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redfurrycat · 11 months ago

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🤠💔💞🐓Getting Back Together (Part Two) Fic Recs🐓💞💔🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: 2manyf4nd0ms, Achillesfilms, All_InProcess, Alltherecklesshours, Bitter_Rabbit, Boobooblue, Booklover03, Charlie_mou, Contech00, Dalearden, Daringdrinkerofdreams, Davidbyrne, DraconisWing24441, Earthangel_44, Elwenyere, Greatea, HalbarryTrashcan, Highsmith, Hngstercity, Hushywushy, Indybob, JoAnna, Kateofspades, Kiddi, Mackwinnon, Marchrain, Nickies_Nonsense, Nocturnelight, Notchka88, Ok_thanks, PerpetualDusk, ReiverReturns, Sceld, Sky_of_starflowers, Spiritsontheroof, Theinsouciantknitter, Trinipedia, VarjoRuusu, Writteninwaves.

> Getting Back Together (Part One)

it's a bitter taste, it's a warning sign by writteninwaves {M}

I get so tired I can't sleep A thousand footstеps follow me Do you believе things that you can't see? Is this feeling real or just a dream? Billy Avalone and Jake Seresin are ... something. Bradley Bradshaw is an idiot in love. It hurts a lot before it gets better.

five long years (afraid of all my fears) by boobooblue {G}

It's the smile Jake directs at him when they're face to face after Bradley lands that seals the deal. Because that is not Hangman; it's Jake. His Jake smiling at him, his Jake that saved his and Mav's life. His Jake that Bradley should have never let go.

5 Times Bradley Calls Jake Sweetheart + 1 Time Jake Returns the Endearment by dalearden {M}

But there’s one thing above all Jake has really latched onto, that makes him literally swoon inside in such a way that he momentarily becomes a stranger to himself. It’s just a word and would mean nothing coming from anyone else but there’s something about the way Bradley says it, how it makes Jake feel to hear it coming from the older pilot. It makes Jake wish he could show his feelings so easily in return, makes him hate himself a little bit that he can’t.

(sometimes I feel) like a monkey pilot by charlie_mou {_}

Mav’s both eyebrows twitched. “That does sound like it’s going to be a problem.” “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, making himself look straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. “He’s a shithead in the same way you are.” “Bradley,” Mav said, and he was using that tone, the one that made Bradley feel like he was fifteen again. “What? It’s true. He has the same lack of brain-to-mouth filter, doesn’t know when to quit, I can go on if you want,” he said, but Mav didn’t take the bait. They marched down the tarmac, getting closer and closer to the others’ hearing range, and Mav was still staring at him, expecting an explanation. He sighed. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.” “Your—” Mav exclaimed, falling a step behind Bradley, before catching up, striding inches away from Bradley’s side. “From before?” "Yep." “Why didn’t you say anything?” God, why was this tarmac so long? “As much as I’d prefer to avoid him, orders are orders, Mav.” Or, it's time for the special detachment and Bradley's decisions from five years ago are finally catching up with him.

I Lost You Once, But I'll Love You More Than That by PerpetualDusk {E}

As hard as he would love to forget about the time where Bradley, Javy, Natasha, and him, had all went to the same Naval academy- Bradley being two years older than them, but managing to stick to Jake's side, and make time for their friend group-, and had become familiar with one another, than their time at Top Gun shouldn't have been anything short of a friendly reunion. Except, it wasn't. Not in Jake and Bradley's case, for the most part. For them, it was a back-and-forth game of pushing each other's buttons, in which, most cases, Jake would be the first one to comment something that would rile Bradley and get him to fight back, to continue and escalate their verbal war where both of them were too stubborn to back down or admit they were both wrong. That was their thing, however. It was always about pushing the other's buttons- albeit light bantering when they dated-, and that worked for them. The bickering and the arguments happened occasionally, but they never got bad to the point where they plunged a knife deep into the other's gut and twisted it slowly, killing them from the inside. Perhaps, what worked for them was just bound to explode in their faces- and it did, which is why they are the way they are.

Don't let the light go out by JoAnna {M}

Jake doesn’t remember the route to the elevators or even what the rest of the ICU floor looked like, his only focus was to get to Bradley. They found room 309 at the end of the hallway. Jake paused before stepping into the room. He knew that when he stepped through the door his life would be divided into another epoch. Another before and another after and he’s so scared of what the after could be if it doesn’t include Bradley.

Homesick by theinsouciantknitter {T}

Bradley's been homesick for as long as he can remember.

Hangman Origin by Bitter_Rabbit {E}

When they first meet, they aren’t Rooster and Hangman. Not yet. They are just Bradley Bradshaw and Jake Seresin. ----- Strangers to Lovers to Exes to Lovers, because we all know they had history!

Old Habits by Sceld {T}

Jake shuts his eyes and wonders if Bradley knows he’s still here. Wonders if he’s lying awake and wishing with every fibre of his being that he was with Jake. Jake’s hand runs over the worn down fabric of the couch cushion directly in front of his face, letting himself believe for only a second that if he was face to face with Bradley right now he’d have the courage to stroke his cheek and slide into Bradley's embrace rather than making do with his own attempt at it. He'd finally find the words to say what his mind has been screaming for months every time he catches sight of the other. But maybe that’s just Jake. or; Jake has a system that steers him clear of rekindling old romances. It fails.

I’d come back if you'd just call by spiritsontheroof {T}

Jake never thinks about Bradley as the one that got away. That implies that something happened, something beyond control and beyond reason and beyond their best efforts, and it just didn’t work out. But Bradley left. So he didn’t get away. He pulled Jake’s heart out of his chest and crushed it on the tarmac after their TOPGUN graduation, and drove away like Jake wasn’t in the rearview. That’s all they had. Eight weeks, something like ten years ago, that was it. And they spent more of it bickering than they did doing anything else, besides finding secluded corners and supply closets that locked to steal ten minutes alone in. They fought and argued and competed, and spent every moment they could together in-between. Eight weeks. It took less than half of that for Jake to be more than half in love.

Icy Heart (Warm Me Up) by VarjoRuusu {M}

They booked this vacation almost a year ago, and Bradley will be damned if he misses it, but when he pulls up to the remote cabin high in the Sierra's...Jake is there. Eight months after they break up, Bradley and Jake both go to the cabin they booked together, not expecting that the other will turn up. Cue fighting, blizzards, talking, making up, near hypothermia, sharing a bed, make up sex, cute fluffy nonsense, and getting back together.

hold the line (love isn't always on time) by davidbyrne {E}

“So I guess we have to stick together, then,” Bradley says after a beat. Jake raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t respond. It doesn’t matter; Bradley knows it’s a request to elaborate. “At all these events,” he clarifies. “It gets old being the only single person. It would be nice to have someone to turn to when they make everyone pair up.” Or jake and bradley are the last single people in their friend group, and neither of them ever plan to settle down. it makes sense to stick together, right?

cowboy like me by Daringdrinkerofdreams {G}

The first time someone just assumes Jake is an all-American farm boy he is too baffled to correct them. Navy people are gossips, it turns out and before Jake knows it, it’s what everyone thinks. People view him differently, his supervisors think “Cowboy” before they think “loose cannon”, so he runs with it. The only person who knows the truth is Javy, who would never rat him out.

First Love/Late Spring by HalbarryTrashcan {E}

These memories are the scenes replaying in Bradley’s mind over and over again as his plane plummets towards the earth. He always thought when he died he would be thinking about his dad or his mom - hell, given his weird and fucked-up situation with Maverick even that could have been an option. This was the last thing he expected.

hold me through the shakes by spiritsontheroof {_}

Bradley spills hot coffee on his hand three days into their post-mission leave. It’s not until he can’t get the bandage over the blister that he realizes his hands are shaking.

I Am Yours by Booklover03 {_}

Being an Omega with a mating bite and a half-finished mating bond without his Alpha in sight is hard. Hiding the fact that he’s a mated Omega is even harder. What happens when years later he meets his Alpha again? Especially when the other man doesn’t seem to acknowledge the bite mark he left on the Omega years prior.

all our yesterdays by Notchka88 {E}

Everything that happens on the carrier is clockwork; there’s no variation that Jake has noticed in anyone’s behavior or actions unless he initiates something. The changes he effects are inconsequential and the end result is always the same: Bradley dies. And dies. And dies. (Jake gets another chance at the mission, and then another, and another. At a certain point they stop feeling like chances and more like foregone conclusions.)

if it's right, you know by spiritsontheroof {G}

Bradley never saw himself as the kind of guy who settles down. Not because he never wanted to, but in his line of work, it’s hard to get serious with someone he barely sees or find anyone who appreciates his love of flying and doesn’t see it as a liability. Standing at the bar in the Hard Deck two days after the mission, he meets Elizabeth. OR the speak now fic that nobody asked for

spreadin' out his wings tonight by dalearden {M}

He needs this now, because not even an hour ago he nearly lost it forever. Thought it was lost forever anyway, because it’s been years and somewhere along the way love turned to hate and after everything, after nearly dying, Rooster realizes how much that had devastated him all along.

will the teasing of the fire be followed by the thud? by davidbyrne {T}

“Then why do you have to act like such an asshole?” There’s an edge of desperation in Bradley’s voice. Like he’s trying as hard as he can to understand. “Because…you always are first,” Jake offers, shrugging. It’s the truth, as lame as it may be. “I think I have the right to be a dick to the person who broke my heart,” is Bradley’s abrupt response.

If you find yourself thinkin' About that boy from East Texas by Kiddi {M}

“Funnily enough,” he decided to say, hoping he was reading the situation correctly, “this isn't the first sunrise we’ve had, is it?” Jake chuckled softly and made a small noise, “no it is not,” he agreed, “just as pretty though,” “No matter where I go,” he retraced old conversations, “the sunrise always feels like back home.” They settled in comfortable silence for a bit before Jake spoke, “it's been a while since we’ve seen each other,” he said, looking down at the sand, “Spain was it?” he looked over at Rooster, “the last time I saw you?” A little bit of shame and guilt rose in his chest, neither of them kept in touch after Spain but Rooster always felt like it was his fault, “yea, it was,” he nodded, “you haven't changed a bit though, still as annoying as ever,” he laughed, and so did Jake, “but you’re still one hell of a pilot,” Or Bradley and Jake haven't seen each other since running away from their feelings and now they have to realize that they never really went away in the first place

Speak Now by mackwinnon {E}

“Jake,” Bradley whispered his name but remained where he was, not reaching for the other man again. “Just tell me this. Do you love him?” Jake forced himself to nod. “Say it.” But he’d never loved anyone like he’d loved Bradley. “Bradley…” “Baby,” Bradley breathed, finally taking a step towards Jake, noting that Jake didn’t take a step back. “He might have more money than God, might take you anywhere you wanna go and buy you anything you wanna have, but he will never love you as much as I do.” Or: Jake's getting married. But it's not to Bradley.

We Were Something, Don't You Think So? by indybob {T}

Jake has too much to drink, leaving Bradley to take care of him and take him home. When Jake confesses that he still has feelings for Bradley, they’re left with no choice but to talk things over the next morning. Or: Jake gets drunk at the Hard Deck, Bradley rescues him from a creepy guy, Jake confesses he misses Bradley, and they work things out.

Maybe This Time Is Forever by theinsouciantknitter {E}

Jake hasn’t slept in days. Three days, to be exact. Everytime he closes his eyes he sees an outdated F-14 going down in flames into the ocean.

Heaven in Your Eyes by achillesfilms {M}

Maverick had been hit. Then, it was Bradley. “Dagger 2 hit. I repeat, Dagger 2 has been hit.” Maverick makes it back to the hanger without Rooster, and everyone thinks he is dead.

When We Collide (We Come Together) by ReiverReturns {E}

A one-two punch out, thick black smoke belching in ropes from the hills and scrub. He was sure, so sure that was it. So he left the base, aimless with momentum and frenetic without cause. Seeing Hangman is the only time Rooster’s felt like stopping.

I Love You More than Tongue Can Tell by Contech00 {T}

The Valentine's Day after the mission doesn't go to plan for Jake which sends him spiraling back to the old flame that used to exist between him and Bradley.

dust in the ground by kateofspades {_}

The only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave.

or: jake lost a wso

When the Time Comes by elwenyere {T}

Bradley remembers it the way his fingers remember a chord: by ear, like he’s an echo of someone else’s sound. ----- Or, 5 times someone held Bradley + 1 time he held someone else

lovers like to burn by nocturnelight {M}

Jake’s problem, though, is that he’s never really known what was good for him. Never had much of a self preservation instinct. And if the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results, then Jake might be the maddest man on earth when it comes to Bradley Bradshaw.

An Unexpected Visitor by DraconisWing24441 {T}

It's been a year since the mission, a year since Bradley and Jake have seen each other and decided to start over, but as friends. But when Jake decides to show up at Bradley's house one night, old feelings are rekindled and starting over, together, suddenly seems a hell of a lot more possible than before. ***** Unlocking the door, Bradley yanked it open with the full intention of ripping into the person pounding on his door for no good reason only to freeze as the open door revealed a soaking wet Hangman on his front stoop. Frozen in shock – he hadn’t seen Hangman since the mission ended – Bradley found himself just staring at him as he tried to process the presence of the blonde aviator in front of him. Bradley asked, “Hangman? Wh–what are you doing here? And why are you soaking wet?”

This is me trying by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley tries to make things right before it’s too late.

One and Only by hngstercity {E}

“C’mon, Bradley.” Oh, now he’s using his real name? Fuck him. “You haven’t had anyone after him.” “I did. You know I did, Maverick. You’re the nosiest Alpha I know, and I know you know any time I’ve slept with someone. You can’t keep your fucking nose out of my business.” And he means it literally, because anytime Bradley had someone over, the next day Pete would always inflate his nostrils to process every single scent that came out of Bradley. Including his hormones, including Jake’s missing ones. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You haven’t had anyone you loved after him. You haven’t mated. If I asked you to talk to me about love, would you tell me about someone that isn’t him?” No. And that’s the fucking problem. Jake is back in town, and Bradley is forced to face him, their past and their future.

Cool About It by hushywushy {M}

If Jake thought hard about it, it was almost inevitable that he would end up here. Freaking out in his car on his way to Bradley fucking Bradshaw’s housing assignment. And he was terrified.

I can hear it now like I heard it then (c'mon, I dare you) by davidbyrne {M}

He and Jake have been many things to each other, from rivals to genuine enemies to tentative friends to lovers. But they’ve never once, in their entire acquaintance, been awkward with one another. Even in those early days of a relationship, when the boundaries between friendship and something more were soft and blurry, Bradley never felt at a loss for words. They fight and they fuck and they whisper embarrassingly soft things and they banter inconsequentially, but they’re never silent. But they’ve never been broken up before. Or two road trips, four months apart

bad idea, right? by ok_thanks {M}

From: ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!!! (AGAIN) No greeting for me? Don’t I get that Bradshaw hospitality?

A Line Dancing Rooster by 2manyf4nd0ms {_}

“How come you’re not dancing?” Bradley asks, and Jake finally looks at him. Sweat gleams on the former’s forehead in the bar lighting. It’s Jake’s turn to smirk smugly, albeit feign. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.” “Right,” Bradley chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. “I forgot you’re the master at line dancing because you’re from Texas. My apologies.” Hangman rolls his eyes, playfully scoffing. “Damn right, I am.” Or, When The Hard Deck hosts a line dancing event for a night, Hangman takes the Dagger squadron for shits and giggles. He just doesn’t expect a certain Rooster to be good at it and old feelings arise.

When you love someone, you tell them that they're the one by alltherecklesshours {T}

The bunk was much smaller than Bradley remembered, but he knew he wouldn't let Jake slip. "Marry me." Bradley's breathing hitched. He wasn't supposed to say it out loud. They had stopped doing that for a reason.

flying against ghosts by sky_of_starflowers {G}

When Maverick's busy asking everyone why they didn't survive the training course, Hangman goes mouthing off. He touches a nerve, and Mav and Rooster have a little bit of explaining to do. “You fly against a ghost, Rooster,” he continues, undeterred, and it shakes Mav’s brain, rattles loose a memory of Goose telling Mav the same thing at TOPGUN. Goose asking Mav to let them graduate because he’s got a family to think about, a wife and a kid, Carole and Bradley, and all of a sudden, Mav’s 24 again and cocky, recently reprimanded for a flyby that his backseater asked him not to do. It steals his breath away, Goose’s voice ringing in his ears, and he’s staring at Bradley when his knees start to give out.

Second Time Around by All_InProcess {T}

With the way that everything ended, Jake knew that he had no right to start getting jealous now. The whole mess was on him in a way, anyway. That logic, however, didn't stop the jealousy from creeping into the back of his mind when he heard about Bradley moving onwards and upwards. And, just like everything else with the two of them, trying to figure out where to go from here wasn't nearly as easy as either of them wanted to be. They just had to hope that it was all going to work out in the end.

It's the only way we know how to rock by trinipedia {T}

Bradley and Jake, once deeply in love, separated for reasons now shrouded in regret. As they navigate separate lives, the echoes of their past leave them yearning for one another, while they grapple with the possibility of rewriting their love story.

Home for the Holidays by Nickies_Nonsense {G}

“Well let me know if you need a ride anywhere,” Rooster said. Jake did not think he was serious. “For real?” he asked, shoving the note of hope back down his own throat, “I might need to take you up on that like..soon.” Rooster gave him a little smile, “I mean it, it’s the season of giving and all that bullshit,” he drawled. “Plus you got me coffee so I owe you.” Or, how Jake and Bradley got back together just in time for the holidays with the help of one broken car, a scheming Maverick, and the spirit of Christmas to guide them. Featuring lots of Jake questioning his life decisions, his ideals, and why Bradley needs to consume unreasonable amounts of sugary coffee everyday.

my heart is a christmas tree farm by greatea {E}

It's not like going to your ex-boyfriend's family Christmas while pretending to still be dating is a common favor to be asked for. But he did agree to this, when Jake phoned him up. It hadn't even taken much convincing. First, Jake had expected an immediate no when he called Bradley one Thursday evening. That didn't come. After Jake explained the situation, Bradley had said that he'd think about it. He called back an hour later. Jake's unsure what he would have done if Bradley had said no. Called his mom back and said, "Hey, do you remember when you asked me if I was bringing my boyfriend Bradley to Christmas this year, and I said yes? Yeah, we broke up two months ago and I lied for no reason"? - or the one with the fake dating

C'mere by Highsmith {T}

Jake never starts shit. Not in the traditional sense. Shit is more like the eventual consequence with him a lot of the time. But he does his best to get the last word regardless. For that, he needs to not be scrambling at the last moment, clotheslined by forces outside his control.

It's not living, if it's not with you by marchrain {G}

i think about you (so don't let go)

Bradley turns his entire body to face Jake, his heels snugly dug into the poorly shovelled snow. He just looks at Jake, a soft and gentle look lingering in his gaze. He had missed this, being alone with Jake, seeing him under his gleaming armour of Hangman, acting as no one else but Jake Seresin. Jake, he thinks. Not Hangman. -- or: jake & bradley take a morning walk in the winter, and they talk about their feelings

it's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

“You know, you can be honest with me, Jake,” Bradley says, tone like he’s talking to a small puppy, tone so gentle. Honest? He doubts complete honesty is possible when the need for Bradley as something more than friends gnaws at him with every waking moment. -- or: jake & bradley take a morning walk in the winter, and they talk about their feelings (jake pov this time)

#Getting Back Together Recs List #hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈

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slippinmickeys · 8 months ago

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Hello I was wondering if you can give me advice to publish a Fic .. I am new on this and and I have no idea how this works or if I need to tag somebody... I also heard about beta's .. what Is a beta? Any feedback you can provide It will be much appreciated .. thanks!!

Hi! How cool that you have a story you’re willing to share. I’m so happy for you and those of us who’ll get to read it.

Before you publish, let me first answer your question about betas. A beta reader is kind of like an editor; it’s a person who reads your work before you publish it. Most betas will catch typos and grammar issues, as well as plot inconsistencies, etc. A good beta will point out instances when your characters are acting out of character, or when you’re not following canon (if you’re trying to follow canon). But fear not! Betas also highlight stuff they love and make you feel very warm and gooey. (There are also plenty of betas who will give you a read and just give you encouragement. When I beta — something I sadly rarely have the bandwidth for anymore — I tend to ask what kind of read the writer is looking for; deep dive pick-it-apart beta? feel good beta? typos only beta?) Beta readers are, in my opinion, absolutely essential to putting out good fic. And most of them are absolutely dear people who are only pointing out your mistakes because they want you to put out the best work possible. Don’t take anything personally. (A thick skin isn’t necessary, but helps.) If you don’t have a beta or two, get one. And if you don’t know where to find one and would like help, feel free to send me another ask, and I’ll reblog to help put out the call.

Now, onto your other question. How does publishing a fic work? I can only speak to how I do it, but goes a bit like this:

Once my story is finished and beta-ed, the first thing I do is publish it to AO3. (If you don’t have an account, get one! This process may take a few days.) I assume you read fic, so you’re familiar with tags, ratings, etc. Next is formatting. Use Rich Text rather than HTML (there are buttons at the top right). If you’re publishing from a Google doc, you will annoyingly need to remove extra spaces. You’ll get a feel for it.

Once it’s on AO3, I copy and paste from there to Tumblr. My advice is to use the desktop version rather than mobile—you won’t have to reformat. I don’t usually tag anyone, but blogs like @today-in-fic are great to get more eyes on your work.

From there I also post a link to the story on AO3 to Twitter, but that’s only because I have a fic/fandom specific account.

Let’s see, what else. I hope that was helpful. If you feel like I skipped steps or you’re more confused than when you started, I’m happy to clarify. Good luck and happy writing!

#fanfic #asks

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tradetobest · 1 year ago

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Sidgeno recs if you have them please??

OK SO. here is the full version of the shortened version of my sidgeno fic rec list!! this is shortened from my fics bookmarked as recs on ao3, and is literally my favourite sidgeno fics of all time. please read all of them and feel free to tell me what you think because i LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH ok

More Things In Heaven And Earth by CloudCover (Unrated, 23.8k)

The hydrophones have been picking up nonsense for the past three days and Zhenya has had it up to here, honestly.

i must have babbled about this fic for a full fucking week to anyone who would listen after i finished it. MERMAIDS. the way their relationship develops over time. the way. the way EVERYTHING. i love this fic with my whole heart

King's Court by hazel_3017 (G, 4k)

“Yes, hello. My name is Sidney Crosby—” Geno’s jaw drops, and when he turns his head back towards the audience, Sidney Crosby, the Sidney Crosby, is standing by the mic, looking up at the panel of players and introducing himself as if he isn’t the best hockey player in the goddamn world. As if he’s not the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins, and as if they haven’t all played against him dozens of times before. Or, the one where Sid is training in L.A. when the Kings host their Cup Fan Convention. Or, Geno hasn't been playing up to beautiful Sidney Crosby's standards and is appropriately horrified by this.

one thing you might notice about me is that i am an absolute sucker for fluff like i would do anything for fluff EVER and this fic is SO cute and fluffy and just!! they fall in love. im obsessed w them

Just What Was Rumpelstiltskin Expecting to Do with a Baby, Anyway? by withershins (T, 24.7k)

Turning to a witch to save a loved one's life is one of the riskier gambles a person can take, but it's one that's arguably noble and brave. Falling in love with the witch, though—now that's just foolish.

now if theres any sidgeno fic i have recced more than the first one its this one because OH MY GOD i love this fic so much. like .... the tumblr post its based off of is one of my favourite little blurb posts EVER and withershins captured it PERFECTLY this fic is PERFECT to me..... please read this

Clear Blue Morning by CloudCover (Unrated, 10.4k)

Zhenya is re-looping the hair elastic around Alina's braid when he becomes aware there’s someone standing in the doorway. He glances up, and his hands freeze in place. Sidney fucking Crosby is standing there, looking hesitant, with a half-empty water bottle dangling from one hand.

not only am i a sucker for kid fics i am an absolute SUCKER for single parent/hockey player fics, and this encapsulates my love for that. plus, geno's daughter is adorable in this. i ADORE this fic ive read it like 8 times.

The Magic of His Touch by VelvetPaw (M, 32.8k)

Geno suffers a knee injury at the end of the 2020-2021 season that refuses to heal. A visit to a local witch's shop brings healing and an unexpected touch of magic into Geno's life. “I want to reduce a little of the heat and swelling so I can get a clearer picture of what’s going on. Do you mind if I cast a small spell?” Sid looked to Geno for permission. Geno bit his lip but nodded hesitantly. Sid closed his eyes and chanted the familiar words softly under his breath. He personally thought of this as his “ice pack” spell since he’d perfected it on himself and his teammates in minors when they got bruised up during games.

ANOTHER WITCH/HOCKEY PLAYER AU like can you tell i love these so fucking much or what. this one is ALSO amazing PLEASE read this like idk how to babble about this fic because im obsessed with everything about it.

you are the one who'd make me lose it all (this) by cinderlily (T, 21.1k)

It starts with a cold. AKA, the fic where they are both journalists, Sid marries Geno for healthcare and there is a metric tonne of feelings.

first of all, i love so much of cinderlily's stuff it was hard to like. pick and choose. but THIS FIC.... OUGHHHHHHH. i love "we're married but not for love for this other thing. no we're not in love. guys. guys please." sort of thing and this does it PERFECT ok im crazy

saving nickels, saving dimes by CoffeeStars (T, 6.3k)

Poor Sidney, is what Geno must think. Poor, poor, lonely Sidney. Unloved, unwanted. What a shame it is, to be the best player in his generation but still be no one at the same time.

ANGST. OUGHHH. fics that stab me in the heart are always the best fics. ALWAYS. mutual pining to the death

Starstruck by Anonymous (G, 3.7k)

The first time Geno sees Sidney Crosby he’s crying into Tanger’s shoulder as Sid learns how to walk again on the big screen.

THIS FIC AGAIN BECAUSE I LOVE IT SO MUCH!! nonhockey/hockey is always gonna be my favourite i swear

#fic recs #asks #PLEASE READ ALL OF THESE #thanks anon for letting me babble abt these idiots bcs people write SUCH good fics abt them its crazy

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sea-owl · 2 years ago

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You know I just realized I didn't really say anything about Spring's Rebirth until I posted the first chapter. That's not how I work and we all know it. It's probably fair I give an overview like all my other aus.

For those curious here is the first two chapters on Tumblr: Part 1, Part 2

And the link for AO3: Link

So for anyone who hasn't seen it Spring's Rebirth is my polin hades and persephone au. This is my the fic that I am actually flushing out into a full story, don't ask me how it happened. I was reading the homeric hymn to Demeter then the writing bug bit me one day and now I am two chapters posted with others already written/being written. This is probably going to be my most ambitious au yet, so we'll see how it goes.

For those not familiar with the myth in it Hades kidnaps and marries Persephone under the permission of her father Zeus but no one told her mother Demeter who basically has full custody. Demeter goes looking for daughter only to be finally told after a period of weeks to months that she was kidnaped and taken to the Underworld. Demeter begs Zeus to bring her back but he refused saying that she now essentially belongs to Hades. In response Demeter in her grief stops doing her job as the goddess of agriculture, letting the harvests die and creating a famine. This turns into the mortals begging the gods for help overwhelming them, and in a sense weakening them since no sacrifices were being made to the gods. This is what finally gets Zeus to send for Persephone to be reunited with her mother.

Meanwhile down in the Underworld Persephone is in this between state almost. In some versions she is called Kore before being taken which commonly is translated to mean maiden. She goes back in forth between Kore, her mother's daughter, and Persephone, Hades wife and Queen of the Underworld. I personally saw it partially as the adjustment period someone usually has when they are first married, especially during a time where dating wasn't really a thing. Hades who wants Persephone to stay with him is promising her that not only will she be his wife, but she will be his equal as his queen. That means hell of a lot back then, especially since the idea of kleos, what you are remembered for, the fame and glory that lives on after you, is huge thing that even the poets call for it when they are reciting the myths. I can see why girlie was so conflicted.

By the time someone is sent to get Persephone, usually Hermes, it is too late. By that point in time Persephone has eaten six pomegranate seeds that were grown in the underworld, and or she consummated the marriage with Hades. One retelling has Hermes basically catching Hades and Persephone in bed. Demeter is still not backing down though so a new deal is made. Because Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds she is to stay six months of the year with Hades in the Underworld, and six months of the year with her mother Demeter in the world above.

Now obviously in this fic we have our major players of Colin as Hades, Penelope as Persephone, and Portia as Demeter. There will be two main line stories as there is of the originally myth which is the one told in the underworld of Hades and Persephone's story as the love story/rise to power and the one told in the mortal world of Demeter's maternal grief. Some things will changed and expanded upon, either to better flow the story, and incorporate aspects from the Bridgerton universe. One of these changes will be the Zeus in my universe will not be Persephone's father. My Zeus is Anthony and while I ship Portia and Violet I ain't touching the idea of Portia and Anthony sleeping together with a ten foot pole.

Another change will be that Colin is an active Olympian. I know in the myths Hades is kinda doing his own thing in the Underworld but my Olympians will be the Bridgerton family and eventually adding the spouses when they decide to get married. Which honestly makes sense as the Olympians are just generally Zeus, his wife, his siblings, and his kids with maybe Aphrodite being the exception depending which version she is.

Also if you don't think I am not throwing in besties Phillip and Penelope you don't know me very well. I will be making sure this can be added to the Phillip & Penelope tag on AO3. Phillip does kinda have a godly counterpart I'm working off of for his position. Kudos to you if you can guess it.

#bridgerton #hades and persephone au #spring's rebirth #polin #myth retelling #fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction

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3pirouette · 3 years ago

Text

A Red, White, and Blue Christmas (7/?)

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They’re not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: White Christmas AU. Peggy is pulled from Project Rebirth, setting off a chain of events that leaves Steve and Bucky unharmed at the end of the War, but never having met. Until, that is, their paths cross as professional performers. Steggy Secret Santa gift for @roboticonography

Chapter 6: The Play’s The Thing

Chapter Summary: In which they start rehearsing for the show.

Chapter A/N: Chapter 5 was about 3 minutes of screen time. Almost NONE of this is actually a part of the movie. I just… I don’t know anymore. This is going to be SO LONG.

Sorry about the hiatus. I had an amazing two weeks away. I hope to get back onto a regular posting schedule until this is done.

It has occurred to me, JUST NOW, that the same dining room they watch Sisters in the first time at the Inn, is ALSO the same room they use as a theater. As in, I was today years old when I figured that out about this movie. Go figure. For purposes of this story, they’re two separate places.

Also, for anyone interested, the costumes described below (if you’re not familiar with the film) can be found with a quick search. Angie’s is Vera Ellen’s white costume from “Mandy” and Peggy’s is Rosemary Clooney’s dress from the “Mr. Bones” number.

The version of the song Peggy sings that I’m referencing is from (only slightly embarrassingly) Lois And Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. I was apparently very impressionable when I was young- I’ve never liked a version of that song better and I don’t know why.

~*~

The front lawn of the Inn was a raucous mess of barely controlled chaos. Bucky and Jarvis directed the traffic as men and women unloaded trucks into the big barn, pulling large set pieces and small trunks across the too green grass. Peggy and Angie helped Ana sort out the rooms, taking people and luggage back to make way for the set pieces. Steve seemed to somehow have everything moving smoothly and quickly, Will and his trusty clipboard by his side as he bounced from truck to trunk to set piece to say help to everyone, thank them for coming, and see just who, and what, had made it up to Vermont.

To say the Colonel was surprised at the circus that greeted him as he drove up was an understatement. He’d left the quiet, empty inn just a few hours ago to head into town, and returned to more people at his Inn than he’d ever seen. He pressed his lips together as he pulled further up the driveway and caught sight of the mop of blonde hair dead in the center of it. “Rogers…” he mumbled to himself, watching another giant set piece be pulled into his barn.

He jumped out of his jeep, looking around and wishing, for once in his life, that he had his good old helmet. “Rogers! Barnes! Carter!” His bellow carried over the whole area, stopping every one dead in their tracks.

Steve felt a shiver go up his spine, the kind he hadn’t felt since the last time he’d been yelled at in the middle of occupied France. He turned, slowly, and joined Bucky and Peggy as they met Phillips by his car, Will moving everyone back into action at the wave of Steve’s hand.

“Sir,” Steve started, his voice far steadier than he felt when met with Phillips’ stern look.

“Col… Mister Phillips, sir,” Bucky stuttered out, the desire to call him by his rank strong enough to cause him to fumble.

Peggy stood tall and quiet, lips pressed tight to hold back a smile.

Phillips shook his head at her and eyed the boys. “What is all this?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story,” Steve started, only slightly bashful, “but you’re full by about half now.”

“Paying customers!” Bucky added, smiling.

Phillips shook his head. “While that’s lovely,” sarcasm dripped from his lips, “can you tell me why it looks like a circus is about to take up residence in my ski lodge?”

“Captain Rogers actually had quite the brilliant idea,” Peggy started. Steve couldn’t tell if she was trying to build him up or throw him under the bus. “We were discussing what a shame it was that they had no place to rehearse over the holiday and they had to cancel their shows and stop paying their performers because business was so bad.”

“Yeah,” Phillips groused, narrowing his eyes at her. He could tell it was a lie, but wasn’t about to let that on. “Keep going.”

“Well, sir, you see, this space is idea for rehearsing.” Steve smiled, but Phillips’ expression didn’t change and his smile faded. “It’s big and open and even has that elevated stage area. We figured if we brought some of the show up here, we could rehearse, and test out some new material.”

Phillips shook his head at Steve. “Carter’s right. That does sound just like some hair brained, half assed idea you’d have.”

“Sir, it really is ideal—” Bucky started, trying to help but still stammering a bit.

“Ideal. You keep saying that.” Phillips looked down his nose at the sergeant, causing him to snap his mouth shut. “How are you going to test out new material without an audience?” He shook his head then looked back over to the porch where Jarvis was helping Angie sort guests. “Mister Fancy Pants over there hasn’t cracked a smile since he got here, and he and his wife are the only reliable audience I can supply.”

“We were planning on taking a trip into town,” Peggy’s tone shifted, and Steve started to see the woman he was familiar with from Lehigh shine though: assured, confident, and with a plan. “Angie and I were going to spread some word-of-mouth rumors that Rogers and Barnes were up here, and that should at least get the ball rolling.”

“We ain’t never had a problem getting asses in seats.” Bucky’s smile faded when Phillips turned to him, disappointment clear on his face at his word choice. “Sir. Butts in… Derrieres in chairs.” He coughed, turning a little red. “People in the house.”

“Alright,” Phillips rolled his eyes at Bucky and looked them all over. “You can use it, though asking first might have been the better move…” He shifted his gaze, looking down his nose at Steve as if he were still a foot shorter. “But, whenever have you thought to ask first about anything, Rogers?”

Steve nodded, thinking back to when he went AWOL and against orders more times than not. “Yes, understood.”

“Good. Don’t let it happen again.” Phillips moved past them, shaking his head as he made his way towards Jarvis. “There is a lot about this showbusiness stuff I do not understand.”

~*~

By the afternoon, the ski lodge looked a different place: curtains were hung and sets were already starting to fill out the stage, while the chirus rehearsed brightly in the floor, chairs and tables pulled over to the sides of the room.

By the next morning, Peggy felt like they’d been in rehearsals already for weeks. Will was a dream: passing out scripts and sheet music, tacking down-to-the-minute rehearsal schedules to their doors, and answering any question she could come up with.

Steve and Bucky were a blur, bouncing around the lodge and leading the way as they started to tailor their show to what and who they had.

By that afternoon, Peggy had already had three rehearsals and found herself in a hastily constructed dressing room in a costume fitting with Angie in the little curtained stall next to her, the tones of the rehearsing chorus in the background.

Angie pulled the stockings up over her leg, bumping into the haphazardly hung curtains around her. “You know, I never thought this would be the kind of show I’d want to be in.”

“But?” Peggy’s voice drifted from the opposite side of the makeshift dressing room curtain where she was trying on her own costume.

Angie sighed, running her hands over the pile of white satin before she stepped into the leotard. “But… the costumes, the lights, the people…” She paused as she shimmied carefully into her costume, gently pulling the satin up over her hips. “I mean, gawd, English!” Her accent slipped heavily into her words as she fawned, running her hands over the satin. “It’s lined! I ain’t never had a lined costume before. And it don’t smell like cigarette butts, isn’t missing any spangles…” Angie sighed happily, stepping out of the one edge of the curtain and looked at herself in the mirror that was leaning against the wall there. She smiled at Ana, who was standing next to it with a measuring tape around her neck and a handful of pins. “You think they’d consider…”

Peggy huffed, still behind the curtain, the soft sounds of her voice making it clear she was having more trouble with her costume than Angie had had with hers. “Consider what?”

“Keeping us on?” Angie stood still, letting Ana move around her. Ana knelt to the floor, measuring the tulle that draped from her hips against her ankle and setting a straight pin in it.

“They’d be fools not to,” Ana chimed in. “The little that I’ve seen? You two shine next to those boys.”

“I’m sure they’d consider keeping us on for a bit,” Peggy mumbled, finally starting to sound more like herself.

“Well, if Bucky and I have our way,” Angie whispered down to Ana, a conspiratorial smile on her face, “Steve will be keeping you on for the long haul.”

“I couldn’t hear you, what was that?” Peggy called.

Angie hid her giggles. “Noth-thing,” she sing-songed, sharing another glace with Ana. “Just letting Ana make me look amazing.”

Peggy didn’t seem to hear any of their scheming and moved the conversation ahead. “How does yours fit?”

“Like a dream.” Angie smiled, but Ana frowned at her and gathered the considerable extra fabric around her bust and secured it with a pin. “Ok, so it’s got a little extra here and there, but nothing horrible, right?”

Ana smiled, speaking expertly around the pins she held in her teeth. “Not even the worst fit I’ve seen today.” She slipped them out from her lips and finished securing them in the costume, then turned Angie back to the mirror. Angie squealed in delight, and Ana turned back to the other make-shift dressing room. “What about you, Peggy?”

“I’m afraid it’s too tight.” Her voice was flat, and there was no sound of her moving to leave the small space.

“Well, don’t fret,” Ana turned back to the little table that held her tools. “Will said there’s plenty of options if we need to find another…” Ana’s words tumbled to a halt as Peggy stepped out of the curtain, eyes uncertain and hands at her sides.

“Oh no, it’s that bad?” Peggy asked, looking at herself in the mirror. “I knew it was too tight.”

Angie shook her head, eyes wide. “You’re gonna kill him.”

“What?” Peggy looked at her over her shoulder, still looking at how the black, sequined gown hugged every curve of her body in the mirror. “Who?”

“Steve! You’re gonna kill him!” Angie replied, louder this time. “The whole freakin’ Nazi army couldn’t do it and he’s gonna get one look at you in that dress and…” Angie whistled a long note as she tipped her hand down, mimicking him passing out. “Forget about tight, that’s just…”

“Stop it,” Peggy rolled her eyes, but neither Angie nor Ana missed the way her cheeks pinked up. “I don’t think I can breathe, never mind sing!”

“Actually…” Ana slipped behind Peggy, standing her up tall in the mirror. She looked her over, pulling her shoulders back and running her hand over the seams of the dress. Ana hummed, looking over where the dress hugged her tight, fingers pulling back rows of sequins to look at the seams.

“Can you fix it?” Peggy asked, meeting Ana’s eyes in the mirror. She ran her hands over her hips, “It really is quite beautiful.”

“Angie, hand me the seam ripper.” Ana grabbed Peggy’s hands and pressed them to the front of her chest, holding the sweetheart neckline with the tiny pop of red between her breasts against her chest. “Hands up, my friend, the chorus boys have been known to poke their heads in now and again.” Ana took the seam ripper from Angie and started gently pulling threads from the back. She smiled as Peggy finally took a deep breath when she was low enough.

“That feels so much better,” Peggy smiled and started to relax, but immediately pulled her hands back as the dress started to slip off of her.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ll have to put straps on it!” Angie rested her hip on the little table, frowning.

“Oh no,” Ana pointed at, then held out her hand for, the red length of ribbon by Angie’s hip. “We tuck the extra black sequins under, then match this red ribbon here to the red accents up front and turn it into a corset back. Tight where she needs it, and room to breathe!” Ana spun Peggy to show her where she was holding the ribbon against her back to simulate the crisscross that would eventually be there.

Peggy admired herself in the mirror, a small smile forming on her face. “And they’re making you do the laundry around here. What a complete misuse of talent!”

Ana chuckled, waving at Angie for some pins from the table. “Well, you’d do the laundry, too, if you saw what happened when Colonel Phillips tried.”

“Knock knock,” Bucky’s voice sounded outside the curtain, interrupting their laughter. He didn’t wait for the invitation, though, and pushed his head through, a wolffish smile on his lips. “Came to see…. Wowza.” His expression changed as soon as she took them in, eyes blatantly raking over Angie and Peggy as Ana shook her head at him, fingers still diligently pinning Peggy’s dress. “You ladies look…”

“Good?” Angie asked, spinning for him. “Amazing?” She dipped, pressing her hips out just a little too much as she came back up. “Fabulous?”

“Ten out of ten,” Bucky replied, standing tall as he stepped in the room and smiling. “Total knock outs.”

“Quite different from our usual kit,” Peggy added in, amused at his antics.

He shook his head. “Those fluffy monstrosities weren’t doing you dames justice.”

“Did you have a reason for your visit,” Ana asked, fingers finally still and resting on her hips as she turned to him, “or did you just come to ogle?”

“Nah, ogling is a perk.” He smiled and lifted his eyebrows suggestively. He turned serious quickly, “I came to see if Peggy had a few minutes tonight to go over a new song I picked for her and Steve.”

Peggy turned to him, hands still holding the dress to her chest tightly. “I’m free right after this for a few minutes.” She shook her head. “Steve and Will have my day packed.”

“He’s really working hard to make sure this goes well for the Colonel.” Bucky’s silliness melted to sincerity. “I can’t tell you what a help you girls have been.” He paused, smiling at Ana. “All of you, really.” He included Ana with a nod of his head. “Stop by my little office,” he chuckled as he referred to the corner of the barn where he’d turned a few leftover milk-crates into a makeshift desk, “and we can talk through the song. We’ll schedule you two to work on it tomorrow.”

He turned, looking Angie over again. “You think you can dance in that?”

Angie rolled her eyes at him, circled her hips then kicked her leg up so high she purposefully just missed his chin. “What do you think, Barnes?”

He nodded, fighting the smile that wanted to erupt on his face. “I think we got the best Mandy we could have asked for.” He cleared his throat and turned back to Ana. “You think these will be ready for the runs right after lunch?”

“As long as Mister Jarvis can keep the Colonel busy, you’ll have them before lunch.” Ana smiled. “It’s so nice to be sitting at a sewing machine again.”

Bucky nodded, smiling. “You know, the way things are running so smooth here, Phillips will be lucky if we don’t steal you and Jarvis for our show. We ain’t never had it run this good.”

“Maybe you should just all stay here.” Angie mused, shrugging.

Bucky turned his head quickly, surprised and intrigued. “Stay here?”

“Why not?” Angie leaned back on the small table, playing with the tulle at her hip. “Summer season in New York, winter in Vermont.” She shrugged. “You’re spending all this time and money and energy on turning this barn into a stage, why not use it?”

Bucky’s face slowly changed, his eyes turning bright as thoughts raced through his head. He pulled Angie to him and smacked an energetic kiss on her cheek. “Bless you, I might get two hours to myself!”

The three women watched in amazement as he bounded out of the curtain. “You think he’s ever going to tell us what that’s about?” Peggy mused, shaking her head at the swinging curtain.

“I certainly hope so,” Angie groused. “I’m nosy and it’s driving me nuts not asking!”

~*~

The barn was chilly, and Peggy kept wrapped tight in the fluffy robe while she waited in the empty house, only a few sparse chairs here and there for the afternoon’s run through of the numbers that had been rehearsed already.

The majority of the show already existed and just needed to be adjusted for people who weren’t there or who were in new roles. It was just the numbers with Peggy and Angie, and the few things Steve and Bucky planned on changing, that needed to be taught and rehearsed. Steve and Bucky had an amazing cast that dazzled her for the majority of the afternoon. She and Angie had watched nearly a dozen fabulous numbers make their way across the stage already. She and Angie still needed to learn quite a bit, but Steve and Bucky had been adamant they be involved in this first run.

On stage, Angie smiled as she spun and dipped, flanked by a bevy of strong men in green suits. Peggy couldn’t help but smile as they lifted her high. Angie loved every little thing about this show, and Peggy was going to move heaven and earth to make sure Rogers and Barnes kept her with them even when this was over. Peggy didn’t mind and even enjoyed singing to little crowds. All she wanted was a piano and a microphone and for the people she sang for to enjoy what she was doing and not be a part of a genocidal political party, and she’d be happy. Angie needed more. Angie wanted the rush of the stage and quick changes and the excitement of a standing ovation.

Peggy didn’t know what she was going to have to do to make that happen for her, but if she could take down Hydra, she could get her friend a job in this show.

“Mandy, there’s a minister handy…” the chorus sang brightly, most of them in costume, a handful of them only partly dressed as coats and pants waited to be altered. Angie looked like a pop of fresh snow in her white leotard against the red and green chorus and set. Peggy wondered at the way she moved, at how fast she’d learned the complicated duets and high-flying lifts over the staircase. Peggy was brave, but she didn’t know if she’d take her life in her hands and throw herself off stairs into the waiting arms of chorus boys she’d only met the day before.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked forward in the audience to see Steve sitting in his chair, a makeshift table of crates in front of him, his foot tapping along as he made notes. She watched the shadows curve over his silhouette, entranced at how he kept time and did so many other things at once.

“Ma’am?”

The voice startled her, and she looked up to find Will there, clipboard in hand. “Yes?”

“You’re next.”

She nodded, thanking him and slipping away. She was nervous. Steve had asked her to pick a song this morning in a rush between rehearsals. She hadn’t said much but simply nodded, memories of the night before burning to redden her cheeks as he walked away.

She’d never told anyone about her nightmares before, and while it made her feel so exposed, she’d also never slept as soundly, or feeling as safe, as she had when she’d gone back to bed that night.

She’d pulled the sheet music out of her bag, unsure, but had handed it to their pianist that morning, anyway. Now, as she slipped out of her robe and stood on the side of the stage in the sparkling black dress that Ana had so masterfully and quickly altered, Will ushering a single microphone to the center and one spotlight flickering to life for her, she was suddenly more nervous than she’d ever been.

The sounds of her heels on the wooden stage seemed too loud as she moved to take her place, her heart seemed to pound in her chest at the quiet breaths she could hear from the dark, mysterious audience. The dress all of a sudden felt too tight and too revealing.

He wasn’t going to like it.

She was going to pour her heart out in song, and he was going to hate it.

The song wouldn’t be right for the show.

The dress would be too much.

She wouldn’t be good enough to sing solo for a big show like this.

She’d never felt nerves like this before, but suddenly there was the familiar cord of the piano, and a calm descended over her. She stepped up to the microphone and took hold of it, closing her eyes.

If she could sing to the highest levels of Hitler’s regime and pretend to like it, she could damn well sing to Captain Rogers and enjoy it.

She took a deep breath, and her voice flowed out, low and honeyed. “How glad a million laddies, from millionaires to caddy’s would be… to capture me.” She took another slow breath and opened her eyes. “But you had such persistence, you wore down my resistance. I fell,” she smiled, the nerves flowing out of her and confidence building, “and it was swell.”

“You’re my big and brave and handsome Romeo,” she continued, shoulders starting to move with the cords of the piano. “How I won you I shall never, never know.” She set both hands on the microphone. “It’s not that you’re attractive, but oh, my heart grew active when you… came into view.”

She drew in a slow deep breath, wishing there was a drum to pull the low notes out of, to help her find the sway, but continued anyway. “I’ve got a crush on you, sweetie pie. All the day and night time, hear me sigh.” She let her voice lift high, soaring and falling with the melody. “I’ve never had the least notion, that I could fall with so much emotion.”

She continued singing, looking out into the dark where she saw a figure stand. It was only shadows, but she kept singing, watching as the shadowy figure stepped slowly closer and closer.

In Germany she would have tensed, let her hand slip lower to her thigh holster if anyone stood and approached while she was singing. Now, she let her hand slide over the sequins to her thigh, dipping forward and falling deeper into the music as she sang.

She’d always loved this song: always wished she’d fully feel what she thought it could be, always wished she’d know the kind of love that it extolled, and imagined night after night as she sang it that there was some sort of big love out there for her.

The shadowy figure continued to move forward, and it felt like a dream: like as soon as he stepped close enough into the light he’d reveal himself as her great love. It felt like a moment from a movie or a romance novel.

“We could share the world,” she let the note soar just as Steve stepped into the light, the shadows falling away around him, his face smooth and hard to read, but his eyes on her. “Well, pardon my mush,” she continued, looking him right back in the eyes, “but, I have got a crush,” she smiled, licking her bright red lips, but he didn’t move, “my baby, on you.”

She let the last note linger as the piano played low, concluding cords. She gently held the microphone stand with both hands, catching her breath.

Steve nodded once, almost a hint of a smile on his face, before he turned and left the barn.

She pretended not to feel hurt by the sound of his footsteps moving away, and instead smiled up at the raucous applause coming from those in the theater. She tried to focus on the wolf whistles and the bright, happy cheers from Angie whose voice she could pick out in any crowd, instead of the tightening in her chest.

~*~

He should go back.

He paced outside the barn; hands shoved in his pockets.

She was amazing. Her voice was far better than he could have imagined from their silly sister act, and that dress.

Good God, that dress.

He wasn’t sure if he should thank or fire Ana, but she looked amazing.

Too good for their little show.

He’d been compelled to stand, to go up close and see her, to see for himself that the notes coming out of her lips were her own, to be closer to the amazing energy she exhuded from that stage.

She didn’t belong in a little sister act.

He wanted to feature her, front and center in the show, let the world know what her voice and those hips could do.

He tried to shove away those thoughts: what she looked like in that dress, the stirrings that song made him feel deep in his belly, how her hand had felt so right in his just the night before.

How he wanted to make her front and center in his life.

He should go back. She’d be insulted he left.

The last thing he wanted to do was insult her.

God, he wanted to kiss her.

He turned, moving back to the barn, and ran straight into her.

Their arms both shot out, steadying the other. They spoke pleasantries of “sorry” and “excuse me” over one another until Steve shook his head, cleared his throat, and stepped back. “That was beautiful, Peggy.”

She looked at him for a second, stunned. “I— I thought you didn’t like it,” she barely whispered out, “You left.”

“I had to think,” he replied, knowing it was a silly excuse. “You’re far more talented than you give yourself credit for, and… and…” His hands twisted infront of him as he tried to find the right words.

She bit back her smile. “So, you liked it?”

Steve nodded, suddenly feeling like a shy schoolboy. “I did. You were right. A microphone and a piano are all you need to be amazing.”

He felt butterflies fill his stomach at her smile. “Thank you.”

The stirrings of the piano and the next number floated out to them. He shrugged and tipped his head. “I should…”

“I need to…” Peggy pointed towards her cabin, nodding and bouncing her hair over the robe.

“I loved it,” Steve whispered, suddenly serious, before darting past her to head back into the barn.

He sat back in his chair and picked up his pen, trying to pretend he was doing anything but thinking of her.

“What the hell was that?” Bucky leaned over and asked.

Steve waved him off. “I just needed some air.”

“Needed some air like you didn’t want to tell her you hated it, or needed—" Steve turned, glaring at him. Bucky smiled and nodded. “Good. Because that dame can sing.”

#Steggy Fic #steggy secret santa #3P's Fic #Roboticonography #I'm back

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levihantrash · 3 years ago

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Not Hange, But Zoe

For @levihanweek Aug 2021 Day 4 prompt: childhood (one-shot)

Summary: After the war, Levi gets to meet Zoe—Gabi and Falco’s new friend in school. A leap of faith comes in the form of a small child with an abundance of questions and acute compassion for a person they just met.

note: kind of fluffy kind of sad (a hopeful ending tho)

cross-posted on ao3 🤪

-----

For Gabi and Falco, returning to normalcy meant returning to school, in a part of the world that hadn’t been completely crushed by enormous, fiery giants. Strangely enough (to Levi), they decided to stay with him and Onyankopon for the time being.

“What’s your new friend’s name?”

Levi enjoys being a part of the children’s lives. They adapt more quickly and play with more abandon. Even when the weekly nightmares that bring them to huddle into his bed, he is more assuaged that the pain, with time on their side, will recede. Even if the memories never quite disappear, children don’t hold on to them with the steely desperation that many more adults do; afraid that without pain, they might have nothing left.

Falco hesitates, but Gabi barges in, overwhelmed with excitement and lacking inhibition. “Zoe! Their name is Zoe!”

“Zoe…?” Levi nearly stutters, grip tightening on the wheelchair armrests. Even Gabi registers his shock, faltering a little. Instead of keeping quiet, Gabi elaborates more, in hopes of soothing Levi’s inexplicable reaction.

“Zoe is so smart! I do a bit better than them at math, though they don’t seem to care about getting good grades.”

“Gabi I think Levi doesn’t want to—”

“It’s okay.” Levi stops Falco’s interruption with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Go on, Gabi.”

Spurred on by Levi’s go-ahead, Gabi goes on in detail. “Zoe has been reading a lot of history books lately, but the teachers won’t tell her where to find books about the war.”

“You know, the war we were in.” Gabi swallows, finding comfort by clenching Falco’s arm.

Falco chimes in with increased confidence. “I think Zoe would love to talk to you! They’ve been asking a lot of adults. Nobody wants to talk about the war… for good reason… I suppose.”

-----

Onyankopon sits across Levi at the dinner table, hearing what Levi had to say about his conversation with the two kids after they bid them good night.

“They want me to meet this kid called Zoe.”

“An unfortunate name…” Onyankopon muses sombrely.

“Who knows?” Levi contends, casting a quick glance at the tabletop where a photo of Hange Zoe sits. They had insisted on taking a picture together when they arrived at Marley. For the memories! To find out a camera works. An arm draped around Levi, they gave a peace sign as he stood stiffly, gazing sideways at the grinning commander. Levi remembers the flash of the new technology caused him to instinctively reach for the knife in his back pocket, before Hange promptly caught his hand in theirs.

“That’s the camera flash, Levi. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Levi grumbled.

“Oh, I’m sure you weren’t. I just wanted to hold your hand.” Hange chuckled, about to let go of Levi’s hand before he clumsily squeezed back. A tense moment is shared, dissipating into a calm intertwining of fingers. A subtle smugness spread across Hange’s face.

“Very smooth.”

“You said you wanted to hold hands,” Levi said, unable to look at Hange.

“You’ve definitely got my hand in a choke-hold there.”

Loosening his grip, Levi mumbled a quick apology. Hange only got bolder, tucking Levi’s hand into their coat with what seemed like a practised gesture.

“Will you meet Zoe?” Onyankopon asks, dragging Levi back into reality.

“What do you think?” Levi often asks Onyankopon for advice.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Onyankopon says measuredly. “Even if it’s Gabi and Falco who are the ones asking. I know you have a soft spot for them.”

“Who says so?”

“You literally let Gabi manically push you around in the wheelchair on a bumpy grass patch and let Falco climb into your bed at night when he gets nightmares.”

“They’re kids. What’s the point of getting mad?”

“Exactly my point.”

Levi sighs, staring out of the window and the darkening sky. “I’ll meet them.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, okay?” Onyankopon says, remaining concerned.

-----

“Hi, I’m Zoe!” Dressed in a loose t-shirt and an equally loose pair of shorts, the bespectacled child thrusts out a hand in greeting. Gabi and Falco stand around them in anticipation of the long-awaited meeting (they waited a whole day).

“I’m Levi,” he says in kind, shaking the hand, quietly amused by the enthusiastic formality.

“What’s that?” Zoe points at Levi’s scarred eye. He lets out an unsteady breath. The sweat that has begun to accumulate at his pits tells him he isn’t sure if it had been a good idea to impulsively meet an uncanny reincarnation.

“Is it from the war?” Zoe helps him by asking more questions, seemingly not minding if they got responses or not. As though giving Levi a choice, a way out of the hard ones.

“Yes.”

Without missing a beat, Zoe pursues another train of thought.

“Gabi tells me I look like a commander that you used to know.” Zoe, for the first time in the whole exchange, almost looks nervous, shuffling between their two feet.

Maybe Falco and Gabi told them what happened. Words elude him if he were to try to explain anyway. For that, Levi is grateful for the straightforward manner of children.

Levi pulls out a photograph from his shirt pocket and hands it to Zoe. It’s a copy of the one back at home, printed in a smaller, carriable version.

“This is the commander. Hange.” He leaves out the surname, as Zoe observes the photograph of the two of them carefully.

“Did you two fight the war?” With that question, Levi confirms for himself that Gabi and Falco probably didn’t tell Zoe the whole story.

“Yes.”

“Did you win?”

There is a difficult, necessary silence that accompanies Zoe’s inquiry. “I don’t think anyone did.”

Zoe nods, eyeing the photograph again.

“Is that your best friend?”

Levi never quite thought about the nature of his relationship with Hange, so he pauses, eyes flickering towards the photograph—at the hand hidden in Hange’s coat.

“Like Gabi and Falco?” Zoe asks, making Falco blubber in denial, which he does so whenever someone associates him with Gabi as a pair.

“Yes.” Levi decides. The best of many friends.

“Your friend looks cool!” Zoe hands the photograph back to Levi, peering at him with wide-eyed intensity.

“Will you tell me more about the war?”

Placing his cheek on his palm, Levi bends closer to Zoe. “What would you like to know?”

-----

As the day draws to a close, Zoe still has questions. The sunset closes in on Levi and his small, attentive audience.

“Can I talk to you again tomorrow?”

Though fatigued, his body worn out from the unexpectedly long exertion, Levi finds himself agreeing.

“Yes.”

“One more question, please?”

Levi obliges.

“Do I remind you of Hange?” Zoe asks, a frown forming within the wrinkle between their eyebrows. Levi registers the suspicion, unable to figure out its source.

“Sometimes.”

“Which part?”

“Your curiosity,” Truthfully, there was not much he could garner from a one-day spontaneous meeting. Zoe’s curiosity, however, was blatantly obvious. Nonetheless, plenty of children are interested in many things—it was not anything special, Levi internally assures himself.

Zoe pouts slightly, a troubled expression now apparent. “But I’m not Hange. I’m Zoe.”

“I know,” Levi says unconvincingly.

“Do you miss them?”

Levi doesn’t answer the question, preferring to gaze over their shoulder.

“I’m not Hange. But do you want to be friends?”

Raising an eyebrow, Levi tries not to sound too sarcastic. “A kid like you wants to be my friend?”

“Gabi and Falco think you’re very cool. They also think you could do with more friends.” Falco has the decency to avoid eye contact, preferring the scenery of his shoes.

“You don’t go out that much!” Gabi says, hitting the nail on the coffin.

The familiarity of Zoe still stings him in the gut, where the similarities make it appear like the universe is playing an awful, blessed joke on Levi.

What did Hange tell all of them, that day in the sweltering sun?

Let’s meet them ourselves. If they don’t understand who we are, we just have to teach them.

“I don’t really fully understand who you are and why you look so sad. But I hope to learn more from you, Levi!”

A leap of faith comes in the form of a small child. A spunky, talkative child with an unsatiated thirst for knowledge and acute compassion for a depressed man they just met.

Straining his hip, Levi reaches out to ruffle Zoe’s wisps of stray hair, tightening the rubber band that kept their ponytail in place.

“We have a lot to learn from each other,” Levi says softly, allowing himself this leap. Only this once.

Zoe gives him the brightest of smiles, revealing an open, toothy grin.

#levihanweek2021 #lhw2021 #levihan #day 4 #levi x hange #levi ackerman #hange zoe #aot fanfiction #fanfiction #hanji zoe #my writing #shingeki no kyojin #prompt #aot

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texanredrose · 3 years ago

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Inspired by prompts submitted to @unsteadyshade on tumblr (here), that I reblogged earlier, or AO3 (here). Also, yes, I'm very much American but I decided to use the non-American lingo in regards to soccer here. Don't look at me expecting logic, my friends, I just do what the winds of whimsy tell me.

---

Blake pulled the hotel door shut behind her, following after her teammate and best friend who was further down the hall and carrying their tote bags. While she didn’t hold the same superstitious beliefs, Yang swore up and down they’d lose unless they brought along their ‘lucky’ practice ball; after going back to retrieve it, the woman seemed satisfied and started walking towards the elevator while Blake caught up. “This is ridiculous, you know that right?”

“Hey, don’t sass me; we’ve never lost a road game when we’ve had the ball,” Yang said, already wearing her keeper jersey, the material stretched a bit thin over her muscled frame. It had seen better days but, much like the ball, the woman refused to replace it, especially during their run up to the championship. “A little extra luck can’t hurt anyone. Except the other team, I guess.”

“It can make us late, though,” she said, one of her ears flicking back as one of the doors they passed opened and closed- had to be other patrons of the hotel, seeing as the rest of their team was already downstairs by the bus. “Which would mean we forfeit.”

“We’re not running that late,” Yang replied, throwing a grin her way. Then, lilac eyes were drawn behind them and lingered a moment before her lips pulled into a very specific smirk. Blake knew that smirk- it was the ‘oh, I’ve got an idea, you might not like it but you’re gonna do it’ expression, because aside from being one of the best keepers in the region, Yang Xiao Long was also ridiculously persuasive. Dangerously so, in fact. “Hey. Toss me the ball.”

“Your hands are full.”

“Wasn’t going to use my hands.”

Blake narrowed her eyes, vividly remembering the last time someone tried doing agility drills down a hotel hallway, and picked up on the subtle look behind them. After a few more steps, she turned to say something about the game to Yang as an excuse to glance behind them. And then, it all made sense.

A bit further down the hallway were two women, both of whom were dressed in sharp business attire, and the moment Blake returned her attention to Yang, she pointed at herself and mouthed the word ‘tall’ with a wink.

“C’mon, toss me the ball,” Yang said, coming to a stop.

Blake glanced at her watch and, although a touch reluctant, decided they had enough time for a little demonstration. Tossing the ball towards Yang, she stepped back to lean against the wall while the woman started juggling while still carrying both totes. With her best friend as a distraction, Blake could take a longer look at the women Yang was trying to impress, and realized a few things, chiefly: they weren’t just any business women following behind them.

They were the Schnee sisters.

Atlesian elites, borderline nobility, some of the richest and most powerful people in the world; the Schnee sisters were in the news for one reason or another practically every day. Blake was more familiar with the attitude and mentality of the younger sister, Weiss Schnee, because it was her actions that Blake, as a faunus, found most… interesting. All the way up until she assumed control of her family’s company, the woman didn’t seem much at odds with the stuffy, bigoted, narrow minded people found in her social circle. After, though, she not only did an unapologetic one-eighty in the other direction, she became so aggressively progressive that it created a wide schism in the highest echelons of Atlesian society. More than once, she’d deployed the surprisingly well equipped private SDC security forces to protect protestors from Atlesian police and military personnel, and paid an exorbitant amount of money to keep those protestors out of jail, either by paying off bonds or hiring attorneys. In a relatively short amount of time, she’d become a juggernaut for social changes, and the careful monopoly her scheming father had built became the ultimate tool for exacting those changes.

Blake could admire the woman’s sense of justice as well as her commitment to it.

The elder, though, she only knew by name. Winter Schnee stood on her sister’s side when it came to social issues and did something tangentially related to the SDC but, beyond that, the details were a blur. She’d never heard Yang mention either sister in anything more than a passing comment while they pursued the news together waiting for flights, certainly nothing she could recall that would explain why the woman wanted Winter’s attention specifically. However, it also wasn’t out of the ordinary for Yang to show off a bit for pretty ladies when presented the opportunity.

By the time Blake had made a decision herself, Yang had run through every trick she knew and had popped the ball up to balance on her chest. She motioned for the woman to pass the ball, which earned her a raised brow at first before lilac eyes twinkled and she popped her shoulders back to set the ball in motion.

Blake caught it before it hit the ground with her foot, stalling the ball’s momentum entirely for a moment before she began juggling herself. For her, it was less a skill she’d developed for showing off as one of honing control of her body and the ball, but she knew a few tricks, moving slightly away from the wall so she could juggle the ball in a circle around her while still facing Yang. It meant juggling with her heel behind her back briefly but she managed it without losing control and that prompted a low murmur from their audience. Impressively, she couldn’t make out the words, which made her think the speaker specifically didn’t want her to hear.

After transitioning between using her feet and knees, the faunus popped the ball up high enough for her head to get under it, her feline ears laying flat against her skull to prove she wasn’t using them to help her balance the ball in place, which earned a brief chuckle from Yang. Then, she began bouncing it atop her head while moving her head just so to get the ball rotating before allowing it to roll off her head so she could catch it with her foot.

With a glance to confirm Yang was prepared, Blake passed her the ball, and the two of them traded it for a while, trying to catch the other off guard to make the eventual save and pass even more impressive. It was a show of control and dexterity and, had they planned it, would’ve had a better end to the display. Unfortunately, a short pass from Yang resulted in both of them trying to save it, which sent the ball bouncing harmlessly down the hall until it came to a stop at Winter’s feet.

Then again, given the glint in Yang’s eye, perhaps that was her intention. “Oh, sorry about that. We’re just… warming up.”

With a jerk of her head, the faunus realized her friend was requesting some back-up. “Yes, we, uh… are on our way to a game. The semi-finals, actually.”

“We can probably get ya seats, if you want.” A nonchalant shrug. “You should come watch us play.”

The sisters exchanged a look then. The elder, questioning, and the younger… Blake couldn’t put a word to that look. It was equal parts goading and secretive, and perhaps something else dancing in blue eyes. She would need a lot more time to decipher that look.

And she found herself wanting it.

Then, without a word, Winter put her foot on top of the ball and rolled it back, popped it up, and… began juggling with just as much precision as they’d displayed. Except, unlike them- bedecked in jerseys, loose shorts, and tennis shoes- she was doing it in a form fitting pants suit and dress shoes, hampering her mobility somewhat though it hardly impacted her performance, executing all the tricks Yang had done. Then, she passed it to her sister, who, in high heels and a skirt, proceeded to do the same, keeping many of the tricks low so her skirt wouldn’t ride up. Which, of course, meant she had less room to manipulate the ball, had to move faster to get into position to execute each trick, and when she did a version of Blake’s around the world one, the faunus felt her mouth pop open in astonishment.

Once satisfied, Weiss passed the ball back to her sister, who caught it one handed.

“We appreciate the invitation. However...” Winter tossed the ball, hard enough that it hit Yang’s chest before the keeper thought to catch it. “We unfortunately have a prior engagement that requires our attention.”

The sisters began walking past the gobsmacked footballers and Blake didn’t miss the look Weiss directed her way as she spoke. “After you’ve won your game, perhaps you’ll join us in the hotel’s hot tub?”

Blake didn’t notice how close they were to their floor’s elevator until Winter reached over and pushed the button to call a car. “Unless, of course, you have your own post victory traditions that take precedence.”

Yang just shook her head while Blake managed to find her voice. “No. We don’t. Have traditions, I mean.”

“Excellent,” Weiss said, stepping into the car the moment the doors twanged open and hitting a button inside, smiling in a way that… well… Blake would call it seductive in another setting and found herself hard pressed not to call it that now. “We’ll see you there. Don’t be late.”

When the doors closed, both Blake and Yang were left standing in the hallway, both just… recovering from how mentally unprepared they were for their tricks to be used against them to great effect. After another moment, Yang turned to look at her, holding up the ball.

“Lucky. Ball.”

Blake resolved to not argue that point and instead focus on winning the game, ushering her teammate towards the stairs rather than waiting for the next car.

---

Weiss leaned back against the wall of the elevator. While they’d chosen to book this particular hotel for their business trip specifically because their favorite football team would be staying there, and they’d opted to not use the penthouse suite because they wanted a chance to catch glimpses of the team while going to and from meetings, neither expected to meet their personal favorite players in the hallway like that. Weiss had followed Blake’s career since college and, while responsibilities had prevented her from attending as many games as she would’ve liked, she always recorded them and watched them later. Up until the encounter in the hallway, that was how she and Winter had planned to spend their evening.

Now, though…

“Would it be inappropriate for me to bring her jersey to the hot tub in the hopes she’ll sign it?”

Winter made a considering noise. “Bring the jersey, leave a suitable pen in the room.”

“How would that accomplish her signing it?”

“Invite her back to the room.” Her elder sister smiled, and a twinkle in her eyes spoke to the crude humor of a former soldier. “I’ll be… elsewhere tonight.”

“Spare me the details,” she replied as they reached the ground floor. “... but thank you for the idea.”

As a general rule, Weiss was never overly fond of business meetings, but she found herself looking forward to the end of this one more than usual, if only to see where the night led.

---

Blake pushed out a nervous breath as she and Yang made their way towards the hotel’s pool area. The game itself ended in a shootout and while Blake had made the final goal that secured them a berth to the finals, she couldn’t relax quite yet. Post game celebrations usually involved Blake joining the rest of the team for a glass of champagne or a toast of some sort before the others prepared for a night on the town to celebrate the win. Most of the time, Yang went with them, leaving the faunus plenty of time to wind down with a book of her choice and a peacefully quiet hotel room. Even on the odd occurrence when Yang didn’t join the others, the blonde still found other ways of occupying herself that preserved Blake’s quiet.

So, rushing back to the hotel room to change into their swimwear before the hotel shut down their pool was a major break from their normal routine, and knowing they’d be going to meet two very beautiful and apparently incredibly talented women… well, she was just a touch nervous.

Unfortunately, her best friend didn’t share that anxiety.

“One piece or bikini?”

“What?”

“Which do you think they’re wearing?” The blonde shrugged, the tips of her hair brushing the back of her neck. Normally, Yang wore her hair down or in a thick braid for games, but seeing as she didn’t have the energy to deal with drying her hair again after the quick post game shower they’d rushed through. “I’m hoping Winter’s wearing a bikini or a two piece. She’s gotta have some abs, right?”

“You have an eight pack; what does it matter to you if she has abs?”

“It’s about the commitment.” With a smirk, she gestured towards her own abs, prominently on display thanks to her yellow bikini top. Along with a darkening bruise around her left eye, there were bruises along her ribs from a few sliding tackles that had almost sidelined the keeper entirely, but Yang was a bit tougher than their opponents expected. “It takes work to get these and keep ‘em.”

“And what’s the point of wearing a bikini top if you’re just going to wear swim trunks for bottoms?” She arched a brow, more comfortable poking holes in her best friend’s thought process than confronting reality as they neared their destination. While she, too, opted for bikini style swimwear, Blake had chosen a black top with matching bottoms and a light purple sarong around her hips. She might claim to be somewhat modest in comparison, but she was showing a bit more skin- which, rationally, she could justify because they were getting in a hot tub, not attending a gala, showing a bit of skin should be expected-

Blake shook her head, trying to calm her anxiety again.

“Gotta make her work for the goods,” Yang replied, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring her nerves. Then again, perhaps she had a few of her own that she was hiding, considering the way she reached up to fiddle with her hair. “Besides, my bottoms always ride up. Trunks are more comfortable. Not all of us have an ass that won’t quit.”

“Not judging, I just think it’s… silly. To focus on what they’ll be wearing.”

“What else is there to think about?”

“How hard we’re going to flirt.” She pointed out, tilting her head thoughtfully. “What to say, how to say it… what result we’re hoping for.”

“Don’t overthink it, Blakey.” A laugh. “Let’s just have some fun.”

They came to a set of glass double doors that granted entry to the pool area of the hotel… at which point they realized the pool officially closed half an hour ago. Yang cursed under her breath as Blake’s shoulders slumped. They’d missed their chance, it seemed.

“Oh, Miss Belladonna? Miss Xiao Long?”

“That’s us,” Yang replied as a hotel employee approached them, already grabbing a key card attached to his lanyard and holding it up to a sensor beside the doors.

“Here. Both Miss Schnees are waiting for you.”

The footballers exchanged a look, surprised by the special treatment. True, they were quasi celebrities themselves, but this hotel handled all teams from the league, which meant they weren’t any more famous than the average patron. Then again, the Schnee sisters had quite a bit more clout than they did and could probably swing something like being given unfettered access to the pool area.

With a shrug and a smirk, Yang opened one door and they entered, spotting the sisters sitting in chairs beside the hot tub. Both were reading magazines, with fresh drinks on a table between them, and were… well… Blake found she couldn’t immediately discern their taste in swimwear because both sisters were wearing football jerseys. And not just any jerseys.

“I see you took us up on our offer,” Weiss said, getting to her feet and motioning towards the hot tub before reaching for the hem of the jersey to pull it off. At a glance, Blake could tell it was the special limited edition run from a few years ago, and her number no less. And while she would be sorely tempted to assume the woman had found one last minute, the careful way Weiss placed the jersey on the chair- not dropped or thrown carelessly- made her think otherwise. Only then did she notice the woman had opted for a light blue one piece with a single strap, leaving her upper back mostly exposed. “Splendid.”

“Congratulations on your win.” Winter also set aside her magazine and stood up, revealing she was wearing Yang’s limited edition jersey, and she took the same amount of care in removing it and setting it aside. Much to her friend’s delight, the elder of the sisters did wear a bikini of a darker blue and also sported some abs, though they lacked the definition of Yang’s. “A hard fought victory like that certainly deserves a celebration.”

As the sisters entered the hot tub, Blake looked over to Yang, who seemed equal parts excited and… intimidated- and that second one was hard. But what intimidated her ultimately evolved into a challenge and Yang never backed down from a challenge. For her part, the faunus just found herself wondering if, perhaps, they had a different idea of who needed to impress who than the sisters did.

Removing her sarong, Blake tossed it onto the chair Weiss had used and went to the hot tub, noting how the sisters had chosen to sit across from each other. She hesitated in entering, if only because she didn’t want to be too forward. Yang, of course, took the seating as a goading taunt of sorts, and settled herself in the tub hardly an arm’s length away from Winter. Probably closer than would be considered polite but neither seemed uncomfortable or surprised by the decision, so Blake opted to test the waters herself, sitting approximately the same distance away from Weiss but also across from Yang.

Almost instantly, she let out a sigh of relief; while focusing on getting to the hot tub, she’d done her best to ignore the lingering aches and pains from the game. Now, though, she could feel herself relaxing as the warmth began sinking into her muscles. Usually, she just focused on stretches before bed and had a tub of balm if that failed.

“Should probably do this more often,” Yang said, obviously relaxing herself. “Forgot how good hot tubs feel after a rough game.”

“Speaking of that, did you get checked out?” Winter gestured towards her eye. “You took a few nasty hits. I’m surprised seventeen didn’t get thrown out of the game.”

“The Vipers always play hard.” The blonde tried to shrug off the concern. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You took a few shots, too.” Weiss pointed out. “How’s your knee?”

“I’ve taken worse falls.” She gave a wry smile. “But I’m beginning to suspect you know that.”

“I’ll admit I’ve been a fan of yours since your college days.” The woman shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance- and Blake only suspected it was a show because blue eyes didn’t meet hers as she spoke. “I hardly think that is remarkable. You’re one of the best strikers the league has ever seen.”

“Did you ever consider playing?” At the curious look she received, Blake inclined her head. “It took me years to develop those tricks, and you did them better. That speaks to a remarkable amount of skill.”

“Well, I’ll admit I entertained the idea a time or two. Ultimately, I chose my path, and it didn’t leave enough room to become a superstar footballer.” She shook her head. “I don’t regret it but, I suppose, part of the reason I practice those little tricks to keep the dream alive.”

Her ears perked up, catching something between the lines. “Part of the reason? What’s the other part?”

“Why, to catch your eye, of course.”

“My eye?” She couldn’t help the surprised chuckle that bubbled up from her chest. “You’re Weiss Schnee; you don’t really need to try to catch anyone’s attention.”

The woman’s expression faltered then. “Yes, well… unfortunately, the sort of attention I garner on my own is markedly less… impressive, by some standards.”

“I’d think those people have poor standards, then,” she said, opting to tip her hand as well. “You’ve managed to galvanize social changes that have taken some kingdoms entire decades in a matter of years. Comparatively, bouncing a ball’s hardly anything. Don’t you think?”

At that Weiss laughed, a bright, high, unrestrained sound that Blake rather liked hearing. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t be trying so hard to impress you, now would I? And you shouldn’t discount your own efforts outside the pitch.”

The faunus felt her lips quirk up in amusement. They’d been watching each other from afar all this time; the only thing she didn’t account for was the magnetic attraction that being in the woman’s presence seemed to engender. And, as she made an excuse of stretching to cover her moving slightly closer to Weiss, it seemed she wasn’t the only one feeling it. The woman, mysteriously, decided to move and dip her shoulders beneath the water’s surface long enough to bring out a lovely light pink blush to her skin, and when she sat back against the tub’s wall, she was a bit closer to Blake.

Surreptitiously, she snuck a glance towards Yang, if only to gauge how much teasing she would be in for on the flight back home the following day. She quickly realized her best friend wouldn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to teasing; somehow, Winter had coaxed Yang into her lap and was apparently giving the footballer a message. For her part, Yang seemed to be in a luxurious sort of heaven, eyes half lidded and with a silly sort of smile on her lips.

“Forgive my sister,” Weiss said, a sardonic smile on her lips. “I’m impressed she’s shown this much restraint.”

“I can hear you,” the woman replied, blue eyes flashing towards her younger sister. “But that can be remedied. Yang?”

“Hmmm?”

“I think this would work better if you were lying down.”

Lilac eyes widened as the woman tilted her head, glancing over towards Blake. With a small nod, the faunus made the silent agreement to avoid their hotel room for a few hours. Frankly, Yang had slept in a few lobbies over the years, when she’d returned too drunk to be quiet and not wanting to risk waking the faunus. She could spend a night elsewhere to return the favor.

“Yeah… I think you’re right.”

As the two got out of the hot tub and retrieved towels, Blake returned her attention to the woman beside her. “You don’t have to try, you know.”

“Pardon?”

“Impressing me. You don’t have to try.” Blake tilted her head, leaning back to brace her arms against the rim of the hot tub. “I think that’s the part I don’t like about being with the league. The mandatory press conferences and the rules- sometimes, I just want to get straight on the bus after a game and go back to reading my book, not sit and play twenty questions for an hour. It’s like… wearing an ill fitting mask.”

“You handle them remarkably well.” Weiss smirked. “But I suppose I say that because I speak my mind a bit too bluntly during press conferences. I admire your restraint.”

“I admire your candor,” she replied, very carefully laying one arm along the tub’s rim behind the woman. “I really liked the interview you did with the Atlas Economist. It looked like you were going to give that guy an aneurysm.”

“That would’ve been impossible.” A light chuckle as she moved closer, lowering her voice ever so slightly to coax Blake into leaning closer. “He would need a brain first.”

They both laughed, using their amusement to hide their shifting movements until Weiss was pressed into her side ever so slightly. They continued talking and laughing quietly until sitting in the hot tub started becoming uncomfortable. However, the faunus did her best to ignore it simply because she didn’t want to part ways quite yet. Weiss was… a lot of things- emphatic, sharp tongued, witty- but above all good company that Blake wasn’t keen on losing quite yet. However, she couldn’t ignore that the heat of the tub was taking a toll on them both.

“Your skin’s turning red,” she said, running a thumb over the ball of Weiss’ shoulder. “We should probably get out.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

They both stood and exited the hot tub, grabbing towels to start drying themselves off. While doing that, she wracked her brain for some excuse to continue their conversation but found herself coming up woefully empty. Every suggestion she could come up with either sounded ridiculous or… risque. It wasn’t like she could simply invite the woman back to her hotel room for some tea.

“Thank you for the invite, by the way,” she said, trying to buy herself some time. “A good soak after a tough game feels… fantastic. I don’t often indulge.”

Blue eyes lit up as the woman wrapped a towel around her hips. “I’m more than glad you accepted. However, if you wish to… pay me back… I’ve been meaning to ask for your autograph.”

Blake raised a brow. The request seemed… deceptively innocent, especially with the way Weiss was looking at her. “I can do that. You want me to sign your jersey?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The barest moment of silence, and then she tilted her head. “Unfortunately, the only pen I have is in my room.”

Blake took a step closer, pleased to see she actually stood a few inches taller than the woman when she wasn’t wearing heels, and lowered her voice. “Well… I suppose we’ll have to go to your room, then.” A pause. “And, maybe, we’ll think of something else I can sign along the way.”

Weiss smiled and donned the jersey, setting her hand in the crook of the faunus’ elbow. “Perhaps. Do you have any ideas?”

“I do.” As they started walking, she chuckled. “But I wouldn’t want to use a pen to sign something so… delicate.”

The woman hummed, pointedly looking at her mouth. “I believe I know of something else you can use.”

While outwardly Blake merely smiled a bit wider, internally she asked herself a question: just how far was she willing to go?

Before they reached the elevator, she’d decided that if she wasn’t officially dating Weiss Schnee by the time she boarded the plane tomorrow, she’d be disappointed in herself.

---

Weiss stretched luxuriously in her bed as the morning rays streamed in through the window. She was sore in places she’d forgotten existed- but the pleasant type of sore, the kind that eventually turned into an itch for more, and it took conscious effort not to reach for her scroll just then. It would probably do her well to show some restraint.

That mentality lasted all of thirty seconds before her scroll was in hand and she was admiring her new background picture, taken just before Blake put on her swimwear from the night before and left to return to her room. Nothing terribly suggestive or revealing, of course, just the faunus resting her chin on Weiss shoulder. An ordinary selfie. With her new girlfriend.

She couldn’t help the smile curling her lips.

The door opened and she looked over her shoulder, watching her sister strut into the room wearing her bikini with her usual air of complete and total confidence. Her jersey was held in one hand. Probably because she wanted to… show off. “You walked down the hallway like that?”

“Of course,” Winter replied, not even batting an eye at the words ‘Property of Yang Xiao Long’ written in marker across her chest and abdomen. “I’m pleased with the outcome.”

Then, a smirk.

“Please, don’t elaborate.”

“I won’t but I do hope you were as successful as I was.”

She glanced at her scroll as a message came through from Blake, a smile coming to her lips. “Indeed I was.”

Who knew giving in to her impulse to show off would have such wonderful results.

#Monochrome #Elderburn

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday Thursday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (side pairings Morcia, WillxJJ, others in flirtation)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: Now posted on tumblr and Ao3, Click Here

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: This is pretty tame, Emily is just a little intense and eager because Spencer is... well, Spencer, and when she realizes all he can do? Oh she is chomping at the bit. Some trance-like things and witchy stuff and Hotch being territorial without being able to admit it.)

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: this takes place in chapter 02, what you will all see on Saturday evening, and this version is insanely unpolished (I’m about to go through and fix it up and give it a good make-over) but basically this is the first time Spencer is meeting Emily Prentiss and it makes... an impression. Also, Emily has been at the BAU for about 0.2 seconds and Hotch is already done with her. The sibling energy I love to see. It’s also hella long, as an apology for missing last week and being a day late. All you’ve missed is Spencer about ran into Emily turning a corner and she saved him from spilling his case files and coffee all over the floor. Now they are talking)

–

“I apologize, I thought you were an intern or still in the academy.”

“It’s alright, everyone does,” Spencer says without taking offense. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was or lasted very long if he did; however, if he had a nickel for every time someone had been surprised by his age, he’d be as rich as Father Rossi. His full hands actually aids him as he mentions, “I don’t usually shake hands with people, so don’t think me rude. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He offers her a smile in exchange, and it is mirrored on her face just as her surprise kicks up another notch.

“Doctor, my my I am in for a trip on this team, aren’t I?” she laughs, and it’s a melodic thing that stretches over an expanse of time and history. Ballrooms in Russia and palors of France, Elizabethan and the roaring 20’s and everything in between all rolled into one. He’s not sure how he sees it, an impossible thing, but he can read it like a book and that must have something to do with what she is. “Emily Prentiss, it is a remarkable pleasure to meet you Dr. Reid. Now, I have to ask--” her tone is so charming and playful and probing he barely notices the nuance, “And I’m sure it’s taboo around here, but I have to know -- your regeneration process. Tell me what it is or what you do. You look so young.”

“I am young,” he states simply, finally stunned by a question he’s not usually asked.

“Yes, yes, we all can’t be a thousand years old like your fearless Vampire leader,” she waves off and Spencer’s eyes widen because… he hadn’t known Hotch was that old. Sure he’d said he’d been alive for the better part of a millennia, but he always said it like a hyperbole. A turn of phrase that’s off by a couple centuries. But --

A thousand years old.

That would put him…

God, that would put him alive, as a human, just before the start of The Crusades.

“Oh, did he keep that to himself? Oops, my bad. Pretend you don’t know. Anyway -- so are you a Shifter? Or use a particular spell? Oh, or is it a curse? I’m fascinated by curses, I don’t use them often myself but the rigidity of terms using a power so chaotic is just such a fun juxtaposition that I--”

“No, no, I’m… normal, human,” Spencer interrupts her, still the smallest bit shell-shocked, but now connects a few dots himself as she speaks. Realizes very suddenly that Ms. Prentiss appears ageless because she is ageless. She’s also a Witch. One of the broadest terms for subspecies categories, which really doesn’t do it justice. A Witch could be a number of things. Someone who uses magic and science and the very Earth itself paired with the spiritual planes to do impossible things. Witches are beings so powerful they should be uncategorizable. Something Spencer is fascinated by as well. He’s never met anyone like Emily. “I look young because I am young. I’m 27, I’ve only been with the BAU for the past three years. I’m a little excited to not be the newbie on the team any more,” he tries to joke, but Emily’s gaze has gone distant and sharp all at once.

“You’re only 27? And you’re a doctor?” She asks in clarification, Spencer nodding along each time. “You’ve been a doctor, since becoming an FBI agent?”

“Um, well -- I’m not a medical doctor. I do have three doctorates, though; in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering,” he finds himself shrinking a bit under her intensely interested gaze. “What?”

“Chemistry?” she asks, vaguely more distant.

“That was my first doctorate,” he murmurs back, not sure what has her looking so contemplative.

“You’ve achieved all of this: three doctorates, FBI agent, BAU -- in 27 years?” she questions, a grave yet wondrous sound.

“Technically I did all of that in 15 years. I graduated high school when I was 12,” he manages to do more than mumble, and Emily’s wide-eyed stare has him spewing forth information like it requires an explanation. “I have an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words a minute, and my IQ is 187 so by human standards yes -- I’m a genius, and borderline on the advanced brain developments scale. But I’m still human. Nothing paranormal or extraordinary.”

The pause that follows is palpable.

“Oh,” she says in an exhale, “Oh, you young soul. You have no idea, do you? What you are capable of...” She tilts her head as she steps closer and Spencer is very suddenly aware that he’s not sure she’s blinked since they started speaking about his qualifications. What he can do, how he got to where he is. No one usually shows this much interest, he makes them uncomfortable for reasons he doesn’t always understand.

Emily doesn’t look uncomfortable, she looks… hungry.

“You are so very, very extraordinary. Exceptional, really. Look at all of what you’ve accomplished with just 15 years of life.” That astonished sound again, like she can’t believe her luck--

And then she’s in his space, gaze boring into his, and Spencer can see galaxies in the depth of her eyes. His breath stolen from him and feet rooted to the floor. So he doesn’t step away as she leans just the smallest bit closer, words resonating with echoes across ages.

“Imagine what you could do with a thousand.”

“Prentiss,” the deep voice of Hotch’s monotone (edged in something vaguely aggressive, and more than a little aggravated) breaks through their moment. The trance fading like a fog from Spencer’s eyes. “No recruiting. It’s in your contract.”

“You have such a gift, it’s a shame to waste it,” Emily whispers in a rush as Hotch approaches them from down the hall. More earnest than intimidating, now.

“Prentiss!”

“Think about it,” she winks, and then turns to give Hotch a smile that’s all teeth so sharp she resembles a shark. “Oh, what a sour face. What’s wrong? Were you planning on asking him first? You snooze, you lose.”

“Conference room,” he instructs, pointing the way Spencer had just come. “Team meeting in 20 minutes. Try not to summon anything between here and there.” She sticks her tongue out at him childishly as she leaves, and sends a quirk of a smile Spencer’s direction that shifts her whole expression into something comically entertained. He’s never seen Hotch interact with someone like this, like they were… familiar, even exasperatingly so. The closest in comparison is probably Father Rossi. But this is less like old friends and more like sibling rivalry.

The space Emily had just vacated is suddenly filled with Hotch, an overwhelmingly welcomed presence and it eases the tension out of Spencer’s spine and shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Are you okay?” he asks, low and quiet. They’re the only ones in the hallway, but secrecy is a hard habit to break.

Spencer nods, still gaining his bearings once more. “I think so. That didn’t feel like hypnotism. I don’t know what that was.”

“Prentiss doesn’t manipulate minds or the wills of other people,” Hotch tells him, which is soothing if not for the foreboding question of what just occurred. “She doesn’t need to. She can do a lot of things: change her face, her voice, make illusions and talk circles around anyone -- even you.” Spencer looks up to him at that, aware that his level of intelligence is the only thing that keeps him safe from JJ or Hotch’s influence. His mind can’t be bent, or tricked.

“Then what was she doing? I felt compelled but… not against my will. What was that?” he asks, also quiet but much more high in pitch as his confusion turns his voice to a winded sound.

Hotch’s thin, stern frown does nothing to alleviate the apprehension caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“Possibility,” he states, grim and not liking that Spencer had fallen prey to such a short moment with Emily Prentiss and her promise of what her craft could do for him. Hotch is well aware that Spencer’s gift of soaking up every speck on information he’s given like a sponge isn’t something to let wither and die like so many before him. There’s so much he could do with an infinite life, such as his and Emily’s, but the curse of living forever alone is not something to be taken lightly. And not to be decided by someone who still has so much more life to live unaided by other forces.

However, Emily was right about one thing. Hotch can’t deny that he’s thought about it. More than considered it as a definite possibility.

An offer, all his own.

–

Tagged list so far: @physics-magic, @thaddeusly, @ssa-noa, @ssa-sarahsunshine, @tobias-hankel, @reidology, @mintphoenix

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #it's a very long one as an apology for missing last week and being a day late #and also because it's COOL and I have no self control #Emily and Spencer would be a terrifying duo honestly #Also Emily and Hotch have the best sibling relationship ever #if anyone wants in on that taglist hit me up via ask or comment or rb #the story is posted! Updates on Saturday evenings #Extraordinary #HotchReid #Katyswriting #Katyswip #wip wednesday

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bbnibini · 3 years ago

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Hi! I really love your works but it gotten me curious if you also read fanfics? Do you have any fanfic recommendations?

Thank you, anon! That's really kind of you. 🥺💕 I do read fanfics, but not as much anymore. I'm assuming this ask is for Obey Me fics? But if not, I will include some of my absolute favourites in a future post. Fair warning: I gushed. A LOT hahaha. Please support the authors and their works! I included the fics in the hyperlinks~

NSFW fics are marked appropriately, so please click the links at your own discretion (some of them are in my public bookmarks in AO3).

Elle's Obey Me Fic Recommendations

🌸Your Coal by Angrish(LettuceBean)

Truth be told, I belong to the "forgive but don't forget camp" in lieu of what happened in Chapter 16; reading Angrish's YC and how their MC coped with the aftermath(+ how others coped along with them) felt really powerful, raw and so so emotional. It made me think and really think about how I processed the whole thing that happened. While it didn't really change my outlook on how I have forgiven Belphie for what he had done, Angrish shedding light to the unanswered questions and lingering doubts the main story have left most of its readers was done in such a thoughtful and poetic way that I found myself binge reading the whole thing.

Given that I read this whole coping with a lot of stuff as well (and may have contributed with sympathising a lot more to the vindictiveness of the MC), reading what Angrish had written was really cathartic. Their writing style is also beautiful--the way the words string together, simple, elegant, yet impactful really made MC's emotions a lot...tangible, real and sometimes, frustrating (in a good way, mind you). I also liked how they had fleshed out the other characters, especially Belphegor, Satan and the Purgatory Hall members.

🌸You'll Have to Ask Your Dad by DefenestrationProtestration

I remembered clicking on this fic because of the author's punny name, stayed for the pretty writing and reread a few several times for the characterisation and THE WRITING. I'm pretty sure I left a litany of praises and incomprehensible gushing on the comments section because of how much I've devoured this piece of art.

Even as I'm typing this review, I can't seem to organise my thoughts haha. You can tell by the writing style that the author had a lot of fun writing their prose; it permeates through the screeen...my "screen" of imagination at least. I am not joking--the writing is so pretty and vivid that I literally saw it as a movie in my head lol. I chatted with them a bit on the comments and they said the prose is more of something they had written subconsciously; it reminded me of James Joyce and how he had masterfully perfected the same technique. Of course, their writing styles differ a lot from each other, but I can see what they meant.

...as I'm typing this, I didn't realise how I haven't talked about the plot of the fic at all soz. This piece is the author's character study of Lucifer. It talks about how he was before, during and after the fall. He is a bit of an unreliable narrator, which I'm not sure if the author intended, but he has all these presumptions that miss the mark so so much, particularly at how his brothers, Lord Diavolo and the others perceive him--but reading the whole thing would make you understand why he had gotten to that kind of self-perception in the first place. And honestly? It really, really hurt to read. But was it bad? The total opposite of that, in fact! I loved how they had written the angst in this piece. So many things in the fic are "show, rather than tell" and I really really appreciate that.

Most of my brainrot about this fic is better to be explored on your own. Overall, 10/10: a definite, recommended read.

🌸Fairy Tales for the Fallen by indiavolowetrust

I haven't fully devoured all of the stories in the collection yet, but the ones I've read (Her Name Was Thousand Eyes is my favourite) was such a really good spin on dark fairy tales (Obey Me style!). It reminded me of my childhood Little Mermaid picture book for some reason. Probably the writing style(the author's writing reads a lot like a storybook) The one I had was Hans Christian Andersen's (aka the OG) version and the ending was rather...dark for a 5 year old lol. It was a big part of my life though and was probably the precursor for my affinity with sad stories haha.

🌸TieGuanYin by Taciturn

Like tea on a tiring day, Taciturn's writing style feels very homey, cozy and familiar. I love rereading this oneshot when I'm having a shitty day and imagining myself having tea with Barbatos haha. Ever had pieces of art or literature that just...relaxes you when you consume it? This one is one of my, as the youngsters say, "comfort fic" haha.

🌸glass half empty; glass half full by unagis

I love unagis' fics.♡ I also love her Childe fics. The concepts she comes up with, as well as how she delivers it is *chef kiss*. Admittedly, I read this one when I was still a Satan stan, with all the suspicions and doubts about Solomon's intentions still rampant within me. Reading him blush and become flustered is CUTE and aaaaa this whole fic is just really cute.🥺♡

🌸The Eternal Storm by @sondepoch

Sondepoch's Satan oneshot was the very first fic I read in the OM fandom so it has a special place in my heart~ I remembered how awkward it was to skim through the Satan filters, looking for a gen fic/SFW fic because around that time, most OM fics are smut (no shade on smut ofc, I'm just super uncomfortable reading them unless the writing is really pretty or there's something else going on in the story). Finding GEN AND A WELL-WRITTEN CHARACTER STUDY about my (former) favourite OM character was like I hit the jackpot. I remembered that feeling really well haha. My bias with one of my favourite forms of fic (char. study) aside, Sondepoch's writing is easy on the eyes and is definitely a great entry for anyone who wants to be in the OM fandom.

🌸Read Me by GENE515

One of my more recent reads and definitely worth a mention!♡ Read Me was a beautifully written, heartfelt two-shot about Lucifer's love, which he tried his best to express in penned words. Probably because of my own love letter-themed OM series, this one really stuck to me haha. The author is also really sweet. :3

🌸Schrodinger by fickleminder

I read this one around Halloween and it definitely fit the occasion. Schrodinger was such a great thriller/horror fic with how it set its unsettling atmosphere from the very beginning--the way fickleminder's writing just sucks you in and makes you bystand the whole ordeal between Belphegor and MC was just...so suspenseful? Nail biting? Creepy (in a good way ofc)? I won't spoil the ending, but the process and way they tackled it was a lot scarier than what I was initially bracing myself for.

🌸Siberia by @polandspringz

Seeing another Obey Me mystery in AO3 really hyped me up! Polandspringz did a spectacular job in writing this series and I can relate so much with their experiences in writing for mystery. Their writing style is easy on the eyes--I also really liked how they characterised the OM characters I have read on their series so far. There's still quite a lot of stuff left in speculation (from my most recent reading at least), and I really look forward to see how everything unfolds!

🌸Tetris Syndrome by apocketfulofposies (NSFW)

I am very very uncomfortable with smut content, so the smut I've read can be counted on one hand. ;; That is to say, TS is one of the few smut that I really, really enjoyed. First of all, Levi's characterisation is on point. It was really really interesting to get in his head and read about his thought process. What is envy? And how much does the sin of envy really define him?

I really enjoyed Levi's internalisations, as well as the author's writing style. If you want smut with a brooding, jealous otaku boy, I really recommend this one!

#obey me #obey me fic #fic recommendation

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akatsukinojutsu · 4 years ago

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𝒮𝒶𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 - Madara Uchiha

summary: You were a confident Uchiha who's fighting abilities were often impressive on the battlefield. That is how you caught the attention of the very special, Uchiha Madara. When a Senju finally got the upper hand, you are left bleeding out in the grass. Just as you are ready to accept your passage into the next world, the famous Uchiha leader saves you and tends to your wounds. [a/n: originally posted on my ao3]

Despite being a woman, your strength was comparable to most Uchiha men in the clan. You worked out often and trained constantly; your ability to succeed on the battlefield was nothing short of utter ecstasy. War, fighting, conflict -- all of these fueled your being and made you feel alive. The sounds of hundreds of men yelling as they charged one another was comforting and the clangs of swords was like the percussion of a symphony orchestra. This was a trait that not many Uchiha women shared and you often found yourself palling around with the men; this caused many stressed relationships with their wives and girlfriends.

But you meant no harm, you had their backs and they had yours. No matter what. This lust for conflict gained the attention of the skilled leader, Madara. He often watched you from afar -- he admired you and metaphorically licked his lips as he observed your talents. He craved to get his hands on you and explore your frame with his rough palms. Madara kept his lustful thoughts to himself but referred to you often to his brother, Izuna. Anytime that he knew there would be conflict for control against the Senju, he wanted you involved. "Someone's got their eye on you, [Y/N]," a male Uchiha member interrupted the conversation that you were having with them. The male tilted his head to the side with his lips slightly puckered in enjoyment.

You turned around to see Madara staring at you from across the courtyard; a blush grew across your cheeks. "What's that I see? Are you turning red?" the male chuckled as he poked your cheek with his forefinger. You grabbed ahold of it and bent it backward in a swift motion. The male shrieked in pain as he dropped down to his knees. "It was just a joke! You broke my goddamn finger!" he rocked as he held his injury. "You're fine," you said coldly as you watched him snap his finger back in place. You exchanged another gaze with Madara, he seemed to have been amused by the scene -- a smile still faintly remained on his lips.

You returned the smile before you turned quickly on your heels to flee before he could approach you. It scared you to think what he could possibly say. You? Scared? Over a man? That was unheard of, nothing scared you. But man, Uchiha Madara made your blood rush. Several days have passed and it was time for another spat with the Senju clan. One of their members attacked an Uchiha during the night and it was time to retaliate. You unsheathed your katana and took a deep breath in...then out. A war cry erupted from your mouth as the field filled with a roar of yells, you charged the enemy along with your kin.

Swords clanged and screams of anguish wailed but you felt like you were in your zone. You jumped, flipped, ran, and spun in flashes of red and black. Your long dark hair whipped wildly in the air as you slayed any Senju that stood in your way. An opponent caught you off guard, they pressed their katana onto yours as they struggled to strike you down. You winced and yelled as you fought back for your life but they began to overpower you. Your right knee began to bend as you were pushed further down to the ground but just before they were able to succeed -- a flurry of crimson and black flew through the air.

The Senju spat blood all over your face before slumping over to the side and laid dead on the grass. You cleaned your face of blood and blinked several times before your eyes focused on your savior. It was Madara. He smiled as he grabbed your upper arm and yanked you to a stand. "You're welcome," he said in condescending tone. You brushed your outfit off and punched him in the shoulder, "I didn't ask for your help." his brows furrowed at your response but your smile that followed afterward confirmed your appreciation.

The two of you danced around the battlefield together in a sort of macabre waltz. You slaughtered the enemy with a gracious swipe of your blade and so did Madara. At times he would crouch over and you would roll over his back to strike, it was mesmerizing to observe the two of you in your natural habitat. As the last Senju fell, the two of you were now face to face. His height was several inches over you and his dark, onyx orbs flickered as they studied your face. He raised his hand to wipe away some blood from your lower lip. You raised your hand to meet his and as you opened your mouth to speak but a frantic male called out to Madara. He informed him of an urgent need and his presence was vital as it involved the Senju clan's leader. "We will continue this later," his thumb dropped from your lip and he quickly took off to assert the situation.

You turned to return home but you were unaware that the last Senju that you had taken down was not dead. He slowly pushed himself up from the ground with his sword in hand... with his last breath and bit of strength, he pulled the blade back and with the last of his will -- he plunged the blade through your abdomen before dropping dead. You gasped loudly when you felt the blade abruptly stab through your stomach, your eyes shook with fear as you realized the weapon was sticking out of your body. Blood dripped from the gaping wound and dribbled down the front of your body. It felt as if you wet yourself because it spread quickly throughout the entirety of the fabric of your uniform. You dropped to your knees as you cried in pain, "I-I can't remove it.. I'll just bleed out," you tried to assure yourself that it would be okay. But the sword was embedded deeply in your muscle and was sticking out the other side -- it would be a miracle if you would survive this.

Your strength was diminishing quickly and you fell to your side; you cried out in pain again as the force from the drop pushed the blade further out. You laid on your side and hacked up a large clot of blood. You knew the end was coming but you weren't ready. You damned the Senju and damned yourself. How could you be so foolish? You knew it was always wise to ensure your enemy was dead with a final stab to the cranium. But you were wooed by the Uchiha leader and his intoxicating presence. The sun began to be covered by dark, grey storm clouds and rain began to drip from above. You closed your eyes as the cool rain began to sooth your worries, it was as if your ancestors in heaven were weeping. But they most likely saw you as a monster for the violence you participated in and thrived greatly from... Maybe they weren't weeping in sorrow but in merriment.

Your vision began to blur and your breaths became shallow as they occurred further apart as time passed. You could feel yourself getting tired but tried to fight back the drowsy feeling that accompanied knocking on death's door. However, if you would end up in hell you would continue to put up a fight there and bring the demons there to their knees as you did in life. You struggled to tug the corner of your lip into a smile as you accepted your fate and awaited death to whisk you away to the afterlife. Your eyes closed and you laid still but... the reaper never appeared. Instead, a savior. You could no longer feel the drips of the rain on your cold, pale skin but the warmth of a person's strong arms.

Your eyes just barely opened but you could see familiar crimson chest plates but before you could further study your hero, you lost consciousness. Madara kept his word that the two of you would continue what happened on the battlefield. He knew that you felt the sexual tension rise and the gruesome waltz that occurred was nothing short of being something real. He recalled the way that you looked at him when he touched your lip, the way he could sense the passion in your dark eyes. You often blushed anytime you caught him staring at you -- he found that cute. But what really appealed to him was your passion. You were a female version of himself and he liked that. Plus, he ached to fill you with himself. If anyone would be suited to produce perfect Uchiha offspring, it would be the two of you. The children you would create and raise could dominate and decimate any enemy that stood in the Uchiha's way.

The Senju called off anymore retaliation at the time and the Uchiha had won this battle... Madara's immediate thought afterward was to return to you. When you were not in your home, he assumed you were still on the battlefield. He rushed back to the area and expected to see you either defeating a last survivor or pacing the field deep in thought. But he was taken back when he did not see you. Madara dashed across the landscape as he searched for you and was in shock to see you collapsed on the ground. He knelt down and he attempted to remove the blade. "No, she would just die from blood loss," he said to himself. The Uchiha knew that you did not have much time left as he placed his ear to your mouth, your breaths were far and few between. He gently scooped you from the ground but he took note of the stream of blood that poured from the wound when he did so Madara pressed his lips firmly together with concern, then he took off to his home.

He would save your life, no matter what it would cost. Madara rushed you into his home and placed you on the kitchen floor. He gathered towels from his bathroom as well as some bandages. "This will get you by until I can get medical-shinobi here," he assured you. He placed one palm on your hip and grasped the hilt of the katana with his other, "Ich, Ni, San...," he whispered as he pulled the blade out with one, smooth movement. You were silent and still which concerned him but his finger on your wrist felt a faint pulse, "Good, you're still alive." However, he needed to address the crimson stream that was now spewing from the large hole in your stomach.

Madara quickly placed towels onto the wound and pressed firmly. He reached over to grab the bandages. Slowly he lifted your body and rotated the roll of bandages around your abdomen to keep the wound covered. It was enough to slow the bleeding and it bought him enough time to seek help from the medically trained shinobi in the clan. "There's no guarantee that this will work, Madara-sama. Her injury is quite extensive." the medical kunoichi reluctantly informed her leader. Madara gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, "You all will do what you need to do to save her." he stormed away to leave the shinobi to perform the Healing Resuscitation Regeneration Technique. It took several hours and cost the shinobi nearly all of their chakra but they were able to save your life. "She is stable," the same kunoichi happily briefed Madara. A rush of relief crashed over him and he thanked them. "I will take it from here." Madara was sure to keep your privacy and decency of your unconscious body.

He poured warm water into a large bowl and slowly undressed your body. The man took tender care of washing your body of the dried sweat, blood, and dirt. He did not fully expose you as he kept your private areas covered with your undergarments. However, curiosity did rear its ugly head. This was the most intimate he had ever been with you and with any woman, actually. He was familiar with the female form and anatomy but he never fully laid with any woman; the conflict with the Senju and the security of the clan was his priority. But he remained proper and respectful, he would never indulge in his desires without your permission, no matter how tempting it may seem. He dressed you in his spare night robe and clothing; then proceeded to scoop you from the floor and place you in his room.

Madara lightly set you down on his bed and covered you with his silk blankets. He placed the back of his hand on your cheek and observed the rise and fall of your breathing, "Good." He retired to his entrance room and made a makeshift bed from several blankets. Daylight came and the sun shined in through the room's shoji which woke the Uchiha leader from his light slumber. He wondered if you were awake from your deep recovery slumber. Madara quietly shuffled his way down the hall but hesitated to slide the door open; he pressed his ear up to the door to listen. No noise came from inside, so, he decided to enter. He knelt down beside you and again, placed the back of his hand on your cheek. This startled you awake and you quickly grabbed hold of his wrist with a tight grasp.

Madara smiled at your reaction and the firmness of your grip. "You're awake," he spoke with amusement. Your eyes frantically darted around the room as you assessed your environment. "Where am I?" you croaked, your throat was dry. "You're safe, [Y/N]-san." you let go of Madara's wrist and pushed yourself up from the bed. "Easy. You're recovering from an injury... I-," you cut him off, "You saved me." He hummed with a nod.

"And you dressed me as well?" you asked as you examined the borrowed clothing that you were in. Madara cleared his throat, "I cleaned and changed you from your bloody clothing. I kept your decency, I promise."

The Uchiha expected you to give the same curt reply, "I didn't ask for you help," but you didn't, "Thank you, Madara-sama." He raised head and then his hand again and pressed his thumb on your lower lip, "I told you that we would continue later."

He smiled, his tired eyes seemed to lighten when he spoke. Your memories of the battle were fuzzy but the roughness of his thumb on your lip helped you to recall the events. You remembered your violent dance together on the battlefield and the sexual tension that existed. There was nowhere for you to run and hide from your emotions. The time was now and he was here. And you wanted to thank him for his actions. You raised your hand to his cheek and caressed his skin.

He then pushed his lips onto yours and you reciprocated the action. The two of you sat there with lips pressed before breaking away, "That's not how you kiss," you whispered bluntly. "Then show me," he commanded. Madara roughly grabbed the back of your head with his palm and pushed your lips against his. This time you licked his lips and he took this as a request to open his mouth. Your tongues touched and you showed him the way, soon the sheepish kiss turned passionate. His hand moved to your waist then up to your chest, his hand roamed your bosoms and played with them roughly.

Despite being a stern, serious man who was confident and experienced on the battlefield... intimate moments were foreign to him. He pushed the clothing off of your shoulders and exposed your bare skin. You tugged at his identical clothing and he complied, his bare chest also now exposed. His chest was firm and chiseled. You would be a liar if you didn't admit you squealed inside like a horny school girl. Madara continued on to litter your upper half with kisses as he sucked and bit on your soft skin; which he proceeded to leave marks of his passion behind. His bites were hard and one drew out a crimson bubble to the surface of your flesh.

He ran his fingertip over the passionate wound and proceeded to place the digit into his mouth; a rush of erotic chills rippled through his skin at the taste of your blood. You squirmed under his control and your hand went right for the prize as you grabbed hold of his crotch. But he stopped you with a firm grip of his left hand. You felt disappointed and confused by his hesitation. Madara pressed his right cheek onto your left and he breathed heavily, "Not now." His right hand grabbed the side of your head and his fingers were wrapped tightly in your hair.

"We will continue this later..."

#naruto imagines #naruto imagine #naruto fanfiction #madara uchiha x reader #reader x madara uchiha #uchiha madara x reader #uchiha madara/reader #madara uchiha fanfiction #uchiha madara fanfiction #naruto #madara uchiha #uchiha madara

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101flavoursofweird · 3 years ago

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Fic Questionnaire

Thanks for @sixtyfourk for tagging me! I’m putting the questions under a cut because it’s quite long :’)

I’ll tag @northernscruffycat, @northelypark, @edward-elbowlick, @vermontwrites, @asa-liz, @yoshi-g-teh-first, @call-me-rucy, and @aquamarineglow but if there’s anyone else who wants to do this, please go ahead!

How many works do you have on AO3?

107… but a lot of these are just reposts or prompt-inspired fics that are 10 lines long!

What's your total AO3 word count?

378242 words

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Professor Layton, PLvsAA, Layton Brothers Mystery Room, Rhythm Thief, Voltron: Legendary Defender (I only watched the first two seasons, haha…), The Ancient Magus Bride (I was in it for the cute dragon mage— not for the main romance), Steven Universe, Ace Attorney (only as a part of PLvsAA), Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, My Hero Academia

…10 fandoms altogether, but some like PLvsAA and LBMR fall under the PL category.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Aizawa Doesn’t Give Hugs - MHA- 1111 kudos - (Why can’t I update my most popular fic?)

Fireflies - Steven Universe - 221 kudos - (Again, WHY DID I NEVER UPDATE THIS?)

Reset - PL - 134 kudos - (This is the one I feel the worst about because it’s an ongoing long fic for my main fandom and I’ve had so much support from readers but I just can’t find the strength to update it…)

Worth Fighting For - PL - 86 kudos - (My incomplete Whumptober fic!)

Mending - Voltron - 85 kudos - (I think this was one of the first fics I posted on AO3 and I was really happy about the response it got! And for a fandom I’d never written for before!)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I usually respond to comments pretty quickly because I want to show my appreciation for people who take the time to comment :) If I’m ever slow to respond it’s probably just because I’m busy or I’m trying to formulate a long response. If a person leaves a longer comment, I try to make my response longer!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

That’s probably ‘To Boldly Flee’. It’s a fic I originally posted on FF.net but it’s now part of an Aurora & Luke oneshot series called ‘Looking Foward’ on AO3. The fic stars Aurora and Luke in an AU set during Azran Legacy. It diverges from canon after Descole steals the Azran keystone in the Nest. Aurora doesn’t want to go to the Azran sanctuary and face her ‘duty’ as the Azran emissary— she also doesn’t want to get STABBED IN THE HEART— so she decides to run away with Luke.

Aurora receives even more angst in this AU than in canon. After Descole’s betrayal, she starts to doubt herself and her friends, aside from Luke.

With a bit of help from Rook and Bishop, the two of them fly to London and then to Misthallery when they hear Targent have taken over the town. During this time, Aurora has her identity crisis about being a golem and having the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. She eventually decides to help Luke save his hometown because Luke is worth the world to her.

This all culminates with Luke getting fatally(?) wounded and taken to the Golden Garden. Aurora is so distraught by this point that she almost ‘floods the whole world’ in a kind of failsafe doomsday device the Azran may have implanted in her. Luckily, Descole and Layton show up to assure her that Luke is alive— but just barely. Aurora returns to her normal self and they get Luke to hospital. Aurora waits by Luke’s bedside for him to wake up. Aurora mentions that Emmy’s fate is unknown, but they still mourn for her.

In the original FF.net ending, Luke wakes up.

In the AO3 ending, Aurora just keeps waiting for Luke. ‘She could not age, so she would wait until he awoke. Even if it took forever...’

If I ever did write more of this story, Aurora and Co would probably go to the other Azran sites (Ambrosia, the Infinite Vault of etc) to search for a cure for Luke. But at it is, the fic is left open-ended as to whether Luke ever recovers.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really hate but there was one anon review that may have been ‘too brutal’ (their words). I can’t say it hasn’t affected the updates on that particular fic.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I wrote a couple of light smut fics back when I really shipped Layton/Emmy. I think I’d cringe if I went back to read those fics (but then again, I do that with a lot of my old writing). I can’t see myself writing smut now.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I can’t say I’ve had a fic stolen, but I was reading a fic a while ago and the wording was veeery familiar. I’m not sure why because the fic was already good up to that point? Why would they bother copying my writing? XD I can’t complain, though! We’re all technically stealing the original creator’s characters and concepts by writing fanfic.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, for my Rhythm Thief AU, Déjà Vergier! In this AU, 16-year-old Raphael gets taken in by the Vergier family. A Deviantart user called BakApple kindly translated my writing into French. With the help of Google Trabslate, I started translating their French Rhythm Thief fic— ‘July the Fourteenth’— into English, but I didn’t get around to finishing it. My translating skills are nowhere near as good as BakApple’s!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I wrote a PL fic with called ‘If You Only Had Time’ with an awesome writer called Glowbug. It’s an AU (of course) where Rachel Bronev survives and she runs away from Targent with eight-year-old Emmy. Glowbug doesn’t seem to be active online anymore, which is a shame, but I don’t mind! I’m just glad we were able to write 6 chapters.

I don’t think I’d co-write any more fics now… but more for the co-writer’s sake than mine! I’m notoriously bad at updating long fics and I struggle to write under pressure or within a time limit. There’s a reason why I don’t enter Big Bang events, as much as I’d like too :’)

Writing fics is a hobby first and foremost. If I don’t feel like writing something, I’ll leave it and come back later, hopefully with renewed inspiration.

But I’m always happy to discuss fic outlines/ideas/characters’ with other people!

What's your all time favorite ship?

Apparently the ship I’ve written the most fics for is Janice/Melina on AO3?

There seems to be more content for them recently and that makes me SO HAPPY.

Ranhengela might be a close second favourite… Sometimes I literally forget both of these ships aren’t canon.

My favourite characters tend to be those who are so selfless and would sacrifice their lives for the ones they love— e.g. Janice and Henry— even if their significant other is presumed to be dead. I want these characters to be happy but I also want them to through ANGST.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don’t want to say Reset… but maybe Reset? I haven’t given up completely but I’ve lost a lot of confidence with this fic. What I wanted most out of this story was for Luke to bond with other characters aside from Layton— his parents, Arianna, Emmy, Flora etc.— and to give these characters a chance to shine. But I guess I realised I can do this without all the crazy plot twists and time travel mechanics… like in Ready Now, for example. Most of that fic is just Arianna bonding with Luke, Layton and the others, and it’s hopefully giving Flora her chance to shine too! I guess after giving Arianna her own chapter in Reset I just really wanted to write about her, haha.

What are your writing strengths?

Someone mentioned in a nice review that I often fuse canon with fanon? That’s usually just me poking fun at the series— like when Arianna’s mother asks about Flora’s age and her adoption status, Arianna and Tony just shrug at her comedically. Who knows, really? :’)

I’ll often just make two character sit in a room TALK about their feelings.

Dialogue is an easy one, but I like writing dialogue for characters and getting their voices down. (I will forever portray Dalston with his official Yorkshire accent— not the fake posh accent they gave him the the US version of Miracle Mask.)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it’s cool! …If it’s not used to mock another language— apart from English. Please make all the English jokes you want. I’ll probably agree with you and laugh at them.

I remember when I was re-reading Goblet of Fire and I cringed every time J. K. Rowling wrote about a character who wasn’t English.

I’ll occasionally throw French words or sayings into Rhythm Thief fics especially because that’s what they do in the game. It’s hilarious how Charlie has an English accent but then she’ll sprout a random French phrase.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Pokemon, but that short oneshot is long gone.

What's your favorite fic you've ever written?

I’m going to be boring and say Bonds Left Unbroken— an AU where Layton and Desmond both get adopted by the Laytons. I think I enjoyed the earlier chapters more, focussing on younger Desmond and Hershel, and especially their time in Stansbury. The later chapters don’t really branch out from canon that much, aside from the fact that Hershel and Desmond are on the same page during Azran Legacy.

I feel bad that I never got around to finishing the ‘bonus’ episodes, but it kind of just felt like the original series with Desmond phoned in :’) But I’m still proud of the original fic!

#Fanfic #answers #long post #my writing #my fics #thanks #TW: JK Rowling mention #Tagging just in case!#Bonds Left Unbroken #Reset #Ready Now #Aizawa Doesn’t Give Hugs #Looking Forward #Deja Vergier

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deltas-writing-corner · 4 years ago

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Courtship: Respect

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings: Mentions and depictions of smoking/tobacco usage

Next chapter | AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

The alarm clock on your phone is loud and annoying, but it’s the only sound that will wake you up without fail so you can get a head start on your more demanding days, like today.

Groggy and neck a bit strained, a sign that you’ve slept on it wrong, you carefully push yourself up and off your bed. You come across your first hurdle of the day. A few wolf cubs had settled on your chest and your sides during the night. You try carefully to move them off of you and to the side of their mother, who has settled near your feet and isn’t afraid to growl or snap her jaw should you even think of shifting or moving away from her. Unfortunately, the pups seem determined to stick by your side despite your efforts. Luckily the pack’s alpha, Gunter, is settled right behind your head and acted as your pillow for the night. He must be why your neck feels stiff as hell.

You reach back and start petting behind his ear, rubbing into the bunch of dotted scars beneath his coarse hair. You feel his body stretch and shake as he wakes up as well. A small whine comes out of him as he gives out an enormous yawn. It makes you yawn as well.

“Ready to start the day?” you whisper to him.

He huffs with a bit of attitude as if to say, “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

You redirect his attention to his pups, preventing you from sitting up without disturbing everyone else. With silent understanding, he removes himself from underneath your head and carefully steps over one of his brothers, who has graciously allowed you to use him as an armrest somewhere during the night. After another good morning stretch, Gunter begins the slow and steady process of picking the pups up from the scruffs off their necks and setting them elsewhere on your bed.

While he does this, you grab your phone and do a quick sweep of all your notifications. You have a few emails, one a weekly newsletter about current and future school events, most of it spam. You have a couple of dozen messages from Ace and Deuce detailing an argument over whether the former ate the latter’s piece of strawberry shortcake they were saving for after dinner. Apparently, they thought to ask you to be their mediator since it was clear they weren’t going anywhere arguing and pointing fingers back and forth at each other.

Unfortunately for them, they messaged you right after you conked out. You were exhausted yesterday, having to deal with an especially rambunctious and mischievous Grim. You were also scrambling to gather the reading materials needed for one of your classes before the other students can snag them. The most recent and urgent incident is figuring out what to do now that the only generator that powers up all of Ramshackle is going out or outright failing to even start up at all. You also have a decently sized garden to tend to, and the next large harvest is today. Once everything has been properly collected, washed, and either stored away in your pantry or given to Sam so he can sell and make a profit on your behalf and his own (it’s a 60/40 split and you had to fight tooth and nail for that 60), you have to replant everything once again after you’ve tilled the soil…

To say that there’s a lot on your plate is an understatement.

Free from your furry prison, you’re finally able to sit up and move your limbs freely. Something slightly damp presses against your bare shoulder, calling for your attention. Gunter, still clearly tired (expected of anyone, human or wolf, having to wake up at six o’clock in the morning), is now awaiting proper payment for his services.

“I got some dried venison in the kitchen,” you offer. The way his one good eye pops wide open and his tail begins to rapidly wag, the deer jerky will suffice.

You give the top of his head one last rub before standing up and heading straight for your bathroom to take a quick shower. Since the availability of electricity has been scarce lately, so is the availability of heating throughout the dorm. Unlike the ghosts, who can’t differentiate between hot and cold (unless it’s magically sourced), you can. Unlike the ghosts who are already dead, you will die in this late winter cold. Grim has better control of his blue flames compared to when you first met him, so he can now essentially be his own heater. He seemed a bit too comfortable keeping himself warm and letting you freeze to death, considering you’re the only reason he’s enrolled in this school.

You make do with what you have and your situation. Even when you gathered all the untorn and clean blankets and piled them on top of you last night, the cold still found its way underneath your cocoon. Gunter, the leader of a small bunch of wolves you had been taking care of during your first few weeks in Twisted Wonderland, must have seen you struggling to stave off the cold and settled himself next to you during the night followed by his brother, his sister, and finally Gunter’s mate and their pups.

Of course, with three full-grown wolves and four chubby wolf babies as your immediate heat sources, you overheated in no time and had to throw off all your covers and strip down to your underclothes in the middle of the night since your pajamas had quickly gotten soaked in sweat (and most definitely covered in their thick fur). A cold shower is just what you need to clean up after a long night drenched in sweat.

You also need to clean your sheets, but without electricity, your washer and dryer are out of order for the time being…

Dammit.

Cold showers suck, but once the ice-cold water hits your back, it woke you the hell up. You probably spent only five minutes in there before you quickly rinsed off and got out because of how unbearable the ice water was.

Once you’re properly toweled dried, you head to your closet and change. You put on clothes you don’t mind getting covered in dirt and sweat; a simple wool sweatshirt and some overalls lined with thick fleece. You also put on a pair of knitted crew socks and secure them to your leg with a pair of garters.

Right as you snap the final metal clasp on the knotted fabric, you feel a familiar bump on your shoulder. Gunter is giving you his best pleading face he can manage. Most people likely wouldn’t fall for it, what with the many scars littering across his body and face, making him look scary rather than cute. You feel a little tug in your heart. Luckily, you’re all dressed up and ready to start your day, so you quickly straighten up and usher him downstairs to give him his well-deserved treat. You grab your phone before you exit your room so you can peruse it on your way.

As you read over old texts and useless emails, a new notification comes in. It’s another message. As surprised as you are to receive a message so early in the morning (Ace and Deuce are likely still snoring and drooling into their pillows at this hour), it is the sender of the text that makes your slowed strides halt completely.

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant and well-deserved night of rest. I’m currently getting ready to head over to the Ramshackle dorm to help you with your harvesting, as I promised. The coat you’ve made and gifted me during the holidays also fits perfectly and is by far the most comfortable piece of clothing I now own.

Thank you again for your most generous gift. I will inform you when I have arrived.

Yours truly,

Malleus Draconia

You can’t help but smack your palm on your forehead. You’re not annoyed or exasperated, it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re happy that Malleus’s charm can somehow manifest even within a text message. In fact, this isn’t the first time he’s sent you a message formatted and written like a formal letter. If someone were to look at the small messaging history between you two, they’d see that a great majority of it is just Malleus sending you these long strings of text. They would also find your messages, or rather, your poor and embarrassing attempts at mimicking his language and style (he says he gets a laugh out of them, so maybe they’re as bad as you think). There’s also always a follow-up message, gently reminding and encouraging him to relax and not worry about offending you for speaking casually for you.

His response is always the same, and it makes your stomach feel strangely fuzzy.

You have earned my respect, now I must strive to earn yours.

It’s only been a little over a month since he dropped the bombshell that was his desire for your friendship to evolve into a proper, romantic relationship. To say it surprised you is another understatement. You were thoroughly flabbergasted once your mind finally registered his words as genuine. To hear him say “I love you” and direct such a powerful statement towards you was truly the last thing you expected since arriving in this strange world.

But through all the outer uncertainties there was one thing you were certain of, your inner uncertainties. Malleus is a dear friend of yours. Even amongst Ace or Deuce, two individuals who have been with you since the beginning and nearly every overblot incident that has come your way, Malleus holds a special place in your heart as your dearest friend.

But a friend is all he’s ever been in your mind. There was truly never an instance where you pondered or even held some amount of desire or expectation that your friendship could evolve into something more. You felt like a total prick during the end of his confession, asking him if you could sit on his words for a while and come back to him when you have a more certain and final answer to give. Watching the hope and nervousness in his eyes turn into one of pure and utter sadness and even embarrassment, yet he willed himself to conceal his heartbroken emotions back for your sake. It hurt like hell. What was supposed to be an exciting and relaxing end-of-winter-break party in Scarabia’s dorm (and an apology party for Jamil’s actions against you), turned awkward. Neither of you stayed any longer once you went your separate ways.

Despite what had happened, when you received a proper smartphone (and a proper phone plan to boot) as a gift for Christmas, one of the first things you did was transfer all your old contacts into the new device. The first person you messaged was Malleus, wanting to check in on him after your last encounter and to wish him a happy holiday. He answered back in a matter of minutes, much to your surprise. While he’s not the most tech-savvy, your major concern was whether he was holding up well after what happened and if you guys were going to remain as friends. You went on a whole tangent, trying your best to not sound so desperate and ensure that your response is in no way his fault because it most certainly is not. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.

Gunter suddenly tenses up. His fur instinctually puffs out, trying to appear bigger in anticipation of whatever threat he’s detected in the kitchen. Metallic clanking and clashing come from underneath the kitchen island where you store all the pots, pans, and heavy-duty appliances. A loud and harsh crash riles up Gunter enough that he feels the need to growl at whatever is underneath the cupboard.

You quietly move past him and wave your arm, signaling him to move back a bit. He listens to your orders and takes a few slow steps back. You position yourself on the side of the cabinet, fingertips pressing onto the top of the door to prepare to open.

“On my mark,” you whisper to Gunter. “One... Two…Three!”

You yank the door open, and Gunter quickly launches himself towards the potential threat. Though, not a second passes before he’s suddenly skidding across the floor, trying to immediately halt himself. He barely avoids hitting his head against the wood and giving himself a nasty bruise. When you ask him what’s wrong, he sticks his head into the cabinet and pulls out the apparent intruder.

It’s Blossom, a young fawn you rescued from the rose gardens of the Heartslaybul dorm. It was during the preparation of the unbirthday party near the start of the school year that subsequently led to dorm leader Riddle’s overblot. Cater assigned Grimm, Ace, Deuce, and yourself to paint the roses red with him. On top of rose painting duty, Cater was also on the lookout for a supposed ‘rose thief’ who had been snagging some roses from their garden right from under their noses. The scoundrel they were looking for was the fawn before you. From the way he still wobbled on his feet, he wasn’t even a month old when you initially rescued him. He’s lucky you found him when you did. His front leg was caught in a rusted and dull, but full-sized bear trap they set up in case the thief was a wild animal.

“What are you doing in there?” you ask the little troublemaker. “Probably trying to find a snack to chew on, huh?”

Blossom thrashes, trying to break free from Gunter’s hold on his scruff. He of course fails, but not without giving out a distressed scream and trying to plead for forgiveness by giving you his best innocent look. You shake your head before looking up at the small clock hung up on the wall above the refrigerator. It runs on battery so you have to worry about the time no longer being correct when the house lacks power.

It’s 6:15, still way too early. You tell Gunter to let go of Blossom and he does it without argument. Blossom quickly runs up to you, using your own body as a foothold to jump up into your arms. Once you have a hold of him, he bombards your face with little licks and nuzzles of his snout. While this action is normal and you would gladly accept it, you know better than to think it’s not the fawn’s attempts at trying to distract you from his misdeed.

“If you’re looking for the sugared flower petals, you won’t have any luck down there,” you tell him. He immediately stops his loving ministrations and gives out a disappointingly snort before relaxing in your arms.

You chuckle and give him a few apologetic pets on the head as you walk over to one of the upper cupboards and rummage around the various jars, trying to locate the dried venison for Gunter. You also grab a jar placed far in the back with the aforementioned candied rose petals Blossom was most definitely looking for. The moment you open the jar and the heavy scent of sweetness and floral whiffs in the air, Blossom begins to excitedly thrash about in your arms and tries to stick his head into the container. Luckily, the small nubs on his head, his newly budding antlers, stop him from reaching too deep.

You spend the next few minutes feeding your companions their early morning treat. The doorbell rings as you let Blossom lick the last specks of sugar off of your now damp palm. After rinsing your hands off and drying them, you head to the door. You open it and take in the sight of a newly arrived Malleus, dressed in a simple black dress shirt and a pair of loose-fitting linen pants you made for him when he expressed discomfort over his PE uniform the last time he helped you in your garden.

“Good morning!” you greet him as brightly as you can without being too loud.

“A good morning to you as well,” he greets back. Unlike you, who is still groggy and slow, he seems properly energized despite the time. You’re jealous. You’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn for years, at least a decade now, yet your body isn’t used to the early routine. Though compared to the hundreds of years Malleus has on you, you probably won’t show any sign of improvement until your hairs are gray.

“Have you eaten yet?” Malleus asks.

You shake your head. “The electricity is out, so I can’t use the stove or open the fridge too often.”

“Crowley still hasn’t replaced your generator?”

“No,” you frown. “Every time I try to bring it up he either gives an outlandish excuse or just flat out tells me I don’t need a new one.”

His eyebrows pressed together, clearly upset as you are at the headmaster’s failure as your caretaker. You reassure him it’s fine. Everyone in the dorm has been saving money for emergencies like this, and it just so happens that the money you’ll make for selling the produce you collect today will bring in just enough to buy a brand new generator. You’ll be out of electricity for another week, two at most, but have enough firewood and nonperishable foods to last until then.

“You should at least make yourself some coffee,” Malleus urges. “It’s bad to work on an empty stomach. You've said so yourself.”

“I will once Grim and the ghosts wake up,” you reassure. “For now, let’s head to the back and get started. There’s a lot to harvest, so the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish up.”

He’s clearly unhappy at your dismal of his concerns. You know that being so nonchalant towards a fae is rude, but you don’t want to worry him with your own issues. You also have no desire to eat or drink, not this early in the morning at least. If you tell him as much, he’ll probably freak out like he did last time, thinking you were unwell and forcing you to lie in bed for the rest of the day.

Yes, you could have pushed back and argued that you were fine, but it’s very hard to tell him “no” when his intentions are purely out of concern for your well-being. Better to let him hover over you and see that you’re fine than to leave him stewing in his anxieties in silence.

“What have you been growing this season?” Malleus asks as he tugs on the loaned gardening gloves you handed him.

“The usual spread. Some potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. The only fresh additions I planted are some peas and kale. Oh, and broccoli!”

“Did the crops hold well when you were gone?”

“They did thanks to the ghosts. The heat from the fire faeries around the campus also made them easier to protect from the cold,” you explain. “I should probably give them some type of exotic wood as a little thank you gift.”

“You can never go wrong with a bit of mahogany,” Malleus says as he ties back his hair.

You hand him a straw hat, one that you weaved to accommodate for his black horns. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles at you before turning back to your garden. “So where shall we start first?”

“I’ll work on picking the cabbage heads. You can cut off the pea pods and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well. I’ll follow your lead.”

It’s 8 a.m. You know this because Ace and Deuce are woken up at this hour by Riddle and one of the first things they do is bombard you with text messages which usually forces you to turn your phone on silent mode. Despite it being late winter, you’re already working up a sweat from the repetitive and demanding motions of picking and carrying around baskets full of vegetables and cleaning them. Malleus is no better, hand continuously raising to his face to wipe away the constant wetness clinging to his forehead. You know he’s not used to manual labor like you are, so you try to bring him a pail of water every so often so he can stay properly hydrated.

“Oh my, you’re already up?”

You turn around to see who’s speaking to you and see one of the ghosts that live with you and Grim in Ramshackle floating towards you.

“Good morning!” you greet him. “Did you need something?”

“No no,” he shakes his head. “I just came to check up on my bees and saw you already hard at work.”

The ghost (Franklin is his name, but you all call him Frankie for short by his insistence), affectionately ruffles your hair with his large white palm. He’s one of the tamer ghosts, but he’s still capable of pulling a prank on you or his fellow housemates now and then. You and he have been cultivating and maintaining a small beehive since October, but he does most of the work and maintenance since he has more experience in the ways of beekeeping than you from when he was alive.

Frankie does a quick once over of the garden, his scanning gaze doubling back at seeing Malleus carefully rinse a couple of heads of broccoli.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since 6:30,” you answer back. “Why?”

“No one gets up that early unless it’s for someone they fancy,” he says rather nonchalantly, but the way he quickly side-eyes you show that he’s clearly talking about you. You try your best to appear unaffected and give a “Is that right?” type of hum, but your efforts are in vain since he just laughs at you.

“If even you know, that means he’s got it bad.”

You say nothing back because you honestly don’t know what to say, or if you should. You’re content to just go back to plucking potatoes out from the ground, but Frankie doesn’t seem to want to leave you alone just yet. He asks you to come with him to the greenhouse where the hive is being kept. The small glass enclosure also houses some flowers and herbs you use for cooking or medicine.

You quickly close the door behind you once you enter, reveling in the warmer air that hits your face. While Frankie lights his cigar and gets a heavy cloud of smoke going (his personal method of keeping the bees calm), he has you open the top and carefully pull out the panels one by one while he checks for any signs of a decaying hive and ensures the queen is alive and healthy. One of your initial worries about beekeeping was getting stung, but Frankie reassured you it’ll only happen if you purposely upset the bees or fail to care for the hives consistently. Now, you gladly let the buzzing honeybees wander around your bare skin.

As Frankie pulls out his cigar from between his lips and taps off the ashes into the respective ashtray, he looks over at you and asks, “Is everything ok?”

You give him a confused expression as you snap the cover for the hive back into place. “I’m fine?”

“You sure? Because if you ask me, you don’t seem like it.”

“I mean, I already have a pile of schoolwork I need to finish and a rundown dorm to take care of. I’m as ok as anyone in my position can be-“

“I’m not talking about any of that,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about you. Forget about Grim and your studies. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answer again.

“Are you sure?”

Well, when he puts it that way, even he must be able to see that you’re clearly not doing alright. In fact, you haven’t been alright since you were literally kidnapped and held against your will in the Scarabia dorm. Luckily everything worked out fine for everyone else, but not so much for you. You’ve noticed that your appetite is waning and you wake up multiple times during the night because you don’t feel safe, even in your own room.

Malleus’s confession unfortunately was another wrench being thrown at you. With your hands already so full of this and that, you’re struggling to figure out what needs a priority and which issues you need to either drop entirely or find someone trustworthy to take care of it in your stead. It’s hard to ask people for help when they either find a convenient reason to say no or you feel as if you can’t trust them to do something as simple as watering your plants. The only person you feel you can trust and ask for help is Malleus, and things aren’t exactly as they were between the two of you.

“Talk to me kiddo,” Frankie prods. “What’s been eating at you?”

He lifts his ashtray and makes to snuff out his cigar so he can focus on speaking to you, but you hastily reach over and stop him. You take the smoke from him and bring it up to your lips and puff a few grey clouds. Strangely enough, it tastes rather pleasant, floral, and creamy. You didn’t expect to taste like this because of the way it smells, like soil that was just freshly rained on.

“Sorry,” you hand it back to him. “I haven’t eaten and I’m practically running on fumes.”

“That’s alright,” he says, handing it back to you. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Malleus carefully blows small bits of green fire onto his freezing fingertips, trying to warm them up after being drenched in the icy water from the water pump. He looks over his shoulder, over the stalks of peas, towards you. You’re still in the greenhouse and frantically moving your lips. He can see your eyes are glistening with a fresh layer of… tears? You don’t allow a single drop to get past your lids, wiping them just at the last second before they can pass over the threshold.

He’s only ever seen you cry one other time, when he came to your rescue in Scarabia over the break. He initially thought he frightened you with his aggressive display of magic. Once the dust settled and the blot on Jamil was expunged, no one was more shocked than he was when you boldly ran straight towards him and jumped into his arms. It was all he ever wanted, what his mind dreamed of every single time he closed his eyes. He could no longer brush off the fluttering in his stomach as the mere excitement of making and spending time with his first genuine friend. He was determined to keep his newfound affections for you with him under lock and key, not willing to risk ruining your close-knit friendship with his selfish and potentially one-sided desires.

Your desperate embrace, your toughie exterior lowering to that of a sniveling and shaking human, gave Malleus the impression that the only reason you would display such vulnerability before him was that you reciprocated his sentiments. It gave him a sense of confidence he never knew he was lacking, usually so sure of himself most other times. It made his chest burn with an aching desire to say “to hell with it all” and spill his heart right then and there.

When you extended the invitation you received from Kalim to him, he saw it as his proper opportunity to let his affections be known. He was upset (according to Lilia, more than usual) that he had to take Sebek and Silver along with him for the usual security, but he was determined to get them distracted long enough so he can pull you aside and confess to you without fear of interruption or letting his personal affairs be known to anyone else, at least, for as long as he can keep something so monumental under wraps.

As a prince, he has been taught to look at the long term for each of his decisions, as they carry substantial weight. The long term of pursuing a relationship with you meant having to deal with the prejudices and stigma against humans that still live within the hearts of his people. For once in his life, he didn’t want to think like an heir. As he watches you continue to talk to one of Ramshackle’s ghosts with increasing frustration, he realizes his love utterly blinded him back then. The only long-term his rose-tinted mind could comprehend was of the happy moments he had long conjured in his head becoming a reality.

You didn’t explicitly reject him, however; he knows your behavior well enough to know that once his feelings were laid bare before you, you would not take them into your arms and hand yours over in return. Arms crossed and avoidance of eye contact, you do this when you’re nervous or unsure, sometimes both. He held onto the self-indulgent hope that you’d show him what you look like when flustered. Perhaps you’d stutter?

You did stutter when you spoke up, but they were not the words that he wanted, that he thought he was, going to hear.

“Malleus...I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, you’re here early!”

“It’s just that…I don’t think I can…”

“Hey! Are you listening to me? You better not be ignoring me on purpose!”

“It’s not that I’m telling you I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t exactly say that I do. It’s just... I’ve never- “

“Tsu-no-ta-rou!” Grim’s shrill voice, still a bit riddled with drowsiness, still pierce Malleus’s eardrums and nearly causes him to drop the vegetable in his hand. “Pay attention to me when I’m speaking!”

“Quiet,” he growls at the monster. “If you need your master, they’re in the greenhouse. Though, you might want to come back another time.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Malleus lifts Grim from the back of his fuzzy robe (you must have made it and gifted it to him during the holidays) and points to you. Frankie has one of his translucent hands on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly now and then while he speaks. You were no longer wiping your face so furiously, allowing your tears to fall and drip off of your jaw and wet your shirt as you listened to your fellow dorm resident.

“What happened? Did you smash all the tomatoes again?” Grim cranes his neck to look at Malleus accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. Those are out of season.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at Scarabia,” Grim muses. “They haven’t been sleepin’ too good since we came back, y’know?”

Malleus nearly drops the cat. “They haven’t?”

“Nah,” the cat answers, far too casually and dismissively for the fae’s liking.

“This is news to me,” Malleus says, almost whispering to himself. He’s sad, almost offended, at the fact that you haven’t told him you’ve been having some difficulties this whole time. You normally keep him up to date with your personal life. He’s even more offended once he realizes that you’ve been worrying and reassuring him that your friendship with him isn’t ruined after what’s happened.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, conniving and twisted, that feeds into his already prevalent belief that your unwillingness to share with him your personal problems anymore is a sign that he hasn’t earned your respect. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but no amount of reassuring from either you or himself is going to stop his Mind from asking such a multi-sided question. Surely, if you thought admirably of him, you’d continue to allow him to bear witness to your moments of weakness and vulnerability. He feels close to you, connected to you in a way he’s never felt. He can be slow and downright miss some references to your jokes and behavior. You always put on a face of understanding, but is he so lost that your patience has worn paper-thin?

Are his feelings for you truly one-sided? Is he still jumping to conclusions too soon and just needs to give you more time and space? Did he just set a course for a ruined friendship or could his hastiness have been a fruitful gamble?

If it’s not iron that kills him, it’s the uncertainty within his heart and mind.

A shrill whistle pierces through the air and Malleus’s eardrums. Grim hisses at the sudden noise and the hairs on his neck stand up. Even Frankie and you can hear and turn your heads towards the source despite still being in the middle of a conversation. The one who whistled was another one of the ghosts who live in Ramshackle. Johnathan is his name, usually shortened to Johnny. His sunken cheekbones make him look unassuming, but you’ve rightly warned Malleus never to turn your back on that one for too long. It’s a miracle that you can keep up with all their shenanigans.

“I got the generator to start up and made some coffee!” Johnny happily announces. “Come get it while it and the dorm are nice and warm!”

“I’ll have a cup or two, so long as there’s a ton of cream and sugar!” Grim says whilst smiling. “And I ain’t skimping this time on the sugar!”

“You better if you know what’s good for you,” you sternly say, now out of the greenhouse along with Frankie. “We’re short on sugar and I’m not stocking up till next weekend.”

“Whaaaat?!” Grim exclaims, his lower jaw almost reaching the floor. “Since when did you become such a cheapskate?”

Everyone, including Malleus, did a sharp intake of breath as soon as the words passed the cat’s mouth. Everyone turns their head towards you, awaiting your reaction to Grim’s comment. This isn’t the first time Grim has gotten lippy with you and, given his nature as a mischievous little monster (a common trait between Ramshackle’s residents, Malleus is now noticing), it won’t be his last no matter how badly you scare or pull a fast one under his clawed feet. Even when your face is all puffy and wet with semi-dried tears, the look of “oh you’re in it now” is still so panic-inducing to everyone, ghosts, and feline alike. To the sole Fae present, he thinks of you as nothing short of adorable and wants nothing more than to wipe your messy face clean.

“Well, if you want more sugar there is one way you can get some more.”

“W-W-What is it?” Grim says, pudgy body shaking and sinking into the comfort and small safety of his fuzzy robe.

You approach him and bend down to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him so he’s at your eye level before deadpanning, “Get a job, Make some money, and then buy your own.”

Once you set Grim down, he scrambles back into the home with an almost comical amount of fear in his eyes. He screams about how he’s never getting a job even if it kills him and his continued determination to find the small money vault you have hidden around the dorm and spend it all on canned tuna. Johnny, Frankie, and you all give a unison chant of good luck to him before he disappears completely.

“Has he made any progress in his search?” Malleus asks.

“Our money vault isn’t even in the house, so no,” Johnny answers, resulting in you and Frankie cackling and high-five one another.

With the power back on, you announce that it was time for a well-deserved break. It’s your turn to make breakfast and you immediately begin to ask everyone for their preferences. Frankie cuts you off and insists he take over your duties for the day. You normally would protest and insist to whoever was offering to cover for you it wasn’t a problem for you at all. “I enjoy doing [insert chore], so it’s fine!” is your usual go-to reasoning, but not this time.

Malleus notices the way you make to protest as usual, but you quickly back down and just let Frankie go ahead inside to take over for you. In normal Ramshackle fashion, Frankie mentions the cigar you were puffing and waving around earlier and says that you owe him another one, particularly an artisanal one that he’s recently read about in the local newspaper and has been aching to try.

“You got any more highly specific goods you want me to fight tooth and nail for?” you sneer.

“No, just the cigar will do,” he says before turning around to head back inside. Before he can close the door behind him all the way he pulls it back and says, “If you get it sometime this week I’ll buy a new bag of sugar.”

You whisper an impressive string of curses under your breath. Malleus has to restrain the urge to laugh at your colorful vocabulary.

“In that case, I hope your schedule is free tomorrow night. I’ll have it by then.”

Frankie gives you a thumbs up before heading back inside. Once the door behind him clicks shut, you turn towards Malleus and he physically feels his body shift from somewhat relaxed to stiff and proper. You notice this and crinkle your nose a bit, something to do when you find something endearing or as a way of silently giggling. Malleus watches with such an unnecessary amount of focus as you reach up to adjust his straw hat and wipe a bit of dirt off the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for leaving you hanging back there,” you say as you pick off a stray leaf that somehow got tangled in his dark locks. “I’m also sorry you had to see me crying like that. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

There it is again. That damn twisting ache right in his heart.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “But if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, is your lack of sleep really all that’s wrong with you?”

You give out a long sigh. “I’m guessing Grim told you a bit of what’s been happening since winter break?”

“He has.”

Your arms cross and the ground suddenly becomes more interesting. You’re unsure, but the way your eyebrows press together is a sign that you’re conflicted. Malleus feels his frostbitten hands accumulate a layer of sweat as you silently mull over your thoughts. Despite the pain and hesitance in his heart, he wills himself to grasp you by the arm and pull you into an awkward hug. He knows it’s not exactly what you might need at the moment, and he was fully preparing you to push him away. He’s relieved when you bring your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace.

“I’m tired,” you sigh

“You haven’t been resting well, so it makes sense.“

“No,” you shake your head, the tips of your hair tickling Malleus’s neck. “It’s not just a lack of sleep that’s making me feel exhausted. After what happened with Scarabia, especially with Jamil, I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Are you afraid?” he asks. To think of you as fearful is an entirely foreign concept for him when you’ve only ever been confident and certain of yourself since the first time he met you.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit without skipping a beat.

Considering what you told him, Malleus thinks your fear is justified. You have no defense against magic…

He fills a strain in his neck as his entire body suddenly seized up. You notice this and pull away to ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, but you don’t let him go silent on you.

“If,” he hesitates. He’s thinking too rashly already, yet he’s still so compelled to act upon his thoughts. “Should anyone attempt to do you harm, I swear upon my name and title that I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

He means every word, but you seem to take it far too casually than he would have liked. You press your face against his shoulder and laugh against his skin, your breath bringing him some much-needed temporary warmth. Such an ordinary action, yet it causes another pang within his heart. It settles next to the one that arose before, but he bites his tongue and endures it for your sake.

“Maybe you could play that electric violin for whoever comes after me,” you jest.

As embarrassing as it is to hear that you know about that incident (he’ll have to reprimand Lilia for telling you about that), he can’t help but laugh along with you. If making a bunch of teenagers’ foam from the mouth amuses you, then so be it.

“Thank you for offering to get your hands dirty for my sake,” you say. “That’s one thing I respect about you. You take care of the people you care for.”

His body goes still once again. “Is that right?” is all his mind can wrap around and say.

“Yes, oh Wise and Great Lord Malleus. I do, in fact, respect you.”

He cringes at that title. It’s something he has heard Sebek try to enforce you to refer to Malleus as, which you never do purely so you can get a rise out of his loyal guard. Before he can ask you to never call him that again, a bunch of howl’s ring out, and the two of you pull away from each other. The wolf’s howling is usually a sign that food is ready, which you seem rather eager to get to as you interlock your arm with his and drag him inside with you.

He looks back at his basket of still dirty vegetables. “What about-“

“It’s alright! I’m not throwing a fuss over a few broccoli heads!”

Crispy bacon, over easy and scrambled eggs, and a mountain of sizzling hash browns. Once everyone grabs a plate and sits down at the dining table (Malleus sticks close to you, hoping he can sit next to you), they grab whatever pieces of food they want in whichever quantity. Somewhere in the next room over, a faint melody plays through the speaker of an old record player. The vintage singer has a rather cheeky attitude in her vocals but with the accompanying music, it all comes together harmoniously. It’s perfect for a rather excitable breakfast.

It seems you never told the ghosts too many details about your sudden disappearance during the break. You downplay the true extent of your dilemma as you willingly giving your time and effort to help a desperate Jamil figure out what was causing his normally kind dorm leader to have a sudden personality switch. The ghosts listen carefully, and as you gradually get to the big climax that is Jamil’s betrayal and overblot, followed by Malleus’s sudden appearance, they’re all practically hanging on the edge of their seats. Your tale even intrigues the wolves and Blossom. They gather and settle near the legs of your chair, ushering you to continue your story by whining and scratching your ankle.

You don’t exaggerate Malleus’s part in your tale, something he greatly appreciates. You tell them how things happened just as they did: Grey clouds suddenly covering the sky and the occasional peak of lightning through their fogginess. Just when it seems like Jamil has the upper hand and is going to put an end to Grim and you, as well as Jade, Floyd, and Azul of Octavinelle, Malleus appears out of nowhere and effortlessly zaps the blot right out of the vice dorm leader of Scarabia.

“That deserves some praise,” Benjamin, the third of your ghostly residents, raises his half-filled mug of coffee and extends it towards the middle of the table. “To Malleus!”

Everyone, including you and Grim, raises your glasses and repeats his chant. “To Malleus!”

“To me, I suppose,” Malleus half-heartedly raises his own cup. “It really wasn’t much effort, or any praise really.”

He catches you looking at him in his peripheral and he feels a lump form in this throat that he immediately swallows. “I simply did what I believed you would have done for me if our positions were reversed.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you say after swallowing a hefty mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But it’s nice knowing you have my back. It makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” Malleus is surprised to hear you say this, considering what you told him earlier. “I make you feel safe?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “Y-Yeah. I guess you do.”

“You guess?”

“You do,” you say, more definitively this time. “I promise. If you didn’t you’d know.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I can only imagine what interacting with you would be like then.”

“Probably not that good, or not at all. I steer clear of people I don’t particularly like.”

His eyebrows raise in intrigue as he sips his now lukewarm coffee. “What makes you dislike someone?”

“I dislike people I have no respect for,” you say casually. Malleus thinks you might be joking or poking fun at him, but how you take the time to look up to him while you busy yourself with feeding Gunter a few bits of bacon clearly means you’re trying to tell him something secretly. It’s definitely something along the lines of, “I don’t know where this mindset of me not respecting you came from, but it’s a load of bullshit and you need to get that thought out of your head.”

Even within his head, your language is still so vulgar and blunt. Only you would talk to him in such a rude manner.

But he respects that part about you.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twst writing #fanfic: courtship #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #gender neutral reader

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years ago

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Whumptober: Day Two, Talking is Overrated

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Chapter Summary: Ever since Remus returned from his isolation in the Imagination, things between Janus & Virgil have been strained. Virgil can’t deny that he finds Remus attractive, & Janus doesn’t seem to have a problem with this, but there’s a lot lurking just under the surface of his feelings that makes being with either of them far more difficult than it should be. CW: Dubious consent, panic attacks, anxiety, crying, blowjobs, deepthroating, graphic description of sexual acts Word Count: 5160 Genre: Hurt, Smut, Angst, Whump Rating: Explicit Ships: Dukexiety with a dash of Anxceitmus Author Notes: Soooo you’ll notice that this is very out of the realm of the stuff I usually write. I’m giving everyone a warning right now, this is dubcon & it’s all hurt, no comfort. If you’re familiar with my writing, right about now you’re asking who the fuck is this because this sure isn’t Andrew-Moceit-Fluff-Anderson, & you’re right! This is extremely out of character for me! But sometimes you just gotta hurt the anthropomorphized version of your panic disorder to get through some shit, you know? lmao. Maybe that’s relatable, maybe you’re wondering if my hitaus has turned me into a psycho; who knows! But anyway! I’m using Whumptober to explore some...less than savory topics. So honestly, a big fat “Don’t like, don’t read” / “Dead Dove Don’t Eat” on everything I post this month. But if you’re into it! Hell yeah! I hope you enjoy! :D

Taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @anxiousbean4404 @vexelore @ranboo-but-booran @serpentinesomebody @poptartsaysurloved @robertdownerjr @dangitsbrightinhere @iamuncomffy @sanderdarksides @dragonfander @virgilstarantula @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626 @edupunkn00b @wouldntyou-liketoknow @awesomerandomgirl1 @cosplayhanna @rizzyluke @all-panic-nodisco @remy-the-lemon-berry @their-royal-fiensishness @xravynsflamex @imma-potatoo @obsxdiannn

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Hearing the television downstairs, Virgil decided that four in the afternoon was as good a time as any to leave his room for the day. With ghostly silent steps, he descended the stairs - only to stand awkwardly at the foot. His eyes settled on Janus who was staring at the flickering screen, a gloved hand bore the weight of his head with a cupped cheek. Virgil’s heart rate thrummed in his ears like an approaching war drum, nearly drowning out the indecisive show clips. The irregular pattern of noise began a pressure between his eyes as he strained to keep up with alternating sounds of unfamiliar shows.

“Oh is that o--” Virgil started, recognizing a voice finally with several ounces of relief. His head turned as Janus clicked past a rerun of The Twilight Zone.

He blinked, pausing on the following station as he looked up at Virgil with furrowed brows.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Virgil said, shaking his head. With long steps he quickly retreated to the kitchen as Janus shrugged and resumed his mindless clicking.

Virgil collapsed against the kitchen counter, a palm splayed heavily behind him as though his life depended on it, the other gripping his stomach. Breathe, he ordered himself sternly, tightly closing his eyes and drawing in a breath he struggled to keep quiet. In, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Out, 1, 2, 3, 4 --

“Virgil, since you’re in the kitchen,” Janus called, hardly louder than his speaking voice, but the sound made Virgil jump regardless. Instinctually a hand slammed over his mouth to keep the inevitable squeak on his tongue. “Would you be a darling and make us some tea?”

“Y-yeah! Sure!” He said, peeling his palm off his lips. As Janus remained silent, Virgil sighed heavily.

He repeated his breathing exercise as the water boiled, again as he dumped a ridiculous amount of sugar in one mug and a single teaspoon in another, once more as he placed a bag of Red Rose strawberry cheesecake flavored herbal tea in one mug and a bag of standard Lipton black in the other. His hands had stopped shaking by the time he carried both steaming cups out and placed them on the coffee table.

Typically he wasn’t one for hot drinks outside of the occasional hot chocolate in fall, but the idea of bringing Janus something without one of whatever it was for himself had always felt...off. Awkward maybe, or just weird; Virgil couldn’t say, but it always compelled him to inevitably join Janus, even if that was the last thing he wanted.

“Oh delightful,” Janus said, immediately wrapping his hands around the molten mug. Virgil flinched just thinking about touching something that hot, but Janus simply leaned back against the couch with a look Virgil could only describe as stupidly content.

“Yeah,” He mumbled and again found himself standing there.

Why was he always so awkward? Virgil internally lamented, wondering what normal people did with their hands. He’d been with Janus on this side of the Mindscape for four years now; had watched television and drank tea with him plenty of times. But it never felt easier. Janus put him on edge, for more than a handful of reasons; some harmful and some not.

Fight or Flight - more aptly upgraded to Paranoia these days - in theory was necessary for something like Self Preservation. A healthy dose of Anxiety kept one vigilant about their health and surroundings; it provided information for Self Preservation to react to and plan for. On paper, they should be a smooth running machine; Virgil would alert Janus to dangers and Janus would provide the escape route. The wrench was that communication was neither of their strong suits; but after four years, Janus didn’t really need Virgil to speak. He knew his problematic little spider well enough by now.

“Sit down already,” Janus waved a hand to the open end of the couch. “Your angst is suffocating.”

“S-sorry,” Virgil mumbled and sat on the opposite side of the L shaped couch.

“Tsk.”

The two sipped their respective cups in a smothering silence. Virgil’s shoulders ached under the weight. Should he talk? Was Janus going to say something? He stole a glance at his partner, and a sigh caught at the back of his throat at the sight. Janus sat upright, drinking his tea and staring at the television without even a furrow between his brow. Why was he always so goddamn content?

“You’re still upset.”

“No,” Virgil rushed, the sudden observation pumping adrenaline through his blood. Janus hadn’t even looked at him - how the hell had he made any sort of observation, true or not? The air around them sweetened. Janus narrowed his eyes condescendingly, finally sparing a glance at him to offer the expression. They both knew that was a lie. Virgil bowed his head, needing to look away.

“You should really know better by now.” Janus complained into this teacup, but to Virgil’s ears, it just sounded like an insult.

He should know better by now than to lie to Janus’ face. Or maybe he should know better by now than to get upset at Thomas’ lies. But Virgil struggled to say it wasn’t the thought of Thomas lying that lurched his stomach. The words knotted his tongue and tightened his throat until even the tea wouldn’t go down.

Of course Janus knew this; knew every bit of Virgil’s simple psychology. His words were being misconstrued in that buzzing mind of his at this very moment. Even his intent from yesterday; misunderstood, which is what got them here of course. What was bothering Virgil was very easy to understand; when continuously faced with the fact that Janus unflinchingly told Thomas to lie, manipulate, and do whatever he must to get what he wants, it was only a matter of time before Virgil began to wonder if those very same morals were at play in their relationship.

The answer was equally obvious, Janus thought, and therefore Virgil should know better by now.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed with a sigh, but the bitterness continued to strangle him, and Janus felt no need to get into the topic. If they continued pretending as though things were fine, eventually they would be, which was usually his philosophy in dealing with Virgil’s anxiety.

The crushing silence rang in Virgil’s ears despite the ease it came to Janus with. Paranoia - it was a very difficult experience and talking himself off the ledge was getting harder every day. The thought of Janus hurting him was haunting. How far would he go to get his way? The things he implied Thomas should be willing to do...were they things Janus was willing to do to him? Virgil gulped, and then jumped five inches off the couch.

“Sup, emo,” Remus greeted nasally, having barrelled down the stairs in microseconds. Virgil’s heart all but stopped as he cursed at the warm tea that had splashed on his hand with the shock.

With no amount of hesitance, Remus flopped on the couch and forced his head into Janus’ lap. Though Janus looked generally disgruntled about the loud interruption, he still lifted his arms and adjusted to make himself available.

“Aw damn,” Remus continued gruffly, ignoring Virgil’s flinch and discomfort as he gave a grotesque sniff to the air. “You made tea and didn’t even heat me up any bleach? Booooooooo.”

“Sorry,” Virgil spat sarcastically, scrunching his nose, “I try not to think about you.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” Remus mocked and Virgil choked on his inhale, going red.

“Be nice, Remus.” Janus bounced his leg gently, jostling him. “You know he’s much too frigid for that in this clearly public space. I mean, anyone could walk in at any moment.”

Remus snickered, folding his arms behind his head as Janus spoke with mocking alarm. He looked at Virgil expectantly and only had to wait a second before the bickering began.

“I am not frigid,” Virgil said, blushing still.

“Prove it, Daddy Long Legs,” Remus wiggled his brows suggestively. Virgil glared, but couldn’t keep the paranoia from creeping up on him; anxiously, he glanced at Janus, struggling to keep his attention on Remus. Janus, as though entirely separate from this conversation, seemed to be minding his own business now; he took a loud sip of his tea and kept his vision trained on the television that was quickly being drowned out by their arguing.

“H-how?” Virgil asked when he realized Janus wasn’t going to butt in, immediately regretting his decision to indulge Remus.

“Suck my dick,” he said quickly like he had just been waiting for Virgil to ask. “Right here in the living room!” His hands reached for his waistband. Covertly Janus reacted; as though he had inhaled at the wrong time, he quietly cleared his throat into a cupped hand.

“No!” Virgil protested immediately, recoiling as he nervously looked towards the staircase.

“Prude.”

“Am not!”

“Virgin.”

“That’s just plain wrong!”

Virgil’s face had gone a deep scarlet and again he regretted his words. Anger seized his throat; though he hadn’t raised his volume, his words were heated and bitter. Remus, for all his apparent disinterest as the insults were slung, just couldn’t do away with the pleased sparkle in his eyes that always came with riling Virgil up.

“Is it really now, Screamo?” Remus taunted and Virgil pushed his tempered tongue against the side of his cheek.

“You know it is,” His words came out slow and ground between his teeth. He hated Remus for making him say these things out loud, for making him acknowledge the truths he purposefully left hidden under his bedsheets.

“Do I?” Remus dug a finger into his ear, giving Virgil a stupid and ignorant expression. “Sorry, Cindy Lou Boo, must’ve just…slipped my mind.” He finished with a shrug that held both his hands open.

Virgil groaned and pulled his knees to his chest, slamming back against the couch in a show of edgy annoyance. He glowered straight ahead, unseeing at the window as his rage-filled heart hammered against his ears.

“See what I mean?” Janus mumbled, a smirk just barely hidden behind his teacup. “Frigid.” He raised a shoulder in a half effort shrug.

The words cut Virgil deep, deeper than Remus’ digs had. Janus was always cold and pointed with his insults. They hit hard and lingered with murderous precision. Remus’ were fast and easy to ignore in the long run. Virgil forced himself to take a breath; his lungs expanded against his legs. This was a stupid arguement to be having. They both knew what Virgil was like in bed, which he guessed was why they liked teasing him, but it wasn’t fun. Not for him anyway. Even so, it made Virgil feel like he had something to prove.

Maybe it was some sort of twisted aspect of toxic masculinity or something, but he couldn’t just let their jeering go. It festered in him, the need to be recognized as one of them, because these days it really was feeling like Janus and Remus were against him, which was fucked up if you asked Virgil. He’d been with Janus the longest, so why was Remus able to just swoop in and act like this? Virgil steeled himself with more deep breaths before opening his mouth.

“Talking is overrated,” Virgil started and Janus peered through the corner of his eyes, recognizing how uncharacteristic of him those words were. “If you can’t remember, I’ll just have to remind you.”

“Hell yeah,” Remus immediately enthused, a wide grin cracking his face as he reached for his waistband.

“N-not here,” Virgil rushed, desperately clinging to the cool tone he had used just a moment ago. Remus pouted and Virgil raised his eyes to insinuate one of their bedrooms above them. “Later.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine,” He bemoaned, crossing his arms and sinking back into the couch, his head colliding Janus’ lap again.

“Well then,” Janus mumbled and reached for the remote.

-----

Remus maintained a rough grip in Virgil’s hair. When his fingers had first tightly laced at the roots, Virgil had yelped and felt the familiar tingle of adrenaline prick down his spine. Now, even though Remus hadn’t let up at all, it felt mostly numb - at least in comparison to everything else. His boney knees had begun going red against the carpet, even behind the fabric of his jeans. The color was both from how harsh Remus had pushed him down onto them and for how long he’d been kneeling. His throat ached something raw. His lungs strained against his ribs. His cock struggled for friction against the boot between his thighs.

Virgil’s subdued cries fell on sadistic ears; not apathetic or deaf ones. Remus was spurred on by how Virgil’s protests interrupted the wet sound of his cock colliding against the back of his throat. Virgil knew that of course, and it was a thin line to be riding. Tonight, the margin for error felt smaller than usual.

Perhaps it was his interaction with Janus earlier or maybe it was the instigation this was founded on, but Remus’ grin seemed to glow maliciously down at him. The walls of his throat squeezed unusually tight, reluctant to relax no matter how many deep and even breaths Virgil forced through his nose. His hands shook against his thighs with the restraint of keeping his fight or flight at bay. It wasn’t typically this difficult, taking Remus’ cock and swallowing his violence. For all his objection in the living room earlier, the crude mockery of love that was his lewd time spent with Remus was enjoyable for him. Usually.

Tonight his body reacted like a great duality sliced a canyon in his mind; though he could feel his cock throbbing against his pants and his hips aching to press down against the rigid surface of Remus’ shoe, the familiar animal of panic surged through him, screaming danger like a mating Bellbird. Remus’ hand pressed Virgil’s head down further, his cock searching for the give that’d have him sliding down with ease. Virgil’s eyes watered; even in pain he struggled to maintain eye contact. His vision swam as he glanced between Remus’ unwavering, heated stare and the ceiling just behind his head.

“Relax already, Virge,” Remus complained, reaching with his other hand to tip Virgil’s head back by his chin.

He whined, though the sound quickly became strangled against the obstruction. He was trying, he was trying so hard to let Remus cram himself down, but the more Remus pressed, the more obvious it became that Virgil’s throat wasn’t letting up; and the more obvious that became, the more distressed Virgil got. He was trying, why wasn’t it working? It always did, he was always able to do at least this much. If he couldn’t even deepthroat Remus…maybe they were right. Shame tightened his chest as Janus’ voice rang through his mind. You know he’s much too frigid for that…

Janus couldn’t be right about that. Virgil wouldn’t let Janus be right about that. Rallying, Virgil shifted forward on his knees, straightening his back. His crotch slid further up Remus’ boot, and despite the tears in his eyes, Virgil looked desperately stubborn.

“Ooooh,” Remus almost sang, his voice entertained as he tugged the tuft of Virgil’s hair in his grip and earned a gargled cry. “You’re finally ready to try, Scare Bear?”

He winced; he was already trying, but it was probably a good thing, Virgil thought, that Remus didn’t realize that. It’d just make him look that much more pathetic.

With a deep breath, Virgil squeezed his eyes shut. His knuckles went white as they gripped the hem of his shirt. He forced his jaw to relax, his tongue to press flat against the bottom of his mouth. This would hurt. He steeled himself for pain. The Bellbird rioted in his ears and every other thought hazed as he pressed forward of his own volition. Remus’ hands guided him forward as his cock split through the anxious knot in his throat. The courage of determination and humiliation wasn’t enough to numb the agony. His eyes shot open and the muscles in his neck tensed to pull back as Remus’ cock penetrated beyond his soft palate and teased at the entrance of his esophagus.

Remus’ eyes fluttered shut as he moaned, his head falling back as though it was a great effort to stay standing as pleasure coursed through him. Virgil’s panic rose and no amount of nonverbal approval could prevent him from jerking away - or at least trying to. As he pulled back, feeling his lungs burn for air, he realized the real reason Remus’ hands had stayed lodged in his hair and gripped on his jaw; to hold him in place when he inevitably changed his mind. At the revelation, Virgil squirmed, his hands unconsciously reaching for Remus’ pant leg as muffled pleas wedged between the walls of his throat and Remus’ cock. Virgil struggled, his movements frenzying the longer Remus went without a reaction. He clawed at Remus’ leg as his jaw reflexively tightened. His front teeth grazed the intrusive member between his lips and despite Virgil’s misery, he attempted to keep his mouth open. Tears streaked down his cheeks and his thoughts crescendo to their steepest point of doom; he would die here.

Remus sighed and loosened his hold on the back of Virgil’s head, enough for him to slide backwards several inches until his cock rested at the back of his throat, no longer obstructing Virgil’s breath. But Virgil continued to push back, wanting to eject the horror completely. He shook his head and stared up at Remus with pleading, terror-filled eyes.

“God, Dee’s right, you’re such a Drama King. Breathe already,” Remus said with an exasperated eye roll.

The mention of Janus felt like a slap across the face. How often did they talk about him? Did they only have bad things to say? His stomach flipped and he forced his eyes closed. He already suspected it was like that; he shouldn’t act so shocked. Ever since Remus has come back from the Imagination, he was closer to Janus than Virgil had ever been. It made him beyond jealous, beyond paranoid - but could it really be called paranoia if he was proven right?

Though Remus’ words were harsh, Virgil eventually obeyed, realizing he was right as a slow and even breath went through his nose and down to his lungs easily. It didn’t matter what Janus said about him, Virgil lied to himself. It didn’t matter if they talked behind his back. He’d prove them wrong.

“Good, now stop being such a wuss already,” Remus continued as Virgil’s panic began to subside. Little by little his deep breaths chipped away at the looming wall of his anxiety until eventually, only a line of bricks remained.

He was fine. He did this all the time - well not all the time but frequently enough that it was pretty ridiculous of him to make such a big deal out of it. He blushed, thinking about how pitiful he must’ve looked, struggling to get half of Remus’ cock down. Embarrassment swelled and he swallowed against the feeling, closing his lips around Remus in the process. He gave a small nod and readied himself. This time, he wouldn’t be such a coward.

Remus’ hand tensed in Virgil’s hair and a flinch coiled in his muscles; but the moment remained paused as Remus hesitated.

“Pull your pants down.”

Virgil blinked up at him, a dumb look on his face as his fearful mind struggled to keep up.

“Pants. Down.” Remus repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his tone bewildered. He lifted his foot which remained pressed against Virgil’s cock; the jolt of sudden pressure seemed to get the point across finally.

Virgil unfurled his hands from Remus’ pant leg. His knuckles cracked from being released for the first time in several long minutes. The blood rushed back to them as he fumbled with his zipper and button. Clumsily he maneuvered them down his thighs and below his knees enough. With that done, he looked back at Remus, wanting to just get on with this already. His hardon had shrunk significantly with his earlier pain and even thinking about getting off now made his skin crawl. He wanted to get this over with. His throat ached, his head was pounding, and his knees were raw.

“Boxers too, Spidey,” Remus said impatiently.

Virgil sighed through his nose. He should’ve seen that coming. He looked down, though from his angle he couldn’t see very far without taking Remus’ cock out of his mouth, which was very clearly unallowed by the hands holding his head still. The color on his cheeks darkened at the realization; if he took his boxers off, there’d be nothing between him and Remus’ boot. Disgust overtook him. He didn’t want to touch those things with his hands, let alone his cock.

“My shoes are clean, Sir Bite.” Remus said, tone full of disdain as though it was completely out of the realm of possibilities that his shoes were dirty. “I’m going soft,” He lamented, pushing Virgil’s head forward an inch to feel some friction, making him squeak in surprise. “Hurry up.”

Dejected, he repeated the process, albeit a bit quicker this time, and exposed his half-hard cock. He held it in his hand as he shifted himself back into position; spine straight, thighs separated, head tilted back with his jaw slack and lips tight - though he hadn’t had much of a choice with the latter part. Remus bent his head to the side and peered with dissatisfaction at the way Virgil refused to let his cock touch his shoe. Again he lifted his foot, pointedly pressing against Virgil’s hand as his eyes rolled to lock their gaze. Virgil’s cock twitched in his grip as Remus nearly glared at him with expectation; he resented the thing for it. There was no way such a revolting insinuation should get that sort of rise out of him…and yet, it had. His stomach churned and his nerves frayed as Remus refused to move. It was clear nothing would start or end until Virgil released his cock.

Slowly Virgil closed his eyes again, resigning himself to a very hot, very soapy shower later. He released his hand and rested both, once more, on his thighs. His cock pressed against the leather of Remus’ shoe. It felt…demeaning, Virgil thought. He especially hated how it curled his muscles with anticipation. He cursed internally and refused to meet Remus’ knowing stare. Bastard.

“Good. Now deep breath, emo.” He warned a second before he began to press forward again.

Panic exploded through him like a bullet with the words as his eyes shot open. He rushed to inhale as told in the moment that Remus’ cock inched beyond the back of his throat again. The adrenaline of fight or flight flooded his blood, electrifying his brain with the lone command to flee. But Remus’ hands and eyes paralyzed him; even if Virgil could find it in himself to move as irrational fear crippled him, he’d be prevented. He hadn’t noticed at what point he had stopped crying, but a renewed wetness began trickling down his cheeks, dripping onto his shaking hands.

His cock hardened against Remus’ boot despite himself, the feeling of being trapped somehow translating to arousal as Remus began violating his esophagus with paced thrusts and deep groans. Virgil knew that was exactly what Remus wanted; for all his pain and dread to transform into surrender and lust. That’s how it usually went so it was no wonder his cock dripped against the leather, preparing for the moment Virgil’s desire to run flipped on its head and he embraced his instinct to fight instead. But it was so much more difficult tonight to simply let that happen.

Virgil choked out a defeated whine, blinking rapidly as tears blurred his vision. The sound made Remus’ cock twitch aggressively; his movements hastened and Virgil gargled on his welling spit as his lungs began burning again.

“You know what to do,” Remus grunted, gripping his jaw tighter as he plunged deep enough to press Virgil’s lips against his crotch. He could feel his Adam’s apple taut against his skin. “To make it stop hurting so much.” Virgil thought if he wasn’t preoccupied, the words would’ve sounded like a laugh. Instead they were rushed, like Virgil’s pain was an annoyance rather than a concern.

Twenty seconds had passed and Virgil started to think he was going to die again. It hurt so much, all of it, and Remus was right; there was one way to make it stop, or at least dull it a bit, but Virgil didn’t want to think about that. The idea of moving his hips to gain friction against Remus’ shoe was…outrageous, ludicrous, crazy. But His cock ached for it, dripped precum against the cloth laces for it. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. He shook his head as much as he could and choked out a wet wail. Remus clicked his tongue and seemed to shrug about it; it wasn’t his problem if Virgil didn’t take him up on the relief he was offering.

The obscene sound of Remus’ cock pushing all the way down Virgil’s throat filled the room. It invaded his mind and seemed to be in rhythm with his heart, drowning the sound out. Ten more seconds and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Five more and his heart desynced from the even tempo of Remus’ thrusts. His pulse slowed and it was like he was standing in the living room, listening to Janus rapidly flick through the television channels again; a pressure formed between his eyes as he strained to keep up with what was happening. A dull panic nauseated his stomach. A sudden flash of heat like a desert wind beaded sweat at the back of his neck.

Was this enough? Did he live up to the expectation now? They couldn’t still call him frigid or a prude or accuse him of being a virgin after this, right? If he held on long enough and let Remus cum like this, maybe they’d even stop teasing him so much. Virgil hoped that was true, oh, he hoped so much. This could be just like a hazing ritual; he’d pass with flying colors if he could just sit still and take Remus’ brutality without flinching.

His thoughts became nonsensical as his body ran out of oxygen. This wasn’t a hazing ritual. This was just how Remus was. He’d never be comfortable around Janus again. He’d never have Janus to himself anymore; Remus would always be standing in the way like some twisted guard. Even in moments of peace, the inevitability of his unsettling nature put Virgil on edge. No amount of Deceit could cover the truth anymore. Thomas was sick and Remus was the proof.

As his vision went dark, Remus released his grip on Virgil’s hair. His fight or flight returned all at once as he was finally able to pull away. Falling backwards, a hand clawed at his throat, the other bracing himself up in a shaky way as he gasped and choked for air. Everything he knew about steadying his breathing had exited his mind somehow. He scrambled for ways to calm his now pounding heart; his wide eyes snapped across the room, up at Remus, across the room, up at Remus. What was it again? Something about counting, right? Panic climbed higher and higher until Virgil was sure his throat would close or his heart would burst, whichever came first would be the end of him.

Remus watched, a brow raised as he stroked his reddened cock, inches from finishing himself off. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the telltale signs of Virgil’s panic whatevers. He just didn’t understand them; why they happened, why Virgil made such a big deal out of them. If Virgil knew even a fraction of the things that went through his head, then maybe he’d have something to panic about. Virgil had it pretty easy in comparison.

“What’s with the hissy fit, Purple Heart Attack?” Remus said, voice strained with labored breathing as he closed the distance between them.

Virgil made a high pitched sound and went to crawl backwards. He was only successful for a moment before Remus caught his hand and brought it up to his cock. Reluctantly, Virgil wrapped his fingers around the width as he was physically instructed.

“C’mon, loser, I’m almost there.” Remus grunted as he forced Virgil’s hand to move against him; eventually he began to mechanically move his arm without aid.

Just a few more minutes, Virgil told himself, but the dizziness grew a heavy fog behind his eyes as his throat continued to clamp down on itself. His rhythm was uneven, his arm grew numb and Remus’ impatience surmounted into an agitated sound. He slapped Virgil’s hand away and took the final steps to tower over him. Grabbing his own length roughly, Remus stroked fast and hard, his sounds cresting to a loud moan of release as his eyes squeezed shut. Virgil froze, unable to look away until Remus came; his semen landed in streaks across Virgil’s face and the floor behind him.

They both panted, hard and heavy with shaking hands. It was over, but as Remus’ high faded in the afterglow, Virgil’s panic only continued to rise. With a quiet and involuntary cry, Virgil’s hands reached out, searching for a comfort his logical mind, if at all present, would have realized didn’t exist in Remus. Predictably, Remus stepped back, adjusting his pants into place as he avoided Virgil’s grip.

“What?” He said, tone so condescending, Virgil had almost thought Janus was in the room. “It’s like you said; talking is overrated, right?”

Virgil’s arms fell as tears burned his eyes. When did Remus get that good at cutting deep? Weren’t his insults always easy to avoid, or at least get over? Even though Remus had just spoken those words, Virgil felt them settling deep in his bones. They would haunt him forever, he could already tell.

“Right.” He sniffled as Remus turned away and headed for the door. Virgil wiped his nose wetly on his sleeve.

Remus left, not caring that he had closed the door so hard, the wall decor had rattled. Virgil flinched at the sound and pulled his knees to his chest, which certainly didn’t help how difficult it was to breathe. He was glad they always did this in his room; he didn’t think he would’ve had it in him to stand, pull his pants up, and sink out before the loud sobs began. Equally, he didn’t know if the sobs were from anger, embarrassment, or loneliness. Maybe it was some unfortunate mix of all three.

#dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #tss fanfiction #whumptober2021 #no.2 #talking is overrated #fic #dubcon #smut #nsfwhump

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