felt the shift in feelings towards Neteyam but it happened and I have been left with the consequences of a heart aching for a love that may not even be reciprocated.
“Why are you ignoring me?” Neteyam asks, The eldest Sully brother has caught me by the river washing soiled loin clothes. His eyes were filled with a mix of annoyance and anger from my sudden change in disposition towards him.
“I am not ignoring you, I am simply busy.” My tone curt, I truly cannot understand how love and longing has made me sour. I spoke to my sister on how she felt when encountering love, she told me wistful tales of secret moments shared under the stars, endless laughter and the constant preening of hair to look her best. I know I love him but his presence causes me to tense up, like my throat is being held and manipulated to speak in nothing but short, blunt sentences.
“You know what I mean!” He says kneeling down next to me desperately trying to catch my eye line but being sorely disappointed when I stand up from the edge of the small pond twisting the loin cloth to expel any excess water. “You haven’t looked at me in three days, have I done something to upset you? Please tell me so I can make it right.” He practically begged but I ignored Neteyam once more leaving him staring at his reflection in the water.
Neteyam was so angry, why wouldn’t you talk to him?! Ever since you two had be mere toddlers you had both spent your days with one another chasing beetles or watching hunters flying on their Ikran. Your days had been filled with endless laughter, jokes and smiles but now that had all been ripped away from Neteyam for no reason and he wanted answers.
“What is wrong?” Neytiri asks her eldest son who was crouched by the fire. His glare was thoughtful but he also stole the occasional glance at you who sat across from the flames talking with Kiri. Why were you smiling at her but not him? Neteyam wracked his brain for any moment in recent days that might have offended you.
“I am fine, Mother.” Neteyam snapped but Neytiri followed his gaze across to you. She couldn’t help but sigh “You two have been friends for as long as you both could walk. A friendship like that is not easy to break my son.” Neytiri offered her words of comfort to her son but Neteyam sighed running a hand through his hair his gaze returning back to you.
“Why will you not just tell him how you feel? Just from the way he looks at you it is obvious that he feels the same.” Kiri said to you but you just roll your eyes. “It is not that simple Kiri, we have been friends for so long and I am afraid that I could jeopardise years of happy memories because of my feelings.” You express to Kiri who looks like she wants to strangle you.
The night proceeds with you and Neteyam sharing stolen glances from across the fire. It seemed that the hostility was getting to the eldest son as he stood from his crouch and strode over towards you. His steps were long and powerful as navi heads turned from the powerful sight. Neteyam grabbed your hand pulling you up from your place on the floor “What are you doing?” You hiss but he did not stop dragging you away from the large crowd and out into the open air.
“Neteya..” he cuts you off.
“Why are you ignoring me? Do you know how frustrating this is?! To have someone you care about so deeply ignore you for no reason!” His frustration was clear from his tone and face.
“I am not ignoring you!” You snap like a venomous snake.
“Yes you are! You do not greet me with smiles anymore, you do not ask to braid my hair, you do not run to me to tell me about your day. It all stopped and I want to know why!” He takes a step closer, his anger flared inside him, chest heaving as he waited for your response.
“I’m not-“ You start to say but Neteyam stops you by sighing, his hand caressing your cheek, his forehead pressed up against yours.
“Please just tell me what I have done wrong, I will do anything to make amends but just please do not ignore me, my heart cannot take it.” He speaks in soft hushed tones, this moment was just meant for the two of you and perhaps now you could confess.
“Two days ago, in the clearing just beyond the mountains your finger tips brushed my cheek, it was such a simple gesture Neteyam but it changed something within me. It shifted my world, my feelings towards you changed within that moment and I’m afraid that my feelings will ruin our friendship.” You explain and his eyes soften immediately but he remains close to you.
“You have feelings for me?” He asks softly, your bright yellow eyes meet his as you nod slowly. “You do not know how long I have waited for you to say that. I…I thought that I had lost you.” He says the relief on his face stuns you. “My love, I have adored you since we were children, my heart beats only to see your smiling face.”
You cannot believe what you are hearing. Neteyam has always felt the same way, for how many years? It seems that you haven’t been in love alone at all and from that moment you swear to yourself that you shall never let Neteyam forget how much you love him.
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Best Friend’s Sister | S. Black
Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter!reader
Description: Sirius never meant to fall for his best friend’s sister but he did anyway.
Word count: 5000+
Warnings: fluff, angst.
Sirius never meant to fall for his best friend’s sister but he did anyway.
He remembers it all vividly, the moment he fell in love with her. It started off as a simple love tale - a love sparked by eye contact and ignited with a kiss. He remembered the small shy girl she was when he met her at the King’s Cross Train Station like it was yesterday.
James Potter was excited to start his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He had promised to meet up with his three friends who were already waiting on the train. What had stopped the boy from running on the train already was his little sister next to him.
“Are you excited, sweetheart? Hogwarts is a great school. I am sure you will love it there,” your mother said as she kissed your cheek.
With a wide grin, you nodded to her. James had told you everything there was to know about Hogwarts.
You could hear him call your name from the train.
“I’m coming!” You turned to your parents and quickly kissed both their cheeks before rushing to the train. You barely could believe you were leaving Platform Nine and Three-Quarter for Hogwarts
James offered his hand. “Finally. We still have to find my friends.”
With your trunk behind you, you followed your brother down the many coupes. You had;t met his friends yet but he had told you the stories. Just like he did at Hogwarts he had also told everything he had done with his friends. How they started to prank some of the other students, and the detention they earned from it. He laughed about it and you couldn’t help but even be excited for the trouble that would occur.
“James, slow down.” You hurried after him, dragging your trunk behind you whil James was already several feet in front of you. Again you called his name when he dashed into the next coupe.
With a sigh, you started a little run after him but when you got into the coupe yourself James was out of sight.
“James?” you called out for him.
“He is in there.”
You jumped from the voice next to your ear.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the boy laughed. “But he is in there with my friends. You mean James Potter, right?”
You nodded your head silently, taking in the stranger in front of you. “He is my brother.”
“Oh, you are his famous sister. I’m Sirius, his best friend if it wasn’t clear yet,” he introduced himself and extended his hand to you.
He waited with a smile for you to shake his hand and after a little while you did. His smile didn’t falter when you still stared at him. You had heard about Sirius, James spoke very fondly of him.
“Nice to meet you,” you whispered. You had to crane your head to look at him, not realizing yet how big twelve can be if you are still eleven yourselves.
“Come on in,” Sirius said when he opened the door. James called you the moment he saw you. He introduced you to his other two friends, Remus and Peter. The only time you weren’t talking to his friends you were eating snacks from the cart.
It wouldn’t be a good day if the boys didn’t arrive late. Even in their fifth year they still manage to almost forget about breakfast in the Great Hall. Well, Sirius and James forgot. Remus and Peter were always the ones to remind them.
Today was no different. You could see them hurrying into the Great Hall. James his eyes searching for you from the entrance.
Then Sirius pointed at you, finding you first.
With a little wave, you beckoned them to join you, not that it was ever a question. Even after three years you were still always invited to their group. It didn’t matter what occasion, even if it was at dinner or at studying.
The four boys arrived in their own way. Remus complained about almost missing breakfast, James told you that it wasn’t his fault, Peter greeted you with a hello and a sorry, and Sirius, Sirius threw his arm over your shoulder when he sat next to you.
“Good morning to you.”
“Good morning to you too, Sirius.”
“Please stop,” James groaned and when swatted his friend’s head.
He could only laugh about it, leaving his arm still around you. “We weren’t even doing anything. Really, James, I think you need a new set of glasses.”
You joined Sirius’ laughter, covering your mouth when you saw the glare of your brother, but the little snickers still left you.
James wasn’t laughing, he didn’t find it funny how his friend was always flirting with you, even if Sirius denied it himself.
Then you felt the arm around your shoulder slowly retreat from its position. Sirius gave you a smile but this one wasn’t as bright as his last one. Yours didn’t match either.
“Remus, how can you act like that book is more important than us? We are incredibly fun today and great entertainment for the world. I am shocked you don’t think the same as society does.”
Remus looked up from his book, his brows raised. “Who are you trying to convince here, Sirius?”
Sirius only smiled at him, taking up more of the couch in the common room. He wasn’t going to answer Remus. His point was already made when Peter and James started to talk to Remus waiting for him to put the book down.
Then he saw you walk in and it was the perfect opportunity.
“I’m sure James’ sister agrees with me.”
“Agree with what?” You asked so sweetly when you joined the group of boys.
Remus shook his head when he answered, “Nothing, Sirius thinks he is the center of the world.”
“You agree, don’t you, love?”
You didn’t have to answer, not when your brother hit Sirius with a book. “That’s my sister man.”
It was all so theatrical. How hurt Sirius looked and reached for his heart. How James threatened to hit him again. “Don't hurt him, James.”
He made a sound in protest when he felt you swat at his head. The book had fallen on the ground when he turned to you. “Really? Are we turning on me now?”
Sirius laughed and pulled you on the couch with him. “Of course we are against you. You hurt me.”
Your giggles filled the room when he pulled you in more, finally offering a bit of the couch to someone else other than himself.
“I wanted to sit there,” James whined as he saw his best friend let his sister join him. “And stop flirting with my sister.”
“Whatever you say, Jamsie.”
But Sirius wouldn’t stop, he enjoyed it too much. He wrapped his arms around you and wasn’t letting go any time soon. He made an agreement in his head that when Remus finished his book he would let you go.
There were many people that gave Sirius Black more attention than he needed. Next to his friends that watched him talk to some girls, you also watched him. A little scowl on your face that you tried to hide with a smile as you talked to Remus.
“I just think that with your notes I can be even better at Charms than I already am. Please, Remus.”
he shook his head. “No, you don’t need them and I know how that ends. Your brother always asked the same and he never studied if I gave it to him.”
“I am not my brother,” you quickly shot back.
“I know, but some traits are scarily alike.”
James dropped his homework and shut his books. He also carried a scowl when looking at his friend.
“See, scarily alike. Even when you’re both angry,” Remus said.
“We aren’t” But again the two of you showed different when you said it at the same time.
You folded your arms but the scowl you had carried disappeared slowly because of these amazing friends. They may have been James’ friends but they were also yours.
Then you felt two pairs of arms wove themselves around you and the once bad mood you felt minutes ago had disappeared from you entirely.
“Cheer up, buttercup,” Peter said with a laugh and you couldn’t help but giggle at the nickname he had given you.
You shook your head, laughing and grasping attention from people in the courtyard but you didn’t care. These were your friends that would cheer you up even if they didn’t know the reason. Even if they were James’ friends they showed friendship to you too.
“Thank you, guys,” you said. “But I hate that nickname.”
Peter laughed and let you out of his arms.
Sirius had heard your laugh from across the courtyard, drawing him in every time he even heard a snippet of it. It was his favorite melody that didn’t need to be composed. He saw you joking with your brother, how Peter threw his hands around you.
He balled his fist for just a second. He shouldn’t be jealous, he had no reason to be. You weren’t his and he was here talking to-
He was still talking to someone, a girl he had forgotten about the moment he heard you laugh. Sirius shook his head. “I’m sorry but I have to go.”
Sirius wasn’t sorry at all when he joined his friends. Greeting them one by one, all in the same way. Except for you, you were always the exception for him.
“Hello, love,” he whispered and kissed your cheek.
“Hello, Sirius.”
James Potter almost didn’t want to invite Sirius to join him and his family for the summer holidays. he had seen the way his friend looked at his sister. Even when he told him she wasn’t his to flirt with, Sirius never listened.
But nearing the end of the vacation even he had to give in to the fact that Sirius Black hadn’t flirted with you as much as he did in school.
It was as if the boy knew that this wasn’t the place and time to do so.
That didn’t mean he didn’t give you any attention. The three of you spend much time together, playing Quidditch, annoying either James or Sirius. Playing games with your parents.
“I can’t believe we have to leave again tomorrow,” you said to the sky.
Then a face propped itself above her. “You can sound a little happier.”
Sirius looked down at you, laying on the grass bed in between the flowers.
“I am happy.”
He nodded at you, taking his own place on the grass. The flowers crushed beneath him but he managed to save one for you. He broke off the stem and placed it in your hair.
“I am happy to go back, but I’m also happy here. A simple place, where nobody cares what I do or that I am James’ little sister,” you said and sat up, eyes still on the blue sky above you where clouds formed.
Ever so softly, Sirius placed his finger on your chin and made you watch him. “You are so much more than that. If they don’t see it, they aren’t worthy of your time.”
He traced your lips, right over the cupid's bow, and stopped on your bottom lip. His eyes slowly reached yours, holding your gaze.
You had wanted this for so long. The moment you met him he was everything you looked up to. He was funny and a great friend. He made you laugh and he didn’t mind if you were down. He would lift up your spirits.
This time you didn’t look away, you didn’t want to.
Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt Sirius's hand on the back of your neck. Pulling you in. He didn’t need to do that, you were already pulled in at the attraction for him. Your whole body felt like it was lit on fire by the simplest touch.
How quickly your whole body felt on fire, how quickly it turned cold from fear.
You could hear James' voice from the house calling your name.
He wasn't close and yet it felt as if you doing something wrong. You weren’t doing anything illegal but you knew his distaste for your flirting with Sirius.
It felt like a betrayal, and it was the worst kind. Because you wanted this but the person you loved most didn’t.
“We should go inside,” you whispered.
He didn’t answer you and that might hurt more than the disappointment you felt before. But he did offer his hand to you, and he did pull you up. He made it hurt a little less when he kissed the top of your head like all the pain left in a simple sweet kiss you wished was so much more.
•
All Sirius could think about were you on the grass, that flower in your hair.
He was going to kiss you, he knew that you wanted him too. You would have moved away if you hated his touch.
All he could think about now was you. At dinner he could only stare at you, wondering what your lips felt like. On the couch, he decided to sit far away from you.
Now, looking at the ceiling of the room his mind was only on you.
With a quick glance at James, he knew what he wanted.
Sirius got out of bed as quietly as he could, making sure to miss the creaking floorboards when he went to the room next to his.
He didn’t even dare to knock, scared to wake you if you were already asleep.
Then the door opened and he had to swallow his scream.
“What are you doing?” You whispered to him.
“I came to see if you were already asleep.”
“I’m not.”
Sirius nodded, licking his lips as he told himself not to stare. “I can see.”
He caught himself staring at your lips again and this time he didn’t stop himself. He took a step forward and brushed your hair behind your ear.
“James snores,” Sirius whispered.
You giggled softly, “He does not.”
“But that is what I’ll tell him in the morning, love” Sirius smirked at you, his eyes never drifting away from you.
He slowly leaned in. Taking one more glance in your eyes to see if you wanted this. To see if you didn’t change your mind but you hadn’t. He could see it.
He could even hear it when you held your breath.
Then his lips touched yours in a soft manner.
First softly, cherishing your lips. Then the kiss turned hungry as if this was the last kiss you’d share. Maybe it felt a little like that on the last day before going back to Hogwarts.
He kissed you until the breath had left his lungs. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Your giggles were like a melody he played on repeat in his head. The one he’s play when you wouldn’t be near him and he needed a reminder of you.
“Me too. Ever since I met you.”
He led you to guide him into your room, he let you kiss him again. He would let you do anything to him if you wanted to. But this night wasn’t about more it was about everything you both had wanted all this time.
So he kissed you again and he would kiss you when you woke up. He would kiss you till his lungs stopped.
He pulled you next to him on the bed, holding you tightly to his chest.
He wasn’t planning on staying the eternity of the night but feeling his muscles relax with you in his arms meant for him that he probably would.
He kissed the top of your head before he too drifted off to sleep.
Sirius had to constantly warn himself not to touch you. Just as close as you were to him, so were his friends.
Even if you all were seated in the Great Hall Sirius made sure to keep his distance.
From the corner of his eye, he watched intently how you spoke to Remus. How EXTRA you talked to him. Your hands moved from right to left when you explained some of the games you had played. How you talked about how lovely the grass lay.
That made him smile a little. He remembered that as well. It wasn’t that long ago, two days only and he wanted to go back to that moment.
Peter hit Sirius on his arm, grasping his attention. “What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing, just a memory,” he answer but the smile never left.
He expected you to jump up when he laid his hand on your leg but you didn’t. You took his hand in yours. Your fingers intertwined together, that’s how you stayed there until everyone would leave. You slowly let go of his hand, fingers touching till the last moment.
Sirius held your gaze until he had to turn around to walk away.
You waited a moment, still talking to Remus before you too excused yourself from the table. It was a poor excuse but for now, it was perfect because it would get you away without much thought.
He was already so far away, probably thinking you wouldn’t follow him.
James wasn’t by his side anymore, he had probably already left him to go to the Quidditch field for practice. It would be perfect to surprise him now, but you weren’t sure if he wanted that.
Still, you did it.
You hurried after him, making sure he barely heard you when you placed your hands over his eyes.
“James, you know I don’t like being the one that is blindfolded,” he said to the hands, taking hold of them and stroking the skin.
He loved when he heard your laugh come from the person. He knew it was you, he had hoped it was you.
Sirius grabbed your arms and pulled himself forward with you, hoisting you on his back and taking you with him. He laughed when you cried out his name.
“Put me down.”
“Nope, princesses get carried to wherever they want to go.”
You dropped your head on his shoulder. “I’m no princess.”
“You’re right, but you are mine, love.”
The moment James came through the picture frame he saw Remus and Peter sitting on the couches.
“Don’t bother,” Peter said as he dropped his papers. “There is a tie on the door.”
“I don’t have time for a stupid tie. I need some help from you guys.”
Both boys looked at him, dropping whatever they were doing.
“I know my sister is seeing someone. She is gone most of the time, hurrying away from me. I need to know who it is.”
“why?” Remus asked. “She is sixteen, James. She is going to date at sometime. Rather now while you’re still here, right?”
“No,” James answered immediately. He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t want to picture my little sister with some bloke. What if he is a Slytherin.”
Both boys couldn’t help but laugh at him. They too had suspected you were dating someone, at this point many people suspected it. There were some names going around but nothing to really tie back to you.
“I need Sirius for this. He always knows what is going on.”
Peter looked at Remus worried. “He is in his room with a girl. I wouldn’t disturb him if I were you.”
“And even if he did stop, which I wouldn’t bet on. He might not even know.”
What Remus said went to nobody’s ears. James still walked the room, frustrated by the resistance of his friends.
“If anyone knows it’s him,” James said and went to the room. The red and gold tie hung from the door knob.
It mocked him, laughed in his face telling him not to enter. James wanted to but it was a rule they had set up. When the tie was on the door, no one may enter.
In frustration he ripped the tie of the knob before going back to his friends. “Let’s go to class.”
Everyone had noticed how Sirius Black got into class without a tie on.
Normally he would get a lot of questions from his friends about his escapades in their room but this time, everybody took the high road and left him to his own business.
It was almost normal to him if it wasn’t for James’ silent treatment.
“What happened to him?” he asked Remus, the one friend that somehow always knew the answer.
“He knows his sister is shagging someone and he is grumpy about it.”
Sirius only dared to hum.
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, do you Sirius?” Peter asked as he dropped next to him.
“No,” Sirius whispered. “No, I don’t.”
That was the biggest lie Sirius had told them, because he always knew everything about you.
•
“I got a present for you,” you said when you took Sirius’ hand.
“For me? You are to kind.”
With a giggle you took of the tie. “Shut up.”
He let you tie it around his neck. he just stood there, watching his view when you looked so concentrated on tying it for him.
You only watched your own hands move with the tie but Sirius only watched you, your eyes so closely watching him. He was always easily enchanted by you. Every little thing you did was like magic.
“You don’t have to stare.”
“I’m admiring.” He didn’t doubt his answer for a second. It was the truth he would never hide.
You wove your fingers through his hair and stood on the tips of your toes. Kissing him always felt like butterflies. A constant flutter that wouldn’t leave until he was out of sight and even then some lingered.
Your mind was captivated by him. Everything around you had moved itself to the background when you kissed him, the little groans that he made when he pulled you further against him.
Even when the kiss ended your eyes never strayed from his, and Sirius could only watch you. But it was Remus that watched you both.
Remus normally enjoyed the parties he attended with his friends. He might have to watch them sometimes but he always enjoyed them. Except for this one.
He wasn’t planning on having to keep secrets but now, after he witnessed Sirius and you, he had no choice.
It did give him time to think. Everything Sirius did made more sense. How he would constantly gravitate to you. It was as if you were the sun and Sirius was blinded by its beauty and never wanted to see anything different. Every planet always turned around the sun and Sirius always turned around you, a constant pull he never seemed to mind.
Everything made sense now.
Sirius twirled you around, danced with you. he got you drinks and made sure that everybody that ever bothered you stayed away from you. He would always pull you closer if someone squeezed past so you wouldn’t fall.
He would be the one to join you on the couch first when your feet are hurting. He would be the one that would talk to you when you don’t know what to talk about anymore.
He was always there, and it took Remus to see you two to realise you were always there for him too.
You always made sure to check on him first if he wasn’r as talkative. You would search for him when he was missing. You would tell the boys off if he didn’t share their thoughts.
You would make sure he always got his breakfast if he was running late. There would be a new lie leaving your lips why he is missing. You always laughed more when he was around.
Remus couldn’t stand on the side any longer.
Sirius felt a tap on his shoulder dragging him away from you.
“I need to talk to you,” Remus said over the loud music. Sirius nodded and followed him to the stairs.
“What’s wrong?”
Remus checked the stairway before turning bsck to his friend. “You can’t keep this up forever.”
Sirius’ eyebrows shot up.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and James sister,” Remus said hashly. “I can’t keep your secret forever.”
He saw his friend turn white by the realisation of everything. He saw hw he searched for words. “Look, I know how it looks but-”
“I know. I saw. You care for her but you can’t lie to all of us about it. What if James found out and you didn’t tell him? You have to tell him you’re the one that is with his sister.”
“You’re the bloke fucking my sister?” James shouted when he pushed Sirius against the wall.
“It’s not like that at all,” Sirius said when he pushed him off
Remus carefully spoke his names. His hand already on his shoulder but James only shook it off.
“So you’re not fucking my little sister? My sister, Sirius, really? You couldn’t find some other girl to share a bed with.”
Sirius pushed James. “Stop talking about her like that!”
“Why? It’s what you’re doing isn’t it?”
Remus couldn’t mean anything to them. This was their fight, he knew that, he just wished it was one later. When it wouldn’t come to light like this, but secrets always found their way to the light when one least wants it.
“I am not just fucking her, james. I am in love with her!” Sirius shouted back, his hair falling in front of his face when he again pushed James off. “I have been in love with her since second year!”
James stood back when he yelled at him. The words hitting him. It was ammunition James never expected he would feel.
“I love her and if you can’t accept that than that is your problem. But I know I want her, and I am not giving her up. Not today, not tomorrow. Never, James.”
It should have soothed him, to hear his friend truly loved you but there was still knaging feeling left inside him. It didn’t stop. It was the constant reminder that he didn’t tell him, that you didn’t tell him and now even Remus didn’t tell him.
He had to overhear it.
The didn’t even stop when james hit him, or when remues shouted for him to knock it off. It only stopped when you screamed James’ name.
“What are you doing?”
There was no time like today that James heard you this mad before. It startled him for a moment until he saw how you checked on Sirius and not him. “I can’t believe you started dating my best friend.”
“That is what this is about?” you sounded confused. Something he hadn’t expected. “I can’t believe you. You hit him because he is dating me? What is wrong with you?”
He didn’t answer you. All he did was walk away. He had started a fight he didn’t want to finish tonight.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me!”
Not even the voice of Sirius calmed you any longer.
“Out of all the people in Hogwarts you choose him?”
“Out of all the people in Hogwarts, you don’t want me to date your best friend?”
James was starteed by your question. It was the last thing he expected you to ask him. he expected you to scream, to tell him he was childish even. he had anticipated many reactions but to counter his question was not one he expected.
“You don’t want me to date the one person that always looked out for me without you having to ask? The one person you knwo you can trust to treat me fairly, because he does. he treats me much better than I cuold ever deserve and he loves me. he loves me as much as I love him.”
He didn’t say anything more. All he did was walk away and you let him.
Sirius took your hand in his and puled you into him. “Come here, love” he whispered to you and kissed your head.
You had laid awake the whole night. Your mind was still at yesterday. The moment you stepped into the common room you were ready to start the fight again. You would start it a thousand times if you’d have to.
But the moment you stepped into the room you stopped in your track.
Sirius was laughing with James. As if yesterday didn’t happen. Like nothing had changed and in thats second you wondered if yesterday happened at all. The blue mark on Sirius cheek showed it did.
The moment Sirius saw you he ran up to you and kissed you right there. Like there was no care in the world and like no one was watching.
“Please, don’t ever do that again. I might throw up from you two.”
Your eyes turned to James and the smile Sirius left on your lips left. “I am still mad at you.”
“And you have every right to be, just like I had every right to be mad at you for keeping this a secret.” James let the silence hang in the air, giving you a moment. “I am not mad at you anymore, and I hope you won’t be mad at me anymore. Because I am truly happy for you.”
Sirius pressed a kiss to the side of your head, grasping your attention and nodding furiously.
With a sigh you turned to James. “I might be a little less mad now.”
Your finger enterwined itself with Sirius’ as he pulled you along. He gave some of the couch up for you and let you rest against his chest while you laughed along them. Just like you did last year only know so much had changed and you loved it had.
#sirius#sirius black#sirius x you#sirius x reader#sirius black x you#sirius black x reader#sirius imagine#sirius fic#sirius fanfic#sirius black fic#sirius black fanfic#sirius black imagine#marauders#marauders fic#marauders fanfic#marauders imagine#mayleaorlaithwrites
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thinking about the relationship between sif and the universe, and related theories / headcanons aka I listened to a song and I need to get these feefees out of me
this is a lot of prelude for something that can be shown with just the video clip, but I want to include all the strings that make up this knot
Its not explicitly stated, but I believe it's pretty clear that whenever sif repeats something three times while hoping for something (sharpening the keyknife, carving in general, praying to the change god statue in dormont), he is performing wish craft.
however, he doesnt repeat anything three times when getting the keyknife. he doesnt even need to pray to get it at all, the change god just gives it to him. they say themselves that they dont care for rituals. they never even take credit for the stat buff, they only take credit for the keyknife
when sif changes how they pray at the change god statue, their method more strongly resembles the ritual to make a wish at the favor tree (picking the one you like best), and as a result the buff gets better. it is the wish craft ritual that is the important part of the prayer to that statue, not the change god
one thing that IS explicitly stated is just how powerful wish craft is for those who know the rituals, and how dangerous it is in the wrong hands. between the disappearance of colors (Im pretty sure that was the result of a wish, I may be misremembering), the disappearance of the country, and the king being nearly successful in freezing all of vaugarde in time, it only takes one wish to take out massive chunks of the world at a time
we know that wish craft is very entwined in the culture of the country (the story written about in the journal is told as a cautionary fairy tale, the rituals themselves are so deeply ingrained in sif that the wish to forget the country did not restrict his memory of the rituals, and he can perform wish craft without even being fully aware he is doing it)
it seems reasonable to me that the reason for the country's disappearance was to hide the existence of wish craft and the rituals to access that power from the rest of the world. considering sif didnt even remember his culture AND had good intentions, and still nearly ended the world, seems like that concern is pretty well founded. however, thats not the important theory Im making this post about
the country has knowledge of wish craft in conjunction with worship of the universe. "the universe leads, we can only follow," "the universe willed it," seems pretty safe to say that sif's Universe is the "entity" that is granting wishes
the way wishes are described, they dont seem like something the universe grants based on who worships it. as long as you know the ritual, you get the wish. everyone is part of the universe, after all, worshiper or not
Admittedly, its a bit of a stretch to say that the universe as a collective force has any sense of empathy for human struggles. but using the change god as an example, as spiteful as they are to sif, and unsympathetic to anything other than a human's role in the concept of change, they still show a great deal of care and favor to mira, someone who loves them. it is possible for a deity to care for those that care about it
sif, despite no longer having access to his culture or why he cares about the universe, still loves the universe, very very deeply, just as much as mira loves change. the change god says that sif's deity will never answer him, but I dont think thats the case
and this is the important headcanon that I am making this post for
sif is performing the rituals, so he gets the wishes, simple as. but I feel strongly that his wishes getting granted in very small but noticeable ways, despite not knowing how or why hes doing it, is the presence of his universe helping him, caring for him, even when he doesnt remember it
the strongest evidence for this, and the basis for this whole thing, is exactly how euphrasie breaks down in act 5
at first I only really noticed when she laughs, it reminded me very much of how the change god, a being who uses sprites of other characters and has done a whole possession, laughed during their encounter. they and euphrasie are the only two that use anything other than "ha," and right after this laugh is when her breakdown pauses and she says the lines
"... Soon you'll be able to go back to your normal lives. Away from battle and strife.
Finally, you'll all be able to go home!!!"
which, knowing the end of the game is coming, is incredibly relevant. very deliberate
before this pause, her breakdown seems pretty chaotic. the characters and the player are just coming out of one harrowing experience, and are clearly headed for another. the cohesiveness of this glitchy breakdown amongst a mess of the rest of the world doing the same isnt really high up on the list of priorities. none of the characters notice anything beyond the fact that reality is breaking, not even sif. it just sounds like scary nonsense.
but with the context of euphrasie being possessed to talk to sif, every single one of her lines makes perfect sense
(footage from Zhain Gaming on yt)
the universe is there its talking directly to him, it was there the whole time
the Universe loves Sif so much
#isat#in stars and time#isat spoilers#isat act 5 spoilers#I have no idea how obvious this is or if its old news#since I havent seen anyone else talk about it#but the relationship between sif and the universe makes me emotional#I wrote this at 3 am based on memory#at first I wasnt too confident in it since it was only based on the laugh and the lines that follow it#this was just something that made me happy that I was gonna keep no matter what#but when I went back to look at the lines and found that every one lined up‚ I cried#anyway#I wanted to write this whole thing after listening to Secret For The Mad by Dodie under the lens of the universe talking to siffrin#special shoutout to pidgey who joked that the universe was adrienne actually#they were goofing but as a high concept meta art thing I can definitely appreciate#speaks
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Even More Experience | Bradley Bradshaw
part 1 | masterlist
synopsis: You decide to take the next step with Bradley
word count: 3.1k
warnings: SMUT, virginity loss, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, age gap, oral sex (f receiving), a dash of corruption kink, a lil bit of daddy kink. Bradley is big, alright. This is porn with a dash of plot.
Rooster was proud of you. He knew how awful finals week could be, and from how you described your classes this semester, he was glad that chose an “easy” major. He had watched you for the last two weeks be in total study mode, going to bed at random times in the morning, living off of redbulls and granola bars, falling asleep with your contacts in and a highlighter in your hand. One too many mornings, he’d walk out to see you drooling on your business communication notes.
If you would’ve told him six months ago, he’d be standing outside of a lecture hall, with a bouquet of flowers waiting for his girlfriend, he would’ve laughed at you. But here he was, waiting for his girlfriend outside of a lecture hall. He had been nervous at first, dating someone so much younger than him. There of course was the difference in maturity levels, but also the difference in experience. Rooster had been around the world, traveled faster than the speed of sound, almost died and live to tell the tale. The most you had done was move from Missouri to California for college. But Rooster loved you, and that was all that mattered to him. He hadn’t said those three little words yet, still scared that what he had with you was all a dream, but he knew that you could feel his love for you.
You were wearing a simple white sundress with a jean jacket as you walked out of the lecture hall. The feeling of relief and happiness cursing through you like waves on the sand. You wouldn’t ever have to step back into this cinderblock hell and listen to your professor drone on about transtheoreticl theory. Bradley straightened up at the sound of your laughter and pushed off his bronco, grabbing the flowers from the drivers side. He met you halfway on the sidewalk, greeting you with a soft kiss on your lips.
“What’s the occasion?” You asked.
Rooster just shrugged, and put his arm around your shoulder, “Can’t get you flowers and pick you up just ‘cause I like you?”
“Mm,” You looked up at him, “Nope!” He booped your nose as he opened the passenger door for you. He made sure you were secured in the bronco before jogging to the other side and getting in.
Rooster drove right down to the beach, one of your favoirte places to be at. He grabbed your hand and lead you to your favoirte restaurant. He didn’t even stop and check in at the hostess, giving her a wink before leading you to your favorite table, right in front of a large bay window that looked out at the ocean.
“My favorite restaurant, and my favorite spot to sit. . . What are you doing, Bradshaw?” You asked.
Bradley, again, just shrugged, “You worked your ass off these past two weeks and I thought we should celebrate. And what better way,” He reached across the table and grabbed your hand, running his thumb over your skin, “Than with the best mac ‘n’ cheese on this side of the US.” You blushed and leaned halfway over the table. Rooster closed the distance and met your lips.
And Rooster was right about the restaurant having the best mac ‘n’ cheese on this side of the US. The second best had to come from Bradley’s kitchen, a receipe that his mom had sworn by. You were glad that you met someone who could cook and had a strict schedule of eating every four hours. It was sometimes annoying when you’d be studying and he’d place a plate of apple slices and peanut butter right on your calculus homework.
When your belly was fully and Bradley had paid the bill (much to your dislike), he took you for a walk on the beach. The sun was starting to set, filling the sky with beautiful oranges and pinks. You always loved the sunset, but you loved it even more with Bradley by your side. The vibrant colors made his eyes look like pools of honey and you could see the streaks of blonde in his hair from the California sun. His skin also seemed to glow with that sunkissed tan he seemed to always have.
You were standing in his arms, your back against his chest, when you felt that familiar feeling settling between your legs. It had been happening more often since you and Bradley had started getting intimate. You still hadn’t gone all the way, but you were letting him go down on you pretty much anytime you wanted it. But, it was starting to not be enough for you.
There was still that itch that needed to be scratched. And you were ready for it.
You turned in Bradley’s arms, placing your hands on his chest. He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t say anything, but placed your lips on his. His lips were always so soft, probably from the vaseline he put on them every morning and night. One of his hands snuck up your body, and rested at the base of your neck, holding you to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his large body closer to your own.
You pulled away first, letting Bradley lean and try to chase your lips. You giggled, and moved one hand to his chest, resting right over his heart, “Bradley.”
“Sweetheart,” He hummed.
“I’m ready,” You blushed, looking down at your shoes before looking up at his honey brown eyes.
“Ready?” He asked.
“Yeah. . . for you to uh, for sex,” Your ears were ringing and you knew that you were as red as a tomato. You felt Bradley tense and youou closed your eyes, not wanting to see any sort of rejection in his eyes. But he cupped your cheek and lifted your head up a bit.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” Bradley said softly, and you opened your eyes, “Are you one hundred percent sure, that this is what you want?”
“Yes,” You said without hesitation, “I have thought about it a lot and I lo- I mean, I trust you,” You gulped and hoped Bradley didn't catch your near slip up. You grabbed Bradley’s hands and ran your thumb over his knuckles, "I'm ready."
Bradley nodded and pulled you in for a kiss, “Let’s go home.”
— — —
The ride to his house was filled with an exciting buzz. Ever the gentleman, Bradley kept his hands to himself as he drove, fighting every urge to reach over and place his hand on your thigh. He didn’t want to be handsy, in case you changed your mind. But you reached over and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers and settling it in your lap. He glanced over at you ever so often, trying to guage your emotions. You had a small smile on your face as you hummed along to the songs on the radio.
When you pulled into his driveway, you weren’t sure if you could maintain the same level of calm. You wanted him to take you right then and there like you had seen in all those pornos. Bradley let you go into the house first, kicking off his shoes and locking the door. It was a little awkward as you stood in the doorway, looking at each other, but you knew that he wanted you to make the first move.
“Where is your room?” You asked, surprised that your voice didn’t crack.
“Upstairs,” Bradley swallowed, “Second door on the right.”
You nodded and grabbed his hand, leading him to the stairs. He watched your ass as you walked up the stairs in front of him. You puhsed open the second door on the right, like he had said, and stepped into it. It was a plain, light grey room with a king sized bed in the middle of it. There was a nightstand on either side, both with pictures sitting in frames and lamps. It was a stark contrast to your room, which showed off your personality, but the room still felt like Bradley.
You stood awkwardly across the room from Bradley. He quietly shut the door, and emptied his pockets of his wallet, phone, and keys. You weren’t sure what the protocol from here was; do you sit on his bed? Do you just lie down on it? Do you take your dress off?
Bradley must’ve sensed the nerves rolling off your body, cause he turned and walked right over to you. He gently tilted your head up with a hand on your cheek and pressed his lips to yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, while his other hand wrapped around your back, pulling you closer to him. You could feel his hardening length against your stomach, making your heart start to beat erratically. Bradley’s lips went from yours to your neck, kissing and sucking lightly. If it weren’t for his strong arms holding you up, you surely would be a puddle of want and need on the ground.
“What do I do next?” You asked. Bradley grunted and pulled away from you. He could see your nipples straining against the flimsy fabric of your dress.
“Can I take this off?” Bradley touched the thin straps of your dress. You nodded and lifted your hands above your head, a smile on your face. Bradley chuckled, and grabbed the bottom of your dress, pulling it above your head. You were bare on top, wearing only a pair of white lace panties, “Fuck, sweetheart,” Bradley’s finger trailed down your body, to your naval, touching the top of the flimsy panties you were wearing, “White. . . for a virgin.”
“Mhm,” You nodded, biting your lip, “For you, daddy.” Bradley’s eyes fluttered shut at the sound of that little word.
“All for me,” Bradley’s voice sounded as if he were in awe of you, something so precious and all for him, “Fuck. . . Get on the bed for me?” You nodded again, and climbed on the bed, sitting in the middle, leaning up against the pillows, “Looking like a goddamn gift straight from heaven. How did I get so fucking lucky?”
“I think I’m the lucky one,” You blushed and Bradley shook his head. He gently crawled on the bed, up your body so he was hovering over you. He looked down at your body as if he were committing it to memory. You felt exposed under his brown eyes, and you lifted his eyes back to you, touching his cheek.
“Am I making you nervous?”
“A bit,” You mumbled, “I’ve just. . . I’ve never been naked like this- with a guy.”
“We don’t have to do this,” Bradley said, caressing your hip, “If you want to put one of my shirts on, you can. Whatever is going to be the most comfortable for you.”
“But you like me naked?” You furrowed your eyebrows.
“Of course,” Bradley kissed your cheek, and squeezed your hip reassuringly, “But if you don’t want to be naked in front of me, you can wear one of my shirts, or I think you left a bra here.”
You shook your head. If you were giving yourself to Bradley, you wanted to give your whole self to him. You grabbed his hand and brought it to your lips, kissing his knuckles, “I’m okay with being naked. You make me feel safe.”
Bradley looked up at you, and you knew what he wanted to say. It was so clearly written in his eyes, and it was ready to slip off his tongue, but he withheld it. It nearly pained him to hold back those three little words, but he swallowed them by kissing your lips.
“I’m gonna get you ready for me,” Bradley said.
“Gonna go down on me?” You asked, leaning up to chase his lips as he moved to kiss his way down your body. He nodded and felt the excitement roll through your body. He swore that there was nothing you loved more than when he was on his knees for you. And it was a good thing that Bradley loved doing it.
Bradley kissed both of your hip bones before he licked a stripe from your hole to your clit. You gasped, arching your back and tangling your fingers in his hair. His name fell from your lips like a prayer as he ate your cunt. His nose was nudging at your clit, as his tongue fucked your opening. You felt your thighs beginning to shake and close in around his head. Bradley pulled back from you, placing a kiss on your pussylips, before leaning over to the bedside table and getting out a bottle of lube.
“What is that?” You asked.
“Lube,” Bradley said, giving you the bottle so you could read it over. He learned that from early on, that you liked to read about the things he tells you, “You’re wet, but this is gonna help. Nothing wrong with using a little lube to help make things slide easier.”
“Ew,” You scrunch your nose, “Sounds dirty when you say ‘slide easier’”
“Sorry, honey,” Bradley chuckled, as you handed back the lube, “You ready?”
“Please, Bradley,” You nod.
Bradley kissed you before sitting back on his heels, taking his dick into his hands. You watched him pump his cock a couple of times, before taking the lube and spreading it over himself. He let out a guttural groan at the feeling. You never realized how big Bradley was until you saw his hand wrap around himself.
“Bradley,” He lifts his head to look at you, “Is it, will it fit?” You squeak out.
He looks down at himself for a moment and then at you, “Yeah, I think,” He took his fingers and swiped them over your cunt, spreading the lube around and pushing some into your weeping hole, “And if it doesn’t, that’s okay. You tell me if it hurts, or if it’s too much,” He leaned down on his elbow, and with one hand, he guided his cock to his entrance. Ever so slowly, Bradley pushed his tip in. You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself being stretched. Bradley watched your face, your eyelids slowly fluttering to relax your body.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” Bradley’s voice was strained as he pushed the tip of his cock into you, “Good girl.”
“More, Bradley, please,” Your hands gripped his body, trying to pull him in closer.
“Gotta go slow,” Bradley grunted, pushing into you slowly.
He took his time with you, not wanting to go too fast and hurt you. You were tight, squeezing Bradley oh so well as he broke through that precious barrier, seating himself inside you. You felt stuffed to the brim with Bradley’s cock inside you, whimpering not only from pain but from pleasure. His hips moved in fluid strokes, pulling out and pushing back into you. A wanton moan left your lips as you tilted your head back in pleasure. Bradley’s rough hand moved down your side, grabbing your thigh and hooking it over his hip, giving him an even deeper angle.
“Oh my god,” You moaned, your nails digging into Bradley’s back.
“Fucking hell,” Bradley grunted. He wasn’t going to last. There was no way he could with the way you were gripping him so tightly and the sounds you were letting out. He squeezed his eyes shut as he buried his face into your neck, breathing in your scent, “I-I’m not gonna last.”
You nodded your head, your mind clouded in pleasure, “Okay, Bradley.”
Bradley couldn’t hold back his release any longer. His grip on your hip tightened as he closed his eyes, and pushed his hips as far into you as he could get them. You let out a gasp as you felt his cum coat your walls, his grunts filling your ears as he fucked himself through his orgasm.
“Oh shit, honey, oh my god,” Bradley groaned out, his hips stilling. You looked up at him with wide eyes, as if he had just handed you the world on a silver platter, “I’m sorry, baby.” Bradley kissed your lips, “I didn’t think I would cum that quick.”
“Why are you sorry?” You asked, running your fingers through his hair.
“Cause I should’ve gotten you off first,” His lips trailed over your collarbones, “I wanted to make you finish before I did.”
“It’s okay-”
“No,” Bradley pulled back from you, shaking his head, “I know you might not cum every time, but you at least deserve an orgasm for your first time.”
You smiled and kissed his nose. You wrapped your arms around his upper body, taking in a deep breath and relishing in the feeling of his body on top of yours. Being with Bradley was like having a weighted blanket around all the time.
“I gotta pull out now,” Bradley said against your skin, “It might hurt. . . and there might be blood,” You nodded, “Take in a breath,” You did as he told, “And breath out,” When you took your breath out, Bradley gently slipped out of your cunt. You couldn’t help but whimper at the loss of contact. He tried to bite back his smirk, but it was useless, “Stay put, I’m gonna get a towel and clean you.”
You giggled as you watched Bradley’s bare ass shuffle to the bathroom, quickly grabbing a washcloth and wetting it. You sat up on your elbows and looked down between your legs, finding light red blood and cum leaking out of you. Instantly you felt guilty and embarrassed about the mess that was leaking out of you and onto Bradley’s duvet.
“Hey,” Bradley said softly, making you look up from the mess, “It’s alright. I need to wash my sheets anyway,” You still had a frown on your face as Bradley kneeled between your spread legs, “Y/N, look at me.” You looked up at him, and he gave you a soft smile, “This isn’t something to be embarrassed about. I’m not scared of a lil blood and some cum, a’right?”
Your ears felt hot as you nodded and Bradley kissed your cheek, before gently cleaning up the mess in between your legs.
“How about, I start you a bath, and I’ll change the sheets and get us some snacks?” Bradley asked.
“Sounds like a dream, baby,” You said softly, “As long as you add in the bubbles and the pink bath bomb.”
Bradley scoffed, “How could I forget?” You let out a squeal as Bradley picked you up bridal style. You leaned your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he walked to the bathroom. Bradley felt his heart clench in his chest, as he placed a kiss on the top of your head. Before he could walk away, you grabbed his hand, stopping him.
“What is it, baby?” Bradley asked, his eyes filling with worry.
Those three little words were right on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to say them, you really, really wanted to. But when you opened your mouth to say them, no words fell out.
You closed your mouth and gave Bradley a tight lipped smile, and shook your head, "Nothing, just make sure the water is hot."
Bradley nodded and kiss your cheek, "Always."
taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @phoenix1388 @desert-fern
@mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox
@atarmychick007 @bradshawseresinbabe @munsonswhore86
@happypopcornprincess @Sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe
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note: should I keep going with these two or. . . cause I got some ideas
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They don’t stay together at the end | Charles Leclerc x reader
summary: you and charles meet, live and life goes on.
author’s note: i enjoyed this but no at the same time? maybe it’s a little confusing, sorry. I hope you enjoy anyway :) and let me know if you do! english isn’t my first language!!!! and it’s been a while since i wrote something, be nice please
*also: I think the reader is gender neutral, but i don’t exactly remember.
warnings: none but If you find any let me know
**2nd part: ‘they see each other again’
“Move in with me to Monaco” Charles’ voice caught your attention.
You had met during that week, three days ago to be more precise and the days since have been more than a dream. A true fairy tale.
Charles’ was travelling, enjoying his days off before the begin of the season, and you were trying to make a life in a new place. You were working at a cafe when you met him; brown eyes enchanting you right away. He was a prince; the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.
“Hi” he said softly while paying for his drink.
“Hi” you answered back with a mere whisper. If he wasn’t paying fully attention to you, he wouldn’t have heard.
And that was when you figure it out how powerful a two letter word can be.
This simple ‘hi’ became a whole conversation at the end of your shift, and then him showing around the city; his favorite spots, places he holds deep in his heart. Charles told you stories and you loved how his eyes sparkled with passion whenever he mentioned his family, friends or his career. He loved talking about art, he showed you his songs. Every little thing he did, you fell more and more.
But this dream would end one day. You knew - and so did he. This whole fairytale is gonna come to an end eventually and he’s gonna go back to his prestigious life as a driver while you gonna go back to your cafe and small apartment you share with other three people. Everything was gonna be nothing more than a memory - one you will hold close to your heart forever.
He was still staring at you, body and hair wet from the hot shower. You were on his hotel bed, covered with the white sheets, hair a mess and body tired. You were still sweating. He looked ethereal.
“I can’t, you know that” you laughed.
“Of course you can” he sat next to you, hand holding yours “You can live with me. At least at first if you want to live somewhere. And if you want, you can find a job there - or not too. Just come. I need you”
“You’re insane! I can’t just go and leave everything behind again. I need to create roots, a life. And more: what people would say? They would think I’m using you for money and fame”
“Who cares about what people think? It’s me and you that matters, nothing else. Create roots with me. We’ve been having such a good time together here, why not keep this going?”
“Because” you tried to argue, taking a deep breath before continuing “Because this is just a moment, Charles. This is good, perfect, but we both know it won’t last. This is good because it’s gonna come to an end. That’s all. Destiny played its part: we met each other, we learn from each other, and now we need to follow our own paths”
Charles got quiet. He was sad, you could see it; feel it even. But he knew you weren’t wrong. You couldn’t just drop everything you’ve been fighting for and go on this adventure with him; he had everything right already. A name for himself, a career.
“I love you. I love this” your hand held his face and went to his hair, caressing the brown humid strands. He closed his eyes, letting his head lean on your warm touch. When he opened his eyes, he found you smiling. Charles Leclerc was truly a thing.
He leaned further, nose meeting yours and he let himself enjoy the intimate touch. He kissed you then, with more passion than he had on the previous days.
“Fine” he rested his head against yours “I hope we meet again soon. Until there, let’s enjoy the time we have, ok?”
“Ok”
The days passed and everything felt then times more real. The feelings you had towards each other were crude and transparent to everyone. You went more places together, ate together, slept together. You loved him and he loved you. Life was simple.
The day he left, you went to the airport to say goodbye. It felt right.
While you saw him walk to his gate and disappear from your sight, you thought how beautiful those days were. It’s was not just about love, but about moments, about knowing to live with the knowledge that everything can and will end. One hour, one day, one week, one month or an entire life - moments are what makes life what it is and the best thing we can do is be grateful for them to happen at first place, and for the people who are part of it.
When you left the airport, the cold breeze met your face. That day was a good day, and you hoped faith would put Charles in your path once again; in that life or in another one.
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc fluff#formula one#formula 1#formula one x you#formula 1 x you#f1 x reader#formula one x reader#formula 1 imagines#f1#f1 imagines#enough tags i believe#artsy writes
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The Proposal
pairing: seth x reader
summary: Seth proposes to the reader.
warning: FLUFF OVERLOAD!!!!
w/c: 1k
A/N: I may make this into a three part series. THE PROPOSAL, THE WEDDING, THE HONEYMOON!
Masterlist
Everyone was invited to the wolfpack family gathering. It was being held in the woods, lights were plastered around the trees, and the dance floor was made of complete wood from the trees. Tables with pearly white clothes surrounded that oak dance floor, it was everything you could have imagined.
“Hey (Y/N)? Can you help me hang this lantern?” Seth asked, it was only you and him here for the time being. You were both assigned decoration duty, it was pretty exciting. Seth did most of the work. It didn’t click in your mind that you would be in the woods decoring. You were too blinded by the fact that you were about to experience this grand event.
You were wearing a simple white silk dress that stopped at your knees. Cute but fancy. You sat back and watched your boyfriend do all of the work. Being the gentleman he was he didn’t allow you to do anything but sit and watch. You didn’t mind, nothing was more admirable than seeing his arms flex in his white button-down shirt. We’re not going to talk about how his quads look in the brown slacks.
“What do you want me to do?” You hummed softly.
Seth held the lantern to the tree, “Hold this right here while I go get the hammer.”
You switched places with him, he then jumped down and ran to the table where the tools were. You continued to hum to yourself softly, occasionally looking up at the moons and the stars. It was so beautiful out here, You genuinely loved the fact that we were under the moon.
“You’ve always told me you never believed in fairy tales which is a complete lie”I looked back to see Seth propped down on one knee. My mouth dropped along with the floating lantern. Instantly I could feel tears brimming my eyes. “This, right now, what we’re experiencing is living proof of a fairy tale. I keep telling people how I fell in love with you but in reality, I didn’t, I walked into love with you. Each step of the way you were there with me holding my hand, not once have you ever thought about leaving me. I wouldn’t be as strong as I am if I didn’t have your love to help me. I’d choose you in this lifetime, the life after this and even if I can’t find you I’ll make sure I do. I choose you and only you. You’re my world, you’re my life, you’re my fresh breath of air. You’re my everything, (Y/N) (L/N). So (Y/N) (L/N), will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
I wiped the excessive tears from my face, “Seth Clearwater, Yes! I would love to marry you.”
Before he could stand I tackled him to the ground, I could hear the pure joy of laughter escaping from his lips. You both embraced one another as you cried into his chest.
“You have to get up so I can put a ring on it.” Seth laughed, he held out his hand helping you up to my feet. Smoothly the ring went on, it glistened in the night light. It was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Seth shoved his hands in his pocket, clearly, he was still nervous about proposing, “It looks better on your hand other than Jacobs.” You held my hand up in the sky in complete. You watched the tiny rainbows dance in the ring. It was more beautiful knowing that it came from the man of my dreams.
“Wait, so is there a family gathering or not?”
“Oh yeah, You guys can come out!” Seth shouted, Huh, Seth wrapped his arms around me from behind. He grinned into my neck as you watched your friends and family emerge from the woods. Everyone was smiling from ear to ear, you were pretty sure only the boys and Leach heard his speech but that didn’t matter. It was still beautiful.
“Our plan worked (Y/N)!” Sue walked up to you with her arms out, “You’re finally going to be my daughter!! Ehhhhh!” You both squealed as you embraced each other. Leah soon followed as she also embraced you as well. You all had a tiny family moment, Leah was expressing how proud she was of Seth and you couldn’t fight back my tears. She was watching her younger brother become a man, and you, his soon-to-be wife, knew it was emotional as well.
Everyone continued to approach you, with nothing but pure joy on everyone's faces. Live music started to play swiftly in the background. Everyone began to chat with one another as the party started to gear up. You placed your hands on your fiance's chest, his arms wrapped around your waist. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
He gently placed a kiss on your forehead, “I can say the same.” Seth pulled you in the direction of the lantern that you dropped. “I have one more surprise for you.” He dusted it off, “I know how much you would love for your grandmother to be here to experience this moment.” He handed you a lantern, on it was a picture of you and your grandmother, and on the other side was a picture of Seth and his dad. “It hurts knowing that they can’t be here tonight but they’ll always be here in spirit.”
Seth pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the candle that was placed in the middle. You held the lantern dearly to your chest as memories of your grandmother flashed in the back of your head. “You’re an amazing man Seth, she’d love you.” You whispered, you never took your eyes from the lantern, the picture illuminated in the night sky.
“Come on, let’s tell them about the great news.” Seth grabbed your hand, and he lifted it towards the sky higher and higher until the lantern floated in the air by itself. The both of you watched the lantern float into the night sky. He held you in his arms as you both watched the other lanterns join yours.
#seth clearwater#seth clearwater imagine#seth clearwater x reader#seth clearwater one shot#jacob black#paul lahote#sam uley#seth clearwater fluff#twilight imagine#seth clearwater fanfic#twilight seth#seth clearwater fanfiction#seth clearwater angst#twilight wolf pack#twilight wolves#twilight wolf pack imagine#twilight x reader#twilight x y/n#embry call#jared cameron#leah clearwater#twilight#quil ateara
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Hi! I’ve noticed these days that my writing is struggling between sounding very formal and proper versus sounding casual. On one hand, I’ll have a sentence that looks like it came straight out of a 1940s British series, but two lines later there’s some casual dialogue that’s closer to an American teen novel. I grew up with both types of books tbh, so maybe that’s why? How do I stabilize my writing style and make it a little more consistent? Thank you!
Stabilizing Voice in Writing
There are three types of "voice" that play a role in how your writing sounds... authorial voice, narrative voice, and character voice.
Authorial voice is your writing style as an author. In many ways, it's your "writer personality." It's what makes your writing distinctive from another writer's. While authorial voice tends to be consistent across all stories, it will evolve with time and may even change slightly for particular projects--especially when crossing genres. Authorial voice includes things like how much/little description you use, how simple or ornate that description is, how you use word play, and the types of words you use.
Narrative voice is the "voice/voices" with which the story is told. This is made up of point-of-view (the perspective from which the story is told, for example, first-person or third-person limited), as well as your writing style and use of language. Anything the narrator says falls under narrative voice.
Character voice is the way a character's personality comes through in the things they think and say. It includes things like whether they're concise or wordy when they speak, slang and catchphrases, quirks of speech like saying "um" or "uh" a lot, how their attitude is reflected in what they think and say, accent, and the kinds of words they use.
When you have a first-person narrator, narrative voice and character voice are combined, because the character's voice IS the narrative voice.
So, there are several quick exercises you can do if you want to stabilize the voice in your writing:
1 - Do a little analysis of your own writing style (so far). Remember: writing style is something that evolves over time, so you might not have a fully established writing style yet, but you should be able to look at what you write and start to see some patterns. In your case in particular, do you gravitate more toward formal speech than casual speech? Can you think of any writers whose style matches what you'd like your writing style to be? Try reading more of their books, or read a chapter an analyze the writing style to see what you can mimic.
2 - Think about the narrator of your story... Even if it's a third-person omniscient, faceless narrator, it can still help to assign a sort of mental picture for who this person might be and who they're telling the story to. Is this someone who experienced it telling the story in third-person long after the fact, with 20/20 hindsight, to someone who might be interested? Is this a god who watched it all unfold and is retelling the tale to an audience of other gods? Is it an old grizzled storyteller telling the story to a rapt audience around a campfire? Try to choose something that makes sense as far as who might be telling this story, who they're telling it to, and why. It's not that you're including this as part of the story, but rather as a sort of placeholder for your brain any time you're in narrator mode. If you can slip into this narrator's shoes as you write the narrator parts, it sometimes helps you "get into character" and stick with a consistent, relevant narrative voice.
3 - Establish character voice... Character voice does have an impact on narrative voice, even if the story isn't told in first-person. In third-person stories, who the characters are can tell you a lot about who your narrator might be (so it might help to do this step before #2 above...) For example, if your characters do happen to be a bunch of 1940s Brits, you can start to think about who they are and what they experience to figure out who the narrator might be. In this case, it probably wouldn't make sense for the narrator to be a god telling the story to other gods (as that feels too mystical for this narrator), but a grizzled storyteller recounting the tale around a campfire might make sense.
If your story's being told in second-person (You walked to the window... Like a Choose Your Own Adventure) or first-person (I walked to the window...) character voice relates even more to narrative voice, because in second-person, even though the narrator is not the POV character, the narration is still being filtered through the POV character's personality, knowledge, and experiences. And in first-person, the narrator IS the POV character, so the narrative voice and character voice are one and the same.
By doing these exercises, you can start to hone each of these voices to find some stability. Happy writing!
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!
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Three little drabbles featuring Geralt "Horse Girl" of Rivia and different animals, from Jaskier's POV.
---
1. Horse
Jaskier realized it a few weeks into this new witcher-following, song-composing venture. Specifically, when he went to eat the last apple and was told in no uncertain terms that it's for Roach, even though their food rations were running worringly low and they were a day's ride from the next village. Even though he's a fragile human. Even though she could literally just eat grass.
The mare outranked him. She had seniority.
He tried to befriend the horse, with middling success.
He tried to befriend the witcher, too.
At least Roach could be bribed with a carrot or a handful of raisins.
People project a lot of their own feelings onto animals, he supposed. It's a relationship designed to be unequal. As complex or as simple as a person wants it to be.
For a while, he had started to resent her a little, as pathetic as that may sound. That is, until he woke in the middle of the night and overheard a murmured, rather one-sided conversation.
"I worry about him, though," Geralt was saying. "Can't exactly just find a new bard and start calling him Jaskier if something happens, can I."
What?
"Wish he'd shut up sometimes, but... I guess it's been kind of nice having someone around who talks back."
Jaskier's heart felt like it might burst or break. Or both.
"Not that you aren't good company, old girl."
Roach gave a quiet snort.
That was all years ago, now. The horse is different, but still somehow Roach.
He is different, too, but somehow still Jaskier. Still the reliable bard his friend needs him to be.
Now, he watches from his spot by the campfire as Geralt brushes through Roach's mane. The witcher's got drowner brains in his own hair but gods forbid he has a wash before his trusty companion is completely tended to. He's very gentle with her, which is probably why she tolerates it as well as she does. He's heard tales of stablehands losing fingers to routine grooming before.
Jaskier wishes he could write a ballad about this without potentially damaging his fearsome reputation-- the unbreakable bond between a witcher and his horse. The unexpected tenderness of hands made to kill.
He reaches for his quill to jot down a few ideas. Something something the mighty wolf and the wild horse, loyal and brave companions defending their forest home together. Keep it vague enough. Maybe a folktale vibe.
Besides, Jaskier thinks with a touch of bitterness, the wolf's tongue is the real danger. His jaws that snap at anyone foolish enough to get too close, to offer help when he's caught in a trap.
...Maybe he still has some feelings to work through.
The wolf also has a heart he tries so hard to bury. Jaskier can see it. Always has.
"You spoil her rotten, you know," he remarks lightly, plucking on his lute strings. "She eats better than we do."
"It's like sharpening my swords. I have to keep Roach in good condition, or we don't eat at all."
"Mhm. And it's very sweet."
He no longer begrudges Roach her well-earned place at Geralt's side. The witcher had been alone out here for such a long time before he came along, probably will be again after he's dead and buried. Even if Jaskier does wish that he could be the one Geralt trusts with his innermost thoughts and secrets and sleepless night fears, he is glad the man has someone in whom he can confide.
They all have their roles in this story. Perhaps he ought to accept his as its scribe, and let that be enough.
But Jaskier's greatest fault, he knows, is an always has been his refusal to accept things as they are.
-
2. Cat
"Oh, look at that. Someone's cat has gone missing. Poor thing."
"We're here for real work, Jaskier," Geralt says, scanning a contract notice. Recent plague. Graves disturbed. Ghouls. See alderman for details. Bit dull.
"They're offering a reward. See?"
"Somehow I doubt a small child has enough coin to justify ignoring the ghouls."
"Says here you'll get their eternal gratitude and-- oh! The lady of the house will darn your socks free of charge for a full year. Any additional mending at a discount. Now that's a good deal."
"Hm."
"Geralt, as you know my favorite doublet is in a sorry state after that minor werewolf incident--"
"I told you to stay with Roach."
"--All water under the bridge now, of course, and what an adventure! Worthy of a fine ballad--"
"Jaskier."
"--as this would be. Can't you at least keep one keen witchery eye out for the cat?"
"And risk a ghoul catching me off guard? Sure."
"Well, now you're just being silly. Don't tell me you're a dog person. Or are you allergic?"
Geralt sighs, realizing now that only the truth will free him from this conversation.
"Don't mind cats," he mutters. "But they don't like me."
"Sorry, what?"
"Cats don't like me," he repeats. "They start hissing whenever I get too close."
Jaskier's expression is caught somewhere between disbelief and sadness. "Why?"
"I insulted their king. Why do you think? They've got more sense than certain humans, I guess."
It's a veiled remark. Jaskier sees right through it.
"You're not a monster, Geralt," he says, achingly sincere. Then, in a lighter tone, "Does that mean you've never pet a cat before?"
"I don't know. Maybe when I was very young. I can't remember."
Jaskier mercifully drops the subject after a quiet and thoughtful walk back to the village's tavern.
He doesn't fail to notice Geralt buying extra scraps of meat from the innkeeper, or how he sneaks away at night to set them like snares in promising locations near the village. He'd probably say it's for the ghoul contract if asked, but Jaskier knows better.
Even if he didn't, there is really no other explanation for Geralt returning to the inn on the second night, covered in claw marks, carrying a ghoul's severed head in one hand and a bag containing one squirming, hissing feline in the other.
-
3. Spider
"GERALT!"
Every witcher in Kaer Morhen hears the bard's scream, but Geralt reaches the room in moments, his silver sword already drawn.
"Jaskier, what--"
"Kill it!"
The bard is standing on his bed, pointing frantically at something. Geralt follows his panicked gaze and sees--
"Really, Jaskier?" He sighs.
"What are you waiting for? It's a monster! Kill it!"
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's not a monster. Just a spider. Not even poisonous."
"How do you know?"
"I read." Geralt crouches down for a closer look at the spider. "Might look scary but it's harmless. Probably sought shelter from the cold."
"Well, then it can go right back outside."
"Jaskier, be reasonable."
"I am. Either the spider goes or I do."
The witcher looks thoughtful. Says nothing.
"Oh, thanks, Geralt! I feel so loved."
The spider crawls onto Geralt's hand and Jaskier almost screams again, shrinking back even farther. Gods, it has so many legs!
"Pretend it's a kikimora or something," he pleads. "Why won't you kill one little spider for your very dearest old friend in the world?"
"Because kikimoras have no niche. They're invasive, and need to be dealt with to maintain balance in the ecosystem. Spiders aren't like that; they do belong. A monster, fundamentally, is any creature that doesn't."
Jaskier just stares at him, speechless. He's not sure he has ever heard Geralt say that many words all at once.
Geralt's eyes remain on the spider. "Witchers aren't sent out on the Path not knowing why we kill; we're not soldiers."
"I never thought of it like that," Jaskier admits. "That spider's still fucking terrifying, though."
"Hm. I'll take it outside."
"Geralt?"
"Hm?"
"I know what scared, stupid people say about witchers sometimes. But I-- You do belong. You're important. Just want you to know that."
"...Thank you, Jaskier," he says. Then, quieter, "You too."
#the witcher netflix#the witcher#witcher fanfiction#geraskier fic#geraskier#geralt of rivia#jaskier#witcher fic#I'm sad i can't pet cats in witcher 3 okay#horse girl geralt
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Masterlist here~
Tales the Songs Weave
Notes: He's a desperate man needing a desperate plan.
Chapter 8: Don't Need Another Perfect Lie...
Word count: 1.6K
It wasn't elementary planning to escape the headquarters for the upcoming outing.
After returning to the society, Jess stood waiting, prepared to rip him a new one in front of their peers about how he was late or how he didn't even bother to impose that he'd be out later than expected.
“The stuff I needed wasn't all at that one shop.” His voice aloof, with a hint of moroseness.
“That doesn't excuse the fact you left Peter and I here longer than what you told us!” Jess shot an incredulous scowl at her ‘superior.’
“I was only thirty minutes la-”
“Two! You were over two hours late, Miguel! I know how time works! I'm not stupid!” She paced back and forth, her hand on her forehead.
“If you just notified us that you expected to be out for an extended period of time, then it would have been a bit better. We would've accommodated better, but no! You decided to go the Miguel route and not bother communicating over something as simple as this!”
Miguel flooded with boiling rage. All eyes are on them. His teeth gritted as he struggled not to crack and not send his temperament into a spiral. Especially with the box of medallions from her under his arm.
“Look, I'm sorry. I will make up your time. Now. Let. It. Go.” Miguel loomed over Jess, who still maintained her stance.
She clicked her tongue and pressed her lips tightly together, head turned to the sky, eyes shut.
“This once. Only! This one time. But if you try and pull this stunt again, Miguel, I swear–”
“You won't have to worry about it happening again.”
“I'm expecting it not to.” And with that, Jess sauntered away.
Miguel fumed as he spotted the other spiders peeking before rushing out, pretending to do their own thing. And that only peeved him off more.
Miguel had to reason with someone or concoct a scheme. As time churned, Miguel had less than three days to prepare something.
You proposed to not hang out that Wednesday night, much to his dismay, so you can both be fully rested up Thursday. A challenge for him.
The setback was that he had no one to rely on. Jess was surely out of the picture, and E-616 Peter was presumably upset with him.
He briefly voted on a code to power the systems down for the day, but an anomaly ambush can occur if they're not heeding precautions.
He researched all of the spider workers who would be able to manage his shift. E-13122 Peter is one of his best, just as good as Jess, but that would raise suspicion.
Lyla was out of the equation all together. She's reliable to a certain extent.
Each day passed as he bid on creating something, yet each idea was unsustainable. The more the clock ticked, the more lies he messaged to you about him definitely being there, which led him to become more hostile.
Before he realized it, Wednesday night snuck up on him, and Miguel was frothing. He had less than twelve hours to come up with something, or his excursion with you had to be canceled.
And he refused to reach that conclusion.
“Hey Miguel, I've been meaning to ask, what's the invention you're working on to get all those goob- whoa!”
Peter swiftly dodge-rolled as Miguel swung at full force. Mayday cooed and chortled loudly.
“What the heck was that for? I know you don't have a spidey sense, but you gotta be careful where you swing that-”
Peter leapt onto the desk as Miguel catapulted a trash bin at him.
“Miguel! What has gotten into you?!” Peter shielded Mayday's top half of her body from the increasing irate spider.
“¡Se supone que ni siquiera debería estar aquí mañana! Pero no tengo nada, nada a lo que recurrir! ¡Ella me odiará! ¡No quiero que me odie!”
Miguel maniacally squeezed his hair, talons leaving marks, treading back and forth.
Peter hopped off the table and lifted his hands. He began to breathe slowly from the nose and out of the mouth at the anxiety-induced man. Miguel eventually mimicked the motions, his pants subsiding.
“There we go, big guy. Now tell Peter what's got your suit in a bunch.”
Miguel pierced into his soul with those bloodshot, scarlet eyes. He hasn't slept in two days, stressing over how he'll be able to spend the day with you.
“Peter, I need to see her tomorrow! I have to! I have no way out!” He struck the metal surface, his monitors rattling from the force.
Peter squinted as he tried to understand what Miguel was rambling on about, when it struck him.
“It's that girl, isn't it?” He snapped his fingers. “It is, isn't it?! I knew it! I knew you were getting close with her!”
Miguel dug his nails into his work surface, making an unpleasant noise. Peter rapidly covered May's ears from it as he halted his tiny victory.
“Right, right, sorry! So why can't you exactly go see her tomorrow? What's holding you back?” He cocked his head.
“I can't leave this, Peter. I have to be here. They need me here. Jess needs me here. I need to be here.”
Peter opened his mouth but shut it when he saw that Miguel wasn't done.
“But I want to be there. I want to be there for her, with her. She brings that simplicity. That normality. I just want to be near her.” He slumped on his knees, claws on either side of his head.
Peter dazed on at the beaten man, who was indisputably thwacked in the chest with a cupid's arrow. He raked the room, scouring for something, when that lightbulb went off.
“Give me your watch.” Peter held his hand out.
Miguel was stunned before shaking his head.
“What? No! I'm not giving you my-”
“You like this girl, right? You said it yourself–you want to be near her. So give me the watch.” He made a grabbing gesture.
“Peter, I'm not–I'm not just going to give you my-”
“Miguel, come on now! I know you want to give it to me!
“I do not want to give you my watc-”
“JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN WATCH!”
Only beeps and machines with the occasional spider-people voices echoed through Miguel's office, as he was stupefied by the sudden aggression from his usual perky friend.
“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to yell. Mayday, never repeat that word.” Peter whispered in May's hair as she squealed and clapped her tiny hands.
“Look, Miguel, give yourself a break. You're the only spider who rarely does it! You're allowed to relax like the rest of us. So for your sanity and for the love of God ours, give me the watch.”
Peter once again persistently held his hand out. Miguel clutched onto the device. He has never ditched his comm for any reason. None. It's too risky, and anything can happen if he's not keeping up with surveillance.
“What are you planning on doing with it?” Miguel narrowed his eyes, leery of whatever proposal Peter was eager to make.
“I'm going to have you patrol my universe.”
Before Miguel could retaliate, the spider resumed.
“I'm going to have a drone fly across the city and tell them you're doing a patrol for me. And if others try to get in contact, I'll redirect your messages to me!” He jazzed his hands, and a wild grin spread across his face.
“And if they ask why I can't patrol my own dimension, I'll just convince them I'm having a family fun day! Perfect plan!”
Peter proudly puffed his chest as May wriggled out of her sling, crawling over to Miguel. He remembered what you stated when you described how Peter would aid him if he ever needed assistance. How he's willing to tackle his tasks for him just so he can go out.
May squirmed onto Miguel's lap, gaily peering up at him with her rosy-red cheeks. Miguel lifted his head to Peter, who was squatting in front with the same jovial smile.
“I got you, Miggy. Now, please hand over the device so you can enjoy yourself!”
Miguel's breath stuttered as he observed Peter's eyes. Then he rested the confined tool in the other hero's palm.
Two more strings lay dormant.
“Gracias, Peter, I truly, truly appreciate this. But if anything goes wrong.”
Peter wagged his finger and tutted at his boss. “Miguel, nothing will go wrong! And if it does, I’ve seen how you handle these situations a bazillion times. Have some type of faith in me!”
He plucked his yawning daughter off Miguel's shoulder and slid her back into her respective spot. “Time for Mayday to hit the sack. And I think you should too; you have a big day tomorrow.”
Miguel bowed his head, thanking him further as he watched the two portal back to their earth.
He rose to his feet and trudged to his multitude of PC monitors before slipping in a peek at the video of Gabriella and him.
“Gabi, mi osita… tengo a alguien que aprenderá más sobre ti. Alguien que... aprenda sobre mis pecados. I don't know how they will exactly react, but I feel as though they need to know who I truly am. What I truly am.”
He paused, his eyes darting from one glowing screen to the next, before stepping away into his hiding space to get some rest for tomorrow.
All he could pray was that you wouldn't find him repulsive by the end of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 7
Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]
Read on AO3 [x]
Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader
Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad.
Taglist: @hufflepuff1700 @jinlizz-dragondrama @firelightinferno @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala @smalltownbigheart @qmabailor
Radagast could only stare with barely concealed horror as the Enchantress addressed him, looking him directly in the eye. His thoughts were of you, at home, alone and unprotected. He had to remind himself that she was here in front of him and thus, for now, you were still safe. He had not wanted to run into her, having decided that the less she had seen or thought of him, the better. No matter now, of course.
When on earth would Gandalf receive that letter?!
"Do not tell me living in this twisted forest has made you simple." The Enchantress spoke again in the face of his silence, her smile not matching the words that left her mouth. She did not think his reaction strange. On the contrary she knew that he, much like Thranduil, would recall that day in Lindon well.
Radagast's grip on his staff tightened. "What luck brings you this far East?"
The Enchantress tsk'd at the wizard's bristling response. "Not even a hello?" She drawled, feigning a sorrowful expression before she shrugged. "I was not aware that travelling these days would cause one to be questioned quite so thoroughly as I have since I entered these parts."
"Travelling?" A sound that was something like a half-squeak, half-hum of disbelief left him then, as he kept his careful gaze upon her.
She nodded, making a humming sound of her own as she watched Radagast through eyes that had narrowed just slightly. "You know, I am very disappointed.” She said then, moving on without giving any sort of answer at all. “In both you and Thranduil.”
Radagast was frowning at her, his mind seeming to be in too many places at once to keep up with. He was telling himself to keep his eyes fixed upon her at all times in case she should attempt an attack of some sort. He was also thinking very desperately about you, hoping you had stayed inside as he told you to, but also hoping that this encounter did not dredge up any suspicion within the Enchantress. Radagast was also not certain he had the power to cast her out on his own. Indeed, all those years ago, he had only the power to add some sort of loop hole on to the curse the Enchantress had bestowed upon you.
“This is, after all, no way to greet an old friend.” She continued, either unaware of or simply ignoring, Radagast’s inner conflict.
At this, the wizard could not help but scoff, his full attention snatched rather ungraciously back to the present moment. “Friend?”
He narrowed his eyes and his voice hardened in a way that not many ever heard from Radagast the Brown, gentle a soul as he was. But he was one of the Istari and many over the years had seemed to forget this fact, and underestimate him.
“Is it a friend who acts as though one mere repudiation is the end of all things?” He asked, his staff moving with the gesture of his hand.
The Enchantress herself shifted at the movement of the staff, even though Radagast did not intend to strike her. Uncomfortable, perhaps even a little fearful. It was so small a movement that not many would have caught it at all... but the wizard did.
Ah, thought Radagast. Not so omnipotent as you like to believe, then.
“Is it a friend,” he continued on. “Who dwells upon this one abrogation until it blackens their heart and soul so much that they will then turn to murder?” He could feel it within him, that old anger, as strong as if it were still that day, over three thousand years ago. “Is it a friend who curses children and kills them for their own gain? Kills their own mothers before their very eyes? Is that a friend, indeed, O’ Enchantress?”
He went quiet, eyeing her as he stood tall before her. He felt more confident than he had when he had first come across her and Radagast knew that he would be fine, in this meeting at least.
She was silent for a moment, pinning him with a dark glare as he challenged her, something she very much had not expected him to do. She had hoped to get him to wilt like the very flowers of this forest were doing at this very moment. Yet he did not. He stood with all the power in him and she did not like it.
“Is it a friend, Radagast, who would snatch away a betrothal as quickly as they had offered it to another?” She snapped in return then, her anger still present even now, all this time later. Her embitterment towards Oropher for not allowing her to marry his son had not faded with time.
If Thranduil were here, Radagast had no doubt that the Elvenking would have thrown his head back and laughed out loud.
“Is it a friend, wizard-” Her voice had dropped all pretense and was hard as stone, cold as ice, as she lost her composure at being confronted so readily when she had only been prepared for the other outcome. “-who would instead turn and promise his darling prince to a newly born elfling of the Noldorin High King he so very much despised?”
Radagast was quiet, for he did not think she truly wanted an answer, and he did not have one for her. Not one that she would like, at least. She was the only one who would not see it, of course, but King Oropher had never truly intended to marry his son off to the Enchantress. Even then, young as she had been, there had been blackness in her heart and where she had gone, bad things had followed. Oropher never would have risked his son for a simple alliance or something else, not when it came to her. He had told the Enchantress that she could have what she desired if they came to some sort of peace, of course, but he had not known that what she had desired was his son’s hand... or, more aptly, his throne.
No, he and Gil-Galad had long thought to promise their beloved children to each other, if and when the High King and his wife were ever so blessed with a daughter of their own.
Bonds such as this were not common among the Eldar, of course, and they would not have forced in such a way that their children had no say in the matter. They would have held hope that the two would grow into love over time.
It had been their wives doing, of course, the two very close with each other and managing to bridge the gap between the Noldor and the Sindar Kings... this had ended with their deaths, of course.
It was so terribly tragic, Radagast thought even to this day, that such a bond had been irrevocably broken. Perhaps, if it had not, Oropher would not have made that fateful charge in Dagorlad... but old hurts and prejudices ran too deep and he would not bow to Gil-Galad’s command.
“Well! Speak!” The Enchantress snapped, lunging forward before even giving him a chance to do so. Her dark sceptre was thrust out towards the wizard but he was quick enough on his feet, even so distracted.
Radagast’s own staff shot out in front of him again and a pulse of what could only be described as energy shot from it, sending the Enchantress staggering backwards. Incensed, she struck out again, this time nearly wrenching Radagast’s staff from his own hand. He stood firm, a string of words then falling like a waterfall from his lips, and she cried out as if burned, nearly dropping her own staff in the process.
Then, as quickly as she had come, she was gone.
Radagast stood for a moment, listening, waiting. Sounds started to creep back into the forest around him. Birds tentatively began to chirp in the trees above. A rabbit bounced through the grass, hesitant as if expecting some attack.
Satisfied she was well and truly gone, he moved again, wasting no time. He had to reach the Elvenking’s Halls and be back in time for you to not notice anything amiss. He was thankful Thranduil had not yet carried out his plan to move further across the river or he would never have made the journey in time even with his speed.
As he neared the Woodland Realm, he couldn’t help but think of how impulsive and emotional the Enchantress still was, even with all these years and all this power. How stuck on this she seemed still, so intent on keeping a grudge alive when those who she had bore the rage against were long dead.
That, he supposed, was what sheer anger could do when you had not the will to let go or learn to control it.
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Stay With Me
Three weeks. That’s how long you have been traveling with Joseph Joestar and his companions to save his only child. It felt like an eternity and a fleeting moment at the same time.
It all started when you walked out of the small cafe near your campus to see two men dueling in the street, except one of them appeared to be a flaming bird. You watched in awe as the beings clashed, the inferno incapacitating the knight and allowing a third, much larger figure to approach.
Joseph had recognized you as a stand user from that moment, though you had no idea of your stand's existence at the time. You had recklessly accepted when Joseph had offered you a place in his group. Looking for an excuse to get away from university for just a moment.
The quest you had joined in on seemed simple enough. If you were a fairy tale hero, that was. This old man had to be crazy, there was no way he was serious about his (im)mortal enemy being a fucking vampire. But alas, you still followed, because at least if you died it would be kinda hot. Hopefully this vampire fella looked like Tom Cruise. You laugh to yourself at the thought.
The first few stops on your journey, Joseph insisted that you have the room to yourself, save for the ugly ass dog he kept with him for some reason. You sit in your bed, flipping through a book of TIME’s most influential photos, pausing to ponder the events that led up to the one you were currently looking at.
As you think, a flash of purple catches your attention, drawing your eyes away before it disappears as quickly as it came. You shrug it off and go back to reading.
You saw purple again, fleeting, darting back and forth around the room before it stopped at the foot of your bed. You looked up and were met with the source of the movement that had been vexing you all day. It was the massive humanoid creature from before, it’s eyes meeting yours, despite the fact that it was crouching before you. It had long hair flowing all around it, a swirl of galaxies crowning its giant head. Almost like a halo.
“Who are you,” you whisper, cautiously crawling towards it. “Are you even real?”
It gives you a confused expression, letting out a soft “Ora?”
It was absolutely still aside from its flowing hair, but every aspect of the creature seemed relaxed. It wasn’t looking to harm you, or even approach you, so you approached it instead. You sit with your legs crossed on the edge of the bed and reach out towards it, trying to touch its face, but your hand just passes right through it.
You pull away even more confused than before. Were you dreaming? You could have sworn you were awake.
Then the creature reaches into you, and you feel it gripping something inside your chest. My god is it going to kill me? You think, fear taking over your body and you try to back away. The beast’s other hand reaches up and strokes your hair, very much there and very much real.
While you’re distracted by the foreign touch, it pulls its hand out of you, holding a black kitten by the scruff of its neck. It mewls and the creature pulls it towards it, cradling the cat in its arms. The cat starts to purr as the thing strokes it’s head and you feel it reverberating in your chest.
What the fuck was going on. Before you had time to think anymore, you laid down and forced yourself to go to sleep.
You were silent at breakfast the next morning, prompting Joseph to ask what happened to the talkative girl he had met the previous day.
You explained your strange dream to him and he nodded, before telling you the most absolute old man bullshit you had ever heard. There was no way that pathetic little cat was your fighting spirit.
You laughed and told him he was full of it. He countered by telling you to bring it out so they could all see it. You laughed again and said you couldn’t. He gave up almost too easily after that, muttering something about it’ll come out when it matters.
The second night you traveled with your new companions, once again staying with just the dog, the creature appeared to you again.
This time it’s not as friendly as it was before. Before you can even truly acknowledge it, you’re being attacked, it’s dragging you backwards from your chair, a large hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing. You feel like your eyes are going to pop out as you claw helplessly at your attacker, looking to Iggy to find him fast asleep.
A growl rips from the air beside you and the hand retreats almost as quickly as it appeared. You turn your chair to the large purple beast crouching down beside a panther, petting it’s head and making soft Oras in response to its purring. You feel the feedback of the pets in your hair and look to it for answers.
The being simply gives you an apologetic look, and reaches its free hand towards you. You cautiously take it. The creature brings the back of your hand to its lips, kissing it softly and giving you a small smile before returning its full attention to the panther.
A knock at the door draws you from your confusion and you answer it. It’s Jotaro. He pushes his way past you, kicking off his shoes and sitting on your bed, pulling a comic book from his coat and flipping to the dog eared page. “The old man told me to keep an eye on you,” he grumbles, flipping his hat and producing a cigarette, placing it between his lips and lights it.
“Well hello to you too. Do you have another one of those?”
“Smoking’s bad for you, you know,” Jotaro grumbles tossing his pack of smokes your way.
“Whatever.” You light one up and return once again to your book on the desk.
“Well, since you’re apparently a stand user, the worlds gonna be out to get you, and someone has to keep you alive, the old man will be upset if you die. Says he sees potential, and it looks like your stand’s not completely useless after all. It had no problem tearing at Star Platinum. Hurt like a bitch. Star seems to see it as a pet though, which is unfortunate. He’ll probably try to get a rise out of you more, now he knows it’ll make his friend appear.”
So that was Jotaro’s stand. Intretesting.
“I thought Joseph said that stand users had full control of their stands?”
“Star Platinum has a mind of his own. It’s probably why he’s been tormenting you for two days. He’s just curious. I can always pull him back if I want to, but as long as he’s not hurting anything, I don’t really care.”
“Maybe you should keep him from watching me sleep then. It’s kinda nerve wracking,” You chuckle.
Jotaro just grunts and gets up, moving to the other bed, picking Iggy up and tossing him on the floor. The dog grumbles in its sleep, but barely reacts more than that.
You sigh, stretching and getting up from your chair to flop down in the significantly more comfortable bed. “So, Jotaro, tell me about yourself,” you prompt, trying to get to know the reserved boy better.
“I’m Joseph’s grandson and my mom’s dying.”
“Surely there’s more.”
“Do you want to know my whole life story or something? Fuck.”
“Sorry, just trying to make conversation.”
Jotaro sighs and takes his cap off, running his fingers through his silky black hair. “Look, I’m not great with conversations, okay. I’m not trying to be a dick. You didn’t have to join us.”
“It’s fine, I wasn’t trying to pry.”
He chuckles and looks towards you. “Actually I think you’re the first girl that’s made an effort to get to know me.”
Oh. Oh! How did a handsome guy like himself have- “no girlfriend?”
“Never.”
“Surprising.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re not unattractive.”
“I know.”
Ah. There it was.
“I see.”
“I know I sound shallow, but I’m not. I just know people find me attractive because they make it so clear. They just want my appearance, they don’t want me.”
“So you’re saying you’re into blind girls?”
Jotaro chuckles and leans back against the headboard, blowing out a stream of smoke. “You’re funny. I think we could be friends.”
“Yeah,” you say, turning the remaining lamp off and rolling over. “Me too.”
The next couple weeks are a constant frenzy of fighting for your life, bringing you closer to your new companions both out of necessity and dedication to each other. You now spent most of your time with Jotaro and Kakyoin, mostly because they were the closest to you in age. Kakyoin was a year younger and Jotaro was just five months your junior, he was still in high school only because his birthday fell at an odd time for the school calendar.
You had grown quite fond of each other during your time together, spending what little free time you had together, trying to get some enjoyment out of the trip, be it grabbing lunch or just doing different things in the same room.
When all was said and done, and the battle won you found yourself in a hotel room overlooking the Valley of Kings. There were just four of you left now, the Stardust Crusaders were nothing more than a quartet of broken people whose lives would never really be the same as they were before.
Joseph and Polnareff were just across the hall, and when you stepped out of your room to use the toilet you could hear shot glasses clinking together and slamming onto the table, but there were no celebratory words being exchanged, the men were drinking to get drunk. To forget.
When you returned to your room you found Jotaro on the balcony, leaning on the railing and smoking a cigarette. He had dropped his coat and hat in the corner chair when he had entered the room and while you were gone he had stripped off his blood soaked shirt, revealing all the wounds Dio had inflicted on him.
Without thinking you come up and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his back. He stiffens for a second and then relaxes into your touch, letting out a sigh.
“I’m glad you made it,” he states suddenly, his chest rumbling with his deep voice.
“Me too, I guess.”
Jotaro pulls himself out of your arms and turns to face you. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow night.”
He sighs and tosses his cigarette butt off the balcony. He blinks slowly and rolls his shoulders a few times. “I’m really glad you made it.”
You’re completely unable to read him, not that it was easy before, but now, you couldn’t even begin to place what was on his mind. So much had happened in the last twenty four hours. Your friends had died for God’s sake.
It confuses you even more when Jotaro reaches up and cups your face with his massive hand. Before you can think, he leans down and places a clumsy kiss against your lips before pulling away quickly.
“I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”
“Actually I think you should do it again.”
He leans down again and this time you meet him halfway, closing the gap between you. His lips fumble against yours as he struggles to figure out what you’re doing.
You pull away and look up at him. “Never kissed before?”
“Once, but I was like eleven.”
You giggle and pull him towards you again, this time taking the lead and guiding him through it. You’re laughing when you pull away and he looks genuinely disheartened.
“What? Am I bad?”
“No, I’m just glad you finally decided to make a move.”
He just stares at you like you have two heads.
“I’ve only been flirting with you for the whole trip.”
“I thought you were just being nice.”
You chuckle and pull him into another kiss. Leave it to Jotaro to be completely oblivious to something like that.
“I liked that,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “A lot.” He pauses and thinks for a moment. “I like you a lot.”
“I like you a lot too. I’m sorry I have to leave.”
“I understand. You have a life to get back to, and we can’t linger here too long anyways.”
“I wish…”
He raises an eyebrow at you. “You wish what?”
“I just wish things had come out better in the end.”
“Me too,” he sighs, and turns leaving you on the balcony to finish your cigarette.
When you do, you follow him inside, leaving the door open behind you.
“Jojo,” you call, reaching out towards him. He turns to face you and you take his hand, pulling him towards you and pushing your lips to his again.
He hums in surprise and melts into the kiss, leading you backwards further into the room. You fall back into the bed and pull him with you by his shoulders, keeping your lips against his the whole way down.
He moans and laces his fingers with yours, pinning your hand above your head, using his free hand to support himself.
This was the first time you had seen Jotaro shirtless the entire time you had traveled together, and even shared rooms and it was, comforting, to know that he now trusted you enough to show off a little. You let out a pleased giggle and spread your legs to allow Jojo to slot himself between them.
You roll your hips against his, earning a groan from him. He releases your hand and moves to run his fingers down your side, dipping under your shirt and trailing back up.
Your hands go to his waist, looping your fingers in his belt loops and guiding his hips against yours.
“I love you so much,” he whispers, bumping his forehead against yours.
You’re taken aback by his words, breathing his name and pushing him away from you.
Jotaro worries that he’s done something wrong before you get up and push him to sit on the other bed and kneel before him, running your hands up his thighs, letting them come to a rest on his hips.
“I love you too, Jojo,” you hum, resting your head on his massive thigh. He watches you, astounded as you reach up to unbutton his pants and push them down enough to free his cock. “Do you want this,” you ask looking up at him.
“Yeah. I do.”
You nod and lick his tip, making him shiver at the sensation. He brings his hands to rest in your hair, gently tugging as you work your mouth over him, taking him in bit by bit.
“God, fuck that feels good,” he whines, bringing a hand to cup your cheek “Please don’t stop.”
He bucks his hips, making you gag and you pull away. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching to help you up.
“It’s alright, it happens,” you hum.
In an instant he’s scooped you up into his arms, tossing you back onto the other bed and climbing on top of you. He unbuttons your pants and slides his hand down the front of your panties, dipping a finger between your folds, making you shiver. You work to slip your pants off to make what he’s doing easier. “God, Jotaro, just come here already,” you whine, trying to push his pants down his hips. Jotaro pulls away, just long enough to kick his pants off, fully exposing himself to you. He returns to his position above you, this time joining you on the bed. You prop yourself up and remove your shirt, leaving you in nothing but your bra, but you’ll leave that for him to take off.
“I uh, I’ve never done this,” he tells you, tracing his finger up and down your torso.
“That’s alright. I don’t mind. I’m sure you’ll be great.”
He nods in response and leans in to kiss you again, sighing as you reach between your bodies and guide him to your entrance. His hands linger on the band of your bra. “Can I take this off?”
You nod and arch your back to allow him to unclasp it and pull it off, tossing it haphazardly behind him. He pushes his hips forwards, finally sinking into you and you groan, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down towards you and locking his lips in a kiss.
It’s slow and it’s sweet and when it’s all over Jotaro rolls off of you and pulls your back into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly, like he never wants to let go, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. “I love you,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair.
“I love you too,” you mumble, drifting off to sleep in your shared room, a cool breeze blowing in from the open balcony door.
When Jotaro awoke you were already gone, the sun warming his face, though the bed was cold. He rolls over, finding a note on your pillow. The four words pulled at his heartstrings. A simple ‘I’ll find you again’ was all it took to make him break down in silent tears.
“Honey? What’s wrong?”
Your mother’s voice draws you from your thoughts and back to the dinner table. You had returned to your hometown directly from Egypt, since it was already time for fall break.
“Yeah, I’m alright mom, I just had a long semester. Being away from home for so long was stressful.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad you’re home.”
“Yeah…,” you hum, poking at your food, the ketchup seeping from your burger suddenly looks like blood, and you choke back a sob.
“Y/N, seriously, what’s wrong. You’re different.”
You sigh and lean back in your chair. “I just had a… fling, I guess, when I was in Hong Kong. It was hard to leave him.”
“Oh, that’s…understandable. Whirlwind love is hard to let go of. Maybe you’ll see him again one day.”
“Maybe.”
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Tolkien Family Week, Day 4: Cut Ties (aka Éomer and Théodred trauma bond)
The Day 4 @tolkienfamilyweek prompt of “cut ties” covers everything from disagreements to separation and death. I went with death in order to revisit one of Rohan’s biggest tragedies, the death of Théodred. I absolutely love Théodred and have built up a fair amount of head canon about him, though you don’t need to know any of that for this story.
My inspiration here was Théodred’s last words as he lay dying by the Isen (as recorded in Unfinished Tales): “Let me lie here to keep the ford until Éomer comes.” There’s obviously a practical take on that line–he wants to hold his position until Éomer can bring more men to secure it. But I decided to read it from an emotional perspective instead–he wants to be left where he is until Éomer can get there because that is who he wants and needs to see in what he knows are his final moments. So I wrote a little history of the relationship between Éomer and Théodred and the way that grief, in particular, bonded them, starting with their shared love for Théodwyn (Théodred’s aunt and Éomer’s mother). Pour one out for Théodred, because he was a real one!
**********
“Let me lie here—to keep the fords until Éomer comes.”
There had always been Théodwyn.
When Théodred searched his earliest memories, her face is what he found. Her sunny smile welcoming him back from sleep each morning. Her soft hands soothing his hurts when he fell or injured himself. Her high, clear voice telling him stories as they went for walks in the fields or while she led him around the training ring on his first pony. She was barely more than a girl herself at the time, but she was there, stepping into the breach left by his mother’s death and his father’s retreat into the depths of grief.
Over time, his father found a way to heal, to separate the birth of his son from the death of his wife and to embrace his little boy without hesitancy or reservation. But even then, his aunt remained the biggest figure in Théodred’s young life. He started and ended each day with her, took his lessons from her, asked her all of his questions and told her all of his feelings. And she gave him hugs and kisses and laughs and the occasional scolding. She taught him all the best bad words and made him special cakes on his birthday. She showed him how to take a handful of simple little seeds and turn them into beautiful flowers with nothing more than water, soil and sunshine. She was magic.
He knew she couldn’t stay at Meduseld forever. She had her own life to live, and when he was ten she met and fell in love with a man from Aldburg. He missed her terribly when she married Éomund and left for the Eastfold, but they saw each other when they could and exchanged letters when they couldn’t. Long years passed, but she was still the first one he thought to tell whenever he had good news and the first he wanted to turn to for consolation when things were hard. Though he had always called her Aunt Théodwyn, she was the closest thing to a mother he would ever know, and he cherished her.
But in the summer of his twenty-fourth year, it all went wrong. First Éomund was killed during a poorly planned orc hunt, riding off too hastily without waiting for the additional numbers he would need to protect himself. Then Théodwyn suddenly came down with a mysterious fever. A stronger constitution might have overcome the illness, but Théodwyn, weakened in spirit by the shock of Éomund’s death, didn’t have the heart to battle. Just three weeks after the loss of Éomund, she went to bed early and never woke up.
Now Théodred found himself on the terrace in front of Meduseld, waiting to greet the cousins who were being entrusted to his care, and that of his father, to try to salvage any possible happiness that could be wrested back from the unthinkable turn their young lives had taken. As he waited, he took his own overwhelming sorrow, the enormous grief weighing on his chest and pressing the breath from his lungs, and he pushed it down. He pressed and he pressed until his vast, shapeless misery was just a hard little knot in his stomach that he could quietly tolerate without outward expression. He would not show this grief to Éomer or Éowyn, whose burden was heavy enough without the sadness of another to manage. He would follow in Théodwyn’s example and step into the breach for them, whether he felt ready or not.
The arrival of Éomer and Éowyn changed everything about daily life in Meduseld. Éowyn, all of seven years old, spent much of her time with Elfhelm’s wife, who was called into service to provide a small girl with the maternal presence she longed for, but Éomer became Théodred’s charge. They spent their days together, riding, hunting, or swimming in the Snowbourne, anything to keep Éomer’s spirits up and give him more to think about than what he was missing. Théodred wondered at the boy’s resiliency in the face of his losses. While his demeanor was solemn and his face grave, he never cried or expressed pain, and he even managed to offer himself as a source of comfort to his little sister when her own pain overcame her. Théodred couldn’t help but admire this strength, and it motivated him further to keep his own grief private, to match his young cousin’s mastery of his feelings.
Instead, Théodred saved up his grief for a few stolen minutes at the very end of each day, after the rest of the household had gone to sleep and no one else stirred except the occasional guard on patrol. Then, under cover of darkness, he would quietly steal outside to sit in the little garden at the south end of the hall. It had been Théodwyn’s garden. She planted it when he was a boy, and when she departed for Aldburg he had taken over its care, tending dutifully to her blossoms and herbs and adding in the ferns and fruit trees that he favored. There was nowhere else that he felt closer to her memory, and he would sit alone under her moonflower vines, unclench the knot in his stomach, and allow himself to cry at last. When he had released enough of his sorrow to feel that he could go on for another day, he would dry his eyes, push his feelings back down again, and head off in search of a few hours of sleep.
A week or so into this new routine, a sudden nighttime cloudburst drove him from the garden and his grieving sooner than expected. He raced to the closest door, a side entrance he seldom used, and quietly let himself in. The corridor was hushed and dim, and he kept his steps soft as he slipped past the closed doors of the hall’s sleeping residents and headed toward his own room. On the walls beside him, the faces of his ancestors looked down from their portraits. Brave Fréaláf. Sad Folcwine. Noble Thengel. He paused when he came to Théodwyn, intending to spend just a minute under the warm and gentle gaze of her likeness, when he heard something unexpected: the slightest of sniffles coming from somewhere in the darkness at his feet. Stooping down, he suddenly found himself face to face with Éomer.
His cousin was tucked up against the wall, knees under his chin and arms wrapped tightly around his shins, staring at the portrait of his mother. Tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped onto his shirt, creating a large, dark stain just over his heart. He looked up, lower lip quivering and brows drawn tightly together, and for half a moment it seemed as though he might force back the tears and reclaim his typical mask of calm solemnity. But all his effort, all of his rigorously guarded self control, finally failed. Under Théodred’s eyes, Éomer began to sob, as he had been doing here alone each night, hidden away from family and strangers alike.
Théodred’s first decision was easy. Indeed, it wasn’t even a decision, it was just instinct. He dropped to the floor at Éomer’s side, wrapped his cousin in a tight embrace, and held the little boy as he wept. The second decision was harder, a reconsideration of everything he had planned for managing Théodwyn’s death, but he knew in that moment it was the right thing to do. He allowed his own tears to return, and for as long as Éomer cried, Théodred cried with him.
When at last their tears came to an end, Théodred was surprised to feel a little lighter, relieved of some portion of the weight he had been carrying through each day. Éomer, too, looked less grave, if perhaps also a little embarrassed. They walked back together to Éomer’s room and, though they didn’t talk directly about what had just passed between them, they agreed to meet again by the portrait the next night at the same time. And so they made for themselves a new routine, coming together each night to reduce their suffering by sharing it with one another. Sometimes they sat by the portrait; other times, they went to the garden. No matter where they were, they thought of Théodwyn and allowed themselves to let out the sadness that they otherwise kept locked inside.
As the days passed, they cried less and talked more. They learned not only how to grieve her loss but also how to celebrate her memory and, in time, they could each think of her and feel happiness alongside the pain. They traded treasured memories and stories, and some days they even laughed, fondly recalling her terrible singing voice or her deadly accurate impression of Théoden. Eventually, they even came to talk of other things entirely, their nightly meetings providing an opportunity to confide in each other the fears, hopes, or concerns that they would speak to no one else.
By the end of Éomer’s first season in Edoras, the seeds of their shared sadness had grown and transformed into an unshakeable bond, one more blossom in Théodwyn’s garden. That bond would last through happy times and further tragedy, changing circumstances and stages of life. It lasted all the way to that rainy night at the fords many years later, when Théodred himself lay near death. And alone with his pain, his body spent and his spirit facing imminent separation from everything he knew and everyone he loved, Théodred did the only thing he could think to do when confronted with grief. He called for his cousin.
#tolkien family week#cut ties#eomer#theodred#trauma bonding#let me lie here...until eomer comes#sob#lord of the rings#lotr fanfiction#forth eorlingas
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Top 12 Ghosts of Christmas Yet to Come
It’s funny how Christmas Eve sees us covering arguably the scariest and most unnerving of the Three Spirits of Christmas, at the end of our journey through some of the side players for Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” The irony is almost hilarious.
I speak, of course, of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, a.k.a. The Ghost of Christmas Future. The Third Spirit is interesting in that he’s arguably the most well-remembered and exciting of the three ghosts: he’s the dark and brooding payoff on Scrooge’s journey, and getting through his section of the tale - the most gut-wrenching chapter of the entire story - is a challenge for the audience, especially for younger viewers or readers. While the black cloak the Ghost wears in the book symbolizes the shadow mystery of the future - emphasized by the fact the Spirit never speaks, and only the tiniest gestures and nuances give away any indication of its thoughts or feelings - it has never been lost on anyone that the visual representation very closely resembles the iconography of the Grim Reaper.
What’s interesting about the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come is that they have honestly changed the least out of all three Ghosts in how they’ve been visually represented over the years. While there have been some minor changes here and there, most versions of the character stick with the same visual basics of a dark figure in a black hooded robe, with only their hands - or even just one hand - visible. Yet, at the same time, along with Christmas Past, the Spirit of the Future is one that artistic people LOVE to toy with in various ways, from more simplistic to more wild concepts, which creates a sort of paradox. You can always tell which Spirit is meant to be the Future in every good take on the Carol, but it’s always fun to see the little additions and changes each rendition brings to the table. There’s not much more to say (fitting for a typically mute character), so let’s just jump right in: in honor of Christmas Eve (still ironically), these are My Top 12 Favorite Portryals of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come!
12. Charlie B. Barkin, from An All Dogs Christmas Carol. (Purely for the sheer INSANITY of this one. That, and the song he gets is catchy…yes, he sings. I told you it was insane.)
11. Czeslaw Konarski, from Scrooge (1951). (While simplicity can be used to great effect, I feel this one is a little TOO simple, hence why he takes a lower tier. But he’s still quite impactful.)
10. D’Arcy Corrigan, from A Christmas Carol (1938). (This version has such a great entrance, just for a start.)
9. Robert Hammond, from Scrooged. (Further proof this movie is basically “A Ghostbusters Christmas Carol.”)
8. Tim Potter, from A Christmas Carol (1999).
7. Paddy Stone, from Scrooge (1970).
6. Pete, from Mickey’s Christmas Carol.
5. The Version from Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol.
4. Jim Carrey, from A Christmas Carol (2009). (Really cool concept having the Spirit act as Scrooge's literal shadow. They did something like that many decades before in the 1935 version, but it's way better here.)
3. The Version from The Muppet Christmas Carol. (Puppeteered by Don Austen and Robert Tygner.)
2. The Version from A Christmas Carol (1971).
1. Michael Carter, from A Christmas Carol (1984). (I love the detail on how, as the sequence goes on, the ghost gets closer and closer to Scrooge, symbolically showing how his future is getting ever nearer.)
#list#countdown#best#favorites#top 12#christmas#literature#a christmas carol#charles dickens#ghost of christmas yet to come#ghost of christmas future#christmas future#actors#acting#portrayals#film#tv#movies#animation#musicals
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