#on one hand i feel bad for novak cuz he wants to be loved like roger so badly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sharkfish · 5 years ago

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ps i loved this one

(rereading bookmarks edition part 2)

(part 1)

i’ve been rereading stories from my bookmarks as a comfort thing. i’m getting real deep in there to stuff i haven’t (re)read for years, and damn do i have good taste. the ones i’ve read recently that you should, too:

(under the cut so i’m not that asshole that makes you scroll past an endless post)

Best Laid Plans by Persephoneshadow

Things are going well for Dean: he's landed the biggest design job of his architectural career and is about to get final approval on the project despite how difficult the development company, personified by Castiel Novak, has made it. It's not bad for a moody omega...except things are also going terribly for Dean because he has to get in a plane and fly to a meeting, and course ends up in heat a few hours before. Luckily, Castiel is there to help and both men discover the good that can come when nothing goes quite as intended.

i don’t know why i’m such a ho for stories where dean thinks cas hates him, but cas secretly adores him and is just a little “rusty” on his “people skills.” i’m also a ho for stories where dean is a gd skilled genius but his dumb ass still thinks his work sucks and/or anything good is due to other people instead of himself. and also, heat boning.

Confessions of a Cam Boy by MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)

Dean runs a cam show to pay his way through marketing school, but he's about to start an internship that he doesn't know will change his life. Watching Dean's show is Castiel's favorite way to wind down after a stressful day at Sandover Bridge & Iron. When Cas comes to work one day and finds his favorite cam boy setting coffee on his desk, he is completely thrown. Will Dean finish his internship without knowing his favorite viewer is his new boss, or will he be able to see through Cas' non-existent poker face and figure it out?

omg poor cas is soooo awkward and dean is weirded out about how much his new boss seems to dislike him and then it’s super sexy >:)

For Science by shiphitsthefan

“Think of it like an experiment," says Dean. "You’re testing a hypothesis as to whether or not a desirable response can be achieved through the stimulation of the anus via the application of a willing volunteer’s muscular hydrostat.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Are you actually trying to use the scientific method to talk me into letting you lick my asshole?”

everyone is such adorable nerds in this one. it’s a fic about rimming, but it’s also about love and discovering yourself and acceptance. it explores cas’s realization through his connection with dean that he’s not straight up ace but more grey/demi - and that doesn’t mean he was “faking” being ace up until he met dean.

Friends with Benefits with Tentacles by andimeantittosting (Saylee)

Dean's never been embarrassed about his porn collection before, but that was before he found Cas holding his prized copy of Sweet Princess Asuka and the Tentacles of Pleasure. Dean finds himself sweating bullets—because this is Cas, sweet, nerdy Cas. Cas, his friend. Cas, his roommate. Cas, his—only slightly out-of-control—crush.

Cas, with his big, blue eyes and muscular arms and perpetual sex hair.

Cas, with his tentacles.

The last thing he expects is for Cas to suggest they experiment together.

there are not enough tentacle fics out there and i 100000% approve of this addition to the tag. i love that dean is out there legitimately studying porn, and the tentacles are obviously super fun, and there were parts where my heart hurt so bad, all around a damn fine fic.

Grown-Ups Making Grown-Up Choices by Carrieosity

Dean is a grown-ass man - he can take perfectly good care of himself, thank you very much. Except that sometimes the easier or more fun choices aren't always the right or best ones, and, all right, maybe thinking ahead and working the long game isn't his strongest suit. It's fine! He's fine.

When he meets Castiel, he realizes that flying by the seat of his pants may not be the best way to attract the super-serious (gorgeous, funny, genius) Alpha. Dean's shrink has been telling him he needs to start making "grown-up choices," and if that's what he has to think about in order to make Cas fall for him, then he'll give it a whirl.

i LOVE this fic (series). i feel so hard for dean feeling like he’s too old for his life to still be a mess, but i also felt sad for him that he thought he had to make all these hardcore changes - basically turn himself into a different person - to be worthy of cas’s attentions. i fucking adore cas in this, and i nearly cried just thinking about all the damn peppers they eat, and i want to read it again right now.

If I Run by Anonymous

"Dean Winchester is a red-blooded American male. He lifts all the things. He aims for functional strength. He counts his macros and makes fun of curlbros. He is not a member of the Tarahumara tribe and he will not read Born to Run, no matter how many times Sam tells him to, because Starting Strength is the only book Dean will ever fucking need."

***

Wherein a friendly competition with the mysterious ThursdaysAngel turns into a sexy selfie-trading spree that motivates Dean Winchester to train for his first marathon.

i really really love this fic and reread it pretty often tbh. it only became “anonymous” pretty recently and i’m so curious about why!! regardless, this fic is a really great time!!!

It's Always More Than Once (Before It Takes) by squeemonster

The first time it happens, it's because of boredom. Or, at least that's what Dean tells himself to justify it. Boredom and Dean Winchester are a dangerous combination, especially when you factor in beer, a raging libido, and laziness.

dean: my dudes, is it gay to do sexy stuff with your male bff? cuz i’m totally straight. but also, having sex with my male bff.

I Wanna Get Outside (Of Me) by emwebb17

Dean is a novice in the dom/sub world asked by his employer as a desperate last resort to be a sub for his recluse of a brother, Castiel. Castiel is a diagnosed OCD suffering from PTSD and agoraphobia, mysophobia, and dystychiphobia. Needless to say—he’s a mess who hasn’t stepped out of his home in literally seven years. The only times Gabriel can see traces of the way his brother used to be is when he feels in control—specifically when he has control over a sub. However, due to his idiosyncrasies and paranoia, keeping a sub around has been impossible. Enter Dean, who’s not a very traditional submissive, to try his hand at subbing for the hermit.

you know how sometimes you read a fic, and it takes ages to get yourself out of that world? even though you’re finished, you’re still right there with him? this is one of those fics. i reread it a couple weeks ago and fell asleep thinking about it last night. i cry a lot reading this one.

Living in Agony by ChasingRabbits

Dean Winchester's life is... well, it's not great. He's a gym teacher, he's in his thirties, and he can't seem to keep any part of his life straight. When the aftermath of a one-night stand goes awry, Dean is dragged kicking and screaming out of his cozy little closet and into the harsh light of reality.

Enter: Castiel Novak, the new history teacher, who knows full well that life gets crappy when you don't allow yourself to live it in the way it needs to be lived.

there aren’t a lot of stories that deal with themes of mental illness, and a lot of them read like an episode of degrassi where everything wraps up in 30min to never be discussed again. this story is honest in that there’s no easy out. there’s medication and therapy and supportive people, but that’s not always enough. it’s a story about how you don’t have to be mentally ill to be fucked up, and while people can’t fix each other, they can help each other. content note: references to a pre-story suicide attempt.

Oddly Shaped Empty by jemariel

Dean grew up thinking -- knowing -- he'd be an alpha.

Until he failed to present. As a beta, he has no mating cycle, no noticeable pheromones, none of the physical markers that are so important in a world of alphas and omegas. He's out of place. How is he supposed to navigate his relationships and find love when he doesn't fit into the neatly-defined boxes he's used to?

By the time he meets his new roommate, Castiel, he's more or less given up on finding a mate. He wears his secondary gender like a chip on his shoulder. But you never know what the future holds, who will come into your life, and how they might change it forever.....

Queer themes, finding identity, reconciling the past, and a whole lot of smut.

y’all know @jemariel is a gd genius, but i’m particularly obsessed with their fics that use abo to explore queer identify & experiences. i hold my breath reading most of this fic and also cry.

Steal my Breath by Sincestiel

“Tighter, Dean, please,” Cas urges throwing his head back to rest on Dean’s shoulder. Dean squeezes. He doesn’t know why Cas wants this or even what the appeal is, but he always comes harder when he’s struggling to breathe.

what’s on the tin. a quick lil breathplay fic that is thoroughly enjoyable.

Unsolicited by Dangerousnotbroken

In which Dean Winchester gets an unsolicited dick pic from an unknown sender which is both totally not disappointing in that it's a really nice dick pic, and incredibly disappointing in that it's clearly a downloaded picture of his favorite porn star.

There's absolutely no way it's actually this porn star sending it to him, right?

Right?

this is a destiel classic and i feel like anyone who isn’t new here has probably read it. but here’s your reminder that this is a great fic and you should (re)read it.

Wordplay by Dangerousnotbroken @dangerousnotbroken

“I don’t understand why talking dirty is such a big deal for you humans,” Cas complains, apropos of nothing.

it’s a “cas learning about sex” and also dirty talk, which are both things i’m really into!! and DNB is a genius so that’s even better.

if you enjoy these fics (and you should), please give the writer some love via kudos and/or comments. <3

ps - as always, if i didn’t tag the writer and you know their tumblr, please tag in the comments. i don’t think there’s a writer alive who wouldn’t be happy to be on a rec list. :)

#sharklist #sharkrecs

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safrona-shadowsun · 5 years ago

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The Siren and an Assassin

{ Rp put together of Safrona and Orchid’s first meeting, now only known as @thefirstperished. It is a glimpse of the individual history so often swept beneath the rug of each character now. Thank you for reading if you do!}

The Vermillion Pearl was one of the fewer high-class establishments that those paying could find private access to in Booty Bay. Here, the privileged were men and women met with few laws to govern them, where the best gambles payed off and new debts began, where the best smuggling operations were arranged, and every desire could be catered to.

But, it was also where some competition in the Underground rose, and where some of it was ended.

Beautiful pieces of flesh from every part of Azeroth were always up for the offering, and whether considered whores or "consorts" as they preferred, they were a perfect backdrop to shady deals and operations. It was the rumor of some "Siren" too, a myth or legend always changing.

"She's a bloody Naga, I tell you," a pirate insisted, coat to small for his girth but wearing his weight in pilfered luxury. "Don't mean I won't find 'er in my bed tonight and make 'er hiss my name b'fore I give 'er the pointy end! In ALL the ways! Ahahaha!" His mates raised their mugs to him with hoots of agreement.

A she-goblin swashbuckler sort looked unimpressed, and stood up on the table to call the pirate out. "Riiiight. Ya'all think the same with yer naughty bits. I'm gonna enlighten ya and tell you The Siren's a damn drink that's so rare cuz nobody in this fluffed up piece of shit knows what a REAL drink is! That's why you AINT gonna find her, you fat ass!"

The truth unbeknownst to most was that a Siren stayed in the backround like a painting none quite payed much attention to. There were prettier, livelier things vying for attention, including her own glamoured succubus that was the lure for specific targets. She would observe until it was her own time to act.

The solitary lamp that illuminated his table had long been blown out, the light replaced by a singular candle placed on the opposite side of the table, keeping his face from being seen. A chilled glass of scotch sat sweating on the bare wooden finish of his table, the pooling beneath telling of how long it had been since it was sipped from. One leg crossed over the other, his boot gently flicked off dirt with every slight bounce, falling on top of a beg resting just below it. The common rabble didn't hold his crimson eyed attention, it was focused on the man that sat precariously near the lit flame.

" The deed is done, Novak; the bag is trophy of the job done well. I expect my compensation to be comparable to what this one offered to keep his head in exchange for yours." The man shifted slightly before the face of the hidden man, telling how off put he was to hear this." It's good enough. Besides, I thought ye' never accepted bribes or counter offers when it comes to a job--'

The hidden man's eyes flashed slightly before a thin line appeared on his client's face, blood slowly trickling down his cheek. " Do not repeat my rules to me, Novak; they are set in stone when I find the client to be one desirable. You are by far less than desirable; I would sooner enjoy licking the heel of a ferrier's boot than to do business with you. However, I need the coin and the information you have for me; do not believe my rules will save you if your name were uttered from another client's lips."

The client veered back slightly from the candlelight, wiping at the sting on his cheek. Some caution filled the smuggler's eyes as his fingers drew back blood, reaching immediately for a few fat pouches of coin that made satisfying little thumps on the table. Compensation offered, and then some. " 'Ey now," he chuckled nervously, revealing a yellow, snaggle-toothed smile. "I 'ppreciate ye. The gold's all yers. Scum o' the earth, that one was. Makin' me life hard. But lookit you, makin' good on 'is promises. We can be frens, aye? Business wit' ol' Novak ain't so bad. As for yer info, I'm a very informed man...”

He'd lick his lips once, eyes dropping to the glass of scotch as he leaned back into the candlelight, lowering his voice conspiratorily. "Yer lookin' inta the slavery thing, aye? Yeah, the Pearl here's a part. The most lucrative smugglin's invested in live bodies. Prisoners of war, ransoms, arena fighters, pirates, mercenaries, prostitution. Most've the 'investments' already lookin' for escape an' land themselves in Booty Bay. Sell themselves f'r a few promises of a better life. Or are bought. The one that holds the contracts owns the Pearl 'ere: Vermillion Shah. One of the richest moguls at this port, in fact. Untouchable, really. He's got somethin' to offer every bit've business round here. But this house of pleasure's his gem. Arrogant enough t' have it named for him. I know we not so well-off blokes like t'call him 'Vermin' in our circles, heh. And that's all what your friend here Novak knows."

A few whistles rang out around the establishment as a particular server made her rounds; Novak along with several other nearby eyes were suddenly distracted. The server walked with an air of confidence that came from more than simply being beautiful, but rather that she knew any eyes that landed on her could be wrapped around her finger, if she so willed it. On appearance alone, she seemed to play to every individual fantasy, the finger down the spine when her name was uttered.

"You'd be best pressed to talk to the "Vermin's' property, if ye need t'know more. Like Lina there," the client murmured to the assassin, titillated as the vixen seemed to meander to their own table. "Lucky you. That might happen it looks like, aye?"

Observing her glamoured succubus in approach, the Siren eased herself onto a stool at a table nearby, focusing the scope of her vicarious bond with the demon to take in every word spoken.

A solitary finger pushed the glass of scotch toward the client, each movement calculated to keep the Assassin's visage within the shadows; no clues to his identity, no remnants of his passing. It held nothing to the Inn of Silvermoon, the chair in the corner he made his own but this den of malodorous vermin did have a somewhat primal charm. The sudden stir of patrons whistling and cat-calling the waitress caused him to glance sideways toward the woman but there wasn't time to engage in the game of flesh, not while slavery was being peddled here as if it was wine.

"You are no friend, merely a client Novak; do not blend lines in hope of earning clemency from me." His form shifted slightly as the woman drew near their table, pulling more of his form into the shadows save for the singular bouncing boot shrugging dirt from it. A singular hand gestured to Novak to make his order before pulling the bags of coin close to him, jingling them before him as if to count them merely by listening.

" I'll cover it, order what you wish though might I suggest things you would enjoy as a last meal... Food for thought, perhaps." Crimson hues glanced toward the woman, mildly confused by the level of 'perfection' she held in her form. It was rather unsettling to actually take the sight of her in; seemingly pulled from the dark fantasies of the mind, she was too... Perfect, too chiseled to an exact form to stir the loins of both man and woman alike. She was unsettling though the Assassin's client seemed all too enthralled with the woman to notice how unblemished the woman was...

There was no way she was a slave, something was amiss...

A perfect monster, leaning now at the table, and one Novak took the hand of to kiss. “Liiiiina,” the smuggler purred out, and breathing her in all at once. Envious eyes were on the table, on the predator pretending to be something less, on Novak, on the man in shadow. Too much attention. The client knew it, and suddenly became miles more comfortable in his situation. He grinned hard at the assassin as he welcomed the monster to take her seat on his lap.

“I’ve gotta feeling things’ll be right alright for me, mate. It’s just a shame y’don’t want t’be friends. Isn’t that a shame, Lina love?” Novak took the scotch up in hand, downed it, exhaled with some disappointment. “Thought I had meself a new partner here, but I’m getting the feeling he doesn’t much like me. Mr Shadow-Man here hurts me feelings.”

The demoness tilted her head at the silhouette, eyes seeming to pierce through him. She pouted, sighing. “A shame. We’re all friends here.”

Another conspiratorial grin from the client. “Right? Now, I gave our not-friend what he wanted, so I’ll guess our business is through. But I’m doing our not-friend a favor and introducing him to you!” There was a shared glance between the smuggler and the monster on his lap, some code that began to sign an unspoken agreement that the Warlock hidden away understood. Turning again to the Assassin, Novak would wink, and shift out from under Lina, to let her sit alone now in unknown company. “Every man can use some friends, aye?”

He gave a final toast of that empty scotch glass, a farewell to his ‘friend’, under all the assumption the Assassin would not be seen or heard from again. Business would continue as always, he surmised. Novak had a shipment of new ‘product’ to unload for Vermillion Shah to sample, fresh new young things needing to be broken.

Meanwhile, the exotic creature at the table situated herself dominantly on her chair, attention cutting through the Assassin like a scalpel. “Someone not looking for friends does not end up in the Vermillion Pearl, sweetness.” Her voice was a honey-slicked web, an inevitable lure positioned to trap the prey. “If it isn’t friends you are looking for, what is it you really want, mmn?”

Want. The way she had said it, compelling with unholy power, the way her lips worked around speech, promising ecstacy.

It was all direly wrong, and he was a target.

It took everything within him not to kill Novak right where he sat, took everything not to let out a disgusted growl from his lips. He was the kind of person the Assassin would kill for free, just on the principle that he was part of the problem that festered in this place, a greater problem that festered in the world like a wound; no rules, no manners....

-No code.-

To most he was simply an assassin that sat cloaked in shadows, not understanding more than what they couldn't see in the shadows, only saw him as a weapon for hire. But there was more to him, more to the man simply known as The Black Orchid. He watched the display between Novak and the woman he called Lina, wondered how the man kept his clothes on and not simply took what his thoughts perhaps he was owed. For all the subtlety the man thought he had, Orchid was well versed in the ways of word play and his code had made him always painfully aware of rule number one: Everyone lies.

" I have friends, though the company I carry know not the full picture of who I am. To see the full picture is to see beyond the curtain and far more intelligent beings have only succumbed to what they could not understand. As for what I want..." the man said as he shifted forward, fangs flashing a smirk of a smile as it crept from the darkness:

" What I want right now is a clean glass and for whomever Novak was really speaking towards to join us, Lina... And do not play naive or stupid, I am neither nor am I oblivious to where that man's alliances lie, where nearly all the beings in this bar truly lie. One does not go into a wolves den without first understanding the danger within it."

Lina’s eyes narrowed, her smile vicious and red as she glimpsed the fanged mouth grin for her within its obscuring silhouette. The hellion seemed to rock forward to speak as well, but froze midway, those predatorial eyes veering off, as if silently instructed otherwise. “Hmph.” She simply growled the sound out, and rose from the seat made for her, meandering away from the Assassin’s table.

Time passed, attention slid away from his table and its empty seat from the other patrons as they lost interest in the small ‘show’ the demon had left in her wake. She sought out a new meal for the evening, easily seducing another to retreat to the privacy of a cabin in the Pearl. It seemed for the moment he was left to his own devices, his own strategies, the payments of confirmed gold pieces still awaiting to be secured.

It was only when no eyes remained on his table that another voice spoke up from another seat nearby, where the assassin had been observed. “You have your payment, and our gratitude for the kill.” An even, feminine voice, impersonal. Moving from her seat, the slender frame came into the candlelight, illuminating the smooth compilation of a black silk suit, a provocative cut of the top leaving a low cut ‘v’ of flesh down between her breasts. A clean shot glass was carefully placed at his table per the request, the other hand supplying a half bottle of the special brand scotch the assassin had chosen for the night. She did not sit in the chair, face remaining just out of the reach of the dwindling candlelight as she lingered there. “You should take your drink, and leave on the next boat out of this place, if you mean to leave this place at all alive. Consider it a final kindness for clean business.”

The man's eyebrow crooked slightly as Lina moved away from the table, a cautionary glance as her response told more than her disgruntled hmph did. The voice pulled his attention back to his shadows, believing he ventured too far out from them, receding back until only his legs were exposed to the light. Her voice caused his crimson hues to lift toward her form, watched as she placed the glass and scotch on the table. This one was different from Lina, perhaps the real being that pulled the loyalty of the men in this place.

Her words seemed more a threat than a cautionary warning, causing him to chuckle dryly." Final kindness she says, cautionary tales to save my own skin while I still can. My apologies, little Sparrow, but this one cannot leave until my mission is fulfilled. Wouldn't have much of a reputation if I turned tail because things might get a bit sketchy," he said as he slowly poured himself a glass of scotch, his voice warm and deep much like it. "I do appreciate the warnings but my code cannot allow me to leave, I do hope you understand. I'm sure that a far more intelligent man would heed your message and fly but alas, I've never been considered a most intelligent man; simply lucky, well trained and not willing to die."

The noise of the tavern grew louder as the Assassin’s table grew forgotten, patrons going about their own interests. A particular card game had run awry, and sprung into a fight of accusers, at last convinced to settle their outrage in the fight club on the floor below. It was drawing its crowd of bets, jeers and insults.

For a moment, the figure at his table seemed to be taking her survey of the Pearl, then the sliver of flesh at her chest heaved in a quiet sigh. She’d claim the empty seat decisively, moving the swathe of her long, black hair away as to not sit on it. She courted the petite delicacy of most of the Sin’dorei with her long ears and angled face, but free from embellishments or accentuating make-up. It was a face like any other female elf, forgettable, save for the opaque green eyes that held no shine or glow. Lifeless eyes in a face that did not smile, eyes that did not seem too far interested in what the shadows hid that obscured the Assassin. It was his voice that she concentrated on, the warm courtesy of it an irony to the cold, profane nature of most that came to Booty Bay.

“Little Sparrow,” she scoffed at the title he gave her, “That is a new one.” Fingers moved idly to the base of the candle, situating its light closer to her. “You seem smart enough to understand that Lina was more disturbing than attractive, but not smart enough to avoid getting on Novak’s bad side. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he is speaking to the next assassin, putting a mark on you, and any travel plans you have.” She delivered these words smoothly, matter-of-factly. “He has a code too, and it is written in the language of business, and you made it fairly clear you don't like it or him. And that one has never taken rejection well. Even if he can't kill you, he'll make sure to make your life a hell."

Raising his hand to stifle a chuckle, the shadow caressed man couldn't help but laugh as she explained his current situation with Novak. It wasn't a chuckle of humor but one more out of inevitably and surety that the shifty man had already contacted more than one rival assassin to take him out. " I would expect nothing less of a man without honor save from what can be garnered from coin but like fickle loyalty, it too falls from our hands effortlessly." His crimson hues dimmed slightly with the thought, as if alliances of old clung to old memories akin to puss on a wound.

" Business is business but as you speak, it has become personal to him and in that moment, it was effectively bad business. Personal matters and business have no place together as if will only cause the utter downfall of the one enacting on impulse rather than logical rationale. But from what I've seen, the only thing in that one's eyes is the impulsive nature of ravishing your...Friend." Leather bound hands gripped the inside of the glove, causing it to creak softly, causing his eyes to raise back toward the woman before him, if she were a woman at all.

" However, in all of this, you seem to be of business which only offers the question: why give me this information, for free of all things? Or is this the part of the conversation where you give me an offer I can't refuse as I would never make it to the door."

“There is more to Novak than sex,” the Siren spoke rather bluntly, glancing away from the table with a hard smile. “Well. Not much more, but some.” The simple curve added some semblance of life to the distant face, but that echo of life was fleeting, lips returning to their default solemn stone as she continued to murmur through them. “There is power. For a man that had nothing to so quickly have everything, everything is about power, leverage. It is an addiction that won’t quit. Just as it is for the one this ‘lovely’ little establishment is named for. As it will be for the one that takes their place, when they meet the finality of their own ends. It is an endless cycle, as it is for the ones shoved under their rule, the...resources...the possessions. But it is a system. Topple down the main cogs of that system, and the system comes crashing down on the shoulders of the victim, the destitute, and the abused, and those belonging to no kingdom or country. Even the most impersonal business has its investments that should be kept safe. Maybe I say what I do in attempt to reach an understanding? I am a monster, but I am not a creature that is closed to reason.”

Her eyes returned to the Silhouette across from her, hand rising up onto the table to perch her chin upon. Lifeless as those jade stone eyes were, she had an unblinking stare that seemed to arrest past the flesh, a cold-burn delivered to the soul. “You...though. Can you even say you are not mixing the personal with the business of murder?” A small, knowing smile perked at her lips, her near empty monotone lifting slightly with a trace of curiosity. “It takes a certain rage to sever a head with mere daggers, I am sure. And this when all that had been needed was a finger, or an eye from Novak’s contact. I don’t think any of this is a simple job for you, a simple matter of greed. Or you would have stepped up to Novak’s offer for continued business. If not to kill, and not to indulge, what *are* you here for…?”

Curious, curious, she began to wonder at this shadow of a man...and wonder how long it would take the sedative in his drink to finally shut him down.

A singular hand moved to touch his temple, rubbing circles as his eyes blurred for a moment, a hint of panic forcing the crimson hues to spark erratically. For one like Novak to have a woman such as she in his employ, either she was forced due to him having leverage against her or perhaps it was merely the thrill brought about by her pet. A small light pulsed within his lapel, a whisper slipped out as a small needle pressed against his neck, injecting an odd liquid into his veins.

His crimson hues ceased their erratic sparking, instead flaring slightly as they refocused on the woman, his hand returning to rest against his crossed leg. He could feel the effects still swirling in his veins but to subtly show a tell, he took up the glass once more and drank another sip from it." Do you know what I'm called, Love? Has Novak spilled what secrets he knows of me or at least, what he thinks he knows of me? Did he tell you what my fee was or how the coin given wasn't what I desired? I doubt it as I seem like a mere assassin that hides his face away from the light."

" You say that my sin is that of Greed and accuse me of mixing personal and business... I know of what my sin is and I own it every time I take a life and remove emotion from the equation. I am wrath but the wrath is not my own; the wrath is of each person subjected to the torture and malodorous actions of a being thinking himself a god."

His gloves tightened as a vial seemingly appeared out of thin air into his hand, held into the light like a single ray of starlight. The Black Orchid held no words out for the woman, only the uncertainty of what he held in his hand and what he had already done with the other half of the empty vial.

“Apparently a little more than the common assassin, yes…” the Siren trailed off with a soft, quizzical tone, her eyes fixed on the mysterious little vial the man had emptied into his system.

Those jade eyes then strayed to the red lights that were his own, lingering quietly on the compelling nature of his words. “Definitely making things difficult.”

The corner of her lips twitched to a hard smile again, somewhere between bemusement and annoyance. “So wrath guides you then. Brings you to this place….where you...what? Hope to put out the fire of what haunts you with a blade in a ‘god’s’ eye? I can only imagine you’re pulled every which way on the map then. Because the tormented are everywhere, in fact. As are the little villains that would name themselves gods. But gods are a replaceable role. You might as well call the tides to drown the world as we know it, and pay the price of putting out all life to quench the rage against every wrong they do, and will continue to do. But this place...this little...heh...den of debauchery? It keeps the devils and their horrible ‘gods’ from your cleaner corners of the world. The tortured here earn their sentence, or they would have found their way out long ago.”

The intensity of her whisper and unblinking stare on his crimson sights told that she believed every word that she had said, this bleak perception of the world, a bleakness she was forced to subsist on. She stole her gaze away from him, this assassin that claimed to be more, shaking her head as she considered ending her visit there with a rise from her seat. “I don’t know who you are, but I think you aim for either a messy kill, or your own messy death. And both would be rather meaningless in the long haul of things.”

The small vial was placed on the table between them, left to glisten in the light. She twisted his words, attempted to glean his ideals and desires from every syllable used; she was a fearsome adversary in this game of words." That's what I do, enjoy making things difficult for all manner of beings who prey on those weaker than them simply because they can. And yes, there are tormented everywhere, which is why I am of a neutral sort who works in every border this world has attempted to place. No matter the race or faction, injustice is injustice and however pitiful of a reason that is for you, it is one that hits far too close to home for myself."

A small breadcrumb of a loaf kept out of view, just enough in hopes of her at least understanding why he was there. A soft chuckle came from his fanged mouth, a flick of his tongue across pearl white teeth." I am here because devils and so called gods should have no safe haven, no den of debauchery to feel safe as their victims have none either. They respect nor have mercy for another so I merely even the playing field, offer a balance to the status quo they seek to protect."

" Perhaps I am for both, broken Sparrow; perhaps I aim to die messy and loud while I kill gods messy. Meaningless says you. But with my death, one life is saved. With their deaths? Many more are saved from the same fate and in that, shakes the very foundations of -their- world."

Only when the small vial left the black glove did the Siren choose to reach for it, gently taking it between her fingers. Briefly she examined it with her eyes, her gaze flitting back with a persistance toward the Assassin with each word spoken, and the way his teeth broke the shadow in its smile. It caused the faintest sign of amusement in the woman, a silent snicker that stopped in her bosom, breathed through the nose. She took the kernel of insight into this assassin's code as she had taken that glass vial, her fingertips pressing into it. "You are here to take this haven from them? But you are right, there is no safe place in this world. Not that they understand. Most think money is their shield."

She leaned back in toward the table, palms pressing into its surface, the candlelight dancing its color across the pour of her ebon hair down her shoulders. "If you take this illusion of safety from them, you take the way by which the monsters feed on the them." She held his eyes once more, offering her own crumb of insight into who she was, and her own agenda. "There may be broken Sparrows here, Shadow, but I am not one of them." The strange compulsion to speak with him, whether by the mysterious charm or the desire to hear his voice in reply caught up with her, her brow creasing as she hesitated. She was saying too much. She lifted her arms from the table, crossing them now over her chest, but did not seem willing to vacate just yet.

"A messy Shadow then, headed for a mess. You must be more than a Shadow, still, yes? Do you not have a mate to go to? A child to rear? A life to be living? At least go live one more day in it before you make your final sacrifice."

" Their haven? Oh my dear, you think too small.." It wasn't meant as a condescension but more of a morsel of understanding dangled out before a hungry predator. He didn't place comment upon her words of illusions and safety, merely listened to her speak of the supposed happenstance of what was to happen. But as she spoke of him, a muffled "ha" came from his lips as she attempted to speak of who he was and what he had.

" We all have our masks to wear, my dearie, but which is the mask and which is whom we really are? Am I a man wearing the mask of a Shadow or is the opposite true? Do I have a family waiting for me or are these Sparrows the only semblance of a family I have? Do they have one more day? The answer is no but to which question it answers, we will have to save for another time." Curiously his eyes moved away from the woman, staring toward a door that Novak walked into with this woman's "pet".

" I believe its almost time for the curtain to fall on this fateful meeting.."

The Siren did not have the moment to digest the words this assassin gave her, following the shift of his sights to the door. A strand of concern psychically transferred from demon to mistress had the woman standing at alarm, cutting a soft curse between her teeth as she left the table.

Novak had only just passed the doorway before he'd collapsed, twitching out the last moments of his life on the plush carpet of the room. The succubus quickly retreated back to her glamoured form, a finger tapping at her lip with faux innocence. "I think we've been had, my love." An amused grin was on her lips. "Or was this the plan all along? Where is your Shadow-Man?"

The Warlock shot her demon a scathing look. "Stop it and help me get this cleaned up. We have explaining to do. Now is not the time to think about...about Shadows."

#Rp #IC #The Past #The Siren #The Vermillion Pearl #Orchid #6+ years ago...

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years ago

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Just like Fire ch. 5

“We gon' drink drink and take shots until we fall out like the roof on fire. Now baby give a booty naked, take off all your clothes, and light the roof on fire. Tell her baby baby baby baby. I'm in fire, I tell her baby baby baby I'm a fireball." - Pitbull (Fireball)

"Happy birthday to me...” Claire muttered to herself in the car as she headed back to headquarters from the airport.

She had just spent her sixteenth birthday in a island near Polynesia using a tank to crush "the enemies of the state." Then burned their military base to the ground.

She didn't know what exactly they did to become enemies, but it didn't matter. Kurt and the other agents always repeated the same stupid phrase.

"You're a weapon. You don't need to know. Just take your orders and do them!"

"What was that?" Dr. Novak asked from the front seat next to the driver. He was the new head scientist. Kurt replaced Dr. Greene after his experiment didn't bring any new test results. He had only been there for a few weeks, but he was a lot less strict.

"Nothing, just can't believe I'm sixteen." And haven't seen the world in 6 years.

Dr. Novak smiled. She liked it. He reminded her of the Director. Bald, a little less fat and wide smile.

"My daughter is almost sixteen like you, Amber eyes. I wish you could talk, I'm sure you would find some things in common."

"Umm, not exactly allowed." Claire pointed to her shock collar "But I would like that too. I haven't seen anyone my age in forever!"

Dr. Novak gave a small frown, then he started to shift.

"I know I shouldn't let my feelings get in the way but it's such a shame you're living like this...." He looked around as if the limo had security cameras watching them. Then leaned closer "Okay, maybe we can let you go for one day. But you must come back to the Center before 1 okay. I don't want to get into too much trouble."

"But the, the collar?" Claire stammered, feeling giddy. Was she actually going to be let out and free alone?

Dr. Novak pulled out a Swiss Army knife from his lab coat pocket and cut it off.

"Now go, pretend I couldn’t have stopped you" he instructed. Claire pushed herself out the door and rolled out to the busy sidewalk of Metropolis City.

It was huge! Skyscrapers seemed to be everywhere and shops crowded every corner. It was already 7 in the afternoon but Claire felt like it was 9 in the morning.

She was free!!! Free!

But what do regular people do on their birthdays. They had cake, but she had no money. They had friends and gifts but that was not happening.

So she looked around and followed a crowd of teenagers that looked to be her age to a club, Pulse it said in pink neon.

Her body felt electrified and she couldn't keep from bouncing on her feet. She was normal person, going to a club. She felt if she smiled anymore her face would break.

As she got to the bouncer, he glanced at her. "You don't look 20,” he wrinkled his nose.

Claire lower her eyes and smiled. Pressing her body against him oh so suggestively. "But couldn't you let me in. I have a sister waiting inside," she purred, nudging her chest against his. A move that was practically engrained into her body. She had done this many times before on poor foreign enemies of the state before she knocked their head into the roof. The man melted like putty and she glide past. Swinging her hips to the music. The club was hot, flashing strobe lights bounced around the wall and shiny silver dance floor. There were a few couches packed in back of the room and two tropical bars with palm trees near the bathrooms. And cages of hanging from the ceiling with shirtless men and girls in their underwear dancing in time to the drums. Claire stared at the whole place in wonder. And slowly she started to copy the others. Waving her arms in the air, grinding and jumping around.

But as she started to get tired, she felt bored. She wanted to use her powers. When was the last time she used them for fun? But she couldn't think of any trick that would seem normal without attracting attention that she was a meta human.

As she looked at the people dancing around the tikki torches by the bar, she had an idea....Fire breathing. Take a stick with plastic palm leaves, she ripped them off and blew. A woosh of fire covered the stick and Claire brandished it proudly.

A few screamed but others started crowing and yelling. She did a few more tricks, twirling sticks in the air, making shapes out of fire discreetly using her powers to help.

Then two gawky guys, both with brown hair came up to her. One black tips said to her, "I.. I'm I know you might not know what I'm talking about. But trust me, it's a compliment from the highest degree of nerdom." He cleared his throat,"You, me world domination?" "Sorry if you don’t get the reference but it’s a paraphrase of this firebender named Azula. It’s from Avatar: Last Airbender," The other guy with glasses explained. "I loved that show!" Claire cried. She had been banned watching it after she found out about her powers. Her dad thought she would be too influenced. But Claire still remembered fondly. And now apparently these two cute guys her age knew it too.

"No way someone as hot as you knows that." The black tips cried..

"Well yes. I'm a fire bender all the way. As you can see.." Claire smirked, waving her flaming stick.

“Nah, not me. I'm more air bender," Black tips said, ““All peace, no war.” "That's cuz he's too scared of fire," Glasses mocked whispered.

"Shut up!" "You are too!"

"Hey, how did you even do that without draining alchohol?" Black tip asked, changing the conversation to Claire, motioning to her flaming torches. Normal people need to alchohol to do it? "Uh what makes you think I haven't been drinking?" Claire winked.

The guys smiled. “I'm Damian" glasses said "And this is my younger bro and room mate, Francis," he motioned to black tips. "Claire." They spent the rest of the time joking and talking about avatar episodes. Then Francis invited her over for dinner at the apartment and she eagerly accepted. It was almost eleven but she wasn't planning on going back. Sure, Dr. Novak might get in trouble but she her freedom meant more than any scientist. And with such nice guys too. She could stand to hang around them for a little while until she found her own place.

Plus Francis looked quite cute. Chiseled checks, floppy brown hair, studied something called botany which only seemed to remind her how much school she missed.

She hadn’t even finish middle and she couldn’t recall what photosynthesis was. She thought it had to do with cameras but they didn't mention anything about it yet.

"Well I'm gonna hit the sack. Good night." He slapped Francis' shoulder, "Make me proud," he whispered.

They spent a little time siting on the couch when Francis turned to her and leaned closer, heading in for a kiss. Claire tried to suppress a cringe as she felt her face flush. Her body started tingling again like all those years ago. Oh god, she was aroused. He was probably aroused too, and he'll want the sex. But then his mouth pressed against hers and all her thoughts flew out. His lips were so soft and warm, she wanted to melt against him. She gripped him closer and held his hair as his tongue pushed further into her mouth.

"This is amazing! How could I think kissing was bad? Wait....did that other guy even kiss me? No, no. This is my first kiss. OMIGOD I'M HAVING MY FIRST KISS!”

Slowly he took off her clothes and she grabbed his pants. His touch was so soft and gentle and warm. She welcomed it. All the muscles she was clenching released and she just let him take the lead. This sex thing was great, and Claire held onto him like howler monkey.

After the first release, she felt hotter, and heard Francis mutter, "You're boiling." Claire briefly opened her eyes, and saw her her hands, flames sparking up her fingers. She held them out in the air and tried not to touch Francis or act like anything was wrong.

But her hands wouldn't stop burning, no matter how much she tried to imagine it away. Francis' body blending into hers was so distracting, especially as another wave of pleasure rippled through hers.

She flipped Francis in a way she would be positioned ontop of him and smashed her boobs against his face, suppressing a moan of ecstasy. It was honestly very frustrating. Here she was having the best sex ever and she had to stop it or else he would freak over her burning hands.

So she pretended to accidentally knock over the lamp, touched the lightbulb and it exploded from the heat.

Francis jumped and Claire sat on her hands, trying to cool herself. "Dude!! I'm happy for you, but seriously!" Damian yelled from another room.

"Sorry, sorry." Francis flushed, his neck turning white "We should probably stop" he bent over to pick up the pieces. "Yes, you probably should." a chilling voice added.

In the doorway stood Kurt and four agents. "Claire," He intoned. Two agents grabbed her, and forced her outside as she heard Kurt talking to Francis.

"Take this pill, you don't need to remember what's gone on here tonight-" amid Francis' questions. Claire's face burned with shame and humiliation.

How the hell, did they find out?

"How?" Claire whispered when Kurt entered the car with a blanket to cover herself. "Security cameras. Though you were acting like a stripper at the club, not many people have knee length orange hair." He spat at the word club.

"It was simple to spot you from the rest. We asked questions, found out who you left with. Now you are coming back. First discipline, then you'll have to work through the night to catch up with what you missed." Kurt informed her.

Claire self-consciously gripped her hair. She never thought about how recognizable she looked with it, uncut from years gone by. Once they got to the headquarters, she was disciplined with the routine of water boarding and foam spray until she had passed out. When she came too, she had been redressed in her usual black outfit, a new shock collar and brought to the training room.

Where Dr. Novak stood, handcuffed and crying.

"First we thought you should get rid of your accomplice." Kurt said. Claire held her breath and hesitantly complied, forming a circle of fire around Dr. Novak, close but not touching him. Claire wanted to apologize to the man. The man with a daughter her age, who had thought she should be out on her birthday and let her have that one day of freedom.

But Kurt was waiting, nudging her back with the fire extinguisher nozzle. A water board would await her if she didn’t comply. Claire closed her eyes and let the circle of fire creep closer and closer until the smell of burnt skin and smoke filled the room.

#claire selton #volcana #where’s the smoke #just like fire #ch. 5 #superman: the animated series #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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As the scrutiny around Brett Kavanaugh’s Supreme Court nomination continues, more details about his time as a student at Yale are being unearthed — and some unexpected side stories are turning in the process, like the one about his involvement in a bar fight after a UB40 concert.

Yes, that’s right: UB40, the ’80s British reggae-pop band, known for hits like their peppy cover of Neil Diamond’s “Red Red Wine,” their peppy cover of Sonny & Cher’s “I Got You Babe,” and their peppy cover of Elvis’s “(I Can’t Help) Falling In Love With You.” There are some who would argue the band’s original, non-cover songs, which started out steeped in politics, were okay, too, but let’s face it, you probably don’t know any of those songs.

In fact, most of us only know UB40 for “Red Red Wine,” judging by how many jokes that referenced the song after the New York Times released a police report stating that Kavanaugh allegedly threw ice on a man following a UB40 concert. According to Chad Ludington, one of Kavanaugh’s former classmates and a member of the Yale basketball team, the conflict arose when Kavanaugh and his friends assumed — apparently incorrectly — that the man was UB40 lead singer Ali Campbell, seen here in the video for the band’s most famous song.

[embedded content]

All jokes about the judicial wisdom indicated by that misidentification aside, social media lit up with jokes from those who could not resist the comedic premise of a bar fight over a band who famously covered a song about a drunken haze.

didn’t know why ub40 was trending, then saw beer kavanaugh got into a fist fight after one of their concerts…

do you know how pumped full of rage you have to be to want to fist fight someone after listening to ‘red red wine’ that song is music’s equivalent of cruise control

— Alexis Novak (@AlexisGirlNovak) October 2, 2018

But the UB40 mention inspired more than just mockery. Among the points being made by onlookers was that the British band’s original progressive, anti-Thatcherite messaging — not to mention its multiculturalism and diversity — likely would have appealed very little to modern-day Judge Kavanaugh. Indeed, the band’s name comes from the name for Britain’s Thatcher-era unemployment form.

I can’t be the only one pointing out that UB40 was a bi-racial roots band named for a UK unemployment form, and had a whole Rock Against Racism/anti-Thatcher period prior to playing Neil Diamond covers in CT. Look up the lyrics to this and “Madame Medusa.” https://t.co/BdQOc19ZaZ

— Franklin Bruno (@humanfranklin) October 2, 2018

Not fair to make jokes at UB40’s expense. Pop band, yes, but note they were ethnically diverse, anti-Thatcher, anti-National Front, anti-racism. No wonder Trumpster Kavanaugh threw a beer at a guy he thought was in the group.

— lancegould (@lancegould) October 2, 2018

And many others pointed out the sheer randomness of the reggae band being abruptly involved in one of the most controversial Supreme Court nominations in history.

I feel bad for UB40 right now. “Guys, look! We’re trending!” [clicks through] “MOTHERFU—”

— Chris Holm (@chrisfholm) October 2, 2018

UB40 wasn’t even on my Brett Bingo card.

— Schooley (@Rschooley) October 2, 2018

I know I say “I did not have _____ on the bingo card” often but I didn’t even have UB40 on my 5 backup bingo cards for this one

— Hanif Abdurraqib (@NifMuhammad) October 2, 2018

Some people used the excuse to share their nostalgic memories of the band — or hating the band.

True story (and there might not be another chance to share this): First concert I ever went to was UB40. “Red Red Wine” was the third song they played & the crowd went nuts. After that we all seemed genuinely confused about what we were doing there. I punched no one that evening.

— Josh Radnor (@JoshRadnor) October 2, 2018

When I was in university the DJ at the campus jock bar taped up a sign to his booth that read “NO UB40 EVER!!!” Cheers to you, campus DJ.

— Leah McLaren (@leahmclaren) October 2, 2018

Getting older mostly sucks, but I feel sorry for anyone too young to understand how funny someone getting into a fight after a UB40 concert is.

— Sean Thomason (@TheThomason) October 1, 2018

current dystopia status: retroactively rooting for ub40 in a fist fight

— Saladin Ahmed (@saladinahmed) October 2, 2018

But at the end of the day, most people just wanted to make “Red Red Wine” jokes.

In 1988, while I was driving home from high school, a pickup truck ran a red light and totaled my car. At the moment of impact, UB40’s “Red Red Wine” was playing on my car stereo.

Man, it feels good to get that off my chest.

— Kevin M. Kruse (@KevinMKruse) October 2, 2018

Ugh, people, MUST we go through the pairings again? Very well. For what I hope is the last time, it’s:

Red (red) wine with UB40

Magnolia wine with Labelle

Pink champagne (on ice) with the Eagles

Sangria (in the park) with Lou Reed

Beer (for breakfast) with the Replacements

— Glen Weldon (@ghweldon) October 2, 2018

I’m mad about a lot right now but the fact that I’ve got ‘Red Red Wine’ earworming now is right up there tonight

— Jessica Mason Pieklo (@Hegemommy) October 2, 2018

The statute of limitations for red, red wine jokes expired 2 hours ago.

— Blake Hounshell (powered by blockchain) (@blakehounshell) October 2, 2018

Amid the jokes, some observers made the salient observation that, well, the lyrics to “Red Red Wine” kind of foretold all of this:

Kavanaugh Lyrics: “Red, red wine, you make me feel so fine; I don’t black out all of the time; Red, red wine, you make me feel so grand; I just threw the drink I had in my hand; Red red wine, you really made my night; my friend went to jail cuz I started a fight…”

— Sheridan Brown (@sheridantbrown) October 2, 2018

Joking aside, the reason all of the references to red wine feel so obvious in the moment is that a huge part of the debate over the Kavanaugh hearings involves alcohol and his relationship to it. At issue is the question of whether he knowingly lied under oath by portraying his collegiate drinking habits as benign despite witness accounts and evidence that he was a known and notorious partier. And if Kavanaugh would just own up to that fact and admit accountability for it, the hearings might not have proven so contentious.

But now that we’re here, and now that a bar fight has gotten drawn into the proceedings, we have the lyrics of “Red Red Wine” itself to make the point: “Red, red wine, goes to my head / makes me forget … Give me a little time / help me clear up my mind.” It’s not exactly Shakespeare, but in a moment when we’re earnestly debating whether excess drinking could have affected Kavanaugh’s memory about his own drunken behavior, this song about drinking to excess in order to forget does underscore the irony.

Original Source -> How UB40 and “Red Red Wine” became part of the Kavanaugh news cycle

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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