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aesopsharpmybeloved · 8 months ago

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Advanced Studies in Love

A direct sequel to Teaching Love.

Professor Sharp and his young lover make the most of their little weekend getaway. She may be inexperienced, but more than makes up for it with her enthusiasm. Perhaps slightly too much enthusiasm...

A huge thanks to my brilliant consultant and friend @tea-withjamandbread who is the author of the brilliant line at the very end, and also Maarty for her continuous support ❤

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

[FULL PCITURE]

Advanced Studies in Love (11.8k words)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), explicit sexual content, oral sex, vaginal sex, attempts at humour, dirty talking

“I think that’s enough - we needn’t pick the entire forest, dear,” came the potions master’s baritone from right behind you. You weren’t startled to hear and feel him so close to you so suddenly, however. You were hyper aware of his body and his proximity to your own ever since the two of you awoke, your limbs tangled and bodies still humming with the pleasure you shared the previous night.

Aesop took the two of you away from the school for the weekend, so that you’d be able to be entirely alone, free to enjoy the comfort of each other’s arms without having to worry about anyone coming to disturb you. And disturbed you were not - the only sound in the bedroom of the quaint cottage was the gentle rapping of raindrops against the window, as well as the combined sounds of your arousal. Hands mapped out and explored the newly uncovered body parts, lips and tongues tasted at the other’s perspiration. Aesop broke you apart, and then proceeded to put you back together until you were reduced into a gasping, moaning mess.

And when he took you for the first very time, you immediately grew addicted to having him this close, to be so intimately connected with him in a perfect fit. Even now, as your hands were getting progressively fuller and fuller with ingredients the teacher told you to gather, you bit down on your lower lip in memory of what it was like, to have him fill you up so entirely. His body atop yours, hot and heavy, and smelling so good. Each small little shift he made in his position you could feel tenfold, your core quivering around the large, throbbing intruder. His hot breath against your breast and nipple as he panted at the sensations your tightness gave him. And once the pain and discomfort passed, all that remained was him, the pleasure he bestowed upon you, and the love that crackled and burned around you.

The memory of the drag of his pubic bone across your sensitive nub when he started to thrust within you, and the jolt of white-hot pleasure that sent a tornado of sensations through your whole self made your thighs press together unconsciously, and you knew your face was red as a beet as you let your mind indulge in the recent memories, your hands busy with properly harvesting the flowers and herbs.

You wanted more. You needed more. As much as he was willing to give you. And in return, you were ready to give yourself to him entirely - after all, there was no safer pair of arms within which you could be.

“Hm, look at you,” his voice dropped until it was nothing more than a mere rumble, his breath tickling your ear. How were you ever able to focus in his class, when such four simple words spoken in his voice made your knees nearly buckle right under you. “I ought to mention to professor Garlick just how efficient you are at harvesting plants - I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do so this quickly… It’s almost like you want us to finish up as soon as possible.”

You were frozen on the spot, your eyes closed, body tense, face hot and red, even as he pulled away with a chuckle, seeming as cool and unbothered as he was five minutes ago. “Think we should perhaps gather some aconite as well while we’re here - exams are nearing, students will come to beg Nurse Blainey for Wideye potions…” he continued as if he just didn’t make your heart beat the speed of a racing dragon.

“Half a satchel should suffice, I’ve got some more in my stores… Sweetheart?” he finally looked at you more closely. His face getting a bit worried, he came forward and closer to you once more, his limp somehow seeming less severe than it was the previous day. A large hand made contact with your cheek gently, and he pulled your face up to be able to look at you. The realisation in his eyes made your own flutter. It must’ve been completely obvious to him; your face flushed, pupils dilated, heartbeat elevated and easily feelable through his fingertips.

“Merlin’s beard,” he breathed out, his voice a mix of amazement, appreciation and something that sounded like a hint of… smugness? The potions master took a deep breath even as a small smirk played upon his mouth. Your gaze dropped towards his lips, slightly chapped and thin, but you knew better. These were the lips of a man who knew exactly what to do with them and how, and a fresh wave of hotness rushed into your face and through your body.

His large, strong hands proceeded to take hold of your hips, kneading the flesh on them rather roughly, and prompting a small gasp to leave your lips. “No way,” he spoke again, amazement still palpable with his tone, but his mouth spread wider, the look in his eyes got darker. Suddenly, he turned quickly, still holding your hips in a vice grip. Your back made sudden (but not very hard) contact with the bark of a tree trunk, and not a second later was his strong body pressing you further against the wood. Your knees shook and threatened to give out.

A pair of hot lips chased your own down in a heated, fervent kiss, one that you hungrily reciprocated. Or tried your best to, at least. A clever tongue invaded your mouth and you felt yourself getting drunk on Aesop’s taste. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you moaned into the kiss, prompting him to pull back somewhat, before diving back in. After several minutes of fervent assault on your mouth that left you gasping for air, his kisses got sweeter, softer, less frantic, until they stopped altogether, and he simply remained in your personal space, his nose brushing against your own, your hot breaths mingling, and cool the saliva glistening on your lips.

Aesop smiled once more, the smugness replaced by amazement again: “Bloody hell,” he whispered, “I can’t even remember the last time I was able to… Get such a reaction out of a woman with just my words…”

His voice was calm and sweet, but you could hear the hint of hunger inside it. But even if you hadn’t, it was so very obvious in his eyes. He craved you as much as you craved him, maybe even more. How was he able to restrain himself, when you weren’t certain you would be able to say ‘no’ if he wanted to take you right now against this very tree, was beyond you…

His lips teased at your ear, and tongue danced across your jaw in a slow, sensual massage, and you felt about ready to drop dead… Or be dropped on the ground and ravished.

And then…

The sensations were gone. Instead his hands gently cupped your cheeks, and he gave you a small peck upon your open mouth. The potions master grinned: “Why don’t you fetch some of that aconite we saw earlier by that little meadow and meet me back here. Shouldn’t take you more than ten minutes. Then we’ll be off.”

What.

He pulled back, the look on his face completely innocent as if he had not just made your brain shut down completely. “Off you go,” he prompted you to walk with a small swat across your buttocks, still looking perfectly proper and unbothered, but a single look down made you realise he wasn’t quite that unbothered. Smirking at him through the intense blush on your cheeks, you began walking in the direction he told you to, making sure to sway your hips ever so slightly more. “Remember to wear your gloves, I only brought so much antidote to common poisons,” he called behind you, him raising his voice like so further letting you know he was everything but unaffected by the several few minutes you shared.

You weren’t sure what exactly was his plan. Was he just teasing you, enjoying the power he suddenly had over you? Or did he find himself just as ravenous to continue your yesterday’s activities as yourself?

Nevertheless, you made quick work of the monkshood, making sure to pull the herbs out of the ground carefully so as to be able to get as much of the root as possible, and storing it in a new pocket of the magically enlarged satchel you were hauling around. You weren’t surprised to soon feel eyes on you, and therefore didn’t jump when Aesop cleared his throat shortly before speaking: “We’ve gathered a fair amount of ingredients today, more than I originally presumed we would. Therefore I think we can consider ourselves done for the day”

You turned to face him again. And your mouth opened in mild surprise. In one of Aesop’s hands was a small bouquet of wildflowers, ones he did not tell you to collect earlier. Though, judging by the way he presented them, you supposed there were no potions ingredients. You came closer, looking at him through your lashes with a smile. “What’s the occasion?” you questioned, taking hold of the offered bouquet. The teacher grinned: “I’m courting a beautiful young lady - flowers are an inseparable part of it. Although, well, considering our situation, I’m afraid this one is very very much overdue…” You chuckled in response.

“Come,” Aesop said then, voice quiet and so very alluring. His hand was extended towards you, and you wasted no time in pulling off your dragonhide gloves to be able to side-apparate with him.

After you got your bearings following the still slightly dizzying experience, you were flabbergasted to find yourself not back inside the small cottage but rather at… well, you did not know where exactly it was you currently were. “Uh, Aesop?” you asked, looking at him. The professor chuckled noiselessly: “What? I did tell you we were getting lunch in the small pub nearby. As much as I adore the stew we’ve got back in, eating only one meal all the time gets incredibly tiresome.”

You had to admit he was right in this regard. However, you were way more than a little excited to resume what you started in that meadow, making a little mental list of horizontal and vertical surfaces present in the cottage that might work for your intentions. “Oh,” you replied, “I thought… well…” His eyes connected with yours, knowing and mischievous at the same time: “Patience, my dear. You had a few nice ideas in the morning, and I had some as well, and we’ll be free to indulge in them in just a little bit. But now we need to eat, no point in dropping like flies due to exhaustion and malnutrition because we weren’t able to control ourselves… Besides, I have not cast a cooling charm on my poor trousers earlier just to now completely abandon the idea of having a nice lunch with you.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the thought of him having to cool down after your fiery interaction. He began leading you down a small path, and you soon heard the sound of people chattering and laughing. A small pub appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, nestled cosily among the trees. A couple of horses were whinnying nearby, standing some way in front of you on a dirt road and secured to a cart, out of which a gentleman was currently taking out a wooden crate to most likely deposit inside the pub.

“You two,” an older woman called at you from where she was standing by the door, “have you come to eat?” “That we have,” confirmed Aesop next to you, already leading you towards one of the nearby outside tables. The woman came closer, her hands behind her back. “Before we order,” said the potions master as you sat down onto the bench before the table, “would you please have a vase to lend us for a bit?” —

While Aesop busied himself sorting out the ingredients you collected earlier (“Trust me, while I’d love nothing more than throwing you on that bed right now, if these are not sorted and stored correctly, they’ll be rendered pretty much useless by the time we get back to the castle - professor Weasley knows I don’t make storing mistakes…”, he said), you took in the room once more. Such a curious place - not two things fit together, and it wasn’t exactly tidy, but it held an aura of peace, of comfort. And after yesterday (and hopefully today, and perhaps a bit tomorrow too), you knew you’d always regard this place with a special kind of affection. A place of love and passion, of discoveries, of tenderness. Your eyes once more caught the sight of the tub you noticed under one of the tables yesterday, and you remembered the plan Aesop proposed in the morning. Using your wand, you summoned the tub slowly into the middle of the room, making Aesop look up shortly from his work, which he laid on a desk on the other side of the room (after properly dusting it), shortly, raising an eyebrow. “What?” you grinned at him, “you were the one who proposed a bath. Although…” The tub looked spacious to you the day before, but now as you stood right in front of it, your eyes switching between the object and the tall man by the table, it no longer seemed that big.

“Although I’m not sure just how the two of us will fit in together.” “I’m certain we’ll manage,” Aesop replied with a furtive little smile, “why don’t you climb in, I’ll be done here soon.” And so you started slowly undressing, peeling your layers away and mindfully folding each article of clothing on one of the dressers. You felt his hungry eyes on you the entire time, and while your cheeks kept getting warmer and warmer, you didn’t acknowledge his gaze and instead focused on giving him a nice show, very slowly pulling your blouse over your head, giving him the perfect view of your chemise clinging to your form when you raised your arms.The rustling of him carefully putting away all of the gathered herbs and fungi got quieter and quieter, until it stopped when even the chemise was taken off and you were once more left in all of your naked glory, your body still bearing some signs of your passionate lovemaking yesterday. Your shoulder, in particular, held a perfect imprint of his teeth.

The tub was soon filled with water from your Aguamenti, and you proceeded to warm the water up with a heating charm. Of course, you had to make sure the temperature was perfect, so you were leaning against the tub with one hand in the water, arching your back ever so slightly and providing the professor who happened to stand directly behind you with a rather shameless display.

Finally, you turned to look at him, finding him gripping onto the edge of the desk, eyes dark and almost predatory, jaw hard-set. It was very obvious he was trying to stop himself from outright tackling you on the floor and showing you what you get for your teasing. “I think the temperature is perfect like this, but we can cool it down later if it’s too hot for you,” you chirped innocently, and began climbing into the tub. Slowly you let your body get used to the warm water, lowering yourself into a sitting position inch by inch. You sighed deeply once you were completely submerged, the water lapping sweetly at your shoulders.

“You, my darling,” Aesop spoke, his voice low with arousal, “are an impudent tease…” Yet he seemed a bit calmer now that your body was slightly more hidden from his eyes. Your only reply was a small grin.

You felt content to just lie back and relax for a bit - you wouldn’t admit it, but you did feel ever so slightly sore, and the warmth did wonders for you. The tub felt almost as if it was shaped exactly for you. How would Aesop fit in, you didn’t know. The man in question meanwhile, now free of distractions, finished up his work and systematically put away all of the ingredients you gathered, now perfectly organised and sorted, into a small trunk. You didn’t open your eyes, which you didn’t even realise you closed, even as you heard him slowly limping to where you were reclining in the tub. There was a low huff, and soon you felt his large hand upon the top of your thigh.

You looked at him to find him kneeling on his healthy knee, his chin resting on his free hand. “Did you know that you’re incredibly beautiful like this?” he asked softly, his palm sliding over the skin of your thigh under the surface of the water. Your voice was a mere whisper, the atmosphere taking on a deeply intimate energy: “Like what?”

A smile appeared on his ruggedly handsome face, and his hand rose from the water to stroke your cheek, dampening it: “Like this - flushed from the warmth, your hair getting wet from both the water licking at your shoulders, but also the steam coming off it, happy and relaxed. Completely breathtaking.” And with that, he leaned closer in order to place an incredibly gentle kiss against your pliant lips, content to just brush your mouths against one another for a bit.

He then rose to his feet again, using both hands to brace himself and pull himself up. A slightly surprised look crossed his face shortly at how easily he managed to stand up, but he merely shook his head in dismissal before beginning to shed his own layers. It was your turn to stare, as he once more revealed himself to you, and though his body was scarred and his leg lame, in your eyes he was the epitome of masculine beauty. You unconsciously licked at your lips as he bared himself before your gaze, his shoulders broad, chest strong, lean, nicely sculpted but not overly so, and so deliciously hirsute. You never knew just how attractive you’d find body hair, but the moment you saw him fully, you knew you couldn’t (and didn’t want to) ever imagine him without it.

You reached a tentative hand out, and he stopped folding his shirt to look at you. Putting the shirt away, he took one, two, three small steps over to the tub, so that you were able to touch him, and that’s exactly what you did. Droplets of water from your hand clung to the dark fur of his breast, and your fingers slowly brushed through it. The professor was breathing deeply, his eyes closed as you explored him again. You traced the shape of his muscles, drew a small circle with your thumb around his belly button, dragged your nails through the trail leading from there to his groin, prompting his breath to hitch and his lower stomach to twitch slightly. You then slid your hands over the sharp lines of his hips, before finally moving to undo his trousers and unbutton his pants.

You found him half hard already and throbbing gently, his pink glans just so peeking at you from underneath the foreskin which began to slide back with the member filling up. You sat up further to nuzzle your face into the coarse hair at his pubic bone, tongue coming out to taste the skin there. His scent was heady, heavy and musky, and you found it incredibly intoxicating.

A shudder broke through him at your ministrations, and you felt his cock throb again and stand a bit taller once more. However, just as you dipped your face lower to run your tongue over his root, both of his hands came to close around your head. You weren’t certain whether he meant to push you away, or pull you closer, and it seemed neither was he. In the end, he just held you to himself, breathing heavily, his fingers combing through your hair. You didn’t mind - far from it, actually. You revelled in his warmth, his scent, the salty taste of his skin as your tongue returned to prodding at the hairy skin of his pubic bone, and while you did want to take things further, you understood he had other ideas in mind for now.

“Soon…” he promised, breathless, “bath first…” he finally pulled your head back, and you were able to look at his face. He too was now flushed, his eyes darker than before, yet filled with tenderness: “You are driving me completely mad,” he said only before chasing your lips in a kiss once more.

He then reached for his wand which he laid upon a nearby little table while he was undressing and lightly tapped the edge of the tub. You found yourself squeaking quietly as you fell back a bit - the tub wall you were leaning against moved back, and the piece of furniture stretched itself in length and width, the water level dropping a bit. “Sorry,” he murmured with a grin, and, after ridding himself of the last articles of clothing, climbed in right behind you.

He groaned as he lowered himself into the water, pushing its level up again with his body volume. He then carefully manoeuvred you until your back was snuggly pressed into his chest, his long legs framed your own, his arms curled around your midsection, and his half-hard shaft was nestled between your bodies. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” you asked quietly, settling into the position. The professor only chuckled behind you, the flush fit of your bodies making you feel the rumble of his chest before you heard it: “I’ve got you in my arms and I’m sitting in a deliciously hot bath - how could I ever be uncomfortable?”

You let your head fall back until the back of it made contact with his shoulder. The professor immediately used this situation to begin pressing soft open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck, and somehow they managed to be even hotter than the water. A bar of lightly blue soap materialised out of nowhere along with a washcloth that looked to be made from silk. You saw Aesop’s hands emerge from the water to take hold of both items, and then he slowly started lathering your chest with the soap. In the fragrance of it you recognised iris and chamomile, a combination that was very pleasant on your nose.Dropping the washcloth into the water and positioning the soap on the tub’s edge, his hands started spreading the soap around the front of your body, leaving bubbles and pleasure in their wake. The large hands danced around your torso, the touch both simple innocent washing of one’s body, and also incredibly erotic, especially so when his fingers went to tease at your nipples, pebbled from his ministrations. You turned your head to sigh against the skin of his neck.

Once he deemed your torso lathered enough, he took once again hold of the now wet washcloth and started slowly running it down your soapy body. You couldn’t deny that it felt completely incredible to be cared for like so, and found yourself wanting to return the favour. You made to turn around, but Aesop’s gentle hands on your shoulders stopped you.

“I want to wash you too,” you protested softly, prompting the man to chuckle. “I’ll let you,” he promised, “but you first, my sweet. Relax…”

And so you did as you were told and let him very gently manhandle you so that he was able to finish washing your body. His skilled hands managed to loosen some kinks in your back you didn’t even realise you had. Perhaps you had them there for so long, you didn’t even realise they were there anymore. As to when they got there, well, that wasn’t a difficult question to answer.

The first year at Hogwarts left your body in near constant ache; rolling around, dodging (and failing to dodge) enemy attacks, getting banged up during the Keeper trials, and during your many run-ins with poachers, goblins, ashwinders, trolls, the bloody horrible spiders… You wept after the first trial in San Bakar’s tower, bleeding from multiple places, pretty certain you suffered a light concussion. You weren’t sure you were able to handle more. And then it became apparent you had no choice. And you stopped weeping. These days you were faster and stronger, honing your skills during Crossed Wands duels and training sessions rather than battling criminals and goblins whose number greatly diminished following Rookwood and Ranrok’s fall, but it would seem some residue pain remained.

Now however you sighed deeply as Aesop worked his fingers to relieve you of it… You wished it was this simple for his leg too…

“Lean your head back for me, please…” he successfully pulled you out of your thoughts, and without really thinking about his request, you did lean your head back. Soon a herbal scent hit your nose, and you felt coldness running down your scalp. And then those deviously clever fingers were tangled in your hair, spreading the soothingly smelling shampoo through your damp locks, prompting pleasurable gooseflesh to appear at the nape of your neck.

The professor washed you thoroughly, seemingly enjoying himself as much as you were. When he was done, you turned your head in order to capture his lips once more, your faces wet from the light steam coming from the bath. “My turn,” you whispered against his mouth before slowly turning around, mindful not to accidentally sit on his bad leg. Aesop was far less careful and immediately wrapped his arms around you again to pull you to sit almost in his lap.

Following a few more deliciously hot kisses, you looked up at him: “Will you turn around so that I can bathe you as well?” Aesop looked to be thinking about what you said for a moment before a little grin appeared on his flushed lips: “No… I rather think I like having you right here.” His large hands were squeezing the flesh of your hips, the tips of his fingers sliding to the curve of your bottom. You couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. Nevertheless you made it work: you reciprocated the attention he lavished on your body earlier, stroking his soapy back and massaging it as well as you could from your position.

You were hardly able to apply the same pressure from where you were sitting, but it seemed that Aesop didn’t mind at all. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply, his lips slightly opened and face as relaxed as you only saw it when he was sleeping soundly.

Your hands moved to his front then, and they dipped into the bath before resurfacing again and spreading the hot water over the teacher’s hirsute chest, enjoying the feeling of the soft hair against your fingertips. You watched, deeply fascinated, how he reacted to certain touches. His breath hitched when your thumbs rubbed against his pink nipples, and the corner of his lips twitched when your nails danced on his sides, over his ribs. When you got to his head, your mouth latched onto his neck to press soft, open-mouthed kisses there, using the fact the professor’s head was tipped back.

And afterwards you returned your hands to his chest, except lower. His lower stomach gave a twitch again once your fingers once more teased at the trail of hair running from his belly button towards his crotch. Your hand fit seamlessly around the rapidly filling shaft again, and a gasp cut through the silence of the room. Aesop’s head fell against your shoulder, and his hands stroked at your back and hips. You gently pumped him to full stiffness again, feeling yourself becoming more and more aroused at seeing his cheeks getting even more flushed, his eyebrows arching up, and his face becoming a mask of pleasure.

“Let’s get out of here…” you offered, your voice nothing but a whisper, “I want to taste you…”

Contrasting his previous restraint, Aesop now scrambled to get out of the tub, though he made sure not to maim either of you in the process. Your wand left on one of the dressers, you automatically reached for his to find it buzzing pleasantly in your hand. It wasn’t the same feeling as wielding your own wand, but Aesop’s seemed nevertheless accepting to be handled by you. Casting a quick drying charm on the two of you, you once more put the wand down. Invading Aesop’s personal space, you put your hands on his now-dry chest and pushed him backwards. The teacher seemed content to let you take the lead, his cock standing to full attention and his eyes eating up every inch of your body.

When the back of his knees hit the bed, he swiftly grabbed you by the waist and fell backwards, both of you landing on the pleasantly firm mattress with a few small huffs. Exchanging another heated kiss, your hands slid down his body, the feeling both so new still and yet so familiar already. You then moved to bestow attention upon his skin using your lips, tongue, teeth. Aesop watched with hooded eyes as you slowly made your way down, making sure to pay special attention to places you previously noticed were especially sensitive.

And then you were face level with his groin at last, the large member throbbing every now and then, a small droplet of crystal clear fluid gathering at his exposed tip. He truly was impressively sized, and you wondered whether you’d be able to fit more than a few inches into your mouth. A gentle hand stroked at your hair: “Go slow, love. No matter what you do, know that I’ll be in heaven for every second of it, but I don’t want you to choke yourself on me.

You smiled at him gratefully before giving the shaft another few gentle strokes. And then, finally, you stuck your tongue out to lick a long stripe along his underside, from the root all the way to the dark pink glans, which made Aesop release a choked gasp. As you pressed your lips against him, you savoured the fusion of sensations. Underneath the faint aroma of soap you discovered the subtle taste of his clean, warm skin, his natural scent becoming more and more apparent with each swipe of your tongue against his member, soon overpowering the smell of soap and making you feel light-headed with desire.

A gentle hand landed on your head, and he once more stroked your hair gently, neither pushing nor pulling you as you explored at your own pace. You lifted your head then to connect your eyes - his chocolate orbs were darkened and clouded over by lust, and you held their scorching look as you slowly closed your lips around his tip and rolled your tongue around it.

Aesop’s head fell back and a surprisingly loud groan left his lips: “Bloody hell, (F/N)...”

Encouraged by this, you began to suck on the tip while stroking the rest of his prick with your hand, soon finding a neat rhythm. You could feel his heartbeat in the shaft, and you heard his breathing pick up considerably. Very slowly, you started to take in more of him, bobbing your head and breathing deeply through your nose. You were aware your technique probably wasn’t very elegant - your lips were damp from your saliva and you felt like you weren’t ever going to be able to really take in more than a few inches of him, your throat protesting mildly each time you took in more. Aesop, however, seemed far, far from complaining, soft grunts escaping his open lips, and his hand tightening in your hair without pushing you still.

You were becoming slightly more confident in your ministrations. However, this would come to bite you - or rather it would come to bite your lover… “Ouch! Teeth!” Aesop yelped suddenly, his body tensing giving a violent jerk. You released him immediately and sat up, already feeling panic and guilt rising up within you.

“Blast it, I’m so sorry, Aesop!” came your panicked voice even as you hurriedly wiped at your wet mouth. Your hand came to gently grab at the organ again, trying to see what damage you caused. “Where does it hurt? Will you be alright?”

Aesop took several laboured breaths, his own hand flying down to grip at his shaft. Then however-

A chuckle broke the silence, closely followed by another, and another, and soon he was giggling quietly.

“Over a decade spent as an Auror,” he said between giggles, “many many injuries, one life threatening, and this is the first time I’ve had to worry about my knob, bloody hell!” You couldn’t help it - your own laughter joined in, and you lowered yourself next to him. “I’m sorry,” you repeated.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” Aesop answered once his laughter died down. His member was still hard and standing proudly and his hand curled around yours, guiding it up and down slowly. “Before the unfortunate accident, you weren’t doing half bad... I’ll be honest, you were doing really bloody good. Merlin, I- the amount of times just the mental image of you taking me in your mouth was enough to make me…”

You blushed under his words, your thighs quivering shortly as another wave of arousal flowed through you. “Shall I try again?” you asked, watching your hands working his cock leisurely. Aesop hummed: “Do you want to?”

You looked into his eyes. You did want to. You wanted to make him feel good, like he made you feel with his mouth as well… You nodded your head.

“Alright. Cover your teeth with your lips - like this. Takes a while to get right. The occasional scrape can feel fantastic, but a bitten off cock makes for a very unsatisfactory evening.”

“Oi,” you said with a light push to his chest with your free hand, “I didn’t go that hard!” “I saw my life flash before my eyes.” “You’re exaggerating!”

“A little bit. And again, the point is not to choke yourself or take what you can’t. A partner’s death of asphyxiation or dinner suddenly resurfacing on one’s privates are also not ideal outcomes.”

You chuckled incredulously. You had to admit, you adored it when he was being like this; cheeky. Humorous. You leaned in closer and gently dragged your mouth over his in a kiss, your joined hands still teasing him. “Hm… Just take it easy,” Aesop sighed, obviously enjoying himself again, the touching enough to make his eyes flutter and heart beat hard, but not enough to chase him towards his peak, “this isn’t a race, or some, I don’t know, trial. It’s just… making love. Experimenting. Exploring. Seeing what feels good for the other and enjoying ourselves. No rush, no pressure…”

You smiled at him again, using your free hand to caress his cheek before leaning down for another kiss. And then you slid down his body once more - his hand released your own on his shaft, and instead moved to gently stroke at the skin of your shoulder. Covering your teeth with your lips like he showed you, you let his glans slip into your mouth again and immediately started to suck. Slowly you returned to the rhythm you established before the little accident.

You alternated between bobbing your head up and down on the shaft, taking it as far as your gag reflex allowed, and focusing your attention on the leaking tip, your tongue sliding around it, teasing at his slit, even slipping below the foreskin bunched underneath, all the while your hand played with what you weren’t able to fit in your mouth. Experimentally, you let your other hand travel under the member to touch the heavy testicles. When you, very gently, squeezed one of them, a choked curse left Aesop’s mouth and his hand tightened on your shoulder. And to your own surprise - you moaned.

You were so busy minding your teeth, your breathing, so lost in your ardent exploration, you barely had time to notice yourself squeezing your thighs together like your life depended on it, trying to bring some semblance of a friction to your fluttering core. Without thinking, you released his length from your hand while continuing to fellate him inexpertly, in order to slip it between your legs.

Another soft moan was muffled by the hot erection as two fingers of your hand dipped between your drenched folds, soon finding their mark on your swollen lovebud and circling it like you recalled him doing the previous night. It was deliciously decadent, you decided. You felt the slightly bitter taste rolling down your throat as more precum leaked out of his cock, you were beautifully overwhelmed and completely surrounded by his smell, his taste, the only thing you heard were the sounds of his pleasure, and you worked him with your mouth and hand in the same rhythm that you were using to play with your quivering quim.

The sight of you, it would seem, was too much for Aesop. With a loud groan, he gently pried your head away, breathing fast, and you saw the large bollocks drawing up somewhat, and his cock throbbing heavily now. You unconsciously brought up your hand to wipe at your wet chin again and looked up at him with heavy eyes. “Fucking hell, (F/N),” the teacher mumbled, looking at you almost… admiringly, “you drive me mad, love.”

You were certain he could taste himself on your tongue and lips when he pulled you flush atop himself with his strong arms, snogging you in wild abandon, and the knowledge further clouded your already clouded-over mind. You wanted him, and you wanted him now, the nagging sensation in your core had long since transformed into a searing inferno, almost aching, you were desperate to connect your bodies again, to once more climb that mountain of pleasure together and take a leap into the pit of bliss below.

So, filled with anticipation and high on lust, you moved to straddle his hips, separated your mouths in order to grab on the large erection and guide it within yourself.

“Sweetheart, wait-”

Aesop’s mind cleared enough to see what your intention was and he tried to stop you. In vain.

Before he was able to firmly grasp your hips to keep you from sinking onto his length, you have already impaled yourself on it entirely. And you now knew just why he tried to stop you.

Burning pain in your most sensitive place forced a choked yelp out of your mouth and your entire body tensed. Fuck! You very nearly doubled over, your fingernails digging into Aesop's stomach.

“B-bloody hell, (F/N)!” Aesop grit out, torn between the blissful feeling of being completely enveloped by your tight (way way too tight) walls and being deeply concerned for your wellbeing, “you hurt yourself, didn't you?! Get off, come on!”

He was trying to push you off of him, though his hands lacked the strength they usually had. You did not want to get off. You were in pain, yes, you felt like you were going to split open around him, but you really did not want to call it quits. What if he didn't want to make love with you afterwards in worry of hurting you further? No, no, you didn't want to just toss the towel in like this.

“N-no…” you managed to get out, your breaths shuddery. “Don't be silly, sweetheart, get off, there's no point in hurting yourself!” Aesop attempted to reason, but you simply wouldn't budge, breathing through the ache and trying to relax around the fleshy intruder. After a few seconds spent in such silence you could've heard a pin drop, Aesop sighed.

The professor sniffed loudly through his nose, and quite awkwardly began shifting, slowly so as not to cause you too much further pain. It took several grunts from him and a few quiet mewls from you, but in the end, he managed to bend his legs at the knees and sit up on them. You cringed: this position probably wasn't doing any good to his leg. He, however, seemed more bothered about you still having your face screwed up in discomfort rather than his own pain.

A pair of comforting arms came to slowly wrap around your waist, his hands stroking the soft skin, and you let him enfold you in an embrace. The hair on the side of your head fanned slightly following his exhale: “My silly girl,” he said gently, rather than reprimanding, “did you think that just because we made love once, you no longer needed preparing, stretching?” You didn't say anything, only hid your face at the crook of his neck and swallowed audibly.

“Merlin's beard, lass…” he sighed, “you're young, fit… so bloody tight… it's going to take time before you're ready to take me in without preparation and feel no discomfort. And even then I'll always make sure that you're ready, every single time, because the last thing I want is to accidentally hurt you… Besides, I greatly enjoy pushing you over the edge with my hands and mouth…”

It was your turn to sniff, though you didn't raise your head from where it was resting: “I… couldn't wait…” Your lover clicked his tongue, his warm hands drawing nonsensical patterns over your back. “You, always so patient and meticulous in everything you do, and you throw it aside to make love with me? My sweet, if you weren't still all tensed up with pain, I would've been nearly flattered… Does it still hurt?”

Instead of answering, you nodded your head, your arms thrown around his shoulders loosely.

Suddenly, his warm lips connected with the skin of your neck, directly under your ear. Aesop began placing soft kisses and feather-light bites there, all the while still stroking your body with his hands. His coarse fingers slid from your back to your front instead, teasing at the curve of your breasts and sending ripples of excitement through you. “Try to focus on the way I'm touching you and relax… I'll make it better…”

You tried your hardest, but it was frankly difficult to focus on anything else than the discomfort. You were so stupid - of course what Aesop said made sense, why on Earth would you think that just because this was not your first time anymore, you were ready to just go at it immediately? Well, the books said the first time can be painful, but they did not mention the second time, so that at least played in the favour of your wit. Still, you should have been smarter.

“Shhh…” Aesop breathed into your ear, his hot breath on your sensitive earlobe causing you to shiver slightly, “stop thinking. Focus on my hands, on my mouth… “ You gave a nod and indeed tried your best to fully cling to the feeling of his large hands stroking your breasts, weighing them, giving them a little squeeze, before thumbing at your nipples, pebbled and sensitive. The amazing mouth attached to your neck, uneven teeth scraping and pinching at the skin, leaving hotness in their wake.

“You’re so beautiful,” you felt before you heard Aesop’s words as they rumbled in his chest. “You’ve no idea how much I imagined this. Imagined you. Not only in this position, but so, so many others. You’ve been driving me completely insane with craving for your touch.” His words were quiet, almost too quiet for you to hear, but you did your best to strain your ears to hear them. Because they worked. You were no longer so focused on your ache, and you wanted to hear more, wanted him to keep talking to you in that completely delicious voice of his that made you weak in the knees. Despite the discomfort, hearing him say he imagined making love to you in many positions made your walls flutter and flex around him, as well as further dampen with lust.

“H-how did you imagine me?,” you whispered back. An unexpected moan left your lips as a clever hand made its way between your bodies and slid to your core, curious fingers teasing at your seam which was so snuggly wrapped around the large member before coming up to gently prod and rub at your clit.

Aesop hummed, his fingers now fully circling the lovebud: “As I said - in all kinds of positions. I imagined taking you in my classroom many times - bent over my desk, leaving scratches on the wood with your nails. You sitting upon your potions station with my head between your thighs. Your back pressed against the cold stony walls of the dungeons…” With each new little fantasy Aesop shared, you felt the pain and discomfort lessening, and your core fluttering with excitement instead. And it was obvious recalling the things he imagined doing to you had the same effect on him from the throbbing of his erection.

“I imagined you sitting on my face and riding it while sucking on my cock at the same time… And hiding beneath the table, kneeling between my legs while I teach… However, that truly is only a dirty fantasy.” he chuckled softly. You weren’t able to chuckle, the deep blush on your face, the sensations of his hands, and his filthy thoughts voiced aloud making you rather unable to properly focus on anything else. And yet, you opened your (way too dry) mouth to speak: “A-and…. And everything e-else?”

“Everything else and more, my sweetest, I fully intend to bring into reality,” And with that he bucked his hips, forcing a choked moan from somewhere at the back of your throat.

“Mhm! How was that?” the teacher asked, pleasure dripping from his voice like molten lava, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. Slowly, you caught your breath, your brain fogged from the strong sensations coursing through your body. And soon you realised that pain and discomfort wasn’t among them. You felt impossibly full, like the night before, but otherwise the feeling of your walls stretched around his cock, big and hard, and the throbbing of your core and clit were making you crave more, more of that sweet feeling. Aesop’s hand gently stroked your heated cheek, thumb coming down to trace your opened lips: “Sweetheart?”

“It’s…” you took a breath, “it’s alright… No more pain.” Aesop smiled, and leaned in for a gentle kiss. “How do you want me? Shall I take it from here, or do you want to proceed with your original plan?” he inquired, the words hotly whispered against your mouth. You thought for a moment - Aesop obviously knew best what to do, how to make both of you feel good… But then again, you wanted to learn it too, how to make your steamy union as good for each other as you possibly could… Finally, you kissed him back before lightly pushing on his chest, motioning for him to lie down on his back again.

He lowered his upper body once more, looking up at you devotedly: “If at any point it becomes too much, if you get tired, or want to stop entirely, please tell me. You’ve nothing to prove, to me or anyone. This is about us, and will only be nice if both of us are comfortable…”

You gazed down at him, your heart fluttering with love - he was obviously aroused beyond reason, throbbing where he filled you, and yet all he focused on was your comfort and your pleasure. You loved him. Body and soul, in your eyes he was the most perfect man in this large, chaotic world. The love filled your chest, your heart, it was rolling through you like a tsunami, and it was this feeling that made your hands brace on his stomach, firm muscles underneath a soft layer of skin and flesh, and raise your hips only to bring them back down, impaling yourself on him once more. Unlike before, no more pain came, and instead two groans of pleasure mingled in the air as they cut through the silence of the room.

You repeated the motion a few times, each one becoming more and more familiar and pleasant. Aesop’s hands were now stroking your hips, fingers only slightly digging into your skin in time with your thrusts: “Oh, my sweet…” he sighed, his handsome face flushed and a drop of sweat glistening upon his brow, “find your rhythm, try different angles to make yourself feel good.”

Nodding slightly in agreement, you began rolling your hips in different angles, searching for that one spot Aesop found deep within you yesterday, the one that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your head. You could feel its presence within you, the friction making you aware of it lightly pulsing, desperately trying to guide you. In the meantime, you managed to find a pleasurable rhythm, one that made your breath draw quicker, your own fingertips digging into Aesop’s belly and the hair there. Angling your hips again, you suddenly felt like a lightning bolt struck right through you, like you were doused with a bucket of cold water, immediately followed by a bucket of hot one, and you gave a full-body shudder.

“There you are…” Aesop said, voice almost proud, “such a clever lass…”

You gave a long exhale and repeated the motion, the pleasure upon each roll of your hips making a little gasp leave your mouth, soft sounds that you weren’t able to hold in as you rode your older lover. Aesop’s hands took to wandering, and he was looking up at you in a deeply appreciative manner, obviously enjoying seeing you bouncing atop his cock like you did. The hands gently took hold of your breasts, enjoying the way they moved along with you. Calloused thumbs and fingers began rubbing and squeezing at the pink pearls, adding yet another sensation to the already bubbling and boiling mix of desire. It felt like every single place the teacher touched was connected by an invisible wire, and that all of these wires led down to your fluttering, drenched core. Aesop spread his legs somewhat, and you felt his thighs against your bottom as he braced his feet upon the mattress to be able to join you in your efforts.

“Like this, yeah?” he asked in a deep, throaty voice as he plunged his own hips against yours. You didn’t feel able to reply verbally, so instead you only tightened your fingers on his stomach and adjusted to the new speed he was gently introducing. In this new angle, while his tip was still brushing against that bundle of nerves within you, your clit was also rubbing against his pubic hair, increasing the sensation again.

“Oh by Merlin, darling… You’re so perfect like this,” he groaned, arching his neck somewhat upon a particularly deep thrust, “taking your pleasure, flushed in all the right places, so bloody tight.”

Aesop proceeded to curl one hand around the back of your neck, pulling you down and closer to him, all the while your hips continued moving together, bringing pleasure to both of you. He chased your lips for another kiss, this one not nearly as gentle as the previous ones. No, this one was heated, hungry, almost possessive. At that moment you knew that while he was sometimes still hesitant to make his claim on you, he was very much desperate to, desperate to make you his own, forever. You accepted his tongue into your mouth, and engaged it in a short battle for dominance before yielding to it, letting the teacher taste you, plunging his tongue between your lips in the same rhythm in which his hard shaft was disappearing in your quivering depths.

His mouth latched onto your neck then, biting and sucking, digits instead gripping onto your back and shoulders, not letting you move away from him. Not that you wanted to. You sped up your movements further, starting to feel that coil within your core beginning to form and grow tighter. Unlike yesterday, there were no vines of pure light and magic swirling around your bodies, but it didn’t make the experience any less intense or pleasurable. The opposite was true, actually. While you were getting quickly overwhelmed, your body preparing for an earth-shattering orgasm, you weren’t as absolutely blinded by the raging inferno of sensations like you were yesterday, and could therefore appreciate some things more…

Like the way Aesop’s breathing began to hitch, and the way his voice got ever so slightly higher when a soft moan escaped his kiss-bruised lips. The way his eyes (so, so bloody dark) began to flutter, dark eyelashes fanning against his flushed cheeks. The way his member throbbed and pulsed inside you, and the way his hips twitched, as if he was stopping himself from taking over for you. You were grateful to him, for allowing you to take control, for his restraint, for his love, for him.

“I love you,” you whimpered, your pleasure mounting higher with every passing second, your eyes boring into his, even as they grew slightly unfocused.

He could only moan in response, arms coming to wrap even tighter around your back, your bodies now pressed together, your skin, damp with perspiration, sliding against that of the other with ease.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the professor pleaded breathlessly, his face visibly contorting with pleasure as he got closer and closer, “come on, please, come for me. Come for me, my love…”

And just like that your back arched, his pleasure-laced words tipping you over the edge and plunging you into a sea of gratification. You wanted to dip your face into the crook of his neck and muffle the moans that were leaving your mouth, but Aesop wouldn’t have that - his hands closed around the sides of your head, pulling you up so that he could watch your face, your eyes, so that he could hear you. “That’s right, my sweet... Mhm! F-fuck I'm coming,” he groaned, his own hips still rocking against yours relentlessly.

And then, suddenly, he used his considerable strength to flip the two of you over. He let go of your face in order to grab your hips again, roughly so, and started penetrating you at a hard, quick pace, all the while keeping your eyes connected while he chased his own climax, your own still crashing through you. It took less than a dozen hard thrusts before his large body shuddered atop you, and you felt his hot seed spill deep within you and mix with your own release. Your still contracting walls seemed to be intent on getting every last drop of him, milking him almost, and your thighs were shaking wildly on both sides of his hips.

Finally, the wild waves of pleasure began to subside, and sweet relief replaced them, little by little. Your head lolled to the side, and your lungs burned as you took in large gulps of air. Your body was tingling with residue bliss, feather-like shivers dancing over your most sensitive areas. Aesop’s body was pressing yours into the mattress, but you were far from caring. Wetness was leaking out of your opening as your lover’s shaft began to soften and shrink a bit, and your hearts started to slow down, beating synchronously against one another’s chest.

After a few minutes, Aesop raised his head from where it landed upon your chest, and connected your lips in a positively filthy kiss, all tongues and teeth. “I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, his hands once more coming to grab on your face, thumbs rubbing against the apples of your cheeks. You only opened your eyes when he pulled back, still a little unfocused from your climax. “You were incredible…” Aesop smiled softly. You thought he looked breathtakingly beautiful in his afterglow, hair all messy and slightly damp at the roots, his face and body still slightly flushed, on his face an expression of peace and serenity, like everything apart from the two of you was completely unimportant, if not nonexistent entirely.

“Abso. Lutely. Breath. Taking,” he whispered then, punctuating his words with a series of kisses placed upon your neck and your collarbone. You felt entirely boneless, unsure of your very ability to move. Then again, that might have been because you had a rather large and heavy former Auror resting atop you. Nevertheless, you managed to lift your arms just enough to tangle your hands into his hair, messing it up further.

A few more minutes passed before Aesop, very reluctantly, unsheathed himself from within your body. You grimaced slightly, once more feeling rather empty, gaping open almost. Unlike yesterday, however, instead of rolling to the side, Aesop scooted back to sit on his heels between your still spread legs. His eyes fell to your weeping opening, and he smirked ever so slightly, his now soft shaft giving the tiniest little twitch. And though you knew it was deep appreciation and attraction with what he was observing the proof of your pleasure, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit embarrassed at the level of exposure, and unconsciously made an attempt to close your legs. Aesop, of course, noticed immediately, and, instead of putting his hands on your knees to keep them open, gave you an apologetic smile: “I’m sorry, dear - let me get my wand, I’ll clean us up.”

“S-sorry,” you called out to him, watching as he rose from the bed in all his naked glory, his limp, while still very much there, seeming less pronounced than it usually was. You couldn’t help but drink him all in. He truly was like a marble statue of some Greek god… Well, maybe except for all the fur… and the size of, well… “Don’t you dare ever apologise for letting me know you’re uncomfortable with something, or that you don’t want something. I mean that, (F/N),” Aesop replied, his expression deadly serious. Normally, this expression would be a cue for you to start listening attentively and take notes in his class. However, now it didn’t quite have the same effect, seeing as he was as nude as the day he was born.

So instead you cracked a smile. The professor couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, before sending the scouring charm on your spent bodies. He proceeded to deposit his wand onto the nightstand and once more climb onto the bed. He settled, once more, between your legs, bracing himself on his forearms next to your sides so that he did not crush you under himself again. “I really do mean that, though. If, at any point, something doesn’t feel right, you don’t feel comfortable, or you’re not alright with me doing something, please… Please, tell me immediately. I cannot stress this enough. Promise?”

You gave him a grateful smile: “A-alright. I promise. Though it’s… a little silly. One moment I’m, um, I’m on top and we’re making love, and the next I feel… embarrassed to have you look at my…”

“It’s not silly. My sweet girl,” the teacher now rolled onto his side and turned you towards him: “You’re new to all of this. Some things are within your comfort zone, and some simply aren’t. Some things will stop making you uncomfortable as you find your footing, and some things you may never be alright with. And that’s okay. It’s important we talk about things, and are honest with one another, so that both of us can feel happy and safe together. Do you understand?”

You nodded in reply, curling against his strong body and putting your hand onto his warm side.

“Is there anything you feel uncomfortable doing?” you couldn’t help but inquire curiously. “Me?” Aesop asked, a mischievous grin in his voice, “oh, absolutely not, I’m a lecherous bastard, I am.” A laugh escaped both of your mouths. “No, no, really. I am certain there are many things I wouldn’t be alright with, but that’s for the two of us to explore together. If you want to, of course.”

“I’d love to…”

You spent several minutes just holding onto one another, quite comfortable in your nakedness, your bodies warming one another and fitting, in your opinion, perfectly. Your hand coursed through the hair on his chest fascinatedly, and Aesop seemed content to just rest his eyes for a bit.

“I admire your self control…” You said after a short while, your hand leaving his chest and seeking his own that was resting upon your hip instead. The potions master didn’t waste any time and linked your fingers, squeezing your hand gently: “Don’t,” he replied quietly, “when you were bent over that tub, I was about this close to just jumping to you, grabbing your hips, and having my way with you right then…”

You shivered where you lay - the mental picture was definitely something you’d like to come back to later: “I wouldn’t have minded…”

A little guffaw broke through Aesop’s chest at your, most likely naive, words: “Now we know the situation wouldn’t have been a pleasant one for you... All in a good time,” he soothed, squeezing your hand once more and opening his eyes to look at you. “It might be a bit difficult finding time to be together when we get back to the castle, especially with NEWTs coming up, but… But I’ll do my best to be able to be with you. And not only to make love to you.”

“But we can do that, right?” you nevertheless asked, prompting another short laugh from your lover. “Try and stop me,” he said, grinning, “It’s just a few more months, and then… then we’ll have all the time in the world. No more hiding and sneaking around. Not a thousand Ashwinders or an army of Garreth Weasley’s clones intent on pinching all of the contents of my stores will be able to keep me from coming to you the moment I am able to.”

“I love you,” you breathed again, pulling him for another prolonged kiss. You were, once again, getting lost in him, in his scent, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his strong body against your smaller one. Aesop pulled back after some time, looking slightly perplexed: “I have a confession to make - what I said before - that wasn't entirely true."

You fixed him with a curious look: "Hm? What do you mean?” Aesop looked rather sheepish all of a sudden, his hand finding yours again, and fiddling with your own fingers. He looked down at it and took a deep breath: "That this was the first time I've ever had to worry about my... you know. After Scarborough, I was in so much pain I... Well, I was fairly certain I had been rendered impotent..."

You didn’t react immediately - you know how difficult it was for him to discuss Scarborough and its aftermath, so you didn’t want to deter him from confiding in you because of too much curiosity or too many uncomfortable questions, so you simply settled with: "Really?"

The professor nodded, still not meeting your eyes: "Yes... It was about... a year and a few months before I truly... felt any sort of stir, anything…” he finally raised his eyes to look at you, the look in the pensive, wistful almost. “Back then though... Back then I thought it hardly mattered anyway, because there was no way any woman would desire me ever again..."

You clicked your tongue softly, and carefully put your hand on his right cheek, experimentally almost, to see if he was comfortable with you touching his scar. You were glad when he closed his eyes again and leaned into your gentle touch. "I'm sorry…” you spoke, so softly he barely heard you, “You know I desire you greatly, right? with every single fibre of my being, scars and a wounded leg and all... but please know I would've loved you even if your suspicions turned out to be true."

Aesop’s breath hitched ever so slightly, his arms tightened around you, and he seemed to momentarily hide his face in the crook of your neck. In a voice so quiet you nearly struggled to hear he said: "I wouldn't even dare take you for myself then. I could not bear having you and not be able to satisfy you. I know all kinds of love exist, but… the erotic part of a romantic relationship is just as important as the emotional one.”

You weren’t sure you could imagine it properly. You were very happy just holding him, kissing him, being in his presence. However, it was undeniable that at some point (and you weren’t even certain whether that was before or after the two of you took the leap of faith and began your clandestine affair) you began to crave, and you craved him a lot. It was a difficult topic to both discuss and ponder, and while you were quite interested to hear more on what he had to say on the matter, you sensed that it was comfort Aesop craved now, more than anything else. Not to mention your brain was still swimming in endorphins, and it wasn’t exactly easy to fire it up again. So, settling for a lighthearted tone, you said: "As we both know by now, you do an excellent job of satisfying even without ever pulling it out of your pants,” Aesop snorted at your choice of words, “However, as we also know now, you, Aesop Sharp, are far from impotent."

"Oh, that I am..."

Another shiver broke through your body at his tone, so very different than the one before, almost like a low sort of growl.

And then his lips were claiming yours once more.

And Aesop would prove his perfectly healthy potency to you again.

—

Truth be told, you were rather sore as the two of you made your way out of the cottage. You both made sure the space was left neat and tidy (well, as neat and tidy as it was when you first came), that the sheets were clean and fresh (and they indeed were in need of washing by the time you prepared to leave), that the dishes were washed and sorted in the correct cupboards, and, of course, than no article of clothing or any collected ingredients were left behind.

You did notice that Aesop wasn’t reaching into his pockets for a dose of Wiggenweld potions for his pain as often as he normally would, which was curious. The man himself, however, didn’t seem quite this aware of it. There was a look of contentness and calm within his dark eyes, and his features looked even more relaxed than normally when it was just the two of you. Truth be told, you were quite worried that absolutely everyone would be able to know just what you were doing this weekend by just looking at your face, on which you felt a near constant smile, perhaps even a light flush.

The flowers he gifted you were safely stored in your pack under a stasis spell, so that you could display them in the Room of Requirement later.

The short journey to the front of the cottage, where there was enough space to safely apparate to Hogsmeade felt like a hike through mountains, difficult and harrowing, and yet it passed way, way too quickly. Both of you stopped in place, listening to the sounds of the forest and the wind, just sort of lost in your own heads.

“So… This is it. Holiday over,” you said, attempting to lighten the mood. Aesop hummed in reply. A few more seconds passed before you noticed him putting down the trunk of gathered ingredients and turning towards you. His hands took hold of you firmly, possessively even, and he quickly proceeded to snog the living daylights out of you.

“We’re being a little ridiculous,” he said after several minutes, breathless. You gave him a questioning look.

“We’re acting as if this was some sort of ending, even though we’re at the very beginning,” Aesop chuckled then, fingers stroking your hips through your clothes. “I intend to keep the promise I made,” the teacher continued, “I’ll do my bloody best to ensure we’re able to be together, be it for just a few minutes or days on end. We both know what would be preferable, but a dose of realism is, I think, needed in order not to be disappointed all the time.”

You had to agree with him there. The term end exams were one thing, but having to deal with NEWTs as well would surely prove to be a rather hectic experience. “I’ll do my best too,” you in turn promised. “You make sure you complete your studies - I want no less than five O’s from you, because I know you’re perfectly capable of getting them,” he insisted with a small smile, “and after that…”

“After that we’ll be able to be together fully. No more hiding around,” you completed and Aesop nodded his head.

He then fished out a pocket watch from his chest pocket, looking at its arms shortly: “Come. We have to disapparate soon if we want to enter the castle’s walls by the time the dinner in the Great Hall is in full swing.” And with that he picked up his trunk once more. “Why do we want to arrive in the middle of dinner?” you questioned, unconsciously patting yourself down to ensure you had all of your possessions. Aesop connected your eyes, and once more were you hit with the sheer intensity of them.

“So nobody sees me dragging you off to my chambers, of course.”

—

“Ah, there he is - told you he’d turn up eventually,” said Abraham Ronen with a smile as he stood in the doorway to the Great Hall with Dinah Hecat. “Must’ve come back very late indeed, seeing as I was told Miss (L/N)’s bed was very much empty last night, and the young woman herself was only occupying it when Miss Dale woke in the morning…” the DADA teacher replied with a sly smirk. “Now, Dinah, don’t tell me you’re sending your Eagles to spy on each other are you?” spoke Ronen again.

“Not spy, merely inform me - after all, Miss (L/N) was away from school for the weekend, and I wanted to ensure she returned safely.”

“And it would seem she indeed did, just quite a bit later than originally expected.” “Or, she returned right on time and simply spent her night elsewhere?”

“Do you reckon so?” “Just look at him, Abraham. That is the face of a man whose dry spell just ended. And yet he still hadn’t shared the good news with the two of us… Let’s see if we can get a reaction out of him, what do you say?”

---

Thank you so much for reading. You can also check this story and all of my other stories over on my AO3 ❤

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f1bordeaux · 1 year ago

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If You Cared (Part 5) | mv1

It's been years since you've indulged in a vacation. What better time is there than summer? Your family, the beach house in Italy-it seems perfect. But, for things to be just like good old times, your family needs to invite his. So of course you are having mixed feelings as the boy who broke your heart re-enters your life like nothing happened. Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader Word count: 2.3k Poetry style | Story style A/n: This is it! It's once again rushed because after tonight I wont have my laptop until late October and I really wanted to get this out. So forgive any errors please. I'll rewrite one day! Also, later on I'll write a sequel if you guys want me to because I love this story and the characters. Anyways, enjoy and to those of you who came along for the whole ride, I appreciate you more than you know<3 Cheers and I'll see ya in October! Part One|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Part Five

Once your last suitcase was in the trunk, you were ready to go.

One flight took off the following morning at 6. You were willing to sit in that small, grocery store sized airport for a few hours. Anything not to see or think about him. Right now, every room in the house was drowning in memories. You were suffocating.

“Y/n, come inside please.” Your mother begged. It was pouring down rain, and you were sitting on the patio just watching the droplets ricochet off the pool water. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t mind.” You said.

She sighed, a signal of her defeat. When you left from the charity dinner, taking your mothers rental car with you, nobody but Mia followed. About an hour later, they all pulled into the driveway. Nobody said a word as they walked through the front door to see a pile of suitcases lined up. Nobody dared to even cough as they watched you throw them all in the trunk in the pouring rain. You were done. You’d had enough. Elba was just as dead to you as he was.

Mia begged you to stay the rest of the week, saying that it was Max who should leave, but you couldn’t explain to her how every square inch of the beach house reminded you of his touch. The kitchen brought back memories of his small, butterfly kisses when you both cooked dinner or when his hand would rest on your thigh at the kitchen bar. The living room just reminded you of all the times you fell asleep in his arms during a movie and how he would carry you to your room. Your bedroom was the worst spot of them all. Your sheets still smelled like him, the mirror still displayed his reflection, his clothes were still on your floor.

“I need to go home.” Was all you could say to Mia as she begged you not to.

“Y/n?” The patio door slid open softly, but you didn’t bother looking. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t really feel like speaking to you.”

Luca didn’t sit next to you, he didn’t walk up to you or approach you. Instead, he stayed behind you, speaking to your back. Never before had you or either of your siblings had a situation like this. The three of you had always been close but this. Luca had really done it this time. You also had a little resentment for Mia, too. She’d known for a while and still let you fall head over heels for Max. Was it her fault? No, but she could have said something. She should have said something.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

“Wow,” You scoffed. “Suddenly everything is all better! Me and Max are getting married tomorrow, want to be the ring bearer?”

“Y/n-”

“What was going through your mind, Luca? Hmm? Can I just ask you that?” You shook your head. It was hard to understand this whole situation.

“I didn’t think he’d take this seriously. I thought he’d say no and laugh it off.”

“But playing with my feelings in the first place was alright? Because you thought he’d say no it was alright?”

Luca fell silent. Obviously it wasn’t right, that much was known. But he didn’t know how to express how sorry he was, or how he didn’t think it would go this far. No matter what he said, you would come back and rebuttal his comment with something more emotional, something more meaningful. Luca wasn’t one with words, he never was and never would be. In this moment, he wished he was.

“Here.” He dropped five or six envelopes on the table next to you. “Maybe you wont forgive me, but this wasn’t his idea.”

Before you could say anything, he was inside, closing the glass door behind him. You looked at the off-white envelopes. They had your family's address on them, but your name was clearly written on there. The return address? The Verstappen house. Not Sophie and Victoria’s house, but the childhood house that Max and his father lived in.

Your heart sank.

After finding the oldest one, dating back to only a few months after he broke up with you, you slid it open and pulled out the paper. A photo fell out, alongside a dried up, flattened rose petal.

Y/n.

I miss you. It might sound selfish to say, but I really do.

I don’t think I ever realized how important love could be in life. I saw it as more of a form of entertainment rather than a necessity. I knew my feelings for you were real, I knew they were physical and emotional and everything in between, but I didn’t know how hard they’d be to get rid of. Leaving you hurt, it hurt so bad that I felt like I couldn’t breathe on my way home. But, I thought they’d go away once I was back with dad. I thought they’d be like a stomach ache or migraine. Like I said, though, they are much harder to get rid of than that. Seeing all the love that other drivers have at the track, seeing their girlfriends and moms and families hurts me. All I have is dad and, well, you know what that's like. I’ve realized that I need someone like you, someone I can laugh with, someone I can talk to, someone who will tell me it's ok and that I won't fail in life after a bad race. I need someone on my side, not someone who is only team Max when I win.

I think of you every time I race. I dedicate every win to you-and mom of course. In the photo I sent, I won my first F3 Grand Prix. It’s a huge step in the right direction and at this pace, I’m set to be the youngest F1 competitor if I can make the Toro Rosso team in a few weeks. I hope you’re there to see it.

I get it if you don't want to talk to me. I know I broke your heart and ruined the rest of your summer but please, if any drop of your feelings were real please write me back. I could use the support.

Love, Max.

Sure enough in the photo a young, 16 year old Max was hoisting a trophy in the air as champagne was sprayed on him. You picked up the rose petal and it crunched in your grasp. Where had these gone? Why didn’t you get any of them? You didn’t move out at sixteen, why didn’t you get them?

The other ones followed the same idea as the first; I miss you, I messed up, I’m making promising moves in my career, please answer my calls or reach out, I love you, Love, Max. And sure enough, every single one made you cry. Near the end of the last one, however, Max wrote;

Take this as my final goodbye. I hope you’re getting these but I’m not getting any response so maybe you’re not. I deserve this, I know. But, I was really hoping things would be different. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you, y/n. If I could take it back, I would.

Dad told me to stop wasting time writing silly letters that get no response, so I guess this is my last one. Hopefully we can reconnect someday. I hope you're watching me on TV. I hope that a piece of you still loves me, as selfish as it sounds. There will always be a place for you in my heart, always.

Goodbye, y/n. I’ve always loved you, and I always will.

Max.

Your hand came up to cup your mouth. These letters were similar to the ones up in your room. Max loved to write, and on your 15th and 16th birthday, he wrote you two beautiful letters that you said you’d cherish forever. You left them in Elba when he broke your heart.

Without even thinking, you stood up, turning on your heel so quickly you were afraid you’d fall. With the letters cradled in your arms, you ran inside. The house felt empty. Nobody was around except for-

“Mia-” You called out in between tears. “Where is-where are-Max, where is Max?”

“He left-”

“What?”

She nodded. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to him. Where did he go?”

“There’s a ferry leaving in like, thirty minutes. He’s going to get on that.”

You shook your head, tossing the letters on the counter before running to the front door. You grabbed a pair of keys and darted through the rain as your sister called out your name. Max at least deserved a chance to explain himself, right? Maybe he was too prideful, too nervous, too scared to speak to you himself. That was alright. You’d just go to him.

The drive was long, you were afraid you’d miss the ferry. It left at five am, you assumed, and it was 4:48 when you pulled into the dock. He was probably already on the boat, no? He was probably already in his seat waiting for the departure to begin. That wouldn’t stop you.

Maybe fate was on your side, maybe it was meant to be. Whatever it was, Max was standing in line to load onto the boat, suitcase in hand. “Max!” You shouted. He was still in his suit, you were still in your dress. Neither of you looked as elegant as before, but it would be wrong to say you thought he looked bad.

He turned to look at you, his eyes wide when he saw who was calling your name. “Y/n?” Max turned out of line and walked near you.

In seconds your arms were around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug that took him a few beats to reciprocate. You then pulled away, looking him in the eyes as tears flooded yours. He was confused, taken aback, even. “We need to talk.”

“But I’m leaving-”

“Please stay.”

“I’m mad at you, don’t get me wrong.” You said, looking off into the distance. There was a small cafe near the dock that was open for breakfast. So, the two of you sat outside and drank tea whilst looking like complete lunatics.

“So why’d you come get me?” He asked. “You could have completely let me go.”

“What good would that do? I would just hate you forever and it would eat me alive. Just like it did last time.”

Max shrugged. “I don't think I deserve a second chance.”

“Luca gave me the letters you wrote me as a kid.”

Max turned pale. “What?”

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I never got them as a girl or trust me, I would have written you back-or texted you at least.”

“I know you never got them.”

Did you hear him correctly? He knew? In the last letter he assumed you didn’t get them. “How’d you know?”

Max looked at the sunrise that was touching the horizon. The sky looked beautiful. There were no clouds, only bright shades of reds and yellows, blues and purples. The water from the ocean reflected the scenery perfectly. He didn’t know how to answer your question. It would be embarrassing if he did. He never planned on you seeing those even though he sent them.

“I was writing your address wrong. I was one number off or something, so they all got sent back at once. I sent them back after fixing it, but I called Luca and told him not to let you get them.” He said in one breath, cheeks igniting with a blush. “I was too embarrassed.”

That's why you didn’t get them.

You were torn. If he really cared he wouldn’t have taken the bet, right? If he really cared, he would have let those letters get to you. What if this was just another elaborate part of his plan? You wanted to believe it, you wanted to see the truth in Max’s story, but you couldn’t trust him. You couldn’t read him as well as you once could. A piece of you was saying, shut up and take it, he's your dream man, and another piece of you was saying, do better.

“Did you ever really care about me?” You asked.

Max looked at you with wide eyes. “What?”

“This summer,” You reiterated. “Did you ever really care about me? Be honest with me.”

Without missing a beat he said, “I didn’t just care about you, I loved you. I don’t like to admit my feelings-mainly because I grew up in a house where feelings didn’t exist-but I couldn’t hide the love I have for you. I’ve never been able to hide it. Ask dad, mom or Vic.”

You sighed. “The scary part is, Max, even after all this, even after I found out one of the worst things, even after I felt used and objectified, I still want you. Every part of my body is screaming no, telling me to run and leave without turning back but one small, small sliver of me is begging to stay.”

Max leaned across the table, palm coming to cup your chin. He smiled softly, his breath dancing across your cheek. It felt refreshing. It felt like summer. Perhaps things would be ok. Perhaps things would always be ok.

“So stay.” He said. “I promise to love you, y/n. I will love only you.”

Your lips connected to his. It was a soft kiss, one that reminded you of your first. Did you know what was going to happen once he went back to racing and you went back to work? No. Did you know if he was your boyfriend now? No. Did you know if things were going to work out? No. But honestly, nothing in life is for certain. But damn, sitting in front of an italian coffee shop, watching the sun rise over the ocean with Max’s lips on yours felt nice.

You were excited for a lifetime of moments like these. All of them with your childhood boyfriend by your side.

And yeah, you did feel like you could call him that now. You could call Max whatever the hell you wanted to.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 requests #f1 imagine #max verstappen #f1 angst #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen ff #max verstappen smut #verstappen x reader #verstappen ff #verstappen fanfic #verstappen #f1 x reader #formula one #red bull racing #f1 series

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dotster001 · 1 year ago

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Fallen For You Chapter Three

Summary: Simeon x gn!reader. Now that you're all grounded, you and Simeon are separated. Again. Hopefully he can behave long enough to be ungrounded.

CW: suggestive Simeon

A/N: I totally blacked out to the world, and completely forgot about my event. So I worked hard today to finish this chapter for you all as a little treat treat. Also, I now cross post series on AO3, so give me an hour, and it'll be there if you prefer to read stuff there.

Chapters: One Two Four Five Six

Tap tap tap

Lucifer said nothing. But his eye was starting to twitch.

Tap tap tap tap

He held back a heavy groan. After getting the full story of your little "outing", Simeon was put back into confinement. But to be honest…

Tap tap tap tap

...He fit in really well with Lucifer's other brothers.

Tap tap tap

"Whatever you're typing, I'm certain you can take a break."

Simeon looked up from his typewriter with a glare, before pulling the page he was working on out, scanning it, and adding it to a pile of papers.

He walked over to the barrier, and held out the pile.

"Proofread this for me please."

Lucifer looked down at it, and held back the barrage of insults that he knew Simeon wanted him to release.

….

Everyone was grounded. Mammon was grounded. Asmo was grounded. You were grounded. Simeon was grounded. Solomon was grounded. Everyone was grounded.

Part of your punishment was this.

"How's Simeon doing?"

"I really want to tell you, but I don't want Lucifer to ground me as well," Diavolo said with a sympathetic smile.

"Nice try, Y/N."

You winced as you heard Lucifer enter Dia's office behind you.

"It's not fair! You can't just not tell me what and how he's doing!"

"I can and I will. Although here is a little tidbit of information, since you've been mostly well behaved. He's as obnoxious as ever."

You pouted at his sadistic grin.

"On the upside, TSL fans have something to look forward to. You know how he said he would never make a sequel series? Well he's been tapping away at that type writer non stop. We assumed, for good reason, it was to annoy us, but he slipped us the first chapter for us to "proofread"." Lucifer handed you the beginnings of a manuscript, a sour look on his face.

You had to hold back a giggle as you read.

The Lord of corruption, despite a millenia of fair rule, suddenly became a heartless monster, stealing Henry from his beloved Lord of Shadows. But a vile heart leads to a vile body, and soon all the world saw what a disgusting ogre the Lord of corruption had truly become.

He was horrific to behold. Children wept upon seeing his visage. The bravest of heroes cowered in fear. Even the other lords coul no longer bear to look at him for how horrifically ugly and putrid he had-

"You get the idea," Lucifer said, taking the stash of papers back.

"I didn't finish reading that!"

"Too bad. You should know how to read faster by now."

"Ooh, I wanna read it!" Diavolo reached for the pile of papers, leading Lucifer to hold it above his head, out of reach of the two biggest children he knew.

Luckily for you, Diavolo was able to get the stack of papers when Mammon busted down the door to the office, a pathetic look on his face.

"I can't take it anymore! Please unground me!"

Asmo was close behind.

"Me too! I'll never do it again!"

"Never do what again?" Lucifer asked with a scowl.

Asmo and Mammon looked at eachother, before sheepishly looking at the floor.

"Dunno."

"Can't remember."

"That's what I thought."

"Look, it's your fault. You ground us too often for us to remember why!" Asmo shouted, throwing his hands in the air.

"Perhaps this will ring a bell. Mammon, I left you with one job. Protect Y/N. And you left Asmo in charge so you could take an extra job to pay off the witches. Asmo, you were trusted to protect Y/N, and keep a certain, immature someone from doing something they shouldn't. And you failed. The avatar of lust fell to a pair of azure blues."

"And I'd do it again. Simeon has pretty eyes, and they deserve to be appreciated," Asmo said with a huff, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Look, I'd say we've been well behaved, so I think you should unground everyone!" You said hastily before Asmo and Mams could dig the hole even deeper.

Lucifer glared at Mammon and Asmo, then at the stack of papers Diavolo was giggling at, then back at you.

"Tell you what. I can unground you. It's not fair to punish you when he was charming you for 50% of the situation."

A pact required full consent from both parties, but you wouldn't complain about getting your freedom back.

"So then, how's Simeon?"

"Angry," Lucifer spat. "He was already unhealthily attached to you after his fall, but the pact just deepened it. We had to put a secondary barrier up so he wouldn't rip Barbatos and my arms off when we fed him."

You winced. You remembered those first days after he fell clearly. His eyes were in so much pain when you were taken away from him.

"Maybe if I could just talk to him…"

Lucifer groaned. "He's still grounded, remember? And you will find yourself locked in an attic in another dimension if you sneak back up there."

You pouted. But before you could complain-

"I should be ungrounded too! I have a gig I'm supposed to go to tonight!"

"I should also be ungrounded. I'm too pretty to be trapped in the house!"

….

It was so bright. It shouldn't be this bright in the Devildom. Something was wrong.

As your eyes adjusted, you realized you were sitting at a table with a tea party setting. And sitting in front of you was a man.

He was dressed in white, and he had a sweet expression on his face, but the look in his eyes was…unhinged to say the least.

"You must be Y/N," he said, smiling softly. "I must admit, I always imagined the person who caused us so much trouble to be, well, not quite as kind looking as you are."

He reached across the table and gently took your hand in his. Despite the gentleness of his touch, you stiffened. This man touching you was wrong.

"You're just a poor soul who got dragged into this aren't you? It's really a shame. We could use you."

"Y/N, wake up!"

You sat upright in your bed, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. Beel and Belphie had slept with you last night, and they were both looking at you in concern.

"You were having a nightmare. We've been trying to wake you up for ten minutes now," Beel whispered.

"I couldn't enter your dream," Belphie said, his face lined with worry.

That certainly didn't feel like ten minutes. But dreams worked differently.

"Thanks guys," you heaved a sigh. There was no reason to be scared of that man, but something about him was wrong….

Beel passed you a glass of water that you gratefully accepted. The details of the dream were already beginning to fade. All you were left with was a bad feeling in your gut.

"What happened?" Belphie whispered, fear that you weren't used to hearing from him, evident in his voice.

"I don't know, but I'm so happy you woke me up," you snuggled into your twins, allowing yourself some comfort in your boys.

The door burst open, and Asmo skipped in.

"Y/N! Guess what day it is~?" He literally sang as he twirled around your room, landing himself gracefully in your lap, pressing his face close to you as though he fully intended to start making out with you. The only thing that stopped him was Belphie slamming a pillow into his face.

"What day is it?" You asked with a giggle.

Before Asmo could recover and respond, you heard a victorious "WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" From your favorite avatar of greed as he ran into your room.

"Ristorante six, on me! Let's go! The great Mammon is no longer grounded!!!!!!!!" He cheered, dancing around your room, and ignoring Asmo's glorious pout.

"Wait! That means!" You cut yourself off, running down the hall and bursting into Lucifer's room, leaping onto his bed knees first, accidentally hitting his stomach in the process.

"The boys aren't grounded anymore!" You exclaimed excitedly.

He looked at you, looked at the time on his phone, then groaned.

"You better be on your best behavior, little dove."

You nodded quickly, folding your hands in your lap to indicate innocence. He sighed, and got up, grabbing his robe and making his way to the attic, you close behind.

He'd set up a different kind of barrier this time, one that even you couldn't get through. He dispelled the first layer, then the second, then the third, and you were able to make your way up the stairs.

Simeon was gripping the doorway by the time you made it up the stairs, his jaw clenched so hard you worried for his poor teeth.

"Is it time?" He moaned out, sounding so sad, so desperate, it hurt a little bit.

"Behave," was all Lucifer said as he dispelled the final barrier, allowing Simeon to run straight at you, faster than even Mammon could move.

His arms were around you, his mouth on your neck as he nibbled and bit along it possessively.

"I want you so carnally," he hissed.

Your jaw dropped in embarrassment as your eyes flickered to Lucifer, who already looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel, while simultaneously shoving Simeon back into the attic.

"You can't say things like that!" You murmured, and he snickered, before placing a particularly hard bite along your neck.

"I can say what I want," he giggled, but you knew him well enough to know that since it had embarrassed you, he wouldn't say it again. After all, just because he had fallen, didn't mean he was a completely different person.

"Behave," Lucifer snapped one last time, before heading down the attic stairs.

"I heard you were writing a sequel series. I only read the first two paragraphs," you said shyly.

He scooped you up in his arms, and walked into the attic, settling into one of the large chairs, and pulling you as close as the chair and your bones would allow.

"It's dedicated to you, my little lamb. I'll tell you all about it. See, it all starts when the Lord of Corruption's glamor spell finally fades, and everyone can see he looks like a hideous toad…"

....

Tag list- @leonia0 @eccedentesiast-sapphic @your-next-daydream @stella0567 @sarah22447 @sno-leopards

#obey me simeon #obey me #obey me x reader #simeon #fallen simeon #om! simeon #simeon x reader

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cbk1000 · 1 year ago

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Anyway, here's some more of the sequel to the vet fic, because the world is hard and mean, and one overly long fic about two gays driving around the countryside helping sick animals wasn't enough:

The wedding was at Ripley Castle near Harrogate, and featured a cousin with whom Arthur was just close enough not to blow off the ceremony; though he wouldn’t have minded simply popping in for the vows, and the requisite after-vow pleasantries. But he had seen the opportunity to pry Merlin away for a holiday, on an estate large enough to avoid most of his family; and so Saturday they had put their rucksacks, their suits, and themselves, into the car, and were now going at a decent clip down the B6265, though Merlin thought it was codgerly.

“Does Gaius know to put the wet food on top of the dry food for Tessa, and not to mix it all together?”

“Yes, you mentioned it in the instructions we left.”

“And that Mixer can only go into the outdoor pens with George? And if he can’t find Cian, to check under the sofa?”

“Arthur, we are not leaving our infant child for the first time whilst we take our first holiday since we became new dads, we are leaving our four adult cats to be checked in on by a veterinarian who’s been practising about as long as either of us has been alive. I think he can handle feeding a finicky arshole.”

“I’m not sure if I remembered to mention George’s eye drops, though. Will you text Gaius?”

“You wrote six fucking pages on how to care for four cats for two days. You mentioned it.”

“Just text him, you knob.”

“Uncle Gaius,” Merlin sounded out obnoxiously as he typed. “Arthur thinks you are a helpless, blind old useless bat, and would like to reiterate how to feed a cat and administer eye drops.”

Arthur swiped blindly at his head with one hand, whilst the other he left planted on the wheel. “Should I text Morgana too, and have her check in on Gaius checking in on the cats?”

“Piss off.”

“Too bad she was too sick to come; I’d love to see Gwaine mixing it up with your relatives. Nobody would even notice you’re gay if Morgana had brought him.”

“Yes, I’m sure that would have gone well for everyone.”

Then Merlin changed the radio station, and they had a friendly dust-up, most of the remaining drive to Ripley, over the other’s objectively inferior taste in music; so that when they pulled up at The Boar’s Head where they would be staying, Arthur had almost forgot he was inevitably to see his father. Now the courtyard full of Pendragons brought it surging down on him, and he felt suddenly as overwhelmed as if they had converged on instead of glancingly glanced at the car. His whole body tightened; and the dread clash was in his chest, that brutal striving for life which in a fit man at an elevation the same as his native seems to herald the onset of death. He felt in the car in the middle of the day with no threat present but the threat of unpleasantness that he was carrying his doom. It was in his chest, where his breath had shortened, and quickened; all those impulses of the lizard brain which kept the cave dweller from being no more than some leftovers in his loincloth now were telling him that he would need to flee some pensioners in some church wear. His father was nowhere amongst them; but the possibility of him, the infinite possibility of if, was all round the car and beyond the car, where anything might happen to his heart.

And then Merlin said in the same voice he used with the animals, “Tell me five things you can see right now.”

“The steering wheel. My hand on the steering wheel. The door handle. The chip in the windshield. Your knee.”

“Five things you can feel?”

“The steering wheel under my hand. The seat under my legs. The air from the vents. The seat against my back. The steering wheel under my hand.”

“Five things you can hear?”

“Your breathing, your abysmal taste in music, the car engine, faint music outside the car, talking outside the car.”

“Four things you can see?”

And he walked him through the exercise like that, till they had got down to one item for each, and Arthur’s breathing was calmer. He flexed his stiff fingers on the steering wheel.

“It’ll be ok, Arthur. And if it’s not, I’ll headbutt some people, and we’ll leave.”

“Ok.” Arthur wiped his palms on his jeans.

Then they were out of the car, and Merlin said to the few friendly guests who found their arrival more interesting than their breakfast, “Hey; nice to meet you. Merlin. Really sorry, we’ll be down in a few minutes, yeah, I just need the loo really badly. Down from Emberford, yeah,” ushering Arthur through the crowd and into the Inn as deftly as he had ever done anything requiring motor skills. He had got the suits and the rucksacks out of the backseat, and kept himself now with their luggage between Arthur and any intrusives, using his dimples to plough a kind of furrow through to reception, so that everyone in his wake felt that they had been charmed instead of slighted.

In their room he threw down the suits and bags on the bed, and said, “It’s nice. Not very castle-y, though. Do you want me to make you some tea?”

“No. We should probably go back down and mingle for a bit before we need to change.”

“Do you want me to blow you?”

“That’s--” Arthur paused. He did not know what part of ‘go down and mingle’ Merlin had confused for a sex act; but now that he had Arthur’s brain had got just as muddled. He separated out, after a moment, what he wanted to say, from what his penis wanted him to say. “What part of ‘I probably shouldn’t pause long enough for tea’ suggested to you that I thought we had time for sex before going back down to visit with the other wedding guests?”

#merthur #fic #preview #featuring cat dad arthur pendragon

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kylesvariouslistsandstuff · 2 months ago

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I'm looking at the forecast for JOKER: FOLIE A DEUX, and I also saw how low the attendance was at my cinema job yesterday, and... It got me thinking again about where big comic book/superhero movies are at in the post-COVID outbreak world...

And how JOKER 2 - along with films like QUANTUMANIA, SHAZAM 2, THE MARVELS, and THE FLASH - sorta fit a weird group of pictures that probably would've made boffo bucks in 2019 but not now. Backwash, you could say, from a bygone era that's only like five years ago...

Meanwhile, we saw the recent successes of GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY VOL. 3 and ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE, superhero movies that were more than just your usual garden variety superhero movie. They had some kind of vision or passion or spunk behind them. DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE is, I feel, the anomaly to this, as I felt it to be a fairly vision-less movie. Just a big budget parade of your favorite characters and action bits and lots of cameos, but done well enough with a sense of fun that kept audiences coming back after it made over $211m on its domestic opening weekend. I certainly had a fun time with it, but I wouldn't say it's anything other than "here's some fan favorites and some bloody action."

And then smack-dab in the middle of all this is MADAME WEB, which by all accounts was hacked to pieces in post-production much like how MORBIUS was. A film that could've stood out amongst the superhero pack as a period piece (2003 as a period piece, that's frightening to me lol), but ended up being molded into your usual schlop with lots of noticeable ADR.

Then you have two other Sony Spider-Man-adjacent movies this year, out within two months of one another. VENOM: THE LAST DANCE, out in a few weeks from now, should do good business because of the campy buddy comedy appeal of these particular movies. KRAVEN THE HUNTER, which was delayed multiple times, I have no idea. That might get a little lost in the Christmas season feeding frenzy. I have no idea how much further these Sony movies will go, outside of the VENOM movies. Remember how they wanted to do an EL MUERTO movie and then it got canned?

It seems like it's all a slow, prolonged sea change in comic book movies. I think they'll still get made, but something will have to change... as even a sequel to JOKER - which prided itself on resembling a '70s/'80s New Hollywood Scorsese-esque project - isn't cutting it. The idea of the new one being like a classic musical and a courtroom drama sounds really cool on paper, but in 2024, it's just not enough. The first one seems to be of a specific time, and belongs only to that time, it could be argued. A Trump-era slog about a "misunderstood" lonely guy who eventually ends up killing people, that devolves into a cacophony of violence... Its most controversial aspects were outside of the movie itself. I remember all the pre-release worry about the film possibly being a rallying cry to shooters... It came out and nothing happened, but it got tons of people to flock to the movie. It just hit at the right time, the noise around it created an appeal of sorts. It being this R-rated gritty street level movie and not your usual comic book movie.

But in 2024, now it's just "Eh, a new JOKER movie?" Add in the extreme genre shift, and a chunk of the audience was alienated.

Next year... CAPTAIN AMERICA 4... Looks - to me - like the most anticipated movie of 2015, honestly. THUNDERBOLTS* also looks too little, too late and also kinda just... There... James Gunn's SUPERMAN could really go either way, it could pull a MAN OF STEEL, or it could really break out. Maybe a BATMAN BEGINS-esque performance is in the cards here, where it opens kinda okayish because of a general fatigue w/ constant superhero movies (not to mention Henry Cavill's Kal-El not being that far behind) but has great legs. FANTASTIC FOUR Again, maybe this new take does the same? Maybe it's just more MCU fluff that gets a handful of fans on opening weekend and just fades away afterwards. There's an untitled Sony Spider-Man adjacent movie set for summer 2025 as well, but I wouldn't be surprised if that gets nerfed from the schedule. By now I think we'd know what it is, unless it's some kind of surprise project. Still, you'd know about it because it'd be filming or wrapped up by now. Speaking of which, BLADE is definitely not out next year, I'm surprised Disney and Marvel haven't changed its release or removed it from the calendar. We'll have to see where it all goes...

Ya know what comic book movie sticks out among all these 2025 entries?

DOG MAN!

Which I expect to be a respectable success for DreamWorks, come this winter. Its animation and visuals were outsourced to Jellyfish, much in the same way CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS was to Mikros. Jellyfish got SPIRIT UNTAMED out for $30m, I'd imagine this didn't cost anything more than that. Plus it's well after SPIRIT's timeframe, which was when vaccines were still rolling out, and this new movie is based on the Dav Pilkey CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS universe so it should do pretty okay. But to me, this is probably the most distinct CBM of next year, in a sea of big budget spectacle. A little cartoon movie about half man/half dog from a comic book written by fictional children that plays out in the way a comic drawn up by a kid would.

Leave it to animation to save the day here, lol. We need something to hold us over in comic book movies until BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE, whenever they decide to release that.

2026 is home to what looks like the usual array of late 2010s CBM backwash... AVENGERS: DOOMSDAY with Robert Downey Jr. returning to the MCU, possibly a fourth Tom Holland Spider-Man movie, two other untitled MCU movies (BLADE will likely take one of those slots)

There's also Gunn/Safran-verse DC's SUPERGIRL, but we gotta see what SUPERMAN looks like, first, before I can say whether their new DC shared universe feels like it belongs in the past decade or not...

You also have another animated entry with the MUTANT MAYHEM sequel, the first one - from last year - being a great and fresh new spin on the TMNT property. And THE BATMAN - PART II, the first one got a very strong response back in 2022. I would say THE BATMAN and MUTANT MAYHEM are of this new post-ENDGAME superhero movie era, the first SPIDER-VERSE arguably kicked that off in late 2018 before ENDGAME was released.

Again, it's a real "we'll have to see". Tracking this stuff can be fascinating for me.

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valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn · 1 year ago

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This is not good at all...

Insiders and nothing official, so take this with a grain of salt.. but it is brutal.

Regarding Kang and Loki:

“Marvel is truly fucked with the whole Kang angle,” says one top dealmaker who has seen the final “Loki” episode. “And they haven’t had an opportunity to rewrite until very recently [because of the WGA strike]. But I don’t see a path to how they move forward with him.”

So they might have to re-write the upcoming movies/series while it's all still filming. My, my...

The Marvels:

Directed by Nia DaCosta, “The Marvels” [...] resulted in four weeks of reshoots to bring coherence to a tangled storyline. DaCosta began working on another film while “The Marvels” was still in postproduction. “If you’re directing a $250 million movie, it’s kind of weird for the director to leave with a few months to go,” says a source familiar with the production. In June, Marvel held a public test screening in Texas. The audience gave the film middling reviews.

I'm including a snippet from another interview here because Da Costa said this last month:

While some directors, such as James Gunn, receive almost full creative control for their MCU entries, DaCosta recognized she had to answer to Feige: "It is a Kevin Feige production, it’s his movie." Da Costa did not have full creative control of the movie.

Picture me extremely worried now.

The VFX:

At the world premiere of “Quantumania,” [...] “There were at least 10 scenes where the visual effects had been added at the last minute and were out of focus. It was insane. I’ve never seen something like that in my entire career. Everyone was talking about it.” The schedule swap with “The Marvels” had left the “Ant-Man” sequel in a squeeze, pushing up its postproduction schedule by four-and-a-half months. Some final effects for “WandaVision” and “She-Hulk: Attorney at Law” were inserted after their streaming debuts.

The VFX guys have so much work and Disney gives them impossible deadlines, to the point that the releases of their series arrive and they haven't had the time to finish their work. I'm so glad these guys are unionized now!

On Blade:

The project has gone through at least five writers, two directors and one shutdown six weeks before production. One person familiar with the script permutations says the story at one point morphed into a narrative led by women and filled with life lessons. Blade was relegated to the fourth lead.

Holy fuck, that script? Seriously? I bet they would have tried to sell that as feminist, wtf... 🤦‍♀️

Bringing back the OG Avengers. No, really:

Sources say there have been talks to bring back the original gang for an “Avengers” movie. This would include reviving Iron Man and Black Widow. But the studio hasn’t yet committed to the idea.

"We're not working on the new characters well enough and people don't like them! What should we do?"

"Should we write them better?"

"No, let's just bring the old ones back!"

There is one good thing though:

Still, there was one bright spot in 2023: “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3,” which became Marvel’s biggest draw of the year with $845 million worldwide.

Fuck yeah, James Gunn! It's almost like when you focus on the characters and you tell a cohesive story, people like it and pay the damn tickets to watch it...

#mcu salt #mcu critical #the marvels #quantumania #holy shit Feige... what are you doing...

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codaattheend · 8 months ago

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[tagged by @vhstapeworm]

("Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers.")

IMMORTALIS is a FitMC-centric QSMP pseudo-prequel made in a fugue state over the course of four hours, during which half my time was spent figuring out how to do the title formatting. The corruption inherent in divinity, the sanctity of data, the differences between anarchy servers and narrativised servers manifesting as mind alteration and control. Even if you don't know anything about the fandom, I beseech you to click in just to see the title formatting. Perhaps hover/tap it as well...

Ghost Stories is a Schlackity fic about love irrevocably entwined with envy, trying and failing to move on from something you refuse to let go of, and a bit of cannibalism, both literal and metaphorical. It is one of the few fics I've written where I feel like I've properly captured the distinct emotional flavor I was attempting to convey. Here, it is bitterness, hunger, and longing long since rotting in the ground.

something deep and powerful is a D20: Neverafter gorefic about cannibalism. This is the only fic I've ever written that actively made me feel uncomfortable. I looked up so many concerning anatomy things for this fic. It is also, in its own way, about abusive mothers.

Swan Song is an AEduo Witcher AU fic made as part of a recursive telephone fic challenge (each work inspired by the previous), featuring curses, cycles, death, and the simple agony of loss. I'm decently proud of the tonality I managed to hit, like light through stained glass. I recommend reading the work this is inspired by and the next few works inspired by it, since we all got into a Witcher groove for a bit.

Paradox Cascade and its sequel/part two Killing Time are my first forays into the CYOA genre of fic, narrativisations of In Space With Markiplier parts one and two. These taught me so much about HTML, workskins, links, and more. They are decently ugly, un-innovative, messily made, and I love them. If I were writing them with the knowledge of CSS I have now, I would have done more ambitious things with them, but these taught me everything that I am using now for a new CYOA fic (that should have been finished over a year ago (for a 48-hour flash exchange (sorry Floral))).

(I think all the authors I know on this site have already been tagged, so if you see this and are a fic writer, consider yourself tagged. (Also, feel free to say hi.))

#crabmail from the omen #(These fics are also the five that most reveal my deep-set psychological problems if anyone's interested in psychoanalysing me.)

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zarvasace · 8 months ago

Note

🥰😍😔😭

🥰 fluff wip snippet

Shadow’s breath came quickly, a vicious thrill buzzing through his chest as he brought his weapon down from overhead. It whipped through the air with a satisfying noise, but it missed its target and slapped across the ground as Vio rolled away.

Quickly, Shadow used the rebound momentum to strike again. This time, he hits Vio’s shoulder, which stopprd him from getting up. He pressed his advantage and leaned down to cage Vio in.

“You haven't won yet,” Vio hissed, reaching up to grab Shadow’s wrist.

Shadow smiled. Blood sang in his veins, the heady elation of a good fight. “You're so pretty when you're angry. Just admit you lost.”

He missed Vio’s foot, launched upward into Shadow’s chest. The world tipped upside down as Shadow flipped over to his back. His lungs emptied.

Vio then wasted no time in rolling over to pin Shadow down. His cheeks flushed red, a rather nice sight that Shadow felt no shame in openly admiring. Vio pushed Shadow's shoulders down. “Just admit you lost,” he mocked.

“Nah,” Shadow replied. “You should know by now that I never give up.”

“Okay, cut!” Blue shouted from the sidelines. He put the phone in his hands down. “Will you two quit it with the weird flirting already? We won't ever get a good take!”

From the affectionately named Cat Shadow fic again, the bloodsuckers guide sequel :)

😭 angsty/sad wip snippet

Even if the rest of the world betrayed him, Shadow knew that Vio never would, not really, whatever his trauma-born doubts tried to tell him, whatever everyone else did. Vio was safe, and right now, he needed what comfort Shadow could offer. “Shadow,” Blue muttered next to him, probably about to tell him to sit down. Shadow had vague thoughts about dragging a chair up to sit next to Vio if this didn't work—and he would have—but he knew that it would work. He took two steps forward, and the world blurred and sharpened around him, and Shadow ran the rest of the way to Vio's lap on four paws again. He settled there, the discomfort in his chest melting away as Vio’s hand rested on his back. He wouldn't move for anyone, but at least nobody tried. “Miw,” Shadow said, as softly as he could. I'm sorry.

^^Also from the cat Shadow fic :)

😍 piece of a published fic I loved writing

“You have to put in a time.” Malon shut the microwave and pointed to the numbers. “This one has some shortcuts, so you just need to press”—Zelda pressed the five, and the microwave lit up with five minutes on the display—“one of the numbers. Pull it out after like, fifteen seconds, and test it. You don't want to overcook it. I can imagine that overnuked blood could be way worse than cold.” “Hm.” After sixteen seconds precisely, Zelda pulled the jar from the microwave and held it under her nose to smell it. She wrinkled her nose, probably performing for Malon, but leaned back to sip at it anyway. Malon cracked open her can of Sprite and joined her, wishing her own drink was cold, but something something biohazard, refrigerator not sterile, whatever. She sighed and enjoyed the lukewarm fizzing as much as she could.

From Vein, Artery, Aorta, a Zelda and Malon-focused companion fic to Bloodsuckers Guide, to keep with the theme. This one is insane and I love it

😔 piece of a published fic that was difficult to write

"Fine," Shadow said as the team went back to talking. He raised his head and looked Vio square in the eye. His words came out, but he barely heard them, as if he was just some badly tuned radio station announcer reading from a script. "I hate you. And I do not want to be seen at prom with a loser like you." Vio pulled back, hurt clouding his eyes. He scowled. "I don't believe you. What's going on?" "I've been hanging out with you for a joke." Shadow plowed on, his head full of static. His words snapped faster and faster. "It's been funny to watch how you fell for it." "Shadow," Vio said. "Stop it." "You fell hook—" "No." "—line—" "Shadow." "—and sinker."

From Bloodsucker's Guide itself, my current magnum opus. XD Shadow being intentionally mean to Vio after realizing that he doesn't want to be was so hard to write but it served the story so so well

(thanks!!)

#fs dsl au #vidow

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incorrectcoldflashblog · 6 months ago

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Hi!

❓

Hi, friend! Thank you so much for asking <3

-> any WIP snippet you want

I’ll use this as an excuse to share a little of the sequel to Cold Comfort, since it’s sadly nowhere near done and just keeps growing and growing…

How many? Lisa says.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. After the second, the inside of Len’s mouth is numb, tingling at the gums. After the fourth, a film on his teeth and the odd tightness of dehydration at his tongue and throat. Six. Seven. His body and his surroundings are moving at different speeds now, one too fast and one too slow, or maybe it’s the other way around; the world is blurring, Vaseline-smudged. Nine. He is clumsy now, uncoordinated. The tingling has spread to his cheeks and the insides of his arms. Ten. His neck can’t keep his head up anymore. It’s a terrible feeling. He doesn’t know how he keeps finding his way back into it.

Ahead, there is only the dark. Another before he goes to bed. Eleven. Twelve. There can be no moment where he lies in the bed awake. Lucky thirteen. Around him, it has to flicker and fade and finally shut off, and the morning will be his problem when it comes, if it comes. He can’t look.

Lisa makes a dismissive sound. You’re useless, Lenny.

I got him, the Flash says, and Lisa lets him go with barely a curl of her lip. There’s nothing to say anymore. The Flash—what is Len doing? What does it matter? Barry. Barry. (Merry Christmas, Barry, the softness of his own voice is almost in his ear if he tries.)

Barry says, Where have you been?

Barry says, What do you do all day?

Barry says, Are you hungry? Have you eaten?

Barry says, What kinds of things do you like to eat?

Hungry? Len is not. Barry gets him leftovers out of the fridge, handling Joe West’s ceramic casserole dish delicately, like fine China. Barry pours Len a tall glass of water so he can watch him drink it down like a warden.

The room is swaying, or Len is. His eyes are not quite open or closed, heavy with alcohol and fatigue, and he can hardly focus enough to track Barry’s back and forth, the shape of him smearing into the shadows. Like a dance in a dark room.

Barry says, Hey, are you alright over there? And puts his hand against the back of Len’s jacket for a moment.

“What do you think,” Len starts, but fades out, his eyes lost on the dark windows, Malevich’s Black Square except for how their faces reflect, Len staring straight ahead and Barry’s tilted towards him, listening.

Barry doesn’t say anything, but holds on for a minute, and Len can’t remember what his face looks like, but he’s the only one who ever touches Len. Len has always been carefully handled, so carefully that no one comes near him at all. He’s too raw, or too alien, or too drunk. Or he flinches too fast.

Barry guides Len around to sit on a kitchen stool and puts the water in his hand, tips the glass up from the bottom so Len drinks, and drinks. What does he get out of this, Len wants to know, and water slides down his chin, and he’s useless. Nothing, Barry says. He just wants to help.

Len’s throat creaks and croaks. His voice is very quiet. “What if I’m beyond help? You ever thought of that?”

Barry looks at him. The room lists to one side, and tips back. “No,” is all he says. He studies Len with a prickling sympathetic openness, like he’s gazing back in time.

“I—” Len starts, but his voice stutters out. He wants to say I never should’ve left. He wants to say I never should’ve come back. He wants to say It would’ve been easier to die.

“We should go to bed,” Barry says. “Can you walk?”

“Of course,” Len scoffs, insulted.

To prove it, Len swings himself off the stool. His legs instantly fold up underneath him and Barry has to catch him in his arms.

“—no,” Len admits. “I can’t walk.”

“I could carry you…” Barry offers.

“Don’t you dare,” Len mumbles into his speedster’s neck. “All right, Scarlet, just—just help me.”

WIP And Published Fics Ask Game

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agenericplaceholdername · 3 months ago

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The Five (Potential) Endings of Ninjago

"Endings will always come. All we can do is fight to make them good ones," -- Master Wu, March of the Oni trailer.

Lego Ninjago: Masters of Spinjitzu (or should I just say “Ninjago,” or perhaps, “Ninjago: Dragons Rising”) has, in its different iterations, run for over thirteen years now, something truly unimaginable when its pilot episodes came out in 2011, and still more is planned in 2025 and beyond. The series was never intended to last this long, and has “ended” at four distinct points, with a special fifth “ending” that feels climactic enough to the point that no one would have questioned the show’s end. So, let’s examine each of these endings, the seasons where the show could have ended but didn’t feel like climatic endings, and the seasons with clearly more content on the way.

Ninjago’s first two 22 minute episodes (or four 11 minute episodes) were not intended to be just the first – they were also intended to be the last. And to be fair, there was a clear, standalone story in the pilots for Kai’s character. At the end of the pilots, Lord Garmadon escapes to somewhere unknown (despite Sensei Wu’s protestation that “Father would not want you to do this, brother!”) While this clearly opened the door to future stories, the idea that a sequel was necessary is absurd – did the “beautiful friendship” alluded to at the end of Casablanca require a sequel where Captain Renault and Rick would truly become friends? And there are plenty of TV pilots that simply were never picked up for full shows. Now, to be fair, I will later point to seasons with unresolved plotlines to claim that they could not be true endings, but given that the pilots were, in the Hageman Brothers’ own words, intended to be self-contained, the end of "King of Shadows" (or "King of Shadows"/"Weapons of Destiny", depending on where you live) ended Ninjago – its first end.

Up until Season 1, Episode 1, Rise of the Snakes, that is. This episode introduced the prophecy of the Green Ninja, a prophecy that would not be fulfilled until 25 episodes later with Season 2, Episode 13: Rise of the Spinjitzu Master (Rise of the Snakes? Rise of the Spinjitzu Master? [George Lucas – “It’s like poetry, it rhymes”]). While Season 1 did not complete this storyline, Season 2 did, with the so-called “final battle between good and evil.” It alluded to the possibility of the Overlord’s return (something that Crystallized would explain 10 years later could occur due to “petty thefts, vandalism” – so much for the ultimate evil). However, this was very clearly the end of Ninjago, with Legends of Chima poised to serve as the new toy line plus tv show combination that had worked so successfully. Thus, the end of Season 2 was Ninjago’s second end.

And then Ninjago was rebooted. Not in the traditional sense, but Season 3: Rebooted recontextualized the “final battle” into the “ultimate battle” and had the Ninja face off against the Overlord… again. Let’s hope this doesn’t become a pattern. While Zane’s sacrifice would destroy the so-called “Golden Master,” it would become clear by the end of “The Titanium Ninja” that Zane was, in some way, still alive. While this could have served as an ending, the continued existence of the show directly following up with Zane’s ambiguous state here and the final scene of the season featuring just one of the five ninja and one side character (no offense, Pixal!) means that to me, Rebooted’s ending is not a Ninjago ending.

Neither is the ending of Tournament of Elements – despite the fact that it had a massive potential to be one. As “The Corridor of Elders” ends, the five Ninja, Sensei Wu, Nya, and Misako all reflect on the loss of Sensei Garmadon and what he meant to them. The music grows and it totally seems like with the loss of the man who served as an antagonist in the pilots, first two seasons and as a key character in Rebooted and especially in Tournament of Elements, the series could end. The characters talk about tomorrow (“Because of him, we will live to see tomorrow” - Zane, “And for every tomorrow, we’ll live to honor him” - Kai). This is similar to the dialogue said as the show was ending in Season 2 (“Because of you, Ninjago is saved. Because of you, there will be a tomorrow” - Sensei Wu. “We may have got the balance right today, but there’s always tomorrow” - Kai). This heartfelt conclusion could have ended the series – if not for the sudden presence of a ghostly figure creepily saying his own name.

As the sun rises on a new day at the end of “Curse World: Part 2,” we reach what I call Ninjago’s third ending – while not an official ending in the same way the other four endings are, it is similar to Tournament of Elements. The six ninja, Sensei Wu, and Misako are all together reflecting on their past adventures and the legacy Sensei Garmadon has left Lloyd. While there are arguably two storylines not wrapped up in Possession, those being the future reflections and Cole’s ghost form, I don’t think it’s necessary to follow up on them. After all, the reflections are not particularly important – while Jay does end up with Nya, the fact that Cole can disappear as a ghost does not answer why he had no reflection, since the Ninja were not wearing those new outfits at the time. In fact, since the Ninjago Movie altered the Ninja’s designs, they’ll never look like their reflections. And honestly, Cole could have remained a ghost – as Nya says, “And if they do,” referring to Cole’s comment on things not changing, “that’s okay. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.” By wrapping up the stories in Rebooted and Tournament, with Lloyd having grown from the loss of Garmadon, Zane now comfortable in his new body, and no villain or future plotline foreshadowed (even implicitly), the camera pans off as the season ends, and the series could have ended.

Skybound resolves one aspect that Possession didn’t, with Nya and Jay ending up together at the end of the season. That being said, while technically not introducing any new strands that need to be wrapped up, the end just doesn’t feel like the end of a TV show about a team of six ninja and their mentor. Due to Jay’s last wish, practically none of the season happened, and it ends with a shot of the boat with Nadakhan’s lamp sailing away as Jay and Nya kiss. This might serve as the end of a TV show where at least one of them was the main character, even if that character was part of a team – see Avatar: The Last Airbender’s ending – but quite frankly, they aren’t. This runs into the same problem as Rebooted, since ending a show on a conclusion that doesn’t address all the main cast just doesn’t feel conclusive.

Day of the Departed resolves Possession’s final hanging thread with Cole being returned to a human. It is also very clearly an ending specifically to "Day of the Departed" alone, with Sensei Yang wishing the audience a “Happy Day of the Departed.”

Hands of Time is interesting, because it actually could have been a series finale, according to Ninjago co-creator Tommy Andreasen, and also utilized the Possession reflections for the Ninja’s future outfits. If this had occurred, I would not have considered Possession’s ending a potential Ninjago ending – but this was not to be. Instead, while Hands of Time does serve as the final season where the Ninja’s pre-movie designs are used, and as a clean break with the “Oni Trilogy”, since HoT builds off previously established developments (Lloyd wanting to be a master, the Ninja’s HQ being the Temple of Airjitzu, Cole’s new form) that are dropped later in SoG, it doesn’t quite feel like a conclusion to Ninjago. Most importantly, Lloyd ends the season with a question: “Where. Is. Wu?” and since this question does get a followup in the Oni Trilogy, Hands of Time is not an ending.

Sons of Garmadon is the first Ninjago season where the villains “win” and sets up a lot for Hunted to follow up on, which it does, but still leaves the Oni as an unresolved threat. This threat is defeated in March of the Oni, with “Endings” aptly serving as Ninjago’s fourth end, and as the end to Ninjago: Masters of Spinjitzu. “Endings” concludes the 24-episode “Oni Trilogy” with Harumi’s story concluded, Lord Garmadon headed down the path of good, and the “demon that predate Ninjago” first mentioned in “The Mask of Deception” now defeated.

Ninjago can’t be gone for long, however, now having dropped the “Masters of Spinjitzu” subtitle, switched animation studios, and moved to an 11 minute runtime. While Secrets of the Forbidden Spinjitzu and Prime Empire both end without any loose ends, that is also the case for Skybound and Day of the Departed, both of which aren’t endings of Ninjago. Importantly, the eleven minute era was building toward an actual conclusion in the form of Crystalized, while SotFS ends with a monologue from a side character in the Never-Realm, not Ninjago, and Prime Empire ends with Jay talking about the reformed villain Unagami and how he’s doing. Neither of these endings seem like ideal places to end a TV show about six ninja.

Master of the Mountain is the first Ninjago season to mention the mysterious vengestone buyer, and it’s for this reason alone that I wouldn’t call this an end to Ninjago since that buyer is central to the actual conclusion to the 11 minute era. Otherwise, the music and panning shot away from the six ninja (and Master Wu) do have all the markings of a series finale in the same way as Possession. Part of the reason Possession gets marked as a finale is because the 2014 - 2017 seasons never got a true, formal ending in the same way that seasons 1 - 2, 8 - 10, or 11 - 15 did, so I was more lenient there.

The Island is just a special, like Day of the Departed, and serves to set up Seabound by introducing Wojira. Seabound, much like Rebooted, ends with the sacrifice of one Ninja, in this case Nya, who merged with the ocean. The final shot of the season does emphasize that Seabound was about her, meaning it does not serve as an ending to the series, especially given that the vengestone smuggling occurring in the first episode is about to be explained in Crystallized.

At last, we come to Ninjago’s fifth, and most recent ending. Crystalized marks the return of the Overlord, and I’ll note that the final villains of each of Ninjago season (excluding the pilots) that “ends” the show – the Overlord, the Preeminent, the Oni/Omega, and the Overlord (again) – are all one note embodiments of evil and destruction. In fact, Crystalized kinda character assassinates one of Ninjago’s best and most complicated villains – Harumi – but whatever. Crystalized is very intentionally a finale to the 11 minute era of Ninjago, with marketing parallels to Avengers: Endgame, the return of various allies and villains from the most recent seasons, but also some older characters too, like Pythor and the Serpentine. With Dragons Rising functioning as a separate series, with a large time gap, an overhaul to the world, and new protagonists, Crystalized is, quality aside, perhaps the single most definitive ending to Ninjago.

#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #masters of spinjitzu #ninjago pilots #ninjago season 2 #ninjago possession #ninjago season 5 #ninjago march of the oni #ninjago season 10 #ninjago crystalized #ninjago season 15 #long post

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cromulentbookreview · 11 months ago

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Fun with Fungi!

Huh, what's this? *cleans away dust* oh, yeah, this blog is still a thing. I probably should've written more reviews, but...

I mean, I could come up with an excuse, but I'm too lazy. Just as I am too lazy to continually update this book review blog that nobody reads. I mean, I just wrote a review *consults calendar* uh. In 2022. Dang, I have been lazy. Oh well.

I'm like a rug on valium, I'm talking lazy.

And by that, I mean: let's have a dual review of the Sworn Soldier series: What Moves the Dead and its sequel, What Feasts at Night by T. Kingfisher!

Those covers, man. They're awesome, but at the same time: poor bun bun. Poor horsie.

So technically, what I'm doing here is not one but two reviews. So I'm actually being really, really productive right now and not lazy in the slightest.

This is a legitimately true story, I swear. Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away...by which I mean, four or five years back or so, I'd never heard of T. Kingfisher / Ursula Vernon in my life until I got into a fight with her on Twitter* on whether or not the fruit of the hazel tree should be referred to as Filberts or Hazelnuts.

For the record, I am firmly team hazelnut. I mean, they're nuts from a hazel tree. Hazel+nuts = hazelnuts. Who in their right mind wants to eat something called a filbert? But, terminology varies as T. Kingfisher is firmly on team filbert. My parents also call them filberts on occasion which is weird to me as we live in an area lousy with hazelnut farms.

Mmmm, Hazelnuts...

Anyway! I had no idea who this person was but I got into a tongue-in-cheek gif fight on Twitter with them regarding hazelnut v. filbert. Feeling bad that I got into a fight with a random person online on their hazel tree fruit name preferences, I went to their profile, saw they were an author, looked up their books and bought the two books of the Clocktaur Wars series. I tore through them, and continued on, reading all of the World of the White Rat series (I just saw that we're getting a new one in January and I might have let out a bit of a fangirl screech), and the absolutely delightful A Wizard's Guide to Defensive Baking and Minor Mage. So far, every single one of T. Kingfisher's books that I've read has been awesome. Nettle & Bone? Amazing. Thornhedge? I'm a very slow reader, but I devoured it in an afternoon.

T. Kingfisher writes amazing fantasy novels and I absolutely love them. She also writes horror. Which is where I hit a brick wall because I'm a baby who doesn't handle horror well. I don't like horror movies. I don't often read horror books. Because the world is scary enough without ghosts and poltergeists and demons and jump scares. Also I watched The Ring when I was 12 and it scared the shit out of me. Anyway! Oddly enough, I've always found myself drawn to horror-type stories. I mean, horror fits so well in fantasy and sci-fi (looking at you, Doctor Who episodes that gave me nightmares). As an adult, I've found myself more and more willing to dip my toe into horror fiction. Season 1 of The Terror, one of my favorite-ever TV series is considered horror (maybe because it's not jump-scare scary, it's existentially scary. Also it's set in the past. Also it's got dudes-on-boats, my favorite genre). Part of me really, really likes horror stories set in the past - no horror like 18th/19th/Early 20th century horror, amirite?

Right?

Well, whatever, I just like horror to be ye olde timey horror, OK? Like Crimson Peak, The Witch, The Death of Jane Lawrence, Mexican Gothic, The Woman in Black, The Hacienda, Vampires of El Norte, The Hunger ... spooky-scary Gothic-y-Romantic-y-type stories that have a historical element to them. Those are awesome. I'm slowly - very slowly! - getting myself to read more contemporary horror stories. I understand that The Twisted Ones and A House With Good Bones are really, really good, but....what can I say, I'm a wuss. And contemporary stories aren't really my jam. I read to get away from the contemporary world, damn it!

(Me, too scared to read contemporary horror but not too scared to listen to 900,000 true crime podcasts).

Right, where were we?

Oh, yeah. The review(s). I'm starting to understand why no one ever read this blog and why I let myself be lazy.

In What Moves The Dead we meet Alex Easton, a Gallacian ex-soldier on their way to visit their old friends, the Ushers, at their delipidated estate in the rural countryside of Ruravia. Alex had word that Madeline Usher was dying, and they wanted to be there for Madeline and her brother, Roderick. Roderick had been a fellow soldier with Alex back in the day and -

Wait a minute, Roderick and Madeline Usher? Delipidated mansion? Unspecified 19th century middle of nowhere...

Yep, this story is, indeed, a retelling of Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher, and it does a much better job than certain series you might find on Netflix.

Moving on:

Alex, Roderick and Madeline were childhood friends, and Roderick and Alex even fought together back in the day. Alex is a "sworn soldier" - something unique to their home country of Gallacia, a small, backwater country located somewhere between Bulgaria, Hungaria and that other -Garia, a vaguely Central/Eastern European nation with a language somehow structurally worse than Finnish, Hungarian and Icelandic combined. The Gallacian language has seven sets of pronouns: there's one set used only when referring to God, a set used to refer to children before puberty, one set specifically for inanimate objects...and, as the Gallacians are a fierce warrior people (though they're not exactly great at it), there's a special pronoun set just for soldiers.

So, in Gallacia, anyone, regardless of gender, can waltz up to the nearest military recruitment post, declare themselves a soldier, and be given a sword and a new set of pronouns within the hour. Hence the term "sworn soldier."

Anyway!

Prior to arriving at the House of Usher, Alex encounters an Englishwoman, Miss Eugenia Potter, a mycologist studying the local mushrooms, and there are some gnarly-looking (and smelling!) mushrooms. In fact, the whole landscape around Usher House seems...off. Everything seems dead or dying. Random hares will stand up and just stare right at you.

And not in a cute way, either.

As if the landscape weren't bad enough, once Alex gets to the Usher House, Roderick himself barely resembles the soldier Alex once knew. His skin has gone bone-white and he's as thin as a skeleton. He seems terrified by something but can't quite articulate what. Madeline is still alive, but in bad shape. Not even Roderick's friend Denton, an American doctor, can say what is wrong with her and Roderick (Catalepsy? Anemia? Hysteria? Roomis Igloomis? Who knows?). Denton and Alex immediately figure it's something to do with their environment - the house is both rotting and falling apart around them - but Roderick insists that Madeline can't leave, and if she can't leave, he won't leave.

Determined to find out what's happening to their friends, Alex resolves to stay. But things in the House of Usher are starting to get weird. For one thing, Madeline sleepwalks far more than a dying woman should, speaking in a strange, child-like voice, there's a lake outside that seems to pulse and shine with odd lights, there's a legion of undead hares wandering around and, seriously, what is up with those mushrooms??? With the help of Denton, Miss Potter, and their trusty batman, Angus, Alex must figure out what the hell is going on with the House of Usher...before whatever it is starts to spread.

What Moves The Dead is short and sweet and the perfect book to read when it's cold and dreary outside - and definitely not one you want to read before eating a giant bowl of mushroom risotto. If you're looking for a fantastic, spooky-type read that reads like if Edgar Allan Poe and The Last of Us joined forces with an army of undead bunnies.

But!

Luckily for all of us, Alex Easton's adventures don't stop with the events at the House of Usher.

It's late in the autumn and poor Alex would much rather be in Paris. Unfortunately, Angus has successfully guilt-tripped them into a trip to Alex's family's old hunting lodge back in the Old Country, aka Gallacia. Nothing like good old Gallacia in the winter where everything is damp, cold, cold, and, you guessed it! Damp.

But the redoubtable British mycologist Miss Eugenia Potter wishes to study some Gallacian mushrooms, and Angus, who is absolutely sweet on her, pretty much voluntold Alex to come along to act as Miss Potter's translator and use their hunting lodge as a home base.

So instead of a beautiful late Autumn/Winter in Paris, Alex is stuck back home.

*Sigh* looks nice, doesn't it?

As much as Alex sulks at the thought of spending several weeks back home, it's not like they're going to say no to Angus and Miss Potter. Not after everything they went through with the Usher House *shudder*.

Unfortunately, when Angus and Alex arrive at the lodge to help get it ready for Miss Potter's arrival, the caretaker, Codrin, is nowhere to be found. A quick trip to the nearby village reveals that Codrin has been dead for the past two months. But the locals are being very cagey about what killed him - Codrin's daughter is very insistent that it was just a lung infection, nothing else, no further questions, goodbye.

Finding a replacement for Codrin proves difficult, as it seems none of the villagers want to go near the lodge because there's a rumor that Codrin wasn't killed by inflammation of the lungs, but by a creature called a Moroi - a woman who sits on your chest and quite literally steals your breath. And the rumor is, a Moroi has taken up residence at the Hunting Lodge.

Yikes.

After some effort, Alex manages to hire a new housekeeper: the ill-tempered Widow Botezatu, who brings her grandson Bors along with her. The Widow immediately hates Alex, thinking them a wastrel, but Bors is nice enough. Miss Potter arrives, complete with terrible Gallacian phrasebook, but it soon becomes clear things aren't quite right at the Lodge. Alex begins to experience strange dreams - dreams in which a woman is kneeling on their chest because, yep, the Moroi is very real, and it can get to you in your dreams, just like Groundskeeper Willie in Treehouse of Horror VI.

Which is to say like Freddie Kruger, but still.

When it becomes clear that the Moroi is after the residents of the lodge, it's up to Alex, Angus and Miss Potter to figure out how to defeat a creature that can infiltrate your dreams.

What Feasts at Night is just as creepy, eerie and atmospheric as What Moves the Dead - there is plenty of non-fungal body horror and, mercifully, no zombie bun buns. Kingfisher is fantastic at capturing the terror of having your ability to breathe taken from you, and of the dread of having to fight something you can't grasp while awake. How she manages to pack so much into two short novels, I have no idea.

RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone in the mood for some short, sweet spooky horror.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone who gets easily queasy, someone in the middle of eating a nice mushroom risotto, someone who really, really, really loves bunnies being alive and living their best lives, anyone who might wake up in the middle of the night with their cat on their chest staring directly into their eyes...

RELEASE DATE FOR WHAT FEASTS AT NIGHT: February 13, 2024

RATING FOR BOTH: 5/5

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SWORN SOLDIER BOOKS: Chigori

#book review #horror #t. kingfisher #what moves the dead #what feasts at night #edgar allan poe #mushrooms #zombie bunnies #Gallacia #sworn soldier #Alex Easton #Angus #Miss Potter #Mycology #Moroi #Dream monster

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underforeversgrace · 1 year ago

Text

healing the wounds we hid - 4

title: healing the wounds we hid

words: 3,067

Finally, the sequel to broken trust and the wounds hidden behind! (Refresh here on AO3 or here on Tumblr)

Story Summary: Now that his father knows, Danny's life is changing for the better. Jack encourages him to let his friends and the rest of the family into his small word. Unbeknownst to Danny, Jack is secretly worried about how Maddie will react to the news upon her return to Amity - and how to confront Vlad once Jack learns his true identity. Amidst it all, an enemy lurks and plots their revenge.

Chapter 4 of 11: Knowing You

AO3

Tumblr Chapter One

(Tumblr Chapter Four will be here)

Beta by: @probably-dead and @scarletsaphire!

Featuring art from this fic's second artist, @saxonroa!

Note: This one was already published to AO3, but apparently I never published it here! My bad!

~~~~~~

Jack stared at the mansion as the GAV idled, hesitating with his hand on the key in the ignition. It was the day after he’d learned the truth about Vlad, and now it was time to confront him. Some part of him wondered if he should let Danny know what he was doing, but he was at school. It was time for the adults to talk anyway.

With a sense of finality, Jack turned the key and pulled it out, turning the vehicle off and jumping out of it. He double checked his suit, making sure he had multiple weapons, along with two personal ghost shields. Vlad Masters would be able to get through them, yes, but it would still keep his ecto attacks from hitting or his Plasmius form from getting too close.

Confident he had enough weapons to at least escape to the GAV, Jack held his head high as he marched towards Vlad’s front door. He knocked before he had the chance to second guess himself again.

He didn’t have to wait long before he heard the sound of the lock disengaging and Vlad opened the door, clad in a red robe, his white hair hanging loosely around his face.

“Jack. What a…pleasant…surprise.” Vlad said, schooling his expression into one of mild interest.

“Wish I could say the same,” Jack said as he body checked Vlad out of his way, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him.

“What the butter puffs, Jack?” Vlad huffed in annoyance.

“You and I are going to have a talk,” Jack said, glaring at Vlad, pulling himself up to his full height.

Vlad at least had the common courtesy to look concerned. “Whatever about, my old friend?”

“Cut the bullshit, Vlad. I know.”

“You know what?” He asked, rolling his eyes.

“I figured it out. You blame me, don’t you?”

“Jack, I’m afraid I don’t -“

“Stop messing with me, Plasmius!” Jack shouted. “I know what you are, I know who you are! But what I don’t understand is why? You reviewed the math, Maddie reviewed the chemical compositions. We all messed up! Yet you blame me? And decide to beat my son bloody because of something that happened before he was even born?”

The faux friendliness fell from Vlad’s face, settling into a scowl. “Jack, stop talking nonsense.”

Jack grunted in frustration and walked past Vlad, to the living room just beyond the foyer.

The other man groaned and began to speak but Jack cut him off.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I get Danny, he was afraid. But you? Why hide it?”

Vlad narrowed his eyes accusingly at Jack. “You never visited. Five years in that hospital and neither of you ever came to see me.”

“We tried!” Jack said, stunned. “We tried for weeks to see you but you were under quarantine. And then you were better but accepting no visitors and then you were discharged and never talked to us. We thought you hated us. We thought you’d forgiven us when you invited us to the reunion."

Vlad’s face twisted in anger. “Forgiven you? You’re even dumber than I thought you were, Jack. You killed me! Your negligence cost me my life! But I made it better, didn’t I? Turned your fuck up into a gift. Created Plasmius, created an empire of wealth for myself. I may have given the ghost a name, but you’re the one who created this!” He shouted and then black rings were around his waist, so similar and yet so strikingly different than Danny’s, and Jack could only watch while his chest ached in shame. “How does it feel to have created not just one monster, but two? Remember when we contemplated the idea of hybridism in college? All the things we could do and learn from a thing like that, before we laughed it off as a joke because how could such a freak of nature ever exist? I’ve been trying to kill you for twenty years, Jack! And now your ridiculous child can’t even keep a secret?”

Jack listened to Vlad’s rant, the heavy blanket of guilt pressing further into him the longer he talked. Plasmius breathed angrily, his red eyes burning into Jack with rage Jack had never known Vlad able to possess.

A canyon of silence stretched between them. Jack fidgeted, running his hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts and break it.

“Danny didn’t tell me. I figured it out - figured out both of you. He doesn’t know I know.”

“Wow, a rare moment of Jack Fenton brilliance,” Plasmius said, mockery and anger dripping from his tone like venom.

“Why am I here?” Jack asked.

“You practically break into my house and you’re asking me why you’re here?” Vlad asked, the shift from fury to bewilderment so instantaneous it was nearly amusing.

“Not here as in your house. Here, in general. Alive. Breathing.” He asked cautiously, wondering how much of the Vlad he had known was left in his friend.

“Daniel is quite protective,” he growled. “Constantly interferes with my plans and saves everyone. Even for people who’d kill him.”

“He’s also only fifteen. He hasn’t even been de-“ Jack choked on the word “-dead for two years. And I’m only human.” Vlad was silent as he processed Jack’s question, so Jack continued, his voice tired. “You’re one of the richest men in the world. I’m oblivious, but not that oblivious. You could’ve hired someone to murder me and make it look like an accident. But I’m still here.”

Jack felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, crushing him into dust even as Plasmius came for him, hands outstretched. He vaguely remembered the weapons he’d brought with him as Vlad grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall, but he suddenly found he didn’t care to use them, even as he grabbed at Vlad’s wrists and struggled for air.

At least Vlad wasn’t as cold as Danny.

“Maybe I wanted to do it with my own hands,” Vlad hissed, lifting Jack off his feet. Jack clawed at Vlad’s hands, desperate to be let down. “Maybe I needed to make sure you hurt as much as I did, suffer as much as I did! And now you offer yourself up to me on a platter!”

Jack couldn’t speak, becoming lightheaded as Vlad continued to strangle him. Looking into Vlad’s red, pupil-less eyes full of rage and pain, Jack began to wonder if he’d made a mistake, if the friend he’d known really had become someone capable of murder, when doubt and regret crossed Vlad’s face.

“Fuck!” Vlad shouted, releasing Jack from his grip. Jack fell to the floor two feet beneath him, collapsed onto his hands and knees as he breathed in the beautiful, cool air around him. “Fuck!” He repeated, blasting some of the furniture around them into pieces with his pink ecto rays. Plasmius floated down to the floor, and Jack wasn't sure if the tears forming in the ghost’s eyes were from anger or grief.

“Damn you, Jack Fenton,” Vlad hissed. “You and your perfect life, with the woman I love and the kids I always wanted! Why do you get everything? Why do you get to be happier than me? Why can’t I kill you?”

“‘Perfect life?’” Jack asked, his voice still a little breathless as he pushed himself to his feet. “You think my life is perfect? You can have it! Along with every mistake I’ve ever made! I killed you, my best friend! I killed my son. I’ve hunted him, hurt him! I only know now because I found a goodbye video he filmed in case I killed him again! I’ve pushed my daughter away. I’m terrified my wife is going to try to kill our son!”

Tears fell as all the pain he’d masked since the video tumbled out, finally able to let out everything he’d kept within. “Do you want your son’s blood on your hands? Do you want to remember all the dreams you had of torturing him? Do you want to know he spent almost two years afraid you wouldn’t love him enough to not dissect him?”

The room began to blur as tears clouded his vision, as he cried so hard his chest burned. “Do you want to learn that someone else did do that to him? And he still feared you too much to come for help, that he stitched up his own vivisection wound? Because if you want all of that, you can have it! All the guilt, all the pain, all the things I’ve broken. Do you still want my perfect life? Because I don’t!”

The two men looked at each other as Jack finished his breakdown, before a bitter laugh escaped Vlad. “Ironic. Of the two of us, I’m the one who wants to kill, yet you’re the one with blood on your hands.”

All the energy Jack had previously had vanished, and he sagged against the same wall he’d been pinned to. “I have to live with my mistakes. So believe me when I say living is worse, when I have to face my mistakes every day. Maybe that’ll make you feel better, Vlad.”

“Hmph,” Vlad said, black rings sweeping across him again, turning him back to Masters. “That does bring me some happiness.”

“Wonderful,” Jack said dryly, looking around at the mess - and lack of intact furniture. He sighed, sliding to the floor, exhausted after letting out all the shame he’d buried so deep.

Awkward silence settled between the two.

“I’m sorry, Vlad.”

~~~~~~

Danny yawned as his friends bickered, poking at the food in front of him. It was nice, to be back here with them. It’d been a few days since they’d found out - he’d told them on Monday afternoon and it was now Friday - and his fear had largely faded away. He’d been so worried they’d be okay with it and then realize that he was a freak, a monster, and grow afraid of him, that they’d out him to the town and the government. But they’d accepted him back with open arms, even insisting on joining him on patrol (once he showed them how to use a blaster and told them in no uncertain terms that if it got too dangerous, they needed to run).

He felt Tucker elbow him gently. “Yo, you good? You’re playing with your food instead of eating again.” Tucker asked.

“You’ve been doing that a lot. Do you just… not eat as much anymore?” Sam added, dropping her voice at the end.

The urge to lie bubbled up against his lips, but he forced it down. He kept having to remind himself that he didn’t need to lie anymore, not to these two. “Not recently,” he admitted. “I’ve been losing my appetite the past three or four weeks. It had actually increased for a long time after the accident, but now I’m just not hungry.”

Sam pursed her lips thoughtfully. “So around the time your dad started helping you?”

Danny paused as he thought back, though he also felt an odd stirring in his core. Sam and Tucker had listened to every story he told with rapt attention and it made him feel… loved?… that Sam had remembered a detail that small. “Uh, yeah, actually you’re right. Weird. I wonder if it’s related, but how would it be?”

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Sam said and Danny was struck by how unhelpful that sentence was as his initial reaction was to freak out. “I have an idea.”

Danny glanced at Tucker to see if he had any clue what Sam was talking about, but he just shrugged. He didn’t miss the way Tucker’s eyes lingered on him a little longer than necessary before Tucker returned his attention to Sam. This wasn't the first time he had noticed those glances and everytime he did, he had to bury the fear it was Tucker doubting him. He couldn’t explain how he knew that wasn’t it, but somehow he just… knew. Besides, he didn’t… entirely mind them.

“So, you know how some ghosts can sense and feed off emotions?” Sam asked, leaning forward to whisper.

“Uh, yeah?” Danny said with a frown, Spectra coming to mind. He’d told them about his encounters with her, but that was the only feeder ghost he knew of.

“Well, I’ve been doing some reading,” Sam said, patting at her backpack, “and it looks like that’s a common trait. Let me ask - has your appetite dropped even more since telling Tucker and me about you?”

Tucker took a deep breath at Danny’s side, while Danny forgot how to breathe, both realizing what she was saying at the same time. Danny’s eyes widened as he realized Sam was right. He did have another dip in appetite after Sam and Tucker had re-entered his life.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” she said, pulling a book - A Goth’s Guide to Ghosts: The Symbiotic Relationship of the Dying and the Dead - out and flipping through it, looking for a specific page. She set the book down, turning it so he and Tucker could read it, pointing at the title of the chapter.

“Emotions and their Nutritional Value?” Tucker read aloud.

Sam nodded, then pointed to a passage further down. “Look here.”

Danny pulled the book closer to him. “‘While most ghosts feed on the negative emotions of people - one of the reasons why ghosts like to hang around the standard goth - some have been theorized to find more sustenance on the emotions of the happy. Therefore, when first attempting to contact your ghostly suitor, it is imperative to ensure the ghost can get appropriate energy from you and your emotions.’”

“Is this a book about keeping ghosts as pets?” Tucker asked, eyes continuing to scan the page.

Danny felt like cement had been poured down his throat. He couldn’t eat human emotions. He couldn’t.

“Honestly, I don’t know, some parts read like the ghost is the pet and others like the human is,” Sam shrugged. “But it has some good information, and that wasn’t the point I was making.”

“You think Danny can eat our emotions?” Tucker said, brows furrowed in confusion.

Danny could barely hear the conversation over his heart thudding against his rib cage, the sound of whooshing blood loud in his ears. He was human. Human. Sure, he’d come to terms with being half ghost (and therefore half dead), but he still felt more human than ghost. If he could eat emotions and not need real food, was he becoming more ghostly?

Was his ghost half overpowering his human half?

“I think so,” Sam confirmed, her voice sounding so far away. "His dad and the two of us? I think he’s sensing, I don’t know… companionship? Safety?”

“Love?” Tucker questioned. Sam nodded, opening her mouth to say something else, but Tucker had realized Danny’s silence wasn’t thoughtfulness - it was panic. “Danny?” he said, shaking Danny’s shoulder gently.

“I can’t,” Danny said hoarsely, shaking his head, refusing to accept it even if he knew it was true.

“Danny, it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it.” Tucker said gently.

“You aren’t hurting us. The book talks about how it isn’t harmful to humans. We didn't even notice it was happening until now. Spectra sought pain and depression, that’s why she was dangerous.” Sam agreed, reaching across the table and patting the back of one of Danny’s hands.

“How can you be okay with this?” Danny choked out. “You guys, my dad. I’m a freak of nature and you all act like it’s fine. I don’t understand.”

“We’re your friends and your dad’s, well, your dad. It’s fine because it’s you,” Sam said.

“So no more moping about being weird, ‘cuz everyone at this table is a freak,” Tucker added with a laugh and pulled a reluctant smile from Danny. “You’re our friend and we’re not going anywhere. Besides!” Tucker continued, pulling Danny’s plate of spaghetti from in front of him. “Now I get more free food!”

The smile felt weird on his face as he glanced between his two friends. “You’re sure? You still… want to be around me?” He asked. Even though they’d said so many times, he still struggled to believe it.

“You’re the one who can eat our emotions,” Tucker said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Are we lying?”

“Or are we just happy to be around you?” Sam added.

Danny hesitated, then closed his eyes and focused on… something. Something within him - like his core but not. There, he could feel it, feel them. Joy, respect, loyalty floated within him, though they were definitely not his own emotions. Shockingly, though, love - romantic love - was one of the brightest and strongest he sensed. He couldn’t tell how he knew, but when he opened his eyes and stared at Tucker in shock, he knew it was Tucker the love was coming from, even before Tucker gave him a shy smile.

Well. That explained the lingering glances recently.

“You’re telling the truth.” Danny said, smiling at Tucker before he turned to look at Sam. That was a conversation for just the two of them, for when they were alone.

“Told you so,” Tucker and Sam said at the same time, pulling a genuine laugh from him.

Two months ago, Danny had been convinced he’d spend the rest of his life suffering alone, especially after his time with the Guys in White (a story he hadn’t told Sam and Tucker and never planned to).

For so long, Danny had accepted his existence was to suffer, to be bled and broken and bruised over and over, to serve his penance for opening the portal, alone and in agony until he died again. He’d accepted his friends’ hatred, his family’s disdain for one half of him and their disappointment in the other. He’d decided that while his life wasn’t worth fighting for, everyone else’s was, no one else deserved to die for his mistake.

But as he nonchalantly placed his hand on the bench near Tucker’s and their fingers entwined, as Sam changed topics as though this entire conversation hadn’t been impossible, as he remembered everything his father had done for him… he decided that, maybe, just maybe, he was worth fighting for, too.

#grace writes #danny phantom #danny fenton #invisobang #invisobang2023 #invisobang 2023

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