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venusofthehardsells · 5 years ago

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No Rest for the Wicked [Dea ex Machina part one]

John ConstantinexAngel!Reader Summary: You travel to a remote island to put a murderous spirit to rest, but things get complicated when you run into one John Constantine. Warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness, blood, smoking, ghosts, pining, is slowburn a warning? A/N: My first Constantine fic on tumblr, yay! This was originally written for a challenge aaages ago, but it got away from me and I couldn’t meet the deadline. I had so much fun with this though, Constantine is a great character to write for! There will definitely be more stories about him and this particular angelic reader in the future ♥

I’ve mixed elements from both the Vertigo comics and the NBC TV series, as well as from the general DC Universe, so don’t expect accuracy when it comes to canon. A special thanks to @nellblazer for support and linguistic aid, you’re the best! ♥ Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged ~

Contrary to common belief, there had never actually been any ravens on Raven’s Rock. The tiny, windswept fleck of land in the North Sea had been named a few hundred years ago by a fool of a sailor, who hadn’t been able to tell a raven from a severely lost and consequently very confused Scandinavian pigeon. Said sailor had regrettably also been of some importance in his homeland at the time, meaning no one had bothered to correct the unfortunate mistake for fear of losing a head. Even though everyone who since came upon the island only ever managed to find gulls and puffins and various other seabirds, it had still kept its misleading English name.

The Celts, who by rights had been on the island long before the British, had chosen to play it safe and completely forego the bird names (although it had been suggested several times in later centuries to change it to the Gaelic word for seagull, or even pigeon, as a taunt). Instead, they had most likely looked to the ancient ruins that specked the island, jutting up from the rocks like broken teeth and, all things considered, had endured well beyond memory and history and legend. Or perhaps they had still been reeling from the mad determination that had brought them and their wooden ships so far from home. Whichever the case, they had called the stubborn, little rock Innis Seasmhach, “the steadfast island”.

That was its official name to this day, though most people, especially those who didn’t speak Gaelic (which in all fairness are not very many), still referred to it as Raven’s Rock.

The locals shrugged and simply called it “the island”.

There was only one village on the entire island, whose population on a good day might reach a hundred and thirty people. That usually only happened a few times during summer when the ferries from Stavanger and Aberdeen docked at the same time. The tourists came to see the ruins, buy a souvenir fridge magnet of a raven or a puffin, complain about the frightfully bleak weather and leave again on one of the ferries that departed before evenfall, secretly happy they didn’t have to spend any more time on the island.

On the day you arrived, the population on the isle of Raven’s Rock, was an astounding one hundred and forty four, which was quite unheard of in the middle of October.

What was even more unheard of, however, was the reason for all these untimely appearances.

A night ago, a pair of fishermen had discovered the body of a man in a small, secluded cove on the north side of the island. The body was placed so that it could only be seen from sea, unless one were to venture down a rocky and extremely narrow trail into the cove itself. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone slipping and ending up on the stony beach below. That kind of unfortunate death was of course tragic, but it hardly warranted the wide array of policemen and journalists the death had attracted. No, the reason for the sudden interest was the gruesome way the body had been displayed.

The dead man had been stripped bare and splayed out on the rocks like a cross with his arms stretched away from his torso. His skin was almost completely covered in symbols and writing no one could make sense of, though one expert, when consulted by the mystified and slightly desperate police, vaguely suggested it was possibly a rare pre-Arthurian dialect.

The more macabre specifics had so far been kept out of the press.

One was that the writings on the body had been done in blood, the corpse’s own, and another was that it came from where the head had been crudely severed from the rest of the flesh and spiked close by on a piece of driftwood.

Even hypnotised, the young sergeant who had told you, had looked slightly green when he related the information. You had padded him sympathetically on the shoulder before moving on. He wouldn’t remember revealing the details to you, but the information itself was seared into his mind forever.

His, along with the rest of the islanders’, you mused as you continued from the harbour and on into the village.

The locals called it “town”, but in truth it wasn’t really big enough to warrant that title.

It had one store that sold a little bit of everything depending on the weather, a church, a pub, a repair shop (it wasn’t specified what exactly you could get repaired there) and a public building, functioning as city hall, police station, post office, library and school in one. All the police reinforcements from Aberdeen had been moved into the city hall, seeing as the only two policemen permanently stationed on the island had never handled a murder case before. Meanwhile, the reporters and TV crews covering the case were taking up the pub’s five tiny bedrooms, both B&Bs and every single rental cottage Raven’s Rock could boast (nine in total if you counted the back room in the garage of the repair shop). Because you had left for the airport in a hurry and jumped onto the first plane to Norway, you hadn’t had time to secure a place to sleep on the island. You had pondered it on the ferry, but when it came down to it, you didn’t want to stick around longer than a day. If you worked fast, you could probably be on your way back to the mainland in the morning and wouldn’t need to worry about finding a bed. You had spotted a bench down by the harbour; it would have to do.

Besides, you didn’t have any time to waste as long as the murder case was unsolved. You could still hear Madame Xanadu’s words in your head like some annoying ominous echo.

A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks. The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Fate was a menace when you had to deal with it like this, grounded and fumbling through the world with nothing but scraps to guide you. Not like in the old days when you had all of Heaven at your disposal… Being a proper angel had really had its advantages. You scoffed and walked faster. At least this prophecy had been pretty straightforward, which was far from what you were usually given to work with, you thought sourly, folding your arms around yourself against the wind.

A malevolent spirit that should have passed on, but hadn’t was easy enough to figure out; it happened all the time and you could deal with that. The location of the spirit had also been a walk in the park with so many hints to go on.

What really worried you was the second part of Madame Xanadu’s little mystic insight.

The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Blood drinking was never a good omen in prophecies. It hardly ever meant vampires, usually just death. And the laughing magician, well, that one was always the same. The reason Madame Xanadu had called upon you to restore the balance in this place.

John Constantine.

Whenever one of her foresights indicated that the blonde warlock was walking into something he couldn’t handle himself, she sent you after him or, in this case, ahead to clear his path for him. Most times, he didn’t even know you had been there and you preferred it that way.

Like now.

The last you had heard of John was that he was in the States. Sufficiently far away, you thought. Even if someone had alerted him to the murder on Raven’s Rock, it would be at least another day before he could reach the windswept little island and by then you hoped to be long gone. It was best if you two didn’t meet at all.

You chewed on your lip as you thought of him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, it was just… easier if you didn’t. The things you did, the jobs you took were simply too dangerous if your focus wasn’t a hundred per cent on the task in front of you. And with John around, your newly mortal heart had a tendency to make your better judgement evaporate.

You passed a phonebox on the main (and only) street that looked as though it had seen better days and a small tourist information office/part time bakery with its doors and windows shut for the night, before you reached the seemingly only building in town with light and, admittedly subdued, noise streaming out of it: the pub. Apart from the city hall, you reckoned it must be the oldest building around, but also by far the one in best repair. The wooden sign above the heavy green door was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a very sinister looking gull and it swayed in the wind with an ominous creak that made a shiver run down your spine, as if trying to dissuade you from entering.

Well, it wasn’t very likely that you would get any information elsewhere. With determination in your steps, you walked the last few cobbled steps to the door and went inside.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, the patrons, the energies... and you froze on the threshold.

On a stool by the bar sat the very man you had hoped to avoid. He had taken off his signature trench coat and his back was towards you, but it didn't matter; you would recognise him blindfolded. He was so thoroughly cloaked and shrouded in magical protections of all sorts that the space he occupied was practically a vacuum. It was damn near impossible to locate him by magic, you knew. If one weren't looking directly at him, like you were now, no sixth sense or intricate spell would reveal his whereabouts. But his was a vacuum you had come to know very well. So well in fact, that by now you could pin him down by his apparent lack of magic, rather than by his well-hidden magical signature, and yet, there he was, sitting only half a room away from you with a drink in one hand and one of his ghastly Silk Cuts resting between the fingers of the other. And you hadn't noticed. You hadn't even done a quick scan to see if there were other magical presences on the island when you arrived. Worse, you hadn't cloaked yourself as thoroughly as you normally would have done and your own signature reached him before you could even think to try and prevent it.

From the way he straightened his back and immediately snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as if someone had shouted at him to show some care, you could tell he knew you were there. He shifted ever so slightly as if making room for you and you sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Getting rid of your raincoat, you went over and crawled onto the empty stool next to him.

You were met with that wicked smirk of his that made your heart stutter and stumble in your chest.

"Now, there's a pleasant surprise to brighten this hellhole," he greeted, raising his glass at you. "Must confess, I never guessed I'd be running into you on this godforsaken rock, luv."

"Hello John." You did with a nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Can't say I expected this to be your sort of retreat either."

The warm light in the pub shone in John Constantine's dark eyes and his smirk grew into a grin.

"It's good to see you, luv. I've missed that disapproving pout o' yours. The fact that I never know when I'll see it again makes it so much sweeter."

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't attempt to hide your burning cheeks. The bastard couldn’t possibly know exactly how brightly your torch for him was burning, but he always acted accordingly.

"So, what are you doing here then? Odd place for playing tourist, innit?"

He leaned on the counter, his hand moving closer to where yours was resting and there was that little, dark gleam of hope in his eyes that always appeared when he looked at you. As if there was somehow some other reasonable purpose you could have to be in a place like this, at a time like this.

You shrugged, biting down a smile.

"I find the climate rather agreeable."

John threw his head back and laughed at that. Even the barkeep, who had overheard your words, snorted. You caught his gaze before he turned back around and ordered a sparkling water.

"Right. And I just happened by to see the sights, eh?"

"Well, what do you think of them then?"

You raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the fizzy water the barkeep placed in front of you. John grinned and gave you an obvious once-over. Your dirty boots and high-neck jumper didn't seem to put him off.

"Much improved since this morning. At this rate, I can't wait to see how they'll look in the night."

"Oh, I ought to slap that smirk off your smug face, wizard," you sighed, feeling how your stomach was practically fluttering at his suggestive tone.

"Is that a promise, luv?"

"You're insufferable."

"Aye, that I am, luv, but you keep coming back for more. Must be doing something right, eh?"

You bit your lip and looked down; he suddenly felt too close. And the general level of noise inside the pub from people chattering wasn't as high as you had hoped. It would be easy for others to overhear anything you said. Given the island-wide unrest over the murder, you were sure ears were perked more than usual and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, or John. You would have to gather more information some other way.

"I missed you, too," you confessed, staring at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar as if they were all of a sudden exceedingly interesting. "But I... I thought you were helping out a certain green vigilante overseas these days."

John visibly tensed up.

"Who told you that?"

You shrugged, still not looking directly at him. The truth was that he couldn't really hide from you, not even in your current state. If he found out though, you didn't doubt for a second that his heated flirting would be switched for a literal knife in the back before you could even think the word "portal". Well, perhaps not literal, but you had no doubt the outcome would be fatal for you anyway.

"Who told you to come here?," you countered, raising an eyebrow and John scoffed.

"If you must know, I got a call from an old friend. Looks like she's been scrying on her own and this little spit of land kept drawing all her energy. Didn't seem like something I could ignore."

"You should've," you mumbled, taking a large slurp of your water and doing your best to ignore the persistent little spark of envy starting to gnaw away at you at his choice of words. What old friend? It had to be someone he had slept with, it always was with him. Why couldn't you just not care? "Take my advice, John, leave. Go home and lay low. I'll handle this island."

"Is that concern for old Johnny I hear, luv?," he asked with mock-surprise.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, your ego won't be able to fit into that coat of yours."

He chuckled, but the tension was still there and you didn't know how to break it without giving him the truth, or at least something close.

"Your turn, pretty bird. I don't believe in coincidences like this, so tell me. How'd you know to come here?"

Lying to John Constantine was out of the question. As was being honest with him.

You chewed on your lip a bit, weighing your options. It wasn't like him to accept any kind of help unless he was downright desperate and that was still a long way off. If you challenged him though, he was most likely to flee, that much you knew. But you didn't want to get on his bad side unless you had absolutely no other choice.

"Leave," you repeated. "This one's out of your league, John. Let me take care of it, please."

The way your eyes were pleading with him made him frown and you realised you might have shown too much of your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, luv." His hand was on top of yours on the bar before you could move it. To anyone looking, it seemed like an affectionate gesture, but he was effectively pinning you in place. "Not until you give me a bloody good reason not to give you the same treatment as whatever beast it is we're dealing with on this island."

"Let go of me."

Your voice wasn't very loud, but you knew he could hear you. He answered by pressing down harder on your hand and you winced.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I just want to keep you safe?," you all but hissed at him, emptying your drink with a sour expression.

"Oh, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you, luv. Every time I see your pretty little face it means there's trouble brewing just around the corner."

"I saved your life in Tennessee. And in Derry," you tried, but his hold didn't loosen. If anything, John was now gripping your hand so hard no blood could possibly flow to your fingers. "I am trying to do your stubborn Scouse arse a bloody favour, why can't you just for once in your damn life listen to me?"

"Tell me your name then and maybe I will."

Fuck. Somehow it always came down to that.

"Xanadu," you snapped through gritted teeth, eyeing John with what you hoped was an appropriate amount of ire. "Xanadu contacted me and told me about this place. Happy? Obviously, she wasn't going to tell you now, was she?"

John withdrew his hand from you as though you'd burned him. It felt about as pleasant as a punch to the teeth, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

"I suppose you're right...," he admitted. "What did she tell you then? Her usual cryptic nonsense I reckon?"

"For someone in your line of work, you're not at all keen on prophecy reading, are you?," you sighed, forcing a bit of humour into your words.

There was no love lost between John Constantine and Madame Xanadu, that much had been clear to you from the beginning. But even though she couldn't stand the sight of him, she believed John was instrumental in keeping the world safe and had begrudgingly agreed to help you protect him when she could.

"Not really my style. I prefer things more tangible, to the point. Besides, I don't need to worry about divination when I have you."

"You rarely do."

"Not by my choice, luv."

Your eyes flickered back to the empty glass in front of you and you had to take a very slow breath to try and steady yourself. His effect on you was too strong for you to be safe around him. Your job required a clear head - for both your sakes.

"A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks," you recited, steeling your voice as you averted his unspoken question the way you always did. "It wasn't that cryptic at all for once."

He didn't need to hear the other part. You could feel his eyes roaming your face, trying to figure you out, looking for something without fully knowing what. It was at times like these you missed your wings. Keeping secrets in a human body full of emotions and urges and reactions beyond your immediate control was frustrating at best. It was another reason you were better off keeping your distance.

After a while of searching your features, John sighed and gave up.

"Alright. So it's probably some kind of malevolent spirit then, wreaking havoc. Don't see why you're so worried luv, sounds like any other Tuesday to me."

The barkeep was close enough for you to signal for a refill to you both. He grunted something unintelligible, obviously not too keen on all the Brits suddenly hanging out in his pub. You made sure to send him a grateful smile as he filled your glasses, yours with sparkling water, John's with whisky.

"My weeks are all Mondays," you said and raised the glass to your lips; just as you had hoped, John did the same. "Did you get here in time to see the body?"

"Only after they moved it. Wasn't pretty..." He took another swig while staring at the wall with a distant glaze clouding his eyes that told you he wasn't seeing the wall at all. "Pathologist told me the man had been alive when 'is head was severed. The, er... the inscriptions..." John looked just as sickly green as the constable had done and very gently you put your hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of reassurance. "I'm tired," he whispered suddenly. He turned his head to look at you and your heart ached when you realised how glassy his eyes had become. "I am just so bloody tired. Demons, vampires, curses, spirits, the lot. No matter where I go, there're always more and people die, it never stops. Innocent people, good people... I just want a fucking break, but if I don't stop the darkness from spreading, who will?"

His voice was thin and on the verge of breaking entirely. You wanted nothing more than to lean forwards on the stool and put your arms around him, somehow make him know he wasn't alone, but the risk was too great. You were in too deep already.

"Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it..."

"Of course it's worth it, John," you said quietly, clenching his shoulder. "We do what we have to so they...," you gestured discreetly towards the patrons, ”they can go on living their lives and not... not know and see the things we do..."

"I know, luv, I know. I just... I want..." The gloom that was always lurking just below the surface of his existence was spilling into his eyes. He was weary to the bone, deep into his very soul. For a moment, you thought he was going to let the tears burst. "I risk my life every day and it's never bloody enough, is it? A man got his head carved off by some wretched spirit who should have been resting in peace. Fuckin’ Hell..."

He rubbed his eyes hard and you decided then what to do. You didn't like it one bit, but seeing John this worn down, well, you liked that even less. It meant you had been sleeping on the job.

As subtly as you could, you put your hand in your pocket and found the tiny zip-bag with a pinch of purple powder in it. It wasn't something you used often and it had never been meant for John, but you couldn't in good conscience let him go after a rogue spirit in his current state. While he emptied his glass again, you drizzled the powder into your hand and braced yourself.

"John, look at me. It's going to be alright. You are John Constantine and without you this world would have ended twelve times in the last decade, maybe more. And right now you are going to save this island, because that is what you do. So get off your sulking arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a job here. You're going to find that spirit and put it out of its misery before it hurts someone else, got it?"

He huffed, but even so raised his head and managed a small grateful smile at the reprimand.

"Yes. You're right. Thank you, luv. You always know what to say..." His eyes darted to your lips and for half a heartbeat, you did nothing, just sat there and waited for him to lean in the rest of the way and kiss you. It was far from the first time it had happened, but you still felt at war with yourself. There wasn't a single atom left in you anymore that didn't crave his affection. He was drunk and emotional and between the way he looked at you and the way there suddenly seemed to be less and less space separating your bodies, there was no doubt about his intention. It would be so easy just to finally give in and let it happen.

"Don't thank me."

Before he could lean back or ask you what you meant, you blew the purple powder straight into his face.

His eyes widened in shock, but his body immediately began to turn relaxed and pliant.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me...," he mumbled, but his gaze was already unfocused.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, gently guiding his torso onto the bar.

He tried to say something more, but his words were slurred and within a few seconds, he was gone.

You had gotten the sleeping powder from a dealer in New Orleans, who had told you the effects would last at least four hours. They always oversold their stuff, but hopefully John would be out long enough for you to deal with the entire affair if you hurried up and took a few shortcuts. It was a messy solution, but then again, you hadn't planned on him being here. Desperate times and all that.

"He gonna be lying there all night?," the barkeep grumbled with a raised eyebrow at John when you hopped down from your stool. You put on the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and slid 50 quid across the counter.

"He'll come ‘round soon enough. If not, I'll be back for him in a few."

You practically fled the pub before he could ask you any more questions.

The road outside was deserted and you hoped no one was watching as you marched to the lonely phone box you had spotted earlier. It didn't look like anyone had used it in several years, but when you picked up the receiver the dial tone was there alright.

You took out a stained, battered playing card from the depths of one of your pockets (the seven of diamonds) and slid it into the credit card slot. You didn't own a mobile phone and neither did most of your acquaintances, but still you had memorised the few numbers you occasionally needed.

"Hey Chas, it's me," you said when the answering machine finally picked up. "I'm at the island with John and I haven't got much time. I don’t want to get John involved in this so I need to work fast. There's no need to worry, really, I've got it under control, but... just in case something unforeseen happens, uhm... if I don't call back in let's say ten hours, will you let John know where to find my body? He can't track me in his usual ways, so he'll need your help."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What you were about to do was risky, maybe even reckless.

"I'm going to the beach where they found the dead man and work my way from there. If... if I don't succeed..." It was as if your throat was suddenly full of gravel. "Chas, please, just make sure John isn't the one to take on that spirit. He is not ready for that." Too late, you held the receiver away from your face while you tried to suppress a sniffle. So much for convincing Chas Chandler that you had things under control. Forcing your voice to even out, you continued. "I have to go. Just help him if I can’t, okay? And don’t worry too much. I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Before you could say anything even more stupid, you hung up and slid your helpful seven of diamonds back into your coat. Handy little thing to have on you.

You left the phone box in the last light of day and made your way down to the beach. It took you twenty minutes to reach the cove and less than one to sneak under the police tape unseen. There were just two constables standing guard at the scene and they only looked when you wanted them to. For an active crime scene, the site was unusually quiet, but you attributed your luck to the dusk that made searching for clues almost impossible.

Of course, that went for you as well, you thought sourly as you carefully stepped around the little plastic numbers the police forensics had put up all over the little stretch of beach. You could make out the bloody piece of driftwood and the large dark spatter running down the stones where the corpse had lain, but nothing smaller than those. Even if the place was rather secluded, you didn’t dare light a torch with the uniforms standing idly guard so close by.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and concentrated.

The place was tingling with dark energy and it became clearer the more you felt around, using your own magic.

A spirit, just like you had anticipated. A lost soul preying on the living for… revenge? Yes, the bloody traces sang with the mad desire for vengeance that so often kept the dead from their rest.

Bloodshed, the thirst temporarily quenched. Then what?

The movements of the spirit became blurry after that no matter how hard you tried to focus. The leftover energy had been disturbed and mixed with the signatures of all the people who had been to the crime scene since the discovery of the body and it was impossible to make out without assistance, even for someone as experienced as you.

If you couldn’t locate the soul, you couldn’t send it packing.

Luring it via séance required more people and it was too risky for everyone involved anyway. Without its name, summoning it was out of the question as well.

You groaned when you realised what you had to do.

Making sure for the last time you couldn’t be seen from the line of police tape above you, you took off your backpack and dark raincoat and shoved both of them under the nearest rock. Next, you loosened your boots and sat them next to the backpack, then your thick scarf and woollen jumper. With short, angry movements, you rolled your trousers down and folded them hastily, ripped off your socks and wriggled out of your top.

“You’re so bloody lucky I love you, John,” you mumbled through clenched teeth that were starting to rattle in your skull. With fingers already numb from the cold, you unclasped your bra and slid down your underwear before you could change your mind, and with a deep breath, you stepped into the waves.

Even before you went into the sea, your body had been covered in goosebumps from the chilly October air, but the surfs rising around your legs now made you heave for breath with every step forward. The rocks under your feet were dull compared to the sharpness of the water. When it reached you mid-thigh you had to stop and wait for the pain to subside enough so that you could get further out. You were too close to the beach and the water was still too shallow for your purpose.

A tangle of seaweed drifted past your ankle, or at least you hoped it was just seaweed. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Your submerged muscles were screaming as you forced yourself out until the water reached your ribs. If only that wretched spirit hadn’t chosen the middle of the bleeding autumn to throw its tantrum.

“Sacred Nanuet, your humble servant speaks to you,” you intoned through gritted teeth and held out your hands on either side of you so the gentle waves touched the palms of your hands. “She beseeches you; allow her the honour of sharing in your wisdom. Blessed goddess, lend her your sight and expand her understanding, your humble servant begs of you, great Nanuet…”

The ancient language you muttered your request in felt strange on your tongue as always, but your flattery worked. You could feel the magic start to sing under your hands and so you took a deep breath and lowered yourself completely into the sea.

The stranglehold of the freezing water somehow got pushed into the background of your conscience and within a beat of your heart your mind was alight with images. Through the water, you could see most of the world, but you focused on Raven’s Rock and the little beach behind you. The water had seen it all. From the depths of the ocean, it rolled onto the sand and sneaked its way under the island’s rocks, seeped into the soil and was drunk by the hungry roots of The Green, stretching into the light above ground…

It wasn’t long before you managed to zero in on the exact event you needed. The Sight of Nanuet allowed your mind to access the memory of the watery abyss, which included as good as all water on Earth and not a lot of people mastered navigating it anymore. You had been forced to use a lot of wordly magic since you lost your wings and so had learned to find what you needed relatively easy.

Through the Sight, you saw the murder of the man on the beach, how the spirit severed his head and lapped at the blood before turning away from the scene. It lost some of its shape then, but through the dewy grass above the cove and the moist air, you managed to follow it away from the beach and across the land.

The spirit held its physical form, or at least the overall contours of it, and it made it easier to trail. From what you could tell, it definitely had been human when it had been alive. Poor thing. If only it hadn’t gone and murdered someone, maybe you could have sent it to rest.

But would you even be there if it hadn’t?

When the spirit finally settled, you had followed it to an old, abandoned stone house with no windows and a door rotting away on the hinges. The place must have been a farm. There were several small outhouses scattered around the main building and indents in the earth marking former animal pens. The roof had been a thatched one, but now it was more moss than straw and what still remained beneath the heavy green patches had long since turned mouldy and dark. A few shards of glass jutted from some of the window frames like crude, predatory teeth waiting to chew up whoever was unfortunate or foolish enough to get close.

You went after the spirit through the remnants of the front door.

A voice in the back of your head told you it was enough, you should get out of the house and the Sight and the water. You had what you needed for now.

But the way the spirit slumped through the dark rooms and up a ramshackle staircase, as if it had done it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there in that house, intrigued you. It didn't match your original theory, the reason you didn't want John involved.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the lonely ghost up the stairs, where it turned left and went into a room with what had been two alcoves in the wall but were now mostly caved in. The room didn't have any windows and it was hard to make out the details, but the flimsy shape of the spirit trudged towards one of the beds and with motions as if the bedding had still been intact, it lay down and pulled the memory of a blanket over itself.

You slowly got closer, unsure of what to do. The visible shape of the ghost was gone now that it was no longer in motion and the general gloom of the empty house made it near impossible for you to see anything clearly. But the person the ghost had been once seemed so at home here. You couldn't feel any hostility from it at all, not even a trace. Only peace, comfort. Quiet.

This had been its home once when it had lived, you were almost certain of it.

But the desolate little stone house, out of the way even for the island's standard, must have stood abandoned for several decades, maybe even a century or two. If the ghost had lived here it was much older than you had initially thought.

Which meant you might have knocked John out for nothing.

Fuck.

You had to find out more and fast, but it was unlikely the memory of the house before your closed eyes would yield anything further. Even if it was dark and late in the evening, you would have to go there physically. The chances of finding something would be higher, and besides, you couldn't stay in the water forever. You were almost human, after all.

The thought had barely crossed your mind before the reflex to breathe kicked in and you could feel the freezing seawater rush down your throat. One inhale was all it took for your lungs to feel heavy as a pair of burning bricks. A fleeting realisation, that drowning was one of the most unpleasant sensations you’d had the misfortune of experiencing since losing your wings, faintly made it to the front of your perception before the back of your head hit the sand on the ocean floor. Then the only thing you could focus on was the pressure of the water and the way your body grew ever more numb…

The room still flickered before your eyes, slowly losing definition as you lost consciousness. Strange, you mused with your last bit of coherence, that an angel from Heaven should die looking up at it from so far below, in the cold embrace of the sea. It wasn't even painful anymore, the water, but oddly comforting, lulling you to rest, holding you tight.

The only regret you had was leaving John…

The last thing you saw before your eyes fell shut was his face above yours and a faint smile moved your lips. How very considerate of your mind to conjure up his image as the last thing you would ever see.

You could feel his arms around you even, fingers digging into your skin, his body pressed down against your own…

“Bloody fucking Hell, let her go!” The words didn’t make sense to you and they sounded so awfully far away. “She isn’t yours, you stupid paegan relic, let go of her! Let go!”

But you were, you were letting go, there was nothing more you could do.

“Christ, luv, which heathen tosspot did you enlist to drown you?! Yam, Ægir? Tiamat? Nanuet? Nanuet, isn’t it?” At the invocation of her name, you could feel the ancient goddess slacken her hold on you, as if in surprise, and you vaguely realised that the embrace you felt didn’t belong to her or the water, but to John. “Oh, you always were a fickle tart. Let go of this servant or so help me God, I, John Constantine, will destroy you and every last shrine still bearing your blasted name! Let her go!”

With a cry you weren’t sure was even coming from you, your face broke the surface of the waves. You violently coughed up seawater and if it weren’t for John’s arms, you would have fallen right back down into the deep. Your head was spinning. The numbness gave way to a cold so freezing you might as well have been rolling in needles. Everything hurt. Your legs felt unsteady, no, your entire body felt as if someone had replaced your bones with straw and your muscles with jelly.

“J-John…,” you coughed, but he shushed you, keeping you close to him in the water.

“I know, luv, it’s a bloody miracle you aren’t dead, you’re welcome for that. Now let’s get you out of the water, yeah?”

He was really there, drenched in the North Sea in the middle of October at what might as well have been the edge of the Earth, just to save you from drowning. His white shirt and black trousers clung to his frame like film and from what you could make out in the light from the moon, he was shuddering from the cold, too. You had never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

“I c-can’t m-m-move,” you got out through teeth rattling painfully in your skull, suddenly all too aware of your proximity and your own state of undress. As much as you wanted to cling to him for warmth, for closeness, the logical part of your muddled brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. That was what you did, wasn’t it?

“‘Course you can’t. How long were you under for, anyway? Completely off your rocker summoning a paegan goddess alone at night in the middle of the bloody ocean! What were you thinking?”

“I-I saw the g-ghost,” you weakly tried stammering through your clattering teeth. “Saw h-how it killed-ungh!”

You let out a groan as John swiftly picked you up and started carrying you towards shore. Your severely tested heart felt as though it might give out entirely. Never had you been reckless enough to let him touch you like this before, to let him hold you, as if you were a lover who would readily indulge in such intimacy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were very likely about to freeze to death, your cheeks would have been on fire. Every inch of your skin would have been scorching.

As it were, you were too cold and too exhausted for your body to produce that kind of heat. Surrendering to the fatigue in your bones, you allowed your head to rest against him and closed your eyes. He could carry you to shore or to Hell on his hands. You weren’t going to argue. For the first time in all your human life, you completely let your guard down.

#john constantine x reader #constantine x reader #john constantine #constantine #john constantine fanfiction #hellblazer #vertigo hellblazer #nbc constantine #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #dc x reader #dc x you #john constantine x you

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years ago

Text

To the Bone

TRIGGER WARNING/DISCLAIMER: negative body image. Reader does NOT have an eating disorder but do not read if you’re easily triggered by things of that nature. I’ll have a fluffy story out soon for those who can’t read this one. And remember, you are beautiful exactly as you are. Love you!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

With you being a singer and an actress, you rarely got to see your movie star boyfriend for more than a few weeks at a time. When Tom was off shooting for Cherry, you got a call asking you to model for Saint Laurent. You’d been selected to be an égérie, or muse for the highly esteemed fashion brand. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the times you’d flip through your mothers fashion magazines as a child, always talking a special interest in the glamorous handbags and shoes you saw in the Saint Laurent magazines. To be on the cover of their magazine, decked in their masterpieces inspired by yourself, was a dream come true. You twisted around your room, feeling that familiar childlike wonder seeping in. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the full length mirror you and Tom had in your bedroom and stopped. You took a step closer and gazed at your reflection, placing delicate fingertips on the cool glass of the mirror. Another familiar feeling sunk in.

The feeling of not being good enough.

Saint Laurent was a huge brand. Millions of people would be looking at you on the cover. The thought of all those people and all the opinions they harbored made you feel uneasy. Would they like what they saw? Were you pretty enough to be a cover girl?

You traced your fingertips over your reflection until they landed on your tummy. You moved your hand from the mirror to your tummy and kept it there, turning to the side to get a better look.

“I could stand to be a little thinner.” You nodded your head and continued to stare at your body. You decided losing a little weight for the cover would be a good for everyone.

Tom was going to be away for three weeks, and your cover was a week after he returned. You found a diet online that claimed models followed and printed it out. You stuck it to your fridge and started following it that night.

The first week, you cut your meals down in size and cut out snacks completely.

The second week, you skipped meals here and there and told yourself you didn’t need them. You didn’t need the fatigue and constant hunger you felt either, but you told yourself it was worth it every time you stood up and felt dizzy.

The third week, what you did allow yourself to eat was rabbit food. Berries for breakfast, no lunch, salad for dinner. Your appearance had changed a little more than you expected, so you covered yourself in baggy clothes to hide the transformation. As you were examining your body in the mirror again, you heard the front door unlock.

“Tommy!” You ran to him from the bedroom and threw your arms around his neck. Tom embraced you immediately, and you felt his body tense up. His hands found your waist and slowly moved up to your ribs as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Woah.” He pulled away quickly and looked you up and down with a concerned look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You kept your voice steady. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Tom looked up at you with accusation in his eyes.

“What do you mean, baby?” You played it off.

“Have you been eating?” Tom asked firmly, hands still on your waist.

“I…yeah.” You stuttered at his blunt question.

“How much?” He questioned. “And what?”

“What’s with all the questions? What are you, my doctor?” You laughed nervously and tried to leave his embrace but he wouldn’t let you.

“No, I’m your incredibly concerned boyfriend.” Tom said, reminding you it wasn’t time to joke.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about. You should be excited, actually. Saint Laurent has made me their muse. They designed a collection inspired by me and want me to model it on their cover. Isn’t that amazing?” You said proudly and Toms eyes softened. He swallowed thickly and looked you in the eyes with an emotion you’d never seen from him before.

“Is that why you did this?” He asked in a whisper.

“Did what?” You asked, still dodging his accusation.

“Whatever crazy diet you put yourself on.” He said finally.

“I’m not on any diet.” You said defensively. “I just lost a little weight.”

“Love, I have hugged you a million times; held you, cuddled you, woken up and fallen asleep with your body next to mine. What I just had in my arms, what I felt when I hugged you, that wasn’t you.” Tom shook his head sadly. “That’s not the body I hold in my sleep or the one I come home to at night. You’re skin and bones, darling. I don’t even recognize you. What happened?”

“Nothing.” You smiled, trying to appease him, but Toms face remained stoic.

“Take off your jumper. It’s huge on you, anyway.” Tom commanded.

“What? No, I’m cold.” You lied. It was the middle of summer and you had on sweatpants and an oversized sweater on.

“It’s boiling in here.” Tom pointed out. “Take it off.”

“Tom, no.” You said sternly.

“Why not? Because you don’t want me to see what I already know? You think baggy clothes and denial won’t make me see what you’ve done to yourself?” Tom shouted, eyes softened when he saw your face fall.

“Princess.” Tom said softly and tilted your chin for you to look at him. His gentleness almost brought you to tears. “I can’t say I understand why you’d do this, or why anyone would, but I can say I know how you feel. I’ve had issues with my body too. I never knew how insecure a person could feel until I went to the gym with the Avengers cast. I mean, have you seen Chris Hemsworth without his shirt on?” Tom asked and a small laugh escaped your lips. “There, now I got my pretty girl laughing again. What’s it gonna take to get you eating again? We can start small but I’m not sleeping until I see you put something substantial in your body. I need to know you’re going to be okay the next time I leave, or I’m never leaving again.”

“Then how are you gonna do your job?” You asked.

“Loving you is my job. That’s more important than any part in any movie.” Tom assured you.

“I just wanted to look good for the cover.” You admitted weakly. “I just wanted to be beautiful.”

“You were already beautiful, and you would be at any size. Numbers on a scale and the size of your waist do not equate to beauty.” Tom said assertively. “Come with me.” He took your hand and brought you to the bedroom, taking his place in front of the full length mirror. He stood behind you and pressed himself into your back.

“Tom, I’ve looked at myself in this mirror enough in the past few weeks. I don’t need to again.” You told him.

“But you’ve only seen yourself from your point of view. I want to show you what I see.” Tom told you as he moved your hair to the side to place a kiss on your neck.

“The first thing I noticed about you was your hair. You had it loose and it framed your face like the work of art that you are. I thought it was beautiful but it was covering your face and I wanted to see that to.” Tom recalled the day you’d met. “I pretended to cough so you’d look at me, and you did. That’s when I saw your eyes for the first time. Our eyes met and I got this funny feeling in my tummy like when you come home after a long time and your dog greets you at the door. That’s how you make me feel, like coming home.”

“I only looked at you because I hate the sound of coughing.” You laughed and Tom laughed too.

“But you still looked at me. And then you smiled. I forgot how to breath for like three days after that.” Tom laughed in your ear. “I nearly fell over from how weak my knees felt. Your smile could make the coldest, most evil old man bite his tongue. And when I heard your laugh, God I wanted to marry you right there. And I could’ve. And I just might.” Tom kissed your cheek this time and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Then there’s this body. This body that keeps me warm, the body that’s gonna carry my kids one day.” Tom put his hands on your tummy and looked at you in the reflection of the mirror. “I’ve loved every inch of you since the day we met. My eyes never have and never will see something more beautiful than you. I know I can tell you everyday that you’re gorgeous and take my breath away, but I also know that if you don’t think the same then my words mean nothing.”

“It’s hard to love myself sometimes when theres so many people watching me.” You whispered. Tom turned your around in his arms so you were facing him.

“I know, love. But I’m here to make it a little less hard.” Tom assured you. “I’m gonna make you a deal; I’m gonna make your favorite dinner and you’re gonna eat it.”

“I think I can manage, as long as we eat in the candlelight.” You smiled.

“You got it.” Tom kissed your forehead. “And I want you to sign my magazine once it comes out. I gotta have the autograph of the prettiest girl in the world.”

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona @sunrise-shawn @meghan-8520xx @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @theolwebshooter @autumnlyholland @andreasworlsboring101 @guksmyfav @waiting-to-be-myself @letsloveimagines @ho-ho-holland @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @m19friend @justcallmehitgirl

#tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x model!reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spider man: homecoming #spiderman x reader #iron man

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anika-ann · 5 years ago

Text

A Matter of Trust

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5470 (oops)

Summary: You and Steve get to go to a mission together after a while; free drinks, partying, dressing-up nicely, stealing blueprints, the usual. You might even enjoy this as a couple.

Or… not really. Of course something would go awry. What else did you expect when wearing these killer heels anyway?

A/N: Written for or @wkemeup’s 4k writing challenge; congratulations! Well-deserved, no arguing here; shall the number continue to grow ;) Thank you for letting me participate!

Prompt: “Get in the closet, now!” (bold in the text)

Warnings: suggestive language, mentions of a kink, objectification, gun violence (brief), swearing (always), attempt at humour, fluff…?

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In your whole history as an operative of S.H.I.E.L.D. slash Avenger, time had never dragged so slowly as it did at this party.

Not even Steve’s presence cheered you up, mostly because he was busying himself with being everyone’s company but yours despite you two coming here together. For a mission. To work, you reminded yourself.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been there for the plan-making which had resulted in mutual agreement of Steve falling into the role of an honourable man whose infamous good nature prevented him from saying no to anyone who asked for a moment with him even if it meant leaving you alone. Which you supposedly mind, because you were here with him only to sneak in here and possibly get your five minutes of glory if he stood by your side long enough

And that was only an act for people who would have noticed you had arrived together.

For the others, you simply attended the party – a known cover-up for a place of business in arms-deal among the powerful men of the underground world – to have fun and seduce some rich businessman.

Sipping from the very same glass of champagne you had helped yourself with about an hour ago, you scanned the room in the search for the big boss. No, not Steve, but the man of the hour, the one whose blueprints you were meant to steal. The blueprints of a potentially large bomb that could kill tens of thousands if it went kaboom and released the nanoparticles of a dangerous virus to the air.

Lovely. Someone clearly had too much time on their hands coming up with crap like that only to make your life miserable.

“What’s a gorgeous lady like yourself doing at this party alone?” a velvety voice interrupted your dark musing and you vainly tried to cover the shudder running down your spine, cursing at the heat curling in your stomach.

Was this how he was talking to all the women who were throwing themselves at him tonight? Probably.

Had you been through that before? Yes.

Had you expected it to happen tonight? Sadly, yeah.

Was it bothering you? Hell the fuck yeah, even if you knew it shouldn’t and that it didn’t mean anything but Steve doing his job right.

You cursed mentally at your weakness and sighed out loud, spinning around to face the man.

“Waiting for a bulky blond supersoldier to come save her, naturally,” you hissed back, hating yourself for letting your jealously get the better of you.

Steve had never ever made you as much as doubt that you were the one for him, but that green bitch of an emotion still intruded on you tonight. You blamed the upcoming visit from aunt flow and the rush of hormones arriving with it and the fact you were itching to leave and go home just for getting rid of those ridiculously high heels alone.

You usually enjoyed wearing high heels, they gave you confidence as gazes of many men and women followed you, but the stilettos you had got chosen tonight could be used as murder weapon.

Ha, maybe you could try and sell them here, you’d make a fortune!

A frown appeared on Steve’s face, one of curiosity, regret and surprise when he registered your irritated tone.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded quietly, whispering to your ear intimately, only making the situation worse.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me, Captain Rogers. You’ll blow it.”

His eyebrow jumped ridiculously high and you realized what you said; you groaned both at his cheekiness and your stupidity.

“Blow our cover. Get your mind out of the gutter…” you muttered, putting some distance between the two of you for the sake of the cover.

“Maybe I’m feeling a bit reckless tonight,” he hummed back, his large palm resting on your lower back and you had to take a moment to swallow the blissful groan at his gesture. You loved his hands and the heels were not only killing your feet, but also you back, and the warmth radiating from his skin felt like heaven. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“You could have asked through the comm.”

“I wanted to check up on you personally. So?” he insisted and you couldn’t but sigh again, finishing your glass of champagne when you spotted Wagner, aka your target. You stepped away from Steve.

“Just tired. Want this to be over with. Go mingle, Steven.”

Pausing when you took a note of the harshness in your tone, you found his concerned gaze over your shoulder, whispering as softly as you could: “Thank you for your concern… Captain.”

You caught a glimpse of his discreet lopsided smile before turning away fully.

As you walked into the crowd, your long crimson dress curled around your feet with every step due to the provocative – read practical – slit ending mid-thigh. You hoped that the memory of watching you go would occupy his brain for some time while he talked to the flocks of both male and female admirers.

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Two hours. It took you another two hours to ensure you’d be safe sneaking into the Wagner’s office slash bedroom.

Of course his bureau would be his bedroom; men like him knew nothing about good old sleep hygiene, because the thought of their money distracted them from the evil they were doing to the world and had them sleeping like babies.

Using the key-card you had snatched about three minutes ago, you easily entered the over-decorated room.

Looks like someone’s compensating for something, you noted mentally, not losing any time and activating the no-prints mode on your gloves; one of the perks of working with Tony Stark. You were wearing the nanotech the whole evening and no one had a clue, because the particles were imitating your skin. You’d leave a print on the glass of champagne if you wanted; if you planned on rummaging someone else’s office, leaving a trace was a different case and you wouldn’t take any risks.

Systematically starting on the right from the door and working your way through everything that looked even remotely like a possible hideout, you didn’t forget to gingerly place your palm over the wall-length closet so Friday could run scans.

God, you loved that Tony Stark was on the side of the angels despite not quite being one himself; according to him at least.

“No signs of anything else than overpriced shirts, tuxedos and sets for dom-sub play,” the AI announced, barely audible, and you cringed. Not what you needed to know. “Cuffs are men’s size. Dominatrix set for a wom-“

“Enough, enough! Gee, Friday…” you muttered under your breath, not liking the visual of Wagner in the middle of enjoying-

Gross.

“No need for that much detail…”

Shaking your head, you moved onto the desk; an obvious, perhaps too obvious choice, which was why you wouldn’t place your bet on it. But hey, you could never be sure enough until you checked.

The sudden noise on your right had you drawing your gun at instant, your pulse skyrocketing.

The first thing you saw was a large frame of the newcomer and neatly combed blond hair. Your shoulders slumped.

Steve raised his hands as he moved from the doorway to stand inside, his face visibly relaxing at the sight of you searching another man’s desk.

The door clicked shut behind him and you forced yourself to breathe in, shoving your gun back to the holster placed on your covered thigh.

“Jesus, Steve!” you whisper-yelled exasperatedly and resumed your inspection, paying him no mind anymore. You had more important things to do at the moment; not that you wouldn’t do him; Steve in a tux was sight to behold, like hold onto THAT, literally get your hands on it, but you were here for a job.

“You weren’t responding!” Steve replied in the same manner, causing you to freeze.

He had been trying to contact you? And you couldn’t hear him? But-

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, doing the math easily. “He must have some sort of a jammer in here, makes sense.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I’m fine,” you stated, shutting one drawer, opening another. “How did you even ge– never mind. You should go-“

“Don’t wanna cloooose my eyeees!”

The distant howl-like shout from the hall turned your blood into ice, your eyes widening.

You had studied Wagner the whole evening; you’d recognize his voice anywhere, even when he was singing ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing’ out of tune.

“-before THAT happens! Shit!”

As you pulled out your phone, the live-feed from the camera in the hall offered you a marvellous view.

Two gorilla-men were dragging Wagner towards his room as his feet barely kept him standing. Gorilla number three was walking behind them just in case that their boss’ face decided to meet the floor despite the support offered to him.

Shit, shit, SHIT-

Closing the drawer you were currently scouring, lips pressed into a tight line, you eyed Steve; he was already bracing himself for the fight, caught in the middle of the process of discarding the jacket to have wider range of movements.

You whined internally – firstly, what a sight, it would always make you weak in knees no matter what. Secondly, if this was to end in a fight, the chances were that you’d make it out without the plans and you had spent the night in those killer heels for nothing.

Oh no, you don’t-

“Cause I’d miss ya’ BABY—I don’t wanna miss a THIIIIING!”

Scanning the room once more, your mind running hundred miles a minute, your gaze fell on the huge-ass closet of which contents you had learned more than you’d like to.

Your lips parted in surprise at the plan forming in your own head.

This is a terrible idea.

It’s yours!

Exactly.

Yeah, okay, fair enough-

NO TIME TO COME UP WITH A BETTER ONE-

Steve was kind enough to follow when you grabbed his arm and pulled him from his spot in the middle of the room, though he did shoot you an utterly confused look.

You met his eyes and gulped when the singing approached the room way too quickly to your liking.

“STILL MISS YA’ BABY–“

“I need you to trust me now,” you pleaded in hushed tone, seeing Steve’s pupils go wide, covering the somewhat always warm blue of his irises.

“With what?”

Well, he asked for it.

“Get in the closet, now!”

A second of shocked silence followed your request before his brain made the connection and a scowl twisted his handsome face.

“What? No! I’m not leaving you alone to face them!” he raised his voice minutely and you covered his mouth to remind him that there were ears present, inching closer with each second passing.

“DON’T WANNA FAAAAALL ASLEEEEEEP-!”

“That’s exactly what you’ll do! That’s easier to play off.”

Steve very much not agreed if his eyes flashing with anger were anything to go by. His hand pushed yours away as he towered over you.

“I’m not leaving-“

“Look at the gorillas, Steve!” you shoved the phone to his face, unlocking the closet and throwing its door open. “One word from them to the rest of security and we’re screwed. Get in!”

Something between a whine, a groan and a growl – neither of those sounds sexy given the circumstances – escaped his lips and you assumed he had to admit to himself that you were right.

Taking a mental note of his resistance diminishing, you easily pushed him towards the limited dark space.

“CAUSE EEEEEVEN WHEN I DREAM OF YOOOOOOOU- THE SWEETEST DREAM WILL NEEEVER DOOOOOO-“

“We can still play it off toge-“ he tried to protest one more time but you pushed against his chest adamantly.

“And say what? This isn’t what it looks like? We just happened to choose your office to get freaky? I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

Steve gave you his unfairly disarming pleading look, his puppy eyesTM, but backed into the closet without another word, clutching his previously stripped jacket to his chest, because he did trust you.

Fingers on the handle, you hesitated when you realized what could ruin the charade you came up with and planned on pulling off.

Swallowing hard at the terrible idea, you gave Steve a tiny encouraging smile as you drew your gun and three knives from your leg holster/sheath and pressed it to his hands.

“Hold these for me.”

Swiftly closing the door, the last thing you saw was the horror on his face.

As the door swung open and you spun on your heels, he had no chance to react.

The loud song which had been reaching your ears for seemingly endless time died on Wagner’s lips and the third extra gorilla of a man behind him instantly pulled out his gun.

And aimed it right at your face. While you had nothing to defend yourself but your bare hands.

Yay.

“Who are you?!” he thundered and like a charm, Wagner stood straight so the other two guards could have you at gunpoint as well.

Yet, what sent an unpleasant shiver through you was Wagner’s sleazy eyes travelling from your killer heels to your ankles, up to your partly exposed thigh, your waist and finally settling on your cleavage, not bothering to make it higher to look into your eyes.

So. He’s a pig. Shocker.

For once, you were grateful. Not that he was supposed to know that.

A sweet innocent smile spread on your lips as you eyed the weapons with what seemed to be almost a satisfaction, you hoped.

“A government agent, of course,” you said, voice pitched just a bit higher than usual. You felt a bit sorry for Steve at the moment; you were well-aware of nearly giving him a heart attack by saying that. “I work with Captain America.” Scratch the ‘nearly’. Poor Steve’s heart. “I was given the task to scour this place… very… thoroughly.”

Your tone husky now, your teeth bit down on your lower lip, your eyes watching Wagner with faked interest. He hypnotized your red lips before shaking his head as if snapping from a haze.

“They told me you’ve been a bad, bad man. I kept my eye on you all evening,” you admitted, not even having to lie.

The following smile you sent his direction was perhaps too predatory, but that could work. For him anyway.

“Who do you work for?!”

The guards were not as easily fooled as their drunk boss apparently; then again, you hadn’t expected them to.

“Oh. A.R.M.O.R. America-Related Manpower Operatives and Reinforcements.” God bless their hearts if they were going to buy that, seeing you were obviously trying to imitate the SHIEILD acronym. Very poorly. Playing it up, you let a giggle escape you before your expression turned serious, guilty even. “Oh. Probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s only my first time, you see. I finished my training few days ago.”

“Mm… look at ‘dat…” Wagner drawled and nope, it had nothing on the way Steve spoke when his accent peeked through while he was drunk on Asgardian liquor or lust alone.

Not relevant.

Wagner waved off his guard dogs, gesturing to one of them to approach you. “Why don’t we search you first?”

“Make it quick. I have…” you let your eyes trail over Wagner’s body, licking your lips when visibly lingering on his crotch, “more important tasks at hand. I came here for a mission. I’d like it to… finish.”

Two men instantly went to inspect you, patting you from the back, from the front, up and down, way longer and more thoroughly than necessary.

And they found what they were looking for.

One large palm harshly slipped between your thighs and you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to throw up at the pawing.

Gorilla One’s head snapping up to you, he pulled out the only weapon left on you, handing it to his boss and Gorilla Two grabbed your wrists and locked it behind your back, causing you to nearly hiss in pain.

“Oops,” you shrugged instead, burning gaze locked onto the man who was holding both your weapon and your life in his hands.

Your heart was beating frantically in anticipation, your confidence wavering as Wagner inspected the knife.

A slow smile spread on his face, his left eyebrow rising and then he finally, finally burst out laughing.

A confused ‘what’ sounded from behind you as the man’s utterly smashed boss howled in hysterical laughter.

“This—this is GOL-DEN!” he choked out, tossing the item to the very man who had handed it to him.

“It’s a stage-prop,” Gorilla One sighed.

And that it was. Thank you, Natasha Romanoff.

“Oh. So it’s fake.”

“Told you I have more important things at hand… so if—my hands could find some release please…” you asked sweetly over your shoulder. The very next second, you remembered just what was in the closet; and you weren’t thinking Steve. So you switched tactics. “That’s an order, actually. Let. Me. Go.”

“What the agent said, Greg,” Wagner beckoned, still chuckling, a new twinkle appearing in his eye, his face free of mistrust. Gorilla Two, Greg apparently, released your hands with reluctance. You didn’t bother thanking him. “And let her work. Off you go.”

When the gorillas wavered for few moments, you felt your impatience grow along with the pain shooting up your calves. Damn heels.

“Have you not heard your superior? Do I need to teach you some discipline?”

Wagner licked his lips, taking two wobbly steps towards you. It seemed to seal the deal for the guards, because they left the room.

“Someone went out of their way to get you… Must be my birthday then,” he grinned sleazily, his fingers twitching as if he craved to touch you, his hands stopping few inches from your hip. “I’m all yours, agent. Why don’t you go on with the… thorough inspection?”

Straightening your posture, chin stuck up, you nodded curtly.

“Of course. Sir, I’ll have to ask you to raise your hands to your head. Don’t move otherwise. I’m gonna feel for weapons now.”

“Yes, madam,” he responded breathlessly, but the second you started the process, his hand landed on your hip.

You stopped in your search, locking serious gaze with him. His pupils were blown, eyes dark with lust. His fingers squeezed, his gaze flickering to your mouth as you stood nearly chest to chest.

“Sir, this is highly inappropriate. I’m gonna have to ask you-“

His palm slid to your bottom, fingers digging into the flesh.

You narrowed your eyes, not even having to pretend you didn’t like that. You slapped his hand away, earning a sly grin. He didn’t try again immediately, which you were endlessly grateful for. Instead, he obediently raised his arms so he looked ready to be either searched or crucified.

Oh, you’d gladly.

“Sorry, Agent, I couldn’t help myself. What is such… pretty face like yourself doing in business like this?” he questioned in a husky voice and at that moment, you knew that your time spent around Tony Stark had taken its toll on you, because you simply couldn’t resist that pass.

“Stealing intel from pricks like you,” you mumbled under your breath, giving him just enough time to realize something was wrong.

A fraction of second later, the edge of your hand hit his throat, bruising his larynx and causing him to release a shocked huff of air. Kicking his knee next, your elbow met his face. A choked groan escaped his lips and you prayed to god he didn’t truly find his voice to call the guards.

You elbowed him in his right temple for a good measure, incapacitating his other knee so he nearly sunk to the floor. You slipped around him in one swift movement; your arm sneaked around his throat and cut out his airways.

Too stunned, he barely fought you and you felt all tension leave his muscles in no time.

Wagner’s body hit the ground as he slipped through your hands despite your best efforts. You winced at the thud shaking the floor; you quickly giggled loudly, playing it off as a drunken fun-time shenanigans. Just in case the guards were still at the door.

Satisfied and relieved when no one burst in with guns blazing, you walked to the closet, losing those damned stilettos on the way.

As soon as you unlocked the closet, Steve nearly hit you with the door when abruptly leaving the limited space. His eyes scanned you head to toe to find any sign of an injury, the flames in his glare fading only a bit when he found none.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” he whisper-yelled and despite the circumstances, you couldn’t but giggle, this time from honest amusement as he proved your earlier thoughts right.

There we go…

“Worked, didn’t it? Now help me since you’re here, he’s fucking heavy…”

Steve gave you an incredulous look, one promising a storm coming once you had the time for it, but he went to pick Wagner’s body up without protest.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Steve was kind enough to have you use the bathroom first, so by the time he emerged – around half past three a.m. – you were already tucked in bed, waiting for him. His feet shuffled against the floor and he seemed utterly spent, as if he had been fighting an army from space.

You had both left the party unharmed; then again, you could imagine that socializing the way he had had to could be as tiring as an alien invasion itself. Also, he had been the one leave Wagner office-bedroom through the window, while you simply walked out of the room, winking at the guards who had indeed stayed by the door.

Steve slipped under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, the warm light replaced by inviting darkness. Your eyelids felt heavy after the long night and you couldn’t wait to enter the blissful land of sleep.

Having Steve’s arms around you, a pleasant habit of his, you knew you’d be out in no time, but you made the effort to shift further into his embrace, sighing in content and murmuring ‘goodnight’.

Already halfway out as soon as you closed your eyes, you still registered his arm winding tighter around your waist, his nose pressed to your nape. A deep inhale, then another, warm breath and his lips inching closer with each second.

Pulled out of your slumber, limbs already heavy and yet floaty, half-hearted question left your lips.

“You ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his foot wedging between yours to pull you impossibly closer, his exhale long and wavering.

The tremble in it alarmed you, urging you to check up on his expression, on him. Willing your body to move, your heart skipped a startled beat when he wouldn’t let you turn around.

“That didn’t sound-“

His fingers wormed its way under your side laid on the mattress, flexing on the flesh of your waist.

“I’m fine….” Bullshit. “It’s just… you have no idea how hard it was to stay put while listening to all that, do you?”

Eyelashes fluttering in surprise, you took in his words, the subtle taste of fear in them, concern for how your abrupt plan could have easily go awry.

You allowed yourself a few moments before responding, forcing your memories, the images of you helplessly lying pinned to the ground after you saw a building explode – a building with Steve still in it – out of your mind.

“I… I think I can imagine. I’m sorry. I came up with an idea and thought it was for the best,” you whispered.

Honestly, you were still convinced that it had been the best thing to do given the circumstances, but that was momentarily beside the point.

“You literally told him you worked with me. I swear to God- I–“

Hearing the shift in his voice, a different emotion interfering – the pure horror, laced with exasperation – you softened your next words even further, running your fingertips over the back of his hand coaxingly.

Without any real hope, you attempted to turn in his firm embrace; this time, he reluctantly let you, your palms instantly trapping his miserable face.

“Hey. Hey, Steve, it’s fine. We handled it. We’re good. I just remembered Friday told me that he was a kinky bastard-“ Steve nudged you at the word and you fought hard the eye-roll he had coming at that “-and decided to use it.”

“You gave me your weapons and went against him empty-handed– never ever do that again,” he demanded, voice equally pleading and firm. You couldn’t help but nudge him back, because in your line of work, promising that technically equalled lying. “If there is any other option.”

You sighed, understanding all too well how he was feeling, willing to promise the latter to ease his mind. And to erase the worried wrinkles on his forehead. You kissed him there, the tension resolving under your loving gesture.

“Noted. I didn’t do that to get off, to have a high.“ Unlike some people, who seemed to do that sometimes. "I promise.”

“I know you didn’t,” Steve said, having the decency to add an edge of guilt to his voice, your verbal call for hypocrisy not going unnoticed. He kissed your left collarbone, tender and greedy, his lips sliding an inch lower to faintly feel your heartbeat and lingering.

“You know me well,“ you stated, running your fingers through his still damp locks, musing. "It’s… nice. Not as scary as I expected once.”

“Thanks…?” he murmured against your skin unsurely and you chuckled, a tired but oh so content sound.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, heavy-lidded eyes boring into yours, finding your lips with his to deliver a lazy but heartfelt kiss, one you felt reaching your very soul.

Shifting so your head was tucked under his chin, you nestled into the most comfortable position possible and Steve hummed into your hair, once more pulling your body against his, not an inch of space left between you. You melted into his warmth and finally, you felt his muscles fully relax as well.

As you once more walked the fine line of dozing off, a sudden thought caused you to snap your eyes open, your heart skipping a curious beat.

“Steve?” An absent hum was his only response, but encouraged by any reaction at all, you continued, knowing that you wouldn’t fall asleep without having the answer. “When you said it was hard… you weren’t referring to a�� certain situation of yours, right? … or were you?”

Even with his body turning rigid, a rock-solid prove he was fully awake, he put effort into sounding sleepy.

“Just go to sleep, woman.”

“…were you?! Do you want me to… do some thorough inspection of y-“ you teased, fascinated, never finishing your thought as Steve’s large palm covered your mouth.

You resisted the urge to release the surprised laugh bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t that you thought Steve’s desire was ridiculous; you were just that amazed that it never came up; a true wonder given your line of work.

Momentarily incapacitated, you didn’t speak, but grazed your teeth over his palm so he would release you.

“Hush!”

“ ’khay-“ You muttered and he removed his palm, sleepy blue watching you in warning. You strained your neck to kiss the previously teased skin of his hand. “We’ll explore that another time. I’m beat. Still love you. Goodnight.”

With that, you curled back into his body, feeling the wide expand of his chest followed by an exasperated puff.

“Goodnight, you maniac. I love you too.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Pins and needles in your toes ripped you harshly from the dreamland and you groaned quietly, rescuing your foot from the vice created by Steve’s own.

Shared sleep was blissful, releasing endorphins, the feelings of comfort and safety it provided irreplaceable and all that, but having your limb pinned to the mattress by a supersoldier was no joke.

You checked the clock on the nightstand; 8:27 AM. Sparing a glance at the man sleeping beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, palm sprawled over our abdomen, you smiled despite the early hour.

Any other morning, you would have shaken off the cramp and scooted over to get even closer to Steve; however, determined to do something nice for him and make sure he was alright with what he had clearly considered an irresponsible stunt of yours yesterday, you thanked heavens for the unexpected get-up call and planned on wiggling out of Steve’s grasp.

“Where ya’ goin’?” he mumbled sleepily, the inches you had managed to put between your bodies erased as his arm pulled you back, his nose nuzzling your hair with a sigh.

“Bathroom,” you lied easily, lightly patting his forearm. “We’ve barely slept for five hours. You still have thirty minutes till your usual start of the post-mission day, you crazy-ass lark. I’ll be right back.”

“Mm-hmm… I’ll be waitin’.”

Chuckling silently, you freed yourself fully, this time without his protests.

“I’m sure you will, Steve,” you whispered, your smile widening when only ten seconds later, your words were followed by his quiet snort.

Grabbing one of Steve’s hoodies thrown over the backrest of a chair and sliding into it, you made your way to the communal kitchen instead. Your mission was to make Steve breakfast, secretly hoping you could talk him into skipping the usual run today and actually spending a day in bed. You thwarted big bad’s plans yesterday, for god’s sake, you both deserved a break…

As a reminder of the past events, a bruise the size of a boot on your thigh – which you didn’t remember getting – stared accusingly at you when you passed a mirror. You inconspicuously pulled the hem of Steve’s hoodie an inch lower in attempt to cover it. Vainly.

Rolling your eyes, you wondered just how nice you needed to be today; Steve had seemed more freaked out than anything else; nevertheless, the anger could come today and you rather if it didn’t.

Deciding pancakes, eggs and bacon were a safe bet, you hummed and opened the fridge.

It was the exact moment something caught you eye, a change in decorum; right above your head on the top of the fridge.

A big fat zero stared at you from the sign you had got Steve a while ago, a memorandum of your first first-hand experience of his utter recklessness on missions. Ever since then, you and the rest of the team made sure to have the board up-to-date, sometimes proudly and sometimes regretfully rewriting the number of ‘days without Steve doing stupid life-threatening shit’.

Now there was a zero. Your jaw went slack, your heartbeat skyrocketing.

It was not the only change on the sign.

Someone, and you had a very good idea who that might be (hint: he was sleeping in your bed), plastered your name over Steve’s.

Your smile froze on your lips and at that moment, you could have been knocked out with a feather.

Unbelievable.

Un-fucking-believable.

Shutting the fridge with a loud thud, bottles in its door clinking, you strode back to your shared room, sputtering curses.

The audacity of him!

When had he even- how had he done– all night— you had woken up before him-!

Forget pancakes, eggs and bacon; snark was on the menu today.

“STEVEEEEEN!”

You heard his laughter before you even reached the bedroom.

Looking at the bright sight of things, Steve being a little shit was a positive shift from his late-night anxiety. A brief smile crossed over your face before you stormed into the room, finding the blond culprit muffling his chuckles in a pillow.

Your pillow.

Jumping to the bed, you grabbed his own and opted to show him just how stupid you could get.

Because trying to take down a supersoldier in a pillow fight? The zero might have to stay on the board for one extra day.

As Steve’s carefree laughter echoed within the walls of your bedroom, filling you with pure joy, you decided you could live with that.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

If you’d like to know the origin of the board, I kindly point you towards my S.R. masterlist, specifically to Challenge Accepted…? Fair warning: it has more drama than this one.

Thank you for reading! ❤️

#kas4kwc #writing challenge #steve rogers x reader #marvel #fanfiction #mcu #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers reader insert #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #captain america imagine #avengers #avenger reader

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gloves94 · 5 years ago

Text

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 9

Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary: “You have everything you’ve ever wanted.” “No.” He said softly. “Not everything…” His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. “I guess not.” She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes.

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

Later that evening Tsai had returned to where the Avatar gang were spending their nights in. Katara had been tossing around in her sleeping bag complaining about not wanting to be in the healing class because she would've gathered be learning how to fight instead.

"All knowledge is power Katara,"Tsai uttered wisely as her grandfather would've said. She lightly played with her choker necklace at the memory of the man. "You never know, the healing techniques that you learn might actually come in handy in the future." She nodded.

"A difference?" Katara questioned popping her head on her palm with curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah," Aang suddenly commented. "I'm also very curious- how was it that you managed to get past all of those Fire Nation guards at the Pohuai stronghold? He asked.

Tsai lowered her head in an attempt to hide the smirk that slowly inched across her face. She tugged in her arms deeper into her sleeves mischievously.

"I'll keep my secrets," she said with a ghostly smile before turning away from them preparing to sleep. "I'll tell," she said. "But first I have a question," she turned to look at both Aang and Katara once again.

"Why does everybody here hate me?" She asked bluntly.

Aang and Katara exchanged a look of pure confusion.

"In the Water Tribe, I mean." She clarified.

"Tsai," Katara began to explain. "You're Fire Nation. You're their enemy. You're our enemy."

"But why?" She retorted leaning forward as she sat with her legs crossed. "The Fire Nation is and has always been the greatest nation!" She spoke with a sudden bold sense of nationalism. "We bringing our culture and goods to new lands because we want to share our greatness with the world. It would be selfish not to."

"WHAT?" Katara roared furious. Tsai flinched slightly at her explosive reaction. She was not expecting her to react in this way.

"That's what you think the Fire Nation is doing?" She snapped. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted you!" She exited her sleeping back and rose to her feet aggravated. Tsai did the same.

"The Fire Nation took everything away from me! My family, my mother!" She roared. Aang held her back. "Starting this war is just as great of a sacrifice for my nation! It's for the greater good."

"You killed my mother!" She screeched heaving.

Tsai dropped the argument at the accusation. Katara's eyes were wide. Her nostrils were swollen with hatred as her eyes zeroed on the aghast teen before her.

"Can't you see? The Fire Nation has done nothing for the world! Everywhere you go you spread war, hatred, fear, famine, death and pain! You tear families apart. Leave orphan children, widowed wives, wounded soldiers and for what? For greatness?" She spat.

"Katara!" Aang pleaded.

Tsai wasn't going to sit here and take this. She turned away with her jaw clenched and stormed out of the room.

"Tsai! Wait!" Aang called after her. "Where are you going?"

Katara huffed and exhaled a sharp breath before snuggling inside of her sleeping back once again. She punched her pillow angrily a handful of times.

"Tsai means well Katara," Aang said after a moment. "I know it. She's just-" He paused for a moment trying to find the proper words. "The daughter of a Fire Nation governor?"

Aang was quiet at Katara's silent response.

"She's Fire Nation Aang. She's evil. They are all the same. Don't forget."

Xxx

"Is your friend toying with me?" Sokka snapped as he walked back to where they were staying.

"What are you talking about?" Tsai asked confused not in the mood to be dealing with these types of situations.

"I don't understand her. I thought she liked me and now she's telling me to get lost. I don't get it!" He threw his hands up in the air confused. "That's odd," Tsai said. "She told me she really liked you earlier today."

"Is she playing games with me or something like that?"

Yue didn't seem like the type to play these games. And from what she had told Tsai earlier she seemed to genuinely like the Southern Water Tribe boy. She thought for a moment scratching her chin.

"I don't think so," She said not really wanting to engage in conversation in her foul mood after her fight with Katara.

"So what should I do?" He deadpanned.

Was he really asking her for advice?

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Just talk to her. Ask her how she really feels about you."

"Why do I have the feeling you think talking is the solution to everything," he sighed in defeat. "It's probably what my grandpa would've said," she smiled fondly at the memory of the man.

"That is- completely unhelpful," he grumbled and hid his face in his arm.

"Sometimes some things are lost in translation." She says wisely. He looked at her oddly, she suddenly get a sad look on her face. She looked at Sokka one last time before continuing on her trek to nowhere in particular.

Katara was wrong.

The Fire Nation was the greatest nation. The war was well intended. Together all united under one nation the world would thrive. All under the rule of fire.

She thought about her home, Yu Dao. It's history serving as testament of the Fire Nation's greatness. Under Fire Lord Azulon the Fire Nation had made a mecca of industry and commerce out of a nowhere town in the edges of the Earth Kingdom. The city had drowned and blossomed to be one of the most important in the world. That would've never happened without them. So if they were so great...

She looked at a couple who whispered and shied away from her scarring away.

A man walking spit at her feet.

Arnook did not welcome her like a hero would've been welcomed.

If they were so great- why were they so hated?

xxx

"Yue, I need to ask for a favor." Tsai asked the following morning. She hadn't slept in the same room as the Avatar and his friends. Instead she had found comfort outside the doors of the palace simply leaning against the snowy wall and barely sleeping through the cold night. She really hated the weather here.

"Anything," Yue smiled taking her hands in hers. Tsai didn't have time to ask about what had happened with Sokka. It's not like she cared either. She wasn't the nosy type. "I need you to get me an audience with your father."

Moments later Tsai had her audience.

She walked into the meeting room. One which like the entire tribe was made of snow falls which reached the skies. The ceiling was gone allowing for the clear weather and shinning sun to witness their meeting.

"Arnook," she bowed before him in respectful Fire Nation fashion which irked the leader to no end. "You're persistent," he barked.

"What do you want?" He asked impatiently.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tsai of Yu Dao. Yu Dao is-" he interrupted her. "I know what Yu Dao is!"

She paused for a moment. Knowing he would be difficult.

"I've come to you with a challenging question." She scrapped everything she had reserved. "Do you think.." She says slowly. "Do you think the Fire Nation and the Water Tribes will ever be able to work together as one?" She pondered.

"If you have come here to sheathe blood and bring darkness and war to my land I'm afraid that you've come to the wrong place," he threatened approaching her. The soldiers and other officials surrounding him raised their hands and weapons menacingly. A bead of sweat formed in her temple as she look at them. They were at least a dozen of them.

"Listen!" She snapped frustrated. "I did not choose where I was born. My mother is of Earth Kingdom descent, my father Fire Nation. Which makes me half of both. I cannot bend fire or earth-" once again he interrupted her.

"That only makes you a mutt." He said bitterly.

It was then that his eyes darted up in the sky. All of them did. She turned after a moment only to see what looked like black snow snowing above them. The girl had never seen snow before, let alone black one. It took her a moment to realize that it was ash raining above them. Which could only mean one thing.

"You have lead them to us!" Arnook pointed accusingly. "Arrest her!"

"No. I have no idea how they found us!" She denied the dangerous accusation.

Tsai tried running. She tried fighting but before she could move an inch was frozen still to the ground in ice.

xxx

The girl was thrown into jail. She didn't know how long she had been in there. It must've been more than a day. Unbeknown to her Yue pleaded with her father. Pleaded with all of her wish and power to let her out. She tried explaining it was a coincidence and that she believed in the Fire Nation girl's honesty, but Arnook would not see to it.

The cell was cold as ice which had her shivering in the corner alone hugging herself in an attempt to retain some of her body's warmth. In her time in jail she felt a terrible headache. One which she felt could've split her forehead in half. Looking out the window she noted that an ominous light as red as her hair crept in. Holding on to her temples in pain she looked out and saw that the full moon had been tinted a color of crimson red blood. She starred eyes wide when she suddenly heard a sudden crash nearby.

Shocked she took cover before a market stall was thrown at the wall making it collapse. Setting her free.

"Well.. That was lucky," she mused as she carefully snuck out of the gaping hole that had been made by the crash. Creeping on her toes she slid down a hill of snow to the streets of the Northern Water tribe with only one objective in her mind. Escaping. She didn't realize where she was falling to and fell into a freezing stream of water. The icy North Pole water felt like a thousand knives nipping at her body from all over.

She had to get out of here fast. As she ran the moon shifted color as the air became colder, the air darker as all color seemed to be drained from the world. She hadn't stopped to wonder just what thing could've thrown such a heavy cart at such a distance when a monstrous creature in the figure of a glowing fish rose from the depth of the waters. It attacked all Fire Nation as it stormed through the village.

She cursed as she avoided it. Noting it was mainly attacking the invading Fire Nation troops that had descended on the Water Tribe's village. If she got near it, it would probably lead to her demise.

Whatever that thing was- She saw fire balls being aimed and fired at the creature which advanced unaffected - whatever was going on - it was not good. There was no time to say goodbye to her friend Yue. To converse with the Avatar. She had to get out.

Tsai continued on her dash towards the docks when she slid around a corner and looking over her shoulder teeth chattering she turned and crashed into something hard. She reached for her head as she tripped over her feet and fell to the ground on her bottom. She looked up and saw a pair of angry eyes glaring daggers at her. Oh, she had crashed into somebody.

"You," the man growled dangerously.

It was that son of a bitch Zhao.

She staggered to her feet but wasn't fast enough. Zhao was fast and his meaty hand claws around her neck with a deathly grip. He had obviously taken the night of the Blue Spirit at the Pohuai Fortress a little too personally.

She coughed struggling to gasp for breath when a third party stumbled upon the scene. Zuko walked into what seemed like the worst surprise of his life. Zhao turned to look at him maliciously.

"One step and I'll make sure your pretty girlfriend has a scar to match yours." He threatened.

Zuko's jaw clenched, he gritted his back molars in anger and frustration. He saw Tsai struggling to breath coughing for breath as her face slowly turned blue. He had to do something. Anything.

"So- tell me, what was your plan? You went in and distracted me and the Blue Spirit did all the dirty work?" He chuckled as he squeezed his grip on the girl's neck. He was holding her up above her feet so that they saw eye to eye. He suddenly dropped her and she gasped and coughed for air the color returning to her face. He turned her and kept a firm grip around her as he slowly retreated out of the scene.

His terrible breath pricked at her skin as he kept his arm wrapped around her body holding her in place.

"It's going to be interesting to find out what could've happened between us that night-" He whispered that and other filth into her ear.

"You're sick!" She growled out at the older man as she struggled against his deathly grip still shivering as she was soaked to the bone.

Zuko was ready to fire. He aimed his hand twitching slightly. His heart was pounding in his rib cage. One wrong move and it was over. He only had one shot before things went South. Zhao continued advancing over a snow bridge. He was going to get away! The girl struggled, her breathing loud as it became harder and harder to breath with every step the admiral gave. It was then that her eyes met his and he saw something familiar in them.

He understood and lowered his hand. Her body was trembling from the cold. Zuko lowered his guard and it was then that he saw offensive. Two silver blades crept our from her long sleeves and in one swift fluid motion she punctured Zhao's arm and Zuko swore he saw the blade go through his hand. The man screamed in pain. She twisted her torso and managed to guide the burning flame in his other arm to the sky missing her by mere inches. She took a sharp breath and ducked with skilled training. She used all the strength in her legs to push away from him. Her body collapsing to the snowy ground. Zhao held his arm put again ready to attack. However lost his footing when she twisted kicking him off his feet smoothly. Without hesitation Zuko stepped in and blasted Zhao away in a fiery dance.

Wounded and miserable the man collapsed to the ground in the middle of the snow bridge.

Massively monstrous blue hands suddenly struck out from the water and clawed at the top surrounding the admiral in a deathly capture. Zuko and Tsai managed to roll away from the monster claws as to their horror witnessed the admiral being dragged away to a watery grave. Tsai glared with eyes narrowed. Zuko was the better person and stretched out his hand in aid. For a second it looked like Zhao was going to take it but the prideful man turned away.

And just like that he was gone. Color returned to the world and it seemed like a glance had returned to the world. Zuko stepped back and saw the red-head shivering a couple of feet away from him. Her teeth chattering. He looked at her and her at him and she couldn't believe how happy she was to see him. To see somebody from home, someone familiar.

"Zuko!" She spoke in a low voice through violent shakes. Now having her she got a good look at his face and noticed the many new scars and wounds that decorated his face. She was about to ask what had happened during her short absence.

"What-" She was left with the words in her mouth when he wrapped his arms around her hugging her in a tight embrace. He almost sighed. Relieved that she was okay. That they had found each other again.

She stood before him sharp hidden blades unsheathed, shocked, shivering, soaked to the coldest bone. It took her a moment of hesitation before hugging him back just as tightly.

"I'm so happy to see you," the words left her mouth before she could process them. She hadn't even realized that she had started to cry. She buried her face on his shoulder. He was warm. He was the piece of home she had been missing. Right now, he was comfort.

"You're freezing," he said taking her hands in his as she retracted her hidden blades. He said nothing. Simply held her icy hands in his and brought them close to his lips breathing a hot air into them slowly warming her back.

She didn't even know why she was crying at this point. She smiled at him endearingly and wiped a stray tear from her. Everything was just too much to handle right now. Way too overwhelming.

"Let's get out of here." He said to her.

She wiped her tears as they escaped the icy tundra.

xxx

They met up with Iroh and Tsai sprinted hard running into his arms hugging him tightly. He hugged her back almost like a missing child and she repeatedly apologized for leaving without saying goodbye. He simply cupped her face with a hand and told her she did the right thing.

"I feel like you're at the crossroads once again Tsai, " Iroh said wisely tucking in both of his hands inside of his sleeves. "I wonder what road you'll take." He said ominously.

She raised an eyebrow confused at his riddle and shook his head.

"Let's just go home," she sighed. "I want to go back to Yu Dao. I think I'm going to be sick." She shivered not wanting to linger in this icy Neverland for another minute.

"Very well." Iroh said understandably. The man insisted on leaving on a makeshift raft boar which the girl refused to get on endlessly. Having been lost at sea for so many dies and almost dying from starvation she refused to put herself through the whole thing again. So instead they stole a slightly larger boat. One from a Water Tribe fisherman.

"They owe me," she grumbled. "That's for throwing me in that cold pit." She said bitterly as she remembered her brief stay in the icy prison cell. She hadn't even done anything!

And so they sailed away. Iroh explained to Tsai everything that had happened. Zhao killing the moon spirit. Yue becoming the moon spirit. The attack. The Avatar becoming one with the same spirit and taking down the fire nation. It had been a loaded day. He reasoned that it was probably the best that she had spent the day in jail for her own safety.

"You're really sure about returning back home?" Iroh asked.

Tsai snapped back into the conversation feeling distraught by her friend Yue's demise into the spirit world. "Sure," She mumbled. "Why not? I don't want to keep on 'getting in the way.'" She glared at a certain scarred prince who looked like he had the worst headache of his life.

"I'm concerned as your status as a traitor to the Fire Nation," Iroh stroked his beard wisely. "But that's a problem for when we arrive back to the mainland," he smiled at her warmly.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Zuko suddenly snapped in a scolding tone. "That stunt at the Pohuai Fortress? What were you thinking!" He sounded almost worried. Tsai misses the slight smirk that is growing on Iroh's face as he looks at them from the side.

"Hey! I freed the Avatar for you! Do you should be thanking me!" She shot back. "If I hadn't done that you'd be sitting in your room right now sulking with your arms crossed over your chest angrily meditating like an idiot."

"I don't sulk!" The other shot back slightly embarrassed and reached for her arm

"Also- may I remind you that Admiral Zhao is disgusting company. Interacting with him was definitely not pleasant," she raised both of her eyebrows eyes holding a little horror in them at the awful memory. It was then that he realized that he was holding on to her lower arm. He raised it up and her sleeves rolled back which exposed her secret weapon. He scrutinized over it looking at the arm braces she wore with the hidden blade mechanism.

Zuko would've never admit it outlaid but this was way more simple than what he had expected. Mind reading, secret bending, being a blood thirsty vampire demon, and super natural powers all came to him in his theories of how Tsai had gotten in an out of the stronghold with such ease.

"I'm glad to see your grandfather's hidden blades are in good hands," Iroh commented with a knowing smile.

"You knew about this Uncle?"

Iroh simply smiled a mischievous glint on his amber eyes.

"My grandfather taught me how to fight," she admitted reaching to touch the sunstone necklace she wore. "But I refuse to unless it's necessary. You see it can be quite deadly."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Zuko asked.

"I guess I didn't want you to think I was... weird." She said looking away slightly embarrassed.

"I....think it's cool," he said sharing the same tone after a moment. "Really?" She turned to look at him beaming. This only caused his cheeks to redden even more.

Iroh chuckled.

Zuko sighed and threw his hands up in the air not wanting to further have this conversation. "I'm tired." He declared.

"Youre not going to chase the Avatar?" Iroh asked.

"No- I'm tired." he repeated as he collapsed on the ship.

"A man needs his rest. Besides, Tsai and I have some much needed catching up to do." Iroh winked in her direction and she winked back.

They certainly did.

xxxx

AN: Your lovely thoughts? Phew and that's the end of Book 1, now onto what's next. Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 were originally one really long chapter so I decided to split them into 2. Also I have the story written until chapter 26 but as I keep editing and rewriting for posting I have made so many changes and I am loving how the story is unfolding.

Much love - G

xxx

FIRST https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621142853126602752/sunburn-prince-zuko-1

NEXT https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621293121020608512/sunburn-prince-zuko-10

PREV https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621256367939993600/sunburn-prince-zuko-8

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

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mermaidsirennikita · 5 years ago

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books (in the time of corona)

PART I: ADULT EDITION

Let’s get real--we’re all going fucking insane.

Therefore, I’m recommending some books with which you can kill time. I’m breaking them into categories--the romance category including several subgenres but by and large covering books that focus more heavily on the romance than anything else. These will all be adult books; I’m doing a separate page for YA recommendations.

I’ll be adding to this list as I finish books that I feel belong here.

ROMANCE

A Knight in Shining Armor by Jude Deveraux. A young woman is abandoned by her scoundrel of a boyfriend, only to find a literal medieval knight in shining armor. Pure 80′s cheese, a classic in the time travel subgenre long before Outlander ever happened.

The Circle Trilogy by Nora Roberts. Six sexy people, three men and three women in Roberts fashion, travel across time and parallel dimensions to fight an evil vampire and her undead army. Come for three fun romances, stay in particular for the “virgin bookworm queen captures the heart of the formerly evil 1,000 Irish vampire” ship.

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne. Rival coworkers who’ve always hated each other compete for the same job--until maybe? They start? Hooking up?

From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata. A down on her luck singles figure skater pairs up with the pairs champion she’s always despised... Unless they in fact, in a STUNNING TWIST, do not hate each other?

Pestilence by Laura Thalassa. A BIT ON THE NOSE RIGHT NOW, but I promise that this tale of a hot virgin Horseman of the Apocalypse spreading his plague and the one woman brave enough to fuck him is WORTH IT. As is the sequel, War.

My Lady’s Choosing by Kitty Curran. A literal choose your own adventure novel, but the adventures bodice ripping Regency romance plots!!!

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang. A sweet and smart woman on the autism spectrum hires a male escort to teach her to be good at sex. Shit goes DOWN from there.

The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary. She works days; he works nights. She needs a cheap place to stay, and he needs a roommate. So they share a flat and even a bed (sleeping on opposite sides and never at the same time) only communicating through post-it notes throughout the apartment. What could go wrong?

Marriage for One by Ella Maise. She can only get her inheritance if she’s married. Good thing a glacial attorney has offered to marry her out of nowhere, only for paper purposes. What could go wrong???

The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa. Lina is a wedding planner who was left at the altar. Max is the younger brother of the man who left her, and apparently convinced him to do the leaving. What happens when they work together?

Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert. Chloe suffers from a chronic illness, which means that she’s never had a life--and so she compiles a list that will help her get one. On the list? Meaningless sex. Which she won’t have with her building’s superintendent, even though he’s really down to help her cross off all the other items, riiiight?

HISTORICAL FICTION

Passion by Jude Morgan. The dramatic and intense height of Romantic England, told from the perspectives of Caroline Lamb, mistress of Lord Byron; August Leigh, his sister and lover; Mary Shelley; and Fanny Brawne, fiancee of John Keats.

Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier. Impoverished Griet becomes a maid in the household of the painter Vermeer, becoming his muse after he realizes that she has a natural eye--much to the dismay of his wife.

Snow Flower and The Secret Fan by Lisa See. In nineteenth century China, best friends Lily and Snow Flower follow each other through emotional and cultural revolutions, communicating through the secret language of fans.

The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George. Cleopatra recounts her life story, from her earliest memory, through her affairs with Caesar and Antony, and her end.

Mistress of Rome by Kate Quinn. In Domitian’s Rome, a Jewish girl rises from the position of lady’s slave to the emperor’s mistress through wiles and scheming.

The Tiger Queens by Stephanie Thornton. The rise and fall of Genghis Khan’s empire, as told through the women of his family--from his favorite wife to a clever daughter-in-law.

At the Water’s Edge by Sara Gruen. A socialite follows her incompetent to Scotland as he struggles to find the Loch Ness Monster and redeem his ancestor’s name--finding herself and questioning her life in the process.

A Year of Ravens. A collection of short stories by different authors, all centering on Boudica’s rebellion through the eyes of her countrymen and her enemies.

Feast of Sorrow by Crystal King. A slave becomes a chef in the treacherous household of a social climber struggling to gain the favor or Caesar August.

Fatal Throne. Six authors tell the stories of Henry VIII’s wives, all from their differing perspectives.

Daisy Jones and The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid. The rise and fall of a 1970s rock band is charted through the recollections of its members--as they recall what drove them apart, and in particular the intense relationship between the leader singers.

THRILLERS

The Girl in 6E by A.R. Torre. A woman with murderous impulses locks herself in her apartment to keep the public safe, making a living as a camgirl. She’s left torn between morals and impulse when she begins to suspect that one of her “fans” is dangerous.

Little Deaths by Emma Flint. In 1960s America, a single mother finds her personal life and image called into question when she’s accused of murdering her two young children.

My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite. A nurse covers up her beautiful sister’s murders, only to be caught between loyalties when the doctor she loves falls for said sister.

The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine. A plain “nobody” transforms herself in order to steal a high society housewife’s husband, only to deal with more than she bargained for.

The Wife Between Us by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen. A woman obsesses over her ex-husband’s new fiancee, leading her to disturbing lengths.

The Other Woman by Sandie Jones. After meeting her ideal man, a woman must contend with his possessive mother, who will do anything to maintain her hold over him.

Something in the Water by Catherine Steadman. A couple on their dream honeymoon find something in the water that will change the course of their life together.

The Au Pair by Emma Rous. The day Seraphine and her twin brother were born, their mother flung herself off a cliff and their nanny disappeared. Decades later, Seraphine discovers a photo taken of her parents just before her mother’s death--with only one baby. The only person who holds the key to the mystery? The au pair.

My Lovely Wife by Samantha Downing. A couple keeps the spark alive through murder.

Lock Every Door by Riley Sager. A young woman takes a job apartment-sitting in a high-end Manhattan building. Shortly after she befriends another sitter, the girl goes missing--with everyone else acting like nothing is amiss.

The Wives by Tarryn Fisher. Thursday is one of her husband’s three wives, though she’s never met the other two. When she finally does meet the third wife, she discovers a woman far different from what she expected--and covered in bruises.

FANTASY/SUPERNATURAL/HORROR

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier. Sorcha is the youngest of seven children in medieval Ireland. When her stepmother curses her six older brothers to live as swans, Sorcha agrees to weave them shirts of painful thistles, all the while remaining silent, to break the spell.

Black Pearls by Louise Hawes. A collection of dark fairy tale retellings.

The Incarnations by Susan Barker. A man receives letters from an anonymous source, detailing his supposed past lives throughout historical China.

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust. A dark Snow White retelling, with a stepmother whose goals extend far beyond the princess.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo. Alex Stern is discovered as the sole survivor of a brutal multiple murder, and is promptly scooped up by a group charged with monitoring the occult societies at Yale. Now disguised as a university student, Alex must figure out who’s been murdering locals, while also hiding what happened the night she lived.

The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell. A young widow in Victorian England is sent to her husband’s country estate to wait out her pregnancy, and is not alarmed to discover a “silent companion” (a painted wooden figure) in the house. But when the figure’s eyes begin following her, she is sucked into a history beyond her imagination.

Circe by Madeline Miller. The story of the woman who would seduce Odysseus, from her beginnings as a plain witch born of Helios and a mother who couldn’t care less. A classic rise to power story.

CONTEMPORARY LIT

Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal. Down on her luck Nikki takes up a job as a creative writing class instructor for the Punjabi widows in her West London neighborhood. It turns out that the widows thought she was there to teach them to write in English--which leads to the class becoming a place for them to share their stories orally instead. And it turns out that they’re a bit... erotic.

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones. Upwardly mobile newlyweds Celestina and Roy have their lives upended when Roy is falsely accused of a terrible crime and sent to prison for twelve years. When he’s released early after five, he returns home to find that Celestina has changed completely, and their marriage is entirely unknown.

Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo. A young Nigerian couple has always been against polygamy; but after the wife fails to get pregnant, her in-laws show up on their doorstep with a second wife.

NON-FICTION/MEMOIR

Harem: The World Behind The Veil by Alev Lytle Croutier. An examination of the Ottoman Empire’s harem culture, focusing on the women within.

Love For Sale: A World History of Prostitution by Nils Johan Ringal. Not really a GLOBAL history of prostitution, but a good introduction starting with ancient times and going into the cases of more recent madams in America, with a strong case for legalization worldwide.

Georgiana: Duchess of Devonshire by Amanda Foreman. A readable biography of the famously scandalous and tragic duchess, to be read while you kill time rewatching “The Duchess” starring Keira Knightley.

Lucrezia Borgia: Life, Love, and Death in Renaissance Italy by Sarah Bradford. A fair but none-too-precious assessment of one of Renaissance Italy’s most controversial women, and an analysis of her relationships with her father and brother.

The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn by Eric Ives. While you’re quarantining, you might as well read the definitive Anne Boleyn biography, yes? This one is responsible for much of the modern attitude on Anne.

Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution by Caroline Weber. A fascinating analysis of Marie Antoinette’s political life through her clothes.

The Monster of Florence by Douglas Preston and Mario Spezi. An analysis of the infamous, unsolved “Monster of Florence” case. One of the most gruesome serial killers in Italy’s history, the monster’s crimes were pinned on several different men, and even investigated by the prosecutor who botched the Amanda Knox case.

The Forger’s Spell: A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century by Edward Dolnick. An examination of the case of Han van Meegeren, a painter who forged and sold many Dutch master fakes, and the pretentious art world that let him get away with it for years.

The Secret History of the Mongol Queens: How the Daughters of Genghis Khan Rescued His Empire by Jack Weatherford. A study of the women in Genghis Khan’s family, and in particular those that kept his empire from falling to ruin after his death. A good companion read with Stephanie Thornton’s fiction novel Tiger Queens mentioned above.

Chasing Aphrodite: The Hunt for Looted Antiquities at the World’s Richest Museum by Jason Felch and Ralph Frammolino. How did the Getty Museum end up with so many stolen artifacts? This book aims to find out.

The Creation of Anne Boleyn by Susan Bordo. A different kind of Anne Boleyn book, studying her portrayal in culture and fiction--complete with input from Natalie Dormer following her portrayal of Anne Boleyn on The Tudors.

Blood Sisters: The Women Behind the Wars of the Roses by Sarah Gristwood. An examination of the women of the houses of Lancaster and York during their famous, long-running conflict--and how these women had an impact on battles and politics alike.

The Dragon Behind the Glass: A True Story of Power, Obsession, and the World’s Most Coveted Fish by Emily Voigt. The author delves into why people are so obsessed with the arowana, a rare and exotic fish, to the point that they’ll commit murder--and becomes wrapped up in the fascination herself.

The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy. Over the course of a month, Ariel Levy watches everything she held true in her life--her financial security, her career, her marriage, and her pregnancy--fall apart. Levy must confront what it means to live an “unconventional” and “free” life, only for that to become meaningless, and pick up the pieces.

From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to find The Good Death by Caitlin Doughty. Doughty recounts her global travels to observe and study different funerary and death rituals, recounting and analyzing her experiences with respect and personality.

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer. A collection of female serial killers, analyzing why they did what they did and the cultural legacy they left behind.

Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found by Frances Larson. A history of decapitated human heads, and what different cultures have done with them.

From Scratch: A Memoir of Love, Sicily, and Finding Home by Tembi Locke. Tembi Locke was never truly accepted by her husband’s Sicilian family, as a black American woman. But when Saro dies young of cancer, she finds herself more deeply entwined her in-laws, as she works to pick up the pieces. (Warning: one of the most achingly romantic books I’ve ever read; but it will destroy you.)

#books #book recommendations #book recs #self reblog for new addition

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gerec · 5 years ago

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Ao3 Dirtybad Recs

For @irelise - the second half of my dirtybad rec list! You can find the corresponding kinkmeme dirtybad rec list here.

Also, some shameless self promotion - here’s my own series of dirtybadpornz aptly titled The Dirty Bad :D

There are 36 Ao3 recs here with the bulk under the cut. Lots of different pairings; all PWP; all dirtybad (obviously mind the warnings/tags). If you have a fave not on this list it might be because I felt it was dirty but not BAD enough to be considered dirtybadpornz. There’s also the chance it wasn’t to my taste; this is a personal rec list after all, and I make no claims to liking the same things you might like lol! Anyway I hope you find something here to enjoy!!!

His Favorite Sin by dreamlittleyo

AU future fic, three years down the line. Charles finds himself cornered in one of Magneto's secret research facilities. Azazel can't keep his hands to himself.

Outside Upside Inside Down by Rubynye

While waiting for Erik to come rescue Charles, Shaw and his Hellfire Club disport themselves. Then Erik finally arrives.

Drag Me On Down, Gladly I'll Follow by TehChou

Charles enjoys a night on the town and wakes in the bed of the stranger he met last night. He insists that nothing happened between them, but that doesn't stay true for long.

Erik fails miserably at not being jealous and when he finds out who the 'stranger' was, things come to a head.

Keys and Cages by orphan_account

When Charles and Raven are taken captive by King Shaw, they're separated and married off -- Charles to Shaw and Raven to Erik. There's nothing but the worst to assume of the man known as the Black King and his stoic right-hand.

Beneath Me by Magnetism_bind

Charles is a young lord staying at his family's estate for the summer. Erik is his family's stable-hand.

Hospitality by fatal_drum

In another world, Charles was forced from his home only to find a place by Sebastian Shaw's side as his trusted telepath and plaything. When Erik inevitably comes seeking revenge, Shaw decides to give him a taste of the benefits of being an evil overlord - starting with Charles.

To Be Anywhere Else by helens78

Charles wakes up drugged, with Erik's boss demanding tribute. He gets it, even though Charles doesn't want to give it to him.

Play with Me by PoppyX

Teacher!Erik enjoys looking at jailbait!student!Charles and said boy enjoys making Erik look(fav of all fav kinks omg). Cue some resolved sexual tension and desk sex. Also, Charles sends porny notes hidden under his papers.

but everything looks better when the sun goes down by Coshledak

It's become some unwritten rule that, if they should argue, Charles retreating to bed for the night is as figuratively a closed door as it is literally. The argument is over, at least until morning, and that's it. Erik doesn't know, precisely, how it was that this rule popped up, but he's been dealing with it for months.

Something Primal by zimothy (orphan_account)

Charles struggled to get out of his seat, hurrying to stand when the reality of the situation hit him. Erik Lehnsherr was his Alpha. Erik Lehnsherr was here to claim him. Erik Lehnsherr was going to do it in the middle of the classroom full of his peers.

At Any Time by musical_emjay

Strangers on a train. Things go as you might expect.

Treasure by professor

Knight Erik thinks he's going to slay the dragon and take the beast's treasure. He's very, very wrong about that.

He Ate My Heart (You Little Monster) by citizenjess (givehimonemore)

Erik decides to teach Emma a lesson about earning her keep in the Brotherhood. Set after "First Class."

The document title for this one is 'oh god did I really'. Says it all. by tahariel

“Erik seems to have got such a lot from you, Mr Xavier, that I thought it would be a shame for the rest of us not to have a try and see what other wonders your ass has in store for us,” says Shaw, just his lower legs and spit-shined shoes visible from Charles’ flattened position among the papers and pens of the desktop.

Secrets And Meetings by orphan_account

Logan comes to visit, and Charles gives into temptation as he too often does these days.

Xavier Bitch by Anonymous

Charles is unfortunately used to Kurt prostituting him out, but this time the client's dog wants in on the action too.

Broken by gregorin_greymalkin, twisted_id

AU from X-Men. Rogue doesn’t get captured at the railway station. Wolverine and Cyclops do. Toad tongues Cyclops while a tied-up Wolverine watches. Sabretooth makes everything worse. Major League non-con.

A Matter of Trust by a1_kitkat

Because there's a severe lack of X-Men:First Class Gangbang fics

Cocktail Party by Not_You

Alpha!Emma and Omega!Charles

The City is At War by theydonotmove

A non-powered High School AU, in which Charles and Erik are as obsessed with each other as they are with getting other people into bed.

Masterpiece by professor

An artist sculpts his finest creation.

Missed Connections by thatoldbroad

On a subway ride, a random stranger catches Charles's attention and from there his obsession begins.

Deep Cover by Subtilior

Omegas in heat? The perfect whores. Sebastian Shaw? The bastard who kidnaps them for his Hellfire Club. Erik Lehnsherr? A hard-boiled detective who's been on the Hellfire case for months. The catastrophe that unfolds when he goes in on retrieval and finds Charles Xavier still writhing in a Hellfire bed? .... Deep Cover.

Times Are Gone For Honest Men by citizenjess (givehimonemore)

"He used to cry, but Shaw won't draw it out too much if Charles doesn't show too much emotion."

It's Not Sharing If You Throw It In The River by tahariel

Erik brings home a stranger to fuck Charles while he watches and gives instructions.

Does It Feel Like This When by helens78

Erik keeps everything -- body, mind -- under wraps, leaving Charles no choice but to find other outlets for his desires. When those desires cut a little too close to home, though, everything comes out into the open.

Barefoot Muse by velvetcadence

Prompt: "Charles is deaged to a small-sized nerdy looking kid/teen. Erik is fascinated and can't keep his hands off the soft smooth skin of this Charles. Charles obliges, trusting Erik blindly because Raven had told him that Erik is a close friend of his older self.

Beatus Vir by velvetcadence

Erik’s descent to hell began with a whisper, a breathy, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Sham by OffTheRocks

As they settle in Westchester, Erik finds out something disturbing about Charles' history in that house.

Charles is a clever child who wants to be a grown-up. Harry simply offers to teach him.

sugar milk and molasses by pearl_o

The first time Charles gets fucked, it's with Raven's cock.

Who's Come a-Knockin'? by ShadyQuiet

Logan follows his nose to the degraded remains of a pack in Westchester. Or to the omega there, more specifically. He doesn't count on the odd-ball co-dependent pair he comes across, or the unkempt and uncared for omega named Charles. Every man's got standards, even a wandering one like Logan, and Charles needs a bit of work before he's fit for the claiming.

That isn't about to stop the alpha from taking what's his though, with or without the help of Hank-wannabe-alpha-McCoy.

Run, Lottie by a_q

Inspired by a prompt in the meme (but not strictly fulfilling it) of going into heat while surrounded by fighting alphas. Charles as always-female!Charles, aka Charlotte.

Leave Me To Lay But Touch Me Deep by Synekdokee

David pulls out a chair and sits down, facing Charles. He beckons with his hand, a gesture so subtle and efficient it seems calculated, measured.

Or programmed, whispers the voice in Charles's head, but it's too fleeting for Charles to grasp. So Charles obeys, goes to stand next to David, his body swaying lightly as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

"In my lap," instructs David, guiding Charles with his hands until Charles is straddling him.

Cannot Fill The Chasm by Rubynye

"One of the boys... riding Erik while Charles gives them telepathic cues on what to do."

XMFC/DOFP Porn Battle Entry (2015) by Kernezelda

Prompt: Erik/fem!Charles, Shaw/Erik, Shaw/fem!Charles, pregnancy, pregnant sex, dub-con, captivity, anal

Eternal by Unforgotten

After being changed into a vampire, Charles goes home to change Raven into one too - but not before having a little fun with her, first.

#gerec's fic rec #fic rec #dirtybadpornz #ao3 rec #beware the tags and warnings on each fic #irelise

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thechildoflightning · 5 years ago

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Pumpkin Ch2- Funnel

Title: Pumpkin [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: LAMP/CALM

~~~

Chapter Title: Funnel- Chapter Two

Summary:

Family traditions are something Virgil’s never really had in a good way before. He had traditions- rituals- in his life once. But they weren’t the good kind. After, well his father had tried and they did have small traditions. But for the most part, Virgil never had that chance, never had the chance to create small little traditions with his family.

And now he does. He has that chance.

Warnings:

[ao3 link]

~~~

Funnel- Chapter Two

It’s Kit who sees the pony first, just as they finally escape from the maze. His ears go on end and his nose points towards it, attention singularly focused on the mysterious animal.

“Kit,” Roman chides, not realizing yet what had caught his attention.

Kit turns back to Roman, focus waving between him and the pony, obviously wanting to behave but being distracted by the new animal and scents.

“He sees the pony,” Virgil comments, following Kit’s line of sight.

Roman turns, and his eyes light up.

“He hasn’t seen a pony before,” Logan notes from next to them. Virgil nods, and they walk towards the small animal pens.

Kit goes with them, enthusiastic but cautious. His ears are pricked up and his nose is sniffing like crazy, trying to decipher all the smells.

When they reach the fence, Kit goes right up to it, sniffing at the pony. The pony looks down at him in equal interest and leans down to meet Kit. The pony gives a wide snort, nostrils flaring, and Kit darts back a few paces before cautiously coming forward. He reaches through the fence and wacks the pony’s nose.

“Kit!” Virgil says unsure whether to laugh or admonish the pup. The pony sees fine and there’s no harm done, but Kit also can’t go around batting animals. Though to be fair, the pony is also something he has never seen before.

Virgil just settles for shaking his head, not bothering to correct it unless it happens again. He’ll keep an eye out, that’s enough for now.

“Look, there’s ducklings,” Patton says, pointing over to one of the enclosures. The follow his lead to the new fenced off area where a few ducks and numerous ducklings lie. Starting there, they go down the line, cooing at all the animals that are particularly cute. They get to the pigs later, and Logan reads out the names for them on the plaque.

Virgil doesn’t pay much attention, eyes locked on the critters, but the last name makes him pause.

“Wait what did you say the pig was named?” Virgil asked.

“Waddles,” Logan said.

“That’s from a thing. I don’t know what thing. But it’s from a thing. What’s it from?”

His spouses give him shrugs so Virgil pulls out his phone to check. He knows it’s from something, and it’ll bug him all day if he doesn't check now.

“Gravity Falls,” he says outloud, “It’s from Gravity Falls.”

“Oh yeah!” Patton says, “Yeah it’s Mabel’s pig.”

“Who’s Mabel?” Virgil asks.

“You know Waddles but not Mabel?”

“No,” Virgil shakes his head and tries to figure it out, “Like- I recognize both names. But I don’t know from what.”

He searches up Mabel from Gravity Falls, and he suddenly knows where he’s seen the cute animation style before.

“Picani,” he realizes, “Picani has a poster in his office.”

Well- Picani has many posters in his office. But there’s definitely a Gravity Falls one now that Virgil thinks about it. With a boy and a girl in the center with a pig and somewhere in the background there’s a floating triangle with an eye. Oh and a weird uncle.

“Hmm,” Patton hums, “We should watch it. It’s a good show. Cute. About these two twins who go spend the summer with their great uncle where a bunch of weird supernatural stuff happens. I think there would definitely be triggers for you though. We can check ‘Does the Dog Die?.’”

“Oh I think my sister’s seen this show!” Roman chimes in, “Wait is one of the twins trans? I’m like 90% sure she said one of them was trans. Or both. Was it both?”

“...Technically neither of them are trans?” Patton admits, “But they’re both trans now. Because I’m trans and I say so.”

“Valid,” Virgil says.

He’s quickly followed by Roman’s, “Mood.”

“Did Esther like the show?” Logan asks.

“Hmm? Oh uh- I think so?” Roman replies, face scrunching up into an adorable frown, “I can ask.”

“Is there actually any queer representation in it?”

“I think so,” Patton says, “There was something and I know it was a big deal but I don’t remember exactly.”

Logan hums and turns back to the pigs.

“Which one’s Waddles?” Logan asks.

“I think that one?” Roman says, pointing at the one in the far corner. “It has the same spots as the picture.”

Logan nods, and they stare at the pigs a bit longer before moving on.

The goats are last and by far the most fun. They seemed to almost play with each other, bleating and jumping around. They also engage in a bit of staring and bouncing with Kit and Trixie. The goats seem fascinated and entertained by the pups, and the pups seem equally fascinated and entertained in return.

In fact, they got so caught up in watching the goats and dogs tease each other, that they completely missed the last goat.

“Ow!” Roman yelps, falling back from the fence.

“What?!” Virgil responds instantly, narrowing in on Roman for any signs of harm or injury.

“It bit me!” Roman complains loudly.

“What?”

“The goat! It bit me!”

“Are you okay?” Virgil presses, still worried.

“Oh yeah I’m fine,” Roman easily dismisses. “But hey! It bit me! And it chewed through my jeans!”

He turns to face the tree of them, pointing out the chewed away fabric near his knee.

Patton stifles a giggle, leaning into Virgil’s side at the sight as Roman continues to look highly offended.

Roman ignores them, and instead struts right back over to the goats.

“That wasn’t nice,” he says directly to the goat that bit him, “That wasn’t nice at all. You’re mean.”

“The goat doesn’t understand you,” Logan inputs, “In addition I very much doubt it has the capacity to consciously make a choice to be mean or unkind or to feel similar complex emotions and intend to perform actions that follow through with those complex emotions. But I’m unsure. I don’t know much about goats. But it is a goat Roman.”

“I don’t care!” Roman says loudly.

Logan shrinks ever so minutely. Roman still isn’t facing them.

“I don’t care,” Roman repeats, and carries on, “Your goat facts are very interesting Logan, thanks for sharing.” Logan straightens a bit, and bounces on his toes. “But I’m human and I’m going to project my goddamn emotions on these evil goats if I so please.”

Patton continues to snort into Virgil’s side. Virgil wraps an arm around him and watches the entertaining interaction.

“As long as you’re aware that you’re projecting your emotions onto the goat,” Logan supports.

“Heck yeah. They’re mean goats. I’m doing the healthy anger projection thing. What’s that called?”

“You’re generally discouraged from projecting in therapy,” Patton adds, the same time Virgil adds, “Equine Therapy.”

“Oh yeah, animal-assisted therapies are a good example,” Patton agrees, “Cause sometimes we need to project. But projecting onto actual people can hurt them and hurt our relationships with them. Projecting onto animals can create a healthy release for certain emotions when done in a proper setting. Equine therapy is a great example of that.”

Roman nods, still glaring at the tiny goat in front of him.

“I’m calling this mad-at-goats therapy,” he declares, before giving one last piercing stare at the ‘evil’ goat, before his face softens. “He’s kinda cute though. Now I feel bad for him. I’m sorry goat.” He reaches his hand back over the fence and the goat sniffs it gently. “Hey can we get a pet goat?”

A quick flip from hating goats to loving them isn’t exactly something Virgil would expect from most people, but from Roman it’s hardly a surprise.

“I’m vetoing goats,” Virgil informs him.

Roman grumbles, faux annoyed.

“We all agreed when moving in with Virgil that he got veto rights on any pets,” Logan mentions at Roman’s grumbling.

At the comment, Roman finally turns back to face them at all.

“I know,” Roman says, “I was teasing. I don’t actually want a goat, and I’m not mad at Virgil for vetoing the goat even if I did want one. It was very kind of you to gently but firmly remind me of a preestablished agreement we had come to.”

Roman rejoins them, and they continue to stand in eyesight of the goat enclosure, while still being out of reach and out of the way of all the other people who want to check them out.

“Oh. Okay. I don’t want a goat either. I suspect they would need exercise, but seem very difficult to walk,” Logan muses.

They all glance over at the leaping animals.

“Yeah,” Virgil agrees, “We can barely manage a puppy as is.”

Patton gasps.

“Don’t talk about my son that way!” Patton insists, glancing down at Kit at his feet. He looks back at Virgil. “Can you pick him up for me?” Virgil nods and reaches down to pick up the small pup before trading the puppy for Patton’s cane so Patton can hold his small body in two hands.

“Don’t listen to them Kit,” Patton coos, “They’re just mean. You’re a lovely perfect darling who could never do anything wrong.”

“Hey! I thought I was the lovely perfect darling who could never do anything wrong!” Roman protests.

“No love. You’re the darling who decides it’s a smart idea to stand up on your desk during college to debate with a classmate and then fall off it and get a concussion.”

“Okay, that was once!” Roman argues, “And come on, it’s not fair using that against me twice in one day.”

Patton’s eyebrows knit together.

“I mentioned that earlier?”

The sentence is much more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. I almost fell off the hay bales in the corn maze,” Roman reminds.

“Ah right,” Patton nods, “I remember the hay bales You almost fell off?”

“I mean yes but nope. Completely fine. No near falls or misses or anything like that. But yes I almost fell.”

“He almost face planted,” Virgil supports.

“But I didn’t!” Roman says, voice rising at the end.

“You need to be more careful,” Patton chides. A shifts on his feet a bit and grimances slightly, “We don’t need someone splitting open their head at the pumpkin patch.”

A searing picture burns through Virgil’s mind. One of human skull and brain matter. Of blood and bones and-

Trixie presses against his leg. Virgil shakes the past from his mind and takes an even breath.

“Virge?”

“Hm?” Virgil responds, turning his gaze back to Patton as Trixie stays at his side. Patton watches him carefully.

“Oh, I’m good,” Virgil says, soothing Patton’s concern.

Patton nods and shifts again. Kit squirms lightly in his hands.

“Want to trade back?” Patton asks, nodding at his cane.

They switch again, and Kit gets transferred to Roman’s arms after Virgil instead of back to the ground. Roman holds him close and gives small cooing noises as Kit squirms enthusiastically at the attention.

“Can we sit?” Patton asks, “My hip’s hurting.”

The group quickly agrees and they find an open bench nearby. They take a minute, just sitting, taking in the scenery. The pumpkin patch is large, and the actual pumpkin patch part of the pumpkin patch is even larger. The fields stretch off into one direction, quite a few people wandering around them to pick their own pumpkins.

“We should get funnel cake,” Roman says abruptly.

“Oh yes.”

“I’ve actually never had funnel cake,” Virgil admits.

“What?” Roman says, whipping to catch Virgil’s gaze and mouth hanging slightly opened, “You’ve never had funnel cake? Ever?”

Virgil’s told his spouses a lot of weird, fucked up things over the years. But of course this simple detail about a dessert he has yet to try would be one of the things that managed to shock Roman completely.

“We didn’t exactly get dessert in a doomsday cult,” Virgil explains, voice light.

“Okay, first off, you weren’t in a doomsday cult just fucked up weird religious shit. Second of all, You had what…” Roman takes a moment to fumble over the dates, “fifteen-ish years since then. And you still haven’t had funnel cake.”

Of course Roman’s going to focus on the funnel cake.

Virgil shrugs in response.

“Unacceptable, we’re definitely going to get funnel cake now. You have to try it.”

“Don’t make him try it,” Logan immediately jumps in.

Roman turns to him, seemingly a bit lost for words.

“...Why not?”

Logan taps his foot on the ground. Patton reaches up to settle a hand on his shoulder before thinking better and dropping it.

“It should be Virgil’s choice. Don’t make him.”

Logan’s gaze is downcast and his hands wring together in what Virgil knows is an anxious stim. Roman seems to recognize the stim for what it is as well, and his face and body relax.

“Oh of course,” Roman agrees, switching from light teasing to pure honesty, “Sorry I was probably a bit unclear. I meant that I suggest Virgil tries it, and I encourage him to, but if he really doesn’t want to, I’m not going to force him.”

Logan nods, but frowns. He starts rocking slightly.

“Lo? You alright?” Virgil asks.

“I think-” Logan hesitates, “I think I’m overstimulated. I feel- not bad… but not good. It’s- static, but not static? Buzzing perhaps. I think I’ll stay with Patton if you’re going to get funnel cake.”

“Would you like a firm hug? For a pressure stim? Or touching in a different way?” Patton asks.

“Don’t touch me,” Logan responds immediately.

Patton nods, and listens.

“Apologies,” Logan says after a minute, “That was rude. I meant-”

Logan doesn’t finish and scrunches his shoulders in towards his body, face still downcast.

“Are words hard right now Logan?”

Logan hesitates before nodding.

“Okay,” Patton replies, “Well I don’t need an apology. I think ‘don’t touch me’ is a perfectly fine way of communicating you wouldn’t like touch. It was direct, and some people may take it as rude, but I know that wasn’t your intention and that communicating is hard right. It was a fine way to say that.”

“Okay,” Logan agrees.

“Do we still want funnel cake?” Roman asks for a moment, looking at the group.

Virgil considers, “Yeah why not try it?”

“Heck yes,” Roman says, “that’s the type of attitude I like.”

Roman pulls Virgil away to go get funnel cake, giving Patton and Logan a bit of space in the meantime. It seems to help somewhat, because when the return with treat in hand, Logan looks much calmer and less overwhelmed.

Roman presents the funnel cake dramatically, causing Patton to giggle and Virgil to elbow him gently. They pass around forks and dig in.

Virgil has to admit it’s not half bad. He wouldn’t want it every day- the flavor and taste being much too overwhelming for everyday consumption. But the treat seems to fit in perfectly with today, and Virgil can appreciate that. Some foods are just made for certain occasions. Like latkes during Hanukkah.

They finish the treat, throwing away the trash before settling on a bench all together to make a decision on their next move.

“Pumpkins?” Patton asks.

There’s no objections, and as such, they all start moving towards the field of orange.

~~~

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sparrow-flies-south · 5 years ago

Text

Put A Spell On You [2/3]

Fandom: Sanders Sides Rating: Teen Pairings: Prinxiety, very minor background Logicality Summary: Roman sighed, trying to figure out how best to explain it. “I think everyone’s in love with me.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “How do you walk around under the weight of that ego?”

Everyone is acting strangely around Roman. Thank god his best friend (and crush) Virgil seems to be unaffected, because he’s going to need all the help he can get to figure out why everyone is confessing their love to him.

Notes: Thanks for the amazing response to the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this part. Heads up for some sexual references and potentially disturbing images (blame Remus).

Taglist: @cass-isdumb @altheaudaku

Part One Part Three

Also on ao3

Of all the things that could go wrong at a magical university, Roman Prince having a love spell cast on him by his evil twin managed to be a scenario Virgil had never imagined.

Then again, seeing as predicting this would have required an insight into how Remus’ mind worked, perhaps it was a good thing he hadn’t seen this coming.

Roman pushed his way past Logan towards the door, and Virgil shot forward, one hand grabbing Roman’s arm.

“Hold up, what are you doing?” Virgil asked.

Roman stared blankly at him. “Tracking down Remus.”

Virgil gaped at him. “No. No way. You can’t go across campus like this!”

“I agree.” Logan sounded like saying that pained him. “It would be best for you to stay here, where it is safe.”

Roman shook his head. “I thought the plan was to make Remus remove the spell.”

“It is, but you’re not going,” Virgil said. “I am.”

Roman shook his head again. “Remus won’t listen to you.”

“Remus doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“I know how to deal with my brother.”

“So do I.”

“This is my mess, you shouldn’t have to-“

“I’m pretty sure this is the whole of campus’ mess now,” Virgil snapped, which made Roman flinch.

“Look,” Virgil continued, gentler now, “Just – let me help, okay, Princey?”

Roman deflated. “You don’t-“

“I want to.”

“Fine,” he said, “Just – be careful, okay?”

Virgil gave a small smile. “You’re telling me to be careful?”

Roman huffed a laugh. “I guess this day is even crazier than I thought.”

Next to them, Logan coughed. Right, he was still there.

“I do not believe Virgil should go alone,” he said. “This is far too important to just trust to him.”

Great, so Logan was still suspicious. Still, at least that meant he hadn’t figured out what was really going on. Virgil couldn’t imagine a worst way for Roman to find out how he felt than through Logan, even in the best of circumstances.

Not that Virgil planned on Roman ever finding out.

Roman looked about ready to defend Virgil’s honour again, and Virgil tried not to read too much into that. Roman would do the same for literally anyone.

“So come with me,” Virgil said, before Roman could do anything.

Logan frowned. “But Roman is staying here.”

“Yes,” Virgil said, “But if you come with me, you’ll be helping Roman.”

Virgil was definitely only doing this because he didn’t want to waste more time standing around, arguing. It had nothing to do with the irrational annoyance that rose up at the way Logan looked at Roman.

“Besides,” Virgil added, because he was already going to hell, so why not get something useful out of it. “I’m sure Roman would be very grateful to you for saving him.”

“I would?” Roman asked, and Virgil glared. “I mean – I would!” he took a step towards Logan, his gaze suddenly going soft. “Please, Logan? Will you help me?”

Virgil looked away. He knew that Roman was just acting, but that didn’t stop the jealousy that twisted in his gut.

Not that we have any right to be jealous. Not when the two of them were manipulating Logan right now.

Besides, Roman could be with whoever he wanted. It was none of Virgil’s business.

Logan looked torn for a moment, but then he nodded. “I – very well. I suppose I could accompany Virgil.”

Roman smiled, and it was different to the way he smiled at Virgil.

“Great,” Virgil said sharply. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed Logan’s arm, pulled him to the door, and pushed him through. Before leaving himself, though, he looked back at Roman, who was looking uncertain.

“If we don’t come back,” he said, “It’s because Remus murdered us and is wearing our skin.”

“I’ll be sure to avenge you,” Roman said with a smile.

Virgil nodded, and turned away, before turning back again. “Oh, but if only Logan comes back, it’s because he murdered me and dumped my body in the lake.”

And then he finally turned away, and set off to find Remus.

***

“So,” Logan said, as they set off across campus. “Do actually you know where Remus is?”

Virgil shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoody and tried to ignore Logan’s derisive tone. He knew that Logan – the real Logan – didn’t mean it. Just like he knew that once this was all over, Logan would be back to normal.

Although, Logan might never forgive him or Roman for the way they were manipulating him. Or maybe the way he felt under the spell would serve as a wakeup call, and Logan would realise he didn’t want anything to do with Virgil after all. And then he’d take Patton and Roman with him, and Virgil would be alone again.

“Well?” Logan asked impatiently, pulling Virgil out of his spiralling thoughts.

Right. Focus on Remus now. Worry about the future later.

“Look, I do know Remus, alright?” Virgil had used to hang around with him, after all. “And Remus craves instant satisfaction. He’ll be wherever he thinks the most chaos will be.”

Virgil gestured at the building they had arrived at.

“The library? Ah, I see. Roman and I would normally meet for our tutoring sessions at this time. That was surprisingly astute, Virgil.”

Virgil wasn’t sure whether Logan meant that as a compliment or an insult, so he decided to ignore i.,

“Where do you and Roman normally go?” Virgil asked as they entered the library.

“The study rooms,” Logan answered, and led the way up the stairs.

The second floor was mostly one large study space, with group study rooms around the edge. Virgil didn’t spend much time there; he preferred to work on the top floor, which was normally empty.

The two of them reached the top of the stairs, and Virgil stuck out an arm to stop Logan from going any further.

Remus Prince was not difficult to spot. He was crouched behind a couple of potted plants, perhaps in a bizarre attempt to camouflage himself. A couple of students working at the tables nearby were giving him curious looks, but most were ignoring him. Virgil wasn’t sure if it was a student thing, or if everyone was used to Remus’ antics by now.

Remus was entirely focused on the windows of the study rooms, and hadn’t noticed Virgil and Logan.

“Stay here,” Virgil told Logan quietly.

Closing his eyes and focusing, Virgil murmured the incantations to an invisibility spell. The magic settled over him like a cool breeze, making Virgil’s skin buzz. He gave Logan a nudge on the arm to let him know what was happening, and then made his way across the room.

Invisibility spells were not fool proof, especially not to other magic users. If anyone concentrated hard enough, they would be able to notice the tell-tale ripple of the illusion.

Fortunately, Remus was not paying attention.

Virgil looped around the room so that he approached Remus from the other side. He crouched down behind Remus, and let the spell slip away as he leaned close

“Boo,” Virgil whispered.

Remus gave a shriek, lost his balance, and fell backwards.

It would have been funny, except that Virgil was still behind him.

Virgil shoved Remus off him and onto the floor. He smirked up at Virgil.

“You know,” Remus mused, “I’ve had fantasies that start like this.”

Virgil pulled a face. “Gross.”

“So, Virgie, what are you doing here? Wait-“ Remus’ eyes lit up in a way that could only spell danger “Are you looking for Roman?”

“No,” Virgil snapped.

Remus’ face scrunched up in confusion. “Are you sure? But- Oh, that’s interesting.” Remus grinned. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

Virgil was certain that his face was turning red, which was never good in front of Remus. Fortunately, he was spared from answering by Logan arriving.

“This plan is certainly meeting all my expectations,” he commented coolly.

Virgil scowled. Remus beamed up at the newcomer.

“Logan! My favourite repressed nerd! You know, if you two wanted a threesome, you could have just asked.”

This was decidedly worse than being murdered and turned into a lampshade.

“Enough,” Logan snapped. “We know about the love spell. You’re going to reverse it.”

Remus tapped his fingers against his chin as he made a show of thinking it over. “Hmmm… Nah. What? It’s funny.”

“Funny?” Virgil snapped “It’s disgusting. What if something happened?”

Someone nearby turned and glared at him. Right. Library.

Remus gasped. “Why, Virgie! I never knew you had so little faith in my brother.. What would Roman say? Do you think he’d cry? I think he’d cry.”

“Roman is far too noble to take advantage of another person,” Logan said, glaring at Virgil. “The actions of other people are far more concerning. Love spells used in the past have resulted in assaults, and, in extreme cases, murder.”

“Should we be worried about how much you know about this?” Remus asked.

“Says the guy whose favourite dinner table conversation is Ed Gein?” Virgil realised what he just said, and sighed. “Never mind, I just proved your point.”

“My academic interests aside, ending the spell before it escalates would be in your best interests.”

Remus pouted. “But it hasn’t gotten to the good part yet! Come on, at least wait until there has been one fist fight.”

Logan shook his head. “This is getting us nowhere. Come on, Virgil, perhaps the disciplinary board would make for a better conversation partner.”

Logan turned and walked away, and Virgil reluctantly followed him.

“Roman’s not going to want to go to the board,” he whispered.

Logan didn’t answer.

They had almost reached the stairs when Remus shouted “Okay, fine, I’ll end the stupid spell!”

Logan shot Virgil a smug look. Behind them, someone shhed Remus.

Virgil and Logan walked back to where Remus was now sulking.

“You know,” He muttered, “If you wanted to discipline me-“

“You will take the spell off Roman,” Logan interrupted.

Remus nodded, scowling.

“And,” Logan continued, “You will refrain by pulling similar… pranks in the future.”

“You’re no fun.” Logan remained stone-faced. “Fine. But I’m only doing this because Dee got mad at me last time he had to bribe the university.”

“Why did you decide to cast the spell on Roman anyway?” Logan asked.

Virgil shot him an incredulous look.

“What?” Logan asked, “You’re not curious?”

“You’re really expecting a straight answer out of Remus?”

“Logan,” Remus said, mock offended. “How dare you assume anything about me is straight! But if you must know, yes, I did actually have a reason behind this.”

Virgil turned his incredulous look to Remus.

“I did! Roman always acts like he thinks everyone’s in love with him. So, I decided to make it true.”

Logan nodded slowly. “And you intended to… what? Teach him humility? Show him the value of the love he already has?”

Remus pulled a face. “What? No! I did it because it was funny.” He glanced at Virgil. “He really can’t take a joke, can he?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You still haven’t ended the spell.”

“And yet, you seem fine. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

“We are already aware of the mystery of why Virgil isn’t affected – though he isn’t the only one,” Logan spoke up.

Remus frowned at Logan, and then his eyes widened in amusement.

“Wait – are you saying he thinks-?”

“End. The. Spell.” Virgil hissed through gritted teeth.

Remus grinned. “Oh, now I’m definitely okay with ending it. I can’t wait to see his face!”

Remus rolled his hand lazily. Virgil felt a slight sense of relief, as if something that had been pushing at his skin had fallen away, and he only noticed it’s absence. All across the room, people began to stir and sit up a little straighter.

“Wait,“ a girl sitting nearby said, frowning at the three of them, “What just-?”

“Nothing,” Virgil said quickly, “Just spell practise gone wrong.”

The girl didn’t look convinced, but before Virgil could say anything else, his attention was taken away Logan, who gave a shuddering breath.

Virgil watched him nervously. His face was expressionless, but his back was tensed, and his hands were clenched into fists.

“L?” Virgil asked softly.

Logan wasn’t looking at Virgil. He opened and shut his mouth again, before finally saying “Oh.” With that, he stiffly spun on his heel and began walking away.

“Well, that wasn’t as fun as I hoped,” Remus said sulkily.

Virgil gave one last glare at Remus, before hurrying after Logan.

As it turned out, Logan could move far faster than Virgil gave him credit for, because Logan was already walking away from the library by the time Virgil reached the entrance.

“Logan!” Virgil called, but Logan didn’t slow down.

Virgil rolled his eyes and ran to catch up with him.

“First of all, screw you for making me exercise,” Virgil gasped once he caught up.

“I suppose you can add it to the list of things to be angry at me for,” Logan replied coldly.

Virgil frowned. “What?”

Logan sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I understand that an apology is not worth much without a promise to not do it again, but given the circumstances, this is the best I can do.”

“Logan – you don’t need to apologise.”

“Yes, I do. If you mean to say that Roman deserves one too, then rest assured I will apologise to him next time I see him. But for now, I wish to be alone.”

“You don’t need to apologise to either of us,” Virgil protested. “If anything, we should be apologising to you.”

“I don’t see why. Neither of you are responsible for Remus’ actions.”

“Thank God for that,” Virgil muttered. “No, I mean how we treated you. We – we used your feelings against you.”

“Feelings that were merely the result of a spell.”

“The still felt real at the time, right?” Virgil shook his head. “You’re allowed to be mad at us, Logan.”

Logan stopped walking. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at Remus. And-“

“And?” Virgil prompted, when Logan trailed off.

Logan sighed. “I am mad at myself. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me.”

“Logan, you were under a spell. You can’t possibly blame yourself for that.”

“I know I was under a spell,” Logan snapped. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have resisted its influence. I am one of the best-.”

“So you’re mad at Patton, too?” Virgil asked.

Whatever Logan had been about to say, he seemed to completely forget about it. “What?”

“Patton,” Virgil repeated. “He was under the spell too, he probably did some shitty things. Are you mad at him?”

“Of course not.”

Other than under the spell, Virgil had never seen Logan look so annoyed at him.

“And do you think he’s a bad magic user for not being able to fight the spell off?”

“Patton is an excellent student,” Logan snapped, his eyes blazing. “But he can hardly be expected to fight off such a powerful spell.”

“Then why,” Virgil said calmly, “Are you any different?”

Logan deflated. “It’s not the same,” he said weakly.

“Logan,” Virgil said gently, “You’re allowed to have feelings. And when those feelings are manipulated by magic, well, you’re allowed to act kinda crazy.”

Logan said nothing; he just stared stubbornly at the ground. Virgil reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, but Logan pulled away. Virgil sighed.

“I don’t hate you, Logan. No one does.”

“You should. I accused you-“

“You didn’t know any better. I’d probably suspect me too.”

Logan sighed. “I did.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

“I did know better.” For a moment, Logan fell silent. He seemed to brace himself before saying, “I know why you weren’t affected. I always knew. I only accused you because I was jealous.”

Virgil stared at him. “Jealous,” he said, numbly.

“Of your relationship with Roman. I thought I could try to turn him against you.” Logan shook his head. “Apparently, the spell made me stupid.”

Virgil wasn’t sure how to feel. Relieved, that Logan didn’t really think he could do such a thing. Hurt, though he didn’t exactly have a right to feel that way after what he’d just told Logan. Confusion, at why Logan would feel he had to do it.

“Logan,” Virgil said slowly. “You know Roman and I are just friends, right?”

Logan stared at him. “That is what you choose to focus on?”

Virgil shrugged.

Logan sighed, and rubbed his temples. “Okay. First of all, the spell does not care for the difference. Roman cares for you, and that made you a threat. Second of all-,” he hesitated. “Second of all, I believed many things while under the spells influence. I believed I was the perfect match for Roman. I believed that love meant obsession. I also believed, that if forced to choose between us, Roman would choose you.”

Virgil swallowed. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, perhaps you should consider telling Roman why you weren’t affected. Lord knows he will not figure it out on his own.”

Virgil shook his head. “No. No way. Roman not figuring it out is a good thing.”

Logan shook his head. “Virgil-“

“Are you going to talk to Patton about how you feel?” Virgil challenged.

Logan sighed. “Very well. I will drop the subject for now.”

He began to walk again, but this time he didn’t try to stop Virgil from walking with him.

“It’s a shame,” Logan mused, “That Remus will get away without consequences.”

“Who says he will?”

Logan frowned. “We agreed not to tell the university board.”

“So we won’t tell the university board.” Virgil smiled wickedly. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get away with it.”

Logan shook his head, looking amused. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

“No, you don’t.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “I did say almost.”

Virgil grinned. “Wanna help get revenge?”

Logan hesitated, probably weighing up the potential consequences, and then his mouth twitched into a smile. “Very well,” he said.

***

As soon as Virgil stepped back inside the apartment, Roman threw his arms around him.

“You did it!” Roman said, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil muttered. “You owe me one.”

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the hug, before reluctantly pushing Roman off.

“I owe you more than one. Is Logan alright?”

Virgil pulled a face. “Freaking out about having to admit he has feelings, but yeah, he’ll be fine. You should probably talk to him sooner, rather than later, though.”

Roman nodded absently. “I will. Seriously, though, Virgil, I- thank you. You kinda saved me.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. Remus probably wouldn’t have let a mob tear you apart.”

Roman shook his head, his face sincere in a way Virgil had never seen. “I’m serious, Virgil. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Virgil shrugged, fighting to hide his blush. His mouth suddenly felt dry. “Yeah, well, you’re my best friend.”

For a moment, they just stood there, until Virgil couldn’t deal with the look on Roman’s face. “Look,” he said, “I just had to deal with your brother, and that is way too much socialising for one day. I’m going to go to my room and freak out.”

With that, Virgil moved past him towards the safety of his door.

“All right.” Roman sounded more fond that offended, thank God. “Hey, did you ever figure out why you weren’t affected?”

Virgil hesitated outside his door. Logan’s words earlier came back to him.

He could turn around right now, and confess everything. Roman might even feel the same way. Might press one hand to the side of Virgil’s face and kiss him the way Virgil fantasised about.

But Virgil was a coward. So he didn’t look away from his door. And all he did was shrug, and say “Beats me. Must just be a weird magic thing.”

And then he stepped inside his room, and closed the door behind him.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #fanfiction #remus sanders #My fic #put a spell on you

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greenninjagal-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Its Always Been This Way (Hasn’t It?)

So….anyone up for some Witchy Sides? Welcome to my biggest Project to date: a Hogwarts au! This is my sweet, sweet child that I’ve been working on for forever and I thought its time I shared.

Pairings: DLAMP, LAMP, Anxceit,

Words: 2032 (This is going to be multichaptered)

Summary: Virgil had been so happy to be a Hufflepuff. He had never thought it was going to end up being a death sentence.

(Aka, Two boys curse themselves to a terrible fate in order to save the world. Maybe they wouldn’t have quite so many regrets if they hadn’t fallen in love with the same three boys in the middle of it.)

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam @whizzie72

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

At approximately four thirty one, on any given Thursday during the school year in which this story takes place, one would find the scene in the courtyard as such: a crowd of fifteen year olds pooled around in a wide circle shoving and laughing with each other as another two students stood in the middle toe to toe. Flutters of colors would be found all around, but a majority of them would be green and yellow, with dashes of red from the loudest of the peers and tickets of blue from those on the barest outskirts.

The boys in the center would be found to have a striking dichotomy between them: the one that was taller (by a few inches) would have a neatly tucked shirt, with his green and silver tie shining in the sunlight, a smug smirk on his lips and his robes finely pressed and trimmed to his perfect height; the other would be found with an untucked shirt of a faded cream color, a yellow tie that hadn’t been tied correctly in several years, along with dark eyeshadow and robes that were too short thrown haphazardly over a dark sweatshirt that was patched up in several places with plaid purple.

One would also find on any given Thursday, them snarling insults at each other, a hand in either pocket, squeezing wands made with Olivander’s finest craftmanship, and both a mere twitch of the wrist away from beginning an illegal duel on Hogwarts grounds.

None of this would be very new. It would seem as if every week the two would find something to argue about, to fight about, to risk expulsion from the esteemed magic school over. Throughout the years such things would have seemed to have costed their respective school houses a great deal of points, but no punishment would have had been fit enough to keep the boys from squabbling.

If one would have asked any member of the crowd what had happened between the boys which would have left them so hostile toward one another, they would receive many variations of the same answer: “That’s just how they’ve always been, mate.”

At the same time, should one have been skimming the courtyard while the boys engaged in their verbal sparring, they would have noticed Patton Hart sitting on the half wall just outside the edges of the crowd, watching with a nervous expression and wringing his blue and black tie through his fingers.

Patton Hart would not be a very intimidating person. In fact, he was most likely to be last on the list of people who were intimidating (should such a list be made). His glasses would be comically big and round, and his smattering of freckles would have been enough for him to seem harmless, but the boyish nature of his smile and the roundness of his face would cement the idea into any stranger’s mind. At fifteen years old, he would still appear to be just finishing middle school.

If one were to start a conversation with Patton at any point, they would be surprised to find that he was in the house of Ravenclaw, much less to find out that he was the nephew of the wand maker Jimmy Kidde,l himself, and had grown up surrounded by magic. There would be a certain excitement he would display at acts of magic, a certain wonderment that one would have expected him to have grown out of by now. But the facts would stand as such: Patton would be from a pureblood family and he would love magic the way that a drowning person would love the air.

To his left one would find Logan Ackroyd: a stiff, consistently irritated looking student who would also wear a blue tie, although his would appear to be his most treasured possession. Not a spec of dirt would be found near it nor frayed strand or awkward crease. His glasses would be sensibly square and black and professional, and his robes would be rolled up to his elbows. One would find two separate stacks of books keeping the distance between him and Patton, and a roll of parchment in the young man’s lap where he would be scribbling out an essay with a black fountain pen.

One would not be surprised to find that he was a Ravenclaw: he would rarely make time for others and would dread polite pleasantries the way children dreaded the process of de-gnoming the gardens. His tone would often suggest that he was the smartest person in any given room– a compliment in a school of witchcraft and wizardry when he, himself, would be only half magical and would have had a late start learning the tricks of the magical world.

If one watched for long enough, they would even witness the form of Roman Prince barreling from the conjoining steps around the side of the castle, racing from the flying fields, robes scratched and dirty with holes in the hem, and his red and gold tie sticking out of his pocket. He would reportedly be a dashing sort of fellow: smooth skin and brown eyes that glittered with boldface bravery, his hair would always be mused and tussled and somehow that would leave his female peers swooning over him. Or perhaps that would be attributed to his flirtatious personality and his chivalrous upbringing, as he would have been taught from a young age that all ladies loved to feel like a princess at least once and that it was his duty to provide for them.

One might even watch as Roman flung himself over the stack of books between the other boys, dripping with sweat and out of breath, and uttering between gasps, “Did I miss anything?”

“Roman!” Logan would snap just before the book stacks would sway and nearly tumble over if it would not have been for Patton flinging an arm out hold them up. “Watch it!”

“Relax poindexter,” Roman would say and offer a smile at Patton, “Hey Padre, whats up with Ekans and Storm?”

Patton would nervously glance at the jarring crowd again, and he’d explain, “Dee spread a rumor that Virgil is scared of the ghosts, and so Virgil hit him with the dancing feet jinx and it took half an hour to undo.”

“Oh good,” Roman would respond, “I didn’t miss anything.”

Just as he always would have had.

Logan would, of course, then mutter about how childish the two in the center of the group were, prompting a hefty sigh from Roman and a curious glance from Patton.

“What do you mean?”

And Logan would tap the end of his pen on his parchment, followed by rolling up the scroll and would wave vaguely at the jostling crowd. “This! We are fifth years! Surely by now they should have grown out of their rivalry!”

“What, like you and Patton?” Roman would say with a teasing elbow at the other.

“Yes!” Logan would respond smacking his arm away. “It’s ridiculous at this point, a slandering on the great Hogwarts name! Imagine if this is allowed to continue after the OWLs? In the work force?”

Patton then would release his tie from his hands and flex his fingers in the air with a nervous little laugh, “It is kinda silly. But can you imagine what it would be like if they never bickered at all?”

“Of course!” Logan would start, “They’d–” He would then pause, slightly ruffled, and then he’d adjust his glasses, “Pardon me, I seemed to have forgotten what I was going to say. I supposed you are correct, Patton. It would likely be similar that one week a few months ago, when they managed four days without a confrontation and then got into a fistfist that cost both their houses a large quantity of points and put you in the hospital wing.”

And Patton would have a response to that, a dismissive, water under the bridge sort of comment, but he and the others would be distracted by the sound of a certain Hufflepuff’s voice raising above the rest and the cacophony of nasty laughter that would follow from the crowd.

If one was of the particularly curious type and continued watching the trio further, they might also note the way that Logan would seem to blink several more times, with a small frown, as if he were to be chasing after a thought that had gotten away from him at the worst of times.

One would also get a chance to see Patton stand up and brush off his robes carefully, before turning back to his friends. “We should break them up, before someone tells Professor Sanders and he takes points from both their houses.”

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Logan would ask entirely not rhetorical but a near thing, with his eyes sparking as they always would do when someone brought up the point system he would have dedicated his entire school year to winning. “Objectively, as none of us are in Hufflepuff nor Slytherin.”

And Roman would pick up one of the stacks of books, and reply, “Thank god for that! Those Slytherin types are down right evil!”

“Roman!” Patton would reprimand, taking another two books from the other stack while Logan hefted the others, “Slytherins are not evil!”

And Roman would, of course, scoff as he always would have done, “uh, yeah they are! And Ekans is the worse of ‘em! He’s a Disney Villain in the making!”

“Disney?” Patton would repeat, confused, “Is that a muggle thing?”

And Roman would be absolutely offended, because even after five years of having been friends with the pureblood wizard, there would still be some things that didn’t crossover between their respective worlds and one of them would be Classic Animated Movies.

“Dee is not completely malicious,” Logan would say as a deterrent, “He’s most likely just fallen in with the wrong crowd, so to speak.”

“Wrong crowd, my ass! He’s just a terrible guy!” Roman would mention loudly for all to hear had they been listening in, (and ignoring the puff of “language!” from his friend), “He used Epoximise to glue me to my seat in second year!”

“Actually that was Virgil.” Logan would say.

“Was it?”

And Patton would give his Gryffindor friend that strange sort of look, “Yeah! It was before you two really saw eye to eye!“

Roman would mutter under his breath, “Weird.” Then he would raise his head again, “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s a bad guy. Whats the name of those evil wizard dudes from the great wizard war again?”

“What?”

“Those guys who are who-know-who’s followers?”

“You mean Death Eaters?”

And Patton would flinch slightly at the term, and cover it with a queasy smile, because there really wouldn’t be much to be afraid of anymore! The Ministry would have had said so themselves! The Order would just be being vigilant should that change!

“Just you watch!” Roman would say in a definite sort of voice that he always got when someone started badmouthing Divination rather than just the awful Divination Teacher, which would have then prompted Logan and Patton to share a look, “Dee Ekans is going to end up a some type of neo-Death Eater!”

And if one watched for several more years, and kept that sort of conversation in their mind as they did, they would see that Roman Prince had been right.

And if one did not know anything about the conflict between Virgil Storm and Dee Ekans, they would have been inclined to believe that Dee had always been a vile sort of fellow and that there would have been no other outcome for a boy like him born into a pureblood magic family that favored dark magic than for him to have joined the rest of his family in their attempts to promote the Dark Lady to power and that he and Virgil would have been destined to hate each other from the start.

And if one did not own or have access to a time turner, one would, of course, come to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that it had always been this way.

Chapter 1: Liar Liar (House on Fire)

#Hogwarts au #Working title: It's Always Been This Way (Hasn't It?)#IABTW(HI)#Sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #symapthetic deceit #deceit sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #Hufflepuff!Virgil #ravenclaw!patton #time turners #neo-death eaters #hogwarts bois #anxceit #lamp #dlamp

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soul-heart-and-beyond · 5 years ago

Note

♡ ( Rip to our bones)

Send me a ‘ ♡ ’ and i’ll talk about what type of relationship i could see our muses having

(I’ll just make a copy of this for Ludwig and John to put on their own respective blogs. Though I’m not certain all of them would meet or get to know each other.)

Launchpad + Dewey

A brotherly bond that would practically rival that of his with Huey and Louie. Though he knows that Launchpad likes to try and spend his time with everyone, he’s usually ready to throw down when it comes to any sort of gig the two might have planned. Whether it be binge watching stuff, reading comics, discussing about fictional stuff, some outside sports here and there, and the like! Launchpad’s like the older brother Dewey wanted, instead of the one that he got, but he still loves Huey too. He just vibes more with Launchpad. Together, you’ve got an unstoppable, unforgettable duo!

Falcon + Dewey

(Taking in some parts of their first meeting and today’s episode) Just like how Falcon wants nothing to do with Dewey, the same goes for him. It’s not really the stiff and tight beaked personality that Falcon has, but just for how the both of them were eventually risking the other’s life by dropping them off of a large building (probably a small skyscraper to be honest). The boy isn’t traumatized by that, he’s been through worse, but associating himself with someone who’s always looking for that money, and somehow keeps pairing himself up with Mark Beaks unknowingly is probably someone that’s good to avoid.

Flintheart + Dewey

“Oof, it’s that one weird old guy that keeps trying to kill my great uncle and is.... super obsessed with him.”, Dewey would say before veering his head away from looking at the other. He can respect Flintheart’s tenacity and perseverance, after all, he’s gone through some of the same problems about not being taken seriously or given what he wants even though he’s probably either earned it or it’s common courtesy. but what he can’t is the other’s want for vengeance. So what if Scrooge made Flintheart what he is? He should be thanking the guy and moving on with his life, do some stuff that can be good to others instead of nasty plots and schemes on how to take out the recently richest duck in the world. And Glomgold can try whatever scheme he’s got in store for him, but Dewey will just have to be extra careful on what’s really important.

Launchpad + Duckworth

Something that was definitely transparent but revealed to show more consistency than some other unlikely pairings. It probably wouldn’t be the case hadn’t Duckworth died, since that opened his mind more to possibilities, and probably his time in the Afterlife did make him lose some empathy for a bit. However, by interacting and learning more about Launchpad, he’s recovered some of what he lost, and learning to enjoy the things that he had and didn’t have before. That and something else blossomed between them. Whenever they might have been conversing with each other, he’s started to find himself somewhat liking the duck’s qualities, and some of his faults even. Normally that wouldn’t have happened before, but then again, he’s grateful for how Launchpad does put up with him when he isn’t feeling too optimistic. Now he prefers to spend time with the pilot and is able to have fun once again.

Falcon + Duckworth

They are pretty similar in some aspects, which would normally be something that would help draw some people together, but not these two. Duckworth definitely has the edge on giving out more quippy remarks that the falcon may not appreciate, and is more than willing to go into a back and forth session if the other wants to participate. Yet another part where they may diverge is how they deal with loyalty and trust. Duckworth’s more devoted to those that are willing to trust others, be honest with people, and he’ll gladly do what he can to defend those that need a hand. Falcon is more os someone who doesn’t share those interests and beliefs, which does put them at odds with each other as Duckworth might ask, “Where is your loyalty? Do not say that it is as transparent as me for I can solidify mine. You can follow suit.”

Flintheart + Duckworth

One of the most unlikely people to really interact with each other, especially after how Duckworth died by Flintheart’s plan, indirectly. He still doesn’t like the idea of trusting and letting the other go free with what he’s done, but he also won’t take out the duck’s life as revenge for that would just be giving in to his anger and hatred over the years. Something that should not be listened to as taking one’s life as payment for another’s should never be the first option. If he wants to be better and not stoop down to Flintheart’s level, he’ll just have to let the duck be until he messes with him and his family again. However, now that he’s getting a bit of fun out of this, maybe taunting Flintheart with his own voice and physique wouldn’t be such a bad idea...

Launchpad + Fenton

“Is that really supposed to be some sort of joke? Because it’s not funny, Launchpad.” He really dislikes how Launchpad keeps trying to think of him as a robot, and he’ll keep trying to prove it to the other to get him to stop it. Fenton probably doesn’t know that it could be just mild teasing from how they first met, but it should make sense since Launchpad met him when he was Fenton first and Gizmoduck second. But, he does like it whenever they do veer away from that topic and talk more about mechanical things, and maybe a little more, considering that Fenton himself is a little bit of a superhero fan and has some stuff o his own to share with Launchpad. Though he may not like Darkwing Duck....

Falcon + Fenton

It’s certainly going to have some gray lines of tension here since their introduction is not going off on a good start. While he can commend the other’s dedication to their work, he can’t really defend or appreciate how Falcon likes to see everything so bluntly, black and white, but he’s somehow the only gray out of all of this. It’s selfish, bias, and more importantly, rude to other’s and how they could be able to change, but for Fenton, he just sees this as Falcon’s excuse to continue doing what he does. It might be something the professional tells himself to get away from facing the truth for the things that he’s done for his previous employers. It’s one thing to put the blame on others, but it’s another to try and separate yourself like you’re better than them but just do what you’re paid to do, and that’s what keeps them from having any really positive conversation. Sure, they can make fun of Mark all they want, but that isn’t going to make the problem between them go away.

Flintheart + Fenton

Flintheart would probably be the last person Fenton should really interact with, if not him then Mark, but given how he’s always willing to lend others a hand with his ideas or just be an overall nice person, something’s bound to go wrong. He hasn’t really gotten any instances where he could see Flintheart’s evilness and hatred on full display, and the faux funeral for Scrooge doesn’t really count since he only got to see Flintheart just do some disrespectful dancing. Besides that, he tries to believe that everyone, even Flintheart can change for the better too if they want to, like those anger management classes, and he’d be happy to help the rick mallard with that, but working for him might be something that he won’t allow. Given that Glomgold Industries probably doesn’t have that many appealing aspects to them and he rather not feel like he’s betraying Scrooge and Gyro after what happened with the Waddleduck incident.

Jim, Negaduck, Black Arts, Garbonzo, Brandon, and Rubber Chicken are down below:

Launchpad + Jim

Now who coulda saw this one coming?! A washed up star and his favorite number 1 fan that still remembers him upon the countless others that have forgotten him? You bet that Jim would love to get a taste of what it feels like to be a star again, even if it’s from one person. However, he can’t let that go to his head as this is practically the only one he’s got left that really cares, despite all the fainting. But, it might not hurt to have someone to bump heads with when it comes to returning to his role, for real this time...

Flintheart + Jim

While trying to give the real life Darkwing Duck gig a try, he finds that it’s definitely not as easy as it was on set, but that’s to be expected. Real life isn’t a game and neither is the battle between good and evil! Sure, he’d loved to be sponsored and given money by anyone that would fund a revival campaign of Darkwing Duck again, but he also cannot let the actions of Flitnheart Glomgold go unpunished. He doesn’t care how many times he’d have to put the duck in jail as long as it gets Flintheart to stop trying to be such a terrible member of society, and maybe not find out who he is in the process so he could get some of that good green moolah.

Launchpad + Negaduck

A reverse palette swapped Darkwing Duck that’s also sporting some different liberties taken on the iconic Darkwing Duck design? It might be a little odd, but it could be interesting that the guy chose a more striking set of colors compared to the cool and night patterned colors of the original. However, the black does help and oh wait, this guy’s going on about stuff that hasn’t happened here? What’s a Negaverse? Why does this guy sound like he knows him already? Ah, it’s just a weird Darkwing fanboy.

All of this is most likely going to get Launchpad put on Negaduck’s permanent to kill list, and he doesn’t care how long it takes, he’ll abuse and bruise the until he can get that satisfying moment, but it may take a while, and patience is not something Drake really has a lot of. Not for idiots in his book anyway.

Falcon + Negaduck

A well know Public Enemy in one universe and practically the ruler of his city in his own, up against some orderly goon that knows how to handle himself in a fight against many odds and situations? Negaduck may like the fact that Falcon can handle himself, but he’s not gonna like it when Falcon uses that to prevent him from doing whatever he wants. Hopefully Falcon can count those with unchecked rage again, as this condiment colored duck is another one of those with anger issues.

Flintheart + Negaduck

It would be Elegance in Violence, but for these two? Nah, just go wreck stuff up and don’t care about it. Drake can really admire the rich duck’s taste in senseless violence, but doesn’t like that he sets his sights on someone so low like Scrooge McDuck. What’s there to that has been that’s dangerous? He could probably take on the whole family with enough planning and resources, so why hasn’t Flintheart done that already? Another thing that might separate them is how that Flintheart isn’t as willing to go through with his plans unlike Negaduck. When Drake wants you gone, he’ll try to find a way and he doesn’t care how as long as it’s got class and you know he’s the one that killed you. He won’t cower, and even if he did, there’s usually a plan behind that.

Launchpad + Black Arts

It would seem pretty unlikely for Launchpad to try and befriend a Beagle Boy, most people wouldn’t given their family background and reputation, but Black Arts is happy to have someone outside of his family or his teacher to talk to. It gives him a chance to have a life, a mind outside of what his Ma wants for him, and while his teacher is cool, it’s always good to have more people to talk to to feel less isolated from the world. Sure, he’s got the internet to help him on that, but for face to face communication or interaction... not so much. Still, he like Launchpad and is willing to show him some magic someday!

Duckworth + Black Arts

It’d be really against his liking to let Duckworth get away with the embarrassment that happened the night he was summoned back by him, but he can’t help that for some reason, the ghost is apparently getting him to laugh, talk about stuff that normally he wouldn’t spill, and overall trying his hardest to ridicule him, but still treat him differently than the rest of his family. What, did the demon like him or something? And why did feel like he was having a good time with the butler? Maybe it’s probably because he didn’t have someone to fill that father figure role in his life...

Flintheart + Black Arts

Now this is probably his first real employer, but that might not last long once he knows more about Flintheart like from what his mother would tell him. Then again, he got a glimpse of that first hand at Scrooge’s birthday party. Black Arts is really iffy about this loose nut as while he’s loaded, the things he tries to do are far out of any sane person’s range of commitment, and he feels like he should do the same.

Launchpad + Garbonzo

While they haven’t met yet, Garbonzo would find Launchpad to be really an oddity of sorts for how sunny he can be, but still like that about him. Maybe not some of the more oafish parts, but then again, he can be clumsy too at times with himself or others. However, he’s wondering how Launchpad has been helping Black Arts in terms of creating friendships with other people, and even more interested in whatever magic is surrounding Launchpad. It’s not normal, and it doesn’t seem like there would be any good to come from it either.

Launchpad + Brandon

Now this is an annoyance for the buzzard as he would really want to try and stay away from the clumsy pilot. A sunny personality like his is nice, but that isn’t what someone like Brandon deserves, and he knows it. So, the best way for them to still be them is to stay away from each other, as the more and more that Launchpad might be around Brandon, the more and more Brandon will try to push him away. Hopefully bringing to light that not everyone will be your friend, or want to anyway.

Launchpad + Rubber Chicken

Whenever Clovis will meet Launchpad, either OG or a new DT17 reboot, it’s most likely going to be that one tough but simple minded goof with his thin and nimble worrisome ward. Well, Clovis isn’t really the ward type, but you get what I mean. He’s most likely going to open up Rubber Chicken to taking on new dangers if he can get past tackling the fear of them, and have someone to talk to for advice whenever he needs it as Clovis is a nervous wreck.

#airborne-disaster #(This... is gonna be a long one. I left a few others out because I'm not sure if they would really get a chance to meet.)#(That or their dynamics might be a little too hard to mesh together.)#(But I also added in new ones that might be interesting if given the chance.)#(Finally done with this long list. And now I shall rest into Flame Core listening to that sick ass guitar rift.)#(Or Iblis's theme; whichever one.)#Out Of Soul (ooc)#An Adventure's no Fun if There's no Challenge! (Dewey Duck)#Undying Loyalty with an Interest for the Drama. (Duckworth)#A Mallard That's More Than His Armor... (Fenton Crackshell/-Cabrera/Gizmoduck)#I am the Terror That Flaps in the Night! (Jim Starling/Classic Darkwing Duck)#There's a Reason why Positives and Negatives Don't Mix... (Negaduck)#There's More to Magic Than Just a Hat! (Garbonzo)#Illusionist of the Arcane Arts (Black Arts Beagle)#When the Ends Justify the Means... Even if Terrible Things Happen Along the Way (Brandon Buzzard)#Stretchy Superhero; Anxious Chicken (Rubber Chicken/Clovis Clackenhoff)#Launchpad McQuack (airborne-disaster)#Falcon Graves (unforeseen-disasters)#Flintheart Glomgold (unforeseen-disasters)#Duckworth (unforeseen-disasters)

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franklyshipping · 6 years ago

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The Price of Buffness (Part 2) ~ A Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

Well, this is a part 2 to THIS fic because when I finished it my mind was whirring with ideas....evil ideas. Just so you know, this fic includes very intense tickling BUT there will be a lot of care! AND ALSO: DESPITE INTENSE TEASING THIS IS A CONSENSUAL TICKLE SCENARIO! However, if you don't like intensity, you don't have to read on! Don't you guys worry! LET'S DO IT!

The man stirred....slowly....very slowly....as if his subconscious was dragging out the process of his awakening. Soon however, Chase Brody was.....awake....and struggling. He was strapped down, immobilised to a metal table by his ankles, by his wrists at his sides, and there was even a strap across his forehead. Chase's eyes were wide as it also transpired that he was only in his underwear, and the chill of the table was already causing goose-bumps to rise on his pale skin. Chase let out gasps as he tugged and squirmed, but he barely budged one millimetre. Chase still had his voice though.

'Hey! HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE S-SOMEONE GET ME OUT!!'

Chase voice echoed in the whitewashed room....and as Chase flicked his eyes about....a pang in his stomach gave him this sense of familiarity. He'd seen this room before.....but how-?

'Oh quiet down little boy, your stupid cries are pointless.'

Chase flinched at the new sudden voice, and gulped when he heard footsteps getting closer to him. Another reason as to why he'd paled was because of how the sharp, unforgiving voice was distinct....and well-known to Chase. Therefore, Chase wasted no time in glaring when the sneering Dr Schneeplestein leant over him into his eye-line. He spat his words at the doctor.

'What the HELL are you playing at man?! This is fucking wrong! LET ME OUT!!'

At Chase's animosity, Schneeplestein merely let out a derisive laugh through his nose, before gripping Chase's jaw as he replied.

'If you know what's good for you, you'll shut your mouth. Unless you want to be gagged.'

Chase's eyes widened up at the doctor as he tried to move his head, but the doctor's grip was secure, it was only when Schneeple released his jaw that he could then turn his head away from him; he could only do it by a fraction though, thanks to the forehead strap. Chase had gulped. He very much wanted to keep the use of his voice, so he continued to glare up at the doctor. The doctor snickered.

'Well, well, at least you can follow orders. That only makes you MOSTLY useless, instead entirely useless like I've always thought.'

Chase quivered, Schneeple's words stinging him and making him purse his lips. He wouldn't let the doctor get to him. He wouldn't. Schneeple grinned, his teeth gleaming as he crooned at Chase like someone might croon at their pet....except without kindness.

'Everyone knows that the only thing usable and useful about you is how sensitive you are. With sensitivity everywhere, you are the perfect test subject. It's only good manners that you give yourself up to me....although, it's not like you really have a choice.'

Schneeple let out a string of high pitched, slightly insane-sounding chuckles, which sent fearful chills down Chase's spine. All Chase could do as Schneeple laughed was struggle and struggle and struggle. He knew damn well how ticklish he was....and with how malevolent the doctor seemed to be, Chase knew that he was going to torture him, go to extremes...he could see those flames in Schneeple's eyes. That craving. That craving to make someone cry out and beg mirthfully for mercy. The sadistic tickler inside Dr Schneeplestein was known to very few....and Chase was unlucky enough to be one of those few. Chase whimpered from his own thoughts as the doctor wheeled in a tray of apparatus....none of which Chase was able to see; damn restraints. Before Chase could try and beg, try and appeal to the kindness that was inside the doctor, oil was being drizzled all over his bared torso.

'You might as well enjoy this part, while you can.'

Schneeple sneered as he watched Chase gasp and squeak at the coldness....and then fail to repress his hums when Schneeple's warm hands rubbed it all in, working deep into his torso. No part of Chase's torso was untouched...and much to Chase's embarrassment, it felt beyond lovely and calming, which was something he wasn't expecting to feel in this situation. Thus, he knew it wouldn't last long....this was the last opportunity he had to try and get himself out of this.

'Schn-neeple.....a-ahpleaseplease.....f-f-friend....p-please....'

Chase's eyes were wide and puppy-like, and under normal circumstances anyone with a hint of morality would have succumbed, released Chase, and made him a nice hot cocoa. However.....Chase was not dealing with someone with morality. Schneeple had warned him to keep his mouth shut, but with this disobedience Schneeple figured it was time to get things going.

'I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT YOUR MOUTH?!'

Chase jumped, then shrieked magnificently. Schneeple's blunt fingernails had initiated a scribbly assault in Chase's, now slick and soft, underarms. The oil, of course, increased Chase's sensitivity by A LOT. That meant....he was DOUBLY insanely ticklish.

'AHAHAHAHA SHIHIHIHAHAHAHA SAHAHAHAHARRY SAHAHAHARRYYYY!!!'

Chase was cackling wildly as he squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed at how he was instantly brought to hysterics....this was going to be torture. Thankfully, Schneeple didn't intend to spend long at that spot, he just wanted to give his test subject a little warning. Soon, Schneeple removed his hands and went to dry the oil off them as Chase panted and tried his best to recover. However, even though he got his breath back....his flustered nerves only increased as he saw what the doctor did next. Dangling right above Chase was a microphone, like the sort that coroners would use to record their actions and findings during autopsies. Schneeple pulled it towards him, tapped it, and spoke into it.

'This is Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestein MD, PhD, MVP, FFS, engaging in research into sensitivity of humanoids of....basic intelligence....'

Chase whimpered and blushed when Schneeple flashed him a smirk; the doctor then continued addressing the microphone.

'So far I have determined that the subject can be coerced into obedience from sporadic stimulation to the surface of the axillae, but now I am going to investigate the reactions to intense, focused stimulation to the thoracic vertebrae and the surrounding flesh.'

Chase squirmed and quivered as he watched the doctor let the microphone dangle in the air; thoracic vertebrae? What the fuck was he going to do to him? Chase cursed how the doctor had restricted his head movement....but soon Schneeple revealed precisely what Chase was going to have to endure. The doctor held a round headed electric toothbrush....in EACH hand. Two focused sources of vibrating, torturous bristles. Chase's eyes widened as the buzzing filled the air and Schneeple's sadistic grin filled his view.

'D-D-Doctor....w-we c-c-can take ab-bout this c-can't we-EEEEEEE!!!'

Well....at least Chase now knew what his thoracic vertebrae were, aka, his ultra-sensitive ribs. The doctor had set the brushes at the top ribs either side of his ribcage and were rubbing them against the bones, making Chase arch his back desperately. Schneeple meanwhile was relaxed and musing, observing Chase as he commented to the air.

'High sensitivity once again, however true results can only be collated by testing each vertebra fairly, so 10 seconds will be dedicated to the stimulation of each one.'

10 seconds......per rib. Fuck. That.

'STAHAHAHAP AHAHAHA FAHAHAHACK STAHAHAPPITSTAHAPPIT AAAHHHHH!!!'

Chase's laughter was loud and of a medium pitch at present, which meant that he thankfully wouldn't go hoarse from this stage of experimentation. Chase unfortunately didn't have the focus to do the mathematics of his endeavour, but thankfully I can. Ahem: With two brushes going at once and working in synchronicity, they would be working at TWO ribs at the same time. Two ribs every 10 seconds. Therefore if we take the total amount of ribs a person has, 24, and thus divide by 2, that makes 12 ribs; 12 stages of rib tickling. Therefore, 12 multiplied by 10 is 120 seconds. Two minutes. Only two minutes of tickling at his ribs. If Chase had known that then perhaps it would have made it easier...but then again, when you're being tickle tortured....two minutes can feel like two thousand.

'Oh but we have such a long way to go.....I've always liked how there are just so....many....ribs....'

Schneeple taunted in a cool voice as his tools moved down to the next pair of bones, making Chase wail and cry out in mirthful despair. He let out similar cries at the third, fourth, fifth AND sixth pairs. By the half way point I think he was ready to sell his soul for just an ounce of mercy. The bristles had no hindrance at his skin...that damn oil....Chase was going to make it his life's work to make sure NO kind of oil was created EVER again.

'IHIHIHIH CAHAHAHAN'T!!! PLEHEHEHEEEASE PLEHEHEASE HEHEHENRIHIHIK!!!'

Chase was gazing into the doctor's eyes weepily, his eyes glistening whilst Schneeple's remained as hard as weathered granite. Then....for one shining moment....there was a glimmer of mercy. Schneeple removed the tools and Chase gasped for relief....but soon, Schneeple was leaning over him, their faces inches away. Chase had never felt more intimidated. Chase felt like the doctor was looking into his very soul, boring into him. Then Schneeple spoke calmly....but not to Chase.

'It seems....that my subject thinks that by using my name, he can appeal to some glimmer of humanity he believes is inside my soul....'

Chase. Had. Goosebumps. His voice....despite his words, was so damn kind. That was what had struck Chase into a revered, obedient silence. Somehow....Schneeple leant down closer to Chase....did their lips brus-NO JEEZ CHASE! Chase chastised himself for his.....wishful thinking. He couldn't stop the hot crimson burning at his cheeks though, and he could have sworn he saw Schneeple....wink after he purred.

'In my....professional opinion....that is adorably naïve.'

Aaaaand Chase was screaming once again, the doctor was not planning on leaving the rest of his ribs un-tickled, for research purposes of course.

'OHOHOHOH C'MOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAAAN!!!'

Chase whined amidst squealing laughter; the bottom half of his ribcage had softer flesh, which made it rather more sensitive...and more fun to tickle. As Schneeple progressed with stage after stage after stage, he grew more and more teasing rather than bothering to maintain his stoicism. What could he say, he enjoyed his line of work.

'Poor little thing, even after a break you just tumble right back into hysterics....this must be agony for you....'

Chase whimpered as he tried to nod, but only managed a few twitches of his head as the vibrating bristles made his body jolt constantly.

'IHIHIHIT IHIHIHIHIIIISSSS AHAHAHAAAHHH DOHOHOHOHOHOC!!!'

Chase was thrashing as much as his bonds would allow as Schneeple's menacing chuckles reverberated around the room....but then....it all stopped. Two minutes, complete. Chase was shocked for a few moments, his mind still trying to convince him that he was being tickled....but he soon realised that this was a window of mercy. It was a large one too. It was silent for a while as Chase slowly but surely breathed, gasped, breathed, gasped...and breathed. He was sweating and glistening all over as his eyes fluttered shut a few times; it was only thanks to the good night's sleep he'd had last night that he didn't fall asleep for a nap right then and there. Chase doubted the doctor would have even allowed that to happen though. Speaking of whom....

'Awww.....is my little subject going to cry like a little baby?'

On top of everything else....he just HAD to fucking croon at him. Chase averted his eyes...which were starting to water....but he wouldn't give in. He pursed his lips and mumbled.

'....n-no....'

Schneeple raised an eyebrow, then snickered.

'I'll soon fix that.'

The bottle of oil was in one hand, and the hanging mic was in his other hand as he moved....to sit in his desk chair. His desk chair, that was next to Chase's bare feet. Chase gulped and scrunched up his feet when he felt the oil being drizzled down his soles, then squeaked and whined when Schneeple forced his toes back so he could get the oil underneath AND in-between them....then he rubbed them. Firmly. I relate to Chase's reaction....mine would be the same. For a lot of people, their feet can be a place of unimaginable relaxation and weakness, which is why Chase came to be purring and gasping and smiling with unadulterated happiness. The doctor's firm touch felt so good and even though Chase tried to chastise himself....it was impossible not to succumb. As you can imagine, Dr Schneeplestein revelled in this.

'Well, well, well, look at that. It seems a certain subject likes having their feet touched....heh, no wonder they're so pampered. I bet you like to flaunt them about don't you?'

Chase tried to protest and disagree, but found that his voice had abandoned him. That left the doctor to tease and taunt as he kept up the rubbing, his grin filled with mad glee as he purred.

'You're loving this....it feels so good for you doesn't it? To have your vulnerable feet played with and given attention....I bet you're starting to like this whole thing. I bet you'd BEG for tickle torment if it meant you got this sort of treatment for your precious feet.....'

Chase sniffled, Schneeple was doing a damn good job of humiliating him right now. He couldn't help that it felt so lovely! Chase's face was dark red and his vocals were reduced to soft whimpers and sniffles of embarrassment....as tears rolled down his face. The doctor smirked, now growling menacingly.

'To note: Talking about the subject's liking for affection at his feet reduces him to tears.....now I shall test if unorthodox stimulation will coax out the same emotional response.'

Chase didn't have time to wonder what the doctor meant by unorthodox...before it happened. Chase felt something soft, warm and....wet, slide up his sole. He let out a squeal of ticklishness and shock when he realised....it was the doctor's tongue.

'E-EHEHEW EHEWNONONO GEHET AWAHAY!!'

Schneeple chuckled amusedly at Chase's reaction as he wiggled the tip of his tongue up and down Chase's foot at a rapid speed; he was enamoured by Chase's haphazard squeals and hysterical giggle fits....and glistening tears.

'I....am so happy that these ticklish feet are aaaaall mine.'

Chase wailed when he felt his other sole being assaulted by Schneeple's tongue....it was a sensation that was so strange....and yet, despite its tickliness, it wasn't making Chase uncomfortable. It was just a new type of evil.

'THEHEHEY AHAHARE NAHAHAT!!'

Schneeple paused....then flicked his tongue over all the pads of Chase's toes as he snarled.

'What was that?'

Chase screamed, eyes bugging out of his sockets....it was so intense....his tongue was just flicking about and yet....it was indescribable.

'AHAAHAHAHASHIHIHITFUCKFUCKFUCK!!'

Chase's face was scrunched up in mirth as the doctor sighed, then decided to truly go in for the kill. His patient clearly had no mind for manners or respect, I mean, this was an honour! To be a subject for such important research for humanity! If Chase couldn't see that....then Schneeple resolved that he would need to be broken....completely, and without mercy. His teeth nibbled and nipped at Chase's toes now.

'I asked you a fucking question!'

Schneeple spat....but Chase was losing his ability to comprehend anything. It just tickled. All of it. All of it tickled. It tickled. Tickle torture tickle torture tickle torture....

'AHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA IHIHIHIHI AHAHAHAHAHA!!!'

Schneeple sighed...a long, drawn out, sigh.

'So fucking weak-'

'AAAAAHHAHHHAHAHAHA BUHUHUHHUUUFFFFFFF!!!'

The doctor stopped, jumped to his feet, and removed every single restraint binding Chase to his medical table......I mean come on.....do you really think that none of this had been meticulously planned, right up to the safe word? Role plays can get pretty damn convincing I can tell you that. After their past playful altercation, both men realised that they trusted each other....and had cravings related to tickling. It was simple, consenting, and so much damn fun to talk about and put together. As soon as he was free, Chase's first instinct was to reach for the doctor as he wept and let out soft coughs, and the doctor was swift to pick him up and carry him to a nearby couch. Said couch was laden with soft towels and pillows.

'There, there I have you....I have you, you did so good you're so strong Chase....you're so strong that was just....remarkable....'

Schneeple was whispering delicately into Chase's ear constantly, providing him with much needed praise and reassurance as he carefully laid the man's body down onto the aforementioned soft haven. Chase couldn't speak quite yet, but he just needed a little time. The doctor set about taking up a previously set aside wash cloth and bowl of cool water, and he delicately wiped down Chase's moist brow and the parts of his body that had been victims of the oil. Not only did this clean Chase, but it soothed him into a calm state of mind where Chase knew he had no more tickling to anticipate.

'I've got you, lets clean off this pesky oil hmm? I'm amazed you managed to handle it....I know I'd have started offering up all my worldly goods if I'd been in your position....'

As Schneeple looked to Chase with a wide smile, Chase giggled happily. He was so happy. He was so happy that this had happened. Even though it was weak, Chase flashed the doctor a cheeky grin as he mumbled.

'G-Guehess that makes me s-stronger than yooou....'

Schneeple smiled down at Chase affectionately, the doctor was happy too. He was so happy that Chase had wanted this, and had given him permission to be so intense....however, he was filled with an unpleasant amount of anxiety. I think you can guess why.

'Yes....b-but.....a-are you sure that I didn't go too far? I-I g-got into the cruel teasing quite a bit a-and you were crying quite a lot s-so are you quite certain that I didn't go overboar-'

'Shhh.....doc....doc listen....'

Schneeple was cut off in his nervous speech as concern inhabited his being; Chase was going to change that. His eyes shone as he gazed up at Schneeple, before gently pulling him down by his shirt so he could plant a kiss on his cheek.

'It was perfect.....if I hadn't liked what you were doing, then I would have safe-worded. Besides, I told you the things that were too much for me in our chat beforehand....you did so good doc.....'

Schneeple softly blushed, feeling more bashful than nervous now as Chase hugged him and basically forced him to snuggle. The doctor was happy with that though. He nestled into Chase's chest, the feel of the man's breathing soothing him as he whispered.

'Really?'

Chase smiled, and nuzzled the doctor's temple playfully. Chase didn't care how unorthodox it was, but he'd LOVED the intensity and cruelty....because he always ultimately knew that he was safe with his doctor.

'Really.'

He murmured, before dropping off into a much needed slumber. The doctor ended up snoozing with him....but not before he put his hand to his cheek....his thumb tracing where Chase's lips had touched. Schneeple's cheeks turned one shade darker, before slumber enveloped him. You all may....interpret that how you will.

WOOOOPPPPP DONE HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS SEQUEL WOOOOP LUV YOUS XX

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #chase #chase brody #dr schneeplestein #schneeplestein #schneeple #sfw #platonic #cute #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #luv these bois #part 2 #potentially romantic

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broccolianddandelion · 6 years ago

Text

13 Todobaku Fic Recs

I’ve been following the BNHA fandom for approximately two seconds, but within this time Todobaku has become my indisputable OTP. (The evil soul who introduced me to the fandom via her divine artwork (@anatchie) favors Bakudeku, and I feel a little disloyal now, but what can you do?) Over the past months I’ve read a lot of Todobaku. My gift to you is a baker’s dozen of my (admittedly idiosyncratic) favorites, the ones I return to time and again. As always, check out the author’s tags before reading. They’re there for a reason.

The indelicacies of nitroglycerin (T, 50.2K) by yeetin. - “Don’t you think Bakugou is pretty?”

Todoroki looked up, after having apparently caused the untimely deaths of his three friends. Uraraka was doubled over, clutching her throat as bits of food sprayed from her wheezing mouth, Iida had somehow mini-Recipro Bursted his way through the floorboards and was struggling to get back out of the crater, and Midoriya… Midoriya looked like he needed an ambulance. Or an immediate blood transfusion at least, his face was so white.

This fic has one of the most indelible scenes of drunk Todoroki I’ve ever read. A little angsty, a lot funny.

I want to reconcile the violence in my heart (T, 28.1K) by @callalilalma - You had one job, you piece of shit! his brain yells at it. Just pump fucking blood in my veins, don’t fucking give yourself to half and half!

This fic got me fascinated with the idea of Bakugou as an unreliable narrator. I may be halfway done with a remix from Todoroki’s point of view. I’ve probably listened to the Muse song thousands of time by now. (I’m a slow writer.)

i want you (to want me) (T, 18.5K) by shaekspeares - “You know what,” Bakugou exhales angrily, more to himself, and then suddenly is leaning over Todoroki where he sits, arms by his sides and face close to his. “It doesn’t fucking matter. I can think whatever the fuck I want of you. I’m gonna beat you no matter how much better than me you think you are.”

“When you’re not having a tantrum, I actually respect you a lot,” Todoroki corrects. Mainly because he means it, but also because he’s starting to know how to get Bakugou to pull the face he’s pulling now. “You’re an admirable person in some ways.”

“Fucking hell,” Bakugou says, his shoulders sagging and his expression comically disheartened. “I- what’s next? You gonna declare your love for me mid-battle?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Todoroki replies, instinctively, then freezes, thinking about it.

“I’m fucking- going,” Bakugou continues, undeterred and jittery. “Fucking weirdo.”

He hastily grabs his bag and stomps off, and Todoroki sits very still.

Oh, dear.

He thinks he may have missed a few things while redefining his feelings.

One of my favorite characterizations of Todoroki. Hilarious and sweet getting together fic.

Lock and Key (E, WIP) by @autochorystalize - Bakugou made a choked, gravelly noise before croaking out a low, “You can’t be serious.” His fingers ached to blow up everything in the room.

“I’m sorry, young man, but you can’t change reality! This sometimes happens.” Recovery Girl clicked through his file, adding a new symbol in a previously empty slot. - - - A pair of eyes discreetly locked on to an explosive blond plowing his way forward, parting people in his path. He recognized the kid, of course. Anyone in the underbelly of society would recognize him, after the publicity of both UA’s Sports Festival and the events leading up to All Might’s fall. The uniform he was wearing cast away any doubts about the young man’s identity. It was a bit of a surprise that the little firecracker presented as an omega. - - - - - - - - - Or: there are certain types of evil that seemed too distant, archaic violations and perversions that would never actually threaten bright-eyed heroes-in-training in the clean, modern world...but sometimes those evils aren't as distant as one might think.

The fic that changed my mind about abo. The world building is mind blowing. Delves deep into social issues that are all too real. This can be a hard read at times (check the tags) but is absolutely worth it. Also I’m dying for Bakugou and Todoroki to get together.

nothing lingers passively. (E, WIP) by @ii-mo - A faint tickling sensation under the bridge of his nose was all the warning he received before Bakugou gripped the lapels of his uniform and hauled him in. The scent of the Alpha's peaking rut shot through him like a bullet, ricocheting off his insides and settling to quiver at the bottom of his gut, still warm.

Cross- eyed, Todoroki wrinkled his nose where it nearly met his classmate’s. He should have expected that reaction, honestly.

Alpha Bakugou Katsuki is allergic to suppressants, and Todoroki Shouto is a Beta with a grudge. Together they strike a deal that swiftly becomes more than either of them had bargained for.

As of this writing there is one more chapter left in this story, and I can’t wait to read it. Fascinating take on the biology of alphas and betas.

Proximate Cause (T, 5.3K) by @daddyissuesandgrenadehands - “It seems our dear Bakugou has punched a teacher.” Shockingly, there’s no sarcasm in Nedzu's voice. “Midoriya was involved somehow too, but we aren’t sure how just yet. This is quite serious, as you can imagine.”

Aizawa wouldn’t be opposed to a Nomu slamming his head into the ground a few more times. Maybe one could just come and finish the job for good this time. All he wanted was one freaking day of peace. Goddamit Bakugou.

A serious catalyzing event, yet some of the best wry humor I’ve encountered.

rule 02: stay (M, 23.6K) by @altinsky - The vampire leans in close, expression utterly business-like in its seriousness.

And the last thing Katsuki remembers is the feeling of a tongue touching the bleeding wound at the juncture of his throat, the feeling of inexplicable anger, the fleeting thought of — this guy is so fucking dead — and then, nothing.

(or: katsuki is a vampire hunter who, thanks to a series of misfortunate circumstances and his potent werewolf's blood, somehow ends up striking a deal with the most aggravating vampire in existence)

As I rule I don’t particularly like creature!fics, but this fic, perhaps inspired by the BNHA Halloween art, captivated me. Great use of canonical elements in an AU.

Starting Over From Ground Zero (E, 38.5K) by @xenophonspeaking and HyacinthAtropa - What would their relationship have been like, if Bakugou’s pride hadn’t stood in the way? Would they have been friends, or would things have mostly stayed the same? Would Bakugou have been happier, more open and honest about his feelings and wants and needs as a person? Would he have accepted and even appreciated the comfort others offered him, rather than always keeping people at arm’s-length in an effort to maintain an image of independence and strength?

Todoroki didn’t know.

He didn’t know. But he wanted to.

Abruptly, like a bolt of lightning, he realized he actually had the chance to find out.

(Or: that one where Bakugou has temporary amnesia and Todoroki is tasked with caring for him until his memory returns, but ends up falling in love with the part of Bakugou that Bakugou has always kept hidden away instead.)

For obvious reasons XenophonSpeaks was one of the first Todobaku writers I discovered, and this is one of my two favorite fics from a talented writer. I’ve been pleased, though not surprised, to see its kudos steadily rising over the months. A sweet getting together story, great use of the amnesia trope, hot lovemaking.

then, be mine. (M, 32.5K) by TDRKBKGO - The way things always trucked onwards despite the ruthlessness of it was a constant fucking boulder in Katsuki’s smooth machinery because he had no time. One thing happened after another and he was content, of course - he didn't want to stand still. In fact, that was probably the one thing he couldn't stand the thought of doing. But it meant leaving things behind.

This fic should have hundreds more kudos. I want to write a love letter to this writer, if it wouldn’t be super creepy. One of my favorite tropes — getting back together — angsty, some of the best-written (though not necessarily the smuttiest) smut I’ve read in BNHA.

Tracing the Sharp Edge of You (T, 4.7K) by hellsinki - “Why do you hate Midoriya so much?”

“Why do you fucking ask? Why not just assume?”

Why not just assume? He had tried that, but something just didn’t add up.

“Because it doesn’t fit your profile.”

This is my take on the reason behind Bakugou’s rocky relationship with Deku based on their canonical interactions, set in a soft todobaku narrative. It’s not what you have been reading up in the fandom, but this is what I think could be a very plausible reason. Fair warning: Not exactly Deku-friendly.

This is a Todobaku fic, but it is actually a fascinating take on Bakugou’s relationship with Midoriya. If you read the comments you can see that a lot of readers didn’t understand (or appreciate) what the writer was doing. A refreshing read that I return to when I want something different.

Without Hesitation (T, 8.2K) by @xenophonspeaking - The first time Bakugou told Todoroki he was in love with him, he thought he’d die.

My other candidate for favorite fic from XenophonSpeaks. This fic makes my angst-loving heart sing, and there are some great ensemble comedic moments.

Yellow Umbrella (G, WIP) by veemon - When Todoroki’s interest finally catches Bakugous attention it may be too late for them to make up.

I adore this fic, and it launched my obsession with manipulative!Midoriya. I eat that shit up now. A rare G-rated abo story. I can’t wait until it updates.

you are my sun. (T, WIP) by TDRKBKGO - “‘Why’d he have to go and become the Moon’, he said" Shouto leans forward where he sits in a cherry tree on the verge of springing into full blossom, rubbing his temples.

“Because he went and became the Sun.”

This fic blew my mind, and it’s breaking my heart that it hasn’t been updated in months. I was speechless when I finished the first chapter. Bakugou’s the sun, and Todoroki’s the moon, and the way the story maps onto canon is extraordinary.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakutodo #todobaku #bktd #tdbk #Todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bnha fic rec #fic rec

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space-whalesharks · 6 years ago

Note

date + "i just need you to do this one thing for me."

Date: Origins

As far as John Donovan was concerned, Katherine Flynn was the least mobster-y mobster of all of the Irish bastards who had come to the U.S in the last couple of decades. He always had bigger fish to fry, so he knew very little about the Flynns. The rough summary was that the Flynns had been a big name mob family on the Emerald Isle until one side of the Grecco family had gotten greedy, come their way and exterminated Liam, the patriarch of the family. His two kids had fled to the States to hide behind the Burke’s because things were about as amicable between mobsters as you could get, and Thomas Burke had owed Liam about twenty favors.

Big brother Ciaran had seemed to be the one who wanted to start trouble. He worked for Burke when Katherine had run damage control more than anything. She made sure everyone played by the rules in their dealings.

Of course, she still played mob princess. The first time he had seen her officially in person was by chance. They had gone to the same bar for a drink. He was tailing one of Marcano’s goons for information about a case when said goon had gone over to Katherine, laid the flirting on thick and then grabbed her ass, and within seconds the guy had a knife embedded straight through his hand.

A little much, but the girl had style, he’d give her that.

Then months later, she found him. She wanted information about the Greccos. He had played dumb and asked why she assumed he would know and then she took the rug out from under him and informed him that she had been onto him the whole time he was onto her because he ‘wasn’t subtle.’ He had come back with ‘neither are you’- to which she had bought him a drink in response. And he was never one to turn down free booze.

What started at a handful of thinly veiled threats from both ends kicked off as steady case of “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours”- information for information, support for support, spying for spying, an alibi for an alibi. It ended up with the pair of them being fairly amicable If someone would’ve told him he would be friends with a mob princess a decade ago, he probably would’ve laughed.

It was her that had first made him look the Marcanos’ way. There was something laughable at that, too.

Her request had been simple. She had come to him one night and merely said “I just need you to do this one thing for me.” She had heard about one of the Greccos joining the Marcanos via marriage, and she wanted information about both sides that she could exploit so they would destroy each other.

Well, that was a solid plan, and he had seen Katherine in action. She was a master manipulator when she wanted things done- all she had to do was bat her eyelashes and tilt her hip and give one of those evil smiles and the world was her fucking oyster. She could plant that little seed of doubt in someone’s ear and they’d be tearing at each other’s throats before long.

Two mob families warring and exterminating each other? Sounded good to him. So he had told her certain details about gossip and locations he had heard about the families. Why the fuck she had taken an extra step and started fucking that little rat-looking bastard Giorgi Marcano was beyond him.

She didn’t have a problem telling him that she could get more information from an egotistical man if she was in his bed, and okay, that was fair. Men as a whole were idiots, and it wasn’t like she had tried anything with him. Yet.

And then John’s entire world had gone sideways when Lincoln had showed up again and had gotten involved with the Marcanos again- or had seemed like it was headed that way before Sal and fucking Giorgi had backstabbed Lincoln and his family and set Sammy’s bar alight and killed nearly everybody inside. Lincoln had survived by sheer chance. John had been an absolute wreck. His actions were practically not his own when he found himself calling on her for help the day after it had gone down.

She had shown up at Father James’ door, offering the padre a weak smile and a polite nod- not something she would do. Having your father get brutally murdered seconds after leaving his side would mess up anyone’s faith. The father had nodded back and stepped aside to let her in. She had practically flown into John’s arms right after, even if he knew she wasn’t expecting him to return the gesture. She had just sat with him after that, letting their knees brush every so often- her own way of showing silent support; her first show of subtlety, too.

It had gone like that for another day or two until John could finally find his voice again. He had looked at her after James had left. “I uh… feel free to hit me for this one because there’s no delicate way of asking but… I officially need to call in that favor.”

“Get closer to Giorgi and play him like a fiddle even more so we can get as close to him as possible and then end all of their miserable lives?”

“Absolutely.”

“Consider it done.”

Months later, John’s stared down at paperwork that told them very loudly that Kate did her damn job with Giorgi so well that the bastard knocked her up. And the naturally after he found out he decided to turn tail and keep her as far away as possible. Because the guy who looked up to his father and son to a man who would move mountains for his son couldn’t be bothered to do the same for his own kid. Cocksucker. Sure, it had also eliminated a really good source of information, but now the bastard needed to get shot in the dick. At least Lincoln knew mostly everything he needed to know. He just needed to finish taking the rest of the city.

Kate moved a hand over her stomach, reading the doctor’s results over and over again. It’s not a condemning action, it’s not exactly protective either, but John knows better than to ask some universal dumbass question like ‘what’re you gonna do with it?’. He likes her, he knows she likes him but he knows full well she’d kill him for that one.

“… … Can I call in a little favor?” she asked after a moment.

He hummed, then set the paper down. “You want a shitty ring and a sham marriage or a place to stay where people won’t look at you funny for years?” when she gawked at him for that, he shrugged. “What? Hell, I technically got you into this mess, I’ll get you out.”

“Yeah, well, I was only going to stay in contact and have the kid’s middle name be Donovan so you’d always remember that little fact. You don’t have to-”

“Least I could do.”

“Holy shit. John Donovan showing up as the knight in shining armor. Never would’ve thought.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go shouting that from any rooftops, I have a reputation to uphold. And you never answered the question.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “How about neither, you daft bastard.”

He laughed at that. He didn’t end up getting an answer that night, but he was fine with it.

Little Jason Donovan Flynn was born a few months later, and Lincoln sent Sal and Giorgi Marcano down to Hell and then left days after that. John had stuck around to tie up loose ends with a few other cases and then prepped to leave himself. John had stopped by Kate’s apartment to wish her well and promise he’d be in touch, only to find she was packing up herself.

Her explanation was simple: she never really had roots there, and with Burke dying there wasn’t much assured safety for her or little Jay, Ciaran would be leaving soon as well,- and she wasn’t even certain Jay was safe from Burke’s arm of the mafia and she wasn’t ‘in the mood for people who’d kill an usurper without considering he wouldn’t want to usurp.’

He had asked where she was going and she had shrugged and said she had planned on driving until her gas tank ran out. John had mentioned going to a ‘little place just outside Houston’, and she had grinned and said she’d follow him there.

It wasn’t like he was much different. He’d follow her and the little gremlin to the ends of the Earth. It was amazing what loyalty and zero backstabbish-behavior would get anybody in that day and age.

All this from a favor, he had mused, sometime later when the whole Senator Blake ordeal had reached its peak and he showed up at her door in order to lay low for a while after losing the cops. She had slapped him so hard his ears rang for a few seconds, and then she had yanked him forward by the tie and kissed him- not their first kiss, but their first that wasn’t some sort of distraction when they were in the field.

“Awww, you were worried about me. That’s adorable,” he had offered when they had finally parted. It had earned him another light punch to the chest.

He had plopped down on the couch after that, and when little Jay had come wobbling over to him, he had held his hands out to steady him once he reached him. “Man, you really did get the short end of the stick with looks. You’re all Giorgi,” he pointed out.

“Da,” Jason agreed.

“Yeah, your deadbeat dad,”

“Da!” Jason repeated, and then practically smacked John’s hand down.

And then it hit John as to just what the kid was actually trying to say. “Oh hell no, Kid. I’m not- “ he stopped short. Well what the fuck was the point, it wasn’t like Giorgi was here to be a worse case. “Well, guess I’m the closest thing you’ve got, huh?” when he got another ‘Da’ in response, he laughed. “You’re gonna have one fucked up upbringing…” Jason only giggled in response, and John sighed before pulling him up onto the couch and giving him the toy phone that one of them had put on the coffee table.

It was really only fair that his life was equally a mess- half of his time was spent on that little vengeance crusade when the last was being nauseatingly domestic with his best friend-potential old lady now.

And it was all because of a couple of small favors.

#Kate Flynn #this ended horribly but oh well #in which Donovan with Jay is Roy with Finn #jackkelsos

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shachathabrah · 7 years ago

Text

“Starfetched. I get it. Like starcrossed and farfetched. Which I guess is kinda what most people hooking up are.”

The angel stood in a small clearing, naked and half-naked trees reaching into a yawning canopy above him. A warm sunlight trickled through what leaves remained, interrupted intermittently by a cool, wispy breeze. He’d never heard of this part of the Nevernever before, nor the reigning high Sidhe - though upon looking around for more than a minute, it became abundantly clear that Edea was the queen of the short-lived, often chilly, midseason court. The ruling fae of Autumn. Wild.

“Both destined to be, and unlikely so. To be Starfetched is entirely an act of fate. To imagine that anyone could find someone they are truly meant to be with, crossing hundreds of miles or oceans or traversing the many realms to do so… It is truly something.” She was taller than Cath - then again, most were - and, like most in this realm, possessed an unnatural, almost feline-like grace. Her hair spun in spirals down to the small of her back, bits of leaves and other natural debris arranged in it more artfully than one might expect.

Cath nodded slowly in reply. “Yeah, it really is. Something. But it’s why I’m here. I’m requesting a… what should I call it. A reading? I couldn’t translate some of the writings on the process. I wanna get the deets on my relationship with him. We’re ready to take it to the next level.”

“It would appear as though you have already taken to the idea without our influence,” she mused, lips the colour of dead Autumn leaves curling ever so slightly at their corners, gesturing at his left hand. Cath knew at once she was motioning towards the ring Kay had given him. Well, the troll certainly had gotten his wish of wanting anyone that saw it to think ‘Wow, that fellow sure is engaged.’ Hastily, the angel clenched his fist, slicing the air in a ‘cut the shit’ motion with his other hand.

“You know as well as I do what it means.” Anger swelled, a sour taste on his tongue. “Like I’d be able to set foot inside a house of worship without being smited where I stood.” The determination in his expression faltered. “...Smited? Smote? Is ‘smote’ a word?” His bitterness melted into momentary confusion, his penchant for getting sidetracked brought out in full force by the general hazy and confuddling atmosphere of the Nevernever. Edea only giggled, shoulders bouncing, curled locks of fire engine red hair spilling over her shoulders as she did so.

“But your mind has been made up,” she offered, gliding closer to him. “The pair of you are set to be wed by any means, what ever would a reading tell you that you don’t already know?”

To this, Cath’s stance dropped; his shoulders lowering as he thought about it. Really, not much. He’d had his fears worked over by Kay often enough to be sure about this, assured beyond all shadow of a doubt that this was what they wanted. But… Beyond… all shadow of a doubt…? He chewed his lip gently, eyes never leaving the shifting pools of weathered copper the fae watched him through. “If I’m right. We’re - if we’re right. For each other, I guess.” Showing any kind of weakness before a fae was generally a really stupid idea, but he couldn’t - Cath had to be sure. If the powers in his life that ruled over most everything he knew and believed could give him some firm insight, he was hoping the last of the dying embers of doubt would grow cold, and just let him enjoy what had been gifted to him. This life, this love. He had to be sure.

“I’ve read it can do that. Prove that what we have is… Is worthy of being joined as one. It isn’t the same as being married, but it’s the closest thing something like me is gonna be able to get.” He did his best to recall up the notes he’d taken, not wanting to deface Daud’s book. (Even though he deserved to have a few dicks drawn in it. The motherfucker.) “And if I pass the test, we’re allowed the ceremony.”

In his heart, he knew Kay deserved more. Always the wedding planner, never the star. But the fae could put on one hell of a shindig, and maybe, lost in the beauty that the fae (despite being treacherous, nasty, vile, nasty, evil creatures) could produce, he might forgive Cath for being unable to give him what he truly deserved. “And,” he began again, lifting his chin once more, sticking out his chest just a little bit, “it’s the one thing you’re not allowed to bargain for. This is a freebie to those that seek it.” Knowledge was something powerful to the fae, something they had in spades, and they were never ones to give it freely. The Starfetched reading, however, was different. It was something the fae themselves had personal interest in, and it was how lore of married fae couples came to be. Humans, most of the time, had a very basic understanding of the bond magical beings shared - simply put, Titania and Oberon were married. No convoluted reading or ceremony required. It was beyond what patience they had to look beyond the label to find out what was really going on there.

He almost expected Edea to give him lip over it, but instead those lips stretched into a leonine grin. “You are correct,” she acquiesced with a bow of her head. “We are not required nor encouraged to seek payment for this service.” Though her eyes glittered as her head lifted again. “It is taxing enough on those who experience it.”

The angel swallowed. He hadn’t taken into consideration the reading might be dangerous in some way. Hell, it might kill him. The book hadn’t talked about the risks involved, it had only outlined the basic practice. Fae were nigh indestructible, save a severe allergy to cold iron. Reflexively, he touched the heart-shaped ring of his collar. Pseudo outsiders, however… Well. Shit. Kay couldn’t get hitched to a quivering pile of ectoplasmic goo, or a lump of smouldering feathers. But Cath was determined to see it through. “This will be the first time anyone of your ilk has attempted this reading.” There was almost something savage in her tone, though he could not place it. “Should you survive it, I daresay having witnessed it would be payment enough.”

Scared of fae as he was, Cath was not one to give into intimidation tactics. “Then you’ll have witnessed something no other fae has seen, yeah. So, let’s get to it. Enough chat. I hate being here and I gotta say I’m not too keen on you either.” The fae’s look took on a bit more ice, but the smile didn’t fade. “And for some reason you’re the only one in this dump that can do it.” He tilted his head a little. “Why?” Generally, fae didn’t give knowledge without something in return, but they sure did love talking about themselves.

“As seasons change, the summer and winter courts are at a mutual weakness. For a very brief period of time, I am in power. That power also happens to coincide with Samhain. The spirit world and the mortal world brush closest, and the barriers wear thin. Who better to deal with matters of the spirit, soul, and heart than someone in my position?” Said with no small amount of smugness, Cath noted. She certainly seemed to be more than willing to toot her own horn. But he had to give her some credit, no one else would ever really consider the fact of a smaller court in the fae realm. Hell, this was all news to him. But her logic was frustratingly sound. Not like he was jumping out of his skin to talk to the other ladies or queens about this, or anything, either. He liked them right where they were. None the wiser. Though he was sure that once this was completed, word would travel fast. There was nothing he could do about that.

“...Have you ever been in love, Edea?” The angel asked suddenly, his own voice taking on a tone much softer than he’d had initially, losing much of the edge and normal vitriol reserved for this place. “I mean like. The real thing.”

That seemed to strike some kind of chord, and the fae queen glanced away momentarily. “While it is not irregular for us here in the Nevernever to find ourselves in such a situation, It has never happened to myself.” She sounded… Sad, almost. Far be it from Cath to actually feel sympathy or pity for things that existed here, but he found his brows knitting gently.

“It’s because no one can do this for you, isn’t it.” He shifted his weight uneasily as the realization came to him. “No one can perform this rite, this.. seance, this ceremony for you. So you can’t even know if what you feel, if you’ve ever felt anything, can be considered true.” A little ‘huh’ sound left him. “That sucks a big fat one for you.”

Whatever he was expecting from her, it was not a laugh - one neither filled with anger nor malice, or anything negative directed towards him. It was still sharp and all edges, but it was a genuine laugh. “You’ve picked up quite the colourful tongue from living amongst humans, dear Shachath. It is no wonder that love has ailed you so.”

His face screwed up a little at that. Ailed him, huh. There may have been a reason it was called ‘lovesick’. He hadn’t considered it until now. He’d done a lot of things for this love. Faced some of his greatest fears, even, without even thinking of being repaid for his actions. He’d just done them, just like that, because doing it would help someone he loved. Very dearly, at that. Someone he’d do anything for.

Very, very briefly, he wondered if Edea - or the Sidhe in general, had people they knew like that. Their very state of being operated on a different level entirely, but Titania and Oberon were together. He was at least reasonably certain other creatures of the Nevernever could court and find love, too. But how far did their affections stretch? He found he could just as easily imagine Titania waxing poetic about her husband as he could imagine her ripping his throat out over a something as tame as what to have for dinner. But then again, as he’d learned, even the faerie queens were mortal once.

“Maybe it has ailed me. I dunno. But… I do know that I want it to work out. And your little ritual thingy will tell me if it can.”

“Child, no matter what the reading tells you, you’re going to keep doing what you’re doing anyway.” Her tone chided him slightly, though she made no further presses to dissuade him.

“You’re fucking right I am.” Reading tea leaves or tossing sand in a circle could tell him no more than what he felt in his heart. Even if it told him they weren’t… Starfetched, they weren’t soulmates, they weren’t some other form of word that essentially meant they belonged together, right now, they did. They were together right now, and however long it lasted was all that mattered to him. Even if it did scare him a little. He’d spent so long feeling temporary, just a placeholder for the next iteration of him to come along. Many, many versions of himself had come and gone. 26 - almost 27, now - years strong in this form had him… Antsy. He knew it was highly unlikely he’d go anywhere this time, but that ever-present fear lingered. Had he changed enough to be good for this? Had he changed at all?

And then there was still the whole fact that he might not survive the reading. Knowledge was a powerful thing, especially to the fae. It was probably their most valuable asset, and their strongest bargaining chip. Knowledge could make or break someone. Topple cities. End civilizations. Maybe, just maybe, his pathetic little human slash bird brain just wasn’t equipped to handle what vast knowledge Edea was going to forcefully shove into it. Maybe he’d survive. Maybe it’d drive him mad. Maybe that danger was the real reason the service was “free”. Nothing was free. He knew better than that.

Yet here he was.

For a long few minutes Edea regarded him with little more than amused boredom, watching the angel process things. His choice was obvious, even to him - though he didn’t want to seem all too eager to jump into bed with her. Metaphorically speaking. Eventually he nodded, sighing, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it.”

Almost instantly, complete and total darkness engulfed him, and he let out a startled cry - stumbling on nothing and falling flat on his ass with a hard thud. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that he hated complete darkness, though through his scrambled thoughts he couldn’t think of any reason why she’d be doing this to him. It set his heart racing, and it was only moments after that he felt an icy vice grip on his arm. Another sound left him as four pinpricks of pain blossomed from his bicep, sending a numbing chill through him. An instant later he was dizzy, struggling to free himself as the dimness around him faded - like a lone fluorescent bulb slowly bathing a room as it warmed up.

“The fuck,” he managed, free arm coming to support himself on the ground, eyes adjusting. The forest was exactly as it had been moments ago, and Edea herself was standing a few feet away. Her look suggested that of watching a child tucker itself out through a tantrum, and to fit the bill Cath scowled at her. “What the fuck was that for?” Eyes raked around again for some sort of answer, and he realized that it was perhaps an enchantment to blind him momentarily, rather than bathe everything in darkness. Which, of course, scared him more than anything: Edea hadn’t said a word, or made any move to do so. She’d simply willed him blind and it had happened. He quietly filed her under yet another ‘Fae to not fuck with’.

“It is very foolish of you to think that just because you are here to partake in this that you can handle it as you are,” she upbraided, removing a number of things he couldn’t quite focus on from somewhere behind a tree stump. “To put it simply, I’ve drugged you. An altered consciousness is required to… partake in this. I know you don’t use your brain quite so often, Shachath, but unlocking some extra rooms among those grey matter folds is necessary.” She tutted then, shaking her head. “Humans are so unfortunate.”

He really couldn’t argue, all things considered. Humans were unfortunate, and he had read something at some point about brain functionality being limited in a completely sober state. But this wasn’t like any drug he’d ever been on before. He mostly just felt dizzy, awake and sleepy all at the same time, like he was straining to focus on something that may or may not have been there. “So you had to scare the shit out of me first?”

“Blood flow quickens with the pulse, does it not? At least that is what I’m led to believe.” She sounded uncertain for a moment, and Cath had to wonder, briefly, what exactly made up the biology of a fae. But even still, he rolled his eyes and grunted in annoyance.

“Couldn’t you just have dropped a porn mag in my lap or something?”

At that, he actually got a scowl from Edea. “Ezra Shachath,” she began in a tone meant to deride children, “and you’re here to prove your love, too.”

Unable to help his uneasy grin, it faded quickly with a sigh. So, she’d made him blind to drug him, and scared the shit out of him to make it quick. He really didn’t like where this was heading, but it was probably a decent testament to her character that she hadn’t done anything else to him. For now. That could change in an instant.

Edea continued gathering her things, Cath watching in dazed silence as the forest spun gently around him. He counted his lucky stars that the drug he’d been given wasn’t doing much more than making him acutely aware of everything around him… It could have been a lot worse. And he’d bet dollars to donuts it wasn’t just some piddly human drug, either. Fae shit was dangerous. Strong. The stuff he made was comparable but at least it wasn’t ever considered deadly.

A figurative age passed by before Edea had settled in front of him, kneeling at a shallow table she’d set up between them. A large, completely smooth stone about the size of a post card but oval shaped sat on a what looked to be something like a dinner plate. The notion made him giggle, suddenly and uncontrollably, rocking back on his hands as the sound turned into a belly laugh. “It’s like. It’s like. You’re serving it up to me. Where’s the knife and fork? Lemme just cut a slice.” He didn’t see Edea roll her eyes, but he could practically hear it, and it only made him laugh harder.

When his laughter finally subsided, he sighed, wiping tears from his eyes. Hoo. Okay. He was calm. He could focus. Which he did. To the best of his abilities. Several stones had been placed around the plate (teehee), varying colours and sizes, all seeming important while appearing innocuous at the same time. She held her hands, palm up, an inch or so above the table, looking at him almost expectantly. “Your hands, Shachath.”

He hesitated, but eventually laid his own hands on hers with his palms down. It made him twitch, feeling the connection between them link suddenly. Some part of him knew that was just the drugs, but another part swore up and down it was fae magic bullshit. “Okay. Not what?” Impatient. High on fae drugs. He wanted to get this done and go.

“Close your eyes and focus on the stone before you in your mind. Take in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and count to ten.”

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted to being assaulted on every front and every sense with… everything. He could see so much, almost too much - he understood what Edea meant about needing to unlock more of his brain very suddenly. It was as if he was watching a hundred, thousand, impossibly more than that movies at once. All of them showing him Kay, and himself.

But things were… different. In one of the visions, they were meeting by chance, one of them having missed a train. The vision culminated to them in a coffee shop some time later, confessing their feelings. In another, Cath was a private investigator trying to prove Kay innocent of a crime. Unsurprisingly, they fell in love. In another still, the angel, merely a human here, was the lone cause of a zombie apocalypse, and Kay was the only person immune to his deadly influence.

There were too many to keep track of, but somehow he managed to watch them all, all at once, from start to finish. Cath sang karaoke. Kay was a prince, and Cath his knight. In one they were both angels. In most, they ended up hooking up in one way or another, happy and in love. For every one time they didn’t, a dozen other scenarios came up to soothe the heartbreak Cath felt in their instances. It was surreal. It was bizarre. It was almost too much to handle and the meek part of his bird brain that had squawked ‘It must be the drugs!!’ was saying the same thing again here. Unbeknownst to him, his nose had started to bleed, and he was breathing fairly heavily. Though his brain dutifully ignored the peasantry that was his semi-mortal body, plodding on with the task it had been given by the fae. He couldn’t stop watching. He wasn’t even sure he’d blinked in the past however long it had been. Every vision he saw was simultaneously over in an instant and took an eternity to complete.

It was a nightmare. It was hell.

It was so, so beautiful.

He didn’t remember collapsing, or how long it had been since the reading had started. His recollections were choppy at best, of Edea picking him up and sliding the stone into his hoodie pocket, now an almost impossibly deep shade of black. The forest around them seemed to melt as his consciousness slipped, mumbling incongruously to no one as darkness aggressively swamped his vision.

The home Edea found herself in was exactly that - a home. She felt a significant portion of her power dissolve as she crossed through the Way just to deliver the fallen angel back peacefully, though it bothered her little. She’d traced his origin point rather simply, and felt it maybe necessary to chide him at a later date for making himself so easy to find. At the bedside, she noted the sleeping figure already occupying the large bed. That… must be the one this had all been for. Fascinating. He seemed quite normal from this vantage, far more normal than someone she’d peg Shachath to be interested in. He always seemed so… Flighty, for lack of a better term. Not the kind to settle down in any sense of the word. Hum.

Silently, she placed the KO’d fallen onto the bed, moving to lower herself to a sit next to the other sleeping figure. He seemed strange, from this angle; like nothing she’d seen before. Maybe he wasn’t as normal as she’d initially thought. Though her curiosity got the better of her - a hand gently reached out, placing itself on his forehead (between horns, no less) and closing her eyes.

In an instant, she was standing no more than four feet from him, looking around and taking inventory of the sight.

“Well,” she said, tone loud enough to hear but not loud enough to disrupt, “this certainly isn’t what I’d been expecting.”

#drabble;#long post;#very long post;#sorry mobile users #i meant to post this last week but forgot

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