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authurials · 1 year

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𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐋.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you bring your parents home a christmas present in the form of your boyfriend, daemon targaryen

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), sexual situations/intercourse, oral sex (male receiving), slight praise kink if you squint, strong language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day two of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! a little modern!au with professor!daemon x student!reader; honestly he’s a bit....ooc in my opinion but i was on a bit of a time crunch to get this one out--running a tad behind with work and life in general, but i’m determined to keep to my posting schedule (unless something really prevents me from writing); let me know your thoughts--your response was awesome to day one! make sure you keep tuning in because next up is part one of my stepdad!harwin modern!au miniseries

“𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄,” your boyfriend, a silver-haired man of forty-eight, rolled his eyes as you once again checked your updo in the small compact mirror in your hand. “Now, stop fidgeting.”

“Fine, fine,” you sigh, tucking it once more in your bag as you adjust its position on your shoulder; you step up to the door and lift your hand to knock–hesitating. “....what if we just went to get chinese with Rhae and Harwin? I’m sure it’s not too–”

Reaching past you, Daemon wrapped his hand against the door before you could stop him, causing you to freeze in horror at what he had just done; from inside the house you could already hear the family dog, Urrax, sounding the alarm from within followed by the scolding tone of your mother. You already could hear both approaching the door to greet the guests–you and Daemon–and it took all your willpower and him taking your hand to stop you from bolting. Feeling him give you a comforting squeeze, you looked up into his face and raised a pale brow at you.

“What have you done?” You groan, leaning against his arm for extra support just as the door swings open in front of you.

The bells from the Christmas wreath that hung over the window beat against each other, shrilly ringing as they are drowned out by your mother’s excited greeting.

“My baby!” She exclaimed, immediately pulling you into the warmth of her embrace and holding you there for several moments; it allowed you if but for a moment to forget your earlier anxiety, tucking it in a corner for now as you let yourself wrap your arms around her frame in reply. All the while Urrax was at your feet, switching between excitedly waiting for your acknowledgement and sniffing cautiously at the unfamiliar man before him; only with your beloved canine’s approval would Daemon be permitted to enter the home–or at least that’s what your mom liked to let him believe. “Come in, come in–you two must be freezing! How was the drive from the city?”

Your mom was pulling you in before you could even get out an answer, and since your other hand was still death gripped in Daemon’s he was tugged along for the journey. At least she allowed you enough time to stop at the coat rack and peel off the layers of winter wear you had been subjected to only to still somehow remain freezing cold. As you unwrapped your scarf, face rosy from the wind, you hummed:

“It was alright; Daemon drove my car because dad got me those snow tires.”

“See? And you didn’t want to take him up on those….”

“Mom–” You sighed. “I just didn’t want you guys spending any more money on me.”

“Nonsense, you’re our only baby–aside from you, Urrax,” she threw in for the dog’s benefit, as if he could somehow understand them; he simply panted happily at the mention of his name, probably expecting some sort of treat. “Who else are we going to spend it on? Now, you–”

She looked pointedly at Daemon who was peeling off his black coat, stopping with one arm still in as he looked between you and your mother. You offered him no out; this had been his plan after all–wanting to meet your parents finally after nearly six months of dating. It wasn't that you didn’t want your parents to get to know the guy you were seeing, but you weren’t blind to the possibility of their opposition due to the age gap–among other things.

“Let me get a good look at you,” your mother continued, stepping close so she could get a better look at Daemon’s face; still paused in that same stance, arm tucked in one sleeve of the coat while the other held it up, your boyfriend offered your mother a devilishly handsome smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he hummed cordially–or as cordial as Daemon could be.

“Hmmm,” was your mother’s only response, eyes looking up and down in that overly critical way she used on all the other moms on the PTA board, “Damion was it?”

“Mom--” you hissed, ears flushing from embarrassment rather than the cold this time.

“What? Is his name Damion or not?” She exclaimed, feigning innocence.

“It’s quite alright–it’s a bit of a unique spelling,” Daemon smiled, though you could see the fire he hid well in his eyes. “It’s actually, Daemon ma’am–Daemon Targaryen.”

“Oh, Targaryen!” Your mother’s eyes widened, recognizing the name. “Like the Targaryens from that fancy steel factory?”

“Correct,” Daemon’s smile had turned into a smirk, and you hid your laughter behind a smile as you finally turned away from them to kneel and greet Urrax; the beast thanked you for your attentions with gross smelling slobber-ladened kisses on your face and hands.

“Where’s dad?” You asked breathlessly as you gently pushed his face away from yours with a laugh.

“In the den, watching that damn It’s a Wonderful for the umpteenth time,” you could hear the roll of her eyes in the tone of her voice. “Couldn’t even pull him away from the recliner to help with dinner; we’re having your favorite by the way–I hope it’s not cold. We were expecting you an hour ago….”

“Well it is snowing, mom,” brushing off the jab, you rise to your full height and turn back to them; your eyes flick to Daemon, who is watching you carefully.

“I know, I know,” she waved dismissively, brushing past you and towards the den area. “Now come on–he’s been dying to meet your fella; hope you’re ready for a hundred and twenty questions, Daemon.”

“Certainly,” he chuckled, arm coming to wrap around your waist and tucking you into his side as he guided the pair of you to follow the woman.

Sighing, you let him be your strength as your head falls to his chest, “it’s not too late to run….”

You say it low enough so your mother won’t hear, already yelling at your father to turn off the TV before she even enters the room. Daemon simply laughs again, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head as his hand gives your hip a firm squeeze. Biting your lip, you tilt your head up to press a kiss of your own against the strong square of his jaw, letting your nose graze the skin there before your gaze falls back down through the doorway. Already you can hear your father heaving himself out of his chair as he and your mother argue over the TV, George Bailey’s iconic speech humming in the background.

“Now where did you put the remote?” Your mother groaned, passing in view before disappearing to the other side of the den. Daemon and you stopped in the doorway as you both peered in, assessing the situation before you interrupted what could end up being one of your parents’ infamous holiday fights.

Without fail on high stress seasonal celebrations like Thanksgiving and Christmas, where tensions ran high, your chronically on the cusp of divorce parents ended up in some ridiculous and avoidable argument that burned brightly and fizzled out just as quickly; by the time dessert was served they were usually back to their amicable albeit annoying selves, and your appetite for food and celebration was ruined for the rest of the night.

“It’s in the chair cushions, mom,” you interjected, wanting to avoid such an instant this year as it was yours and Daemon’s first official holiday with each other; you had skipped out on having Thanksgiving together last month after an argument about the very thing you were doing at your parents’--introducing him as your boyfriend. You had met pretty much every member of his immediate family, which was saying something considering there were a lot of them; he had even introduced you to the daughters he’d had with his late wife, Laena, already. And although it had gone about as good as could be expected, at least he had taken that initiative and wasn’t trying to hide your relationship; honestly, it was hot how much he loved showing you off, it was one of your favorite things about him–his confidence in his decisions, the way he never second guessed himself.

If only you could say the same.

“Like it always is,” you tacked on as you moved away from Daemon’s side and brushed past your father, hand coming up to pat him on the back as you leaned forward and dug through either side of the broken in recliner he had had since the father’s day of the year you turned five; you remembered how excited you had been when you had given your mom the five dollars from one of your teeth–believing it all the money in the world, or at least enough to get that chair your dad was eying out of a La-Z-Boy catalog that came in the mail.

Gripping the remote in hand, you pulled it from between where it was stuck and held it out to your mom, waving it as you gave her a knowing expression. Rolling her eyes, she huffed as she reached out and grabbed it, pointing it at the TV a moment before it finally cut George Bailey off and went dark.

“See? She always blames these things on me,” your dad snorted, a vision in his trademark plaid button up and the brown leather belt that adorned every pair of jeans he’d ever worn..

“Well it technically was your fault it ended up under your ass, dad,” you defended.

“Language,” your mother huffed, and as always you and your dad shared an eye roll.

“Enough with the nagging,” your father hummed, growing serious–or as serious as he ever got–as he turned to Daemon who still stood in the doorway taking in the scene before him. You realized how odd it must be, to be an outsider looking in, at least that’s how you had often felt when initially meeting his family; they had been great about making you feel included at least, except for Baela and Rhaena, and even then they still made it a point to be civil for their dad’s sake after he made it clear you made him happy. “You’re the boyfriend, I presume?”

“Yes,” he pushed off the side of the doorway and stepped forward, raising his hand for your father to shake–it was more than any of your other boyfriends had done in the past. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet both you and your wife.”

“Hm,” was your father’s response, a moment or two passing before he finally grabbed Daemon’s hand and shook it; something seemed to transpire as his critical gaze softened and he smiled. “Well, I’m glad my daughter finally brought you for a visit. She’s told us a bit about you, but I’m eager to hear more.”

“Of course,” Daemon let his hand drop back to his side.

“Now let’s get settled at the table before you begin your interrogation,” your mother playfully scolded her husband. “I already got the table all set and everything; I hope you like roast, Daemon….”

“Sounds delicious,” he hummed, once more falling into step beside you, hand on the small of your back as you followed your parents into the adjoining open concept dining room/kitchen combo.

“It was one of her favorites growing up,” your mother continued, tossing a thumb your way over her shoulder. “We couldn’t have a ham or a turkey, no–it had to be a nice roast with some of that honey barbeque glaze that was her grandmother’s recipe.”

You all settled at the table–you and Daemon on one side, your parents on the other–as your mother prattled on about hams and glazes and the one time you puked halfway digested roast up on the new carpet after getting the flu really bad when you were thirteen. Biting your tongue, you felt Daemon find your hand under the table, squeezing it tightly as your mom pulled the cover off the platter with the roast on it; your dad was already reaching for his piece when your mother stopped him:

“Prayer first.”

Daemon caught your eye and you could see the distaste clearly painted on his face, knowing that he wasn’t particularly fond of religious practices that fell under the Faith of the Seven; his own family were split in their belief systems, his older brother’s second wife converting him over to the Seven while Daemon and his niece Rhaenyra stayed within the traditions of Old Valyria the Targaryens were known for. Personally, you weren’t religious at all, and neither were your parents who had raised you with an open mind to religion but had no expectations for you to follow a particular faith; your mom only threw out that prayer stuff on the holidays and only when you had guests.

Both you and Daemon bowed your heads, exchanging slightly bemused looks as your mother began the prayer. It was as awkward and hilarious as to be expected, your mother thanking the Seven for bringing the both of you there safely that night and for blessing the food you were about to eat. Then of course she blessed your dad and Urrax who had found himself back inside after disappearing through the backroom doggy door; he was now begging at your father’s feet–the weakest link among your defense when it came to resisting puppy dog eyes.

“And Seven, if you could just make it to where I could be at the top of the phone tree at the next neighborhood watch meeting, that would be appreciated,” your mother tacked on. “In your name we pray, thank you.”

“Thank you,” you held back a snort as Daemon rubbed a hand over his mouth, stifling laughter.

“Dig in!” Your mother exclaimed, grabbing two rolls.

Your father wasted no time in claiming the biggest slice of roast for himself as you covered almost half of your plate in the potatoes that had simmered alongside it. Tossing Urrax a sympathy carrot–you hated steamed carrots–you glanced over at Daemon’s plate which had a little bit of everything on it. Smiling, you nudged him before grabbing your fork and spearing one of the potatoes, popping it in your mouth; initially it was a mistake, the morsel unbearably warm as you rolled it around for a few moments while it cooled down.

“So Daemon,” your father began, swallowing his first bite of roast and green bean casserole combo, “what are your intentions with our daughter?”

It was brutally cliche and your father knew it by the look of the humorous smile playing on his lips, one Daemon shared as he chuckled and set down his fork.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “we’re just seeing where things go for now–no definitive plans, no expectations.”

You nodded in agreement, the both of you having made what you wanted and needed from the relationship clear from the start. Daemon was a man nearing his fifties, he had long since sowed his wild oats and was a father of two grown adults, he had no need to play games with any of the women he pursued. And for that you were thankful, because otherwise you didn’t think things would’ve ever worked out for as long as they had; he was the first guy you had ever dated that was in the same age bracket as your father–all your other boyfriends born within the same decade as you–and at first you had feared it would be an obstacle you wouldn’t be able to get over but Daemon had been patient although determined for you to at least give him a chance before you completely wrote him off.

“Good, good,” your father nodded in agreement, “because you know we fully expect her to finish college first before any of that settling down nonsense right?”

“Dad, come on,” you sighed, pushing your food around your plate as heat rose in your cheeks.

“We just worry that those four years of college and the time you’ve already put into graduate school will go to waste,” your mother interjected. “It was an awful lot of money, sweetheart.”

“Well I don’t plan on getting pregnant or eloping in Vegas, so you can rest easy, alright?” You dropped a piece of gristly meat on the floor for Urrax to scarf down.

“We’re just asking,” she held up her hands in defense.

You felt Daemon’s hand on your thigh, the pad of his thumb stroking in the same pattern as he periodically gave it a squeeze. Glancing at him, you saw that he was facing forward, seemingly giving your parents his full attention as you all tabled the discussion of him potentially ruining your future.

“How old are you again, Daemon?” your mother led with the next line of questioning, putting you further on edge.

“I’ll be forty-nine this coming spring,” he answered with ease, no shame evident in his tone.

“Goodness, you certainly don’t look your age then,” she complimented, neither her nor your father showing any concern at the gap.

Of course, you hadn’t expected them to react too badly to that aspect of your relationship; you had been clear from the start that there was quite a bit of a gap between Daemon and you. They had taken it with some relative uneasiness at first until you assured them that proper boundaries to protect yourself had been put in place right from the start.

“And we were told that you teach,” your father joined in, scooping up the scraps of his food and holding it on his fork as he continued, “are you a grade school teacher? Or high school?”

“I’m actually a professor,” Daemon explained. “I chair the history department at King’s Landing University.”

Your university.

“Oh,” was all your mother said, before wiping her mouth off with her napkin and composing herself. “What kinds of classes do you offer?”

You knew she was digging, deeper and deeper, so that she may connect the dots of the secret you had held so close all those months. And if you could hold it close just a bit longer you would, but this had been Daemon’s wish when he had requested you both spend Christmas together at your parents’ house. He didn’t want to hide the truth any longer if there was any hope of this continuing past the six month probationary period the both of you had agreed on in the beginning, and neither did you truly; but facing your parents and their scrutiny was also not something you particularly desired either.

“Mostly ones on Ancient Civilizations,” he replied. “The traditions and cultures of places like Essos and Pentos; I spent much of my earlier studies traveling and writing about them and then of course Old Valryia. My family is rumored to date all the way back to its fall, and growing up I found the prospect quite fascinating–so I decided to make a career out of it.”

“Didn’t you take one of those ancient civilization courses last semester?” Your father asked, not seeming to be connecting the dots just yet as he went for a second slice of roast. By the look on your mother’s face, however, you knew that she had come to the conclusion straight away, fork hanging limply from her hand with a stray green bean that Urrax sniffed at from her side.

“I did….” You gulped, licking your lips as you reached down to lay your hand over Daemon’s; he turned his palm upwards, entwining your fingers together. “Ancient Civilizations of the Old World: The Valyria Chapter….Daemon’s class.”

Your eyes flicked between your parents, mom pale faced as she processed what she’d already known and your father still chewing, though the movement of his jaw slowed visibly and a frown curved his lips as he too began to process what you had just said. For a moment, you fooled yourself into believing that everything would be okay and this was just the initial shock, they wouldn’t really care that much, right? That was until your dad’s fork slammed down on the table and he swallowed his bite, jaw tense as he looked between you and Daemon.

“You two met….in his class?” Your mother asked breathlessly, setting her fork down with more decorum than your father had. “He-He’s your professor?”

“He was,” you clarified, “but he’s not anymore. I made sure I didn’t take any of his classes this semester after we made things official–”

“As if that somehow makes it better,” your father cut you off.

“Dad–” you sighed, expecting the pushback; an age gap you could rationalize to your parents, dating your professor? That wouldn’t be as easy. They were very by the book, your parents, particularly when it came to company politics and procedures, and the golden rule they lived by was that you didn’t date your co-workers–especially if they outranked you. It not only complicated things in their opinion, but it was also unethical for a superior to date someone who was under them because it created an unsettling power balance. And you understood that in some instances of students dating their professors that power imbalance did occur, you were just lucky that that hadn’t been your experience with Daemon.

“It just isn’t right,” your mother shook her head, “for a professor to date one of their students. You must understand that, Mr. Targaryen.”

Oh, now they were on a last name basis–this wasn’t good.

“I understand your concerns,” Daemon hummed, “and trust that they were addressed early on between your daughter and I, but I would never jeopardize my career or her academic future in such a way.”

“But you have by even continuing to see her,” your dad argued. “Even if she isn’t in one of your classes, she’s still a student at the college you work for.”

“Yes, however we both keep our personal lives very separate from the university,” he continued, standing firm in his words. “Your daughter only has two more semesters left, so we see no need to worry; once she has graduated we can make our relationship more public so as to not put either of us in an uncomfortable position.”

“You must see how unethical and even immoral this is,” your mother continued to push before looking at you. “Honey–”

“Daemon has never allowed his private feelings to impact his treatment of me in class,” you defended him. “And now that I’m not on his roster it’s easy for us to keep those parts of our life separate. I understand that this isn’t conventional and it might even be inappropriate but….fuck! I don’t care, okay? I just really don’t and if you can’t accept that then that’s fine–well, not really, but I’m not going to let it affect my relationship. Daemon and I will continue to see each other no matter what you have to say.”

You didn’t dare look at Daemon, too fearful that it would cause you to falter in your words, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face; a part of you didn’t even have to look to know that it was an expression of pride he wore as you relaxed back in your seat. Your parents sat across from you, stunned into silence, father staring at you as you mother fiddled uncomfortably with her silverware; all the while Urrax panted obliviously, begging for scraps at the side of the table.

“Now,” you sighed, taking a deep breath as you pushed back from the table and stood up, hand reaching for Daemon, “if you’ll excuse us–I’d like to show Daemon my room. Okay?”

For a moment you feared that they’d ask you to leave the house entirely, unable to process what had just transpired let alone accept the simple fact that Daemon and you had been brought together by his status as your professor.

“Okay,” your father sighed, the one word lifting the burden from your heart as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “But we’re talking more about this–”

He gestured between you and Daemon with his fork.

“In the morning.”

“Dad–” You frowned, ready to nip any objections to your relationship in the bud.

“I ain’t gonna say nothing more about my thoughts on the whole ‘professor’ thing,” he said the word with a hint of distaste. “I just want to get a better picture of….it.”

You saw your mother nodding in agreement, seeming to come back to herself as she took a deep calming breath in and let it slowly out.

“....Alright,” you agreed after a moment before turning to leave. “Dinner was delicious, mom….good night.”

“Night, sweetie,” you heard her sigh as you left them to the rest of their meal and led Daemon upstairs.

Your childhood bedroom was the same as you had left it when you moved out for college, a shrine to the young girl you had once been when your mom still drove you to practices and away games, back when you spent a majority of your time in your father’s shadow. If only you had stayed that age. But alas, you grew up as kids tended to do and as Daemon pressed you back into the floral print bed sheets all thoughts of your adolescence left your mind.

Moaning, you kissed him back with a fervor, one hand combing through his silky shoulder length hair while the other one pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Pulling away temporarily, he quickly undid the buttons of the shirt before shrugging it off his shoulders, tossing it to the floor of your bedroom before leaning back down to kiss you. His kisses made you breathless, trying to catch your breath between each one as he rubbed against you.

“I didn’t expect all that down there….” he chuckled, lips trailing the length of your jaw and down to your neck, he sucked on the skin there as you let out a gasp your hands falling down to grip at his lower back; his hips pressed into yours, rubbing the outline of his hardening cock against your core.

“Me either,” you pant, laughter on your tongue as you reach your hands between the two of you to fumble with the buckle of his belt. “Fuck….help me get this off.”

“Eager, aren’t we?” He teased, pulling back all the same to give you better access, his own hands reaching down to help undo the zipper of his pants.

“As if you aren’t,” you shot back, licking your lips as you saw the hint of his cock peeking out from between his open fly.

His hand found the back of your head, fingers rubbing your scalp as he patiently waited for you to shimmy his pants down past his buttocks and pull his semi-hard cock out. Spitting in one hand, you grab it in a firm grasp and slowly stroke from base to tip, eyes flicking up to gauge his reaction. You watched the tilt of his head as he looked up the ceiling, eyes closing as he let out a soft moan, hand still tugging through your hair before pressing back against your skull. Once he stiffened a bit more, you rubbed your thumb over the leaking tip, leaning forward to take it into your mouth. Another groan escaped Daemon’s lips, louder this time, deep in his throat as he slowly pressed forward–feeding you his cock.

“Good girl….” He sighed reverently. “So good for me….that’s right–take me all the way to the back of your throat.”

Glowing under his praise, you reminded yourself to relax the back of your throat muscles as he had instructed you in the past, feeling the head of his penis slip into the narrow opening. It was difficult to remember all of it–relax, breathe through your nose, don’t neglect the base….at that thought you reached up your hand, caressing over the heavy weight of his balls before gripping where the shaft met the bottom. Her jerked slightly in your hand, bumping the back of your throat and causing you to gag but you simply stalled, taking a deep breath through your nose and letting it out before continuing.

“There we go,” he grunted, hooded eyes flicking down to stare at you–jaw unhinged, mouth open as you took his dick so well.

Never one to want to waste cum down your throat, however, Daemon tapped you on the shoulder when he was good to go and you pulled back. Licking your lips, feeling how swollen they had become with the tip of your tongue, you rested back on your elbows, clothes still on but disheveled as you awaited your boyfriend’s next move. He wasted no time of ridding you of your shoes and pants, leaving you in your button up blouse–sans buttons when he tore it open much to your ire–as well as your bra and panties; though the latter quickly followed as Daemon discarded your underwear as well, free hand stroking his cock as he placed himself between your legs.

Using one hand to open you up, he used the other to guide himself inside of you, tip of his cock teasing your clit with a few brushes across before finding its target. Biting your lip, you fell fully on your back as you kept your legs wide open for him, only closing momentarily to squeeze his hips as you resisted the urge to lift and impale yourself on his cock the rest of the way. Daemon liked to tease you in the beginning, pushing in inch by agonizing inch, until he was balls deep into your pussy–only then did he give you both what you wanted.

He fucked into you with an enthusiasm none of your other lovers could’ve ever hoped to match, hands gripping either of your thighs in a vice grip as he held you open for himself, watching at how well he pounded your pussy. A satisfied smirk curved his lips, eyes flicking up to meet yours, which were glazed over and unfocused as all you could do was lie there and take his punishing pace. Gasping, you reached down with both hands to grip his wrists, holding on for dear life as you already felt yourself so close to the edge; usually when he noted your approaching orgasm, he would slow down and drag it on, taking you to edge and keeping you there for hours but tonight it seemed he had different plans. Instead of slowing down when you felt that knot forming in your stomach, he went faster, fucking into your with even more vigor as you held in the more alarming of your moans–last thing you needed was your parents hearing your professor screw you into the matress under their own roof.

“Daemon….” you whimpered. “I–I….I need to–”

“You know how to ask nicely, pet,” he teased, rhythm never letting up as his hands slipped from your thighs to your hips, slamming you down onto him as his hips met your ass in a stinging slap again and again.

“Can I–oh!” Your body jerked as one of his hands slipped to your clit, rubbing the bud with the warm pad of his thumb as he kept up his onslaught of attacking thrusts. “Oh shit–fuck! Daemon, can I–can I please cum?! I need to cum all over your cock, I need–ah!”

All senses left you as Daemon reared up, the force of his thrust lifting your lower body as he held you there, back arching and pressing further into the mattress as the dam in your stomach broke–your orgasm washing over you. His thumb stopped moving on your clit, instead holding you there in the chasm where pleasure met pain, lips and thighs wet with the slick of your arousal. You felt the pulse of his own release wash over inside of you as he gave small rolls of his hips against your suspended ass, grunting as the tension finally broke and he let you fall once more to the bed, partially into his lap. Your legs rested uselessly on either side of his hips, racked with residual tremors of your post-coital bliss; sweat coated your skin, prickly and orgasmically uncomfortable as your entire epidermis hummed with sensitivity, body jerking involuntarily from the slightest caress of Daemon’s body brushing against yours.

After a few moments of settling, he finally pulled himself from inside you, a broken whimper leaving your mouth at the loss. Chuckling, he settled his body against your side, shifting both your bodies slightly so that he could tuck himself against your backside, flaccid wet cock rubbing against your ass as you leaned back into him. Your head tucked under his chin as you quietly laid there, feeling how his seed slipped out from inside and dripped onto the bed sheets, both of you allowing the quiet to envelop your bodies before sleep eventually claimed you.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen one shot

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nichenarratives · 7 months

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Frozen Hearts

An Obscure Miniseries

In an attempt to raise Viktor for a job without freezing his tail off, Mordecai decides to drive in the thick winter snow, only to have an accident. Irritated his young triggerman continues to be reckless, Atlas orders him out of the speakeasy and into Viktor's apartment to recover, leading to some awkward conversations, situations and a whole lot of bonding.

1. Bad Idea

Winter takes Missouri in its icy grip early in 1922, suffocating foliage and freezing pipes with extreme prejudice. Even the evergreens seem to struggle, the ground frozen and barren around their roots refusing nourishment or water. Firs lining the streets begin to brown beneath the weight of snow and frost, only the most resilient trees retaining their green pine needles as February approaches, the felines of St Louis all desperately awaiting the thaw and arrival of spring buds.

Being temperate, the natives would say Missouri benefits from milder seasons than neighbouring states, yet Mordecai Heller would call it unfortunate to experience both. A native of New York, known for harsher winters and mild summers, most assume he would suffer more in heat. Unfortunately, equally affected by minor deviations from innate comfortable temperature thresholds, the shorthaired tom finds both to be unbearable in their own specific ways, especially the cold.

In the winter, he can't seem to wear enough layers to keep warm, not when conforming to his own strict requirements for propriety. There's only so many long sleeve vests and long johns one can squeeze beneath a suit before it starts to look awful, and Mordecai won't sacrifice appearance for comfort. His three piece, fleeced undergarments and a coat are all he will permit, but even with a scarf and hat, he feels the chill permeate his bones as soon as he steps outside.

Given the choice, the tuxedo would hibernate through the winter; woolen pajamas, thick blankets and copious cups of tea all take the edge off, as does attending a roaring fire in the hearth. Mordecai would wile the months away, reading through texts and classic literature until the snow and frosts were replaced with spring grasses.. if only he could.

A cup of tea and a blanket sound like heaven, he thinks as, with his collar turned up against the cold, Mordecai trudges through an inch of snow to the car. Unfortunately, the world at large doesn't share his hibernation sentiments and with the Lackadaisy Speakeasy blossoming in the years since prohibition, its liquor stores constantly need resupplying. Tes would be far more warming than that awful liquor…

An often hours-long round trip to trusted importers in a cold, metal death trap, Mordecai isn't fond of resupply runs. He'd much rather be burning storehouses to the ground, covering Viktor in raids or even the god-awful task of interrogations. Excessively long, silent road trips aren't exactly enjoyable, especially when his partner is crime has made it obvious he prefers the silence; and now, to top it off, he's going to be teeth-chatteringly cold while they're at it.

Jamming the key into the car door, Mordecai unlocks the driver's side and slides behind the wheel, before taking a moment to blow into his gloves palms. He'd normally walk to Viktor's apartment a few blocks from the speakeasy and let Viktor walk back to get the car, but it's too cold; even inside the vehicle, he can't stop shivering, ears folded back to his head in an attempt to warm their icy tips and shoulders hunched against the frigid air.

When his breath seems to do very little to warm his hands, Mordecai gives up and guns the engine, hoping running the thing will create some warmth in the cabin.

A terrible driver - having only ever been shown the basics in an emergency by Viktor, when he was too injured to drive and needed medical assistance - he grits his teeth when the gears grind as he forces the car into drive. A quick pause to check his mirrors, he steps a little too heavy on the gas and gasps when the car lurches forwards in his unskilled hands, squealing tires throwing up filthy snow as he careens out into the icy street.

It takes minutes to get to three blocks at one in the morning. Mordecai somehow manages to avoid hitting anything right up until he tries to stop. With no experience driving on ice or snow, he jams on the brakes and exudes a strangled murr of concern as the wheels lock and the car continues skating down the road at thirty miles an hour. When another attempt to brake fails and he rapidly overshoots his intended mark, the tom makes a final mistake; he swiftly turns the wheel.

The rear of the car swings wildly forwards, dispelling much of the forward momentum but carrying the vehicle onto its two passenger side wheels. For a brief moment, Mordecai is flying; clinging to the wheel as his feet are carried off of the pedals, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream while both gravity and basic physics seem to tip the car in slow motion, hat and pince nez in flight within the cabin.

Gravity wins; the Cadillac overbalances and with a distinct crunch, the wing mirror crushes against the asphalt, the entire right hand side of the car impacting on the road a millisecond after. Mordecai is haplessly thrown to the other side of the cab, wrenching his arms off the wheel and slamming his face, shoulder and right arm into the somehow still intact passenger window so hard, it shatters on impact.

The contraption skids across the cobbles, ten entire seconds of screeching metal and crushed glass piercing in an otherwise silent road until finally, it comes to a halt thirty feet away when it hits a light pole. Silence falls again; the light pole flickers and dies as if the sound were swallowed by the same darkness enveloping the scratched up, overturned car. Snow continues to flutter down around it, filling the skid tracks anew, coating the tragedy in white.

Mordecai daren't move; his head hurts, his face stings like a raw wound and he's seeing double, hazy vision swaying as if rocked by a non-existent breeze exacerbating his inherited myopia. Bracing a gloved palm on the broken glass beneath his face, the tom tries to lever himself up, but with his lower body wedged between the gear stick and dashboard and a leg bent against the cracked windscreen, his attempts are a futile waste of rapidly draining energy.

An overwhelming exhaustion turns Mordedai's sight black at the edges, dragging him away from consciousness. His arm dives way and he falls back to his burning shoulder with a weak whimper. Vaguely aware he can't feel his fingers and a weak attempt to move them, warm blood drips into an eye from an open wound on his forehead, turning his world an unnerving red just a moment before it fades to black.

~.~.~

The bobcat is attempting to fix a leaky faucet when he hears it; skidding tires, an ear-splitting screech of metal on tarmac, and a final crunch as two metallic objects collide outside. He pauses his work and looks towards the window, cracked just a smidgen for the luxury of fresh air despite the oppressive chill, contemplating going outside.

With a palm splayed on the underside of the sink and his other clutching the wrench still in place on the leaking nut, it would be easy to go back to work like nothing happened. Having the window cracked might be the only reason Viktor heard it though, which means he may be the only bystander aware of an accident taking place. Normally, he wouldn't be so bothered; with the speed limitation on public vehicles - a limitation he'd effectively removed from the company car for illicit purposes - most people walked away from a crash with minor wounds, making bystander intervention pointless.

Unfortunately, he's also aware of the sub zero temperatures outside. Even as a bobcat, fully fleeced with a thick double coat for optimal heat management, Viktor can feel the cold seeping into his apartment through the window. If knocked unconscious or trapped within the vehicle, it wouldn't matter if the driver's injuries were minor; he could freeze to death in a quarter of an hour in this kind of weather.

Viktor closes his eye and sighing heavily, abandons the still leaking faucet, using the nearby armchair to rise to his feet with a grunt when his stiff knee complains. The cold is bad for his old joint, no matter how warm he seems to dress; his long johns, vest and woolen pajamas keep him adequately warm alongside his fur indoors, even with the window open.

He grabs a sweater off the sofa, then pulls on an overcoat and thick, leather boots, picking up a lantern along the way for good measure before he steps outside his first floor apartment and heads out into the icy night. The falling snow, expanse of white and empty streets momentarily stop him on the step, a litany of nostalgic memories of home assaulting his senses, but he shakes them off and treads carefully into the snow, lantern raised as he searches for the accident.

If no one is dying, he's going to be so pissed.

It takes a few minutes and a short walk to find it; a divot in the snow already filling up with fresh powder flecks, roughly the length of a car and extending beyond the range of his lantern. With a frown, Viktor steps into the divot and follows it back to an extinguished light pole, a Cadillac bent around the base almost exactly at the halfway mark. With the roof dented in the vehicle is almost comically banana shaped.

"Hello?" The Slovak calls into the darkness, holding out the lantern and turning up the gas, the yellowish hue making it hard to discern the car's actual colour. There's no reply, but he steps closer, walking around the back of the car for any sign of a hasty exit - a busted window, open door, blood on the frame - but finds nothing; if someone was inside the car when it crashed, they're still there.

He treds through the snow towards the front of the car and sees a dark shadow crumpled against the passenger side of the vehicle, unmoving and not unresponsive. "Anyvone hear me?" Viktor tries again, but with no response, a bad feeling begins to swirl on his stomach. He almost doesn't want to step closer, but he does so, resting a palm on the upturned hood to shine his light on the crumpled figure. "Van't hel-?"

The bobcat's question dies in his throat when he's met not with a stranger, but the twisted, bleeding body of a familiar face; he assigned partner and coworker, Mordecai Heller. The snow around the broken passenger window is turning pink, while his contorted body is jammed between the gear stick and mahogany console, foot awkwardly braced against the windshield and arms in disarray around his head.

Viktor drops the lanturn to the snow, unaware of it toppling over, glass case protecting the flame within. Of all the things he'd expected to find - of the tragedies he could have borne witness to, attending this accident - the unconscious body of someone he cares about wasn't one of them. The feeling in his gut swiftly evolves part fear, conflicting emotions masked by a military-drilled compulsion to act quickly.

It takes a single strike for the compromised glass to shatter under his heavy boot. Glistening shards scatter, invisible in the snow except for the lantern's dancing reflections. Viktor pays it no mind and crouching down, reaches into the car to extract the smaller tom with as much care as he can, while still moving swiftly, well aware that stronger men have died of exposure after less time in blizzards back home.

Despite being manhandled in ways that would usually make him squirm, Mordecai remains limp and unresponsive as the bobcat pulls him from the wreckage. Glass clinks and falls from the tuxedo in shimmering, sparkling flakes, more still glistening in dark facial fur as Viktor draws him close to a broad chest and presses two fingers to his throat, holding his breath without meaning to.

Ba-bum... Ba-bum.

It's sluggish beneath chill skin, but there's a pulse. Viktor isn't sure if he's relieved or afraid, looking up at the empty street shrouded in white, not another soul to be seen. With no clear idea what to do beyond warming the tuxedo up and finding medical assistance, the bobcat shrugs off his coat to bundle Mordecai up, disconcerted that he doesn't complain or even flinch when obvious injuries are manipulated.

His best friend on the verge of death and swaddled like a newborn, Viktor draws the tom close to us chest and begins the three block walk back to lackadaisy. The nearest place he knows who have a phone to call a doctor, or a car he can use to drive out to Elsa, because he's not sure blankets and a warm fire will be enough on a freezing February morning.

#niche narratives #obscure mini #mordecai heller #viktor vasko #lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #fanfiction #fanfic #tracy j butler #no beta we die like atlas may #hurt/comfort #vikdecai #viktor x mordecai #mordecai x viktor

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meshlasolus · 2 years

Text

The Rain Is Cold

Part 2 of the Obi and Little One Miniseries

Summary: it’s raining outside the temple, and the heating is out on your side of the apartment. You decide that curling up on the couch with your Master is you best bet at warmth.

Warnings: …a little yearning from Little One- fluff, a little angst (just a disclaimer, little one is about 16/17 by now)

The storm was cold, much colder than Coruscant usually would be this time of year. You only had a single thin blanket to keep wrapped around yourself as the rain poured down outside, making the lights in the distant city seem blurry through the lenses of your condensation covered window. It was thick, the cold was. It seemed like it was trying to penetrate your room and devour you whilst you tried to rest.

You normally welcomed this type of weather, feeling more calm and at peace through the force when the sky was gray and the breeze was full of moisture from the downpours. It was a lovely feeling most of the time, but for right now, you couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact you were cold, and the little blanket you curled up beneath was doing nothing to aid you.

You huffed loudly and dramatically once you’d given up on your plans to rest. If you were going to sleep at all on this night you were going to need more blankets, and if possible, two winter robe sets.

Tip-toeing out of the room, you didn’t want to wake anyone else up, but upon seeing the face of your Master, you relaxed a little. He felt your presence stirring about earlier, and it distracted him, but he needed to focus on his task. You coming out of your room made him believe that this border dispute would never be resolved, but he set down his holo-pad all the same, ready to help you with anything should you need it.

“I didn’t know you were still up,” you laughed lightly in a whisper, continuing on your trek to find what you were searching for, but the further into the apartment you went, you realized it was far warmer than your room. Perhaps your vents weren’t flowing properly, it would explain why you were so chilled in there.

“I could say the same about you.”

At this you scoffed quietly, nearly under your breath. “I’m not trying to be. I think the heat is out in my room, I’m freezing in there.”

You collected two blankets from the linen closet and journeyed to the couch instead of your room. You were already wide awake by now, and going back into the refrigerator known as your room would not well suit you until the storm was over, or someone fixed the heater.

“Do you want me to look at it for you? It might be an easy fix,” he suggested, but you shook your head, plopping down next to him and unfolding both blankets to cover yourself.

“It’s much warmer in here,” you knew he was busy, and taking time to fix your heating sector in the middle of the night would most likely take far more time than he thinks. “Besides, you look like you could use the company.”

He smiled, dropping his head down to face his lap, glancing over at his holo-pad which he’d laid aside when you walked in. Even though you didn’t acquire his attention at all times, he was keen to give it to you. Something along the lines of being the best Master he can be to his students, in hopes of them turning out as the best Jedi in the order.

“This dispute has gone on almost a month, I’m starting to think II’m unqualified to diminish it,” he was stressed, that much you could tell. He already had so little time to himself in the day, and now he was sacrificing his hard earned sleep to work on something that was somewhat out of his control. He couldn’t even help it, the assignment was far too much to handle on his own, but he wanted to show the council he was worthy of completing it. He was losing his confidence that it could even be resolved at all, and he would be reprimanded by the council on grounds of the unfinished mission.

You hated when he started getting this way, because he meant the worlds to you. He worked hard every day, breaking himself to try and prove he was a good Jedi. You already knew he was, given the training and companionship he’d always given to Anakin and yourself. Everything outside of that was even more amazing in your mind, because it showed how limitless he truly was. Having one padawan and maintaining a mission schedule was hard enough, but having two, and taking on assignments meant for five Jedi was incredibly impressive on all fronts. He was the best of the best, from the stories you’d heard, no Jedi compared to him, not even Master Yoda.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself. The things you’ve accomplished in this order are beyond what most will ever achieve, you should be proud of that, Master.”

You admired him far more than you should, and often times worried if what you were feeling was wrong. It was wrong, wasn’t it? To think of him in ways a student should never think of their teacher, much less a Padawan to their Master. It was obvious that the order did not condone nor approve of in any way that sort of relationship, and you wished sometimes you could make those feelings disappear from you, but it wasn’t that easy. You were drawn to your master, as you’d seen him in your dreams. He was a dream to you, in every way. If only he knew that.

He turned to look at you, and the sheer look of compassion on your face made him feel as if you truly understood the weight he carried. He wasn’t even under any scrutiny by the council like you constantly were, and yet you were always unequivocally yourself, smiling and following your path as you should always do. You knew the pressures of a superior that looked down on you, and you thrived despite it. He wanted to be more like you.

“Thank you, little one,” he sighed, “but there’s only two things in this galaxy I am truly proud of.”

You smiled, scooting closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder. “There’s only one of me, though.”

He laughed, rolling your eyes at the thought of even acknowledging Anakin. It was all in good fun, though, because he knew you loved that boy dearly, as did he. You shuffled around on the couch next to him to become more comfortable, and one of your bare feet barely nudged his knee. He flinched immediately, feeling as though a piece of Ice had just been brushed against him.

“Your feet are freezing,” he furrowed his brows, using the back of his hand to feel the side of your arm before pulling it back with a jolt as well. “How cold is it in your room?”

Clearly he wasn’t as concerned before as he was now, but you didn’t seem to think it had been a big deal, and he only realized it was when he felt how deathly cold your skin was. He leaned away from you only to shrug off his robe, and to wrap it tightly around you, even on top of the two blankets you were snuggled into. Such a small gesture, and it meant the world to you. He was always so kind and gentle, you adored him for it.

“I told you,” you giggled, the face he made in reaction was purely comical. “I think the heat is out in my room. I’ll probably sleep out here tonight.”

He wondered how you were even able to stay in that room for the period of time that you did, and huffed out a sigh and a shiver just thinking about it. He didn’t like the cold, it was, to put it simply, cold. Seeing you wrapped up in a ball next to him, laying your head on his shoulder made him happier to know you were warming up. If you’d gotten sick because of this, he’d feel horrible for not knowing the heat went out in your room. He only hoped it would be fixed by tomorrow, because the storm was predicted to worsen then.

He sat for a while, picking his holo-pad back up and beginning to resume his work while you quietly watched on his shoulder. It was only when he heard soft snores did he turn back to look at you, peacefully sleeping with your mouth open a little. He kissed the top of your head, then tried to maneuver so that he could stand from his seat without waking you. After realizing you were deeper in slumber than he originally thought, he scooped you from the couch, and took you into his room, The heat was working fine, so he figured he’d let you have it to yourself for the night. He set you down, making sure an abundance of sheets and blankets were tucked in around you, to ensure that you were going to be nice and warm once he had left.

You’d nestled down into his bed so easily, clutching the blankets to your chest and heaving deep and even breaths. He was satisfied with how peaceful and relaxed you were, and went out to the couch to finish his work before ultimately passing out on it from a long day f over working and pure exhaustion.

tags:

@cool-h-posts @honestlywtfisgoingon @fandomstanner24 @elvenrin

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan series #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x padawan #ewan mcgregor #anakin skywalker x reader #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker

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the-pigeon-queen · 2 years

Note

For the Obligatory OTP Asks (for Shadi and Pegasus of course!): 5, 16, and 55.

Thanks for humoring me lol

I accidentally wrote too much, and for length, I'll have to use the ol' "Read More" to hide it lol

If reading these is too not great for tumblr, I'm gonna throw them onto Ao3 too :0

5: Describe their cozy night in.

Every pillow and plushie that could physically fit on a California King sized bed.

The softest blankets money could buy.

The latest animated masterpiece to hit VHS.

Gourmet hot chocolate, popcorn, and a plethora of snacks just a ring away.

Boyfriend.

And that was it! The short but crucial list for enjoying those cold, wintery nights on the isle. When the wind beat a slurry of rain and ice against the castle windows, the essential items were collected, and Pegasus burrowed up in his room. Surrounding yourself with comforts was the best way to suffer the storm – and the whole of winter, in his opinion. Safely snuggled in his plush fortress of warmth and collectable, huggable plushies, with a mug of milky, marshmallowy sugar in hand, and his ghostly lover pressed to his side, Pegasus was wholly, and fully content.

Shadi was content too – even if he’d been goaded into watching ‘Funny Bunny’s World Tour’ for at least the fourth time since saying ‘I love you.’

16: Can they stay up all night just talking?

“…And really, that’s why I think ‘On the Run’ is a better series than ‘Off the Cuff.’ They weren’t afraid to step away from the source material and really allow Funny Bunny to develop as a character. Like, he’s obviously more than just an instigator with jokes. He’s resourceful – he’s cunning! And no other series explored why until ‘On the Run.’ It was just a more mature show. It explored themes. It explored character. It had an overarching story, which, in ‘Off the Cuff’s’ defense, tried to do, too, to little effect.”

“…That sounds like a very insightful analysis,” Shadi said, after a few moments of silence.

“It is, thank you.”

“…Though you should consider actually trying to sleep.”

“Ah, yes, right,” Pegasus sighed, and shimmied his sheets up higher, “My synopsis of the new series will continue after a good night’s sleep.”

Silence filled the room again.

For about five minutes.

“Although my favorite iteration of the character has to be from the five-part miniseries they aired back in 96’.”

Shadi took a deep breath, moved onto his side, and fixed the other man with a hard look. Pegasus, who was laying on his back, with his hands clasp atop his middle, innocently blinked up at the ceiling.

“Do you truly wish to talk, or do you just wish to procrastinate your sleep?” Shadi asked.

“Preferably, I’d do one with the other.”

“Alright,” The ghost sighed, and moved back onto his back, to likewise stare at the ceiling, “Could we at least talk about something we both know a deal about?”

“You know about Funny Bunny.”

“Not his extended catalogue of works. And I do not take notes.”

“Ok, fair.”

“…So, what do you wish to talk about?”

“…We could pick up where we left off last night.”

Shadi took a moment to let his mind wander back to the words they’d exchanged just over twenty-four hours ago, and sighed, “I believe we were discussing the existence of extraterrestrial life.”

“And we both agreed that aliens definitely do exist.”

“Correct.”

“Given the infinite number of worlds in the universe.”

“Correct.”

“And then I believe I asked if you believed in alternate dimensions.”

“And I said yes.”

“Because the Shadow Realm, as we discussed it, would be considered an alternate dimension.”

“And the room of a soul, as it exists, qualifies as an alternate dimension, as well.”

“The afterlife too.”

“But of course.”

“So,” Pegasus pressed the tips of his fingers together, and cast a look sideways at the man lying beside him, “New but related topic, Shadi: Do you believe in alternate universes?”

After a few silent moments, Shadi turned his head towards Pegasus, “What exactly is an alternate universe?”

“Well, I’m so very glad you asked. I would define it as a universe that is exactly the same as our own – with every world and spec of matter contained therewithin – except for one specific distinction that sets it apart.”

“Explain.”

“For example… In this universe, I am Maximillion Pegasus, super successful and beautiful businessman who invented Duel Monsters. But, in another, alternateuniverse, I may be Maximillion Pegasus, super successful and beautiful businessman who did not invent Duel Monsters.”

Shadi simply blinked at him.

“Or, perhaps in another, I am the Maximillion Pegasus who became a poor, starving artist. Maybe he created Duel Monsters, maybe he didn’t. In another, I could be exactly as I am now – except maybe I’m missing my right eye instead of my left.”

“…And how exactly do alternate dimensions fit into this theory?”

“Well, you see, it’s all about your relation in respect to the universe or dimension at hand. Every universe has one Maximillion Pegasus bouncing around in it. And at any given time, he could be existing in any one of those universe’s own set of dimensions.”

“Oh, I see, now. Each universe has its own separate set of dimensions. Dimensions rest atop others in one universe,” Shadi held his hands horizontally from each other, about an inch apart, then shifted them to stand vertically from each other, “Whereas alternate universes run parallel to each other, never to interact.”

“Precisely!”

“…Well, I don’t know if I believe in alternate universes,” Shadi let his hands fall by his sides, “Such a notion is a bit too fantastical to feel real.”

“Well, that’s a bit rich, coming from a man who uses a magic key to literally, physically go inside people’s minds. And become invisible. And teleport. And is a ghost.”

“…”

“My point is that you yourself are a bit too fantastical to feel real. And even that’s rich, coming from me, a man who had a magic eye that let me read people’s thoughts like the funny paper.”

Shadi was quiet for a long time, before Pegasus heard him take a deep breath.

“I guess alternate universes are a fun thought experiment,” The ghost said quietly.

There was a faint sadness in that statement, and though it was faint, it was distinct. And impossible for Pegasus to ignore. He turned onto his side, tucked his palm under his cheek, and let his eye wander over the other for a minute. He didn’t need the Millennium Eye to suspect what thoughts were whirring around in that bald head of Shadi’s, because he knew very well that they were the same kind of melancholic thoughts that troubled his own mind on some cold, sleepless nights.

One could lay and imagine scenarios where they’d done something differently; where they’d made some other choice – said something different. If they hadn’t been afraid to speak up, speak their feelings, or take a leap of faith – if hindsight had been foresight, instead.

Pegasus was sure that Shadi was imagining a universe where he hadn’t made the same mistakes he had in this one; one where Pegasus had kept both of his eyes or one where he hadn’t let Bakura’s father touch the Ring.

Pegasus knew that such trains of thought often went in circles, if not off cliffs and into the abyss – so he scooted to the side and enveloped the ghost in his arms.

“Maybe there’s a universe out there where you own a coffeeshop,” Pegasus said, seemingly out of the blue, “And I’m the mysterious hot, new stranger in town.”

It took Shadi a few seconds to respond, but when he did, it was with a bemused and surprised chuckle, “You truly believe in such a universe?”

“Of course! The cosmos is infinite. The possibilities are literally limitless. I’d order a coffee every day, sit in the corner by the window, and work on my art. You’d grow curious of me. I’d compliment your eyes. You’d compliment my drawing. ‘Every thought of being a model?’ I’d ask. You’d brush it off and play it cool – but I would know that you liked the compliment – and me.”

Pegasus felt Shadi laugh, then felt a hand trail its fingers through his hair.

“You think me that easy to charm?” Shadi asked, the laugh still not quite gone from his voice.

“I’m just that charming.”

Shadi quieted, and after a minute, he hummed, “If these alternate universes exist, I’d like to imagine that we found our happiness in each of them.”

Pegasus nuzzled his face into the other’s side, before settling into the cuddle, “I know I found it in this one. I’m thankful to be one of the Maximillion Pegasus’s that gets to be with you.”

Pegasus felt a smile when Shadi pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“And I am thankful to be a Shadi that gets to love you. Goodnight, Pegasus.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

A peaceful silence once again filled the room, as the minutes ticked away and the night drew on.

Of all the possible universes that existed, out there, beyond the reaches of his comprehension, Shadi still found himself content with the one he existed in now. Even with all the missteps and mistakes he’d made along the way, he’d still managed to find himself in a warm bed, next to the person he loved – and that was more than he’d ever imagined himself having. He was grateful.

And he was tired. Shadi closed his eyes, took a long, deep breath, and readied his mind for sleep.

“…Funny Bunny ‘On the Run’ really does owe part of its success to ‘Mischief and Mayhem,’ it’s predecessor. They really set up the story beats for Funny Bunny’s past, and since it was canceled after its third season, ‘On the Run’ was able to pick up and capitalize on those choices.”

Shadi sighed, smiled, and patted Pegasus on the head, “That’s nice, Max. Goodnight.”

55: Do they like watching clouds or star gazing?

Pegasus leaned back on the blanket he’d spread out atop the grass, put his arms behind his head, and set his eye up on the fluffy clouds floating above him. The painting on the easel dried nearby, sped on by the warm sunlight and gentle breeze. It sat, ignored, it’s canvas only half-filled with a recreation of the beautiful scenery surrounding him. It would probably remain half-filled.

It was exceptionally hard to concentrate out here.

He’d come out here, to the lake house, for a small vacation – a little getaway, to get his mind away from work. Battle City had proven great for business. And while he and his shareholders, employees and board members were all loving the numbers, he wasn’t loving the added stress. Everyone already wanted the next, big thing – new cards, new mechanics – he just wanted to enjoy success without the suffocating pressure of achieving future success. This impromptu vacation was supposed to give him a break – a blissful piece of peace.

But coming out here hadn’t exactly put his mind at ease.

In fact, he found that just being out here, between the rolling hills and fields of flowers, was trudging up a lot of memories.

The sky was blue – a beautiful, brilliant blue. The clouds drifted slowly by, enormous, fluffy things. Every now and then one would cast its shadow down on him, and Pegasus would shiver, before warm sunlight would return to the little hill he laid upon. It was all very picturesque. It was the sort of place you put on postcards. Or canvas board.

He didn’t heart Shadi approach, but when the blanket down beside him into the lush grass, he didn’t startle. Pegasus smiled, and cast it up at the ghost that had come to rest beside him.

“Did you have a nice walk?” Pegasus asked.

“I did. The water is very clear. I saw a few fish. I was reminded of the time I drowned here, in your mind. All things considered; it was still a nice walk.”

A wide, flat smile stretched across Pegasus’s face, as he turned it back to the sky.

“I suppose this place is bringing up a lot of memories for the both of us,” Pegasus said quietly.

He could feel Shadi’s sharp, blue eyes upon him, though Pegasus did not turn his attention from the sky. In lieu of answering Shadi’s unasked question, Pegasus sighed.

“Don’t suppose you have a remedy for melancholia?”

Shadi looked up at the sky, “Well.”

“One that doesn’t involve direct manipulation of the fabric of the mind?”

“Then no.”

Pegasus tsked and after a moment, he pointed up towards the sky, “That one looks like a brontosaurus tearing the leaves off a willow tree.”

Shadi followed his gesture, and hummed.

“The one beside it resembles a cat,” the ghost observed.

A serene sort of silence fell over the hills. It was a quiet filled with the rustle of leaves and grass, the buzzing of bees, and the chirping of birds. The clouds drifted steadily onwards, colliding and combining with one another to create an ever-shifting display of vague shapes. Pegasus spotted the cat, watched it slowly become a giraffe with six legs and two necks, then lost sight of it when it bumped into the side of sailboat surrounded by sea foam.

“You know, I’m actually not the best at seeing shapes in the clouds,” Pegasus said.

“I find that odd. You are very imaginative.”

“That’s my problem! I see too many things. Before I can decide what it is I see in them, they’ve gone and changed again. It’s truly a curse.”

“We all have our weaknesses.”

Pegasus chuckled quietly, and let his eye drift closed. A few quiet minutes creeped by, before he opened his eye and sat it on that familiar sky again.

“Cecelia and I used to lay out here for hours, just watching the clouds go by. She claimed it was a good way to clear her head. For me, I found that it did the opposite. I would lay here, overthink the shapes, overthink my art, my choices, my life… That’s why I only watched the clouds when I was with her. She distracted me from all that. And then I could relax.”

After a few minutes of silence, Pegasus heard the ghost speak, “I’m very sorry, Max.”

“Don’t be, my dear Shadi-boy. They aren’t bad memories. Not even sad ones. Not really,” Pegasus turned his head and blinked up at his ghost, “They’re just memories. Memories that I don’t allow myself to reflect on that often. So, it’s just…” Pegasus trailed off.

“…A bit difficult to think upon them,” Shadi said softly.

“Yes.”

After another quiet minute, Shadi looked down at Pegasus, and titled his head, “Would you like some space, Pegasus?”

“No, that’s alright,” Pegasus’s gaze slowly slipped off of the clouds, “In fact, I wouldn’t mind having someone lying beside me…”

Shadi stared at him.

“Maybe… Cuddling me, a little bit,” Pegasus idly patted the blanket next to him.

Shadi continued to stare.

“…I’m sure that it would help the melancholia,” Pegasus added.

Shadi sighed, but he was smiling before he was down on his back beside Pegasus.

The day slipped away, floating by Pegasus as softly and silently as the clouds had passed above him. Pegasus was very good at relaxing, when his mind was properly distracted. His glass of juice was traded in for a glass of wine before nightfall, and his personal sketchbook was cashed in for a remote for the flatscreen. From underneath a plush blanket, he flipped through the channels, and cursed himself for not remembering to have someone hook up whatever it was that had all his favorite shows and movies saved on it.

Relaxation was only a hop-skip-and-a-jump away from boredom, and relaxation had to be done just right to spare him from dreaded dullness. And something was off. Pegasus cast a look about the living room, and sighed heavily. Where ever had his ghost gone to?

Shadi was found outside, sitting atop the wooden picnic table that’d probably gone unused for over half a decade, staring up at the night sky.

“Uh-oh.”

A soft, cool breeze greeted Pegasus when he cracked the sliding glass door open to the porch. He didn’t flip on the lights, as to not disturb the star-gazing ghost outside. It wasn’t like he needed a light; the light of full moon was bright enough to illuminate the furniture, the banister, and the open field beyond it. Over the lake it shone and set the water sparkling.

Shadi turned to see Pegasus standing in the doorway, haloed by the light of the room behind him.

“Star-gazing, are we?” Pegasus asked.

“I was in the act.”

“You always get existential on me when you look at the stars for longer than a minute. And you’ve been out here for at least thirty,” Pegasus’s mildly suspicious voice floated over to the ghost, “Should I be worried?”

“No. I am merely watching the stars.”

“And not getting all melancholic on me?”

“…No.”

Pegasus smirked, and slowly walked onto the porch with the creak of the wood beneath his feet, “So, you’re not even the tiniest, littlest bit forlorn?”

Shadi’s dim eyes seemed to glow in the darkness that filled the porch, and his white robes looked transparent in the moonlight – it would’ve been spooky if he hadn’t raised his hand to wiggle it vaguely in the air and answer, “I may be about fifteen percent forlorn.”

“Would some company get that down to a nice, even ten percent?”

“It could make it as low as eight.”

Pegasus rolled his eye and smiled again, before shoving off from the door frame and joining the other on the porch.

“You’re speaking in percentages. You’ve been sitting in on too many of my business meetings.”

Shadi shrugged, “I’ve not much else to do, for the time being. Things are in balance, after the matter with the Ishtars.”

“So, then what seems to be the cause of the forlorn-ness, my spectral sweetie-pie?”

Shadi blew a laugh out of his nose, rolled his eyes, and shook his head – all signs that Pegasus’s words had found their mark.

“Nothing particular,” Shadi answered, “I was mostly stargazing – pondering the universe and my purpose within it; the same thing I assume everyone does when staring into the void.”

Pegasus hummed as he walked up to the table, and took a look up at the sky above them. Just like the sky that hung above Duelist Kingdom, the blanket of stars twinkled, unmarred by light pollution, this far out from civilization.

“I do not necessarily get existential when looking at the stars. Rather, I find myself drawn to them when I am occupied with such thoughts,” Shadi said, as he raised his head towards the sky again, “When you have walked the earth for as long as I have, you grow used to the fact that the world changes. Not so much used to the changes themselves, but used to their constant charge. The stars however; the constellations never change. Ever the same they set above me, no matter where or when I may find myself.”

Pegasus watched the other watch the stars for a few moments, before shoving himself up onto the table to sit with him.

Pegasus leaned up against Shadi’s side, “And you find that comforting?”

Shadi’s dim, blue eyes searched the stars above for a minute, before he lowered his head to gaze upon Pegasus’s face with the same sort of reverie.

“I do. Though, I find more comfort in you than I do in eternity,” Shadi answered.

Pegasus raised a hand and brushed his thumb across Shadi’s cheek. He couldn’t help but think that it, like the others, were little fragments of the stars themselves, carefully captured on Shadi’s face.

“Thank you. I’d like to think I am more comforting than the cold, dark expanse of space,” Pegasus grinned. “Oh, shush,” Shadi grabbed his hand, and held it tightly, as the night drifted on.

#yugioh #ygo #shadi #shadi shin #maximillion pegasus #fanfic #ask game

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fanghunting · 2 years

Note

Werebear! Klaus with a human S/o. Who was a childhood... Bearhood? Best friend, but they had to go away /move when teen, cause s/o parents said it.

But like reunion after several years, they come back to usual spot, and Klaus saves them from bad fae.

FELS ENSUES.

anon starts what might be a miniseries... or at least inspiration for more ficlets :3c

It wasn’t often that Klaus got to visit his family. But Steven had insisted this time he go home for new year’s. Libra would manage without him, Steven would take care of it. And… well, there he was. Visiting his family for Christmas and his birthday. Not to mention the new year.

A weight felt lifted off his shoulders when he saw his brother and sister. Both laid out in the sun, enjoying the fleeting warmth it gave. In their beast forms- a wolf and a tiger- atop a large stone their great-grandfather had carved decades ago. His sister’s tail flicked a greeting, slow blink as she watched him enter the house.

They were often lazy in the winter, he couldn’t blame them. His bear instincts had him quite tired himself.

A few old photos on the walls caught his eye as his mother greeted him and Miss Bates handed him a cup of tea. One, really. Him in his bear form, playing with an old friend.

(Full name).

The pang through his heart was one he hadn’t felt for years. You had to move away when you two were still young. He missed you dearly… He recalled often sitting in the spot you two often played waiting for you. Sitting in the clubhouse you two had woven together out of branches until all the leaves fell and his family dragged him crying back inside the house.

Maybe it was wishful thinking that he’d find you again on this trip. He was here for two weeks after all.

His room was as he left it. Across from his sister, next to his brother. The bedding was fresh, his clothes neat in the wardrobe. A case for his glasses on the left nightstand. Gilbert excused himself to bring in the bags and unpack them. Klaus moved outside, shifting and joining his siblings on the stone.

It was a few days later when he saw someone being pestered by a fae. The creature was small, but clearly causing problems for them. He couldn’t identify what kind of fae it was… But it was darting into them. And with that glow around it, it was certainly casting something at them. Or preparing to.

He had been walking with his sisters. Enjoying the nip in the air. But seeing that, the three of them moved to action. Them moving the person away. Him shooing the fae away. Getting it to leave. It tried to attack him- his eldest sister roaring making it turn tail and run.

Though, turning back, his heart skipped a beat.

He thought that was wishful thinking, yet here you were. Unafraid of the fact that his sister had roared like a lion right next to you. More playfully annoyed that they both had their hands on your arms.

“(Name)?” All three looked towards him. You smiled. He couldn’t help his own smile.

His sisters quickly let go of you. He was a bear, after all. And that came with bear hugs. Both were laughing at how you squeaked and tried to reach to pat his back.

“Come on Klaus,” the sister closer in age gently nudged his ankle from behind, “Let’s head home. (Name), you can come if you want. I’m sure Klaus would love to catch up.”

You nodded. He didn’t let go of your hand as you joined them in walking down the snow-banked path.

If only he could convince you to move with him to Hellsalem’s Lot… But, no… He shouldn’t ask you to abandon your life just for him. You still had only been friends after all. … Right?

#klaus von reinherz #monster au #kkss #blood blockade battlefront #x reader

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 3 years

Text

Snowdrop

Miniseries Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word count: 1179

Author’s note: If anyone has any requests for flowers with marvel men/women, let me know. My ask box is open.

Snowdrop represents innocence, purity, and - because it is the first flower to bloom after winter - hope.

It’s dark outside and Bucky stands in the middle of a frozen lake. He looks around to find anyone to help him as the ice slowly starts to break but all he sees are people who turned their backs on him. They walk away as the ice dangerously cracks further. He sees a shadow in the distance and calls out to it, hoping it will hear him. ‘Hey! You! Help me!’ The person turns around and he meets eyes with Steve. His eyes widen as he watches his best friend turn his back on him and walk away. Fear flows through his body when he falls through the ice. Panicked, he tries to find the hole he fell through as he starts to lose his breath. He feels light-headed. ‘Bucky?’ His head slips in and out of consciousness as he hears your voice. He feels your hands on his skin but he can’t find you. Where are you? You’re reaching out to help him find the hole in the ice he fell through. ‘Bucky.’ Your voice is clearer now. Closer. It takes all his strength to move his arm but he manages. He feels your hand in his and he tries to pull, pull himself out. Your other hand is on his cheek, your thumb gently rubbing his cheek. ‘Wake up.’ He gasps deeply when he shoots up from his resting place on the floor. His eyes open and he meets yours. You stand in front of him, leaning over him. And then come the feelings washing over him. A feeling of guilt and disgust of his own being. But you just smile at him and kiss his cheek. ‘You look more well-rested than yesterday,’ you tell him, ‘did you have a nightmare?’ He shakes his head, wanting to distance himself from it but then he watches you sit down next to him. He can’t lie to you. ‘I was on a lake and fell through the ice. I thought I was dying,’ he tells you reluctantly, ‘but then I heard you and you pulled me out.’ You don’t say a word, giving him all the space he needs to get it out of his system. ‘You’re always there to pull me out.’ He watches your face as a smile pulls on your lips. ‘Enough about me. How was your walk here?’ You live about a block away from his place and always pass through a park when you walk over. Instead of talking about his nightmares for a prolonged period of time like he has to with his therapist, he prefers to hear about all the meaningless things you saw in the park. He knows you make stuff up when nothing happens but you seem particularly excited today. ‘Spring is coming,’ you say with a grin like a child on Christmas, ’I saw snowdrops today. I was thinking of plucking one and bringing it to show you but I thought it’d be much better if we went to see them together. You in for that?’

Bucky dresses quickly and has breakfast with you sitting on the floor in front of the couch while watching the news. He doesn’t know why you prefer the rug over the couch but he has no reason to ask as he tends to sleep on the floor. Together, you head out and you try to take his hand but he pulls it away. You look down and notices it’s not his normal hand you wanted to grab. He watches you shrug and you take his metal hand anyway. If you only knew what you did to him. ‘Over there,’ you point at a small bunch of snowdrop. It’s just a few of them that seem to be earlier than the others. You squat down next to them and watch them closely. Bucky follows your movements and smiles. ‘It’s a bit early for them, don’t you think?’ You shake your head and leans against him, almost pushing him over in your squatted position. ‘I think they knew you needed spring,’ you tell him. ‘You think nature is listening to my needs?’ You nod and turn your head to look at him. Bucky stares down at the snowdrop with an innocent smile on his face. The kind of smile a child wears when seeing something they’ve never seen before. You grab his metal hand again and press a loving kiss to it. His eyes look worried and confused as you leave your lips on his knuckles for a second, scared he might hurt you even after all this time. But you just smile and get up with him. Together, you stand in front of the snowdrop for a little longer when you wrap your arms around his waist and pull yourself into his chest. His chest fills with warmth. He hasn’t felt that in a long, long time. ‘Will you stay over for dinner tonight?’

Bucky and Y/n lay in a mess of tangled limbs, tired, sweaty, but satisfied. Bucky gently strokes Y/n’s hair as she lays on his chest with a loving, drowsy smile on her lips. After a while, she props herself up on her arms and looks him in the eyes. ‘Do you want me to leave?’ He shakes his head and watches her lay back down on his chest. He tries to fall asleep but he simply can’t. While she peacefully lays on the bed, he feels like he’s being swallowed by the mattress. As the hours pass by he realizes he won’t get sleep if he stays here. When she turns and he can move again, he leaves the bed and makes a bed on the hardwood floor in the living room once again. He stares at the ceiling and tries to focus on his breathing to trick himself into falling asleep but his thoughts keep wandering back to her in his bed. All alone. He hears the floor creak and figures she might be getting up to use the toilet but then the door to the living room opens. He shoots up from his resting place and looks back at her. She stands in his t-shirt, holding a pillow and the duvet. ‘Can I lay with you?’ ‘Are you sure?’ She nods and walks up next to him. She throws the duvet on the floor and sits down next to him. ‘I don’t care where we sleep. I just want to be next to you.’ That does it. She is the most precious thing in his life right now. When Steve passed, he didn’t know what to do with himself but then she appeared and made his life livable again. She gave up parts of herself to help him time and time again. And now, she’s willing to sacrifice a comfortable night for a night on the floor. Not because she wants to but because she wants to be next to him. And at that moment, he realizes: ‘I love you.’

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel x you

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shelf-care · 3 years

Text

Winter Nights

Wolverine x OC

Lipstick mark series Pt.2

| Part 1|

So its snowing in south Texas! that never happens. My parents are panicking and I’m sitting here writing fan fiction to calm myself. What could go wrong?

So Victor Creed shows up in this because I’m a pantser and I come up with ideas as I go and see if it works for the plot, (For this miniseries I hope it does.) I was also watching Kate and Leopold last night (It’s become a valentines tradition for me over the last few years.) And Liev was in it. So theres that.

Rated PG-13

Mentions of sex, medical examination, a former abusive relationship, obsession with an individual, slight violence, touch starved wolverine.

“Your mission Miss hope?” The woman in the white lab coat asked while holding a clipboard ad clicking a pen multiple times, it had to be some sort of nervous tick. Maddie tipped her head back, swallowing her saliva, she was clad in a sterile white medical gown, her red hair sprawled out on the also white pillow as another individual examined her. “My mission was to come into contact with the Man known as wolverine, or James Logan Howlett.” She took a breath, the cold instruments the nurse had been using caught her rather off guard. “And you succeeded in not only finding him, but you managed to get a sample of his DNA?” The woman jotted some notes on the clipboard now, keeping her eyes locked on Maddie. The redhead looked away, staring at the ceiling stark white and formless like everything else in the room. “I did.” The doctor nodded her head. “We’ll be taking those samples back to the lab to confirm that its him. Until they are conclusive, you are free to go.” The young woman nodded watched as swabs left the room, she rather did not want to know what they wanted to do with him.

Blankly staring at the roof above her, Maddie couldn’t keep that night from playing over and over again. He was indeed her target, but, something was stirring in her, affection most likely. It would die within a couple weeks like it did with the men following shortly after. She knew he would be harder to kill. But he’d fall like the rest. Eventually. She closed her eyes, then she felt her phone buzz next to her. She reached for it, a voice message was visible. Holding the device to her ear, she heard his voice. A voice that in all honesty she enjoyed. “Look, I’m not that great at stuff like this. But I got your note, the other one, the one with the lipstick,” He paused, thinking about what he’d say next. “I thought we got on pretty well the other night. Lemme know when you make it back to the bar.” The message was short, and pretty sweet. He did care, at least a tad. Maddie slid her lips in a grin, she recorded a new message for him. “I’d love to meet again, this Friday at the bar?”

She waited at the bar again, it was cold, snow was on its way. This time the meeting was for more pleasure than anything else since her job was done, but it wasn’t a bad things to keep up with a target. The door swung open among the mostly empty bar. The few patrons turned their heads at the sudden commotion. In walked a man who was tall, very tall. Blond hair cascading down his shoulders, while some of it was put in a half ponytail. A long trench coat and fur, was joined by it, making him look that more intimidating. He made his way to the bar and sat down, eyeing Maddie like she was his new meal. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He said keeping his sight on the bar ahead of him while he ordered himself a large glass of whatever was the strongest drink at the bar. Maddie rolled her eyes. “You here to babysit me creed?” She asked drawing invisible circles in the counter. “Here more on pleasure Miss Hope.” He looked her up and down again and licked his lips visibly so she’d see it for sure. He knew this made her one of two things. Hot and bothered, or pissed off. it pissed her off this time around, and Creed preferred it that way. “I thought we were past this.” She turned fully to him now. “You might be.” He drank down half the mixture of bourbon, whisky and fireball and faced her, chest puffed in pride and confidence, a pointed and toothy grin showed itself. “But I sure as hell wasn’t girly.” He scoffed as his fist hit the bar making the redhead jump as he got her attention and everyone else’s in the bar as a matter of fact. “We were just getting good when you left.” A fire lit in her heart, anger and passion apparent in her face she took a moment to compose herself. “Victor, they removed you from my squad and as my partner because of your behavior towards me. That hit was the last straw and I won’t be coming back and I’m sure you know that.” Her tone was low and threatening, looking at him, she grasped the glass and slammed down the rest of the liquid before putting down a few dollars as a tip. Creed thought it was adorable when she was angry, and decided to take it as far as he could.

As she zipped up her jacket and made her way out, the large man grabbed her by the arm. “We’re done when I say we are,” He pulled her close to him, his breath brushing warm against her throat as his claw ran down her cheek. “And I’m not done talking to you.” His yellow eyes bored into hers, she felt her heartbeat quicken, she despised and loved this feeling, that’s what got her into this mess the first time. “I told you I was finished. You’ll get your chance with me another day.” She opened her hand to show her palm to him, illuminating a golden hue of color at the center and curving our like a flame, Creeds eyes didn’t change a bit, he seemed like he welcomed the challenge. “Sweetheart, if only you knew how much I craved that part of you.” He gave a guttural low laugh, daring her, as he smirked again, spurring her on. Seeing if she’d really follow through on her threat, which most of them were never hollow. “On any other occasion Creed, I’d let you have it.” She placed her hand on his fist that was still clenched around her arm. “But I’m not in the mood for playing nice.” His hand went visceral, veins becoming more visible as one could see the vitality of the large mutant being taken on by someone a third of his size. “Let me go.” He threatened as he began to feel his muscles failing him in his left arm. “You first.” She smiled, the grin widening as he raised his claws at her. but was too weak to do much else. She laughed and leaned into his ear whispering in a sensual voice, her chest touching his to pour more salt onto the wound. “I thought you craved this part of me.” He could feel himself become more drained the longer she stayed, he realized she wasn’t messing around this time, his grip loosened and she walked free, not another word was heard from Creed, and it would be like that till the next time those twos’ paths crossed. Creed was bent over the bar. He reached for his drink and it shook in his hold, and drank the rest fervently like he needed air, he watched as his hand shook like an elderly man and his hand similar to one too. “Babe’s been getting stronger.” He was captivated by the way her powers worked, he always had been.

She was Outside, the wind howled and whipped the snow up, crating a curtain of nothing but white mist making visibility a little less than optimal. She pulled out her phone and started to text.

“Hey, the bar is full. Did you want to meet anywhere else for drinks?” She messaged him. Yes, it was a lie, but she didn’t want to be around Creed, for reasons that was obvious. She waited a few minutes till she saw the three dots pop up. “You wanna come to the trailer?” He asked bluntly. She shrugged. “Pick me up?” She shot back quickly. “Sure thing.” Was all he said back.

Maddie threw her head back against the mini sofa that was in the one room airstream. The warmth enveloping her as she sighed after her first sip of beer. The snow on her jacket seeping into the fabric further, making a chill run down her spine. “Thank you.” She said raising her head to look at him, happy to be warm. “Don’t mention it.” He said mirroring her actions. “I can’t believe you wanted to meet again.” She mentioned looking at him again, he was different from last time, but not. “I can’t either if I’m honest.” He sat on his bed across from her. There was a silence that fell between the two, but it was comfortable. “Sorry the bar didn’t work out.” Leaning forward trying to skirt the conversation along. “I’d rather be doing this.” He tilted his head referring to his drink. That made Maddie laugh through her nose a bit. “Really? You’d rather act like an old married couple than be out?” She teased him, but he looked at her for a moment. “Been there and done that.” She nodded. “I like this though. It’s nice.” She took another sip of her drink before throwing away the bottle in an open trash bin. “I never got to ask. What is it that you do?” She placed her palm under her chin and smiled, waiting for his answer. He played with his bottle, before drinking his as well. “What you saw the other night is what I’ve been doing for the last fifteen years.” He told her nodding and thinking about his past and his way of living. “I don’t remember much of what I did before.” Maddie looked at him, a blank face that he couldn’t make out, but made him curious. “You never told me what you did. How did someone like you wind up in this dump of a town?” He joked slightly but he wasn’t wrong, it was a little piece of nowhere. “I’m in military secret forces. I was stationed here, and have been here for the last three years.” She saw him tense at the subject. “You okay?” Her brows cocked at him becoming a little bit tense. She didn’t think he suspect anything, and she wasn’t outright lying about what she did. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He left it at that. She stood up and paced over to him, and sat down next to him. The mattress sinking beneath her. He looked at her not quite knowing what she was doing. She reached for his hand, and looked at him before she went any further. “You don’t seem fine.” She silently asked for permission and he let her have his hand. She traced his palm slowly and gently, comfort in every movement. He was starved of this type of affection. Most people were, but him more than others she found just from the way he acted. She laced her fingers in-between the spaces where his were not, interlocking their hands. He closed his eyes her for a split second, every curve, every bump, every imperfection written on her face made him want her more as he reveled in the feeling of them being so close. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He warned her, taking his hand out of hers, though she stopped him. “Don’t tell me what to do.” She was firm, but the firmness was met with a soft smile. Logans eyes studied her for a minute. No one had ever stopped him like that, not to his knowledge anyway. This time when he went to remove his hand she let him leave, but it was to place his hand under her chin and bring her closer, and there, their lips met, and he pushed her below him while she wrapped her hands around his neck and raked her hands through his hair, all while closing her eyes enjoying the warmth compared to the freezing outside.

While the campers light was dim, if one were close to it you could hear giggling, rocking, calling one another’s names in the dark, and a little obscene noises that you would only hear if you where right next to the airstream. Then there was the figure that stood a few feet away from the little camper, a figure that towered over most men. The same body that was blonde, and in the bar with Maddie that same night. “You made a big mistake girly,” He peered down at his still healing hand, it looked aged, like his hand was ten years older than the rest of his body.

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #Wolverine x oc #Victor Creed x reader #Victor Creed X OC #X-Men #Marvel #X-Men x Reader #X-Men x OC #liev schreiber #hugh jackman #touch starved

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captainsimagines · 2 years

Text

the warmth of winter || B.B Masterlist

Summary: You’re home for the holidays after landing your dream job. When your dad’s old army friend stops by for the month, he makes waves immediately. Your little vacation is disrupted... for better or for worse? Nobody has to know.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (Fem) Reader

Trope: Fast-Paced Romance; DBF!Bucky AU; Holiday Romance

Based on the Song: ‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 53,300+

Warnings: This mini-series deals with heavy sexual situations, unwanted workplace harassment, an intense exhibitionism kink, as well as an age difference kink. Individual warnings are listed chapter-by-chapter. You are responsible for your own media consumption: this work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

Author’s Note: This holiday fanfic contains all the lovely tropes and cliche’s we love in our holiday movies. We’ve got the descriptive lights, the presents, the family gatherings, the old voices of reason, and all the love. It’s not only a romance, but it’s a love story of friends and family. Basically a mini Avengers AU for the holiday season.

🌹 indicates heavy smut

The long-awaited, naughty, and festive tale of DBFBucky is here! Hope you all enjoy. xxMoni

One

Two 🌹

Three 🌹

Four 🌹

Five 🌹

Finale 🌹

Epilogue 🌹

Taglist: @awesometheydontknowiamhere @allyourfavesinoneblog @acidwidow

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #dad's best friend bucky barnes #eventual smut #captainsimagines #by Moni #mini-series #marvel fanfiction #Marvel AU #bucky barnes au #reader x bucky barnes #war veteran bucky barnes #the fun is in the chase #the warmth of winter #the warmth of winter masterlist #the warmth of winter miniseries

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bradypnoea · 3 years

Text

For I Do Not Fear The Dark | englishbutter | (10/10) - 110k | Oct ‘14 - Jun ‘15

The winter has been one of the harshest in living memory, and Sigyn knows that not all of her family will live through it. So when a blue-skinned and red-eyed monster comes in the dead of night with an offer beyond her wildest imagination, Sigyn has no choice but accept if her family is to survive. Taken to a castle in the north with secrets around every corner and a mysterious visitor that sleeps on her bed, Sigyn finds that there was far more to this bargain than was on the surface.

Note: (In honour of the impending release of the Loki miniseries and my sceptical optimism for it, I'm highlighting a few canon-adjacent Loki works that can pass the time between new episodes or, if you're like me, distract from new content long enough to miss the first wave of inevitable Discourse.) englishbutter describes this work as "A Logyn retelling of the Norwegian fairytale 'East of the Sun and West of the Moon,'" though I can only attest to the fantasy epic carefully detailed here. This rendition of Sigyn has the weight of her entire family to consider against every experience in the early arc of this work, and the looming consequence of her failure never drifts far from her mind. Over time a mysterious feature of her circumstances grows ever more enticing, and the consequences of Sigyn's hallmark intelligence sets her on a harrowing, violent path that will leave her, and Jotunheim, forever changed.

- Masterpost on Author's Tumblr | @englishbutter - - Author's Twitter -

Now. I must move now. I cannot wait for any longer.

My mother has a long memory, and she has said to us all a thousand times over that this winter is the worst she has ever seen. It started snowing in October, and even I, likewise blessed with an excellent memory, can never recall such an early snowfall. The cold weather is yet another blow after much of our harvest was washed out by a heavy rainstorm in mid-September. The morning when we woke up to the rain pounding on the roof will be burnt into my memory forever. Hnoss, the youngest of my six sisters and just shy of fourteen decades, had woken up before the dawn. She had never quite grown out of waking up early like my other sisters and me.

“Father! Mother!” she calls. “Look at the rain! It’s falling so hard….”

Her voice rang through our tiny farmhouse — a single room separated only by wicker walls that are more like screens than anything else, keeping the work and food area isolated from the place where the nine of us sleep. My parents share the good bed; my sisters and I sleep on the three straw mattresses pushed against the wall, huddled together like a litter of kittens sharing in each other’s warmth.

“Rain?” Father asks.

Hnoss nods, her blonde curls bouncing in excitement. “Lots. Buckets of rain.” She wiggles her fingers to illustrate.

I don’t think she quite understands the implications of what heavy rain means for us — a family who relies on the harvest to survive through the year.

My father sprints to the door, pausing only to pull on his shoes and a shirt whilst the rest of us sit upright.

“Heavy rain?” the second oldest of my sisters, Lofn, mutters furiously, jamming her feet into her own shoes. “It can’t! Not this close to harvest!”

Vár, who my sisters and I have all agreed takes the pessimistic view on life more often than she should, says, “The weather doesn’t care. We should hurry; salvage what we can.”

“What is it?” Hnoss asks. “It can’t be that bad for the harvest. I mean, everything’s underground, isn’t it? Why would the carrots care?”

No one answers her. We all follow Father out of the door, sprinting through the rain to our three fields. The leftmost is a stone’s throw away from the wood that surrounds our land, and it is flooded, the water coming up past my ankles. I run towards it. Hnoss follows me, and comprehension seems to dawn on her face as she sees how urgently we are scrabbling in the mud, and the crops that have been overturned by the rain.

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blurry-fics · 5 years

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December: Part One

Pairing: Previous Tyler Joseph x Reader, Unnamed OMC x Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of breakup, drunken behavior

Word Count: 1706

Request: do you think you could do something with tyler based on the song december by neck deep ??? same person who sent the december by neck deep request, could it have a happy ending ??? p.s just read all of promises and cried sksksks 🖤love your writing -Anon (just wanted to say thank you so much! i’m really glad you liked promises :) also i fell in love with this song, thank you for introducing it to me!!)

Author’s Note: This is the first part of a two-part miniseries! That wasn’t my original intention, but there were so many elements in the song that I wanted to include that it ended up being too long for a single fic. Also, I won’t be posting links to the song since Tumblr is weird about that kind of thing, but this is based on December by Neck Deep (a really good song!) I hope all of you like it :)

“Come on, please… pick up,” Tyler muttered.

He wished that he had brought a jacket with him when he went out to the bar. The mid-winter Ohio air was cold on his bare arms, and stumbling around plastered wasn’t really helping his mission of getting back to the apartment in a timely manner.

“Y/N,” he whined, staring down at his phone screen as if it would somehow make her pick up.

Her answering message played out into the quiet night.

“Hi, this is Y/N. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

He listened as Y/N giggled at something that he had said in the background of the message before the familiar voicemail tone sounded.

“Hi,” he murmured into the phone. “I know I’ve called a lot, but you haven’t picked up.”

Tyler was struggling to form words in his drunken state. Everything coming out of his mouth just felt wrong.

“I just wanted to tell you that I miss you. And I love you. Wait, maybe I shouldn’t say that.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared down at the screen, squinting a little as he did so. His fingers looked a little bluer than normal. He wondered how long it had been since he left the bar.

“Um, sorry for calling,” he slurred. “Bye.”

He somehow managed to hit the end call button before slipping his phone back into his pocket. The street that he was on seemed unfamiliar and he had no idea where to go to get home.

His phone started to buzz in his pocket. Hoping it was Y/N, he quickly reached for it and answered. The idea of hearing her voice again was already making his heart flutter.

“Hello?”

“Where are you, man? My phone says you’re on the other side of town.”

“You’re not Y/N,” he sighed.

“No, I’m not,” Josh answered. “Are you drunk?”

He scoffed, “Hardly.”

“Just stay where you are, ok? I’m coming to get you.”

“Ok.”

It took Tyler a moment to register that Josh had ended the phone call. The world was spinning a bit more than it had been a moment ago, so he took a seat on the curb. A few flakes of snow were beginning to fall from the sky.

Josh pulled up against the curb some time later. Tyler wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there. Time didn’t really feel real to him right now. Josh parked the car and hopped out.

“What are you doing out here?” Josh asked, grabbing Tyler’s arm and pulling him up to a standing position.

“I was walking home.”

“Where’s your jacket?”

“Don’t have one.”

Josh sighed and pulled off his own sweatshirt. After a bit of struggle, he managed to get the sweatshirt over Tyler’s head. Tyler rolled his eyes, but the blue tint to his lips suggested that he was probably more thankful for the warmth than he let on.

“Let’s get you in the car.”

Josh looped an arm around Tyler’s waist and walked him over to the side of the car. He waited until Tyler was securely in the passenger seat and buckled up before he got into the driver’s seat himself.

“Do you want me to take you home or should I bring you to my house?”

“She doesn’t care about me, Josh,” Tyler whined as he leaned his head against the window. It was cold, but he didn’t care. “She just left me alone.”

“Come on, Tyler,” Josh said, giving his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’re just drunk. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

But Tyler knew that wasn’t true.

* * *

The sunlight streaming in through the window woke you up on Saturday morning. Next to you, your boyfriend was still fast asleep, snoring softly. You took a moment to admire him before reaching for your phone and checking your notifications.

There were three voicemail notifications, all from Tyler. He had been calling you at least once a day for the last week, but you left every one of them unanswered. Tyler was a part of your past that you would rather not think about right now.

And yet, your curiosity was getting the better of you.

You slowly got out of bed and walked out into the living room of your little apartment. Your boyfriend’s cat was sitting on the windowsill, basking in the morning sunlight. He turned to look at you as you walked into the room.

“Good morning, Pudge,” you smiled at him.

You took a seat just below the window where the sunlight was pouring in. It was warm on your back, but you knew that it would be cold as soon as you walked outside. That was the weird thing about winter.

Your finger hovered over the voicemail for a moment as you debated whether you actually wanted to listen to what he had to say. For all you knew, he could be cussing you out and telling you how he had never loved you. Did you really want to risk ruining your memories of him with that?

You decided that your curiosity overcame your fear, so you hit the small play button next to the first message.

“Hey, Y/N. Um, I know you’re in an entirely different state now, but if you’re willing to talk about everything that happened, that would be nice. Uh, call me back… if you want. Bye.”

You couldn’t deny the way that your breath still caught when you heard him say your name. The decision to break up had been yours and you knew it had been the right call, but it didn’t mean that you no longer had a place for him in your heart.

You hit play on the second voicemail.

“Hi again. I hope you’re doing well in your new place. It’s really cold in Ohio today. Anyway, I’m getting off topic. I’d still like to talk, if you’re up for it. Thanks. Bye.”

His words had been a bit more slurred in the second message than the first one. You wondered if he had gone out; he had never been big on drinking while you were together, although he was known to do it from time to time. That would explain all the voicemails.

You listened to the last one.

“Hi. I know I’ve called a lot, but you haven’t picked up. I just wanted to tell you that I miss you. And I love you. Wait, maybe I shouldn’t say that. Um, sorry for calling. Bye.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and stared at the screen for a moment. Tyler was definitely drunk, there was no denying that. You hit play and brought the phone back up to your ear, just to make sure that you had heard him correctly. There was no way that he could have meant what he said.

“Good morning,” your boyfriend smiled.

You looked up from your phone, hastily closing out of the phone app. He slowly walked over and took a seat next to you on the ground.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Just sitting in the sunlight and spending quality time with Pudge.”

He reached over and brushed a strand of your hair out of your face, “Your face is bright red.”

“Did you just expect to walk in here shirtless and not make me blush?”

He laughed quietly and leaned closer to you, “I suppose not.”

You pulled him closer so you could place a gentle kiss on his lips. He ran his hands through your hair and deepened the kiss, but you pulled away shortly after.

“Breakfast?” you smiled.

His smile faltered for a moment before he answered, “Sure.”

* * *

Tyler’s hands were wrapped tightly around his mug of coffee as he sat in the window seat, looking down at the street below. Y/N had always loved sitting at the window seat. She would call out different cars that she saw to Tyler as he sat in the office, practicing piano or ukulele. He had never understood her fascination with it.

Now that she was gone, it was all he seemed to do.

He wondered what Y/N was doing now that she was off in some other part of the country. They had spent countless nights talking about their plans for the future, mostly places they wanted to go and things they wanted to see. Y/N had always loved the idea of watching a sunset on the West Coast.

He wandered into the office and grabbed his notebook. There were so many thoughts bouncing around his head that he needed to write them down somewhere. If he was lucky, it might make a good song once his head was clearer and he could actually begin to piece together melodies.

Tyler found that his eyes kept wandering towards the cars that drove past below. There was something almost relaxing about watching them whizz past, going about their daily lives. He thought he might be beginning to understand why Y/N had liked it so much.

His mind began to wander back to the night of the breakup. Y/N had brought it up out of the blue right after they finished dinner. He had tried to get her to tell him why, but she wouldn’t. She eventually packed up all her things and left, leaving him frozen in place on the couch. He had spent the rest of the night thinking of countless things he had done wrong that might have made her leave.

When he went to see her a few days later, he was informed by her landlord that she had moved out and left the state. He had tried to get in touch with her since then, but she never answered his calls. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to get over Y/N. All he needed was some way to get in contact with her.

“That’s it,” Tyler smiled, immediately turning back to his notebook and scribbling down some lyrics.

I wonder if you’ll ever hear this song on your stereo.

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topworldhistory · 4 years

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The 'Father of the Nation' stressed education among his family's younger generations and even offered advice on navigating love.

George Washington, the “Father of the Nation,” had no biological children of his own. But during his 40-year marriage to Martha, the Revolutionary War hero and first president presided over a Mount Vernon estate filled with her children and grandchildren, and by their accounts was a beloved father figure.

Why did George and Martha have no children of their own? There’s almost nothing in the historical record that conclusively answers what was then (and now) a private question, but that hasn’t stopped people from guessing. Modern theories range from tuberculosis-induced sterility to, in Martha’s case, a severe bout of measles.

George and Martha were both in their late twenties when they married and fully expected to have children together. In Washington’s day, it was common to blame the woman for fertility issues, but Mary V. Thompson, research historian at Mount Vernon, says that Martha had four children with her first husband, Daniel Parke Custis, and “there’s no evidence that there was a problem.”

If Washington’s lack of biological children bothered him, he left no record of it. Historians point to one letter to his nephew in which a 54-year-old Washington discusses the remote possibility of future heirs. If he were to die before Martha, Washington insists that there’s a “moral certainty” that no illegitimate heirs will come out of the woodwork. And if he were to outlive Martha and remarry, there still wouldn’t be any kids.

“[S]hould I be the longest liver, the matter in my opinion, is hardly less certain,” wrote Washington, “for while I retain the faculty of reasoning, I shall never marry a girl; & it is not probable that I should have children by a woman of an age suitable to my own, should I be disposed to enter into a second marriage.”

READ MORE: George Washington: Timeline of His Life

George Washington Was a Father to Martha's Two Younger Children

George Washington with Martha Custis and her two children.

But the lack of his own biological children didn’t mean that Washington was childless. Martha’s two oldest children had already died by the time she remarried, but Washington became the legal guardian of her two younger children: four-year-old John Parke Custis (known as Jacky) and two-year-old Martha Parke Custis (known as Patsy).

From his letters, we get a clear picture of Washington as a somewhat stern and formal parent, but also a loving father who only wanted the best for his children and eventually his grandchildren.

“It seems like [Washington] was a good father figure to the kids,” says Kathryn Gehred, research editor with The Washington Papers at the University of Virginia. “He’s always writing letters to Martha’s children and to the grandchildren they take in after both of those children die. He’s always giving people advice—very rarely listened to—but you can tell that he took on a big role.”

READ MORE: Why Martha Washington Was the Ultimate Military Spouse

Washington Emphasized Education, Especially Among His Boys

Washington placed great importance on education, especially for the male children and grandchildren in his family. Because Washington’s own father died young, he never received a formal education beyond grammar school.

Washington was sorely disappointed when boys in his family seemed to lack interest in school and preferred the relaxed life of country gentlemen. In a letter to Jacky’s schoolmaster, Washington complains that Jacky is returning from a summer break, “His Mind a good deal relaxed from Study, & more than ever turnd to Dogs Horses & Guns.”

Washington asks the schoolmaster to make sure that Jacky doesn’t sneak out and get into trouble, “rambling about at Nights in Company with those, who do not care how debauchd and vicious his Conduct may be.” A worried father, Washington insists that “I have his welbeing much at Heart, & shoud be sorry to see him fall into any vice, or evil course, which there is a possibility of restraining him from.”

Washington’s relationship with his girls was less strained, but also tinged with tragedy. He fell in love with little Patsy and was the only father she ever knew. Sadly, she was plagued by epileptic fits starting in her early teens and died suddenly at 17 with a weeping Washington by her bedside.

“He was very upset,” says Thompson. “Apparently, she had been doing better, and he and Martha were both terribly surprised that it happened and just devastated.”

The day Patsy was buried at Mount Vernon, Washington penned a letter to his brother-in-law relating the sudden loss of his “Sweet Innocent Girl” and its debilitating effect on Martha, which had "almost reduced my poor Wife to the lowest ebb of Misery."

Washington, a three-night miniseries event, premieres Feb 16 at 8/7c on HISTORY. Watch a preview now.

George and Martha Become Parents to Their Grandchildren

Eight years after Patsy’s death, Washington had a second act as the de facto father of two of his grandchildren. When Jacky died in 1781, George and Martha took in his two youngest children, two-year-old Eleanor Parke Custis Lewis (known as Nelly) and infant George Washington Parke Custis (affectionately called Washy).

When the Marquis de Lafayette visited Mount Vernon in 1784, he wrote of the warm relationship between the towering war hero and his three-year-old grandson. He described “a very little gentleman with a feather in his hat, holding fast to one finger of the good General’s remarkable hand, which (so large that hand!) was all the tiny fellow could manage.”

As Washy grew up, he inherited his father’s distaste for school. In a letter to the president of Princeton, where Washy was about to flunk out, Washington vents his frustration.

"From [Washy’s] infancy, I have discovered an almost unconquerable disposition to indolence in every thing that did not tend to his amusements,” wrote Washington, “and have exhorted him in the most parental and friendly manner, often, to devote his time to more useful pursuits…”

When Washy eventually dropped out of Princeton and came home to Mount Vernon to “study,” Washington wrote him with classic fatherly advice—“Rise early, that by habit it may become familiar, agreeable—healthy—and profitable”—and some good old-fashioned nagging.

“[T]he hours allotted for study, if really applied to it, instead of running up & down stairs, & wasted in conversation with any one who will talk with you, will enable you to make considerable progress in whatsoever line is marked out for you: and that you may do it, is my sincere wish.”

READ MORE: Did Washington Believe in God?

Washington Offered Advice on 'Cloying' Love

George Washington at home with his family.

The stoic Washington we know from portraits was surprisingly keen on offering love and marriage advice to his granddaughters and nieces. When his 18-year-old granddaughter, Elizabeth Parke Custis Law, was discouraged that her younger sister had beaten her to the altar, Washington warned her of marrying only for love.

"Love is a mighty pretty thing; but like all other delicious things, it is cloying,” Washington wrote Elizabeth, “and when the first transports of the passion begins to subside, which it assuredly will do, and yield, oftentimes too late, to more sober reflections, it serves to evince, that love is too dainty a food to live upon alone, and ought not to be considered farther than as a necessary ingredient for that matrimonial happiness which results from a combination of causes."

Washington’s fatherly advice was routinely ignored. In a later letter to Elizabeth, Washington warns her about marrying an older man: “[F]or youth and old age, no more than winter & Summer, can be assimilated—the frigidity of the latter, cannot be kept in unison with the warmth of the former: and besides the habits of the two, are widely dissimilar.”

Two months later, Gehred says, Elizabeth became engaged to a man “twice her age.” Fifteen years after their marriage, the union ended in divorce.

Washington never formally adopted any of Martha’s children or grandchildren, but that didn’t make him any less of a father in their eyes. In 1776, a year into the Revolutionary War, a now-married Jacky was moved to write a heartfelt letter to Washington expressing what he had never been able to say in person.

"It pleased the Almighty to deprive me at a very early Period of Life of my Father, but I can not sufficiently adore His Goodness in sending Me so good a Guardian as you Sir,” wrote Jacky. “Few have experience'd such Care and Attention from real Parents as I have done. He best deserves the Name of Father who acts the Part of one."

READ MORE: 5 Myths About George Washington, Debunked

from Stories - HISTORY https://ift.tt/3bmfPeo February 07, 2020 at 10:10PM

#Worldhistory

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doodlewash · 6 years

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Hi, I’m Gareth. I’m a watercolor artist from England living and painting in Japan. I love to wander around the rural part of Japan I live in looking for beautiful scenes to paint. Perhaps I’m nuts, but this year I felt like a challenge and that’s how the idea for 100 watercolor paintings of city scenes came about. I often work in a series. Two of my favorites are one of rickshaws and another of a beautiful place called Sasebo in Japan where there are over 200 islands.

But I’ve never done more than about 20 to 30 finished paintings in any one series. Doing 50 paintings would have been more sensible but that number just doesn’t sound as exciting as 100 – so it had to be 100.

I feel fairly confident though that I can paint 100 pictures of the city as I have been painting cityscapes for over 10 years now and it has become a very familiar subject for me. Below is one of my early efforts from about 10 years ago and very unlike my paintings today.

Nowadays, I am interested in the effect of light and shadow. In Japan, the light is often intense. And like alchemy, this intense light transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary. For instance, the painting below shows just a few ordinary buildings, but in the right light they become extraordinarily beautiful.

The light is so intense in Japan that I have to wear sunglasses – even in winter on occasion. The intensity of the light creates dramatic, you can even say harsh, contrasts of light and shadow which I love to paint. They can, as in the painting below, almost be black and white images.

Through shadows the ordinary becomes more distorted into an abstract pattern of shapes and lines. Such as in the picture below where I painted the shadow of an elevated railway as the foreground but also as another frame within the picture itself.

In the shadows, cars and people become partially dissolved, almost spectral. I especially like to have the cars become just lights and a windscreen. In the painting below, the familiar every day evening rush hour becomes I hope more of a ghostly and mysterious moment – and with that beautiful sky in the background, somewhat romantic.

Recently I was called Mr. Shadows. This title surprised me because I always see myself as a painter of light. And then I realized you can’t have one without the other and it is getting the shadows right that creates the brilliance of the light.

Sometimes I wonder though if I don’t go too dark – especially for a medium like watercolor – as in the painting to the right. I do tend to be a little heavy handed I think.

But now and again I do manage to create a more delicate piece – such as the one below.

A lot of my paintings are of evening scenes. As the sun goes down, I find it spell binding to see the lengthening shadows of objects. Everything becomes beautifully exaggerated and distorted and blends together. It’s a change from the real to something more surreal – in other words, it’s a magical period.

I often paint looking into the sun – with my sunglasses on, of course. When the sun descends so that it is just above buildings then these shapes begin to glow with warmth – they look like molten gold or a red hot poker in the fire.

The sun also seems to slice into buildings. In the painting below I had the sun cutting through the building.

As well as looking up, I’m also looking at the ground a lot. I have a fascination for surfaces. Roads are so beautiful with their rough appearance, cracks, skid marks and white lines. And the scattering of light upon the surface of the road attracts my eye. Often it is just a small rough patch of dazzling light in the middle of the road that nobody really notices but in a painting it can become the main piece.

I spent some time using the dry brush technique when painting seas and I used the same technique to capture these dazzling patches. Later, I thought of having this dazzling patch of light on a crossroads. It then becomes a mix of rough texture, dazzling light and sharp white man made lines – beautiful. It’s also an ideal spot to put a cyclist or a pedestrian.

The surface of the road becomes magical in the rain. The way the light from the cars scatters across the surface of the road and contrasts with the dark reflections of the cars is beautiful and dramatic. I sometimes walk by the streets in the rain taking photos for future paintings. Below is one of my favorite paintings of a road in the rain.

Another wonderful find related to water was a waterjet feature near my local train station. This circular feature shoots out jets of water, produces mist and at night has lights. Watching children, including my own daughter, running through the mist and laughing will always be a source of enchantment and happy memories for me. It took a while though before I had the courage to paint this scene. I knew it could make for a fantastic painting, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.

So you know that even though I’m painting city scenes what I’m really painting is the light. And this series called really be entitled 100 paintings of light. But it is not simply depicting the light that I hope for. What I really hope for in my paintings is a feeling of atmosphere, otherwise it’s just paint on paper. And whenever anybody tells me they can feel something then I feel a sense of success – although it doesn’t come as often as I would like.

If I were to give tips to inspire other artists then it would be firstly and mostly importantly to get out more. I really value studio work but if you are just a stay at home artist then I think you are missing out on a great source of inspiration.

It is so vital, in my opinion, to get out and to be looking and training your eye to find visually arresting scenes. And to paint outdoors is even better – and it’s so fun. My bicycle is like a mobile studio. I roam about the city looking for scenes to paint with my easel and equipment in the basket of my bicycle.

You also have to be an opportunist always on the lookout for an inspiring scene. One day, while taking my daughter to nursery school by bicycle, I saw the beautiful scene below of a temple gate. It was early morning which is often an inspiring time of the day. As soon as I returned home, I grabbed my materials, jumped on my bike and went to paint this scene.

Another example of being on the lookout for inspiring things to paint is the watercolor sketch to the left. This piece came from seeing a figure in the rain holding a white umbrella and carrying a plastic bag. At the time, I was unable to sketch this figure as I was in the car but I couldn’t forget how white and bright the umbrella and bag looked and what an exciting image it was. When I got home I had a go at trying to capture that image. I’ve not used it in a painting yet – but one day.

You also have to be patient and hopeful that inspiration will come. The painting to the right is of a castle wall which is in shadow. For a long time, I disliked the short, squat concrete wall next to the moat of the castle wall itself.

And I painted many pictures of this concrete wall that all failed. Then one day I was looking at it from an oblique angle and could see a beautiful pattern of light and shadow that led the viewer into the picture in an enticing way – it was a eureka moment. It also led to a miniseries of 5 paintings of this wall.

Inspiration also comes from spontaneous doodles. It’s essential to be open to ideas from your own mind and to act upon them immediately so that your action happens under the influence of the idea and within the freshness of it – it’s hard to describe but it’s a very living thing and it has a very short life. These ideas just seem to pop out of their own accord.

I’ve become sensitive and respectful of them and to quickly pick up my brush and try to realize them on the paper while they are appearing in the mind. One idea was to try and capture the warm and cool colors of the sky in the windows of a building which led to the painting below.

And finally, inspiration can come by accident – which is my favorite source of inspiration. Sometimes for economical reasons I paint over old paintings for practice and by chance it can lead to unexpected creations where the underpainting and the new one dramatically work together.

One example was a road painting over a sea scene. When I did the new painting however I had turned the paper so that the waves of the sea were at a 90 degrees angle to the city scene that I was painting and this led to the idea of a vertical sky. Below is an experimental attempt at having a vertical sky. It’s not natural and I know someone on social media will give me a hard time about it, but it just looks great – perhaps because it emphasizes the vertical-ness of the city blocks.

I’m presently working on painting number 7 in my series – so I have a long way to go yet. Below is number 6. I’m still at the exciting point of embarking on an adventure. I’m not even sure myself if I can finish it. Last year, I intended to do a really big series on rickshaws but after about 15 finished paintings I got distracted by other subjects.

It’s always nice to have some support and feedback so if you wish to follow me (or just wish to see if I actually finish) then please sign up on my website. You’ll get the chance to the see the sketches and the finished works as they are done and the chance to give me some feedback.

And you might have some suggestions with my final problem. I hope to do an exhibition of this series, but how am I going to frame them all? It’s always these little practical things that come between a dream and its realization.

I hope from reading this you have realized how painting in a series can greatly improve your own work and lead to more satisfying and enjoyable results. Please also remember the importance of getting out there, always looking for scenes to paint, doodling, and happy accidents.

Happy Painting.

Gareth Naylor Website Facebook YouTube Doodlewash

#WorldWatercolorGroup - GUEST ARTIST: "100 Watercolor Paintings Of City Scenes" by Gareth Naylor - #doodlewash #usk #urbansketchers #watercolor #Japan Hi, I’m Gareth. I’m a watercolor artist from England living and painting in Japan. I love to wander around the rural part of Japan I live in looking for beautiful scenes to paint.

#WorldWatercolorGroup #doodlewash #featured #Japan #painting #plein air #sketching #Urban Sketchers #Urban Sketching #watercolor illustration

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