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spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

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The One With The Princess Leia Bikini

~Notes: This gets sorta smutty.... :S

Send Me A Friends Episode/Storyline? | Rebogs Ar Love, Reblog Are Life!

Sirius tosses a glare at an indignant James sitting across the counter from him, affronted on everything he has ever stood for.

“Brooklyn Nine Nine is way better than some stupid, ruddy drama about doctors.”

“Take that back you prick!”

“’S true!”

”Gray’s Anatomy paints the manic highs and lows of their jobs with dignity and realism.” James argues with an imperious tilt of his head. “The storylines don’t even compare!”

“There was a bomb at their wedding!”

“There was a bomb lodged in someone’s arsehole!”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort, but stutters on his words when one of their ducks steps out of his room, spitting up something green before he begins to peck at the sofa cushion.

“Good morning Pronsie,” James crows, walking over to cradle him into his arms and kisses the top of his head.

“Mate, you have to stop feeding him the peanut butter, ’s making them crazed,” Sirius tells him sagely before taking a spoonful out of the jar for himself.

“They’re just demanding,” James sniffs, perking up once Lily walks into their apartment. “You agree, love, don’t you?”

“What?” She asks, single brow kinked as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, still dressed in her athletic wear from her run. “That your ducks are demonic.”

“See!” Sirius shouts.

“They’re just a wee bit ill, poor things,” James says with a cluck of his tongue, gingerly petting Prongs’s feathers and wandering over to Lily for a quick peck to her sweaty forehead.

“Ill in the heads,” Sirius retorts lowly, grabbing for his discarded Guinness.

James casts him a heated glower, never halting his gentle caresses to Prongs’s feathered back. “Maybe I should call Mum, she’d know how to help.”

“Oi, right, because your veterinarian mother has nothing better to do.”

“She likes the marauders wanker!”

“Okay, did not come here to interrupt one of your lover’s quarrels,” Lily sighs, forever suffering, as she loosens and regathers her hair anxiously, tying the red main into a messy topknot.

“Rude,” Sirius and James chorus with the same peeved inflection.

“I’m exhausted you berks! Dorcas has been staying at our place ever since Marlene went on that tour around the continent to find new athletes for the firm to sign.”

“Oof, is it nasty?” James asks, gently placing Prongs the duck to the ground and straightening back up.

“She’s in a real strop over it, yeah. Re’s with her now.”

“Lils, you underestimate Cas,,” Sirius snorts, bending down and giving into Prongs’s silent plea for a snack, holding out a chunk of peanut butter for him to nibble at. “She’s not gonna let something so temporary fuck her up. They’ve been going out for over a year now.” Sirius studiously ignores the little nagging voice in his own head— one that frighteningly sounds like Mrs Potter of all people— Tooting at him that he’d certainly not be this nonchalant if Remus had to go on some research sabbatical in Rome or Athens for half as long as Marlene’s three month stint.

“You are so full of it Black,” Lily sneers, and he really wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somehow secretly found out how to read minds on her downtime from the restaurant.

“Dorcas is a diamond,” James says cheerfully. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain soon enough.” As if right on queue they hear a booming crash coming from across the hall in Lily and Remus’s apartment. “Or erm— Maybe she won’t?”

"Prats,” Lily mutters lowly before pivoting on her heels leading the way for the three sum to frantically scramble and follow suit.

Sirius is all levels of confused once they walk in only to findDorcas starfished flat on the ground with her curls still soaked from what must’ve been a shower and grasping tight to a pink hairbrush. Remus’s standing over her with his hands on his hips, and lips pinched ever so slightly, the face he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to solve a particularly difficult dilemma. And it might be smarmy of him, but Sirius can’t help feeling a little parched when he sees the way Remus’s drenched T-shirt clings to his perfect form— near see-through.

“Is everything okay?” Lily asks as she steps closer, frowning bewilderedly.

“We just had a bit of an incident when Dorcas saw a clunk of blonde hair in the brush that Marlene shares with her.”Remus explains, excepting the kiss Sirius offers him in hello. “And well, ahem then she found a garment that Marlene had left behind… And well things escalated.”

“I’m going to be alone for forever,” Dorcas moans, making his point for him.

“I love it when you’re the dramatic one, Cas,” Sirius crows, narrowly dodging the aforementioned brush that Dorcas launches at his head. “Nice aim!”

“Leave me so I can whither away!”

“Nonsense, love, you two will be fine.” James interjects good naturedly.

“Let’s get some frozen yogurt, yeah? Get your mind off of everything,” Lily suggests lightly, helping pull her up by the hands with Remus, Sirius’s own never leaving Remus’s back pocket.

“Can we go to the place with the jellybean toppings,” Dorcas asks with a pout, head resting on Lily’s shoulder— dark tresses falling into strawberry blonde.

“Course, sweetheart,” she assures with a glowing smile.

Breathing in deep, Dorcas nods slowly, stretching her neck just slightly so to kiss Remus’s cheek in thanks before she lets Lily cart her off into her room to get changed.

“I better put the marauders into their crate if we’re going to be out long,” James announces, effectively leaving Remus and Sirius finally, blissfully, alone.

“Is this the part where I tell you that I thought you only get wet when I’m around?” Sirius asks cheekily, rounding on his boyfriend with a smirk already painted over his face.

“You can,” Remus relents with a one armed shrug. “But only if you want to not speak with me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius lets out an endeared huff, head shaking slightly before he dips down to greet him properly. “Morning gorgeous,” he beams, cupping his hands around Remus’s face before kissing him nice and thorough.

“I missed you last night,” Remus says, foreheads pressed up against each other as his hands wander up and down Sirius’s back muscles appreciatively, landing on his forearms with a small squeeze.

“I had to concentrate on that proposal for the new tube stop that Moody wanted by today.” Sirius tips back his head, toes curling ever so slightly at the way Remus is mouthing along the column of his neck, nipping at the hinge of Sirius’s jaw with particular focus. “And believe it or not Messr Lupin, but you prove a formidable distraction."

“Is that right?” Remus smiles against his skin, pressing him even closer. “And did you finish all that paperwork, architect Black?”

“Hmm, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you?” Sirius can’t help but laugh, especially when Remus pulls back, blinking up owlishly at him. “Oh don’t give me the innocent act, gorgeous. I’ve been able to see through that since the first night we met.”

Remus’s face turns a fetching pink, snickering slightly as he presses back up against him. “Can’t. Help. It.” Remus says between another round of peppered kisses on the lobe of Sirius’s ear, the hallow of his cheek and corner of his mouth too. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re touched in the head, just a ball of hornyness.” Sirius accuses, tugs him close once more and slants their lips together while one hand slings around Remus’s narrow waste and the other begins to knead into his ass muscle. “Shall we take this back to your room? Do this properly without any clothing?”

Remus flushes, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt as he swallows down, hard.”Could you— Erm, could you maybe wear those glasses you use sometimes for when you’re reading those long contracts?”

Absolutely preening,, Sirius cards a hand through Remus’s caramel curls, scraping his nails gently against his scalp. “And the professorial kink makes another appearance in the bed ladies and gents.” He announces to the empty room, as if he’s a twentieth century gameshow host.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a kink, per se.” Remus argues haughtily, cheeks infused red, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“‘S okay gorgeous, I think your swottyness is rather cute.” Sirius goads, pecks Remus’s mouth lightly before dragging him off to his room to finally get at some bare skin.

“It’s not because I’m a swot that I like seeing you like that,” Remus harrumphs, watching as Sirius sheds off his top before sitting leisurely on the bed, feeling bloody incandescent when Remus mounts his lap, nuzzling his nose against Sirius’s neck with his arms resting against his broad shoulders.

“I’d wager you have dirty librarian fantasies too,” Sirius laughs through the kisses, thrusting upwards so that Remus’s bum bounces slightly against his hardness, fucking miraculous.

“Hah— Hmm,” Remus breathes a bit more laboredly as he settles back down. “And what if I do,” he asks primly, unwittingly making it so a thrill runs down Sirius’s spine with the thought of his boyfriend— the bloke who is most certainly the love of his god forsaken life— picturing the different ways he wants Sirius— above him and under him, all around him and deep inside of him. And Christ, what a beautiful thought.

“’S not a problem with me goldilocks,” Sirius tells him with a slight catch to his voice, not having expected that the idea would effect him so thoroughly. “Tell me do you like me stern? Maybe you turned in some late books and I had to teach you a lesson.”

“If I’m being honest, love, you don’t talk much in the fantasy,” Remus laughs when Sirius bolts upwards, flipping him so that he’s beneath Sirius and his hair is fanned on the pillow like a gilded halo.

“Fucking lies,” Sirius slips a hand through the hem of Remus’s sweats, unsurprised to find that he’s not wearing any boxer briefs, knowing full and well how Remus prefers to sleep in the nude.” “You love it when I’m waxing poetic about you, and when I’m harsh at you. When I tell you about how your mouth is meant to suck my cock, how I want to put you over my lap and spank that perfect little arse of yours.” Sirius wraps his hand around Remus’s length, twisting it slightly before starting to pump, absolutely beaming at how he’s already begun to get Remus to get that oh so beautiful glazed look over his eyes, turning him undone with a few strategic touches and perfectly crafted, perfectly illicit mutterings. “When I call you gorgeous and a filthy little slag and when I fuck into you even after you’re already spent.”

Remus’s hips rock up, eyes squint shut when Sirius uses his free hand to thumb at one of his delightfully pink nipples and pinches it for good measure while he quickens the pace of his hand sliding up and down Remus’s shaft. “Tell me how much you crave that, love. How much you love being good for me, how much you love it when I show you how.”

“Sirius— Hold on,” Remus begs, voice coming out in an almost whine— haggard and breathy and high pitched— while both his hands knot into Sirius’s dark hair, quaking so hard that Sirius knows he’s got him on the edge.

Tenderly, he dips down his head, lips pressed against Remus’s ear and hot tendrils of breath skirting against his skin. Shh, ‘s fine, baby,” he promises him, stroking him through the climax. “’S okay, just let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck�� Sirius!” Remus chokes out, hips thrusting rapidly as he chases that relief and slumping back once his orgasm quite literally pulses out, coating Sirius’s hand and abs and some on Remus’s jumper too.

“You really are gorgeous,” Sirius tells him with a smile, gingerly kissing the lids of his still shut eyes before grappling for the little baggie of wet wipes they’ve begun keeping in Remus’s night stand drawer for moments like these.

“I hate how you could do that to me,” Remus tells him with heavy breaths as Sirius cleans up, taps his side lightly so Remus rises up his hips and Sirius tosses his pants to the corner, followed by Remus’s now spoiled jumper. He really couldn’t wait to get his hands off of him after a day apart.

“Oi! ‘S not my fault that the thought of me as some stodgy librarian is what gets you going, Moonbeam.” Sirius rebukes, pulls up the comforter so that it pools around their hips, while he lies back leisurely with Remus’s head propped up on his chest.

“We’re breaking up,” Remus tells him flatly, tracing small circles against Sirius’s tanned skin, interrupted by intermittent pecks.

“Cruel,” Sirius pouts, still carding a hair through Remus’s mussed curls, can’t imagine ever living without this, not after so many years of never ending yearning and countless almosts and taking one step forwards before being pushed two back so many times that it made them bloody barmy.

But they’re here now. Sirius has Remus in ways he never thought he’d ever want to claim a person— and lets himself be claimed in the same ways right back. Sirius knows Remus and all of Remus’s little quirks— loves him all the more for it. He knows the way Remus likes his tea when he wakes up at three in the morning and can’t go back to bed, how it’s different from the tea he prefers to drink in the afternoons. Knows the way Remus licks the lip of the mug before every sip. Sirius knows Remus’s favorite book for each of his various moods, and knows that on those quiet days— the ones when Remus doesn’t like talking much at all— that Remus only needs time, needs to know that Sirius’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning with sunlit smiles and kisses that taste like violet skies and cinnamon scones and promises meant to be kept.

And of course Sirius will be there, of course he’d have Remus in any and all ways that he’d let him— He knows it in his bones that Remus feels that same crippling sort of devotion for him right back, knows that it’s a once in a life time sort of ordeal. He knows that he’s grateful for every breath they share with one another.

“”A man could take only so much smugness from his boyfriend,” Remus tells Sirius petulantly, the words belied by how he tenderly kisses his chest.

“No but Remus, darling, tel me. Who makes more of an appearance in the sexy thought time? Librarian me or the image of me in the rugby kit.”

Remus moves to flip him the bird while he nips at the patch of skin he was just lapping at with quiet reverence.

“Ouch!”

“I hate that I told you that.” Remus fumes, actually embarrassed looking as he pulls away from him.

Sirius is frantic when he circles his arms around Remus’s torso and brings his body back to lie over his own. “Nah, no, gorgeous, I like it. Gets me going. The idea that you’re so lost on me that you picture me in those different outfits.” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss of apology to the temple of his head.

“’S not weird Sirius!”

“Course it’s not baby,” Sirius soothes, hand caressing his side meaningfully.

“You’re bloody fit— you know that! ’s totally normal that I’d wanna wank off to my beautiful damn boyfriend.”

“Completely, no one’s arguing against you, baby.”

“Hmm,” Remus huffs before springing up suddenly, pinning Sirius with a suspicious glower. “So what, you don’t ever picture me like that? In your favorite sorts of fantasies.”

Sirius throws back his head, laughing at how distressed he looks. God he’s in love with such a bellend. “Cor! Remus, me calling you Prince Ponce all those years before we finally just shagged wasn’t simply because you had a royal scepter up your arse that I wanted to replace with my prii—“ Remus shoves Sirius hard enough so he won’t finish that line, and honestly? Valid.

“So what? That’s all?” Remus fumes, settling away from him once more. “You’ve only ever imagined me as some sorta golden boy you wanted to get your grubby hands on?”

“Course not, love, there’s like hundreds I think of.”

“Like what?” Remus needles, and Sirius feels his cheeks burn scarlet as he has to avert his gaze, knowing precisely what his top fantasy is and too nervous to actually say it out loud.

“Oh c’mon Sirius,” Remus sighs, obviously having read the doubt blotched all over his face. “I’ve seen you piss while eating an ice cream cone in a public beach, and that was before we began even dating.”

“’S not my fault that Marlene got stung by that bloody jellyfish!”

“We’ve crossed the possibility of being embarrassed in front of the other long ago,” Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted.

“Ugh fine,” Sirius grouses, tossing himself back on the mattress. “But you swear not to poke fun?”

“You have my word,” Remus says evenly, and gestures at him to continue.

“Okay— Well you don’t know this because we met so much later. But when Jem and I were younger— back in secondary school, maybe.” He coughs only slightly, gaze razor focussed on where he’s tugging on a stray strand of string hanging off the comforter, feeling suddenly very hot under Remus’s appraising gaze. “We, erm. Ahem. We were really bloody bored this one weekend so we watched the Star Wards prequels, you know. Just because everyone’s seen them and all.”

“Mmm, right. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”

“I’m getting there tosser,” Sirius harrumphs, still doesn’t meet his hazel eyes, even if he’s a bit brassed off.

“All right, well don’t let me stop you.”

“Right, well— Hah. You know the Empire Strikes Back,” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Course I do,” Remus nods, faltering just slightly once he pieces it together. “Oh.”

“’S just a thing I’ve thought about since I was like thirteen—“ Sirius explains lamely.

“And you’d— You’d like to see me in that get up?” Remus asks, voice betraying his inhibition.

Sirius has a mild heart attack thinking of Remus— his Remus— in that golden bikini and doing it just for Sirius and Jesus fuck he can’t even breathe. “Yeah— Yes, ahem, I would really like that.”

“All right,” Remus says with a nod and Sirius’s not really sure what he means by that. Whether it’s a thank you for sharing or a you have my permission to think of it or what, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask when there’s the sound of something else crashing in the background followed by the muffled curse of a voice that is so painfully Peter that it hurts.

“Right, well let’s see if he’s broken anything, shall we?”

A week goes by.

Sirius never really thinks of the conversation they had, supposes it was merely a passing fancy for Remus to be validated that Sirius has those same heated thoughts about him. (Which of fucking course he does. Remus’s the epitome of what it means to be beautiful. A God damn angel— Of bloody course Sirius is completely lost on him. But hey, it might’ve been just one of those insecurities of his, a hurtle that needed to be past over for them to proceed in their relationship. So yeah, whatever.) Sirius doesn’t think of it again.

Though the refrain from that is thrown out the God forsaken window on a typical Wednesday morning in the office, when Sirius gets the Snapchat notification that quite literally turns his brain into a stew of slush.

There’s a meeting with Benedict Carro who’s asked the firm to build his newest golf club in Devon, and Sirius is just collecting some of the charts and preliminary sketches from his desk for the impending meeting with the old git. So he really doesn’t think much of it when he sees his phone light up with a message from Remus, is expecting it to be a picture of his adorably scrunched up face or of a new addition to his ridiculous collection of candles, or maybe even of the ducks wandering across the hall like they’re occasionally want to do.

What Sirius most certainly does not expect to see is a fucking photograph of two distinct costumes lying on his bed, and the line “Look what came today,” written on the black bar.

“Mother of God,” Sirius thinks that he might be in the midst of an actual fucking seizure, feels his heart palpitating irregularly and his breaths catching and his insides fucking imploding all at once.

He can’t believe that this is a thing that is happening. That Remus went out and bought them just to surprise Sirius with and now he’s teasing him mercilessly because Sirius’s in love with a wicked fucking mastermind. And just, holy fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Mr Black, Mr Carro and his associates are here,” Sirius’s newest assistant— Benjy Fenwick, says in a tone that makes it obvious that he’s been trying to get Sirius’s attention for quite a while now and is about fed up. Sirius is really tempted to flip his phone around and show him a photograph of how insanely sexy Remus is, then he’ll surely understand the reason why Sirius’s been dissolved into a puddle of pure longing for the day to be over. But he ultimately reasons that wouldn’t be exactly appropriate, technically being Benjy’s boss and all, even though they’re nearly the same age.

But yeah— not a good look.

So he hurriedly texts back that Remus is the absolute devil incarnate before shutting off his phone and following Benjy into one of the meeting rooms in the back— trying to muster an air of nonchalance even if the image of Remus in that God damn Princess Leia bikini, is permanently scorched into his every thought.

“Sirius spent the rest of that afternoon sending admittedly explicit texts to Remus about all the things he wants to do to him that night, and practically sores back to their building when he leaves work.

Thankfully Remus had taken care of getting the place to their selves that night, so all Sirius has to do now is jump around from foot to foot in his room, beyond jittery in anticipation of Remus finally coming out the closet dressed in Sirius’s greatest fantasy of all time.

“Is the music absolutely necessary?” Remus calls out through the closed door.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a tone that’s about two octaves higher than his usual speaking voice, so beyond flustered. “’S for the ambiance Lupin!”

“Oy, if I had known this was such a thing for you, I would’ve done it earlier,” Remus snorts, walking out in a white bathrobe that gives nothing away as he eyes Sirius in the Han Solo outfit he got— complete with a fake blaster pistol and its holster. “You look so cute.”

“You’re a God,” Sirius tells him in aw, reaching a gentle hand over to run through his dark, tawny curls.

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius catches the smirk he’s wrestling down on his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sirius breathes, padding up closer to him and kissing Remus slow and thorough, a tender hand caressing his cheek.

“God save the queen, that reference actually did something for me,” Remus chuckles, but Sirius can’t respond, has permanently lost all ability to function or piece together words once he spots how Remus loosens the knot on his robe and slinks it off to reveal miles and miles of bare skin, only slightly concealed by the golden bikini of his fantasies, even complete with purple little frills that dangle off the hips.

Sirius realizes that he must’ve been gaping by the way Remus waves a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Sirius? Is this not how you pictured it? Did I get the wrong model or—“ Sirius shuts him up with a heated and desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time they separate.

“Remus, please, for the love of God, get on that bed and wait for me to decide what I want to do with you."

With a small grin turning up the corner of his lips, Remus nods eagerly, perching up on the edge of Sirius’s bed and blinking up at him— practically imploring for Sirius to finally just have his wicked way with him already.

Sirius mildly thinks that he doesn’t deserve such a gift, but gets distracted when Remus separates his legs a little further and he can spot the way his dick is poking out the metallic colored panties, throbbing with anticipation.

“Budge up, I want your back against the headboard,” Sirius demands lowly, and Remus is quick to comply.

On his knees, Sirius shuffles up close enough to clamp his hands on Remus’s inner thighs, pulls them further apart as he smacks a hard kiss to Remus’s mouth, slowly moving to nose at the edge of his cheek and ear as he tells him in a very quiet, very deliberate tone to keep his hands above his head. “You’re a good boy, baby, so I won’t tie them, but you’re gonna keep them up there and you’re not gonna move them, okay?”

Remus, already completely flushed, nods vigorously. He prefers staying quiet when they get like this— Sirius would ordinarily prod at him a little to get some words out, but he’s far too distracted right now.

He kisses across Remus’s protruding collarbone, thinks of how swan like and gentle his features are. How Remus’s a work of art and how he wants Sirius more than breathing, how that’s splayed all over his face, especially now. And God, how heady of a thrill.

Sirius kisses down the line of his chest and stomach muscles with slow precision, nuzzles against the material of the bikini before he nearly breaks the left strap trying to get at Remus’s left nipple, teeth grinding and playing with the ball— biting a little harder when Remus whimpers, trying to cant his hips upwards.

Sirius pulls back, pinching his side lightly. “Stay still,” he reproves, excepts it wen Remus quietly apologizes, ducking his head down to the other nipple now, his hands tenderly petting against Remus’s sides as he sucks on it with the same ferocity.

“Sir—Sirius, please,” Remus begs from above him, head tossed back to show off the long trail of his beautiful neck.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby,” Sirius tells him in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, beginning to mouth against the light feathering of pale hair that runs down Remus’s torso, leading to his dick.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you,” Sirius kisses the point right beneath his naval, and he ducks down to what he was trying to get at in the first place

“Turn around,” he tells him, words clipped. “ON all fours.”

Remus looks relieved to finally be able and do something as he tells him “Yes,” and flips over, already rigid with anticipation.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Sirius tells him, places a hand on the small of Remus’s back for leverage as he kisses the smattering of freckles that dance over Remus’s thighs. God he has such amazing thighs, strong and elegant and Sirius’s favorite thing is when he gets to kiss them like this, to nip at them and hear the little, abrupt inhale that Remus sucks in at the touch. “Stay good for me, okay,” Sirius tells him as he takes his hands and he spreads open Remus’s asscheeks, revealing the little, dark hole Sirius has spent many a night moaning exaltations towards.

Softly, and with hot breaths Sirius pulls to the side the weak material of the thong, peppers kisses all around Remus’s ass before dipping down deeper and lapping a tongue against the tiny, fluttering ring of wrinkled skin.

“Sirius, please,” Remus moans pushing closer to the hot sensation.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Sirius tells him, lips pressed against him as Sirius kisses the entrance adoringly—tongue plunging inside deeper, harder, slower. And he loves this, the sensation of it, of Remus coming undone in his very hands.

Sirius is about to wrap a hand around the length of him, to stroke in tandem with his worshiping with his mouth, but suddenly there little moment of bliss is cut by the sound of insistent and boisterous knocking.

“Ignore it,”

“It could be important,” Remus argues weakly, obviously all levels of regretful as he peers over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, who cares, ’s my flat and they can sod off!”

Remus presses his lips together, looking like he might agree, but then comes a new round of rapping, and Sirius sees the resolve in his face.

“Oh bloody hell! Fine!” Sirius fumes, scrambling up. “But if it’s someone trying to sell me shit, I’ve got the legal obligation to punch them in the face!”

“Of course darling,” Remus smiles at him, and it’s the only thing that gives Sirius enough strength to swagger towards the front and open the door without already being in mid shout. Though, what he doesn’t expect to happen is to find his adoptive mother of all fucking people on the other side.

“Mum?”

“Sirius? Love?” Dr Potter greets, eyeing him worriedly with a tsk, bringing a small, brown hand to his forehead as if to take his temperature and making it so Sirius flinches back. “Why do you look all red, and honey it’s not October yet, what’s with the outfit?”

“Mum!, why are you here!” Sirius asks instead, avoiding the question all together, voice completely strangled.

“Oh, well James called me to check up on the ducks this Friday, but I was in town with an old girlfriend, so I reckoned I’d just pop over, see if you guys needed anything for me to bring you.” She explains blithely, still looking up at him with concern. “Your taking care of yourself, aren’t you dearest? You’re not working too hard?”

Sirius panics, tries to think of a perfectly plausible excuse besides the obvious— So but of course that’s right when Remus decides to shout from the bed. “Sirius who’s at the door?” And no! Jesus no!

“Remus? Lovey?” his mum calls back.

“Oh— Erm. Dr Potter.” Remus has stepped out of his room now, mercifully already back in his robe. “I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he says with a pale color tinting his pillar, like he’s about to be sick.

Okay, yup, Sirius’s erection has died forever now after hearing Remus speaking to Sirius’s bloody mother dressed like that.

Fuck his life.

“Are you boys okay? Did I— Did I interrupt something?”

“Mum! James is just out to dinner with Lily! We’re fine, honest! And erm, we can’t wait to see you Friday night!”

“Oh dearest, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you guys— ah dressed up—“ Dr Potter flushes, but there is definite amusement glittering in her eyes, and that’s right when Sirius slams his hand against his face and retreats back to the bedroom, barely hearing it when she bids farewell to Remus and tells Sirius to call her tomorrow.

“I reckon we won’t be continuing?” Remus asks, a total giggle to his words. Holy fucking shite! Everyone in his life are such pricks!

“I’m jumping off the balcony!” Sirius screams back in response, plunging his head into the pillows and contemplating everything that’s brought him to this point.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #Marauders #harry potter series #spilt ink #this is trash tbh #plz clown me #I also edited it from an old Firstprince one shot but I'm not writing Friends AU for them anymore #or like never really started lol #so I fixed it #for My OTP #FIC: Friends AU

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slafkovskys · 4 years ago

Note

I have been in a big Patrick and Owen mood lately, so like just imagine either of them with a baby. They’d be so precious but also clueless the first time they hold one or look after one? But it’d be so precious to see them holding your sibling’s kid and I can just see them being like “I can’t wait until it’s us having a baby together” 🥺

“y/n!” violet squeals, jabbing her chubby finger into your cheek. you hum, switch your attention from your phone to the almost two and a half-year-old beside you. she bounces her head, “pat?”

you check the time before responding, “he’s gonna be a little bit, babe. he has hockey, remember?”

“puck?” she asks before raising her silly cup to her lips. “puck,” she answers her own question with a nod of her head, her two pigtails bobbing on top.

“yep,” you sigh, also wishing that your boyfriend was home.

they’d had an afternoon practice that had run past dinner and he would be home later than normal, he had found time to let you know almost an hour ago. with the season drawing closer with each passing day, you weren’t surprised that coach was keeping them longer. violet, however, had expressed her dismay five minutes before when she had asked when patrick would return, with a very unhappy huff.

as if he knew what you were thinking, your phone lights up with a text from patrick letting you know that he would be home within fifteen minutes or so. you turn towards violet who’s dialed into the animated version of the grinch that’s playing on the tv, “hey, vi, do you wanna play a prank on pat?”

she looks over at you and nods her head excitedly. you poke her stomach and she giggles, “ok. when he comes through the door, we’re going to pretend to be asleep, but you can’t laugh okay? that will give us away.”

“no- no laugh,” she assures you, and you nod.

about twenty minutes later, you hear someone outside of your front door. you quickly look towards violet who looks thrilled. you quickly direct her to fall asleep and she does, resting her small head on top of yours when you tuck it into her side. she somehow manages to knock your nose with her cup which doesn’t feel very nice, but you couldn’t do anything because patrick pushes open the door.

“hey buddy,” he chuckles as buddy, the two-year-old boxer you and patrick had adopted a few months before, approaches him, tags jingling on his collar. “where’s mom?”

you feel buddy jump onto the couch beside your feet, signaling where you were. he feigns a sigh, “i know my girls didn’t fall asleep waiting for me.”

violet giggles and blows the whole operation. she’s quick to lift her head and stand up, pressing her little body against the couch, “pat!”

“you’re awake!” he shouts, picking her up and swinging her around before tucking her into his chest. “i thought you didn’t want to see me or something.”

“missed you,” she shakes her head and smacks her lips, resting her head on his shoulder.

“you said that you wouldn’t laugh, vi,” you roll your eyes as you sit up. buddy edges closer, resting his head on your knee. you scratch his head as patrick rounds the couch to plop down beside you.

“what were you doing?” he asks, helping violet turn so that she could watch the movie.

“we were gonna prank you,” you say. he snorts and you jam your finger into his side. he makes a noise and sends a glare in your direction. you reach for his hand to play with his fingers, as you always did when you were bored, “how was practice?”

“good. thorough. we watched film for, like, two hours. i didn’t even know we had two fucking hours of film to watch,” he’s quick to realize his mistake when violet gasps and you hit his arm. he covers his mouth, “i’m sorry.”

“swear jar,” violet pokes her finger into his chest before turning back around.

“are you hungry?” you ask, already knowing what the answer would be. he hums and you nod, “i ordered italian for dinner. i can heat it up for you if you want?”

“do you mind? i need to go and change out of these clothes,” he looks down at his outfit and you shake your head. he grins, standing up before setting violet back beside you. he bends down to place a kiss onto your lips, “i love you.”

“hey!” violet says and patrick leans over to press his lips atop her head. she grins, “love you pat.”

“love you too, princess,” he walks away beaming, while you stand up after hearing the door to your bedroom close.

you make your way into the kitchen, pulling the food that you had gotten for patrick out of the takeout bag. buddy walks in at some point, lapping up some water before taking his place beside your feet. violet follows and you’re quick to direct her away from the oven.

violet was your niece, your older sister’s daughter. while she and her husband had gone on a trip for their anniversary, you and patrick had been granted the opportunity to watch her for the few days that they would be gone. apparently, she had requested you both and you were fine with that. you loved her to death and so did patrick.

“the stove is hot,” you say as you set her on top of the counter, away from the heat. “you shouldn’t get close to it. it could hurt you.”

“but you do,” she huffs. buddy moves over to sniff her foot and she laughs, pulling her foot away.

“well, i’m a lot older than you, babe,” you sigh and she makes a face before turning around. you take a look at her hair and shake your head, realizing how messy it had gotten. you pull out the ponytail and attempt to fix it while she was distracted by the movie. patrick comes out after a minute and you look back at the stove, “it should be a few more- why are you grinning like that?”

“because,” he shakes his head, walking up beside you and leaning down so that his elbows are on the counter. “i can’t wait until we have a baby together.”

“you want to have babies with me, moynihan?” you tease, watching as his face flushes a bright shade of red. you elbow him in the side gently, still mindful of violet in front of you, “let’s get out of providence and then we can talk about babies, yeah?”

“whatever you say,” he shakes his head before smirking, “doesn’t mean we can’t practice though, right?”

just as you’re about to scold him, violet turns her head,

“practice with puck?”

“yeah, vi. the only practicing that me and pat will be doing is with a puck.”

“that’s part of the prank too, right?”

#patrick moynihan #concepts

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welcometoels · 4 years ago

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Session Four - North

Night time in the still-nameless hub town, and the party have a few things they want to attend to before bed.

Oddsock opts to double-down on his desecration of the local chapel, in service to his patron. Burning off the lock with a sloppily-applied Acid Splash, he sets about leaving a special gift on the altar.

The priest, awoken by the commotion, brandishes a broom at him, but is soothed by the hound’s friendly aura. Sighing with resignation, he goes back to his lodgings to fetch cleaning supplies for once the cheeky dog is finished.

Over in the Jaunty Skinner, Talion (still under the guise of Tom the Bard) plays a selection of songs upon his lyre, for the delight of the townsfolk, while Julius carves some inexpert, but still identifiable, likenesses of X and Gyder into a couple of his best pebbles. Kadis just takes in the vibes, enjoying a few moments of peace.

Sleep comes readily to the group. Oddsock dreams of his sister and her pithy column in the back pages of Chew’s News; Julius of running through the woods looking for something he can’t quite reach, and Talion of a song from his childhood. Kadis is revisited by the same old nightmare and the face of a compass - this time with the point of light from the south being in the very middle.

Morning rolls around, and with it, breakfast. Barty offers porridge, but only Julius accepts, the others someone offput by the events in the southern farm. They make do with an apple each, though Oddsock uses his canine charm and receives a couple of rashers of bacon that Barty had been keeping aside for himself.

While enjoying his steaming bowl of nourishment, Julius feels something scurrying around his feet. Looking under the table, he finds a small weasel, which scampers up his body and settles on his shoulders. Julius names the weasel Rupert, and the other team members bond with the little fellow using apple segments and vigorous petting.

Upon closer inspection, Talion discovers that the weasel shows signs of being a fey creature - mainly due to the tell-tale sparkle of magic in his fur. He is also clearly bonded to Julius.

On the way out of town to investigate the rumours of undead in the north, the party hatches a plan. In order to ascertain whether or not the glowing blue gem is the source of the light in Kadis’ dreams, they leave it with Barty, who promises to bury it in a special safe spot.

Julius gives the carved pebbles to his new friend X, who receives them with delight and promises to pass Gyder’s along to her. Where the Half-Orc is, and what she is doing, is unknown at this time, but she is doubtless pursuing leads on the yellow-cloaked man who murdered her husband.

Just on the outskirts of town the adventurers encounter a mysterious robed figure, face unseen, standing before a trestle table and a sign reading “Jackie’s House Table Of Potions”. Upon the table are four bottles, which Talion successfully identifies as minor healing potions.

The team discusses a fair trade for the bottles, but during negotiations, Oddsock peeks under the robe and comes face to face with a large raccoon. The figure drops the pretence and admits to being a group of racoons posing as a person, as the locals seem unwilling to trade with animals - even those that can talk. Julius and Oddsock’s experiences at the town shop certainly confirm this to be true.

Re-introducing themselves as Jackie Face, Jackie Left, Jackie Right, Jackie Middle and the poor unfortunate Jackie Bottom, they successfully entreat the party to purchase the potions and not tell of their deception. They sweeten this deal by promising favourable rates on any future purchases.

Newly stocked with healing items, the group continues north, leaving the Jackies to wrestle with the folding table.

While walking through the forest path, the group begins to notice that the trees are changing. Where once was verdant oak and elm, there is now dark pine, and some that appear dead and leafless. Through this sinister foliage they hear sounds of animals in pain, and a weak cry for help.

Pressing onward to find the source, they stumble across an uneven, two-storey house with a quaint vegetable garden, and a woman dressed in a sari, and a veil over her mouth. She looks panicked as the team arrives, and backs away slowly.

From the house emerges a portly, friendly Human, who introduces himself as Zeriah Fernbough, and his companion as Em. When questioned, he denies hearing any pained sounds, and is unaware of anyone or anything in peril in the local area. He invites the group inside for tea and, since night is drawing in, a bed.

The group are understandably suspicious - an over-friendly man and his as-yet silent friend, living in a creepy forest from which came sounds of peril is certainly a situation in which to maintain utmost caution. They follow the duo inside and settle into the mis-matched furniture to begin their secret investigation.

Julius brings his attention to Em, to see if he can deduce the cause of her muteness. Though the otter can find no medical cause, he does notice that her skin is quite unusual - unlike any flesh he’s touched before. He also sends Rupert to check outside, but discovers nothing except for the fact that the side of the house has the same texture as Em’s skin.

When Zeriah brings out some cups of tea, Kadis sniffs it carefully. He finds that it is simply a pleasant herbal brew, which Zeriah confirms is a mixture of his own invention. It tastes good too.

Talion turns on the charm and engages in some friendly chat with Zeriah. However, Zeriah confirms that he is not aware of any injured creatures. Em remains silent.

Oddsock uses his cover as a friendly Golden Retriever to scour the location. He follows Zeriah into the kitchen as he goes to fetch biscuits, and has a thorough sniff around, discovering nothing more unusual than a large number of shoes in the downstairs hall. He picks one and attempts to instigate a game of fetch with Em, which she reluctantly agrees to.

Under the cover of this game, he uses Unseen Servant to create a loud noise upstairs. When Zeriah goes to investigate, Oddsock follows, after sending details of his plan via psychic Message to Talion - which startles the Half-Elf. Sniffing about some more, Oddsock finds two bedrooms and another flight of stairs going up, at the top of which is a third bedroom with a sock behind the bed.

After a quick sock wrestle with Zeriah (who happens to be wearing the other sock), Oddsock retires to the topmost bedroom with the team, and immediately stretches diagonally across the bed. On the way up, Kadis successfully palms his cursed idol into Zeriah’s dressing gown pocket, and hopes for a dreamless sleep.

At first, Kadis gets what he wants, and sleeps soundly for the first time in a long while. However, just before he wakes, he sees the compass face again, with the bright light in the middle. Touching his chest, he finds the idol back in place.

Talion also awakens to a surprise, but much further down his body. Investigating an unpleasant sensation in his foot, he finds a piece of the mismatched furniture - a small ottoman - chewing on it. Startled, he shoos it away, and it scampers across the floor to scratch at the door.

Zeriah opens the door to investigate the upstairs panic, and the ottoman skitters between his legs. Truly apologetic, he invites the team down for an explanation and a confession of sorts. On the way, a friendly end table nuzzles Kadis’ hand.

Before being dragged from his usual domain to this unusual place. Zeriah was a mimic farmer - their skins being useful in the creation of fine clothing, which can change colour at the wearer’s desire. However, over the years he began to regard them as sweet, caring creatures - far removed from the carnivorous treasure chests of legend. He befriended his livestock and now lives amongst them as their caretaker.

He also knows more about the strange noises in the forest than he initially let on. Mimics are capable of psychic communication, and they are prone to trying to lure predators and, occasionally, bandits to the location when they are hungry, using the sounds of animals and people in pain.

He apologises profusely, and swears that he had no intention of allowing the mimics to feed on the party, but one of the younger ones had clearly become over-excited. From the kitchen, the little ottoman peeks around the corner bashfully.

The team takes Zeriah at his word, and prepares to leave. On the way out, Kadis asks how Zeriah slept. Apparently, he had terrible dreams at first, of tentacles and terrible magic, but that gave way to images of a nice cupboard. He certainly was unaware of any idols.

Just outside the door, the team is immediately confronted by a huge owlbear. Seeing this, Zeriah claps his hands sharply, and the entire house collapses into a ravenous swarm that engulfs the creature. Amongst the writhing mass, they briefly see Em, who drops her sari to reveal a figure that is almost entirely featureless, save for a huge mouth extending diagonally from her shoulder. She falls neatly into two parts and joints the feeding frenzy.

Once the owlbear has been picked clean, the house slowly begins to re-form. Zeriah waves cheerfully and invites the party to stay again should they come back the same way. As they turn to leave, the party hears a woman’s voice telling them how pleasant it was get to know them.

Talion has, it is fair to say, become swiftly tired of people being inside his head.

After another day of travel, the party finds a large, stately building, with grey stone walls and a wrought iron gate. Upon the gate, in faded gilt, are the words “Mansion de Mortesque”. A brief flash of lightning illuminates the dark sky, and the twisted topiary beyond the walls.

Opening the gate causes a huge, green, Elven face to appear in the air. It intones, “LEAVE THIS PLACE”, before slowly dissipating on the sickly breeze.

Undeterred, the party pushes onwards towards the mansion. Inspecting the topiary, Julius finds that they are not ill in any way - they have merely grown in such as way as to resemble claws scratching at the sky.

A more pressing matter emerges, as Oddsock smells rotten meat and hears the sounds of scraping an moaning. The party has become flanked by zombies, and are forced to retreat into the - thankfully unlocked - mansion.

Barricading the door with some heavy furniture, they take stock of their surroundings - a large, dim entryway with doors on either side, and a large organ flanked by stairs heading upwards. An enormous chandelier hangs from the ceiling, but all of the candles have long since melted beyond usefulness.

Talion casts Light upon his obsidian necklace, and inspires his companions with a short song, leaving mandala-like motes of power circling each one. The team investigates the immediate area, and they hear the sounds of further moans off to either side.

This mansion will clearly present further problems. Will they defeat these undead forces and triumph, or will they be little more than a snack for shambling corpses?

Find out - NEXT TIME.

#dnd #dnd homebrew #5e

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pilferingapples · 6 years ago

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Episode Four Part One: Cosette Wants to Be Part of That World, No Not That One, The One Without Thenardiers In It

OKAY this is not going to be a proper recap or anything , I am just. This Show. This is not gonna be a Happy Recap.

Episode Four starts with Cosette as a teenager in the convent, and ends pretty much right after the Gorbeau raid. So that’s our ...framing set of events, here, because I have no idea what year it is or how much time any of this is supposed to be taking? ANYWAY HERE WE GO, under the cut for abuse, domestic abuse, child abuse, sexual abuse, weird incest vibes, discussions of lots of things and me probably cursing a lot! There is a LOT going on in this one! So much that I’m actually gonna try cutting it into two parts, a Cosette Recap/Reaction post and a Marius Recap/Reaction post! This is part one, Cosette’s side:

I am not pretending this is a totally thorough recounting or anything , I’ve only gotten to see it once and I spent most of it reeling; but also given the garbage Davies talked about the women in the novel I am cutting NO slack on his ~~interpretations of their characters, he doesn’t get the benefit of a doubt after calling Cosette nauseating

that said LET’S GO

Cosette has her friends in the convent, and they all talk about growing up and getting out, which, LEGIT , and then they’re sad when they remember she’s been promised to Be A Nun. Cosette runs to see Valjean afterwards and he hugs her so tight she says he’ll crush her and he goes “oooh are you such a fragile thing, I’m just excited to see you” which is like...such a minor line but so telling in context, because he noticeably does NOT say sorry OR let go right away, she’s gotta go “sometimes you don’t know your own strength” which is WORRYING for a guy who’s kinda Superman! and anyway then she tries to tell Valjean she isn’t sure about being a nun and she wants to check out the rest of the world first and Valjean argues with her and is like

youtube

--seriously he’s all THE WORLD OUTSIDE IS HORRIBLE, YOU’VE SEEN THE WORLD, THOSE INNKEEPERS IN MONTFERMEIL like he just goes on about how doesn’t she want to be safe and loved and with him forever?? Doesn’t she know everyone else is EQUIVALENT TO HER VIOLENT ABUSERS, jfc

so much for the Dawn of Love with Cosette or his time with the nuns teaching Valjean to see any good in the world or any humility in his own righteousness I GUESS but oh well who needs that, He Yell, that’s all a manly man does, you don’t UNDERSTAND he was in PRISON, there is no Character Depth left for him! THE WORLD HAS TAKEN IT AWAY.

anyway Cosette gets him to let her escape and they head out and we see what is MAYBE the last we’ll get of Simplice? Who knows in this, but she’s like “it’s not like it was before you came in, the streets are full of anger” which like...they are but also it’s early 19C Paris, when are the streets NOT Full of Anger:P ANYWAY they head out and the streets are INSTANTLY full of nothing but Beggars, Crime, and people passed out in the road; which, probably realistic, but also Cosette is just horrified because being sympathetic and kind is for Nauseating Flimsy Characters :) and Valjean of course WANTS her to hate the world so hey Everything’s Going According to Keikaku then there’s the house on Rue Plumet and it’s Nice (also there’s Toussaint! who is now a gorgeous middle aged woman instead of an old woman. It doesn’t matter, at least not yet, we never see her again, hi Toussaint bye Toussaint) but Cosette gets tired of being cooped up in it after...a week? an afternoon? So she and Valjean go walking in the Luxembourg, and Cosette gets to run around like the kid she still really is, and she sees all the nice outfits (YES that dress really is her Ugly Convent Dress, I’m so glad) so it’s time for Cosette to get a MAKEOVER SEQUENCE and I could not be more glad because that dress is Terrible Unfortunately it’s also time for Valjean to call himself Fauchelevent for...no reason, and to call Cosette his NIECE for NO REASON so when she comes out and calls him Papa the shopclerk is like “...?!? Sweet..?” and Valjean gets a ~~sexy~~ peep between the curtains at Cosette in her underwear and I SEE YOU DAVIES, I SEE WHAT THIS IS BECOMING, DO NOT

Valjean and Cosette go for a walk in the Luxembourg and NOW Cosette is...well the BBC wants us to think she’s well dressed so let’s pretend, and Marius follows her and Valjean drops his handkerchief and Cosette runs back to get it and she and Marius are all “hiiiii” and Marius is like about to sniff the handkerchief and she goes “oh it’s my dad’s “ like WAY TO KILL THE GAG BEFORE IT EVEN STARTS, DAVIES then she takes the handkerchief back to Valjean and he asks why she was talking to That Young Man and then he frigging DRAGS HER out of the Luxembourg and she’s like “we’re going too fast! You’re hurting my wrist!!” and this Valjean does not care! At all! they just BOOK IT later on her wrist is still hurting and they have a whole fight and she accuses him of keeping her locked up alone like it’s a prison and he’s like UH CHECK UR PRIVILEGE THIS IS NOT A PRISON, also Young Men Only Want One Thing!!! THE WORLD IS DANGEROUS AND YOU’RE NOT FIT FOR IT

youtube

only The Crown is Sex

ALSO in all this mess, Valjean tell Cosette about Fantine! “oh yeah also I fired your mom (for lying like a liar, be sure you know about that, SHE LIED ) and she went into desperate poverty, and then I couldn’t save her, and she died from the circumstance I directly put her in, and THAT’S HOW COSETTES ARE FOUND” and it’s

really something

anyway all that and also the definite memory of Montfermeil are going into all these later scenes okay

so Valjean takes Cosette out the day after their fight (I GUESS??) to ...see the prison wagons coming into town

because this Valjean isn’t traumatized to the point of dissociating by seeing this, he’s doing it as some kind of Moral Lesson/ Conversation Starter with Cosette

and Cosette, because now she’s been Fixed and she’s a Strong Female Character, is repulsed by poor people and suffering, so she asks not in innocence but in horror “Are they men” and Valjean is like “yes men like me” and Cosette freaks out and gets a whole “if one of them even looked in my face I’d probably die??” speech and asks Valjean if he’s brought her here to punish her and he’s like “noooo of course not” but honestly YA KIND OF DID, DUDE, you got mad at her and brought her here to show her Your Pain and make her carry your emotional water instead of considering that HEY maybe a kid has a right to grow up and that Two Things Can Both Be Bad and she’s his child and it’s not her job to raise him

Instead he’s trying to tell her about his Tragic Backstory when Eponine comes running up to them with a letter from Thenardier and COSETTE REMEMBERS MONTFERMEIL and is clearly freaked out, but Valjean gives Eponine money and agrees to go see her family

So after trying to make her carry HIS emotional trauma, Valjean takes Cosette to see the people who are directly responsible for HERS, and talks with Thenardier and all and is...acting like he doesn’t know them?? while Cosette is in the background going tharn because THESE ARE THE EXACT PEOPLE WHO VIOLENTLY ABUSED HER FOR YEARS AND SHE REMEMBERS ALL OF IT, so instead of this scene illustrating Cosette’s growth and healing and kindness we get it showing off her trauma and pain and fear, because that’s how you make a character Strong and Optimistic apparently

Fortunately after this Valjean takes her home and comforts her and reassures her and HAHAHAHAH I’m kidding, he’s going back to the Gorbeau place to give them money and says this will get the Thenardiers out of their lives forever but without any indication at all of HOW

-- digression: this series keeps making changes in character knowledge and timelines without any apparent thought to how this should affect the actual CHARACTERS and it’s probably responsible for at least a third of how incoherent this episode is?? -- end digression

Anyway now it’s time to Leave Cosette for a while, but don’t worry! She’ll be waiting, alone and terrified, until the controlling adult who’s the closest thing she has to protection returns, dramatically wounded, from the encounter with adults who tried to pimp her out as a child!:D Good thing she’s been made so Strong and Optimistic!

#I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS #I HAVE NOT EVEN BEGUN TO PROTEST #honestly this is mostly me just getting my thoughts in order!#AAAAAAAH #EXTRA YELLING #I'm turning into a Davies character #what is a timeline we just don't know #was this a week?#a month?#three months?!?#WHO KNOWS #Beeble Mis #long post #sorry

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nalufever · 6 years ago

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Opportunity

Chapter Two of The Night Shift, a collaborative work between myself and @hidetheremote

AnS fandom, Obi x Shirayuki, hopelessly late posting for ‘Trope Madness’

One of Obi's faults is that he's gallant, always wanting to help those less fortunate - and some people (Torou) take advantage of his foolish, soft heart. Good thing Shirayuki is always in Obi's corner.

Read Chapter One HERE

Fifteen years ago…..

Garbage whipped by a bitter wind skittered past a cold and shaking Obi. Winter had hit hard, the snow was piling up fast. If he’d had free time and the urge he’d have made a snowman - but he didn’t and couldn’t waste energy on such a frivolous activity. Obi needed to find shelter and he was running out of time.

Tall for his age and thin, most people assumed he was an adult and left him to his own devices. Obi was barely able to feed himself, let alone clothe himself. His jacket was half as old as he was - and badly patched. It didn’t keep him warm from the snow that threatened to freeze his bones as he scrounged for work. Not wanting to burden his few friends with overstaying his welcome, Obi refused to take advantage. He moved from friend's house to friend's house, keeping his secrets close to his chest.

A newspaper carried by the strong wind hit him in the chest with a wet thump, startling Obi into reflexively grabbing it. An article jumped out at Obi, one that mentioned a food kitchen looking for volunteers. It was close - and that was the best news he'd had all day.

The first person to greet Obi was a short but bouncy, red-headed sprite of a girl. “Hi! I’m Shirayuki, what’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Manners are very important!”

The young girl pouted and Obi couldn’t help but tease. “On second thought, you’re right. Manners are what separate humans from animals, Miss. Please accept my apologies for my lack of priorities. My name is Obi.”

Shirayuki smiled and Obi’s worries and fears started fading. He’d have a hot meal and maybe start to rebuild his life; this girl was beaming at him so brightly he felt invincible - his guiding star had to be on the rise. Obi accepted a tray from the girl and portions of everything available, waving goodbye to the little Miss and then searching for a good spot to sit and eat.

In the far corner away from the door (which every time it opened sent more cold snow and air swirling into the room), Obi sat with his back to the wall at a table with another girl of roughly his own age - also with her back to the wall. Intent on feeding himself, Obi tore open the bun and slathered butter on it, ripping a big portion off with his first bite. He chewed and did his best to keep his appreciative moans and smacking lips to a minimum.

“Oi! Keep it down!”

“Sorry-not-sorry.” Obi shoved a giant spoonful of stew into his mouth and turned his head to look with suspicion at his table mate. “Mrff sppr anfry.”

“Gross. You always talk with your mouth full?”

Obi swallowed and sighed at the girl. “I’m super hungry.”

“Nice to meet you, ‘super hungry,’ I’m Torou.” The girl - Torou - flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder and batted her matching brown eyes at Obi coquettishly. “First time in a place like this?”

“Is it that obvious?” Obi sat more upright and pretended to not be guarding his food. “I’ve been doing alright for the most part. I don’t like to have to accept help, but I-I’m having a hard time.”

“We all are, every person here has it tough.” Torou pulled out another bun from her pocket and a couple more packets of butter, pushing them at the thin but cute teen. “What about a real name?”

“Ugh, yeah - sorry. You can call me Nanaki.” Obi crammed the rest of his bun into his mouth, grabbing the offered bread to shove it into a pocket for later. He chewed and swallowed. “Thanks, Torou, I haven’t eaten since…I’m not sure.”

“I could tell.” She giggled, twirling strands of her hair around one finger, leaning closer. “Well, maybe we can help each other.”

“You got more food in your pockets? Don’t you want to eat that?”

“Silly boy, I’m talking about taking opportunities and turning them into cash.”

><><><><><

Present day….

Obi checked his phone and again Torou had texted him, begging for one more chance. Enough was enough. He’d done lots of stupid things when he’d been young and homeless - and now Obi was poised to finally have a date with Shirayuki. There was no way in hell he wanted to screw his chances.

He sighed, about to shut off his phone, but it chimed - this time a phone call from Torou. Voice pitched low and aggravated, Obi growled, “What do you want?” The hallway was too full of distractions so Obi sped to the stairwell and slumped against the far wall.

“I still want what I was asking from you at the Greenhouse.” She was clearly amused. “I’m gonna keep working on you until you cave. One little, tiny favour is all I ask - you could do it in your sleep!”

“Maybe fifteen years ago, but I’ve changed - and I thought you had too.”

“What’s that old saying? A leopard doesn’t change its spots?” Torou’s laugh was high and shrill. “I’ve shed some of my spots - but there’s one big one that just won’t budge. Tomi won’t let me escape so easily.”

“Tomi, still?” Ire and disgust coloured Obi’s tone.

“Don’t say it like that, I gave up most of that when he got sent away.” Torou’s voice got thin and small, in direct contrast to how she’d laughed only seconds ago. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”

“Ugh… Dammit.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“I’m not saying yes, but it looks like I can’t say no.” Obi rubbed his forehead. “My shift is pretty well over. Where are you?”

“I’ll text you the address. And Obi...don't end up like me.”

Obi heard Torou sniff and end the connection. Stomach roiling with old fears, new doubts and a fair amount of anger for Tomi, Obi shoved his phone into his pocket and made tracks for the parking lot.

><><><><><

“Pssst!” Torou yanked Obi’s arm as he walked past where she’d been lurking. “Come here often?”

Obi grimaced, turning to face Torou as she started giggling. He growled, “I didn’t come here for my health or any of your lame jokes. Why don’t you come with me and we can discuss your problems in my car? It’s too cold out in the open.”

“Didn’t know you wanted to get cozy.” Torou batted her eyelashes and licked her lips. “Giving up on Shirayuki? ‘Bout time.” She held onto his shoulders, almost leaning against him.

“As if. Your antics leave me even colder than the weather.” Obi shrugged away from Torou.

“Spoilsport.”

“Yeah, well -”

Torou’s phone chirped and she shushed Obi to look at the message she’d been sent. The blood drained from her face and she gasped, shivering, absently rubbing her gut. All her previous flirtatiousness behaviour died. “The job is a go - right now.”

Obi watched Torou shrink in on herself. As much as he didn’t want to assist her - he felt obligated. He’d never seen her so distraught before, not even when she’d been threatened with juvie. “And never again.”

“Sure, sure.” Torou pulled herself together, turning back into a capable thief in the space of a heartbeat. “Joint’s been cased thorough, I need you to get me inside, my talent will crack open the safe.”

“Fine, I open the door and leave.”

“Not so fast, two heads are better than one, right? I could use an extra set of eyes and ears - just in case.”

“Sounds like it hasn’t been cased proper.” Obi folded his arms and glared. “You need me to help search for the safe, don’t you?”

“Tomi stops digging once he sees what he wants.” Torou shrugged, jamming her hands into her pockets. “Especially if he can send someone else to do the real work.”

“Fucking unbelievable.”

“I promise, never again.” Torou gave a subtle head nod to the garish green house on the corner. “C’mon, time’s a wasting!”

><><><><><

It was regretfully easy for Obi to bypass the electronic locks on the back patio door; fifteen years hiatus on his break and enter skills hadn’t been enough to set any rust on them. Dammit. One more careful motion and the physical lock popped open. Obi slid the door open and motioned to Torou. “Hurry.”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot.” She blew on her gloved fingers. “We both search - upstairs first - there’s only three bedrooms on that floor. Behind big ugly paintings first and closets second.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” Torou blew Obi a kiss before tiptoeing down the hall and running up the stairs, knowing her unwilling partner would soon follow once he explored the main floor. His habits were part of his charm.

Obi scowled as he stalked through the house, finding nothing out of the ordinary - it was well maintained and decorated nicely - if a bit old-fashioned. He shuddered - lots of big floral patterns and an excessive amount of plaid where they’d run out of room for roses. There was a wood burning fireplace too - currently unused - flanked by an antique set of wrought iron tools.

Obi met Torou leaving the bedroom closest to the stairs; she shook her head. “A kid’s room. It’s gotta be the second or the master bedroom.”

“You take the master then, most likely it’s not the second - but I’ll check it out.”

“Okay.” Torou gave Obi a mock salute. “You haven’t missed a trick even after all these years.”

“But I’d like to,” he muttered, “forget all about this and the dumb stuff you pulled me into.”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Torou taunted Obi with a wink and another blown kiss.

“That’s only if Tomi didn't steal them first.” Obi rubbed his forehead and walked towards the second bedroom, slipping inside. Nothing on these walls except more giant, ugly, cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Ugh! So old-fashioned. Was this the house of a grandma from the 1950’s? The closet door was in contrast overly new looking - and the right size for a custom walk-in. Could be the safe was here instead of in the master.

Only one way to find out - Obi drew open the closet door and did his best to staunch a horrified gasp. No safe, but lots and lots of adult...gear. Whips, chains, what had to be porn magazines, several squirt bottles of lube and items he thankfully could not easily identify. He shook his head and shuddered. Fucking hell.

Suddenly aware he’d zoned out, standing in front of what could fully stock an orgy, Obi made to shut the Pandora’s box of porn - but a heavy tread stumping up the stairs made his flesh crawl and his blood chill. Too late to run to warn Torou… A split second later, Obi made up his mind and jumped into the closet, sending a frantic text to Torou. <>

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He anxiously watched his phone, expecting Torou to text him back - but no answer. Shit. Was the homeowner bludgeoning Torou as he cowered amongst the pleather outfits and massive battery driven toys? Shit. Obi held his breath - the carefree, loud footsteps were getting louder. His stomach plummeted. Somebody wanted a little something-something before getting some sleep.

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi secured his phone and waited in the farthest corner of the closet, poised to take action. The door was yanked open and a hand rummaged inside - through long familiarity no doubt - reaching with unerring grace for the flesh pocket - and shut the door. Obi slumped backward in relief. Thank all the unholy sex gods and goddesses.

Shit - now did he try to save Torou from the horny homeowner or escape? Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi strained his ears - nothing. No horrid buzz of an adult toy - no heavy footsteps - no screams. He said a little prayer and pushed the closet door open the smallest amount he could to see out of - and about felt his soul leave his body.

The horny homeowner was sitting on the spare bed looking through his mail - the waiting lurid plastic lips of the fleshlight leering at Obi. Jesus, lord love a duck. At least the guy's head was bowed and he’d missed seeing a surprise visitor pop out of his closet. Obi didn’t know what to hope for - the horny guy going to town on himself, or sudden merciful death.

Torou texted Obi. <>

Several things happened at once. Obi’s phone signalled itself with a snippet of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance, horny homeowner bolted off his bed, still holding his mail, looking around wildly. “What the fuck!”

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi yanked his balaclava down to obscure his face, blindly taking the closest item to hand and bolted out of the closet. Fast, so fast - sprinting like the wind - but the horny homeowner managed to tackle Obi. Obi felt a sharp, burning pinch and then he twisted, bucking off the guy who was screaming bloody blue murder. Slamming the door behind himself, Obi used the bullwhip he'd grabbed, jamming it like a doorstop to keep the irate man a little occupied while they escaped.

“Go, go, go!” Obi ran past Torou who was cradling her ill-gotten goods in a nondescript gym bag.

“I’m going!” Torou hissed. “New much?”

“Never again!” Adrenalin kept Obi and Torou running outside into the bare glimmer of dawn - Obi towards his car and Torou - she jumped into a waiting white van that zoomed off before she’d even fully landed in the passenger seat. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Obi ran into the semi cover of a bush - slowed his headlong rush into an ambling power walk and uncovered his face. Nothing said ‘up to no good’ like a balaclava pulled down on a guy fleeing in the dark. He’d fucked up but he could repent at leisure once he was safe.

Obi hustled down the alley to his car, unlocking it, smiling at the cheerful chirp and slid inside behind the wheel. His back spasmed - fire erupted in his nerves. What the fuck? He felt his back as best he could, fingers coming away sticky - with something god-damned familiar.

><><><><

“Gimme a damn minute!” Shirayuki pulled on her bathrobe and belted it tight - the idiot pounding on her door was obviously drunk - and she’d have to kick his ass to curb without her pajamas. Barefoot, she stomped over to her front door, quickly checking that her door was on the chain. “What the hell is wrong with you? Some people are trying to-” she yanked open the door as much as the safety chain allowed, her angry tirade dying as she met Obi’s glazed eyes in his pale face.

“Mostly, what’s wrong with me, is I’ve been stabbed.” Obi gurgled a listless chuckle and collapsed.

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trustonlylokiposts-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Diagnosis

“THAT’S IT. I’M DONE. NOT ONCE HAVE I EVER BEEN TREATED WITH SUCH DISRESPECT! I AM A DOCTOR, GODDAMIT, IF YOU TRULY BELIEVE THAT BECAUSE I AM A WOMEN I CAN’T POSSIBLY DO MY JOB CORRECTLY THE I’M OUT. I QUIT. FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO DEAL WITH YOUR SHIT!” I cursed and stormed out slamming the office door behind me. Fuming I walked to my locker, then to my tiny office. Shoved what little things I had into my backpack and stomped out of the clinic, not making eye contact with anybody.

If Doctor Wallis truly believed that I should continue cleaning up after patients like a housekeeper, and that my medical opinion truly meant nothing because of my gender than I am better off literally anywhere else. New York, land of opportunity my ass. I honestly don’t know how I managed to graduate top of my class, blow away residency, be labeled as a prodigy doctor and somehow manage in a clinic run by a senile asshole who should have his medical license removed and burned. I marched through the streets of the busy city and stopped to glare at my reflection on a shiny building. My brown hair fell past my hair in messy waves, blue eyes had never been colder, and my cheeks were still red from anger and humiliation. I smoothed my green scrubs and tore off my ID card, no use for it anymore. I sighed as the anger slowly left my body, I took my phone out of my pocket and rolled my eyes at the absolute disaster of panicked texts I had.

Please tell me you didn’t quit, look I know he’s an asshole, but we need you Jules.

I scoffed and typed back,

Thanks Tiff, unfortunately I didn’t spend all that time in medical school to be treated like I’m worthless. I’m glad you enjoy your job, he respects women as nurses, but not as fellow physicians.

I made my way into a nearby coffee shop and ordered the tastiest, most sugar infused drink I could find on the menu, I deserved it anyway. I took a sip and took a deep breath as I sat down near a window. Looks like I’d need to find a new job, I’m sure it shouldn’t be too hard right? New York needs a lot of fresh young doctors.. Right? I pulled my laptop out of my pack and began the hunt; after about an hour of mindless reading I stumbled upon something that caught my eye.

Stark Industries, in need of capable physician, willing to work in critical situations, must be able to keep up and learn alien or godly physiology, will be working with The Avengers as their personal doctor and will be in charge of a small medical team for Stark Industries.

Huh. I clicked on the link and began reading more on the job description: Will be kept up to date on information regarding Tony Starks Arc Reactor and how to handle possible emergency situations regarding said reactor. Information on alien or godly medicine will be provided by Thor, of Asgard, but it is necessary to be willing to be learning and growing and developing better emergency care and medicine, for humans or otherwise. Offering up to 500k yearly salary with paid time off, provided living, transportation, and medical equipment and tools all at your personal disposal. Your team of nurses and Physician’s Assistant are at the top of their game and are an excellent team. Please call the number listed bellow for a pre-interview with Pepper Potts.

Okay, this sounds way too good to be true, and the competition for a job like this has to be outrageous. But the hell with it, what do I have to loose? I downed the rest of my diabetes in a cup and packed my laptop and made my way out. I hailed a taxi, gave directions to my apartment and immediately dialed the number listed on the add.

After a surprisingly thorough phone call I hung up and checked the call time, 45 minutes. I was asked all kinds of questions, regarding my schooling, residency, experience, I gave 10 different refences, and even answered questions from a “if everything were to go wrong” scenario. ( Question one: In the event that you are asked to accompany the Avengers on a mission across seas, are you capable of working in extremely critical circumstances that could be dancing on the line of life or death for countless people, should the Avengers be too injured to neutralize a threat?) I’ve definitely been through some stressful shit, when that Loki guy sent his army through New York? I was providing emergency medicine until I could no longer feel my brain, I’m pretty sure after hour 10 of almost non-stop work my soul left my body to be replaced by Jesus, I sure as hell let him take the wheel. Unfortunately I was never one to believe in Jesus, especially after all this super-human chaos has been happening. Clearly Jesus isn’t the only magical white guy dancing around in the clouds. My train of thought was interrupted as I was greeted by Koda, and tall and lean Belgian Malinois. Her fawn coat and black mask only made her golden eyes see through your soul even easier. I got Koda as a puppy from a guy off Craigslist, apparently even though he boasted about being an unstoppable adult his mother thought otherwise and forced him to rehome his impulse buy puppy. I wasn’t mad about it, Koda has done wonders for keeping me grounded. Sometimes I think she’s smarter than most humans. I know every pet owner says that, but I really believe it. Especially after all the shit-brain assholes I’ve seen stumble into the clinic because they “accidentally” fell onto a broom stick and somehow managed to lodge itself up their anus. I gave Koda appreciative ear scratches as I opened my calendar, I marked down the time for my interview, two days from now at 10 AM. Stark Tower, feeling oddly optimistic towards the future I changed into a black tank top and running shorts, leashed Koda up, and made my way outside for a run.

I lived in a tiny apartment, it looked more like a concrete box than anything else, but the upside and pretty much it’s only saving grace was that it was near central park. I never considered myself much of a city person, and central park was the closest thing I could get to anything nature. Koda and I lapped around the park, I considered what it meant to be “Kept up to date on Asgardian physiology” when I spoke with Miss Potts over the phone she said it wont be too difficult as Asgardians shared a lot in common with us Earth dwellers. She mentioned them having skin that is roughly “three times thicker and stronger” than ours. Okay, so apparently I’m going to need stronger surgical tools and needles if the time comes for any of that. Pepper also reassured me that Stark had it covered, they had been recently using a willing Asgardian to build and put together tools just for them when the time is needed. I wonder who they had volunteer? It couldn’t have been Thor, I guessed I’d find out soon enough anyway. I stopped jogging for a moment to appreciate the setting sun and take a drink of water before bending over to give Koda a drink. I started my run again, Stark’s reactor sounded very interesting and I did look forward to learning more about that. I haven’t seen anything even a little similar to that anywhere in medicine. Tony seemed to know what he was doing and had it under control anyway. I just wanted to understand what kind of shrapnel is constantly moving at an impossible speed towards his heart. And exactly how the reactor worked? Did it only prevent the shrapnel from moving further? Or did it also control how his heart functions? “Hey babe! Whatchu runnin from? I wont bite, or, maybe I will?” Great, who doesn’t love cat callers? Especially snot balls like this? I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye as I kept my pace, pretending not to hear him. He started to follow after me, trying to act casual, I guess he didn’t notice Koda’s watchful gaze, oh yeah, another great thing about her would have to be the fact that I do have her trained in personal protection. Look, when you are a 5’5 petite women it doesn’t matter how much you exercise or how much knowledge of the human body and all the ways to heal it, or break it you have. Gross men with ill-intended ideas and thoughts look at you like you’re a piece of meat with perky tits and a pretty face. No amount of “Hey beautiful, Hey babe! Watchu up to?” Would ever work, especially when said cat caller looked like a walking STD. Hey, I don’t need to be nice to someone like him. Koda swiveled around to stand behind me and keep pace with me while she herself trotted backwards, amber eyes never once leaving the slimy man behind us. “Beautiful, what a pretty dog you have. Smart too, is that a German Shepherd? I had one growin’ up, loyal things aint they?” I said nothing and continued my jog, I now had to take a huge detour to my apartment. Couldn’t have him knowing where I lived, hell no. Slime ball caught up to me, Koda came to a grinding halt and placed herself between me and the stranger. I finally looked at him directly and with as level of a voice I could muster said “I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.” The man gave me a yellow toothy grin and replied “Is your dog friendly? I’m just wantin’ to know about your dog there?” I sighed through my nose and calmly said, “no, she isn’t. Please leave.” I sized the man up, he wasn’t too tall, maybe 5’11, 200 pounds tops, and almost none of it was muscle. I muttered the sniff command to Koda, she titled her nose in the air, she was taught to smell for any kind of weapon, especially a gun. If she caught onto the scent she let out a lone whine, if not, she would keep quiet. I let out a sigh of relief that I hadn’t realized I had been holding in when Koda didn’t whine. Thank god, if need be Koda and I can take this guy down, or well, Koda could. Firmly I said “leave now, or I will have my dog defend me, she is a trained protection dog. She will bite at my command.” At my word Koda stiffened and pulled back her lips revealing 42 sizer-like teeth. The man scoffed but took a step back when Koda let a low growl rumble from her chest, “Okay, bitch. Message received. Must be a fuckin’ lesbian or somethin’.” He turned and walked away and I made my way back home, both Koda and I on high-alert. Fucking cities, man.

#loki #loki x original female character #avengers fic

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cedarmoons · 6 years ago

Text

pt. 3

@4biddenleeches is the best y’all js :3

She has been in Vesuvia for little over half a month, and it has been storming for the past three days. She lies in the nest of blankets and pillows on the ground, which passes as a bed in her work-in-progress home, and stares at the ceiling. Her left hand does not hurt, thanks to Asra’s ointment, though with the thunder comes difficulty sleeping. Despite the rain, it is humid and hot, and she tosses and turns, trying unsuccessfully to rest.

When she does finally sleep, she dreams of the Devil’s prison, and sees only empty chains. Broken manacles litter the walls and the floor; posts holding irons have been ripped from the bedrock they are embedded in. Blood gleams slickly on the cobbles, and the room smells of smoke and ash.

The Devil is gone.

“No,” Ziah whispers. “No.”

She looks up and sees her name written across the wall in blood. Hot air that smells of the desert brushes the back of her neck, and she turns around.

She gasps, jerking awake, sitting up in her nest of pillows. She rests her head in her hands and breathes, focusing on the beat of her heart, the drag of breath through her teeth. It had not meant anything. It had just been a dream.

The room flares white as lightning strikes outside. Thunder booms the moment after, so loud it rattles the windows in their panes. Ziah stands, gooseflesh rippling over her bare arms and legs, and walks on unsteady legs to the window. She stares at the rain running down the glass in sheets, absently massaging her left hand.

After a few moments she turns around and goes into her near-empty kitchen, which, other than the necessary amenities of gas stove, ice box, and countertops, has nothing but a vase of tithonias and Asra’s arthritis ointment.

Downstairs, her protections break with a screeching alarm. Ziah winces, instinctively moving to cover her ears before catching herself, lowering her hands. She senses the shadows shift behind her and turns on her heel, focusing on the darkness behind her phonograph. Something is watching her there, hidden as before, yet somehow more menacing in its silence.

“I said before that you are not welcome here,” Ziah warns. There is not much she can do against a creature from the other plane, other than shore up protections, which is apparently useless.

The Master is very angry with you, the creature says in reply. A chill runs down her back. He misses his traitorous beloved. It inhales, deeply, as one sitting at a feast inhales the aroma of the proferred food. Your power... ohh, I’m so hungry.

Her whole body tingles. Ziah ducks and the window behind her shatters, thunder booming and rain blowing inside. Glass sprays across the room, glinting from the water droplets on their surfaces.

She puts her hands together and rests them over her chest, fingertips and thumbs forming a triangle over her sternum. The flash of summoned light catches the creature by surprise — it shrieks and turns away, the light briefly revealing only an opaque, strange outline of a white shape with curling horns. She sprints downstairs, cursing viciously when she accidentally steps on broken glass, cutting her feet.

Ignoring the sting, she yanks on her traveling cloak and steps into her sandals by the door, and despite how quickly she moves she feels sluggish, slow, as if it had actually managed to siphon energy from her.

That thought is alarming. The moment her sandals are half-on she yanks open the front door.

No, the thing shrieks, both petulant and furious. Something splinters upstairs. No, the Master wants you! So hungry...

Ziah steps out into the rain and slams the door shut behind her. She reaches out, finding her protections not broken as she had thought but drained of energy and rendered inert—which should not be possible. She had charged them with a full year’s worth of power.

She thinks of the creature, and its whine: I’m so hungry.

Something collides with the other side of the door. Ziah stumbles back from the threshold and brings her palms together, recharging the lines of dragon lily ink and weaving a steely net that will prevent anything—anything—from leaving the house. It is not permanent, especially if this thing can consume magical energy as she suspects, but it will give her some time to get away.

The creature screams in rage and despair as she turns and moves as quickly as she can, limping on her right foot as pain stabs up from the arch to her ankle. Rain beats down upon her, but she is more exhausted than she had first thought, and her magical reserves feel dangerously low. More than once she steps into ankle deep puddles that splash her to her naked knees. She allows a brief moment to regret not having time to change out of her pajamas before pulling on her cloak.

The constant storms mean the streets are flooded, the canals too swollen with water to prevent the stone levees from overflowing. At the next bolt of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder, she sees a dark shape moving in the floodwater—a vampire eel—and grits her teeth.

She is still strong enough to walk upon its surface, wincing at the pain in her right foot, and pretends not to notice the vampire eels that follow her under the water, drinking every drop of her blood that runs into the floodwaters.

The bigger problem is finding the Mooney house. She had not bothered to learn the way to Asra’s. Vesuvia is transformed at night, she finds, especially at so late an hour when not even the gas street lamps are burning. The fresh unfamiliarity makes her task all the more difficult.

She finds the floating markets and the baker’s stall, and, soaked and shivering from cold, finds a canal she remembers crossing with Asra. Ziah gathers her cloak closer to her and looks over her shoulder.

When she finally finds the Mooney house, she is certain she looks like a drenched rat. She is exhausted, soaked to the bone, too concerned with her limited power to shield herself from the rain, and she has by now put all of her weight on her left foot. Her stomach cramps on emptiness and twists, because her body thinks she has used too much magic, too soon.

She sniffs and approaches the door, reaching out to the knob before she senses the energies of various protections and curses. Asra had been thorough — it is multilayered, complex, the work of a magician who had had months or years to perfect his craft. She senses spells to shove an intruder away, curses that wither entire arms, hexes of burning pain and more. If she was not in such a hurry she would find it all incredibly impressive, considering Asra’s youth. Or perhaps this work is not Asra’s alone — perhaps others had contributed to this web of magic as well.

The house, too, is bristling. It considers her an intruder at this hour, and she is unwelcome. This it makes clear to her.

Ziah suppresses a shiver and sniffs again. If she gets a cold because of this... “I have no time for this,” she says. “Let me in.”

The house remains adamant and hostile. Ziah scowls, then closes her eyes. She reaches out, fingertips inches away from the door, and feels for the network of energies that wrap around the house, like a cluster of thick ivy and other vines that protect and conceal everything beneath. But there, on the second story window, a weak link, a place where the tangled layers of hexes and protections and spells is thinner than the rest. That would take less effort.

One cannot rip out a single section of ivy without taking at least some other section of it as well. One cannot snag a web string without destroying the rest in turn. “Stubborn fool,” she mutters to the house, and reaches in, focusing her will and her remaining on that weakest link.

The house resists, fighting her tooth and nail, screaming in her ear as it tries to prevent her from ripping out the protective magics that it has had for ages. She manages to uproot the weakest section, unraveling the surrounding areas in turn, before the door swings open. She pulls back at once and steps inside, shutting the door and breathing heavily.

That had taken more effort than she had anticipated. No matter whether Asra had contributed to the spells protecting the Mooney house or not, she should not underestimate him.

The first floor is pitch black, and the rain is loud outside. Ziah rests her forehead against the wood, catching her breath, and hears a soft glide behind her. She turns around just as lightning flashes, bleaching Faust of all color for a single heartbeat.

As her eyes adjust to the darkness, because she does not have the spare magic to even summon a witchlight, she sees Faust tilt her head at her, tongue flicking in curiosity. She cannot imagine what she must look like—soaked, shivering, putting all her weight on her good foot.

She listens. Asra’s heartbeat is upstairs, steady. He is asleep, then. At this hour of the night she is not surprised. That he can somehow sleep through this storm... that is more surprising.

“Faust,” she says, finally, her words punctuated by thunder. She shivers, cold rainwater running down her legs under the cloak, teeth chattering. “Please wake Asra. He and I must speak.”

#zisra rp #@that one follower who unfollowed: YA COWeURDE #jk i dont care lmao i'll be back on my da bullshit in 1 (one) week #for now... u suffer

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

Text

The Supernatural Gospel

Chapter 9- A Woman in White Picture Perfect

The sylvania was a truss bridge made of strong steel and built to last, it had only been boarded off last week as one of the locals had insisted they'd seen people leaping off. The cops had dutifully closed it to investigate, but as no body's had been found they'd been planning to open it to the public again the following morning, until Troy Squire's car had been reported.

The impala's engine had been silenced, the scene ripe for yet another filing of paperwork, while Sam dangled over the edge grunting to regain some kind of footing. When finally he'd hauled himself back to some kind of support, the first thing he did was to look around, and realize his brother was not in a similar position.

"Dean!"

In the moonlight, something was certainly moving about below, belly crawling right out of the fumbling river. Covered in mud and panting, Dean flops onto his back and gives his brother a thumbs up.

"Hey, you alright?" Sam still tries to confirm, breathing rather hard and still white knuckling the bridge, unsure if his voice even carried down that far.

"I'm super," Dean's words are comforting enough for now, as Sam finally lets out a bit of a laugh of relief for this whole situation and gets himself onto the bridge proper, completely ignoring the now silent car and innocent looking car gleaming in the moonlight.

He's still running when he gets to the pebbled downslope and stumbles hard, nearly breaking a leg as he gets down to Dean's side and make sure no true injuries had been sustained from the fall. Dean was already hauling himself to his feet and wiping mud from his eyes though, and Sam was in a much more controlled, almost amused state as he finished in a casual walk to his side.

"How's the car?" Was Dean's first question, though his eyes betrayed him as he watched Sam carefully, clearly noting the red raw hands from gripping the rusty bridge, but no limp or other signs of damage.

"Still there, that ghost didn't drive off with it," he promised.

Dean slapped him on the shoulder, bent down to the icy water and plunged his hands in, scooping up enough to rub at his face. He gasped at the feeling but did it two more times before he felt good enough that he began walking back up the slope and to the impala's side, where he immediately lifted the hood and began a thorough inspection.

"Car alright?" Sam's thoughts on the misery of having to take a bus back to Stanford, but at least he'd still make it back before Monday, barely. He watched attentively as Dean triple checked for himself.

Dean's favorite leather jacket is indistinguishable from the muck of the bank, his usually messily spiked hair is plastered to his scalp, and you couldn't see a single freckle on his face, but his smile managed to shine through as he slammed the hood back down and patted her a few times. "Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now." He turns and shouts for the rest of the world, "That Constance chick, what a bitch!"

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So where's the job go from here, genius?" He was mostly being sarcastic, rule number two of ghosts floating in his mind now that there was no other explanation of what they were dealing with.

Dean's leaning against the hood now, mind flickering on what Dad would have them do next, find the husband and figure out where she was buried or

Sam leans on the hood beside him and involuntarily gets a sniff of the air. "You smell like a toilet."

Dean purposely noses his shoulder, and can't help but agree, their next stop now obvious.

Dean goes to the backseat and digs through Sam's bag for a few moments before coming up with two clean towels, ignoring his brothers protest as he lays them out on the seat, and then goes to the trunk for his own bag and finds his own towel to rub the majority of the mud from his face. Neither Sam or Dean flinch as the impala roars back to life despite her recent activity, instead it was more of a comfort from the inside and the steering wheel moved with ease under Dean's hand. He stops at a gas station once more and uses all of the bathroom's paper towels to at least attempt to get the rest off, but when that proves futile a shower really is inevitable. Dad would have to agree he couldn't spend the rest of the case like this.

Sunrise is upon them by the time they pull into the only motel on the outskirts that had definitely seen better days, this wasn't exactly a tourist town. Dean pats the hood of the impala one more time before the two go into the front desk, Dean slapping down the credit card once more. "One room please."

The clerk picks up the card and looks at it. "You guys having a reunion or something?

"What do you mean?" Sam almost laughs at how unintentionally ironic the man's question is.

"I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month." The clerk explains, tapping the guest ledger.

Dean looks at Sam and does not hide his triumphant smile.

"Ah, yes sir," Dean quickly changes tactics, no sense in burning this one out as he holds his hand back for his card. "That would be our dad, guess he got here before us."

"When did he get here, exactly?" Sam asks eagerly.

"Ah, bout two weeks ago," the man scratched his chin and eyed his date book.

That didn't really tell them anything, it would have taken a little more than that time for him to drive here from wherever he'd started, which Dean didn't know for sure as he'd just said he was tracking a witch, and they could be anywhere. He would have gotten to town at least, checked in, and...?

The clerk, oblivious to their quick rise and fall of hope, hands back the card and says, "alright, room ten. Another key will be extra though."

"Oh no sir, that won't be necessary," Dean promises.

Sam's been picking locks since before he knew how to drive, and while it was of the most minor of all the laws they constantly broke, he still thought Dean was being difficult on purpose in insisting not paying for an extra key.

Still, the door swung open and he tucked the gear back into his pocket before reaching out and dragging Dean in from his oh so casual guarding. A poof of dust trails him inside and Sam's quick to close the door lest anyone see what only they should, the walls.

It was as clear a flashback to Sam's childhood if ever he'd had a name for it, a mark of insanity to most normal people was the level of obsession his dad showed to everything. The pictures printed and mounted, the old newspaper clips scattered categorically, maps, and notes that only a practiced mind could follow. There are books on the desk and assorted junk on the floor and bed, including something with a hazardous-materials symbol.

Dean goes to turn a light on and finds a half eaten burger sitting under the lamp, stone cold as he picks it up and a bit ripe from being out in the air. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least." It hadn't been the three weeks that concerned Dean most about his father's absence, he'd been gone for much longer stretches than that over the course of his life, but rather the suddenness of it. A ghost was a hat trick to all the things in Dad's journal, there was just no way he'd be radio silent this long unless there was something else going on.

Dad would have called by now. He would have cancelled his room. He would never leave all this stuff up for the maid to see.

If Dean's gut reaction hadn't been enough for Sam before, though it should have been, then this was.

Sam was by the window, stepping over a salt circle around a set of drawers and speaking aloud, though to himself. "Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in." The salt was common enough, and of course he'd have that handy for any ghost, which a woman in white was a sub-class of. It was the cats-eye shells that were interesting, they were a basic warding against mystical watching. Yet this should have nothing to do with witches, or anything else that could be watching without being sensed.

Dean turned to inspecting the walls more closely, and Sam came to see for himself. "What you got there?"

"Centennial Highway victims." Dean confirms it was at least this case.

Sam nods as he peers at them. The victims seen on the wall include Mark, William Durrell, Scott Nifong who disappeared in 1987 at age 25, and Parks. Mark, Durrell, and Nifong are all white males, judging by the photos.

"I don't get it." Dean frowns and goes back over it all, just to be sure. "I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?" A ghost's MO was to wreak vengeance on its own death or at least where it had died. While Centennial Highway was the lead onto Sylvania bridge, this should have meant either gender would be up for grabs.

While Dean talks, Sam looks at the papers taped to the other walls. There's something about the Bell Witch, two people being burned alive, a skeletal person blowing a horn at several scared people with the note 'MORTIS DANSE', a column about 'Devils + Demons', another about 'Sirens, Witches, the possessed', a wooden pentacle, and a note that says 'Woman in White' above a printout of the Jericho Herald article on Constance's suicide.

Sam turns on another lamp to read this last one word for word before telling Dean, "Dad figured it out."

Dean turns to look. "What do you mean?

"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white."

Dean looks at the photos of Constance's victims again. "You sly dogs," he understood. A woman in white was a subclass of a ghost, specifically the kind that was rumored to suck their victims directly into hell when she was done with them and leaving no traces behind, hence making their kills much harder to spot, let alone make a pattern of.

Dean turns back to Sam. "All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."

"She might have another weakness." Sam points out, there were plenty of stories about ghosts attaching to objects rather than their own bones.

"Well, Dad would want to make sure." Dean reminded, he certainly wasn't going to skip thoroughness on this case. "He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?

"No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." Sam taps the picture of Joseph Welch. The caption says he's thirty; the article dates to 1981, so he must be sixty-four. "If he's still alive," Sam amends. Perhaps he'd even committed suicide as well, or any other kind of tragedy after all these years.

Sam goes to look at the rest of the writings, to see if he could put together what had made Dad drop this and the beginning of something else. Dean looks at the picture below the Herald article, of a woman in a white dress.

"All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up."

Dean starts to walk away. Sam is tempted to just let him, but knew the longer he went without addressing it the more Dean would pretend it didn't happen. It took him almost three years to address the last fight.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean stops and turns back.

"What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry-"

Dean holds up a hand. "No chick-flick moments," he reminds.

Sam laughs and nods, for the first time letting himself ease back into this familiarity. "All right. Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean grins, the mud dried into his face crackling and sending a few flakes to the floor.

Sam chuffs. Dean disappears, into the bathroom, and only moments later he hears the water running, but he doesn't notice. Sam's spotted something, his smile disappearing, and crosses over for a closer look. A rosary hangs in front of a large mirror, and stuck into the mirror frame is a photo of John sitting on the hood of the Impala, next to a young Dean, and Sam sitting on his dad's lap. They had to have still been single digits, at least. He casts his mind back and tries to remember when this could have been taken, first time visiting Bobby? Dad teaching them how to fish? A birthday even? but he can't, there's nothing defining about it, except they all seemed happy. Sam takes the photo off the mirror and holds it, smiling sadly.

#superntural #fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #john winchester #Chuck Shurley

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flowerfan2 · 8 years ago

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Winds of Change - Ch. 9/16

Stucky, 46k total, A03. Post CACW. This fic is fully written, and will post 3-4 times a week. Read from the beginning here.

Bucky’s still got some healing to do after the doctors in Wakanda rouse him from sleep and make sure there are no more deadly triggers lurking in his brain. He decides it should happen where he can have some peace and quiet, as well as a little distance from Steve’s overwhelming presence. When he sees an ad for a “Winter Caretaker” he takes the job, but it turns out to be not so peaceful after all.

Or, how Bucky realized that while he still needs to heal, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for him and Steve to do it together.

Chapter 9

After Bucky wakes up from the surgery, Tony has barely finished having Bucky test out the completed repairs to his arm when Steve says it’s time to go. Bucky doesn’t know what he’s talking about at first. His brain is still a little fuzzy from the anesthesia.

“Sunset’s early in wintertime.” Steve’s got a dark blue parka on, and he’s practically bouncing on his toes.

Bruce and Tony turn to Steve with such twin expressions of disbelief that Bucky sputters out a laugh – followed quickly by a groan, as his hand moves to press against the new bandage on his chest.

“Buck, are you okay?” Steve is at his side in an instant. “Bruce, is he okay? Why’s he in pain? What’s wrong?”

Bruce looks like he’s trying not to laugh himself. “He took a bullet, Steve, and then had major surgery.”

“And his arm’s likely to have some nerve sensitivity for a little while, while the connections heal,” Tony adds.

Bucky sits up carefully and lets his legs hang over the side of the bed. He flinches when Tony runs a finger down his metal arm, but it’s reassuring how naturally it responds. Of course Tony notices, and grins. “Not bad, right?”

Bucky ignores him. He has the feeling he’s going to let Tony play with his arm again sometime, but not today. He turns instead to Steve, who is standing like a chastened golden retriever at his side.

“Maybe we can go the lighthouse tomorrow?” Bucky suggests. “Doc, that sound okay?”

Bruce nods. “I’d like to check on you again in the morning, but you’ll probably feel a lot better by then.” Bruce heads towards the door, then grabs Tony’s arm and tugs him along with him. They close the door behind them, Tony giving them a little wave over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve says when they’re alone. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t think. Do you want me to go, let you get some rest?”

Bucky looks at Steve, who’s gone from delighted to disappointed in sixty seconds flat, and his heart swells. “Come here, you.” He uses his good arm to pull Steve close, then wraps it around him and holds him tight. “You said you weren’t going anywhere.”

He can feel Steve’s cheeks stretch into a smile as Steve tucks his face into his neck. They stay like that for a few long moments, Steve relaxing against his body, his hands coming up to smooth up and down his bare back. The pressure is rhythmic, and soothing, and it makes Bucky smile.

“You know who I think you’d like?”

Steve steps back, his hands sliding to Bucky’s waist. “Who?”

“Mittens.”

“Are you inviting me back to your place?” Steve says with a hint of a smile.

Bucky tugs at the hem of Steve’s t-shirt to straighten it back out. “Unless that’s too forward of me.”

It takes far too long, in Bucky’s opinion, to make their way out of the safe house. Natasha has returned, and she wants to crow over every highlight of the night before, only settling down after Bruce makes her a milkshake – it’s hard to talk and drink one of Bruce’s extra thick milkshakes at the same time.

Tony is adamant that Bucky keep detailed notes on how his arm is working, although Bucky puts this to rest by agreeing to let him have a few hours to examine it once his incision has healed.

Steve finds Bucky a light blue button-up shirt that’s easier to get on with the ache in his chest (one of Steve’s, Bucky assumes – it makes him feel a little bit like a librarian, but it’s soft, and smells good, so he’s got no objection) and he pulls on the spare pair of jeans Natasha packed for him (yesterday? The day before? He’s not sure he cares anymore). There’s a conversation about weapons which ends with Steve throwing all but one in Bucky’s duffel, as Bucky’s favorite knife goes exactly where it belongs, in Bucky’s boot.

Finally, they’re out of the house. The ride in Steve’s truck is bumpy, and Bucky tries not to let on how much it hurts. He closes his eyes, and surprises himself by drifting off, waking up only when Steve turns off the engine.

By the time they walk up the long drive to Nora’s house and Steve helps him inside, Bucky is frankly exhausted. Steve can tell, and he settles him on one of the soft white couches in the spacious living room, insisting on pulling off his boots and tucking a blanket around him. Then Steve wanders away to feed the cats and water the plants while Bucky dozes. Mittens does in fact appear, meowing her displeasure at Bucky’s extended absence, and then curling up next to him and purring like an engine.

Bucky wakes up to find a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on the coffee table next to him, and it smells so good his stomach immediately starts to growl. He’s almost finished it off by the time Steve returns with drinks for them both and another plate for himself.

Steve smiles shyly at him, and then pushes the other sandwich on to Bucky’s plate.

“Don’t you want one?” Bucky asks, chewing.

“I forgot how much you like them, although I should have known by the amount of cheese you’ve got in your fridge,” Steve says, a laugh in his voice. “When’s the last time you ate, pal?”

Bucky shrugs. “No idea. I’m not even sure what day it is.”

“I’ll make more.” Steve goes back into the kitchen and after a minute Bucky hauls himself up off the couch and follows him, half-empty plate in his hand. He perches himself on a stool at the kitchen island and watches as Steve butters more slices of bread and peels the cheese out of its plastic wrappers. It’s like a scene from a movie, sitting here in this fancy kitchen with Steve, watching him prepare food on the black granite countertops. He looks out the glass doors to the balcony and watches the distant whitecaps on the water, then turns his attention back to the food.

“You know, I think I’ve still got some bacon,” Bucky says, finishing off his second grilled cheese. “Tomatoes, too.”

Steve pauses and tilts his head at Bucky. “You’re not satisfied with plain cheese?”

“What can I say,” Bucky says lightly. “I’m a complex guy.”

Steve snorts and opens the refrigerator. After a few minutes, half a pound of bacon is frying, and Steve is deftly cutting a tomato into perfect round slices.

Mittens jumps up on the kitchen island, and Steve looks at Bucky in mild astonishment as he gives her a thorough cuddling, the cat twisting and turning to rub her chin on Bucky’s hand.

“So I guess you’re a cat person now?” Steve asks, turning the bacon and frowning as it spatters.

“It’s their house,” Bucky replies. “If they want to walk on the counters, who am I to object?” Bucky plucks a piece of bacon from the pan (he doesn’t like it if it gets too crispy) and takes a bite. Then he breaks off a little bit for Mittens, who sniffs it a few times and then runs away as if it offended her.

“Why doesn’t she like bacon?” Steve asks, adding a few strips to the cheese sandwiches he has assembled.

“No idea.”

“But – isn’t that why she came over? Because she smelled it?”

Bucky grins at Steve. “It doesn’t pay to think too hard about why they do what they do.”

“If you say so.”

After they finish their little feast, Bucky excuses himself to the bathroom. Being with Steve like this feels good, but it’s overwhelming, and he needs a few minutes to himself. It’s the first time he’s eaten a home cooked meal with Steve in decades, and yet it seems as natural as breathing. He can remember them messing around in the apartment they shared after Steve’s ma died, heating soup on their tiny stove, laughing and happy even though they hardly had enough to fill their stomachs.

Bucky pushes harder at the memory, thinks about other times they spent together in that apartment, Steve so sick during the winters Bucky worried he’d never get better. Bucky curling up around him in bed, trying to soothe Steve’s breathing with the rhythm of his own. There are other, more intimate moments, the two of them pressed together for decidedly non-medical reasons; he hasn’t let himself dwell on those memories, not wanting to let himself hope, not wanting to influence whatever might happen now with nostalgic memories of then. But Bucky’s starting to think maybe now is going to turn out okay.

Bucky splashes some water on his face and winces at the pain in his chest. He unbuttons his shirt and pokes around the wound, peeling the bandage off to look at the stitches, black against his pale skin. It makes him squirm to think about the bullet sliding in right at the spot where the vibranium meets his flesh; he’s got thick scars there already, and a low-level discomfort which comes and goes. He can’t imagine this is going to make it feel any better.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been in there until Steve knocks on the door.

“Everything okay?”

Bucky hesitates, his shirt still open, but then he mentally shrugs to himself and opens the door. It’s not anything Steve hasn’t already seen up close and personal over the past twenty-four hours. “Just surveying the damage.”

Steve presses his lips together and nods. “Want me to get that ointment Bruce gave you?”

“I’m gonna heal fine anyway.”

Steve frowns. “Doesn’t look like you really healed fine before. Maybe it’ll help.” He doesn’t wait for Bucky to agree, and soon comes back with the tube of antibiotic ointment. Steve washes his hands, and then unscrews the tube. He’s about to squeeze it out on to his fingers when Bucky shakes himself out of his daze.

“Steve, I can do that myself.”

Steve pauses, then nudges at Bucky’s good shoulder until he sits down on the toilet seat. “All the times you patched me up when we were kids… let me take care of you, okay?”

Bucky’s not really sure he sees the connection, but he’s not inclined to argue. If Steve wants to poke at his scary scars, might as well let him. “Fine.”

Steve touches him so gently, Bucky hardly feels it as he spreads the medicine over the stitches. “Does it hurt?” Steve asks softly.

“Well, yeah, I got shot.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him in mock annoyance, and Bucky thinks Natasha would be proud.

“Before that,” Steve says.

Bucky hesitates, wondering how much to say, but decides to go with the truth. “Yeah. Inside, it’s connected to my bones, you know? It’s not the arm that hurts, mostly, it’s where it’s attached. But it’s a lot better now, with this new one.”

That sad look flashes over Steve’s face, but it’s gone almost before Bucky can register it, replaced with acceptance and, perhaps, determination.

“I bet Tony could fix it so it doesn’t hurt.”

Bucky smiles. “You have a lot of faith in people.”

Steve shrugs. “Some people.”

Steve tapes a clean bandage on Bucky’s chest, and puts everything away neatly in the little wound care kit Bruce gave him. His eyes slide back to Bucky’s shoulder, still covered by his shirt.

“You kept the star.”

Bucky had wondered if Steve had noticed, during the whole surgery mess, that where he used to have a red star on his shoulder, he had asked T’Challa for a slightly different symbol. T’challa had suggested a white one, like the one on Steve’s shield, but…

“Why blue?” Steve asks.

“Didn’t want to be too matchy-matchy,” Bucky says, and his chest warms as Steve grins in delight.

Steve holds a hand out to Bucky, who sways on his feet as he stands up.

“Woah there,” Steve says softly, catching him around the waist. Bucky feels lightheaded, and lets Steve steady him, ducking his head to rest against Steve’s shoulder. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Going upstairs seems like an awful lot of trouble, especially when Steve is holding him so sweetly, hands pressed against his back. But sleeping on his feet doesn’t sound like much fun either.

Steve helps him up the stairs, and Bucky knows he’s still feeling the effects of the surgery when he can barely bring himself to protest as Steve rummages through his drawers. It’s not like he has much in there.

“Better get Tony to get you some pajama pants,” Steve mutters. “What do you wear to sleep in, anyway?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve, and then laughs as a light pink blush spreads across Steve’s face. “I don’t usually have to worry about flashing anyone,” Bucky says, ignoring the sharp twinge in his chest as he strips out of his jeans. His shirt is still unbuttoned so it’s easy enough to shrug it off, and then he climbs into bed, hoping his tight black briefs are at least partially making up for the scars and metal arm.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Buck,” Steve says, his voice low. Apparently the scars and metal arm aren’t a deal breaker.

Steve takes a deep breath, and stands up taller, almost resetting himself. “Okay, well, you’ve got your phone up here, right? So, you know, call me if you want me – need me – need anything, I mean, I can come back over in the morning. I’ll bring Bruce, he can check you out-”

Bruce isn’t going to be the one checking me out, Bucky thinks with a smirk, as Steve rambles on.

“Nope,” Bucky says firmly, and Steve stops talking and stares at him. “No way.”

“No way what? You don’t want me to come over in the morning?” Steve looks like he’s bracing himself for bad news.

“No way are you putting me to bed in the middle of the afternoon and abandoning me,” Bucky says, keeping his voice light. “Even the cats aren’t ready to go to sleep yet, and they sleep twenty hours a day.”

A goofy smile spreads across Steve’s face as he realizes what Bucky is saying, and his posture relaxes.

“Well, you just gonna stand there?” Bucky asks, flopping open the blanket in invitation. “We can watch Netflix on this tv, you know. There are so many options. You ever seen Firefly?”

Steve undoes his khakis, pulls off his socks, and climbs into bed in his t-shirt and boxers, his blush back and deeper than before. When Bucky gives him a pointed look, he just shrugs. “If you don’t have to wear pajamas, I don’t have to,” he mutters.

Bucky grins. “Now you’re getting the picture.”

They’re not cuddling, exactly; they could just be friends who don’t have much concern for personal space, and don’t feel the need to wear pants. But Steve’s elbow keeps bumping Bucky’s good arm as he eats his popcorn, and when Steve leans over to grab his drink from the night table Bucky pokes him in the side and makes him jump.

Bucky holds his tongue for two whole episodes of Firefly before he starts to point out all the ways Steve is just like Captain Reynolds, with his tight pants and his righteous nature, and Steve lets him get away with it for a while before he starts to retaliate.

“Well, if I’m the Captain, then who are you?” Steve asks. “Wash, maybe? He’s got a decent sense of humor.”

“I am not Wash,” Buck protests. Wash, the pilot, is certainly not the most best-looking of the group. Bucky can’t see any resemblance whatsoever.

“Maybe Jayne?”

“Jayne’s an idiot.” Played by Adam Baldwin, so not bad looking, but still.

“Persistent, though.” Steve says. He’s looking sideways at Bucky, and clearly trying to rile him.

“You’re still wrong.” Bucky watches a scene with Captain Reynolds and his second in command, the fiercest fighter on the ship. “If I’m anyone, I’m Zoe.”

Steve turns to Bucky. “She fought with the Captain in the war, before they were on this spaceship together, right?”

Bucky nods. “Right.” He picks a piece of popcorn out of the blanket next to him. “She’s loyal to a fault, when it comes to the Captain. She’ll do anything for him.”

“And she’s sexy as hell,” Steve says, almost absently.

Bucky’s suddenly a lot less interested in his popcorn, but Steve is looking straight ahead at the television, keeping up the tease. Bucky calls his bluff, going back to watching the show in silence, and grins as he sees Steve break, darting a glance at Bucky to see if he noticed his comment.

“You think I’m sexy,” Bucky finally says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s hardly news.” Steve sounds almost resigned.

It emboldens Bucky, though, and he lets the words slip out. “You asked me on a date.” He’s pretty sure it wasn’t a dream, although he hasn’t been able to find a way to ask about it.

“You said yes.”

Bucky’s heart skips a beat. “I did.”

Steve’s still staring straight ahead, holding the same kernel of popcorn he’s had in his hand since he called Bucky sexy. Bucky shuffles a little closer to Steve and lays his head on his shoulder. He can feel Steve tense and then relax, moving his hand just close enough to Bucky that his knuckles are touching his thigh.

It reminds Bucky so clearly of before that he’s nearly bowled over by it. Back then, they treasured every touch, knowing that blatant displays of affection weren’t in the cards for them, except on the rarest of occasions. It hadn’t mattered much; they learned to convey their feelings for each other in barely there gestures and fleeting moments. It means just as much now as it did then.

Two more episodes and a half gallon of ice cream later, Bucky is dozing when Steve leans over and drops a barely there kiss on his head.

“Buck?” Steve whispers. “I should probably go.”

Bucky reaches out in Steve’s direction with his eyes still closed, and winds up bumping his hand along Steve’s chest before he grabs his shoulder. “Stay.”

He can feel Steve’s startled inhale, hears the way he controls his breath as he lets it back out. He blinks his eyes open and finds Steve’s in the dim light.

“You sure?” Steve asks, voice steady.

“’Course I’m sure.” Bucky moves closer, slides his arm up under the pillowcase and lays his head on Steve’s ridiculously built chest. His t-shirt is soft – must be from getting stretched out by those muscles all day long. “If it’s okay with you.”

Steve practically giggles, as if not wanting to cuddle Bucky is the silliest thought in the world, and wraps his arm around Bucky. “Yeah, I think it’s okay. I’m pretty sure, anyway. I’ll test it out, let you know.”

“Shhh, I’m sleepy.” Bucky noses in against Steve’s neck and breathes deeply.

Steve lets out a contented sigh. “You’re the best, Bucky.”

Love you too, Steve, Bucky thinks as he drifts off. Love you too.

#stucky #stucky fic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain america #my fic

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carasueachterberg · 6 years ago

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The coming week will mean a big change for Daisy.

I am preparing to leave on the OPH Rescue Road Trip, a weeklong trip with seven other volunteers to visit six of our partner shelters in North and South Carolina to spend our days working in the shelters. Our hope is to not only offer physical help with the dogs and the work, but to learn more about the needs of our shelters and to raise awareness of those needs.

You can follow along on our Facebook group, OPH Rescue Road Trip, where we’ll be sharing pictures, stories, and live videos all week long.

This is an exciting adventure for me, but it means that Daisy will have to leave our home which has been her safe haven for nearly seven weeks. Nick and Ian cannot be left in charge of Daisy for an entire week.

It’s not their safety I’m worried about – Daisy has shown no aggression at all towards any people (although it’s more than clear that she has suffered at the aggressive hands of people). The problem is that she goes into a blind panic if Nick or Ian approach her and I worry for her safety and emotional health if we force the issue. We have made incremental progress, but sadly, there is still so far to go in convincing her to trust them.

She has three options. One would be to move to another foster home, but most of our foster homes are full and a new transport of dogs is arriving next week. Daisy needs to be kept separate from other dogs and most fosters have at least one, if not multiple, dogs.

Her second option and the one looking most likely is for her to go to a boarding facility. While I know this will be a scary experience for Daisy, it would be a safe one. She would be handled by professionals and kept separate from other dogs while her basic needs are met. It wouldn’t be her first ‘shelter’ experience, so hopefully, she will be familiar with the drill and aware that she won’t be there forever.

The best place for her to go would be her new home, but so far she has no applications and no potential adopters. While I know that initially, it will be challenging for an adopter to take Daisy home, I also know that once that bond is formed, she will be an easy, fun, devoted, love of a lifetime for some lucky person. What we really need here is a miracle – a person willing to look past Daisy’s fear to the beautiful dog underneath and have the patience and the kindness to welcome her into her life.

I’m pretty sure the rescue will offer an extended trial period for Daisy’s adopters. That may help alleviate the perceived risk, but as far as the real risk – there’s none, because I know the heart of this dog and it is so open and ready to share with the world, she just needs a willing guide.

If you or someone you know is interested in adopting Daisy, please feel free to reach out to me with questions and/or to find more information here.

If you’d like to follow Daisy’s diary in real time, visit Cara Sue Achterberg, writer. Here are this week’s entries in their entirety (although I did not post all 32 pictures from her photo shoot posted on Day 37).

Diary of a Rescue Day 36:

My friend Linda is visiting for a few days. Linda is my oldest friend (not by age but by years of friendship- I’ve known her fifty years!). She’s a soft soul who is an animal whisperer in many ways. She easily won over Daisy.

The two of us took Daisy for a walk this morning up the hollow. Daisy did great. We even encountered a man running who was friendly (and unfamiliar- I thought I knew everyone on this street!). Daisy was alarmed but instead of blindly pulling me away from him she kind of spun in place excitedly. It was a good encounter- he was chatty but kept moving so hopefully Daisy’s takeaway was ‘men can pass by me and I will survive.’

I think she’s getting sick of being alone in the puppy room, but hopefully with spring arriving we can get her out in the puppy yard soon. She’s definitely an outside girl.

The weather today made my heart happy too- sitting on my screened porch in short sleeves at this very moment (with the other dogs patrolling the porch watching the squirrels). Spring will be good for both of us!

#bringonspring #happydogs

Diary of a Rescue Day 37:

Not a whole lot to tell you today. Because both my college-age kids are home and I worry about someone either inadvertently leaving the gate open to the kitchen or Daisy getting out, I’ve restricted her to the puppy room again. It seems like regressing, but the most important thing is that she’s safe.

This morning she shredded a puppy pad, so I know she’s frustrated too. I took her for a long walk and other than a little panic when a big work van passed us, she did well. Happily trotting along in front of me.

She’s so happy for my company – racing around and circling and leaning on me and even jumping up repeatedly. Sadly, I had a busy day and couldn’t spend a lot of time with her. I’m hoping tomorrow she’ll get out of that little room – one college kid’s break ends and the other is off in Pittsburgh visiting friends.

These are the pictures from her photo shoot with Nancy Slattery. Nancy is so good at capturing expressions and moments. Enjoy!

Diary of a Rescue Day 38:

Every time I start to get discouraged about this dog she surprises me. All day long she only wanted me-me-me. She panicked at the sight of Nick or the boys, and could not bring herself to even take a treat from Allison when she stopped by (although she’s taken them from her before).

I’m leaving on the OPH Rescue Road Trip two weeks from today and Daisy has no applications, no interested adopters. What happens then? Do I have to count on friends to come to my house three times a day to walk her and feed her for a whole week while I’m gone?

And then! We had just finished dinner and Daisy was nudging me at my seat, wanting my attention, trying to get me to pet her and preferably scratch her back just in front of her tail in her favorite spot. She kept banging my leg like a shark (supposedly since I have no first-hand knowledge of this) does before attacking its victims.

Ian was sitting beside me and he held out his hand while continuing our conversation. Daisy gave it a sniff but instead of bolting away as she normally would, she turned her head back to me and offered her butt to him for a scratch. He reached out and itched her favorite spot …..and…..she let him!

It was the first time he has been able to touch her in the more six weeks that she’s been here. I know it seems like nothing, but it’s HUGE.

It renewed my hope for this dog. She wants to trust and she has so much love to share.

#wecandothis #hewillwinherover #togetherwerescue #anothergooddog

Diary of a Rescue Day 39:

Daisy is such a playful, silly, affectionate girl, but others rarely get to see this side of her. This is a video of her this morning before anyone but me was up. She’s playing with an old toy the other dogs gave up on ages ago when it lost its squeaker and it’s stuffing.

I can’t wait until the day when this isn’t a special moment because she feels safe and comfortable enough to do this all day long no matter whose around.

(Sorry that the video is sideways- hopefully you can still see it)

#gooddaysarecoming for #thisgooddog

Diary of a Rescue Day 40:

Today I took Daisy on an adventure. I loaded her up in the car – which meant that I literally had to load her into the car since she wasn’t inclined to go anywhere near it. Maybe it’s because her last few car rides have all been to/from the ER and the vet’s office.

She was pretty anxious for the ride and ready to get out when we got to a local park. I thought we’d go for a nice hike but Daisy was much more inclined to give the fields a thorough sniffing. If I had any doubts that there is some hound in her, they are gone.

I think she really enjoyed our amble over the fields- it was very stop/start with me dragging her away from smell after smell.

Once again, I loaded her up, since she wanted nothing to do with the car. The rest of her day has been quiet. I really wish I had more time to spend with her or that she would accept the other dogs so she could hang out with the rest of us. I hate that she spends so many lonely hours in the puppy room.

#bebraveDaisy #nobodyisgonnahurtyou

Diary of a Rescue Day 41:

Another adventurous day for Daisy. This time I loaded her up in the car and drove her to my friend Gina’s house for a walk in a neighborhood. I had warned Gina that it might be a disaster and it almost was.

When Daisy and I arrived at Gina’s (after an exciting pit stop at the gas station where I filled the tank and Daisy fretted about all the people walking in and out of Rutters), her neighbors a few houses down had a very noisy lawn crew working in their yard. The blowers were deafening and once I got Daisy out of the car, she was in all-out panic mode. We decided to cut through Gina’s backyard to another street and it looked like Daisy might be able to relax but then we came upon a work van with a worker in it. She almost twisted her way out of her harness but I grabbed her martingale collar (cannot tell you how many times that collar has saved the day!) and ushered her past.

The rest of the walk was much the same- she walked/sniffed along happily and then we encountered work trucks/strange people/generators/more lawn workers/packs of dogs (they were all tied in the same front yard and were the small fancy kind of dogs). Each time we coaxed her past and only a few times I had to resort to dragging her past by her collar.

Gina is a good and patient friend and a big help, but clearly busy neighborhoods will be challenging for Daisy. The one noticeable improvement was that for the first time I didn’t have to carry her to the car. When we got back to Gina’s she willingly headed for the car and I only had to give her a boost to get her in.

Lucky for Daisy she will have two quiet days coming up. Nick and I are headed for a quick trip to VA and Tanis will be checking in on her while we are gone.

The video is from later today when we were leaving for a walk around the pasture. She gets so excited when we leave for a walk.

#neighborhoodsarescary #gettingbravereveryday

Diary of a Rescue Day 42:

Raining, raining, raining today. I walked Daisy twice before we left at 11. She was goofy and kept dropping her football. Each time I picked it up she lunged for it- not trusting me to carry it. I gave her a snuggle goodbye and Nick and I left for our quick trip to VA.

Tanis visited with her tonight and messaged me that Daisy doesn’t like the rain. They had a little quality time though and hopefully, the rain will subside by tomorrow. So grateful for Tanis.

We will return tomorrow afternoon and start searching for the best place to board Daisy while I am away. Oh, this dog.

Nick said (jokingly) tonight, “we could probably just chain her up in the yard while you are gone and she’d feel right at home.” When I think about where Daisy was this time last year, that is probably accurate, but of course, I shot him a lethal look and resumed my worries over my trip and Daisy.

#ohthestoriesshecouldtell #lifeonlygetsbetterfromhere

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to know more about my blogs and books, visit CaraWrites.com or subscribe to my monthly e-newsletter (which is rarely monthly, but I’m working at it…everybody needs a goal).

If you’d like to know more about the book, Another Good Dog: One Family and Fifty Foster Dogs, visit AnotherGoodDog.org, where you can find more pictures of the dogs from the book (and some of their happily-ever-after stories), information on fostering, the schedule of signings, and what you can do right now to help shelter animals! You can also purchase a signed copy or several other items whose profits benefit shelter dogs!

If you’d like to know how you can volunteer, foster, adopt or donate with OPH, click here. And if you’d like more pictures and videos of my foster dogs past and present, be sure to join the Another Good Dog Facebook group.

One last thing! I will be leading a group of eight volunteers on a week-long trip to volunteer in some of the shelters we work with in North and South Carolina. We will be posting stories, pictures and video of our adventure. You can see all of it by following our Facebook page, OPH Rescue Road Trip. We promise to share the dogs we meet, the heroes we help, and the reality of shelters in the rural south. It may not always be easy to see, but hopefully it will also inspire you to help the many, many dogs in need. And if you’re so inclined, you can support us with donations through our Road Trip Fundraiser.

I love hearing from readers, so please feel free to comment here on the blog, email [email protected] or connect with me on Facebook, twitter, or Instagram.

Best,

Cara

Released August 2018 from Pegasus Books and available now

Diary of a Rescue Week Six: Change is Coming for this frightened pup #togetherwerescue #anothergooddog The coming week will mean a big change for Daisy. I am preparing to leave on the…

#Diary #dog diary #dogrescue #dogs #fearfuldogs #rescue dogs #shelterdogs

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traumatized-takashi-blog · 7 years ago

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Starlight Flames

This is a Sheith Modern AU that focuses around college, I don’t think this will end as tame as it was requested to be but I do hope everyone enjoys it. it was requested by a close friend that I adore and I hope that they’ll like the story.

Chapter One

Wind swirled through the air, stirring up the sand and running through his hair. It was hot, burning, but it felt so natural to him he couldn’t mind. This was peace, surrounded by only home and lost to everyone but himself. This, this place, it was-

It wasn’t real. Suddenly an alarm blared, forcing Keith awake. He was huddled beneath his red comforter, eyes barely peeking over the edge and long hair splayed out against the white pillows. He was almost lost within the blanket but still managing to look intensely irritated. His indigo eyes were alight with both sleep and annoyance. He had been having a good dream as opposed to his usual dreamless emptiness and this digital clock had the audacity to wake him up. With a sigh he turned his head into the pillows and groaned in attempt to further wake himself up. He didn’t want to get up but his classes would be starting in the next couple hours and unlike high school he actually really wanted to learn about the material. With an aggressive huff of air Keith sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist as he ran one hand through his hair and used the other to remove the warmth of cloth from his pajama clad form. He swung his legs over the side of his double mattress and stood up, the cuffs of his crimson pajama bottoms swallowed up almost the entirety of his pale feet as he stretched. He popped the joints in his shoulders and most of the ones in his back before he was remotely satisfied and certain he could properly start the day, Keith’s apartment wasn’t big but he hadn’t been looking for big when he bought the space, he had been looking for solitude. He’d gotten what he had been looking for, but through the year he’d been living in the building a few annoying neighbors had moved in. He wouldn’t complain, it was still much better than the dorms on campus.

Keith moved swiftly over to his dresser against the wall beside his bed. He’d made sure to place it a good distance from his bed so he wouldn’t be able to get dressed without getting up and go back to sleep which he would undoubtedly do. He slid open the dark stained oak drawers and grabbed a few choice items of clothing; a black t-shirt, dark wash jeans and a random pair of boxers. Without a second thought he slid the drawers shut with clothing now draped over his arms and made straight for the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. Keith was a person to shower in the morning, he’d argue it made you more presentable for the day and that it helped blend all of his morning routine together. After he entered he simply shut the door behind him, turning on the shower spray and placed his clothing on the spotless white counter. He quickly undressed and dumped his pajamas- as he’d worn them each night this week- into the hamper. He hopped into the shower next and pulled the shower curtain shut after he was under the spray, the hot water immediately hitting his skin and forcing his tense muscles to relax. Keith was a very strict person, at least when it came to himself. He had certain things to do at certain times and maintained a specific exercise routine daily no matter the weather conditions, not to mention he always made time to practice with his sword. It was relaxing, being able to maneuver a weapon so well known as gracefully yet deadly as Keith himself did.

Falling from his straying thoughts Keith reached over to the shampoo and pumped a squirt of the lavender-colored soap into his hand. He rubbed his hands together real quick before running his hands through his thick black hair and lathering the shampoo against his scalp. His neighbor sometimes poked fun at him for taking such good care of his hair, Keith never responded but he supposed he did realize most guys his age were greasy messes sometimes. He would rather not be that.

Pushing his thoughts away again Keith ducked his head under the shower spray and let the soap wash out, running his hands through a few times to ensure he got out all the suds. He pushed back the curtain and glanced at the small digital clock he kept on his bathroom counter, it was 6:15 a.m meaning he’d already been in the shower for about twenty minutes. His thoughts must have zoned him out more than he’d realized, so quickly Keith washed himself down with soap and body wash- he was thorough- and hopped right back out of the shower. He dressed himself in record time and brushed his teeth in thirty seconds flat. Bolting from the bathroom at top speed Keith stumbled out of his room and into the small living area with attached kitchenette. He snatched his black leather satchel from where it had been tossed in his exhaustion on the couch the night before and ran for the door, certain his keys were in his satchel as he locked the door behind him and made his way down the multiple flights of stairs down to the lobby.

’You’re not even late, slow down you idiot,’ He reminded himself grumpily as he skidded to a stop and made his way out the apartment complex at a much calmer pace then he had used to race through the building only moments before. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, pulling it over his head and letting it rest across his chest and back as the bag bounced against his side; full of college work. He needed to get breakfast before heading to campus, not to mention his classes didn’t start till eight and it was only 6:20. Keith slowly walked down the sidewalk, the sun hadn’t even completely risen yet and the streets were shining both with the majestic white light of dawn and the orange streetlights that still proudly glowed. It was peaceful now, the roads were empty for the most part and Keith lived in an area more surrounded by trees and nature than buildings and light pollution. A few stray cats wandered about a few yards away, and unable to stop himself, Keith approached the small creatures.

At first the cats startled, the orange and brown stripped one hissing and fussing as Keith walked over. It spat, hackles raising and back arching but the black cat just tilted it’s head curiously as it’s gray eyes sparkled. Keith kneeled, placing one knee on the floor and resting his arm on his raised thigh. “Hey,” He greeted, and the black one turned to the angry tabby regally, giving some sort of signal in whatever dialect cats spoke in that calmed it. He reached into his satchel, sure he had something in there that they cats would appreciate. As he rummaged through his bag, the black one walked over, head high and put her two front paws on his thigh; looking curiously into his bag as if looking for what mysteries it might hold. The tabby kept it’s distance but it’s large yellow eyes were just as curious as the black one’s if not more so. Keith finally found what he was looking for and pulled out a sandwich bag, within the bag was small cubes of different sorts of cheeses. He knew dairy wasn’t the best for a feline’s digestive system but cats enjoyed it so he wouldn’t be one to take it from them. He opened the bag and grabbed a few blocks of the cheese and held it out upon his open palm. The black one immediately took interest and sniffed at the cheese before starting to lick it. Keith smirked slightly at the action, feeling the cat’s scratchy tongue brush against his skin occasionally before it grabbed the cheese in it’s mouth and walked back over to the tabby. It placed the cheese on the sidewalk in front of the tabby and knocked the block with it’s paw, the tabby didn’t even sniff the food before starting to eat at it. The black one wandered over again and grabbed another block for itself before heading right back to it’s companion’s side. Keith realized he had to go so he got back up, sealing the bag and tucking it away in his satchel as he did so, and started making his way down the sidewalk again.

Keith shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and continued on with a casual stroll. His head was tilted up slightly, watching the dark sky slowly fill with light as he walked. He was cold, body slightly chilled and the exposed skin of his arms cold to the touch. His body was one for heat, he preferred the summer Texan weather to the cold winter mornings but he’d forgotten his jacket in his unnecessary rush out the door earlier. With his jacket he forgot his gloves, but luckily for him he had a spare of those in his satchel. He stopped, turning his head to his side and opening his satchel. He reached into the front pocket and rummaged around a bit before he pulled out two black leather fingerless gloves and slid them on with practiced ease. He always wore them, it’s been so long since he hadn’t that his hands felt almost like they were stripped of a layer of skin without them. It’s why he has spares, he even had a spare with one of the professors at his school. Now that his hands were covered and a sense of closely forgotten normalcy was placed over him Keith turned to enter his local cafe, he spent next to no time here but it was along the way on his walk to campus.

Immediately as he entered the cafe Keith was hit with a rush of warmth, the heaters were on and his cold flesh appreciated it more than he would ever admit. It wasn’t like the books or movies though where everyone seemed to be assaulted with smells of sweet pastries and bitter coffee or whatever, almost no one was there sans the employee behind the counter and a few people he could see bumbling about in the back. With a huff Keith headed straight to the counter, his head held straight as it always was and his posture deadly. The barista looked at him and raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “What do you want kid?” she asked, looking annoyed as steely blue eyes stared Keith down.

Keith stared right back, unaffected, “Coffee, black, and whatever muffin you have in stock.” He said coolly, pulling his wallet out of his bag and grabbing a ten from the pouch. The barista looked him over again, not bothering to read out the price to him, and took the money he offered. She huffed out an angry breath like a furious bull as she pulled his change from the cash register and forced it messily into his hand. With a roll of his eyes at how dramatic she was Keith vaguely wondered if maybe she’d spit in his drink. He grimaced at that, most guys would love to swirl the rude blonde’s spit in their mouths but Keith was appalled by the very idea of that. With intentions not to get in anyone’s way Keith made his way to the end of the counter, believing this is where he’d get what he’d ordered when it was ready. He had nothing better to do, and with the realization he didn’t have his jacket came the realization his jacket also had his very dead phone in the pocket so he couldn’t even check that, Keith watched the barista brew his coffee. She was angrily mashing the coffee maker’s buttons in her misplaced fury and as the caffeine-filled liquid brewed she grabbed a piece of tissue paper and foraged the displays with her eyes, searching for the most unappetizing muffin she could find. She found a fairly squashed blueberry muffin and grabbed it, shoving it into a spotted paper bag that was obvious made specifically for the cafe brand with the logo printed boldly across the top. She rolled up the top of the bag and put it aside as the coffee machine sputtered, finishing off the brew. She grabbed the pot forcefully and poured it into a cardboard cup with the heat protector already secured around the base. She shoved the lid on the cup, snatched up the bag and headed his way.

Keith straightened as she approached, when she reached him she thrust her arms out holding his items. The bag was crumpling in her grip and he grabbed it with a calm carelessness that only seemed to agitate her more. Good. Keith pulled his coffee from her grip, watching as she gave him a strained “Have a good day,” obviously company policy to say to the customers. Keith smirked at her, looking every part as smug as he felt, turned to the door and left without saying a word. As the door shut behind him he heard her give an infuriated squawk, what a satisfying way to start a morning. She’d started it by calling him kid, they looked to have been around the same age even, and then took his bluntness as rudeness. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t care she read him the wrong way. He tucked the cup into the loose cup holder pouch on his satchel and opened the poor disheveled bag the barista had shamelessly abused. With the crumbled muffin he could actually smell the blueberries now that they were exposed, he reached into the bag and picked off a piece of the muffin and popped it into his mouth. It honestly wasn’t the best Keith had ever tasted but it wasn’t terrible, though even if it had been he would’ve eaten it anyway. Breakfast was important and he refused to fall behind just because he didn’t like the taste of a dumb pastry or something.

Keith continued on his journey, walking along and continuously popping chunks of muffin into his mouth as he allowed the boiling hot coffee obediently stationed in his satchel to cool down. The morning was getting warmer, and with the warmth came the sun’s yellow glow and the deactivation of the street lights. Keith guessed it was probably nearing seven o’clock to seven-fifteen at this point which meant his classes would start up in an hour or so. Campus was still a bit away but if he kept up this pace he was confident he’d reach the college within the next twenty minutes giving him more free time than he needs. Instead of continuing on, Keith slows down and crumples up the now empty bag his muffin had been in and glances around for a trashcan. Without a bin in sight he places the ball of paper into his satchel atop of his work so that he wouldn’t forget to throw it away later. With the trash off his mind and time to spare Keith slid the coffee from it’s place in his satchel and took a cautious sip, weary of burning his tongue. When all he tasted was bitter coffee he took a more confident gulp, most people drank coffee for the caffeine fix he supposed but Keith just liked the taste. Black coffee was strong and distinct and he liked it that way. Sometimes he added flavorings or creamers but his favorite would always be black, it was just better.

Now that Keith had slowed down he could really take in his surroundings, he walked this path twice a day and knew it like the back of his hand but every time he just stopped to look it somehow got better. Behind the small business and name brand stores the town he lived in was framed by gorgeous pine trees filled with tame wildlife and beautiful predators that stalked it’s prey gracefully. Birds sang heart-stopping songs in the wonderful bright morning and the colors of this place just stood out in breathtaking contrast. If Keith was an art major he’d spend every waking moment he could trying to make this place a muse, it was stunning… but it wasn’t what he wanted. Keith used to live on the Texan border of the Chihuahuan desert a mile or two from the nearest town. It had just been him, alone and content out in the middle of nowhere in the hot, hot desert. He had nothing wrong with colors, or nature, or brightness but he had been so happy before. He’d barely skidded past high school but he wanted so badly to go to a certain college. Keith had never really wanted something so much in his short life, and now here he was; attending Garrison University thanks to a recommendation by a dedicated teacher that told him he could do anything if he just gave the effort he needed, that Keith had the ability to be great. Keith had glided through his first year with flying colors… for the most part. Keith was also a pretty irritated and violent guy, so he’d gotten into a few fights here and there and definitely had his fair share of rage spites. It was nothing as intense as it sounded, at least not to him. He was validated in his actions, and he wouldn’t change what he had done even if he had the ability.

Garrison University was strict, their rules were enforced and they didn’t believe in late work. Though despite that, most of the professors were firm believers in “extending the deadline” for students. The school was well-versed in everything from art to science but it was most well known for certain courses, as a lot of places were, but Garrison had more than science and engineering and math. It had space. The Garrison was known throughout the world for it’s classes in space from technology to just what was known about it, you could learn anything about space from the Garrison. Keith was working on an astrology major, but he wanted to try his fair share of aerospace as well. He wanted to see it all, whether he completed the courses or not he just wanted to see it. He was young, barely twenty, and he had so much ahead of him and Keith wanted at least one part of it to always revolve around the cosmos and the billions upon billions of galaxies surrounding the meek little planet of Earth.

Time was passing quickly, and even though he had slowed his pace to stop his quick approach to campus his thoughts had taken over once again and as if he had teleported Keith was suddenly on the campus grounds. There were a few other students wandering about on campus with friends but other than that most people were either in classes or still asleep. The campus was huge and covered in all sorts of greenery to line the pathways. They had no fancy fountains and only a very few benches to sit out on, most of the grounds were just lawn, sidewalk, and trees. Keith followed along the familiar hallway that lead him to the front door and walked up the steps to the grand set of front doors. He opened one of the glass entrances and headed inside, continuing on down the halls he didn’t bother to look at. He knew by heart by now where his first class was. Keith chugged the last few mouthfuls of his coffee, and then-

He slammed straight into someone.

Keith fell back, whoever he walked into it had been like slamming right into a slightly less sturdy brick wall, hitting the floor with a thud. His shoulders slammed into the floor before he could catch himself and damn that hurt. “Are you okay?” A deep voice asked above him, obviously the person Keith had ran into, but Keith sat up and pulled his legs up slightly. He rubbed one of his shoulders in attempt to ease the pain slightly and feel for tender spots on the skin.

“It was my fault,” Keith ground out, not liking to admit to his failure. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going because he was confident he would get to class without needing to see where he was going. Thinking that to himself now, he realized just how terribly stupid he was being.

“That didn’t answer my question,” The voice sounded amused now, and Keith looked up to either snap or glare, he wasn’t quite sure which, but the face standing above him stopped him in his tracks. God, that was the most cliche thing he had probably ever thought but woah this guy deserved it. The man was dressed in tight black pants, black combat boots, a tight gray muscle shirt, and a black vest. He had both a tall and a strong build (like Keith can see both his arm and leg muscles and he needed to know this guys workout routine) and his hair was shaved on both sides and in the back, but short on the top with a dark forelock hanging into his face. His eyes were gray and there was a thick scare across the bridge of his nose. Very pristine and military uniform, Besides all of those points-

This man was damn gorgeous.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #shiro #takashi shirogane #vld shiro #shiro fanfiction #keith #keith kogane #vld keith #keith fanfiction #request #chapter 1 #starlight flames

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impvarjack60 · 7 years ago

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15 Welcome *ome, Anna

The shuttle clunked on the ground, and out stepped Anna, Princess Anna. Ugh,... I think I've created a monster in my own mind. She was wearing the same white dress as that first day. A wide strap sleeveless affair in cotton. I vaguely remember seeing her in it from some past memory, ah yes, it's from a story I wrote. She was in the Mediterranean on a trip........ She held out her arms as she approached me, almost as if she was displaying her new arm. We wrapped each other up, and kissed for what seemed like forever. Then something happened that I had totally forgot about, Rain Day. Yep, it rained on a schedule here. The clouds weren't heavy enough for any real precipitation, so they pumped water thru a gazillion nozzles to make it rain in the Habitat. So there we were, recreating the end of Breakfast at Tiffany's. All we needed was Cat. I just didn't care, it wasn't that cold, and I couldn't move, for fear of spoiling the moment. Even with all the time in the world, I kept having this gnawing feeling that it would all get ripped away at any time. She'd be gone, the Habitat would disappear, and my flabby old carcass would come back, like Cinderella at midnight. But that's what life is, it doesn't last forever, and you have to make the most of it. Even though I would turn out to be one of the oldest humans ever to live. At the time, it just didn't seem like enough.

_________________________________________________________

As we walked back to the house she seen it, and started giggling in the cutest way possible. I had made a sign just like the one in Frozen Fever and hung it in the trees, 'cept this one said; 'Welcome Home Anna'. I had specified to Olaf several days ago I wanted water color paint and a brush on paper to recreate what Kristoff had done. Now that it was raining the paint was running down the paper, making it a complete mess, as the 'H' fell to the ground. "Well, I bet the stuff inside the house survived." "I still love it." Then she kissed me on the cheek. Inside the house it was wall to wall flowers, Minoo gave me a hand with this yesterday. I'm glad Abzari turned her loose with me, I needed the help, and it was a sign that he was letting go of the past, this would have never occurred on Earth. She is very attractive, but my days of chasing tail were decades behind me, and all I can see is Anna in my life now. I'm so glad I can look at a woman like Minoo, and see only beauty, instead of desire.

"Oh my God, they're sooo beautiful!, she walked up to every arrangement to give it a sniff. "We should probably get into some dry clothes." "Stellar idea." She went to the replicator and got something comfortable. As she started up the steps, she gave me a long look. I knew what it was, this where I would help her. "Go ahead, I'll get dressed in the Cave." She slowly turned and walked up the stairs. It's amazing to me how these little things that come in and out of our lives can have such a profound effect. But every Sun-day I would button her buttons, or put on and tie her shoes, and she would smile. It would be our tiny little ritual. And this one was pretty harmless.

So we had dinner, and I finally noticed it, she had a perfectly circular scar around her shoulder. They cut off the remains of her arm and popped in the new one at the socket. Probably trimming off the excess like a vinyl record fresh out of the stamper. She seen me starring at it. "Pretty ugly scar, eh?" "I honestly don't care. you're in one piece, and you have your independence back, that is all that matters. You are just as beautiful as the day I met you." "Still, I wouldn't mind doing a cover-up. Whatcha' think, flowers, Celtic, or maybe a dragon?" "And ruin your beautiful freckles?" She gave me a puzzled look. "You think my freckles are beautiful?" "Of course, do you think you'd have them if I didn't?" It took her a second to realize what I was saying. "Oh, yea." "Anna, your beauty lies in these tiny little flaws." I started to touch them. "I never subscribed to the typical beauty that so many American males were attracted to, I'm sure you've noticed your breasts aren't gigantic, right? I think they're actually a touch smaller than in the movie." "Wait, WHAT?" "As it turned out, you were kinda' built to specs, and I'm into the dancers body, the Gamine. They obviously seen this and made you this way. You are my ultimate beauty, and anything you do to degrade that is going to sadden me, but I must be fair. Even if they created the image I wanted, it's your body, and you can do what you want. Just know the scar doesn't bother me, and if it bothers you, then fix it. I don't want to ever reduce your happiness." "When I first met you, you were scared of me, and I thought it was a mistake to love you. I will never believe that again." More hugs, more kisses, more love. She understood what I meant, and she would never feel the touch of the artist's needle. She respected my thoughts, the one's I had while I lied in stasis, waiting for my fountain of youth, dreaming of twirling in the ballroom with the strawberry blonde princess.

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I got a hold of the Doc and had him come by to give Anna a thorough going over, and I mean thorough. He was a little nervous about this, as we were trying to be friends, and the idea of seeing all of her before I did concerned him. "It's OK, Doc. I really don't have a problem with this. Besides, if her vagina has razor sharp teeth in it, I'd rather you lose some fingers vs. my junk." "Very funny, Michael. But I suspect that wouldn't be the case." "Either way, we need to know what's going on here, and any clue is a good clue. I for one am sick of all this secrecy." "Very well, shall we proceed?" "Anna, can you come upstairs please?, the Doc is ready for you." She came up the stairs with light, unsure steps. While she said she was OK with this, she may be having second thoughts. "It'll be OK, Anna. He's done this many times before." Which was an absolute lie, he's never examined an alien before. "OK, Anna remove all your clothes and lie on the bed." "That is my cue to go downstairs, make sure you buy her dinner first!" "Good one, Michael, thanks for being so helpful, while I'm so nervous." I knew I'd be in for it later.

After a while I heard the snap of the glove. Then I heard Anna give a loud 'RAHHHH!' as the Doc immediately gasped. I was rolling on the floor at that point. I wonder if she heard the razor sharp teeth bit. Doc came down the steps first, while Anna got dressed, he was still breathing a little heavy. "Well one things for sure, she has my sense of humor, you OK Doc?" "I've been better. Can we talk privately?" "This way, Doc." I took him to the cave. "Other than her strange facial appearance, unusual skull shape, and somewhat disproportionately small feet she seems perfectly normal." He paused for a moment, this is never good. "Her birth canal does seem somewhat larger than I'd expect for a virgin. She is a virgin, right?" "As far as I know, I don't know if someone took 'er for a test drive before I got her." "You seem rather flippant about that, Michael." "I've never had a taste for virginity, they usually don't know what they're doing. But she has my memories in there, so I think she'll be well versed in that department."

I suspected the birth canal thing, that's the reason for my own personal upgrade, parts with a matching fit, plus birthing would be easier. A desirable trait when you want to make as many babies as possible. This has been the curse of women for ever. Hopefully we'll help to breed that awful trait out, it seems so illogical to me that creatures of nature have little trouble giving birth, while human females try to squeeze a bowling ball thru a garden hose. But the clue that provided was the scariest of them all. When we got to the new world, we would be on our own. The technology would leave with the Masters. We are currently ill prepared for a life without technology. Somebody will have to have a plan. There are some other possibilities here. We're both big headed people. Those big eyes need a big skull to fit into, and would need a larger passage to fit through. Or is a bigger passage needed for some hideous monster to make it's way thru? I keep having images of a Xenomorph ripping it's way thru her belly just before it consumes us both. I really hope the Masters reveal themselves before we start having children.

"Still, she's quite healthy, you said they wanted to have her wait a few weeks before she uses her arm fully?" "Yea, that's the message I got from Olaf. I'm not taking any chances with her, I'd hate for her new arm to pop out." "The speed at which that graft healed is amazing, I hope they share that technology with us some day." "Me too, Doc. But we should assume that once we reach the home world, we're on our own." "Agreed,... OK Michael, I'm on my way home, It has been a pleasure, although Anna could use some restraint, I nearly broke my fingers." "Sorry about that Doc, there's still some child in there." "Tell me about it,... good day, and peace be with you." "See ya, Doc. And thanks again." Hmmm, no surprises here, and only one ominous clue. It was time to meet with the other Hybrides and whatever name the Earthling women came up with for their men. I'm really not looking forward to this.

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