#and unfortunately I have to imagine if this is how they treat strangers they probably do this at home too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cowboyfromh3ll · 1 year ago

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Ameliorate

(John Marston x Fem! Reader smut)

Warnings: none besides smut

I decided my first actual post would be John Marston related because I love him and he's my babygirl 🩷 (he is my favorite)

There was nothing pleasant about Saint Denis. At least not to John. As soon as he walked in, the city seemed to burst around him. It was the rousing hub of Lemoyne, teetering on the edge of pleasurable and wild. Stone paved streets, Victorian homes, large gated manors and estates occupied by industry magnates and crime lords putting on ornate facades. Flashy shops, extravagant theaters, lush parks, and bars in abundance. The crowds overwhelming, smells shocking; The miasma and smog of industrial factories, petrol, gas, horse dung, and somewhere in the mix was the smoky scent of restaurants.

It seemed as though Saint Denis was the only place where the wealthy and thieves alike could coincide. He could at least fit in somewhere in the equation. He would’ve never imagined himself ending up in a place like this. In fact, he preferred staying away from all this ‘civilization’, as Arthur once said. If it weren’t for the fact that the gang had been practically forced to move further east, he would’ve never come here to begin with. But alas, with more and more threats coming to the gang, John found himself here. He figured he might as well familiarize himself with the city, opting to go out on his own.

But one thing about Lemoyne, was that the heat and humidity was like being punched in the face by a sauna. John knew of the heat here, but the crowds and atmosphere only seemed to make it worse. He hadn’t even been out long and he was sweating his ass off.

John walked towards one of the many bars with the intention of cooling off, unfortunately finding himself surrounded by people of obvious higher social standing than him. He had never been one to put too much thought into his appearance, but the stark difference between his simple beige vest and dirt stained jeans to the three piece suits and sumptuous fabrics of silk lined dresses of the patrons was jarring. For a moment, he actually looked down at himself, making a subtle attempt at dusting himself off before walking further in.

He approached the expansive wooden bar and sat himself on a polished leather stool, clearing his throat awkwardly to get the bar tender’s attention. He had never felt more out of place in his life. But on the bright side, maybe he’d be able to get some sort of lead here, as risky as that was. He ordered himself a whisky, but he was surprised to discover this place also served as a restaurant.

John hadn’t even picked his whisky up, too preoccupied with the several dishes whose names he had never even heard of before on his menu; eventually deciding on lobster bisque, something he had never tried.

As he was about to hand the menu back, a sly little vixen slid onto the stool next to him.

“Make it another whisky, and a plate of beignets.”

John could barely register the add-ons to his order as he became aware of your presence next to where he sat. You had an endearing yet mischievous look in your eyes that’d made John second guess every interaction he’d have with you. You wore fashion typical of rich folk around here. Wide frilled skirt with a tightly fitted corset hugging and accentuating your figure. Your decorative accessories alone were probably worth more than anything he had in his satchel.

“Excuse me?” He finally said.

“You’re excused.” You chimed playfully, picking a beignet off the plate that was served before you. John could only wonder how entitled and stuck up this complete stranger must’ve been to order things for themselves under his tab.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who’s treating me!” You batted your lashes.

John swore to himself, attempting to restrain himself in fear of causing a scene. Especially when he was already calling so much attention to himself by simply existing there.

Normally, John wouldn’t have the patience to entertain someone so upfront and entitled in such a calm manner, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. Your features were downright angelic, your wealth obvious not only in how you dressed but how you took care of yourself. Your strongly scented shampoo and perfume wafting to him and intoxicating him like some sort of spell.

“So what’s an angel face like you doing chatting up a complete stranger like me?” He asked, sipping his whisky. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“‘Dunno, you looked interesting. Way different from all the guys ‘round here.” You responded. John wasn’t sure whether or not to take it in a good way considering the state of his appearance. But you found the roughness of his features so attractive. You couldn’t help but find yourself chatting him up. What you intended to do, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to see where this could go.

“Shouldn’t you be talking up some rich boy?” He asked through a mouthful of lobster. You shook your head.

“They’re so boring. I’m looking for someone more… fun.” You punctuated your sentence by rubbing your leg next to his. John swore he heard himself gulp as he watched you bite into another beignet, the powdered sugar cascading down your plump lips and onto your shirt. He didn’t falter for a moment though, wanting to return the same energy. He would do anything to not let this moment slip from his fingers; it was like whistling on a hunt for a rabbit that would run away if one didn’t go in for the kill.

“Well I don’t know what you initially saw in me but I could give you something worth your while.” He smirked. He dipped his thumb in the powdered sugar, moving to cup your cheek with the same hand. He smoothed over your cheek, feeling the supple and soft skin. As he expected, you turned your head in his hand, taking the sugar coated thumb into your mouth and sucking ever so slightly. The inside of your mouth was as soft as satin and as warm as a freshly fried beignet. John could hardly breathe as he watched you lap at the thumb lasciviously, far longer than necessary. He finally retracted his hand, watching the way you momentarily chased the touch before settling back into your seat. He felt the blood drain out of his brain and into his dick as his mind blanked on what to do.

You noticed the effect you had on him, flashing a toothy smile. He became encapsulated by your plump lips, eyes lingering on them for too long. He jerked suddenly when he felt your hand slide up his thigh, just shy of a few inches from his cock.

John could hardly remember how he got into a room upstairs with you, his mind veiled with a fog of lust so thick, it was comparable to the fog of the bayous. The two of you were all over each other the instant you made it into the room. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, yanking your forward so your lips could meet. Your lips molded together like clay as you both parted your mouths almost in unison, a beautiful display of like-minded desperation. Teeth clashed and tongues slid up against each other, and you made sure to suck on his tongue as he moved back slightly.

You both tasted the whiskey on each other’s tongues, and you made a note of the taste of cigarette smoke on his. He moved back to look at you, cupping your face again like he did before, instead this time he moved to slide two fingers past your lips. You accepted them ceremoniously, wrapping your lips around them and looking at him through your eye lashes. His dick twitched against his jeans as he watched your head bob down slightly on his fingers, the digits disappearing into your velvety mouth. He gasped softly, almost moaning, and he willed himself to slide his fingers in as far as he could into your mouth. John nearly jumped for joy when he realized you didn’t gag, no matter how far down he pushed.

He began thrusting his fingers In and out of your mouth, enjoying the slick sound coming from your throat. John swore he could get off on that alone. But how could he pass up the opportunity to take up a treat such as yourself who was practically presenting themselves on a golden platter to him.

John pulled his fingers out slowly to observe the strand of saliva that connected him to your sweet pink gullet. John’s cock was so hard he thought it might burst, and in another moment of animalistic desire, he pushed you onto the bed, crawling on top. You giggled at his assertiveness, and you thought to yourself how you found exactly what you were looking for.

The two of you sat up, clumsily undoing his belt together. Once you heard the satisfying click of his belt coming undone, your lithe hands worked his zipper open and pulled down his pants. You hooked your fingers on his drawers and pulled, the underwear hitching on his erection before slipping completely over it. You buried your face next to his cock, and at once you were enveloped in the scent of sweat, unruly black curls brushing against your cheek and nose, and the soft skin of his throbbing cock against your face. You looked up at him as you grasped his cock with one hand, slapping it against your cheek playfully before opening your mouth and repeating the same ministration on your tongue. John let out a guttural moan, intertwining his fingers through your hair.

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he watched you envelope his cock whole in one go. The sounds he let out were downright embarrassing. The feeling of wet muscles sliding over his cock was almost too much to bear, and you felt his fingers tighten in your hair.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He gasped, a pathetic attempt at composing himself.

You pulled your head back up, slowly, making sure to see the way his face contorted as you hollowed your cheeks. After watching you repeat this same ministration a few more times, the fondness of orgasm began to lurk up behind John. His body trembled almost uncontrollably, and he found himself pushing your head down, holding you there. The tip of his cock slid deeper into your throat, which seems to contract and close around him. There was a sick enjoyment he got out of watching your nose buried in his curls as you sputtered for breath. He pulled you off before it became too much for you, allowing you a moment to breathe. Several strings of saliva connected you to him, some breaking and drooling down your chin. He pushed his cock up against your lips, using his free hand to slap you on the cheek a little.

“I never got your name sweetheart.” He said.

You had to move your face slightly to the side to answer.

“(name).” You responded.

“Well I’m John sweetheart, now let’s get you out of those clothes.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption #john marston x reader #john marston #john marston smut #van der linde gang x reader #red dead fanfiction #red dead redemption x reader

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ritens · 8 months ago

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dd2 has me doing mental gymnastics bc I don't really like interacting with canon all that much in ANY setting (nervously looks at wf, the chosen operator thing sucks, dont come at me).

puts this under readmore bc the ramble got too long oops just quickly going over Rau's story to see what canon events even tie in there at all.

It's just unfortunate timing in an unfamiliar place. Rau happened to be in Melve with his family, passing through really. Dragon makes a feast of his heart, he gets treated and dragged to Vernworth with strangers wanting to put him on the throne but he runs off because it's all too fast paced for him.

Disa does what Disa does best which results in Rau being enslaved on the Volcanic island with his memories missing.

He escapes the place, thank you Rook and goodbye Rook. Nobody picks him up from the griffon landing area and he simply wanders off on his own. (rather he wanders off BEFORE the soldiers arrive)

The guy spends a week trekking through the forests until he ends up in Vernworth again where Brant finally gets his hands on the stray Arisen to fill him in on his supposed duty.

Raures summons a mangled pawn at the big riftstone in the city and ends up leaving the thing alone at an inn for days to let him recuperate. During this time Rau runs the infiltration tasks in the palace for Brant.

Once Lane is good enough to walk, they set out for the Nameless Village and never return to Vernworth again. The pawn has his claws in the Arisen and does his best to distract the hero from his charge.

And the rest just doesn't happen for Raures. He sticks to his wandering lifestyle like he did with his parents before the Dragon scorched them and ate his heart.

They visit the Sacred Arbor at some point and travel to Battahl through illegal means. They assist those in need along the way because Rau is a stouthearted, kind man (if a little blind).

Brant is hot on their heels at times, exasperated beyond measure. Lane distracts him too by sending him the wrong way, but keeps Rau in the dark about the matter.

The pawn also murders Ambrosius on the beach as he detects the kind of energy is hidden in the small blue crystals. Better safe than sorry is the excuse he gives himself.

The (severely incomplete) bestowal of spirit was a mistake when it comes to Lane's OG master, Amaury LMAO he literally got all of the worst traits from the prick before the good ones could come in. Lane's learning those on his own now, through life experience. (((Exercises his sliver of free will to be a little bitch)))

After an unmentionable amount of time Raures loses his spark and is forced to retire as a New Arisen is made to pick up his slack and continue the cycle in his stead. He is devastated by the fact as the fog is lifted from his mind and realization finally washes over him.

He then notices that the pawn he adopted is still sticking with him despite his lost status. They have a falling out when Lane comes clean about his past and his motives and the role Rau unknowingly played in them.

Upset, Rau then FINALLY makes way to Vernworth to see if he can aid in any way. And Lane is left at Rau's cabin in the woods to think things through.

---

Raures is very dutybound so his initial reaction to Lane's manipulation, betrayal even, was very negative. But he eventually takes pity on Lane and goes to fetch the pawn before he can answer another Arisen's call and travel beyond the rift for good. Rau imagined himself in Lane's shoes and figured he would've done the same if he were in the such position.

Lane can no longer sense Raures either so their means of communication has got to become more direct too. It's difficult but they'll make it work.

---

Pathfinder is a tricky obstacle though I'm still trying to figure out what to do about that bastard. Rau does probably heed him. And he can very easily tell him that his pawn is corrupt and is getting in the way of his charge but there are many former Arisen who failed... How did they manage??? (or rather not manage)

#dd2 ramble #arisen-rau #pawn-lane #THANKS ALTO FOR THE FUEL.. i keep coming back to edit this rip

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faustianbroker · 2 months ago

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Nightfall Grove PARTIES: Leviathan (@faustianbroker) & Rosemary (@necrosemancy) SUMMARY: Rosemary is attacked by a bird demon. For some reason, "Chuck" steps in to help. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

—

There was a seagull following her.

It had been far later than hoped when the night shift cover for the front desk arrived, and after a long day of forcing her face into a pleasant smile, Rosemary felt she deserved a little treat.

Unfortunately, her luck for the day hadn’t seemed to improve. After circling the block three times hoping to get parking close to The Raven, she had relented and parked her car five blocks away. Her umbrella was fighting for its godsdamned life against the persistently horrendous weather they’d been having, and her favorite pair of shoes were completely waterlogged. She was motivating herself to keep going with the promise of a fancy little cocktail when she heard a screech. Looking up from beneath her umbrella she saw a seagull circling far overhead. “Poor little guy,” she observed quietly to herself. She had to imagine flying in a storm wasn’t ideal.

A block and a half later, she heard more screeching and looked back up. The seagull was still there. Only it looked bigger now. And less gull-like. What the hell was coming out of its beak? She began to walk a bit faster. Another much louder screech came moments later and Rosemary froze. She risked a glance up. That was definitely not a seagull.

Something that looked like Big Bird’s second cousin from hell swooped down, talons wide open to try and snatch her up. Rosemary was having too awful of a day to have it end in death by demonic seagull. She swatted at it with her umbrella, managing to hit its head. The attack only served to piss the creature off as it landed just behind her. How she had confused this for a seagull was beyond her. “Nice fucked up bird thing,” Rosemary slowly stepped backward, coating her words with sugar and spice and a desperate hope that the monster would go away. “Nice freaky beastie, please go the fuck away,” it sqwuaked and snapped its beak at her, prowling closer. “I think you’d really not find me tasty, I used so much hairspray this morning I’d probably taste so gross.” The heel of her shoe caught on a crack in the sidewalk and she stumbled. The sudden movement caused the pterodactyl’s uglier cousin to swipe out at her. She swatted at it again with her umbrella, looking around for anything to deter the creature further. “A little help here?!” She shrieked, hoping someone would hear her.

—

It had been a better business decision to move the shop out of Nightfall Grove. They were getting a lot more foot traffic on Amity Road, unsurprisingly, and it was keeping Levi’s trio of ‘employed’ lesser demons busy. That said, it still enjoyed the occasional jaunt through the strangely dark neighborhood, often finding that it would encounter curious people and even curiouser creatures. Especially on a night like tonight, with the weather keeping anyone sensible off the streets, it was a goldmine for finding those who were either down on their luck or lacked the sort of self-preservation that might stop someone from accepting very peculiar offers of help from a stranger.

Of course the Leviathan did not shy away from water, neither from the earth nor the sky. It basked in it, craving storms like a man lost in a desert, adrift in a sea of sand. There would be many more to come, it knew. They would get worse, and Levi would adore every second of it.

A shriek met its ears, and it smiled. What new devastation was this? It followed the sounds of shouts and squawks at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to stop whatever was happening, but keen on seeing the aftermath. If there was anything to see, of course; sometimes these things left no traces. From the sounds alone, it had an idea of what this stranger might be facing off against, and the odds were not in their favor.

Hands in its pockets, Leviathan rounded the corner of a building to see a blonde-haired woman fighting for her life against — ah, yes. Just as it had expected. One of the little ones — well, it was large compared to her, and to this human vessel it used. Even still. It watched for a moment as the bird-like creature snapped at her and tried to grab onto her with its feet, no doubt to lift her up and away into the sky. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? It hadn’t seen many humans fly. But, as it stood there in the downpour watching this scene unfold, something felt… wrong. Different. It shifted its weight uncomfortably, unaccustomed to the sense of anxiety building in its chest. Did it care for this person it did not know? Surely not. It liked humans, that much was true, but it didn’t care about them on an individual level. Why should it? They were blips on the cosmic calendar, and their time was coming to a rapid end, anyway. What did it matter if this one survived to see another day?

The feeling persisted. It grew stronger. And when the woman’s eyes finally spotted Levi in the deluge, she looked desperate for help. The demon’s expression darkened. Damn it. It strode forward, hissing at the avian beast in the only language they shared. The creature hesitated, then snapped again. Levi grabbed it by its large beak and slammed it headfirst into the ground, now shouting in that strange language that seemed to vibrate the air itself as its voice came in different layers of pitch and volume. The beast grew still, feathered chest heaving and claws digging into the soil between the cobblestones, but it stayed where it was held.

Levi looked to the woman, noting that she was now as soaked to the bone as it was. “Are you all right?”

—

This was arguably one of the worst situations Rosemary had managed to find herself in. The howl of the wind swallowed up her cries for help. Not that anyone in their right mind would be out for a walk in a storm… She aimed her umbrella at the creature’s head as it closed its beak around the makeshift weapon. The bird yanked the umbrella from Rosemary’s hands and sent it skittering into the street.

Frantic eyes darted around as the witch attempted to come up with a plan. What a time to be corpse-less, she thought to herself. Not that any of her attempts at reanimating actual people had been successful. She darted out of the path of what appeared to be razor sharp talons, and made a mad dash away from the creature as she looked for anything to help herself. She heard the flapping of wings from behind her. She assumed she had a few seconds before she experienced death by a demonic bird-shaped entity. Of all the ways she thought she would die, this particular method hadn’t even ranked on the list. Just when she had all but decided to lay down and accept her fate, her eyes caught on her salvation.

A dead squirrel.

The bird beast landed in front of her the second her spell took hold, and the twitchy little critter snapped to attention. The beast drew back a taloned claw to swipe at her. Just before it could lash out, Rosemary curled her fingers in, and flicked her hand in the bird’s direction. With the movement, a small, patchy looking dead squirrel launched itself onto the beast. Taking the momentary distraction, she turned to run, but froze when she saw another figure approaching. She was about to yell at them to run while the bird was distracted, but the words died in her mouth.

The stranger seemed to speak to the beast in a language that Rosemary couldn’t make out over the storm. She and her reanimated squirrel paused and watched in confusion as the beast paused. Did this thing understand him? After taking a moment to contemplate the man’s words, the bird snapped at her once more. She didn’t even manage to scream before the beast’s head met the pavement.

The witch had no idea what to make of the situation she had found herself in. She stared up at the stranger who had come to her aid, not sure what to make of them. The dead squirrel that had been sent flying when the beast was given the pro wrestling treatment lurched its way back toward Rosemary, and she scooped it up absentmindedly as she tried to process the events of the past few seconds. “I’m… yes?” She looked back at the bird beast that twitched on the sidewalk. “How… thank you- are you okay?” A tidal wave of questions washed over the woman’s mind, making it impossible for her to focus on just one thought.

“How did you get it to listen to you?” She asked, her eyes flickering over him to check that the now vanquished oversized turkey hadn’t gotten a swipe in on the way down.

—

“Fine,” Leviathan bit out, the rashness of its decision to intervene sinking in as it felt the bird demon shift beneath its hand. Its gaze was fixed on the woman, however, and the… dead… not-dead squirrel in her hand. Huh.

“Ah. Well. I've… studied demonology,” it lied, as if that would account for the impossible way its voice had layered itself as if spoken from multiple mouths. Maybe she hadn't heard that over the storm. Looking back down at the creature as it squirmed again, obviously uncomfortable but alive, Levi narrowed his eyes into slits. He spoke to the creature again, this time in low, even tone, taking care to mimic the sound of a human voice even in its native language. Leave, it told the demon. Go find another human to reap. This one is unfit. It lifted its hand away, rising up to its full height again and taking a step back. The bird hissed and clacked its beak, wings flapping as it scrambled back onto its feet and clumsily took to the air. As it climbed higher into the deluge, it let out an angry screech, making its opinion on the matter known despite its unwillingness to fight back.

Levi motioned to a nearby awning, silently suggesting that they step out of the rain. When they had, he looked again at the squirrel. “Necromancer then, yes?

—

She blinked, utterly dumbfounded by the entire situation she found herself in. One second she had been grappling with the idea that she was moments away from being up close and personal with the inside of a demon bird’s stomach, and the next she had discovered that one, she had massively screwed up by not finding a college where she could have studied demonology for her undergraduate (because that sounded impossibly cool), and two, the stranger that had rescued her from certain death could talk to the demon. And more importantly, tell it what to do.

Rosemary watched as Big Bird’s now concussed cousin begrudgingly picked itself up and flew off, screeching something that likely translated to ‘fuck you, blondie!’ into the stormy night sky. Never a dull moment in Wicked’s Rest.

The woman was still doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out the events that had transpired when the stranger’s question registered with her. She looked down at the squirrel that she was still, instinctively puppeting. It’s little dead head looked up at her as though to say ‘Congratulations! You fucked up!’, before Rosemary hurried to drop the spell. Like a puppet cut from it’s strings, the squirrel went limp and the witch hurried to deposit him gently on the ground. “Oh no,” she tried to sound distressed. “Poor little guy probably got hit by the… big… demon thing…. Oh no…”

She sighed, defeated by her own inability to lie. “Okay, fine, you got me. Yes, necromancy.” She studied them, willing them to make their fuss about how incredibly taboo the practice was just to get it over with.

—

All through the charade, Levi looked amused. “You should work on your improv skills,” it offered unhelpfully, though the tone of its voice didn’t imply that it was offended at all. “But I guess an undead squirrel is pretty hard to play off, anyway. Interesting choice, by the way…” It was likely the only dead thing within her casting range, but still. He wasn’t exactly sure what she’d hoped to achieve with a rotten rodent like that. Maybe… “Are you an apprentice?” Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

“Sorry. Manners.” He held out a hand to her, debating what name to give her. His instinct had been to lie, to insinuate he was nothing more than a demonologist, and that’s where they currently stood. He could be more truthful, but he didn’t know enough about this person yet to determine whether or not she’d be the sort who was comfortable keeping company with a demon. So for now… “I’m Chuck. Demonologist, collector of curios… et cetera.” Now was the time for questions. “Who do you study with?”

—

“Well you know what they say,” she sighed, pushing her now stringy wet hair back from her face. “If at first you don’t succeed, lie, lie again.” Rosemary’s eyes drifted to the now unanimated squirrel. She debated scooping the poor little guy back up. It felt wrong to just leave the creature she’d used to try and save her own skin in a puddle. “Admittedly, a squirrel probably wasn’t the best choice. But I didn’t have a wealth of options to pick from.” Not that she could have done much with any other options.

She tried not to grimace at the word apprentice. The word conjured images of dancing broomsticks and mice in wizards hats to her mind. Or worse, medieval lackeys who ran around running errands for their far more accomplished employers. “I suppose you could call me that? I prefer necromancer in training.”

She smiled and shook the man’s hand. She wasn’t sure why the name ‘Chuck’ surprised her. Maybe it was just that she didn’t envision a man who could practically curb stomp a winged demon and then tell the beast in it’s own language to go find an alternative dinner being named Chuck. Something like ‘Xander’, or ‘Damien’, sure. But not Chuck. But she supposed mothers didn’t usually name their children with the baby’s future career in mind. “Rosemary Kane, reluctant receptionist and necromancer in training.”

A gale of wind howled down the street, and Rosemary shivered. “Their name’s Alistair- I don’t think this storm is planning on letting up anytime soon. I was headed to The Raven for a drink. Do you want to join me? As a thank you. I really, really appreciate not being that thing’s dinner, so it’s really the least I can do. “

—

“Kind of a mouthful, but fair enough.” Alistair — it wasn’t a name Leviathan had heard before around town yet, but it figured that a bit of digging would likely turn up the presumably well-seasoned necromancer. Those were always a good sort of spellcaster to have on your side, after all, and they usually welcomed the camaraderie, not often finding it among their peers who always seemed to have those silly things called morals.

“Oh — right. Sorry, I’ve never minded the cold and wet, I guess,” Chuck laughed, giving Rosemary an apologetic shrug. “I’d offer my jacket, but I’m just as soaked as you are. The Raven sounds like a great idea, though. I’d love to join you.”

As they walked to the speakeasy, Chuck carried on with the small talk. “You mentioned being a reluctant receptionist — where is it that you work?”

—

At least this stranger didn’t seem inclined to lecture her about the moral and ethical dubiousness of necromancy, or what kind of person it made her. Rosemary supposed someone who had dedicated themselves to the study of demons was used to enough raised eyebrows and disapproving looks shot in their direction that they were not inclined to do the same. Stones and glass houses and whatnot.

“I’m a necromancer, not the wicked witch of the west. I won’t melt like a sugar cube in the rain. But I do think I’ve more than earned a drink. She grinned, wringing the water out of her hair as they started along down the street.

“Mother Morta’s. It’s a nursing home.” She shrugged. “It’s a good job- more convenient with my prior instructor. He was a little more…” Morally reprehensible seemed an apt description given all she’d learned about Aleksander Nowak after his disappearance. “Well. He would have found it convenient. He’s gone now anyway so it doesn’t matter.” Rosemary sighed, deciding not describing Aleks was probably for the best anyhow. The raven mural outside the speakeasy looked down at her knowingly as they approached. “They pay well enough, I suppose.” She looked back up at him with a curious expression. “Is demonology and curio hunting your profession? Because if it is, I’m going to regret not getting a degree in that instead until the end of time.”

—

A necromancer working in a nursing home. It was not quite as funny as one working at a funeral home, though delightfully ironic. Caring for the sick and dying, when their eventual death would serve the spellcaster far better.

But, Rosemary was a self-reported receptionist, not a caregiver, so Chuck kept the smirk tucked away and only nodded along while she explained. Her previous instructor sounded like an interesting man, but she seemed hesitant to get into the details. He was gone, and maybe it’d been traumatic for her. Maybe a resurrection gone wrong — he’d seen that a few times himself.

“Well. I’m glad it pays alright,” he commiserated, coming to a stop in front of the mural painted onto the brick wall. Her question sat in his mind for a few seconds before he answered, nodding his head at the painted bird. “Good evening, Corone.” The door materialized right before them, and as he pushed it open for Rosemary, Chuck finally answered her question. “It is, yes. I’m something of a… history buff, I guess you could say.” They moved into the speakeasy, slipping out of their coats and hanging them to dry on the provided hooks near the entrance. “I’ve spent my life traveling to remote places and finding all sorts of interesting treasures.” He smiled. “It’s a rewarding profession, I’ll admit.”

—

“Funny, isn’t it?” She smirked. “It was a decision made with convenience in mind. And as a sort of selling point for potential teachers.” Rosemary murmured her thanks as he held the door open for her.

She knew there was a degree of irony working where she did from an outsider's perspective. But to look at it as mere coincidence would vastly underestimate the level of intentionality behind the decision. Rosemary had never had a great desire to pursue medicine through the conventional and socially acceptable channels. Sure it was a respected field, but at the end of the day, what would it have gotten her? Paying her dues for years as a resident with crazy hours all for what, exactly? A couple of fancy letters at the end of her name? No thank you. But more importantly, it had been suggested on more than one occasion in her youth that she ought to pursue it, in order to gain her father better access to those who’s remaining time on the earth would be relatively short. It was the one way that her family would deign to let her participate in the family trade. Naturally, she had been entirely against it.

She barely resisted the urge to shake herself dry like a dog, instead opting to hang up her coat and clipping her waterlogged hair back in a twist. The air in the speakeasy was blessedly warm and cozy compared to the veritable hurricane outside. Rosemary rubbed her hands together, willing some warmth to return to her body as she made her way to the first two open seats she could find.

She could tell continuing this conversation was going to make her regret her career path, but switching trajectory from necromancy to demonology this late in the game seemed a poor decision. Rosemary wasn’t even sure if there was magic to be practiced with demons. There probably was, but she wasn’t sure what it would entail. Perhaps contracts? Would she have to go to law school? The thought of law school killed the urge to shift focus for the moment, but it didn’t quite satisfy her curiosity.

“A history buff and a world traveler. Lucky you- I definitely chose the wrong career.” She looked at the cocktail menu, hoping the old fashioned she spied wouldn’t disappear before she could place her order. She couldn’t help but wonder if the relatively normal sounding drink would have any abnormal consequences. She privately hoped it would suddenly give her a wealth of knowledge on old-timey slang. “When you say interesting treasures, I’m assuming you mean of the occult variety?” Rosemary’s brow arched as she assessed the man. He seemed the sort capable of handling a cursed object or two. “What’s the most interesting thing you’ve come across in your travels?”

—

Occult was a softer way of putting it, but — “Yes, I think occult covers it pretty well. The most interesting? What a tough choice.” The demon had been collecting artifacts for as long as such things had existed on this planet, many of which it kept in its home. The less exciting (or dangerous) ones went to the store to be sold to tourists. Some of the finer but mundane artifacts were sold to universities or museums, because they all eventually caved after insisting that he let go of the items for free. The welfare of the public’s wealth of knowledge was not his concern, after all. Humans were a blip on the cosmic scale, and he wanted to enjoy his time with them while he had them. Philanthropy and a bleeding heart didn’t really do it for him.

But this human, pretty and curious and waiting sat across from him with an expectant look on her face, so he decided to pick one at random. The first one to come to mind was the one he woke up to every morning. “Have you ever heard of the painting called The Anguished Man? It’s very striking. The artist mixed his own blood into the paint, and died shortly after finishing it. I’m not sure if it’s exactly the most interesting piece I’ve come across, but it is a favorite of mine. I love a good, cursed painting.” He smirked, glancing up as a waiter came up to their table and asked about any food or drink orders. Chuck let Rosemary go first, then asked for a negroni and an order of truffle fries for them to share. Once they’d gone, he returned his attention to Rosemary. “But a lot of what I collect are things that can be used in rituals, too. Mermaid scales, unicorn horns… it sounds absurd, but.” He shrugged. “So does reanimating roadkill, right?”

—

Rosemary waited, studying the stranger now that they weren’t caught in a deluge or being hunted down by entities from the great eldritch beyond. He definitely had the ‘tall dark and handsome’ thing going for him. But there was something decidedly… off? She couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the ease with which he’d handled the demon from before. Or maybe this town was beginning to make her suspect that behind every normal face was a multitude of wildly fascinating secrets that were just waiting to be uncovered. The word cursed caught her attention. Cursed items ought to have repelled someone who understood well enough the havoc they could wreak. But as the saying went, curiosity killed the cat, but she was a necromancer so death was an easily rectified issue. “I’ve heard of that painting before- it is cursed? I’d heard rumors about it being haunted or something, but never a first hand account. Unless you count the internet as ‘first hand’ but people claim they’ve seen everything on the internet.”

She was delighted that she managed to order her old fashioned before the cocktail had vanished from the menu. The witch laughed in spite of herself and shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do’. “I’ll have to keep you in mind the next time I need something rare for a ritual. As for the roadkill,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Admittedly not my finest hour. What possessed me to think a dead squirrel would be a good way for me to not get eaten is beyond me.” Rosemary pressed her fingertips against her temple, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “If you think roadkill is absurd, I can do some very funny things with dead rats. Unfortunately I’ve not expanded much past animals yet. I ran into a bit of an issue and was teacherless for a bit.”

—

“Very. It passed a lot of hands before finding its way into mine, of course… and like you said, people claim it’s haunted. Eventually, that was enough to get whoever owned it to give it up — strange happenings, and the like. But they’ve all died since selling it, so I think keeping it for myself until something else kills me is probably just sparing a lot more lives.” It was a nice story to go with, anyway.

“Hey, you’ve got to work with what you’re given,” Chuck offered her with an understanding, nonchalant shrug. “A shame there weren’t any dead lions nearby, but that’s just the nature of the beast, eh?” His smile grew at her mention of dead rats, wondering what she could be possibly referring to and finding himself very intrigued. “First of all, I really want to see what these funny things are… but, ah, what happened?” He paused, then shook his head. “You don’t have to answer that. My curiosity often gets the better of me, hence the profession.”

—

“That seems like a safe course of action. Better to hang on to it than risk the ghost of the man crawling out of the painting to strangle you or something for selling him off.” There were more than a few things in her family’s collection that Rosemary had always assumed were cursed. If she ever had cause to go home (which she sincerely doubted there would be, as any cause would be detrimental to her sanity) she’d have to poke around for items to be appraised by this resident expert on the subject.

A grin sprawled across her face. Anyone who was even remotely interested in her necromantic shenanigans was alright in her book. The witch waved off his attempt to withdraw the question as their drinks were set down before them. “Oh no, I don’t mind. Clearly there’s a certain… moral dubiousness, we’ll say, to necromancy. It sort of goes with the territory of playing god, I guess. I had assumed that Aleksander -that’s my former teacher-“ Rosemary skewered the fancy cherry in the bottom of her glass with a cocktail stirrer as she spoke “was of the normal variety of questionable morals. You know, balance in all things, don’t be a huge asshole, try and do good from this darker form of magic. But maybe that’s just my own foolishness in trying to be a good-ish person.” She shrugged with a sigh. “Anyway the long and short of it was that Aleks was actually a fucking monster of a person, and was helping some woman with a Karen haircut and a PTA mom name kidnap various members of the supernatural community for nefarious means in the name of keeping the community quote-unquote ‘safe’.” She plucked the cherry off the end of the cocktail stirrer and popped it in her mouth, punctuating the statement.

“Anyway, he got his ass killed when shit went sideways with the friendly folks or whatever the hell the name of his cult was, and then to make matters more interesting, my current teacher had also gotten killed during that mess, but is apparently a much better necromancer than Aleks was, so Alistair hijacked his body and it’s his now.” Rosemary raised her glass in a salute. “And obviously I told you none of this, because I am the very portrait of discretion and secrecy, but you saved my life so you earned a chaotic life drop for entertainment purposes.”

—

The amusement on Chuck’s face began to mix with surprise and mild shock the longer the demon listened to this woman’s story, but the grin remained fixed in place. Kidnappings, Karens, and karmic body hijackings. “That’s quite a tale,” he remarked once she’d finished, watching her raise her glass. “Oh, no, of course. My lips are sealed.” He mimed a zipper being closed in front of that wily grin, then raised his own glass to clink against hers. “Well, here’s to new beginnings, I suppose. For you and your new mentor. And also,” he added, pausing only to take a sip of the drink, “to you not running into any more of those pesky feathered bastards. You might not have a demonologist in the immediate vicinity next time!”

The pair sat comfortably in the warmth of the speakeasy while the storm raged on outside, talking well into the night about all the sorts of things Rosemary had seen in her time studying as a necromancer, and of course the plethora of tales of intrigue that Chuck had from his travels abroad, some that took him deep into caves, others to the highest mountain peaks. There was no shortage of things to talk about, and so it wasn’t until the bartender made the last call that either of them realized the time. Somewhat surprised by his own readiness to gab for such a long time, he wondered if Gabagool hadn’t rubbed off on him a bit in the last few years. It was an amusing thought, and one he didn’t terribly mind. Rosemary Kane had been good company, and would likely prove to be again in the future.

#. thread ;#. with ; rosemary kane #. bird food ;

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yiga-hellhole · 1 year ago

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FINE ill be the one to ask you for ghirazant. midzelink. kohga/sooga. AND HMM king daphnes and gan

tumblr is HOMOPHOBIC and CRASHED IN THE MIDDLE OF ME WRITING THIS. well LET'S TRY AGAIN! shoutout TC for daring to ask the obvious and enabling this tirade. HERE WE GOOO

GHIRAHIM/ZANT

predictably a BINGO!!! there is so much to be said about ghirahim and zant. they're interesting to me in that they're polar opposites in a kind of ice-and-fire situation, but also have enough in common. such as, devoting themselves to buff dilves like they're gods, and throwing 24 dead 156 injured catastrophe level tantrums when mildly inconvenienced.

i think they're both deeply lonely people at the end of the day, in that they're isolated in their cause in their respective games, preceded by years of loneliness before the events of said games. sure, they'd piss each other off tremendously at the start, but once they warm up a touch, that kind of penchant for devotion could easily evolve into an obsessive love. once they stop clawing each others' throats out, that is. there's so much more i can say about them but i've probably already said it before in my GHIRAZANT PROPAGANDA tag or, wel... my 50k+ word fanfic LOL

MIDNA/ZELDA/LINK

the "fucking the same guy" box is killing me because. yeah, lol, link

despite midzelink being one of my favorite ships, this is a surprisingly barren bingo. it's just because i see them as young adults goofing about being silly and having a healthy relationship. there's no obsession there's no hatred and there's no tension. just a good time!! moreso i imagine it as midna having two hands - she had a deep bond with zelda since childhood, and grew to cherish link during the events of twilight princess. zelda and link, despite being tied by soul, meanwhile... have no chemistry whatsoever. they're perfect strangers. zelda in this game is strict and a little cold, while link remains a goodball, he's not the brand that knows how to crack through that surface. midna is dating both of these nerds while they're basically just roommates. it's hilarious to me.

KOHGA/SOOGA

yiga husbands are so dear to me. i should have ticked the "theres no way this will end well" box but i'm in denial. unfortunately also kind of a barren bingo. kohga is just endlessly fond of his right-hand man and best lackey, and appreciates the ol' guy's huge muscles, but sooga... he's got some stuff going on. he's obsessed. he's devoted. he's not normal about that old man. the second he gets over his complex where he feels like he needs to treat kohga as his superior, rather than a boyfriend/husband, they'd be unstoppably married. make that old freak understand how you truly love him, and stop putting up walls!!!!

KING DAPHNES/GANONDORF

BEHOLD ONCE MORE THE GLORIOUS DIVORCE BINGO!!!!!!!!!!!

they have far more married energies than rauru and ganondorf. they might have even forgotten to get divorced way back in the day, the paperwork is still under the way but then the whole world got drowned. the difference is that rauru and ganondorf, it's too obvious they went straight to tussling. with daphnes and nando there's this air of having spent days in negotiation chambers trying to intimidate each other into giving up their terms. do you see it? do you see it?? delicious. i love old man yaoi

#madman's rambling #asked and answered #lordsooga #I HIT POST BY ACCIDENT oh well #GHIRAZANT PROPAGANDA

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beeseverywhen · 2 years ago

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Something i want to add as a cis woman to anyone who's maybe in the position the op describes, and wants to come out but is fearing the rejection of cis women. First of all, I think it's important to note that terfs aren't exclusively dicks to trans ppl, they are just arseholes. They don't feel accepted by other women (because they are dicks so nobody wants to be their friend) and so they try and project that on to trans women and make you guys feel like you aren't welcome when you are

Honestly I don't know a woman whose reaction to someone they know coming out as trans wouldn't be 'extra female friend?!' 'I get another?!' and would be very excited to share all the stuff that they didn't think you'd want to share when they thought you were a male friend

I'm not saying this to try and make the conversation about cis ppl, because it isn't, this is about you guys- but I do often get worried that trans women might be made to feel unwelcome when they are exposed to a particular flavour of 'women hating on women' and feel like they are being targeted cause they are trans. terfs are such a vocal minority- there really are so few of them irl they just have this horrible mob thing going on where it seems like there are so many of them, I promise you most women you meet in every day life are either gonna be completely neutral on what your agab was, or more likely, are gonna be excited that they have one more female friend than they realised.

So much anti trans sentiment is just repackaged sexism (which is one of the reasons it's so ridiculous terfs are trying to call themselves feminists) all of the bullshit they are spouting about how they can recognise trans women as trans, is the same bullshit they were bullying cis women about before they found their little echo chamber of bullshit. Unless the women you come out to are dicks (in which case they don't deserve you) the most negativity you'll get is good natured confusion by someone who doesnt get it, most of us are just gonna be happy you're happy and pleased to have another woman in their life

However, you are (unfortunately) likely to hear sexist sentiments even from ppl who really are chill with you being trans. It's not fair and I think a lot of trans women unfortunately probably get to hear an unfair share of this (because a lot of it is based on unrealistic expectations of a 'perfect female body' based on like body shape and a level of hairlessness which lets be real, none of us have, no matter what our agab. Being afraid of 'looking too masculine' is a thing i think every woman has gone through in her life, even if it was when she was just a girl and she's fully over it. ) but unfortunately its really ingrained in a lot of women and therefore you hear it in a lot of female spaces. Now there's literally no excuse and I can imagine that hearing these things when you're trans definitely comes with another layer of hurt, but i hate to think that there are women out there who are thinking that a large percentage of women take issue with them being trans when in reality, that's such a small percentage of ppl (So small in fact that they've got to do all their harassing online and in echo chamber-y spaces like prearranged meet ups and stuff) and you're a lot more likely to hear sexism from ppl who are more than anything hating on themselves

Tldr: your loved ones will just be glad to have another woman in their lives and if they aren't they're a bag of dicks and definitely part of a minority of ppl. Strangers really won't care and will treat you like any other woman which often means being nice and warning ppl about toilet roll, but can sometimes mean being a dick to you. (terfs making out that women's bathrooms and other female spaces are these loving maternal spaces all the time are talking out of their arses.) there's definitely something special about the shared experiences between two women (whether they be cis or trans) and we want to share that with you guys, but the shadow of internalised sexism is real (its not about you, its about them) and that's unfortunately something you're gonna feel in these places sometimes just like every woman does

The worst thing you can do, as someone who has recently realised they are transfem, is to let terves and transphobes convince you cis women will never accept you.

I was told that when I came out everyone would reject me. That I would find myself isolated from the world, and from other women especially, who would react to me with horror and revulsion.

In reality, within the first months of coming out, in no particular order:

My sister's reaction on my coming out was, "Right, so I have a sister instead of a brother. Cool. I'm taking you clothes shopping tomorrow."

A friend, when she learned I am a woman, immediately invited me to her women-only, girls-night-out birthday party the following week.

Another friend, when a friend of hers expressed doubts about my gender, immediately shut them down and reaffirmed I am a woman.

I went camping with a group of friends, and we had two tents, one for the boys and one for the girls; I was unsure as to which I should enter, to which a girl friend responded by grabbing me and physically dragging me inside the women's tent.

In the women's bathroom at a movie theatre a random woman, whom I'd never seen before and haven't seen since, stopped me as I was going into a stall, to warn me there was no toilet paper in there, because she'd just used the last of it.

All of these, and more, some from friends, some from complete strangers. All within a few months, as a trans woman who hadn't started medical transition yet, and was very visible as being a trans woman.

I've had some people reject me, true, but the vast majority, including almost all cis women, accepted me as a sister with open arms.

Cis women are cool. It's terves who are bigots.

#honestly I've learnt a lot about self love and loving being a woman from trans women #the truth is a lot of cis women are not comfortable about their gender and that's not necessarily their fault but #it is on them if they are taking it out on other women #there's a lot of women that get this and go to a great effort to try and deprogram themselves and not echo sexist sentiment #but there are so many that just don't realise that's what they're doing and unfortunately anyone who spends time in female spaces is gonna #come across that sometimes #i really am sorry about it its like a really bad welcome like yay! we're really happy youre here but btw.being here isn't always that great #but yeah. to any new trans women- Welcome!!! honestly we are really happy to have you. more women coming in to the party is great!!!#(I'm sorry we're not always that good at showing it)#but we are very happy to have you with us!

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marianosbrixton · 3 years ago

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people started talking, putting us through our paces; dream team

pairings: dream, sapnap, georgenotfound x reader (separate)

summary: dream team when you get hate for dating them

warnings: discussions of receiving hate, some swear words sprinkled here and there

a/n: i accidentally deleted dream’s entire section immediately after writing it and i almost threw a tantrum

masterlist | navigation

dream

✧ regardless of whether or not you’re also in the public eye, i feel like dream would really want to keep your relationship a secret, because he knows you’ll undoubtedly be swarmed with a tsunami of negativity

✧ unfortunately, he’s no stranger to receiving hate, and i think he would try his absolute hardest to protect you from having to deal with it, because he knows how overwhelming it can be

✧ however, let’s say that whether by accident or on purpose, people found out about you

✧ a ton of dream’s fans are super nice and they really appreciate how happy you make him and they think you’re super cool!

✧ although, a good chunk of them also aren’t so nice, and there’s a ton of little b-words on twitter just trying to be mean to you >:(

✧ it’s sort of inevitable that when you’re around somebody with that much media attention, there are bound to be people with something bad to say

✧ i imagine you would have known this, and you’d brace yourself for it as much as you could, but it would probably be pretty hard to prepare for something like that, and naturally, it might get to you a little

✧ dream would be super apologetic to you, i think, because it’d be a bit hard not to blame yourself when somebody you love is getting that kind of attention just for being in your life

✧ you know it’s not his fault though, and you tell him that whenever he starts to feel guilty about it

✧ he’d definitely comfort you if the things people were saying started getting to you. i know i’m a pretty sensitive person so i’d definitely need a few hugs to feel okay after that

✧ he’d remind you of how beautiful you are and how much you add to his life until it was drilled into your head

✧ he’d tattoo it across his forehead if that’s what you needed to stop feeling sad

✧ i know he’s had a tendency in the past to speak out of emotion when people say things that upset him, so i think there could realistically be a possibility of that happening (because it upsets him that people who don’t even know you are being so blatantly cruel for no reason), but i also think he’d want to have a level head when talking about it, because it’s not just him he has to think about, it’s you

✧ the way i can imagine him addressing it is by doing a short stream, maybe 10-15 minutes and being pretty direct about it

✧ i think, to him, making a tweet would feel too impersonal, and, for your sake, he wouldn’t want to make it into a massive thing (i don’t know about you but my anxiety would go 📈📈 if i had the entirety of twitter talking about me), but it’s a big enough thing that he wants to speak one on one with his audience and let them know that he won’t tolerate any level of unkindness towards you

✧ he’d try to be as composed as possible, but it’s a naturally upsetting thing, and he’d come off as very stern (as he should though). i feel like he’s gotten pretty used to sitting there and accepting the hate he receives, because at this point, it’s part of the job and there’s nothing he can really do about it, but he refuses not to defend you, because there’s no way you deserve the way people are treating you

✧ if you asked him not to say anything about it, i honestly don’t really think he’d want to listen. he wouldn’t directly go against your wishes, and if you really didn’t want him to, he wouldn’t, but he’d definitely try to plead his case and let you know that it’s important to him that he doesn’t let people think it’s okay to talk to you like that

✧ at the end of the day, he just wants you to be okay, and he’ll respect you on the way you want the situation to be handled

✧ if you want him to ask his audience to stop, he’s already taking mental notes on what he’s planning to say

✧ if you just want to shut out the world for a bit and spend time together, he’s wrapping you up in a tight hug before you can even finish your sentence

✧ he loves you, and he’d do absolutely anything for people to realise how incredible you are

sapnap

✧ sapnap is the one i can imagine getting the most angry over it

✧ he’s proven time and time again how fiercely loyal of a person he is, and when people start to be shitty towards the people he cares about, he doesn’t hesitate to put them in their place

✧ i can definitely see him not even waiting to ask you what you want him to do before he’s sending out multiple angry tweets about how he absolutely will not put up with anybody mistreating you, especially people who claim to be his fans

✧ i can’t see him talking about it on stream, just because that doesn’t really seem like his style, but he wouldn’t hesitate to ban people from his chat (or directly call them out) if they have nothing nice to say

✧ in all honesty he’d probably get so caught up in being mad about it and fighting people online that he’d sort of forget to check in with you and see how you’re doing with it all

✧ once he does remember, though, he’s very attentive to what you need to help you through it

✧ if you’re pretty upset about it, he’d probably have to fight the urge to pull out his phone and berate everybody who played a part in making you that sad

✧ but he knows in the moment that that’s not what you need, and he’ll remind himself to focus on you instead of them

✧ i feel like him asking you what you want him to do is less “what do i do?” but more “here’s what i’m going to do”

✧ he’s a bit like dream in the sense that if you really, really didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it, he would respect that, because at the end of the day, you’re his main priority in this situation

✧ but he’d be absolutely itching to let the people who are hating on you know exactly what he thinks and how little he tolerates their actions, to the point where it’s probably better to just let him do it and deal with the consequences

✧ once he knows for sure that you’re okay with him addressing it, oh boy, he goes off

✧ if you think for even a second that this man wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to defend you, you’re incredibly wrong

✧ he’d fight everyone in the entire universe for you if that’s what it took for them to shut the hell up and stop being bullies

✧ he’d probably shut his phone (and yours) off for a little bit afterwards just so there’s some distance between the both of you and everything else

✧ the time away would definitely do you some good, and it gives him the opportunity to give you his absolute, undivided attention, which, let’s be honest, he always does regardless

george

✧ george is the one i think would be the most passive about it

✧ not passive in the sense that he’s at all okay with it, because he’s definitely not, but more in the sense that his focus would be entirely on you and how he can help you, rather than on how he can address it

✧ he’d be like dream in the sense that he feels extremely guilty that you’re getting this hate essentially because of him (even though it’s not his fault in the slightest), the only difference is that i don’t feel like he’d bring it up

✧ he doesn’t want to make it about him, because you’re the one being targeted, not him, and you’re the one that needs support

✧ he already doesn’t express his emotions much, let alone when someone he cares about is going through something this overwhelming

✧ he’d probably dread having to bring it up to his audience, he very much doesn’t seem like the type of person who enjoys confrontation or any kind of conflict

✧ nobody likes being surrounded by negativity, but i think george would get extra uncomfortable when there’s some sort of contention within his community, especially when it’s regarding someone he’s close to

✧ when it comes to actually addressing it, i think he’s the most likely to properly ask you how you want the situation to be handled and build off of that

✧ if you say you’d rather not draw attention to it, he’s completely happy to just hang out with you for a few days and focus on helping you feel better

✧ but if you wanted him to ask everyone to stop, i think he’d sit down for about half an hour or so and plan out a few tweets that are kind enough that people know he’s not hostile but also stern enough that he knows they’ll listen

✧ george usually tries to be really accommodating to people even when they aren’t doing the same, so i don’t see him as the type to get noticeably angry, but you’d have to be blind not to see that he’s unhappy about it

✧ ultimately, he understands that there’s unfortunately not a whole lot he can do about it

✧ like, he can send out a few tweets (and he will) and block all the people in the world, but he knows that there’ll always be somebody with something to say, and nine times out of ten, it won’t be positive

✧ you know this too, and it really, really sucks, but you also know that nothing that anybody can say will change the way george sees you, and vice versa

✧ the two of you will get through it together, because you know he loves you no matter what, and that’s enough to make it all feel okay again

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couldntbedamned · 2 years ago

Text

Nevertheless, Recover

Summary: Peter finds himself once again in Dr. Strange's office, hoping to find a reason and a cure for his latest ailment. He's come to the right place, since Dr. Strange will do everything it takes to diagnose and treat Peter. Hopefully, Peter will survive the embarrassment.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Inaccuracies, (no seriously don’t use this as medical advice ffs), Medical Examination, Sexual Roleplay, Humiliation, Dacryphilia, Sounding, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dubious Ethics, Gaslighting, Aftercare, Safe Sane and Consensual, Peter Parker is an Adult, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing

<<<>>>

Nevertheless, Recover

<<<>>>

Peter sits on the exam table and his legs swing back and forth in an expression of his agitation. He’s once again in the office he’s coming to hate.

He’s tried to get another physician, but Dr. Strange is in his health insurance network, and none of the other approved doctors are accepting new patients. Technically he can go to an urgent care place, but it doesn’t feel right. He’s not dying and the thought of explaining his problem to a stranger kind of horrifies him.

At least Dr. Strange is familiar. Kind of. Unfortunately.

He can only imagine the verbal lashing he’s going to get from the man once he realizes why Peter is here. Strange already thinks he’s some kind of sexual pervert, if their last visit was any indicator.

Peter bids the doctor to come in at the strong knock and Strange walks in, shutting the door behind him.

He’s wearing dark blue scrubs that compliment his skin, bring out his eyes, and show off the leanly muscled lines of his arms. Why did Peter’s doctor have to be so good-looking? It wasn’t fair! And the stethoscope around his neck just draws attention of the v-cut of the top… Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can’t afford to get hard right now.

“Mr. Parker,” Strange drawls. “Welcome back.”

“Peter’s fine,” Peter says quickly.

“Alright, then, welcome back, Peter.” He sits down on his wheeled stool and gives Peter his full attention. “What seems to be the problem?”

He can’t do this. Fuck, this is too damn embarrassing. He focuses on the floor and mumbles it out under this breath.

“Earning my paycheck today, I see,” Strange says before blowing out an impatient breath. “You’ve requested a consultation with me. Now, since I’m an adult doctor and not a pediatrician, I expect for my patients to be able to discuss adult things and that we’ll do so like adults. At a minimum, I expect that I will be able to hear you and that your eyes will meet mine. Now, eyes on me and speak up clearly.”

Peter looks up. He can feel the heat of the flush rising up his neck and into his cheeks. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just look at me when you’re speaking to me. Now. What brings you into my office today?”

Peter swallows and forces himself to look at Dr. Strange. “I uh, I can’t get off.”

“When you say that ‘you can’t get off,’ do you mean that you are unable to reach orgasm?” Strange clarifies.

“Yeah. I haven’t been able to for a few weeks now. I get kind of close and then nothing. I guess I want to make sure nothing’s, you know, broken.”

Strange’s eyebrows raise. “Okay. Well, I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this.” He rolls his stool back and grabs a notepad off of the small counter along with a pen. “Let’s start with some basic questions.”

“Basic?”

Strange gives him what’s probably meant to be a reassuring smile. Considering Peter’s history with Dr. Strange, it’s anything but. But he needs to be able to get off. So badly.

“O-okay. You’re the doctor,” Peter tells him.

“Good boy,” Strange says. “Now, when was your last orgasm?”

Oh fuck.

“It was a week after my physical,” Peter says. “So, the 31st.”

“How was that orgasm achieved? Masturbation? Intercourse? Prostate stimulation?”

“U-um, I was, uh, I was m-masturbating.”

“And how were you masturbating? Were you stimulating your cock, being penetrated?”

Peter closes his eyes. “I h-had a dildo I was riding. And I was stroking myself.”

“Okay. This toy you used, was it stimulating your prostate at any point in time?”

He can’t stop the light flush turning red hot. Why is this so important? “I can’t actually remember.”

“If it had been, you would remember,” Strange says, unimpressed. “Trust me.” He’s writing something and Peter can’t see it from the angle he’s sitting. “Were there any external stimuli?”

“E-external?” Peter asks. “I was using my hand.”

Strange stops himself from chuckling but his expression is just a little… condescending. “I mean were you watching pornography?”

Peter closes his eyes. He just knows that if he admits that yes, he was watching porn, Dr. Strange is going to be judgy. Even though everyone watches porn. Oh fuck. What if Strange asks what kind of porn he was watching?"

“Peter?”

Peter’s eyes open and he see Strange watching him intently, annoyed.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Strange tells him.

“Yeah, I was watching porn!” Peter finally bites out. “So the fuck what?”

Strange’s eyes narrow. “If you feel guilty for watching consenting adults have sex with each other, that’s your problem. I’m asking questions to get a sense of what the circumstances were when you last had an orgasm in the hopes we can get to the root cause of why you’ve been unable to do so since then. If you’re going to be an uncooperative little brat, then perhaps you’re not mature enough to even be attempting to have an orgasm, let alone watch other people do so.” He makes sure Peter’s meeting his gaze. “I would suggest you watch your tone, Peter. Either you want my help, or you don’t. Stop wasting my time.”

Peter lowers his gaze, curses himself. Surely a doctor like Dr. Strange has seen and heard it all before, right? The chances of Peter being the outlier are very slim.

“I was watching porn,” he says, voice calmer this time. “Gay porn, actually. I uh, I don’t get turned on with straight porn, or lesbian porn.”

“Okay.” Strange makes more notes. “What about it appealed to you?”

He shifts. “One of the men was younger and looked like me, kind of. With brown hair and eyes. And the other guy was older and tall and not super built, but he looked nice.”

“You found the subjects physically attractive.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, but more than that they were… well, the older one was in charge, you know? Told the younger one what to do and how to do it. He was kind of mean about it but the younger guy seemed okay with it, happy even. He was really hard, at least.”

“You enjoyed the idea of dominance and submission?” Strange asks.

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know if it was exactly that. I guess it came off like the older one would give the younger one what he needed, eventually, and the younger one knew the older guy would take care of him so long as he did what he was told. And at the end they were kind of sweet with each other.”

“I see,” Strange says. He writes some more notes. “Have you watched the same video since then?”

“I can’t,” Peter admits. “It got taken down.”

“The times you’ve masturbated to orgasm, were you watching the video?”

“N-no. Not always. The theme was kind of similar, with the older guy in charge of the younger smaller guy. And I don’t always watch something when I’m trying to get off.”

“Have you tried watching other videos while masturbating?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Peter says. “I mean, short of choking myself.”

“At least you have some common sense. Thank goodness for small favors,” Strange says. “Your most recent attempt at climax, what were you doing?”

Peter doesn’t want to answer. Hell, Dr. Strange will probably have him shipped off the psych ward and he’ll end up spending the rest of his days in a straight-jacket and eating green jell-o through a straw.

Strange sighs. “Peter, there are other patients I could be seeing right now, patients who have bigger concerns than if their penis can ejaculate. Please stop wasting my time.”

Once again, Peter feels the heat creep up his neck and into his ears, his cheeks.

“I was pretending like I was being held down,” he admits. “Like, like I didn’t have a choice. And I was pretending that the guy was being really mean when he talked to me.”

Strange’s eyes are on him, and finally he blinks. “So you have rape fantasies? Like a little over half of all men?”

Peter forces himself to keep looking at the doctor while he speaks. “I g-guess so, yeah. It’s not all the time!” he hastens to add. “But sometimes, it happens. I don’t want it to actually happen!” he insists.

“Of course you don’t,” Dr. Strange says simply. “A person’s fantasies have little-to-no bearing on what that person wants in reality. The mind has many mysteries.”

Again, the doctor makes notes that Peter is unable to read. “Frankly, I’m just surprised you actually admitted it. I thought you would have lied, for sure. You’re not exactly my most upfront and cooperative patient.”

Peter swallows. “You would have known if I was lying.”

“True. Now, are there other fantasies you have that no longer help you to climax?”

Peter takes a deep breath, and spills. He has a few, for sure. There’s the kept-house boy fantasy, where part of his duties included making his body available to the master of the house. A basic, if uninspired fantasy involving a very strict college professor, a spanking with a ruler, and going the extra mile to get an A. He stammers through the one where he’s short on rent and the suave, rich landlord suggests they could come to an arrangement. On it goes, and Dr. Strange never speaks a word, just writes. “And that’s pretty much it,” Peter finishes.

It’s a lie, of course. Kind of. Is it really lying if he can’t even admit it to himself? Dr. Strange would probably say yes. But Peter thinks he’s been thorough enough.

“That’s quite the list, Peter. When you’re having these fantasies, are you using your toys?”

“S-sometimes. But mostly I just jack off.”

“I see.” He wheels himself over to the counter and picks up Peter’s file. “During your last visit, you mentioned that you were sexually involved with another man. Have the two of you had intercourse since that visit?”

“Just once. That was the first time I wasn’t able to get off.” Peter frowns. “Not that he cared.”

“Okay. Well, there could be a few different factors at play here, Peter. Stress is a big cause of impotence. Tobacco, alcohol, and other addictions can also lead to difficulties. Peyronie’s disease could be another cause, but I feel sure a physical exam will rule that out. Given that you were here a month ago and in good physical health, I doubt your inability to orgasm stems from high blood pressure or cardiovascular problems.” Strange clasps his hands together. “We’ll do a brief physical exam and sounding, check for nerve damage, and I’ll also have a panel run to rule out any sexually transmitted diseases.”

“A-an ultrasound?” Peter asks. “I thought those were for pregnant women.”

Dr. Strange studies him as if he’s some sort of dumb puppy. “It’s for getting images of inside of the body. We can make sure there’s no swelling or infection.”

Peter nods. “Okay.”

Strange stands and moves to the cabinet. He pulls out a medical gown very similar to the one Peter wore the last time he was in the office and hands it to him.

“Go ahead and get changed. I’m going to go and grab some equipment we’ll need, and I’ll be right back.”

Great. Equipment. Were ultrasound machines transportable? Peter has no idea. And why did Dr. Strange call it sounding and not ultrasound? It’s not much of a shortcut.

Dutifully, Peter undresses and folds his clothes neatly. Why he feels the need to hide his boxers like they’re something shameful when Dr. Strange has literally seen him full of an enema, Peter doesn’t know. He pulls on the gown - and funding must be terrible if they can’t afford to replace the gowns with ones that aren’t nearly see-through from constant laundering - and sits back down on the exam table.

His feet are cold, and he wonders if there are those non-slip socks in any of the drawers. He can - no, no, he’s not going to go there. The last thing he needs is Dr. Strange walking in on Peter rifling through his cabinets and drawers. He’ll just ask.

A knock on the door is followed by Dr. Strange wheeling in a cart that has a small laptop-looking device on it. A bottle of gel is next to it and a strange looking probe-type thing connected to a cable. Underneath on a shelf is a variety of instruments he can’t see clearly - hopefully no scalpels - and a slim black case that’s zipped closed.

“You’re a lucky guy, Peter,” Strange tells him, adjusting the cart’s placement before moving to shut the door to the room. “This mobile ultrasound machine is top of the line.”

Peter doesn’t feel lucky.

He just wants to know if he’s ever going to come again.

“Go ahead and hop on the scale over by the door so I can get your height and weight. Then I’ll get your blood pressure and we can move on.”

Peter’s annoyed, but masks it as he gets off the table and walks over to the scale. He lets out a sigh as Strange moves the balance weights and then lowers the height marker to the top of his head.

“You’ve lost weight,” Strange remarks. “I’m guessing the stress from your problem.”

“It’s hard to think about food when you’re worried if you’ll ever get a boner again,” Peter says.

Strange looks at him sharply. “You didn’t say you were having trouble getting erect, just reaching climax.”

Well, fuck.

“It takes a while to get hard, when I can manage it. And when I am hard, I can’t get off,” Peter explains. “Does that change anything?”

Dr. Strange looks heavenward as if astounded. “It certainly doesn’t make this less complicated.” He narrows his eyes at Peter.

Peter steps off the scale and onto the cold floor. Which reminds him. “Um, Dr. Strange?”

“Yes?” Strange asks with an exasperated sigh.

“Um, it’s really cold in here, and I came in wearing sandals. Are there any of those socks they use in hospitals that I could wear?” He can’t help it; he looks at the floor, feeling stupid.

“Are you asking the floor or are you asking me?”

Peter looks up. “I’m asking you.”

Shaking his head, Dr. Strange pulls a pair out of one of the cabinets and tosses it on the exam table. Peter eagerly pulls the pair on before hopping back up on the bed. He wiggles his toes, glad that they’re finally warm for the first time since coming into the office. He notices Strange staring at him and stops, flushing.

“Cute,” Strange says dryly. He sits back on his stool. “Since you weren’t honest before, I’m going to need you to tell me when you last had an erection.”

“A couple of days ago,” Peter answers. It’s humiliating, but he doesn’t feel like pressing his luck.

“And how long did it last?”

“Well, I tried to get off for about thirty minutes before I gave up. Then I took a cold shower, and it went away.”

“Before your problem started, how long did it usually take for you to climax?” Strange is making more notes.

“How am I supposed to know that?” Peter asks. “Sometimes I’d go off immediately, other times I’d try to take longer so I could get to the part where…” he trails off, embarrassed.

“Peter,” Strange warns.

“I tried to time it so that I didn’t get off until the older guys in the videos would let the younger guys come.”

Just kill him now. No orgasm is worth this.

“As fascinating as your habits are, I’m going to need some kind of timeframe as an answer.”

“Between ten and fifteen minutes if I was watching porn. Around five if I was just fantasizing and jerking off,” he admits.

Dr. Strange makes a few more notes and then stands up, the stool rolling backwards with the movement. “Okay. I’ll start with a basic physical and then we’ll move on to more targeted diagnostic tests.”

“Basic?” Peter asks.

“Not as in-depth as was required for your last physical,” Strange says. “If you would actually bother to start showing up regularly, they wouldn’t be so invasive.”

“I’m going to do better,” Peter promises before he can stop himself.

“We’ll see,” is all Strange says.

That hurts, sends shame coiling in his belly. He doesn’t know why he wants Dr. Strange’s approval so badly. But fuck, he does.

He studies Strange as the man pulls on his latex gloves with a distinct snap. And with that snap, something sparks in his groin.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Strange murmurs.

Peter looks down and groans in embarrassment.

He’s hard.

All because of those fucking exam gloves.

“I-I don’t know why -”

“Do you get off on these visits, Peter?” Strange asks.

“No!”

Yes.

“Hmm.” Strange looks like he doesn’t believe him but doesn’t say anything further.

A gloved hand gently takes hold of one of Peter’s testicles, rubs it and Peter can’t help but moan softly. Then it’s being squeezed roughly.

“I’m sorry!” Peter gasps out. “Look, I am, but it feels good, okay?”

“Just try to control yourself,” Strange says.

The other testicle is examined. “Nothing unusual, heavier than your last visit, but that’s to be expected with the lack of release.”

His cock is next, and fuck why does Dr. Strange have to be so impersonal about it as he feels up and down?

“Any burning or discomfort when you urinate?”

“No,” Peter answers honestly.

“Alright. I’m going to check for blockage in your urethra, but I’ll need you soft for it.”

Peter groans, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, Strange puts an ice pack on his groin and he can’t stop the yelp he lets out. It’s so fucking cold his cock feels like it’s on fire.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Strange tells him. “You’ve been through it before.”

That memory along with the cold of the ice pack duals with the unfortunately arousing condescension from Dr. Strange. Eventually, the cold wins out and Peter feels himself starting to soften.

“H-how do you check for blockage in something so narrow?” Peter asks.

“Sounding,” Strange answers.

“An ultrasound can tell you that?” he asks skeptically.

“Probably. And I’ll do one of those, as well.”

“I’m so confused,” Peter says. And he’s worried and all he wanted was a consult to figure out why he can’t come and now Strange is going to be doing things to him again.

Dr. Strange grabs the slim black case Peter noticed earlier and unzips it. He pulls out a slim, delicately curved rod. “This is a sounding rod.”

“How is that supposed to look and see if there’s a block?”

“It goes inside your urethra, Peter.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “No! No fucking way! There’s no way it can fit down there!”

“I assure you, it can, and it will. These are sterile rods. I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t safe and effective.”

“No,” Peter says again.

“I see,” Dr. Strange says. “I’m afraid you don’t give me much choice, here, Peter.”

There’s a tiny pinch in his neck and he starts to feel a little… off.

“W-wha?”

“Just a quick-acting, mild sedative. It’ll wear off in a few minutes. Knowing your previous behavior, I thought it was best to be prepared,” Strange tells him.

Then he’s pulling up the stirrups and strapping Peter’s legs in before pushing the things out so that he’s splayed. Then he lifts and locks two arm rests into place; Peter’s never noticed those before. Again, his arms are strapped down. Then a strap comes over his chest and is tightened and Peter’s basically bound, helpless, to the exam table.

“I’ve never had such an uncooperative, ungrateful patient before,” Strange chides. “You schedule my time, claiming to need my help, and then you do everything you can to let me know that my expertise and my professional judgement are beneath you, as if you know better.”

Peter can only stare up at him, guilt roiling in his gut.

Strange checks his watch. “You should be getting sensation back.”

He is. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now, what’s going to happen is I’m going to check and make sure there’s not any blockage that’s preventing your ejaculation. I know the rods can look scary, but I wouldn’t just shove something into you. I’ll use medical-grade lubrication and start with the thinnest rod.”

Swallowing heavily, Peter nods. “Will it hurt?”

“It will feel unusual,” Strange tells him.

He removes the ice bag from Peter’s crotch and studies the flaccid organ. He sets the bag aside and grabs a bottle of lube and a plastic syringe.

He closes his eyes when Strange fills the syringe with lube. He can’t watch. Things aren’t meant to go into his dick! Sure enough, the feeling of the lube being pushed into him is so weird, but he manages to keep from crying out.

A little hard to, considering that when he can bring himself to open his eyes, his attention is glued on the case that holds the sounds. And on Strange, whose long, blue-gloved fingers are selecting a sound.

Dr. Strange calls it the thinnest, yet to Peter it’s anything but, far too thick to even consider sliding in there.

“Relax, Peter. I wouldn’t do anything to injure a patient, even one as difficult as you.”

Peter lays his head back; he can’t watch this. This feels like a violation beyond anything he’s ever experienced in this office, and Dr. Strange had once measured his testicles!

A gloved hand gently grasps his cock and holds it steady while another begins to feed something cold and slick into his dick and fuck it’s so weird.

It’s not bad, exactly but it is the weirdest sensation he’s ever felt in his life. And it doesn’t stop. The rod keeps sliding down and down and-

“Oh!”

Strange holds him down - damn, the doctor is strong! - and continues to move the sound around a bit and it touches something.

“What are you feeling?”

“I-I can’t describe it,” Peter says with panting breaths.

“Try.”

Peter looks up at Strange and then down to where he’s thrusting and twisting the sound in and out of Peter’s urethra. Then the gloved hand squeezes his cock and fuck nonononono…

“I feel like, like I need to go, but not,” he manages to say. “It’s this weird fullness, but nothing like I’ve ever felt.”

“Imagine that,” Dr. Strange muses.

He pulls the sound free, and Peter wants to weep because it was feeling good.

“I’m going to use the next size up,” Strange informs him.

It looks too thick and not thick enough, and he’ll never admit it, but Peter wants it in him so badly.

As the sound is slid in, and oh it’s so much and he can feel tears running down his face, he hears the distinctive sound of Dr. Strange’s derision.

“Of course, you’d be getting aroused by such a basic medical procedure,” he drawls. “At this point chemical castration might be the only chance at subduing your perversions.”

Sure enough, Peter can feel himself stirring. Only, it doesn’t feel good, it hurts! The curve of the rod is an immovable force in his aroused cock.

“Stop!” he begs.

“Just relax. I’ll get another ice pack.”

“No!”

But Strange doesn’t listen, just leaves the sound in place, steps away and grabs another two packs of hell from the freezer. One is placed on Peter’s eager cock and the other is settled on top of the remaining sounds.

He’s trying to fight the arousal, trying to keep his head, but the rod is still in him, and he can feel it as if it’s becoming a part of him. Just as his breathing is easing, as he’s growing used to the sound, Strange twists it again, thrusts it in and out, barely touching that magic place Peter had felt before. The barrage of sensation coupled with the lack of that spot and the ice pack is just… Peter whimpers as he feels tears roll down his cheeks.

“Seems clear, but I think I’m going to try one more, the next size up,” Dr. Strange says as if to himself.

He pulls the sound out, sets it next to the other used sound with a clink.

Peter’s eyes close. He’s floating underwater somehow, like waves above him are rushing him forward only to draw him back further, deeper. His nerves are on fire, and he knows he’s still got another to go.

“Oh, relax,” Strange chides. “It’s hardly torture.”

Then there’s the sensation of cold so extreme it burns, and Peter opens his eyes to see the next rod - that’s sat under an ice pack - slide into his cock.

“Fuck!”

“Hmm. That’s quite the response.” Strange takes his time, pulling the sound back and then twisting it on the slide down.

“It’s too much,” Peter whines. “Dr. Strange, you gotta stop.”

The movement of the sound doesn’t stop. “You’re fine,” Dr. Strange says dismissively. “And what I ‘gotta’ do, is treat my patient. Don’t presume to tell me my job.”

“S-sorry!”

“I’m sure you are.”

After what seems like hours, with his cock burning and struggling to get hard despite the curved rod Strange seems so happy to torture him with, the sound is removed.

“No blockage,” Dr. Strange comments. “That’s good.”

He’s almost scared to ask. “If it’s not blocked, then what could the problem be?”

Strange spares him a look as he returns the ice pack over Peter’s cock. “We’re narrowing the possibilities down.”

Peter’s scared to ask what’s next. Oh hell, there isn’t some kind of enema thing for dicks, is there? He’ll die if there is. His heart will give out, and he’ll die.

“W-what else is there to do?” He hopes it comes out as curious as he can manage. He’s scared, but he needs to know.

Dr. Strange arches a condescending brow and Peter feels about two feet tall. “I’m going check on your prostate,” Strange tells him. “Chances are slim that it’s the issue but needs must.”

Peter knows how this is going to go. At this point it might as well just happen. He can’t thwart Dr. Strange. So, he just nods.

“That’s the compliant kind of patient I love to work with.”

Hah! He’s strapped to an exam table with an ice pack on his dick. He can’t exactly not comply at this point.

In his sight, he sees Dr. Strange pull on a fresh pair of gloves and his cock, even suffering under the ice, twitches at the snapping sound the gloves make. Strange lubing his fingers doesn’t help, either. He’s had those long, skilled fingers inside of him before… he shakes his head. Now is not the time to contemplate if he’s actually turned on by visits with Dr. Strange!

Gloved fingers circle his rim, and he shudders. Or, shudders as much as his restrained body can manage.

“Hmm. I need better access.” He removes the gloves and does something that has the table sliding inward under itself, leaving Peter’s ass exposed to the open air. “Much better,” Strange concludes after crouching down and getting a closer look.

The gloves and lubricant ritual repeats.

When he feels the gentle prodding along his exposed hole, he bites down on his lip to keep from making noise. It’s all for naught when a finger works its way in and Peter feels it feeling around. A whimper escapes just as another finger joins the first and twists.

“Sensitive, hmm?” Strange asks lightly. “That’s a good sign, at least.”

Then the two fingers are rubbing gently - so gently! - against his prostate and the noise that slips from Peter is a mix between a moan and a shout. He needs more, needs it so bad it hurts and if only he were anywhere but here and with anyone with Dr. Strange!

“P-please…”

He’s not sure what he’s begging for at this point. More. Less. To go home, to have Dr. Strange never stop what he’s doing, something.

Just as he’s feeling it building, something warm and delicious that he hasn’t felt in so. long... Strange pulls his fingers free.

“No!” he whines.

“Peter, how many times do I have to remind you that my exam room isn’t your personal porn studio?” Strange asks coldly. “I’m trying to diagnose your ailment, yet you continue to fight against me one minute and then use me to try and get off the next.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter apologizes desperately. “I am, really! But I can’t help that it feels good! And isn’t that part of why I came to see you? Because I haven’t been able to feel good?”

Dr. Strange continues looking at him like he’s not worth the effort it takes to lift a stethoscope.

“Try to contain yourself,” Strange says finally.

Tearfully, Peter nods. It’s not fair! How is he supposed to control what his body feels?

“Have you forgotten how to speak?”

“No!” He squeaks. “I-I’ll try to… try to control myself.”

“We’ll see,” Strange says dismissively. He turned to the ultrasound cart. “I suppose it’s time to take a look inside. Do you think you can get a grip on yourself?”

Peter clenches and unclenches his fists. “Y-yes.”

“Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”

He grabs the probe-looking thing from the cart and turns on the laptop. “This,” he says, motioning with the probe thing. “Is an ultrasound transducer. I’ll be using this to take a look inside your rectum.”

“You’re going to stick that inside me?” Peter chokes out, horrified. “It’s too long! You’ll poke a hole up there!”

Dr. Strange lets out a long sigh and sets the transducer down.

“Unbelievable,” he says, looking down at Peter. “I have half a mind to just send you on your way and let you figure out your alleged problem on your own. If you’re not behaving like a hysteric little pervert in my office, you’re fighting me on every step of your medical care.”

Peter can’t exactly hang his head, restrained to the table as he is, but he feels lower than dirt. Why can’t he just comply?

“Tell me, are you this much of a brat to everyone else who tries to help you, or is it just deep disrespect you harbor for me in particular?”

“N-no!” Peter insists with a sob. “Dr. Strange, I’m not trying to be difficult, I swear! I-I just…”

“You just what, Peter? Hmm?”

“I-I get scared and embarrassed! I don’t know why my body reacts the way it does in here and I’m scared that something is seriously wrong with me!”

Why oh why didn’t he just learn to live with not getting off?

“And you didn’t think that communicating this with the doctor who is trying to help you was necessary?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter pleads brokenly.

“Your actions do speak louder than your words,” Strange says finally.

He pushes up Peter’s gown before picking the transducer back up, slicking it with the ultrasound gel. “Now, please remember that I, unlike you, am a trained doctor and in fact, do know more than you about this procedure.”

Tears running down his face, Peter nods.

An irritated sigh.

“Y-yes, Dr. Strange.”

The device slides inside of him and Peter gasps. Strange pays him no mind, focuses on the screen instead. He moves the transducer in and out, angles it this and that way.

Peter does his best to remain still, but on the prods against his prostate, he can’t keep his hips from canting. Strange notices - because of course, he does - and a strong, gloved presses down on Peter’s abdomen, halting his movements. Peter can’t stop the moan; he can feel the transducer inside of him and the pressure from Dr. Strange’s hand… it’s hell on earth and amazing all at once.

“I’m not seeing any masses,” Dr. Strange says, pulling out the transducer and setting it aside. “I’m going to do another check.” He connects another transducer to another port and after squeezing some ultrasound gel on Peter’s abdomen, presses it against Peter’s skin. Peter turns his head and sees the two-up display on the screen. He can see his insides!

There’s prodding at his rim and Peter lets out a gasp as Strange works two fingers inside. He can… he can see Dr. Strange’s fingers inside of him!

Strange angles his fingers and Peter’s hips jerk up.

“And there’s your prostate,” Strange tells him, directing his attention to a small gray spot on the screen. “Considering it’s still in working order, and everything is all clear on the ultrasound, I’m not seeing any physical reason for your ailment.” His fingers stroke over it again and again as he speaks and Peter moans.

“If there’s noth-” Peter breaks off because the sensation is so much. “Not physical then, oh, fuck! what is it?”

He’s close, the closest he’s been in forever and he wants to come more than he wants his next breath.

Strange pulls his fingers free and as terrible as it is to feel the orgasm cheerfully slipping away from him, it’s even worse seeing those fingers leave on the screen.

“At this point, I’m leaning towards psychological rather than physical.”

“I’m not crazy!” Peter insists tearfully.

“Of course, you’re not,” Strange says blandly.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” Peter finally says while Dr. Strange is wiping him clean of the ultrasound gel and setting everything on the cart back in order. “In here is the closest I’ve been to having an orgasm in since the problem started!”

“Hmm.” Strange pulls on another pair of gloves with a snap and watches as Peter’s cock twitches. “I wonder.”

He grabs the medical lube and slicks a gloved hand. Then he grasps Peter’s cock and begins to stroke.

Peter mind goes white for a few seconds as sensation floods him. Dr. Strange is methodically jerking him off, not too much pressure, not too fast. Just a slow steady up and down that has Peter wishing he could arch his hips into that amazing, gloved hand, get more friction… But even if he could, he figures Strange would just take his hand away leaving him desperate and wanting.

“Tell me,” Strange orders dispassionately. “Are you close to orgasm?”

Peter whines.

Strange’s hand leaves him and Peter cries out.

“I asked you a question, Peter.”

“Y-yes! I am! I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to tell me when you get close again, understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

It’s hell, heaven, as Dr. Strange jerks him off. Peter’s so desperate for it, so needy that when that cliff races towards him, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Fuck, yes! Right there, I’m close, I’m so close Dr. Strange, please-”

Strange takes his hand away and Peter lets out a sound like a wounded animal.

“Interesting,” Strange says clinically. “I wonder…”

He begins stroking again, only it doesn’t feel as… clinical? Methodical? It feels so good and Peter’s been denied an orgasm for so long, he’s desperate.

“How does this feel, Peter?” he’s asked.

“Good! Fuck, Doctor, it feels, feels so g-go-ow-oh!”

The hand is gone and everything good that’s been rushing toward him is pulled away like sand under a wave.

“Absolutely fascinating,” Strange comments, slowly looking from Peter’s erection up to his tear-streaked face and back again. In fact, he’s studying all of Peter quite closely as if he’s some kind of unusual experiment.

The “please” that Peter whispers, pained, settles around his gut with shame.

After what feels like an eternity, Dr. Strange wraps his hand around Peter’s cock and begins to stroke.

“Please, please, please!” He’s full-on begging for it. He doesn’t care, he’s desperate, and he’ll find a way to live with the fact Dr. Strange will forever think he’s a broken sex fiend that needs to be added to some kind of national registry after he comes. “I’ll do any-”hic“-anything!”

“I’m sure you would,” Strange says dismissively. But he keeps stroking.

Peter is lost to the sensation as Dr. Strange works his cock. Nothing has ever felt so good in his life, and it doesn’t matter if it’s all because of stupid Dr. Strange and his stupid latex-gloved hands and stupid condescending ways. He’ll deal with it because he wants to come so badly. It’s been so long…

The pleasure is building and building and fuck Dr. Strange is stroking him so perfectly, with enough of a grip to make it almost hurt in the best way.

He’s close, so close…

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’m confident I have a diagnosis, Peter,” Dr. Strange says. He’s still stroking.

“Wha-what? Real-fuck really?”

It’s there, right there, and his entire body tenses.

For the first time in nearly a month the glorious wave of release rushes over and through him and he’s coming, semen painting Strange’s gloved hand in thick spurts that never seem to end. Long shudders wrack his body with no outlet as he’s strapped down, helpless.

“Anorgasmia,” Dr. Strange says lightly. “Induced by erotophobia.”

Panting heavily, Peter tries - and fails - to process what Strange is telling him. It’s hard, when the doctor is continuing to stroke his cock as if to ensure Peter empties every drop of ejaculate he can.

“I don’t understand,” he says. The pleasure is shifting into something else. Like when he’s got a paper cut and everything around the area is too tender to touch.

“Of course, you don’t,” Strange scoffs. “It’s a much more sophisticated concept than what you’d be used to. But knowing what it is will allow me to treat you.”

The hand around his cock, gloved and slick with lubricant and Peter’s release, finally leaves his cock, which flops pathetically against his thighs.

“Isn’t that what you did just now?”

The look Strange gives him is so condescending that Peter’s face burns.

“No, everything I’ve done so far has been to diagnose, not treat.”

“But it took so long!” Peter complains.

“And whose fault was that?” Dr. Strange asks derisively, pulling the gloves off and disposing of them. “Who continuously withheld information and fought me every step of the way?”

Shame burns in him. Fuck, Strange is right.

“Well?” The question is caustic like salt in a wound.

“I did,” Peter whispers. “It’s my fault.”

“I’d say that I hope you’ll cooperate with your treatment, but even when the bar for my expectations of you is on the ground, somehow you always manage to find a shovel and dig even deeper.”

“I’ll do better, really!” He promises.

“I doubt it,” Strange replies. He walks over to his cabinets, opens a drawer, and when he turns back, Peter can see that he has a slim black box. “Anorgasmia is a type of sexual dysfunction. The individual cannot achieve orgasm even with adequate stimulation. It has a number of causes, such as injury or chronic disease, but yours is definitely psychiatric in nature.”

“I’m not crazy!” Peter insists.

“No, what you are, is afraid. Erotophobia is exactly what it sounds like: a fear of sex.”

“I’m not scared of sex, either,” Peter says stubbornly.

“No, not sex itself,” Strange agrees, pulling what Peter recognizes as a prostate massager from the box and shows it him before setting it back down in the box’s grooving. “Your fear is for what you’ve discovered about yourself sexually.”

Peter isn’t sure what Dr. Strange is talking about. He can’t get off because he’s scared about getting off? That doesn’t make any sense at all!

“Now, if you confront that fear, Peter, I have every reason to believe your little problem will go away.” Strange carefully pulls on a fresh pair of gloves with that maddeningly arousing snap.

Peter stubbornly looks at the soft light of the ceiling instead of Dr. Strange when he feels his cock twitch.

“So, as far as your treatment is concerned, it’s actually very simple.” Strange slicks up the prostate massager. “My advice to you, not that you’ve ever bothered to heed it before, is to relax.”

“Wha-” Peter can’t even get the word out before the massager slides inside of him. He feels it shift a bit and then there’s the most wonderful vibrations, right there. His cock begins to fill, blood racing.

“As far as kinks go, medical fetishism is fairly common,” Strange says as he starts to stroke Peter’s cock. “There’s actually a wide spectrum of elements that can be involved such as anesthesia, being placed in an iron lung, or just hoping for a glimpse of a naughty nurse. However, your attraction is to the loss of control you experience during medical exams and procedures.”

The vibrations are spine-tingling and with the doctor jerking him off, Peter can barely protest that ridiculous statement before another climax washes over him. It’s a hot kind of pleasure that has his toes actually curling and his chest rising and falling rapidly. He can’t believe he’s come twice so quickly after not being able to for so long.

“There we go,” Strange murmurs. He’s still stroking Peter’s cock as if determined to milk his orgasm as long as possible. It feels amazing until it doesn’t. And the massager inside of him hasn’t stopped. In fact, the vibrations only increase in power. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, though I can’t say I’m particularly pleased at your insistence on using my office for your sexual satisfaction.”

Strange’s hand continues its firm up and down grip on Peter’s limp cock and after a few minutes, somehow, Peter grows hard again. It’s too much, far too much and the vibrations against his prostate seem to affect everything deep inside of him. How on earth could he possibly come again? How could all of this even begin to arouse him?

“Once you allow yourself to admit that this is a kink of yours, your little problem should go away.” His thumb starts rubbing against the head of Peter’s cock, a maddeningly slow contrast to the heavy pulsing inside him.

“I c-can’t,” Peter manages. He can feel an orgasm building up and he’s terrified it will wreck him.

“I’m not telling you to act out your kinks, just accept them,” Strange says, not entirely misinterpreting Peter’s meaning.

The climax rips through him and he distantly hears the cry he lets out, feels the little bit of ejaculate that Dr. Strange seems intent on milking from him.

It has to be over, right?

“You’re making progress,” Dr. Strange says. He bends slightly to inspect the massager and Peter is nearly giddy with relief that it’s over. Until Dr. Strange presses a button on the base of the massager and the vibrations don’t stop. No, they change into something low and gradually buildup to a sensation that has stars flashing behind Peter’s eyes before dropping down to that low buzz. It happens again. Again.

Still, Dr. Strange resumes his stroking, only pausing to add more lubricant.

“Please,” Peter begs weakly. “Doctor, please…”

He can’t do it again. He can’t…

“Just accept them, Peter,” Dr. Strange insists.

He feels like his senses have been dialed up to eleven. The tears welling up at the overstimulation fall down his cheeks and down his temples. He can’t, there’s no way. It’s too much, too soon, and no, Peter doesn’t-

“You are aroused by medical procedures and the loss of your control that goes with them, Peter,” Strange says calmly. “You have a medical fetish. It’s really very simple.”

“I-I don’t,” Peter sniffles out. “I-I’m n-not a…” he can’t get the word out; shame is low and hot in his belly.

“Don’t lie to your doctor, Peter.” Strange’s voice is cold, stern. “Your erection is proving otherwise.”

The realization that Strange isn’t wrong, that his cock, so useless and unfulfilled for so long, is again growing erect has Peter closing his eyes at the humiliation.

“There’s nothing left,” Peter mumbles. “I can’t.”

“And yet, I must insist on finishing your treatment,” Strange says, stroking and thumbing over the slit of his cockhead. “You’ve wasted enough of my time and energy just so you can get off. The fact that you best enjoy doing so when you’re supposed to be getting medically tended to is hardly a case worthy of my particular skills, yet here we are.”

God, Dr. Strange is right. Peter’s been nothing but an inconvenience and now Peter’s fighting him again and he deserves it, deserves just how much the next orgasm - if he can call it that - is going to hurt. The vibrations are still going from low to high over and over and with another press of a button, the intensity of the pattern increases just like his cock.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “S-sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Strange retorts, voice dripping with condescension. “Accept your diagnosis and treatment before I’m forced to take drastic measures and castrate you. Maybe then you’ll be a compliant patient, for once.”

Visions spark in his head at Strange’s cruel words. Surely the doctor would never… couldn’t…

“It would be a poetic sort of justice, my ensuring that you’ll never be able to pleasure yourself again after having been so disrespected in my attempts to help you, wouldn’t it?” Strange asks lightly.

Peter whimpers as the sensation builds and builds…

“Admit it, Peter,” Strange orders. “Just admit that you enjoy this.”

“I-I l-love t-thi-is,” he stammers out. The orgasm floods over him like a tidal wave, then pulls him back out to a sea of raw sensation that doesn’t exactly feel good but somehow, feels just this side of too much.

“Finally, there’s a good patient,” Dr. Strange drawls, hand stroking his cock slowing, stopping. He turns the massager down, and then off. Peter dimly registers his ass clenching around the massager as if to keep it inside of him, but Strange pulls it free with a squelch.

“Now, I’m going to undo the restraints and you’re going to take your time getting up,” Strange says briskly, removing and disposing of the gloves. The straps are loosened, and Peter just stays where he is, useless. “I’ll need to refer you to a therapist and put in an order for electrolyte-infused water.” He glowers down at Peter. “Try to contain your libido while I step out.”

It’s an unnecessary request, since the last thing Peter is concerned about is getting off, not when he’s boneless and sated, tingles still racing through him in the best way. The sound of Strange leaving the room and shutting the door is so far away…

“Peter, sweetheart, are you with me?” Stephen asks. He’s back and gently, carefully helping Peter sit up, ensuring he has a hand on Peter the entire time.

“Hmm? Yeah,” Peter says, still buzzed and bleary with endorphins. “Yeah, ’m here.”

“Good, drink some water for me,” Stephen insists. “Slowly now, there we go…”

Peter nearly laughs when he realized that Stephen hadn’t been joking about the added electrolytes. “You brought me the good water,” he says.

“Nothing but the best for you,” Stephen says warmly, rubbing his back where the hospital gown gaped open. “You did so good, Peter. You were so perfect.”

“I did good?” Peter does laugh. “Jesus, Stephen, you’re the one who had me coming until I was dry!”

“I didn’t go too far, did I?” He carefully helps Peter into a pair of loose but cozy sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt of Stephen’s from Columbia that’s seen better days.

“Mmm, no,” Peter assured him. “No, you were perfect, like always.” He shoots Stephen a sly grin as a sparking gold ring envelops them and they’re in their living room. “You just had to work it in though, didn’t you?”

Stephen chuckles, inclines his head. “You have your kinks, I have mine. You’re okay though?” he asks, more seriously. “Do you need anything?”

When they’re cozied up together on the sofa, Peter leaning heavy against Stephen and obediently opening his mouth to take, chew, swallow the cut-up fruit and granola bites that he’s being fed, he finally answers.

“Just hold me, like this,” he says. “And maybe promise me you’re not going to put that impotence spell on me again. Three weeks without getting off is a lot.”

“You asked for that spell,” Stephen reminds him. “Insisted on it, actually.”

“Only for the scene,” Peter clarifies. “I was probably a bit too enthusiastic about having it last as long as it did.”

“Worth it, though?”

Peter thinks back on the scene, on how Stephen had finally made him come, and then come again and again, pleasure growing and crashing through him. “So worth it!” He sighs, yawns. “We need to do one of yours, next,” he insists. “I’m kind of curious how you’d do it without actually doing it, y’know?”

Stephen laughs, drops a kiss on his head. “Let’s let you recover before we start worrying about my particular perversions,” he says. “Besides, I’ve had it planned out in my mind for weeks.”

Peter shivers but smiles and nestles in further to his side.

“Best doctor ever,” he says, and dozes off.

<<<>>>

Like in Private Practice and in It's All Routine, this is a negotiated and discussed scene and both Stephen and Peter are enthusiastically consenting.

#couldntbedamned fic #spiderstrange #spideystrange #peter parker x stephen strange #stephen strange x peter parker #medical roleplay #medkink #medfet #doctor strange x peter parker #peter parker x doctor strange #read the fucking warnings #no seriously read them

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relaxxattack · 4 years ago

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hi im asking u this bc u seem to be bee duo enthusiast so

ive been calling c! beeduos relationship platonic because i thought that was what their cc’s said, and i thought they had said that they were uncomfortable with ppl shipping the characters. But ive seen a lot of posts that say their relationship is canonically romantic? and i absolutely do not want to come across as homophobic by watering down a mlm relationship to just friends because that happens so much in media so.

what is the canon state of their relationship / ur opinions on the platonic thibg

dont worry abt answering if u dont want to!! i see a lot of differing opinions and i trust yours :)

aw it’s totally fine, im flattered you asked me about this!

let me put it simply: it’s a whole mess, lol.

first im going to talk about what’s happened fandom-wide that caused differing opinions, and then i’ll explain my own opinion/interpretation. :]

(this got really fucking long im so sorry)

ranboo and tubbo initially proclaimed the relationship was romantic, specifically in argument with the wiki editors who had set it as platonic by default. (you can see this in the vod where they decide they’re canonically married— it’s very funny. chat tells them the marriage is already on the wiki, they check, tubbo is jokingly offended that it says platonic and asks if he needs to up the romance).

tubbo also makes jokes about adultry, which sort of implies the relationship is not necessarily a platonic one.

(theres definetly more in that stream alone but it’s been a long time since i watched it so i don’t remember a lot of it.)

the wiki, because of this, suffers from going back and forth on platonic and romantic, seemingly unsure where the joke ends and the canon begins, or if its canonically a joke! a mess, as you can already tell.

this gets more complicated as the marriage bit goes on: outsiders, such as phil and scott, both at one point say “platonic marriage”, which then ranboo and tubbo agree with. however, when chat asks them if they’re platonic, they say the opposite. so there is a lot of confusion there.

there’s also the difficulty of being able to tell streamers and characters apart. ranboo and tubbo both don’t like being shipped irl, and that’s their boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. (they’re also minors, but tbh when they’re 18 in a year i will still be following their boundaries regardless of their legal age).

due to people not wanting to be accused of minor shipping, they started adding the platonic tone indicator to most of their drawings— basically a way of saying “no homo”. meanwhile, tubbo frequently on stream flirts with ranboo and makes quite a bit of nsfw comments towards him that are frankly hilarious.

this goes on for a while with nobody really sure what’s canon, but a lot of people assuming it’s probably platonic, until: the drama of the mods night. a few mods dmed all the wiki editors telling them ranboo wanted his canon character relationship officially set to platonic.

unfortunately for those mods; the very same day, a few hours later, ranboo on stream makes fun of puffy delivering him and tubbo “friendship flowers”. because, and i quote, “bruh. we’re literally married. this must be how the ancient greeks felt.”

in case you don’t know, the internet often jokes about how historians will call ancient greeks ‘very good friends’ when they are quite obviously gay. so in this context, ranboo is joking that people will call him and c!tubbo, who are married, “close friends”, when he doesn’t think they are.

basically, ranboo canonized romantic bee duo, the very same day the mods told everyone he’d wanted a platonic one.

chaos and drama immediately erupted everywhere. on tumblr, we were talking about how weird it was of his mods to do something like that without asking him first. we ALSO talked about how weird it was of them to assume that ranboo can’t make his own decisions, or assume teenagers cannot be in relationships without it being sexual. twitter did the same thing but in the opposite direction: called ranboo mods homophobic, or said they were mad ranboo felt pressured into making a romantic relationship canon ‘just so people could have mlm rep.’

i dont want to go into detail about the drama that happened that night because apparently official people follow me and i dont want to stir it up or have them come “clarify” things. im just saying what we talked about.

ranboo in typical ranboo fashion apologized quickly and seriously. he was deeply sorry for possibly offending anyone with how he’d portrayed his rp relationship with tubbo, and he also assured everyone the mod thing was just a miscommunication.

he said he would talk to tubbo and they’d decide once and for all whether it was platonic or romantic, and then announce so everyone would know.

it’s now been a few months and we've had no word from them on that development. we still have no clue.

now, here’s my opinion:

i want to take ranboos word for it that it was a miscommunication with his mods, but... we had it on good authority from people on the wiki team and people in the discord with the mods that (while it was happening) they were really going after the wiki admins, and also made some weird comments about it. that combined with the way ranboo seemingly had no clue (considering he canonized their romance that very same day).... it’s very. sus of the mods.

then there’s the canon we’ve got since then. although occasionally adults in the room have called it a “platonic marriage” and tubbo once (back when it first started) called it a “plankton tectonic” marriage, in roleplay it’s been... kind of not that. tubbo and ranboo make nsfw jokes about each other in character, and their characters also share a master bedroom and bed in the mansion. there's also the way c!tommy really thinks it’s a romance between them as well, and they agree with and play off that— for instance confirming that they “fell in love” when he asked, or ranboo confirming that they “make out on occasion”.

people will still put platonic on their art and posts, imo, because they’re worried about breaking ranboo and tubbo’s irl boundaries by looking like they ship them. or even just being accused of shipping real life minors. and that’s a valid fear to have.

the thing is though: c!bee duo are not cc!bee duo. they’re roleplay characters. cc!bee duo are not okay with being shipped, but they made their characters get canonically married, and call each other “husbands”. so it’s okay to write the word “husband” in your comic without adding “platonic” to it, i promise.

telling the ccs that their characters have to be platonic is... weird. it comes off as not only babying them, but also as saying teens can’t date without it being gross. which isn’t true.

(this is why seeing people overuse “platonic husband” so much bothers me. like, they ARE husbands. you can just say it. what are you trying to hide...?)

do i think they’re canonically romantic? ehh, its likely. it’s still okay to interpret them as platonic, because again, it’s hard to tell where jokes end and roleplay begins. like, maybe it’s jokes in the rp too, and c!bee duo are just friends. friends can and should be allowed to make jokes like that with each other! aro & ace marriages exist!

or, maybe it’s actually part of the rp, and they’re very much romantic. we don’t know!

some people say they could be a qpr (queerplatonic romance), which i could see. (a qpr is a relationship that fluctuates between, or can’t quite be sorted into, “romantic” and “platonic”. people in a qpr can do romantic things while having platonic feelings for each other). in my opinion this is a very valid interpretation as well!

CONCLUSION (sorry this got so long omfg):

are c!bee duo romantic?

its likely, but you can still interpret them however you like!

should i put /p on bee duo content?

ehhh? i find it annoying when it’s overused (as do others), but if you’re worried you can. its up to preference. putting it too much is weird though

should i put /p on things cc! bee duo do?

no. you’re not the one saying it so you can’t decide the tone tags for that. imagine you said something to your friend and a random stranger came up and was like “haha but that was /p right...?”

can i ship c!bee duo?

mmm. i’m not sure on this one. they are canonically married and very flirtatious, but the ccs don’t like being shipped and they’re close enough to being the ccs that actively shipping might be against boundaries.

can i treat c!bee duo as romantic?

yes. literally just don’t be weird about it. it’s not that hard! you can understand that two characters are husbands without making it weird

here’s the most important thing: boundaries. cc bee duo still haven’t told us what their preferences and canon is about this whole thing.

right now, i am assuming based on what they already show us they’re comfortable with, but! the second they give us any more info! all these opinions will change!

i am only going off what they do. i would never want to cross boundaries at all. i just wish they would make theirs a little more clear.

..... i hope that helped anon, i went way off the rails... i need to go to sleep.

#it’s late im so sorry for how much i rambled and wrote #i hope this helps you #bee duo #og post #there’s probably so many spelling errors i need to go to bed #i tried to fix some spelling so reblog this one ig #and not the old one

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ideas-on-paper · 11 months ago

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This is probably the best explanation for Carlo's death I've seen so far. Not only does it explain the Stalker's grief about being too late, it also puts her appearance in these memories in proper context. Btw, I do remember one episode of Sherlock (the BBC series) where two children were kidnapped from a boarding school, and the kidnapper used the end of term - when parents came to pick up their children and there were many strangers about anyway - as an opportunity to get in.

I think the Petrification Disease has been around for longer than the incident at Monad Charity House, though. I unfortunately don't have screenshots of it, but I do remember a loading screen tip where it's stated that when the Petrification Disease first occurred, it was believed to only affect the Alchemists (like a very specific population group). This makes me believe it has been around for a longer time, and the Alchemists probably already did a fair amount of experiments on it.

There's actually another loading screen tip which is really interesting, about the Stargazer at Hotel Krat. It's said that the Stargazer was built experimentally to test how big a Stargazer can be, but when Antonia bought the Hotel, it was treated mostly as a nuisance. This implies that the Stargazer already was there before Antonia took over the Hotel, which begs the question: why?

After reading all of the lore tidbits again in NG+, I actually came up with the theory that it might have once been a facility where the Alchemists conducted experiments with Ergo, since the Hotel is confirmed to have had former connections with them. The "mental institution" was only a façade, and they deliberately exposed the patients to Ergo spores. Meanwhile, the Stargazer in the lobby ensured that the air in the hallways was kept clean and the people outside the cells wouldn't be subjected to it. Also, if the Alchemists did experiments with Ergo there, this might also explain the "hallucinations" the patients were seeing, because as we know from Test Subject 826, the memories stored in Ergo can be "read" if it's ingested, which can cause pretty vivid recollections. (Btw, it's noteworthy that all records from back when the Hotel was used as a mental facility were - very conveniently - destroyed in a large fire.)

So, the Petrification Disease probably already did exist beforehand. As you said, the disease advances rather slowly and painfully, so I'm not sure if it could cause such a large-scale catastrophe in such a short time. Instead, I have the suspicion that the Monad Charity House incident might be the first time that the Alchemists used the Petrification Disease cure - or "the carcass turn-potion", as I like to call it.

My theory is that they deliberately infected a good portion of the students and administered the cure to them shortly after, all in a relatively short period of time just before graduation. The sick students had mostly recovered and were believed to be able to leave soon, while Carlo had to stay behind because Geppetto didn't come to pick him up. Regarding the orphans, I did a little research, and in the 19th century children from orphanages usually were placed in an apprenticeship at 14 years of age (although in some cases 16 or 17), at which point they'd leave the orphanage. However, I'd like to imagine the kids from Monad Charity House could choose to stay a day longer to make preparations, and since Romeo probably wanted to remain at Carlo's side as long as possible, he stayed.

And that's when tragedy struck: The day before, everything seemed perfectly fine, when suddenly the next night, these terrifying monsters came out of nowhere, and the students had to fight for their dear lives.

Perhaps the "cure" was new and the Alchemists wanted to test how it works, with their experiment getting a little out of hand. However, if it wasn't an accident, I could imagine it as a ploy by Simon to get rid of Valentinus. Either way, if Carlo truly died in a fight, this would provide a plausible explanation for it.

Meanwhile, if Romeo was present, he must've gotten out of this mess somehow - however, he would have to flee by foot, and considering the theory that the Monad Charity House might be located somewhere in the countryside (some people believe the painting in the Lobster Inn to be a depiction of it), it might have taken him multiple days to get to Krat, potentially with the first symptoms of the Petrification Disease setting in (if didn't have it before, I'd suspect he would at least have contracted it after the incident).

This would also solve a slight continuity problem: Since Geppetto designed Romeo to be the King of Puppets to execute his plan with the frenzy, he couldn't possibly have done that without the knowledge of Carlo's death and his intention to create P. Thus, I think Geppetto actually tasked the mysterious Stalker to go to the Charity House and look for his son, since he was probably worried about him after he heard what happened there. The Stalker then returned (probably by carriage) with Carlo's body, while Romeo arrived a few days later, tired, battered, and ravaged by the disease, asking Geppetto to build him a puppet body. (This would also explain why Romeo was determined to continue fighting to protect people; after all, he was one of the few who actually knew about the carcasses, and it's not like you can battle a disease with weapons.)

The tragic part about this is that all of this could've been prevented - if Geppetto actually picked up Carlo from the school at graduation day and Romeo wouldn't have stayed behind, they wouldn't have been caught in this disaster. Still, I wonder if the children who left Monad Charity House might have been catalysts for the Petrification Disease outbreak in the city, as they might not have been aware they were infected before returning home (if any of them received the cure before their departure, they might have even turned into carcasses later).

I think carlo died shortly after his graduation, at the rose estate incident, when the disease was purposefully unleashed on a group of people.

The strange circumstances surrounding Carlo's death.

We're told through the loading screens that "Geppetto's son" died from the petrification disease, but there's also a couple of baffling details about his death.

The Stalker

The stalker makes a series of cryptic comments that don't seem to add up with what we are being told through-game.

My god... No... I'm sorry... I was too late... I wish I'd got here sooner... If I had known this would happen...

If Carlo was already infected by the time we see him talking to the stalker and before his collapse, then he would already have been for dead. "If I had known this would happen.." If she had known what would happen, then what could she have done if she got there sooner? If he died from a disease she could not have prevented, then why is she too late? Yes, it's not impossible for her to feel that way, or that she shouldn't prevent the earlier death of a dying boy, but it still strikes me as odd if Carlo ultimately died from disease related complications.

And if Carlo died from the disease, then why is the stalker involved at all?

The uniform

We see his death "first-hand", and he's lying on the floor, seemingly still dressed in his school uniform. [He's lying face up, almost as though to show us the easily identifiable tassel]

From what we see of the disease's victims (Antonia, Sophia, NPCS, and Romeo), and because of the nature of disease itself, it seems as though it's a slow and suffering end. If he died from disease, we would have expected some time to have passed between his meeting the stalker and his death. And yet, he seems to have died not long after his graduation. Why do we know this? Because he is still wearing his school uniform.

Who knows, maybe he just liked wearing it. But it's this little detail coupled with other factors that makes it seem strange.

The petrification disease

Carlo came from aristocracy, and we can see that the very wealthy and affluent people of Krat could afford medical care (namely, Antonia). Death by the petrification disease seems to be long, slow, and suffering, as Sophia seems to allude [as is the nature of disease in general]. But above all - the disease is by name and by nature, debilitating.

And yet, Carlo seems to be neither hospitalized nor quarantined, and seemingly died wearing the uniform. If some time had passed between his graduation and his death, would Carlo have snuck out somewhere, sick to the brink of death, dressed in his school uniform of all things, only to collapse and be found by the stalker? He would barely have been able to move.

[Is his graduation and the school outfit meant to tell us that it has been mere hours between him meeting the stalker and his death?]

Why are we being shown this memory?

All of the memories we see are what we can infer to be important or pivotal moments in Carlo's life. But what about this one? Why are WE the audience being shown this?

We see him as a distressed child over being left at a boarding school, and we see what is perhaps the very moment he lost all faith in his father, and we see his death. These are all pivotal moments. But it's the importance of the stalker that confused me. All of these moments seem emotionally charged, and sure, this was probably a bad memory for the deceased Carlo; But surely he had a plethora of them. What's so important about Carlo being rejected by the stalker?

It crumbles into dust, and several yards later we see the same person standing over his body, saying she was too late. The stalker memory is immediately followed by Carlo's death. I think the reason we're seeing this moment is because we're supposed to assume that this is what lead to his death. The graduation memory "ends" with her arrival ["Oh, She's here! Grab her!"], and she's later seen mourning over his body, so there's an almost immediate connection with his death, and between the last memory and the previous one.

Carlo's ergo

Maybe he was attacked, instead? But Carlo must've had the petrification disease, because we have his Ergo, and Ergo is the "natural" result of the disease. Non-withstanding the game's entire plot, Pino undeniably has his Ergo: his memories appear to us in the end section of the game, and we remember things we could not possibly have remembered ("Carlo").

And yet!!! [again].. Let's make some assumptions, that Carlo was perfectly healthy otherwise on the day of his graduation. He is rejected by the stalker, who then leaves, and not long after, she has returned to find him dead of the petrification disease. If it hasn't been much time, and he appeared otherwise completely healthy when meeting the stalker, he appears to have succumbed to the disease within hours.

The Rose estate incident

If Carlo died in the Rose estate incident - in which a great number of people were killed, why does the stalker stand over Carlo specifically, as if she’s personally “responsible”?

And If the attack at the Rose Estate was indeed a biological one (in which the disease was purposely unleashed on a group of people), and both Romeo and Carlo had not yet contracted it by the time they were graduating; there would have been some time in between his graduation, the stalker, and his actual death. Why would Carlo have succumbed so quickly to the disease - shortly after we see him meeting the stalker - when others, namely Romeo, seemed to have survived for longer [long enough at least to strike a "deal with the devil" to fight the epidemic]? I'm not sure. But if we can ignore the details of exactly how he died, I can make a couple of assumptions of what happened.

Putting it all together

What I think happened is that the Rose Estate attack happened on the last day of school, and that the attack was a biological one. If Carlo and Romeo grew up in a world without the petrification disease, then this would be the moment it was unleashed on their world. If he died in the Rose Estate attack, and he was at school, then it reasonably had to have been the final day he was there [because the school was closed after the attack].

Carlo asked her to teach him. What's she going to do, drop everything and train him right then and there? When we see Carlo asking to be trained by her, ostensibly he is asking her to take him with her ("I'm off"). The reason why she feels partially responsible for his death is because if she had taken him with her at that moment, then he would not have been there when the incident took place.

Also, we know that Gemini stayed behind with Carlo, who is said to have been a friend of Sophia's, and later became our little lamp guy. So if he were a stalker, this is where he would've also contracted the disease.

To reiterate, assuming that the stalker could have prevented his death entirely - shortly after meeting her is when Carlo got sick at the Monad house. If he had left, he would not have been there to contract any disease. I think Carlo being left behind was what "killed" him.

Why Graduation day?

As we can see, Carlo is lamenting that his father didn't show up for what is presumably his ceremony. This an event in which parents, caregivers, and community members would be expected to attend, meaning the school would have been open to outsiders.

Why the charity house?

Because of the Monad family, Sophia, and to overthrow Valentinus.

Some more loose assumptions and thoughts

The graduation ceremony is when (I’m assuming) the parents come to pick up their children.

“He didn’t even come to your graduation?”

So this ceremony has passed already. Would the parents show up to the ceremony, leave, and come back to pick up the kids on the next day at a boarding school? Probably not. They were probably there to pick up their children. Maybe the orphaned kids were staying at the charity house? [To be honest, I'm not sure how boarding schools work]

When Lampwick says, “It’s lucky you have any family at all”, perhaps it suggests that he had no background. Meaning both Carlo and Lampwick were left behind at the charity house on graduation, hence they both got sick. If Geppetto had shown up and taken Carlo home, he probably would’ve lived. So the graduating class of the charity house are leaving, and Carlo is asking to go with the legendary stalker?

It doesn’t sound like two boys grappling with the end of their lives. If they are infected at this point they don’t know it.

I'm guessing this is akin to high school, given that they were training to be stalkers, and specializing in your field would be like post-secondary.

#lies of p #lies of p spoilers #lore theories #monad charity house

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indianamoonshine · 3 years ago

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Girl Talk | Din Djarin x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: What does a gal do when she’s just been railed by the most notorious bounty hunter in The Galaxy? Call her best friend of course.

A/N: Just something to tide you over until the next installment of Strawberry! I have anxiety and I need to busy my hands without thinking too much! This takes place after season 2!

There’s a crackling on the other end of the receiver. The telegraph service majorly bites out here on Besiana, which has been dubbed “the trench of The Galaxy”. Getting connected to Gabriele at all is a miracle in itself, though not without exploiting a few (somewhat) illegal hacks by yours truly.

Hells, not even this shitty phoning service can put you in a sour mood.

When Gabriele’s voice sounds at the other end, it gives the air that he’s just awoken from a heavy sleep or he’s suffering a hangover. Probably both. “Now what the hell are you doing all the way out in butt-fucking-nowh…” he starts.

You’re quick to cut him off. “Take a guess.”

Gabriele groans and there’s a rummaging in the background. Something sounds as though it falls off a surface - his alarm clock, probably. He must be in the inner rim somewhere.

“Miss girl, I don’t have time to play these games with you. My head is pounding. Now tell me why you’re in the catacombs of The Galaxy’s ass and…”

Behind you, a body shuffles from outside the refresher door. Your heart thuds rambunctiously in your chest as you carefully peer through a crack of the opening. Din Djarin - The Galaxy’s most notorious Mandalorian- is taking a seat with his rifle in hand. You watch as he begins to disassemble it with great technical precision. Something about watching him take apart his weapon causes your stomach to flutter.

And your knees to weaken.

“I just had sex,” you tell him in a whisper.

Gabriele is silent on the other end for a moment and then lets out a sigh of great disappointment. “Congratulations. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

“The best sex of my life.”

There’s another pause. “Oh?” His interest has piqued, voice more alert at the prospect of juicy gossip. After all, what were best friends for?

You let this linger in the air for a minute, just to marinate his curiosity, and then peek at Din again. He’s taking a rag and wiping the barrel of the rifle; if it weren’t for the helmet upon his head, you’d swear he was concentrating with furrowed and ascetic brow.

“Do you remember that Mandalorian who made a giant fuss a couple of years ago?” you inquire lowly, eyes unable to leave the steadiness of Din’s deft hands.

Those hands. You have to stop yourself from moaning at the recent memories. You swear you can still feel the ghostly sear they left in their wake. The naked skin upon your hips tingles at the sheer recollection, the slick still upon your thighs all-too prevalent.

“You’re lying,” is what Gabriele gasps, absolutely scandalized. You imagine him shooting up in bed and covering his mouth in awe. He was always so dramatic but you couldn’t blame him if he did. This was the exact reaction you were hoping for.

Din grabs another piece of his rifle and starts up again. You have to tear yourself away from looking at him and instead surmise yourself in the mirror. It isn’t very big in any sense of the word but it’ll do. You take a look at your face (blushed and bright) and then your eyes (dazed and dick-drunk). Hells, this man has ruined you.

“I know you have questions,” you reply, tapping at your cheeks. They feel softer somehow.

Gabriele squeaks a bit under his breath. “Did he take off his helmet?”

You shake your head, though he can’t see it. “No. And I think it awoken something in me.”

He tsks. “Damn. I wanna know what he looks like. Okay…”

“I know he’s a brunette,” you say slyly.

Gabriele shrieks at the other end and you have to angle the receiver away with a laugh. “Is it big?”

You recall the tactical consideration- albeit brief - it took to get his dick in your mouth. You did it though, ‘ole girl. You tap yourself on the shoulder with a proud grin.

“Oh, it is. It’s…it’s very nice.”

You find yourself looking out the door again. Din’s moved onto another gun - he’s already put together the last. You grow weary at the sight of his gloved hands alone, but when your eyes trail downwards you find yourself swallowing something thick in your throat. Which in turn, of course, reminds you of the tanginess still lingering upon your tongue.

“Gabriele,” you say seriously, voice so low you can barely hear yourself. “I came eight times.”

“Shut up. You did not.” Gabriele sounds more than just excited - now he sounds jealous. You can’t help but giggle.

You raise a hand to your chest in a show of honesty. “I mean it. Eight times. He went down on me for an hour.”

“I thought you said he didn’t take off his helmet?” Gabriele asks suspiciously.

You chuckle lowly. “Oh, that’s where it gets really good.”

Gabriele - one of the biggest sluts in The goddamned Galaxy - was no stranger to sex. So when you tell him that you were blindfolded during this portion of an absolute wild ride, you’re shocked to find him screeching once more.

You’re about to continue - to confide in him about the brutal rhythm of the ordeal - until a knock startles you. You press the receiver against your chest, still flushed and naked from the previous romp.

Din calls your name from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

You freeze, contemplating on everything you could say to this most bland of questions. “I’ll be out in a moment!” you decide, scolding yourself for being so timid. You were at the end of his dick a half-hour ago.

Din mumbles something and then departs. After he’s within a safe distance, you quickly raise the receiver and say, “I have to go. But I’ll tell you everything later.”

Gabriele gawks, “Was that him?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

“Oh my gods, okay. Fine.”

You smile, clutching at the durasteel of the phone. “Promise. Love you.”

Your best friend sighs theatrically. “Love you too. Be safe, okay? I don’t even know who I’d call to go after him if something happened to you. No one would be stupid enough.”

The idea of Din doing anything to put you in harm’s way is inconceivable. You’ve only known him for a short amount of time - a couple of weeks at most - but you already trust him with your life.

“I’d die a happy woman,” you joke.

A short while later, you exit the refresher with sopping, clean hair and any traces of sex scrubbed away from between your legs. Din’s allowed you to wear one of his night shirts (an honor in itself) because your clothes had been soiled.

Din is placing his rifle upon its rack when you sneak by for the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of Java - black, unfortunately, because of Din’s lack of sweet tooth. The liquid is steaming hot so you blow on it before bringing it to your lips.

“Do you want one?” you ask him, taking a sip. It burns. “Oof.”

Din turns, armor somehow so dexterous in its bulk. “No, thank you. But…”

In a surprising move, Din reaches for your hips and pulls you flush against him, ignoring the mug altogether. You shriek, worried it might spill, and set it upon the countertop, but he pays little to no mind.

“You took awhile,” he mumbles, hands grasping at the flesh of your hips. They’ve already been treated so roughly today, and now you were sure there’d be bruising. Good.

You chew at your bottom lip, desperate to know what his eyes might look like. You imagine he has dark eyes - like the color of the sky at nightfall. Maybe they became brighter in the light of the suns. Maybe they crinkled when he laughed - if he were capable of that, anyway. You’ve yet to hear such music.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” you confess, avoiding the steel gaze of his faceplate.

Din hums under his breath and taps your chin, lifting it just barely so that you can meet his stare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, fluttering your lashes in a vain attempt to remain mysterious.

Din reaches for something behind you and reveals a scrap of fabric. “How about we try for nine?” The modulator of his helmet crackles a bit, causing his voice to sound more severe than what he may have liked.

But it does something to you.

You nod sweetly, a tiny grin threatening to sneak its way upon your face, before he takes you within his arms and lifts you upon the counter.

A shrieking, but playful, giggle bursts from your lips. “Din!” you chide, but tie the fabric around your eyes all the same.

The hiss of his helmet sounds, notifying you that he’s revealing himself to the elements now. You can hear his natural breath and feel the way it fans against your collarbones before he kisses you fiercely.

“Let me give you something to really talk about.”

#din djarin #din x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #mw1 #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din x you #the mandalorian x reader

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Unlucky

Part 2: ‘Lucky Me’

Corpse Husband x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Corpse decides to email back a person who has sent him quite a few creepy stories. She never seems to run out of scary encounters of both sorts: paranormal and stranger-danger. He gets suspicious that the stories are all made up so she can grab his attention, but he’s in for a surprise.

U/N - username

Requested: No

Corpse’s POV

I’m looking through my most recent emails from fans. They are all of scary encounters they’ve allegedly experienced. By now, I’ve read so many, it’s easy to decipher which are real and which are just made up nonsense. Some, I must admit, give me chills. Big props to the people who write those, especially if they are made up. If you can make someone’s skin crawl with your twisted, frightening imagination, you have one, for lack of a better term and in the most positive way, fucked up mind.

My cursor lands on the familiar username I see almost every other week. U/N. They have been sending stories consistently for about three years now. They, and I’m saying they cause you can never be sure who’s hiding behind the username, are either the most unlucky person to walk the planet or the one with most twisted imagination and story telling skills. I’ll admit, sometimes I narrate a story just because it’s well written. Believability is not the only thing I go by, I also reward creativity. And this person, U/N, has had their spot in many of my videos in the last three years. I’m honestly hoping they are made up, or at least some of them, because not only are there too many of them, but none of them fail to give me that eerie paranoia after I read them or the chills while I read them.

Once again, they have submitted a downright terrifying story. It would be a shame if I didn’t narrate it.

It would be a shame if I....

If I never actually meet them.

This many run-ins with people with malicious intent, always getting away by some miracle, what if they one day don’t make it out alive to tell it.

My heart sinks a little at the thought. I feel like I know this person, like we’ve known each other for three years now. They know the things the whole internet knows about me, and I, along with my regular watchers, know their stories. That’s by no means enough, now that I think about it.

My next action is really out of character for me. I decide to reach out to them. My fingers fly over the buttons on my keyboard too fast for my rational side to try and stop them. Deep down, I know I’m doing the rightest wrong thing I’ve ever done. My previously sunk heart is now in its assigned spot again, beating quickly.

You don’t know what you’re doing

I maybe don’t, but knowing isn’t what’s important right now. I just wanna do it.

~ Hey, this is probably, what, your twentieth story so far. I’m just curious, how many of these are made up? By the way, your stories are amazing and I’ll probably keep narrating them even if they aren’t real. They’re just that good.

I send the email before I can talk myself out of it. I get up from my chair immediately afterwards, putting as much distance between me and the computer as possible, silently promising myself I won’t be checking my mail every five minutes.

Y/N’s POV

I anxiously refresh and refresh my email inbox, waiting for the dreaded email back from my professor. Being halfway through the college experience, I know how tough this professor’s class is and how much I suck at it. I sent him my completed assignment last night, barely making the deadline mind you, so now I’m sweating hardcore, staring my computer screen down.

After refreshing for the millionth time, I’m met with a new email which makes my heart stop for a second or two, my stomach dropping. Then I take the time to read the sender’s name, the subject and the first sentence of the email, and all the previous changes in me reverse. My heartbeat picks up speed, going faster than a galloping horse and my stomach turns, making me feel the sensation everyone calls ‘butterflies’.

Nah, man. This shit ain’t real. It can’t be.

But then again, what if it is. What if I’m about to full-on ignore my favorite youtuber because of my paranoia. Well, it’s not exactly unsupported. My life has been a shit show of unfortunate event and situations I’ve literally had to claw my way out of in order to stay alive. Now, when something of the sort happens, it’s just another weekday. However, I still wanna share these encounters. Not only because they are proof of the dangers girls have to deal with on a daily basis, but they also get narrated by one of my favorite people ever. What more can a girl ask for?

~ Listen, I’m really not looking forward to getting catfished. Please leave me alone

It’s short, not sweet, and to the point. It’s easy to understand, and it clearly states that I’m not falling for it if it’s a scam, but if it’s real....someone call 911 cause I think I’ll faint.

~ I get it, you have trust issues. But that’s understandable. From the creepy guy messaging you on all your social media. To the stalker you had from you high school, or even that teacher that turned out to not be a teacher at all and just a pedo, I see where the lack of trust is coming from. But I assure you, they only thing I wanna do is chat.

The shock and happiness overwhelm me when the reply arrives not even ten minutes later.

Holy shit, this is him.

I start typing and then erase the typed half-sentence at least three times before receiving another email from him. From Corpse Husband. Corpse freaking Husband. How the fuck am I supposed to compose myself enough to reply to him, let alone sound cool and leave a good impression.

My hand shakes as I click the newly received email.

~ You probably don’t know what to say. Either that or you just don’t wanna talk to me. If you’re just baffled and surprised, reply with your name. If you want me to fuck off, ignore this email completely.

The smile I didn’t realize was there grows into a grin as small bursts of laughter escape me. Laughter caused by disbelief and shock. The type of laugh you let out when you score a good mark on the test you thought you completely fucked up.

~ Y/N. My name’s Y/N.

PS: The stories are all 100% real. All happened. In the order I sent them too. And before you ask, I guess I’m just unlucky, but you are proving me wrong right now.

I don’t know where that confidence at the end came from, but I don’t care really. All that matters is that this might just actually be happening and it might be the best thing to ever happen to me.

~ Man, you’ve had it rough. Tell me, is there an easier way to access you than email. Like Insta DMs? I feel we have a lot to talk about and email is not the most convenient.

At this point, it feel so much like a fever dream that I decide to treat it as though it is. I just go with the flow.

~ Yeah, but first.....am I really not being catfished right now?

The email I receive as a reply to this message is empty of text but there’s a file attached. Not gonna lie, I am a bit hesitant to open it, but I decide that if this turns bad, I’ll just have to deal with it. In the meantime, I’ll believe it’s not a scam.

It’s an audio file: “No, Y/N, you are not being catfished.”

That voice. That god damn voice. It could convince me of anything.

And now it’s convinced me into believing him. And finally letting out that squeal I was holding back before sending him my Instagram username.

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse husband fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader #requests open #request #husband #corpse simp #love #romance #among us

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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How would Renesme fare in high school? Would she be able to make friends (or even want to, she is the ultimate alien, but teenagers are weird) would other teens think her family is a cult or would she form a cult? Would she try weed? Would she ask to have a "normal" experience so she can go alone for the first time and if so would they let her have this human experience (since they don't realize she is not human and she might ake advantage of this)? and if so would the Cullens pose as teachers?

Well, the thing is, more than any other character this is me going way out on a limb. We don't see much of Renesmee in canon nor what her extremely bizarre childhood will end up doing to her.

But I suppose I can give my best guesses.

How Would Renesmee Fare in High School?

I imagine her first couple rounds (and probably her only rounds given the way things are headed) are decidedly bizarre. Renesmee won't be able to attend any kind of schooling for at least eight years. She won't be interacting with humans on any sort of regular basis beyond Charlie for eight years.

I imagine there's a lot of build up to high school and that she was home schooled long before that point.

Given her rapid mental development and the availability of tutors/resources in her family, I imagine she's far beyond high school by the time she enters.

She also has some weird expectations of it both being very boring and dull and very exciting (as the Cullens somehow treat it as if it's both). I'm sure she has no idea what to think.

Unfortunately, due to having grown up in a mineshaft with only her insane vampire family and being an alien herself, Renesmee will have 0 social skills. What she does know I imagine she picked up from human media.

I imagine a lot of "Hello fellow human", whihc... actually doesn't ostracize her any more than the rest of the Cullens. But I imagine high school's a bit of a let down for her.

It's nothing like Grease.

Would She Be Able to Make Friends?

No.

Renesmee has her gift, yes, but it seems to only go into overdrive when absolutely necessary. Amun never wanted to kill Renesmee but also thought she was kind of weird. Renesmee only makes you imprint if you're two seconds from murdering her.

Renesmee may be slower and weaker than vampires, but she's far stronger and faster than humans. Humans are no threat to her, her gift won't activate.

As a result, Renesmee looks enough like a vampire to be alien, acts like an alien (see above), and is a Cullen. Bella and Edward, who are probably pretending to be siblings with her, are actual incestuous freaks. Renesmee is related to that.

Renesmee sits at the Cullen table with the rest of the Cullens and has the vague suspicions that they're not as popular as Bella seems to think they are.

Would She Ask to Have a Normal Experience?

No, that would mean leaving Bella. More, Jacob would insist on coming with Renesmee for this normal experience, and Renesmee would want anything but that.

Not to mention I'm sure Renesmee quickly realizes she's 'other'. She's different from the Cullens as it is. She's never been human and they all have, most of the Cullens have this preconception that being human is superior to being a vampire, which is why they try to emulate humans so badly/be on the diet. Renesmee... doesn't have that.

As much as she doesn't fit in with or understand her own family she'd understand humans even less.

And I think it wouldn't take her long to figure that out. High school, even without her family, would never be a normal place for Renesmee. Nowhere would be.

She is forever a stranger in a strange land.

Would the Cullens Pose as Teachers?

Edward would. It would be awful. Renesmee would regret every decision she's ever made.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #renesmee cullen #meta #headcanon #opinion

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whitesparrows97 · 4 years ago

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Underdog – Part 1

Pairing: Dog Shifter!Taehyung x Human!Reader/Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Shifter AU/Hybrid AU

Summary: Even though humans and shifters coexist in one world, it’s still a rarity for hybrids to openly show themselves. One evening, when you hit a stray dog with your car, you feel so guilty that you bring him home with you. But you don’t realize until much later that you let a stranger into your house.

Warnings: Angst, being in a car accident

Word Count: 7.8K

Authors note: Hello, hello! I had this story in my drafts for months now (thanks overthinking me) and I really wanted to get at least the first chapter out before Taehyung’s birthday. I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, but I’m aiming for around four. I really hope you’ll like this story and this chapter and I’d be happy about every kind of feedback from you guys! Thank you so much for reading!

. . .

With a gasp you woke up from a dreamless sleep. You were confused for a moment as you let your gaze glide through the dark room and could only make out the outlines of your living room. When you looked outside the window, you realized that it had already become dark.

Crap.

You only wanted to take a short nap after work before going grocery shopping. Your refrigerator and the cupboards in your kitchen were devastatingly empty. But, as was so often the case, your nap turned into a deep sleep which left you even more exhausted than before.

In the dark, you searched for your cell phone, which you had placed on the small coffee table before falling asleep. When your fingers finally hit the small, square device and enclosed it, you breathed a sigh of relief. But the relief disappeared just as quickly and gave way to the hectic when you saw how late it already was. You had about half an hour before the supermarket would close. By car, it took you about fifteen minutes… maybe ten if you were lucky with the traffic lights.

You closed your eyes again for a short moment and thought about whether it was really worth the stress to rush off. If you were thinking about your bank account, which was already in the red, you knew that you could not afford to order food. You puffed out the air in frustration and got up from the sofa. In record time you put on your shoes and jacket and grabbed your bag before you were in your car a few minutes later. When you stopped at a red light, your fingers drummed a rhythm on the steering wheel while you kept your eyes focused on the light.

Impatient, you honked at the person in front of you when they didn’t start moving as soon as the light turned green. When you made a turn and could see the park, which was only illuminated by the moonlight and the few street lamps, you exhaled with relief. All you had to do was drive past it, take the next right before you–

The suffocated scream got stuck in your throat when you pressed your foot on the brake. Your fingers clutched firmly into the steering wheel and you tried to yank the car to the side, but then you heard the dull thud that shook your car. With screeching tires, your car came to a halt and only the roar of the engine mixed with your loud heartbeat pumping blood through your body filled your ears.

Panic rose inside you as your eyes looked out at the road ahead, hoping to see something in the light of your headlights. You hoped that you had only imagined the small, dark tuft of fur that had run in front of your car. Perhaps a hallucination due to your lack of sleep? Maybe you had also imagined the impact. You were sure you had read about it on the Internet before.

Your cramped fingers hurt when you peeled them off the steering wheel and you noticed how they trembled – you didn’t know whether it was fear or overexertion – when you tried to loosen your seat belt. It took you three attempts until the belt finally rolled back and you were able to get out of the car. Immediately, your legs buckled under you and you had to support yourself against the door. In the cold of the late evening you could see your own breath, but still you were sweating. Hesitantly you tried to look around the fender of the car, hoping to see only the asphalt there. Unfortunately, fate did not seem to be on your side tonight.

You managed to stifle a sob when you saw the dog lying in front of your car. As fast as your shaky legs carried you, you ran to the huddled figure. You scratched your knees open as you let yourself fall next to him, but you hardly felt the pain. He showed no reaction to your presence and kept his eyes firmly shut. You looked up hoping to see his owner coming out of the park. But the path to the park was empty, as were the area around you. You were completely on your own and more than overwhelmed by that.

There was nothing else you could do. Without a second thought, you slid your hands under the dog’s body and grimaced when your knuckles scraped across the asphalt. But the dull pain in your hands was immediately forgotten when the dog whimpered softly. It was as if this sound loosened your rigidity and immediately hot tears streamed down your face. You lifted him up and brought him as fast as possible to your car where you carefully laid him on the back seat.

“I’m so sorry,” you brought out between sobs before you stroked his fur briefly and took a seat behind the wheel again. You blinked away the tears, even when new ones immediately took their place, and dialed your best friend’s phone number. While it was ringing, you started the car and made your way to the practice.

“Come on, Hoseok,” you mumbled and bit your lower lip to stop your teeth from clattering. You wiped tears from your face again with the back of your hand as the road in front of you blurred and slowed down. One accident would be more than enough for today. When you heard the familiar crack of the line as Hoseok answered the call, tears of relief mixed in.

“Y/N? Why are you calling so late–”

“Hobi!” you interrupted him and you could hear the panic in your own voice. “I’m on my way to your practice. I just hit a dog and I don’t know how badly he is hurt. Oh God, he’s not moving and he was just whimpering. I don’t know what to do.” Another sob escaped you.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Hoseok tried to calm you down “I’m going straight to the practice, okay? It’ll be fine, you hear?” When you didn’t answer and suppressed more sobs, Hoseok asked again, “Okay, Y/N?”

You nodded. When you realized he couldn’t see that through the phone, you answered his question and hung up. Worried, you glanced over your shoulder at the brown dog who was still taking shallow breaths and lying motionless on your back seat. “It will be all right,” you repeated Hoseok’s words. Whether you wanted to calm the dog down or yourself, you didn’t know.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

“I came as fast as I could,” Hoseok greeted you and opened the small veterinary practice. It had been his childhood dream to become a veterinarian and unlike many others in that age who had the same dream but dropped it when they’d grown older, his desire only grew stronger. Now, more than twenty years later, not only did he have nearly six years of training behind him, but he even had two employees working under him.

Tonight, however, the practice was empty and dark; hours ago, it had treated its last patient. “Lay him on here,” Hoseok said as he put on a gown and gloves and additionally disinfected his hands. Carefully you laid the dog on the hard table and a chill ran down your spine as you touched the cold metal. Immediately you wanted to pull him right into your arms again. But you knew you were here so Hoseok could help him.

“Let’s see what the little one has,” Hoseok said, more to himself than to you. You watched Hoseok palpate the dog before he pulled up his eyelids with his practiced movements and pointed a flashlight into his eyes. “He doesn’t appear to have a concussion.”

Relieved, you exhaled.

“But he seems to have broken one paw and at least one,” he palpated his torso again, “no, probably two ribs,” Hoseok finished his diagnosis for now. You wanted to throw up, so guilty you felt. “Could you hold him for a moment, just in case he suddenly moves? I’ll get the x-ray.” He looked up at you from the dog and immediately stepped towards you. “Is everything okay? Are you feeling dizzy? You look like you’re gonna faint.”

You shook your head, but which of his questions you denied you didn’t know. The tears that you had had under control ran down your cheeks again. When Hoseok saw this, he bridged the last steps to you and squeezed your shoulders tightly. “We can do this, Y/N. It’s nothing serious, I promise you. Almost daily we have people here who have hit an animal. It happens more often than you think.”

“Okay,” you answered quietly and Hoseok hurried to get the x-ray machine from the next room. Hesitantly, you stepped closer to the metal table and stretched out your hand. The dog’s fur was tattered and you even saw some bald spots where the fur was completely missing. You let Hoseok know as soon as he came back and pulled the device clattering behind him into the room.

“I know, I noticed that too. Seems like he had been living outside for a long time. At least a few months, if not more.” He plugged in the device and immediately the room was filled with the constant whirring of the lamp. “Put this on,” Hoseok said, holding out a dark blue gown. When you reached for it, you were surprised at how heavy it was. “Protects you from the radiation,” Hoseok explained, wearing the same gown and matching gloves. He pressed numerous buttons before he fixed the dog’s legs and started the machine.

It didn’t take more than ten minutes, but you were so restless that it felt like hours watching the dog lying lifeless in front of you. Hoseok turned the machine off and moved it to the side when the process was complete. Your eyes were still on the dog when he suddenly opened his eyes. Two dark orbs stared at you and you froze in place staring right back at him.

“We were lucky,” Hoseok said, and you flinched as his voice cut loudly through the oppressive silence. “His paw is only sprained, as is one of his ribs. One rib though is broken but this should heal on its own with rest and medication.”

Hoseok reached into a drawer and pulled out a small device that looked like a magnifying glass, but was made entirely of gray plastic. He moved it straight over the dog’s neck and after a few seconds he clicked his tongue in frustration. “He has no chip.”

“What does that mean?” You chewed on your lower lip and tasted the blood as one spot ripped open.

“That he has no owner, or at least we can’t find out who his owner is. The only thing I can do is check to see if a dog has been reported missing.” Hoseok began applying a bandage around the dog’s torso and, when he was finished, pressed a pack of medicine into your hand. “Three times a day, morning, noon, and in the evening. Just mix this into his food.”

Hoseok sat down at the computer and started to enter some data. Confused, you looked at the package in your hand. “What should I do with it?”

“Huh?” Hoseok asked over his shoulder.

“The medicine, what am I supposed to do with it?” You waved the little package in question in the air for him to see.

Now, Hoseok turned completely around to you. “You’re supposed to give those to him,” he answered, as if it were a matter of course.

“Hobi, I can’t take him home,” you clarified. “I have no experience with dogs. I have no food at home, no basket and no toys. And I have a job, how will that work?”

Hoseok sighed and let his head fall forward. When he looked up again, he had a mischievous smile on his lips. “He is not reported missing. If you don’t take him in, I’ll have to take him to a shelter.”

You didn’t say anything because you knew exactly what Hoseok was talking about.

“And you know what it’s like with animals that are injured. Many people shy away from taking on such an animal because of unexpected costs–”

“Yes, all right,” you interrupted your best friend and a triumphant smile spread across his face. “But I still don’t know how I’m going to manage all this,” you said with concern.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hoseok reassured you and he got up from his chair to approach you. “We have some dog food here and I’m sure I saw a toy somewhere. You can use a couple of blankets and pillows as a bedding, that’s enough for one night. And about work…” He rummaged in one of the many cupboards and took out two cans of dog food, “Didn't you say that you were going to work part-time? You have a big garden, so he can be alone for five hours. He won’t feel the need to run around much for the next few weeks anyway.”

When Hoseok told you all these things, you found it hard to say anything to him. He was right – you had a small, cozy house all to yourself, which you could never fill out alone. The garden was hidden behind the house and fenced in on all sides and you didn’t have to worry in your neighborhood anyway. You also had a secure job that brought you halfway good money…

With a smile, Hoseok handed you a small toy dog before carrying the real dog to your car. You put the two cans of dog food in the footwell and placed the toy dog right in front of the dog’s nose. Your heart began to beat faster when you watched his nose move and he picked up the scent of what were probably other dogs who had already played with the toy.

“He’s an Australian Kelpie by the way,” Hoseok said as you were about to get into your car. “Very intelligent animals and once he trusts you, very affectionate.”

You nodded. You knew what Hoseok was getting at.

You knew your best friend long enough to know that he would never forgive you if you took the dog to a shelter. But he didn’t have to worry – you felt way too guilty. You wouldn’t hit an animal and then dump him at the next opportunity in an animal shelter; out of sight, out of mind. You were not like that and you were not raised like that. You had always taken responsibility for your deeds – and also mistakes – and now would be no different.

Exhausted, you leaned back in your seat when you were on your way home. When you looked in your rear-view mirror and saw only two pointed ears, a little smile was stealing onto your face. But it fell right out of your face a second later as you turned back in shock. Indeed, the dog was no longer lying on the back seat, but had meanwhile sat up and looked at you.

“Hey, you are supposed to rest!” you scolded him as if he could understand what you were saying. “Not that you’re going to hurt yourself even more.” Anything else would have surprised you, but the dog stubbornly continued to sit and look at you. Two dark eyes watching your every move. Each of your facial features as you nervously chewed your lip or slid restlessly back and forth in your seat at a red light.

You were happy when you finally drove up your driveway to the house. “Here we are,” you told him and turned off the engine. You decided to check the damage to your car tomorrow morning before work. You didn’t know whether a visit to the repair shop was financially feasible at the moment. You doubted it when you looked at the dog behind you. It would not be cheap to buy all the necessary things for a dog. But it would be worth it for the fact that the house was no longer as quiet and deserted.

And slowly, very slowly, your guilt was replaced by another feeling; excitement.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

You had to blink a few times to get the sleep out of your eyes and get used to the sun that was shining through your window. For a brief, calm moment, everything was like twenty-four hours ago. Your thoughts had not yet caught up with you and were still hanging on to the confusing dream that slowly sank further and further into oblivion. After a few more seconds, you had completely forgotten what it had been about.

You stretched and your bones cracked. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to do some exercise again. But… what would be an even better idea would be a big cup of coffee and a nice breakfast. By nice, you meant a bowl of the cheap cereal that was on sale at the supermarket last week. After your first bite a few days earlier, you could imagine why it had been on sale. It was amazing that cereal could taste like cardboard, but you never stopped learning, right?

You straightened up and let your legs dangle from the bed before you put them on the floor. At least you wanted to, but instead of the cold, hard laminate floor, you stepped on something fluffy and soft.

Immediately you pulled your legs up and leaned forward to look over the edge of the bed. Right. How could you have forgotten that? It really seemed that thirty seconds after waking up you didn’t remember anything.

You let your gaze glide over the bundle of dark brown fur that had curled up into a ball and had buried its nose almost protectively under its paws. Almost as if he wanted to hide from the world.

You stretched out your hand slowly. You had such a strong need to let your fingers slide through his fur. But in the middle of your movement you paused when you saw two eyes staring right at you between his paws.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you muttered and pulled your hand back again. He had probably woken up when you almost stepped on him by mistake. You just didn’t seem to have any luck with the little four-legged friend. “Are you hungry?” you asked, hoping that he would forgive you your little mishaps with some food.

Immediately he pulled his head out from under his paws and raised his head. “You hungry?” you repeated and he tilted his head. You assumed that he still knew the word from his former owner and that he recognized it now. “Let’s go,” you said and stood up. You were careful to keep some distance between you and the dog. You didn’t know what he had experienced and if he liked physical proximity. But what you knew was that he was still watching you with a skeptical look.

You put on warm and cozy socks, which were still lying on the floor next to your bed from the previous evening, and made your way to the kitchen. When you took a bowl out of the kitchen cupboard and opened the can of dog food, your eyes fell on the dog, who was standing a few meters away and watching you. “What should I name you? I can no longer call you just dog.”

You went over some names in your head while you filled the food into the bowl. You put it on the floor and prepared your own breakfast. You didn’t have much choice anyway, so you were left with the cardboard flavoured cereal. Sighing, you pressed the button on the coffee machine and breathed in the scent that filled the room.

As you sipped from your cup, you watched the dog as he hesitantly paced towards the bowl. His nose picked up the smell of food in front of him, then he shook himself and nudged the bowl away from him. Astonished, you put the cup down on the worktop. “Don’t you like your food?”

The dog snorted and looked at you as if it was an impertinence that you even asked such a question.

“But you must eat something. I promise you, I’ll go shopping later and bring you something better. But for now, this will have to do, I’m sorry,” you explained to him. You knew he didn’t understand you, but you hoped that he could tell by the tone of your voice what you were trying to tell him.

The dog stared at you for a moment longer before making a sound that sounded almost like a sigh and he reluctantly walked towards the bowl. He sniffed at the indefinable mass once more before he hesitantly started to eat from it.

“Well, there you go,” you whispered and began to choke down your no less appetizing-looking breakfast. “And I’ll bring something for me, too. I swear, I wouldn’t be surprised if the packaging tastes better than the cereal itself,” you whispered in frustration.

When you put your empty bowl in the sink, you noticed that the dog had eaten his food too. He took a few steps back when you approached him to put the bowl away as well. Immediately you felt the lump in your throat and stopped moving. Slowly you let yourself sink into a crouch and carefully extended your hand.

His gaze was fixed on your hand, which was gripping the bowl. Just as slowly you straightened up again. You were already dreading it when you thought of the upcoming walk. How could this work when he hardly let you within a radius of less than one meter? You were surprised that he had even accepted to sleep beside you. But he probably had been too exhausted yesterday and hadn’t had the strength to move the blankets or find another place to sleep.

You supported yourself with your hands on the worktop and looked out the patio door into the garden. You could see even from a distance how the grass was covered with a blanket of fresh morning dew. The fog was still hanging in the treetops of the adjacent forest so early in the morning and it would probably take a few more hours before it disappeared.

Maybe it would be better if you only let him into the garden? At least there he would have the possibility to keep some distance to you. And that would probably also be better for his injury. Your lips were pressed into a straight line when your gaze fell on the white bandage around his one front paw and his torso.

You dispelled the guilt that was building up inside you and pushed yourself off the countertop to go to the patio door. “Would you like to get some fresh air?” You flinched at the loud noise the door made when you opened it. But the birds chirping their first songs brought a smile to your face as the sun carefully sent its rays over the trees.

You turned around to the dog, who also had his eyes on the garden. His tail swung slowly from side to side and you grinned. “Go ahead, you can go out,” you encouraged him and stepped aside so that there was enough space between you as he slowly walked towards the door. He looked at you once more before he put one of his paws first on the terrace and then followed with the other three. You watched him briefly as he explored the garden and slowly looked at the various bushes, shrubs and plants.

Your parents had always been keen on a well-tended garden. Even if it was not the biggest, it certainly offered enough work for one person. A narrow paved path divided the various flower beds from the small green area where you had always splashed in a small inflatable pool as a child. The path led to a garden gate that was built into the fence. This fence surrounded the entire garden, so you didn’t have to worry about unauthorized people entering the property or animals from the adjacent forest suddenly appearing in front of your patio door.

That’s why you checked one last time on the dog before you went into the bathroom. You wouldn’t want to be watched either during your morning business, so you gave him the few minutes of discovery and privacy. You needed the time to get ready before you had to go to the office as well.

To be honest, you often had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach when you were on your way to work. You knew that these were probably not the best conditions for a healthy working atmosphere and that you might need to find a new job. However, that was easier said than done. The job prospects were rather bad in the small town, which was why you had been more than happy when you found this job right after your graduation.

Why exactly the job was available was something you experienced first-hand on your first day of work. You had just said introduced yourself to your new colleagues when they had already warned you about your new boss. Phrases like ‘absolute choleric’, ‘lazy bastard’ and other, far more vicious insults had been uttered even before they had told you their own names.

The fact that you had lasted so long at all was probably not very healthy for your overall well-being. But as soon as you had something new in sight, you would be gone faster than the insults of your boss yelled at you would reach you.

Almost automatically, you went back into your bedroom and put on your dark blue pinstripe pants and a plain white blouse. You looked at the crumpled up pile of blankets and pillows that you had made a makeshift bed. With a small smile and absorbed in thought, you loosened the pillows and rearranged the blankets neatly so that no bald spots formed in between and the dog had to sleep on the cold floor.

You went back into the kitchen and let your gaze wander over the various bushes in the garden and frowned. You leaned forward to catch a glimpse under the leaves of the bushes, but everything seemed quiet and your eyes didn’t notice any movement in the small rectangle.

Immediately your heart beat faster as you stepped onto the terrace and frantically continued to search the garden. “Doggie?” you asked quietly and more to yourself. “Where are you?” you asked louder this time and stepped onto the wet lawn. You felt the panic rising inside you and took quick steps towards the garden gate. You reached for the latch, but the lock was still in place. So it definitely could not have blown open or someone had stolen the dog from the garden.

Almost to tears, you turned back and flinched when the dog suddenly stood in front of you not even a meter away. “There you are!” you exclaimed in relief. You would love to bend down to him and fluff through his fur. But you held yourself back. “I was looking for you, I thought you had disappeared.”

You were almost embarrassed how weepy your voice sounded, although you had held back the tears well until now. Yet you couldn’t deny the pure relief that passed through you as he looked back at you.

“Shall we go back inside?”

When the both of you were back inside, you looked at your watch and knew that you should leave. You put another bowl of water for the dog, grabbed your bag and kept an eye out for him. This time you found him quickly. All you had to do was take a peek into your bedroom and hold back your laughter.

“Just so we’re clear,” you said gently, “this is my bed and I’m only allowing you to sleep in it today.”

He didn��t even look up, he just turned to the other side and you saw that as a clear sign to leave him alone and drive to work.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Five hours later you stepped out of the multi-story office building and could finally breathe again. The atmosphere in the small office, where you were all squeezed together, had once again been almost unbearable. In fact, it was already so bad that you considered a working day successful when your boss had paid no attention to you at all. Most of the time he sat in his own office, which took up a good third of the entire office.

The only thing you liked about your work were your colleagues. You were a sworn team and you allied yourselves against your boss when he went crazy again. It seemed there was something to the saying that a common enemy made you friends. At least you knew that the others were always behind you when your boss yelled at you. You also knew, purely rationally, that it had nothing to do with you as a person, but that it was his fault. But that didn’t make the situations any better when you’d rather hop into your car and drive home after one of his outbursts.

But then you didn’t even have to show up the next day.

When you sat down in your car and entered the destination in your cell phone, you had to smile despite everything. At least now you had something to look forward to at home. Someone would be waiting for you; or at least you hoped he would. He still seemed to be rather sceptical about you. But you were sure that this would change with time.

You pulled into the large parking lot of the shopping mall and already saw the large pet store. You were a bit excited when you took the note out of your bag on which you had written down the essential things you had to buy today. The store was well sorted and fortunately had everything you needed.

You were a bit overwhelmed with the food you had to choose. It felt like there were hundreds of different kinds of food, fish, beef, pork… how were you supposed to know which tasted good and which didn’t?

Your eyes fell on the bottom row of the shelf, in the very corner were a few cans, which were different in color from the others. You rolled your shopping cart to the side and crouched down to read the label on the cans. But you didn’t get a chance to read the label when you heard someone clearing their throat next to you. Immediately you turned your head and looked at the employee.

He moved the glasses that were sitting on his nose and had slipped down a bit back into place and gave you a nervous smile. “Can I help you?”

Surprised, you straightened up again. “Actually, yes, I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest.”

“I understand,” he replied sympathetically, “hybrids are very complex beings. If you don’t give them the attention they need, they can be very resentful.” He pointed to the cans in front of you and you jumped aside in surprise to make room for him.

“Wait a minute, you’re talking about a hybrid?” you began wondering.

The man had taken your position in front of the shelf and grabbed one of the cans from the shelf. “You were in front of the shelf for hybrids, I thought… I thought you had a hybrid.” His smile was gone, what remained was a confused frown.

“Oh no, no,” you made yourself clear and waved your arms wildly in front of your torso, hoping to underline your statement. “He’s an Australian Kelpie, just an ordinary dog.” You threw him a smile, hoping to make the situation a little less awkward.

“Ah, okay,” he said and put the can back in its place, “Then you’re free to choose,” he went on and made a broad arm movement to the rest of the shelf.

“You don’t have much choice for hybrids,” you noted as you glanced again over the countless cans, almost dwarfing the handful of cans for hybrids by comparison.

The employee sighed, which made you turn your attention back to him. “You don’t know much about hybrids, do you?” Your expression seemed to alarm him because he promptly added, “No offense.”

“None taken, I just didn’t think it was that obvious,” you reassured him and took the can he handed you.

“This is perfect for Australian Kelpies. Especially for puppies to strengthen their bone structure.”

“Oh, he’s not a puppy anymore. To be honest, I don’t even know how old he is. But he’s definitely full-grown.”

“Oh, I see. You adopted a dog from a shelter. That’s very commendable. Then I recommend this one,” he said and handed you another can. “I also recommend a beef or veal bone, that will keep him busy for a while. And I would supplement the food with a simple but high-quality dry food.”

“Perfect, thank you so much! I just hope he likes the food. This morning he barely wanted to eat. Almost as if he was disgusted.”

“Hm, funny,” he replied, “normally they are very easy to care for and don’t have too high demands on their food. But dogs also have different personalities, maybe you have a little diva at home.”

You laughed and lifted the heavy bag of dry food into the cart. “I hope not.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

One hour and a car packed with groceries for you and your new resident later, you made your way home exhausted. The horrendous amounts of money you spent today you pushed far back and out of your consciousness. If need be, you had a little something put aside that you could fall back on if the money ran out at the end of the month.

“I’m back!” you shouted into the dead quiet house as you closed the door behind you and the purchases took up the entire entrance. You climbed over the dog bed and carried the groceries into the kitchen. You stowed everything in the refrigerator and the cupboards and were just about to go back into the hallway to get the rest when your eyes fell on the sink.

Your eyebrows were drawn together as you looked at the two bowls and the spoon that were on the tray for draining. Had you washed the dishes this morning? You were convinced that you had only put them in the sink. But maybe this process was already so automated in your brain that you hadn’t even noticed it.

Without a second thought, you grabbed the dog bed and dragged it into your bedroom. Your bed was deserted, so you just quickly picked up the blankets and pillows from the floor and put the dog bed in its place instead. You looked at the position for a moment before you pushed it with your foot half a meter away from your bed. You didn’t want to make the same mistake tomorrow morning, if you were still not used to having a dog sharing your room from now on.

“Where are you?” you shouted as you left the bedroom, looking for the dog in every room on the first floor. The house was not infinitely large, so it couldn’t be that difficult to find him. You paused for a moment and listened if you could hear the paws tripping somewhere, but the house was quiet.

With careful steps you climbed up the stairs. Most of the doors were locked and you actually thought you had closed all the doors. However, one of them was ajar, so that you headed towards it. “You in here, doggie?”

Carefully you pushed the door open and the question popped into your head how he had fitted through the slit. But this thought was displaced by the feeling that spread through you when you took a look into the room behind the door.

Your father had used this room as an office and you had hardly had the time (and money) to decorate the room the way you wanted it to be. Therefore there was only a simple desk in the room, numerous shelves that you had more or less filled with your things and documents, an easel with a blank canvas on it and your mother’s old piano that she had left you when she moved out. As a child, you had taken lessons twice a week, but hadn’t played in ages now.

Right in front of this dusty piano the dog stood on his hind legs. His front paws he had supported on the cushion of the seat. “What are you doing there?” you asked laughing and the dog’s head moved around to you. He must have pulled the seat out because you were sure you had never pulled it out from under the piano.

You crouched down and hesitantly stretched out your hands. To your surprise, he pushed himself off the chair and slowly came towards you. He stopped just before you and you waited a moment longer to see if he changed his mind and backed out. But he still stood in front of you and looked at you waiting. Slowly you approached one hand to his nose and held it out to him so he could sniff it.

But he ducked away from your hand and came another step closer so that his nose almost touched your upper body when he looked up at you. “Do you want me to pet you?” you asked, your voice no more than a whisper for fear he might shy away from the sound. Of course, no answer came back, so you let your hand, which was still hovering in the air, sink slowly. Gently your fingers came into contact with the fur on his back. You knew that once you had washed him, his fur would soften. Right now it was still ruffled and dirty from the weather outside. Who knew how long the poor guy was out there on his own…

You moved your hand up and down his back for a few more seconds before you slowly straightened up so as not to frighten him. “Shall we go outside?”

Immediately, his head rushed to you and a blink of an eye later he started jumping up and down. You had to laugh. “Not so fast, not that you hurt yourself,” you warned him, but by then he was already on his way to the stairs. You only heard his paws on the wood and hurried after him. When you came downstairs, his nose was already halfway into the shopping bags that contained the cans of his dog food. With a smile, you grabbed the harness from a bag to which you attached the leash.

You were relieved that the time alone had apparently done him good and that he had warmed up a little with you in the meantime. This would make things a lot easier if you tried to put the harness on him. You called him to you and were amazed at how well he obeyed you. Whoever his former owners had been, they must have raised him well. Without resistance, he had the harness put on.

You too became a little more courageous and stroked his chin. “I have thought of a name for you in the meantime, too,” you said and he tilted his head. “There was once a children’s series about a bear who got into trouble from time to time. You also look like you like to make some trouble.” He turned his head to the other side, as if to say: Me and trouble? Never.

“Anyway, you remind me of a bear, and grizzly didn’t quite fit. So how about Paddington?”

The dog in front of you almost snorted contemptuously and your smile disappeared. You had thought about it the whole time at work and found the name fitting. “Don’t you like Paddington?” Another snort, this time followed by a shake of his whole body. “Okay, okay, all right,” you said thoughtfully. “But you look like a slightly undersized bear and I think you like Winnie the Pooh even less.” This time the dog showed no reaction at all, just stared at you from his almost black eyes. “I’m just kidding, Baby Bear,” you reassured him and immediately his head shot up. “Oh, you like that nickname?” He took a step forward and licked your hand. “But it’s just a nickname, we still have to think of a real name. But it can wait.”

You straightened up with the leash in your hand and grabbed your keys. You both left the house through the patio door and went through the garden gate towards the adjacent forest. As a small child, you had often been afraid of the dark pines and large deciduous trees, which filtered much of the daylight with their canopy of leaves. Nowadays you loved the silence that surrounded you as soon as you stepped into the forest. It felt like a different world, all the stress was forgotten for a few minutes and the noise of the city fell silent. Instead, the songs of the birds, the rustling of the leaves in the wind and the sticks cracking under your feet as you stepped on them embraced you.

And you felt even better now that you had a little four-legged friend by your side.

You watched him stop here and there to smell plants or pick up a stick to drop it a few meters later when something else caught his attention. Normally at this time, and in general in this part of the forest, you did not meet a soul. That’s why the blood froze in your veins when the dog suddenly stopped as if frozen, so you staggered back a little when the leash was stretched. You didn’t realize that he had stopped, but when you saw his expression, you knew something was wrong.

You didn’t dare to ask what it was. Even if he couldn’t answer, you wanted to draw his attention back to you. Maybe he had just smelled a rabbit or heard a noise in the distance. The fact that he pointed his tail straight back and snarled his teeth did not necessarily mean that something was wrong. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

You backed off a few steps so that you stood behind him and you half-heartedly pulled the leash to lead him back to the house. When you turned around, you could still see the top of the roof of your house between the trees. When you turned back, you thought you saw a silhouette standing between the trees. Immediately a shiver ran through you and the hairs on your arms stood up.

“Let’s go,” you whispered, that was all you were capable of. Again you pulled on the leash, but this time the dog growled in front of you. Still he had not turned his gaze away from his intended target. But when you looked in the same direction, you couldn’t see more than the small forest path leading into the gloom of the forest. But that changed a second later when a figure stepped out of the bushes. At first you only heard the rustling of the leaves, then you saw the branches being pushed aside as a big grey wolf came towards you.

Instinctively you recoiled, you had the leash so tightly wrapped around you that your fingers hurt. You tried to pull the dog towards you, but he did not move a bit. You thought about running back to the house alone. Maybe you could call Hoseok, but even that wouldn’t help you at this moment. You didn’t want to leave the dog alone with the wolf. Maybe they would get into a fight or he would run away in front of a car of the next speeder.

No. You kept clutching the leash and trying to remember what you had read, how to react when a wolf was facing you. You were sure that the majority had assured you that wolves were so shy that they avoided humans. So why this wolf came closer and closer to you was a mystery to you. You were unsure whether you should continue to stand there as if rooted in the ground or chase him away with loud noises.

But even if you wanted to make a sound – it did not work. Not even the smallest sound came out of you. You couldn’t even breathe properly when you watched the wolf stop right in front of you. His gaze lay on your dog and the two of them seemed to be having a staring contest. Whether this was a good sign or meant that they would start attacking at any moment, you did not know. But you were sure that you would find out at any moment.

The wolf gave a deep growl of itself, which went through your marrow and leg and you had to suppress a shiver. Your dog also gave another growl and he took a confident step forward. You were pulled along and gave a choked gasp of fear. This did not go unheard by the two animals in front of you and suddenly the attention of the wolf was on you.

You dodged his gaze and turned your head to the side, hoping to turn his attention away from you as quickly as possible. You flinched as your dog growled again, this time louder and slowly backed away. You took this as an unspoken invitation to imitate him and to go backwards as well. Step by step you brought more and more distance between you and the wolf, which turned around after a few steps and disappeared back into the forest.

You ran as fast as your feet carried you back to the house. Startled, you cried out when you almost ran over a rabbit, which hopped back into the bushes. But you had no room in you to feel guilty. Too great was the fear inside you. You could only exhale with relief when you had closed and locked both the garden gate and the patio door behind you. But for the rest of the afternoon and evening you felt as if the inhabitants of the forest were watching you and the tops of the trees gently swaying in the wind were laughing at your naivety.

#taehyung x reader #dog hybrid!taehyung #hybrid!taehyung x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts hybrid au #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #hybridbtsnetwork #hybrid taehyung x reader #bts fanfic

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kaeyasstarlight · 4 years ago

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A Sleeping Beauty(Husband!/Prince!Shoto Todoroki x Wife!/Aurora!Reader)(Royal/Sleeping Beauty AU)

A.N: I hope you will like this scenario and I had fun writing it :D I will probably do more Disney stories like this with other characters and have fun reading! :)

If I made a mistake feel free to tell me! :)

Genre:Fluff

Warnings: Female pronouns(She/Her)

Story Used:"Sleeping Beauty" Disney adaptation

"Daddy! It's time for my bed time story!",your 4 years old kid yells(You can choose a girl,a boy or a non-binary kid).

"I'm coming princess/prince/royal",your husband Shoto responds while smiling at you both's creation.

He thanks you everyday for giving him the most beautiful gift you could have given him, a child of his own.

He goes sit on the bed of his kid and he sees your down expression on your face while you pass in the hallway.

You have been feeling down lately because of work, but you didn't want to show it to your family, but Shoto knows you too well and saw that you were down. An idea pops in his head at this moment.

"Hey Honey? Would like to come listen to the story with us. The one of today is special.", you smile at him

"Of course. I'll go get a blanket and I'm coming."

You then get back with the big blanket and put it on you, Shoto and your kid.

"So, you said that today's story was special?",you look at your husband.

"Yes. I took a story and changed it a bit at my manner."

"I'm excited to see", said your kid with a big grin on their face.

"Ok, so here it is":

Once upon a time, in the Kingdom of (Your Country), was born a beautiful princess named Y/N L/N.

"Just like mommy!", said your kid while cutting Shoto's story.

"Yes just like Mommy, and she was just as beautiful as your mother."

You knew where this was going and a smile popped on your face at his actions.

For the birth of the princess, their parents has organized a big event where all the kingdom and the Kingdom of the king Enji who had just gotten a fourth kid nammed Shoto, was invited. The parents(I made it so it works if you have two moms or two dads), had invited three fairies and they each would give the princess a gift. The first one, Katsuki, gave the princess the gift of beauty. The second one, Tenya, gave the princess the gift of a beautiful voice.

"For now the story works with mommy's description"

"You think so",said Shoto

"Yeah! Mommy is very beautiful and she has a pretty voice when she sings"

"You don't have to say all that",you respond while blushing a bit

"Also the prince has the same name as you daddy"

"Yeah. Imagine the princess and the prince ends up together like me and mommy."

"It would be so cute!"

"Before you continue, does the fairies has the same names as uncle Kacchan and uncle Iida?"

'Yeah, and the third one's name is Izuku just like uncle Midoriya"

"Ohhhhh you can continue"

Shoto continues:

When it was the turn of the third fairy,Izuku, a big amount of smoke appeared. It was the shapeshifter witch Himiko Toga.

"No one invited me to the party? How sad. Well I guess I can also give something to the little girl now that I'm here."

"No! You won't touch her and get her blood you crazy witch!"

"Oh come on! You know I have something better. You didn't invite to the celebration when you know I love parties. You know what? I'm gonna give the princess a gift! She will pick her finger on a spinning wheel on her sixteenth birthday and die!"

"NO!", yelled your parents

Himiko then disapeared in a cloud of smoke. The third fairy hasn't given her gift yet. He decides to give her the gift that instead of dying, she will fall into a deep slumber until someone gives her a true love kiss. The parents of the girl orders that all spinning wheels of the kingdom must be burned and the parents decides to let their daughter live with the fairies in a cottage in the forest.

Many years later, the princess turns into a beautiful and wonderful woman. She doesn't know her parents are the royal family and she thinks she's just a peseant and that Katsuki,Tenya and Izuku educated her after her parents died. It is now Y/N's sixteeth birthday and the fairies wants to organize her a surprise party.

"Y/N? Could you please go gather berries for the dessert tonight?", said Tenya.

"Of course! I'll be back later!"

"And don't forget not talk to strangers!",reminded Katsuki

Y/N left the house and went to go gather the berries in the forest. The girl then decided to go by the river a little while. The animals then gather aroud her. She always had a good relationship with animals and she taught they could understand her.

Meanwhile, the prince Shoto, who has also become a handsome young man, was out with his horse and heard the voice of the girl. He got struck by the beauty of her voice he wanted to know who she was. He tried to follow the voice but on his way, he fell into a pound.

On the side of the river, Y/N is talking with animals about the fact that her godfathers stills treats her like she's a child and she wishes she could meet someone. She then tells them she met someone "Once Upon A Dream". While she tells her dream about her walking with a prince, some of the animals finds the cape,the boots and the hat of the prince and takes them.

(At this part you can listen to the song "Once Upon A Dream" to be more in the ambiance ;) )

The animals acts as the prince of Y/N's dream and dance with her. She is getting directly in the scene and dances with them while pretending she's talking to the prince from her dream. Then at a moment, the real prince Shoto starts to sing. She's surprised at first and tries to go away because he's a stranger. He then tells her: "Don't you remember? You said it yourself, we already met, "Once Upon A Dream"".he then starts to sing again. The princess then gets confidence in him and dances with him like this.

Shoto makes you stand up and puts his hand on your waist. He makes you sway in his arms to slow dance just like the prince with the princess in the story. He starts to sing the song and you get along with it. You both are twirling in your kid's room and having a romantic moment like you never had. Your kid looks at the both of you with amazed eyes and claps at the end of your performance.

"Let's go back to the story shall we?",Shoto says after you both sat down again on the bed.

Y/N invites the young man to meet her godfathers at dinner and he accepts. Meanwhile, at the cottage, the fairies had some trouble to organize the party so they decided to use their magic.

"HUH?! Why the hell would you want to make the dress Blue?! It would obviously be better in Pink!(I can't belive I wrote that haha)",said Katsuki

"Kacchan I was just proposing an idea, but I think that the Blue would be better on Y/N",responded Izuku

"Hell nah! I have way better fashion sense than you damn nerd! She would be so much better in Pink!"

While they were arguying, Tenya was trying to make a cake with no big succes the normal way. With magic, it gave a better result and it looked so delicious. Unfortunately, all the magic that Katsuki, Tenya and Izuku were making was leaving traces and it caught the attention of Himiko's sidekick, Dabi. He hides behind the house and Y/N arrives back home. She tells her godfathers that she has fallen in love, but they don't know it's the prince. They tell her that she's the princess and that she's already engaged to the prince Shoto and they will bring her back to the castle tonight. She goes in her room crying because won't be able to be with the stranger she fell in love with.

Dabi overheard the conversation and went to tell Himiko that the princess would be at the castle tonight.

Meanwhile,the prince tells his father he wants to marry a peseant, which the king Enji is not pleased about.

"SHOTOOO! YOU CAN'T MARRY A PESEANT! YOU'RE ENGAGED TO THE PRINCESS Y/N!"

Shoto didn't care about his father and would go to the dinner at the cottage tonight anyways.

Y/N gets all dressed and ready for her birthday celebration and be with her parents again, but then a glow apears in the room. She follows it by curiosity. The fairies then also see the glow when they come to go get Y/N and try to go as fast as they can to stop her. Unfortunately, they came too late and the beautiful princess was on the floor. Himiko laughs at her victory:

"Hahahaa! I did it! The princess is dead and you came too late!", she disapears and the fairies put the princess in a bed in the highest tower of the castle. They put all the people from the castle in a deep slumber just like Y/N. Before they fell asleep, the king Enji and the parents of Y/N were talking and the fairies understand that the man Y/N fell in love with was the prince. When they go back to the cottage, they realize the prince has already been taken to Himiko's hideout.

"So....", Himiko shows to Shoto his princess in a deep slumber.

"Would you look at that. The beautiful princess you fell in love with has been put in a deep slumber. I think I should let her like this until you become old and raged while she didn't age a bit and you won't be together."

"NO!", Shoto yells.

Y/N was one of the only person Shoto trusted and wanted to be with forever and he was gonna lost her. When Himiko leaves the prince alone, the fairies rescue him and give him a sword and a shield to fight the witch.

Himiko tries to stop Shoto to go in the castle by putting thorns around it, but without succes for her, because the prince breaks them in a sway of his sword. She turns into a big dragon to confront him and the prince fights her furiously. At a moment, he throws the sword into her heart to kill her(I'm sorry TwT I love Toga I didn't want to kill her but it's for the sake of the story TwT).

The prince goes up to the highest tower of the castle and finds his beautiful princess on the bed. He goes closer to her to kiss her on the lips. She wakes up and sees her love smiling at her. They go together in the ballroom and Y/N's parents are glad to see her again after all those years. They all go in a hug and Y/N goes back to her prince and they dance together. While they dance, Katsuki and Izuku are still fighting over the color of the dress.

"I told you Pink, you damn nerd!"

"-_- You know what at this point I won't even try Kacchan."

They then got married a few months later and got many beautiful/handsome childrens.

The end.

"Wow! They ended up together just like you two! It's so cool!", your kid says didn't realizing it was you two all along.

Thanks to Shoto, your sad expression of earlier was long gone.

"It was a beautiful story Sho", you say smiling at him

"I'm glad you both liked it", Shoto responds.

Your kid yawns and you tug them in their bed.

"Goodnight my baby",you say to them.

"Goodnight mommy and daddy,I love you"

"Goodnight", you both say to them.

You peek throught the door to see that they are already asleep.

"So.... Many kids huh?", you say smirking a bit at him.

He also smirks at you and says:"I mean I wouldn't mind giving them a sibling.", he goes closer to you to kiss you on the lips and then rub your arms.

"Would you like to?", he says.

"I wouldn't mind either. You want to start now?", you respond.

He responds to you by smirking.

It's gonna be a long night... ;)

A.N: I hope you enjoyed this story. I had fun writing it and I will probably do more scenarios like this with other characters and stories :)

Have a nice day or night and remember to take care of yourselves! <3 (I'm on my period right now so I try to take care of myself TwT)

You are beautiful and loved! <3

See you soon!

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