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inkykeiji · 4 years

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i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰ ✰ ✰

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

✰ ✰ ✰

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

#todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya x reader #dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma #tomura baby i’m so sorry #promise u don’t horrify me at all oof #pls come horrify me more #christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools #a buncha clowns #anyway this is my first time posting something like this #n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time #so pls be nice #actually u should always be nice #so pls be extra nice #no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn #the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge #prone to monologuing this boy is #also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas #apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences #idk i still kinda like em tho #i like oscar #tw pseudo-incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw emotional manipulation #tw somnophilia #tw drugs

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vangoghmusings · 4 years

Text

are you hiding too? part two | shoto todoroki x reader

summery: part two of “are you hiding too?” read part one here: ✿✿✿

college au + nsfw

pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader

word count: >3,000

warnings: cussing, mention of drugs and alcohol, nsfw, oral, intercourse

a/n: oh my goodness, i can’t believe you guys wanted a part two!! and with smut?! lord have mercy, i can’t believe i’m giving y’all permission to be horny on main smh...oh well >:) i had a really great time writing this and if you guys dont like it i might actually cry...hehe enjoy!!

taglist: @mixfi @lilacskyura @brownmoonchild (comment or message me if you would like to be added)

After what seemed like ages of attempting to drag Mina and Ururaka to their shared dorm, you finally managed to put them into bed. You felt drained, the two of them were completely drunken toddlers. Except worse because they reeked of vomit and were far from cute.

You walked took the stairs to your own dorm, sneaking in quietly. Tsu was asleep in her room, and you did your best to not wake her up. Your phone chimed, signaling you had failed.

“Shit shit shit,” You whispered, quickly turning your phone on silent. You made your way into your room, closed the door behind you, and plopped onto your bed. You exhaled deeply, exhausted from your night before looking at who had texted you.

unknown number: hey, y/n its shoto :-)

You blinked and bit your lip, your cheeks heating up. You recalled the nights events. You had only just truly met Shoto, but the way he kissed you made it seem like you had known him for a lifetime. Before you could reply, you heard your name being shouted from your window. You hurried over to the window and peered your head out. On the sidewalk below stood the very drunk Denki Kaminari and a plastered Eijiro Kirishima.

“Oh y/n, y/n, let down your hair!!” Kirishima sang, his words slurring together.

“Nah man you gotta be like, HEY Y/N FLASH ME YOUR TITS!” Kaminari wailed, flinging his shirt in the air.

You rolled your eyes, “Go to bed boys.”

Their eyes widened seeing you look down at them. Kirishima cleared his throat.

“Shall I compare thee to a summers day-”

“CMON Y/N, LET US UP! WE’LL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE,” Kaminari sang, thrusting his hips out in the air suggestively.

You laughed and shut the window and closed your curtains. You hopped into the shower, washing off the smell of weed, alcohol, and Mina’s vomit. You got into your pajamas and crawled into bed. You remembered the text from Shoto and eagerly grabbed your phone, replying quickly.

you: hi shoto, did the party die down?

shoto: yes, thank goodness. did you get home safely?

you: yes :) thank u,, hows whiskers?

shoto: he left me for koda :-(

you: oh you poor thing!

shoto: i know what would make me feel better though...

you: hm? whats that

shoto: can we go on that date sooner? like, sunday?

you: sounds perfect :)

It was Friday going into Saturday. You almost wished he’d ask to see you tomorrow, but that must’ve seemed too eager. Another text came in as you looked back to the screen.

shoto: great :-) i’m beat so im gonna go catch some zzz, good night

you: good night shoto

You felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. You barely knew him but everything just felt so normal.

Before you knew it your eyes fluttered shut and you were sound asleep.

✿

You were woken up, quite harshly by Mina and Ururaka screaming in your face. Mina shook your shoulders, your head wobbling around.

“Okay okay!” You groaned, pushing Mina off of you.

“IS IT TRUE?!” She shouted. You rubbed your eyes, irritated from the rude awakening.

“How the hell did you guys even get in here?”

“Tsu let us in,” Ururaka chimed in.

“Sorry!” Tsu yelled from out in the living room, causing you to sigh.

“Stop dodging the question!” MIna said, gripping your shoulders once again. You slapped her hands off.

“What question?” You glared.

“That you made out with THE Shoto Todoroki!”

You blinked.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS MINA YOU WOKE ME UP TO ASK ME THAT?! YOU WERE THERE!”

Ururaka squeaked at your sudden outburst, pulling Mina away.

“Thats what I told her! She couldn’t remember,” She said, Mina pouting.

“Just how drunk were you last night?” You question, Mina turning away in shame.

“Enough to forget that you made out with Shoto,” She grumbled.

You chuckled and got out of your bed stretching.

“Mmm, well, yeah. And we’re going out on Sunday.”

Their jaws dropped.

“SUNDAY?!”

You cringed at their shouting. Ururaka began spilling out a bunch of dating advice while Mina kept begging you to tell her all the details in case you got the opportunity to “give him the ol’ razzle dazzle” as she put it.

“Hey I made waffles! Get them while they’re hot!” Tsu yelled. The three of you looked at each other before running into the the kitchen, sitting down at the table, and proceeding to stuff your faces.

“So, Todoroki huh?” Tsu said, sitting down beside you. You blushed and nodded, cheeks full of waffle.

✿

You anxiously pressed your hands on your skirt. Shoto was supposedly 10 minutes away and you had no clue to where he was taking you. You stared at your self in the mirror. You donned your most confident inducing outfit, a mini skirt and lace trimmed top. You took a deep breath before reaching down to slip your sneakers on. There was a knock on the door and you shot right up. You ran to the door and inhaled deeply as you opened the door.

“Shoto- What are you doing here?”

Standing infront of you was Mina and Ururaka, pure excitement in their eyes.

“We came to see you get ready-”

“We wanted to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself,” Mina said cutting the brunette off.

You rolled your eyes and let them inside.

“He’s supposed to be here soon,” You said, the nerves bubbling up once again.

“You’ve got this y/n!” Ururaka cheered, giving you a tight squeeze. Mina made her way to the fridge, shuffling around and grabbing a day old breadstick from a pizza box. You tilted your head at her.

“What are you doing? Those are mine!”

“You can’t possibly think I’m going home when you’re going out with him. I need to be here for when you get back so you can tell me every juicy detail,” Mina scoffed, punctuating the sentence with the last few words.

You huffed and nodded, your eyes widening as a knock was heard at the door.

“OH MY GOD!” Ururaka mouthed, waving her hands in the air frantically.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT HE’S HERE HE’S FUCKING HERE,” Mina mouthed, jumping up and down, the breadstick flopping between her teeth.

You opened the door, relieved to see the real Shoto standing there. You smiled up and him, praying he couldn’t see how nervous you were.

“Hey,” You said breathlessly. Shoto looked, stunning. You thought he looked beautiful in the dim yellow lighting of the room at the party, you were proven wrong. He wore slim trousers and a gray button up, open at his collarbones.

Shoto’s eyes seemed to replicate the same thoughts.

“H-hey,” He said, nerves edging his voice. He tried his best to not make it too obvious that his eyes were raking you up and down.

You closed the door, Mina and Ururaka giving you energized thumbs up.

“Sorry about that,” You blushed, walking at his side.”They were excited to see you take me out.”

“I don’t blame them, I’m excited to take you out too,” He smiled sweetly.

You punched his shoulder playfully, “Don’t be so cheesy.”

He chuckled, making his way to his car and opening the passenger door for you. You stepped inside, looking around. You inhaled, his car smelled just like him.

He sat down in the drivers seat and buckled himself in, you doing the same.

“So, you never told me where you’re taking me.”

“Oh?” He smirked. “I know.”

“I hope this isn’t a plot to murder me.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” He laughed, turning on the ignition and beginning to drive.

You arrived at what you believed to be an art museum. He hopped out of the car and ran to open the door for you. You beamed up at him as he took your hand, walking inside.

“Reservation for Todoroki,” Shoto stated to the security guard. The guard nodded, opening the door and letting the two of you inside of the massive, and empty museum.

“Dean’s son huh?” You looked up at him, swinging your laced hands in between you.

“Its got its perks,” He chuckled. “Like renting out the art museum for just the two of us.”

You blushed and you walked around the corner to see a series of paintings. The two of you walked and talked and gushed over the art for what felt like hours.

You came to a stop in front of a painting. The image portrayed a gorgeous Japanese woman in a traditional kimono. You bent down to look at the title of the painting. Courtesan: after Eisen, Vincent van Gogh. You hummed and stood back up.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, she is.”

You turned to see Shoto looking at you, tenderness and endearment in his eyes. You blushed deeply.

“I thought I told you to quit it with the cheesy-ness.”

Shoto cupped your face, leaning in, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “Sorry.”

You drapped your arms over his shoulders, closing the gap and kissing him deeply. He set his hands on your hips, his lips moving with a loving softness that made you melt. He pulled you closer the kiss gaining momentum and getting rougher. He pulled away, slowly, teasing you by biting on your bottom lip. The two of your stared at each other, pink cheeks and eyes filled with lust. Shoto quickly grabbed your hand and began walking.

“This way.”

You followed behind him like a love struck puppy. You found yourself int he photography section of the museum. The space was illuminated by a red light, the photographs lining the walls. There were several benches in the middle of the space.

You looked up at Shoto, the red light highlighting how hungrily he looked down at you. He sat down on one of the benches, you following his lead.

Before you could say a word, his lips latched onto your neck, soft whimpers of shock leaving your mouth. You felt his lips curl into a smirk against your skin. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging gently when he bit down on your collar bone.

“S-Shoto,” You huffed. You could sense yourself getting extremely wet, and the sudden idea of jumping him right in the museum wouldn’t leave your mind. He seemed to get the message, placing his on your inner thigh. He snaked his hand further up, his eyes widening feeling your soaked panties.

“I-I,” You stammered, afraid of what he would say. He said nothing actually and instead dropped to his knees in front of you. You blushed profusely, as he took the zipper of your skirt in his fingertips.

“Is this okay?” He looked up at you, waiting for your consent.

Is this okay? Oh god yes.

You nodded, too excited to see what he would do next to let the words come out of your mouth.

He proceeded to unzip your skirt, your thighs exposing themselves to him.

“You know,” He says softly, his nimble fingers, gently removing your soaked panties. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you in philosophy freshman year.”

Before you could reply to his confession, he burred his head between your thighs, darting his tongue inside of your heat. You gasped, your spine shuddering at the sudden penetration. You gripped the bench tightly, Shoto humming happily against you. His tongue swirled inside you, his nose tickling your clit that was so needy for more. You reached your hand down, and proceeded to rub your sore clit. You whimpered and bucked your hips, Shoto pulling away. His eyes widened at the sight, causing the erection in his trousers to cause further friction against the fabric. He stood up, and unzipped his pants, pushed down his boxers, allowing his strong erection to stand at attention. You eyed his length hungrily. Not only was he big, but he was long.

You opened your mouth, a fake innocence glazing your eyes. Shoto blushed as you took his cock in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you began to suck.

“F-fuck,” He groaned, griping your hair. He tenderly ran his fingers through your locks, brushing the baby hairs that were pressed against your forehead with sweat out of the way. And all this time you were still touching yourself.

“God, you look so pretty when you touch yourself y/n,” Shoto spoke softly, his mind beginning to blank from how good you were sucking him. You shuddered and whimpered, your fingers quickening their pace. You were reaching your climax and Shota had noticed.

“No,” He said sternly, gripping your wrist and pulling your hand away from your aching heat.

Your face was filled with defeat and embarrassment.

“S-Shota please, I just want to cum,” you whimpered.

“You’ll cum y/n, but when I say so.”

He sat down on the bench, gripping your hips and turning you so you would face him. The lust in Shoto’s eyes seemed to have crept to the rest of his features. He held his length in front of your core, it was dripping in your saliva. He picked you up and placed you above his lap, your entrence hovering over his cock. Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t be able to take all of him. The other part of you really wanted to try.

“Ride me,” he commanded. You nodded without hesitation and kined yourself up with his lenght, slowly lowering yourself unto him. You shut your eyes tight as he entered your tight hole.

“Shit,” you whimpered, but you were on a mission to fit all of him inside you. Shoto groaned, his cock twitching inside your tight walls. Once you managed to take in his whole shaft, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking huge,” You exhaled. You places your hands on his chest and kissed him hungrily, but not making any attempt to bounce or grind against him. You were cockwarming him, and Shoto adored you for it. But not for long.

“Fuck it y/n, I wan’t you to ride me already.” You giggled at his needy request and began to bounce yourself on him. Moans passed your lips effortlessly. Shoto was in a position that directly targeted your g-spot, and with every thrust upwards from his hips, you felt like you were on cloud-9.

Shoto watched you, completely enamored. You somehow managed to make riding him look so elegant. You glowed under the red lighting, and he was dying to see how your face would look under it during your orgasm. In one swift movement, he laid you on his back, your legs laying against his chest. You gasped in surprise. Shoto had gotten impatient and was dying to please you.

He gripped your legs firmly and began began thrusting-no-pounding into you. He huffed with every forceful thrust, grunting at the tightness of your walls. Your moans and wails were music to his ears. Your knuckles were white from gripping onto the bench.

“I-I’m close Shoto,” you moaned, the words shaking as they came out.

Shoto nodded and proceeded to roll his hips, hitting further inside of you. You groaned, your eyes rolling back, and seeing your face like that caused him to moan too. You arched your back, reaching your climax and Shoto continued to pound his entire length inside of you. You cried out in pleasure and cummed heavily all over his length. Shoto’s suspisions were correct, you looked glorious during an orgasm. So glorious infact, the sight caused him to cum himself. He groaned in a raspy tone, hot ropes of cum filling you up. Shoto slowed down, allowing the both of you to ride out your highs. He pulled out, the mixture of your cum flowing onto your thigh and the bench. He swiftly grabbed your damp panties and slid them on you.

“You’re just going to have to keep that inside of you until we get home,” He said with a smirk. You blushed and pecked his lips. He helped you up and off of the bench, and the two of you proceeded to get dressed.

“Hey!” The two of you whipped your heads around to see the security guard.

“Is this where the two of you have been hiding? Your session is up.”

Shoto bowed infront of the guard.

“I am so sorry sir, here,” he pulled out his wallet, and handed the guard what appeared to be two $100. “We didn’t mean to take so long. Thank you and have a good night.”

You squeaked out a little thank you to the guard, before Shoto and you were running back to the parking lot, laughed and grinning at their adventure. Once again, Shoto opened the passenger door for you and proceeded to get in the driver’s seat.

“Are you okay with staying at my apartment tonight?”

You blushed and nodded.

“A sleepover with the dean’s son? How could I say no.”

He chuckled and drove away from the museum as you pulled out your phone. Three texts from Mina.

mina: how’s it going?? ;))

mina: its getting late wya

mina: oh my god are u dead

You rolled your eyes and replied.

you: i’m fine, staying at shoto’s house tonight <3

Not even a second later, Mina answered.

mina: OMG YOU SLY BITCH GET IT GIRL

You giggled and put your phone away. Shoto set his palm down in front of you. You took his hand and your fingers laced together. He smiled, focused on the road and rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

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ajoy3fanfics · 3 years

Text

101 Ways to Shut Granger up pt 1/?

Find it on AO3!

The first time Draco Malfoy had thought about the proper way to shut Hermione granger up had been on the train, sitting with Astoria Greengrass no less.

Third Year

Astoria Greengrass was a bore.

She babbled about any little thought that came into her mind, without care to filter first. Was it earrings now? Was that what the bird was on about? Draco swore a second ago they were discussing dragonhide shoes. No, she was discussing dragonhide shoes. He was just the unfortunate audience to it.

‘Be nice to her’ his mother had asked, the hard look in her eye betraying her sweet voice. ‘Show her what a gentleman you are.’

‘The Greengrass’ are an important connection.’ His father drawled, placing his hand on Draco's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“I don’t see why. She’s a twit.” Draco scanned the room, looking for anything else to let his eyes land on. When he defied his father, spoke up in any way, he found it difficult to maintain eye contact. His father's hand squeezed harder, drawing his attention back to the calm features of Lucius Malfoy's face.

“They’re an important connection. It’s crucial they come to our side.” His words were tight, a smirk lifting the corner of his right lips. It was etched in deeply, like a man who was accustomed to getting his way. “If a Greengrass marriage is what it takes, then it is a small price. Astoria is a worthy candidate to be the future Mrs.Malfoy. You must show her why she wants it.”

“I’ll try father.”

He really, really did. But bloody hell, talking to Astoria was like watching paint dry. She kept the topics light, kept her volume appropriate, and the conversation flowing. Draco was sure that if he closed his eyes, he would find himself in his mother’s tea room, surrounded by 3 or 4 society ladies. Astoria did enough talking for 5. Didn’t the witch need to breathe? Wasn’t her jaw tired? How could one person have so much nonsense rattling around in their head? No one on the planet talked this much. Well, maybe granger. That witch never kept quiet.

But, at least Granger had important things to say. Interesting things, Draco thought begrudgingly. When she opened her mouth, it was to spew out substance and facts, on topic, useful bits of knowledge. While Astoria regurgitated the juicy gossip Columns, granger was as dry as a research paper. Opposite ends of a headache, in his opinion. As if his thoughts could conjure her, she appeared, bushy hair crowding the space around her as she neared his compartment door, then opened it without hesitation. She stuck her head in, chestnut curls bouncing as they swayed, the train moving ever forward.

“Has Luna come this way?” She asked, eyes searching the cabin quickly. Astoria frowned instantly at the sight of granger, and for the first time all morning, he found something they agreed in.

“No,” he spat, mouth turned down. Granger clutched a book close to her chest. She wasn’t in her robes yet, still casual in her muggle sweater and jeans. She looked relaxed in comparison to the prim and proper girl at his side.

“As if we have any business with Loony Lovegood.” Astoria finished for him, eyes narrowed in distaste. Draco nodded in agreement.

“Don’t call her that.” Granger’s stance instantly shifted into one of defense. “She isn’t loony. She’s… unique.”

“Is unique a synonym for weird now?” He asked, glad to have an audience for his jokes. Granger rolled her eyes and turned to leave when Draco caught sight of the spine of her book.

“Wait!” He practically jumped from the seat to stop her, the outburst starting Astoria, but thankfully halting Granger in her tracks. She turned back to look at him, a thousand questions written on her face. “Is that the new book? Jack Septons new novel?”

She looked down at the book in her hands, then back to him skeptically, as if confirming before she spoke. “Yes.” That was all she said in response. Like he was the mad one.

“How did you get that?” He asked, “The presale hasn’t even been scheduled. There's been no release for it yet- How-?”

Granger was expressive, he realized. Her eyes, deep brown, widened in surprise at his assault. “Oh- Septon, he heard Harry was a fan of the series and sent him a copy. Harry finished it over the summer and sent it to me. That's why I’m looking for Luna, actually-”

Typical. Saint Potter getting whatever he wanted. Granger turned to walk away, eager to find Lovegood and deliver the book.

“Did he escape?” Draco asked, unable to restrain his curiosity. “Or was he forgiven?”

At this, Granger turned back and stood in the door frame, cocking her head in an annoying way. “You want me to spoil the plot for you?”

Rolling his blue eyes he let out an exasperated sigh. “Not the entire thing, just that bit.”

“You really want to know?”

“Obviously,” He drawled, sounding more like Lucious than he intended. “That's why I asked, Granger.”

“Fine, if you really are that impatient, and you enjoy spoiling your own amusement-”

“Sometime this year, Granger.”

“He was forgiven. I won’t go into detail, but this new book is a totally different arc for the characters.”

Draco scowled, “But that's the entire story! The entire thing is built on him running away!” He scoffed before continuing. “I don't think I even want to read it now. What rubbish.” This confession seemed to stir something in Granger.

“What do you mean rubbish? This was exactly where the story was headed!”

“In what way? He had no other option but to run. He committed crimes, Granger. Real, horrible crimes. He-”

“And he paid for those!” She was heated, pushing her way into the compartment so a first-year could walk by. Draco dismissed her nonsense with a wave of his hands. “He was primed for redemption. The entire series-”

Astoria turned to him, framing her body against his. “Draco, this is terribly boring.” She leaned in, rather unexpectedly, and pressed her lips against his. The shock of it gave her leeway to stick her tongue inside, and Draco couldn’t help but notice the immediate quiet in the compartment. Dragging his eyes up towards Granger, he saw that her mouth had snapped shut before she promptly turned to leave.

‘That's all it takes? A kiss will shut Granger up?’

The thought rattled through his mind as his hands snaked up Astoria Greengrass’ side.

~.~

Was there ever a time that Granger didn’t know an answer to a question? Ever a moment that her hand didn’t raise in the air, a bit of knowledge ready on her lips? It seemed different than before, he had to admit. Before she had been bursting at the seams to prove to everyone what she knew, but now she looked about the room, giving others an opportunity to answer first. Not all the time, of course, but Draco was aware of the effort.

She was smart, there was no denying that. The witch was top of their class every year without fail, Draco trailing behind in second place. It was infuriating to know that she had waltzed into his world, a muggle, a mudblood, and risen to the top. Shouldn’t she have been behind? Shouldn’t she need time to catch up? What should have been rightfully his, she took without care. And because she was smart, she was in all of his classes. They were forced to spend their days together, no thanks to their schedules. Suffice to say, he walked to the dungeons each night with a pounding headache, the sound of Granger ringing in his ears.

He’d crawl under his covers, bone-weary from Quidditch practice, exhausted from a day of studies and friends, still hearing the sound of her voice. Repeating everything she said, not just the academics, but the small bits of conversation he picked up along the way. Her laughter, the soft sounds she made when she yawned. He wished she would shut the hell up and give him some rest.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of the kiss on the train, with Granger.

~.~

Fourth Year

Every time Granger opened her mouth, Draco Malfoy was tempted to take the nearest witch by his side into his arms. That wasn’t to say that it was entirely her fault. He was a young man, in the prime of his youth, and to be more than fair, the skirts seemed to get shorter every day. But whenever Granger began to go off about some nonsense, the idea of shocking her into a submissive silence ran wild through his mind. Despite his parent's wishes, Astoria was as bearable as a toothache, so seeking her out was not an option. Pansy however… Pansy was attractive- sexy, even. Wellbred, old money. Pure blooded, and clearly interested. She clung to him, hung off his arm like she had been doing it all her life, and at times, he enjoyed it. Especially enjoyed it, when Granger came into his sights.

She was sitting alone on a small bench on the pitch, nose deep in a book. Granger was oblivious to the practice around her, or the Slytherins impatiently awaiting their turn. Wizards rushed by on brooms, the wind whipping her hair with them, but she was unperturbed. Simply tucked her wayward curls behind her ear, focus entrenched on the pages, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she read.

A disgusting habit, to chew one's own lips. His mother would have a fit if he were to fidget in such an unseemly way. Yet for the life of him, Draco could not tear his eyes away. She had full lips, he realized. A well-defined cupid's bow that made them appear pouty. A shade of light pink, almost coral; He wondered if they darkened after that assault she was putting them through. Even as her teeth sunk down, pulling idly at her lip they still seemed plump. Soft, even.

Pansy shifted at his side, anchoring him back to reality. “Didn’t their practice end already?” She pouted.

“You know Gryffindors,” Draco eyed Granger. “The rules just don’t apply to them.”

Pansy grabbed his sleeve and dragged him forward towards the Gryffindor in question. The rest of the team followed behind, Pansy clearly the captain on the battlefield. Part of his brain screamed to stop her, but the other half was dying to get closer. Draco didn’t have enough time to process the confusion. Suddenly he was hovering over a mountain of chestnut curls. The intrusion caused her to look up, and Draco wondered when the last time he was this close to her. Granger's eyes shifted between the two, defensive. “What?” She asked.

“Move,” Pansy demanded. “It’s Slytherins turn to practice. You’re taking up the entire bench with that bush you call hair and books. Make room. Our team needs this space.”

Granger's lips curved into a sarcastic smile, and once again his attention was drawn to them. “I didn’t realize you were part of the team, Parkinson.”

She wrinkled her nose, as if the very smell of Granger was unpleasant, “I don’t want to ruin my shoes.” Draco followed suit, but all he could smell was something floral. Granger rolled her eyes in response, piling her stack of books into her bag, clearing space. “There's plenty of room here.”

Draco didn’t care much about the standoff between the two but needed to re-tie his laces before practice. Taking a seat on the side of Granger, he was surprised to find his lap filled with the slim body of his self-declared girlfriend.

Draco was not the biggest fan of public touching. Being used as a seat for Pansy Parkinson felt even more distasteful. Pansy threaded her fingers through his hair as she placed small kisses on his cheek. She was nothing if not But the way Granger scrunched up her face and leaned far back, it seemed worth it.

“Do you mind?!” She seethed. “There is such a thing as public decency!”

“Mione!” Potter called from the center of the field. “We’re heading back!”

“Not a second too soon!” She huffed, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stormed away.

A kiss makes Granger shut up. He thought smugly.

The taste of victory soured as soon as he saw McLaggen walking beside her, shoulder to shoulder and all smiles.’

~.~

It was hard enough to spend his days with her, but his nights were beginning to haunt him too. In his fantasies they were arguing, her face red from anger, body close as she told him off. He would crowd her, sometimes against a wall, sometimes a desk, but it always resulted in him gathering her close in his arms, mouth crashing down hard on hers.

~.~

The moment Draco knew that Durmstrang was coming to Hogwarts the very air felt different, charged. Finally, there would be wizards of his caliber in the disgrace they dared to call a school. He had dreamed of attending Durmstrang, and seeing the group sail in, proud and strong, made him wonder about a different life. Would he be a different person, had his mother let him travel further? Would his days in school be easier, less complicated if all he had to worry about were normal classmates?

At least the spotlight would be taken off of Saint Potter. He wondered how he would react, no longer the center of attention. Even better, Viktor Krum would be attending. They could fly circles together around the golden trio and show them true talent. What real breeding looked like in a wizard.

He was there, of course, to greet Krum and the rest of Durmstrang after their initial entrance. Eager to welcome the band of wizards he felt a kinship with, if for no other reason but status. And while they shook hands and all eyes were on Krum, Draco couldn’t help but notice that his sights were fixed on the back wall. Draco drew his brows together, trying to make out what had captured his attention.

All he saw was Hermione Granger, back to the cobblestone, nose buried in a book. His eyes flit between the two, and without knowing why, he felt a pit in his stomach.

~.~

He dreamed of her again, back on the pitch. But instead of Pansy in his lap, Granger was seated, her weight pleasant and warm. She didn’t rush as Pansy did, do it all for show. She was slow in her movements, small hands resting on his shoulders, tracing up his chest. She bit her lip again, eyes heavy-lidded, looking at him, hungry. He held her chin, pulling on her bottom lip to make her release it.

“Draco,” it came out in a whimper.

He leaned in, effectively cutting her off, tongue tangling with hers.

He woke up sweaty and sticky, twisted in his bedsheets. But most of all, disappointed.

~.~

It was hard not to think about it. About her. Hard to ignore, when she was constantly filling his space with her floral scent and laughter.

Harder to ignore her still, when she twisted her curls during the history of magic, distracting him to the point that the notes he took were not even legible. The damned witch was distracting. As if on cue, it played over in his head, ‘A kiss to make Granger shut up. Kiss Granger to make her shut up.’

~.~

Hermione Granger was everywhere. In his classes, in the halls. On the pitch at practice, on the grounds outside. Mostly, he found her in the library, in the same seat towards the back, stack of books towering over her. Oddly enough, Viktor Krum seemed to trail behind her like an unwanted shadow.

Maybe not unwanted. She certainly didn’t seem to mind having Krum tag along. Everyone knew there was a rift between her and Weasley, but Krum had filled that void in record time. Did she always need someone with her? Did the witch not know how to be alone?

There wasn’t a place in all of Hogwarts he could find peace from her. From them. Even as he scoured the shelves for his potions books, he could see them both from the corner of his eyes. Sitting together- close, too close.

Draco had the constant urge to trip him. It had to be seeing such a pureblood wizard-like Krum waste his time and praise on someone like Granger.

At least that's what Draco told anyone who asked. Even those who didn’t.

~.~

Something seemed different about her. Draco couldn’t place exactly what it was, but when he thought of her at night, hand busy at work beneath the sheets, her curves seemed softer, rounder. He came before he could even push her thighs apart.

~.~

Begrudgingly, he would admit she was attractive- somewhat attractive. But he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it out loud. Wouldn’t hear of anyone else saying it either. The minute he heard someone talk about how Granger seemed to fill out her sweater nicely, or that her legs were shaped just right he was quick to remind them that she was a mudblood.

He couldn’t stand it when they talked about her. It was happening more and more. It left him feeling anxious and unsettled.

~.~

Watching them walk together in the halls irritated him. Watching her crane her neck back so she could get a better look had him biting his cheek. Someone needed to pull them apart. Krum was embarrassing himself.

“Crab, Goyle.” He called, watching the pair walk by. “I want to find out how Krum does that move- the Faint. Go and find out what you can.”

He could do it himself, take the burden on. Physically pry Krum away from her, send him off into the arms of Pansy or Daphne. Anyone, really. Maybe he would fancy Weasley; they could discuss Quidditch. He honestly didn’t care. All that mattered was that there was an ocean between the two. In his mind’s eye, he saw him grabbing Hermione by the wrist, pulling her down the opposite direction.

“He’s an oaf.” He would tell her. “How can you fawn over someone like Krum?”

She would protest, of course. Probably spew some nonsense like ‘You don’t know him,’ or, ‘he’s not like that.’ She was prone to finding the good in people.

Of course, he would kiss her. Feel the fight drain from her body as she melted into him, arms snaking around his waist. She would be hungry for him, and he would take it all. Anything to make her get Krum’s name out of her mouth.

How did it always turn to that?

Unlikely that it could happen. Unlikely he would do it.

Granger frowned as soon as the two Slytherins made their way over, nodding to Krum as she took her leave.

Finally, he felt better.

~.~

It was just a fascination. A sick one, no doubt, but just a passing interest.

That's what he told himself as he kissed along the column of Pansy’s neck, thinking of olive skin.

~.~

The ball was a sick glimpse into his future. Boring, formal. Pointless.

Yes, the room was decorated beautifully, and every witch and wizard was dressed in their best. The elves had laid out a beautiful feast and everyone seemed to be in high spirits, but for

Draco, it was all tedious. This was every event his parents threw at the manner. Every party he had ever been forced to attend, eligible young witches who had not already been promised to wait their turn to dance. The only difference now was that the ball consisted of purely his generation. How many of these faces would he see someday at the manor? Would it be Astoria at his side, like his father kept insisting? Would Pansy cling to his arm in the future, just as she was now? Is that what he wanted?

~.~

There wasn’t much to say. She came down the stairs, looking more ethereal than human, and his mouth went dry. She took Krum's hand, and he balled his fists.

But just for that split second, it felt like she was walking to him.

~.~

When someone says the phrase ‘get a room’ it is generally implied that it is private. Not the damned Hogwarts library, where everyone had to witness the perverse show Krum and Granger seemed hellbent on giving to everyone. Sitting in the back, at her regular table, the mountain of books that typically accompanied her seemed lessened. Krum smirked, idly twisting a ringlet between his fingers. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear, and Granger actually blushed, fucking giggled, biting her bottom lip to keep it contained. She kept her eyes trained down as she continued to take notes, stealing glances his way.

It was infuriating. This was a public place for crying out loud. Couldn’t they take this sickening display somewhere else? He didn’t want to see Granger blush that way, with him. Didn’t want to see her look like she was begging to be kissed by fucking Krum-

His feet were moving before he knew it, headed straight towards their spot. As he strode by, intent to find a book on the shelf behind them, he made sure to hip check their table, disturbing their peace. When both pairs of eyes glared his way, he made sure to put on his best sneer.

“Accident.” He feigned.

“Vat did not zeem-.”

“No need to be so touchy.” Draco shrugged. He leaned closer to Hermione, voice barely a whisper. “Although I have to admit, it’s strange to think Granger would allow touching in the library. Pretty sure that breaks about 3 rules.” The scent of her floral shampoo overwhelmed him, and he had to remind himself to pull away before it seemed weird. Grabbing the closest book from the shelf, he turned on his heels, content to see the space between Krum and Granger had widened.

~.~

Draco had never been so happy to see a ship sink to the bottom of the sea. He heard that Krum had asked her to visit over the summer. Draco was determined to put Hermione Granger out of his head. A trip back home was what he needed. Back to the manor, but to any measure of sanity. He needed space away to clear his mind. He wondered if he would see her on the train.

#draco malfoy #draco x hermione #dramione #hermione #Malfoy and granger #hermione granger #fanfiction #dramione fanfic #dramione fandom #dramione fic #part 1 of 2

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shortqueershakespeare · 3 years

Text

gold rush (ballum fic)

Gleaming Twinkling Eyes like sinking ships On waters so inviting I almost jump in ***

Callum could remember the first moment he set eyes on Ben Mitchell, sat across the bar with a cocky grin on his face.

He remembers thinking that he would run away with that man, if he let him. But he’s straight, he’s got a girlfriend, he’s doing what’s expected of him.

He hasn’t got time to fall for a man who walks through town like a hurricane. It would destroy him to fall for Ben. But of course, he’s already fallen. And sometimes, Callum thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could weather the storm with Ben.

***

I don't like a gold rush, gold rush I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush I don't like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush Everybody wants you But I don't like a gold rush

***

Everyone loves Callum. Ben has known this since they met. Before, even. He’s like sunshine, bringing pure gold into the life of everyone he ever encounters. Ben hates it. How are you supposed to stay angry at someone that full of light? Not that Ben is angry at Callum, he’s worried. He knows the look in the other man’s eye, knows it’s just a matter of time before he admits to himself what Ben already knows. The problem with Callum is that he’s full of selflessness and self-sacrifice and Ben just knows that he will sacrifice every scrap of his own happiness to keep others happy. Ben knows he’s too selfish, knows he takes what he wants and burns bridges along the way. But he’s trying dammit. He’s trying to be a good man, someone Lexi is proud to call her father, someone Lola and Jay can rely on, instead of having to clean up his messes all the time. He wants to be selfless and good like Callum, but he just isn’t like that. So he tries to be a good man in whatever way he can manage. Sometimes he thinks he could help Callum, that they could help each other. Ben could teach Callum to love himself and say no, and Callum could temper Ben’s soft edges. Maybe, in another life, Callum would shine brightest around him.

***

What must it be like To grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes

***

Callum doesn’t know why he’s come to this park in the middle of the night. He just knows it feels like something he has to do, something that will show him who he is. He sees Ben’s face in the moonlight and he knows. He tries to cover it with empty words until he just lets the truth tumble from his lips. Ben catches it. He wants to live in this moment, wrapped up in Ben in the freezing cold at the dead of night. He wants nothing more. *** I see me padding across your wooden floors With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door At dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit ***

Months have passed and Callum can’t believe his luck. He’s spending days with his new family, finally in the kind of relationship his soul has been searching for. He’s invited on family outings, persuaded into helping Lexi bake and dragged on nights out when Lola’s had a rough day at work. As he sits at the table watching Lexi turn her dad’s sass right back at him, he knows this is where he’s meant to be. His heart has never been more full.

***

And the coastal town We wandered round had never Seen a love as pure as it And then it fades into the gray of my day-old tea 'Cause it could never be *** Ben knew it could never last. He knew that Callum deserved a chance to fall in love properly, with someone that only amplifies his light instead of dimming it. It breaks his heart to do it, but really he’s just bowing to the inevitable. He waits until he’s turned away to let the tears come and holds himself together long enough to fall into bed, broken and sobbing himself to sleep. *** 'Cause I don't like a gold rush, gold rush I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush I don't like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush Everybody wants you And I don't like a gold rush *** Callum doesn’t want to go on a date. He knows his heart is still with Ben. He’s so terrified of dating but the guy’s got a nice smile and he’s in the job Callum wants for himself. He’s a sweet guy and in another life Callum would leap at the opportunity. But he can’t string someone along, especially not when this guy knows he’s not over his ex and has given him such an easy out. He just wants Ben, however hard he fights against the feeling. Then he steps out of the Albert and his heart is in his mouth watching little Lexi cheer her dad up. What did he do wrong? *** What must it be like To grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes My mind turns your life into folklore *** Ben is drunk and tired and thinking of Callum. Thinking of the last time Callum was above him with Ben’s hands tangled in his hair. It hurts so much. He knows what he had and he knows why he had to let it go but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. His heart is still breaking and he has to pretend it isn’t every day. He falls asleep to the thought of Callum’s arms wrapped around him, wishing he could wake up to him again. *** I can't dare to dream about you anymore At dinner parties I won't call you out on your contrarian shit And the coastal town We never found will never See a love as pure as it 'Cause it fades into the gray of my day-old tea 'Cause it will never be *** Ben has to leave. He knows he does, but it doesn’t make it any better. It never does.

He can't hold on to hope that it might work for him this time.

He’s broken his own heart over and over but knowing that he’s going to break Lexi’s is more than he can bear. Saying goodbye to the parts of his family who love him back feels so wrong. He’s leaving his brother, his best friend and his daughter. He might as well be leaving his heart behind. *** Gleaming Twinkling Eyes like sinking ships On waters so inviting I almost jump in *** He runs across the square, towards the sun he’s been orbiting since they met. He pours out his heart and then they’re kissing and it’s like his world has burst back into colour. He hears a little voice calling for him and he spins Lexi around . He’s never been happier to see her. “I’m staying where I belong.” And this time, he means it.

#ballum fic #fic #my writing #writing #fic writing #my fic #ballum #ben x callum #ben mitchell #Callum Highway #song fic #taylor swift #gold rush #evermore

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bohemiansweede · 4 years

Text

Valentines Confessions

Fanfic

Pairing Roger Taylor Reader

Warnings Smut 🔞

A/N Please like and reblog or if you want leave a comment

Thank You

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

-Ohhh for f*** sake... Nooooo... Not now... Shit..

The old car maked a last sigh and made a stop on a the remote road

- No.. No.. Please.. Not here..

It was not even my car

My boyfriend was by now probably furious and sat at home impatient and waiting for me to cook his favourite valentine dinner

I sighed out loud and banged my head in the stearing wheel

Did I even love this guy anymore?

Past few months we had been arguing and dribbling back and forth with being together or not..

I went out from the car and slammed the door

Where the hell was I..

It was almost dark and thoose few houses near the road looked abandoned..

Probably eating romantic dinner with candles I huffed for myself and started to walk

Fuckin perfect.. His car choosed to stop functioning again.. today of all 365 days.... .

And of course it started to rain.. Wow..

Could it be any worse now.. Yes.. there it was... I suddenly lost my balance on the little gravel road.. fell and scraped both my hands

- AHHH DAMNIT!!!

I'm the middle of everything my bad luck turned and it seamed was someone home in the last house down the road

I brushed of my knees a bit and rang the door bell

After a while the door opened and a blond man stared back

I could not believe my eyes

- Evening mam

- H.. Hi.. Ehh.. Exuse me Sir..

He must have seen that I looked like a drenched mess

- Are you OK dear? He saw my muddy hands, even if I tried to hide them in pure embarrassment

- Actually not.. M.. My car have broke down just down the road here and.. Shit.. I have to call.. Ohh no..

- S'alright.. Please come in, he took his warm hand on my shoulder and smiled gently.. I am Roger.. btw, you can borrow my phone while I have a quick look at your car OK?

I tried to smile back but it probably just looked odd, he nodded at me and grabbed his fur coat while I sat myself down on shaky legs by the phone

Shit... Shit shit... It was HIM!!! HIM!!! Roger FUCKIN Taylor!!!

I seriously had a crush on this guy.. But hey.. Honestly.. Almost every girl had.. No.. I could not do this to my boyfriend, even though he had cheated on me several times.. It was not my style.. but.. this could also be my one chance... Damnit...

Same time that I put the phone back down he returned through the door, he ran his fingers through his blonde hair , the little shorter style looked good on him

- Sorry love, I could not start it, and everything is closed by now

- That what was I afraid of.. My boyfriend is not happy at home .. He... I started to shake

I told him everything.. Peter had yelled on the other end, called me by many names but my own, he threatened me that I didn't have to bother coming home at all and he would spend the night with his ex

- Look.. I had a few whiskeys.. Otherwise I could... mmm.. So sorry.. I don’t know you, but you are freezing cold and it is dark outside, let me warm up some food for us while you take a bath ok?

I almost started to cry

Roger had a bad boy reputation but he also had a softer side, I had always known that

It was a big house but not a mansion, I knew his girlfriend just left him, everyone thought they actually were going to tie the knot and getting kids but no...

- Let me know if it's warm enough, he returned from the bathroom

- Ohh I'm sure it will be fine, thanks for your kindness

My both palms were OK, it was just dirt and clumpsyness

While I laid back in the hot bath I let my thoughts wander off and it felt like I been in there forever and soon my water was cold, I stepped out from the tub and wrapped myself in the robe that he gaved me, could I be that mischievous that I would tell Roger that I did recognised him and that I was a huge fan...

- Hi... Was it nice with a bath?

- Yes.. It was lovely, thank you

- Wine?

- Please... Thanx..

He had made an huge effort to set the table, lighted candles and all

- I hope you are not vegetarian

- God no... I love meat...

You both blushed, what did you just say

- Well... Dig in then... Bon appetite

He raised his glass and winked

- Wow, this was incredible.. And the sauce.. Just wow..

The meat was so tender and juicy I nearly moaned while eating, I guess he noticed because he watched me with a smile

- Was it that good huh?

- Mmhuhmmm..

We finished the plates and bounced down in the sofa with the remaining wine...

- I have an other bottle here love, just keep drinking.. For us lost souls.. Sooo... While we prepare for desert and the alcohol is kicking in... Anything you need to confess?

I nearly spat out the whole wine, it was like he already knew

- Ohh.. You first Roger, go ahead

- Hmmm... I thought I was supposed to be a gentleman here, well ok.. Don't get mad at me.. But I could probably fix your car ...

- Oh, really.. Why don't you?

- When I saw you so drenched from the rain and a broken shoe.. So wounerable.. And the final nail in the coffin was when I found out that your boyfriend was a prick... I could not.. But.. would you rather..

- No.. No.. I... I am so thankful for everything you have done for me.. really am..

- He is not worthy you... you know

- Roger... You don't know me.. I..

- So.. What's your confession?

- Ohh God.. Really? Damn it..

- How bad can it be hunnie?

Oh fuck this was it

- I know who you are

- Aha? Ok..Right.. So.. You like our music or are you a fan?

- Damn wine... I am a fan...

- OK... Hmm.. And who is your favourite member then?

- Omg... No... No you can't ask me... Ok... Shit.. You... It's you Roger..

He smiled with his whole face and touched his lower lip

- Hmmm.. So now you have your once in a lifetime opportunity here, what do you want to say or do? Autograph?

- Actually.. I know I probably gotta regret this both if I do and if I don't... But... ca... can I kiss you..?

I regret my blunt words at once, how could I be so stupid

My heart nearly bounced out from my chest, my cheeks burned

He didn't say a word, it felt like forever, but the magnet force between us grew stronger, his face were so close that I almost could count his thick eyelashes, his hot breath tickled my lips and I parted mine slightly, I let out a tiny whimper when the edge of his tongue nudged mine, his hand trailed through my hair in the back of my neck

My lips parted even more and he looked into my eyes

- Care for desert now love?

I could only nod, this man did something with me..on purpose and I was a trembling mess from just a look, I followed him like a lost puppy out in the kitchen

- I have Ice cream is that OK?

I needed to cool down so that was totally fine

He grabbed two bowls and two spoons and gaved me a soft kiss..

- How many scoops do you like my dear?

I stood close to him and could not resist to have a taste I took my finger and poked in the center of the bucket and then put it in my mouth, his eyes widened at once

- Oh.. Is it that game we are playing tonight.. OK..

He took his finger and dipped it down the ice-cream himself but instead of putting into his mouth he smeared it down my neck..

He bent down and licked it up with long strokes

I gasped of pleasure and grabbed my hands on the kitchen counter

His finger dipped once again but this time he let it trail down my sternum towards my heaving breasts

- Omg.. Omg Roger..Ohh shit... I want...

- You want what? Ice-cream?

- Y.. Yes..

Sometimes that smirk was so annoying..

Our lips crashed together again, this time it was more hunger, more frustration

I unbuttoned his shirt still kissing him, he moaned into my mouth

I dipped my finger once again in the melting ice cream and teased his collar bone with finger and tongue, then the ice cream dripped down towards his nipples I was fast to wrap my lips around it and circled my tounge in a rapid pace

- Ahhh fuck.. Baby.. Shit... I want you so bad... God..

His words made my skin prickle with goosebumps.. Roger Taylor. He wanted me...

He pushed me towards the counter and I jumped up on the cold marble surface

He stood between my legs and grabbed my breast in one hand and twisted the nipple with his fingers

- You're so beautiful... Cannot believe that prick..

- Ssscchhh Roger...I don't want to think of him now...

His hands started to wander down my belly and inner thighs

- Can I have my desert now hunnie

- Oh.. Yes.. Yes please...

He bent down and when he spread my legs the juicy labias opened up like a book and he could not hold himself any longer

He grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to the edge of the counter, he open kissed my folds and trailed his eager tounge like trail of fire up and down before he pushed it in deep

- Ahhh shit Fuck Rog

I grabbed his blonde hair like my life depending on it and felt his long tounge bending inside me right on the spot that crawed attention his button nose nudged my clit over and over and it was just matter of seconds before I felt my walls start to collapse, the vibration from his moaning sended me over the edge and I wrapped my legs around his neck so I couldn't fall

- Omg omg shit Rog.. Ahhh damnit fuck...

- Mmmmm.. That was the best desert baby...

He licked his fingers and stood up

- Do you...

- Yes.. I have pills...

- Ahlright... Fuck..

He took his cock and pushed tiny tiny bits at a the time.. You're tight love...

Soon we became a rhythmic monster a trembling unison a thrusting wreck, we both moaned, phanted screamed growled.. I never had such an euphoric extacy before

He snapped his hips so fast that I thought my legs were numb he spanked my ass and I bit his neck almost so he draw blood we were like animals

I squirted over and over, it ran from his body down on the floor

He took one hand down between our bodies and started to circle my clit again, I was so over sensitive but I had to come again, one last time

- Oh God hunnie.. Fuck I'm close.. So close shit

- Ahhh Roger OMYYYGGGGODDD!! ...

I contracted around his cock and emptied him on his cum

His head fell in the crook of my neck and I felt his heart beating fast

He stood there for a long time, right there where he were supposed to be, we fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle

- Stay here... Don't go back to him

I knew he was right and I knew I wanted to

This was just the beginning...

I had found my missing piece of the puzzle

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

More Valentine reading

Enjoy more reading in my masterlist

#smut #Roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #fanfic #Smut #Queen #queendom #queen band #queen 👑#queen smut #valentines #Valentine smut

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useless12sstuff · 3 years

Text

Short stories #3

. 3 Above and Beyond

Trudging through the woods, I try to place the majority of my weight on my makeshift cane. Squinting my eyes, I try to keep sight of my path. The moon is of barely any help. If I had known it would be dark I would've snuck out a torch. Pulling my coat tighter around myself and wishing, not for the first time, that I should've worn something warmer above my hospital gown. I buried my nose in my scarf and yet, the crisp air still burned down my lungs. If my cigarettes don't kill me first, the cold certainly will. 'You shouldn't be here', the guilty part of my brain whispered. I squashed that thought down just like the leaves under my feet. Silly Linda, I scoff. She thought she could keep me in the ward by locking the door. Well look now, I jumped out the window. Well the pangs in my leg are almost making me regret. Almost. Oh whatever. To hell with Linda and her false pretenses. She can act sweet and coy all she likes but I know she wants me dead. Not more than I do but it is a mutual sentiment that is reciprocated. She's far too young anyway. A bit naive and very gullible. Very overconfident too but she is under the assumption that she's being 'smart' and 'sharp' and that an old, miserable midget like me won't be able to see right through her. An absolute fool. I despise it here.

I hobble my way to my usual spot, a clearing somewhere in the middle of the woods. The crescent moon stares down at me, as if judging. Sitting down on a tree stump while catching my breath, I pull out a pack of cigarettes that Linda missed and a lighter from my coat pocket. A cold draft rushed and rustled the trees and I held my coat tighter, shivering badly. With numb hands I light a cigarette and hold the lighter close, the tiny flame giving me a semblance of warmth. Sigh. I wouldn't want the fluid to run out. I pocketed it, closed my eyes and enjoyed my cigarette. Deep inhale and then exhale. Inhale and exhale. Finally, some peace and quiet….

…. Which did not last longer than twenty minutes. A sharp, whip like crack sobered me up and I opened my eyes to a terrifying sight. A creature with four faces, more than a hundred wings, taller than the trees, so huge that I can't distinguish the sky from its body. The moon is nowhere in sight. His whole body consists of uncountable eyes and tongues. What on God's green earth is this!? I can't move. Why am I not moving? Its hellish eyes stared me down. The cigarette I was holding had long fallen. I am a stone, glued to one place. I can't tear my eyes off this- this creature. All too soon, it descends and shifts into a shape more recognizable. A man. Dressed in a pure white robe, inky hair curled in every direction, skin the color of rich soil and piercing charcoal eyes, this man would stand out among any crowd. I must be hallucinating. Are cigarettes supposed to make you hallucinate?

"What kind of alien are you?" I asked in a quivering voice.

The man blinked. Then blinked again. Then stared at me long enough to make me wish I hadn't spoken.

"What kind do you think I am?" he smoothly replies, evading my question.

"A shape-shifting one."

He folds his hands neatly behind his back and doesn't reply.

"And who would you introduce yourself as?" he asks. I have a distinct feeling that he's humouring me. Like a cat who caught a canary.

"I, well, I-uhm-I fancy myself a student." I stuttered out. He doesn't need to know where I am from.

"A student of?"

"Life."

The alien smirked. An uncomfortable silence surrounds us, uncomfortable for me atleast. I feel weaker. Sweat beads at my eyebrows. This alien's presence has a weight that is taking a toll on me.

With nothing to do, I whip out another cigarette. I finished smoking it. Then I pull out a second, then a third, then a fourth.

"How long have you been smoking?" the alien asks suddenly.

"A few decades." I say, lighting another cigarette. A hush falls again.

"How do you speak our language?" I inquired, anything to keep the oppressive silence at bay.

"I've been here before."

"Oh?" I ask, hoping for an elaboration.

"Yes."

None came.

"What is it like?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Your planet. What is it like?"

"It is a human's dream come true. You can have whatever your heart desires. Food, clothing, land, companions. It is eternal peace-"

"Sounds like heaven." I interrupted.

The alien's lips quirked.

"Something of that sort. It can be very beautiful or very terrible depending on the person."

"Why so?"

"Would you wish for good things to happen to evil people?"

"No. Not at all."

"My point exactly."

"What is evil anyway? Is evil caused by a difficult life?You know, I've always wondered."

The alien calmly looks back at me.

"Have you had a sorrowful life?" he asks, a curious gleam in his eyes.

"Sorrowful?" I scoff. "I can barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore. A saying goes 'Let a man walk the halls of sorrow. Whatever comes out, can it be called a man anymore?' " I asked.

"Sorrow is either growth or wasted potential if you have not learned. Power on the other hand, man cannot be trusted with power. It is too corrupting." the alien argues.

"I'll have to politely disagree. Power in itself is not corrupt. Power attracts those who are corruptible. Those who took the wrong lessons from their sorrows."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You have become a cynic only because you felt your life was difficult. Your cigarette is proof enough. It kills you, yet, you stick to it. Doesn't that make you just like them?"

"You are not a human. You don't, and maybe, will never, understand the delicate intricacy of addiction. I am not defending myself. I am ashamed but leaving it is no easy task."

The alien hummed," If you believe so. You are quite a melancholic person." he says, matter of fact.

"So I've been told." I smiled self deprecatingly, "Look at me, debating about ideologies with an alien."

The alien smirked, as if he was in on a joke I wasn't. Strange.

I cleared my throat. It felt itchy. Must've been the cigarettes.

"Anyway,how does your planet deal with 'evil' people."

"You need not worry your head over it. Our, ah, justice system is very fair."

"Oh. Where is it located? Your planet that is."

"Not here. It is somewhere above all the galaxies."

That most certainly piqued my interest. I have wished for death on my worst days but on my best days, I've always been a curious bug, too curious for my own good. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Why are you here?" I finally cave in to my curiosity.

The alien side eyes me and replies, "I'm here to take one person home with me. Forever."

A thrill raced up my spine and anticipation settled in my bones. I licked my frozen, chapped lips. Perhaps I am being selfish. I spent my entire life looking for an escape, an escape from everything, my depression, my poverty, my disease, that hospital and its disinfectant smelling wards, Linda, this wretched world. That is an artist's curse. Escapism, they say, is an art too and I am anything but unacquainted to art. I always wondered about what was beyond, a place where no man had stepped. The golden threads of time, weaved into the fine fabric of the universe, permitted this opportunity to occur in front of me. I will take it even if my hands bleed.

I have no family that left, nobody who loves me. I'm bitter and alone. I deserve to be selfish for once in my life. To take a big leap, a risk. Yes, I will.

"Take me with you." I begged. "Please."

"Why should I?" the alien replied, staring right in my soul.

"You came for me. I know. If you didn't you wouldn't have landed here." I say, hopefully.

"And if I say that is false? What else would you offer?“

"I can offer you beauty and art. I can create for you."

"We have many of those."

"There will ever only be one like me. Just like there is only one artist like them. Themselves only."

Silence enveloped us again while rejection stung my chest again.

"Allow me to prove myself." I plead.

The alien looked at me, questioning.

"Look in my mind, see all that there is." I say determinedly. And I let him in my mind, let him see the world through my eyes and feel what I felt. I let him see my arts, my music, my poetry, my paintings that I crafted lovingly with my aged hands. I let him see what a human sees, something I know that he had never witnessed. Then I revealed my sorrows. Hopefully humanity would appeal to it.

With a pull he left my head. My eyes burned and I felt a blood vessel burst. I dry heaved on the dead ground but the nausea still lingered. I am glad I was seated or my knees would've buckled and I would've been an undignified heap on the floor. All the while the alien just stared and stared. I am getting sick of his staring too.

Once again, I broke the silence.

"I will paint your skies," I continue, hesitantly, "and your buildings and walls. I will write for the children and even for the old. Just please, take me. I'm exhausted ."

My eyes burned again, unshed tears waiting for release. I avert my eyes and let out a sigh. I feel heavy and my shoulders slump. Unexplainable exhaustion overcomes me and my temperature keeps rising, beads of sweat rolling down my face.

"If," he began,then stopped. It was the first time in our entire conversation that I saw him hesitate.

"If," he continued, "if I were to ask you to scream your wish at me, what would you fear more; your echo or my answer? “

"My echo", I reply instantaneously.

"Why?"

"Because it would mean you have declined."

"Hmm. Recite a poem for me."

I gave a shaky, hopeful smiled and offered him my words:

My river by the oak tree

has turned molten gold again,

as the glowing orb of light and life surrenders to the sapphire sky.

The cotton clouds float in shy, pink circles

While the rush of the river awakens a memory I had long forgotten,

When this same tree once bore luscious flowers,

Their scent wafting lazily into the cool breeze,

While I sat and reminisced about the possibility of other lives in the universe,

Under the wrinkled, silver moon.

Silence hugged us again while the impact of my weakened voice lingered in the air.

"Do you believe in other lives? Aliens and such?" he questioned.

"Yes I do, I mean you are here so that confirms it too."

"You are a funny one. No one has ever mistaken me for an alien." it grinned, crooked, as if a gesture it wasn't familiar with.

My body went cold and tremors shook it to its feeble core, my breath coming out in shallow pants. My eyes shut down of their own accord. The entity then spoke with a voice that might have held the weight of a thousand suns,

"Beyond the stars we go."

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justfangstvdto · 5 years

Text

Open Coffin 2 | Chapter 01 “City Of Devils”

Disclaimer: This is a sequel! Find Part 1 here. For some context, I´d advise you to watch The Originals to understand some occurrences.

Chapter warnings: typical vamp behaviour, blood, murder, angst and some very obvious foreshadowing

Word count: 4104

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is my lifeblood and keeps the writing coming.

Open Coffin 2 Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

You were surrounded by pulsating air. Alive and undead hearts sinking to the pace of the drums. There was dooming danger in the air in the packed bar turned nightclub, as hunters moved amongst their prey. It would be only a matter of time before the hunters overpowered them.

On cue, the lights dimmed to a sombre shade of red and the hunters ceased their movements. You identified them through the rousing crowd, eyes veined and fangs bared - ready for attack.

Three.

Two.

One.

Midnight. Time to feed.

Your fangs punctured the delicate skin of the neck closest and the addicting crimson blood drained into your mouth. The horrid screams from the human in your grip were drowned out by the sheer pleasure of holding a life in your hands.

The brink was here. Was there hope for your prey yet?

You stepped over it, without blinking, without remorse. One less tortured soul to roam the earth. If you came to think of it, you did them a favor.

With evil on the mind and blood spatters in the air, you retreated the battlefield concealed as a dancefloor. You headed to the bar, unbothered to swipe your bloody mouth. There was no use in pretending anymore, to hide behind a mask. The world had seen what wretched thing you were, and you were unbothered by it. Let them see, let them fear. It kept them away.

Ordering a bourbon with the wave of your hand, you sat down on the remote end, further from the thumping music.

“Rough night?” The bartender tried to joke with you.

“Rough life.” That answer may have been trite, but hell if it wasn't ́t the truth. And you didn't need that dimwit behind the bar to remind you of that. “Just do your job and pour the liquor. I ́m not looking for a shrink.”

He backed off, hands raised in defence. The relief of silence was short-lived though as two loudly talking vampires joined next to you, their mouth tinted from their feast.

“You heard about what's happening in New Orleans?” One of the vampires said to the other.

This Bar, in the heart of Hell´s Kitchen, was where supernatural gossip lived. Everybody talked and gossiped about friends and enemies alike, but none had anything to say that was of particular interest to you.

You heard about the other side collapsing, the recent change in leadership in New Orleans, even talk of Klaus ́ mystical daughter that died in a war between werewolves and the Mikaelsons. And you heard about Damon ́s death. You had to hear it out of someone else's mouth, instead of Stefan ́s. You were not even invited to his funeral, nobody tried to even contact you. Not once. So much for the unbreakable bond of family everyone kept going on about. All bullshit.

So instead of wallowing in grief, you preoccupied yourself with mercenary-like jobs in exchange for currency, which in your case, was spells and spellbooks to hone your craft. You did not have any other purpose, so you made your own. To harness enough knowledge to never watch someone perish in front of your eye ever again. Or to destroy anyone standing in your path.

“Apparently,” The vampire continued “there's some shit going down. Something about a witch that ́s back from the dead who's jumping into people's bodies. Can you imagine?”

“I ́m not surprised, that place gives me the creeps, man.”

“Yeah, but jumping into someone's body? That´s fucking weird.”

“Sounds like a job for those hunter brothers on tv. They ́d clean that shit up good.”

“Hell yeah, man!”

You had no desire to listen after that, consumed by new opportunity. There was only one witch that could´ve risen from the dead causing that much trouble. Esther. It had to be her.

How was she back? The other side collapsed not 4 months ago and with it every spirit in there. Then, a thought crossed your mind that had you spiralling; If Esther crawled out of hell, could he be back too? Was there a chance he made it out alongside her?

All hope deafened when whispers came from men next to you that were oh so chipper a second ago. The taller one with jet-black hair looked over his shoulder and saw you sitting there and promptly turned his head with fear in his eyes.

You were used to it. People here knew what you were. A new species of hybrid. A freak. They crossed the streets when you came along, children ran away and hid behind their parents. They always feared what they did not know, what they were not able to comprehend.

The hushed whispers continued for another minute before you intervened.

“You got something to say to my face?”

“Nah, nothing.” The shorter ashen blond guy shook his head.

You wanted to leave it at that, to let them go with a warning not to talk in whispered hushes. But something in their dismissal made you angry. So as it was and as it has been for the last 2 years, and unexpected visitor knocked on the door that is your mind. And you welcomed old friend Rage with open arms.

You were not burdened by simple anger anymore. Something changed and transformed anger into rage and loneliness into despair. It was nothing like the usual vampire heightened feelings, it was a thousand times worse. The intensity, the strong, yet sometimes short, but intense feeling of emotions was something else entirely.

When anger would hit you wanted to destroy, cry and scream. You wanted to let out your wickedest thoughts, and you wanted the world to feel your pain.

There was too much energy flowing inside your bones to contain it so you let it out and you did not care who saw you like that.

This was no different.

You chanted into your closed palm and blew it over with a single breath of air. Within an instant, ashen veins burned their skin and invisible hands strangled the air out of their lungs. They tried to scream, tried to beg for their lives, but you let them disintegrate.

Served them right.

The room fell silent, nothing but gasps and retreating footsteps.

“Anyone else?” You addressed the room, but were met with instant silence “Didn't think so.”

You leaned back on the chair, and within another sip of bourbon, a plan of action for dealing with Esther and New Orleans edged itself into your mind. You smiled at the sheer craziness of it all. It was pure suicidal lunacy. It dug up old enemies, made new ones and, upon failure, leave the city in ruins.

Fuck it, you had nothing to lose descending into the crescent.

Next stop; New Orleans.

--------

Neon signs burned in the dawning morning sky, illuminating the streets like a beacon of hope and salvation for the tempted souls wandering in them. The Crescent City was the sort of city where easy living during the day occurred. Tourists wandered the streets, thinking this was where they wanted to get lost in, where they would let themselves go.

But New Orleans had a darkness that lingered in the shadows. Come nightfall, innocent souls always ended up pulled into the dark abyss by wretched souls that littered the paved streets with their bloodshed.

Unlike their glow, the memories attached to this place that was long forced behind closed doors burned like a forest fire. Unrelenting, yet familiar, like coming home after being away on vacation: Adventures lost, but the familiarity and comfort greater than any hardships that linger.

Almost any at least.

But his presence lingered around every corner, in every face that passed and in every nook and cranny in this city. It bled his and his family name, even more so since Klaus reclaimed the city's throne.

You stood where the first stone was placed by the returned King himself decades ago, a fitting starting point you found. From there you descended on your enemies tails.

“Don't you know that the devil walks among us?”An elderly man, sitting beneath a shadowed street light shouted as you approached from across the street.

“Oh, believe me, I know. I ́ve met him.” You said and dropped a 100 dollar bill in his turned-over hat “ Problem is, there ́s not only one of them. This is New Orleans, we all have horns.”

You pitied the man, yet you wished you had a belief as strong as his. Something to rage against, to pretend to fight for. Something that burned so deep I inside your soul you had to shout it off of rooftops, smear it down on a piece of paper or whisper into a trusted ear.

Perhaps you would find it here. New Orleans had tricks up its sleep it left every city in its shadow. And with the current faction war brewing, things were bound to reach a tipping point.

And no one knew war more than your destination for the night.

The Mikaelson Compound.

----------------

Timing had no place in the French Quarter. There was no good time for confrontation, no time for rest and certainly no time to waltz into a stronghold unannounced.

You were aware of that, painfully so, but when timing had no place then neither had fear. He would smell it out, twist it and spit it back on your face.

Stepping into the spacious courtyard felt like being dragged between the past and future. It was as if laid with a photograph of what lies before you today with another, shine-through one of the past. If the walls could talk they had tales to tell of manoeuvres schemed, and allies lost, but most of all, they would have told you to run away and never return.

But this was another point of your plan and was clear it would be the easiest to execute but hardest to stomach. Convincing the self-proclaimed king to join your side.

You followed the sound of paintbrushes stroking on canvas. Ascending the stairs, your feet remembered to navigate the labyrinth and you quickly found your way to his room. You expected to be greeted with a scowl or even a tinge of surprise, instead, you were met with a paintbrush rushing in your direction. Within a blink of an eye and a flick of your wrist, the paintbrush disintegrated to ash.

“If your intent was the element of surprise, you lost it.”Klaus said, and you could detect the smile through his voice before you saw it “Y/N. I knew we would meet again.”

“Trust me, I tried to avoid it longer. But I can't exactly say no to a bloodbath and I heard this one is gonna be a big mess, so here I am,” You said spectating the strewn about paintings that leaned against the wall. Most where muted colors, full of sorrow. “Damn these are depressing. And I thought your grey period in the '30s was the worst."

“Have you come with a reason or simply to critique my art?”

“Both I guess.” You shrug your shoulders, “But, let's cut to the chase. Your mother sent me.” His demeanour changed radically, like a sail changing in an oncoming storm “You´ve met her as that Cassie girl, right?”

“You dare come into my home as one of her disciples?” He sounded appalled, disappointed even. His muscle tensed, ready for attack.

But you knew him. You knew he'd slice first and ask questions later.

“If you think about attacking me, don't even try. I just have to rub these two fingers together and you´d be immobilized.”

"I see you accommodated to your new powers. Outright hypocritical if I might add."

“Can we just have a civilized conversation, please? ”

He raised his eyebrow “Civilized?You?”

“Look who´s talking.”

“Let me guess; Esther sought you out to persuade me to accept her foolish deal? To forsake this vessel and take on a new, human body?.”

"That's the plan. Thing is, I don't really follow orders, especially not from her. That is why I ́m here."

He took the time to study your features, to find some sort of indication of truth or deception. But you looked at him, unwavering.

“Why would you tell me this? To garner my trust? My appreciation, perhaps?”

“You trust me as much as I trust you, so no. I want to offer you a deal of my own. I'll tell you what she's up to, and you don't annihilate me for working with her. As easy as that.”

“You ought to play double agent?” He dismissed as if he thought it impossible “How do I make certain you did not promise her the same in exchange for, well, let me guess, everlasting power? A unicorn perhaps?”

“You don't. Then again, you ́re a man of words and not of deeds yourself. How do I know you won't kill me anyway?”

“What did she offer you?” He repeated, disregarding your question.

"Kol back from the dead.” It was the first time you spoke his name in years and it felt like dragging it through dirt with Klaus in the room. It felt wrong, but you continued nevertheless “Now I know what you ́re thinking. Poor girl can ́t live without her love...how tragically cliché. I can, physically, live without him. I can, but I don't want to. He deserves better” You informed, prepared for the onslaught of judgment

Klaus remained unconvinced still, you saw it on his face.

“There is one slight inconvenience.” He said, “My wretched mother could easily manipulate your desire to resurrect my brother and operate against you. ”

“I know how to deal with a wretched parent, trust me.”

Wretched was never a strong enough word to accurately describe your father. Violent when drunk, absent when sober and spirit destroying all around.

“A drunkard is hardly any comparison to the most powerful and deceitful witch the world has ever known.”

“But the desire to send them screaming back to hell is.”

That made him finally pause and you could swear a smile twitched across his lips. Good. That meant he was warming up. As much as someone like Klaus could.

“Look, if you don't want my help, fine. But you know as much as I do that taking down your enemy from the inside requires someone to be a traitor to the cause. You need me.”

“Why you? I have an army at my disposal, why would I possibly require your help?”

“I have nothing left to lose. That makes me the dangerous one, and as you know dangerous wins wars.”

-----------------------

Klaus agreed to your deal within your next glass of bourbon at Roussous´s. He stated his concerns in a calm manner, but not without adding life-threatening menaces, disguised in Shakespearean platitudes. Typical Klaus behavior. In a way, you were glad he hadn't changed. It only meant you knew what you were dealing with.

Esther, on the other hand, was much more unpredictable. When you negotiated your involvement in her operation before involving Klaus, she promised her assistance and the spell to resurrect Kol from the dead. She told you exactly what you wanted to hear, and you could not help but doubt her intentions. But alas, she was the lesser of two evils.

But at last, one beacon of hope, that had been standing its ground long before Esther crawled out of Hell, survived the nuisance of time; Roussous

The establishment was in similar condition as it has been since you last saw it. The flooring had the same scratches of battles waged, crumbles in the walls of bodies slammed into and the same stench of old bourbon that soaked to wood to its core.

There was a booth in the back right in the middle, anchoring both rows on each wall that separated the units. The vantage point from the seats where perfect, the bar was in sight as well as the exit and the employee side entrance - no matter where you looked, a surprise visit was impossible without being seen.

It was your and Kol ́s booth back in the day. You declared it so was after Kol invited you dug in there during a sudden rainfall, only days after he invited you to join his families festivities, the night where you chased all the stars in the sky. Before that night, you hid away from prying eyes, mostly Klaus´, to prevent suspicion.

Klaus had almost caught Kol once as he sneaked out to meet you. Of course, Kol was crafty and had a feeling that his control freak of a brother would follow him eventually. He led him in a different direction when he spotted him and made sure he was truly gone before heading off to find you, here at Roussos.

You slid into the seat after you had ordered Bourbon at the front and the green leather squeaked with your weight. Once situated, you looked at the wooden pillar behind you, expecting carved initials in them. You and Kol's carved initials. But the dark painted wood did not match. They replaced it.

You brushed your fingers over where your and Kol ́s initials where carved previously, silently chanting a spell you retrieved from a skilled witch in India months ago. You smiled as the initials reappear in the dark wood. Sometimes the past was not meant to be erased, and you were not ready to let them erase him so easily. Not the city folk nor his family, no one.

Loud buzzing that came from your phone distracted you on your tangent into the past. You looked at the display. Esther.

“I was just on my way.” You lied as you picked up her call “He took the deal just as I thought he would. I fed him some bullshit about taking down the enemy from the inside and he took the bait. “

“Good work. What about the stake?” Esther said.

She had asked about the white oak on your first meeting and set it as a condition to your mutual agreement. You told her that you had lost the white oak years ago, probably at the hands of Klaus.

“I can ́t exactly snoop around with him there.”

“I want that stake.” She repeated impatiently “No matter what you have to do to get it.”

“You ́ll get it, I promise.”

“I am not interested in promises, I expect results.” She said and hung up the phone without waiting for an answer.

“Bitch.”

---------

It was quiet on the other side of the river. Dangling your feet over the ledge of the tallest building on this side of the river, you tried to remember when you last were surrounded by near quiet Sensory overload around the clock had been your salvation over the last few years, and this silence outright scared you.

“You're not gonna jump, are you?” A familiar voice cut through the stillness and pulled your knees to your chest to get to your feet.

“Don't know yet. It's not like it would kill me.”You shrugged.

He moved closer and pulled in for a hug.

“Woah what do you think you're doing?” You held both your hands up and backed away. Marcel saw through your playful rejection immediately and only rolled his eyes “Just because we drank ourselves into oblivion one time doesn't mean I like you. “

“We drank ourselves to oblivion every day for a week straight.” He corrected “I think I deserve a hug. You know, as your friend.”

Marcel stumbled into the bar in New York 2 years ago all teary-eyed and pissed off at the world. And though you did not have the best history, he approached you and poured drink after drink in silence until you were both drunk enough to let the pretences fall. Then you talked. And talked.

He explained why had escaped New Orleans and sought the comfort of the Big Apple. He was broken-hearted over the loss of Davina, a courageous girl that was like a daughter to him. He swore to protect from a ritual the local witches called the Harvest. She was supposed to be resurrected, but the ritual failed.

You were both miserable out of different circumstances. But death remained death no matter what kind of love caused such suffering. Talking until the sun came up, sharing the same, overwhelming feelings of grief and the fact you were no strangers to war or the Mikaelsons, lead to you bonding in a way you'd never expect. You would even go as far as to consider Marcel your friend.

“It's good to see you again.” He said as he let go.

“You too.”

That was what you liked about Marcel, he was open about what he was feeling in the exact moment. Everyone knew if they were on his good or bad side, he did not leave anyone guessing. It was admirable, if not foolish in a city like New Orleans.

“What are you doing here? Last time I asked you if you'd ever come back here, you almost burned me alive.”

“Well, things change.”

“Oh great, I know that look. What are you up to now?”

You stared at the skyline, on the moving water underneath it. You thought about how the ground would shake, how the sky-high buildings would fall to crumbles and how you could level the entire city if you willed it.

“Just the most insane, plan I ́ve ever come up with. I'm playing the entire board. From top to bottom, left to right and it ́ll probably cost me my life. So the usual craziness that is, well, me. No biggie.”

“No biggie if you're dead?”

“We all die one way or another and technically we´re already did." You paused, bracing yourself to what you had to say next "Besides, it looks like I don't have much time to spare anyway, because-

He saw the near-black blood drop from your nose before you even registered it. He had to take a second look

“Because you're bleeding randomly?”

“Yeah, It's been happening a lot recently. That, and weird bruises that appear as if I ́m in a fight only to heal instantly. Invisible hands that strangle me, memories that are not my own, indescribable rage...the list goes on.”

This drainage of power started two months ago. It came and went in waves as a roll of feverish symptoms and with it came unbearable rage and paranoia. It was severer on a full moon, so it had to be tied to its phases. That much you knew, but that was it. You consulted grimoire after grimoire and witch after with - no answers.

“So, I think I'm pretty much doomed already.” You breathed out into the wind “What ́s a little more death gonna do to me?”

“Don't get sentimental on me now. You used to hate me, remember? "

I didn't hate you. Just your boyfriend." So, that plan of yours. Say the word and I ́ll help you however I can.”

“Remember you said that. You'll wish you hadn't. Let's meet at your place tomorrow. I have to make one more stop on my reunion tour.”

“You want some company?”

“ I´ll be fine.” If you could not walk alone in New Orleans at night, you might as well have a neon sign around your neck blinking the word soft repeatedly and lie down for a beating.

"You sure?" He asked again. There was reals concern in his voice now, compared to the level headed and calm manner, it sounded outright strange.

"This is only the beginning." You said, stepping on the ledge "If I can't handle some espionage, how am I supposed to handle the rest?" With the wind breezing you let yourself fall.

Marcel smiled and shook his head as the looked over the ledge and saw you speeding away. He knew as much as you did, that descending into the Crescent City, to undermine the war and come out on the other side alive, was near impossible. But he learned that impossible was not in your vocabulary anymore. The War lines have been drawn, and he knows you'd jump between them if you had to.

Let the games begin..

-------

A/N: And with that, we´re back!!! I hope you liked this first chapter! I wrote most of this back when my fur baby of 13 years passed away, so if it feels detached or anything that might be why. But I thought it would reflect the Sisters situation quite well so I didn´t throw it in the garbage like I wanted to.

Anyway, I would love to hear what you think. Just remember that this is the “housecleaning” chapter. We will find out what the nature of the Readers weird suction of power is, on what side she´s actually on, and what familiar faces will reappear in NOLA.

All in good time my friends. This is only the beginning...;)

OC Taglist:

@shadylittlewonder @thegoddessofvampire @newurleans @originalbish98 @acourtofhopeanddreams @bonniebird @imnoaingeal @mizzezm @vaniileiinkeks @relmi-llorrac @piercethepottorff @maliae14 @5-seconds-of-animals @the-geeky-engineer @rock-n-magick @flymeawayworld @givemesomehybrid @mikealsonlover @nuteller28 @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @drkplum @fandooomqueenforyou @free-the-fangirl @clockworkballerina @twisted1ginger @superwholocksociopath474 @pacifyprincessxo @mustachio1616 @thealyana @sandyclaws @unicorntrooper @buckysummers @sanity-is-overratedxp @akshi8278 @lunna-star-8 @graysonmalfoy @woodworthti666 @elenavaldez02 @lilulo-12 @selmasemlan @thelostallycat @characterobsessed @cococola-cocaine @crazyinternetgirl @tvdplusriverdale @-thatgirloverthere- @alwxadria345 @trymexo @willieshakesqueer @spunky-89 @putyourherohaironstefan @xxdragonagequeenxx @thegingerthatwaited @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @hinata7346 @controloffandoms

#kol mikaelson imagine #kol x reader #tvd imagine #the originals imagine #the originals #open coffin

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siribear · 4 years

Text

old man stockton’s moniker fits more than skinny malone’s did, as she finds the old man sitting behind a counter scattered with paperwork. other caravaners have filed into the area, stocking their own counters with wares in contrast. deacon stands back again, blending in with the other caravan guards as she approaches their contact.

stockton nods his head. ‘tell me, friend, do you have a geiger counter?’

whisper shrugs. ‘mine is in the shop.’

he squints, looks her over. ‘you’re with our mutual friends, yes?’ he speaks slowly, low and careful. ‘then you know that i have a... package that’s been in my possession too long.’

they talk shop, their conversation entirely covert. she does get their pick up location out of him eventually: a church last seen occupied by raiders. returning to deacon, she relays the location. and that they’ll have to wait until nightfall to make their delivery.

‘we can do each other’s hair while we wait,’ he says as she leads the way. he gives her ponytail a playful tug, like they’re children back in kindergarten. at her look, ‘it suits you. you look more like a spy, now.’

she shakes her head, lets her hair smack his arm. ‘glad you approve.’

the outskirts of the city are quiet as they make their way to the church. the sun rises high over head, but a cool wind chills the air. it should be colder this time of year, she thinks. much colder. as it is, beginning of november, she can barely see her breath.

they take cover in a building next to the church. voices drift through the quiet, too low to be made out but just loud enough to be heard. two - three voices. deacon pulls out his rifle and counts the figures in the church. ‘i see five. maybe six. hard to see from this angle.’

‘the roof?’ she suggests, pointing up to a hole to the second floor.

‘because of course the stairs are broken,’ he sighs. he kneels so she can step into his cupped hands then lifts, heaving her toward the edge of the hole. ‘thank goodness you’re not that heavy. i don’t know if these old bones could handle it.’

whisper hauls herself up with some effort. when deacon jumps, she grabs a fistful of jacket and yanks - ‘those old bones are heavy,’ she says with exaggerated panting.

deacon pouts. ‘all muscle,’ he says, defensively.

to get to the roof, or the half of the roof that’s still standing, they climb out the upstairs window, deacon first. at the top, deacon pulls out his rifle again, counting the raiders through the blown open roof of the church. ‘only five. we could pick them off from here.’

further up the street, something catches her eye. ‘just past the church. look.’

he does. ‘pack of ferals. gr-eat. the sound will draw them over.’ whisper hums, then makes to drop back to the second floor. ‘where are you going?’

‘i have a dumb idea. cover me?’

sunlight glints off his sunglasses as he grins back at her. ‘of course.’

back on the ground floor, she quickly makes her way up the street, avoiding the church’s line of sight. she only looks back once to see deacon down on one knee, following her through his scope. it’s... comforting. in a way she’s never needed to be comforted, on the other end of a scope.

how her life has changed.

the pack of ferals hasn’t moved since she spotted them. they’re gathered around the hollowed out shell of a car, climbing over and under, looking for food. one silenced shot from deliverer takes off the arm of one and draws their attention.

two of them take off after her first. the others have to drag themselves out of the car first before they sprint toward her. and they’re faster than she thought. shit. she turns and runs back down the road. on the roof, she notices deacon raise his rifle to fire, but she waves him off.

‘what the fuck - ?’ is all she hears from the first raider before she all but barrels into him.

‘help, please,’ whisper gasps, out of breath. ‘they’re coming - they killed everyone - ’ before the raider can grab her, she pulls away. ‘oh god, they’re here,’ she yells and sprints back toward the house.

‘she brought fucking ferals!’ she hears another raider yell behind her, and ducks away when one of them takes a shot at her. the bullet skims her arm, cutting through the thin fabric of her flannel shirt. it stings, but it’s not enough to stop her from jumping through the open window of the house.

the raiders scream. gunshots are fired. the ferals howl in pain and fury. eventually, the noise dies down, and all she hears after are the muted shots from deacon up above, cleaning up whatever’s left. he joins her on the bottom floor with a low whistle.

‘two birds, one stone. and i didn’t even have to break a sweat. nice job.’

‘who won?’ she asks with an effected lightness.

‘ferals. and they left quite a mess.’

they did. the front of the church is painted with blood, and whisper tries not to think about the symbolism behind it. ‘that’s that. and now we wait?’

deacon looks to the front window of the church and the small, unlit lantern sitting on the ledge. ‘and now we wait.’

sitting still. she is not good at sitting still.

‘we could clear the way?’ she asks.

deacon shakes his head, leans back against the pew they’ve come to share - the only one not broken in half or covered in blood. ‘i have an idea of where we’re taking this one, but we can’t risk being seen.’

the sun creeps across the sky. an affront to her, personally. she gets up to wander the church. deacon watches, still sprawled out on the pew. behind the pulpit at the head of the church is a burned book whose pages crumble to ash when she attempts to pick it up. toward the back, she climbs the winding staircase to a second floor, finding a small loft with sleeping bags laid out in a row. whisper pockets the handful of stimpaks and ammo she finds in a bag lying near one of the sleeping bags.

another door leads to the balcony overlooking the ground floor of the church, so she follows the staircase up to the steeple. at the very top, she only finds a single chair surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol and the bell missing its clapper.

‘find anything good?’ deacon asks when she finally heads back down.

‘ammo and stimpaks,’ she says, and divides them between the two of them. a glimmer of silver on the floor catches her eye. she tears off the ruined part of her sleeve and uses the fabric to pick up the silver bracelet lying half in a pool of feral blood.

it’s oddly, impossibly familiar. she rubs the blood off the other half of the bracelet, to reveal a name. rosa. like the name printed on the mailbox across from her house -

she drops it. coincidence, she tells herself. even if the ghoul is wearing the same pink dress from two hundred years ago.

defeated, she sits back down next to deacon. ‘weren’t we going to do each other’s hair?’

he chuckles. ‘only if you want me to shave your hair off.’

‘hm.’ she pokes his wig. ‘i don’t know if i��d look as good.’

‘i think this face pulls it off better than my others,’ he says, rubbing his chin.

‘your... others?’

‘i go under the knife every couple months. give myself a new face. extra security, you know?’

she squints. ‘extra security? you already have code names, secret codes, railsigns - what more security do you need?’

he’s silent for a moment, before he sighs. ‘you don’t have any family here.’ whisper stiffens. he continues. ‘you’re lucky. everyone else in the railroad - they’ve got to be extra careful. if the institute finds out who they are, they put their families at risk, not just themselves.’

lucky. she frowns. ‘i’ve never thought of it that way,’ she says, dully. after a moment, ‘you said ‘they.’ what about you?’

‘that,’ his near-trademark grin slides back onto his face with a snap, ‘is a story for another day.’

‘no trading of tragic backstories just yet then?’ she fakes a pout. ‘okay.’

the smile he gives her looks almost genuine.

it’s hours until their contact arrives and night falls. hours they spend playing a game on her pipboy that she found in her boredom. a small vault boy avatar bounces over mini-nukes traveling horizontally across the screen, all while travelling to the top of the screen to rescue vault girl from the titular red menace. whisper has to cross over to deacon’s left when it’s his turn to play. if she bobs her arm at an opportune moment (’what? my arm got tired.’), then it’s purely coincidence that he falls just short of her high score.

besides, it’s fair play for when he poked her in the side and distracted her when she was about to beat his.

‘well, i see you two agents are hard at work,’ stockton says, stepping over feral and raider corpses to enter the church.

‘we could have sung show tunes, but that might have drawn more attention,’ says deacon, drawing a quiet laugh out of a young man standing behind stockton, until now unnoticed.

deacon nudges her in the side, so she stands and walks up to the man. short cropped, messy hair hides under a news cap, and he shrinks into his too-big patchwork jacket. ‘this, agents, is h2-22. say hello, h2.’ stockton sounds as if he’s talking to a child.

‘h-hello,’ h2 mumbles, barely audible.

whisper smiles. ‘nice to meet you.’ a small smile breaks across his face, which he smothers soon after, looking to stockton.

‘they’ll take care of you from now on. i’m going to light the signal.’ the small flickering light of the lantern on the windowsill barely casts any shadows. stockton spares them a moment’s glance before he leaves. ‘take care.’

h2 waves, but it goes unseen to stockton’s retreating form.

‘so, now how long do we wait?’ whisper asks.

deacon speaks up behind her. ‘not long. he’s coming down the road now, actually.’

just over h2′s shoulder she watches someone jog their way, and soon another man stands in the entrance of the church in an outfit mirroring deacon’s. ‘deacon,’ he calls, breathless, ‘good to see you. still with the same face? it’s been months, man.’

deacon sidles up next to her. ‘hey, high rise. things have been crazy, you know, not enough time to go back to the surgery center.’

whisper looks between the two. ‘you were serious about the face changing?’

‘should have seen him back when he was a woman.’

she laughs. ‘wh-what? i missed that? deacon - ’

‘he-y. maybe beatrice will come back some day.’

whisper shakes her head. ‘anyway.’ she turns her attention back to high rise. ‘do you have a geiger counter?’

high rise smiles and nods. ‘there we are. mine is in the shop.’ he and deacon share a look. ‘so, you’re whisper, then? walked the freedom trail and everything?’

‘how fast does news travel in the commonwealth?’ she sighs. ‘but, yeah, that’s me.’

‘we’re all a bunch of gossips,’ deacon pipes up at her side.

‘something like that. stick with deacon. he’ll take care of you.’ before whisper can respond, high rise turns to the quiet young man standing just outside the group of agents. ‘speaking of taking care - how are you, friend? doing all right?’

h2 clears his throat softly. ‘y-yeah. the man who brought me here... said i shouldn’t talk too much.’

high rise’s smile is sad. ‘good advice.’ he returns his attention to the other agents. ‘we’re bringing him back to my safehouse, ticonderoga. only thing is: there’s a group of raiders between us and there. not to mention some super mutants have set up in the neighborhood.’

‘not a problem,’ whisper tells him.

‘you should have seen her earlier.’ deacon gestures to the cooling bodies on the ground. ‘all her.’

high rise finally seems to notice the bodies around them. ‘all right then. stay between us, okay?’ he says to h2. and to her and deacon, ‘let’s do this.’

#siri drabbles #oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #600 hours in this game and i just learn that h2-22 and deacon share a voice actor #the more you know *insert sound effect*

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domesticsns · 5 years

Text

The Purple Turbo Tube Slide

Genre: Slice of life, Romance, Comedy, fluff

Main-pairing: SasuNaruSasu

Summary: Naruto (33) and Sasuke (33) go to their nephew’s birthday party. Soon Naruto goes off to play with the children while Sasuke spends some quality time with his the adults of his family. When Naruto gets a bit over his head he decides to slide down on a children's turbo tube slide and managed to get stuck half-way. Sasuke, annoyed his husband didn’t listen to his warnings, gets a surprise visit from the biggest demon he had to face during his childhood

The Purple Turbo Tube Slide, part one

Sasuke was fixing the collar of his white shirt before fastening the buttons on the ends of his sleeve. He looked over his shoulder to the bed where he could see his husband snoring loudly while hugging the pillows on the empty bed side.

“We’re going to be late,” Sasuke said his eyes fixated on Naruto’s face that was drooling over the pillow. The man had been getting up and falling back asleep for the past two hours. He continued snoring.

“Come on,” Sasuke turned around and walked over to the bed, shaking Naruto. “We have a lot to do.”

Naruto woke up, an groaned annoyed. He grabbed Sasuke’s wrist and pulled him in the bed.

“No, you are not getting out of this.” Sasuke sat up and pushed Naruto’s hand away from him.

“Isn’t there a nicer way to wake your husband up? I’ve heard people waking up to kisses or…” A small smirk appeared on his face.

Sasuke kicked Naruto on the side, so he rolled off the bed and onto the ground. He heard a soft moan once the men hit the floor. Sasuke leaned over the edge of the bed, looking at his idiot husband, making do with the fuzzy rug.

“I can get used to this, dattebayo..” Naruto muttered grabbing the black cat that was trying to get away and used her as a pillow to hug. Sasuke shook his head, but couldn’t supress a small smile. Naruto was adorable.

“Maybe if you were being nicer, I wouldn’t have such a hard time.”

Sasuke sighed deeply and mockingly began calling: “Sweetie, Baby, darling, Bambi, cutie pie, my one and only, sun of my moon-“

“OK-“ Naruto rolled on his back, and the black cat took her opportunity to get away an jump on the nightstand.

“The line goes, ‘Moon of my life’ and you would’ve known that if you watched HBO with me.” Naruto sat up and rubbed his eyes before looking up at Sasuke.

“Whatever,” The Uchiha sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down on his husband. They have been married for a while now, ever since they were twenty-eight and ran off and got eloped. Now they are thirty-three and still madly in love. It was so odd how opposite attract.

Naruto had ocean blue eyes, blond short hair, his left ear was covered in piercings, he had snake-bite piercings and another piercing in eyebrow. His right arm was covered in colourful tattoos, the colour orange sticking out the most because of the nine tailed fox on his upper arm. His stomach had some ancient sealing tattooed on it and his left arm was covered till his elbow, one of the tattoos was Sasuke’s name in hiragana. It is insane to tattoo your back then boyfriend’s name on your arm, but to be fair, he lost a bet with Sasuke and till now did not come to regret it.

Naruto was a nice person, pure hearted and good to the bones. He was friendly, helped everybody he could. He was kind and easy to talk to. He could even befriend the worst person on the earth and even they would end up caring about him.

Sasuke was the opposite of this. He had dark eyes that almost appeared to be black, his hair was midnight blue and his skin didn’t have any art on it or metal in it. He was cold and always saw the worst in people.

He leaned in and kissed Naruto’s forehead. Naruto smiled at this. They’ve been married for five years and yet every small bit of soft affection from Sasuke made his heart pound like a pre-teen madly in love.

“Fine, fine I’ll hit the shower.” Naruto said, getting up from the floor. “But I’ll get to choose the music on our way to Madara.”

“Fine,” Sasuke agreed “You know what you are going to wear?”

“Uhm...My orange sweater.” Naruto looked over at Sasuke, seeing his expression change ever so slightly.

“I guess…Just jeans with a shirt-“

Sasuke’s face did it again.

“….I go naked?” Naruto raised a questionable eyebrow.

Sasuke’s face did it a third time

“Uhm….What am I going to wear?” Naruto asked feeling the pressure of judgement on his shoulders.

“Well, I guess if you want me to choose what you wear today. I guess I can take a minute to think about it.”

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t been thinking about what I should be wearing all night.”

“Nonsense.” Sasuke said, and it sounded almost believable if it wasn’t for that slight twitch of his lip that formed a minor smirk.

Naruto shook his head.

“The first then minutes I was thinking about what I was going to wear.” Sasuke said.

Naruto gave his husband a small smile and headed to the bathroom where he proceeded to get ready for the day. He felt a bit hesitant because although he loved Sasuke and his family very much, his family had the tendency to be extremely…Savage. Naruto wasn’t sure if it was normal. He was an orphan ever since he could remember. He did not have any siblings, cousins, uncles or aunts. He didn’t know what was appropriate and what was normal. Sasuke was really close with his family. Ever since his mother died and his father wanted nothing to do with him. His brother and three cousins were always there for him. They were very important to Sasuke and so they were important to Naruto too. He sighed as he pulled on the clothes Sasuke had picked out for him and headed to the kitchen.

“How old is Obito now anyway?” Sasuke asked, he was sitting down on the bar table, apparently texting his brother.

“Turning eleven, I believe.” Naruto said, grabbing something to eat. Sasuke looked up from his phone to his husband and seemed generally pleased.

“You look handsome,” Sasuke commented, leaning over the bar table. Naruto smiled and leaned in to kiss Sasuke.

“What should we get him?” Naruto asked, “I was thinking-“

“A hunting knife.” Sasuke said absent minded as he read a message Itachi send him.

“He is eleven…” Naruto said, leaning on the table and giving his husband a questionable look.

“Yeah he could have some practice before he turns thirteen and Madara drops him off in the forest for a week to fend for himself.”

Naruto’s expression changed to one of horror before he could see Sasuke look up and give him a soft small smile.

“Joking.” He said before putting his phone down.

“What were you thinking?” Sasuke asked, giving his full attention to Naruto now.

“Video game. It is a bit expensive…And we would probably have to get two…” Naruto had a small grin on his face seeing Sasuke look slightly confused, “Because I kind of want to have the same game.”

“But it isn’t your birthday.” Sasuke said.

“But it will be in like eight months!” Naruto laughed, “I am an adult, I am going to get that game.”

“Sure,” Sasuke said, “then use your own credit cards except of your joined debit card.”

“Boy, when the Korean Elvis married us, you knew what you were getting into.” Naruto laughed, “A public school art teacher who is seriously underpaid.”

“But did you finish that other game that was almost sixty bucks?” Sasuke asked, folding his arms. “I thought we made a promise that you will have to finish a game before you buy another.”

Naruto raised an eyebrow and put his glass of apple juice down before walking towards the bookshelf and grabbed a book turning to Sasuke.

“Did you finish this?” He asked.

Sasuke eyed the book before looking Naruto straight in the eye.

“Yes.” He lied almost convincingly.

“How did it end?” Naruto asked.

“….They got married.” Sasuke remained his straight face.

“Did they though?” Naruto opened the book and looked at the last page. “No, they all die.” Naruto said, pushing the book back on the shelf hearing Sasuke whisper: “Spoilers much…”

He grabbed another book and held it up.

“So you haven’t finish that book and yet…These three books appeared out of nowhere on the shelf.”

“Yeah it is crazy how books just….Appear….” Sasuke sighed looking at Naruto giving him a ‘are you kidding me’ expression, “Alright buy the game.” Sasuke gave in.

They headed To the store to get the gift and headed towards Madara that was a two hour drive to his house in the suburbs. Madara was a men that was very well off. His house had five bedrooms and a huge garden. It was only him and his two sons, Obito and Tobi. His wife and him got divorced three years ago, but they remain on good terms. They went around the back and walked inside the garden. There was a swing set where Itachi was pushing his daughter, Naori. And Shisui was pushing his daughter, Mirai. The girls were laughing and shouting to go higher and higher. Up on the tree house Tobi and Obito, chasing one another.

“UNCLE SASUKE!” Obito shouted from on top of his longs. He slid down the purple turbo tube slide . He ran up to Sasuke and wrapped his arms around the men’s waist and hugged him tightly.

“Happy birthday,” Sasuke patting the boy’s head.

“I’m so glad you came!” The boy said excitedly.

“We got you something very good,” Naruto said, handing Obito the present. “It is actually PG 13,” Naruto whispered.

“Presents after dinner!” Madara shouted from the BBQ grill. He was wearing an apron saying ‘kiss the cook’. Obito had a pouting expression on his face.

“Uncle Naruto!” Naori and Mirai ran from the swing to Naruto and jumped at him. Tobi wrapped his arms around Naruto’s left arm and Mirai on his right one. Naori hugged his leg as she was just tall enough to reach Naruto’s thigh.

“I drew a cat. You wanna see. You wanna see!” Naori grabbed Naruto’s free arm.

“I drew a dog!” Tobi exclaimed.

“I drew unicorn!” Mirai added.

“Naori, Tobi, Mirai let your uncle Naruto first have a drink first, alright.” Itachi told his daughter and nephew. They both looked sad for a moment and so did Naruto. He looked over at Sasuke.

“Oh just go. Stay hydrated” He said, causing all four to smile again and run inside.

Itachi sighed and looked at his younger brother.

“How have you been, little brother.” He let his hand run down Sasuke’s hair, fixing it slightly on the sides.

“I am thirty-three, can you stop calling me little,” Sasuke said slightly annoyed as he tried pushing his brother’s hand away.

“You could be eighty-two and I still see that little boy running after me and begging me to play with him.” He laughed seeing Sasuke’s slightly embarrassed face.

“Oh remember when he was a baby and kept crawling towards you. Adorable!” Shisui tried to pinch Sasuke’s cheek, but Sasuke had no problem to slap his hand away as soon as it approached him.

“Don’t Shisui, you know he’s a cop now.” Itachi chuckled.

“I’m a detective.” Sasuke corrected his brother, but his words went unnoticed.

They walked up to the patio where the other members of the Uchiha-family were.

“Sasuke, I’m so happy to see you.” Izumi, Itachi’s wife, said as she got up from the chair and gave Sasuke a big hug. She has known him for almost twelve year and still managed to be oblivious to the fact that Sasuke did not like people inside his personal space. He decided to let it slide, yet another time, she did gave birth to his niece after-all. Kurenai, Shisui’s wife, did respect his personal space and greeted him with a simple nod.

“Oh the handsome Uchiha came too,” Mei, Madara’s ex-wife, walked outside, holding two cold beers in her hand. “I’m glad seeing you here again,” she said handing him a cold one and proceeded to smack his ass before sitting down between Kurenai and Izumi. Sasuke had an annoyed expression on his face, glaring at her. She smirked, taking a sip from her beer before putting her hands up and saying, “arrest me officer!”

The awkward tension was shrinking when Madara called for Sasuke: “ Hey Sasgay! Hey Sasgay!” he sniggered at his joke before pointed at the sausage on the grill.

“You want the sausage!” He laughed like he was the villain of a Disney movie.

“I would Maddy but you don’t seem to have it.” Sasuke said, causing Shisui, Kurenai and Izumi to laugh while Itachi tried to hold back his smile.

“Confirmed, it ain’t impressive!” Mei said loudly, “you would think with that bush of untamed hair you would have a-“

Mei was interrupted by the sound of something falling and breaking inside the house followed by Naruto’s voice shouting: “EVERYTHING IS FINE! NOTHING IS BROKEN!”

“I swear to God if that is my mother’s ashes…”

“I be damn happy the ugly urn is out of my house.” Mei finished Madara’s sentence for him. They shared a look and a grin. Even though they were divorced they were great co-parents with the occasional booty call. How they worked…It was a mystery to almost everybody present.

“Nah seems to be the Chinese vase they broke,” Sasuke said looking through the window.

“I thought the purpose of an adult watching over the kids was so they would not break anything.” Kurenai stated.

“Naruto is a slightly taller child,” Mei chuckled “By now you should know that.” She turned her gaze back at Sasuke, her eyes were looking at him like he was some sort of not so secret sexual desire of hers.

“I don’t understand, how are you gay?” Mei said, “I get if you are an ass kind of men, but women have asshole’s too.” She raised an eyebrow. “We’ve all done butt-stuff, right ladies!” she looked at Kurenai and Izumi that looked away, not willing to participate in the conversation. The awkward tension was back.

“Fine,” Mei sighed, a bored look took over, “But then why not a rich sugar daddy why a mere professor?”

“Professor?” Sasuke frowned slightly, “He teaches public school.”

“Oh, poor soul.” Madara said. “You know, I have a pretty good divorce lawyer…And he is also very into ass.”

“I get why you two were married…”Sasuke muttered and shook his head at Madara before looking back at Shisui.

“When is Izuna going to be here?” He asked.

“He said he was stuck in traffic-“

“That’s code for not having left the building yet,” Sasuke said, rolling his eyes.

Maybe if Izuna got here he could take some of the heat off Sasuke. Izuna was quite the hot mess of the family. He would have been able to swift the conversation away from Sasuke.

Sasuke took a sip from his beer before looking at the cool box and pushing it away from the door opening to the side. It caused most of the others to give him a slightly odd look, but soon their questions were answered when Obito, Mirai, Tobi and Naori ran from the back door in the garden, all four not looking in front of them as they rushed towards the tree house. Naruto ran outside getting a strange looks from his in-laws.

“…We’re playing a game….” He said.

“Naruto, you don’t have to look after the children. They’ll be fine as long as they are in our view.” Izumi said, “sit down, you want a beer?”

Naruto’s expression stiffened and Sasuke had a small smile on his face.

“Yeah…I would do that but…You know…We’re playing tag and you know…I am ‘it’ so…..” Naruto slowly walked away before sprinting off.

“He would make a great father, don’t you think?” Kurenai stated, getting an agreeing nods from Itachi and Shisui.

“Speaking of children-“

Sasuke rolled his eyes, he couldn’t believe how un-smooth they managed to swift the conversation to yet another sensitive topic.

“I don’t think so-“ Sasuke was quickly interrupted by Mei

“I would be honoured to be like your surrogate.” Mei said and for a moment Itachi looked very weirded out. He gave his brother a quick look and shook his head.

“No…” Sasuke said.

“Adoption is great too.” Shisui said. “We’re actually talking about adopting a second child.”

“Why you have good swimmers yourself, don’t you?” Madara commented.

“It is not about being fertile-“

“We’re bored already,” Madara added.

The door bell rung and Madara looked annoyed.

“it is probably Izuna,” Itachi said, “forgot to use the back door as stated in the evite.”

Madara walked back inside the house as Sasuke looked at the tree house where he could see Mirai, Naori and Obito ,Naruto and Tobi. He headed towards it.

Sasuke didn’t know how he got the ability to sense something going wrong before it happened, but he knew he become like this after Naruto and he moved in together.

“Hey Naruto,” he called out. Not a moment later his husband looked down. “I don’t think the tree house was built for more than two children-“

“Looks pretty steady to me.” right as he said that Mirai screamed at the sight of a spider and bumped right onto Obito that fell over the wooden window. Obito screamed but was saved by Sasuke who caught him in his arms. Obito stopped screaming and wrapped his arms around sasuke hugging him tightly.

“I’m so sorry!” Mirai shouted.

“Enough, everybody out of the tree house. That includes you Naruto.” Sasuke said with a strict voice. He was just happy no other adult has seen Obito fall down or else he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Owh men…” Naruto turned his head to Mirai, “you ruined it for all of us.”

“Thanks uncle Naruto…” You could see the slight annoyance on her face.

“Can I go from the turbo tube slide !” Naruto shouted as the children climbed down the ladder.

“It is designed for children, not grown men.” Sasuke said.

“I bet I fit in there…” Naruto said eyeing the turbo tube slide before diving head first in it. Sasuke could hear Naruto get stuck at the turn of the tube slide.

Sasuke put Obito on the ground, the boy was shaking.

“Get over yourself, you aren’t hurt.” Sasuke said harshly before walking to the end of the turbo tube slide .

“You’re stuck, aren’t you?” He asked squatting down at the end of the turbo tube slide .

“No….” He could hear Naruto’s voice echo. He couldn’t see him, it was too dark inside the purple tube.

“I told you not to. Do I need to call the fire department….Again?” he sighed. He really didn’t want to explain for a second time to the firefighters that Naruto was his husband, a thirty-three year old men and mentally not behind in a…Diagnosable way.

“No! I can totally get out of here!” Naruto shouted back. Sasuke shook his head while feeling somebody tap his shoulder. He didn’t want to hear any of his family’s mockery so he pushed the hand away without looking behind him.

“Not now, I’m busy because an idiotic moron got himself stuck inside a children’s turbo tube slide ! AND NEVER LISTENED TO ME!” Sasuke shouted the last part right inside the tube slide so Naruto could hear it echo.

“I’m sorry….” He could hear a slight mumble coming back.

Sasuke rolled his eyes and sighed deeply before turning around, expecting to see his brother, but the moment he did. His heart stopped beating and his body stiffened. His expression changed from annoyed to ultimately shocked.

Standing right in front of him was Fugaku Uchiha, his father, who he hadn’t seen or spoken to in ten years. The men who had belittled him, crushed him and abandoned him. The man that made every bit of love, happiness and light disappear from Sasuke’s life for the longest time.

Sasuke quickly looked in the corner of his eyes where he could see Madara, Itachi, Shisui and Izuna stand there staring at the situation speechlessly. Mei, Izumi and Kurenai looked confused. He felt like a weak hopeless child again.

“Hey! I can crawl! ” Naruto’s voice came from the slide, waking Sasuke’s up. He realised he was no longer a child he was an adult and he was a respected detective, he was married and had two cats. Yet his husband is stuck in a purple turbo tube slide for a second time in his life.

“Father…” Sasuke spoke softly.

“You look just like your mother.”

“That is not much of a compliment for an adult men.”

“It wasn’t meant as one. It’s an observation.”

“Very well.” Sasuke lowered his eyes, even when he tried to remind himself he was an adult his father did manage to get the upper hand and make him feel worthless.

“I see you got married” He indicated to the ring on Sasuke’s finger.

Just before Fugaku could say something else, he could hear a scream coming form the tube slide. Naruto slit out of the slide, head first, and landed on the ground. He groaned when his back hit the grass and looked up at the sky seeing his husband’s face giving him a concerned look and a grumpy old men giving him the most disgusted look he had ever seen somebody give him.

Naruto set up, rubbed the back of his head before standing up. From the conversation he heard from inside the tube slide, he wished he could have stayed stuck there for a little longer.

“Uhm…Hey…I’m Naruto….” Naruto said, getting up and extending his hand to Fugaku, he looked down at Naruto’s left hand, seeing a wedding ring, before looking at the extended hand in front of him.

He remained quiet.

TO BE CONTINUED

#narusasu #sasunaru #sns #naruto #sasuke #the uchihas #don't like don't read #domesticsns #first story post #fanfictions #sns fanfiction

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tabarnaks · 5 years

Text

Bravery’s Call

AU where Duck accepts his destiny at 18, except some of the ages (Aubrey’s) are weird because otherwise, it doesn’t work.

You can also read it on ao3 here.

As Tabitha drives him back home after their day at Mount Kepler, Duck knows he’s made his decision. It’s difficult for him to find the right words to tell her, but he has no other options available to him.

He has to refuse Minerva.

He can’t do it. He can’t risk his life like that. He can’t throw away every single one of his future opportunities, he can’t throw away all the potential french onion soup he’ll have in the future.

Duck decides not to tell Minerva the exact reason why. He feels stupid enough reiterating it in his thoughts, saying it out loud would be much worse.

About ten minutes before Minerva usually shows up, Tabitha pulls up in front of his house. Duck steels himself before opening the door to his girlfriend’s car. He makes sure he’s ready to tell Minerva a firm, unwavering “No”.

Finally, he starts to open his door, and Tabitha pulls him towards her. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, before adding, “This was super fun, honey. We should do this again soon.”

Duck swallows through the rapidly forming lump in his throat and nods. He almost wants to mention the fact that he wasn’t even with her for most of the day, but opts not to, “Yeah, we should.”

He closes the car door behind him and starts heading through his driveway. He hears the car start speeding away before he’s even at his door. Duck sighs, and hopes he’ll be able to stop himself from overthinking it. Tabitha’s just in a hurry to get home. It’s nothing to think twice about.

It takes until he’s at the door, fishing through his pockets for his keys, before he realizes the driveway is empty. He feels anxiety start to bubble up in his stomach, his mother’s supposed to be home by now. Duck shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. His mother was supposed to pick Jane up from a friend’s house today. She’s just running late.

Everything has to be normal right now. Duck’s already telling a semi-ethereal woman that he can’t fight her war for her, and he doesn’t think he can handle anything else.

As soon as he enters his home, Duck loses any hope that this is a regular evening. There’s a pot of pasta cooking on the stove, the burner still on, boiling water overflowing and spilling out. Duck leaves his keys in the door, rushing to the stove to turn off the heat.

After he’s turned off the obvious fire hazard, Duck spots the hastily scrawled note left on the kitchen counter.

Animal attacked Jane Couldn’t get in touch Come to hospital

Duck’s heart drops. He doesn’t think even for a second before running outside, slamming his front door behind him, unaware of the keys still hanging from the lock.

He runs to the middle of the street, hoping that he might be able to still see Tabitha’s car, but of course, he’s not that lucky.

He considers his options for a second. He could always call one of the three cabs in Kepler and hope they’re close enough to bring him to the hospital in less time than it’ll take to walk there. Or, he could just book it.

There’s a weird energy coursing through him. There’s a part of it that’s adrenaline for sure, but also something else, something a lot more foreign. That energy makes him sure that he’ll be able to reach the hospital or at least Tabitha’s car which should be heading in the same direction.

A weird energy courses through him. Part of it is adrenaline and anxiety and fear for his sister’s life, but there’s also something else, something a lot more foreign and alien.

It’s that foreign feeling that makes him sure he’ll be able to reach the hospital, or at least Tabitha’s car, before a cab even arrives.

Duck decides to run for it. It feels like the fastest option, even if the energy wears off after two or three street corners.

Also, if Duck had stayed still for a second longer, he would’ve had the worst anxiety attack of his life, right in the middle of the road.

So Duck runs as fast as his legs will take him. Which, turns out, is pretty fast. The streets fly by, pure instinct guiding him through the streets of Kepler. Though he knows he should be feeling something by now, shortness of breath, cramps, whatever, there’s nothing. It feels like little more than a casual jog.

Duck almost trips in surprise when he spots Tabitha’s familiar red car at a stoplight. He slows down, knocking on the passenger side window. She jumps and a look of shock spreads across her face. Tabitha stays frozen for a second before finally leaning across the passenger seat to unlock the door.

As the door before him opens before him, familiar music starts playing, immediately followed by the voice he’s dreaded almost all day, “Duck Newton! I see you have started utilizing your abilities! How exciting!”

Duck grits his teeth and doesn’t think before turning back to Minerva, “Not now.”

He sits in the car and slams the door in the ghostly figure’s face. He shoots a look at Tabitha, whose face has shifted from flabbergasted to worried.

“Sorry,” Duck says quickly, “My little sister’s been hurt. You need to drive me to the hospital.”

Ned wonders how he managed to get himself stuck in this situation.

Housed by an old, dying woman after having broken into her home with the intent to rob her blind. His name written on her will, giving him her museum of oddities.

He does have to admit it is a comfortable situation, despite how boring it often is. As long as he knows how to convincingly peddle his bullshit, he’ll always have a roof over his head and warm meals.

Still, it’s never as simple as that. Especially right now. Especially with the way the walls of Victoria’s home seem to close in around him a little more with every minute he pushes back checking on her.

Victoria had told him last night she didn’t think she’d make it to sunrise. She’d been saying stuff like that with increasing frequency the past few weeks. This time, Ned had really believed her.

The total lack of movement, not even the sound of struggling breaths, makes Ned more and more sure of her passing as the minutes pass.

Ned’s never dreaded anything more than entering Victoria’s room right now. Even if it’s only to confirm what he already knows, it feels like an insurmountable task.

The handle to her door feels colder than it should be, a lingering effect of Death passing through. He hesitates before turning the handle and opening the door, but it has to be done.

He finally rips off the band-aid and swings the door open much faster than he means to.

Her room isn’t as dark as Ned expects it to be. Apparently, she had managed to open the curtains some time last night. The late morning sun shines through the window, illuminating every last nook and cranny.

She looks like she’s sleeping. Her eyes are closed, and her arms are draped across her stomach. She looks about as peaceful as she has ever been, at least around Ned.

He knows it’s pointless, but he tries to call out anyway, “Victoria?” he says, surprised by the shakiness of his own voice.

Predictably, there’s no reaction.

Ned sighs, passing a hand through his too long hair, and leaves the room heading the landline.

He dials the doctor’s phone number and is assured someone will pass by in the next few hours.

So Ned waits. He shuts Victoria’s door, leaving her as is. He closes the Cryptonomica for the day. It’s pointless to leave it open when he can’t put on a convincing show for the potential visitors. Instead, Ned busies himself by tidying up Victoria’s office, and finally sorting through her paperwork.

This is his place now after all. He needs to know about all the finance stuff.

The men from the local coroner’s office finally come, and Victoria leaves with them.

Before leaving, one of the two men comes to talk to him, “You’re Ned right?”

Ned nods, trying to not let his nerves get the best of him, “Yes, that would be me.”

“I’m Gregor, I’m so sorry for your loss. I just wanted to make sure you noticed the note she left on her bedside table. It’s probably for you unless she knows another Ned.”

Ned smiles, but it feels tacky on his face, “Oh, yeah, that would be for me. Thank you for the info, Gregor.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Gregor pauses, looking at his clipboard, “Are you the one who’s going to be taking care of the funeral arrangements?”

Oh, yeah. Victoria needs a funeral. That’s another thing Ned needs to worry about.

“Yes, I suppose so. I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”

The mortician nods and heads towards the door, “Alright then, I’ll hear from you soon.”

The door shuts, and for the first time in months, Ned is alone.

He watches the van drive away, a lump caught in his throat. Once it’s out of sight, he heads upstairs to Victoria’s empty room. The coroner was right. There is a note left for him on her bedside table.

Big, and very obvious. Ned has no idea how he missed it.

Ned picks it up, admiring Victoria’s neat handwriting. Ned would guess she wrote this a few weeks ago, or, at the very least, not yesterday. She’s been shaking a lot lately, and she would’ve been too weak to spend so much energy on making her handwriting so neat.

Ned opens it and sits on her bed to read it.

Ned Chicane. I’ve already told you that I’m giving you the Cryptonomica. I know that you’re going to change some things about it. Even more than you’ve already changed that is. I understand. A man with so much life ahead of him like you needs to worry about money much more than a dying old woman. Still, I just want to ask you one thing. No matter how much you change to this place, make sure it always does one thing.

Ned, please make sure to keep Kepler as curious as you can.

Duck is in the middle of an unfamiliar clearing in the forest. The moon shines above, its light filling the opening of an odd stone gate a few feet from Duck. the wind blows, rustling the leaves and chilling Duck to the bone.

A monstrous, guttural growl snaps him out of his reverie and sends Duck running away from it on pure instinct. Some kind of fiery projectile comes toward him and he ducks to avoid it. It hits the thing behind him, if Duck judges by the ensuing screech and sound of glass breaking.

Duck looks in the direction the fire came from and sees a young girl, one or two years older than Jane, staring at her own hand in wonder.

The girl opens her mouth, but as she starts to speak, her words get drowned out. The ambient noises of the forest fade with her, replaced with his little sister, growing more and more frustrated, “Duck. Duck. Duck!”

Duck’s eyes snap open, looking around at his surroundings. Bright neon lights, blue curtains, lots of machinery, he’s in the hospital room. And, more importantly, Jane is finally awake and trying to get his attention.

Duck shifts in the chair he’d fallen asleep in, getting back into a comfortable position, “Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Jane looks around the room and sits up slowly, flinching and clutching at her stomach despite her caution, “Bad. Where’s Mom?”

“She had to talk to people, insurance or something. She should be back soon.”

Jane nods, “Duck, I have somethin’ I need to tell you. But you have to promise to believe me, okay?”

Duck frowns puzzled, “What is it?”

She locks eyes with him, and Duck sees a look he’s never seen on his sister’s face before, “You gotta promise first.”

Duck doesn’t hesitate, “I promise, whatever you say, I believe you.”

Jane looks away and takes a deep breath, “I lied to mom. It wasn’t an animal, it was some kind of freak monster that attacked me.”

Duck’s heart drops straight into his stomach. Fear and apprehension lock his muscles in place. He opens his mouth to ask a question, but nothing comes out of his mouth.

Jane doesn’t notice his silence, and continues talking, “It was huge. At least twice as big as you or mom, and it looked like it was made of this weird slimy purple crystal. It had huge claws and even bigger teeth that smelled just awful, and I don’t know if it had eyes there was too much crystal. But it probably did because it seemed to be able to tell exactly where I was running and everything.”

The door to the room opens behind him, and though he’s sure Jane has more to tell him, she shuts her mouth.

“Oh, Jane,” his mother says from behind him, “You’re awake, I hope you’re not feeling too bad. Is it okay if the doctor checks on you now?”

His sister considers for a second before nodding, “Yeah, sure.”

Duck hears some rustling, and then his mother’s handing him a five dollar bill, “Hey-” she hesitates on the name, of course she does, “Honey, do you mind getting yourself something to eat? The doctor needs some privacy to check on Jane.”

Duck nods and takes the money, it’s almost time for lunch anyway.

His sister’s confession sits heavy on his conscience. He knows his sister wasn’t lying. He also knows that the thing that attacked her is one of the creatures Minerva says he’s destined to fight.

The same creatures he’d decided it was impossible for him to fight. The same creatures he’d decided were too dangerous to fight. The same creatures he’d realized would be the end of him.

One of those creatures had attacked his sister.

It feels like a slap in the face. Or some kind of fucked up wake up call.

If he doesn’t do anything, if he rejects Minerva like he’d planned to do just hours earlier, the monsters would hurt more people. If he doesn’t do anything, the monsters are sure to kill someone sooner or later.

Duck is suddenly aware of how selfish his initial decision was. He knew it was selfish, he’s not that dumb, but it didn’t feel real.

Now, with his sister in a hospital bed, he has no idea how he could live with himself if he does nothing to try and stop the creatures.

God, he feels so guilty.

Duck lets his head slowly fall towards the table he’s sitting at, exhaustion and guilt taking their toll on him.

“Minerva,” Duck whispers, hoping the few others in the cafeteria can’t hear him, “I don’t know how this all works. I don’t know if you can hear me right now, or what. But I’ll do it. I’ll be your chosen one.”

Aubrey spends way too long looking at herself in the mirror, trying to see what she can do to make herself look older. The owner of the hotel had seemed skeptical on the phone, but Aubrey had assured her that she just sounded young. She really doesn’t want to get kicked out before performing for silly reasons like being too young. She’s an entrepreneur after all.

Aubrey finally gives up, realizing that nothing she’s doing it actually helping much. She puts on her usual costume, a traditional magician’s outfit she’d modified with cool flame motifs. Then, she grabs her coat and her suitcase full of gear, heading for the door.

She’s ready to open the door before she realizes she’s forgotten her greatest ally. Aubrey drops her things, and runs to her room, almost tripping on some of the miscellaneous boxes still littering the corridor. Dr. Harris Bonkers Ph.D. is in his enclosure, as expected. She picks him up and puts him in his travel bag, before heading back to the front door.

Once she’s sure she has everything she needs, Aubrey writes a note for her dad. Just in case he comes back before she’s finished her show. Once she’s placed it somewhere so obvious he couldn’t possibly miss it, she leaves their new apartment.

Somehow, she manages not to get lost while travelling through the streets of Kepler. Soon enough, she’s in front of the large entrance leading into Amnesty Lodge, anxiety building up at the thought of the first show in her new town.

Aubrey opens the door and walks into the warm lobby. It’s much emptier than the previous places she’s performed at, but there are a few people here and there.

She heads towards the desk, trying not to let her nervousness show. This is going to be her first show in Kepler after all. And her first show since…

Aubrey shakes her head to get rid of the thought. It’s definitely bad luck to think about that right before a show. She’s practiced a lot. She’s going to be okay.

Once in front of the reception desk, Aubrey drops her suitcase and gently puts down Dr. Harris Bonkers Ph.D. She stands up a straighter, hoping to seem at least a little taller than she is.

Seeing her walk up, the tall bearded man smiles behind the desk smiles down at her, “Welcome to Amnesty Lodge, I’m Barclay. How can I help you today?”

Aubrey gives Barclay her sweetest smile, and places her hands on the counter in a way she hopes looks professional, “Hi! I’m Aubrey, I’m here for the magic show.”

Barclay frowns, “I didn’t know we’d advertised that.” he mumbles, more to himself than to Aubrey, “Well, the performer hasn’t arrived yet. Just take a seat anywhere and she should get here soon.”

“No, no, no. You don’t understand. I am The Lady Flame. I’m here to perform.” The look on Barclay’s face stays doubtful, so Aubrey quickly opens her jacket to let him see her costume and gestures to it, “See?”

The man stays doubtful for a few more seconds before carefully switching to a more neutral face, “All right then. Let me just go get Mama, she didn’t tell me where she was planning for you to set up.” he says before walking to a back room, leaving Aubrey alone in the lobby.

She manages to wait for at least a few minutes before getting bored and lifting Dr. Harris Bonkers’ travel bag onto the counter to look at him. He looks the same way he usually does, but Aubrey can tell that he’s just as nervous as she is.

She leans in close, poking a finger through the net to pet him, “It’s gonna okay, Doctor. Everything’s gonna be okay.” she whispers to him.

After like an hour, Barclay comes back with a woman as tall as he is. “So you’re The Lady Flame, huh?” she says, moving around the counter towards Aubrey, “Can I have an actual name?”

“Um,” Aubrey hesitates, trying to come up with a fake name, but she comes up empty, “I’m Aubrey.”

The woman raises an eyebrow, “Aubrey what?”

“Aubrey Biggle.” It takes Aubrey real effort to not start laughing at her own answer. Aside from a tiny sideways smile she can’t quite conceal, she thinks she manages it pretty well.

The woman nods, “Well, I’m Mama. Follow me, I’ll show you to the spot I prepared for you.”

The woman, Mama, leads her to a spot near the fireplace where a big table, has been set up.

Aubrey is quick to get everything set up. She places all the necessary things on the table, and then releases Dr. Harris Bonkers on the table with a treat to keep him well behaved.

Once everything’s finally ready, Aubrey takes a deep breath and looks around the room. It’s not packed or anything, but there are a few people here and there. Her eyes soon shift over to Mama, who’s leaning against a wall near a door talking to someone Aubrey can’t see. Mama catches her looking and she smiles and gives her a quick thumbs up.

With such an obvious sign that it’s okay to go, Aubrey starts her show immediately.

The first few tricks go pretty well. Though when she asks for volunteers, she’s disappointed there’s no kids or even people her age.

Luckily for her, a blond guy, like twenty-five or something, wearing a cool bright pink and blue coat, volunteers for her card tricks.

Though she’s skeptical at first, since adults usually aren’t as much fun to do tricks with, she quickly warms up to him.

Finally, she gets to her first fire trick. The fire isn’t integral to it or anything, it’s just a bit of flash paper used to distract the audience, but she feels excited regardless.

The feeling builds up until she feels like she’s almost vibrating in place while doing her trick. It’s not nervousness. She would know, she’s been nervous the entire show. It feels like there’s a weird heat emanating from her heart, spreading through her, all the way to her fingertips.

Instinctively, she knows to keep it inside, to not let it flow completely out of her. But as she’s about to finally pull out the flash paper, she realizes no one’s looking at her.

In the back, Mama and Barclay are talking in hushed voices, Barclay holding car keys in his hand. That’s not a problem, Aubrey’s fine with not having all the attention on her, but everyone else is looking at them too. Even the blond guy in the cool jacket, who’d been her volunteer and had seemed to be really into it, is looking away.

Though Aubrey’s only distracted by the lack of attention on her for a second, it’s long enough for something to snap.

Suddenly, the flash paper has ignited in Aubrey’s hands and has caused a much bigger flame than it’s supposed to.

A flame that is becoming bigger and bigger faster than anything Aubrey’s ever seen. A flame Aubrey has no idea what to do about.

The fire has been enough to get attention back on Aubrey, though she really wishes it hadn’t.

There’s a second where the room is still and silent, only leaving the fire slowly spreading more and more.

Then everything starts moving very, very fast.

Aubrey grabs Dr. Harris Bonkers from the table, place him in his travel bag which she slides away to safety. Then, she grabs the extinguisher she’d left underneath the table.

As she’s doing that, she hears Mama say, “You go to Victoria’s place. I’ll take care of this.” Followed by a flurry of footsteps, many of them heading toward her.

Aubrey fumbles with the fire extinguisher for a bit, unsure of how it actually works. Before long, it’s grabbed out of hands by a much more confident Mama who turns it on easily.

The fire is put out as quickly as it had started. Aubrey’s already trying to stumble through apologies, but Mama doesn’t let her get a word it. She grabs Aubrey’s arm and drags her out of the main room to some nearby office.

“Okay, now you’re not in any trouble, but you are going to have to come clean about why you weren’t following the rules.” Mama says in a stern voice

“Rules? No, you told me fire elements were okay. It was just some faulty flash paper.” Aubrey pauses before adding, “Look, I am really super sorry, I can pay for any damage and all that-”

The older woman interrupts Aubrey, “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the rules relating to Sylvain.“

"Sylvain? Is that a place in town or something? Sorry, we moved from out of state a week ago so I don’t know much about Kepler.”

“Come on now, don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talkin’ about. You know humans can’t do magic.”

“No, no no,” Aubrey laughs nervously, “It’s not, like, actual magic. They’re just tricks.” Aubrey pulls her hand out of Mama’s now loose grasp and pulls at her sleeve, “See? I have flash paper in my sleeves and that one was just a bad one.”

Mama considers her for a second, frown still etched across her features. Finally, she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, “Oh man, you really are human, aren’t you?”

Ned decides not to take the rest of the day off, even though he knows he should

He concentrates on two things: planning the funeral and getting the legal rights to the Cryptonomica.

The first thing is pretty easy. He finds Victoria’s old phone book and calls a few people. Just enough to get the ball rolling and to make sure everything will be done in a timely fashion.

The second is a little more complicated. Sure, he’s gone by Ned Chicane for a few years by now, and he has the appropriate IDs to go with the name, but Ned Chicane is hardly a real person. Definitely not real enough to own and run a business in any case. So he makes a few other calls, this time not using the phone book.

By the time he finishes all his phone calls, he’s completely skipped lunch and it’s already well into dinnertime.

He’s halfway through cooking his dinner when a loud noise outside grabs his attention.

Shivers gather up his spine as he carefully heads towards the backdoor to check it out. He sees his car, undamaged, thank God, with a tall man he’s never seen before leaning against it, pushing it sideways towards the Cryptonomica.

Immediately, Ned opens the door and shouts, “Hey! What are you doing with my car?”

The man stares at him for a second before screaming back, “Go back inside, it isn’t safe out here!” As he shouts, the man motions toward the Cryptonomica.

Ned’s about to retort, tell him to stop messing with his car, but as he turns his head toward where the man is motioning, he honest to God feels his heart skip a beat.

A creature stands there, definitely not human, but definitely not one of the cryptids the Cryptonomica presents either. It’s huge for one, and it’s covered in odd translucent spikes, like the worst porcupine imaginable. Its mouth, which is hard to miss thanks to all its grotesque teeth, is open, letting a disgusting slime-like substance leak out. But, the worst has to be its claws. Though they’re not particularly disproportionate considering the size of the monster, they’re clawing at the walls of the Cryptonomica, definitely damaging it

The stranger continues to motion for Ned to go inside while he’s trying to find words to say. He can’t make any sense of what he’s seeing in front of him. This stuff isn’t supposed to be real, but it is. Except it can’t possibly be.

Finally, a few words come to him that leak out of his mouth without a thought, “Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

#the adventure zone #the adventure zone amnesty #duck newton #aubrey little #ned chicane #taz mama #taz barclay #taz amnesty #taz #a moi #long post

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uas-fics · 5 years

Text

Title: The Goth And The Vampire

Rating: T

Summary: For the sake of the stray animals of South Park, Raven will put his utter hatred of the Vamp Kids aside to help one of them out.

Ships: Stutters

Content Warnings: mild gore, animal death

Other: inspired by this art peice by @bybasily

~~~~

Raven couldn’t stand humanity. Humans were cowards, hiding behind false faces as they danced around in a predetermined play.

Animals, though, animals were pure. They ran not on societies stage, following stereotypical scripts that they didn't want in the first place.

Animals were different.

When wolves ran together as one, it was joyous and a show of strength. When birds or frogs sang over the woodland, it was a glorious melody.

When animals were one, it was instinct. It was nature.

Not like the ungoth human masses.

Raven held animals in the highest regards. So when he heard the terrified cries of some poor creature on his way home from the graveyard, he froze.

A heavy blanket of clouds clung over the sky that night. Only the sickly yellow of the street lamps gave any light to the empty town.

The mountain chill settled down into his bones as Raven strained his ears.

Usually, he would assume the cries were of a prey animal, desperately trying to escape its fate, and he would leave nature alone to her cruel design.

But these cries, they weren't from a prey animal.

They were from a cat.

They were from a predator.

Raven's brow furrowed as he slowly followed the ever-growing cries towards an alley between Tom's Rhinoplasty and an abandoned office building.

He pressed himself up against the clinic front. His breath fogged up the glass and obscured the prices for nose jobs hanging up in the window.

He shuffled closer and heard a voice.

“Please stop struggling! It'll be over soon, I promise!” Someone whimpered softly. The voice sounded just as scared as the cat.

So this was a human's doing! Of course, some pathetic human would do this! Probably some kid on a dare, trying to crawl their way up the social ladder.

Raven narrowed his eyes and scooted to the edge of the building. His shoe brushed against something wet and sticky.

When he looked down. The bloody remains of a squirrel stared up at him. Its eyes were so wide in terror that only the smallest pinprick of black iris looked back. Its fur had been torn out in places and blood oozed from its nostrils and covered its broken teeth.

The most gruesome disfigurement of the broken corpse, however, wasn't the twisted limbs or missing fur, but the squirrel's stomach. The belly fur was slick, wet, and pointed upwards. All of it ringed by deep punctures.

The squirrel must have been in agony when it perished.

“Shh, shhhh, now. Please, I don't gotta choice.”

Raven jerked his head up as the voice once again pleaded with the cat. He reached to his back pocket.

South Park had a lot of weirdos. It would be better to go into this armed. Firkle had given him and the rest of the Goths a knife last Christmas. Raven only kept it because of how Goth it made him feel.

This would be the first time Raven would have to use it in defense.

Steeling his nerves, Stan peeked around the corner into the alleyway.

The cat struggled against the hooded figure that loomed over it. The figure held down the striped tabby by its head with one hand and, with another, pressed the tabby's middle against the concert.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” The figure mumbled.

The figure looked about teenager sized. Were they planning on shaving the poor cat? Cut off its whiskers? Duct tape its tail to its back?

The soft flesh of his palms pressed against the crudely carved bird in the handle of the his knife. He could do this. For the cat. For nature herself.

The clouds above parted. A beam of silvery moonlight basked the scene in its cold embrace.

The light glinted off the saliva and blood on the monster's fangs. Red-tinged drool ran down its chin, dripping onto the tabby's grey coat.

All Raven's mind could comprehend at that moment were those fangs. Nothing that big and sharp could belong to a human, but there was nothing else it could be. Dogs and bears and other large predators didn't have hands, nor did they speak.

Trapped in place by the horrific awe of the monster, Raven watched as it lowered itself down. Then, with its jaws opened wide, the monster clamped down on the cat's neck.

As a disgusting slurping sound filled the night, a movement behind a box in the alley tore Raven’s eyes from the grotesque scene.

A kitten peeked its head out, eyes wide as dinner plates, then another, and one more. Three little tabby babies. One of them mewled, taking a tentative step closer to the scene, only to scamper back when the cat let out a yowl.

Raven’s heart caught in his throat. The monster wasn’t just eating a cat; it was eating a mother.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to flee. He should just up and go. This was not his fight is what his flight or fight response told him. But when the mother cat’s yowls and screams went silent, Raven knew he was going to make it his.

Gripping the knife in white knuckles, he crept forward towards the monster. Steps away from it, he raised the knife up. He took two, quick steps and swung the blade down in into the flesh of its shoulder.

The monster let out a screech that sounded a little too human. Raven shook it off, before kicking the monster in the spine. It tumbled forward onto the cat's corpse.

With his adrenaline giving him a boost of speed, Raven moved to scoop up the three kittens and shove them in the box they hid behind.

“I’m sorry; I can’t save her!” He whispered to them. One last glance over his shoulder at the monster as it groped its back in an attempt to reach the blade, then Raven turned and ran away as fast as his feet could carry him.

~~~~

“Woooow, so, like, you saw a monster vore a cat,” Pete’s mouth gaped, “and you fought it? That’s pretty Goth, dude.” He stroked one of the kitten’s fur.

After a vet checkup, Raven had moved the kittens from his room to the garage. Luckily, the kittens were friendly and not too skittish, and his mom promised she’d make sure they were taken to good homes when they got a little older.

“Yeah, it is, but,” Raven shook his head, rubbing another kitten’s stomach as it batted at his fingers, “no one believes what I saw wasn't a dog!”

Three days had passed since that night. The next morning he’d dragged his parents to the scene. He expected to find pools of thick blood and the corpses of the squirrel and mother cat, but when they arrived, almost no evidence remained of the night prior. There was blood, but not enough to match the gore he'd seen in the moonlight. The squirrel and cat corpses were nowhere to be seen.

Raven’s father fixed him with his usual look of disappointment as his mother stroked his head reassuringly.

“It was probably just a big dog that killed the mama cat, sweetie,” His mother had told him softly. “We’ll keep the kittens for now and call animal control to keep an eye out for the dog before it hurts anyone else, ok?”

“I bet it’s a beast that only those with eyes unclouded can see.” Henrietta nodded. “To everyone else, it would look like a dog, but not to someone as Goth as us.”

Michael wiggled a string above the final tabby kitten. “Even if it was a dog, that was, like, super brave of you. You risked rabies, man.”

Raven grunted, scooping his kitten up to set it on his stomach. He wanted to say that he knew it wasn’t a dog but held his tongue. What was the point? It’s not like he would see the monster again, anyway. He was grounded until Kingdom come for sneaking out to the graveyard.

Michael tossed the string to Firkle. They watched as the kitten scrambled over itself to try and catch its prey, only to skid out the open garage door into the wet snow.

The day was a surprisingly warm one for the mountain town, so Raven’s mother told him to leave the garage door open to let the sunlight in.

It was almost too bright for someone as accustom to night as the Goths, but Raven needed to work his way back on his mom’s good list, so they suffered with the glaring light.

Raven let out a sigh. He knew he should consider himself lucky. Whatever that thing was, it could have killed him. The only thing he had lost that night was his hat. It fell off his head in his mad dash for home.

And, of course, the knife he plunged into the monster's back.

"I guess,” Raven muttered, then, louder, he asked, “Hey, Firkle, where’d you get that knife you gave me for Christmas, by the way? I feel really ungoth without it anymore.”

“You look unGoth,” Firkle chided with a shake of his head.

Raven rolled his eyes. With his favorite hat gone, he had to wear his old red and blue one that barely fit. That, coupled with the fact he’d been too tired to put on the foundation that kept his naturally rosy complexion pale as death, of course, he didn’t look particularly Goth!

Pete shoved Firkle’s shoulder. Seeing its opportunity, the kitten jumped and grabbed hold of Firkle’s hand and the string, playfully chomping down on his knuckles.

“Lay off,” Pete scolded the youngest member of their friend group. Firkle just rolled his eyes then began to pry the kitten off him.

“I’ll send you the link later,” Firkle promised. He opened his mouth to say something else when Henrietta covered his lips.

“Hey, that kid's been standing looking at us for a while now.” She raised her sharp, black painted nail to point across the street. Raven, Pete, and Firkle turned over their shoulders. Michael stood on his knees to look over everyone else.

On the other side of the road, a kid stood, swaying his weight left and right. Raven narrowed his eyes. The kid looked familiar. He was probably in the same grade as him.

Seeing five sets of eyes on him, the kid jumped. He waved a little then looked up and down the street before jogging across.

“He’s wearing all black,” Pete commented. “Think he’s Goth?”

Henrietta scrunched up her nose. “No, wait, I know that kid. He was a friend of my brother. He’s a fucking dork.”

She finished saying that just as the kid entered the garage. Now that he was closer, Raven could tell, yes, he did know him.

His real name was Leopold, but no one ever called him that. Instead, everyone called him ‘'Butters’, though Raven couldn't remember why.

He was the Stotch’s son, and he and Raven used to hang out nearly six years ago, back in third grade, when the both of them were desperately trying to be just “unique” enough to be memorable but not so much as to incur the wrath of their peers’ taunts.

That of itself was not enough to damn him in Raven’s eyes. It made him a conformist poser, sure, but so was pretty much everyone else.

No, what made bile raise up in Raven's throat at the very sight of Butters was the fact he was a Vamp Kid.

He had escaped them once when Mike first formed his douchey little “coven,” but then he just had to go back to them, for some reason.

Raven swallowed down his disdain as Butters waved cheerfully at them.

As he stood, Butters blocked out the sun, leaving a halo around him. Some of the sun’s rays glinted off his pale blond roots. Was that a fashion choice on Butters' part or was Butters just too lazy to redye it?

Not that it mattered, since, like all the other Vamp Kids, Butters reminded Raven of someone the Hot Topic vomited up on, right down to the peeling temporary tattoo saying 'bite me' on the top side of his hand and fake, plastic fangs.

Raven cringed, sitting up. The kitten rolled into his lap. It peaked up, looking around before its eyes landed on Butters. Suddenly, it hissed. The fur along the kitten’s spine rose.

Its siblings turned from what they were doing. The one Pete was playing with turned on its heels and dashed into the old dog bed to hide. The other spat at Butters before following suit, scurrying behind one of the stacks of boxes.

Raven’s kitten looked at its siblings, then back at Butters. Seeming to decide the new 'threat' was too great to take on alone, the kitten then clambered out of Raven’s lap to go hide as well.

“Oh, look,” Michael scoffed, “even the cats know to fear your brand of douchey mediocrity.”

The Goths chuckled amongst themselves, but the smile on Butters’ face never wavered. The only indication Raven saw that he was at all offended was a flash of hurt in his good eye. His other eye had a dead, cloudy film over the iris and pupil and a scar carving through it.

It was about the only feature Raven could at all call ‘Goth’ about him.

“Yeah, cats are pretty scared of the creature of the night,” Butters joked.

Rolling his eyes, Raven snapped, “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh,” Butters looked to the side, his cheeks pink, “I have something of yours, Stan.”

“Raven,” He corrected coldly. No one called him ‘Stan’ anymore. That conformist loser died the day a pretty girl broke his heart and crushed the pieces with her mary janes.

“Oops! Sorry, Raven. I have something of yours.”

“What could you have of mine?”

“Your hat.”

Raven reached up, his fingers brushing the faded red and blue wool.

“My hat?” He repeated.

“Yeah, the knit grey one with the black trim and puffball? It had your name sewed on the inside,” Butters informed him. “Did your mom do that for you? If so, that’s really sweet of her! My mom doesn’t label my clothes anymore.”

He laughed as Raven’s cheeks burned. His tone didn't sound particularly mocking. Instead, it sounded like a statement of fact, but Raven couldn't imagine anyone saying that without a taunt behind it. This Vamp Kid was just trying to goad him.

Raven fixed Butters with a glare.

Raven did loved his mother, but he would never outright admit that. If you were Goth, then you didn’t get along with your family. That’s just how it went. Henrietta got into fight after fight with her parents. Michael always complained about his step-family being a bother, while Firkle and Pete would bemoan their own parents and siblings.

“Fuck off,” Raven growled. “If you have my hat, then give it back.”

“Well, I don’t have it on me,” Butters admitted. “It’s at my house.”

“Why didn’t you bring it?” Michael asked.

“Well, I wanted to make sure it was his first,” Butters knocked his knuckles together in front of him. “It’s a really nice hat. I’d hate to give it to the wrong person.”

“Well, then, go get it,” Raven ordered. “I’m grounded and can’t leave the house.”

Butters’ expression shifted from a positive, if embarrassed, one to something dark. His eyes narrowed and lips turned downward. A shiver ran along Raven’s spine.

“Oh, that's something else my mom doesn't do anymore.” Butters’ voice was emotionless. “I’ll bring it later. See you, Raven.” With that, he turned and walked away.

Once he disappeared from view, the Goths let out a collective breath.

“What the fuck is that kid?” Pete muttered, standing up. As he wandered towards the back to fetch the kittens, Michael shrugged.

“A freak, probably. He was friends with Henrietta’s brother, after all,” He said, rolling to his feet to help Pete.

Henrietta snorted. “God, yes, I think those two had a sleepover once years ago, and they stayed up all night playing ‘Hello Kitty Island Adventure’. So annoying.”

Firkle and Henrietta started making condescending remarks about the Hello Kitty fan base. Pete and Michael searched the boxes and containers in the back of the garage for the kittens. And Raven looked down at his hands.

He was shaking, and he didn’t know why.

~~~~

The night was his domain. Everyone else in the house had gone to bed a hours ago.

In the silence, Raven could finally start to prepare for the black void of sleep.

As the time ticked closer to midnight, Raven crept to the bathroom from his room, where he had barred himself away for the last few hours.

Originally, he did abandoned his family after dinner because that seemed to be how it was done amongst the Goths: Eat dinner with your family, if you had to, then venture away to your own self-imposed isolation.

Nowadays, he did it to avoid any snide remarks and forlorn sighs his dad might toss at him. There were only so many eye rolls and ‘how long will this phase last’ s one person can take, after all.

Raven scrubbed his face. He had just finished his left side when he winced. He hadn’t worn any make-up today. Disgruntled, he tossed the washcloth into the clothes basket by the sink before quickly brushing his teeth.

He'd felt off every since Butters showed up to chat that afternoon. Something about how Butters’ peppy voice lost all emotion left a heavy lump sitting in Raven's stomach.

Not that he would ever admit that to any of his friends. Butters was just a stupid Vamp Kid after all. His friends would tell him Butters wasn't someone Raven should waste his thoughts on. They were right, of course.

On the walk back to his room, he purposely stuck close to the wall away from his parent's room. If he didn’t get close, he didn’t risk hearing them talking behind his back again.

A knocking came from downstairs as the moment his hand touched his doorknob. Raven raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps backward to look down the steps.

It was nearly midnight. Who in their right mind would come knocking at midnight? Unless it was an emergency. Maybe someone died. Maybe someone was missing. Maybe the school had burnt down with every preppy dickwad inside.

Raven glanced at his parents' room, then shrugged.

“I’ll get it,” He said to the empty hall. Padding his way down the stairs, Raven then walked to the door. He opened it mid-knock.

Butters raised his gaze in surprise. “Oh! Heya, Raven,” He greeted warmly.

Raven didn’t hold back his wince of disgust. He’d expected Butters to return his hat at school the next day or during the evening, not in the middle of the night. Butters probably wanted to give him back his hat this late so he could avoid the other Goth's mockery towards him, Raven thought.

What a coward.

“You have my hat?” He asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Butters bobbed his head. “Yeah, yeah, here, everything you lost.” With his grin plastered a little too firmly on his face, he held out Raven’s hat, folded in half.

Raven reached out and took it back. Something felt off about its weight.

There was something inside of it.

With an eyebrow raised, he unfolded the hat and reached inside.

His fingers brushed against cool plastic and a familiar carving.

His heart froze in his chest. Shaking, Raven removed the knife from the hat. He had to turn it over, praying he hadn’t felt what he thought he’d felt, only to have a choppy carving of a bird, its wings raised out, staring back at him.

“I’d forgotten how strong you are, Raven.” Butters chuckled. “Took me fifteen minutes to get that out — I bleached it, so don't worry.” He nodded at his action before continuing. “Then I had to clean everything up in the alley with a hose from the office and got all soaked. It was really chilly out, too. If I could still catch them, I would have caught a cold when I walked all the way to the woods to bury that cat." He shook his head. "It was just an awful night.”

Forcing his body to move, Raven raised his gaze to Butters’ face.

One of his eyes glowed a pale red while the other, the one with the scar through it, disappeared in the shadows of his face. The monster pulled his lips back, exposing sharp fangs.

Raven reeled back, dropping his hat, but keeping the closed knife in his hand. He reached out to slam the door when a hand grasped his wrist. He found his fingers pried off the door and then his body pushed inside. The monster shut the door behind them with a kick of his foot.

Without any other options, Raven opened his mouth to scream, only to have the monster’s other hand clamped over his mouth.

“Shh, please be quiet,” The monster ordered.

Tears pricked Raven’s eyes. This was it. This was how he died. He wasn’t sure which made him feel worse: dying at the fangs of a monster or dying at the hands of a Vamp Kid.

The latter, he decided, squeezing his eyes shut.

“If you’re gonna kill me, make it quick. I’ve suffered enough in this bull shit life,” He mumbled against the monster’s palm.

The monster took his hand away, pale eyebrows knit together. “I just wanna talk to you. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He looked around Raven up the stairs. “Are your parents awake?”

Raven shook his head. He would play along with the monster’s whims until he could escape. He still had the knife; it wouldn’t be impossible to stab the monster again if he caught him off guard.

“Can we talk in your room then?” The monster asked, slowly lowering his hand from Raven's mouth, but not releasing his wrist.

“I guess,” Raven stole a step backward, “C-com’on.” Raven tried to pull his wrist free, but the monster's grip was too strong.

The monster slid his hand down until their fingers were lace, with the knife cradled between them, then squeezed his hand uncomfortably hard. Raven almost groaned.

Holding hands with a Vamp Kid might kill him of pure embarrassment. Now he really had to stab this monster. It would be the only way to redeem himself.

As they started up the steps, the monster came right up behind him and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t try nothin’. You don’t want your parents or sister dragged into this, right?”

Raven faltered in his step. So, the monster knew his plan.

Great.

Maybe he could convince the monster he wasn’t a threat to him. If Raven promised never to tell, the monster would have to leave him alone, right?

Finally, they made it to Raven ’s room. He shut the door and locked it before the monster released his hand. The monster then looked around his room a moment before pulling his desk chair out and taking a seat. With his hands in his lap, he nodded for Raven to sit as well.

As Raven slipped onto his bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to Butters. Did this monster kill him and take his form? Was the monster an alien that crawled into his brain through his ears?

A pang hit his stomach. Their friendship may have ended years ago, but he had still enjoyed Butters’ company back then. Butters was a sweet person, if a little too naivé. Seeing this monster take him away made Raven regret anytime he’d been mean to him.

“Well, I guess you probably have some questions, huh?” The monster laughed nervously, pulling at his studded leather wristband.

Raven nodded. “What happened to the real Butters?” He glared.

“What? I am the real Butters!” The monster frowned.

“Bullshit. The real Butters isn’t a monster who eats cats.” Raven gripped his hands into fists.

“He is now,” The monster whispered, looking at his feet. “Listen, Raven, about the cat, you gotta understand something really important.” He took a breath. “I’m a vampire — “ when Raven opened his mouth to counter, he quickly added, “ — and not a fake one like Mike and the rest of them.”

The monster reached up and tapped his fangs. “These aren’t fake.” He gave one a tug. “See? Real as the nose on your face.” He offered his teeth out for Raven to touch, but Raven declined with a shake of his head.

Under normal circumstances, Raven would have called BS on that as well, but then he remembered the cat and how Butters eyes flashed.

“H-how?” He cursed himself for letting his fear show.

The monster laced his fingers together. “I...don’t really know, exactly. Some sixth graders chased me down the sewers two years ago. I stayed down there until I got the courage to head up. I bumped into this really nice lady as I was heading home, and she said she’d take me there in her car. Turns out she wasn't a nice lady, but a not very nice vampire lady and, then, um,” he squeezed his hands together, “I don’t want to talk about what happened next. It wasn’t...I don’t...I...”

His body began to shake. He refused to look up from his feet. His breathing came out in quick and shallow bursts. Something like a sob escaped his throat.

Raven chewed his lip then tentatively reached across the gap between them and set a hand on his knee. The monster’s head snapped up with a faraway look in his eyes. He blinked hard a few times as he forced himself back into the present.

“Sor...sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s ok,” Raven reassured, gentler than he intended to. So maybe this monster was Butters, but he was still a monster, nonetheless.

Raven took a breath. “So, you’re a vampire now. That’s why you...you know, like, ate the cat?”

Butters nodded. “Yeah. I used to have a human source of blood, but he and I had a falling out after we got into a fight about this pretty girl.” He sighed. “He said I couldn’t even sit with him at lunch anymore, so I had to go join the Vamp Kids, since I thought one of them might be like me.”

“Let me guess, they’re all a bunch of fakers?” Raven cocked an eyebrow. He already knew the answer.

“None of them are real. None of them were any help to me.” Butters nodded. He twiddled his fingers a moment then continued, “Since I lost my friend and blood source, I had to go to animals’ blood to live.”

“Can’t you just break into a blood bank or something? Why hurt the animals?” Raven asked.

“It’s not like in the movies, Raven.” Butters crossed and uncrossed his ankles. “I don’t have super strength or speed. I’m just a little faster and stronger than everyone else.”

“That’s it?” Raven couldn’t help but ask. “You drink blood and all you get from it is you can walk faster the normal people?”

Butters scooted back until his spine pressed straight against the chair back. “I can do other things too, like, I’m really good at persuading people to do what I want. And healing really fast, too. I can do that glowy thing with my eyes, and make my teeth longer or shorter, and, uh, what else, I think I’m technically immortal now? Maybe? I don't get sick normally, at least, but, well, you see? I can do a whole lot as a vampire, but only when I drink blood — people blood.”

“Then why don’t you? There are plenty of people who walk the streets at night you could drink from.” Raven took his knife and set it on the bedside table.

All the fear he had for Butters was beginning to wane. How much of that was Butters’ natural innocent and unthreatening aura, and how much was his distaste for Vamp Kids clouding his thinking, he wasn’t sure.

“Golly, I can’t! It’s one thing if the town thinks a real-life monster is going around killing strays, it’s another if they think a pervert is attacking people!” Butters shook his head. “Besides, I don’t think I’m strong enough to hold an adult down, and biting a kid without permission would make me feel bad.”

Raven hummed in thought. “So, if you had a person to eat from, you’d stop hurting the animals, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right. That’s why I was so sad when my friend cut me off from drinking his blood.” He deflated a bit, tapping his knuckles together. “I went as long as I could without drinking blood, and I tried only drinking blood from dead meat, but that stuff doesn’t do it. I got so sick from it, I couldn't take it anymore and had to go get blood from something alive.

“I didn't mean to kill any of the animals, but I was so used to drinking from something big, like a human, that it just kind of happened. I couldn't judge how much was too much and...I didn't want to do it. Honest.”

The sorrowful look on Butters' face and sincere guilt in his voice told Raven everything he needed to know.

He took a breath, then stood from the bed. He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside before sitting on his knees with his back towards Butters.

“If it’ll save the animals, you can drink mine, I guess,” Raven stated. “Just don’t kill me or turn me into a vampire either, got it?”

Butters stared at him with his mouth agape. He reached out, fingers about to touch Raven’s skin only to flinched back.

“Are you sure about this? Really, really sure?” Without waiting for an answer, he began to lean closer to Raven’s but didn’t touch him. He could feel his breath across his shoulder as he inhaled his scent.

“It’s whatever. It’s just blood. I can make more.” Raven picked at his nails, pretending to be uninterested. In truth, he was pretty scared about the prospect. He hoped his racing heart wouldn't get Butters over-excited.

He saw Butters kill that poor cat. The last thing he wanted was to end up like her.

For the animals, for the animals, Raven chanted to himself.

A wide, toothy grin spread across Butters face, showing off his fangs once again. In one quick motion, he pulled Raven into a hug.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re a lifesaver — a real swell pal!”

“This doesn’t make us friends, and you can’t tell a soul about this ever,” Raven snapped.

Butters crossed his finger over his heart in an x shape. Raven rolled his eyes.

“Just take what you need for the night then go home. We can talk more about this, uh, ‘arrangement’ tomorrow.”

“Well, Okie-dokie then!”

Butters coiled his arms around Raven, holding him just a bit too tightly as if he feared Raven would run away before he had his fill and opened his jaws wide.

Raven looked away.

If he saw those long fangs dig into his flesh, he would chicken out. Instead, he let his body relax as a sharp pinching feeling resonated from his shoulder.

He squirmed in Butters’ grasp. This hurt. It wasn’t agonizing, but there was no way Raven could find it pleasant. What’s worse, he felt every lash of Butters’ tongue across his skin. So being a feeding bag for a vampire would leave him aching and covered in spit.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

There was no way he could back out of it now, though. For the animals’ sake, he had to do this.

Maybe he would get used to it

~~~~~

Part 2.

#south park #fanfiction #stutters #stan marsh #butters stotch #sp stutters #goth ! stan #vampire butters #raven marsh #multi chapter

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kainfamilyfortune · 5 years

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Silas - Journal Entry #35-37

Fading.

35.

The snowfall here in Rustberg has been no less than awe inspiring, pure and beautiful. I am happy that ‘bone-chilling’ doesn’t apply to me anymore on these crisp winter mornings. I take walks in this far away village that I never would had visited unless it weren’t for these dire circumstances that lay before me. Conspiring? How could they think that? We simply aimed to educated and let others of my kind know that there was far more than servitude towards war. That there is a living breathing world out here - that with enough time and patience that a small group of us could be accepted for who we were versus whom we served. Not having to be exiled or shunned into the abyss. Or... so we thought. I think of what I could had changed, if I had not been deployed to Pandaria prior to meetings with the Alliance. It seems like a lifetime ago that Parqual wrote to us the great news... that we were finally making a stance. Progress. I shuddered, looking above to the snow drifting out from the tree line with my essence seeming to follow.

In the last few days I was told of a delay, as Cere kept me informed on Kyvalta’s condition, the crew member who injured himself - I continuously offered my services, but it was quickly shot down. She seemed wary, as if she were hiding something, but I could not judge what I could not see. It could be that she was in distress over her friend. Only time would tell. I would walk the nature trail in the mornings to wait out each passing day, making my way to and from the Heart of the Raven Inn, and spending the afternoons writing by the fire, taking in conversations with staff and patrons alike. The pace here was slow, which was a welcome feeling to all that has transpired over the last few months.

Night would eventually find everyone, as I lay awake in the comfort of the simple suite I had been staying in - my mind drifting towards the light. I am growing more powerful, this much I cannot deny. The dust fragments out from me. I can feel it’s ebb and flow as I attempt to control my form. The burning pain in my soul resists the action but I push my mind past it. I can do this. I can. It feels like solar flares erupting from a star - chaos and then I see it. I see the point, no a thread. I reach to grasp it but it is just slightly out of reach, as the pain ensues, I feel shadow whispering to let go, but I cannot. I must keep going. In an instant that I extend my arm forward and grab the thread in a sudden motion, order is restored. I see light surrounding me in ever tangling web, locked in time and space, and I felt no pain for the first time since I was raised.

The shimmering expanse of my form surrounded me. I could be anything or anyone. I had control for the first time. I could feel every particle, see it and move it. Shape it. It was like painting my body into something new. I had ascended... But it was short lived, as the pain struck me down. Bone dust scattered on the bed that I meditated upon and I came back to reality, feeling as though I had been scorched by a million fires. I looked down at the dust that had once been a part of me. Attempting communication with it to come back to me but it was no longer glowing with the light. It had become inert and I began to panic as I came to realize that I would fade into nothing but dust.

36.

I did not delve into this new found power in the days following. Allowing myself a reprieve from future sessions. I would surely lose myself. Literally. I continued my routine - walks on the nature trail in the morning, spending time in the tavern in the afternoon, and writing until the next morning. Until I got a knock on the door one night, in which I was greeted by a somewhat disgruntled Cere. She seemed to rush as she told me to help her at the docks, as they were ready to go. At this hour though? I told her to tell the crew that they could rest for the night and we could ship off tomorrow but she insisted that there was no time. So I packed what little I brought and laid some coin for the maid on the nightstand and we headed towards the docks.

I can tell you that this was not my last night in Rustberg village. I can also tell you that what I found when we approached the dock was not something I wanted to see at all... A Troll man and Orcish woman, although she looked like a half breed, dressed in red painted iron, adorned with spikes, smiling towards me as they were about to cash in on the bounty that would set them up for all the grog in Orgimmar they could drink for the next year. Behind them, the crew I thought I trusted and I felt the jagged edge of a knife in the small of my back. Cere grasped my shoulder with her free hand and pushed me forward towards my fate.

My initial panic subsided as I put my faith in the light, breathing in slowly and my eyes flashed. My form began to glow as holy fire erupted from my palms and shot out towards my pursuers. Focusing in on the brutes, I smited them both where they stood, ducking as the Troll swung his great ax above me. I began to smell burning flesh and fire as I dodged another lethal blow from behind, Cere’s dagger missing by mere inches, I grasped my ceremonial knife and cut across her legs, immobilizing her as the remaining crew attempted to dog pile. With another flash of light, I waved my arm across the sky in a divine shield letting the crew ricochet off of it and into the crocodile infested waters. Finally it was just the Half-breed.

She stood across on the dock holding a maul in one hand and buckler shield in the other. Flames smoldering the dilapidated wood of the dock and a portion of her armor, this was in stark contrast to the snow fall and and moonlight that cascaded off the no longer still water. The crocodiles have found their next meals. She charged swinging the maul wildly, and I knew that this was it. I jumped instinctively and I found myself floating above her. Flying, angelic wings sprung from my back. I was in a slight bit a shock before the Orc screamed and I channeled my hands together into a ball of light, throwing it down to her, burning any trace of her existence. I floated down to the bleeding form of Cere, as she held loose cloth to her legs attempting to stop the bleeding. I simply looked to her and stared. Finally after a long moment in silence I asked her “Why?” Untying the ropes docking both the boat I had arrived on from Pandaria and the smaller horde vessel as I pushed both out to sea.

She winced in a sharp pain, “Because. We didn’t know you were worth that. We wanted our take. Horde or not. We take what we can get out here.” Her voice trailed, no longer seeking remorse it seemed. The fires quenched around the dock as the snow continued to fall and the village remained silent within the night. I watched her body bleed out and freeze, finally pushing it into the harbor. Something so cold that I normally would never wish upon anyone, but I was about to die. This was self-defense. I stood there until dawn, the only traces of the battle was small scorch marks upon the dock which were quickly covered in mud by workers filing in for shipments for the town.

My conscious was heavy and body was drained. I did not leave my room in the inn. The coin that I laid out on my night stand, collected some dust in the following days. I got a knock from room service every day to check to see if I was alright, in the days following and I did not dare leave. Simply replying that I did not require any services. My monotone voice lost all righteous vindication, and I felt like I needed to repent for the blood I spilled.

37.

I finally gained the energy to continue my routine. It had been a week since I had moved, my bones groaned and popped as made my way down the stairs of the inn. Not stopping to chat with the staff. Making my way as fast as I could towards the tree line. I stared at the forest for a moment before entering feeling the wave of guilt. I spoke aloud to anyone at this point. Attempting to repent for what I had done. I prayed, clutching my cloth to offer some sort of collateral in exchange for these feelings to go away. The self hatred. The guilt. The anger. I so desperately wished for this power all my life, but I too wanted control. Pain lies in the balance.

I felt as though a presence was attempting to reach out to me but it was like the thread of light I grasped before, just in the distance. I scanned the surrounding trees, morning light filtering through the canopy as I paused hearing the crunching of snow. I could see her. A little human girl, maybe six or seven years old, peering behind the tree she was hiding from then quickly diving back behind the tree when she knew that I caught sight of her. “Hey, you. Stop.”, I called out, as she let out a soft giggle and began running down the trail. I chased after her and I could hear the echo down the trail, as I hastily tried to keep up. She led me up the hill and through a dense portion of brush, light, she was fast. I had to catch myself as she guided me up the sheer rock face. I heard the laughter so close, it was as if she were right next to me but she wasn’t there. She was in my head. In my imagination.

I scaled down the hill, back onto the path, making my way back to the inn, where I was greeted by the staff, letting the drinks carry me elsewhere, the rhythmic guitar from @perchedon taking me far away from these visions and bloodshed. I wondered if my colleague’s even knew that they were being hunted down in the same fashion that I was. I needed to expedite my travels to Eversong Forest. I needed someone to trust fully this time around.

And that’s when she found me.

OOC: Thank you again to @heartoftheravenwra for hosting Silas for three weeks, again the Monday Night Mixers are fantastic if you are looking for a lovely faction neutral hangout (Minus the violence of course)! I will continue this ASAP - currently attempting to piece together some RP opportunities for this story-line so if you wish to get involved please do not hesitate to hit me up here or send me some in-game mail, Silaskain-Wra. Open to both making alliances and hostile encounters!Thanks! =3

#wra #Wyrmrest Accord #mmorpg #Wow Rp #rpg #forsaken #rustberg #snow #winter #heart of the raven #tavern #inn #adventure #history #journal #writing #World of Warcraft #oc #battle

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friendlycybird · 5 years

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Stanuary 2019 Week Two - Travel

Stanuary Week Two - Travel

Summary: In the space of 24 hours one March Day in 1974, Stanley Pines experienced approximately six “firsts”

Word Count: 1593

Content Warnings: Homelessness, Prostitution, Implied Gang Activity, Seeming Suicidal Thoughts, Actually just Call of the Void.

Notes: Because I fluffed too hard last week have this fucking mess of a chapter for week two.

AO3

Stan knew he was in trouble when the air from his engine vents started to smell like cotton candy. He probably should’ve pulled over then and checked the engine, but he’d been less than three hours from his destination, and he’d been making good time. He could check the engine when he got there. He was still the better part of fifty miles away when the Stanleymobile sputtered to a halt in the middle of the highway. Some colorful curse words later and Stan had managed to coast onto the side of the road.

His first impulse was to just try to do the fix himself. The puff of pure white smoke that billowed up when he opened the hood put an instant end to that fantasy. He was out of his depth. So then there was a tow truck and an assessment at a garage in the wrong town. A balding man in overalls named Mike outlined everything wrong with his car to Stan in a droning voice and Stan felt dread set in. Then the bills came, and dread gave way to panic.

They’d keep his car until he could pay them. What’s more, they’d charge him for keeping his car too. The irony was more bitter than the shitty free coffee Mike offered customers. Stan was days away from a big break, a job that could make him hundreds if not thousands of dollars overnight. He had a meeting scheduled tomorrow at one, fifty miles away, to get him started on the path to his fortune, but was currently too broke to get to it. He had three cups of the coffee and braced himself for his first night without even the shelter of his car.

Hours later, just before sundown, sitting on a bench with his jacket pulled tight around him against the still chilly early March evening, Stan kicked his own ass back into gear. He wasn’t gonna give up. He wasn’t gonna turn into some hobo begging on a street corner. He was gonna make it. This opportunity had fallen right into his lap and he’d be damned if he let a little car trouble keep him from it. He needed cash? He’d find a way to make the cash.

The next morning, the cash was on the end table beside the first real bed Stan had slept in for almost two years. It was in an envelope with the name “Oren” scrawled across the front in hurried, lazy script. That’d been the name Stan had given last night, he hadn’t wanted his real name attached to his only plan. Stan was grateful that morning. Not only had he woken up alone, but the owner of the house he’d slept in had left him enough money to cover the cost of his car repairs but also enough for a round trip bus ticket to his meeting and back. He’d utterly failed to negotiate for that, too nervous about the prospect of what he was offering. Yet here it was, enough for that and a good meal after. Or several crappy meals if he skimped, which, when did he not?

Then he’d stood up and sharp soreness tore through him. He gritted his teeth, reminded himself that he was close to success and he would never have to do anything like this again. Then he walked out of the empty house. He was halfway across the lawn when he realized he absolutely should have stolen stuff while he was inside. It was too risky to go back. So he walked to the bus station, got on a bus, and made it to his meeting ten minutes late.

Half an hour later he wished he hadn’t.

The last twenty-four hours had been a lot of firsts for Stanley Pines. First time his car broke down, first time lying about his name, first time with a man, first time exchanging sex for money, first time on a greyhound bus, and first time having a gun pointed at him.

Things had gone badly. They’d been off to a rocky start when he’d been late, but he’d smoothed that over with a few jokes at his own expense and soon the meeting was well underway. The sales part of the job, Stan discovered quickly, was a front for casing homes for robberies. He wasn’t totally sure how he felt about that, and made a few jokes to that end. One of them crossed a line. Then there was a gun and Stan spent just under a minute trying to talk them down before he ran.

He just had nowhere to run too.

He wanted to just get in his car and drive away at top speed. That had momentarily joined the ranks of wanting to go home, or sail the world with Ford though. Impossible. He needed another plan. At first, he just thought he’d hide out at the bus station, but two men in dark suits lurking by the far door had changed that plan.

He killed an hour in an inconspicuous coffee shop with the best scone he’d had since he was a kid. You’ve got to enjoy the little things. It was an expensive little thing but it kept him at a table in this hole-in-the-wall long enough to come up with a plan. Not that it was much of a plan. Really, it was just the obvious. He walked.

He tried to stay off the highway at first. Take a back road. Back roads don’t have much shoulder though, and half a dozen cars blew past him at a matter of inches away. What’s more, one of them cut around a ledge and it was a choice between leaning hard into a jagged rock wall every time, or standing on the edge of a cliff inches from a foot-high guardrail. Stan chose the later, and spent a lot of time looking over the edge of the cliff. By the third time the unwanted thought that he could always jump crossed his mind, he’d decided the highway might be a better choice after all.

Stan didn’t know how long he was walking on the shoulder of the highway before he gave up and started sticking his thumb out when cars passed. He knew he was sore in a way he never had been before. The muscles in his thighs and ass and up through his lower back all protested the abuse he’d put them through. What with the walking and the running and the...and last night. Had that only been last night? He’d been so hopeful then that he’d have everything put together by this time today. He’d been so wrong. One dumb joke and he was out of a job and looking over his shoulder for someone who thought he’d picked up too much information on how their gig worked.

The dark blue four-door sedan that actually stopped for him looked almost as old as Stan, and the woman driving it looked old enough to be his grandmother. “Where are you going, young man?” her voice had the high, wavering pitch that one would imitate when attempting to sound like an old lady. She was wearing a mostly pink muumuu and had her bright white hair done up fancy. Stan said the name of the nearby town where he’d left his car, and the woman waved to him, flapping her hand inwards at the wrist. “Hop in, hop in. I’ll get you there.”

Stan did as asked and bit back a groan as he took the weight of his body off his legs and back, and swallowed a whine as that weight redistributed to his ass. When he trusted himself to open his mouth again, she’d been driving for several moments. “Thanks.” he breathed.

“Sure thing, sure thing.” the lady responded. “Were you walking very long?”

“Coupla hours.”

“Oh my.” and the lady was off, jabbering away about how many miles a day she would walk in her youth, and the scoldings she would get for ending up so far from home. Stan listened to her talk the way he’d listen to the radio, letting the noise fill the air and sink into his bones. He’d make noises of agreement or astonishment here and there to keep her talking. It helped quiet the spinning thoughts he’d been alone with too long that day.

Her name was Daisy Adams, and she drove through a McDonalds and got Stan a burger because he’d absentmindedly been honest about the last time he’d had more to eat than a small scone. She had four children and going on ten grandchildren, and she’d been going to the same town as Stan for a bible study. Stan wondered vaguely if she’d be helping him if she knew what he’d done the night before. She dropped him off at the garage, informed him that she’d be praying for him, and left to arrive late at her bible study.

Stan paid his bill at the garage. He shook hands with Mike and had another cup of coffee. Then he got in his repaired car and drove away.

A low, black, two-door pulled in as Stan pulled out, and a chill went down his spine. He spared a moment to hope it was nothing. To assume Mike would be okay. Then he pulled onto the highway, and did his best to never think of it again. Any of it. Meanwhile, it was time to put as much distance between himself and the last 24-hours as possible.

#Stanuary 2019 #Stanuary Week 2 #Stanley Pines #cybird writes

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saintaugustinerp · 5 years

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Congratulations Julia! Your OC has been accepted, with a title change to the name of The Callow with the faceclaim Manu Rios. Please be sure to check out the accepted applicants checklist! Also be sure send us a link to your blog within the next twenty-four hours. Welcome to St. Augustine!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/alias: Julia

Age (18+) : 24

Gender/Preferred pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: CST

IN CHARACTER

Character Label: The Déraciné (Or The Disenchanted, The Somatic, or The Ardent)

Character Name: Arlo Loveless

Age (18+): 19

Gender/Pronouns: He/Him

Desired Faceclaim: Manu Rios

Home Town: Los Angeles, CA

Three Positive Traits: Affable, Altruistic, Idealistic

Three Negative Traits: Guarded, Restless, Tender

Major: Performance

Year: 2nd

Quote: “Before we can see properly we must first shed our tears to clear the way.”

Character blurb: If his smile was any more radiant, he would have soaked the prism of colors of the train station and coaxed its deep rays into a nimbus around his chestnut crown. The anxious flicker of his gaze cemented his nervousness and the grip on his Tumi bag brought his knuckle bones to the surface in anticipation, kissing delicate flesh with each shift of his grip. Arlo Loveless was molded by the callous fingers of a sculpture and brought to life with an offering of heart shaped truffles blessed with prayer, but perhaps such a description was far too generous; he was alone, after all, and resorted to his embarrassing habit of fiddling with the gold necklace on his neck during times of self conflict. Eventually, the words dotting the tip of his tongue dissolved like sugar as his gaze on a boy occupied by his phone drifted back to the tiny patch of concrete he’s temporarily claimed as his own– he will find his voice eventually, but for now, he waited to be retrieved by his chauffeur unaccompanied.

Developed Head Canons:

He was born into the lap of luxury, the personification of Americana: His mother’s maiden name is Luciana Ruiz, daughter of a Spanish immigrant. After becoming the successful leading lady in a handful of Broadway productions, her fame doubled after being featured in her first Blockbuster romantic movie Fields of Violet with Harrison Loveless. Their convincing chemistry was fueled by offscreen romance and they married soon after, with every detail plastered on the gossip tabloids. They stayed there through Oscar nominations, memorable controversies, and the birth of their two children– with Arlo being the youngest. Currently, their net worth has easily exceeded the hundreds of millions and their lavish lifestyle has reflected such. Arlo was never taught to budget, why would he have to? There was money to burn, and with the disconnect from the idea of ‘cost’ diminishing each passing year, he’s grown quite fond of the game ‘how much is ____?’ each time he visits the little market at St. Augustine.

His parents are highly involved Scientologists: The organization fed off of rich, eager celebrities like his parents. Millions of dollars donated meant he was treated like royalty at every gathering and his naivete attitude towards the malpractices of its leaders continued up until the age of 14, when he walked in on a disciplinary hearing of a member. From then on, the smiles seemed less genuine and the hologram of pure bliss associated with Scientology began to crack.

He is a paranoid heart and a lonely doll: Because of his parent’s world renowned reputation, he has always been under the paparazzi spotlight. Every social media, no matter how anonymous he’s tried to be, has hundreds of thousands of followers. Scientology has a habit of keeping track of their members as well, wanting to contain them in a snow globe of cultlike utopia. His school was filled with peers bred from Scientologist families. His tutors, his nanny, everyone he’s been in contact with all have some tie to the religion. Because of his status, Arlo grew up friendless– children thought him as vain and selfish while parents were intimidated of allowing their children to play with someone who can bring harm to their spawn with a mindless negative comment. When his parents heard about his loneliness, Arlo suddenly found himself with a best friend– alas, upon his discovery that Leo was planted in his life like everyone else, he became more wary.

His acceptance into St. Augustine was not without protest: Coming from an acting family created a window of opportunity for him to follow suit. His first performance was in a movie when he was three years old. With a few scattered appearances, Arlo has become quite good at faking confidence as an actor from his self conscious real life. At 13, he became fixated with art instead, particularly oil paints. With the pressure of his revelation over Scientology clear in his mind, he applied to St. Augustine for art and Julliard (under his parents’ insistence) for performance when he turned 18. He got accepted into both, but in his desperate plea for independence and freedom, he succumbed to his parents’ bargain of allowing him to study in St. Augustine, but for performance instead.

He is desperate– a songbird who sings praises and a hawk who demands Good: Arlo has already deemed himself as paranoid; he knows he’s a fretful person, and he tries his hardest to hide his fear so he won’t screw up his chances at real friends. Hungry, he called it, hungry for friendship to the point of buttering his words with compliments and little white lies with the purest intentions. Maybe he sounded manipulative, but his intentions are pure and his desire to good will not ever waiver. Arlo’s nervous temper personified itself as a nibbling sense of inadequacy; he doesn’t think he’s worth the trouble, but he desperately wants to be worth something. Sheltered, oblivious and naive– but ready to explore, if not for the forsaken need to take his first step shutting down his body system.

Love; love is all you need: And he craves it. His mother’s films created little snapshots of things that could happen, may happen, will happen. They’ve been quoted by lovesick girls and red eyed heartbreakers and her own son has been captured by the allure. His parent’s love for each other proved the existence of soulmates, but Arlo’s blind faith has been jeopardized by his desire to throw himself into the depths of the ocean and wait for someone to pull him into safety. He anticipates that he will drown, but for now he teeters on cliff’s edge, waiting for the lifeguard to take their seat on their tower before he jumps.

Plot Ideas:

Although Arlo excels in performance, he still placed himself in a few art classes because he enjoys them. He hopes to make friends in both concentrations, maybe some who show the same passion he has.

The New Reality gives him a lot to explore, particularly with people who aren’t around him for a simple purpose. His pursuit of happiness, friends, and a detox from all that he’s learned about his religion will give him a lot of whiplash. He will need an anchor, and in return, he hopes to be a statue of comfort for those who need him.

Once the slip up from Scientology happened, the blemishes began to shine. He’s been a witness to violence just a room away and a bystander to unabashed verbal thrashing. Arlo worries that he appears cold for not batting an eyelash at death or its friends, but violence doesn’t hold the same levity for him than it does others. If anything, the death of the Good Samaritan brought curiosity and a guilty desire to eavesdrop on the gossip circling it.

His search for love is neverending, but he prays whoever captures his heart will be gentle with it. He shatters easily, particularly so when his romantic vulnerability is open to one person at a time.

He grew up with privilege like the Mad King and the Golden Heir, but their popularity makes him nervous, as if one wrong word will condemn him to mockery.

The Reveler and The Purveyor intimidate him because he doesn’t think he’s cool enough or sharp witted enough or ready to dive deep into sinful indulgences like they do.

The Guileless and The Wallflower are possible friends due to their gentle nature; he is in need of confidence, and perhaps they can patch up his slowly deflating self worth with a pep talk and some warm cookies.

The Meteorite and The Analyst provide intelligence he knows he does not harbor, but their diligence in trying to uncover the truth is admirable to him.

Writing Sample:

When he first stepped foot into his human anatomy art class he didn’t expect to be met with an extremely handsome Italian eating an apple, dressed in an open robe and an extremely tight pair of sky blue trunks. Arlo’s eyes quickly zoomed around the room in a desperate attempt at locating the farthest seat away from the model, but to his dismay, his classmates have beat him to it. Intimidation, it seemed, was universal; some of the students looked amused, others discomforted, but most were making small talk that he wished he could partake in one day. This was only the fourth class; it’s normal to not have any friends still, right? Or was a pathetically revealing of his piss poor social skills– yeah, that was probably more accurate. So, without further ado, he shuffled to his seat right up front, placed his bag down and began to load his sketchbook upon the isle with a gentle bat of fuzz off of the creamy pages.

Arlo was preoccupied with taking out his charcoals when he heard the professor introduce Mario, bringing a chorus of hellos from the students. Once he looked up again, he realized that the man had even less to wear– in fact, he was completely nude. Nude and poised with his body draped over the leather couch in the center of the room like an olive skinned Rose, ready to be drawn like one of his French girls. Hiding the flush on his cheeks with a weak wipe of his sleeve upon his face, he cleared his throat and focused on sketching the figure starting with geometric figures. The classical music his professor put on didn’t help his nerves, nor did Mario’s gaze every single time he peeked over his sketchpad to inspect the curve of his jawline.

After about an hour, he noticed his Burnt Ember color dwindling on its last legs. Arlo quietly snuck a glance over to the girl on his right to see if she was using hers at the moment. Cautiously, he wiped his cheek again (streaking himself with a thin line of charcoal in the process) and conjured up a small, shy smile.

“May I..um.. borrow t-that one, please?”

She didn’t know her smile in return would make his entire day and her gentle push of her charcoal tin towards him prompted the most beautiful sense of pride welling in his chest. For now, he bit down on his bottom lip and focused on adding a bit of ember to Mario’s cheekbone, trying to contain his grin.

Other:

Muse inspo !

poetry

insta 1 ;; insta 2

album ;; Actual Playlist

#callow #rp #rpg #roleplay #accepted

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thedogsled · 6 years

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Hi guys. I’m going to cautiously title this ‘About Zimbio, Destiel, my personal struggle with the idea of wlw vs. mlm, and why what we achieved in the vote today says a lot about our magnificent fandom’.

This is a reminder in advance that I make generalizations but I don’t mean any harm by them. I’m happy to discuss this topic and capitulate on some things, because my experience of shows is extremely limited right now (unless I want to watch them in French). Just like Dean I say ‘we’ a lot but please assume sometimes I mean ‘I’, I by no means make any claim to speak for all of the following groups at any point: bisexuals, mlm shippers, wlw shippers, television executives, social media marketers, the mainstream audience, destiel shippers--etc, etc, you get the drift.) If any of the following upsets you, please let me know, it’s not my intent to cause any harm, only reassure my friends that they did a good job.

I promised I was going to write a post on this, because I’ve seen just a little mumbling and unhappiness that Destiel didn’t make it through in the semis. I get it, it’s only natural that it’s going to lead to some hurt feelings, but I wanted to really put across to you all why I say I was proud of us for our semi-final performance, rather than you just take it for granted.

We are an old fandom. Thirteen years is a long time; it makes Supernatural the longest single run fantasy/sci fi series on American TV (and I mean I think it’s unfair to compare it to non American shows like Doctor Who anyway just on pure numbers, especially since Who has gone through thirteen fourteen? fifteen? are we counting radio drama? actors in the lead role; it’s like a different show every time.) So. It’s had a superb run. Fantasy/sci fi shows are typically considered to be niche, not massive hits (comparatively speaking; SPN isn’t Grey’s Anatomy or NCIS I’ll grant). But what networks are finally waking up to is the power of the fandom of those ‘niche’ shows, dedicated viewing power which can grow a network’s brand, particularly online, and networks are eager to wrangle that.

This modern era of television is fandom’s era of television. Netflix are promoting gamification of television watching (even for kids) as well as choose your own adventure style TV. Binging and rewatching box sets is a whole thing now, not just the domain of the “geek”, and shows which can convince people to stick around and watch something instead of moving on when they run out of material--they’re the ones gaining success, while traditional shows slip further and further as they fail to capture new demographics. We’re making strong social media contracts with the creators and actors of our shows, and making it clear to them - in a way that is increasingly being recognized for the opportunity it represents - that there must be give and take with modern audiences, especially if you seek gratification through social media. (I read a great article I reblogged that called it the ‘Brandom’ effect.)

It’s wonderful, and it’s terrifying, because both fans and creators don’t know what to do with it. They can give fans too much power and the show goes off the rails, or deny it to them entirely, and earn only vitriol. Some shows rub their power right in the face of their fans and increasingly they pay for it. Some showrunners are outright incapable of talking to their fans at all without being respectful (I’m looking at you The 100), and some fans are ghastly, aggressive and outright disrespectful in pursuing what they want (it is a different thing showing joy over your ship as it is to dox actors and send their wives hate mail). Some showrunners, instead, are more embracing of their fans, like the Earpers, and if you want an idea of how actors should be engaging with fans, check out David Haydn Jones’ twitter. That man is a saint. It’s a delicate game of mutual respect, and occasional drama, and intent is the name of the game: do you have good intent, is it honest? People crave honesty on the internet where everything and everyone is fake--and that honestly is a tough thing to achieve when studios are too heavily concentrating on their bottom line.

So, this is a changing landscape, like I said, and people are struggling with new marketing techniques, trying to find their place in the world, running into walls when they realize that in fact they don’t understand their queer audience members. When something works, shows are very quick to jump right into it, almost relieved to have evidence that if they do X thing, their fans won’t all jump ship in horror, but here’s the thing, networks are in a lot of ways far slower to respond than shows. If you want to do something, you have to prove to the person holding the purse strings that it’s a profitable endeavor. Producers are set in their ways, especially old school producers, not realizing how quickly the landscape is changing, and writers are fighting against that all the time, because they’re often a lot more in touch with the creative fandoms they’re trying to inspire. Many have come from fandoms themselves. Queer writers should mean more queer storylines, right? But it means fighting money men to make it happen. Oftentimes that leads to the whole ‘one queer ship is enough’ standpoint, and when it comes down to it, those money men are more likely to put stock in safe investments, in proven investments. Consequently, wlw is flourishing because it draws in audiences without losing them. It’s arguably less risky to make Alex Danvers gay than Castiel. It’s more PC, accepted by wider audiences, groundwork laid by Dark Angel and Buffy in my own recent memory. When good results come from featuring those kinds of ships, they appear increasingly on TV, and it’s AWESOME. There were 16 wlw ships in Zimbio March Madness, and 11 of them got through all the way to 8vs8. There were only 2 mlm ships in 8vs8, and 3 het ships. Internet fandom, passionate and social and dedicated? It speaks, and it says ‘More LGBT rep please’.

We’re in a transitional period. Changes are coming, but when you look at the big mlm ships of the last few years, you can see the uphill climb that’s still ahead of us. I spoke with our Hannigram and Johnlock friends last year about what their experience with this was like. (I haven’t spoken to Sterek folks, but I know there’s disappointment from that front too). Johnlock shippers are largely furious about how explicitly the finale no-homoed their ship when there was absolutely no reason to. Having watched the finale myself, I feel like they really went hard against shippers explicitly. Hannigram suffered too. I haven’t finished S3 even now, but what I recall of the conversation went like this: they’re together, but there was a kiss that didn’t make it to air, and then the show was cancelled. In any case, what I’m saying right here is that this is part of a pattern, a theme I’m struggling with, where mlm fans are dispirited and disappointed and feeling disrespected by the very mainstream shows they’re watching.

(Which isn’t, I’ll quickly note, that I’m saying the same isn’t true of wlw audiences. The last two ships in Zimbio this year are non canon ships, and the fans of both have been hurt by the shows they watch, but they still keep coming back and watching the show. Swanqueen is ending, but the pair have been consistently mirrored - dark and light - with the emotional journey of the show largely being made over the shared custody? I don’t know, they changed it every week while I was watching it of Emma’s son. Supercorp is clearly full of eye sex thanks to the actress’ chemistry (and McGrath is so gorgeous she’d have chemistry with a brick wall) and yet has been outright mocked by the show’s cast. If that sounds familiar to Destiel fans, I almost want to say that Supercorp have it worse; just as with Swanqueen, they’re often told simply to shut up because there's already wlw rep on the show.)

But where shows are willing to go there now, diminished risk is the key, especially as resale value of shows reflects multiple, competitive platforms constantly needing to purchase content to fill their airspace. Naked women, women kissing and women having sex - bisexual women who are explicitly still available to men - that sells, but as far as I can tell networks are struggling to sell the same narrative about mlm. Maybe that’s my perspective only, maybe that’s me watching the wrong shows (and not at all because I don’t enjoy looking at women’s bodies, I do, but variety is the spice of life) Look at the outright surprise last year when GOT gave us a beautiful, pus covered, full screen dick. GOT, of course, which is insulated because it is a Number One performer. I present to you, in terms of dicks on screen, American Gods, then. Neil Gaiman is my hero, selling the network on the premise that they could have his great stories if only they were willing to gleefully integrate peen on every episode. Or so I’m told. There’s a lot on my ‘to watch’ list that I haven’t got around to yet. I will tell you, of course, that mlm is out there, Evak were voted out against Supercorp in the quarter finals) but on a big show like Supernatural that risk is exceptional. That’s why when we talk about Destiel ‘going canon’, we make the shockingly ambitious request of them HOLDING HANDS, or mutually saying ‘I love you’, and sometimes feel like expecting anything more, like a kiss, or god forbid a sex scene, is too much to ask. Why? When lesbians and bisexual women are presented on TV, kisses and sex scenes are a matter of course. In Alex’ coming out, in Thirteen’s coming out in House, Angela’s coming out in Bones - huge ensemble shows where main characters, all women, have come out and kissed (and returned to male partners in the case of the later two). (I should point out I am talking about genre “mainstream” shows in general, not for example Queer as Folk, where the primary aim is to explore sexuality, not fight dragons or solve crimes)

Now in addition to this problem, an issue that I’ve seen for years is that from inside the fandom world we are made to feel as though we are somehow obscene or inferior for shipping mlm ships, a projection that comes from the way mainstream folks will react to you if they happen to discover you drawing dudes together. Sometimes we hide our online selves from the real world out of shame that has only built over the years, where it’s considered that supporting mlm ships instead of wlw ships makes you fetishistic, or objectifying of gay men. I’ve seen it in fanfiction spaces and in rp spaces on dw and lj that shipping wlw has been raised to a point of being considered ‘more pure’. If you ‘claim’, they say, to be a queer woman, you should wholly be supporting wlw ships. When I started hearing this dialogue I was THIRTEEN. This was before Willow/Tara. There were just less wlw ships on tv, and there were less female characters whose autonomy didn’t depend on men, or portray them as being fragile, the weakness of their gender or whatever. There were standout female characters in my youth, absolutely, but they were all independent (mostly) straight women: Kathyrn Janeway, Sam Carter, Clarice Starling, Dana Scully. They kicked out against the system, the world they lived in, intelligent and defiant ladies I still idolize. Nowadays, though those wlw ships are available, and populated by so many beautiful, powerful, progressive female characters - and yes miraculously even strong female characters who still embrace their own womanhood. In contrast mlm ships are not keeping up because, in some way, I think that the ‘impurity’ of shipping mlm has stuck. I struggle to think of even straight non toxic male role models, nevermind male role models who are in engaging, romantic relationships with the same sex. This stagnation of masculinity (apart from the rise of the geek hero which often, as in the case of TBBT, doesn’t break away from inbuilt misogyny) troubles me immensely. (I’m not saying all male characters are awful, incidentally, but it’s not a positive message to outright expose the flaws of toxic masculinity without offering understanding, lessons, and growth. But that’s another essay.)

Trust me, I’m not saying everyone feels that TV is being stacked against mlm, but as a bisexual I really feel fractured by the whole thing. I feel like I’m supposed to loathe myself for shipping mlm, particularly when that mlm ship is ‘two white guys’. The fact that I as a woman enjoy male and female bodies is irrelevant, because one desire is pure, and one desire is fetishism. There is no balance. I’m allowed to be titilated by members of my own gender kissing each other and only that and heterosexuality. As a bisexual who is currently leaning toward wlw myself (sexuality existing on a sliding scale imo), it is the power imbalance in heterosexual couples which puts me off. It’s painfully true to life. I have a particular loathing for Booth and Brennan from Bones, for example, where his toxic masculinity is unilaterally forgiven because it’s true love, while Bones, once independent and stubborn herself, is increasingly nudged further out of character in order to forgive him his trespasses. But when I ship mlm, or write fanfic of my favorite couples, any power I give them is not based on their gender. The same I imagine is true of wlw. (An unfortunate consequence of this is people project it onto real life, where power inequality and abuse can exist regardless of make believe ‘purity’, and consequently people end up believing that something is wrong with them rather than their relationship, similar issues as people face when they imagine marriage is the goal, and everything else is happily ever after, because Disney told them so. In which case I advise you to rewatch Mary Poppins.)

During voting, I was reticent to address why voting for Destiel over the other ships was important to me. It was personal. (Of course anyone could have sent me an ask if they were curious). But why I was voting didn’t matter. It was enough that I was voting for the couple I love, whose relationship my blog is devoted to, and whose love story I hope is resolved. But there is more to it than that. What’s important, I guess, is how I feel about Dean. My reading of him is of a bisexual, still in the closet - perhaps even to himself - in his thirties. He made it out of high school, but that’s it, because he dropped out of higher education for family commitments. He likes rock music and classic cars. He loves pie, and dumb medical TV dramas, and cowboy hats, and riding rodeo bulls and chatting to strangers. He struggles with voicing his true self with people who know him, and might judge him in a way he will never come back from. Dean is basically me. I am all those things. And in this case, he’s in love with a genderfluid (has been both male and female) guardian angel whose love for Dean explicitly and singularly, has been described as a profound bond, and the greatest love story ever told. Castiel’s love for Dean, his willingness to do anything for him, is all I think any of us want from a romantic partner. And yes, we all find different things in our ships, and presumably other people connect with Destiel for reasons that aren’t the same as my own, but that’s okay. My reasons are my reasons.

And yet I am still thrown into that emotional disconnect: that because this couple is an mlm couple I’m wrong to ship it, that I would be better putting my energy into watching shows I don’t necessarily enjoy as much so I can find my representation in more respectable (or potentially less queerbaity) fandoms. That Supernatural isn’t good enough because I’ve been repeatedly told by people inside and outside the fandom that it isn’t good enough. I’ve got to tell you I agree that it struggles with being progressive. While season 3 of Grey’s Anatomy was showing the struggles of a pre-op mtf woman and her wife in an ep that made me actually cry for the dysphoria represented, on the other channel SPN had just got done killing a token ‘woman with an off screen girlfriend’ character. By season 11, we’ve had two gay male couples, both holding hands and leaning into each other to express their relationship. SPN is slow. Nobody in the world would deny that.

But to be quite honest, also, finding representation doesn’t have to mean ‘a ship’, it can just be a well written bisexual woman with a badge, and you aren’t restrained to just one rep either! In fact, the more the better. I find myself particularly starved for that rep, especially since - having been fetishized for my bisexuality irl before - I see painful reflections of that on television. That’s obviously going to be related to bad writing and TV’s particular way of objectifying women in general, too, but when a woman (say Angela Montenegro from Bones) has a two episodes storyline where she makes out with another insanely attractive actress, the music rising, lit with soft shades, the camera focused in on their mouth--before the plot is forgotten entirely, it is incredibly difficult not to see that as objectification and not bisexual solidarity. I want more mlm on TV because I want more bisexuals of both genders on TV, and because of the harmful insinuation in mainstream thought that a guy who comes out as bi late has somehow been lying to himself and was gay all along, while women who are bi are just exploring their sexuality and somehow more up for it. Those views need to be constantly, constantly challenged, because, honestly, people believe them. (Probably not me or you, but it’s out there).

(As an aside: mainstream is also harsh toward female writers who write mlm stories. There have understandably, as a result, been female writers who chose male pseudonyms to pen their gay romance novels. I first experienced this to a lesser extent back in Gundam Wing fandom, because if you were a ‘male’ author it legitimized you and people would read your stories in preference to those penned by girls. Back then it was a numbers game. The prejudice does remain. Audiences are sometimes outright cold to female authors who pen mlm stories! You need only look at the conversation about boycotting Love, Simon because it was written by a straight woman to appreciate just how deeply we’ve built this disconnect, as though to write something the author must always write from personal experience. If that’s the case, I feel terrible for Thomas Harris and Jeff Lindsay, and JK Rowling (who speaks about choosing her moniker because it was genderless) must certainly have had an exciting childhood, what with all the magic and dragons.

As a result I think we (or at least I) have internalized some harmful things about who has the right to interpret themselves in stories told about men, or male protagonists. And in lashing back at girls who for years have been doing just that, considering it to be lesser if I find a role model in Dean instead of Angela, we have harmed the integrity of mlm fans themselves, who increasingly struggle under a burden of self imposed guilt. It is reflecting back poorly on mlm performances, even as wlw stories flourish. In this raising the pedestal of wlw purity, the ‘ethical’ alternative, we dismiss what people can learn about themselves from male role models too, something that we instead encourage if it’s a teenage boy finding a role model in Elsa. My closeted bi self loving Dean Winchester harms nobody, but I am still made to feel lesser for doing so, even if sometimes that feeling is ridiculously self imposed. Hell, maybe I’m alone in this feeling and the rest of this is bullshit, but that’s why I said ‘I vs we’ was definitely a part of this commentary.

In any case, this is what I think this means to the Zimbio vote: As wlw rep has been increasing, mlm has been facing a disappointing deficit. Those once big fandom movers ‘Superwholock’, the Hannigrams, the Sterek shippers--have fractured and splintered off. Destiel has come in waves but it’s still somehow here, without its original opponents from back in the day. It’s here, even with setbacks after season 8 and 10 that had fans breaking away from Supernatural entirely. Optimism now reflects optimism felt before, but let’s face it Castiel was killed permanently at one point, and Bob Singer said outright, even just a few years ago, that Destiel and social media stuff just didn’t come up in the writing room (pr is not showrunning, etc). People are hugely entitled to struggle with optimism for non canon mlm ships because history repeats itself. Add into that feelings like I described above, and the struggle is real. It can sometimes feel like you’re fandom’s three legged, one eyed donkey.

Add to that how old Destiel is. Every fandom coming into existence now, every ship built around, comes into contact with Destiel at some point. If you type ‘queerbaiting’ into Wikipedia, our ship is cited. In Google, we come up first. Thanks to antis (and some genuinely bad behavior from bad apple shippers over the years) we’ve earned a reputation, and it moves before us into every ship interaction we have. Because of that, we can appear both intimidating and as something to be avoided, because ‘what if you meet a crazy one’? You’d think seniority would be a good thing, but few people see us as a ship that’s been there and done that, as they do Swanqueen. We aren’t the ship that can perhaps offer advice on things going on in whippersnapper fandoms based on our experiences, as it would be in an ideal world. We’re not a ship to be aligned with, and because of this odd perception of wlw vs. mlm, there was simply never any potential that support for Supercorp wasn’t going to skyrocket. It was a fight against ‘That monolithic mlm ship that just won’t stop’, as it were, because here we still are hanging onto threads hoping our ship will go canon, and based on past evidence, the fall of other mlm ships, and only looking in from the outside, that seems like wishful thinking.

So we were unlikely to gain allies from heartbroken mlm fandoms. We were unlikely to find allies in wlw fandoms. It’s sad, of course, because for all the talk of representation in media, the desire to express a balance and cheerlead for mlm, imo an obvious representation underdog, simply doesn’t ever come up. Our friends and relatives roll our eyes at us if we talk about Destiel because we get that ridiculous light in our eyes when we do. Ultimately, that meant that Destiel was on its own. It had to unify. It had to pour its passion into voting and be a family again. It’s been knocked out in previous years - honestly based on what I’ve heard it’s been a disaster - but THIS YEAR we pulled out all the stops. That was all us. Despite antivoting, Destiel shippers - and only Destiel shippers - fought and fought - thousands of votes after thousands of votes, as we made small leads only to slip three times further. We didn’t stop. We were there and fighting right up until the end. And it may just have been a silly online poll, but I think it really goes to show what we can do when we put our hearts into it. We more than doubled the amount of votes cast in the previous round, over the exact same time scale, even though Supercorp fought back with everything they had, all the vibrancy of being a fresh, shunned ship determined to prove themselves, using social media strategy and unity to bring in votes from wherever they could get them. They fought well. They were wiley and smart, and so passionate; passionate like I thought I’d forgotten how to be.

And we kept fighting. We were in the semis, with twice as many votes more than Swanqueen, and we fought tooth and nail and almost got there, slipping just in the last half hour.

I have to believe that that’s because some people in the Destiel family have hope. I know we’ve drawn in a lot of new and returning shippers recently, I’ve seen you following me and starting out in meta writing yourselves, joining Destiel exchanges for the first time, sharing your first codas. The DCBB and Pinefest have had ENORMOUS turnouts. We are, despite all odds, growing as a ship again.

I really hope that we can overcome the shame that has somehow been drummed into us for shipping mlm. I hope that we can all, whether we ship wlw, mlm, het or poly or whatever peeps are doing these days, make sure not to raise one as an ideal over the others, because it’s not in the spirit of family, of fandom. It is never ‘us against them’, it’s never a case of moral or ethical superiority, definitely not even in everyday parlance and least of all in a shipping popularity contest.

And maybe despite the risk, we’ll get an ‘I love you’, some hand holding. Hell, maybe even a kiss (Supernatural never even gave us a kiss between Jesse and Cesar, though, so I have my doubts.) But God if that wouldn’t pave the way for better deconstruction of toxic masculinity on genre TV, more presence of bisexual men and gay men on genre TV, and more men kissing and open expression of sexuality on genre TV.

So here’s my final word. Maybe the bunnies will kiss. Maybe they’ll even do what bunnies do, who knows? And maybe next year we’ll win it.

I hope I didn’t step on any toes with this post. I felt like these words needed to come out of me, though, so here they are. Thank God there’s no more Zimbio until next year, right? Please refer back to my first paragraph for disclaimers. Thanks, though, if you read this far.

#zimbio #destiel #bisexuality #as i was writing this i was like wow i have issues #it felt good to talk about them #please feel free to disregard #shipping #multishipping #woes #personal #my bed is calling me #looooong post #dean is bisexual #what that means to me

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