#Back in the day I did read a fair few AU fics for Wolf | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

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here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

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Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

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project-rosewood-476 · 3 years ago

Text

House of Gold

Okay, so this is strictly fluff. This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written for this AU and probably will be the most fluff you all will get for this.

This fic is based on the song House of Gold by Twentyone Pilots. I wanted to explore and explain the relationship between Tabby and her stepdad before everything went to shit. And I feel as though that song suits them.

"Kitty" is a nickname that she had for her stepdad when she was younger because her real dad and stepdad were both named Michael so to avoid confusion but she slowly dropped the nickname when she got older.

Summary: Tabby is six at the time and she is left home alone even though she's not supposed to be due to her mother's A+ parenting choices. When she's bored out of her mind she goes looking around for shit that she's not supposed to. But what happens when she takes a trip down memory lane and remembers all the good times she had before she was left all alone. Will it fill her with despair? or renew her sense of hope?

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

The lonely six-year-old paced around her small apartment relentlessly. Being left home alone yet again, she was pretty bored. She was looking for something to do. She was tired of TV, books, and she wasn’t hungry, so that she couldn’t eat her boredom away. Not that there was much to eat in the house anyways. She couldn’t go outside alone because she didn’t know where anything was, and the outside world scared her. Usually, the person she would consider her dad would be here by now. He would have taken her to the park, play pretend, play fight, or colored with her. It’s boring playing by yourself. But since he wasn’t here for reasons unbeknownst to her for a year now, she was left with her own devices.

What do you do as a child who’s left home alone and bored out of your mind? You snoop around. Tabby went through the drawers in the kitchen. Maybe she could concoct something to eat if she looked hard enough or find something new to play with. She found nothing interesting. Nothing but silverware, junk mail, and odds and ends of a miscellaneous drawer that didn’t hold her attention for very long.

She walked down the narrow hallway, altogether skipping over her room since she knew everything that she had in her room. She went straight into her mom’s room. She took in her surroundings. She saw a couple of unfinished jigsaw puzzles on the floor. Sometimes her mother and her would try to finish them when her mom had the time. She saw the miniature wolf sculptures and figurines that her mother adores on her dresser. She went through her drawers to see if she found anything interesting or to remind her mom to do laundry if she saw that she didn’t have clothes in there. The good news is that her mom didn’t need to do laundry. The bad news was that she found nothing to hold her interest. She took one of her mom’s green work shirts and just inhaled her scent. It calmed her down and took her mind off of her boredom. She missed her mom a lot. Tabby decided to stay buried in her mom’s scent for a few minutes later before moving on.

Tabby decided to raid her mom’s closet at least help her organize that godawful mess in there. Her mother’s closet was on the same length as most middle school and high school lockers. She began to separate the piles of clothes from clean to dirty based on smell until she came across an old blue folder. Finally, something to cure her boredom. Tabby opened it up to have a look and couldn’t believe what she saw.

“So this is where he’s been hiding the stuff that I make for him while he’s been here,” she realized in thought as a couple of pictures, a few short stories, and a couple of fathers days cards that were still all in pristine condition. Even a couple of years later.

That brought a smile to her face and brought back memories.

A little girl four years of age was sitting on the floor, focusing intently on a drawing that she was making on the coffee table. An older man in his late 20’s plopped down onto the couch lazily as he looked over to what the girl was drawing.

“Whatcha drawing?” he asked as he peered over.

“Remember the house by the candy shop that we always pass on our way to the park?” she asked, still not looking up from her drawing.

“The one that’s always on sale on hill street?”

“If that’s what it’s called, then yes.”

“Yeah, what about it?” he asked, still not getting the picture

“Well, someday when I’m all grown up, I’m going to buy that house, and I’m taking you with me. It will be our house!” she said proudly.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Really? What about your mother? Aren’t you going to bring her along too?” he asked, struggling to find the words to speak.

Tabby grew quiet and looked down.

“We all know with the lifestyle mommy is living, she won’t live very long. You’ll last longer,” she said quietly.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, a little disturbed at the child’s eeriness. But she wasn’t far off from the truth either. He was aware of the type of life and choices that her mother led and made. Some of them left him scratching his head, and a lot of the time, they made his blood boil. What kind of a mother would do that to her kid. Tabby was a lot more perceptive than what she’s given credit for. He knew that.

“Besides,” said Tabby bringing him out from his angry thoughts,” You’re my best friend. It would be weird to plan my future and not have you in it. It’s only natural that you would be a part of it.”

“You think that I’ll be around that long?” he asked, amused playing along with the girl’s plan.

“You’d said that you would be around forever, right?”

“Of course, kiddo I-I gave you my word,” he was taken aback by the fact that she took his promise so seriously.

“Okay then,” she went back to drawing.

“How do you think that you’ll pay for the house, huh?”

“I’ll get a job when I’m old enough to work, duh,” she said it like it was the most obvious thing ever.

“You’d have to be 15 to work legally.”

She stopped to look at him in horror.

“But that’s so old.”

He couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at her concept of old age. It was so fascinating to listen to what the four-year-old thought of the world around her. Sometimes she had solid points and saw the world for what it is at its base. Simplistic and so full of good and hope. Other times her ideas were so bizarre that they showed just how innocent she was.

Tabby looked at him, confused. Had she said something funny?

“Oh, I’d hate to break it to ya, kid, but if you think 15 is old, then it would take even longer to save up money to buy the place.”

She looked at him even more confused.

“How hard can it be?”

He let out another hearty laugh.

“Oh, kiddo, you have no idea.”

I will make you

Queen of everything you see

I'll put you on the map

I'll cure you of disease

Tabby took out one of her short stories that she wrote starring him as the hero and god that she saw him as. She worshipped him. She was rereading her work, a masterpiece at the time; now, she cringed at how godawful it was. However, she remembered beaming with pride when she handed him her finished product that she worked on for a month. It was the first story she ever wrote.

“Kitty, look! Look at what I made for you!” Tabby ran to him as soon as he walked out the door.

“What is it?” he asked as he kneeled to be on her level.

“I made you a story,” she said shyly as she handed it to him.

He was a little shocked at the gift. This was the first thing she’s ever given him. It was one of the nicest things anyone has done for him in a long time.

“Will you read it?” she inquired excitedly.

“Sure, after I take my nap. Then I’m all yours, and we can talk about your story.”

“Awww,” she sounded dejected.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll put it right beside me so that way it will be the first thing I’ll do when I wake up. Fair enough?”

“Okay,” she sighed. She wasn’t happy with the compromise, but she took what she could get. She went back to play with her stuffed animals to keep herself occupied in the meantime.

However, he did not nap that day like he said he would. He spent his allotted two hours reading her story and just taking it in. She showed a lot of talent and promise with writing. Even with her limited vocabulary, she put so much passion and emotion behind what she was saying and trying to express that it was easy to get what she was saying. What moved him to the point of a few stray tears streaming down his face was how evident she thought so highly of him. She viewed him as a hero and thought he was a good person that he was better. It was so moving when he didn’t even think of himself like that. Knowing that someone out there in the living room loved him enough to see past that and had so much to give left him speechless.

Let's say we up and left this town

And turned our future upside-down.

We'll make pretend that you and me

Lived ever after, happily

Tabby was grinning from ear to ear, sitting on the floor, looking through her old drawings and stories she wrote for him that he still kept in pristine condition. She had a few stray tears from happiness leaking out, but she didn’t care. This was the closest she felt to him in a long while. She took out another picture. It was of her and her dad running through trees on some sort of adventure. There’s a story behind that one.

Tabby was drawing furiously at the kitchen table while her dad made her some spaghetti to eat for dinner. Her dad peered over her shoulder.

“I see that you’re overflowing with creative juices again. What are you drawing this time?”

“You and me we’re going on an adventure, but I can’t decide what the rest of the picture should be,” she said, frustrated.

“What about trees?” he suggested

“Like the woods?” she asked

“Yeah, like we’re going on a hike and camping. That’s an adventure, and we’ll come back when we’re done,” he said as he turned away to finish making dinner.

“Oh, I don’t want to come back,” said Tabby quickly as she went back to drawing.

He almost dropped the hot pot of boiling spaghetti at her statement.

“Why wouldn’t you want to come back?” he asked slowly.

Tabby stayed quiet for a few minutes before slowly turning to face him.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to stay with mommy?” she said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

“I- Uh- W-what makes you say that? Don’t you love mommy?” he didn’t know how to answer that.

She shook her head furiously, sending her long strands of black hair all over the place while moving her little hands in a ‘no’ motion “, No no, no, that’s not it at all! I do love mommy, I do! It’s just- she never listens to me. I tell her that I don’t like it when she brings home strangers, and she still does it anyway. I tell her that I don’t like it when she sleeps all day, but she does it anyway. If you love someone, then you would listen to them. It’s like I’m not here! I am unwanted and unloved, and I don’t belong!” she looked down as her bottom lip quivered like she was going to cry.

Oh boy, he didn’t know what to say or do. He bit off more than what he could chew. He was aware of her mother’s questionable life choices, but he never knew just how badly they affected Tabby. He gathered that they made her sad and lonely and neglected, but he never knew how deep her hurt ran. His burning hatred and anger at her mother quickly turned into heartbreak for the child in front of him.

He went back to plating her spaghetti and set it down in front of the sulking child. He petted her hair in an attempt to comfort her. He continued to do so until he noticed that she was feeling a little better to turn around and eat. Satisfied, he went back to plating his meal.

“You know for what it’s worth; I can promise you that the bad things are only temporary even if they don’t feel like it at times. If anyone can get out of this town when you’re old enough to, I have absolute faith that it would be you.”

“You think so?” she asked excitedly and hopefully.

He ruffled her hair.

“I know so.”

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

Tabby grew bored and put the pictures and clothes neatly back as best as she could and got up to explore the other rooms in the apartment. She went to the bathroom and opened up the cabinets to see what was in there. Her mother often told her not to look through the bathroom cabinets, but she wasn’t here to say no. Tabby concluded that if it were that bad, she would be given a sign that would tell her no. She found nothing of interest. Just chemicals that she knew better to play with and in the upper cabinet various cold medicines, band-aids, anti-bacterial ointment, nail clippers, the thermometer, her mother’s happy pills as she called them, and bandages. Tabby felt a twang of nostalgia that hurt her stomach when she looked at the bandages, and she knew why.

Tabby was sitting on the couch waiting for her dad to come back and babysit her. Where was he? Her mom said that he would be here in two hours. It’s been more than that. She jumped when she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Tabby turned around quickly only to be greeted with the horrific sight of her dad staggering in, out of breath, bruised and bloodied.

“Oh my god, what happened?” asked Tabby, horrified as she ran towards him, tripping over her own feet.

“It’s nothing, honey. I just got into a fight; that’s all” He made his way to the kitchen and sat down in the chair as he grimaced.

“Well, we have to get you cleaned up,” she fretted, struggling to figure out what to do.

“Good Idea. Do you know what to do?” he asked

Tabby slowly shook her head no.

He sighed “, That’s okay. I’ll walk you through it. First, get a cloth and wet it with warm soapy water. That will help clean off the blood and kill the bacteria.

“Got it,” she said as she ran into the bathroom to grab a dishcloth from the pile, put on some warm water and used hand soap, and rubbed it into the cloth to make it soapy. She came out waiting for further instructions.

“Good now, gently pat clean up all of the blood as best as you can, okay?” he sounded tired.

Tabby went slow and tried to be a gentle as she could with a few reminders. Laser focusing on the task at hand. His hands revealed minor cuts and shallow gashes.

“Is that good enough?”

“Yes, now go get the ointment. It should be in the upper cabinet in a blue and white packet in the bathroom.”

“On it,” she ran back to the back to the bathroom as fast as she could and grabbed her stepping stool that she uses to reach the sink to brush her teeth. She stood on her tiptoes on the chair to get the cabinet to open it. She looked for anything with blue and white packaging until she found the tiny ointment packets he was talking about. She grabbed a few and ran back out into the kitchen.

“Okay, now what?”

“Now open the packets and gently smear the ointment on just for extra precaution for infection.”

Tabby struggled to open it with her tiny hands, so she had help opening it. She spread the ointment all over his hands as gently as she could.

“Now what?”

“Now, I need you to go into the junk drawer and get two safety pins.”

“Okay,” she knew where the drawer was in the kitchen. She rummaged through to find what she thought were safety pins since she had no idea what they looked like. She pulled out a paper clip and showed it to him for confirmation.

“No, that’s a paper clip. Try again.”

She rummaged through the drawer again and pulled out a thumbtack.

“No, that’s a thumbtack try again,” he sounded exasperated.

Tabby whimpered and held her head down like a scolded puppy. She didn’t like how he sounded displeased with her. She rummaged deeper in the drawer and finally pulled out a safety pin,

“There we go!” he encouraged.

She pulled out another one and set them both on the table.

“Now go get those bandages in the upper cabinet. They are long and white.”

She nodded and went back into the bathroom once more to grab the bandages and ran back out.

“Good, now wrap them around my hands,” he walked her through the process of doing that, and he put on the safety pins to hold the bandages in place himself.

Tabby grabbed his hands and kissed both of them. He jerked back in surprise and was a little taken aback by her actions. She looked just as confused as he was.

“What are you doing?”

“I was just kissing your boo-boos to make them feel better. That’s what mommy does with me. I thought it would work for you.”

He hugged her tightly and tried to choke back his tears at how sincere and pure she was. It was only then, when she calmed down enough that she realized that he stunk. Specifically of cheap whiskey and liquor. Tabby tried to push away and scrunched up her nose.

“You stink,” she complained bluntly.

He burst out laughing. “I suppose I do. I’ll tell you what, let me take a shower, and we’ll have a movie night, and I’ll let you stay up an hour past your bedtime.”

“Okay!” Tabby said excitedly with a giggle.

“As long as you don’t tell your mom.”

“My lips are sealed” she made a zipper mouth motion.

I will make you

Queen of everything you see

I'll put you on the map

I'll cure you of disease (Ooh)

Tabby closed the bathroom cabinets and went back out to the living room. Right back to where she started. She stared out the window at the busy street down below. It became part of her daily routine to stare out the window and see if her dad was coming back. She didn’t know. It could be any day now. She hasn’t lost hope yet. She continued to stare, being lost in her thoughts.

“And the pirate kingdom of Aiwratha is saved from the mutant octopus by the rebel pirates!” she held her stick that she used as a sword up in the air in victory.

Tabby and her dad were currently at Maplehood park on the wooden play pirate ship in the middle of the playground section of the park. With Tabby as captain of the rebel pirate team and her dad as her first mate. Since no one else wanted to play with Tabby, they have played this multiple times with different storylines. Secretly they both never tired from it.

“We did it! We did it! We did it! We are the heroes!” he cheered as he picked her up and spun her around.

“Of course we are! Why wouldn’t we be? We are a team forever and always! Together nothing will get in our way! There’s nothing we can’t do!” she squirmed to be put down.

He took a minute to look at her eyes that were too big for her face. But they were so full of hope, adventure, optimism and had that bright lightning in her eyes. Ready to take on the world. He chuckled a little as he put her down and let her run free.

Maybe he didn’t do a bad job with her after all.

And since we know that dreams are dead

And life turns plans up on their head

I will plan to be a bum

So I just might become someone

Tabby sighed and rested her head on her thin arms on the window sill gloomily. She perked up when she saw somebody that looked like her dad. Only to sink back down when she realized that it was a false alarm. Here she was all alone. So much for his promise of sticking around forever. So much for a future with him in it. That dream is dead.

She slowly sat up with a confused realization.

What was she thinking?

Sure he wasn’t here now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be here until later, right? She recently discovered that dreams do die, but maybe just maybe, dreams can come back to life. Perhaps he will come back, and those dreams can soar again. Yes, that’s right! This train of thought filled her with renewed hope, and she was bouncing in her seat in eagerness. Sure she and her mother aren’t in a good place right now, but that would be her responsibility to bring them both out of this dark place. She believed that she was strong enough to do so. All she knew was that she had to fight to survive for herself and her mother alive long enough so when he does come back, they will be a family again, and her dad would be proud to see just how far she’s come. She’ll be a hero once again.

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

I will make you

Queen of everything you see

I'll put you on the map

I'll cure you of disease

She didn’t have an exact plan to go about this, but she decided it would be best to start small with stuff she could do. First, she could clean up the apartment as best as she could. After all, she can’t have him come back to a dirty apartment. She was leaving the heavy-duty cleaning to her mom, such as chemical cleaning, laundry, and dishes since she didn’t know how to do any of that. However, she could pick up a little and sweep. She knows how to pick up after herself and has seen her mom sweep multiple times, so she has an idea of what she’s doing. She was too small for the real broom, so she would just use her pink kid one. She got to work right away.

She will do everything in her power to help him come home to her.

All for him.

#every rose has its thorn #erhit au #fanfic #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta #tabbyanderson #tabby #house of gold #twenty øne piløts #send me requests #please flood my inbox #please and thank you

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btsmosphere · 4 years ago

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When You Know | KSJ x MYG

~summary: Seokjin and Yoongi aren’t just neighbours. They are enemies. Well, either that or they were destined to be in each other’s arms, but Yoongi can’t see that happening (nor can his cat). Let their friends try all they want, but they’d have to weather storms together and stand back to back in battle before Yoongi would look twice at Jin... Jin x Yoongi ~word count: 3.3k ~enemies to lovers, soulmate au (you have the name of your enemy AND your soulmate tattooed, without knowing which is which), neighbour au, crack, humour, fluff, angst if you squint? Rating: pg13 Warnings: swearing, that’s it :) ~a/n: welcome to my first mxm fic! This is for a special occasion as it is the wonderful @eternalseokjin‘s birthday!! To celebrate Dean’s birthday over at @thebtswritersclub we were sent a bingo card and a challenge to include everything on it in one fic. Our regular mxr content will resume soon, but this has been super fun to write, even if the outcome is -ahem- quite chaotic. So, enjoy, but don’t ask me what’s going on here. I don’t know, and the characters certainly don’t either...

At the end of the fic, I will include what was on my bingo square, in case anyone wants to know, and some basics about d&d for those who (like me a few weeks ago) know nothing about it, but I promise you don’t need to know this to read the fic!

“You’re not serious.”

“I am totally serious.”

Namjoon’s straight-faced response matched Yoongi’s exactly, leaving the two in a sort of staring contest. Seeing no change in the other, Namjoon cracked first, slumping back into the sofa with a sigh.

“Yoongi, come on. It’s not that big of a deal-“

“Why would I want to do it?” Yoongi grumbled.

“it’s just a bit of fun-“

“Then go and do it with Seokjin. I’m sure you’ll have a great time playing wizards, or whatever the fuck-“

“That’s the entire point!” Namjoon threw his hands up in frustration, “we will all be playing, you and Jin included, and we will have a great time.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he had ever been threatened with having fun before. Staring back at his friend, his expression remained guarded. Eventually, he sucked at his teeth, turning his eyes away from the younger man.

“Fine,” he bit out.

“Thank you,” Namjoon huffed, pushing on his knees to stand up, “we’ll start at 5 on Sunday, but I’ll get here earlier. Jin will bring food to make up for the trouble.”

Following Joon out to see him off, Yoongi’s brows furrowed.

“Wait- what trouble? And what do you mean you’ll get here-“

“You’ll be hosting. Okay, bye!”

The door was shut in his face before he could protest any further. Cursing Namjoon for knowing him so damn well, Yoongi stomped to the kitchen and soon began scrubbing the teacups to within an inch of their life.

He’d heard of dungeons and dragons before. Well, vaguely. It hadn’t occurred to him before to pay attention to Namjoon whenever he spoke about it, because surprisingly enough, he hadn’t expected his friend to suddenly whip it out as a method of forcing him and Seokjin – his mortal enemy – to bond.

The whole mortal enemy thing wasn’t even an exaggeration.

What else were you supposed to think when the new neighbour, whose name happens to be printed on your wrist, tries to turn your cat over to the authorities on their first day after it launched a ‘targeted attack’ on their pet sugar gliders.

Yoongi was yet to meet the mysterious V that graced his other wrist, but he knew for sure that Kim Seokjin was his enemy. He could not be soulmates with someone who thinks it’s okay to leave a pair of sugar gliders by an open window and not expect a cat to see them as a tasty meal.

When they had learned each other’s names, and of course connected them with their tattoos, an icy silence fell between the neighbours.

Every now and then, Yoongi would get a reminder of the fact his mortal enemy lived next door. Like this morning, when Seokjin’s wheely bin had blown over and spilled rubbish onto his lawn.

Yes, that man’s evil knew no limits.

And if Yoongi would have to endure his friends’ attempts at reconciling the two of them, in his own house, then he was sure of one thing. He was not going to eat Seokjin’s cooking. It was probably awful, anyway.

That Sunday, at precisely five minutes to five, Namjoon arrived. Yoongi’s eyes widened in alarm at the bulging folder held under his arm. He really had come prepared. Yoongi had barely spent twenty minutes scribbling down some things about his character. Well, except when he had to read all about the different class choices… and then when he needed to select the perfect traits… and picking his spells was quite tough too…

“Are you excited?” Namjoon grinned as he set his stuff down, but then he faltered, “…I did tell you Jin would bring food, didn’t I?”

“Can’t remember,” Yoongi muttered.

He slouched over to the sofa while Namjoon shrugged, grabbing a bite from the nearest bowl of snacks. The table was littered with them, and Yoongi would never admit just how early he had got up that morning to start cooking.

Jungkook turned up next, and of course the brat would instantly wolf down the tub of popcorn rather than the bites Yoongi had been slaving over.

Seokjin’s was the last knock on the door, and a timid one at that. Although it may have had something to do with the food his arms were laden with.

As Yoongi opened the door (Namjoon had shoved him towards it before anyone else had the chance to respond), he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty. It seemed his neighbour had worked just as hard as him on preparing it all.

But still, more of a grimace than a smile showed on his face.

“This way,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

His guilt was short-lived, irritation setting back in as Seokjin invited himself into the kitchen to put down his things. Jungkook bounded after him almost instantly, the pair’s loud greeting audible from the next room.

Turning away bitterly, Yoongi sat in the empty seat between Namjoon and Taehyung, determined to keep his distance from Seokjin.

In time, however, he came to regret this decision, if only because it put Seokjin in full view of the eyes Yoongi so desperately wanted to roll when he announced he wanted to attempt to charm his way to free dinner at the first inn they got to. His reason? His stupid elf claimed to be ‘worldwide handsome’.

The infuriating smirk on his face as he declared this (and then proceeded to pass his roll, because of course) left Yoongi with little doubt this arrogance was nothing but a projection.

After introducing themselves, Yoongi slumping back in his chair the whole time, he let the others take the lead as they set off to find monsters, or something. A pointed look from Namjoon prompted him to pay more attention.

In fairness, he had been a bit creeped out when Taehyung announced he had named his character ‘V’, but he tried his best to listen to the adventure as Namjoon described it. And so they went along, the supply of snacks steadily dwindling as they made their way through some ruins.

The scene was quite vivid, until-

“That’s cat food, Jungkook!”

“Urgh, gross,” Jimin groaned as Jin pried the bowl away from the sheepish-faced younger.

If it had been anyone else, Yoongi would have returned the fond-but-exasperated look they were all well practised in, given the nature of their younger friends. As it was, he ducked his head, scribbling nonsense on his notepad.

It would be a lie if Yoongi said he wasn’t quite proud of himself for solving a riddle to get them into the final room, and getting the final hit on the hellhound inside. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little excited for their next game.

Shutting the door at long last, Yoongi paused for a moment.

Screw Namjoon and his good ideas.

Clearing away the dishes, Yoongi couldn’t help a glance out the window to watch as Seokjin let himself in to his own place, his own stack of plates in his arms. Not that he would ever admit it, Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist just one bite…

Well, it turned into a lot more than that. Maybe Seokjin was a good cook after all.

But that was just one redeeming quality. Best not get ahead of himself.

Yoongi was in trouble.

It had only been a couple more weeks, but he knew that much. As they sat around his table, he caught himself laughing along to Jin’s jokes. And look, he was already calling him Jin! No, he had to stick to Seokjin, the evil neighbour, his enemy.

If he got fond, he would only be sorry later when Jin – Seokjin – did something to remind Yoongi of what a terrible person he was.

Shame all of this seemed to slip his mind the moment Jin came around again.

“The slope is steep, with rocks falling where you move your feet. You can still hear the song, though, and you are certain it’s coming from inside the dark opening you can see at the bottom of the path.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Yoongi was the first to speak.

“Are you kidding? We just spent like an hour trekking over here specifically because of that music,” Taehyung was next to chip in, jabbing his finger into the table.

“It wasn’t an hour,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Joon told us it was hour, it was what? One minute?”

A high pitched giggle from Jin was overtaken next by Jimin.

“No, I can feel the weariness in my bones! It won’t be complete until we hear the song!”

“We’ve been hearing it all this time! Aren’t you guys sick of it by now?” Jin retorted.

“No! Joon specifically said it’s the most beautiful music we’ve ever heard,” Tae insisted.

“I don’t give a shit if there’s a chorus of angels in there, my dexterity is not gonna let me get down that cliff,” Yoongi folded his arms to punctuate his argument.

“Ugh, fine, well I want to go down with V,” Jimin said.

The two factions that had emerged looked expectantly towards Namjoon.

“Okay, so V and Christian want to go down and Genie and Suga want to stay here. Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’ll go down,” Kook shrugged.

All heads turned now to Hobi. Unease written all over his features, he glanced between the two groups.

“Come one, don’t be boring, hyung!” Jimin elbowed him.

“Yeah, come with us!” Kook bounced in his seat as Taehyung switched on the puppy eyes with a string of ‘pleeeease’s.

Cracking under the force of the youngers’ begging, Hoseok laughed and agreed.

Folding his arms, Yoongi leant back in his chair, more than ready to be a bystander to whatever the hell the others were about to get themselves into.

The others of course had an irritating success rate, somehow making it down the cliff without plummeting to their deaths. Not that Yoongi would ever wish death upon his own party members. Of course not.

It would have been funny, though.

Anyway, despite his aversion to following them, Yoongi admittedly was a little curious about the mysterious music they had followed here.

“Stepping inside the cave, the party hears the music louder than ever, ringing in their ears as it bounces off the rocks, making its source unclear. However, it doesn’t offend your ears. The cave extends further into the cliff, and you follow the sound further in. But as you take a step, a great groaning drowns out the music. Behind you, the mouth of the cave shifts, everything around you going black.

“Those of you at the top of the cliff stumble back from the edge as they see the path crumble away into the sea from the shaking of the earth.”

Namjoon sniggered softly at the silence that followed.

Staring at him with comically large eyes, Hobi and Tae looked terrified. As Yoongi watched, Tae slowly turned his head, a smirk turning the edges of his mouth underneath puppy eyes.

“Come rescue us?” he asked sheepishly.

Before Yoongi could respond, Jin was cutting him off.

“Well, that was a fun detour! Where was it we were heading again, Yoongi?”

Yoongi had been preparing to be mad at Seokjin, but his glare dissolved quickly into a snort.

“Yeah, that demon up the road needs seeing to,” he agreed, creating instant uproar from the others.

“You can’t leave us!”

“Justin’s scared of the dark!”

“Traitors!”

However, Jin’s squeaky laugh as he revelled in the others’ pain was all Yoongi could hear. Then Jin leaned closer.

It was all Yoongi could do not jump from his seat when Seokjin’s voice spoke in his ear.

“Shall we leave them?” he was barely containing his mirth.

Feeling rather like he was plotting a prank in the back of the classroom, Yoongi grinned and agreed with a nod. He didn’t quite trust his voice to function as Jin’s breath tickled his cheek.

“We’re leaving!” Jin declared, sitting back in his chair, satisfied.

Before any more chaos could erupt, Namjoon continued with a smirk.

“Okay, so Suga and Genie carry on their previous path, away from their friends and the cliff…”

This was officially getting out of hand.

First of all, Yoongi couldn’t believe how eagerly he was anticipating the weekend, when Seokjin and the others would come around.

Particularly worrying, however, was the way Yoongi had to restrain himself from going to see Jin before Sunday rolled around. It was as if that writing on his wrist was staring at him. The more he tried to look away, the later he would find himself sat up at night, glancing between his wrists and what was written there.

Surely, if Kim Seokjin was his enemy, he wouldn’t be dying to ask how he makes his ramen taste so good. Or how his day was, or any trivial thing, just to be able to have Jin’s eyes on him and his voice in his ears.

Second of all, he had no idea how their campaign had devolved into such utter chaos.

Since the party split, the others made friends with the sirens they found in the cave, and ended up at a drinking party with some demons while Yoongi and Jin were nearly killed by one some miles away on the surface. The demons had apparently taken a particular shining to V, as a tiefling, which resulted in the group they abandoned somehow siding with the very demons they were trying to kill at the start.

Last Sunday had seen Yoongi and Jin going out of their way to find random things to beat to death in the forest, trying to get as many points as possible to face off against four members and goodness knows how many demons.

Yes, this had got rather out of hand.

Two old foes stand face to face on a precipice. Around them, fire blazes. This battle has ravaged the very land they stand upon, whipped the air into a frenzy.

Admittedly, they can barely remember what started this feud. Rumour has it these two great powers were friends, once. If that was so, it was a long time ago.

V stands, battle-worn, waiting for his adversary to make a move.

Suga looks at the body of his fallen companion.

“I’ve only got one spell slot left.”

“Use it,” a whisper returned.

“Aren’t you dead?! Stop talking to each other!” Jimin exclaimed, finger pointing accusingly towards Jin.

“Okay,” Yoongi cut in before they could start arguing, “if this hits, I can take him down. But there’s a fat chance of that, with his AC…“

Trepidation filled him as he looked across the table to Taehyung, a small but unmistakeably victorious smile already on his lips.

A dry chuckle came from one side.

“It’s been a good run,” Jin clapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you accepting defeat?” Joon prompted.

“No…” a hand ran down Yoongi’s face, “I’ll give it a go…”

“There’s no way! If you succeed…” Jin laughed, “if you succeed, I’ll kiss you.”

A quiet round of laughter went around the others, too focussed on the dice in Yoongi’s hand to pay it any mind. But Yoongi could no longer concentrate on that. What did Jin just say?

He couldn’t mean that.

There was no way he would kiss Yoongi. Was there?

All he could hear was the slow drumming of his heart rushing in his ears. The breath caught in his throat as he reminded himself to raise his hand, dice cupped inside.

It wasn’t just the defeat of V he hoped for as it rolled off his fingers, dropping onto the tabletop.

The faces flipped over, every eye trained on it. Around the table, there was no sound. Even Jungkook had stopped munching his popcorn, mouth hanging open.

Round, round, round…

Yoongi caught a glimpse of 20, the magic number, right within reach.

A small thud, the dice settling. A number glared up at him.

All the air left his lungs, deflating as he stared at the number. For a second, the table remained silent as everyone came to terms with the roll, the only sound the tapping of his cat’s paws-

Wait.

When Yoongi turned to find his cat leaping onto the table, it was already to late to grab her as she dashed across the surface. As she went, her paws caught a bowl of snacks, Joon’s notepaper, the dice. Hobi exclaimed with shock, several yells going up as everyone snatched their own stuff out of her way. Jungkook had dived after the snacks.

“Hey!” Yoongi shooed her as he stood up, watching her dart out into the hall.

“Oh my god…”

The small mutter from Jimin caught his attention. Looking around, Yoongi found him staring at the table and followed his gaze to the crime scene. In the centre of which, the dice still lay.

But now, a different number was displayed.

Yoongi’s jaw dropped. It was 20.

“That’s not fair!” Taehyung cried.

“Shush Tae, Jin has to do what he promised,” Hoseok teased, nudging a very red-eared Jin.

“Yah! Hey, I-I, that’s-” Jin spluttered, mouth seemingly fixed open as his cheeks warmed, growing defensive.

As Yoongi watched, Jin only stuttered more under the teasing cries erupting from the other boys as they egged him on with an array of ‘go on’s and ‘you said you would!’

“I-I-“ his eyes flickered over to Yoongi’s.

And despite the jeering and laughter in the background, neither of them looked away. Jin’s lips remained parted, ears pink with embarrassment, protests lodged in his throat.

Yoongi stepped forwards and kissed him.

The distance between them closed in the blink of an eye, Yoongi’s hand flying to Jin’s jaw as he pulled him in, turning his back to the gasps and cheers of their friends.

But they didn’t hear it. Not when their lips were pressed together like this, lighting fireworks in Yoongi’s stomach until he felt like sparks might fly out of his fingertips, the ones he was trailing down Jin’s neck, the ones pulling at the small of his back to bring him closer.

The others had gone quiet.

By the time he groggily pulled away, Yoongi seemed to have forgotten what the world looked like. Were his feet even on the ground?

In what was probably a mirror image of his own face, Jin stared back at him, eyes wide and those perfect lips round with shock. Jin’s fingers trembled as he brought them to his mouth.

“Holy fuck.”

“U-uh, guys,” a small voice from behind them did little to snap them from their trance.

“That was-“ Yoongi breathed, words escaping him.

“It’s you, you idiot!” a grin broke onto Jin’s face.

A laugh left Yoongi’s throat, taking him by surprise.

“It- really?”

“Did you not feel that too?”

Eyes still not leaving the beautiful man in front of him, Yoongi realised. Jin was completely right. Everyone had always told him how it would feel, when he kissed his soulmate. Like butterflies, or a flame, or like the world turned golden.

But through all the different feelings people described, there was one common thread. When you know, you know.

“You’re my soulmate.”

It wasn’t something he had to question, the words leaving him as easily as air.

“You’re my soulmate!”

And then he was wrapped up in Jin’s arms, his lips captured once again, euphoric feeling surging through his body once more.

“Come on, guys…” Namjoon’s groans were completely ignored.

Taehyung was still a bit put out that V had been slain at the last hurdle, but it hardly seemed fitting to be angry about it anymore, what with his two friends falling in love in front of him.

Everyone left together after the revelation, and pretty swiftly at that, deciding to leave them to it. And for once, Jin wouldn’t be leaving with them, even if he would only be one house away.

Smile never once leaving his face, Jin turned to Yoongi after shutting the door.

“So, what are we going to do about my sugar gliders?”

Thanks everyone for reading!! Reblog if you liked it xx

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @kb-bangtanenthusiast

Okay, for anyone interested, my bingo card contained: dungeons & dragons, neighbours, enemies to lovers, namjoon, yoonjin, cats, fluff, music, soulmates And here are some dnd basics for those who want them: you have a dungeon master or dm (Namjoon here) who tells a story. The others play as a character and choose what they want to do in the given situation. There are scores that dictate how good your character is at certain traits, and you roll the dice to see whether you succeed in your choices. That’s really all you need to know for the purposes of this fic, but you can ask me any questions too!

Lastly, I have to give another HUGE happy birthday to the amazing writer and friend and person @eternalseokjin!! I hope you have the best day, you really deserve it! I’m so glad to have met you and of course played dnd together in the net! Lots of love xx

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pixxiesdust · 4 years ago

Text

Crimson Snow (pt. 2) • Bakugou Katsuki

Summary • We all know the story of Little Red Riding Hood. But all stories, especially ones passed through spoken word, can change with time. This is the true story of a girl who wandered into the forest, wearing a cloak white as snow, and left on the back of a beast with a crimson cape trailing behind her.

Pairing • Shifter!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Word Count • 4.4k

Tags and Warnings • Fairy tale AU, captivity, experimentation, violence, blood, swearing, mentions of nudity, eventual happy ending.

Note • This is part two of a fic for the @bnhabookclub Provisional License Exam Event! The lovely @im-here-for-the-heroes and @etegomanere beta read this fic and were lots of help. I hope you all will enjoy reading this part too!

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4

–

Warm huffs of air brush past the side of your head, heating one side of your face. Your head is resting on something that definitely isn’t the folded cloak you had initially laid down on hours ago. In fact, your cloak is draped over your body, keeping you warm.

You sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, and frown at the cloak as it slips off your shoulders. Did you wake up because of the cold and put it around yourself? Maybe, but you don’t remember waking up at all.

Looking down next to you, your body stiffens in surprise. You had been using the wolf’s front legs as a pillow! So that’s where the warm air came from: the exhales of the sleeping wolf.

You have no clue how you got onto his front legs and spread the cloak over yourself while you were sleeping, but you’re distracted as your stomach growls and clenches uncomfortably in hunger. It’s likely been a full day since you last ate. And the plate of scraps that the hunter left behind might be the only food you’ll have for another twenty-four hours.

So you get to your feet, still careful of putting your weight on your right one, and limp toward the plate. The chain stops you at a short distance away. You frown at the plate that the hunter placed on the wolf’s half of the room.

“He probably did that on purpose, the bastard,” you mutter as you sink to your knees and lay entirely on the ground, arms outstretched toward the plate.

Your fingertips brush against the rim of it, but no matter how hard you wiggle and reach, you can’t actually pull the plate toward you. The metal shackle around your left ankle starts to rub at your skin uncomfortably. Thank goodness you didn’t try to do this while the hunter was still here, or he’d probably get some sort of sick amusement from watching you struggle.

Sighing, you rest your forehead on the cold stone floor with a little thunk. The pain makes you wince, and you push yourself up with your forearms to stare forlornly at the plate. It doesn’t even look that good, you try to tell yourself, but your stomach growls again, reminding you of your hunger.

Movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you turn onto your side so you’re facing the waking wolf.

“Morning,” you say, although you’re not confident in the time of day. Spending hours in a dungeon without windows is already throwing off your internal clock.

The wolf yawns, showing its sharp teeth, and for a moment, you wonder if it was wise to take off the silver band that had kept his muzzle shut. But then again, you had just slept right on top of him and he hadn’t bitten your head off or anything.

His mouth closes, and he gets to his feet, shaking his fur out in a motion that causes the chains on his limbs and collar to rattle. He pads toward you, but walks right past you to the plate of scraps, and you watch mournfully as he sniffs the air above the food.

Closing your eyes, you expect to hear the sounds of the wolf gulping down the food, but you hear something scrape across the stone floor instead. Your eyes pop open as the wolf nudges the plate toward you until it’s within your reach. As soon as you pull the plate toward you, the wolf turns away and settles back down in the spot he was in when he woke up.

“I– you– thank you!” you tell him, astonished. You sit up and fold your legs under you, rub your hands as best you can on your dress, and start digging into the food. There are pieces of bread crust on the plate, and you eat them first, taking large bites of it with relish even though it’s dry and scratches your throat as you swallow. You pair the bread crust with the boiled pieces of carrot, which are cold and a little slimy.

You’re about to start working on the scraps of meat left on your plate when your eyes drift over to the wolf. His eyes are closed and he looks to be asleep once again. His back rises and falls with every breath he takes, and as you study him, you see the protrusion of his ribs through his matted and dirty fur. You haven’t seen the hunter feed him since you were put in the dungeon with the wolf, you realize. And the wolf definitely has been through a lot more pain and torture than you.

You eye the bits of meat again. They look so appetizing even though they undoubtedly are scraps and leftovers. But the wolf had helped you get the plate instead of eating the food off it himself, and you should return the favor.

Nodding to yourself now that you’ve made up your mind, you get onto your feet, pick up the plate, and walk back over to the wolf. The chain rattles and bumps against the stones as you drag it along the floor beside you. Sitting down in front of the wolf, you slide the plate across the ground until it rests before his nose.

You can’t help but giggle as his nose twitches, no doubt smelling the food before him, but you still as his red eyes suddenly snap open to look into your own eyes. He seems to be glaring at you for laughing at him, and you hide your amusement at such a human-like response. He really is as smart as a human, you think.

But although the wolf seems tempted by the smell of the food, he nudges the plate back towards you.

You frown, then push the plate to him. “Eat,” you say sternly.

A quiet growl ripples in his throat as he slides the plate back to you.

You push the plate back at him and lean forwards. “This,” you say, pointing at the meat, “is yours!” You jab your finger at the wolf. “I already had half of the food, so it’s only fair that you get the other half. I’m certainly not going to just let you starve! You’ve definitely been here longer than me, and the stupid hunter treats you worse than he does me, so there’s no way that he’s been feeding you as much as he should. So you better eat it, because I certainly will not, and there’s no way that you can force me to.” With that, you huff out a breath, cross your arms across your chest, and stick your nose up in the air.

The wolf stares at you for a long moment. Then he slowly lowers his head and starts eating the pieces of food left on the plate.

“Good,” you say softly, letting your arms fall back to your side. Your stomach definitely isn’t full, but it warms you to see the wolf eating something too.

You lay down on the floor, moving an arm under your head. Staring up at the ceiling, your eyes follow the cracks in between the stones as you start talking.

“I miss home,” you say, voice quiet. You don’t notice the wolf looking up from his food. “I was on my way to visit Grandmother, you know, before the hunter snatched me off the road. She must be getting worried since I haven’t arrived yet. She’s not really my grandmother, but I’ve known her for years since my mother always took me to her when I was sick, and she insists I call her Grandmother.

“Anyways, I was going to bring her supplies from the village since she doesn’t like leaving her house for too long when the hunter caught me and brought me here. I normally stay at her house for a couple days, so my father won’t notice that I’m gone for a while. He’s been, um, distant, for a long time—ever since my mom died five years ago.” You swallow hard and close your eyes for a moment, picturing your mother’s smile.

“My dad just works every day and visits the tavern at night. He’s not a bad parent, really,” you say, looking at the wolf when he growls. “His grief just consumes him, and he has a hard time coping. I’ve learned to take care of myself, though! It-it probably doesn’t excuse him from being so absent, but I do understand his pain. She was his wife, but she was my mother.” Your voice cracks on the last word, and a tear slips out the corner of your eye and starts trailing down the side of your face.

You lay there in silence as the wolf finishes up the last bits of meat. After a few more tears escape, you huff out a shaky breath and wipe your face on the front of your dress. “I’m okay,” you say, more for yourself to hear than the wolf.

“Thanks for listening,” you tell him, moving closer to pick up the plate and set it off to the side, so the hunter hopefully won’t notice that you gave the wolf some of the food.

The wolf gets to his feet and pads toward you. Your eyes widen, but you don’t back away, waiting to see what he’ll do. His chains are pulled to their full length, but the wolf stretches his head out to gently nudge his nose into your shoulder. He bumps it once, twice, then backs away, pacing back and forth across the dungeon floor.

You watch him do this for a bit, the corners of your lips tilting upwards in a small smile. The wolf sometimes acts so human. That must have been why you told him about your mother and your father—something you haven’t talked to anyone except Grandma about in a very long time.

The wolf suddenly stops, ears perking up and tilting towards the doorway of the dungeon. A low growl fills the room. You stiffen. He’s coming. You lunge towards the cloth bandage and pick it up.

“C’mon!” you hiss at the wolf, who is already loping towards you with long strides. Unlike the previous time, you have to tie the makeshift bandage around his muzzle, which takes precious seconds as your fingers tremble with nerves. With the bandage secure, you grab the silver band and slide it over the wolf’s nose, tightening the sliding bolts once the metal rests over the cloth. “There,” you whisper, then quickly scoot back towards the wall, eyes trained on the doorway to the dungeon.

The hunter steps through the doorway, gloved hands tucked into crisply pressed pants. He stalks across the room, once again making his way to the table to pick up yet another syringe.

A sour taste fills your mouth. The wolf was in so much pain last time. And his pain seemed to increase with every single injection. How bad would it be now?

You get to your feet and start walking towards the wolf, hiding a wince every time you step on your right foot. It’s only been hours since you cut yourself on the glass pieces of the syringe, and though the cuts have stopped bleeding, it’s painful whenever you put weight on it. When you reach the wolf, you collapse to your knees and wrap your arms around his head, glaring at the hunter.

“Don’t you dare!” you shout.

The hunter grasps onto your right arm with his free hand and rips you away from the wolf, throwing you to the ground a few feet away. Your head bounces off the stone, and pain immediately radiates from the point of impact. He pushes the needle deep into the wolf’s neck and presses down on the plunger. The misty purple liquid drains out of the syringe and enters the wolf, who immediately starts shaking. A moment later, a pained howl rips from the wolf’s throat and bounces off the dungeon walls, only adding to the throbbing in your head.

Pulling the syringe away from the wolf’s neck, the hunter tosses the syringe onto the table instead of placing it back with his usual meticulousness. Instead, he picks up a knife off the wall of torture devices and stalks towards you as you push yourself to sit up from the ground. He’s moving so quickly that you can’t pull your hand away before his well-shined shoe crushes the fingers of your left hand, grinding bone into the stone floor.

His knife-free hand grabs your chin and tilts it up toward him. You’re stretched out, fingers trapped under his shoe while being pulled upward by your chin. “Do you have anything else to say? Beg for mercy?” the hunter asks, yellow eyes narrowing.

Pain runs from your fingers, up your arms, through your neck, only adding to the pain in your head. However, you are determined to stay strong and not give in to him. If you do, that just means you let him win. So you lock away the pain for a moment, letting a glare heat your eyes. “I would never beg to the likes of you. So as I said before, go screw yourself!”

“Then it is time for you to be punished,” the hunter says, dragging the tip of the knife lightly along your collarbone. “You brought this upon yourself, and no pleading can save you.”

He puts pressure on the knife, the sharp edge splitting your skin. It burns! You whimper and struggle in his grip, trying to pull away from him, but the hunter only presses down harder, drawing the knife across your collarbone. Something wet and thick flows from the wound, seeping into the neckline of your dress.

The hunter lifts his knife off your skin and moves to make another cut when the wolf struggles to his feet, growling. The wolf lunges for the hunter, butting his head into the hunter’s legs. Although the wolf’s muzzle is clamped shut by the silver band, the wolf somehow creates a gap in his teeth and bites at the hunter’s ankles. The hunter drops his knife in surprise, and the blade skitters across the stone floor until it hits the wall. He steps off your hand, whirling around to face the wolf. “You’re a filthy beast, and you clearly do not want to be saved. If your bite does anything to me, then I will be forced to dispose of you.”

He kicks the wolf hard, knocking him off his feet and sending him sprawling onto its side. Although you keep shouting for the hunter to stop, the hunter keeps kicking, even when the wolf is down, until a snap bounces off stone walls.

–

Chisaki Kai steps back, breathing heavily in anger and repulsion, then walks out of the room, blood oozing out of the bite in his ankle. He stalks into his living room, ripping the gloves off his hands and throwing them into the fireplace, watching as flames engulf the leather and consumes it in a burst of sparks. “Chronostasis!” he says, low and commanding, despite the sweat beading on his skin.

Chronostasis appears, with a new pair of gloves, some disinfectant, a clean towel, and fresh bandages. Chisaki Kai slips the gloves on, and his breaths start to level out as he sits on the couch and cleans out the bite from the wolf.

He knows shifters can’t turn humans into shifters just from a bite, but his skin still crawls at the thought of the filthy wolf’s teeth sinking into his skin. Pouring the disinfectant over the wound, he does not flinch at the sting of alcohol, and wipes the blood away with the towel before wrapping it up with a bandage.

Chisaki Kai stands up and faces Chronostasis. “The shifter is acting more repulsive than usual. So is the girl. But a couple more doses of the nightshade formula should get rid of the wolf forever.”

–

You wince as your fingers gently touch the edge of the cut that the hunter left in your skin. Blood has trickled down your collarbone until it seeped into the white of your dress, staining the lace and cloth of the neckline a vivid crimson. Your left hand is throbbing from being crushed under the hunter’s shoe, but right now, you’re more concerned about the wolf.

He saved you from the hunter’s torture, although he had just been injected by the purple substance that caused him pain. He even bit the hunter, even though he must have hurt himself more to get his jaws open in the silver band. And the hunter had retaliated, kicking the wolf over and over again. You think you heard the snap of bone, maybe a rib that had cracked from the force.

So you crawl over to the wolf, who has fallen unconscious and whimpers with every exhale, and gently press your lips to his head. “Thank you,” you whisper as tears well up in your eyes. “Thank you.”

There’s nothing you can do for him except to lift his head onto your lap and remove the silver band. A sob escapes your mouth as you catch sight of the bandage underneath. The white has been eaten up by red, and blood is starting to seep into his fur.

You rip up two strips of cloth from your dress and remove the current bandage, tears dripping down your face when you see the deep gash that rings his muzzle as a result of struggling to open his mouth to save you. The first piece of cloth almost immediately soaks through with blood, so you layer the next bandage on top. It’s not much, but the wolf’s whimpers eventually taper off.

You don’t understand why the wolf saved you like that—wasn’t he just an animal? You shouldn’t have mattered to him. But he did save you, and he paid the price, so you can only keep him as comfortable as possible and keep watch as he rests.

With his head in your lap and your hand stroking the fur between his ears, your eyelids get heavier and heavier; it’s a struggle to open them back up again after every blink. Eventually, lulled by the deep breaths of the wolf, you doze off, head nodding forwards, drifting away from the pain in your head, your hand, and your heart.

–

You come to with a jolt, body jerking upwards as you prevent yourself from crashing onto the floor. Next time, you note, don’t fall asleep sitting up.

There’s a weight in your lap, and you remember resting the wolf’s head there, but when you look down, you blink once, twice. Then you rub at your eyes with the back of your hand—your fingers are crusted over with red from your blood and the wolf’s blood.

He’s still there.

No, not the wolf. The young man with his head of spiky blonde hair right between your legs. “What the hell?” you hiss, heart pounding in your chest as you scramble to push his head off you—though you do take care to not let his head hit the ground hard.

And then your eyes travel down from this- this stranger’s head and trace over an exposed and sculpted neck, chest, torso, and–

Your face is getting warmer, and you turn your head away, but your eyes slide back over to the expanse of skin and muscle that are littered with scars and cuts and dirt and blood. You hesitate when he shivers and curls in on himself, then you unclasp your cloak from your shoulders and drape it over his body.

He shifts as the cloth settles down around him, and his eyes slowly open, still heavy with sleep. You quickly scoot back so that you’re not within reach. “Who are you?” you ask, questions spilling out of your mouth, “How did you get here? What happened to the wolf? Why are you not wearing clothes?”

He sits up before looking down at himself, spotting your cloak that has now slipped down to his waist. You keep your eyes steadily on his face, not letting them stray to his chest. His eyes move up to meet yours, and you notice that they’re an unusual crimson. The last time you’d seen eyes like that was—the wolf. And his hair! It’s wild and sticks up all over the place, but the blonde is very similar to the wolf's coat. But that’s not possible, is it?

His lips curl up in a smirk as he sees your eyes widen in recognition, then disbelief. “I’m Bakugou Katsuki, and it’s a name you better not forget.”

“You’re–” you stutter, trying to figure out how to word the thoughts in your head without him, Bakugou, thinking that you’re crazy. “Are you–”

“–a werewolf?” he finishes for you, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, dumbass, that’s a made-up term for stories and fairytales. We call ourselves shifters.”

“‘We?’ So there’s more of you.”

Bakugou nods but doesn’t elaborate. He’s sure that you won’t betray him to Overhaul—he hasn’t smelled deception on you since you were thrown into the dungeon with him—but he has learned to be cautious anyway. Too much pain can loosen nearly anyone’s lips.

You’re a little disappointed that you can’t learn more about a whole new type of people that basically have been living in your backyard. “So how’d you end up here?” you ask instead.

Bakugou shifts to a more comfortable position. You avert your eyes when he rearranges the cloak around him, but look back at him when he starts speaking. He tells you of the trap the hunter—Overhaul, you learn—and Chronostasis set up for a group of the younger shifters. Recovery Girl had told them–

“Wait, wait! Did you say Recovery Girl? She’s Shuuzenji Chiyo, right? But she’s Grandmother, the one I was going to visit!”

“Yeah, she’s our healer. But stop fucking interrupting me! Do you want me to continue? Huh?”

You suppress a smile at his curses. Just a few minutes of speaking with him told you that he regularly used them in his speech, though he usually didn’t use them with the intent to hurt feelings. Those words are just how he expresses himself. “Sorry, Bakugou! Please continue.”

“Yeah, yeah, so anyway…” Recovery Girl had told the shifters that wildlife has been found dead in one section of the forest for a while, though most of the carcasses are untouched. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, so Bakugou and other young shifters were sent to investigate.

When they got to the area and spread out to start looking for the animals, Overhaul and Chronostasis attacked. They had gone for one of Bakugou’s friends—though Bakugou insisted that he wasn’t “friends with that Shitty Hair!”—and Bakugou jumped in front of his friend to take the arrow. His friends had tried to fight back against Overhaul and Chronostasis, but they had used Bakugou as a hostage.

“...and those fuckers put me down here, and I haven’t been out since. It’s been two weeks now, and they give me those injections at least once a day.”

You exhale heavily. Although Bakugou has a fierce scowl on his face and sounds angry, you think he’s glad that his friends got away, even at his expense. “What is Overhaul trying to do to you with those injections? They look painful every time.”

Bakugou scoffs, tugging at the collar around his neck. “No shit, they’re painful. It’s something that includes wolfsbane, which hurts wolf shifters if it gets in our bodies. In high enough doses, they can kill one completely.

“But he just gives a little each time when I’m in my wolf form to try and ‘purify’ me from being a shifter. I couldn’t fucking hold my wolf form anymore after the last one, which is why I shifted in my sleep.”

Your eyes widen. As cruel as you thought Overhaul was back when you only knew Bakugou as a wolf, it’s even more inhumane that he’s trying to remove an entire half of Bakugou’s identity. “Will you be able to shift back? In a bit?”

“Yeah,” he rasps in response, “But if Overhaul keeps it up for long, I won’t be able to shift at all.”

“Oh.”

The two of you fall silent for a while, lost in thought. Bakugou’s fists clench and unclench every once in a while, as if he’s attempting to shift. At this rate, he’s going to cut his own hands with his nails, so you decide to try and distract him.

“Don’t you want to know how I ended up here?” you ask.

“I can remember every damn thing that happens in my wolf form, so your life story a couple hours ago was plenty.”

“You- you remember everything?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Bakugou looks up at you and smirks. “Why, getting embarrassed now?”

The moments you spent with the wolf flash through your mind. Stroking his head. Bandaging him. Kissing his forehead. “Oh, goodness, no,” you moan, burying your face in your hands.

He snickers at your flustered response. “Oh, hell, yes.”

You spend the next few moments in silence, waiting until you’re less embarrassed and are ready to face him again. You lift your head back up. “So, what now? Do you have a plan to get out of here?

Bakugou stares at you, then snarls, “Of course I have a plan! What do you think I spend all my time doing here, huh? Dreaming about daisies or some frilly shit like that? Here’s my fucking plan: remove these stupid chains,” he rattles the ones around his wrists for emphasis, “and leave this fucking place!”

You blink at him, once, then twice. “Is that it?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“No, no! Not at all! I was just hoping for something more...specific?”

Bakugou scoffs. “The details are up here,” he taps the side of his head, then places his hand on his knee and leans forward. His red eyes lock onto yours, keeping your attention. “But things can change, so they could end up being useless anyway.”

“Hm, okay,” you say. “You kind of have a point. So get out of these chains, and get out of this place. When do we start?”

“Of course I have a point. Pick up that knife over there.” He nods toward the knife Overhaul was using on you, that had skittered across the ground when Bakugou bit him.

“We start now.”

–

Taglist • @steggy4ever @tspice283 @wesparklebitch

#boku no hero academia #bnha oneshot #bnhabookclub #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #type: text #type: fanfic #fanfic: series #series: crimson snow #type: anime #anime: boku no hero academia #ch: bakugou katsuki #fanfic: au #au: fantasy #my writing #my writing: fic

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ravencyclebigbang · 4 years ago

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Raven Cycle Big Bang 2020 Masterlist

The 2020 Raven Cycle/Call Down The Hawk Big Bang has come to a close!

Twenty-six teams (and some…) created a ton of great fanfic and fanart over the course of the event. When we started this event we couldn’t have known what 2020 would end up being, so our appreciation goes to all participants for being so resilient and marvellous and sticking with us until the very end.

A Big Bang is traditionally a fandom event that produces 10k+ words fan fictions and associated art, all fully complete. That’s all the reading and looking your art might desire!!!

Please make sure to show your love to all creators by commenting, kudosing and sending loving pigeons! And stay tuned, because we might have a little Post-Bang Giveaway ready for you…

We have an Ao3 collection in case you want to filter by tags and ratings and the like. Below the cut is a full master list of the various contributions to the TRC Big Bang, so they can be browsed with ease.

Team #1: that perilous stuff (which weighs upon the heart)

Fanfic: AO3 Art: Tumblr

Writer: @saywhatjessie (tumblr)/JessJesstheBest (AO3)

Artist: @pygmypouter (tumblr)

Beta: @rroguess (tumblr)

Synopsis: “Uh, Mr. Parrish? You’d like to read for Lady Macbeth?” Adam felt his eye twitch, even while he nodded. It was true that even at an all boy’s school where boys would have had to read the female parts, Adam probably wouldn’t have normally volunteered to read Lady Macbeth. But Ronan had called him a nerd. So he was prepared to be the biggest nerd Ronan had seen. “I know what I’m about, ma’am.” Or Ronan and Adam volunteer to read for Macbeth and Lady Macbeth in class. Shenanigans ensue.

Team #2: Uncanny Omens

Fanfic: AO3 | gthechangeling Art: Tumblr | drawfulneutral Art: Tumblr

Writer: @yesterdarling (tumblr)/YesterDarling (AO3)

Artist: @gthechangeling (tumblr)

Artist: @drawfulneutral (tumblr)

Beta: ghostangel (AO3)

Synopsis: The Forces of Heaven and Hell have always assumed that the world would end. More specifically, they always assumed the world would precisely end on a Saturday evening, just a few days after the Antichrist’s birthday. The Armies are forming, the Four Horsemen have been drawn out, and the Antichrist is coming into his full power. Yet not everyone longs for Armageddon. Adam and Ronan - an Angel and Demon living in rural Virginia - most certainly don’t want it to; not when Earth has so many libations that they’ve come to enjoy. Besides, Armageddon without humans having a say in the matter wouldn’t be fair, would it? With their livelihoods and the lives of Mankind on the line, they plot to throw a wrench in the Divine Plan. It’d go far easier if anyone knew where the Antichrist was, though.

Team #3: We seek someone to sew sutures in the places where we’re torn

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @blueseyforthesoul (tumblr)/kirani (AO3)

Artist: @thecorvidrotation (tumblr)

Synopsis: Gansey isn’t the half of his soulmate pair with a name, and Blue hasn’t said anything so he doesn’t think she has his name either. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a huge crush on the cute bassist of his roommate’s band. Shenanigans ensue.

Team #4: You Better Shape Up

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: stop_whining (AO3)

Artist: @attentionhoard (tumblr)

Synopsis: A Pynch fic inspired by the classic 1978 movie/musical Grease for TRC Big Bang 2020.

Team #6: Pranks and Pups!

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Instagram

Writer: @comfy-spot (tumblr)/RandyKorn (AO3)

Artist: manao.ri (instagram)

Synopsis: The end of winter break rolls around, and Ronan finds himself stuck in a depressive episode despite the miracle of having his friends all together once again. Blue and Henry bully him into a Platonic Date Night Extraordinaire (which isn’t so platonic on Henry’s part). There’s gelato, misdemeanors, dog piles, a duck, dance parties, and even a car chase - everything necessary to force one Ronan Lynch into admitting that he’s just as deserving of love and care as the rest of them.

Team #7: In gardens all wet with rain

Fanfic: AO3 | forestgeitart Art: Tumblr | purrsnicket Art: Tumblr

Writer: @magicienetreveur (tumblr)/hollyanneg (AO3)

Artist: @forestgeitart (tumblr)

Artist: @purrsnicket (tumblr)

Beta: @semicolonsandsimiles (tumblr)

Synopsis: In a land where magic is real, Ronan spends most of his time hiding from it in the palace gardens, where he’d once met a boy who could tell the future. There’s love letters, a masquerade ball, and an evil plot to be foiled.

Team #8: The Waiting Game

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @inoctavo (tumblr)/inoctavo (AO3)

Artist: @lenaisanerd (tumblr)

Beta: @emjenenla (tumblr)

Synopsis: When all they can do is wait, Declan’s mind catastrophizes… then tries to plan for them. It’s a good recipe to make more problems when everyone’s gone around the emotional ringer. Featuring existential crises, denial, tough decisions, Declan meeting Opal for the first time, and Jordan painting Declan like one of her French girls.

Team #9: if love is just a game (then how come it’s no fun)

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @toast-the-unknowing (tumblr)/shinealightonme (AO3)

Artist: @rroguess (tumblr)

Synopsis: Ronan probably shouldn’t have sworn at the stranger he runs into leaving Gansey’s favorite hipster coffee shop. Blue probably shouldn’t have tracked down Adam’s soulmate without his permission. But they did, and now all four of their lives are tangled up together, whether they like it or not.

Team #10: Strange as Angels

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @skyermirth (tumblr)/skyermirth (AO3)

Artist: @squash1-squash2 (tumblr)

Beta: @galwaygremlin (tumblr)

Synopsis: Adam takes a job for the summer as Caretaker of the Barns, which local legend says is haunted. Adam soon finds out this is true when he meets the resident “ghost,” who isn’t very scary with his mohawk and grouchy demeanor but romantic heart. Falling in love with a ghost was not what Adam had planned for his summer. (Loosely based on the 1947 movie “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir”.)

Team #11: Dream Killer

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @attentionhoard (tumblr)/mvsic_bxxks_stvdy (AO3)

Artist: @sinplaytheartist (tumblr)

Synopsis: Ronan Lynch is a man with extraordinary talents. If he can bring a living, breathing bird from a dream, what’s stopping him from bringing his best friend back from the grave? But some challenges are too great for one dreamer alone.

Team #12: Bread & Circuses

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Instagram

Writer: @galwaygremlin (tumblr)/okay_pretender (AO3)

Artist: crystaline_art (instagram)

Beta: @inoctavo (tumblr)

Team #14: Ag iarraidh forais i bhfodhomhain

Fanfic: AO3 | forestgeit Art: Tumblr | homunculiii Art: Tumblr

Writer: @semicolonsandsimiles (tumblr)/semicolonsandsimiles (AO3)

Artist: @forestgeitart (tumblr)

Artist: @homunculiii (tumblr)

Beta: @g-reywaren (tumblr)/applepi314 (AO3)

Synopsis: Adam is more surprised that he came to Ireland at all than he is to find a doorway to the Otherworld. When Persephone gives you cryptic predictions about your future, you’re almost certainly about to stumble into some magic. And for all his exterior bluster, Ronan seems almost relieved to have someone to visit Tír na nÓg with. But things turn complicated quickly when, during what was supposed to be a quick trip through the doorway, they encounter Ronan’s little brother - who is definitely human and definitely in New York. When Adam ends up back in Ireland long term, he finds himself increasingly entangled in the magic of the Lynch bookshop, the Lynch family lore, and one Lynch in particular.

Team #15: See You Later Alligator

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Instagram

Writer: @crostiina (tumblr)/crostiina (AO3)

Artist: fricklefracklefloof (instagram)

Beta: @creativefiend19 (tumblr)

Synopsis: “Adam.” he read out loud, because he didn’t know what else to do, because he was bad at conversation yet he definitely felt the need to say something.

He thought Adam was going to be even more annoyed and tell him off for being there and close and talking to him. He didn’t know why he did, maybe it was just that night messing with him, maybe it was just him never feeling right anywhere he went. Adam just shrugged.

“Told you I wasn’t Janine.”

Graduation year, Ronan Lynch is wasting his time with horrible friends and too many vices. Things change when he meets Adam Parrish, local (apparently) sane person and ambitious soul working the graveyard shift at a gas station’s market as he waits for acceptance letters to come. Somehow, they both happen to become the best part of the other person’s day.

Team #17: weekends are for the dogs

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @royai (tumblr)/rizahawkaye (AO3)

Artist: @cheeriosnuggles (tumblr)

Synopsis: Ronan Lynch - fresh off the loss of his father, the truth of his Dreams - has so much to learn about himself, about Dreamers, about Niall, and about the black-coated wolf that tears its way through Henrietta.

Team #18: primavera

Fanfic: AO3 | Tumblr: Art

Writer: @manonblaccbeak (tumblr)/Imnotweirdjustwriting (AO3)

Artist: @gthechangeling (tumblr)

Beta: @pnrrish (tumblr)

Synopsis: the rebirth of Adam through art

OR: a renaissance AU featuring the gangsey

Team #19: trouble is (i don’t wanna let go)

Fanfic: AO3 | gouachemole Art: Tumblr | ladvy Art: Tumblr

Writer: @adverbialstarlight (tumblr)/adverbialstarlight (AO3)

Artist: @gouachemole (tumblr)

Artist: @ladvy (tumblr)

Beta: @violettfemme (tumblr)

Synopsis: It’s been two years since Henrietta’s infamous supervillain, Apothecary, disappeared from the streets and left the beloved hero Greywaren alone without his nemesis – and former secret lover. But now he’s back and determined, this time to team up and save the city from an even larger threat.

aka a pynch superhero au

Team #21: Love in the Time of Socialism

Fanfic: AO3 | Art 1: Tumblr | Art 2: Tumblr

Writer: @oldkingyounggod (tumblr)/aurumdalseni (AO3)

Artist: @effwit (tumblr)

Beta: @crostiina (tumblr)

Synopsis: This is a story about a magician with a terrible history. The death of Adam Parrish’s father after he leaves for college means a chance at closure with that part of his life, but he’s not on the journey alone. At his side is a king, whose loyalty never faltered, no matter how much the world threw at them, or how many times they couldn’t agree on how to live their lives. This is also the story of a dreamer, who loved his best friends so much that he didn’t dare risk losing them by asking for something they couldn’t give. So kisses that could have been became kisses that never were, and Ronan Lynch tells himself he’ll make his home a place they can return to. They’ll all come together again for Adam, even fierce little Blue Sargent, so he doesn’t have to face his past alone. And while he works at closing those doors, he’ll make his way into places where all the love Adam, Ronan and Gansey have built up over the years will finally have the space to bloom.

Team #22: we will raze this earth together

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @teddylupin (tumblr)/perfect-porcelain (AO3)

Artist: @kojotei (tumblr)

Synopsis: Ronan is the heir to the Cabeswater throne, a mythical place that was thought to be lost to time. He is the only one of the late King Niall’s son to inherit the royal ability to shift into a dragon. He doesn’t want the throne. In his attempt to escape, he is captured and brought to the kingdom of Henrietta where the court magician, Adam is tasked with attempting to communicate with him, only Adam doesn’t know he has a human form. All Adam sees is the beautiful monstrosity that is Ronan.

Team #24: Heavy lies the head

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @tinyarmedtrex (tumblr)/tinyarmedtrex (AO3)

Artist: @non-platonic-murphamy (tumblr)

Beta: @waywardsoul-s (tumblr)

Synopsis: Adam can’t stand the court magician, Ronan, but when his King sends the two of them on a quest Adam has no choice but to learn to work with the other man.

Team #25: A voice inside me sang your name

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @maskingfragility (tumblr)/Fata_Morgana (AO3)

Artist: @pank0 (tumblr)

Beta: @campbraceyourself (tumblr)

Synopsis: Adam Parrish has recently gotten engaged, he works for a prestigious law firm in DC and he is about to be made partner. His life is millions miles away from the trailer park in Henrietta, he has accomplished all he has ever wanted, so when the call of an ancient, magical forest starts resonating inside him he is faced not just with his past, but with the possibility that his present is not what he really wants.

Team #27: Life is a Fucking Nightmare

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @sterlynwrites (tumblr)/sterlynsilverrose (AO3)

Artist: @sinplaytheartist (tumblr)

Synopsis: We’ve All Read “Dream Thieves” at this point.

All the reader sees is the end of the nightmare of Joseph Kavinsky. But, what we don’t really see is exactly what leads up to that. This is an unapologetic look at Joseph Kavinsky and his daily life. It gives weight to the words:

“Life is a fucking nightmare.”

Team #31: The Creation of Adam

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @pynches (tumblr)/clawsnbeak (AO3)

Artist: @purrsnicket (tumblr)

Beta: glam_reaper2 (AO3)

Synopsis: When Ronan Lynch enrolled in art school just to mess with his brother, he never thought he would actually be good at it. Now, with only a few months left before he is supposed to graduate, he has to turn in one of the biggest art pieces yet. Enter Adam Parrish, a poor student who wouldn’t say no to some extra money. When he saw an advertisement on Craigslist looking for a model to help with an art project, he didn’t hesitate to react. Working together seemed easy enough but there might be more between them than they bargained for.

Team #34: The Royal Treatment

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @oldguybones (tumblr/Oldguybones (AO3)

Artist: @the-ronan-cycle (tumblr)

Synopsis: When Adam Parrish turned eighteen, he became the rightful heir to rule his home country of Henrietta. For years, he looked forward to taking over the nightmarish reign of his father and make the changes he wanted to see. But there was a huge problem. To officially hold the title, he first must wed and his foul mouthed, farm hand boyfriend, Ronan Lynch, knew nothing about royalty. Adam knew though, that there was no one better to rule by his side. So he must teach Ronan how to behave in the face of royalty without changing what he loved so dearly about him.

With time running out, will he be able to do that in time to gain the current King’s approval?

Team #38: and could you carry me through no man’s land

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @mletart (tumblr)/mletart (AO3)

Artist: @wy-mackk (tumblr)

Beta: @stadamparrish (tumblr)

Synopsis: For The Raven Cycle 2020 Big Bang

In which Ronan Lynch gets himself into trouble with the High Council and Adam Parrish ends up taking Ronan on as his familiar. Adam learns the secrets of the Lynch family, and they both learn about magic and about each other. It goes a lot better than either of them would have expected at the start.

Team #39: Weirdos’ Voices

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @flyde (tumblr)/parttimehuman (AO3)

Artist: @shamanda-lie (tumblr)

Synopsis: Without ever having seen the guy, Ronan is crushing hard on one of the construction workers renovating his building. Sitting against the door to his apartment, listening to the beautiful voice and oddly entertaining ramblings of a certain Ganseyboy, Ronan wonders what it would be like if they ever met. It happens when he least expects it…

Team #40: the first problem was putting us in charge of a kingdom

Fanfic: AO3 | Art: Tumblr

Writer: @bipolarronanlynchevangelist (tumblr)/elliptical (AO3)

Artist: @turqidoodles (tumblr)/Turq_I (AO3)

Synopsis: Ronan Lynch loses control of his magic, which is the catalyst for a lot of shit, because he’s the first proven user of chaos magic in… basically ever. Gansey’s trying to be a good king despite his fears that there may be no such thing. Adam Parrish works beside him, earning his terrifying reputation through psychic study and occasional gray morality. Blue Sargent can’t leave her home or she’ll sicken and die, and her wanderlust is driving her to seek less-than-sensible solutions. Noah Czerny knows a lot about healing, but he’s not omnipotent, and he’s a little tired of being asked to clean up everyone else’s messes. Declan Lynch doesn’t trust the crown. He especially doesn’t trust the crown with his little brother. Mysteriously, all of this leads to rather a lot of conflict.

#the raven cycle #call down the hawk #trc #cdth #trc big bang 2020 #fic rec #bang masterpost

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blouisparadise · 5 years ago

Photo

Upon request, here is part two of our mpreg Louis fic rec list. The first part of this rec list was done a while ago and can be found here. Happy reading!

1) Always Coming Back To You | Explicit | 4749 words

Harry's been missing Louis for eight days, and eight days without his Omega feels like decades in his pre-rut state.

Louis happens to come back to him earlier than planned.

2) Through The Storm | Mature | 6497 words

Note: This fic has no smut, but it is MPreg Louis so we included it.

Harry and Louis' marriage has hit a rough patch. A much needed week vacation in Jamaica just may be the second chance their relationship needs. What could possibly go wrong?

The answer?

Everything.

3) You Can Show Me Your Heart | Explicit | 6935 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Everyone knows about the unsinkable Titanic, which tragically did just that in April of 1912. However, not many people know the story of the Carpathia - the ship that raced to rescue and aid the survivors of the Titanic when the distress call came through. This is the story of the events leading up to the luxury liner crashing into an iceberg on that fateful spring night. More than that, this is the story of how two of Carpathia’s passengers - Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson - met, fell in love and helped over 700 people in the cold Atlantic water.

4) Cooking with Styles | Explicit | 9119 words

Anyone can cook— or so they say.

5) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

6) We Will Get Through This | Explicit | 11219 words

Because of quarantine, Louis has to stay home with his roommate, Harry, who he's never really hung out with before. He's a sweet alpha who seems to really care and that annoys the hell out of Louis. But as he gets to know the alpha, he realizes it might not be dislike that he's feeling.

7) Easily | Explicit | 13588 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Years later, Harry and Louis are as strong as ever and more than ready to take the next step in the story of their lives. It gets a little weird, a little confusing, but at the end of the day, it is as easy as can be.

8) Baby Honey | Explicit | 14744 words

Note: The pairing in this fic is Alex/Louis.

When the next great war strikes, all alphas have to ship out. Alex leaves a little more behind than some of the others.

9) The Post-War BP | Explicit | 17732 words

The eight year war has left the country's birthrate severely stunted with a lack of virile alphas left to bring it back up. To ensure the survival of the country, the government opens The Breeding Program where young omegas can apply to carry an alpha's child in exchange for benefits. Louis' family is struggling and the BP is one of the only ways to secure a roof over their heads. Harry was drafted at the age of eighteen and spent six years of his life defending a country he doesn't recognize when he returns home. The government made the bed but it's Harry that has to lie in it.

10) Souls; Plural, Parallel | Teen & Up | 19679 words

Note: This fic has no smut, but it is MPreg Louis so we included it.

Soulmates are rare, the sort of rare that means everyone has a story about a friend's sister's coworker or a brother's roommate's cousin. But the fact of the matter is that most people never meet theirs. It's unfortunate then, that Louis finds out the hard way that he met his soulmate in a club, and the guy never texted him back.

11) Be Mine, Dear | Not Rated | 20104 words

It really wasn’t fair. He was the oldest of all of them. He’s the one who dreamed about being bonded his whole life, while Liam laughed at the idea, until he met Sophia. Niall had always been indifferent, but when he met Heather six months ago, everything changed for him. He quickly went from being the only omega around two alpha’s, to the odd omega out. And it really wasn’t fair, because Liam and Niall both still protected him just as much as the did before, just as much they do their new mates now, but he was still bitter about it, so he’d pity himself as much as he wanted.

12) Oops, Baby, I Love You (In That Order) | Explicit | 25344 words

The minute Louis Tomlinson decides he don’t need no man to start a family, Harry Styles literally falls into his arms.

13) I’m Having Your Baby (It's None of Your Business) | Mature | 26383 words

A bet can cost you a lot. Harry learns this in the weirdest of ways.

Louis just wanted a baby, and he got so much more.

14) The Things I'd Do To Wake Up Next To You | Mature | 36109 words

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

15) If I Stay | Mature | 37226 words

Harry and Louis agree to a temporary arrangement that Harry can't seem to walk away from no matter how many times he tries.

16) You Put the Sun in Sunday | Mature | 42319 words

Louis is a love-brainwashed-teenager of hope drenched in dreams, clad in oversized clothes damaged with holes, and standing waist-high in novels. Harry is a selfish closeted football captain with a head too big for his heart, and a bad habit of not thinking before he opens his mouth. No one ever said love was easy, Louis learned the hard way.

17) Flash Forward (We’re Taking On The World Together) | Explicit | 44273 words

In which Omega Louis and Alpha Harry are absolutely perfect for each other and say I love you too much.

18) Every Story Has Its Scars, Ours Is A Brand New Start | Mature | 62859 words

Life as a devoted husband and an amazing father turned out to be a little different than Louis had expected. Everyone tells him it doesn't have to be that way; that he's worth more and that he's so much stronger than any one person trying to keep him down. It's all just words though until he meets the one person who makes him truly believe it.

19) Such Good Luck | Explicit | 66205 words

An Edwardian AU where Harry is a young aristocratic lord and Louis is a working class dairy farmer. Secrets are a necessary part of their relationship, but Louis has one that could topple their whole world.

20) Things I Can't | Not Rated | 67495 words

Louis has a plan for his life. He’s going to be the first in his family to finish college. He’s going to be a doctor - the best damn doctor in the country. And he’s going to work his ass off to make sure his younger siblings never have to wonder whether they have the means to pursue their dreams.

He doesn’t have space in his plan for a relationship with an effortlessly alluring musician, and certainly not for the child that unexpectedly results from that union. Louis is at a crossroads he never thought to plan for, and now he must make a decision: between what he wants now, and what he wants most.

21) I’m Still Learning To Love | General Audiences | 74695 words

Note: This fic has no smut, but it is MPreg Louis so we included it.

An AU where Harry has almost everything in the world except for the will to move on.

22) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

23) Fucking Animals | Explicit | 116688 words

Louis is the frontman of an equal rights-movement, author of a book about beta-omega marriage and the struggles of being born and boxed into a personality you don’t necessarily feel you fit. The notion that an omega must want to be with an alpha or else he or she’s just settling for less, is bullshit.

But, fucking hell.

24) Be My Omega | Mature | 138372 words

It all started when the alpha laid eyes on the short curvy omega and he knew at that moment that his life would never be the same, in a good way of course.

25) Cold Little Heart | Teen & Up | 194600 words

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child. A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd.

In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham. Louis really could use the help.

26) Love Me Until The End | Mature | 207130 words

AU where Louis, an Omega, is the head nurse of the hospital in charge of running the nursing staff. Harry, an Alpha, is a highly respected surgeon working at the same hospital. They also happen to fall in love.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #mpreg #bottom louis #top harry #mpreg louis #blp fic recs #blp #larry

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cinematicnomad · 4 years ago

Note

1, 7, 25 for the fanfic end of year ask :)

001. favorite fic you wrote this year i have a soft spot for take my hand (take my everything) which was the first fic i wrote this year! and kind of the first step back into writing creatively on something new that wasn’t the 7 year monster sterek fic. also my first foray into 9-1-1 fic and was just a lot of fun!

007. longest completed fic you wrote this year the longest fic i wrote was my second for the year! so show me (family) wound up being around 16k+ for 9-1-1 which kind of burst out of me over the course of one 48 hour window unlike take my hand which took a few weeks to crank out.

025. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read SO MANY FICS DUDE!!! i’m gonna rec a couple, some that i re-read this year and some that i discovered for the first time, all from a variety of fandoms. BUT heads up, you didn’t specify a fandom so it’s gonna be a little scattered. also someone else sent me this same question but specified 9-1-1, so i’m gonna reserve those recs for that ask. GET READY!!

and this, your living kiss by opal_bullets (7/7 | 84k+ | M) destiel; AU: college/university; john winchester’s A+ parenting; angst with a happy ending

only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet jack allen is just kansas mechanic dean winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen.

until, that is, a string of coincidences leads dean to auditing a poetry course with one dr. castiel novak. the professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia’s foremost expert on the poetry of jack allen.

note: i discovered this fic back in the pre-pandemic times of feb 2020 and i’ve read this fic TWICE since, leaving a lengthy comment each time. the poetry in the fic itself is stunningly gorgeous and i have a habit of reading it out loud to myself while reading bc it begs to be heard. this fic is seriously beautiful and makes me want to read all the poet!dean au’s out there in the world. unfortunately there aren’t that many so i just keep coming back to this well. i don’t think i can express enough how much i love this fic.

lost time by ARCurren (105/105 | 350k+ | T) bransonxsybil; AU: canon divergent; outsider POVs; original characters; slow burn

the story of a free spirit who was asked to give up the man she loved for a system she didn’t believe in and what happened next. AU after 3.04.

note: did i think, when i stumbled across this fic years ago, that it would wind up being one of my all time favorites that i return to time and again to re-read? never. did i re-read it for like the dozenth time this year?? 110%. this fic is everything i want from fanfiction—it’s beautifully written, expands on canon, and shows me all the hidden moments the cameras never did (not to mention it’s historically accurate and delves deep into irish politics of the time). the first third or so of this fic is all about tom and sybil’s slow burn romance at downton, but the fic really bursts into its own when we follow the two to dublin and get introduced to all of the author’s deliciously detailed oc’s. heads up warning: this fic was never officially completed, though the final chapter is a beautifully written summary of the final arc of the fic. even so, it’s fucking worth it.

misfire by mothlights & unpossible (6/6 | 28k+ | T) sterek; time travel; angst with a happy ending; alive hale family; magic; alternating POV

“the debt must be repaid,” she says, and it has the weight of a vow. the words resonate through him, ringing through his ribcage and the bones of his jaw, and stiles loses his breath and maybe his grip on reality because she draws herself upright and where there had once stood a supermodel-level MILK now there is galadriel’s much hotter older sister, a presence of unmistakable power in their ordinary, smells-vaguely-of-thai-takeout hallway.

“oh shit,” stiles says.

note: this fic is the first in the misfire ‘verse and i need you to understand that it literally broke me when i binge read these fics a month or so ago. i am a sucker for a solid time travel fic especially bc there are such few good ones in fandom. but this gets at the heart of it all by exploring the idea of stiles getting the chance to save derek’s family and taking it...after he and derek are romantically together in his true timeline and then actually dealing with the ramifications of how that alters everything and how stiles survives in this new present where he and derek are virtual strangers. everyone should definitely read this, but you should also know that i fucking sobbed while reading the sequel (which also has a happy ending, but really digs deep into the nitty gritty angst of the repercussions).

map of the world by seperis (11/11 | 154k+ | M) destiel; end!verse; alternate universe; canon divergent; original characters; slow burn

the world’s already over and they’re already dead. all they’re doing now is marking time until the end.

note: look, if you don’t know about down to agincourt by @seperis, what are you doing with your life?? the series is over 1M+ words so far, the fic author is on book 4 out of a planned 8, and it’s fucking phenomenal. i know i’ve tagged a couple of these recs as slow burn but...this is the slowest slow burn to ever burn. canon!dean travels back into the end!verse timeline just as lucifer kills dean and somehow cas made it out alive and has to keep dean safe while he learns to become his end!verse counterpoint. the world building in this series is intense and i cannot recommend it enough. i’m still in the midst of my re-read bc it’s SUCH an endeavor but i highly recommend it to everybody.

invictus by ellanasan (116/116 | 355+ | M) hayffie; au: alive abernathy family; pre-hunger games; canon prostitution; slow burn

“so then, before i can even think about doing something stupid like trying to stab him with his fucking golden paperknife, he gives me a choice, see?” haymitch continued, almost detached. “either i play nice like all the other victors or he’ll kill my family. i could either become his puppet—greatest punishment he could give me, according to him—or i could become the example.”

AU in which haymitch’s family lives.

note: hello, have you ever wondered what the hunger games series would be like if haymitch’s family were alive? i fucking hadn’t until 2 years ago when i stumbled across this fic and fell head over heels in love with this ship. @ellanainthetardis is my go to hunger games fic writer for anything exploring canon and i’m obsessed with anything she writes about the OG victors pre-canon (finnick, joanna, chaff, etc). this fic is just 300k+ exploring that world and all the intricate details of how cruel the games could really be. HIGHLY recommend. i definitely re-read it this fall when i needed a pick me up.

don’t know what i’m supposed to do (haunted by the ghost of you) by crazyassmurdererwall (1/1 | 30k+ | T) sterek; canon divergent; angst with a happy ending; ghosts; stiles POV

stiles sees dead people. yep. seriously.

(he’s got this. he’s totally got this. so what if one of them is derek’s mom?)

note: did you know that @crazyassmurdererwall is one of my all time favorite people? and that she’s wicked talented? and that in our spare time she’ll send me a billion fic ideas that are amazing and i get to hear all the intricate details of her plot bunnies? but i digress. this fic is one of my all time fave sterek fics i’ve re-read it sooo many times. there’s just something about the heartache and stiles’ insecurity and the way he tries to shoulder it all on his own. and then there’s alli’s brilliant writing, the way she weaves through a scene and paints a picture just so and manages to tug at your heart strings with her precise word choice. there’s some amazing world building in this fic as it explores this other facet of the supernatural that canon teen wolf never touched upon, and i’m so grateful for that bc alli is the only one who should be allowed to write about ghosts and teen wolf together.

lagavulin and guinness by snarfle (10/10 | 163k+ | explicit) hartwin; slow burn; PTSD; suicidal thoughts; graphic depictions of violence; domestic abuse

plenty of people had looked down on eggsy throughout his life. he had gotten fairly used to it. didn’t mean it was fair, but he knew how these things worked. what really sucked was that the new arthur was worse than the old one.

“eggsy grimaced. he didn’t know how to explain to harry—who seemed like he hadn’t been discriminated against a day in his life—that the new arthur kept giving him what amounted to suicide missions, and that he was currently bleeding out in a warehouse because of the deliberately bad intel she had given him.”

also featuring: dean is harder to get rid of than eggsy thought, his mum is going off the deep end, there are way too many nefarious plots in play, and eggsy is really beginning to wish that harry would stop holding his hand and kiss him instead.

note: look, i know i recced this literally less than a week ago but i ALSO stayed up til 5AM re-reading this last night and it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. i was on a bit of a kingsman kick earlier this year, so i’ve actually re-read this fic TWICE so far in 2020. i will give you a serious warning in that this fic delves deep into domestic abuse through the lens of a variety of different relationships. it also explores the potential for abuse in hartwin, bc this fic is one of the few that actually commits to the fact that they’re literal spies who murder people. actively. a lot. but seriously, this fic is one of my fave in the fandom and i STRONGLY recommend it.

waste of breath by bryrosea (1/1 | 22k+ | M) loganxveronica; canon compliant; missing scenes; navy; past child abuse

logan echolls, the nine years, and the navy.

note: bryrosea has an obscene number of amazing logan and veronica fics (her canon divergent series stay with me is another i re-read this year), but i’ve found myself returning to this fic a lot over the years. i’m a sucker for canon compliant fics that explore the missing scenes in between canon and this fic hits all the right buttons by diving deep into how logan echolls went from being a trash fire at hearst college at the end of s3 to being a decorated navy pilot by the movie. it explores logan seeking out therapy and making a life for himself that he can be proud of, all while pining after the girl who got away. and bc this author is amazing, she followed it up with a sequel from veronica’s point of view in the series done by only me.

the law of equivalent exchange by awed_frog (8/8 | 60k+ | M) destiel; POV castiel; pre-canon; post-canon; canon compliant; immortality; reincarnation

“and what’s the point of it?”

“of love? there isn’t one. loving is its own purpose.”

note: i mean??? i don’t really know what to say except that this is one of the truly most beautiful fics i have ever read. it follows castiel through time as he meets different reincarnations of sam and dean across history and falls ever more deeply in love. it is achingly tender and so ecstatically written that i die just thinking about it. and that summary? i mean. holy fuck break my heart why don’t you? i don’t know how i missed out on this fic for so long since it was published in 2015 but i only learned about it for the first time back in july and it was. life changing?? when the fic finally reaches the canon timeline and he meets THIS dean it’s peak yearning. 10/10 will read again.

ahead in the count by elisela (17/17 | 50k+ | E) sterek; AU: sports; pitcher!stiles; teacher!derek; long distance relationship; getting together

“yankee fan,” derek says, laughing when stiles makes a disgusted face. “the bronx bombers, stiles, you can’t be a new yorker and—”

“stop talking right now,” stiles sighs, shaking his head. “i can’t believe i still want to kiss you after that,” he says, pulling derek in by his coat. “this is making me rethink everything.”

“i’ll never watch them again,” derek promises, and stiles laughs against his mouth.

or: stiles is a starting pitcher for the NY mets when he meets and falls in love with derek. derek doesn’t know.

note: i read SO MANY of @elisela’s 911 fics this summer, which i loved, and then she got into teen wolf and started writing sterek and i just about died. this fic is amazing, one of my fave sterek AU’s that i’ve read in years. it’s just the right amount of drama and angst and fluff filled with all the joys of miscommunication and character relationships that makes reading sterek such a joy. reading this fic and finding out eli needed fic recs pushed me to dive back in to reading sterek fics for a bit this fall so i can say with the utmost authority that this is one of the best i’ve read in a long time.

i used to think one day we’d tell the story of us by notequitegucci (2/2 | 32k+ | M) gendrya; alternate universe—modern setting; outsider POV; friends to lovers; friends to lovers

9 times a stark encounters gendry + 1 time he meets the starks.

note: again, this is the first in a 2 part series titled love me like you do that explores arya and gendry’s dynamics together through the point of view of her family. game of thrones ended last year with a whimper but i keep returning to the gendrya tag on ao3 to seek out new, amazing content and also to re-read some old favorites. i can’t remember if i came across this for the first time last year or this one, but i’ve read it and re-read it more times than i can count since and i love it more than i can describe. i’m a total sucker for outsider POV fics and my biggest pet peeve in canon is the fact that none of the stark’s ever found out that arya and gendry had a history together. this modern au fic almost makes up for it by giving me a gendry encounter with every family member and then the big reveal. it’s peak content.

theeeeeeese recs got a little away from me. i wasn’t originally intending on adding lengthy notes to each entry but ... oh well!! these are all amazing so please enjoy.

fanfic end of the year asks

#lilolilyr #ask #if i knew an authors tumblr i tried to tag them in this #seriously my reclist got away from me for a bit #also if you're looking for 911 recs #like i said they will be in another ask where someone specified!!#fic rec #about kat writes

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bettsfic · 5 years ago

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do you know anything about like, the development of the purity rhetoric that now seems to be ubiquitous in fandom and how it got there? i used to be on tumblr in like, 2014 and only recently came back to fandom and i remember everyone being generally kind of cool with things like incest ships and morally grey characters (speaking specifically re the frozen fandom and elsa/anna here lmao) whereas now it seems like the conversation about those things has drastically shifted and i am..puzzled by it

this is what i imagine that experience was like for you:

according to fanlore, purity culture started in the homestuck fandom which. based on what i know of homestuck, that tracks. however i’ve never been in homestuck so i’m not sure what that transformation was like. all i know is my personal experience with the disk horse. afaik there’s no cohesive timeline of events across fandom, and i lack the time and resources to be able to make one myself. if anyone knows of one, or wants to make one, please let me know.

i do know that purity culture is a movement started by very young teenagers, who were maybe 13-15 in 2014 and are now 18-20. they were 8-10 when ao3 was founded, and therefore seem to have a limited knowledge of fan history, censorship, and critical thinking. i’m hoping that since they’re now entering college, they’ll get some insight and broader social awareness, and this movement will finally die out in the next few years.

on any other platform, at any other time, their toxic rhetoric would not have gained traction. but here and now, on tunglr dot com where anyone can gain a platform, where mob mentality thrives and inciting an anonymous dogpile is as easy as hitting Post, where the brokenness of this place makes it difficult to control the content you’re exposed to -- it’s the perfect storm. we live in an age of hopelessness. young people grow up with social media as an extension of their identities, tethered to devices that hold all the information in the world. i think it’s fair for them to be afraid of their futures, and i can understand the desire to control the online spaces where they have the most agency, where their voices are the loudest.

that may explain why, but not how. as in, where did they pick up this mentality at all? @freedom-of-fanfic (whose work is a necessity in understanding the disk horse) connected anti-shipping to TERF rhetoric. i’ve linked the fanlore page because it has all of the links and some of the responses. i honestly do believe that the language surrounding purity culture has its ugly roots in TERFdom. at its core, purity culture -- the policing of female and queer sexuality -- is misogyny.

when i started writing destiel circa 2014, fandom was as you described. wincest was a juggernaut on par with destiel. teen wolf was full of underage and noncon. a/b/o was on the rise. it seemed like fandom was a genre without restraint -- anything you wrote, if it found the right audience, would be celebrated unabashedly. people who have been following me for a long time know that i was addicted to adderall at the time and pounding out all sorts of manic nonsense. i remember living on the validation of comments (and at the time, there were lots of comments. not so much anymore, but that’s another story). i got critical comments only rarely, and they were the type that i admired -- readers without judgment thinking through the story, reacting to it earnestly. i made some of my best friends because they left long, critical comments on my work. sometimes they didn’t like it, sometimes they did, but ultimately, they were engaged, and that’s what counted.

i remember my first policing-type comment, i think at the start of all the purity nonsense. it was a destiel fic, and someone very angrily told me i should tag my bottom!cas because it was triggering. i’ve thought about that comment a lot over the years. top/bottom discourse is nothing new, but to say that bottom castiel is triggering? that was ridiculous. but then i realized -- there was a writer in fandom at the time i won’t name, who was known for being extremely sensitive (for bottom!cas especially, which they found triggering), and their very dedicated following offered fic that was safe for their fave to read. i have nothing against this person at all. they were not part of the purity discourse, they were up front about their sensitive nature, and as far as i knew (i believe i met them at a con once?) they were very kind.

but that commenter had been clearly influenced by this person and believed that a specific fictional character receiving anal sex from another specific fictional character was actual, real triggering content, and it was my obligation as a writer to tag for it. which i did, because i felt bad, and i was baffled by that request. at the time, i wanted more than anything to be liked, and conformed wherever i could. if i got such a request now, i would ignore it because it was rudely written and honestly kind of bonkers. i’d happily add a tag for something i may have missed, or even something i’d never considered before, but there’s no reason a person can’t make that request politely.

this situation isn’t about purity discourse proper (the commenter didn’t tell me not to write the fic, and it had nothing to do with morality), but it’s the earliest example i can think of where the process of policing had occurred: a person of influence on tumblr affected their follower’s thinking, and that follower felt entitled to command another writer to conform to that ideology.

i could be completely wrong about making these connections. maybe that commenter truly believed bottom!cas was a legitimate widespread trauma. they did not say the fic was triggering to them, but that it might be to some other people, in the same way purity police say “think of the CHILDREN” when in fact they don’t give a fuck about children at all.

after destiel i moved to stucky, which was, at the time, a juggernaut ship where anyone could write anything. this was also the time when the term “cinnamon roll” became incredibly popular, circa 2015. it was a fun and seemingly innocuous meme, but it positioned the ideas of “purity” and “wholesomeness” in sharp relief, and cemented these ideas by beginning to give it a distinct vocabulary. “trash” was pitched as its opposite. stucky is where i first came into contact with “antis.” in destiel, there had been ship wars, sure, but it was of a different flavor than antis. destiel vs wincest wasn’t about morality in 2014. it was about everything but.

in stucky in 2015, however, the disk horse was running rampant. the MCU had a sub-section of fandom called HTP (hydra trash party) in which steve and/or bucky have dubious or nonconsensual relations with various or many members of hydra. this is the first time i remember being aware of morality becoming a cornerstone of shipping. HTP was loathed by purity police. by the time i wrote a stucky bdsm au, i’d accumulated multiple nasty anons, rude comments from entitled readers, and other nonsense that all said the same thing: your filth is not welcome here in our space of purity. go away.

but the release of the force awakens is what really turned the tide. TFA offered three major ships: stormpilot (as it was called at the time, now finnpoe), reylo, and kylux. the fandom that developed around the sequels was firmly divided. franzeska wrote an amazing meta about this phenomenon which gives some insight into the seeds of purity policing. in short, stormpilot should have been the primary pairing of the sequels, but instead many of the badwrong writers from other fandoms (and HTP specifically, which was how i entered the fandom) flocked to the blank slate of kylux.

it took a long time for the ship to gain traction. a friend told me that kylux had started with angry star wars racists who hated that there was diversity in the sequel trilogy. and i told them no, i was there, there were twelve of us and a cornchip, and all we cared about was the dirty/darkly comedic potential of these two ridiculous villain characters in one of the biggest franchises of all time. it wasn’t that complicated. i don’t mean to dismiss the discussion of race in fandom; i think it’s important to acknowledge that racism, as franzeska describes far better than i can, plays a huge part in fandom, particularly in star wars, and it’s an important and ongoing discussion to be having, especially given what kelly marie tran has gone through, and how it affected (presumably) rose tico’s extremely limited presence in TROS.

the early fics of kylux weren’t particularly taboo. they were post-TFA hurt/comfort mostly, then slowly the bdsm and power dynamics crept in. those of us who wanted to get away from purity discourse had finally found a new home. for a while. 2016 was the golden era of kylux. we were all very happy.

i remember talking to a friend about how there were certain things i couldn’t write in certain ships. being from ye olden days of fandom, she was appalled by this idea, and told me i could write anything for any ship i wanted, wasn’t that was the whole point of transformative works? and i agreed! but i tried to explain, if you post badwrong for a fandom of purity police, you’re going to, at best, get dogpiled in your comments/inbox. at worse they will find you, call your employer, and try to ruin your life. people will tell you to kill yourself. they’ll report your tumblr and try to get your blog shut down. there are real-life, harrowing consequences to writing taboo fic, and many who write fic as a hobby don’t have the emotional energy to field these risks.

around this time, discord became popular, which offered a private space for badwrong writers to congregate. i had started grad school and didn’t have much time to write fic. metoo was happening. tromp got elected. kylux was slowly turning mainstream so a lot of us turned our attention to gradence in fantastic beasts. some went on to hannibal and other fandoms that hadn’t yet caught the attention of purity police (but it was, as it is now, just a matter of time). kylux, i feel, was specifically decimated by a single fan creator, who was like a police chief. they would get wind of someone writing underage or noncon and write a call-out post about them, and that writer/artist would get pitchforked. a few times, my comments or posts got screencapped, and posts were written urging people to stop reading my works because of how heinously immoral i was. this happened to several of my friends too.

the great tumblr tittyban of 2017 happened, which only added fuel to the fire and further legitimized the purity movement. i shifted hesitantly to the 100 fandom, which seemed small in comparison to supernatural, marvel, and star wars. i thought it was a chill place. i was wrong; it was just as toxic as other fandoms. but i also didn’t care anymore, and i appreciated that i was mostly left alone. more importantly, i found a lot of support from other people who were as tired of the purity as i was, and @the100kinkmeme was reborn.

the state of things is pretty abysmal. there are some really amazing writers out there writing under multiple sock accounts, keeping their fandom identities shattered so as not to call attention to themselves. as much as i understand why writers do that, and i respect that decision, i also think it’s sad. it deprives readers the chance to read that author’s other works. it limits the sense of community and our ability to make friends. it fractures the future of the genre.

what’s most important to acknowledge is that none of this is happening solely in fandom. i went to a writers’ conference where 2 of 3 panels were about the history of moral policing and censorship in art. it is worth noting that of the 40-ish visiting writers on faculty, only one (1) was a woman of color (jaimaica kincaid). naturally, older rich white people who have spent their life in the arts are all about death of the author, separation of art and artist. they’re on the total opposite side of purity police, and they won’t acknowledge at all that racism and sexism are a problem in the creative world. they don’t have any nuance on the discussion, or modern perspectives in light of metoo or popular culture.

this went on longer than i anticipated. i neglected to mention YFIP (your fave is problematic) an old blog that started the idea of call-out culture by pulling receipts on celebrities, and how call-out culture led to cancel culture, which also aided in the purity disk horse. i think a lot can be said about how some of this stuff is genuinely good (metoo and holding men accountable for their bullshit) while also being profoundly toxic (punishing criminals via mob mentality, ruining their careers and livelihoods through social media, rather than giving them their due process in court. i understand it -- the judicial system is built by the hands of the very predators we seek to condemn, but still. the jury of the internet is never a fair trial).

if you want to read more, my tag is tsatp (the sacred and the profane). i’m sure i’ve left out a lot, but i can only speak to my experience. i think it would be good if people would share their experience dealing with purity policing, too, so we might get a cohesive timeline in place. feel free to reblog and add your story.

#tsatp #my fic #Anonymous

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wombatpumpkin · 4 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

Title: Paired

Fandoms: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Tags: Modern Thedas AU, Dating App AU, Graduate School AU, Academic Rivals to Lovers

Now, I may look like a sad and lonely hobo, but I can assure you, ladies, that I am not. Beneath this poor excuse for a sense of fashion beats the heart of a wolf on the prowl and ready for love. When I’m not reading, that is.

You Paired with Solas on 9:40 Guardian 14 at 9:10AM

Today at 9:17AM

Me: Hello, Solas.

“That’s it?” Josie leaned over Aya’s shoulder, peering at the message she’d just fired off. Aya could feel Josie deflating. “That is all you’re going to say?”

“What? What’s wrong with that?” Aya asked, looking back at the message and trying to figure what on earth could be wrong with ‘hello’.

“You have to sound alluring! Make it spicy,” Josephine said with an indignant huff.

“Gotta tickle their balls a little bit, eh?” smirked Aya. Josephine tipped her forehead into her palms and groaned.

“Please... do not say it like that,” she pleaded like a woman who’d lived and seen too much.

“I don’t have to be alluring at all. Half the guys on here are just looking for a hook-up,” Aya said, waggling her eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure I could say I have a fungal growth and still find somebody to bang by evening.”

“She has a point, Josie,” Leliana said from across the cafe table, nodding as she finished her coffee. Josie apparently disagreed, folding her arms tightly over her chest as she glared at Leliana. “Let her talk about her fungal growths. It’s the profile picture that will do all the talking. You did pick her a good one, yes?”

“Of course!” Josie scoffed. “And do not encourage her! Really, Aya, you have to be more tantalizing. You’ll never get a date with just a ‘hello’.”

“You signed me up, remember? All these ‘Likes’ are for people you picked,” Aya shot back. “Maybe I don’t want them to reply. And I still don’t think dating apps are the best way to meet somebody.”

“It’s a ‘Swipe’, not a ‘Like’,” Josephine corrected with a sigh. ”And I simply found you a few men who I think may be to your taste. What about him?” Josie poked Aya’s phone screen and opened up the chat.

“You mean ‘Thom’? Isn’t that a lot of beard?”

“Here, give me!” Josie said reaching over the poor woman and plucking the phone away before she could protest. “This is how you send an alluring message.”

Leliana laughed and shook her head. “You are incorrigible, Josie. I’m getting a second coffee,” she said, getting up.

“Me too.” Aya got up as well, frowning after Josephine who was Cyrano de Bergerac-ing away. “She’s not going to stop until I have a date, is she?”

“Nope. It’s better just to leave her to it?” Leliana said quietly, tugging Aya along to place an order. I wrinkled my nose.

“I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t want these guys thinking I talk that well,” Aya said, scratching her nose and frowning over her shoulder at Josie. Leliana chuckled.

“You speak and write plenty well,” she said as they shuffled along. “When you put your mind to it at least. I’ve read your papers.”

“Well, that’s different. You have to write well in graduate school or they don’t let you graduate.”

“Fair point, I suppose. Still, those skills are transferable.”

“Nope. If it’s not school related, my brain powers down.” Aya shifted her stance, tilting the tote bag on her hip so Leliana caught a glimpse of it. It read All I Do is Fucking Read on the side. Leliana grinned. “Those men will be lucky to get a full sentence.”

“To each’s own, ” she said. “Do you think you’ll ever read or write for pleasure once you’ve graduated?”

“After a few years, maybe?” Aya said uncertainly. “My mistake for pursuing a degree in the social sciences. My poor dyslexic brain feels a lot like scrambled eggs.”

“What do you have planned tonight, then?” Leliana asked. They were a person away from ordering. “It is Valentines Day, after all. Any plans?”

“Well, after I get a little more work done on my thesis, I have my internship until five. Then... I guess it’s just an evening to myself.”

“A rare night, indeed. Savor it for me.”

“What do you have planned?” They started ordering.

“One coffee please, small and black,” Leliana said, reaching for her purse. Aya pulled out hers, trying to nudge Leliana out of the way as she ordered but fumbled on the card draw.

“Caramel latte for me, decaf.” Leliana swooped in and dipped her chip into the reader. Aya narrowed her eyes. She would get her next time.

Leliana continued as if nothing had happened. “I have a date, of course! Cousland got us a fancy reservation at a restaurant across town. It’s apparently very hard to get in. I have my shoes all picked out.”

Aya and Leliana moved down the counter and waited for our drinks to be ready. The air smelled like freshly ground coffee beans, oozing chocolate, and butter from their fresh pastries. I immediately regretted not ordering a croissant.

“And the rest of your outfit?” Aya said, raising her eyebrows. “Or is it a shoes only kind of place?” Leliana giggled.

“If only we could go somewhere as bold as that,” she replied, eyes dancing. “But I’ve chosen my red dress, the one with the silver beading in the waist. She loves that dress, as do I.”

The barista passed them the steaming drinks; Aya’s had a little foam heart in it that made her smile. The pair took their drinks back to the table, and Josie was still furiously texting. Aya chewed her lip in concern.

“How’s the damage?” Aya asked Josie as she sat down and disturbed the foam art piece as she took a sip. They used real caramel here, not some chemical crap from a pump. Aya’s lips felt sticky with sugar, and she hummed happily.

“I have a date set up for you tonight,” Josephine replied, not looking up. “I’m just setting the time and place. You’re done with your internship at five, correct?”

“Wait, seriously? With who? And yes, five.”

“Thom, of course. And I shall tell him to meet you at The Herald’s Square at seven o’clock.”

“Oh,” Aya said and smiled brightly. “Wow, I actually have a date.”

Leliana laughed and Josephine tossed the phone back at Aya from across the table. Aya caught it between her palms and flicked open the app, reading through the conversation. She groaned.

“He’s going to expect a frilly poet,” Aya complained. Josie batted away my comment but glowed a little at the compliment.

“He is...rather dashing,” she sighed a little wistfully. Aya raised an eyebrow and shut down the app.

“You sure you’d rather not go instead?”

“No, no, no! He is expecting you. You go and have a lovely time, truly.” Josephine beamed at Aya and exchanged conspiratorial looks with Leliana. Aya sighed heavily and took another sip of her caramel drink. And so a frilly poet she would be.

Authors Note: This is a short excerpt from a WIP I’ve been working on sporadically as I write some of my other fics. It’ll eventually go up on my A03, but I want to get a bit farther along before I start posting chapters. Any way, here is the sneak peak :)

#Dragon Age Fanfiction #WIP Wednesday #Dragon Age WIP #Solas x Lavellan

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liliaeth · 4 years ago

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Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

Well the one pattern I can see is that I have way too many wips, damn my flighty muse

I’m tagging anyone willing to do this one

1. The Weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh (Nicolò di Genova/Yusuf al Kaysani, The Old Guard

Yusuf wasn’t even sure what he was doing, taking the invader with him. He should have left the man behind after the Franks took the city, but when he’d seen the look on the Christian’s face, that thousand mile stare in the other’s eyes, he’d been unable to do so. There had been a plea in the way he knelt there, not even reaching for a weapon, though he and Yusuf had killed each other dozens of times by now. Almost as if he wanted Yusuf to kill him. That might have been why he stayed his blade at first, that notion that he couldn’t give the other what he wanted, not after what the Franks had done. But then he’d seen the man’s eyes and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from feeling pity for him.

2. The Body Remembers (Scott McCall/Theo Raeken, Teen Wolf

He had flinched.

3. We come from Warriors (gen fic, with some Nicky/Joe , The Old Guard)

Solomon hesitated as he reached the door. He didn't want to go in. Not now, not when Mom would have prettied up the room, trying to achieve holiday cheer, desperate to pretend things were normal, that there wasn't another empty chair at the table. He was about ready to just turn around, to take his gifts back to the car and leave, go to a bar, and drink soda after soda, until he got on too much of a high and had to head out in his car, driving till the carbohydrate high was out of his system.

4.Artefacts of history (Nicky/Joe, Andy/Quynh, Nile, The Old Guard)

His first thought was ‘another one’.

5. Sinking Down (Gen, Andy and Booker, The Old Guard)

Booker wasn’t even sure why he was in this damn room, with these people, none of whom had a clue who he was, or what he’d done. They all had their issues of course, and he wasn’t stupid enough to assume that anything he went through was worse than what they went through.

6. Tomatoes, lettuce and a burger (Gen, Dean and Sam Winchester, Supernatural)

Dean wasn’t sure what it was that made it feel like his heart was torn to pieces. Sam was sitting right there, mere inches away from him. Reading, writing, Dean wasn’t sure what his brother was doing as Dean himself was cooking.

7. A Soldier goes marching on (gen, Nile Freeman, and Jay, The Old Guard)

Jay stared at he empty bunk. Dizzy wouldn’t even look at her. Jay would have screamed at her, but she knew it wasn’t fair, since her anger was aimed as much at herself as it was at Dizzy. And neither would do any good.

8. New Wolf in the Old Guard (Teen Wolf/The Old Guard crossover, Scott centric)

Scott woke up gasping for air. It was the third time this week that he had the dream of drowning. The other dreams were weird, and scary, but he’d have any of them over the ones where he drowned.

9. Good Little Milker (Dean Winchester, Supernatural a/b/o au)

Dean was still sulking. Sam could see it in the poor Omega cow's eyes, the way he glared at the both of them, when he thought Sam or Dad weren't looking. Oh sure, he was playing nice after the rough spanking Dad had given him. Dad had had no choice after Dean's initial tantrum when John had mentioned what was going to happen. It hadn't really been a surprise to anyone but Dean himself, when Sam's younger brother had presented as an Omega. Even during the first signs of his first heat, the boy had still been hoping to present at least as a beta if not an Alpha. But both Sam and John had known better. Dean was a brat, but he'd always been at his happiest when Dad or Sam told him what to do.

10. Clean (JDM/Jensen Ackles, spn rps, non-con)

Jeff couldn't believe his luck. The notion that this perfect piece of slave flesh had never once been fucked was probably the biggest waste of a slave's body he'd ever seen in his life.

11. Light in the Basement (Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, spn rps, non-con)

Jensen wasn't even sure what had happened as he slowly woke up face down on a dusty floor. He stared up at the room he was in. It was dark, stuffy, like there was something in his throat making it hard to breathe. There was a pervading smell of shit and mold hanging around the place, like he was in a badly cleaned toilet in one of the factories he'd been working at over the past few months. He crawled up into the dark

12. The Treaty (Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, spn rps, a/b/o, dub-con)

Peace. After ten years of war, it was long awaited, and even from the throne room, Jared could hear the celebrations spreading across the capitol city. Jared wished he could join the people, spend time with his loved ones and hold his mother, but all he could think of was his father's face as he'd died in Jared's arms.

13. the Wolf who Ran with Hunters (gen Teen Wolf/Supernatural, Scott-centric)

Scott shivered as he woke up. He didn’t want to open his eyes, because once he did, he’d have to accept that he was all alone in some crappy motel room. Outside the window, he could see the dusty town in Oklahoma which he didn’t even know the name of.

14. Covered in Bandaids (Scott McCall/Isaac Lahey, Teen Wolf)

Isaac wasn’t quite sure what he was doing at the field. He shouldn’t even care about lacrosse any more. He was strong now, and lacrosse had been something he’d done because his father wanted him to be more like Camden.

15. Breaking Point (Scott McCall/Theo Raeken, Teen Wolf)

The place was cold. Even with the increased body heat of a werewolf Scott shivered in the corner of the cell. He wished he’d been wearing more than a tank top and his jeans when the cops had burst into his room. They hadn’t told him what he was being arrested for, or what they wanted, which as far as he knew, was not the norm.

16. Kindness for the Devil (Lucifer Morningstar/Scott McCall, Lucifer/Teen Wolf)

It was a night like any other. Things were a bit too quiet over at Lux, but then it was early, and it seemed to make Linda happy, making her more likely to stay instead of having her take Charlie and leaving.

17.Can’t Always hold him back (Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Teen Wolf)

Scott looked down at Stiles, carefully listening to his friend’s heartbeat, pushing out the distraction of outside noise. Nurses and visitors talking in the hall outside, the beeping of the machine monitoring Stiles. He desperately tried to follow the pattern. It scared him, how hard his friend’s heart was working just to keep going, how difficult Stiles’ breathing went even with the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. Scott had finally managed to get the sheriff to go downstairs to have something to eat, maybe even take a shower if Mom could slip him into the staff showers. They all knew that their stay here could end up being a marathon that might last days more than it already had.

18. Beloved (Btvs/Angel, co written with @spikesheart)

Sitting at one end of a fully laden table, Buffy looked at the appetizers piled on the finest bone china sitting atop platinum charger plates, studied her matching platinum silverware, and wrangled with the finely woven silver linen napkin in her lap – patently avoiding her lover’s gaze as he sat at the other end. Only the best of everything life had to offer was laid out before her. A wide variety of catered pasta, meat and vegetable dishes filled every square inch of space in between them, yet nothing caught her fancy.

19. Parent Wolf (Teen Wolf, the parents)

She woke up in an endless white room, found her head leaning against the bark of an old tree trunk, staring up and noticing several other men and women waking up alongside her.

20. Missed Shot (gen, teen wolf, Scott-centric)

Scott stared up at the men coming closer and at the man who had just shot him with an arrow. Derek Hale, the creepy guy who’d lured him here in the first place, tried to grab him and pull him loose, but seconds later he was down on the ground as well with arrows in his leg and back. Scott stared around in fear, pulling at the arrow, too scared to think of breaking it free.

#Teen Wolf #the old guard #supernatural #supernatural rps #fanfic meme

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jaxl-road · 4 years ago

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The League of Extraordinary Rockstars, ch.6

Summary: LA is a hub for music and mutants, making it the perfect place for Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses, and countless other mutant musicians to call home. But it’s not all easy, especially when it comes to finding a decent place to live. So what better solution than moving in together in the mansion of an immortal? Love, drama, and super powers. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting.

Chapter Warnings: Language, genderswap!Steven

AN: This is a collaboration between myself and @the–blackdahlia! It combines elements from her fic “It’s So Easy (And Other Lies)” (specifically her genderswapped!Steven) and my super powered GnR series. It is completely AU and ignores timelines like Woah, but hopefully you’ll have as much fun reading it as we’re having writing it! Let us know what you think!

~~~~~~~~~~

Stevie shut the door and was surprised to find Duff’s lips on hers within seconds of the latch clicking. She let him kiss her for a moment before she ducked to the side and sat on the edge of her bed.

“I meant actually talk,” She laughed.

“Oh, that wasn’t just an excuse?” Duff’s cheeks were red, “Oops.”

Shaking her head fondly, Stevie chuckled and patted the mattress beside her, “It’s okay.” She waited until he was sitting beside her to continue, wringing her hands nervously. She was well aware that there were a million ways this conversation could go wrong, including Duff storming out angrily and never speaking to her again.

“So, I wanted to talk because…” She fumbled to find the right words, “I really like you,” she finally blurted out.

“I… like you too?” Duff responded slowly, “Not that I don’t like hearing it, but didn’t we kind of have this conversation last night?”

“No, yeah, we did,” Stevie cursed herself. Why was she so bad at this? “I just wanted to start with that because… something happened earlier today.” Duff opened his mouth to respond, his face painted with concern, but Stevie cut him off, deciding to just rip the band-aid off, “I almost kissed Izzy. Or, we almost kissed each other. I wanted to kiss him, because I have a crush on him, and I thought it would go away after we got together but it’s not.”

For a moment, they stared at each other in silence, Duff’s face blank before quietly responding, “...Oh.”

"I'm sorry, and you'll probably hate me, but I was talking to Kelly earlier-"

"That's never a good idea."

"-and, he suggested maybe we could try inviting Izzy in…"

Duff blinked in surprise, “Invite him… huh,” he hummed in consideration, “Well, first of all, I definitely don’t hate you,” he smiled shyly, and Stevie couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

“Good,” She laced their fingers together, “because I don’t want to lose you. That’s the whole problem. I like both of you, and can’t bring myself to choose one of you over the other, y’know? But…” she frowned, looking up at him, “would you be okay with something like that? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I just… I’ve never been in a relationship like that," Duff admitted.

“Me neither,” Stevie answered, “But, I mean, if Izzy is okay with it, then we can figure it out together, right?”

Duff let out a huff of laughter, “That’s true. And I mean, Izzy is pretty great…” he trailed off, tugging on the dark strand of hair by his neck absently.

Stevie blinked in surprise, “Wait, really?”

“Well, yeah, I… I mean he’s, y’know…”

Stevie felt her jaw drop as she watched a blush spread across Duff’s cheeks as he stuttered. “Oh my God," she exclaimed, "you have a crush on him too??”

“What? No!” But Duff was still blushing, “It’s not a- I mean it’s Izzy, and he’s so-... I haven’t thought about it before!” He shoved her shoulder lightly as she burst out laughing, “Oh shut up!”

"Izzy and Duff sitting in a tree," Stevie sang.

"Oh shut up, you like him too!" Duff started tickling her sides, making her laugh.

"Mercy! I give!" Stevie tried to pull away, but Duff pulled her back, tickling more. Soon they were both out of breath, collapsing to lay next to each other on the bed. After a few minutes, Stevie chuckled, “Man, I envisioned this conversation going a lot worse.”

“Honestly me too,” Duff admitted, “You said you wanted to talk and then you said you liked me and I kept waiting for you to say ‘but just as a friend’.”

They both laughed, “No, I like you just a bit more than that,” Stevie replied, leaning over to give him a quick kiss on the lips. Flopping back onto the bed, she hummed in thought, “So… how do we do this then?”

Duff hesitated before answering, “Do you mind if we wait a bit before talking to Izzy? Or at least sleep on it?” he asked, “I really am down to try this, but I’m still wrapping my head around being with you. And I wasn’t lying when I said I hadn’t really thought about Izzy, y’know, that way before.”

Stevie giggled softly as a faint flush spread across his face again, “You suuuure about that?” she teased, poking his cheek.

Lightly slapping her hand away, Duff pouted, “I don’t- it’s complicated!” He shoved a pillow over Stevie’s face when she started laughing again. “Look all I’m saying is, could we maybe take a day or two to think more about it before we figure out how to bring it up to him?”

In truth, Stevie was impatient. If she had her way, she’d have them knocking on Izzy’s door right now. She’d spent so long wanting both of them, and now it felt like they were so close. Like she had a solution to everything she wanted right at her fingertips. She didn’t want to wait.

But she understood where Duff was coming from, and hey, she’d managed this long, so what was a few more days? She still had one of her boys, and that was already more than she thought she’d get.

“Of course,” she nodded, “that’s totally fine.”

"Good. Now, are we gonna ‘talk’?" Duff wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh my god, you're horrible," she laughed, lacing her fingers with his, "But the best kind of horrible."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Izzy sighed as he watched the sky outside his window slowly lighten as morning came. He had slept fitfully, and he knew he should grab some breakfast soon given that he had skipped dinner the night before, but he couldn’t seem to make himself get up and face the day. He was well aware that he was moping, but who could blame him? Rolling over to face the wall, he cursed himself for letting himself get his hopes up.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Duff was also crushing on the drummer, so how did he really think this would end? Between the two of them, Izzy didn’t stand a chance. Duff, who was so tall, and bright, and handsome. Who smiled and laughed nearly as much as Stevie, and literally made the sun shine for her.

"Why would she even like me?" Izzy mumbled to himself. As he laid there, his mind continued to dwell on the tall drink that had won her heart. That perfect smile, those long legs, the way he would belly laugh when he told those really lame jokes...

….Wait.

“Why do I have a type?” Izzy groaned. “Why does all this shit happen to me?” He pulled his pillow over his face. It wasn’t fair. Pining after one friend was bad enough, he wasn’t about to brood over two. Nope. Not doing it.

Suddenly, a loud BANG BANG BANG sounded against his door, startling him so bad he fell through his bed, grunting as he landed on his back and blinked up at the bottom of his bed frame.

“WAKE THE FUCK UP, STADLIN!” Axl’s voice boomed. How did he manage to be so loud without using his powers? “You’ve had three days off, you lazy fucks, time to get back to work!”

Izzy groaned, listening to Axl’s voice echo through the house as he continued his mission of rousing the members of Guns N’ Roses.

"Holy fuck!" Axl screeched as he backed out of Slash's room. Izzy raised an eyebrow as he walked through his door.

"What's wrong? See slash naked?" Izzy laughed.

"Who said he could have fucking snakes?" Axl snapped.

"That's called a penis, Bill." Izzy teased. Axl glared the guitarist down.

"Fuck you, Jeff," Axl huffed as he walked off. Heading downstairs, he made his way to Duff’s room, but frowned when he saw the door open and no one inside. He shrugged it off, figuring he would track the weather witch down later. Grinning, he placed himself in front of Stevie’s door.

“UP AND AT ‘EM, SUNSHINE!” He yelled, raising his foot to kick the door loudly.

However, he miscalculated the strength of the old door, and instead of simply banging loudly as he had intended, the kick sent the door bursting open. He stumbled forward in surprise, flailing to regain his balance. Cursing quietly, he braced himself to be chewed out by the drummer.

Looking up though, he found himself staring down not just his drummer, but his bassist too. Duff and Stevie had both shot up in bed at the sound of the door slamming open, their hair a tangled mess of blonde and a very notable lack of clothing on either of them.

For a few seconds, the three merely blinked at each other. The Axl broke into a slow, sly grin.

“Oh. My. God.”

Just like that, Duff and Stevie were broken from their stupor, both scrambling to pull the sheets over them, Stevie holding a pillow in front of her chest as she shrieked, “What the FUCK, Axl?” her eyes wide and face bright red.

Axl covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, "I, uh, well, you see…"

"What's going oh-oh holy shit!" Slash stood there. "About fucking time!"

"Get out!" Stevie shrieked, but that just sent more people running to her room. Duff flopped onto his back, burying his face in his hands as their housemates crowded around their doorway.

Nikki and Tommy cheered when they peeked their heads in, “Yeah, dude, get it!” Vince wolf whistled, Baz yelled something about getting a camera, while Kelly and Mick stood in the hallway shaking their heads.

“Remind me why I agreed to this living situation?” Kelly sighed.

“Beats me. I always knew you were whacked in the head,” Mick mumbled. He then stepped forward, calling out, “Hey, like, half of you owe me fucking money now!” He was met with a chorus of groans as Axl, Baz, Nikki, and Tommy, reluctantly handed over crumpled dollar bills.

“You were betting on us??” Duff’s indignant voice cried out.

Kelly snorted. He saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye and when he turned he found Izzy standing beside him, a carefully neutral look on his face.

"Hey Izzy," Stevie waved at him, but Duff saw her light dim when he didn't even acknowledge her.

"Hey grumpy gus," Baz laughed.

“Of course I’m grumpy, I got woken up by fucking Axl pounding on my door,” he grumbled, trying to cover for his sour mood.

“Hey, we all got woken up by Axl,” Slash countered.

“He literally kicked my door in!” Stevie chimed in.

“He woke me up nicely,” Sebastian smirked, resting his chin on the top of Axl’s head and winking as the rest of the group groaned and gagged.

“Yeah, well, in case you all forgot,” the red head huffed, “we’re supposed to be in a fucking band. I gave you all three days off, time to get the fuck back to work.”

"Can I at least put clothes on?" Stevie asked.

"Does she have to?" Tommy pouted. Duff glared at him.

"Guys, get out so Stevie can change," Kelly started pushing them out but stayed in the room. "Man, that was tough."

"Everyone means you too, Kelly," Stevie growled.

“Aw come on, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.” His teasing smirk dropped when a loud roll of thunder sounded above them and he sighed dramatically, “Fine, fine.”

When the door finally closed behind him, Stevie moved the pillow from her chest to her face and groaned loudly into it. Duff pat her back sympathetically, “All things considered, I think that could have gone a lot worse.”

"Izzy looked pissed," Stevie sighed, "And Axl needs to learn to knock!" Duff noticed that Stevie's light was dim, like when she was sad. He pulled her close to him.

“Hey, maybe he really was just mad at Axl,” Duff wasn’t sure he himself believed that, but it certainly wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, “Plus, he always looks at least a little pissed,” he teased.

"Tommy says he needs to get laid," Stevie giggled. There was a bang at the door.

"Hurry the fuck up or so help me…" Axl growled. Stevie sighed.

"Let's go," she told Duff. The both got dressed, Duff opting to just throw on his clothes from the day before which were laying on the ground. On their way out, Duff grabbed his bass from his room before they made their way over to the rest of the band.

On the other side of the house, between the living room and the kitchen, was a room that they were pretty sure was meant to be a dining room. But they had piled the household's various instruments, amps, and equipment into the room to turn it into a makeshift practice space. It was here that Duff and Stevie found Izzy, Axl, and Slash waiting for them.

"About time," Slash laughed, "Too busy working out that mattress?"

"Oh shut up," Stevie rolled her eyes and went to her drums. "I hope you're not out of tune, babies." She ran her fingers on the drums.

"Bet you want her to touch you like that," Slash elbowed Duff.

"Don't we have anything better to do, like fucking practicing our music?" Izzy snapped.

Stevie, Duff, and Slash all whipped their heads around to look at him, eyes wide at the rhythm guitarist’s outburst. Duff bit his lip, seeming conflicted, and Stevie looked like she wanted to cry, but before any of them could say anything, Axl darted over, throwing an arm around Izzy’s shoulders.

“Thank you! At least someone here is committed to the dream,” he ruffled Izzy’s hair, his hand slapped away almost immediately, and as Izzy stared down at his guitar, Axl sent a warning glance at the other three. “Well? Let’s get a fucking move on.”

Izzy risked a glance up at Stevie when Slash and Duff went to their places, and he felt his heart break. She looked so sad, and while she normally had a bright aura to her, today it was dim.

Fuck, what did he do?

The guilt ate at him, but he didn’t get too much chance to dwell on it. Axl was quick to start barking out orders, warming up his voice while the others checked their tuning, and anytime Izzy felt himself start to fall back into his dark thoughts, the red head would suddenly be there antagonizing him, poking his side and demanding that he replay the chorus of some song or accusing him of being off rhythm or clapping at him to play faster. The self deprecating thoughts couldn’t stand up to Axl’s snapping voice.

It wasn’t long before all of them finally were able to get lost in the music. They fine-tuned the songs they wanted to record next time they snagged some studio time, ran through some old favorites, and talked about a few melodies they hoped to expand on. Still, when they all agreed to call it a day, all it took was a glance at the two blondes for Izzy to feel his heart sink again. Placing his guitar on his stand, he didn’t even bother saying anything as he exited the room.

“Izzy-” Stevie’s voice called after him, but he ignored it, only walking faster. As he passed through the kitchen, he spared a moment to snag a bottle of whiskey off the counter before continuing up the stairs. As he ascended, he heard footsteps following after him.

“Iz.”

He walked faster, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Izzy, hang on!”

As he slipped through the door into his room, he hoped that maybe he would be left alone. He just wanted to drink, and wallow, and maybe break something.

But there was no hesitation in the fist that banged on the door, “Let me in, Stradlin.” Axl’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm.

“Go the fuck away,” he growled back.

The knocking continued. Izzy’s door had been locked since the day he moved in. “I swear to God if you don’t open up this fucking door I’m going to kick it in, I’ve already done it once today, I’d fucking love to be two for two.”

Izzy pressed his fists against his eyes, his teeth grinding in frustration. Axl would do it, he knew he would. Glaring heatedly, he stormed over and threw the door open, “What, Axl? What the fuck do you want?”

“I want to make sure my best friend is okay,” Axl bit back.

“I’m fine,” Izzy ground out in response, “Is that all?” He moved to close the door, but Axl threw his arm against it, forcing it back open.

“Come on, don’t fucking lie to me.” For a moment Axl looked like he was going to snap out something else, but then he paused. Sighing gently, his face softened, “Look... I’m sorry. About Stevie,” Izzy practically flinched at the name, but Axl continued, “I just… I’m here for you, okay? You don’t have to deal with it by yourself. I get it, man. I understand-”

“How the fuck could you possibly understand how I feel?” Izzy suddenly snapped, throwing his arms out as the words spilled out of him like a broken dam, “You have no idea what it’s like! You have Baz! You have the person you love, and you’re together and happy and… fuck!” He slammed his hand against the wall in frustration.

Axl had taken a step back during the outburst, staring up at Izzy with wide eyes. There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other. Then Axl’s eyes narrowed.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like?” His voice was a low hiss, not loud or high pitched, but Izzy could still feel the power in it- could feel an ominous vibration in his sternum as the words hit him.

The singer took a step forward, and this time it was Izzy who backed away as he continued, “You honestly think I don’t know what it feels like? To love someone who doesn’t love you back- who will never love you back? You think I don’t understand feeling like the person you love more than anything is so close but still out of reach? That I've never had to watch them love someone else while I pieced myself back together by myself? Are you really that fucking blind?!” His final words were emphasized with a harsh shove, sending Izzy stumbling back a few steps.

Izzy blinked, speechless, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. Axl’s eyes looked glassy and wet even as he snarled quietly, “Fuck you, Jeff.”

Pivoting on his heel, Axl stomped out, slamming the door shut behind him. Izzy listened to the faint sounds of footsteps retreating downstairs before he sat heavily on his bed. For a few minutes he could only stare blankly at the floor.

Then he grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long, long drink.

#getting into the fun part aka ANGST #Guns n Roses #gnr #motley crue #fem!Steven #duff mckagan #slash #axl rose #izzy stradlin #Nikki Sixx #tommy lee #Vince Neil #mick mars #superpower au #my writing #other people's writing #fun fact: Jax is addicted to italics

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johaerys-writes · 5 years ago

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Witcher AU: Viper In Tall Grass

Chapter (2/3): Silver Is For Monsters

Summary: Tristan of Toussaint is a witcher, his life dedicated to following the Path of the Viper. It is curiosity more than anything that leads him to Emperor Emhyr var Emreis's court. That is where he meets Dorian Pavus, lead sorcerer and advisor to the crown of Nilfgaard, and his life as he knows it changes for good.

They say that destiny is inexorable. Tristan is starting to see the wisdom in that saying.

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This is the second part of the prequel fic I’ve written for the as-yet-untitled Witcher AU my beloved friendo @solas-disapproves and I have been working on! I hope you enjoy :)

Read here or on AO3!

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The acrid smell of drowner blood and the stale, murky waters of Crookback bog reached Tristan’s nostrils several hours before the low reaching branches of the marsh trees rolled into view. The ground had already started becoming slippery a good way back, after they had left Downwarren, the only village in that area whose occupants still dared to live that close to the bog. Brave bastards. Or foolish. Perhaps both.

Tristan steered Almond around a wide dip along the half-abandoned dirt road that led to the swamps, his senses perked up for any possible threat. Animal sounds had started to become scarcer the deeper the rode in, settlements and signs of human activity even more so. Tristan couldn’t blame them - the bog was said to be haunted, cursed, home only to witches, ghosts and monsters. He himself had killed a fair amount of them, but even he was always reluctant to stray too far, lest he never made it out again. Crookbag bog was treacherous, and its inhabitants even more so.

Even Pavus had stopped his merry chatting a while before, keeping to himself most of the time. It felt odd to Tristan that he was so quiet. The hours rolled on far more slowly than before, his nerves stretching thinner and thinner the more the light was obscured by the dense foliage and the shadows grew longer with the setting sun. It was with more than a hint of reluctance that he admitted to himself that perhaps he did, in fact, appreciate the mage’s teasing jokes, even though he rarely, if ever, responded to them.

Perhaps he had grown sentimental, after all.

It took half a day of riding before Tristan started noticing deep and heavy hoofprints that looked nothing like deer or fox or wolf prints. Few foxes or wolves would linger in these parts, and certainly no deer. When they passed through a small clearing and Tristan saw a tree deeply scratched by something that looked like stag antlers, only twice as tall and perhaps three times as thick, he pulled Almond’s reins and dismounted.

“The Fiend’s lair must be close,” he grunted, more so to himself than to the mage.

Pavus shifted on his saddle, his eyes following him intently. “How do you know?”

Tristan’s fingers skimmed the deep, ragged scars on the tree trunk. “It’s a young male, probably, judging by the smell,” he said. Relatively young, at least. Fiends could live for hundreds of years. “Its antlers are sharp. Fiends only scratch their antlers when they feel safe, and nothing speaks safety more clearly than a lair.” He looked around him, lifting his head to sniff the air. An intense smell of pheromones and relict glands reached him. He scrunched his nose, frowning. “That way,” he said pointing to the east. He returned to his horse, pulling her reins towards the west.

“Aren’t we going that way?” Pavus asked, lifting his brows, nodding towards the east.

Tristan scoffed. “We would be, if we were suicidal. Have you never heard that a witcher’s preparation takes time?”

“Ah, yes. I was wondering when you would start sacrificing roosters and praying to… which god do you witchers pray to, again?”

“None,” Tristan replied gruffly. “But if you do believe in one, you should pray to them tonight. Tomorrow we attack, and we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Wind and Fire, Water and Earth. Four elements, bound as one. Order and Chaos, Life and Death, each one a side of the viper’s forked tongue. When the winds are low, when the night is dark, beware the venom of the viper’s fang.

Tristan ran the chant over and over in his mind, going through each step as he sank into a deeper and deeper meditation. It was among the first things he had been trained to do, even before taking up a sword. He was barely ten years old, fresh from the ritual, when he’d been left in a cell at the top of the highest tower in Gorthur Gvaed, the Viper School’s donjon in the deep chasms of the Tir Tochair mountains. He had stayed there for days, weeks, until his mind was empty of all thoughts and all that was left was focus. Pure focus. The strength of the witcher, and the source of his power.

Skill at arms makes you a fighter, Heir would always say. Focus is what makes you a witcher. Sometimes it was like he could still see her from the corner of his eye, leaning against a wall and twirling a dagger between her fingers as she watched him train. He hadn’t seen her in years. He idly wondered how she was.

Tristan opened his eyes slowly, the faint light around him shining just that tiny bit more brightly than before he entered his meditation. Pavus hadn’t woken up yet, even though it was almost dawn, a stark line of grey peeking over the eastern mountains in the distance. Tristan approached their camp slowly, careful not to wake him. His features were soft, lids moving gently as he dreamt, his blanket rising and falling with his breaths. He looked so peaceful, so serene in his sleep. Without his clever quips and witty comebacks, or the wide teasing smile he usually wore like a suit of armour, he seemed… delicate. Tangible. Beautiful and vulnerable, and so very achingly real. Tristan watched him in silence, transfixed, listening to the beating of his heart as the seconds languidly rolled on.

A breeze blew past them, ruffling Pavus’ dark hair, stirring Tristan out of his reverie. He knelt beside him, carefully lifting the thick woollen blanket until its hem rested under Pavus’ chin. The sun was steadily rising, its golden rays slithering through the gaps in the thick foliage overhead, yet the night chill still lingered in the air. It would be a good time to start their journey to the Fiend’s lair, he knew, yet Tristan couldn’t bear the thought of waking him. Time of day did not make much difference to Fiends, yet it did to humans. No one knew exactly what they would be facing, or whether they would be getting out whole. Better let the man get some rest, now that he could.

Tristan took a step back, his gaze lingering on Pavus’s sleeping form for a breath before turning away. He sat by the fire, stirring the glowing embers. The fire crackled, flames licking up at a half-burned log, hungrily seeking the fresh wood underneath the charred edges. Tristan watched quietly for a moment before fishing a small pot out of his bag, along with a bag of tough rolled oats. The least he could do while he waited for Pavus to wake up was to prepare a decent breakfast. They both needed the strength. Besides, a warm meal could do wonders for one’s mood before a battle. Tristan was never one to care too much about food, but Pavus had evidently grown up in luxury. Perhaps it would do him some good to eat something wholesome after all the hard travel bread and cheese they’d been having for days.

He was absently stirring the porridge in the pot when Pavus rose from his slumber. He pushed himself up with a groan, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Good morning, my delightful travelling companion.”

“Morning.”

“It’s so early,” he moaned, stretching his limbs. “Practically still night.”

“It’s late,” Tristan said flatly, banging his small ladle against the rim of the pot. He kept his eyes on the porridge, avoiding the mage’s gaze.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Figured you needed the sleep.”

“Ah, yes,” Pavus said, tossing the covers off him. “Beauty sleep is just the thing one needs before taking on a legendary beast.”

The laces at the top of his shirt had come undone, a swath of bronze skin peeking through the fabric. Tristan swallowed thickly, tearing his gaze away to rummage through his bag for a bowl and a spoon. He gave a small start when he realised Pavus had come close, peering over his shoulder at the porridge simmering in the pot. His scent, that heady, spicy, intoxicating scent, flooded his senses, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Now that he was so close he could make out the distinct undertones of his cologne, lingering on his skin from the previous day, but there was something else, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it aniseed? Or caraway? Or maybe...

Tristan clenched his jaw, fighting the sudden, unbearable urge to lean closer and bury his nose in his neck, let that scent fill his lungs. He dropped a generous helping of the porridge into the bowl, unceremoniously handing it over to Pavus. The mage glanced quizzically at it, then at him, hesitating for a moment before accepting.

“You cooked for me?”

“For both of us,” Tristan corrected. “Thought we could have something heartier than stale bread and cheese for a change.” He stood up to remove the pot from the fire, sitting back down a good distance away. He idly stirred the porridge with the small ladle, letting it cool down for a bit before bringing a spoonful to his mouth.

“Do you not have a bowl?” Pavus asked him.

“I travel alone. Why would I need a second bowl?”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you for giving me your solitary bowl, then.” Pavus smiled at him from across the fire, sniffing the porridge before trying it. Then his long, aquiline nose wrinkled in a disgusted frown. "My, is this bland."

A spark of irritation flared in Tristan's chest. "Next time, you cook the damned porridge. We're on the road, not in a bloody palace."

"Just because we aren't in a palace doesn't mean we need to suffer," Pavus replied before procuring a small pouch from one of the many pockets of his coat. He sprinkled some on his porridge, then handed it over to him.

"What is it?" Tristan asked, reluctantly accepting.

"It's a very rare spice. I bought it from a merchant who had just returned from Zerrikania."

"Zerrikania? I thought no merchants went there."

"Not the merchants you're familiar with, evidently," Pavus replied with a sniff, stirring his porridge.

Tristan carefully, almost reverentially opened the pouch, glancing inside it. Whatever it was, if it had come from Zerrikania, it must have cost a fortune. He had heard countless tales of odd items from that faraway eastern land making their way to the west, yet he had never seen anything up close. He caught some of the spice with his finger, then dabbed it on his tongue. And quirked an eyebrow at the mage. "That's just sugar and cinnamon."

Pavus's full lips widened in a grin. "I had you fooled there for a minute, didn't I?"

Tristan shot him a disgruntled frown as he sprinkled some of the concoction into his pot. He was loathe to admit it, yet the porridge did taste a lot better with Pavus's addition. He grunted silently as he chewed, gazing at the leaves stirring with the wind above them. The swamp air was rank and rancid, yet there was still wind coming from somewhere. He could sense the faint smell of sea water, drifting with the breeze. Perhaps they were closer to the sea than he had thought. Or perhaps there was a salt water lake nearby, that he had failed to notice the last time he had been there. Or perhaps…

Idle thoughts and musings were somewhat successful in distracting him from the mage’s gaze, that seemed to fall on him more often than not. He prayed his cheeks would remain their normal colour when he heard Pavus clearing his throat.

“I can’t help but wonder.” Tristan raised his eyebrows inquisitively, and the mage continued. “You let me sleep in. You made breakfast. Why is that?”

Tristan shrugged. “No particular reason.”

“You don’t strike me as a man that does anything for no reason.” Sterling grey eyes fixed themselves intently on him, the golden flecks in them sparkling with the light of the fire. “I’m starting to think that our quest is more perilous than I initially thought.”

“Possibly. If either you or Emhyr knew exactly how dangerous a Fiend can be, you wouldn’t have hired just one witcher to kill it.” Tristan’s lips tightened in a line. “Fiends are deadly. You should prepare yourself for that possibility.”

Pavus stayed silent for a long moment, peering at the crackling flames. Then, he glanced at the bowl in his hands and scoffed. “If you think that a simple bowl of porridge is a fit preparation for possible death, you are thoroughly mistaken.” He set the bowl down, fished his flask of brandy out of his bag and leaned back on his arm, a smirk playing on his lips. “I believe this is as good a time as any for a story. Don’t you?” Tristan gaped at him, confused. He opened his mouth to refuse, when Pavus held up a finger. “Before you say no again, remember that this might be your last chance. If what you say is true, that Fiend might well get the better of me. Or you. Wouldn’t you want to at least have imparted one of your precious stories to a -very- willing ear?”

Tristan frowned at him. He was ready to retort, then noticed the edges of Pavus’ mouth twitching just a hair. It was only for a moment, a blink of an eye, but it was enough for Tristan to see the unease hiding under his smooth, glossy surface. The expectancy. The hope. He snapped his mouth shut, his frown deepening. What was it that Pavus wanted of him? Why were Tristan’s stories so important to him? Why… why did he want to get to know him?

He looked stubbornly away, past the line of trees that surrounded their small camp, keeping them safe from view. He thought he heard Pavus sighing softly, then stilling as Tristan's voice broke the silence. “There was a contract I took up once. In Redania." Pavus' eyes snapped to him. Tristan stirred the porridge in his pot, that was now starting to get sticky and thick, letting the silence stretch between them before he continued. "It was for an alpor. Do you know what that is?"

"I've heard stories," Pavus said slowly, carefully. "They’re said to prey on the blood of sleeping people and creatures. There are tales of them using their charm to seduce handsome young men."

Tristan scoffed. “Have you ever seen an alpor up close?” He shook his head. “No. They’re not seducing anyone. Don’t need to. They move so soundlessly, sometimes not even witchers can hear them. They inject their victims with the venom of their fangs, putting them to sleep while they suck their blood dry.” Tristan paused, gazing into the distance as he recounted his story. "I'd heard the rumours while riding through Blaviken. That alpor had been terrorizing the countryside for months. Animals, travellers, some farmhands working late in the fields. Even children, straight from their beds. I stopped by a village and the townsfolk begged me to kill her. The reward they offered me was twice as high the normal pay. Alpors are vicious. Often, one person isn't enough to take them down. I agreed to take up the contract if some men from the village agreed to come with me, work up a distraction while I attacked her. Four of them did. Young ones, their blood boiling for a fight." He took a bite of his porridge, chewing slowly, letting the silence stretch. "We set out that night. I'd fixed my armour, prepared my potions, my poisons, sharpened my blades. Alpors need patience to kill. They appear and disappear on their own terms. We camped out close to where I had found her lair to be to wait her out. The hours went on and on, yet still there was no sign of her. Some of the men got impatient."

"Impatient?" Pavus blinked as he took a draught of his brandy. "I can't picture anyone being impatient to meet such a being."

"As I said,” Tristan scraped the last of his porridge from the bottom of the pot as he spoke, "they were young. Not the best help for a contract like that, but I didn't have much of a choice. One of them had brought a couple bottles of whisky he had made himself. It was foul stuff. It burnt its way down your throat, made your eyes water. A couple swigs and you were done for. I urged them not to drink too much, but they wouldn't listen. A couple hours went by and they were all sloshed." He gave Pavus a small smirk. "Me included."

Pavus' eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Truly? You decided to get drunk with that creature lurking about?"

Tristan huffed a laugh, setting his empty pot aside. "It would have probably been fine if that was all we decided to do. Some of the lads got peckish. Decided to go to the nearest village to get some food. I told them that nothing would be open at that hour, but-”

“Let me guess. They wouldn’t listen.”

"Exactly. So, next thing you know, we are walking through the woods to the nearby town. We split, each one looking for an open tavern or inn. I scoured the place, yet the only tavern was closed. I went back to our meeting point, and..."

Pavus' eyes widened. "What happened then?"

"One of the lads had stolen a cart full of carrots from a nearby stable.”

“Carrots?” Pavus scoffed derisively. “Quite a feast that would have been.”

“I tried to get them to put it back where they'd found it, but they'd already started rolling it out. I guess I should have left them then, but…" he sighed. "I’d become quite fond of them, I suppose. And I was very, very drunk. So, I strapped the cart to my back and helped them get it out while they pushed from behind. We hadn't gone half a mile before a guard from the village stopped us. At this point I noticed that the cart was very heavy all of a sudden."

"The boys had disappeared, I take it?"

Tristan nodded, rubbing his mouth over the grin that threatened to slither to the surface. "They had all ran away to hide as soon as they saw the guard approaching. So there I am, in my full armour and all my daggers, strapped to a cart like a beast of burden, with a guard shoving a lamp in my face and asking me what business a witcher has rolling a cart full of carrots in the dead of night."

"And what did you tell him?"

Tristan cleared his throat, straightening up where he sat. "I have to remind you that I was very inebriated at this point. Redanians don't mess around when it comes to their moonshine." Pavus raised a brow and Tristan let out a soft sigh. "I told him I'd confiscated the cart because I needed the carrots to lure a mighty beast."

"A mighty beast?" Pavus asked, huffing an incredulous laugh. "What beast?"

"....a horse."

Pavus gaped at him for a long moment, blinking in confusion. His bewildered expression melted away to be replaced by a wide smile, his shoulders trembling as his laughter echoed through the small clearing. He really was beautiful when he laughed, Tristan noticed, joining him. His eyes that glinted and sparked with amusement, the tiny lines at their corners, soft and feathery as if they had been drawn by a painter's brush, the neat rows of teeth, white like peeled almonds. The sound of his laugh, bright and crystal clear like water from a babbling brook. Had he ever heard anything as pleasant? Tristan wondered.

“A horse? A dratted horse? Great Sun Almighty,” Pavus said after taking a deep breath, wiping mirth from his eyes. “You really couldn’t have thought of anything else?”

“It was the first animal that sprung to mind!” Tristan protested. “There’s no other beast I know that likes carrots as much as horses. Do you?”

“Rabbits do," Pavus shrugged. "Or groundhogs.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Oh, yes. Because what other beast is more terrifying than horse, other than a rabbit or a groundhog?”

“Have you ever watched groundhogs fight over a pile of pears? I have, and I assure you it’s quite the sight. Blood chilling. Certainly more sensational than watching a drunk witcher try to bait a runaway horse with carrots, if there are to be comparisons.” Pavus leaned forward to offer him his flask, and Tristan took it gratefully. "If you tell me the guard believed you, I'm leaving you here and going back to Vizima on foot."

Tristan bit his lip, still chuckling. He tipped the mouth of the flask over his lips, savouring the rich taste of the brandy. He tried not to think of Pavus’ lips, that had closed over its rim only a moment before and were now quirked in a smile as he watched him. "No, he didn't," he replied, shaking his head. "Naturally. I guess I could have used Axii on him…" he noticed Pavus' brows furrowing, and he waved the thought away. "Nevermind. What the guard did was drag me to the sheriff's office in Blaviken and have me locked in a cell. Stayed there for two days until the alpor attacked again and they realised I was the only person within miles that could kill her. They agreed to forget about the whole incident if I took care of her. So I did. She was a tough one, though. Gave me a nasty scar." He pulled down the top of his shirt to show him a deep scar underneath his collarbone. It was ragged and pink, one of the many, many scars he had gotten along the way. "I've never set foot in that place since."

Pavus’ eyes slowly drifted from Tristan's collarbone up to his face when Tristan glanced at him. "That was quite the entertaining story, if I've ever heard any," he said. "It puts the palace bards to shame."

"I'm glad it was amusing,” Tristan said, rearranging his shirt. “That was the point, after all, wasn't it?"

"It was.” Pavus rested back on his arm and tilted his head to the side. "I'd love to hear more of your stories after we kill that Fiend. If you've a mind."

Tristan blinked at him, taken aback by the softness in his voice. The mage was watching him carefully, a dreamy expression on his features, a smile still painted at the edges of his lips. Tristan's heart thumped steadily against his ribcage as he handed him back his flask. "Perhaps. If we return in one piece."

"I'll hold you to that." Pavus reached out to accept the flask, fingers brushing gently over Tristan's. A shiver ran up Tristan's arm at the contact, and he quickly withdrew his hand.

"Right," Tristan said, clearing his throat and standing up. He kicked some dirt over the burning logs, putting the fire out. "I think this is as good a time as any to get started."

Pavus nodded, standing up as well. His gaze lingered on Tristan’s face for a breath before he turned away. “I suppose we won’t be needing any carrots this time, yes?” he called to him over his shoulder as he walked towards his bags.

Tristan chuckled softly, running his fingers through his hair. “I should hope not.”

***

Leaving their horses behind, they walked through the bog on soundless feet. Tristan had expected Pavus to be a hindrance at first, making too much noise, attracting too much attention from the bog creatures, but he was surprised to find out how nimble and agile he actually was. His feet barely made a sound as they walked through the marsh, even lowering his breaths to a soft, steady rhythm. Tristan caught himself eyeing him sideways on multiple occasions. Making his way through the unfamiliar terrain, hardly missing a step, he looked every inch the battle mage Tristan had hoped he would be.

After what felt like hours, Tristan managed to find enough tracks to lead them to the Fiend’s lair. There was a thin trail, leading up to a small mount, at what looked like a small clearing hidden behind a large, flat rock. The smell of Fiend refuse drifted towards him with the wind as they moved closer. He scrunched his nose and coughed, gagging silently. Yes, the lair was definitely close by.

Sliding his silver shortswords out of their scabbards, Tristan coated them with the relict oil he had prepared. He patted his pockets, making sure his samum bombs were in place and easily accessible. Just before walking ahead, he paused, turning to Pavus. He reached out and caught his arm, holding his gaze firmly.

“I’ll go in first and attract its attention,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “You will attack it from a distance. Do not come close, and do not, under any circumstances, look straight into his third eye. If you do, it will hypnotise you. If you’re hypnotised, you’re dead. Get it?”

Pavus nodded slowly, his sterling silver eyes fixed on his. The morning sun washed over the contours of his face just so as he moved, illuminating his velvety bronze skin, catching in his dark, glossy waves. For a moment, Tristan pictured that beautiful face, mangled by the Fiend’s claws, and his heart clenched. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not if he could help it.

His lips tightened in a line and he turned away, when Pavus’s hand closed over his own.

“Be careful,” the mage whispered.

Tristan gazed at him for a quick moment, startled by the concern in his eyes. His touch was soft and gentle, surprisingly so. He gave Pavus’ arm a tiny squeeze before letting go, blending into the shadows.

A deep humming noise rumbled through the clearing as Tristan moved closer. Concealed in the dense shadows, he could examine the Fiend without it noticing him. It was large, perhaps not quite as large as a fully grown one, but that didn’t make its limbs any less thick than tree trunks. Its large, ugly snout was pressed against its folded legs as it slept, its curved back moving steadily with breaths.

Tristan moved closer, holding his breath, daggers at the ready, his senses fixed to pick up the slightest change in the creature’s heartbeat. He edged closer, ever closer, gliding through the shifting shadows of the leaves stirring with the wind. Just another step, enough to be able to plunge his shortsword straight into the base of its thick skull-

The Fiend’s eyes, dark and round like smooth, polished pebbles, fluttered open, its menacing gaze piercing him where he stood.

Tristan ducked back as the Fiend rose to his feet, a rumble coming from deep within its large body. Its enormous paws, the claws on them thicker than tree branches and sharper than fleshly whetted blades, scratched at the ground, leaving thick welts on the grass in their wake. Its third eye was still closed, but Tristan knew well that it wouldn’t be for long.

He rolled to the side, just in time to get out of the Fiend’s way before it charged straight ahead. He landed agilely on his feet - the ground was even there, thankfully,- and brandished his blades. A Fiend’s most vulnerable spot was its rear, all witchers knew this well, and that was where he would focus his attack. He dashed forward, slashing and hacking as quickly and deeply as he could before the beast turned on him again. It roared furiously as Tristan’s daggers tore through its skin, the poisonous relict oil burning deep into its flesh. It turned around in a flurry of moving antlers and sharp claws, ready to pounce, when the viper amulet by Tristan’s neck vibrated, as it always did when magic was being cast. A fireball crackled right past Tristan’s ear to land on the beast’s face with a loud whoosh.

“Take that, you filth!” Pavus exclaimed.

Tristan glanced at him from the corner of his eye before dodging out of the way of the Fiend’s whirling antlers. It shook its head furiously, trying to get the flames off it, before another fireball caught it in the rear.

The mage laughed from his spot atop an upturned tree. “I could do this all day!”

“Careful what you wish for,” Tristan grunted, taking several careful steps away from the roaring monster. Reapplying the relict oil would take no time at all, but it would mean taking his eyes off the Fiend, and taking your eyes from the target during a fight, even for a moment, even for a breath, could mean death - or worse. Witchers were trained not to fear death. Death during a fight with a monster was a natural consequence to their way of life. In fact, not many witchers expected to die in a different manner. Yet, no one was fool enough to seek it.

“Cover for me!” he growled to the mage, rolling away behind a tree. The relict oil was in its own little compartment in his specially designed belt, made for easy access during battle. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, messily splashing the oil onto his blades. No time to be careful and thorough about it. Pressing himself against the tree trunk, giving as little target as he could, he peered behind him. Pavus was doing a good job distracting the beast, drawing its attention away from where Tristan was. Strong gusts of air and fire were keeping it at bay, but Tristan could see how close the Fiend was getting to reaching him.

“Get back!” he called to the mage as he threw the empty relict oil bottle away.

“Not a chance.” Pavus’ voice was a tad breathless when he spoke, cutting through the beast’s roar. “Someone has to keep that thing off you, yes?”

Gritting his teeth, Tristan stepped out of his hiding place, rolling soundlessly behind it. The Fiend’s ear pricked up, following the sound of the grass shifting under Tristan’s feet. It turned abruptly to him, brandishing its large incisors.

“Get over here, you ugly bastard,” Tristan grunted, reaching for the samum bomb hanging by his belt. The Fiend viciously pawed the ground, as if responding to his challenge. A deep rumble echoed through the clearing, making the stone behind Tristan tremble as the beast charged forward. With a smirk, Tristan pulled the bomb’s safety cap off before throwing it straight to the Fiend’s face.

An explosion of heat and sound. Bright white light, smoke and sizzling fire breaking free from the small, stealthy container. The Fiend reared, howling, bolting away from the bomb that was still crackling on the ground. Fiends disliked loud noises, intense heat, too bright lights- and this one was no exception. The edges of Tristan’s daggers glinted in the sun before he leapt towards the beast once more.

Blood, thick and bright red, sticky like glue poured forth from the Fiend’s wounds as Tristan slashed mercilessly at it, barely stopping to take a breath. He plunged his daggers into its rear and its sides, the fine silver of his blades and his own hands painted crimson. He cut through vital arteries, pierced thick hide and flesh to injure the sensitive organs underneath, slashed and hacked at tendons that were thicker than ship rope. It wouldn’t last for long, not with the multitude of lacerations Tristan had managed on it, and the relict oil working deep inside the creature’s flesh to undo it from the inside. He attacked in a whirlwind of slashes, taking advantage of the beast’s confusion, hacking deeper, deeper-

With a furious howl, the Fiend turned around, fixing him with a heated glare. A heated glare from the solitary eye in the center of its forehead.

Fuck.

Tristan backed away, almost falling flat on his back with his haste. He had been too careless, too greedy, attacking without taking care to cover himself from the Fiend’s biggest threat. The world started spinning, spinning, darkening, plunging into blackness-

And then there was nothing.

The sounds died away. The shifting of the leaves overhead, the wind, the sound of Pavus’ fireballs as they sizzled and crackled through the air, his voice, calling to him, the Fiend’s angry howls, all fading into a dull, hollow murmur. Tristan blinked, again and again, struggling to see something, anything in the expansive abyss that suddenly surrounded him. His pulse pounded in his ears while his stomach was gripped in a tight vice. He shifted and turned, fingers wrapped around the hilts of his shortswords like they were his lifeline. He spun around, hoping for something in the darkness - when he finally saw it.

A light, small and flickering at first, that slowly grew larger, steadier. The light at the end of an endless tunnel. Tristan’s first instinct was to move towards it, when his feet planted themselves firmly on the ground.

The Fiend’s burning eye, disguised as the only hope of escape in that never-ending darkness, flickered before him, drawing him in. Tristan gritted his teeth, holding on to his daggers for dear life, focusing on the weight of the viper amulet hanging by his neck, vibrating softly each time Pavus cast a spell. Watch the eye, Heir would have said. Watch its movements. Wherever the eye is, that’s where the Fiend is. You’re the hunter and it is the prey, not the other way round.

The light moved closer to him, slowly and steadily, but Tristan knew that this was only one of the Fiend’s tricks. Lulling its victims into this state of hypnosis, dulling their senses so they thought the light was moving at a snail’s pace, when in reality the Fiend ran towards them at full speed. He would not fall into yet another trap. He would not.

Drawing on his focus, Tristan let the power of Chaos suffuse him. It tingled as it spread through his limbs, pooling at his fingertips. He raised his hand and drew an upside triangle, calling forth a protective barrier around him. The Wind Blowing Through the Oak Trees, Heir used to call it, to help him visualise it when he was a child. The shimmering barrier settled on him like a second skin, and he rolled away, just as the burning eye dove towards him. Recreating the image of the clearing as accurately as he could from memory, he spun around, dashing forth to plunge his daggers in the Fiend’s flesh.

First try and he slashed at air, miscalculating. The Fiend was far more nimble that Tristan had expected, moving quickly and efficiently, using his disorientation to its advantage. His breath was almost knocked out of him when a large paw crashed against him, making his barrier explode, sending him reeling backwards.

“Fuck,” Tristan muttered, drawing himself upright on unsteady feet. The eye was moving again, a burning, menacing light in the darkness, the surety of death lurking underneath what looked like the last lingering hope for life. It sped towards him and Tristan dodged away again, this time plunging his shortswords deep in the Fiend’s flank as it rushed by him.

A hollow, distant howl split the nothingness that surrounded him. The dark lifted only slightly, enough for Tristan to make out the outline of his surroundings. The Fiend was a little way away from him, its coat glistening with fresh blood. The ground was riddled with long, ragged scars where the Fiend had raked it with its enormous claws, and a few of the trees that surrounded the clearing had been knocked down. Tristan blinked hard, forcing his mind to focus through the hazy mist, frantically searching for Pavus. How long had he been under the Fiend’s influence? Time got warped when in a state of hypnosis, that he knew. Even so, Tristan could swear that it wasn’t more than a couple of minutes that he was under the beast’s control, but one could never tell for sure. If it had managed to get to him while Tristan was out...

Beads of sweat ran cold down his back as he spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of the mage. The Fiend was already shifting, making the ground tremble with its angry rumbles. Tristan edged backwards, away from the beast. He was about to reach for another of his samum bombs and retreat while the Fiend was still confused, when he saw Pavus emerging from behind a tall rock. He looked pale and drawn, his brow glistening with the effort of calling forth another spell. Tristan didn’t know much about how sorcerers used magic, but he knew well that, no matter how strong they were, they could only use so much magic in one go without reaching their limits. And Pavus seemed like he was rapidly approaching his.

Tristan’s breath caught in his throat, icy tentacles of fear making their way up his spine as he turned to the Fiend, that had now forgotten all about him to focus its glare on the mage, drawn by the iridescent light that was gathering in the air between Pavus’s fingertips. It growled and pawed at the earth, sending big clumps of earth flying behind it. Tristan watched as if in slow motion as it braced on its hind legs and shot forth, charging straight for Pavus.

Tristan forgot his own exhaustion, forcing his trembling legs to carry him forward, towards the rapidly advancing beast. “Get back!” he growled at the mage, reaching for one of his bombs at the same time. The bomb exploded just as Pavus ducked behind the rock, making the Fiend stop dead in its tracks. It screamed and moved back, away from the sudden flash of light and the smoke that erupted from the bomb’s small pouch.

Taking advantage of the Fiend’s momentary confusion, Tristan leapt onto its back, grabbing its antlers. “Go away!” he yelled at Pavus, who blinked blearily at him, eyes red from the samum bomb’s smoke.

“Are you mad?!” the mage yelled back, emerging from behind the rock. “That thing’s going to-”

“Leave!” Tristan growled, gripping the antlers more tightly. “Just go!”

The Fiend screamed painfully, tossing its head left and right, furiously trying to get him off its back. Tristan held on for dear life, shifting his weight to the side to make the beast turn away from Pavus to the opposite direction. The beast staggered to the left, head drooping under Tristan’s weight, yet it still didn’t stop its frantic attempts to shake him off. He clenched his jaw, the sharp edges of the antlers digging into his sides, his palms raw and bloody from trying to hold on to both the beast and his daggers. His breath was now coming in short bursts from the effort of staying upright, sweat running down his forehead in small streams. He just needed to hold it together, just long enough for the beast to exhaust itself, and then-

With a sudden howl, the Fiend charged towards the tall rock at the edge of the clearing. Tristan watched, wide eyed, as the rock got closer and closer, bracing himself for the impact. Before he could realise what had happened, the beast planted its paws on the ground, sending him flying forward. The air was knocked from his lungs when he crashed against the rock and landed on the ground in a tangled heap. His head spun as he tried to push himself up, wheezing. A warm trickle of blood ran down his brow, mingling with his sweat, blurring his vision. His limbs were barely obeying him anymore, legs wobbling, arms trembling, lungs burning. He blinked furiously, scrambling to regain his focus, when the ground shivered beneath his feet.

He pushed himself up just in time to see the Fiend lunging towards him. The world moved at an unbearably slow pace as he was pinned against the rock, trapped between dense stone and thick, branch-like antlers. Pain such that he had never known burst through his focus, blocking out everything else. He peered down to see one of the antler edges piercing his armour, straight through his abdomen. Everything was red and unbearably sharp, the sunlight scorching his eyes, the Fiend’s vile breath overpowering his senses. The world around him flickered and tilted, spinning, whirling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, not even to ease the antler out of him. Perhaps his time to die a witcher’s death had finally come.

He lifted his head, glancing at Pavus through his haze. He was standing perfectly still, watching him wide-eyed from a distance. All colour was sapped from his face, his features suddenly looking as if carved from pale stone. His beautiful face.

Tristan gritted his teeth, breathing through the agony. He turned his gaze to the Fiend that was still holding him fast, and tightened his hold on his daggers. He would be damned if he didn’t take the bastard down with him.

With the last dregs of his strength, he lifted his long daggers, plunging them straight into the Fiend’s eyes, piercing its brain. The Fiend howled one last time before it collapsed on the ground, taking Tristan with it. The feel of grass and dirt on his face, the warmth of fresh blood on his skin, and everything faded to black.

#dorian pavus #witcher #witcher au #dorian pavus fic #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian pavus/inquisitor #pavelyan #tristan trevelyan #dorian pavus x tristan trevelyan #dorian x tristan #viper in tall grass #johaerys writes

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greenapricot · 4 years ago

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fanfic tag game

I was tagged by @thetimemoves. Thank you!

Ao3 name: greenapricot

Number of fics: 73 - 48 recent (the last 5 years). 25 from before 2009 (all originally posted on livejournal)

Fandoms: Lewis (40), Endeavour (7), Shetland (2), Inspector Morse (1), Victoria (1), Harry Potter (18), Supernatural (4), Firefly (2), Torchwood (1) The numbers don’t match up with the total number of fics because some of them are crossovers.

I’m only going to answer questions for the fics from the last 5 years because I don’t really remember a lot about writing the older ones.

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Phantoms in the Early Dark (Lewis, James/Robbie, teen, 35k). It’s a multi-chapter casefic and also my longest fic by far so it outpaces just about everything else. Second most time spent is probably the third part of my OT3 series, Overture (Lewis, James/Laura/Robbie, explicit, 5.9k) writing three people having sex at once is complicated as it turns out. Or Over the Edge (Lewis, James/Robbie, teen, 11.8k) which I resurrected from abandonment and then it grew multiple chapters.

2. Fic you spent the least time on: I assume one of the ficlet’s that’s less than 500 words is the one I’ve spent the least time on, but I also don’t have clear memories of the process there because they’re short. Both Why not? (Endeavour, Box/Fancy, teen, 800w) and Aftermath (Lewis, James/Robbie, teen, 1.4k) appeared almost fully formed in my head (one in the middle of the night one in the middle of a bath). I wrote them pretty much in one sitting on my phone and posted them only a couple days later which is very unusual for me (usually there is a lot of obsessive editing).

3. Longest Fic: Phantoms in the Early Dark 35k for the fic itself (38k including the epilogue fic). Second longest is Wolf at the Door (Lewis, werewolf au, James/Robbie, teen, 12k).

4. Shortest Fic: More than all the rest of the world (Lewis, James/Robbie, teen, 235w)

5. Most hits: Phantoms is the top of everything so I’m going to pick second most as well. Second most hits: All in All (Lewis, James/Robbie, explicit, 3.7k) part two of the All Told series.

6. Most kudos: Again, Phantoms. Second most kudos After All (Lewis, James/ Robbie, teen, 3.7k, 5x fic) part one of the All Told series.

7. Most comment threads: Phantoms. Second most comment threads: Over the Edge, and I’m going to also pick third since OtE was already an answer: It’s the heat, clearly (Lewis, James/Robbie, teen, 4.1k)

8. Fave Fic you wrote: Picking a favorite is very hard. I love them all. Phantoms is definitely the fic I’m most proud of and it may well be my fave, but since it ends up being the answer to so many questions I’m going to pic a favorite of the fics I haven’t already mentioned here (or in any other meme) and go with Misuse of Police Resources (Lewis, James/Robbie, explicit, 4.2k) because it was super fun to write and super fun to read the reactions to it in the comments.

This got really long so...

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I have plans for a third fic in my Shetland series No Holiday. I had also planned to write a follow up to Where Everything Slipped from when I first wrote it but I’ve never gotten back to it. I also have plans (and an outline and a fair amount written) for a casefic in my wingfic universe but in These Times I keep end up writing shorter less complicated things. I’m sure I’ll get back to all three of those at some point.

As far as rewriting, I can’t say that there’s anything that I’ve written in the last 5 years that I would change. I obsessively edit things before I put them out into the world, so if it’s been posted I’m happy with it. Probably some of that pre-2009 stuff could do with some rewrites though.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: My current WIP (Robbie takes a life drawing course and James happens to be the model) is in the (hopefully) final stages of editing. I posted a snippet from the first chapter in a previous writing meme. This is from chapter 2:

Robbie is at his desk staring down the new protocol that’s been mandated for the upcoming performance assessments when Hathaway arrives with coffees and two small, brown paper sacks.

“‘Morning, sir.” Hathaway deposits a coffee and one of the sacks on Robbie’s desk. The sack has the tell-tale pleasing oily spots that mean it’s a croissant from that little bakery James passes on days he takes the longer route on his morning run.

“Nice run?”

“Mmm.” James’ mouth is already full of croissant as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair; a not dissimilar motion to shrugging off his robe last night. There are no outward signs that James saw Robbie in class, which means either he didn’t, or he did and has chosen to ignore the whole thing.

Robbie fishes his croissant out of the bag and takes a bite of flaky, buttery heaven to distract himself from the fact that he now knows exactly what the curve of James’ naked shoulders looks like under the fabric of his shirt. When he’s finished the croissant he’ll ask which course James has chosen, even though he already knows it’s Ancient Greek, and that will prompt James to ask him what he chose. He’ll admit it was the life drawing class, James will either turn red with embarrassment or make a sarky quip, or both, Robbie will offer to drop the course, and that will be that.

He’s not even halfway through his croissant when Innocent pops her head in to “borrow James” for a few hours. They don’t have an active case at the moment, so off James goes, leaving Robbie to face the performance assessments alone. As James disappears out the door, he has the sinking feeling that not bringing up the class first thing was a missed opportunity. Ah, but what does it matter? James will only be gone an hour or two.

But an hour or two turns into four hours, then the rest of the day.

_____

I tag @bryndeavour, @vita-s-west, @mcgstarroar, @daisyfornost, @ronniebox, @novemberhush and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it.

#itv lewis #bbc shetland #itv endeavour #james hathaway #robbie lewis #lewis fic #shetland fic #endeavour fic #fic meme #writing meme #my fic

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reachfortheskiespeeps · 4 years ago

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The Meeting

FANFICTION BY: ''You know who you are ; ))'' AU: #actorAU PAIRING: MIKHAIL x ARCHER (aka HS!AU Adult Emilio's actor and HS!AU Adult Abel's actor)

⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛

((A/N: I ended up writing this before the one I initially thought to do, I swear this is much tamer than the other 😂 Sorry to disappoint, no spicy scenes, maybe next time XD Thank you Eszii for your spicy art, I just about burst into flames from it 💞

It’s this ship again, Mikhail x Archer, bc I am currently in love with them. I don’t think I’ll get over them for a while. I wanna write about them going through classic shoujo tropes, like, idk, beach episode? xmas episode? kabedon? ‘A got sick so B took care of A’? Gimme ideas y'all. I wanna keep writing while I have the motivation to do so, since I’ve had a dry spell for a year now 😂

One thing to note before getting started, Idk how to phrase it, but basically this fic is not in chronological order–but also yes bc it’s in the order i wrote it–I hope it’s not too confusing. Aight happy reading!))

——

Mikhail loves leaving butterfly kisses and hickeys all over Archer’s soft and fair body. He has his favorite areas, which are evident from how many and how deep they are, so Archer can’t even look at his reflection without blushing. Mikhail likes the sight of his lover covered in marks he made, knowing it was he who made them. While he does want to make it known that Archer is his, he doesn’t cause trouble by leaving marks on areas impossible to cover. On days when Archer isn’t busy, Mikhail is given free reign to kiss wherever he wished. He doesn’t want Archer getting hurt, so he rarely makes blatant bite marks, and the only times he did that was because Archer was being naughty and had to be taught a 'lesson’. (Although Archer didn’t seem very hurt by them, and instead….)

Archer, on the other hand, likes biting Mikhail’s hard body. He bites, he scratches, he licks. He did it the first time because he was being pouty and petty–it’s tough being the receiver ya know? And Mikhail just lets him because he’s cute and it’s kinda hot to feel his fangs sinking in like that. But then Archer got used to doing it and eventually did it because Archer noticed that Mikhail seemed to like being bitten (by none other than him, of course). He once caught Mikhail looking at his body on the mirror with a happy little tug on the corner of his lips, looking very much like a content Big Bad Wolf. Archer could almost see an imaginary tail wagging. He loves Mikhail’s body for all its glory and imperfections, even if the man himself didn’t, so leaving those marks on him was one of Archer’s many ways to show affection.

So one day when Mikhail shows up to work without bothering to cover up (it wasn’t noticeable anyway, his dark skin, tattoos and intimidating aura was enough for people not to look long enough to notice anything), Logan, who was beside Mikhail getting prepared for a scene, saw a small portion of scratch marks on his chest, the rest hidden by the v-neck shirt Mikhail wore.

And before he could stop his mouth, Logan found himself asking, “You have a cat, Mikhail?” Yuki, who was in the room with them too, looked up from reading his script upon hearing the brave attempt of Logan to converse with Mikhail. He didn’t join them, but he sat there, just listening in on their conversation. He didn’t have the guts that Logan had, but he was still interested to see how their conversation would go.

Mikhail looked at him–it was an ordinary glance but Logan still almost flinched. “Oh?”

'It was a gentler reply than I expected,’ Yuki thought. 'He is in a good mood?’

Logan seemed to think that as well, so he carried on the conversation. “Since when did you have it? Did you get it vaccinated yet? Some cats are just really playful, they don’t mean to be naughty, so it’s better to be patient and discipline them when–”

“Why do you think I have a cat?” Mikhail interrupted.

“Hm? Ah, I saw the scratch on your chest. What does your cat look like, by the way?”

Mikhail thought about it before he answered. “Pretty, soft, round, and pure white, got some claws, but never intends to hurt me. It’s cute.”

“And the eyes?” Logan eagerly asked.

“Hypnotic.” Mikhail unconsciously smiled, though Logan didn’t seem to notice, too happy to talk to the man in a pleasant manner. “Makes the cutest sounds too.”

But Yuki did.

“You must really love your cat huh?” Logan, as well as the silent Yuki, was surprised to know that Mikhail had a soft side. Well, not so surprised. He’s only ever truly obedient to Archer, whether the two of them noticed it or not.

Mikhail thought back to the man resting at home. Archer’s next scene was scheduled for tomorrow, so he had enough time to recover the energy he lost.

Mikhail played with his 'cat’ a bit too much last night. His clothes hid the many marks all over his chest and back made by his oh so cute little cat who grew resentful of Mikhail’s stamina, yet still unable to withstand mewling to his irresistible charm.

With a mischievous smile, Mikhail said, “I do.”

—-

Bonus:

After the shoot, in the shower rooms.

Yuki’s reaction when he saw Mikhail’s back: やっぱりね~ [Yappari ne~] Not a ネコ [neko], but a こいびと [koibito]…. Well, maybe both.

((A/N: Fun fact, neko in Japanese slang can also mean the “bottom” in a relationship. The more you know~

Can you guys recommend some sexy songs? I need background music for when I write stuff like this lol))

——

The first time Mikhail 'met’ Archer, it was on the radio. He was in his car, driving alone to a destination that no upright citizen should have any business with. He wasn’t in a good mood. Everything ticked him off–the traffic that he’d already passed, the voices on the radio who thought they were being funny, the sun blazing high up in the cloudless sky. He turned the radio off because it was annoying, but the goddamn silence left him with too much space to think. He needed a distraction. So he turned it back on and chose a random station.

“–by Archer Charles,” after the introduction, a pleasant-sounding voice thanked and began to sing live.

When Mikhail heard that voice, he sharply inhaled through his nose, his slightly dry lips parting.

Mikhail was not very good at describing. He could only say what he felt upon listening to Archer’s voice. Mikhail, who had been irate, was awestruck. He had never heard a voice so…. erotic. It’s not that the song itself was sexy or whatever, but there was something about that voice that made him….

'Ah.’

“Damn.” Mikhail cursed when he looked down to check his pants. “Almost.”

Mikhail heaved a deep breath to calm himself down.

'Charles Archer, was it?’

Ever since then, he became a fan of Archer. He kept this interest a secret from his colleagues; he didn’t want to hear their ribbing. He supported the singer the best he could and eventually, an opportunity arised for him to meet Archer at last.

He took a day off and even disguised himself to look as normal and harmless as possible for a man of his stature. Of course, he got his hands on a backstage pass. It wasn’t difficult to get for someone like him. He asked the staff if it was possible for him to meet the singer before the concert, because despite having taken a day off for today, Mikhail was concerned he would have to cut his holiday short. What if there was an emergency at work halfway through the concert? No, he’ll make use of this backstage pass, he would make sure he wouldn’t leave this place without meeting Archer.

At least, that’s what he thought before hearing his voice.

They were separated by the door he was about to open, but he could clearly hear an angel from behind this flimsy slab of wood. Mikhail knew from Archer’s instagram story yesterday that he was singing a song from an animated movie he just watched and he really loved it. Archer sung the song slowly, gently, as if lulling a child to sleep, and yet it did not lose its cheer.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas With never a fear of drowning And gladly ride the waves of life If you would marry me,

"No scorching sun nor freezing cold Will stop me on my journey If you will promise me your heart And love me for eternity,”

Oh. Oh. Mikhail covered his mouth with his hand, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. The staff were buzzing around in preparation for the concert, but all he could hear was Archer’s voice.

“I have no use for rings of gold I care not for your poetry I only want your hand to hold I only want you near me,”

His hands were trembling–from what, he wasn’t sure. It was as if he had no control over his body. He felt parched, but at the same time, while listening to Archer, he felt so good. The best ever, after all these years. Like he was floating, higher and higher, Archer leading him by the hands, and Mikhail did not feel a shred of fear of falling.

“To love and kiss to sweetly hold For the dancing and the dreaming Through all life’s sorrows and delights I’ll keep your laugh beside me,

"I’ll swim and sail on savage seas With never a fear of drowning I’d gladly ride the waves so white If you will marry me!”

The heart he thought that had gone cold was reminding Mikhail of its presence when he heard the loud beating, as if his heart were right next his ears. His body seemed to throb achingly along with every beat.

Mikhail was brought back to earth when he felt the vibrating of his phone. It was the right decision to use the backstage pass early. He had to go back now.

'Meeting Archer will have to be moved. Again.’ Mikhail thought, changing out of the disguise in his car.

He was pissed that his work disturbed his time with Archer. Mikhail knew that after today, it wouldn’t be enough for him to just listen to his voice from a recording. He was being greedy, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. After hearing his voice in real life, after almost seeing those mesmerizing scarlet eyes for himself, after being so close to meeting the reason he’s been sleeping well these past few months,

How could it be held against him to want more?

Mikhail had been mulling over this for a long time, but now he finally had the resolve to do so. He had enough power, he could do it.

Mikhail wanted to be with Archer.

But first, he had to go to Archer’s world.

—–

“I only want one person to play Abel.” Mikhail demanded.

The director raised an eyebrow, meeting Mikhail’s glare with a steady gaze. “I chose you because you’re a perfect fit for the role of Emilio, even though you’re a complete rookie.” Milo went back to looking at applicants for the role. “You’re in no place to make demands.” Milo retorted, disregarding the fact that Mikhail was the drama’s biggest sponsor. From the short time he’s known the man, he knew Mikhail wasn’t so unreasonable that he thought the world should bow to his whims because of money. However, he did have no qualms in using to his advantage the fear of people towards him due to the rumors of his ties to a gang.

“Archer. Archer Charles.” Mikhail took a drag of his cigarette, rudely blowing smoke to Milo’s direction, although they were on either ends of a long table so Milo didn’t mind.

Milo paused. The name that Mikhail said just so happened to be the one he was currently looking at. 'He looks…. good. A singer? Hmm.’ Archer was the one who had everything Milo was looking for in Abel. But he didn’t want to indulge that brat. He wouldn’t admit out loud that the one Mikhail recommended looked fit for the role.

“We’ll see in the auditions,” is what Milo finally said. “let them all act out a scene with you. The chosen actor for Abel should have good chemistry with Emilio’s actor.”

In contrast to what Milo predicted, Mikhail’s eyes gleamed, a slight smirk on his lips as he scoffed, “Chemistry? I’ll show you chemistry. Careful not to burn your pretty boy face,”

Milo smiled sweetly. “My my, how thoughtful of you.”

Mikhail held his cigarette in one hand, using the other to flip the director off. Milo mentally laughed at his juvenile response.

After three candidates, it was finally Archer’s turn. From the moment he entered the room, he brought with him a soothing aura and such a genuine smile that they couldn’t help but return the smile, easing the atmosphere in the room. From the corner of his eyes, Milo knew that Mikhail’s gaze never left the singer.

“You’re not being very subtle, you know?” Milo teased lowly.

“Mind your own damn business, pretty boy.” Mikhail would have snarled, but his eyes were still trained on the angelic singer in front of them, and he didn’t seem to be capable of showing a bad face in the presence of Abel. There was no way Archer couldn’t notice it, so Milo admired the way Archer didn’t seem to mind. That in itself already won him plus points; despite Mikhail’s unconcealed disinterest, the other candidates were still visibly nervous because of him. Regardless of what Archer thought of Mikhail, he didn’t outwardly show it.

Milo asked them to do two scenes–the first was a very short, simple scene compared to the others: Emilio coming home after two days and Abel comforting his touch-starved husband.

The scriptwriter was already losing her mind, soundlessly slapping the producer beside her. She spoke in a tone that was between a whisper and a squeal, “Oh my god, oh my god. They’re so perf I cannot even. They’re like, they’re like, so good together. Archer looks so soft and warm and white like rice, Mikhail is a mouth-watering dish, and together they make a complete meal!”

The second scene was not so innocent. To see how well they’d work together ad lib, they were not given any lines, just a scenario.

Abel in heat, in need of his alpha.

The judges watched, engrossed in the scene played out by the two. Archer’s wet, glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, panting and whimpering as he stared up at Mikhail, wordlessly pleading to be held. Mikhail, rigid for all but three seconds, scooped him into his arms, his unveiled desire lacing his husky voice and the almost feral look in his eyes. “I got you, babe.”

Archer went limp in his embrace, letting his whole weight be carried by Mikhail, arms reaching up to hug his neck. He rubbed his cheek against Mikhail’s neck, bare skin on bare skin, and let the words breathily escape from his mouth: “Please, dear, please, hmmm….”

At this point, the scriptwriter couldn’t hold her shrieking anymore, and so the spell was broken; Archer moved five steps away from Mikhail, who looked terribly displeased at the disturbance. “You got it! Oh honey, you’re perfect!” She stood up from her seat and enthusiastically gushed about the chemistry between the two.

The producer tugged her sleeve and reminded, “We have yet to discuss it together, keep your crazy down.” It is notable though, that the producer did not refute her words.

“Fine, let’s talk about it now. What does director think?” she turned to ask Milo.

Milo didn’t reply to her. Instead, he looked at Archer with a welcoming smile. “We start shooting next month, please call your manager in and we’ll discuss in more detail.”

The moment the cameras were rolling–no, even if they were off, sparks would still fly, that much the judges could tell. They were so perfect for the roles, they even pulled off not being cringy or awkward despite being relatively new to the acting business. It was because they complemented each other, both as themselves and the characters they portray.

Granted, Mikhail played favorites and didn’t do his best with the others trying out for the role, but what he had with Archer…. was unique. Together they were like a flame. They made anyone watching them feel like moths unable to look away from the bright and warm light, and anyone who gets too close will burn. Milo knew he struck gold with these two.

Milo looked at the innocent Archer and the devilish Mikhail. 'Poor kid. He’s not letting you go.’ Milo mentally smiled mischievously. 'Oh well, this will be fun to watch.’

—–

Bonus:

Archer, alone in a room: w h y, he was so cool, I was so flustered I couldn’t even look him in the eye, I’m so lame aaaaaahhhhh

—–

“I love it when you sing for me,” Mikhail says, his fingers tracing random patterns on his wife’s chest. “Even better when I make you sing.”

Archer shot an amused glance at his fiance, catching the man’s wandering hand on his chest because it was starting to tickle and make him shiver, and he was not about to be led into another round. Archer is determined to stand his ground this time, not to be affected by Mikhail’s seduction. It was his own stubbornness really, because it was so frustrating that he was the only one who always got flustered and unraveled.

But he has yet to learn his lesson, since he naively asked, “What’s the difference?”

Mikhail softly nips at Archer’s exposed collarbone, and Archer all but melts into a puddle when his irritatingly charming husband-to-be whispers, Mikhail’s lips against the helix of his ear: “Let’s find out, hm?”

Archer thinks to himself, 'Whatever, it’s not like he’s bad at it.’ When Archer has these kinds of thoughts, he feels even more embarrassed, and takes it out on Mikhail, the bad influence, by biting whatever part of his body Archer can reach at the moment.

And years after, as Archer reads a book on the large sofa while Mikhail naps with his head on Archer’s thicc lap, he realizes something about his husband.

Mikhail had the power to make Archer’s knees tremble in the most delightful way. He could make Archer reach the limits of his vocal range as they exercised. He could crumble Archer with a single, rare smile–a genuine smile, not a teasing grin or a provocative smirk, not that they don’t make him feel butterflies all the same.

But Archer, it belatedly dawned on him who made Mikhail that way. Archer roused the fire in Mikhail, made it hungry for him, made it want him. Archer didn’t just see it–he heard it, he felt it. Everyday, Mikhail would kiss him. He was not shy to say 'I love you’ contrary to everyone else’s expectations; he would hug Archer’s waist, bury his head on the crook of Archer’s neck, and mutter, 'I missed you’ or 'Come home soon’ when either of them became bogged with a packed schedule. Archer didn’t even know if Mikhail was conscious that he makes puppy dog eyes when doing those gestures.

Archer makes Mikhail melt.

He was notorious in the industry for the rumors of his ties to the yakuza, and it didn’t help that he looked the part and always answered ambiguously when asked. There was no media coverage about their tying the knot, perhaps thanks to Mikhail’s interference, but the people in their industry know. Most, who have never seen or worked with them together, didn’t believe it would last. They had even been worried about Archer getting hurt.

Hurt? By this defenseless, naughty, loving man?

Archer’s nails dug into the skin of his hands and assured them that his husband was not that kind of man. He smiled, but deep inside he was angry. Angry at them, but also at himself. Because once upon a time, he was scared of Mikhail too. Scared of him because of the rumors, scared of him because of his daunting build, scared of how easily Mikhail could break him, scared of how, despite all that, Mikhail was still so attractive in his eyes.

But Mikhail was gentle. Yes he was teasing and lewd, but he was always so sweet, so caring. Mikhail would cup his hands on Archer’s cheeks, staring in entertainment at how he made him blush, then kiss his pouting lips several times. And then, Mikhail would smile. His eyes curved, whatever harshness on his face melted away.

Archer still remembers the day he said yes.

Mikhail had never looked as nervous, then dumbfounded, then jubilant in a span of a minute. Mikhail grabbed him into a hug and spun him around, bursting with an unrestrained, happy laugh. If others saw Mikhail then, they would probably be weirded out and think he’s on some sort of drugs. He was never so positively expressive outside of acting out his role, and even then, most of them were directed at Archer. For Archer, it wasn’t strange at all. Mikhail slowly opens up to him for each day they are together, in the more frequent smiles, in the stories of his tattoos and the scars underneath. He knew Mikhail was only like that in front of him, and he felt so childish for feeling proud of it.

Mikhail put him back on his feet, arms still around his waist. They were forehead to forehead, eyes focused on the other pair, and Mikhail swore, “I’ll be good to you forever,”

Archer smiled. He had half the mind to think, 'Oh, he was a forever man. Such a romantic.’ He said, “I know. I’ll be good to you forever too,”

Archer ingrained in his memories the look of absolute joy and love on Mikhail.

Mikhail stirred from his nap. “Um…. hey.” the man blinked a couple of times. “Did you eat yet? Sorry, just wake me up next time.”

“It’s too early to eat, dear, it’s only been an hour. You came home in the morning, you should catch up on your sleep.” Mikhail always rushed home after an out of town job, unmindful of the jetlag and exhaustion that would follow.

“Yeah,” there was still sleep in Mikhail’s tone. Archer knew he would go back to sleep if he just closed his eyes.

“Why don’t you close your eyes?” At this point in their relationship, Archer was aware that Mikhail liked being spoiled, and he liked it even more when he could flirt like this with Archer.

“I want my goodnight kiss.” Mikhail said righteously.

Archer chuckled and bent down to place a chaste kiss on his husband’s lips.

He put a hand on Mikhail’s forehead, brushing away the stray strands of hair. “There, now go to sleep, dear.”

Mikhail hummed, evidently pleased, and obediently followed his wife’s demand.

As for whether Archer stole a kiss from his handsome sleeping husband, and whether Mikhail was actually asleep, that would be a secret they’d keep to themselves.

——

((A/N:

Q: If Mikhail is so tired since he rushed home, why are they resting on the sofa? Isn’t the bed more comfy?

A: The bed is broken. They have yet to buy a new bed because Abel wants Mikhail to learn to be more restrained. Mikhail is okay with it, since this time, he is thinking of testing the durability of the sofa, the table, the bathtub….))

Bonus:

Preparing for the wedding.

Archer: Dear, do you think I should wear a suit, or a gown?

Mikhail: Doesn’t matter.

Archer: ( • ^ • ) ?

Mikhail: I’ll be taking it off anway. ( =-= ) ✧

Archer: *sighs* I should’ve known. (〃 - 〃)

Mikhail: Wear whatever’s comfortable for you. You look beautiful in anything, even in nothing. Especially in nothing.

Archer: Mikhail! (⁄ ⁄>⁄ꇴ⁄<⁄ ⁄) … . *whispers* You too.

#aaumikhail #aauarcher

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