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hlficlibrary · 1 year ago

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✤ Crime Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ my heart, in deadly rhythm by orphan_account (M, 42k)

There exists somewhere a very, very small list containing the names of people who don’t want Louis Tomlinson dead. Harry Styles may or may not be one of those people.

(or a Spies!AU in which Liam is the Wade to Louis' Kim Possible, Zayn seduces people for intel, Niall is an expert at blowing things up, and Harry is more than a bit famous in his particular field... or infamous, actually. And Louis? Well, Louis just wishes people would quit trying so bloody hard to kill him all the time.)

2️⃣ A Rose, By Any Other Name by iwillpaintasongforlou / @canonlarry (E, 10k)

“I don’t understand, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry says quietly.

“You don’t have to understand, sweetheart.” Louis reaches over and runs his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone, watching the boy’s breathing pause as he dares not move beneath the touch of this strange, imposing man. “All you need to know is that you work for me now, and that I’m going to keep you safe from all the bad people in this city, you hear?”

Louis Tomlinson is the head of New York City's mafia, and Harry is the beautiful boy from Texas who falls in with the wrong crowd (which turns out to be the right crowd).

3️⃣ Little Cub by aace1234 (NR, 68k)

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

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

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

4️⃣ we've got the world in our hands by sarcasticfluentry (E, 54k)

A mutants/superpowers AU. Louis and his friends attend the Cowell Institute for General Education and Mutant Training in London; when Louis meets Harry, the newest student at the Cowell Institute, he immediately recruits Harry to help play matchmaker for his friend Zayn. Harry and Louis are so caught up in meddling in Zayn's love life, though, that they don't notice that their own friendship is progressing into something more. Meanwhile, an ominous threat up north grows slowly until suddenly, no mutant - or human - is safe.

5️⃣ Watch Him As He Goes by LoadedGunn (M, 14k)

It's why Harry loves assignments with Louis; they're thrilling in a way. It's like he never rests. He's this animated, gorgeous guy who's all over the place and Harry actually has to work hard just to catch up to him.

It kind of reminds him of trying to stalk a predator stalking its prey, with his old 70-300 mm lens. Only the predator is a cheeky arsehole. "Come along Harold, I know you usually wait for your zebras to pose for you but here you've got to think on your feet," Louis yelled one time, before disappearing to interview Detective Payne. Never mind the fact Harry was slow in the first place because of Louis' tight jeans.

Or, the AU where Louis' the best police reporter in the country, Harry's the new photographer who is more used to penguins than human subjects, and also there are superheroes.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 this charade (was never going to last) by @scrunchyharry (E, 68k)

On the surface, CitizenX, an international caritative nonprofit, looked like any other nonprofit, funding humanitarian missions worldwide and striving to make the world a better place, one donation at a time.

At least, that was what Harry thought, until he was hired as a computer specialist for a spinoff agency called carish, whose true purpose was to reveal CitizenX’s tangled web of lies.

As if the whole ‘industrial spy’ business was not stressful enough, Harry found himself in a hatred-at-first-sight relationship with one of his new coworkers, Louis, a man intent on detesting Harry.

When the worst happened and Harry and Louis found themselves thrown together in hiding, with only each other to rely on, Harry never could have predicted the turn their relationship would take.

Nor could he anticipate that it would all be taken away from him and he would have to decide how far he was willing to go to get Louis back.

💎 All My Roads Lead to You by @dandelionfairies (M, 41k)

Harry’s stuck in a life he didn’t choose after leaving home at eighteen. Bartending and running drugs were never on his list. Louis is an undercover cop sent in to figure out exactly what’s going on inside of the bar. Neither could have known they’d be drawn to each other.

It’s obvious to Louis that Harry isn’t aware of everything that happens in the backroom. It’s obvious that Nick [Grimshaw] has used Harry’s vulnerability, insecurities, and naivety to keep the man exactly where he wants him.

Harry has never admitted to anyone who he is. They wouldn’t accept him. In fact, he has no doubt that if anyone found out he’s gay, he’d be dead. He doesn’t want to let that wall down for Louis. Because no one can know. But that’s easier said than done. Louis is everything Harry could have ever pictured.

💎 Cowboy Like Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings (M, 29k)

Going legit and starting over in a small town was supposed to solve all of Harry’s problems. That was until a string of robberies in wealthy towns brings him face-to-face with his rouge ex-partner and their dicey, unresolved past.

💎 Tonight's the Night by @jaerie (E, 24k)

Tonight’s the night. The night Harry has been waiting for. Everything has been carefully planned, nothing left to chance, the scene set and waiting for their arrival. It’s time.

Harry lives a double life. During the day he's Harry- trusty blood spatter analyst, at night his darkness comes out to play. So far he's been able to act his way through a normal life without drawing attention. What happens when that is no longer the case?

Or a Dexter AU where Harry is Dexter, Liam is Doakes, Niall is Masuka and Gemma is Deb.

💎 Harry, That Kills People by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup (T, 2k)

If there’s one thing that Harry hates, it’s getting his clothes dirty.

If there’s one other thing that Harry hates, it’s murder.

Unfortunately, right here and right now, Harry’s clothes are dirty, and he’s murdered someone. So. It’s not a great day.

“Ugh,” says Harry. “Yeargh. Bleh.”

#ficrec #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #ladylondonderry #jaerie #rearviewdreamer #loadedgunn #dandelionfairies #scrunchyharry #sarcasticfluentry #aace1234 #iwillpaintasongforlou

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the-masterless-press · 3 months ago

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🥰 - Post-nightmare cuddles for griz (she's essentially your character now)

bam, its on ao3 now too:

you can also read it here, under the cut:

Griz woke up to her heart hammering in her chest and the back of her under-dress stuck on her back. A cool current of air made her entire body erupt in goosebumps, and she pushed herself to feel for and grab the blanket bunched at her feet. Soft snores came from the bundled up log on her side, seemingly paying no mind to Griz’s sudden awakening.

Even though the Bazaar’s debt to the Creditor was resolved and paid, nightmares of hard work going unnoticed or destroyed lingered weeks after the resolution. The dream specialist she visited said that they will go away once the source of her anxieties is dealt with, but to Griz’s despair they prevailed almost a month after the resolution. It didn’t matter how much work she buried herself in, nor what she did to keep herself occupied home, or how much she avoided sleep, dreams of being dismissed lingered like a festering wound in the back of her mind.

Like most wounds of that kind, there were easy solution to ease them. It usually sat on her nightstand waiting for moments where sleep didn’t come easy or when nightmares overstayed their welcome. And yet, as Griz felt around it, the bottle of laudanum wasn’t there.

It wasn’t a great habit; mornings after laudanum before sleep left her feeling groggier and more ill than usual. It, however, made her eyes heavy in just the right way, where all Griz had to do was close her eyes and drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep. After feeling nothing but a nightstand in need of a thorough dusting and trinkets, Griz let out an audibly disappointed breath and laid back down, careful to not disturb the woman beside her.

Griz tucked her blanket under her arms and stared up at the ceiling. She paid no mind to the shuffling and snuffling beside her, figuring it was just her guest getting comfortable. That was until she felt two eyes on her, with a husky question, “Y’awright?”

Griz looked at Betty—as well as someone human could in the dark—and contemplated her response. Earlier in the evening, Betty had trudged into her Bazaar apartment and asked to stay the night. It was a simple request one in need would make to a friend, and Griz allowed her to take up space in her bed.

It was only fair to do so, seeing as Betty was a great help despite the shaky start to their collaboration. She gave Griz a person to rely on, and a shoulder to cry on and vent to. Allowing Betty to rest in a comfortable bed instead of a fainting couch was the best thing to do here. And here Betty was, with her irrigo-tinged eyes looking for the obvious answer of why Griz was up at this time.

She had a nightmare and she is finding an excuse to not go back to sleep. And Betty happened to have a great nose for people haunted by nightmares.

“I,” Griz deliberated her answer for that reason alone. “I had a nightmare.”

“Obviously,” Betty replied, “What were you doing just there?”

“What do you think one does when they can’t sleep, Betty?”

“In my case—” began Betty, stifiling a yawn—”go into Parabola and pray they go away.”

That had to be an endearing image—Betty curling up in the lush grasses of the Jungle and waiting for them to pass. For someone whose hunting extended beyond the mirrors, Griz had expected Betty to wait for her nightmares and wrestle them into submission. Perhaps her instinct applied to people’s and not her own dreams, and Griz happened to be the nearest one with a bad dream.

Going through the mirror into a land of dreams was the last thing that crossed Griz’s mind in her journey to a normal sleep. “I’m sure that works out for you,” Griz yawned not soon after. “But the rest of us have our not as esotheric methods of aiding our sleep.”

Betty hummed a rumbly affirmative sound, scooting closer to her, “Is that working for you?”

Griz attempted to replicate that noise, but all she managed was a sound akin to an elderly dog’s whimper. She felt Betty’s breath tickling her ear, breathing slow as though she is fighting sleep, “I understand.”

With her voice so close to her, frustration yielded the longer Griz lay listening to Betty drifting off to sleep. She felt her guest’s breathing becoming deeper and slower, heart tightening with envy over her ease of sleeping with no worry of upsetting dreams.

On harder days, Griz sometimes found her mind wandering in different pastures, such as what it would be if she had a different job, or employer. If she were the head of an office, there would be no worries about imminent disasters threatening the livelihood of not just herself, but the entire city of London too. If she worked a simpler job, like Betty did with hunting monsters around London and the Hinterlands, all her worrying would be about would be the paycheck. Her dreams wouldn’t be those of bonfires burning documents she penned herself, of her old governess scolding her as she cried, nor of cloaked superiors waving away worries and tantrums of a frustrated woman who wasn’t being heard—

At the very least, Griz wouldn’t worry about returning to upsetting dreams and buying out an entire stock of Gebrandt’s Superior Laudanum.

“Griz?”

“What is it?” Griz opened her eyes despite the pleasant warmth of another person next to her.

There was a pause. Only the sound of sheets shuffling and breathing filled the room. Griz could feel her heart speed up its beating, anticipating Betty to tell her, in the bluntest of ways, to get a hold of herself. Maybe she should, considering the hour of the night. Sleep was an important tennet of fitness, making her a more efficient worker.

“Would you like me to hold you?” Betty asked, her voice softer than it was earlier, “You look like you need it.”

Maybe Griz did need someone to hold her. Usually, such requests would be denied, and Griz would have deported Betty to the settee in the couch. She would have been insulted by the idea she needed something as juvenile as a cuddle for sleep, but sleep hasn’t been easy to catch without it being restless or unpleasant. For all Griz knew, Betty’s touch could be just what she needs to not worry about nightmares.

Rolling over and feeling for Betty, Griz nestled her head into the crook of Betty’s neck. A deep, rumbling sensastion passed under her cheek, followed by a sound not unlike the deep purr of a weary cat. She felt Betty shifting and rolling onto her back as they sank into the bed better. Griz draped her arm across Betty’s belly instinctually, feeling whatever nervous tension in her shoulders melt away.

True to her words, Betty wrapped Griz up in a loose hug. “Is this alright?” Betty asked, hand gently rubbing Griz’s back.

There were many words Griz could use for the gentle touch along her back. She felt herself relax into Betty as though she were the mattress of her bed; if a mattress could be soft and firm at the same time and smelled like sweat. If it could hold Griz so gently as well, she would keep Betty around forever. Betty seemed pleased with the thought too, as the purring became louder. Griz felt her eyes grow heavy again as she sank further into sleep, ignoring the nagging of her mind with its new creation of potential disasters.

If there was one thing Griz could do now, it would be to drift off to sleep following in the footsteps of Betty, whose breathing turned to soft snores.

#fallen london #fl #fl ocs #oc: betty #ask game #griz #betty and griz #the efficient commissioner #writing tag

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juliasdowntonstuff · 1 year ago

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My dearest Darling

I just posted a new story, this time it will be a multi-chapter fic. I'll try to upload once a week (if university doesn't get in the way too much)

This will deal with loss and grief again and especially the beginning will be rather heavy, so read only if you can or want to!

Short summary: Cora had been feeling unwell for weeks leading up to their trip to France. Back home, she had Doctor Clarkson run some tests and the results are not at all what she had hoped. How will she cope with this new reality, and will she be able to help Robert and their daughters to come to terms with it? This is a *slightly* altered ending/continuation to A New Era

"I won't beat around the bush, Lady Grantham. The test results came in yesterday, but I confirmed them with specialist colleagues in London first before coming here, just to be safe. Though, I am afraid that it really is as bad as we initially feared."

The doctor stood in front of them, clasping his hat in his hands in front of his body. He was most uncomfortable having to relay the bad news. He had so wanted to have been wrong, wanted his colleagues to tell him it was a misdiagnosis, but they had not.

The Earl and Countess both stood there, their hands intertwined, standing so close to each other that their shoulders were almost touching. Neither of them moved or seemed to breathe.

Robert felt all the colour drain from his face, felt his hands getting clammy, and his heart stopping its usual regular beating, now merely stumbling along, or so he thought at least. This could not be, he must have misheard the Doctor's words. This just could not be true.

"So it really is cancer?" Cora asked or rather said, her voice leaving little room for discussion or uncertainty.

Robert didn't dare look over at her. If he did, he was sure he would lose his composure again, just like he did in France when she had first told him of her suspicion. This time, however, they weren't alone, they were never alone in this house – least of all with Doctor Clarkson still standing there. He would not cry in the middle of the great hall of his home, in front of their doctor, not as long as he still had an ounce of willpower left inside his body.

"Yes, my Lady, I have had it confirmed by several other doctors in London, specialists in this particular field of medicine. I wanted them to tell me I had made a misdiagnosis, but they did not. They offered to help draw up a treatment plan for you and are doing that as we speak," the Scottish man replied, a remorseful expression on his face.

The doctor did not know what else to say, and so he waited for both of them to process the information.

After another few uncomfortable seconds of silence had passed between them, Cora found her voice again.

"Thank you for coming all the way here to tell us, especially this late in the evening. Please have yourself some dinner from the buffet. Though I am afraid we don't have any servants out here tonight, they are all busy becoming film stars," she said with a light chuckle, trying to lighten the mood ever so slightly, mostly unsuccessfully.

The doctor nodded curtly and walked to the buffet tables a few feet away to grant the Earl and Countess at least some privacy after having delivered the horrible news.

"Robert?"

He still had not moved, not an inch. He felt hot and cold at the same time. His heart beat fast in his chest, but it also felt like it had stopped altogether. He could feel her delicate hand on his arm, sensed her gaze on his face, but he couldn't bear it. He could not look at her, not without losing it.

Just when she was about to step in front of him as a last resort to gain his attention, a frantic voice rang out from the gallery above them. The loud shrieking snapped him out of his trance-like state.

"My Lord, my Lady. Come, quick!"

It was Denker, his mother's maid. She was waving her arms frantically, trying her hardest to catch their attention.

Oh no, she couldn't, could she? Not today.

Doctor Clarkson spun around on his heel at the noise, searching the gallery above for the source of the noise. Looking alarmed, he quickly followed Cora and Robert upstairs after putting his still-empty plate on the table.

It was not long after that that the whole family had gathered in Violet's room as she was saying her goodbyes. It truly was a good thing that Mary had persuaded her grandmother to move back into the Abbey when she had first talked about her visit with the London doctor. This way, she was surrounded by the people closest to her in her last moments and was not lying alone in her bed in the Dower House.

He stayed strong, not showing his inner turmoil, not even as his mother drew her last breath while holding his hand. He watched his two daughters, who never seemed to have much affection left for each other, clinging to each other and crying in their shared grief over the loss they both felt at that moment.

He felt Cora run her hands over his suited chest and squeeze his arms, trying to reassure him, silently telling him that he was not alone. He knew he should be there for her, should be the one comforting her after her horrible news just minutes before, but he could not move.

Robert did not want to let go of her hand, he couldn't. Not when she had taken his hand in hers on her own accord. She had never done that, not even when he had been but a young boy who had scraped his knees playing outside with the nanny. It had surprised him when she stretched out her frail hand in his direction, and he had taken it without hesitation, running his thumb lightly and delicately over the back of her hand in soothing circles.

She had said her goodbyes to those closest to her, all joined together at that moment, assembled in her bedroom. Even in her death, his mother had kept her wit, and it made it all just a bit easier for him and everyone around, or so it seemed.

And she had said it, said that she had been wrong about Cora. After all these years, she had finally said the words he had longed for her to say ever since he got married almost forty years ago. She had apologised, and they had made peace after so many years, it made him feel glad and gave him some needed comfort in these trying times. And he would certainly cling to this moment, he knew. How the two women most important to him had finally come to some form of understanding, had accepted each other.

Robert had then looked at the doctor hiding away in the corner, not wanting to intrude even more in this private moment. Only then, he had stepped closer and checked the pulse, confirming what everyone had already known was coming with a quick nod. Luckily for Cora and Robert, everyone else was too preoccupied with the proceedings of the evening to question Doctor Clarkson being there at the estate the minute Mrs Denker had alarmed them about Violet's deterioration.

The doctor then stepped out of the room shortly after confirming her heart had stopped, giving them the room to say their last goodbyes as a family, and heading downstairs to tell the staff. He was met at the foot of the stairs by Charles Carson, the former butler, who had been as much of a constant in this house as the now-deceased dowager had been for the last five decades.

Richard Clarkson did not need to say a word, the doctor's grim expression told the former butler all he needed to know. As the doctor left the abbey for the night, Carson went down to start making arrangements with Grassby's to help his former employers – and to tell the staff. They had all been aware of the steady decline of the Dowager's health and knew it was only a matter of weeks when the family returned from the south of France. The day had come sooner than they thought, but it had come, and they were waiting downstairs for any news.

Back in the room upstairs, Robert was the last person left, still sitting in the same spot, everyone else granting him some last moments alone with his mother. He sat there, kept her company and talked to her without a word ever leaving his lips.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there on his own, and he had not heard the door open and close again.

"Robert, it is time to let go. Come to bed, please."

Cora's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but she startled him, nonetheless.

He turned his head to her, his eyes full of unshed tears. She had rarely seen him like this, and it scared her, thinking about their future or whatever it was they would have.

"Give me another minute, please. I need another minute."

His voice sounded hoarse, as if it belonged to a man twenty years his senior, until eventually giving out at the end. He even looked as if he had aged those twenty years within the last three hours, and it broke her heart to see him like this. It broke her heart to think that someday, soon, he would be sitting there again, with her lying still in the bed, him holding her hand and refusing to let go.

She didn't reply, fearing her voice to betray her as well, but walked over to where he was sitting at her bedside. She noticed that had not moved away from his chair.

The both of them looked at the still form on the bed, both lost in their own thoughts, until he finally let go of the hand he had still held firmly in his. He set it down as gently and carefully as he could, letting his big hand rest on her smaller, wrinkled one for a final time.

Robert got up and lightly pressed his lips on her forehead, giving his Mama a last kiss. He straightened his back, and stood at her bedside for another second, just looking down at her, taking a mental image of her peaceful form in the bed. He wanted to remember her, his mother, for as long as he possibly could, especially looking so peaceful in her last moments. There were no lines of worry on her face, only marks of a long, fruitful life.

If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought she had just fallen asleep.

And in a way, she had.

#downton abbey #downton abbey: a new era #cobert #cobert give me life #cora crawley #robert crawley #fanfiction #new story

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angagonzalez · 2 months ago

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fuckyeahfightlock · 3 years ago

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Whumptober 2021, -Day 16-

Another perfect storm of prompts and ship: Johnlockstrade vs. recovery, scars, aftermath, and/or losing control.

Next Stages

Sherlock kept himself covered for months after his return, even after Greg offered quiet compassion as answer to the sparing but horrid detail of what happened in Serbia, even after John--at last--came home, and they were right again, the three together, balancing each other. Dressing gowns over t-shirts around the flat, dress shirts worn mostly buttoned during sex, suits brought into the bathroom so he could dress and undress privately. CBT twice a week. Consultations with a plastic surgeon and a wound care specialist and a dermatologist. The scars he didn’t cover--some on his fingers, one long skinny white one on the side of his thigh, a few reddish purple half- and quarter-rounds at his wrists, probably from handcuffs or rope--he acknowledged but didn’t explain.

Greg asked John what he thought might be there, and John said it was probably not as bad as their imaginations dreamed up. With only general explanations--chained in stress positions, constant shackling, beaten, whipped--John couldn’t be sure but described what he thought Sherlock might be covering up. The scars that might come from being hit with belts or straps, nightsticks or rifle butts, even fists adorned with rings or brass knuckles. Which might have bled, which only bruised. The aftermath of swelling, untreated cuts in a filthy environment, un-sutured splits in the skin that might have healed better if not left gaping. That one on his leg was probably from a blade, not too deep, or more likely a whip. Greg shuddered through it all, listening to John’s clinical explanations, sometimes covered his face, once had to get up and walk away and dry-retch over the toilet. John found photos in journals and textbooks. Some of it was terrible, but not being left entirely to his imagination was indeed better.

He’d thought he was ready, that afternoon Sherlock offered to drop his robe. He wasn’t. Wasn’t ready. But if Sherlock was, he had to be. Greg could see John’s face change; he was a doctor who had seen awful things. Greg had seen murder victims, been in a morgue during an autopsy. But neither of them had been intimate with those bodies, known them to be sturdy and beautiful, with a constellation of three freckles near the inward-dipped navel. They sat on the edge of the bed they all shared, and the sun was shining for a change, warming the bedroom through its single window, a shaft of light falling just where Sherlock stood, and turned his back to them, and took a breath to steel himself.

He bit his lips so he wouldn’t gasp. Sherlock needed them not to react, only to accept, and understand (that twice a week therapy included one monthly meeting for all three of them with what John said must be the most open-minded relationship couselour in London). His eyes stung and he wanted to more than gasp--he wanted to sob, shout, punch holes in the fucking walls. He glanced at John, who was frowning with his whole face, and kept his eyes closed for long seconds, but then opened them and nodded his head absently--a comforting tic.

Sherlock reached over the back of his right shoulder and worried at one ropey scar with the tips of his fingers, his nails cut shorter than ever precisely because some of them itched, and he’d already had one infection from scratching. When he’d had enough, or thought they had, he shifted his arms where the dressing gown was caught on his elbows, shrugged it back up, tied it in front before turning around to face them. His face was placid; he was holding back, cutting himself off from his emotions, which Greg understood was not always the best choice, but sometimes valid, and sometimes necessary, at least for now.

They embraced him, kissed him, and the three of them stood together for rather a long time, John and Greg’s arms around him, front and back, his hands at their waists. John settled his forehead into the hollow of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, Greg kept his face turned to the wall behind Sherlock’s back. Later, he would ask John if he thought the one looked infected, if the others would ever stop itching, those little ones that look like flowers are from cigarettes, aren’t they?, but for those long minutes they only held him, and didn’t talk, and didn’t ask, only accepted and were grateful for his trust, proud of his progress.

As more weeks passed, Sherlock became more careless with his covering, asked to have his back scratched through his shirt when he was bothered, confirmed the cigarette burns but wouldn’t discuss the white stripe on his thigh. There was still a long road ahead, and Greg still sometimes wanted to throttle someone for not just Sherlock’s physical torments but the whole, avalanching aftermath (no doubt something he should confess in therapy). But they were working on it, they were alive, together, and more of their time was good than bad, and they’d get there.

#writing #ficlet #whumptober 2021 #Johnlockstrade #Stages

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justalarryblog · 3 years ago

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Hey beca! How are you? Do you have any recommendations fic like hl already in relationships, mpreg harry, they struggle to have a baby? Or arranged married? That have 100k words above? Thanks

Hi anon, thanks for the message! I'm doing fine, I hope you are too. :)

The only one I have mpreg!Harry that they struggle to have a baby is this one:

I Hope You Dance by @wickedarcher_08 (83k) | Explicit

Louis and Harry have been struggling with infertility for over a year. After many failed attempts, they decide to seek a specialist, but they end up with more than they ever dreamed.

For mpreg!Harry that is +100k words, I have:

Say Something by @kingsofeverything (105k) | Explicit

At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn’t interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life.

Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

I also have a tag for Mpreg fics in case you wanna check if there's any other to your liking.

For arranged married, I've read these:

Through Eerie Chaos by @mediawhorefics (102k) | General Audiences

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

Part 1 of Through Eerie Chaos

tastes like summer, smiles like may by @outropeace (47k) | Explicit

“Is this true?” Harry grabbed the beta by the shoulders. “Bryce, where did you hear that?”

“There’s rumors going around the castle,” he smirked. “stories about his beauty and his cold attitude. They know he is an omega only because of his scent, but he has never had a heat.”

“Do you know what this means?”

Bryce smirk grew into a big smile. “He can’t give you an heir.”

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

Praise the Mutilated World by @creamcoffeelou, @delsicle (106k) | Explicit

It was August when everything changed.

By October, the leaves changed, and so did Louis’ heart.

OR: An enemies to lovers dystopian au where Harry is an elite alpha and Louis is a rebel omega with too much to fight for. Every move made is monitored, and a fertile omega’s purpose in life is one thing: to give children to their alpha.

a dream is a wish your heart makes by orphan_account (22k) |Teen And Up Audiences

Fairytale retelling of Cinderella, where Harry is a servant boy who’s too kind, Louis is a prince in an arranged marriage, Liam is Harry’s step brother, and Niall is Louis’ dutiful grand duke.

Si Pudiera Volar by @softfonds (68k) | Explicit

When Harry’s fiancé leaves him for his cousin, he looks the other way for the sake of his happiness. He’ll do anything to forget about him, including joining a monastery. It isn’t until his cousin’s former lover, a pirate, appears that he realizes everything is not as it appears, and an honest pirate might be the only person worthy of his heart.

Or, a fic loosely based on Corazon Salvaje.

The Murmur of Yearning by @mediawhorefics (93k) | Mature

Four years ago, Harry Styles was forced into a marriage of convenience to enrich and ally both his and his promised’s families. The sudden, and slightly suspicious, death of the Marquess of Haxshire, however, brings great disturbance to Crescentfield Hall and, as his late’s husband’s closest male relative, Harry unexpectedly finds himself the head of a family he never felt he belonged to. Between a meddling distant cousin hellbent on inserting himself in Harry’s life, his wicked and mistrustful mother-in-law and his late husband’s advisors refusing to help or take him seriously, Harry struggles in the fight to keep what he’s earned and make the Estate finally feel like home.

Luckily, he doesn’t stand completely alone and finds himself an unlikely ally in Mr Tomlinson, the elusive Land Stewart who has been taking care of the property in the shadows for years. Louis Tomlinson is caring, patient, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t seem to think Harry committed a murder.

the sanctity of patience by @scrunchyharry (22k) | Teen And Up Audiences

When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for.

His illusions vanished, Harry will have learn to appreciate what has and even, perhaps, fall in love with his imperfect husband and his castle.

Winter Pines and Ocean Eyes by @binarysunsets (14k) | Teen And Up Audiences

Harry is awoken by the sudden weight of his dog across his chest, and he yawns and stretches his arms above his head, relishing the crack of his back the gesture produces and sending Fen tumbling down onto the bed. There’s a niggling sensation that he has something important to do that day, but in his still-sleepy state he’s struggling to recall what it is. When it hits him, he freezes mid-rub of his eyes, and his hand slowly falls to the furs strewn across the bed. His fingers tangle into the fur and he bites his lip.

Right. It’s that day.

The day he’s meant to travel south.

Or, the arranged marriage au between young viking Harry, son of his clan’s chief, and a certain caesar by the name of Louis, heir to the empire.

Liberté by @larriebane(64k) | Mature

AU. 1647. “Pretending you don’t have a heart is not the best way to not get it broken. It’s just the easiest.”

Or the pirate AU I always wanted to write

Teenage Rebellion Never Worked Out So Well by @panda_bear21 (55k) | Not Rated

“I’m an adult!” He glanced down at Harry, who seemed anything but at the moment, where he was definitely on the brink of a temper tantrum. “We’re both adults!” Jay glanced to Anne again, before breathing out a heavy sigh. “Yes, but you’re both adults that do not have jobs and who live off of our money… Which means, you have to do what we say… or you’ll have to find a new place to live.” “You wouldn’t do that.” Louis dared, hoping his glare was enough to guilt trip his mother into calling the whole thing off. Or to tell them that it had all just been a huge joke and they weren’t actually being forced into marrying a complete stranger. “Oh, but we would.”

Or the super cliché arranged marriage fic where things escalate way too quickly.

infinitely all for me by @swallowsmateforlife (10k)| Explicit

The Alpha Louis’ been betrothed to since he was 14 has finally come of age and Louis’ been delivered to his home.

or: the one where they figure it all out

keep me safe, keep me sane, keep me honest by @hilourry (8k) | Explicit

Louis is the Prince of England. All past omega princes and princesses have been married and pregnant at age 18, so his parents arrange him to be married to Harry Styles, the royal family’s PR guy.

Sail Across Me by @iwillpaintasongforlou (21k) | Explicit

Harry is a prince that is about to be forced into marriage against his will and running away to sea seems like a much better option. Louis is the captain of the infamous pirate ship The Rogue and he has a thing for helping defenseless creatures. Especially when they're as pretty as this one.

London is well worth a mass by @dolphinaaaa (93k) | Not Rated

Louis is an Omega prince of France. When he is 13, he is betrothed to Harry of England for politics. The wedding will seal the alliance between the two coutries. This is their story.

Please feel free to check my fic tags if you want to search for other fics! Happy reading, anon!

#anon #answered #fic rec #mpreg fics #mpreg!harry #arranged marriage

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monstersandmaw · 4 years ago

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Male vampire x male character - Part Two (nsfw) (Halloween ‘surprise’ Patreon story).

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I'm really pleased that you and my Patrons enjoyed the first part, and that folks were keen for more. I’ve had more interaction with this post on Patreon than many of the others, which is surprising given how mlm stories are usually much less in demand than m/f ones. Thanks for that!

Anyway, here's more of our favourite oblivious dork Alec and his obviously-not-a-vampire crush... Part Three is on the way too (tomorrow), despite this having been planned as a quick porn-without-plot one-shot, as it were. Oh well?!

Hope you enjoy.

Part One

After his initial - admittedly strange - meetings with Sebastien, Alec didn’t see him on campus at all for the rest of the week, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Yes, the guy had been a bit of a pompous arsehole in the library, but he’d made up for it by coming to the art room and apologising, engaging him in conversation — even if that conversation had been slightly… odd? — and being so god-damn-fucking beautiful too.

He overheard his students gossiping about ‘Dr. Dulac’ earlier that afternoon while they all carved the pumpkins he’d bought for them at the local supermarket, and it seemed that the general consensus was that Sebastien was single, unfailingly polite (even in the face of Janette Hilton, the English Department’s longest-serving and least sympathetic lecturers), hotter than any celebrity you cared to name, and a specialist in the poets of the First World War like Sassoon and Brooke, among other more esoteric interests.

After an hour of clock-watching in his tiny little office in the Art Department on Friday, he abandoned all hope of concentrating on his last few bits of admin, and shut down his laptop. After clearing up yet more pumpkin seeds that he’d somehow missed on the last two sweeps he’d done of the studio, he stepped outside, never wanting to see another bloody thing again. Too bad he had a whole bloody cardboard box of them waiting to go into the boot of Kay’s car for her party that night. Still, he was almost sinfully proud of the carvings he’d done on them. One was decorated the whole way around with the foliate style engravings usually reserved for the steel on antique guns, with different depths to create the highlights and shadows, and another particularly spherical one had been cut away in squares to resemble the Death Star.

The October air outside bit into his lungs as he drew a deep breath - the spicy, fragrantly damp scents of autumn filling his nose - and his eye was drawn to the twinkling lights of the little coffee cart that still lingered in the park, selling tea, coffee, and hot chocolate to chilly students leaving the university campus for the night. With a black coffee for himself in one hand, he made his way to the Engineering Department, warily holding another frothy concoction in his other. It was apparently called a ‘London fog’ and it smelled of earl grey tea and lavender. He thought it sounded (and smelled) disgusting, but Kay perked right up when he deposited it on her desk five minutes later.

“Bless you, Alec Twayblade,” she grinned, taking the plastic lid off and inhaling it like it was the best thing she’d ever smelled. “Oh my god. How can you not like this?” she said after taking a huge gulp and moaning obscenely.

Alec didn’t bother to reply, his eye-roll speaking volumes anyway. They’d had this discussion so many times that they were both probably playing it out silently in their heads right that second. When Kay glanced up and saw that he certainly was, she snorted and grinned. “I love you, Alec,” she laughed. “You’re still coming tonight?”

“Against my better judgement,” he growled, leaning his weight on her desk and folding his arms across his battered, blue cable knit sweater. He had a huge daub of yellow paint on one elbow from that morning, and a small burn hole in the bottom from a failed attempt at pyrography a few years ago. It was the most comfortable jumper he owned, and he would probably wear it until it unravelled around him.

“You’re still not going to wear a costume, are you?” she added as she stood, pouting.

He shook his head. “I draw the line at that.”

“But you’d be so good making one!” she countered. “You helped me with that bat costume when we were at high school… Don’t you remember how fucking awesome it was?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “But I’m not going to wear one myself.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Too much attention, huh?” she said softly. “Well, you know you’ll stand out more if you’re not wearing one tonight…?”

He shrugged. Honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered to dress up. Halloween had rather lost its shine for him anyway. “Not if I hide in the kitchen all night and make too-strong cocktails for everyone,” he said, flashing her his most roguish grin. “Plus, I spent much of today carving pumpkins with nattering eighteen year olds who are far too old to be carving pumpkins on academic time, but —”

“— you’re an awesome teacher who understands the need to let off some steam on the holidays,” she interjected. “Plus, it’s good practice anyway… working with a new medium…”

He allowed his lips to pinch upwards into a tiny smirk and let her have that one. “It’s nice to see them having fun,” was all he said.

An hour or so later, just as he arranged the last of the pumpkins down the garden path of Kay's Victorian semi-detached house, a voice murmured from behind him, “I can see the hand of a master at work in these carvings.”

Not having heard anyone approaching, Alec jumped, cursed, and dropped the pumpkin - thankfully with the candle still unlit. It rolled in a semicircle until a black boot gently stopped it, and a familiar face dipped into view as the owner of the boot bent to pick it up. To his surprise, it was Sebastien, and he was in costume. Probably anyway. Hopefully? Fuck. Alec’s brain stalled at the sight of him.

His eyes raked up Sebastien’s body and his jaw went quite literally slack.

The slender man was wearing thigh-high boots and leather pants so tight they had to have been spray-painted on, into which was tucked a loose, old-fashioned, white shirt with a good bit of flounce at the collar. “Holy shit,” he whispered, and Sebastien chuckled softly, a low, amused sound in the back of his throat.

“You recognise the costume?” he asked, seeming innocently amused. The long, dark coat, accented with gold brocade and bright gold buttons, opened briefly in a soft gust of wind that made the lit pumpkins flicker and lifted his loose, silver-white hair back for a breath as well.

“I…” he swallowed. “Uh, you’re Alucard,” he croaked. “From the Castlevania games…” A wry incline of Sebastien’s head told him he was correct, and then Alec blurted stupidly, “Shouldn’t you be shirtless though?”

Sebastien’s smile grew from pleased to deeply amused, his eyes glittering, and it was only then that Alec noticed the contacts burning a bright gold in his eyes and, as his lips peeled back and Sebastien began to laugh, he saw long, tapering, white canines befitting a vampire costume. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” Sebastien asked, still laughing quietly as Alec flushed crimson.

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I know. I just… forget it.”

“Where do you want it?” Sebastien asked, and Alec’s poor brain went blank.

“What?”

“The pumpkin,” Sebastien deadpanned and Alec’s poor, blank brain melted out of his ears with embarrassment.

“Uh… there’s fine,” he said, pointing at the little wrought-iron garden gate.

Sebastien placed the pumpkin down on the flagstone path so that the carved graveyard scene glimmered and flickered with appropriate spookiness, visible to anyone approaching along the quiet, suburban street. Enormous London plane trees stood sentry every few paces, heaving up the tarmac pavement with their roots, like a sleeper shifting a blanket with a restless turn, and sheltering the cars snuggled and parked beneath them. A carpet of leaves clung to the gutter in a long, golden line, melting into nothing in places in the glittering puddles. It would have been beautiful, had Alec not been faced with quite literally the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.

“Am I early then?” Sebastien asked, dusting off his palms and turning back to face Alec, who had barely managed to make his legs work long enough to stand up straight again.

He shook his head. “No. Henry’s inside already,” he said, running his fingers through his scruffy black hair. “With Rachel and Alison. I just forgot to put the pumpkins out earlier.”

“No costume?”

With a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Too bad,” Sebastien said, eyeing the front door. The contacts were really creepy, shifting in the light that spilled down the stairs as the front door suddenly opened and Kay stepped out before he could worry that he’d been the only one to dress up. He could probably brush it off anyway, Alec supposed, and tried not to envy the man’s quiet confidence.

Silhouetted starkly against the hall light, with her high ‘Dracula’ collar on prominent display, Kay shrieked with glee and clapped her hands when she saw Sebastien. Apparently the two of them had been getting along rather well, while Alec had sequestered himself away in the Art Department like an ascetic.

“Bastien! You look amazing oh my god!” she blurted, rushing forwards a step or two before halting abruptly. “Wait, does that make me your father for the evening?” she cackled. “Wow, your teeth are really good! Mine wouldn't stay in for more than a few minutes…”

Sebastien’s gold eyes flickered sideways to Alec but it happened so briefly that he almost missed it. “Custom made a long time ago,” was all he said. “Shall we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, of course, come on in,” she said, waving them all inside, Sebastien first. As Alec passed her last, she slapped him hard on the backside in rebuke and hissed, “Told you you should have worn a costume! You look like a big dumbo!”

“No different from any other night,” he quipped back, and she growled something indistinct at him. Perhaps a werewolf costume would have suited her better. “You could have told me you’d invited Dulac…”

“Why?” she retorted. “So you could suddenly decide that an evening moping alone with your PS4 playing Rocket League with strangers was more appealing? No fucking chance. Get inside. Sebastien’s right; I’m freezing my tits off.”

The distant murmur of voices in the living room made him veer off instinctively into the kitchen, and while they began to watch some old Hammer horror film, he made drinks. That, at least, he was good at.

Entering a while later, he found that Sebastien was seated on the sofa beside Henry, who wore an enormously fluffy wolfman costume - mostly a repurposed Chewbacca onesie with a latex wolf mask. He’d pushed the mask up onto his head in order to eat the Halloween themed nibbles on the coffee table, and the effect rendered him entirely ridiculous. Another reason not to wear a costume: it’s impractical, and gets in the way, and washing ketchup out of matted fake fur is a nightmare. Alison and Rachel sat practically in each other’s laps, one a zombie and the other a ghost, both squeezed into one groaning old armchair.

After half an hour of Christopher Lee’s admittedly creepy Dracula, Alec slid from his seat at the periphery, and ducked out again into the kitchen. Straightening from fishing a beer from the back of the fridge, he heard the soft click of the door and turned to find Sebastien standing there.

“Get bored with late 1950’s horror too?” Alec asked. “Beer?”

Sebastien inclined his head in a way that said he wasn’t a beer drinker and held up his almost-empty wineglass as an excuse as he moved a little closer. “If you don’t like cheesy horror films, and you don’t seem to like Halloween either, I wonder why you came at all tonight?”

“For Kay,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She loves this shit.”

At that, Sebastien paused, a delicate smile on his face. In the soft glow of the under-cupboard lighting, his tanned skin seemed to shimmer, and Alec wondered fleetingly if he’d put some kind of glittery body powder on. Next, he wondered what on earth Sebastien was doing in here with him, looking at him like that.

“You are a good friend,” Sebastien said quietly, seeming perhaps a little sad around the edges.

“She’s done more than her fair share of looking after me,” Alec sighed knowingly. “Not that I’m doing it because I owe her,” he added, twisting the cap off the bottle and leaning back against the counter to drink deeply from it. As the malty froth washed over his tongue, he felt eyes on him and looked over at the other man.

Sebastien tilted his head slightly to the side, the false golden light in his eyes making him look like a cat in the dark. “You said she was trying to set you up with someone…”

Alec snorted, nearly shooting beer out of his nose. “Yeah. Well, she seems to think a good fuck will sort my mood out.”

“But you think otherwise?”

“You offering?” he asked bitterly, taking another swig and feeling uncharacteristically bold, though absolutely not expecting the answer he got.

“Perhaps.”

His eyebrows shot up and this time he did cough a little. “You can’t be serious.”

“You think someone who looks like me is entirely straight?” he asked with a wry smile, and Alec had to hand it to him. Not many men he knew could pull of long, luscious, white-blond hair like that, or would have the confidence to wear fucking thigh-high boots and whisper-tight leather pants…

“Still… you don’t really know me… That’s all I meant…”

“Doesn't mean one couldn’t engage in — how did you call it? — ‘a good fuck’. Not that I’m averse to getting to know you better, before or after.”

Alec swallowed another enormous gulp of frothing beer and blinked. “You’re serious?”

With a melodramatic smile that revealed his vampire teeth clearly, ‘Alucard’ purred, “Deadly.”

And Alec burst out laughing. The spell was shattered and the two men shared the remnants of their drinks and their laughter together before Alec sighed. “Your place or mine?”

At that, Sebastien seemed to falter, as if he hadn’t thought through to that point. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I assume yours would be alright?”

Alec shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind smacking your head on the ceiling and being able to touch two opposite walls at the same time…”

Sebastien’s lips hitched into another wry smile. “I’ve fucked in tighter spaces, I’m sure.”

“You know what?” Alec said as he rinsed out the beer bottle at the sink and half-turned to look at the other man over his shoulder. “You’re absolutely not what I expected.”

“Nor were you,” he shot back, still smirking. “And it’s been a while since I was assaulted by someone in a library.”

“Bring back happy memories, did it?” he snorted.

“Not exactly,” Sebastien murmured, and Alec realised he hadn’t actually been joking. “But I must confess that — despite my behaviour — I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of you when you rounded that bookshelf…”

Turning, Alec approached him cautiously. If he was genuinely serious about his proposal, Alec would find out now. “Pleased enough to seek me out afterwards…” he said, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t do that ‘one brow at a time’ thing that Sebastien could, but it seemed to get his tone across all the same.

Unusually for Alec, Sebastien had an inch or two on him in height, and as Alec paused in front of him, close enough to catch the faintest hint of a woody cologne, the man angled his face just perfectly for the light to dance along his high cheekbones. Fuck, he was exquisite. The urge to kiss him rose in Alec; to feel his lips against his own, to have those elegant hands scrunch his hair…

As if reading his mind, Sebastien slowly, carefully, raised his right hand and brought his index finger to Alec’s chin, tilting it upwards just a fraction with the lightest pressure. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, and it left Alec breathless. Again. Panting slightly, he parted his lips and then swallowed thickly.

Sebastien’s eyes darted instantly to the motion of his throat and for a second, Alec could have sworn he saw a vibrant red light reflected in his eyes. Sensing his moment of hesitation, of tension, Sebastian frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alec breathed. “I thought your eyes went red but it must have been a car on the street outside or something.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, but then blinked rapidly. “Do you still wish to continue this?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Don't stop now. His whole body was thrumming in a way it hadn’t ever before with casual encounters. He felt alive for the first time in months.

Sebastien stepped back, turning his face away a little more. “Should we make our excuses…?”

Alec shook his head. “Nah, Kay will know what’s going on anyway, and I don’t want to face her smug looks until tomorrow at the least.”

With a softly amused chuckle, Sebastien stepped back and allowed Alec to leave the room first. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as the other man followed behind, but he didn't turn around or look at him until they were outside on the main street.

“It’s a bit of a walk…” Alec said, only realising then how long the walk would be. “I’m way over on the other side of town by the station…”

The continuing intensity of Sebastien’s scrutiny was beginning to shift from a turn-on to just marginally unnerving, but he told himself that an esteemed professor at one of the country’s finest universities, with more letters after his name than anyone his age had a right to possess, was unlikely to be truly dangerous for a one-night stand… right? There was something about the way he stared at Alec — an unmistakable hunger in his eyes — that made his skin prickle and his heartbeat jump instinctively. Like a deer before the gaze of a tiger, he was entranced.

Unexpectedly, Sebastien’s easy stride slowed at the brick gateway to a small, gravel park that sat between an old church and a chemist, the latter closed at this time of night. “May I kiss you?” he breathed, still gazing at him unblinkingly, as though Alec were the pretty one in this equation, not him.

Alec couldn’t help grinning. The way Sebastien’s eyes bored into him then drove all thought of threat and fear from his mind, and he nodded.

The man’s hands were chilly from the night air, but the moment they cupped his jaw and drew Alec toward him, he forgot about that. He forgot about everything at the meeting of their lips. Sebastien began tentatively, merely brushing their lips together, but when his golden eyes fluttered closed, he deepened the gesture, tongue just begging entrance, teasing him before withdrawing, retreating and returning.

Searing want shot down Alec’s spine and he arched into Sebastien’s taller body, hips seeking contact through his jeans. He moaned, deep and guttural, and it seemed to awaken something in Sebastien, because the man grabbed hold of the back of Alec’s hair and pulled his head slightly to one side to begin to kiss along his jawline, down to wards his neck. For a heartbeat, Sebastien froze there, nose pressed to his rabbiting pulse point, his teeth just grazing skin, before he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “We shouldn’t get carried away,” was all he whispered, stepping slightly out of Alec’s dazed field of view. “My place is nearer though.”

“Ok,” Alec said, still reeling. “Sure.”

When they reached the apartment building, his steps faltered in amazement. “You live… here?”

A slight flush seemed to warm Sebastien’s cheeks as he stepped up to the main doorway, only to have it opened from the other side by a man in livery. “Good evening, Monsieur Dulac,” said the friendly doorman instantly.

“Good evening,” he replied. “This is my friend, Alec Twayblade.”

It was impossible for the doorman not to realise that his ‘friend, Alec Twayblade’ was going to be a little more than that for the night, but he never let a flicker of judgement pass across his face. From the concierge desk - Sebastien’s building had a fucking concierge desk too - another man looked up and wished them both a good evening as they headed for the lifts.

“Does the English department also sell diamonds or drugs or something? How the fuck can you afford a place like this on a lecturer’s salary?” but even as he said it and the doors closed with a soft chime, he realised the truth of it. Sebastien’s aristocratic features and bearing were not merely a persona. They were truth. He stared up at him while Sebastien turned a key in the lift panel.

“Are you secretly royalty or something?” he whispered, only half joking.

The man shot him an amused look and shook his head, silk-white hair whispering against the rougher wool of his costume coat. “No, of course not, but I do have some inherited wealth.”

Some? “So you don’t actually have to work at the university at all then?”

He made a so-so motion of his head and said, “No, not really, but I genuinely enjoy teaching.”

“Your students certainly seem to enjoy you…”

“You don’t enjoy teaching?” he asked as the numbers on the dial climbed and climbed.

Please don’t say you live in the fucking penthouse too, Alec thought, already suspecting it might be true from the whole ‘special access key’. He glanced at the number pad and saw that the button labelled ‘PH’ was illuminated. Fuck. “Most days I enjoy it,” he admitted. “But I kind of fell into it a while back and just sort of…” he shrugged, “Stuck with it.”

Sebastien asked no more, and the lift finally stopped on the top floor. The doors drew back to reveal an apartment beyond that Alec could only gawp at. It was like something from the set of an Architectural Digest photo shoot. Nothing was out of place in the hardwood floor paradise, with clean, crisp lines and white marble counter tops in the kitchen off to his left, while a comfortable, and yet still clinically modern, sitting area sat to their right. Deep, fluffy rugs dotted that part of the penthouse, and a wide balcony stretched out over the city beyond, complete with a little table and chairs for warmer evenings.

“This place is incredible,” Alec breathed, the reason for his even being here completely forgotten.

Clearly sensing that, Sebastien smiled bashfully and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

Alec cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t going to be faced with a choice between very expensive wines that he’d never heard of. “Sure… thanks.”

“White, red, beer, or whisky?” he asked, walking towards the kitchen and dumping his ‘Alucard’ coat over the back of a white sofa as he went. Alec’s mouth went dry as he watched the point where his narrow hips met the flowing material of the white shirt. Dear god, an arse like that shouldn’t be… well, it just shouldn’t be. And yet there it was. Clad in leather and looking positively delectable. “Or a soft drink?” he added when Alec remained silent.

Aware of where his gaze had landed, Sebastien halted and looked back over his shoulder, long, loose, naturally straight hair already losing the curls that had been worked into it for the Alucard costume. Definitely not straight, if he owned hair curlers.

“Uh…” Alec said, unsure what the question had even been now.

“I’m going to pour myself a whisky, if that helps…?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sebastien smiled, looking almost endeared by Alec’s inept stuttering. Surely he couldn’t be unused to such a reaction? “Make yourself at home then.”

With a smoky, peat-tinged whisky in a wide, heavy-bottomed tumbler set on his glass coffee table, Alec watched Sebastien turn the gas fire on, and, to his surprise, he came to a halt directly in front of him. Setting his own whisky down on the table with a deliberate, and yet delicate, clunk, Sebastien turned back to him and raked his eyes down Alec’s body in a way that made him flush hot all over. His cock twitched with interest and he tried not to preen under that gaze.

Sebastien’s eyes and teeth were back to normal now, with no hint of the golden contacts or the vampire fangs, and Alec fleetingly assumed that he must have removed them at some point between getting the whisky and appearing in front of him looking like he was about to ravish him. Oh dear god, please let him be about to ravish me, he thought with a big, dumb grin spreading across his face.

Seeing his reaction, Sebastien reached down and knelt facing him on the sofa, running his palm over the already-growing bulge in Alec’s jeans. Alec let out a deep grunt and rocked his hips up into the contact, throwing his head back against the soft, open weave of the white fabric. “Oh fuck,” he hissed.

Sebastien’s fingers found the button of his jeans and deftly undid it, but he paused. “May I?” he asked, and Alec found himself nodding before he’d even worked out what Sebastien wanted.

He found out a moment later, when his jeans were around his ankles and Sebastien was kneeling on the floor between his knees and licking a long stripe up the length of his rapidly hardening cock.

“Oh god,” he panted as the wet heat of Sebastien’s mouth engulfed half of his length and then drew back to leave his wet tip exposed to the slight chill of the apartment air. The contrast stole his breath for a heartbeat, but Sebastien returned his attentions to his cock, gently sucking and working him to full hardness in a matter of minutes.

Pleasure sparked through Alec’s whole body and he strained not to thrust back into Sebastien’s mouth, even as Sebastien took him right to the back of his throat, the tip of Alec’s cock nudging against the silky resistance of his throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chanted as Sebastien’s fingertips just teased and caressed the underside of his balls too, and Sebastien hollowed his cheeks and sucked a little more insistently. “Oh fuck…” Really fucking eloquent here, Alec, he thought vaguely, but one look down at the vision kneeling between his legs and sucking him off drove even that thought from his brain.

The suck and slide of Sebastien’s mouth was incredible, and while he had no idea quite how much time passed, it felt like mere seconds as the heat stoked in him until he could feel the orgasm threatening to crash through him. “I’m… I’m really close…” he gasped as Sebastien moaned against his cock, sending little vibrations thrumming through him and tipping him even closer. The sharp prick of his teeth every now and again was a perfect counterpoint to the slick heat of his mouth, and it was never enough to hurt. Normally Alec wasn’t one for including teeth in this, but with Sebastien, it felt perfect.

Sebastien pulled back just as Alec felt himself beginning to coil up, his lips swollen and glistening from the exertion of bringing him that close, and he smiled. He looked radiant, and Alec’s cock twitched enthusiastically in his hands as he let out a soft whimper. The air was cold and his tip beaded pre-come freely, which Sebastien thumbed away with a surprisingly tender gesture, only to watch as more pearled immediately at his slit. Using just the tip of his tongue, Sebastien lapped at it delicately and Alec’s whole body shuddered.

His thighs shook at the tiny, intense stimulation, with Sebastien's fingers gripping the base of his cock in a tight circle, and he gasped, chest heaving. It was too much and not enough, and as he found his perineum teased as well, he bellowed and trembled. He was half a heartbeat away from coming harder than he could ever remember coming in his life, and Sebastien wasn’t going to let him have it. He roared and ground his teeth, bucking his hips, which made Sebastien laugh softly.

“Alright,” he heard him murmur, before he swallowed him down to the back of his throat again, and Alec shattered with a yell.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he found that Sebastien had risen and was sitting on the small sofa beside him, whisky in hand, staring openly at him. He didn’t look smug exactly, but there was a quiet satisfaction to his brown eyes that made Alec flush, at which Sebastien’s beautiful lips drew back into a smile. He noted again those slightly larger canines, but they were nothing like the vampire teeth he had worn earlier.

“What do you want?” Alec asked, voice hoarse. God, he sounded wrecked. Had he really shouted so hard he’d made his throat sore?

Sebastien’s dolorous, dark eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “What do you want?”

“To watch you come,” he said immediately.

“And how would you like me to come?” Sebastien replied, sipping nonchalantly at the golden liquor as if the were discussing what Alec would like Sebastien to wear. As it was, his leather pants were constricting his obvious hard-on in a way that had to be painful for him, and his shirt was open at the neck to reveal delicate collarbones and a glimpse of his beautiful olive skinned chest.

He was an absolute vision. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he blurted in a whisper before he could stop himself, and to his surprise, Sebastien laughed. The sound was bright, delighted, and oddly self-conscious, as if he hadn’t been expecting a compliment like that. “Sorry,” he added, looking away. “Look… if you’ve got condoms, I’m… I’m good to… you know…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Sebastien asked, his gaze sharpening again.

“Yes?”

“’Yes?’ Or ‘yes’…?” Sebastien asked, seeking clarification.

“Yes. But I don't understand your question.”

“Look at me,” Sebastien said.

“Hard not to…” Alec quipped back, still feeling utterly wrung out.

“Most people assume I’m going to be the one taking it…”

Alec’s eyebrows rose as realisation settled. “Oh. And, what, I look like a top?”

Sebastien’s lips twitched. “Conventionally more so than I do, with your rugged looks and the rough shadow around your jaw…”

“So… do you want me to… you know…? Or…” Fuck, he felt like a teenager again, struggling to articulate himself and not get his sentences in a tangle while this breathtaking creature just sat there and watched him make an idiot out of himself.

“I very much want to fuck you,” Sebastien said at last. “If you’d like that as well.”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

Sebastien set down his glass and rose in a single, elegant motion, and then held his hand out to Alec.

His skin was still cool, especially next to Alec’s searing body, and his hold was steady as Alec heaved himself to his feet and allowed himself to be alternately tugged and kissed into the bedroom.

___

Part Three

Behold, plot has appeared to go with the Halloween porn I had planned. Alec’s family will come up in the next chapter.

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #male vampire #male vampire x human #exophilia #vampire boyfriend #male vampire x male human #male monster #mlm #mlm exophilia

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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Infection - Good Omens Fic

My second fic for tonight for the @bingokisses prompts! This one fills my second “Wrist Kisses” square, which was paired with “Patching up a wound.” Get ready for some hurt/comfort, strong angst, and Crowley desperately trying to protect his angel. Promise: this one ends in soft bed cuddles.

This will be edited before going on AO3, so let me know if you notice anything is off.

CW: blood, not too graphic but definitely there.

Aziraphale spread his hands before him, still steaming lightly from the force of the holy blasts he had thrown at the demons. They were fleeing, finally, five dark shapes vanishing into the soil before him. He clenched his jaw, holding his cold expression, his pose, and his breath until the dark stain of their infernal presence had dissipated from his mind.

Then, slowly, he lowered his hands to the wound in his side.

“Oh,” he murmured, as his fingers slid through the rents in the fabric of his tunic to find the deep gashes slick with blood. “That’s…a bit worse than I thought…” He pressed harder, and suddenly the pain lanced through him, burning tearing. His power reserves were low, but he’d need to heal that quickly or face discorporation and likely some uncomfortable questions from his superiors.

Lifting his trembling hands, Aziraphlae looked at the deep red blood, and saw a thick black shadow already spreading through it like a cloud. “Oh, very bad, indeed…” Demonic corruption. Already, he could feel the pollution working its way into him – not his corporation, but his true angelic body on the astral plane – seeming in like a toxin, corroding the light of his soul. If he didn’t purge the befouling influence quickly, he would else face something far worse than discorporation.

But that would require focus, quiet, and a spot to work where the world wasn’t filled with fuzzy mist…the ground not tilting alarmingly back and forth…and…

“Blast.”

He toppled over, collapsing into the dew-speckled grass.

Crowley tore through the forest, ignoring the stinging slap of tree branches and snaring twists of undergrowth that tried to slow him down. “Aziraphale!”

Another little stream opened up suddenly just ahead of him, and, unable to stop in time, he attempted to leap straight over it. Nearly made it, too, but the soft earth on the far side shifted and slid as soon as his feet touched it, and he rolled back down the bank, hitting the cold water with a splash.

“Stupid bloody – Aziraphale!” Somewhere in this endless ancient forest, on one of the countless hills or ridges or hollows, the angel was fighting, injured, needed his help and Crowley had miles upon miles still to search and he didn’t have time for this.

He set about scrambling up the far side of the bank, digging his fingers deep into the muddy earth.

It had started, nearly a hundred years ago now, with a suggestion in a misty field in Wessex.

“Be easier if we both stayed home,” he’d proposed, metal sabatons sinking in the English mud. He could almost picture it already, a nice little cottage and a roaring fire, a few glasses of the local brews.

But Aziraphale hadn’t been interested. “Absolutely out of the question,” and he’d stormed off full of all the sanctimonious indignation an angel could carry. “We aren’t having this conversation” – but he’d certainly followed it up with a strongly-worded letter, ensuring Crowley in the strictest of terms that he would never consider such a scheme, that any cooperation on assignments was simply inconceivable, that he would henceforth devote all his efforts to thwarting any of Crowley’s infernal works that he caught wind of, and do his utmost to ensure that all hellish influences were wiped from this peaceful island, nay, this blessed world and all its inhabitants…

Crowley read the letter twice, then packed up his armor and camp and headed for London.

Once he was dressed in proper, comfortable clothes, there was no chance anyone would recognize the sophisticated red-haired traveler as the dreaded Black Knight, and before long he had settled into an alehouse with his feet resting comfortably on a bench by the fire and set to work telling stories of the immortal warrior dressed all in black, leading raids against unnamed villages somewhere to the north.

Within a few weeks, the rumors reached him of Sir Aziraphale of the Round Table and his band of holy knights, scouring Mercia and Northumbria for signs of the Black Knight. Crowley tossed in a few stories about the rebel band joining up with invaders from the south with just enough tantalizing details to keep the angel on a wild goose chase for months and congratulated himself on a job well done.

When next Hell checked in, he shrugged ruefully and explained that Heaven’s agent (a fierce and terrifying opponent) had effectively stopped him at every turn but also that Crowley (a cunning and devious force for evil who deserved a commendation and a promotion) had prevented the angel from pursuing Heaven’s larger agenda. He added in some gossip about the queen he’d picked up from travelers out of Camelot, broadly suggesting that was somehow his doing, and declared his mission to the island an overall success.

And, incredibly, they bought it.

A very neat solution, Crowley thought several decades later as he lounged by the Mediterranean, sunning himself on a rock and sampling the latest developments in viticulture and winemaking. He was already trying to work out the best way to include “convincing monks to sell wine to a demon” in his upcoming report. It sounded like an appropriately demonic activity.

The countryside was swirling with tales of a terrifying monster ravaging the villages, fighting endless battles against a glowing warrior of light, based solely on rumors he started and allowed to grow and expand in the retelling. Seven different noble warriors – three armed with holy weapons that could only have come from Aziraphale – had come searching for the beast, and Crowley had gleefully sent each to a different corner of the world.

Everybody won, really: Crowley’s reputation was surging Down Below as tales of his narrow escapes grew; Aziraphale and his agents got to parade around being self-righteous; and Heaven and Hell took credit for whatever developments they wished.

What could possibly go wrong?

“…which kept me from directly joining the emperor’s invasion of Armenia, as originally instructed, but I was able to stay behind in Constantinople and focus on the corruption of countless aristocrats.” As if wealthy humans had ever needed help becoming corrupt, but it was the sort of result Hell liked.

Beelzebub glared down through the cloud of flies, and as always Crowley wondered if ze believed a word he said. It was impossible to tell, really; the Prince of Hell’s expression never wavered. “Tell me where you were szupposed to go next.”

“Another king’s court, thousands of miles away.” Crowley furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

“Dagobert, king of Austrasia, heir to the throne of all the Franks,” Dagon interrupted, mouth perpetually stretched into a grin with far too many teeth.

“Yeah, that one. And, really, I was looking forward to it.” The Franks had some of the best grape wine in the world, but he’d discovered that the people of the north had done some interesting things with mead and fruit wines, and over in Bohemia they’d started experimenting with hops in their beer instead of gruit, and really Crowley needed to give these developments his full attention. “But, you know, turned out that angel was still on my tail.” At this point, dropping rumors of his devious activities for Aziraphale to chase had become a game, and he’d left a trail of breadcrumbs for the angel all up and down the continent. “We had a great battle in the northern forests, and I barely escaped with my skin intact, but he’ll have a hard time recovering from the wounds I left him with.” He’d not seen Aziraphale in-person since that field in Wessex, but there was always a local legend of warrior fighting beast he could co-opt, and Hell did almost nothing to verify his claims.

“Laszt time you claimed he’d never walk again,” Beelzebub pointed out, looking distinctly uninterested.

“Did I?” Crowley might have gotten carried away. “Right. Well. He healed more quickly than I could have expected. Blasted angel.”

“Why have you not infected him yet?” Dagon wondered. “That would put an end to all this.”

Crowley ran his tongue over his teeth. Every demon carried some toxin or venom, the remains of their Grace, twisted and tainted by the Fall, and most could spread it through their claws or nails. Infected humans became more susceptible to suggestion and temptation; but to other supernatural beings, it was far more dangerous. The strongest could eat away at an angel’s true self, as holy water did for demons, only slower and more painful.

Crowley, serpent that he was, carried it in his fangs, which made it difficult to administer; and he’d always found it cheating, and a little cruel. In four and a half millennia, he’d only ever used it in the most dire of emergencies. “Well, ah, I did. Only, as you know, Aziraphale is – is impossibly strong. He seems able to shrug off what I can give him.”

Dagon’s perpetual grin grew even wider. “Good thing we sent a team, then.”

“A…a team?”

“After hearing your reports, Hastur and Ligur volunteered to take on the angel themselves. We had them bring a few specialists along as back up.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s stomach dropped down to the ninth circle and kept falling. “And…and when did they leave?”

“Two daysz ago,” Beelzebub offered. “Ligur reported they’d tracked the angel down momentsz before you came in. They’re ambushing him asz we szpeak.” For once, the Prince of Hell shifted forward, studying Crowley’s reaction with unreadable eyes.

“Oh. Well. Good for them. Ngk. Glad they can…glad to see…” He clenched his jaw before his two superiors could see how his teeth chattered, how the panic threatened to overtake him. Swallowing it down, Crowley tried again. “I mean, Aziraphale is one of Heaven’s greatest warriors, as I’ve personally experienced many times. I’m glad he’ll finally get what’s coming to him.” He tossed his head and continued as casually as he could, “Any chance I can join up with them? I’d love to, to witness this glorious…victory for our side.”

Crowley stood for an eternity, pinned between the sadistic gleam of Dagon’s eyes and the inscrutable calm of Beelzebub’s. His fist tightened, nails digging into his palm as he struggled not to show a single sign of worry, no trembling knees, no sheen of sweat.

Although the game wouldn’t exist for another twelve centuries, Crowley had already perfected his poker face.

Finally, finally, Beelzebub nodded. “It might be too late. Catch up if you can.”

The Germanic forest that seemed to stretch on forever, rocky ledges giving way to soggy river land and back. Humans lived here – humans lived everywhere – but there seemed to be none for miles in every direction, not even as much as a road. The night was silent as the grave, completely still, even the stars shrouded in clouds.

At first, Crowley crept along quietly, looking for hints of the demons’ passing, listening for the sounds of battle. Trying to maintain his cover as an interested observer. He could sense them – somewhere – not close, but not far.

After an hour of this, his façade began to slip, the worry bubbling to the surface. Soon after, there was no longer even a trace of demonic presence in the forest, apart from his own. Which meant they’d done their work and left. And that meant…

As the sun began to rise, he flung all caution to the winds, racing through the forest like a hunted deer, calling the angel’s name again and again. Maybe it was a trick. Maybe they suspected, maybe they were just waiting for him to slip up.

Or maybe they’d already killed Aziraphale. And it would be all his fault.

As he pulled himself out of the muddy stream, he felt it – the faintest hint of angelic presence, ahead and to the left. “I’m coming,” he whispered, his voice too thick to shout.

It took another half-hour before he found the clearing, bursting out of the trees into ground burned black, twisted and churned in a ring as large as a basilica, and there in the center, in a circle of grass incongruously untouched, lay a motionless white figure.

“Aziraphale!”

The ruined ground was hot on his feet, like hallowed ground, but he raced across it without a second thought, collapsing onto the blood-soaked grass. It seeped into the ground, too much blood, red turning to black before his eyes.

“No, no, no, no.” When last he’d seen Aziraphale, they’d both been dressed in sixty pounds of armor, Aziraphale’s surely blessed for extra protection; but now he wore the simple clothes of a traveler, pale blue tunic shredded, four deep lines carved into the flesh of his side. A bag lay beside him, loaves of bread spilled across the grass, as well as ceramic jars of alcohol, oil and honey. “Aziraphale, please…”

“C…Crowley?” His eyes fluttered open just for a second. “Looking…for you…”

“Don’t try to talk, Angel.” He shifted, lifting Aziraphale’s head to his shoulder, cradling the angel in his arms. “I’ve got you now.”

“Certainly…” Aziraphale’s mouth worked for a moment. “Got me…Clever trap…”

“I…Aziraphale, I didn’t know…I swear, I never thought…” Oh, Satan, he was getting paler every second. “I’ve got you, alright? I’ve got you.” One hand braced the angel against his chest, the other wandered down to the deep cuts in his side. The bleeding had slowed. Because it was healing? Or because he was running out of blood? “This might hurt.”

“Hurts…already…”

Crowley rested his fingers against the cuts, trying to ignore the way Aziraphale gasped, sounding too weak to draw breath. “I know, I know.” He closed his eyes, looking instead to the astral plane, searching for the heat and glow of Aziraphale’s true form. It should have been blinding; instead he found an endless sea of dark energy, pulsing, growing.

It was devouring Aziraphale, smothering him, infiltrating his Grace and turning it…necrotic. Killing him.

“Crowley…I…I…”

“I told you, don’t talk.” Crowley’s face felt wet. Without thinking, he brought his hand up, wiping his cheeks, leaving smears of angel blood under both eyes. “I…I can do this.”

Bracing himself, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s side, digging his fingers into the cuts. He pressed Aziraphale against him as the angel arched his back, crying out in pain, voice breaking –

Crowley – in a shape loosely approximating his human form – waded into the black mass. It sucked at his feet like a bog, and smelled even worse; thickening around his legs with every step, trying to hold him, pull him down. It stung where it touched bare flesh, and he tried to keep his hands clear as he searched.

At last he saw it – there – at the center of the twisted mass of decay, a single ember, flickering fitfully, sinking into the morass. He struggled towards it, as the dark energy nearly solidified, tendrils forming to pluck at his tunic and belt.

He reached out his hands and, yes, he could reach it, cradle it in his hands, lift the tiny spark of power free from the sea of death. All that was left of Aziraphale, a single brilliant gemstone, not even strong enough to burn him. He lifted it to his face, even as more dark tendrils formed, angrily trying to snatch back the treasure he guarded.

“Angel, Aziraphale, please…” But at the touch of his breath, the light stuttered and nearly extinguished. Of course. Angel, demon – incompatible.

One black coil snagged his wrist, searching, crawling towards the light.

“No,” Crowley snarled, transferring Aziraphale’s light to his other hand, “I won’t let you have him!” Closing his fingers carefully around the last fragment of Grace, he held it above his head, as more lines and waves grabbed at him, trying to pull him under. “You messed with the wrong bloody demon.”

He grabbed the tendril that held his wrist, twisting it around his arm like an anchoring rope. Once it was secure, he relaxed his arm, letting it become insubstantial as mist. The dark coil sank into him.

He’d hoped that the demonic taint would be compatible with his body, allowing him to handle it as easily as Aziraphale did holy water. No such luck. It burned and sizzled, like solid potassium into water.

Crowley braced himself and pulled.

Somewhere back on the physical plane, he writhed and screamed, body convulsing as another demon’s toxins ran through it, filling his veins like fire and ice. He thought his corporation would burst, torn apart, that his true form would be shredded to pieces under the pressure. He almost lost his grip, on both planes, almost broke the connection, almost dropped the precious light of Aziraphale back into hungry black chaos.

But however much it hurt Crowley, Aziraphale must feel it tenfold. Which made his silence all the more terrifying.

Hang on, Angel. Just a little more…

His body strained against him, trying to fall away, contact only maintained through his grip on the dark energy, taut as a bowstring even as he pulled it into him until –

POP!

The last of the infection broke free of its connection to Aziraphale, snapped into Crowley. On the astral plane, he collapsed to his knees, skin swollen from the effort of holding it all in. Carefully, so carefully, he lowered the last glowing fleck of Aziraphale’s soul, setting it free. “You…” he sucked in a painful breath. “You’re alright now. Just rest…”

Crowley’s eyes fluttered open, back in reality, body clammy with sweat, every joint and every organ burning with pain. He scrambled away from the angel to the edge of the grass just in time to cough – heave – and retch out what felt like gallons of boiling black vapor, steaming out of him, swept away by the wind.

When he finally felt empty again, his arms and legs were trembling from the effort of holding him up. He could feel the blood coating his face, dry and flaking except two wet channels under his eyes.

Still coughing, he managed to crawl back to Aziraphale. The wound at his side was bright red, no sign of the dark corruption that had nearly killed him. But the angel still twitched and jerked fitfully, and his skin was fever-hot. The demonic infection was gone, but a mundane, earthly one had taken its place.

“D’n w’rry, Angel,” he muttered, mouth numb with exhaustion. “Just gotta…” He miracled up a length of cloth, almost as long as he was tall, but that was the last of his strength; healing would be impossible.

Reaching for Aziraphale’s bag, he found a jar of strong Roman-style wine, alcohol mixed with vinegar and salt water. He pulled at the seal, wax and cloth breaking free and a stream of wine spilled across the cuts, rinsing them clean. Aziraphale flinched and whimpered, but Crowley held him in place with one hand on his hip.

“Almost done.” Remembering something he’d seen a human do in Athens, centuries before, Crowley broke open the jar of honey and smeared it across the gashes, sealing them under a thick, sticky layer. He hoped it would work. You never really knew with human medicine. “Alrigh’ Angel. Time to…to sit…”

He slid an arm under Aziraphale’s shoulders and lifted him as far as he could, nearly collapsing under the angel’s boneless weight, until Aziraphale’s head was on his shoulder again. Crowley shook out the cloth and began wrapping it around his middle.

Aziraphale felt a burst of heat, sparking through every part of his body, like he was being boiled alive from the inside out.

Then, just as abruptly, it passed, and he was resting against something sturdy and warm.

His side still ached and burned, but in a distant, fuzzy way. He couldn’t focus on it, but he could feel the gentle pressure of fingers moving here and there.

Wasn’t he supposed to be worried about something? Something important. Of that he was certain. His eyes felt heavy as the weight of the world, but he forced them open.

A pair of hands, stained red and black, tied a knot in a cloth that seemed wrapped around his middle. They moved slowly, awkwardly, as if they didn’t know what they were doing. He could feel breath stirring his hair, and it sounded heavy, laden, tired.

Aziraphale tried to tip his head back to see who he leaned against, but all he managed was to turn slightly, his eyes finding a vast expanse of impossibly black fabric. “C…Crowley…?”

“Nh. Told you…” The body behind him shifted, and Aziraphale lost track of his surroundings. When they cleared again, he was lying on soft grass. One hand brushed across his forehead, pushing away the curls, and a cool breeze prickled across his skin. “Better?”

The face hovering above fuzzed in and out of focus. Yes, it had red hair, and a narrow face streaked with blood. “You…” Aziraphale tried to lift his heavy arm, reach for the already-fading form. “You’re hurt…”

“Nah.” The figure scrubbed at his face, not noticing the blood. Was Aziraphale dreaming it? Did he also imagine the eyes turned solid-gold with exhaustion? “’m fine. Jus’ rest now.”

“No…I was…” his hand managed to reach his side. “Toxin…bleeding…”

“Don’ worry. All better.”

Better? Every angel knew nothing in Heaven or Earth could heal demonic corruption. Well. Perhaps he’d dreamt that, too. Perhaps he was dreaming now.

He managed to roll onto his uninjured side. There was a frightful chill, but trying to curl up pulled at his wound painfully. “Nf,” he managed, without even the energy to cry out.

“Cold?”

“Y’s.”

A moment later, all the cold melted away, replaced by something warm pressed against his back, a light touch resting protectively on his hip. “Got you,” the voice whispered, a gentle brush of air across his ear. Then a sharp snap some sort of blanket draped over him, shielding him from the wind and the sun. “S’good. Sleep now.”

“Can’t,” Aziraphale objected. “I never…”

With a sharp breath, Aziraphale woke up. For a moment, he was disoriented – it was dark, everything tilted and strange – but, no: black sheets, grey walls, a few books resting on the bedside table near a mug of tea. The bedroom in Crowley’s flat. Which meant that the arms gently wrapped around his chest, the body pressed against his back, and the face nuzzling his shoulder…

“Mhf. ‘Wake already?”

“Sorry, my dear fellow. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“S’fine.” Crowley shifted, bringing his chin up to Aziraphale’s shoulder, wriggling his body into a more comfortable position.

“I’m still not used to sleeping.” He doubted he’d been out for more than an hour. “Not sure I’ll ever quite get the knack.”

“Told you. S’fine.” Crowley’s voice was still thick and heavy. He clearly had no intention of waking up so soon. “You wanna read now?”

“Not just yet.” He patted Crowley’s arm and leaned into his embrace, feeling lips brush absently against the back of his neck. “I think I dreamt this time.”

“Really?” He could hear the grin in Crowley’s voice, practically feel it against his skin. “Thassa first. Dream ‘bout me?”

“You know, I rather think I did. We were in a field…”

“Hmmm. Picnic?”

But Aziraphale’s smile faded as the details came back. “Your hands were…they were red. And I was in so much pain. Crowley, I think it was…” Without realizing it, his hand was pressed against the four scars on his side. “It was when I…”

In seconds he shifted from comfortably at rest to alert and awake, heart thundering as if it wanted to break free. He remembered the attack – fourteen hundred years ago now – the struggle for his life – the wound – and waking up, a week later, lying alone in a dying field, weak and hungry. He was never sure how much of what he remembered was a fever dream – but someone had bound his wounds…and then left. The cloth was soaked with blood; it had never been changed.

He hadn’t seen Crowley for another thirty years. Aziraphale only ever alluded to the attack once, and the demon had just growled learn to take better care of yourself. Never a hint of why the forces of Hell had ambushed Aziraphale, or why they never returned, or if Crowley had really been there to heal Aziraphale afterwards.

He hesitated to mention it now.

But Crowley’s fingers glided down his arm, twining with his, pressing lightly into the scars as if to ensure they were fully healed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I…I mean…it wasn’t the attack, though it felt as though it had happened only moments before.” Aziraphale shuddered at the memory of five demons, bursting out of the woods, claws and fangs and… “No, it was…surprisingly pleasant. I dreamt you were there. Afterwards. Taking care of me.”

“Oh.” Then, softer. “Oh.”

“You dressed my wound. Talked to me. And…and held me. Just like this.” He tugged Crowley’s arm across his chest again. “Stayed with me until I woke up.” His fingers played around Crowley’s, massaging knuckles. “I…ah…back then…I always wondered…”

“Yeah. That was…yeah. It was me.”

A lump formed in his throat, and all Aziraphale could do was nod, bringing Crowley’s fingers to his lips. How strange, to have confirmation after all this time. It shouldn’t have affected him, brought tears to his eyes, but, oh…

“Thank you,” he whispered, when he could speak again, and he pressed a kiss into Crowley’s palm. “I…I’m glad you were there.” More kisses, trailing to his wrist.

“Didn’t stay.” There was no mistaking the regret in his voice.

“Oh, no, I know you couldn’t.” Another kiss to the wrist. “It was a different time…we were different and…just that you stayed long enough to save me from an inconvenient discorporation…truly, thank you.” But when Crowley didn’t relax, Aziraphale switched to a teasing tone. “I used to think it couldn’t possibly be you. Why would a demon help an angel his own side had left for dead?” Ah. That wasn’t funny at all, was it? He continued, more serious. “I…I don’t wonder anymore. I know why.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, you silly old thing. Yes. I was quite fond of you back then, too, you know, though I didn’t trust you at all and very much wanted to throw you off a cliff for your…absurd pranks.” He smiled in memory. “And I would have helped you the same way, if you ever needed it.”

He lay there a moment longer, in the warm circle of Crowley’s arm. “I…don’t think I’ve ever told you…how very safe you make me feel.” Aziraphale turned over, just enough to meet Crowley’s eyes, expecting them to be warm and soft. Instead, he found them filled with pain. Aziraphale quickly reached up, cradling his demon’s face. “Darling, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“It…it was my fault.”

“What?” The words slid down his spine like ice, and Aziraphale scrambled to sit up. “No, it’s not your fault. It was Hastur and – and those other demons who attacked. I don’t know why they suddenly decided…Ah. You mentioned me?”

“More than that.” A tear ran down Crowley’s face, just one, and dropped unheeded between them. “I – I thought I was so clever. If I didn’t want to do a job, just say you stopped me. Told them how – how fierce you are. Fearless. Strong. And you are.” His eyes were pleading now. “I wanted them to…to think you were a-a-a worthy opponent.”

“And instead they decided to eliminate me.” He reached up to brush the tear track from Crowley’s cheek. “My love, no, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure I gave Hell plenty of reasons on my own. You weren’t their only agent on earth in those days, and the rest were certainly not as fond of oyster dinners.”

“They wouldn’t have sent five demons if I hadn’t…”

“You don’t know that.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “And glad as I am for your help, I was fine. Really, my injury looked much worse than it was.”

But Crowley shook his head. “Angel…you almost died.”

“What? No, I…” He remembered hands, coated with red blood, and something black.

“I pulled all the toxin out of you. I…I held your soul in my hand. It was almost gone.” The tears started again. “You were almost gone. I…a few minutes later and…”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled him into his arms, felt Crowley’s arms twist around him, tight as only a serpent’s embrace could be. “I didn’t know…”

“I stayed as long as I could, I swear. Two days.” Crowley shuddered. “Then they came back. Even more of them.”

Fear boiled through Aziraphale, as if Crowley’s words could summon the demons into their bedroom. Calm down. That happened fourteen hundred years ago. “What…what did you do?”

“Told you. I left.” His voice was strained, broken. “When I sensed them coming. I just…abandoned you. Led them on a chase. Told them you’d attacked me. Had reinforcements. Everything I could think of, until they gave up. And then I went back to Hell with them. Left you there.”

“Crowley. Look at me.” He pushed the demon back until he could see his eyes. “Thank you.” Crowley started to shake his head, and Aziraphale gripped his jaw firmly. “No. Don’t blame yourself. I was in no condition to fight, even if you could have woken me. And I would never ask you to fight a horde of demons. By leaving me, by leading them away, you saved me. And more importantly, you saved my best friend.” He leaned in and kissed Crowley lightly on the lips. “So. Thank you.”

“I wanted to stay.”

“I know. I…I wanted you too as well.” His fingers searched for Crowley’s, crept between them, and squeezed. “I hope, er, your former side didn’t do anything too bad when you returned.”

“Nah,” and there was that smile, the careless grin Aziraphale adored so much. “I was a legend. Only demon to ever face you and walk away unscathed. Even Hastur was afraid to face you again. Dagon had me develop a whole training course on angelic combat.”

Aziraphale threw back his head and laughed. “They thought you could beat me?”

“Oi! Mind who you’re mocking, I am the Serpent of Eden, Hell’s fiercest and most effective agent!”

“Only because you lie about everything.”

“You’re one to talk!” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pushing him back down into the pillow, laughing just as much. “You invented lying! To God!” His lips brushed against Aziraphale’s ear, but it was a serious voice that whispered, “I will protect you always, Angel.”

“I know.” He kissed Crowley’s jaw, then rested against his face, cheek to cheek. “Thank you.”

Eventually, they settled down to try sleeping again, Crowley pressed against his back, long fingers resting on the curve of his hip. With a snap, Crowley’s wing emerged, covering Aziraphale in a feathery cocoon. Just like in his dream.

There, in the embrace of his demon, Aziraphale felt safe, and warm, and welcome, and other things he’d never expected to feel. Whatever came next, they had each other. Forever.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #ineffable husbands #hurt comfort #hurt aziraphale #protective crowley #but also #protective aziraphale #aziraphale and crowley #pre-arrangement #cw: blood #CW: wounds #bed sharing #sleepy cuddles #wing cuddles #My writing #tumblr fic

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bopinion · 3 years ago

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2021 / 39

Aperçu of the Week:

"...and when Kermit the Frog sang 'It's not easy being green', he was wrong..."

(Boris Johnson last wednesday at the UN General Assembly)

Bad News of the Week:

"Elect a clown - expect a circus". Sometimes it doesn't take extensive analysis, but just a popular bumper sticker to get to the heart of a political situation. The majority of Britons voted for Brexit. And for Boris Johnson. For most Europeans, these two facts are enough to shake their heads in incomprehension. And to wonder whether everything in the United Kingdom is still above board.

Much has happened on the island in recent months: The health care system lacks qualified specialists. Goods traffic is jammed at the borders because there is a shortage of customs officers. In the meat industry, the pigs are literally piling up because there is a shortage of skilled workers in the slaughterhouses. After empty shelves in supermarkets, gas stations have now also run out of products. Because? Exactly: there is a shortage of skilled workers. In this case, truck drivers. All jobs that don't necessarily require difficult university degrees and semesters abroad. They are normal, down-to-earth, solid jobs that are needed all over the world to keep the business running.

Stupidly, British policy and industry in these - among other! - industries did not pay attention to sufficient qualification in their own population, but relied on cheaper labor. Who came from where? From the unloved mainland, especially from Eastern and Southeastern Europe. No problem if you are a member of the European Union and thus benefit from the so-called "free movement of workers." After Brexit, however, that fell away and one got rid - finally, many Britons breathed a sigh of relief - of these troublesome foreigners. And got chaos in return. Congratulations!

What is sad about this is that it is a failure by design. Everyone saw this coming - everyone outside 10 Downing Street. The mission was called "Taking back control". But the result now, unfortunately, is loss of control. And I state this without any malice or gloating. As a citizen of a trading nation, I have always been concerned about a smooth economic structure across borders. And as a European - and above all a German - I greatly appreciate stable relations with our allies. But that's the way it is.

Currently, the upcoming Tory party conference is expected to be a jubilant event for the Brexit poster boy. He has kept his word. "Getting Brexit done" was his campaign promise. And he has delivered. Only apparently not only on the backs of the Northern Irish, the fishermen and farmers, and the financial district of London City, but also on the backs of all citizens. A little insight would do well. After all, without admitting one's own mistakes or misjudgments, it is difficult, if not impossible, to bring about lasting change. One can only wish the Prime Minister the courage and sovereignty to do so. The thanks of his own people and the entire continent would certainly go down well in the history books and in the everyday lives of the British...

Good News of the Week:

Germany has voted. And as predicted by me - as most political analysts ;-) - predicted, the result is only an intermediate one, as only a coalition of three parties can form a parliamentary majority. This is not only new in our political culture, but also a disaster or a blessing, depending on your point of view.

A disaster, because the political agenda for the coming legislative period is based on the coalition agreement, which usually turns out to be all the more unambitious the more different interests have struggled for common ground for its constitution. This is a blessing, since the more distant a participation model is from the principle of "the winner takes it all," the more it represents the wishes of a broader population. As I file this commentary under "Good News", it is not difficult to guess that after a long struggle of my inner voices, I have decided in favor of the latter. After all, no matter how tedious the day-to-day political business may be in a three-member constellation, it is far more democratic.

It is particularly worth mentioning how the "citrus coalition" (as the Liberals and the Greens have recently been dubbed because of their party colors) fulfill the role of what only seems to be the second guard with a will to shape policy. Because one thing is clear: regardless of whether the Social Democrats, who won by a razor-thin margin, or the conservatives, who were punished, manage to successfully form a government, it is the Yellows and the Greens who decide who moves into the chancellor's office; they are the kingmakers.

So these two parties have met for exploratory talks in the week that is drawing to a close to find common ground and build bridges over their differences. The lively debate culture is dominated by terms such as renewal, new beginnings and change, but also reliability, stability and future viability. Because that's what the Yellows and the Greens have in common: they have clearly positioned themselves against "business as usual," want to tackle the challenges of the coming years with active policies and not just manage the status quo. If they make this a non-negotiable basic requirement of their coalition talks, much will already have been gained.

P.S.: In Iceland, Prime Minister Jakobsdóttir's ruling coalition has been re-elected. But the big winners are the women as a whole: They now form the majority in parliament.

Personal happy Moment of the Week:

Last evening, or rather last night, my daughter made up for her 18th birthday, which was cancelled in the spring for obvious reasons. Besides the obvious fun she and her friends seemed to have, two aspects struck me as positive: First, they included a proverbial old friend with whom she had played in the nursery when she was just three years old. And secondly, she also invited her little brother, although he really has no business at a blooming party or at beer pong. But his mother doesn't necessarily have to know that... ;-)

I couldn't care less...

...that Armin Laschet, the leading candidate of the conservatives, even on election day delivered another laughing stock: he had not folded his own ballot paper correctly and thus in principle invalidated his own vote in front of the press. It seamlessly joins the ranks of non-existent professionalism, virtually no profile, meager program, poor preparation, lack of aplomb, imprecise positions, obvious weaknesses.... I could go on. Political commentators have blamed the election debacle (the lowest result in history!) mainly on the candidate. I'll go one step further: when an actually established political force with a solid record after personalities like Adenauer, Kohl and Merkel fixates on such a weak candidate, it doesn't belong to it any other way. Sorry.

As I write this...

...I'm glad that after all the political dominance of the last few weeks, at least in prime time, a pleasant normality is returning. Tonight, my doppelganger Klaus Borowski is investigating in a new episode of "Tatort" (crime scene).

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naturecpw · 4 years ago

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Shuteye and Sleep Hygiene: The Truth About Why You Keep Waking up at 3 a.m.

You eschew caffeine after lunch, have stopped drinking alcohol and eat healthily. But you’re still staring at the ceiling in the small hours. Here’s why. The Guardian Elle Hunt

‘If you find yourself waking regularly during the night, flag it with your GP so they can consider any possible underlying causes.’

You land in your body with a start, or else it slowly comes into groggy focus: either way it’s night-time, but you are now awake. Why? Alice Gregory, a psychology professor at Goldsmiths, University of London and the author of Nodding Off, says it’s quite normal to wake up during the night.

After dropping off, we move through different stages of sleep, a cycle that takes the average adult about 90 minutes to complete and speeds up towards morning.

“The night is also punctuated by brief awakenings,” says Gregory. “Typically, people return to sleep without realising that they had ever been awake.” But sometimes we might at least be more aware of it, or pulled entirely awake. Reasons range from the fairly obvious (being too hot or cold, needing the loo, having a nightmare, a crying baby) to the medical (disordered breathing such as sleep apnea, or nocturia: excessive night-time urination).

Waking up during the night does not necessarily mean you have insomnia, which, says Gregory, is diagnosed alongside other criteria such as the frequency of this occurrence and how long it has been happening. “If you find yourself waking regularly during the night, certainly flag this with your GP so they can consider any possible underlying causes.”

Still, sleep deprivation takes its own toll, from irritability and reduced focus in the short term, to an increased risk of obesity, heart disease and diabetes. If you do find yourself regularly waking up without any apparent reason – what can you do about it?

“It’s a misconception that we sleep the night through – nobody ever does,” says the sleep coach Katie Fischer. Waking as much as five or seven times a night is not necessarily a cause for concern – the most important thing is how you feel when you get up. “In the morning, do you feel refreshed, or groggy and unable to function, 30 minutes after waking?”

If there is nothing to suggest an underlying medical issue, Fischer will look at the bigger picture with a patient. “It’s really important to know if they have children. Do they have a partner who snores, or works shifts?” she says. “They might not have their own sleep issues but they might be sleeping next to someone who does.”

Lifestyle changes can make a big difference, even for people suffering from sleep apnoea (although that should be treated by a specialist). It is hackneyed to point the finger at caffeine, but people tend to underestimate how long its effects can last – Fischer says to stop consuming it by 2 p.m. or 3 p.m. Water intake during the day is also a factor: “Even going to bed mildly dehydrated can disrupt our sleep.”

Similarly, although people commonly turn to alcohol to help them fall asleep – Fischer says one in 10 use it as a sleep aid – it has a disruptive effect beyond the initial crash, causing spikes in blood sugar and cortisol levels. Diet can function in the same way, with “anti-sleep foods” that are high in sugar or cause flatulence or heartburn (such as broccoli and cabbage).

A “pro-sleep” bedtime snack is a small amount of complex carbohydrates and protein, such as wholegrain cereal with milk, or toast with peanut butter, says Fischer. An “anti-inflammatory” diet favouring fruits, vegetables, lean protein, nuts, seeds and healthy fats (and limiting processed foods, red meats and alcohol) has been shown to improve sleep apnea.

As for exercise, although being active during the day aids sleep, anything strenuous is to be avoided before bedtime. A lot of advice for preventing night-time “awakenings” falls under the umbrella of what has come to be known as “good sleep hygiene”: restrict the bedroom to sleep and sex, ban screens emitting blue light, keep to regular bedtimes and so on.

Our bedrooms – even our beds – have come to double as home cinemas, offices, “a dining room, maybe,” says the sleep consultant Maryanne Taylor. “You would be amazed at how significant that is for sleep. You’re training to associate your bed with wakefulness.” For that reason, if you do struggle to fall back asleep on waking up during the night, the advice is to get up for a bit. “Don’t just lie there – it’s counterproductive.”

So, too, is looking at the clock, especially if it doubles as your phone. “As soon as your brain has registered that it’s 2 a.m., you convince yourself that that’s your lot,” says Taylor. Such worry loops might be waking you up in the first place.

For many of us, bedtime might be our first opportunity of the day to be alone with our thoughts, she says. “It’s connected to waking in the night because, if we haven’t had any processing time during the day, it’s the first time we stop and just be.” Managing stress and anxiety during waking hours and learning how to relax body and mind are key to a good night’s sleep – but ironically, fixating on getting your full eight hours can make it harder to achieve. “You get this awful self-fulfilling prophecy that’s quite hard to break,” says Fischer.

A mindset change may be what’s needed. “People might have this belief that they are a ‘bad sleeper’ and there is nothing that they can do about it. Sometimes it’s about changing people’s perceptions of what good sleep looks like.” Taylor says she “really cannot bear” fitness trackers, which monitor sleep, for focusing people’s minds on often inaccurate data. It is wrong to assume that you must sleep through the night, every night, she says. “We all have blips in our sleep – it’s never going to be that you sleep brilliantly all the time.”

But accepting that – even as you lie awake, hours before dawn – might be the first step towards it.

https://getpocket.com/explore/item/shuteye-and-sleep-hygiene-the-truth-about-why-you-keep-waking-up-at-3am?utm_source=pocket-newtab

What Happened When I Forced Myself To Wake Up At 5 A.M. Every Day For A Month

What Happens to Your Body When You Wake Up at 5 a.m. Every Day

7 Morning Habits That Can Affect Your Entire Day

Scott YoungThe 5 Keys to Falling Asleep On Time Every Night

If You Love Staying Up Late and Sleeping In, Doing Otherwise Might Actually Hurt Your Health

#Sleep #Waking up #Sleep Hygiene

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fuckofffuckofffuckoffloveme · 4 years ago

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Runaway - Part Six

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

As the TARDIS materialised, Hazel smiled. "So how long have I been gone?" she asked as they stepped out onto the Powell Estate.

"About twelve hours," the Hunter replied, having decided to keep her look with the beanie and the trenchcoat.

Hazel nodded. "Right, I shouldn't be too long. I just want to see Jace."

The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "What're you going to tell him?"

"Oh, that I've been to the year 5 billion and only been gone twelve hours," Hazel replied sarcastically. "No, I'll just tell him I spent the night at Shazia's. See you later. And don't you disappear." The Hunter saluted with her metal hand, smiling as Hazel ran off to her flat.

As the Time Lady turned around, intending to find a wall or something to sit on, she noticed an old poster stuck to a concrete lamppost. She read it, and her eyes widened. Immediately, she started sprinting up to the flat.

***

"I'm back!" Hazel called as she let herself into the flat, depositing her keys in the bowl as usual. "I was with Shazia. She was all upset again. Are you in?" She smiled as she saw Jason come out of the kitchen with a mug of tea and stop still, his eyes wide. "So, what's been going on? How've you been?" She blinked when Jace didn't move. "What? What's that face for? It's not the first time I've stayed out all night."

Jason dropped his mug, and it smashed on the floor. "It's you," he whispered, his voice haunted.

Hazel frowned, confused. "Of course it's me."

"Oh my God. It's you. Oh my God." Jason ran forwards to hug her tight, and Hazel saw a variety of missing person posters on the table over his shoulder.

The Hunter burst through the door. "I'm so sorry, Hazel! It's not twelve hours, it's twelve months. You've been gone a whole year!"

***

Later, Jason's shock had given way to anger, and Hazel was curled up in an armchair trying to calm him down. "The hours I've sat here, days and weeks and months, all on my own. I thought you were dead, and where were you? Travelling. What the hell does that mean, travelling? That's no sort of answer." Jason snorted derisively. "Travelling."

"That's what I was doing," Hazel protested.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "When your passport's still in the drawer? It's just one lie after another."

Hazel sighed. "I meant to phone, J, I really did. I just... forgot." She winced at Jason's expression.

"What, for a year? You forgot for a year? And I am left sitting here. I just don't believe you. Why won't you tell me where you've been?" he pleaded.

"Actually, it's my fault," the Hunter confessed. "I sort of employed Hazel as my companion."

"When you say companion...?" Jason trailed, his eyes wide.

"Not in the way you're thinking," the Hunter assured him.

"Then what is it?" he demanded. "Because you, you waltz in here all charm and smiles, and the next thing I know, she vanishes off the face of the Earth! How old are you, then? Thirty? Thirty five? What, did you find her on the internet?"

"No, I just -"

Jason cut her off, cornering her against the wall she was leaning against. "That's my sister! I thought she was dead, because of you!"

The Hunter's eyes narrowed. "If there is one thing you can believe about me, it's that the last thing I would do is leave you with a dead sibling." With ease, she pushed Jason away, and marched out, heading for the roof.

***

Later, Jason and Hazel were sitting in the kitchen over a couple mugs of tea. "Did you think about me at all?" Jason asked, frowning.

"I did," Hazel assured him. "All the time, but -"

"One phone call," Jason cut her off. "Just to know that you were alive."

"I'm sorry. I really am," Hazel sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Jason put his arm around her. "Do you know, what terrifies me is that you still can't say. What happened to you, Haze? What can be so bad that you can't tell me, sweetheart? Where were you?"

***

Hazel sighed as she joined the Hunter on the roof. "I can't tell him. I can't even begin. He's never going to forgive me. And I missed a year. Was it good?"

"Middling," the Hunter shrugged.

"Ugh."

The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Well, if it's this much trouble, are you going to stay here now?" There was a hint of sadness in her eyes that Hazel picked up on.

"No, definitely not. But I can't do that to him again," she stated.

"Well, he's not coming with us."

Hazel snorted. "No chance."

"I don't do families," the Hunter said quietly.

"He squared up to you!" Hazel cried in an attempt to change the subject.

"Nine hundred years of time and space, and I've never been threatened by someone's brother," the Hunter shook her head.

"Your face!"

"I was scared for my life!" the Hunter joked, smiling.

"You're so gay," Hazel sighed.

"Well, yes," the Hunter agreed easily.

Hazel nodded. "Okay... When you say nine hundred years?"

"That's my age," the Hunter clarified.

"You're nine hundred years old," Hazel raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

Hazel blew out a breath. "Jace was right. That is one hell of an age gap." The Hunter laughed, and Hazel sighed. "Every conversation with you just goes mental. There's no one else I can talk to. I've seen all that stuff up there, the size of it, and I can't say a word. Aliens and spaceships and things, and I'm like the only person on planet Earth who knows they exist."

A deep foghorn-like noise interrupted her, and a huge spaceship passed overhead, trailing black smoke. It was heading for the city, and smashed through a few faces of Big Ben before swallow-diving the Thames. The Hunter and Hazel watched as a plume of black smoke rose into the air on the horizon. "Only person on planet Earth, huh?" the Hunter asked cheekily.

"Oh, that's just not fair," Hazel pouted, before following her friend as she ran off down the fire escape.

***

"It's blocked off," the Hunter sighed as they got as far as they could, to where the army had put barriers across the roads.

"We're miles from the centre," Hazel frowned, standing on her tiptoes to try and see over. "The city must be gridlocked. The whole of London must be closing down."

The Hunter grinned. "I know. I can't believe I'm here to see this. This is fantastic!"

Hazel narrowed her eyes. "Did you know this was going to happen?"

"Nope."

"Did you recognise the ship?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Do you know why it crashed?" she tried.

"Nope."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad I've got you."

"I bet you are. This is what I travel for, Haze," the Hunter enthused, spreading her arms. "To see history happening right in front of us."

"Well, let's go and see it," Hazel shrugged. "Never mind the traffic, we've got the TARDIS."

The Hunter made a face. "Better not. They've already got one spaceship in the middle of London. I don't want to shove another one on top."

"Yeah, but yours looks like a big blue box," Hazel pointed out. "No one's going to notice."

"You'd be surprised," the Hunter told her. "Emergency like this, there'll be all kinds of people watching. Trust me. The TARDIS stays where she is."

Hazel sighed. "So history's happening and we're stuck here."

"Yes, we are," the Hunter smiled.

"Well, we could always do what everybody else does. We could watch it on TV," Hazel suggested.

***

Hazel smirked as she watched the Hunter flicking through the channels, sipping at a coffee Jason had grudgingly made her. The Time Lady rolled her eyes as people started turning up and chatting, practically drowning out the TV. "Oi, I'm trying to listen!" She watched as specialists were brought in, but frowned when the channel switched to Blue Peter. The toddler that had pressed the button grinned up at her from her lap, and she rolled her eyes, taking the remote and switching it back. "Go on," the Hunter muttered, seeing the body had been brought to Albion Hospital, with members of the army arriving.

Eventually, having seen all she needed, the Hunter deposited the toddler with his mother and went for the balcony exit of the flat. Hazel followed her out. "And where do you think you're going?" she asked, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

The Hunter turned to look at her, leaning against the railings. "Nowhere. It's just a bit human in there for me. History just happened and they're talking about where you can buy dodgy top-up cards for half price. I'm off on a wander, that's all."

Hazel raised her eyebrows higher. "Right. There's a spaceship on the Thames and you're just wandering."

"All right," the Hunter sighed. "I just want to check something out. You don't need me. Go and celebrate history. Spend some time with Jace."

"Promise you won't disappear?" Hazel asked.

"Tell you what." The Hunter reached down into her pocket and withdrew a golden key on a matching chain, similar to the silver one around her own neck. "TARDIS key. It's about time you had one." She handed it over, smiling, before setting off towards the TARDIS herself. "See you later."

***

Back in the flat, Jason was proposing a toast. "Here's to the Martians!"

"The Martians!" everyone cheered, except Hazel, who rolled her eyes. The door opened, and she looked over, hoping to see the Hunter, but froze when she saw Mike, who's eyes widened at the sight of her.

"I was going to come and see you," Hazel tried as the room went silent.

"Someone owes Mikey an apology," Shazia raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," Hazel apologised immediately, but Shazia shook her head.

"Not you."

Jason made a face as everyone looked at him. "Well, it's not my fault. Be fair. What was I supposed to think?"

***

The party had started back up again in the living room while Mike, Jason, and Hazel had retreated to the kitchen, Mike shutting all the doors and the serving hatch. "You disappear, who do they turn to? Your boyfriend. Five times I was taken in for questioning. Five times. No evidence. Course, there couldn't be, could there? And then I get him, your brother, whispering around the estate, pointing the finger. Stuff through my letterbox, and all cause of you."

Hazel frowned at him. "Mikey, you're not my boyfriend. I don't know where you got that from, cause it weren't me. Besides, I didn't think I'd be gone so long."

"And I waited for you, Hazel. Twelve months, waiting for you and the Hunter to come back."

Jason held up a hand to stop him. "Hold on, you knew about the Hunter? Why didn't you tell me?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Why not, Hazel? Huh? How could I tell him where you went?"

"Tell me now," Jason ordered, looking worried.

"I might as well, cause you're stuck here," Mike gloated. "The Hunter's gone. Just now. That box thing just faded away."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Shut it, pikey."

"She's left you," he goaded. "Some girlfriend she turned out to be."

The girl ran out of the flats, coming to where the TARDIS had been, with Mike and Jason following her. "She wouldn't just go, she promised me."

"Oh, she's dumped you, Hazel!" Mike taunted. "Sailed off into space. How does it feel, huh? Now you're left behind with the rest of us Earthlings. Get used to it."

"She would have said," Hazel stated, nodding confidently.

"What are you two going on about?" Jason asked as he caught up with them. "What's going on? What's this Hunter done now?"

Mike laughed. "She's vamoosed."

Hazel growled. "She's not, because she gave me this." She showed him the golden key on its chain around her neck. "She's not my girlfriend, Mike. She's better than that. She's much more important than -" She cut herself off as the TARDIS key started to glow, the ship herself beginning to materialise a few feet away. "I said so!" Hazel's eyes widened when she saw Jason staring at the TARDIS in shock. "Jace! Jace, go inside. J, don't stand there, just go inside. Just, Jace, go. Oh, blimey."

The TARDIS fully materialised, and Hazel ran inside while Mike and Jason stared for a moment before following her.

The Hunter smiled when she saw Hazel come over to her. "All right, so I went and had a look. The whole crash landing's a fake. I thought so. Just too perfect. I mean, hitting Big Ben? Come on. So I thought let's go and have a look -"

Hazel cut her off, wincing. "Jace and Mike are here."

"Oh, that's just what I need," the Hunter rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare make this place domestic."

Mike stalked over, clearly annoyed. "You ruined my life, Hunter. They thought she was dead. I was a murder suspect because of you."

The Hunter looked over his shoulder at Hazel meaningfully. "For future reference, this is what I call domestic."

"I bet you don't even remember my name," Mike snorted.

"Spike," the Hunter replied confidently.

"It's Mike."

"No, it's Spike."

"I think I know my own name," Mike raised an eyebrow.

The Hunter snorted. "You think you know your own name? How stupid are you?"

Hazel followed Jason out as he ran off, overwhelmed. "Jace, don't! Don't go anywhere. Don't start a fight! J, it's not like that. She's not. I'll be up in a minute. Hold on!" She went back into the TARDIS. "That was a real spaceship."

"Yep," the Hunter agreed.

"So it's all a pack of lies? What is it, then? Are they invading?" Hazel asked.

"Funny way to invade, putting the world on red alert," Mike pointed out sullenly.

"Good point, could be a little more cheerful," the Hunter evaluated. "So, what're they up to?"

***

"So, what're you doing down there?" Mike asked, peering down at the Hunter as she meddled with the circuits down in the grating.

The Hunter sighed. "Spike."

"Mike," he corrected.

"Spike. If I were to tell you what I was doing to the controls of my frankly magnificent time ship, would you even begin to understand?" the Hunter raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose not," Mike admitted.

"Well, piss off, then," the Time Lady snapped, going back to her tinkering.

Mike rolled his eyes, going over to Hazel, who was leaning against the console. "Some friend you've got."

"She's winding you up," Hazel told him. "I am sorry."

"Okay." Mike didn't look convinced.

"I am, though."

The man sighed. "Every day, I looked. On every street corner, wherever I went, looking for a blue box for a whole year."

"It's only been a few days for me, maybe a week," Hazel confessed. "I don't know. It's, it's hard to tell inside this thing, but I swear it's just a few days since I left you lot."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Not enough time to miss me, then?"

Hazel swallowed, uncomfortable. "I missed all of you."

"I missed you," Mike admitted.

"So, er, in twelve months, have you been seeing anyone?" she asked.

"No," Mike replied.

"Oh," Hazel nodded, edging away from him a bit.

"Mainly because everyone thinks I murdered you," Mike shrugged.

"Right."

"So, now that you've come back, are you going to stay?" he questioned.

Hazel's eyes widened. "I can't," she blurted.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Mike frowned, glaring a little.

The Hunter hauled herself up out of the grating to push between them, to get to the monitor. "Usually, one means almost exactly what one says, Spikey."

Mike glared at her. "Excuse me, this was a private conversation!"

"I know, I heard," the Hunter replied nonchalantly. "Anyway, I patched in the radar, looped it back twelve hours so we can follow the flight of that spaceship. Here we go." She held out her metal hand, and a lever just out of her reach flicked down. "Hold on, come on." She moved slightly out of the way so that Hazel could see, sneakily nudging Mike further away from her.

"Is that the spaceship?" Hazel asked, pointing to a small dot moving towards Earth on the radar image.

"Exactly. That's the spaceship on its way to Earth, see?" The Time Lady followed it with her metal index finger. "Except, hold on..." She turned a dial telekinetically, and the image rewinded. "See? The spaceship did a slingshot round the Earth before it landed."

"What does that mean?" Hazel wondered.

"It means it came from Earth in the first place. It went up and came back down." The Hunter sighed, thinking hard. "Whoever those aliens are, they haven't just arrived, they've been here for a while. The question is, what have they been doing?"

***

Later, the Hunter was sprawled on the jump seat, trying to concentrate on figuring out who these aliens were and what they were doing. Mike was rather hindering her progress as he kept channel-hopping on the monitor, providing a fluctuating level of noise that didn't help the Hunter's concentration in the slightest. Hazel had gone further into the TARDIS to get some peace and quiet so she could call Jason. "How many channels do you get?" Mike questioned.

"All the basic packages," the Hunter replied, opening her eyes in annoyance. She looked up a little as Hazel reentered, not looking too much happier than she had when talking to Mike.

"You get the sports channels?"

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Yes, I get the football." She blinked, recognising someone on the news. "Hold on, I know that lot. UNIT. United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. Good people."

"How do you know them?" Hazel asked quietly, and Mike scowled as he noticed the Hunter's gaze soften as soon as it hit her.

"Cause she's worked for them," he stated, smirking at her raised eyebrows. "Oh yeah, don't think I sat on my backside for twelve months, Hunter. I read up on you. You look deep enough on the Internet or in the history books, and there's her name, followed by a list of the dead."

The Hunter gave him a weird look. "Oh, yeah, that's nice, Spike. Always good to know I'm being stalked."

Hazel smirked a little. "If you know them, why don't you go and help?"

"They wouldn't recognise me," the Hunter explained. "I've changed a lot since the old days. Besides, the world's on a knife-edge. There's aliens out there and fake aliens. We want to keep this alien out of the mix. I'm going undercover, and I'd better keep the TARDIS out of sight." She thought for a minute, putting on her trenchcoat and a pair of fingerless gloves to cover most of her metal hand. "Spike, you've got a car. You can do some driving."

Mike scowled, but didn't bother correcting her. "Where to?"

"The roads are clearing. Let's go and have a look at that spaceship," the Hunter decided. They walked outside, right into a helicopter spotlight, and she winced. "Or not." Mickey ran off.

"Do not move! Step away from the box and raise your hands above your heads!"

Hazel and the Hunter raised their hands warily, and the human flinched as Jason came running out the flat, only to be held back by a couple of soldiers. "Haze! Hazel!"

The Hunter smirked, looking right up at the soldier carrying a megaphone. "Take me to your leader," she called.

***

Hazel looking around the well-furnished police car in surprise. "Wow, this is a bit posh. If I knew it was going to be like this, being arrested, I would have done it years ago," she joked.

The Hunter shook her head, pulling her beanie snugly around her ears. "We're not being arrested, we're being escorted."

"Where to?" Hazel wondered, frowning.

"Where'd you think?" the Hunter raised her eyebrows. "Downing Street."

Hazel's eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," the Hunter assured her.

"10 Downing Street?"

"That's the one."

"Oh my God. I'm going to 10 Downing Street? How come?" Hazel asked.

The Hunter winced. "I hate to say it, but Mike was right. Over the years, Apollo and I have visited this planet a lot of times, and we've been noticed."

"Now they need you?" Hazel inquired, deciding not to touch on the mention of the Time Lady's brother.

"Like it said on the news: they're gathering experts in alien knowledge. And who's the biggest expert of the lot?" the Hunter asked smugly.

"Patrick Moore?" Hazel teased.

"Apart from him," the Hunter rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't you just love it," Hazel laughed.

"I'm telling you, me and Moorsy, we were like that," the Hunter exclaimed, crossing her fingers. She frowned for a moment. "Who's the Prime Minister now?"

Hazel snorted. "How should I know? I missed a year."

***

"Oh my God," the human girl whispered as they entered 10 Downing Street, giggling in excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, can we convene?" a man was saying. "Quick as we can, please. It's this way on the right, and can I remind you ID cards are to be worn at all times." He handed one to the Hunter as they approached, and the Time Lady noticed his ID named him as Indra Ganesh. "Here's your ID card. I'm sorry, your companion doesn't have clearance."

The Hunter narrowed her eyes. "I don't go anywhere without her."

"You're the code nine, not her," Ganesh stated. "I'm sorry, Hunter. It is the Hunter, isn't it? She'll have to stay outside."

"She's staying with me," the Hunter insisted.

Ganesh sighed. "Look, even I don't have clearance to go in there. I can't let her in, and that's a fact."

"It's all right," Hazel shook her head. "You go."

"Sure?" the Hunter raised an eyebrow, not wanting to leave her alone.

Another woman bustled up to them. "Excuse me. Are you the Hunter?"

"Not now," Ganesh scowled. "We're busy. Can't you go home?"

"I just need a word in private," the woman pleaded.

"You haven't got clearance," Ganesh told her. "Just leave it." He turned to the Hunter. "What about the Doctor? Is he coming?"

The Hunter's face clouded over, and she ignored the question, speaking instead to her companion. "I'll be out as soon as I can. Don't start a fight." She hugged Hazel, then went into the conference room.

Ganesh turned to Hazel. "I'm going to have to leave you with security."

"It's all right," that woman butted in again, making Hazel smile at her persistence. "I'll look after her. Let me be of some use." She started walking down a corridor with Hazel. "Walk with me. Just keep walking. That's right. Don't look round. Harriet Jones, MP Flydale North." She stopped in a clear corridor. "This friend of yours, she's an expert, is that right? She knows about aliens?"

Hazel narrowed her eyes. "Why do you want to know?" Harriet promptly burst into tears.

***

The Hunter started scanning the prepared papers as soon as she sat down, ignoring everyone else.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please," General Asquith began. "As you can see from the summaries in front of you, the ship had one porcine occupant."

Standing up, the Hunter interrupted him. "Of course, the really interesting bit happened three days ago, filed away under Any Other Business. The North Sea. A satellite detected a signal, a little blip of radiation, at one hundred fathoms, like there's something down there. You were just about to investigate and the next thing you know, this happens. Spaceships, pigs, massive diversion. From what?"

***

Harriet had lead Hazel to the Cabinet Room, still crying. "They turned the body into a suit. A disguise for the thing inside!"

"It's all right," Hazel told her. "I believe you. It's, it's alien. They must have some serious technology behind this. If we could find it, maybe we could use it." She started opening cupboards, looking for anything alien-looking, when a man's body fell out of one, almost hitting her. "Oh my God!" Is that the -?!"

Ganesh sighed as he saw Harriet through the doorway, and marched in. "Harriet, for God's sake. This has gone beyond a joke. You cannot just wander." His eyes widened as he saw the corpse. "Oh my God! That's the Prime Minister!"

***

"If aliens fake an alien crash and an alien pilot, what do they get?" the Hunter theorised. "Us. They get us. It's not a diversion, it's a trap."

***

A plump blonde woman appeared in the doorway. Harriet and Ganesh recognised her as Margaret Blaine. "Oh! Has someone been naughty?" she asked.

"That's impossible," Ganesh protested. "He left this afternoon. The Prime Minister left Downing Street. He was driven away!"

Margaret smiled innocently. "And who told you that, hmm? Me." She reached up to her hairline, and started to unzip her forehead.

***

"This is all about us," the Hunter realised. "Alien experts. The only people with knowledge how to fight them gathered together in one room." She rolled her eyes as the leader of the meeting, Green, farted. "Excuse me, do you mind not farting while I'm saving the world?"

Green smirked. "Would you rather silent but deadly?"

General Asquith removed his cap and unzipped his forehead. The room filled with a blue light, and the Hunter struggled to see as an alien wriggled out of the skin suit. As the blue light faded away, she saw an eight foot tall green creature with huge black eyes in small baby-like faces. "We are the Slitheen."

"Thank you all for wearing your ID cards. They'll help to identify the bodies," Green smiled sweetly. He pressed a remote activation switch, and the ID cards emitted electric shocks to their wearers, including the Hunter, who fell to her knees, biting back a scream of pain.

~~~

If you enjoyed, please like and/or reblog, and if you can spare anything to donate to my Kofi, I’d be incredibly grateful! Thanks for reading :)

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #oc insert #gxg #lgbt #slow burn #thedoctorcried

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naturaldisasterfanfiction · 4 years ago

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25. Part 4

This reminds me of the time I got back with Chris, they had this type of meeting and then told me I was going on a seven day tour, which was done on purpose. We shall see anyways, I am waiting for them both to come into the conference, I have Jen and Tina here again “it’s pretty funny how the blogs pick up on the worse part of things, like what does Chris got to do with the arrest bullshit. It’s annoying to see that, like they can’t just say positives. And they are clutching at your name, they are talking about the time when you nearly went broke, I don’t get it. And they mentioned Drake” I closed my eyes shaking my head “that is nice, I am just going to ring Chris” I need to see if he is making movements, when I called him an hour ago he said he was packing some things, I hope he is done by now. I want him here, I got Tina to send Rich to Chris so he can get him over here, well just to see if he is ok to be honest while he comes here, some company “are you making movements to come here now? What are you doing?” I think he is at home still, it’s very quiet there “yes, Rich is here. But like I have cameras outside my home” rolling my eyes, figured “just waiting for the SUV to come and then I will be coming, I packed a lot of my things. Mijo, what are you doing here?” Chris said “it’s crazy out here, I came for you. You good?” least Mijo is there, that is a positive “they hate me out there, you hear that? Like I did bad” seeing both Jay’ have come onto the conference “Chris, I will call you back” I said to him, disconnecting the call. You know what this is like history repeating itself, I feel like I have been through this with them and they made me so busy, but I took it because I was stupid, and it ruined us.

Everyone is pretty quiet on this chat, they not saying anything. I mean they haven’t spoke “what the fuck” Jay Brown finally did “at what?” rubbing my bump, I feel the pain. I am feeling it “this whole thing, I really thought you was over Chris Brown. A lot of people are over that man Rihanna, I mean he brings nothing to the table. He just got arrested last night?” I sniggered “he didn’t get arrested, wrong place at the wrong time so next time don’t read the blogs. Nobody brings up that Jay, well both of you have both hit women, I mean you have paid off every person, but everyone wants to drag the guy that is not well, you are bullying him. I won’t have it, I won’t have the blogs putting him down, I won’t have you using him for Tidal events, you say people are not looking for him when they are! When you fucking sing his songs, sorry it was not the Jew” I sound like Chris, that very moment I caught myself speaking like my husband “I thought it was Drake, and he is well. He’s well enough to act the way he does” Jay Z said “oh you got a degree on peoples mental state now or did you pay off the specialist also to say he hasn’t got it. I am not going to get rid of the father of my child. It happened, I slept with the man I know, the man I do love. So what, if you had the chance to sleep with Aaliyah again I am sure you would” Jen gasped, Jay Z sighed out “it’s about you though Rihanna, this is about your life, you are pregnant by the guy people dislike” I am angry “and fuck them! I don’t fucking care, it’s about me and my daughter. And what is good for my daughter” I don’t care for them, they can dislike him all they want “we have been talking and you on your own with this” I laughed shaking my head “I never asked for any of you, I expect a lot of blocks now. Just like you did before, don’t worry. You will see, I am done. I am off this shit, disconnect it” I got up from the chair, I don’t need this.

Stretching my back breathing out, I don’t need the headache. They told me; I am on my own. They won’t help me clear anything of my name because I am not doing it their way, I am ok with that. I built myself this way, I did this for myself, I can do it. Roc Nation will see it, they will see what they have done to me and how I will rise up. I never fought back with them over Chris, I am now. It was so pointless, all they wanted to do is check on me, to see where my mind is at. Then they could pick at me, but they saw me, they saw I was too strong for that, now they will need to go back to the drawing board “I will not have them disrespect my family! What are they going to do kill him? I mean I wouldn’t put it past him” let me not say that “Jay Z does have his people, I guess” Dennis said “I want Chris here, I need him here because he is my rock” I just didn’t need him here, people getting at him alone “is he coming , Robyn sit down please. Don’t walk around like that. I am worried for you” my mom is worried for me “people are coming for my family mom” my mom got up from the couch “don’t” I walked off, I don’t need a hug right now because I am so heated by all of this “Jay Brown” Dennis said passing my phone to me, what does he want now. Taking my phone from him “what is it?” I said “we don’t want to fight; I don’t want this with you. You have picked what you want Robyn and all I am saying is that we can’t help with the rumours, but I am seeing a lot of backlash. You are his third baby mother Robyn, we just wanted better for you” clearing my throat as I paced into the next room “I know what I am Jay and it’s not that ok? Trust me, you’re either with me or against me, I don’t need Roc Nation, you know this. You need me” this is why he has called me, he needs me “you’re right” Jay said “and the team will advise what to do next, I am sure Tina has said about posting another? Talk soon” Jay put the phone down, did I break them. I think I did, maybe they see this is a different Robyn.

I am glad to hear Chris on the jet, Rich said he is asleep, so I left it at that. Now I am just sat here seeing that I am on a news channel, weird that I am on a news channel for just doing nothing special “popstar Rihanna has announced she is expecting a baby girl with her former lover Chris Brown, she is currently living in London where it was seen to have caused some controversy when her former partner had his cars delivered” the news reporter said, they really doing this on me. I mean I didn’t see no news cameras outside my home but they are interviewing my neighbours “how do you feel that Rihanna is living here?” the guy asked “it’s Rihanna, who would be mad at that” the guy laughed, rolling my eyes “they do get more and more stupid, so how do you think they are going to feel when I tell them I am married. I realised that I never told Jen that, I maybe need to tell her” I hissed out “my god, that hurt!” I shouted, my mom jumped off of the couch and came over to me “are you ok?” my mom rubbed my back, that really winded me, I am breathing heavily “yes, I think she is just ready to come. I am not sure, this is not good for me, and thanks. I need my back rubbed” I have missed that; my mom kissed the back of my head.

I thought I would get into bed early; Chris will be arriving here in the early hours and I want to be awake for him, so I am in bed. I am going to call Jen first; she deserves to know but I hope she understands “how is my big baby mother?” Jen said, I laughed out “she is not doing great Jen, she is stressed out. Need some sleep, so I am in bed already” I am knackered, I feel so sleepy “get rest, I saw you pulling faces. The very faces I pulled, Braxton hicks kicking in?” I have no idea what that is “what is that?” I questioned “your body is preparing itself for birth, but stress can trigger early birth too, so stop it. I should know” Jen is right “I will try, I am drained. Oh yeah, Jay Brown called me back, like little fucking pussies. They need me Jen” I am right on this “they do, I wasn’t sweating it, because they were the one calling me saying tell Chris’ partners to not speak a word on Rihanna, we will come for them, this and that. I am like you said you don’t care, they do. I think with the way you were and they saw you as a threat, good!” I grinned; I am glad they do “I am calling you for a reason though and this is another part to the Chris and Rihanna story” I laughed “oh Jesus, let me pour some wine. What is it now, don’t tell me your both ran off to get married” Jen laughed, she laughed, and I didn’t laugh “wait, what?” this is awkward “I mean, no offence. I am sorry but I just wanted to do it, I am so sorry Jen, please don’t hate me. We did elope, we are actually married” the phone line went silence, I guess I have really upset her now “you crazy bastards, you know what. I am not shocked but what the hell, I mean it’s been eventful anyways. Listen here Robyn, this time last year you were crying because you had no family of your own and look at that. Remember when I said come to mine, and you said no, I am sick of being everyone’s auntie. Fuck it, ok? I am not angry or upset, I am happy for you crazy bitches. Cause you both are crazy, and that is all. I love you so much Robyn and I am happy for you. He made a honest woman of you, that is what I like to hear, the growth” Jen is making me emotional “thank for being so happy for us, it’s nice to hear it” it’s refreshing “I have been around for far too long to see the love you both hold, it’s wild but be happy it’s your time” Jen is right, it is my time.

I set my alarm, to wake up at around the time Chris will arrive. I just want to be here to welcome him home and I am super excited for him to be back, I just needed him to be here for this. There is no use that we are split, we need a united front. Taking off my alarm and placing my phone back on the pillow, I can’t wait to have Chris back in bed with me. Today is a new day and some new drama, I mean it’s us so we will get new drama. I put my phone on airplane mode so I could make sure I get my sleep; I should check my phone actually. Stifling out a yawn as I grabbed my phone again, swiping up to unlock my phone and then dragging down to take airplane mode off “damn girl” I swear my daughter finds me annoying, in there kicking me with hate. Probably sick of drama that I bring in her life already, watching the notifications drop down constantly but it’s not Chris so that means things should be going smoothly and he should be arriving, or just landed. I should maybe look cute for him, that is a great idea. I am going to look cute for him with my silk robe on, you never know I might get lucky tonight but when I mean that I just want snuggles.

“If it isn’t the mannequin herself, how long you been sat here in the early hours. Morning baby” Dennis said “for a while, two hours late. But I am here, looking pretty. What you think?” I smiled “I think this calls for footage, don’t you think. I love it, you’re sexy slash just woke up out of bed and don’t touch me because I am too bougie for you. I like it, let me get my camera” Dennis is damn right, he better get his camera out. I am not even thinking drama, I am just thinking my man, so he better hurt up before I become irritated. Actually no, I am trying to be good for him. I have been awful with him, but he needs to know not to test me also, I wonder if Chris knows how to open the gate and door, I am sure he will know. Maybe I should check, I think I should check. Just ask if he knows, I know he is here because he text me but that was like two hours ago, I don’t want to call again in case I hear bad news “welcome back Chris” my ears perked up, getting up from the couch “yeah, two weeks later I’m back. With a mad wife” Dennis walked in backwards, I feel so giddy inside “where she at, I am on one hundred right now” Chris walked into the room, with my hands covers my mouth smiling wide seeing him. Clapping my hands together “my baby is home” I couldn’t run “wow, look at you. Crumb is doing big things in there, oh wow” opening my arms wide “I missed you so much” hooking my arm around his neck kissing cheek before hugging him “I missed you too, it’s been hard. I am sorry, I let you down bad. I didn’t do what I should have” moving my head back “just stop, I am happy you’re back” touching his face with my free hand “I love you” pecking his lips “I love you too” pecking his lips again hugging him.

Follow behind Chris “my baby got a surprise for me, he said anyways” Dennis is laughing, not sure why but he is “if it’s stupid I will be annoyed” Chris let my hand go and opened the door, I jumped back seeing a huge white fur ball walking “what is this!?” I shouted hiding behind Chris “Zues” my eyes bulged out, I know he didn’t bring that thing here “no! I don’t like it” hiding behind Chris “he is sniffing his mom, stop it” grabbing Chris’ arm “this is not a surprise! Oh my god, you bought this huge thing in this home! Chris, get it out now. Oh my god, my couches in this room, get it out” he is laughing but it’s not funny “it’s ugly, go away” moving around Chris “well this is why I took so long, I was waiting for him to arrive, he had to come on a different flight so he can be looked after properly and also, I paid above and beyond to fast track this. He’s sensitive” Chris is stressing me out already “right, that thing can stay away from. I am allergic to hairy white things” and it wants to sniff me, I think not “she will love you boy, come on. You need to do your first shit here” staring at Dennis “this content is hilarious, will be back” Chris just ruined my moment by this, now his dog will get his attention.

I would have assumed Chris would be jetlagged, but he is hyper “where is Monica?” Chris asked as he opened his bottle of water “probably upstairs, I am super happy you are back. I would be emotional and crying but I did my make up for you. What you think?” he better act right “I noticed, first thing I noticed was your beautiful face and then the bump, it’s gone so big” Chris sat on the bar stool “maybe later, when my makeup comes on, I will probably cry. I just needed you back, you were suffering on your own” standing next to him “I feel way better being back here, like in Cali. I just felt alone doing it. I feel so bad, like we have so much to talk about. But right now, I just feel so happy you are here with me. I love you” I can tell “I appreciate Rich though, like leaving Cali I was in a daze. There were photographers just taking picture of me and then asking me shit. Oh yeah, so like Royalty text me she said can I put this, she sent me this caption and it said I am super happy for my dad and to have another sister, and she used the picture you put up. I was like that is fine, I am glad she asked because with the whole marriage thing” that is so sweet “awww she is a sweetheart, I really like her” I do think she is a good girl, watching Chris getting his phone out “she has been calling me all day yesterday and texting me, she put a post-up about me being a deadbeat” staring at her name, I am tempted to answer this myself.

#Chrianna FF #Chrianna Fanfiction #Chrianna #Fanfiction #Fanfic

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dampspecialistlondon-blog · 4 years ago

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Why Hire A Damp Specialist London For Your Home?

Damp is one of the most stubborn yet subtle homewreckers out there – literally! As inconspicuous as the seasonal change comes in, so does this unwanted visitor come into your home without any warning. That said, getting rid of damp must be prioritised. However, this is much easier said than done, especially when you don’t have trained eyes and professional skills to deal with the problem before it causes any damage. For this reason, hiring a damp specialist London based would be your best shot.

If you don’t have any idea on how these specialists can take care of damp and mould problems in your home, then make sure to read the following sections.

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Eliminate bad smell

Any dampness and condensation in the home can cause mould, and with that comes a whole manner of repugnant smells. With musty, dank and rotten smells filling the air, this can put anyone off from visiting or living within a home that should otherwise be a welcome haven and escape from anything horrible. Damp proofing services can eradicate the damp and mould, and therefore the smells will be eliminated with it, restoring your home to its former glory and homeliness. Your home may not be new as you’d like it to be, but you can eliminate the old and nasty smell that may arise from damp spreading out. That said, ensure you get a damp specialist London free quote to help you assess the possible costs involved.

Protecting your structure

With damp corrupting your bricks, mortar, roof tiles and everything that keeps your household standing, the most effective way to protect your structure is to have damp proofing carried out. If left to fester and develop, damp can cause long term and extreme damage to fundamental elements of the house. Having the right waterproofing or damp proofing can protect and prevent cracking, crumbling, the development of wet or dry rot and will ensure that less expensive remedial work will be needed later on. And on that note, you can’t go wrong with asking for a damp specialist London free quote for the job at hand.

Keep your home mould and mildew free

You may not know it, but any growth in your home such as mould, mildew, and bacteria in wet, damp walls, floors, or ceilings can trigger and aggravate lung and breathing issues such as asthma, bronchitis, and the like.

Hiring damp specialists London based will ensure that your walls resist this moisture hazard so that your family can stay safe and healthy, breathing freely. When condensation builds up inside your walls or water is allowed to sit without sufficient ventilation, mildew and bacteria begin to grow. Damp proofing can help eliminate this problem.

Keep your furnishings dry

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retrogeekgal · 5 years ago

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Repeating Mistakes

Summary: John Constantine shows up at your door after breaking your heart two years ago. Needing help from someone he trusts, he can only turn to you. But like everything with him, the truth isn't black and white. And the secrets John's keeping from you this time, may cost you your life.

Word Count: 2.7k

John Constantine x Reader

Notes: Hello everyone! This is my first posted work, so please be kind!

This fic has all the tropes- hurt/comfort, dramatic confessions of love, possessive!John, protective!John, sassy!reader-- If you can think of it, I've probably got it here.

Please leave me all the notes and comments :)

I've read some comics but this is based off of Matt Ryan's incredible portrayal of our favorite chain smoking, hard-drinking British wise ass on Constantine and Legends of Tomorrow.

Enjoy!

Repeating Mistakes (archive of our own)

Chapter One.

The dense humidity makes your thick hair curl at the ends as you step in from the outside and take in the lavishly decorated lobby. For last minute accommodations, this hotel is excellent.

A kind doorman waits to greet you, readily assisting you with your bags. Your tired eyes scan the attached restaurant and are more than pleased to see a fully stocked twenty-four hour bar just steps from the entrance. You could happily make yourself at home here for some time once your work is finished.

Making your way down the long hallway to your room for the next few days, your thoughts drift to the events that led up to arriving here. After a particularly grueling possession in the midwest, you were looking forward to taking a few days to relax and recharge.

With your key in the door, the call came through about a cursed mirror in a plantation just outside of New Orleans. The client was wealthy too, wealthy enough to double your rate if you left straight away. Despite your exhaustion, you couldn't resist.

******************

“Ghosts bring in the money down here,'' the owner, William Moss, had drawled over the phone. “Tourists want to get spooked when they visit the old south, but this is different. Doors are slamming, we hear whispers when there ain't no one else around and the room freezes during the warmest parts of the day. It wasn’t like this before we found that mirror buried on the property. I figured it must've been two hundred years old, at least. A real antique to draw in the history buffs.

"It's got some bad juju and I, well I was told" he had hesitated slightly- you remembered that clearly, “you were just the talented young lady for the job. I was informed of the great love you have for New Orleans and its culture and your reputation clearly precedes you. You came highly recommended.”

For a moment you had thought to ask who’d given you the glowing recommendation, your suspicion ate at you, but the tone in his voice said you ought to put it aside. The more information he gave you, the more you knew these were the right things to say to get your attention. And so, as soon as your full cost was deposited into your account, you had booked a flight and were on your way to the Big Easy.

*******************

You made ghost stories and cursed objects your business, and business was booming. You had once worked alongside the greatest master of the dark arts in existence, and while he had viciously broken your heart, John Constantine had taught you well.

Thanks to his tutelage, your name was well known in the occult circles as a talented mage and dark object specialist. After your time with him, you had become skilled in both light and dark magic and had exorcized more than your fair share of things that went bump in the night. So being told you were highly recommended wasn’t an odd thing. Any hesitation to tell you who recommended you, was.

Pressing your keycard to the door, you absentmindedly touch the necklace you always wear and wonder for the second time in as many days if John was the reason you're here right now; he knew how you felt about New Orleans. The magical reserves that ran throughout the city were alluring to anyone who practiced the mystic arts.

You and John had spent many nights wandering the streets of the French Quarter, feeling the power flowing through the ancient city center. Even if everything here reminded you of your biggest mistake, it felt good to be back.

You found your suspicions running through your thoughts again. This case was a milk run for you, all the pieces fell into place too easily. All but one; John had made it very clear that he never wished to see you again; the idea of this being his doing after so long made your mind run in circles. It just wouldn’t make sense, but then, John didn’t always make sense. You’d made every attempt to convince yourself this was coincidence, pushing him from your mind as you have for so long.

Your charm and skill helped to secure work in an industry that couldn’t exactly advertise, thus you typically weren’t between jobs for very long, you knew these were facts. Perhaps you only thought it was him because of the flooding memories that came along with this city. You could have said no if you really wanted to, but you couldn't pass up the chance to visit your favorite place once again, even if this did smell like John's handiwork.

Ceasing all thoughts of the british bastard, you drop your bags and crash tiredly onto the pillow top mattress in your room. You lay there for just a moment and enjoy the cloud-like softness of the bedding. Taking a deep breath, you roll onto one side, propping your head up on your arm. Your rumbling stomach reminds you that food is necessary to live and you’ve consumed none. The humidity from outside still clings to you like a second skin so a shower is also on the menu. With a groan, you push yourself up the rest of the way. You reach for the phone and order a burger along with two bottles of local beer. Happily, you charge it to your room and gather your things to take a shower while waiting.

The elegance of the marble bathroom pleases you as flip the lights and survey the room.. A large whirlpool tub sits in the center of the room with an ornate glass shower to the left and a separate door to the right. You turn on the hot water to let the steam fill the room while you shrug off your clothes. The water soothes your tired body and while you wash off the grime of the day, you lean against the wet tiles to savor the relaxation of the moment.

Eventually you feel the hot water start to cool and figure your food should be arriving at any minute. After decidedly turning off the water, you reach for a fluffy, white towel and begin to methodically dry yourself off. As you step out of the bathroom, wrapped in a lovely plush robe, you hear footsteps and three sharp knocks. Right on time. Without another thought, you unlatch the door and throw it open.

Leaning against your doorframe, half cloaked in shadow, is a shock of messy blonde hair attached to a lanky male figure. The strong scent of cigarette smoke assaults you before you have a chance to drag your gaze up and meet coffee colored eyes that give you no hint of his intentions.

“Hello darling, I was hoping we could have a chat.”

It takes you a second longer than you know it should to fully process that the man who left you crying in a London airport two years ago, with nothing but a silly piece of jewelry and a broken heart is now leaning only a few inches from where you stand. Clad only in your hotel robe and rising anger, you realize that you should have known there’s no such things as coincidences.

Without waiting for permission, John Constantine pushes past you into the room and you slam the door behind him. Words fall out of your mouth before you have time to fully process them.

“Excuse me! You can’t just- ” His leisurely presence frustrates you further, causing you trip over what you're trying to say. The bastard is entirely too relaxed given what's happened between you. You attempt to take a steadying breath before unclenching your jaw and trying again. “Constantine, what are you doing here?”

John narrows his eyes slightly at the formality of his last name but wisely says nothing about it. Instead, he lowers his hands in a placating gesture and takes a step toward you.

"You have every right to want to kick me out the bloody door but I’m hoping to appeal to your sense of decency. I need a favor and believe it or not, you’re the only one I trust.”

You sharply exhale in disbelief but John continues, undeterred.

"I know what I said to you." He says slowly. "I know how bloody awful it all was. I had my reasons, but believe me luv, I wouldn’t be here right now if there was any other way. I know what it did to you when--”

You cut him off, quick and angry, before the logical side of your brain can reign you in. "When you left? You have no idea what it did to me!"

“I know, I'm… listen” he says, his voice low and determined. “I have a chance, a small one, to break into hell. There's just a few missing pieces. I had to hope that you’d hear me out to start and that with any luck, you kept that necklace I gave you.” He looks at you with mild incredulity once he sees it and flashes a crooked smile that you’re frustrated to find still makes you swoon.

You look at him for a moment, mindlessly your hand moves to touch the small pearlescent stone sitting between your collarbones. “Yes, I kept it.” your voice soft, barely above a whisper. You thoughts are swirling. Did he think you would have thrown it away? So many times you thought that you should have but every time you hovered the necklace above the trash, you just couldn't. You hated that you couldn’t. Why couldn’t you throw away a stupid piece of jewelry when he so easily threw you away?

"Sweetheart, if I could just,” his pause is all the incentive you need to cut in, this time your voice is more controlled than before but barely restraining the anger you feel.

“No. It's been two years. Two goddamn years Constantine.”

“John.” He says softly, leaning against an armchair, hands shoved in his pockets. “Come on, luv. It’s John. Don’t be like that, don’t be so cold ay?”

“Are you serious?” You scoff, folding your arms defensively against your chest. Memories of the last time you were with him surge forward unbidden, from the safe you’ve locked them away in and damn it, you can feel your eyes prick with tears at the edges. This is not happening. In the countless scenarios you’d thought of in the months following John leaving you, this was not how your fantasies of confrontation had gone.

"You broke my heart and didn't give a damn about it! Two years, John! For two years I've tried to push the thought of you out of my head because every time I couldn't, it'd break all over again! I hated you for what you did to me in that airport. HATED YOU. I hated you and I hated myself for still hoping you'd come back to me. God. John, I stopped hoping. I had to, but here you are, and what did you expect? I'd forget it all? That's not fair. You can't just... come back."

John casts his eyes away from you but says nothing. It seems you struck a nerve. Good.

“So yeah,” you laugh, “I get to be as cold as I damn well please. In fact, you’re lucky I haven’t hexed your ass yet. You know I damn well could.”

John folds his arms across his chest, defense mechanism mirroring yours. "I do, but I’m trusting that you won’t. You're a better person than I am, always have been.”

The intensity you find when you meet his dark eyes has an uncomfortable vulnerability but you refuse to turn away. “Just hear me out luv, and if after I’m done you still want to throw a curse at me? Fine. I deserve worse.”

John focuses on your face then and you feel shaken by what he's just said. When he speaks again, his voice is low and thick with an emotion you can't place. “You might think I’m an absolute bastard for what happened between us, but there are things out there that want to destroy me daily, and the people I care about tend to wind up dead or worse because of it. What do you think I would have done...” he stops and holds out a hand to you. It takes every ounce of your self control not to cross the few feet between you and take it. He slowly closes it and withdraws.

“You know the life I lead, you knew all the rubbish when you asked and I agreed to teach you.” The Brit laughs bitterly and drags that hand across his face. “ I prefer to walk this path alone and with good reason. I am sorry that I hurt you but I’m bloody well not apologizing for my reasons. If you’re going to hate me, hate me, but at least you’re still breathing.”

A brief knock at the door completely derails your shock and confusion at his words and you tear your eyes from his, remembering the food you ordered. "Shit. Room service. I’m not hungry anymore but it’s paid for so…”

After a moment, John strides to the door and opens it; his previous uncertainty replaced with a cocky grin. “Ello squire,” you hear him say as you grab clothes and head back into the bathroom.

****************

Your mind is racing as you slip a fitted tee over your head and pull on your jeans. One thing runs through your head over and over. What do you think I would’ve done? John didn’t often let words that hadn’t meant to be said out loud slip, but this time, you believed, he did. The thought of him reciprocating feelings, still, as he once had made your heart palpitate and left your stomach in knots. You couldn’t get your hopes up, you couldn’t think that way… but it was so hard not to.

Your hands are shaking slightly as you zip up your boots and you mentally curse yourself for letting him get under your skin like this, again. You knew you’d run into John eventually. This was a small line of work. You were both known in the same circles and had many of the same contacts. But you told yourself that when the day finally arrived and you crossed paths with him, you’d be prepared. Your abilities continued to grow without him and you’d have no problem showing John that his absence had had zero effect on your life.

But you weren’t. You weren’t prepared at all, not for this. This was an uneven footing on already rocky ground. Feelings you thought long buried were clawing their way to the surface faster than you could stop them. So much for moving on.

You want to be furious with John. Furious that he has the audacity to show his face here and ask for your help. Furious that there was obviously a bigger reason that he sent you away and he hadn’t trusted that you could handle it and furious that he thought that an explanation so simple was enough.

Yet you aren’t. You’re furious with yourself. Furious that after you had gotten over your initial shock, you were relieved to see John was safe and whole. Furious that he still had the power to disarm you with that crooked smile and make your heart skip when he said your name. Worst of all, you realize, you’re furious that you still love him. And in the end, you know that despite what he put you through- no matter what it is that John needs or what it will inevitably cost you, you're going to help him.

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