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bigspoonstyles · 3 years

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lesson learned

pairing: Harry x OC (unnamed) challenge: @meetmeinfleetwood‘s to lovers fic challenge -> exes to lovers

warnings: the beginnings of maybe smut?

In his near thirty years of life, Harry has admittedly fallen victim to many a fleeting lifestyle phase, and he’s decided the club scene is one he’s tired of. The music is loud, the drinks are weak, and even for a post pandemic world there are far too many people for his liking.

He’s sitting in what once was his usual booth in the corner of The Nice Guy and the ice in his tequila is melting quickly, the crystal tumbler too warm in his hands. Harry’s eyes fall to the far side of the makeshift dance floor once again and he willingly accepts that he could never tire of her.

He’s caught her eye only once but is more than happy to just watch, their last run-in awkward and stale and over a year ago. She’s been quiet the past year, having gone off the grid for most of quarantine citing in one of the few interviews she’d given, her choice to ‘live in the moment’.

And god, he’s missed her.

She, like Harry, would prefer to live without constant public scrutiny, but while they’ve both gone through great lengths to protect their privacy and relationships, he knows being sequestered has been hard on her. He recalls the last time she’d locked away with Harry in his LA home, accessible to only each other and the select few who were allowed through their phones’ Do Not Disturb feature, and his lips tip into a small smile. Their dishes littered his sink for days, her toothbrush leaned against his on his bathroom counter. There was a wet spot that adorned his right shoulder nearly every night after she’d fallen asleep mid-movie, freshly showered. But he knows the sore difference between waking up each morning wrapped around her with his face buried in her hair, and a yearlong forced isolation, very much alone.

He watches as she closes her eyes, arms above her head and face to the ceiling, laughing, dancing around the elite group with which she’d arrived. Judging by the way she moves carelessly through the crowds of people, he knows she’s feeling confident. She feels beautiful. She’s not worried that she’s laughing too loudly or taking up too much space, and he suddenly finds himself grateful for the few people who’ve kept her trust and privacy despite her climb to fame; even if they were the same friends he found quite insufferable to be around.

He downs the last of his drink before Jeff joins the table, phone in hand, answering his final email of the evening. “Ready to head out, man?” he calls out over the music. “Glenne’s home and I’m not inclined to keep her waiting too long.”

Harry grins knowing if he were in Jeff’s shoes, new bride waiting up into the early morning hours, he’d have already called the evening. But there’s no one waiting. So he shakes his head no and returns his gaze to the center floor; to his dismay, she’s gone.

Jeff follows his eye line and hides a smile. “She’s by the bar,” he points to the L shaped marbled counter top to their left.

Harry spots her right away, back to him, pulling her wavy locks into a mock ponytail and away from the back of her neck. Her friends lean in for hugs goodbye and she’s left alone waiting for the bartender to return with a drink – a fruit infused vodka soda no doubt. “I think I’m saying fo’ a bit,” he answers without breaking gaze. “Can call a car.”

Jeff returns attention to his phone, forwarding Harry the number of a newly contracted car service. “Ted’s on call tonight. Just call when you’re ready. They’re all vetted and they’ve signed the privacy agreements.”

Harry throws a quick final glance to the table and booth and makes his way to the bar with his empty glass.

He arrives just as the bartender slides her drink across the counter, adorned with a skewer of colorful fruit and a fuchsia blossom garnish. She accepts with a smile and her eyes close in appreciation as she sips from the side of the glass. Harry bites the inside of his cheek to stop from remarking when the bartender lingers longer than he deems acceptable. With a palm to the warm, exposed skin of her lower back, he gets his point across and the man disappears to the back with an armful of nearly empty liquor bottles.

She turns slowly and tilts her head as she faces him, clearly unsurprised by the hand lingering at her side or the man attached to it. “Hey,” she offers quietly with a half-smile. “Wondered how long it’d take you.”

Her cheeks are tinged pink and expression glassy, and he pulls out a chair gesturing for her to sit. She has rarely over-indulged in alcohol publicly for obvious reasons, but he’s always found it endearing when she’s had just one too many. He liked her happy and carefree. And honest.

“Left alone, eh?” his head bobs toward the front entrance.

“Yeah,” she sighs, sagging slightly into the seat. “They’re headed downtown,” her thumb juts toward the Fairfax District, “and I’m staying down by the Marina.” She pulls the dark petals from her garnish distractedly. “Headed back to New York tomorrow. It’s just easier.”

“’t’s a good half hour ride,” Harry glances at his watch. “Leaving soon? Someone comin’ for yeh?”

She smiles into her drink at his concern. He’s genuine, and she gazes up fondly, finding his brows knit together awaiting an answer. “I’ll call a car in a few. Don’t worry about me, H.” She straightens and smooths out the creases in her cotton dress. “I’m sure I can get myself back to the apartment just fine.”

“But can you get up the stairs?” he asks, only half-jokingly. His arms reach easily out to steady her as she loses footing, his left hand returning to the small of her back, his right gently cupped under her elbow. He clears his throat to conceal his smile when she gazes up at him sheepishly. “What time is your flight?”

“Two, I think.” Her answer lacks conviction, eyes narrow in concentration. “Either two or two-thirty.”

“Could come home with me,” he shrugs. “Only a few minutes from here, ‘nd could get yeh back with plenty of time to catch your flight.” He ushers her closer as patrons abandon their stools and head for the exit. When he gazes down at her, she’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Come on,” he urges, hands coming up quickly to her eye level, fingers outstretched to show a hands-off approach. “Can take the couch if you want.”

She laughs airily, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “An empty offer from a man with two guest suites.” She finds it harder to keep balance in her heeled shoes and uses Harry’s left arm to steady herself. “If you could just get me into a car, I’ll be ok.”

Harry’s lips turn into a thin line, and he shakes his head in refusal. “Not shovin’ yeh in a car alone. ‘t’s up to you – my place or yours?”

She looks up at him through heavy lids and a slightly fuzzier mind than when she had embarked on this conversation. A part of her is instantly relieved by his straightened back and hardened features. He’s always been on the right side of overprotective and she knows she’s nothing but safe with him.

But there’s an innate fear that causes her chest to tighten and her eyes dart towards the door. “They can’t see, H,” she whispers, unease seeping through her tone.

He knows that the idea of walking with him through the throng of paparazzi just outside the entrance is enough to cause a breakdown and, even without seeing the panic set in her eyes, he’s already fishing his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “’ll take care of it, pet,” he says slowly.

And she believes him.

Harry slips her through a rarely used back door, his jacket stripped from his back and used to shield her from prying eyes, just in case. He holds the back door of the black SUV open and guides her into the plush seat, relaxing only once fully shielded by the black tinted windows.

She tucks herself into his side, head lolled against his shoulder; his right arm stretches out behind her, hand gripping her would-he head rest. She accepts the water bottle he pushes on her but forgoes drinking from it, afraid the inevitable spill would give away how dizzy she truly feels.

Harry helps their driver navigate the back streets to ensure the fastest way to his place, silently checking on the girl curled into him, knees knocking with each pothole and turn.

“Look pretty tonight,” he murmurs in her direction. “Always liked this dress.” He musses the soft fabric of her skirt between his fingers. His right arm abandons the back seat to fall against her shoulders, pulling her in just close enough that he can smell her. He welcomes the scent, inhaling deeply, but it’s an unsolicited reminder that it’s been long washed from his sheets, and his life, for well over a year.

“I know,” she smiles, eyes still closed. “Took a shot.”

His chest vibrates with deep laughter, “Minx,” he accuses playfully. “Not quite playing fair, eh?”

She can feel his eyes on her, but she’s far too tired to even think about moving. “I’m sorry, H,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. Said we’d call.”

“Both did,” he answers gruffly. “Phone works both ways.”

She smiles dreamily. “I never said congratulations. The Grammys?” She wraps her arm around his waist and nuzzles in a bit closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m so proud of you.”

His cheek rest atop her head, “I know.”

“If I’d called,” she asks into his chest, “would you have answered?”

His mouth falls open in shock. “Hey,” he tilts her head up to meet his gaze. “Of course I’d answer.”

He’s staring down at her in disbelief, and she feels so small, nerves getting the best of her; she’s afraid she’s started a conversation she’s not ready to have. At least - not in the backseat of a foreign SUV, plastered against him, her palms burning to feel his skin through his thin button down.

His lips are slightly parted into a pout and he looks determined to get something out of her, but she chooses instead to let her eyes fall to the two black swallows that peek out from behind his collar. “You can’t kiss me,” she says tiredly. Her head lolls back against him silently cursing herself.

She’s a coward.

“Never said I wanted to, love.” His attention turns to the streetlights through the light-blocked window. His grip on her however, doesn’t falter.

“I wanted you to,” she sighs softly, her face burying back into his side.

But it’s just loud enough to make him feel like a proper dick.

___________________

She wakes up warm, the sun seeping through the thick open slats of the faux wood blinds, and in soft sheets that glide across her bare skin like silk. Her head doesn’t throb as she’d expected, but she imagines it’s because of the aspirin and nearly empty bottle of water she finds on the bedside table. No doubt Harry had coaxed her to take pre-emptive measures before putting her to bed. She can almost hear him softly begging, “For me?”

She takes in the room, her dress neatly hung on the back of the bedroom door, and takes stock of her current state. She’s dressed in a pair of her old boxer shorts, and a long-sleeved henley, both of which she recognizes as garb she’s long ago stolen from Harry. She smiles to herself as she picks at the small wear holes scattered around the checkered flannel fabric; she’d worn these boxers almost nightly for months.

After a full body stretch and check of the time, she begrudgingly abandons the sheets in search of her phone and hopefully a much-needed shower. She finds her phone charging on Harry’s bureau propped up against the small crystal dish that holds his most commonly worn rings. There are too many notifications on her lock screen to worry about, but the most recent one is a text from Harry.

Don’t leave. Getting coffee. Be back soon.

- H

She rolls her eyes at his automatic signature, as if anyone he’s texting doesn’t have him programmed in their phone; she leaves the myriad of other messages unread. Her flight doesn’t board for hours, so she justifies taking advantage of Harry’s water pressure would be time well spent.

There’s a small pile of folded clothes on the bathroom sink counter, the shirt Harry’s, but the shorts hers. Clean towels are hung by the shower head.

His shower is as amazing as she remembers, the hot water beating out kinks in her neck that she swears have been there for months. His facewash and hair products are readily available for use at the corner of the tub basin and she revels in the smell. Everything he owns is luxurious, down to the lather of his shampoo. She had always been grateful that when her time was split between the east and west coasts she’d never worried about traveling with self-care products.

In truth, she’d never felt more cared for than when she was with Harry.

She hears the front door close and the faint beep of the perimeter alarm arm from the en suite, so she dries off and dresses quickly, joining him in the kitchen still squeezing her hair dry with a fluffy white towel. When she sees him dressed casually, bustling barefoot around the kitchen island with iced coffee and a to-go bag with what she assumes carries breakfast options, her breath hitches. His hair is still damp from a shower and a stubborn curl is threatening to spill into his face.

“Thank you,” she says reading the printed tag on her cup; the milk and sweetener options are right down to a t. She tosses her wet towel on the back of a tall kitchen chair, opting to hoist herself onto the bare counter space to the right of the sink, blessed coffee in hand.

“Sleep ok?”, he asks, moving to wash his hands.

“Very,” she sighs, arching her back in search of that desired pop to relieve her lower back tension. “Miss that bed.” Her eyes widen the second the words leave her mouth, and she nearly chokes. “Sorry,” she mumbles, completely flush with embarrassment.

Harry shrugs it off with a chuckle, “It’s a good bed. Cost a small fortune.”

“Is that breakfast?” she asks, desperate for a subject change. “I’m starving. I completely skipped dinner,” she admits.

“It is,” he confirms. “Guess that explains a bit about last night then?”

“Too much pregaming and not enough carbs,” she groans. Her eyes follow his hands as he dries them on a white dish towel, paying close attention to the rings adorning his fingers. “Will I ever learn?” she feigns exasperation.

“And who’s gonna drag you home from your late nights back in New York, hmm?”

She breaks her gaze to roll her eyes, “I’ll be fine, H.” She takes to absently chewing her straw as he rests a hip against the counter to her left. “Been on my own for bit.”

He sees her face fall at the mention of her sole failed relationship since Harry. “I heard,” he discloses. “’M sorry. What happened?”

Her eyes narrow and she tries scrutinizing his motives, but she knows he’s never been insincere. “Didn’t want the same things, I guess,” she shrugs. “You know, marriage, kids. Important things.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, bitter, knowing he’d quite literally run to the altar if she’d let him. “He’s an idiot. He’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Her eyes fly up to his, mouth slightly open. “Wait no,” she denies. “Not him. Me – I didn’t want,” she pauses in search for the right words, but fails on an awkward huff. “I didn’t want those things.”

“Since when?” he challenges. “I distinctly remember agreeing to a ‘no bolo tie’ rule not that long ago.” He’s teasing, but she’s white knuckling the counter’s edge and completely ready to run. He moves to block her exit, unwilling to let her take an easy out, stance wide and demanding.

His head dips low enough to catch her eye and she looks defeated. “With him, I guess,” she whispers. “Didn’t want those things with him.”

Harry exhales loudly, but when she peers up at him his face is soft and searching. “What’s the plan in New York? Back to work?”

“No plans,” she concedes. Her legs uncross, a once silent invitation for Harry to join her, and she adjusts herself to sit straighter. Taller. “I’ve got a dinner planned next Wednesday with management. Just in time to get reamed for whatever pictures surface from last night, I’m sure.”

“No paps,” Harry shakes his head with confidence. “Called Jeff. Made sure there’s nothing comin’ down the line. ‘S all good.”

She stares at him with admiration, overwhelmed by the gesture. She slowly extends her hands, palms up, in a token of appreciation. He eagerly accepts, taking a single stride into her cautious embrace; she’d always fallen short with verbal expression, but Harry had never been one to deny her physical touch. “Thank you,” she smiles softly, her hands slowly inching up the tanned skin of his forearms, her glossy, pale nails stopping just short of his tattoos. “I think I should get going, though,” she stammers. “Still have to pack up my stuff, and my stuff is everywhere.” She nervously runs her fingers through her damp locks and clicks her tongue as she works out a knot. “I’ll take a bagel for the road though,” she winks.

“Could stay,” he offers lowly. Harry watches as her breathing goes shallow and he tenses. If she denies him now, it just might kill him. “Said you hadn’t any real plans, so, could stay…if you wanted.”

She’s acutely aware that his face is inching closer to hers, and she blinks slowly as his hands grip the counter on either side of her, taking the final step between her parted knees. “You want me to stay?” she asks quietly.

“Not really a fair question,” he counters. “Didn’t exactly want you to leave in the first place, now did I?”

She lets her gaze follow her hands to his chest with a sigh. “That’s not fair, H,” she argues gently. “It wasn’t working. It was too much.”

“Could be different now. Could be better.”

“You think?” she questions, her bottom lip tucked behind her front teeth. “How?”

“Been talking to Cass, have loads of ideas,” he beams proudly. His therapist had been his saving grace during the pandemic; he’d mostly done phone meetings with her, but they’d had a limited number of in person meets.

“You still talk to Cassie?”

“Not as much since things have gone back to normal, but I make time to call her a few times a month.” Harry had always been open about his self-help regimens, therapy included. “Like that wet towel on my chair,” he shrugs his shoulders coolly, “no big deal. Leave it there. See if I care.”

“Oh yeah? You like that?” she laughs as he nods excitedly. “If you like that, you should go look at the bed I didn’t make.” She throws her head back in laughter, wincing only slightly when it collides with the wooden cabinet door behind her.

Harry’s hand flies up to soothe the sting at her crown, callused fingers massaging away any hurt. “Could stay,” he repeats, fingers slowing. His other hand tucks the stray hair behind her ear and his fingers linger on the delicate skin above her collarbone. “Could stay with me.”

Every part of her is waiting to be kissed, her eyes closing slowly, and Harry drops his mouth to hers with the lightest of kisses. She accepts with a smile, making no moves to deepen it, but her hands reach up to clasp together at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the baby curls he’s been growing out for months. He drops a final light peck to the corner of her mouth before slowly moving downwards, her head falling back further into his hand allowing him ample access to kiss the soft skin on the column of her throat.

She mewls and it encourages him further, and he finds the soft spot below her ear where he can feel her pulse quicken against his lips. “Shut up,” she gasps when he smiles against her, his day old stubble the dead giveaway.

When he kisses her again, she lets him into her mouth on a hum, but Harry pulls away suddenly with a quirked brow and a cheeky grin. “Did you use my toothbrush?”

She opens her mouth to counter, but just buries her face in her hands in embarrassment. “My teeth were filmy!” she whines.

He’s laughing wholeheartedly at her, utterly happy at her perceived level of comfort in his home. “What’s mine is yours, love,” he pulls at her hands to expose her and reattach his lips to her. He moves to pull her closer to the counter’s edge and bring her body flush with his before his hands travel to the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Keep going,” she pleads breathily.

Harry groans as he pushes the loose fabric of her shorts aside and finds the warmth awaiting his fingers. “Always good for me,” he breathes out, head falling to her shoulder. “Too good for me.”

“Please.” She bucks closer to him, her body aching for release.

“So you’ll stay,” he decides. He’s leaving open mouthed, wet kisses down her throat in between words, his fingers slick with her, curling easily into her core in the way he knows drives her crazy. “You’ll stay. Can take your drawer back if you like,” he bargains. “If you’re nice t’ me, might even get you your own toothbrush.”

Her hands tighten and grab at his curls as he continues his assault on her surely bruising skin. “If you didn’t have two fingers inside of me right now,” she stutters, “I’d kick you in the shins.” Her words are void of any real threat and he can feel her fighting for control, her legs tightening around his hips, breath ragged in his ear.

Harry withdraws his touch, smiling when she complains at the loss of contact. He straightens her shorts and extends a hand to help her off down from her perch. “Time to learn how to make a proper bed, pet.”

She jumps down on a huff and walks straight by him down the hall leaving Harry’s mouth agape. “I think,” she muses playfully, “we should start right at the very beginning, right? Gotta strip the sheets off and start from scratch?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he follows like a puppy at her heels. “Whatever you say.”

__________________

A/N: welcome to my initial venture in writing for this fandom. I haven’t written fiction in literal years, so this one was a feat. But I had fun, so thank you Sadie for the challenge! I made the deadline with literal seconds to spare. :)

-MK

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #to lovers fic challenge #my writing #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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whythinktoomuch · 3 years

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(pt. i)

Research is a long, arduous process. It’s demanding because Lex prefers to be thorough, and difficult because she wants to be useful.

The goal is to learn everything there is to be learned about her, as Lex likes to mention as often as possible. She doesn’t mind the redundancy of such a reminder though. It makes her feel important. It makes her feel of value for once in her life.

Supergirl must feel like this all the time.

The first round of testing is to determine how her abilities measure up against Supergirl’s. Her invulnerability, super-strength, and flight speeds seem to please him, which in turn pleases her. But what fascinates him the most is how she can breathe fire and freeze the air with just a look.

“Your powers are diametrically opposed to Supergirl’s, which makes you the perfect mirror image,” Lex says, and she smiles even though the epithet rings paradoxical to her ears. “Do you know what that means?”

He pauses, waiting for her response—something he still does despite already having her loyalty at his disposal. Participation is important to him.

When she shakes her head, Lex casually reaches into his pocket. “It means that this can’t hurt you,” he says, opening his hand to reveal a tiny slab of the most vibrant green.

A muffled hum crawls into her head, the sound solidifying into a fever that ripples throughout her body. In her panic-stricken haste to escape the feeling, she flies backwards and hits the wall hard enough to warp the metal into a crude semblance of her form. “No.”

“It’s just kryptonite,” Lex says, head tilted in clear amusement. “Like I said, it can’t hurt you.” But he wasn’t there when it happened. She’s never known what to call the green light, but her only encounter with it had left consequences that still live in her skin.

“Yes, hurt,” she huffs out, emphatic. “Yes, change!”

Lex’s amusement quickly crosses over into curiosity, and he begins his careful approach. “It changes you? How?” She tries to retreat farther into the wall, further into the darkness, but Lex’s tone is ever so gentle, “Can you show me…?”

She doesn’t want to, but Lex wants her to, and he’s still asking instead of taking, so she meets him halfway in slow, lumbering steps and holds out her hand.

The delicate rock has barely grazed her palm when her skin starts to deteriorate around it. Her entire hand drains of what little color it had left, the surface splintering at the seams like a particularly unruly stretch of earth. She allows the decay to travel up to her wrist before letting go.

Lex spares not one glance for the kryptonite clattering onto the floor, instead taking her hand in both of his for a closer look. “Incredible…” he says, his fingertips brushing over the hardened cracks in her palm. “Did that hurt you? Are you in any pain?”

Her grasp of spoken language, as slippery as it is, often falls short of the intangible. The kryptonite left a rupture that thumps in her chest, echoed only in places she can’t see for herself. But her hand’s fine; it will work the way it’s meant to. “… No.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

She struggles and struggles, and comes up with, “Ugly.”

“And how is that a bad thing?” Lex asks, because though it seems obvious, he requires precision, no matter how poorly articulated by her unpracticed tongue.

“They… leave.”

“Well, I haven’t left, and if this—” Lex squeezes her hand like it doesn’t disgust him—“keeps people away, that’s a good thing. Because that means they can’t hurt you. Do you understand?”

Oh, yes. That much, she does understand.

Two of his men show up at the door, signaling that it’s time for Lex to get back to prison, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from her. “What you’re feeling right now isn’t pain,” he continues to explain, and her mind dilates accordingly to accommodate this new understanding. “This is strength. An advantage. It’s what makes you better than Supergirl.”

“Better than Supergirl…” she agrees with a hesitant nod.

Lex’s smile is broad as he slowly shakes his head in wonder. “Max Lord is a goddamn fool for letting you go,” he insists, releasing her hand with care. “And I may be a lot of things, but I’m no fool.”

He takes his leave then, but the promise sewn into his parting words is a veritable balm for the sting of his absence. He’ll return to her because he’s always returned to her. What’s a few hours—or days, or a week—of solitude when weighed against that certainty?

This is strength, she reminds herself, settling back in her bed with only a nameless man standing guard at the door for company. Strength feels like this.

“You like her,” Lex says one day, and it chafes her sensibilities because he’s not usually wrong about things.

She drops her tablet, with one of the many loaded videos still playing out on screen. But the topic, apparently, isn’t to be dropped quite as easily because Lex simply picks it right back up.

“Ah, the TED Talk on molecular nanotech…” he muses with a soft chuckle. “You know, this is from almost ten years ago, and she’s already refuted nearly half of what she’s proposing here.”

“Lena, smart?”

“Oh, very smart. That’s what makes her smart, actually: being able to admit when she’s wrong.” Lex sets the tablet back in her hands, and she clutches onto her only source of Lena with an eagerness verging on greed. “But even the smartest people can have moments of willful ignorance, you know?”

… Should she know?

Lex checks his watch, and sure enough, his men are at the door, ready to steal him away again. But he holds them back with one raised finger before turning back to her. “I have to go now, but I do have a task for you to complete while I’m gone.”

“Task?” Immediately, she draws herself up, purpose straightening out her spine, diluting her need for little else. “What task?”

“I’d like you to learn something about Lena.”

An inevitable frown dawns on her face. She touches her hand to the tablet in question, but Lex shakes his head.

“No, I want you to go see her,” he says, inspiring something prickly and fast-paced to rush through her veins. “Find her, follow her around, watch what she does, and the next time we meet, you can show me what you’ve learned.”

“Learn, what?”

Lex shrugs as he gathers up his materials. “It doesn’t matter. This is more for your sake than mine, and as long as you’re not seen by anyone, the sky’s the limit.” He pauses at the door, turns around to look her right in the eye. “You can do this, Bizarrogirl. Just trust your gut.”

Then Lex leaves, and she’s left with a remarkable feeling—strength, flowering in her chest in a way that could never be mistaken for pain—because it’s the first time he’s ever referred to her by such a name, and maybe he’s right.

It is better than Supergirl.

(next part here)

#listen. i didn't expect to have this many feelings about bizarro ok??#and yet... i still have so much left to say hfudhfushfuhs #this is exactly 1200 words btw; kicks n' giggles amirite?#my words.

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seat-safety-switch · 3 years

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If there's one thing I wish my neighbourhood had, it's an auto parts store. Although the internet is delightful and my avowed preference for getting cheap new parts, your friendly local auto parts store is essential for those 4pm "oh shits" on Sunday afternoon. And without one close by, everything that breaks becomes a car drive away from getting a replacement part. Suddenly, if you've noticed two bad gaskets in one water pump replacement job, you've lost two hours of wrenching time just going back and forth.

Now, the chain that's closest to my place does have delivery, but only during the weekdays. A dude comes in a little Chevy hatchback with a giant fibreglass hat on the top bearing the logo of the store. He's used to delivering to big businesses like Ted's Car-Unfucking Salon, so when he encounters a regular house, he just doesn't know what to do. Most of the time, he leaves several hundred dollars' worth of parts on your porch right before flooring it on his way out of your neighbourhood.

Now, I haven't had any porch pirates in the last few years – Mr. Cho, who lives on my block, was very interested back in May 2016 when I went by his Friday night poker game and told him about the alternator that got stolen. In June of 2016, I was driving to work and I saw the fire department working hard to get down the body of some guy with no skin hanging off the street light. Ever since then, no problems. That might not be the case for your neighbourhood, which is not lucky enough to lay claim to a Mr. Cho or substitute good citizen thereof.

That's why I've adopted a sort of "middle-ground" policy to the entire auto parts store problem. They've got a pretty big parking lot over at the store, so why not just do the entire job out there? It's not like they can really do much to me once I've taken the front subframe out, and if I miss their closing time, I'm basically first in line for when they open.

The real genius of all this is that if I don't get my car running in time to go to work the next morning, I can just use my phone to order some parts to the office and hop into the hat-car as it leaves. Sure, a citizen riding shotgun on a parts delivery is not "allowed" by corporate, but he knows who I live near.

#mr. cho

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tanyawritesstories · 3 years

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She Bites | Max Phillips x Siren!Reader

I came up with the strange idea of: what if Max was bitten by another creature? And siren was the natural answer for the reader's creature. I imagined their water form as basically the mermaids (sirens) from Pirates of the Caribbean. Enjoy my weirdness!

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: vampirism (duh), plenty of sexual innuendos, flirting, Max is a bit of a douche, insinuations of murder, blood, biting, fluff, Max and reader are unaware of each other's supernatural identities

•••

Your day at the office started slow but now it was picking up. You had just locked in your fourth sale, and began printing the finalization papers. You signed off on them and stood to walk them to your boss's office. On your way, you passed Andrew, looking the part of a hungover, underpaid college student, like he always did.

"Hey Y/N, you sure you don't want to come out tonight with us?" He asked.

"Um, no thank you, Andrew. I have something planned already," you responded politely.

"Aw, c'mon," he looked you up and down sleazily, "I can make it worth your while."

"Andrew, can't you tell the lady has important plans," the spritely voice from behind you made you tense and turn around. Your boss was standing there with a smug look on his handsome face. "She's been telling me how much she is looking forward to her date tonight."

You looked at the floor sheepishly and you could see Andrew shift awkwardly in place. "You're doing great on that presentation, buddy," Max assured the other man, "Now run along."

Andrew scurried back to his desk and Max leaned against the wall beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. "Are we still on for seven tonight?" He asked with a smirk.

You looked up at him and smiled, nodding. "Absolutely. You're picking me up at my place right?"

He nodded back. "Of course, sweet cheeks. Especially if there's a chance I can come inside after dinner."

You smirked back at him, your tone as flirty as his. "Play your cards right and maybe I'll let you."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh trust me, baby. I've never lost a game."

You took a step closer to him, booping his nose gently with your finger. "Then you should have nothing to worry about." At that, you tucked the papers for him into his crossed arms and walked back to your desk.

Of course you knew what kind of reputation Max Phillips carried. Who didn't. He was the type of person your sisters would call a man-slut. Arrogant, attractive, and brainless. Also the type you thought would make easy food.

Your clan had moved to the city only a few months ago, having come to the conclusion that there wasn't enough food in the ocean. You and several of your mer-sisters had taken to the land, tasked with feeding your family. It was getting increasingly more difficult for sirens to survive, especially out at sea. People didn't travel out on the ocean as much as they did a hundred years ago. Plus, now their boats were made of metal and a lot bigger. Even with super strength and the combined forces of the clan, they were hard to take down. Attacks usually ended with more than a few injuries and only a small reward.

Blending in with the humans was easy. Your tail turned to legs when on land and your slit eyes, fangs, and claws only came out when you attacked.

You had figured out a plan to be able to support the clan for hopefully a long time. If you were able to take control of this company, you could employ the rest of your clan to run the business and any new hires would be dinner. It was easy. Or so you thought. You hadn't exactly anticipated the charming and quick-witted sales manager standing in your way.

You had taken out a few minor employees already, none of them were missed and nothing was suspected. You had used your siren charm to hypnotize them into submitting resignation forms the day before you took them.

You were confused when Mike went missing before you could get him. You thought maybe one of your sisters had gotten to him first, but perhaps he just quit. It was frustrating to think you missed such a good potential meal, but alas you had work to do.

You knew you had to ultimately take down Ted, but Ted was wound around Max's finger. So your current target was Max. You played along with his douchey behavior, falling into the role of the shy, naive new girl that was easy to woo. It had worked thus far, getting you a date with your target victim. You planned on insinuating that you would sleep with him, get him back to your place, and then kill him. It would be easy.

You had managed to conjure up a final sale before you left for the day. You gave Max a wave and flirty wink as you walked by his office. You mouthed the words 'don't be late' before the elevator doors closed.

~~~~

Back at your apartment you had completed putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Minimal, since beauty came naturally to sirens. No matter how they looked, they were always beautiful and always praised for it.

You slipped on the sleek black dress. It was satin with thin straps and a slight V plunge in the middle, exposing a teasing amount of cleavage. You looked good enough to eat. You knew Max would think the same. You grabbed a light jacket and donned it to cover your top half. You heard the doorbell ring and looked at the clock on the wall. Five minutes early, typical punctuality. You grabbed a pair of black heels, quickly throwing them on and grabbing your purse.

You found Max with a surprisingly sincere smile on his face when you opened the door.

"Good evening, doll," he greeted, "Ready for our date?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," you replied cheerfully.

He was wearing a nice suit as usual, but he had foregone the tie and waistcoat. Instead having the first few buttons of his shirt undone. It was a very relaxed look for him, and, shockingly, you didn’t dislike it.

You walked to his car, once again surprised when he opened the door for you. You slid in and thanked him. The drive to the restaurant didn't take as long as you thought it would.

Max offered you his arm as you walked in together. You had made the reservation, not trusting him to do it. You let him pull out your chair for you as you removed your jacket. Max only noticed once he was sitting in his own chair across from you. You snatched the wine list and glanced over it. From the corner of your eye you could see him staring unashamedly at your chest where the dip exposed the tops of your breasts.

“Do you have a preference?” You asked. “Anything red is fine with me,” Max answered, his eyes didn’t leave your body even when he knew you were watching him. You scanned back over the list, picking out something simple. “You look stunning tonight.”

You looked up to find Max with a smirk on his face. Willing a blush to come to your cheeks, you looked down at your plate. “That’s kind of you, Max. But I’m afraid you’re a bit of a liar.” He pouted adorably, leaning his elbows on the table. “Nonsense. You’re the most beautiful woman in the office,” he complimented. He reached over and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You knew that was rubbish. Everyone had a crush on either Amanda or Zabeth. If someone had a crush on you it was because of your siren charm, otherwise they hated you because you did your job and got praised for it.

You ordered your food and found it easy to make conversation with Max. He kept up the perfect attitude with snarky and flirty thrown in. You weren’t learning much about him but you were learning his traits. You didn’t expect him to be such a good listener. He hung onto every word you said and asked questions here and there. You almost felt bad for spinning him the entire fake backstory you had made up for yourself. You tried asking him questions but he only answered a few before turning the conversation back to you.

By the time dessert came you had almost run out of fake information and stories to tell him. This was getting tiring, you hadn’t expected him to act like this. Most men couldn’t shut up about themselves, but you hadn’t gotten hardly anything out of him. It was strange, for sure. Max offered to pay and you let him think he was doing you a favor. He stood first and grabbed your coat, helping slide it over your arms and back. His hands stayed on your shoulders and he whispered into your ear.

“So did I play well?” You smirked turning to face him, putting your hands on his chest. “You’ll see, later.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back and led you back out to his car. He drove with one hand, the other was draped over the center console. You figured it was time to answer his question now. You took his hand and rested it on your knee, keeping your eyes out the window. You could hear him turn his head briefly to look at you. You waited until his eyes were back on the road before sliding his hand up your leg a little bit, you let go and allowed him to decide what he wanted to do next.

He took the hint and slid his hand further up your leg, pushing your dress up in the process. He stopped on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing your warm skin. You knew what he was doing, he was teasing you, trying to make you beg. This time you weren’t going to pretend, he would wait until you got home and was inside your room. If you let him live that long.

You made it back home and invited Max in. “Make yourself comfortable, you want anything more to drink?”

You strolled to your drink cabinet, kicking your heels off on the way there, and pulled out scotch for yourself. “I’ll have what you’re having, sweet cheeks,” he said sitting down on your sofa.

You turned, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. You jumped when you felt his chest press into your back, his nose nuzzling into your neck. How did he get behind you so fast? You probably just didn’t hear him. It was unlikely with your acute senses but who knows.

“Can we skip the drinks?” He whispered huskily into your ear. You reached back and ran your fingers into his hair. “You’re eager, aren’t you?” You replied making sure your tone was as smooth as his.

"I'm hungry," he said, "and I wanna know what you taste like." He ended his sentence with a squeeze to your ass that actually made you gasp. He was good at dirty talk, you were almost starting to feel bad about having to kill such a fine specimen.

You turned around in his grasp and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You expected him to try and heat it up right away, yet he surprised you once again. He took the kiss as slow and deep as you, keeping one hand on your ass, massaging it to his liking.

You broke away from his lips after a while of having them locked together, instead trailing kisses over his jaw. He took the break to place kisses and licks up and down your neck. You nuzzled your nose into the flesh of his neck, seeing the perfect moment open up.

You didn't hesitate.

Your pupils became slits, with your fingernails extending into sharp points and anchoring themselves into his suit coat. Your fangs descended into their proper places, now poised for harvesting. You barely registered the feeling of his teeth scraping along your skin before you bit down.

Your fangs pierced his skin with more resistance than you were expecting. However, that wasn’t the strangest thing to occur at that moment. You felt a sharp burning pain in your own neck, right where Max had been licking. Did he...he had just bitten you!

You retracted your fangs and shoved Max away, his teeth having unlodged from your skin. You glanced at your neck where two puncture holes were now steadily exuding blood.

"You fucking bit me!" You shouted.

Max recovered from your shove, his eyes tinged yellow, a smear of blood on his upper lip…and his own fangs.

"Why the hell do you taste like fish!" He yelled back.

You were beyond confused. "What? Doesn't matter, who the hell are you!" You grabbed a towel and quickly placed it over your bite wound.

"Me? Who are you!" He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, "Ugh, and why in fucks name does your blood taste salty."

"Usually when I bite people, they die, not complain about how my blood tastes," you grimaced.

"That's what happens when you bite a vampire, sugar tits," he deadpanned.

Your mouth dropped open. Well that explains a lot, but in addition, it made you angry. How were you supposed to take over the company now?

"I didn't know I had a fellow vamp working in my building," he smiled, "Though, that doesn't explain the fishy taste."

You rolled your eyes, heading towards your bedroom to find a bandage. "I'm not a vampire, I'm a siren. Did you honestly think vampires were the only supernatural beings walking this planet?"

Max followed not far behind you, intrigued by your revelation. "A siren, like a mermaid? Where's your tail?"

"I don't have a tail while I'm on land, and no, sirens are much deadlier than mermaids," you informed gruffly. Max appeared to be thinking over your words while he watched you tend to the two holes in your neck. He was unaffected by your bite, his skin having already healed itself.

"Why were you trying to kill me?" He suddenly inquired. You looked over to see him lying back on your bed. He had removed his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, comfortable as could be.

"Because my sister's and I need to eat and I don't like killing just anyone on the street," you answered.

"Are the rest of your sisters as hot as you?" He sat up as you crossed the room, watching your every move. You sneered at him, "I figured killing you was an easy way to take over the company, therefore providing my family with a steady food source, and ridding the world of one less asshole."

Max nodded along to your words. "Great idea, sugar plum, but half the office has already been turned. Tough luck," he mocked.

You swore under your breath, "Then there's no point in working for the company anymore. You can leave now."

No wonder it had been so easy to lure him in, he was playing you too. You both fell right into each other's traps.

Max rose from your bed. He walked to you and gave you a teasing smile, pinching your cheek like an affectionate grandparent. "Don't worry, fish lips. Maybe we can work something out," he winked at you.

You pulled away from him and glared as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. "See you at the office tomorrow!"

~~~~

Max hadn't noticed you came into his office as you entered the same time as Evan was leaving. The loud thud of papers landing harshly on his desk made him look up.

"My resignation form," you said, "since my purpose has been...worn out."

Max looked taken aback despite the fact that you told him you would be quitting last night. "Why is that a reason to leave?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I literally just told you, and you know about me when my existence is supposed to be a secret so…" you trailed off.

Max looked to be thinking again, never a good sign. He took your papers off his desk and promptly threw them in the trash bin. "No."

You raised your eyebrows, "No?" He nodded, "No. You happen to be doing the best work here so I can't let you go."

You put your hands on your hips. The audacity of this man! "Huh, right ok. Then I'll just walk out and never come back and there's nothing you can do to stop me," you said firmly. You turned heading towards the door.

"I could tell."

You looked back at Max, who was now standing, hands in his pockets. "Excuse me?"

"I could tell. I could walk out and announce to everyone that you're part fish and all I'd have to do to prove it, is throw some salt water on you," he threatened. You realized as he talked that he was dead serious, and it scared you. "Yeah, I did my research on sirens, believe it or not. I know how you operate," his smile evil and teasing at the same time as he moved to the front of the desk and sat on the edge. "If you stay, your secret is safe with me."

"That's blackmail," you stated obviously.

"Pfft," Max rolled his eyes, "And? Does it look like I'm giving you much choice here, sweet cheeks? You stay with the company and I'll help you, it's a lot easier for me to obtain blood, and I can do it without killing them. I can help you."

You sighed in frustration. What choice did you have? You hated him for not giving you an alternative, but the company wasn't all bad and pay was decent.

"Fine." Was all you said before walking out and resuming your work.

~~~~

Max had stayed true to his word, you had been listening, and he hadn't even hinted that you might be a dangerous supernatural creature to anyone. Maybe he was due more credit than you gave him

You were currently sitting on your sofa, wearing comfortable leggings and a t-shirt, drinking a beer while watching a movie. You were interrupted by a knock on your door. When you answered it you didn't expect to see Max standing on the other side with a cooler in one hand. He was wearing a button up with a black leather jacket and jeans, it was the most casual you'd ever seen him and he still looked so good.

"I brought dinner," he said simply. He unzipped the cooler bag and showed you its contents; four large plastic bags filled halfway up with blood.

"Max!" You whisper yelled. You ignored his smile and pulled him inside by his arm, quickly closing the door. "You can't just show me that, wait till you're inside," you sighed, "Now what do you want?"

"These are for you," he said, "and your family of fishes." He set the cooler down on the counter and proceeded to take the bags of blood and arrange them nicely in your fridge.

"You got that for me?" You asked, skeptical of his sudden kindness. "Yes, I said I would help you, so I am." He grabbed a beer out of the fridge while he was in there and took your place on the sofa.

This man was making a habit out of shocking you. He noticed as you stood shell-shocked in the middle of the room. "Did you really think I wouldn't keep my word?"

You wanted to be mad at him, you desperately wanted to be mad.

"No, I didn't think you would. I thought you were joking," you admitted. You took a seat next to him and took another sip of your beer.

"You wound me, fish lips," he sassed. You sighed, trying to maintain your current mindset of not being mad at him. “Only one thing,” you looked at him, “Can I see your tail?”

Your eyes practically rolled on their own. “Aw, c’mon,” he pouted, “I brought dinner for your whole family and saved your job, it’s the least you could do.”

“You do know that when I’m in the water the tail is the only thing I’m wearing,” you said. You watched as Max’s lips slowly turned upwards into a smug smirk. “You dickhead, that’s exactly what you want!” You took a pillow from the sofa and chucked it at his head, heading towards your room to shut yourself in.

He burst into laughter and got up to follow you. You attempted to close the door in his face but he caught it. Even with all your strength thrown against it he was able to hold it open like it was nothing.

“No, I’m genuinely curious, sweetheart,” he said once he was able to stop laughing. You stopped fighting him once you heard him. He’d never called you sweetheart before, it was normally irritating nicknames.

“I’ll think about it,” you relented. He smiled. “I did bring some of that blood just for us. You want to have dinner with me again?”

For once you found yourself smiling along with Max Philips.

#pedro pascal #max phillips #max phillips x reader #Bloodsucking Bastards #vampires #sirens

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lilana163 · 3 years

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Reunited: Chapter 4

It was September 1st, 1971, the day Narcissa, Aurora, and Sirius Black are to attend Hogwarts, the first day of September 1st of 1971 will forever change the house of Black. No one knew it just yet, but this day would be the reason The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will come to its end in 7 years.

The three stood alongside their mums, both mothers carried a disgusted look seeing as half of the wizard and witches on platform 9 3/4 wore muggle clothing, in which Druella would discretely send a hex their way, the two mothers turned their attention to the youngest Blacks, beside them stood the second eldest of the Black sisters who desperately wanted to pull aside her siblings.

" Girls?" Druella looked down at her youngest daughters waiting for an acceptable answer, the girls glanced at each other before smiling brightly at their mother, saying the words which came out so often in the House of Black.

" Toujours Pur," Aurora and Narcissa said in unison bringing a smile to Druella's face, the women made sure to raise her youngest to be respectful pure blood ladies, those words were enough for Druella to be content with herself she decided on to not say her speech about not associating with mudbloods, half-bloods, and blood traitors because it would lead to consequences, though the twins were well aware on what was expected of them and Druella knew that.

" Good, now behave and make mummy and daddy proud," Druella smiled nodding to her youngest before apparating away back to the manor along with Walburga and Regulus.

The three young Blacks turned their attention to Andromeda who seemed nervous as she glanced at each Black, Andromeda pulled the three away from all the pureblooded families getting them to a place on the platform where the four wouldn't be overheard.

" Listen to me carefully, and don't say anything until I'm finished speaking, am I clear?" Andromeda spoke to the young wizard and witches who nodded in agreement.

" Hogwarts is amazing and you'll meet many witches and wizards your age, don't be shy to befriend them even if theirs consequences back at home, what our parents say about muggle-borns, half-bloods, and blood traitors aren't true, we're all the same through and through, us being pureblood doesn't make us any better then those who aren't, I also have someone I want you three to meet," Andromeda grinned at the kids who had an unreadable expression on their faces, Narcissa glanced at Aurora who only sent a wink towards Sirius which he replied with a cheeky grin.

" Ted, you may come out now," Andromeda called out from behind, a man with blonde hair appeared with a charming smile but the Black sisters saw right through their sister's attempts and stepped back from the group.

" It's nice to finally meet you three, Andromeda talks very fondly of you all, especially you two Narcissa and Aurora, I'm Ted Tonks," Ted introduced himself noticing how his fiancé smile alter watching the twins share scared looks.

" I haven't heard of the name Tonks before, and I know each family in the sacred twenty-eight," Aurora stated pushing behind Narcissa blocking her from harm's way, Sirius shared the same confused looked Ted and Andromeda gave the Black haired girl from her action of pushing Narcissa behind her.

" That's because he's not, he's a muggle-born Ara, I wanted to introduce you because he's my fiancée," Andromeda replied which she soon regretted seeing her sisters back away further from her soon to be husband, both sisters had a look of worry as they saw how close Andromeda was to the muggle-born. Though they weren't quite sure what the word muggle-born meant they both decided to keep their distance, Druella taught the twins that it was best to stay away from anything that has to do with muggles, Druella always went on about diseases the muggle world carried in hopes that her daughters wouldn't associate with anything muggle especially those witches and wizards who are muggle-born.

" Muggle-born, what's that?" Aurora asked Andromeda who gulped as Recognition dawned on her, Ted had been confused seeing all the kids stare at his fiancée waiting for an answer.

" Muggle-borns are mudbloods, we shouldn't call them mudbloods because it's considered a slur, it's preferred if you call them muggle-borns instead of that vile name," Andromeda sternly answered furrowing her brows feeling a wash of madness towards her parents for not teaching her siblings any better.

" Andy can you please move away from the muggle-born, he might carry diseases!" Aurora raised her voice with worry laced all over her words, she gave her older sister a pleading looking seeing Andromeda take Ted's hand.

" They don't carry any diseases, mother has been feeding you all lies ever since birth," Andromeda told Aurora who seemed a bit skeptical at first but then gave in to the new information, after seeing her sister come to terms with this new knowledge Narcissa left her sister's tight grip moving to stand next to the shorter girl.

" Your a blood traitor, mum and dad will disown you when they learn of your beliefs," Narcissa gave Ted a disgusted look in which Andromeda took offense and glared at her younger sister, Narcissa had no problem with Andromeda's beliefs but she knew that this could possibly lead to losing a sister and that's what angered her.

" I plan to tell them soon and yes I most likely will be disowned, and I have accepted that," Andromeda told her sisters who glared at the girl, Ted held onto Andromeda's hand squeezing it reassuring her that everything will be just fine, Ted wasn't so sure about meeting Andromeda's sisters because he felt that they would share the same opinions Andromeda's parents have, on the other hand, Andromeda knew her sisters would be accepting and encourage her way of life but she was losing faith in her sisters as she spoke to them.

" You're willing to lose everything, for him?" Aurora pointed at Ted in disbelief with tears daring to spill from her green eyes, Narcissa flared her nostrils glaring at the blonde man in front of her.

" I love him, and if it means leaving such a horrible family then I am more than happy to," Andromeda answered with confidence, at her words both Aurora and Narcissa felt a wave of jealousy as they turned to the blonde man who smiled adoringly at his fiancée.

"You're going to give up your whole world and everyone in it, just for this man? You can't do that Andy, don't leave m...us behind don't leave your sisters behind, don't choose him over us, please Andy," Aurora spoke in disbelief her eyes blazed with hurt as tears swam in them.

" I spent entirely too much of my life worried about what my parents think of me, what my family thinks of me and I'm done, you still have a sister Ara that will never change, my love for my sisters will forever stay bu-" Andromeda began to say but was cut off by her green-eyed sister who was on the verge of crying, Narcissa let go of her sisters grasp walking away from the group not bothering to stay any longer, all Narcissa could feel was betrayal and she could longer stand to be in the presence of the man her sister chose over her.

" But it isn't enough, and that's fine I understand, don't bother saying anymore, I won't stand to hear and listen to the nonsense of you choosing another over family, even if it's the one you love," Aurora stared into her sister's eyes only seeing love and admiration for the man beside her and she put on a small smile that couldn't reach her eyes, she too felt hurt and betrayal just like her twin, but to her, it would all be worth if it meant that Andromeda could truly be happy.

" And as for you Ted treat my sister like she's the world, or else you'll find out why Blacks are known to be deranged," Aurora threatened the blonde man before pulling Sirius away from the two adults and leading her cousin into the bright red train.

Sirius and Aurora looked around the train in awe, Sirius pulled his cousin to the end of the train opening the empty compartment, he turned to the girl who blinked away her tears and gave him the brightest smile she could.

" I have to go check on Cissy, I'll be back soon," Aurora gave the boy a small smile moving to open the compartment door but was stopped when Sirius pulled the shorter girl into a tight embrace.

" It's okay to not be okay, you're allowed to be upset," Sirius whispered into his cousin's ear the girl nodded her head still not allowing for her smile to falter, Sirius let go of Aurora allowing her to finally leave the compartment to find her other half.

After searching through every compartment she stopped at the first compartment that you'd see when entering the train, Aurora found her sister alone with red puffy eyes staring into out the window.

" Cissy," Aurora muttered closing the compartment door and rushing over to her sister who turned her attention away from the scenery, Narcissa grey eyes meet her sister green ones both felt heartbroken though one was better at hiding it.

" We're her sisters, we won't be allowed to speak or see her ever again, and she knows that, she very much knows that earlier will probably be the last time we see her, I feel like an idiot because ... I love Andy with all my well being, but that's not enough, and she's walking away like ... it's the easiest thing in the world to do," Narcissa shook her head aggressively squinting her eyes while her tears came like a river stream her bottom lip jutted out as she cried.

" She's choosing a man's love, but everyone knows love is irrelevant to people like us, why can't she just accept that it's our fate," Narcissa said running her hands over her gold locks in frustration.

" She did what benefited her, I think she's amazing for going after what she wants even though it hurts me, even if it hurts us, I think we should be ... happy for Andy, she's doing what we want to do but are too afraid to act on," Aurora told Narcissa the blonde girl bit her lip with a slight frown when processing her sister's words.

" I guess your right, but I don't like it," Narcissa pouted wiping away her tear-stained cheeks, the raven-haired girl lowly chuckled taking a seat beside her sister.

" Trust me I don't like it either," Aurora replied feeling the weight of her sister's head on her shoulder as she spoke.

" I should probably find Parkinson and Avery, care to join?" Narcissa asked Aurora making the girl scoff with a disgusted look on her face.

" I would never be friends with those scumbags," Aurora rolled her eyes following her sister out the compartment.

After Narcissa and Aurora parted ways she found herself heading back to her and Sirius's compartment, when opening the compartment she was surprised to see three other boys.

" Ara come sit," Sirius patted the empty spot beside him which Aurora gladly took while taking in the appearance of the others, she noticed one boy having deep scars on his face and sandy hair, she mentally questioned how he got them as she took in the scars but quickly looked away not wanting to make him uncomfortable. The next boy was short with blonde hair and beside him was a boy who she noticed hadn't taken his eyes off her, he had messy black hair and he wore circular glasses which she thought was quite cute, at least the way he wore them.

" This is my cousin and best friend Aurora Black," Sirius introduced noticing how his new friend James looked at the girl star-struck, he glared at the messy-haired boy but James hadn't noticed as he was too busy being in trance by Aurora presence.

" I'm Remus Lupin," the scar-faced boy said to Aurora sticking out his hand to shake which she gracefully took, making Sirius roll his eyes he mentally noted to tease the girl about that later, knowing how his cousin gets annoyed with him when he teases her about " her inner pureblood princess coming out."

" And I'm Peter Pettigrew," the short blonde-haired boy waved to the raven-haired girl in an awkward manner making the small girl giggled at his demeanor.

" Saving the best for last I see, I'm James Potter," James brightly grinned at the girl shaking Aurora's hand in excitement, the girl mentally scoffed at his words though unaware of the stupid smile and blush that found her face.

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d2kvirus · 3 years

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Dickheads of the Month: January 2021

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of January 2021 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

Once again, we knew that Donald Trump wasn’t going to take losing well, but when a legion of his most boneheaded supporters storm the Capitol demanding the election result be overturned because a certain thin-skinned orange gobshite had spent several weeks screaming about electoral fraud and, by the way, also set the date of January 6th for some major event, even Mike Pence couldn’t sanction his buffoonery any longer - especially when said buffoonery involved him saying “I love you” to people who were guilty of sedition and, by the way, murder - all of which led to him finally, finally, getting the boot from various social media platforms

...all while Lauren Boebert appeared to be trying to help out the insurrectionists by livetweeting the location of Nancy Pelosi, presumably because Boebert forgot about that Glock she claims to take to work with her every day and was looking for a convenient meat shield, which naturally has nothing to do with her tweeting the day would be like 1776 earlier that morning

...but the real victim in all of this was Melania Trump as it interrupted a photo shoot she was doing, which she somehow thought it was a good idea to mention several days later in a statement riddled with two opinions: “both sides” and “me, me, me” which shows she didn’t realise the optics of rearranging the china as Washington burned around her

...but according to Laura Kuenssberg it was merely a “scuffle” at Congress, as opposed to an organised group attempting to stage an armed insurrection against the government complete with at least one member carrying zip ties

...and finally, we had Ian Austin reminded us that he’s still alive by saying the exact same thing would have happened in the UK with Jeremy Corbyn supporters storming parliament, as if that happened in the four years Corbyn was wishing Austin would go away, then did go away, but sadly didn’t go away

Once again the Tory government think they know better than virologists, epidemiologists and pharmacists with their one-two punch of thinking they can just mix and match the various vaccines available rather than give people two doses of the same vaccine, but they further weaken any chance of vaccination succeeding by ignoring Pfizer’s recommendation the second dose be given within three weeks of the first by adopting a policy of the second dose is given three months later, and it it’s just as likely to be the less effective but cheaper Oxford vaccine they get a dose of

...swiftly followed by the BBC did their bit to encourage people to get vaccinated by reporting a story of a nurse getting a dose of Covid six weeks after her first vaccination jab not by reporting how she was three weeks overdue for the second dose (or, if you prefer, six weeks before her second one) but simply saying that people vaccinated can get Covid, which goes beyond the BBC’s sociopathic inability to criticise Tory fuckups into being downright fucking dangerous - as does their putting sentient testicle Toby Young on Newsnight to say how we’re all overreacting as it's not as bad as all that

Of all the things proven liar Boris Johnson should have said when the UK’s Covid death toll officially passed 100,000 (as opposed to unofficially, which would have been last December), “We have done our best” was not it, because if their best includes not going into lockdown in order to protect landlords, having Dominic Cummings dictate herd immunity in spite the fact that you need vaccinated people for it to work, refusing to have quarantine at airports until July, thinking it would be a bright idea to tell people it’s their patriotic duty to go to the pub, giving them £10 vouchers to go to restaurants, putting children going back to school ahead of any concerns about every single school could become a petri dish and countless other horrifically mismanaged instances, then we should be kept up at night dreading what their worst would be

The fact that Chartwells were given a contract to provide free school dinners with a budget of £30, and the supposed lunches that arrived had £5 worth of food in them which begged the obvious question where the other £25 went, is appalling - but not surprising, as the Tory government gave them the contract and, equally unsurprising, Chartwells was founded by a Tory donor, and equally unsurprising their response to their grift being exposed was to tell all the public school clients they cater to a pack of lies while hoping nobody found out about them doing so...which worked about as well as you can guess

Something possessed the EU to ramp up the row over the AstraZenica vaccine not passing the rigorous tests for over-65s by threatening to trigger Article 16 and limit the number of vaccines that Northern Ireland received, and that something was it was hopelessly misguided as it allowed the Tories to get their hapless response to the pandemic off the front pages for a few days and let the Leave headbangers say this is why we left the EU...in spite this threat would have never been in play if we were still in the EU

There is no way to make jokes about Kellyanne Conway posting what was, in effect, revenge porn photos of her 16-year old daughter, because that sentence is so far out there that it is borderline incomprehensible

In the space of less than twenty seconds proven liar Boris Johnson claimed that there was no prior warning of the new strain of Covid, he had the SAGE paper stating it was coming which was handed to him last September held up in his face, and then said the government acted accordingly. Yes, you read that right, he claimed the government acted accordingly to something they had no prior warning about, which is literally impossible, all in the space of ten seconds

In the latest hire by the BBC which is cause for both comment and concern, they announced their new chairman would be Tory donor Richard Sharp, whose credentials for the position are being Rishi Sunak’s ex-boss at Goldman Sachs, donating at least £400,000 to the Tory party, and having no background in journalism whatsoever

Smirking bully Priti Patel said that the UK should have closed its borders in March 2020 in order to prevent the spread of Covid. Presumably she forgot that she was a.) Home Secretary in Marsh 2020 so could have done that, and b.) Home Secretary when she said that the borders should have been closed as that indicates she doesn’t know what’s going on

The terrifying world which Alison Pearson lives in has now started to cross over into our reality due to her responding to one of the four people she hasn’t blocked on Twitter calling her what she is - namely a liar - by siccing the Torygraph’s lawyers on them claiming libel, doing the usual cry bully tactic of learning the person she is harassing works for GlaxoSmithKline so promptly went to their CEO demanding he be fired, and howling about the hate campaign being waged against her - while telling the person, who was saying he was thinking suicidal thoughts after the pile-on that Pearson had instigated even after he had deleted the tweet and apologised , that “You’re finished”

Someday in the future, scholars will study Ted Cruz responding to Biden rejoining the Paris Climate Agreement within hours of getting his feet under the Oval Office desk by pontificating about how terrible it is that Biden is more interested in the citizens of Paris than the jobless of Pittsburgh and wonder just how somebody who doesn't know why the Paris Climate Agreement was named the Paris Climate Agreement ever got to be a senator

...and judging by how Lauren Boebert also latched onto this brainless rhetoric, not only can it be asked how she got to be a senator when she had the opportunity to actually realise Cruz’s mistake, she also begs the question how she can be a senator after her publicly trying to use Nancy Pelosi as a meat shield during the Capitol riots

Unifying force Keir Starmer stated that Labour should be devoting their time to fighting the Tory government rather than fighting court cases, somehow forgetting that by breaking the guidelines of the EHRC report (which he pledged to follow without question months before it was published) is the reason that they’re fighting court cases, and just so happens to be the reason why people are asking how a meeting attended by Starmer, Angela Rayner, Len McCluskey and others either didn't have a single person taking notes, which is David Evans’ entire defence, or they did take notes by quite conveniently lost them

Oh boy, did Wall Street cheerleaders not take it well when r/WallStreetbets exposed to the entire world that the stock market is little more than a game people play with other people’s money - because the teams the Wall Street cheerleaders support started losing, and all it took was a few Redditors investing in Gamestop and Bed Bath & Beyond

Nice of Shaun Bailey to remind everyone that he’s a Tory by giving his suggestion for how the homeless could get on the property ladder, namely by saving a minimum of £5000

Clearly Marjorie Taylor Greene didn’t get the memo about the Streisand Effect, as the first thing she did after taking her seat in the House of Representatives was go on a mass deleting spree of Facebook posts - which only served to draw attention to her video saying that Nancy Pelosi be executed for treason, her track record of spreading conspiracy theories about the Parkland and Sandy Hook shootings, and her claims that a Jewish space laser is responsible for the 2018 California wildfires

Insufferable self-promoter Jess Phillips got her 2021 off to a good start by tweeting out that, as Britait has happened, we should shut up and accept it. To the surprise of nobody other than insufferable self-promoter Jess Phillips, this led to a lot of people saying that, no, they will not accept an advisory referendum somehow being bolted onto the Ten Commandments, especially as numerous things that were promised wouldn’t happen such as a border in the Irish Sea, leaving Erasmus, losing freedom of movement, leaving the Common Market have all happened

It is wrong to say that smirking bully Priti Patel has lost 150,000 police files. The actual figure is closer to 400,000 - which begs the obvious question as to what those files were, for example if those files also happened to fall under the same category as the ones that 55-year old ex-minister Mark Francois might want to have disappear for the sake of convenience

At last CD Projekt Red took some responsibility for Clusterpunk 2077 being such a cyberfuck...if by “taking responsibility” you mean “taking responsibility, dumping it all on the QA testers, and saying that everyone should blame them for everything” - and then with perfect comedic timing CD Projekt Red released an update for Clusterpunk 2077 that was so broken they had to release a hotfix for their broken patch

Expenses-fiddler Robert Jenrick decided that the most important thing to protect in the United Kingdom at this exact moment in time is...statues. Not key workers, not the vulnerable, not any human life at all. Statues.

So either Rafael Behr wrote a column for The Guardian where he tried to blame Jeremy Corbyn for his heart attack which saw Guardian higher-ups remove that passage from their print edition but forgot to remove it from the online version of the article, or The Guardian deliberately left the passage in the online version of the column in order to get some form of engagement from rage clicks while allowing Behr to act as if he is suffering some great injustice

Of course it wouldn’t take long for Steve Baker to try and claim some spurious victory for Britait, namely him claiming that tampon tax he spent so long fighting against being abolished is proof of the sunlit uplands of our post-EU nation...which ignores the fact that a.) It had nothing to do with the EU in the first place, and b.) The fact that Baker voted to keep it in place in a 2015 Commons vote

Employer of the year WWE went for an interesting twofer, as one minute they were proudly stating that WrestleMania would go ahead with a prospective 30,000 in attendance without any concerns for social distancing or any other Covid preventative measures, and the next telling the wrestlers on their roster that they would not be supplying them with Covid vaccines at the exact same time the NBA were floating the idea of providing vaccines for all their players

Make no mistake, the criticism that Erik Lamela, Sergio Reguilon, Giovani Lo Celso and Manuel Lanzini have received due to the four of them flouting lockdown regulations to attend a New Year’s party is justified - however, the fact that Duncan Castles tried to chase a headline by claiming that Lo Celso and Lamela had tested positive for Covid in a swiftly-deleted tweet is a new low for the noted barrel scraping rumour monger

Self-awareness sceptic Laurence Fox was entirely predictable in his response to the news that talkRADIO had been booted from Youtube for repeated violations of their ToS, specifically the part about spreading Covid misinformation, screaming the usual things about being “cancelled” - and then, within hours, responded to the BBC announcing a plan of educational programming to help during Lockdown III by saying he will be shielding his children from being “indoctrinated” by the BBC’s “left-wing bias” - which not only means he’s cancelling the BBC, but also had people remember that Billie Piper has custody of his children so it's not like he can even enforce his rules on what his children can and cannot watch

...by the way, Fox said nothing about Lord Sumption appearing on the BBC’s Question Time (the same show where failed actor on the grift Laurence Fox announced his new career as a clueless right wing irritant) where he told a woman with bowel cancer that her life wasn’t valuable, it was merely less valuable as she has less life left. Yes, that is eugenics getting free airtime on the BBC, thanks for noticing

Somehow the best choice of words the BBC could find when reporting the death of Phil Spector was “talented but flawed” as if murder is some character flaw instead of, oh I don’t know, a criminal activity?

You would have thought that Twitch would have simply retired the PogChamp emote permanently in the wake of Gootecks going all insurrectionist, but no, instead they thought of having a rotating cycle of emotes of various creators, in spite of those creators telling them this would be a bad idea - and those creators were proven right when Critical bard was inundated with racist and homophobic abuse in his chat that led him to close his social media profiles when he was selected for rotation, with Twitch doing fuck all about it

Fashion editor no matter what she claims she is Hadley Freeman had a really clever take about The Sopranos...actually, no she didn’t, she had an absurd belief that it’s the exact same show as Sex in the City but people overlook it Because Misogyny, and when she was lambasted for missing the point so badly she had noted dipshit David Baddiel rushing in to her rescue to mock those getting “triggered” by her insipid take while saying he never liked The Sopranos because, as he isn't an Italian-American mobster, the show did not speak to him - in other words, he made himself a subject of equal mockery

...but there was no sign of Baddiel when Hadley Freeman then jumped on the BidenErasedWomen bandwagon alongside the TERFs of Twitter as soon as Biden got his feet under the desk, which also happened to show hard centrist extremist Freeman say how she thought Trump did far more for women than Biden ever has, which as takes go is so bad that the best explanation is that she briefly forgot the difference between the words “for” and “to”, before she then deleted the tweet and tried to deny ever posting it with increasingly nonsensical explanations that rapidly looked uncannily like gaslighting

...although David Baddiel wasn’t quite done being a bellend, as he was soon yukking it up with professional victim Rachel Riley about his latest book which accuses the entire progressive left of antisemitism

The oppressed underclass known as Manchester United fans really showed their colours, first by responding to a loss to Sheffield United by sending racial abuse to Axel Tuanzebe and Anthony Martial on social media, and a couple of weeks later responded to a draw with Arsenal by sending racial abuse to Marcus Rashford, because apparently when your team drops points the most important thing is to look for which member of your team you can racially abuse

And finally, oh so finally, we have Donald Trump and his discovery of electoral fraud at last - electoral fraud that consisted of Donald Trump calling Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger demanding he change the result and all he needs is Raffensperger to “find” 11,780 votes while also saying that he had proof of vote-counting machines being removed early...and when told they were still in Georgia, changed his lie to say the inner workings had been removed without anyone noticing. By the way, the only reason anyone knows about this is because Raffensperger told Trump that he wouldn’t release the call to the public if Trump didn't say anything about it - so, of course, the Orange Overlord took to twitter, ran his mouth, and the Washington Post had one hell of an exclusive as a result

#dickheads of the month

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connordavidscamera · 4 years

Note

now is a VERY good time to talk about your theories on connor's kinks!!

Well alright. Buckle up loves, because we’re in for a ride. (Low key NSFW, it’s kinks, what do we expect?)

We already briefly discussed his thing for marking, so we’ll make this one quick. His marking thing is purely selfish. He does it because he likes the wide eyed looks he gets from the guys when you hang out together and your makeup couldn’t quite cover the big blossoming purple bruise on the side of your neck and at the base of your throat, or the one you forgot to cover on your collar bone and you’re wearing a lower cut shirt so it peeks out just a little. He likes letting people know that you’re his. (Oh, and a bonus marking - scratches on his back. He loves having your claw marks on him, especially when you’re out for a day at the beach and they’re on display for everyone to see just how well he had treated you the night before.

Moving on to my theory that he doesn’t necessarily have a “daddy” kink. He does, however, like to be called sir. I’ve mentioned this before, but have never touched on it, so here we go. He doesn’t like treating you like a little girl - he just likes being more dominant in your sexual life - which you’re fine with. (But Connor is also a low key switch. It’s not often, but sometimes he likes being taken care of in a way only you know how to do.) But anyway, you’d tried out the daddy think and while it works for some, he found it more arousing when you called him sir. Because it can be such a harmless term in most cases, but when it slipped from you, there was a certain sensual meaning behind it. Especially when you’re pouting. For instance, the first time it slipped out (accidentally) you were at a team dinner that you really weren’t up for, but Connor couldn’t just bail on it. So you went, but you weren’t happy about it. He told you, in the lowest voice possible for you to “behave.” It was a joke, really, he wasn’t really one to boss you around. But your responded with a grumbled “yes sir.” and that lit something in him. You called him sir the rest of the night, seeing the way he reacted to it. And boy did he enjoy hearing it when you were begging him for your orgasm.

Which leads to my next one, over stimulation. (This is one of his punishments as well, mostly when you’ve teased him so much in public. Orgasm denial? Yeah, Connor fucking invented that.) Despite him looking like a selfish lover, he is a pleaser. He’ll eat you out for hours if you let him. He likes the noises you make when he does. But being this way, he sometimes gets carried away, alternating between his tongue and fingers until you’ve come undone at the very least twice on his tongue. And you’re spent, absolute breathless, but he doesn’t stop because seeing you fucked out like this? He needs to be inside you right now. And being already so sensitive from his tongue and fingers, it doesn’t take long to bring you to a third orgasm. You’re seeing stars, it’s so intense, and with you clenching around him, he knows he won’t last long.

This leads to... breeding. Neither of you are sure how this one started or when, but one day - the first time you chose not to use a condom, he really really enjoyed watching himself spill out of you, and then fucking it back into you. It’s not something you guys do often, but it’s one of his favorites (especially in the shower, he likes watching as he drips down your leg and into the drain.

Choking... while he’s wearing his rings (but that’s more for you, you like the rings, what can I say). I don’t even really know what to say about this one other than he loves the whimpers you let out when he does this. How you become more relaxed under his touch. However, he doesn’t like choking you too hard - he hates hurting you, even, or especially so, in sexual situations. So this is more of a light kink - he can do without in most cases, but you enjoy the coolness of his rings on your skin, so he does it for you because like I said before, he’s a pleaser.

Finally, we have bondage (Another punishment). He’s not a ropes guy - like i said, he prefers to not hurt you and he’s not comfortable with ropes. Silk ties though? Sign him the fuck up. He likes tying your hands to the headboard (mostly during his orgasm denial moments). The squirming and the noises intensify when he does this and it’s euphoric watching you lose control just by his touch, and not being able to touch him is noticeably bothering you. And with your legs spread and tied too, this when he brings ice into the picture. Running it slowly down your stomach with his teeth until the water pools at your belly button and starts to slide down your sides. He licks it up, leaves a few more marks on your skin and then finally, finally unties you, allowing you to have your way with him - this is usually when you ride him like your life depends on it, but with one catch - the silk ties are now wrapped around his wrists. And he’s just as desperate to touch you as you were only moments ago.

That’s all, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#asks #fallinallincurls #CONcepts #connor brashier

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forestfanders · 4 years

Text

Birds of a feather: chapter 2

chapter 1 AO3

Romans awake and he is ready to see what exactly is the deal with this new place. But testing boundaries is scary, even when the humans seem as nice as soft smile Patton, and deep-voice Logan.

TW CW Note that this chapter contains mentions of past abuse, fear of eating and food mentions, and panic/dissociation attacks

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Roman huddled miserably in the corner of the cage, his emo compatriot quaking beside him as footsteps clicked in in the corridor.

Since he had woken up the first time, there had been several humans in to check on them, but none had opened the cage door, or got angry when Roman was unable to find the courage to speak to answer their soft questions. He had not yet seen their owners, but he was sure they would be angry when they came back.

The door to the small room swung open, and Roman caught a glimpse of two men. But instead of going to their cage, the pair moved off to look into another cage across the room from them. Roman let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Hello bunny rabbits!” Light blue jumper kept his voice soft, “My name is Patton.”

Bespectacled vet spoke up next, “My name is Logan.”

“They are very beautiful rabbits, Logan,” Patton spoke simply. Roman listened carefully.

“Ted Bunndy here was a little sick, and his friend has come with him to keep him company while he gets better. We never split up friends.”

“It is very important for them to stay together isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Logan spoke woodenly, “Good friends make you feel safe. And we want them to feel safe here.”

Dark-and-Stormy crushed himself into Roman’s side, and nervously rearranged his feathers.

“They have a lot of food there! Is that all for them?” Patton smiled sideways at Logan.

“All of the food in the cage is for them. They have to eat a lot to get better. It took a while for Ted to start eating again, but now he is, we are all very proud of him.”

Roman eyed the bowl of mixed foodstuffs in his own cage. He and Dark-and-Stormy had raided the bowl for a few bits and pieces, but not enough for it to look like anything had been taken. He knew from his old home that that was the safest way. But they weren’t at home anymore. Perhaps, if the food was there for them as it was for the rabbits, they could take a little more.

The vets that had come to check in on them earlier had also told him to eat, but he was never sure if they were trying to trick him or not.

The humans moved on, saying a couple of kind words to some of the other sick animals in the room. They told them they were there to help, that they should eat and get strong, and that they should sleep lots till they felt better.

Roman knew that the other animals probably couldn’t understand the human’s words, but he could, and they ignited a kernel of hope in his chest. Even Anxiety had come off high alert, shifting from eye-glazed stillness into the repetitive anxious movement of smoothing down his feathers.

“Hello you two.” Patton was in front of their cage, “It is nice to meet you!” His voice was soft, but he sounded genuinely enthusiastic. “My name is Patton, and this is Logan.”

Roman’s heart stuttered. Was Patton expecting him to speak? He could get in trouble if he spoke when he wasn’t meant to. But these people, they were softly spoken, maybe it would be fine…

Hesitantly, Roman raised a hand to give a little wave. His action was rewarded by Patton’s beaming smile.

“Hi there.” Patton waved back, and gave Logan a soft nudge.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both” Logan’s voice was pleasantly deep. He also gave a little wave, but had a faintly awkward air about him.

“Logan is one of the vets here. He looks after everyone who is hurt.” Patton gestured minutely towards Roman’s chest, “He put those bandages on you. They will help you to get better and stop your injuries hurting and getting dirty, so it is super important you don’t try to pull them off. Is that alright? Thumbs up if it is, thumbs down if not.”

Roman gave a thumbs up without even thinking of the ramifications. Patton leaked a pleased smile. The emo nightmare shifted slightly to slip his hand into Roman’s. They listened carefully for more instructions.

“Good job kiddos!” Patton praised. Roman was doing a good job! Roman wanted to do a good job. “Good job…” Patton cocked his head as though trying to remember something, “What are your names?”

Roman tried to ride the wave of confidence Patton’s praise had given him, but still the words died in his throat… his owners had called him many things, which name did they want him to say? He personally preferred Roman, a name from a game of make-believe he had played many years ago.

“Your paperwork called you ‘Princey,’” Logan’s soft voice cut through Roman’s spiralling thoughts, “Can you give us a thumbs up if you are happy to go by Princey, thumbs down if you want to be called something else.” His voice was deep and grounding.

Roman raised a thumbs up. He could go by that. It wasn’t his name, but he could go by that.

“Good job Princey. And if you decide you want to change what we call you, you can tell us anytime.” Logan smiled, and Roman felt hope rise in his chest fiercely. These humans didn’t force him to speak, and might even respect his name. He squeezed Anxiety’s hand, and received a small squeeze in return.

“And do you have a name kiddo?” Patton asked kindly, his gaze focused on Dark-and-Stormy’s feet. He froze up completely, what little calm he had had vanquished by the direct question.

Anxiety had a name. But whereas Roman had the voice to tell his emo compatriot his name, Panic!AtTheEverywhere had never spoken, not to humans, and not to Roman.

“They used to call you Anxiety.” Logan spoke again, and a pained expression flitted across Patton’s face. At the sound of the nickname, Dark-and-Stormy nodded frantically, starting to shake in his effort to answer the question non-verbally.

“Ok, we can call you that for now. I can see speaking a little too much today, which is absolutely fine. We can sort it out later, don’t worry.” Patton gave another smile. Anxiety stopped shaking, and seemed to zone back in, his hand clammy in Roman’s own.

“Ok kiddos. I know things must be very different from before, so I just want to explain what is going on.” Patton smiled reassuringly. “You are both here now because your old owners can't look after you anymore, so you are going to be living with us at the centre for a while. Lots of pets come here for help when they are sick or if their owners are bad to them. So we are going to try to make you feel welcome here.”

Logan nodded in agreement.

“First off, I see you have a plenty of food in your bowl.” Patton turned slightly to Logan.

“They have some pieces of chicken in there, and peanuts, and some spinach. Lots of energy rich food to help you heal and put some weight back on.”

“That is really great Logan! And how much do they need to eat?” Patton focused on Logan. Roman was glad that the humans weren't staring in his direction so much anymore.

“It would be very good if they can eat most of that by this evening. And we will come along to top it up before night, so there is no need to ration.”

All that by night! And then more food after it! Roman’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He had limited himself to only a few unnoticeable pieces earlier, but if they were actually allowed to take it, nay, encouraged to take it…

Once upon a time, their owners had fed them. Back when Roman had tried to be a good pet, play along being the prince in the kid’s stories. But after a while his owners had got bored of them. They had forgotten to feed them, and had often got mad when Roman had begged for food. Didn’t stop him from trying -that was why he had so many more scars than the Emo Nightmare- but he also learned that even when they offered food, sometimes it was a trick. They would wheel away, leaking sloppy laughter, their pupils barely pinpricks as they flicked a cigarette into his feathers. The last week had been particularly bad, and even though these humans seemed nothing like his owners, the fear still curdled in his gut.

There was a very simple way to see if Patton and Logan’s words were true.

Roman patted Anxiety's hand, their gesture of ‘I’ll be right back.’ The Emo Nightmare stared right back and held on tighter, ‘Are you crazy?’ painted across his features. ‘I need to.’ Roman said in that silent language that they had relied upon in the house of fear where nothing could be relied upon but each other. Anxiety’s grip went lax, and his eyes vacant. He did that sometimes when he was scared. And though Roman didn’t want his friend to be scared, this was something he had to be sure of, or he too would drown in the uncertainty of What Was and Was Not Allowed.

Roman took a deep breath and stepped forwards.

The humans watched him. Patton’s head was tilted curiously, and Logan was looking sideways at him. They did nothing to curb his audacity.

He reached the bowl, gripping the ceramic edge.

“That’s right kiddo, you can eat anything you want.” Patton’s voice was soft. He seemed to know that Roman’s confidence was on a knife point.

Roman picked up a cube of chicken and held it up questioningly.

“A nice piece of chicken. It’s for you.” Patton spoke again, allowing, encouraging.

Roman took the tiniest bite, chewed slowly, and managed to swallow the morsel despite his throat feeling like it was closing up.

“Good lad,” Patton was soft, so soft, “I think we will leave you two to your lunch now. Eat up, and get a plenty of rest. You are safe here.”

And they left him alone.

Roman dropped to his knees, hugging the piece of chicken. His sobs of relief and tentative hope were as silent as all the tears he had shed in the hellhouse. Within a moment, Dark-and-Stormy was enveloping him in touches, trailing hands through his hair and feathers.

They spent some time passing the chicken between them, ripping off bite size chunks, and it felt like the best food they had ever had; better than the same meat they had sneakily taken from the bowl earlier, as this chicken was seasoned with hope for many peaceful meals in the future. And when it was finished, Roman keeled forwards into his friend’s embrace.

Later, they would eat more. And even later Roman would test the boundaries yet again, see if he could speak and sing and play.

But for now, he let himself sleep.

I promise I will start being nice to everyone! Soon. I swear.

My very lonely taglist XD

@kieraelieson

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sanders whump #whump #wingfic #tw animal cruelty #tw food

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Ridikulus Pt 25

…

** In Rohan **

Through the door Thranduil traveled after rinsing off and redressing to his status again, drawing the eyes of the Men around the overlook at his arrival from the curious lone door. A steady inhale later the King walked alone into the open main hall where he found the Rohirric Lords comparing their dress robes for the evening ahead. Grins spread on their faces when they turned to welcome the Elf King bowing their heads to him before Thengel approached asking, “King Thranduil, come to greet us on your own? We had hoped to see your new Queen in the sunlight confirming if her blue hair was a result of our mead.”

Thranduil replied steadily, “My Queen is at home with her daughter and newborn brother while her family celebrates the finalization on the construction of Dale.”

Thengel raised a brow, “A daughter? How old we have a fine bunch of ponies we could add to the mix of her gift.”

Thranduil smirked replying, “Nearly two, in August, I believe.”

Thengel, “Yours?”

Thranduil, “No. Her former fiancé.” Raising the Man’s brow, “He was a comfort to her in the wars they escaped by falling here. He has since remarried and just had four children birthed by his new bride the other day.”

“Four?” Thengel rasped out and Thranduil nodded, “He has not cast off the Queen’s-,”

Thranduil shook his head, “No, in fact she gave her blessing on their union and treasure each other’s friendship in raising their child.”

Thengel was unable to keep from smiling, “Too young for a pony then,”

Thranduil, “However three young boys are also in her charge. All amply sized for a pony of their own.”

Thengel’s smile deepened, “How are the Queen’s stables? Our herds do demand a certain maintenance to their dwellings as you know.”

Thranduil, “In truth, the Queen has only ridden three times,” dropping Thengel’s jaw, “My Elk twice and Lord Glorfindel took her on patrols with him on his horse.”

Thengel, “Is that due to her status in her old home?”

That drew all eyes to him making the Men group closer in shock. “Her life was greatly limited to the city, far more like Gondor than Greenwood or Rohan. She was limited to traveling on her Dragons.”

Thengel, “Dragons?”

Thranduil nodded, “She has two sharing her home. Part of why she was chosen to aid in reclaiming Erebor.”

Lord, “They would not be crossing into our borders would they?”

Thranduil shook his head, “No, her Dragons abide by strict laws. All but her two dwell in their chosen dwellings in the Mountains of Angmar, which were cleared of all other former dragons unwilling to abide by their laws, mainly all of them. The pair do not leave her lands, rarely leave her home in fact.”

Halmar, the Man that you had punched with a telling black bruise on his cheek asked, “Why would they not leave her home?”

Thranduil, “They were taken from their nests, she rescued them and granted them safety.” His hand stretched out to the Lord offering him the candy eyeing the bruise on his face, “My Queen asked me to offer you this, to heal your face.”

He blinked a few times then accepted the candy stating, “I cannot see how this will heal my face.” Eyeing the shining wrapper on the square candy.

Thranduil, “Unwrap it and eat it.”

Halmar eyed it then found the seam in the wrapper before unwrapping it and timidly placing the candy in his mouth and swallowed it then tried to ignore the tingling in his face just moments before Thengel gripped his chin and turned his face. All at once the bruise lightened and faded away as well as the swelling around his eye making the Men gasp then glance at the Elf King who merely raised a brow when Thengel asked, “Simply a schoolteacher?”

Thranduil smirked replying, “As I said, it is a school for Isitari. Who also happens to own a shop with her twin brothers selling healing tonics and defense items now moved to Dale.”

Thengel smirked stating, “We shall have to reconsider our choices for steeds then, something far finer must be chosen.”

Thranduil drew in a breath stating, “That is why I am here. My Queen shared her favorite breed discovered in books from her former home and I hoped to aid in the search.”

Thengel grinned taking a few steps close to Thranduil peering up at him then said, “We should get searching then. And we should also discuss possible dates for our young ones to get together.” He glanced at his Cousin’s face, “Your Queen is quite lax on those who insult her. We had imagined your passing on her demands for greater punishment.”

Thranduil smirked, “You will find my Queen to be quite, surprising. I doubt your Cousin intended to insult her.”

Thengel nodded with a chuckle, guiding him to the open enclosures in the pastures around the small city filled with various breeds of horses and ponies. “He never does.”

When they stepped out to the overlook into the open breeze again Thranduil stated, “Besides, considering her people were at war not two months past insults were often followed by attacks,” parting Thengel’s lips again, “Restraint and evening tempers are becoming more common by the day. Very rarely is she quick to harm others out of being provoked into it. Our temperaments at first were quite at odds to be honest. Such varied cultures we grew from.”

Thengel chuckled answering, “I can imagine,” glancing off to the path Ted had helped a group of Men down to aid in repairing an old fence hours prior hoping he would return soon not to miss the chance to return to his lost family.

Thengel asked at the edge of the largest enclosed pasture, “What sort of horse does your Queen prefer? A racer, a dazzler, or would demeanor win out over beauty and speed?”

Thranduil brought out your sketch Thengel looked over in awe at the trotting marvel of a sketch, “Feathered hooves and speckled coat are the breed’s main attributes. I have never witnessed one myself, but if I could find one close enough I am certain she would adore it all the same.”

Thengel grinned peering at the King, “Speckled and feathered? Is she aware feathered breeds are known for their strength, not speed?”

Thranduil glanced at him, “I do not believe so, but either way she shares our Elven weightless qualities. That should ease a difference, though we will not be racing our steeds, merely easing her into caring for a steed, a work horse should aid that greatly.”

Thengel nodded, “Yes. It should.” He motioned his had guiding Thranduil over towards the smaller pasture with the taller stockier breeds. “You are in luck, our fences broke year before last’s breeding season, nearly doubled our herd for carriages, wagons and tilling. A few unique coats have appeared in our herds again from it.”

Instantly Thranduil’s eyes shifted from the dark brown and black horses shifting to allow the pair past on to the tan and grey horses before a trio caught his eye with the younger being nudged away from the larger of the three, “Those three, would one be available?”

Thengel grinned stating, “The elders are our plow pullers. Are not overly friendly in how the Easterners treated them. Even to their granddaughter. We just started socializing her with the bridle and back straps last month, should adjust fairly easily to a saddle.” He grinned as Halmar moved at Thengel’s signal and nod to guide her away from the herd into the stables to be washed and primped for being measured for a proper saddle set later. “Now, those boys, we have some nice sturdy spirited ponies, should remain a decent size for them to handle even if they are Elven boys.” Thranduil glanced over catching his amused smirk, “Also speckled, though in white and brown.”

Thranduil turned his head watching the pen of ponies trotting around and eyed the trio he was referring to, “They should do nicely.”

Thengel nodded and patted him on the back, “I am glad. And should you ever find yourself in need of another steed, or if your Queen has trouble rearing her mare or ever wishes to breed her let us know.”

Thranduil nodded then turned watching the trio also be taken to be bathed while over hearing the conversation of the Men in the stables.

Halmar sighed brushing the Mare’s mane free of any debris, “I just cannot manage it.”

Hamma his Brother gripped his shoulder gaining his attention, “You can do it, you just have not found the right woman.”

Halmar, “Each woman so far has struck me or left cursing me.”

Hamma’s brow twitched up in an idea, “You always treat the horses better than the women you converse with.”

Halmar, “Hamma, that-..”

Hamma raised his hand, “Hear me out. Simply try imagining the woman you are speaking to is a horse and see if it goes better. You just need to get past that first interaction and I am certain you will manage a courtship.”

Halmar sighed again, “I will try.”

The sight of a returning wagon made Thengel smirk and after a cunning stop to show off the Queen’s sketch the break was just enough to grant Ted enough time to rush up the steps after the Elf King a pair of Men had spent the past few minutes trying to flag the exhausted blonde down to notice. Inside the main hall however Thranduil stated to Thengel, “Should your own Queen require aid in her birth do not hesitate on sending us word. The returned Isitari do have quite extensive healing potions and medical knowledge should her discomfort grow.”

Thengel’s grin deepened and he shook the Elf’s hand, “I thank you, and your Queen for the offer. I shall share word with her, allowing her own judgment on the matter. Our own Healers have been slaving to her comfort as they should, we all wish for healthy child and mother as always. It is pleasing to hear your kin have so many children to fawn over,” smiling wider as he lifted his little girl to his hip, “If only your Queen’s daughter was older,”

Thranduil chuckled lowly nodding his head in return to the girl’s accepting the flower she offered him, “Princess Em is almost to your dear sunshine’s size,” parting the Man’s lips, “Their children age closer to Men’s, she will soon be in want of a pony of her own to join her new brothers. By all means, bring along your Princess if you wish, she will not be in want of friends.”

Thengel chuckled again, “Good to hear, safe travels.” Bowing his head in Thranduil’s turn back to the overlook and waiting door. Straight up to the distracted Elf King a tall blonde raced after him with eyes darkening from blue to their natural brown.

Tonks in her own determined race inhaled sharply to shoot up the final set of steps to the link to her home and family now being used by that oddly familiar broad shouldered blonde. A subtle pat of her pocket assured her hidden bag was in place and after the King she raced when a familiar doorway opened.

Her hand on the door held it from closing making the blonde pause with a flinching grin seeing the tall blonde shift to a short pink haired woman who latched onto his chest tightly. “I don’t know you, but, thank you! I’ve been looking for this door everywhere!” In her pull back she missed his full blush looking over the stranger who just hugged him noticing the group of Men watching open mouthed, “Wait, how do I know you…Never mind, thank you!” Darting away through the short hall into a garden surrounded clearing she hurried.

The small circle she turned in ended with Lindir saying with a bow of his head, “Queen Jaqi.”

Turning around his lips parted noting the similar features on the vastly different woman making his cheeks begin to prickle at his mistake, and Tonks asked, “You know my cousin? Where is she?”

Lindir wet his lips and pointed to the set of archways making her smirk and trot over inspecting the markings, the one she believed to take as your chosen plot of land for your home she raced through.

Chuckling to herself she crossed the vast stretch of green to the distant Black Manor growing closer by the step. Straight through the gate she shot and the front door after, leaving her muddy boots by the door to skid her way up to the nursery. Wide eyed Draco on his brief watch while you were changing looked up, trying to settle his own thoughts on how to bring up the necklace he had made for Astoria as a marker of their next step towards a possible proposal in the future. Their future all the brighter after the effects of her blood curse had ceased entirely along with those of the Lycan infected Wizards.

His mouth dropped open in Tonk’s lean over the first crib to smile at groggy Teddy who reached up instantly in seeing her, “Mum,” Up to her chest she lifted the boy cradling him in her arms.

Draco, “Where-,” He stepped closer giving her a gentle hug.

When they broke apart she answered, “I landed near Rohan.”

Draco, “Do they have horses? Jaqi kept hearing horses in her dreams lately and she just traveled there last night.”

“They do. And had I not been detained in Gondor trying to see maps to find you lot and where you might have set up. Remus is here?”

Draco wet his lips and turned to the doorway seeing you enter mumbling, “Tonks.” She turned and in a teary eyed hug the three of you melted into until Molly entered squeaking and sputtering demanding her own hug stirring a wide eyed gaze over the usually off put family friend to her exuberant ways until Tonks smiled at you and Draco motioning your hands around your bellies explaining her overly emotional ways.

Comfortably in shorts and a sideways baggy t shirt you raised Fin from his crib parting Tonks’ lips making her point and say, “Now, I have not been gone nearly long enough for any of you to have had a baby!” In a weak giggle at Draco’s hurrying off to join Astoria for the celebration in Dale when you reminded him of the time she listened to you on all about Romilda and Harry and everything else while you settled the little ones in the theater and gathered ample snacks for yourselves and she cried out, “Remus is Minister?!”

Through the open hall Thranduil watched the Men dart inside shouting, “Ted’s a woman! With pink hair!” Inhaling sharply the Elf King’s heart began to thunder and his eyes prickled at his step into the darkened hall closing the door off behind himself freeing a tear to streak down his cheek. A single moment in an unwelcome and uncalled for embrace of a stranger had tarnished his promise to be entirely yours and never touched by another. Now he had to go and break the news to you and beg for your forgiveness and accept the vast step back in your favor and trust he would have to win back again.

In your weak giggle Em gasped and climbed down from the couch making you turn to the door seeing her rush to Thranduil calling out, “Dew Drop!” Hugging his leg tightly only making another tear fall down his cheek in her look under his robe and behind him for the boys or Legolas. “No boys?”

Lowly you mumbled patting Molly’s arm, “I’ll be back, start without me.”

She nodded and as you stood walking over with Fin’s sling secured across your chest his eyes rose from Em to you in another inhale and you said, “Em, the boys are with their Gran, maybe we can invite them over for the next film. How’s that?” She nodded and you patted her back saying, “Enjoy the film, be back in a bit.” Quickly she darted to the couch and in a quick wave from Tonks his lips parted seeing her holding Teddy then his gaze fell to your hand in his guiding him down the hall. Silently dreading the recoil of your touch from his hand once you heard how he had been tarnished but he made certain to release your hand once you were alone.

Into the empty sitting room you led him and he asked in his unsettling rise of his panic once again, “That woman?”

“My cousin,” you giggled out, “She didn’t tell you? She said she was in Rohan all this time, I thought you’d had met.” Another tear fell down his cheek and you stepped closer asking, “What’s wrong?”

Sharply he inhaled and said, “Perhaps we should sit,”

He moved over to the nearest fainting couch and sat down peering up at you as you stepped closer, “No one’s sick?”

He shook his head, “No,”

“No one’s hurt?”

In a slightly weakened tone he replied, “No.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“Please sit, what I have to say, is quite, vexing,” In a soft sigh you moved to curl a leg up and sit across his legs he closed to secure your seat while your hands settled on Fin’s back at his slumbering grumble.

“What’s wrong?”

Timidly in a low tone he spoke, “I was to return from Rohan, when I found myself-, no.” he cleared his throat, “It appears your cousin has not been entirely truthful in our meeting. I do detest having to correct the matter, and call her statement into question. However the truth must be spoken.” Your eyes delved into his seeing true hints of fear in them, “I passed through the door your cousin held open, there was a man, who turned into a woman. For a moment I had imagined it might have been you, with her bright hair. Only,” after a moment’s pause he stated, “She embraced me,” Your brow twitched up a moment and he swallowed saying, “I am prepared to do what is necessary to return to your good favor and pay for the transgression. I am thrown entirely at your mercy.”

Inhaling steadily you looked his face over and you asked, “Entirely at my mercy?” To which he nodded and you shifted your right leg over his to straddle his lap stating, “Alright then, if you are expecting punishment then close your eyes.” He did and you rolled your eyes in a grin splitting across your face you took a moment to control again and ease your fingertips across his cheek parting his lips slightly while his mind whirled at what you would do and his eyes had to be shut.

All the same firmly your lips met his and ensuring Fin wasn’t disturbed your hand aided his head in tilting to continue the kiss he melted into with another tear streaking down his cheek. The sudden dart of your tongue between his lips parted his eyes for a moment only to clamp his eyes shut again in the glide of your fingers into his hair at the back of his head urging his arms around your hips to keep mindful of the boy. A stunned groan came from the King’s parted lips at the start of a pant for air and his eyes opened but nearly shut again at the plant of your lips against his cheek as your fingers trailed along the side of his neck under his collar.

Breathlessly you stated ghosting your lips along his cheek, “You brought my cousin home to her son and Remus. And you expect me to punish you for that?”

“She embraced me,”

“As she should have,” you added with another press of your lips just in the corner of his jaw. “If she hadn’t, trust me I would have tackled you for it in a hug of my own.”

When your face came back into view his eyes sank to your lips and hungrily his lips found yours gaining a muffled giggle at his tongue delving to tangle with yours again in his hand nestling in your hair in return. For a few glorious moments he relished the enamored expression of lust and adoration for you and gladly withdrew at the next grumble of the child between your chests. His eyes fell to the strands of hair you pulled from his across his chest out of Fin’s face to lay over Thranduil’s back. The continued downward glance of you from allowed him to steal a press of his lips to the tip of your nose followed by another gentle kiss on your lips.

Lowly he hummed a breath from your lips, “I will never betray you.”

A swipe of your thumb across his cheeks had you saying, “I know that. And next time a relative of mine tries to hug you and you don’t want them to just fake a sneeze,” making him smirk as you giggled to yourself, at Em’s call for the opening credits ending he stole another kiss and helped you up onto your feet.

“My Darling Starlight, I shall leave you to your night in.”

“Hopefully not very long, don’t forget Em asked if the boys might come by, Leg too for the next film if they can. I know Taule has them. I do hope she won’t mind.”

Thranduil chuckled to himself, “I will fetch you the boys. She will love your films. No doubt it would grant me a chance to spend the evening with her myself while Glorfindel aids in some minor hiccups in our new patrols in Amon Lanc.”

“That bad?”

He sighed softly, “If it keeps up I might have to move myself back there and allow Legolas charge of the Northern Palace.”

With a sigh you replied, “Well, if it ever gets too bad, I could always move the North a bit more South,” making him smirk again.

“Or perhaps,” he smirked with a plot in his gaze, “I might extend an invitation to young Haldir to help whip them into line. Often I have caught whispers in my stay in Lothlorien on how tedious the patrols had been even before your barriers. Far from troubling, mind you, to keeping his courtship to your sister.”

“It is your kingdom, if it would help and Celeborn and Haldir wouldn’t mind I don’t see the trouble. I hope I could be more helpful.”

With a smirk he replied, “If need be I will give Lindir his wish and move him out as well.”

“He wants to move?”

Thranduil kissed your lips again and stole a brush of his finger against the top of Fin’s curl coated head saying, “All to be closer to your astounding family. Enjoy your night.”

Back to your spot you went leaving the King to his plotting with Fin and Em settled against you until the boys hurried in and scrambled to join you. Lasting for another two films before they fell asleep and Legolas helped Tonks carry the boys up to a spare bedroom beside yours with two Queen sized beds inside next door to the nursery at the rumble of a threatening storm outside. Looking around the Prince grinned accepting the offer to sleep there as well if he wished, gladly reclining in the cozy home free of being woken from any odd sounding commotion in the prepping for the upcoming celebration. Here he could help you with the little ones and allow his father and grandmother ample time to reconnect.

True he did love having his father’s attention as he always had, and having siblings to threaten that should have bothered him, at least until you had fallen into their lives. Awkward and curious, surely you wouldn’t be his mother, but already he felt such affection for you and absolutely adored how you had striven to protect the boys and even his wishes not even mentioning with Em. Always considerate of his own time with and dependence upon his father, even encouraging Thranduil to be publicly open with affections for his oldest son. The embodiment of the woman he had hoped and dreamed up for his father to aid in rebuilding their kingdom and help their people thrive while possibly making his father happy again, now so much more than all he had dreamed up.

He had hoped for the infamous One to arrive but more siblings, and such a number of them was never assumed. Even in having to wait until they were fully grown he loved them all the more as it reminded him of all he had experienced and dreamed at their ages. Out of his outer shirt and boots he laid in the bed grinning at the trio asleep in the bed across from his while hearing you reading Em to sleep in the nursery next door, steadily feeling his eyes droop shut as well to the story he hoped to finish later.

The ages parting the King and his mother had all but faded away sharing all that had passed between them. Even in the separation of father and son as well as husband and wife they had found comfort that Elves had returned and there could be hope to see him again if he and the Valar had so chosen for him. It did nothing to dim the future the new fully bustling kingdom had shown promise in bringing a great peace for all of the realms in this new beginning.

While the night grew on Taule claimed another tight hug bidding her son good night to sleep and ready for the next day she treasured the thought of watching the trio of boys soon to be added as her grandsons. It was shocking to hear how shortly you had been courting but all the same the group of children helped to bolster hope for a speedy union between you three to offer some stability in the family unit allowing her a chance to grow closer to your daughter as well.

In her absence a midnight stroll found Celeborn guiding Tindi through her evening stroll with her last feeding before bed and Thranduil grinned glancing down at the grunting girl folding her hand around her father’s fingers in his turn to greet his friend. A bow of his head had Celeborn stating, “Lovely night Thranduil.”

“It is,” he said reaching out with a grin to cover the girl’s bared shimmering foot with her shifted nightgown keeping a butterfly from landing on it. “Last feeding for the night?”

“Yes, our little Tindoome is feeding quite well and has gained a pound already. Her infancy shall be blessedly brief.” After another glance at her he eyed his friend asking, “Is something troubling you or has your Naneth gone to bed in hopes of preparing another day for your young Princes?”

“I am not troubled, I did however wish to propose an offer to one of your March Wardens.”

Celeborn chuckled stating, “Haldir no doubt. I had wondered on your new patrols. If need be do not question you have use of the three Sons of Halmir to aid in your trainings. Our patrols are quite solidified with ample guards from the First Age to remind our new recruits of the process. Plus, I must admit that I find this circumstance as a place to encourage the move as well to place him closer to his young One. How is the courtship faring of the young Lady, it is Lady? She is sister to Queen Jaqi.”

Thranduil wet his lips and answered, “In the least Lady, though in their old world they were adamant they held no titles, past Jaqi’s and even that is arguable in her stance. Hermione is counted by the Dwarves as a Lady in her relation. For my own notice I do believe young Ginny is comforting to another union again. Their family seems quite at ease in offering Haldir the chance to prove himself to Ginny as a suitor.”

Celeborn glanced at him, “Truly? Hmm, I had imagined courting a sister to a Queen would be quite a difficult feat.”

Thranduil chuckled lowly, “As did we all. I myself imagined it to take quite a greater amount of time to win Jaqi’s favor myself, yet I imagine it boils down to her family belief, ‘there is always room for love.’ It must have been quite a harrowing war to cling so tightly to the light of a new beginning seemingly without fear.”

“I doubt it is without fear. Quite to the contrary I would imagine. I recall the expressions of the men upon our arrival to Rivendell, so similar to those with the Durins, all those terrified children, so long since waking here, even Tindoome, so much fear. I can hardly put her down after her parting so soon with her former family. The loneliness, our Ones, it must be a comfort from such years of uncertainty on whom you are bound to.”

Thranduil sighed, “That did puzzle me. Her dreams, so many on us and the unions of others and to still be so timid, so uncertain, it is agitating to know a fraction of what they have endured. Even Teddy, shift your expression too swiftly and they grow frightened. To seem so happy then one moment of irritation and they would be in tears… All of them to struggle so much and still find so much joy enough to have their children be so troubled by a single scowl. I do not doubt in the short time you have housed her young Tindoome has grown far more certain of her home.”

Celeborn, “Oh yes, it is merely my uncertainty, I will calm. How is your bonding with the young Princess Em?”

Thranduil smirked replying, “She has named me Dew Drop.” Making Celeborn and himself chuckle, “Embraced my leg when I arrived, oh, upon returning from Rohan I discovered Remus’ wife Tonks, well, she discovered me and used the doorway to return to her son Teddy. I imagine Remus is quite pleased to have her back, Teddy was beyond elated, she has bright pink hair.”

Celeborn, “Ah, true to Jaqi’s statement then. Are they quite similar?”

“Jaqi is taller, Tonks’ eyes are brown, she seems more similar to Sirius than Jaqi. Though it is not surprising, Sirius stated she takes more after her Naneth in appearance. But in first glances they are similar, I had imagined it was Jaqi until she stepped back. At least from what I know she was the last lost in the awakening here, with only a single Wizard they deem foolish off exploring on his own.”

Celeborn, “Exploring where?” Thranduil shrugged, “Hmm, I will keep any notice of odd travelers at the forefront of any interactions with the Men.” In a glance to a distant stream he mentally called out to Haldir in his stroll from the archery grounds to his home who turned and joined the Lords and at the offer gladly raced off to share the news with his brothers of their offer. They would keep their family home and commute to Amon Lanc to head the patrols in the morning with his brothers. All of them old enough to remember the old routes and routines to help ease things back into order.

Pt 26

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shesakillerkween

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac

Ridikulus- @long-cosmos-overhead, @partoftheminfamily, @alishlieb

#Glorfindel x Reader OC #Thranduil x Reader OC #HP Crossover

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indianamoonshine · 5 years

Text

CLYDE LOGAN / Nsfw Alphabet

*Aftercare: Clyde Logan adores the ritual you two share after sex. You slide off of him and grab his hand to lead him into the shower. The two of you wash one another with vanilla soap and the hot pink loofah you keep at his house. You wash his hair with gentle fingers, tussling his black locks, and then finish off with milk-and-honey scented conditioner. He does the same for you, except he knows you prefer lavender. He’ll wipe between your thighs to make sure all of his cum has washed off and then smiles down at you once you’re in the clear.

* Body part: Clyde likes his legs because they’re limber but you like everything about him. He begs to differ and coils away from the idea that you could even like - dare he say it? - the false right forearm, cold as iron. He loves your hair and your lips and could spend hours tracing the curve of your mouth with his fingertips.

* Cum: Clyde is a soft, sweet man and this proves true even in bed. He does, however, want a baby (girl) so the two of you have an agreement that he always comes inside. You grab his face when he’s about to break and kiss his nose and cheeks as a silent affirmation. He comes with a grunt - wordless, though enough, and ridiculously out of breath. After, he slides out of you and then lies on his stomach, eye-level with your sex, watches as you pulse, and admired the way his cum drips very slowly out of you. He smirks. “Ain’t no way you’re not pregnant now, baby.”

* Dirty Secret: Clyde really wants you to ride his face. Like...a lot. But he’s too afraid to bring it up. (SOMEONE TELL HIM!!!)

* Experience: Clyde wasn’t a virgin before he met you but it was only once in high school (senior year) after a football game. For someone who’s only gotten laid once, he really knows what a woman wants and he’s very good at pleasing you. After you have sex for the first time, the two of you are lying side-by-side and staring at the ceiling trying to catch your breath. Finally, he just says, “‘S what I was missin’ out on? The bed is much better than the bleachers.”

* Favorite position: You expect Clyde to be strictly vanilla when the two of you start dating, but he surprises you by lifting you into a reverse wheelbarrow position one night. While he does enjoy missionary, he also wants to please you by shaking things up. For him, just being able to watch your face when you come around his cock is enough, but you’re a little adventurous and he knows that. Needless to say, Clyde prefers to see your face when having sex - he enjoys positions where he’s able to kiss you intimately.

* Goofy: Clyde holds steadfast that the secret to a healthy relationship is happy sex. There’s a difference between fucking and, well, having sex as though it’s a chore. The first time, you giggle after he tickles your stomach (a total accident) and he leans his forehead against yours, chuckling along. “S’ funny, baby?” “You’re tickling me!” “You’re so cute, darlin’.”

* Hair: Clyde doesn’t shave, but he does trim. He hates poor hygiene - learned it in the military.

* Intimate: Clyde is such a softie, so intimacy in bed is a must. He loves to kiss your face, your tummy, your thighs. He snuggles against the two of you when you spoon, his hips thrusting against your back, and nose brushing against your hair. “I love you, baby. I love you so much. Don’t’chu ever leave me, ya hear?”

* Jack-off: When you’re away (more than likely visiting family or traveling for work), Clyde thinks about the way your cunt pulses around him before you finish. It’s enough to send him over the edge and he cums with a grunt, your name falling off his lips like a prayer. He wishes it were his seed dripping out of you and not between his fingers.

* Kink: BREEDING KINK. You’re totally into it as well, especially when he hisses into your ear, “Gonna fuck you full, sweet-thing. You’re gonna be soppin’ wet. Love it when your pussy is filled with my cum, darlin’. Gonna put a baby in you.” When you come with a whine, he almost screams.

* Location: Most one of your beds, but Clyde has fucked you in the bar more than once (on the tables, in the bathroom, outside by the trash bins against the brick of the building, and even on the bar itself...)

* Motivation: He’ll fuck you whenever. He adores you. Loves you. But when you wear his t-shirts (and nothing else) he goes absolutely BESERK with want. One night, after a shower, you slip on one of his white-shirts, the water sticking to your skin and allowing your breasts to show against the fabric. He gulps as you lean against the door frame of his bedroom, tits pressed against the looseness of the shirt. He growls, walking towards you, and rips it off of you. “Whaddya think yer doin’ to me, baby?”

* NO: He doesn’t hit you during sex. He doesn’t slap your ass or anything. He hates the idea.

* Oral: Mmm, girl...Clyde loves, LOVES, oral. He loves giving more than receiving. He’s go down on your for hours if he could, but you usually make sure to stop him before you can come. “Please, baby. Just lemme taste you. Just wanna make you come on my mouth. Please...” or, my personal favorite, “love the taste of this pussy, baby...s’ like fruit.”

* Pace: Depends. He enjoys a solid, good fuck, but he also loves the romance of slow, tempting sex. The kind of sex that requires candles and thunderstorms. One day, during a rather tumultuousVirginia storm, the power goes out. The two of you light candles all around the trailer, and he lays you down on a blanket of the living room floor, and simply makes serious love with you. He loves the way your body arches beneath him - how he can slide his hands across your body until he can caress your jaw... (is it hot in here? Lmao)

* Quickie: Clyde hates quickies. He wants to take his time with you. “You deserve it, sweetheart. Wanna please you right.”

* Risk: He’s not a huge risk-taker. He’s too shy for that shit.

* Stamina: The two of you can go at it like rabbits, but only with a break between rounds.

* Toy: He once found your Jack Rabbit (by pure happenstance) underneath your bed in a hat box. “What’s this, baby? This what you do when I’m gone?” You blush, but a curiosity sparks within him. “Show me, baby. I wanna see how it’s done.”

* Unfair (Tease): He doesn’t tease you, but you love to sure as hell tease him. You’ll hike yourself in his lap when he’s watching TV and run your finger down his chest. When he goes to kiss you or slide his hands in your panties, you wag a finger. “Please, baby. Lemme touch you. Wanna touch you so bad. Lemme fuck that pretty pussy.”

* Volume: He’s not very loud, but he loves it when you moan for him, mouth forming into a delicate “oh”. It spurs him on to hear how desperate you are.

* Wild Card: Clyde is - and I cant express this enough - so good at dirty talk. When he says things like, “Gonna fuck this pretty pussy raw” you go absolutely limp. He once mumbled in your ear: “Want everyone to know you’re limpin’ cause of me.” You, um...medically died for a second.

* X-Ray: Clyde Logan has a monsterous cock. When you blow him, you can only do it for a little bit before your jaw feels like it’ll lock. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

* Yearning: Clyde is touch-starved. He wants you all the time. He thinks about it literally 24/7. He loves the way your fingers dance against his skin. He just adores you, omg. Someone help.

* Zzz: Clyde likes to snuggle afterwards. He also loves pillow-talk. He tells you about his childhood and you talk about the stars. When he falls asleep, it’s usually on your tummy.

((((((Clyde Logan is my dream man and I want him to **** me bye))))))

#clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #descent into hell with me!#mw1

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shadowtarot · 5 years

Text

The City That Doesn’t Sleep

Next Part In Shadow Pains. Previous part here

Teddie is heading out of Junes after a long day of entertaining kids in the Food Court. With a large yawn he looks both ways before crossing the street to start to head back to the Hanamura Residence. But as he walks past the Blacksmith’s shop, he notices Yu in the store.

“Hm? Is Sensei getting a new sword?” He asks, deciding to hide behind a pole the best he can to hear what’s going on.

“How do you manage to wear this sword out so fast, kid?” Yu laughs awkwardly as a response to Daidara’s question. “Well, you could always just buy a new sword you know. I’ve made several more since your last visit that I know you’ll put to good use.”

“No, this one means too much to me to replace.” Yu sounds deathly serious as he speaks.

“Well, I’m glad you care about this blade enough to see it not go to waste. Tell you what, kid, let me teach you some Katana Maintenance so you don’t always have to keep coming here for it.” The old man smiles.

“Really? I appreciate it.”

Teddie decides to leave, thinking nothing much of what he saw. Yu was just getting his preferred Katana fixed up is all. Nothing too weird.

Finally making it back to the house, Teddie notices Yosuke waiting for him outside.

Yosuke still had his mind on his talk with Yu that morning. Even when he gave Yu the chance to open up, he wouldn’t. Did he even listen to him? He shakes his head as he sees the round shape of Teddie approaching,

“Took you long enough, Ted. Did you get lost?”

“Sorry Yosuke, I just saw Sensei over at Master Daidara’s and I got curious. But he was just getting his Iai Katana repaired.” The bear sighs.

“Wait...Yu normally doesn’t do that unless he’s planning on going into the TV.” Yosuke’s stoumach twists a bit, and without a second thought he sends texts to the others with the same message.

>Check The Midnight Channel Tonight. Please.

After sending the text, he goes to call Yu. But like his last attempt he only gets his voicemail. Not a comforting sign.

“Yosuke? Is Sensei gonna be okay?” Teddie asks, concerned.

“I don’t know Ted...but lets look at the Midnight Channel.”

Evening rolls in, and each member of the Investigation Team looks at the TV in their bedrooms.

“Why’d Yosuke-sempai want us to watch the Midnight Channel all of a sudden? Did he realize something about the case?” Kanji sighs, shaking his head as he folds his arms.

“Is anything even going to show up? No one was on TV that could have been a target...” Yukiko states, shaking her head. “But there was no short hand. Yosuke must be serious.”

“Senpai never responded when I texted him to see if he knew what Yosuke was talking about...” Rise shakes her head.

The TV flickers a bit, and Yosuke bites his lip. He already knows what’s going to appear in the TV...or at least a vague idea.

A City Scape is shown on screen, lights blinding parts of the screen as a distorted laugh echos through out.

“Huh?! But...who’s connected to this?” Chie looks close at the screen.

“Ladies and gentlemen...I welcome you...to hell. Where freedom and choice is about as real as the bonds forged.”

A sword is heard being drawn harshly from it’s sheathe and the sheathe itself is seen flung into view of the camera.

“This place is a labyrinth of lies, where only the powerful and strong willed can live. I invite you to learn more about it’s inner depths, or die trying. And I know you can’t refuse an invitation from me...Partner.”

The camera finally focuses on the speaker, but there’s too short of time to actually see his face before he stabs the camera with a katana. The broadcast abruptly ends there.

“There are only two people I know of who use that term in Inaba...” Naoto states, shaking her head. “But I should wait to talk about this with the others...”

The team all heads to bed, the broadcast fresh on their mind as the doze off.

As the group all starts to head to Junes the next day, Yosuke is stopped by Dojima.

“Hey, you haven’t happened to see Yu at all today have you? I know the two of you are friends so I was just wondering if...”

Yosuke shakes his head. “I’m sorry Officer Dojima, but I was just under the assumption he was too sick to leave the house today.”

“With the constant reports of missing person’s cases, I can’t help but worry. If you find anything out, please let me know.” Dojima walks off after that.

“...so he really is in the TV then...” Yosuke sighs, putting his headphones on as he keeps walking.

The others are already at the Food Court on the roof of Junes, everyone looking worried when they notice Yu isn’t there.

“Is everyone here?” Yosuke asks, taking off his headphones as he sits where Yu normally would. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now...but...Yu isn’t with us at the moment.”

“Yu-kun’s Uncle talked to me as I was crossing the street, saying he never saw him in the house and Nanako-chan apprently mentioned his bed was even still made...” Chie sighs, placing a hand on her cheek. “What’s going on?”

“Given the Shadow in the TV used ‘Partner’ as it’s preferred phrase, it’s quite clear that that was Senpai’s Shadow since Yosuke’s still with us. But he wasn’t featured on TV in any form so, this goes against every previous case so far... ” Rise sighs, shaking her head.

“There’s more to it then just that. Yu-senpai already has Izanagi...so why would his Shadow appear suddenly?” Naoto states. “From my understanding, you need to face your Shadow to gain a Persona correct?”

“Except...Yu never did...” Yosuke finally speaks, folding his arms over his chest. “Remember when we hunted those Treasure Hands? Yu was suddenly in pain during it.”

“But didn’t he say he didn’t know why he was hurting?” Yukiko asks, tilting her head.

“Yeah...because he was hiding the truth from us.”

This causes the whole group to go deathly quiet, allowing Yosuke to speak again.

“I spied on him after he asked for some space...and I found out what it was. Izanagi’s...been hurting him. Maybe even killing him..because somehow, he never faced himself...”

“And you’re only telling us this after he’s already gone? You could have told us from the start, Yosuke-senpai.” Naoto glares a bit.

“I...needed to make sure it wasn’t something else. So yesterday...I talked to him one on one...and the way he was acting told me all I needed to know. I told him that he’d need to face his Shadow at some point...but...” Yosuke sighs, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect it to be so soon...”

“Well we should go save him right?” Teddie flaps his arms, looking at everyone. “The more time we waste the more danger Sensei is in!”

Moving quietly and quickly, the group heads into the TV where Rise begins to scan the area.

“Any luck finding that area?” Yosuke asks, cleaning his glasses before putting them back on.

“Yeah, it’s in the south western portion. We should hurry.”

The group rushes over and finds a steel gate leading into a crowded looking city...that looks very familiar to Yosuke.

“Aw geez, of course it’d be a city...” Chie sighs, shaking her head. “Well should Yosuke take the lead then?”

“If that’s alright with everyone...” Yosuke states, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go in. Our leader’s trapped somewhere in here.”

#persona 4 #Teddie #yu narukami #yosuke hanamura #Kanji Tatsumi #Rise Kujikawa #chie satanoka #yukiko amagi #naoto shirogane #ryotaro dojima #shadow pains

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years

Photo

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Karli!

You have been accepted for the role of ANDROMEDA TONKS! I really enjoyed how you didn’t shy away from showing us how much Andromeda’s upbringing not only shaped her but continues to influence her today, and how choosing to leave her family wasn’t an instant (magical, heh) cure-all for her messed-up beliefs and prejudices. I think her perspective is going to make for a fascinating addition to the game!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Karli

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: CST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Same as current

ANYTHING ELSE: Nothing - but anyone reading this, know that I will not be part of the decision for Andromeda’s application. This will be outsourced to the other admin.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Andromeda Tonks (née Black)

AGE: 29

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cisfemale. She/Her. Andromeda would just give you a look if you were to ask about her sexuality before saying with a bit of ice that she has a husband, thank you very much - but the truth is, her sexuality has always been a bit more fluid than that. She can recognize the way a woman’s curves can be beautiful, with a slight desire to be touched. She doesn’t stray from seeing that beauty - but she has never allowed herself to think about being with a woman and probably never would. Even without Ted, men have always gained her attention a bit more. Doesn’t mean there’s not curiosity. (Aka bisexual with a leaning preference towards men).

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: None, I wrote the bio! haha

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Andromeda fits as a Slytherin because of herself - not strictly because of her family. She’s ambitious, shown through her career. She’s been working for the Department of Mysteries for years - a department of the Ministry that typically hires much older wix than when she began. She’s curious and likes to see how things tick. It’s why she began Project Lykos - why she believes in harvesting all the parts of something negative to understand how to make it better. The way she sometimes can see things in a different way makes her creative.

Being raised by Druella made her strong, but also stubborn. She doesn’t back down easy - especially if someone isn’t explaining it to her from a curious mindset. When a person just claims they are right with no external evidence, Andromeda will not come down to their side. It’s why she’s married to Ted - why most of the Order would never trust her, if she were to reach out to anyone other than Sirius.

Though a bit quieter than her outspoken sister Bellatrix, and a bit warmer than the Ice Queen Narcissa, Andromeda can also be mean. She’s not against laughing right at someone’s face because she disagrees with them or thinks they look unsightly. She takes pride in the way she looks, but not overly - she wants to look put-together, after all… not like she’s trying too hard! She can be loving to those she cares for - Ted, Nymphadora, her sisters, her cousins - but is not overly affectionate. People sometimes find her stuck up, but she just finds that weak-minded.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Growing up in the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black meant there were a lot of expectations on Andromeda. She grew up in a house (nearly) full of strong woman - poor Cygnus never truly counted for much, it was Druella who ran the household, though others might not see it that way from the outside - and Andromeda was proud of it. Behind every wizard is a powerful witch, her mother would tell her daughters. Andromeda listened, learned beside Bella and Cissy. And she loved her sisters more than anything because they were hers. They would be together forever.

Druella taught her how to keep her chin up - and how to look down at people while doing so. Andromeda never truly found any harm in doing this for years. She had her father wrapped around her finger - she knew how to mimic her mother’s coy grin. There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a Black - and that knowledge made it easy to grin widely when she joined Slytherin and others stared. Another snake, they would say, the houses mostly united outside the green-and-silver.

She was unashamed, she didn’t care what they had to say about her or her family. Andromeda knew she was better than them - Druella had taught her that. Taught her what it truly was to be a woman. She stayed close to her sisters all throughout Hogwarts, giggled with Narcissa about the ridiculous rumors involving Lucius - hexed anyone who called Bellatrix a nasty name. And, when Ted Tonks caught her eye during their seventh year of Hogwarts (okay, so maybe he’d caught her eye a bit before that, but honestly, he was proper peng!), Andromeda felt guilty not telling them about her crush. They were supposed to tell each other everything!

Andromeda had never planned on developing actual feelings for the mudblo - muggleborn! It was all supposed to be fun… something to get the edge off when stressed about classes and extracurriculars! She was supposed to take what she wanted and let him go - just like Druella taught her! But Ted weaseled his way into her life. Even with that, Andromeda fully planned on ditching him after graduation - love was just love, a silly little thing! - but when she wound up pregnant a month before she ended school, she knew things wouldn’t be so simple.

She told her family - of course she did, she couldn’t keep something like this away from them - and put up her defenses when they revolted. A mudblood? A child? Cygnus seethed, Druella threatened… and Andromeda grew stubborn. She’d been considering a potion to make her not pregnant any longer - it would make things so much easier! - but when her parents demanded and her sisters sided with them, Andromeda changed her mind. Druella had taught her to be a strong witch, after all.

No one told her what to do.

She told Ted they should marry and he agreed and she silently let her world explode with her chin up, looking down at everyone else.

OCCUPATION:

Andromeda is an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. She spends all her time on Level 9, the deepest floor of the Ministry. She has nearly full autonomy in her work - there is hardly any approval needed for projects and there is little hierarchy in the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables have a lot of freedom to research whatever they feel connected to. While many others choose things like love and death and happiness, Andromeda’s most recent project has been a bit more sinister. She became interested in werewolves when she learned about their quick healing process. If there was something in their infection that could heal them, of all people - what could it do for others? Surely there would be a way to harvest the natural side-effects of lycanthropy without infecting innocents.

She’d dedicated the last three years to what now is known (in the department, of course, nowhere else) Project Lykos. Sometimes this means a bit of field work after full moons - looking for dead half-breeds, bringing in their bodies as subjects. She has consulted with St. Mungo’s to collect samples from live, registered werewolves. And things are going well. She believes she is close to making a break. Potions are easier - but there must be more that these creatures can help with.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Andromeda is an affiliate of the Order of the Phoenix. It’s a recent thing - after she started seeing more of her cousin Sirius, who is very obviously a member of the rebellion (how the Ministry hasn’t caught him is beyond her!) She doesn’t know what made her start to help - mostly passing information, bits and pieces… nothing too important from her department yet - but she was bored. This hadn’t been where her life was supposed to end up - with a husband and a daughter since she graduated Hogwarts!

She doesn’t really have any passion for the Order, but it’s keeping her curious mind at bay. What are they doing? How are they doing it? Is any of it really working? (She thinks the latter question is a no, given the Dark Lord has only risen in his ranks, while Sirius says people keep dying in the Order). She would like to become more involved, if only because she wants to know these things. She’s not worried about the repercussions - she’s a Black at heart. She’ll find a way out, even if she ends up getting herself entangled.

SURVIVAL:

Ted and Andromeda live in a nice little cottage in a half-muggle, half-Wizarding town only a floo away from the Ministry. For the last eleven years, Andromeda has been the only one bringing in money for their family, while Ted stayed home with Nymphadora. Her little daughter could sprout whatever sort of body part she wanted, after all - they couldn’t exactly keep her in public! Andromeda is used to more lavish things, but what she has now is alright too (okay, so, she likes looking at the glittering objects in shop - doesn’t mean she plans on buying all of them!)

She survives because of her blood status and her family ties. Ted survives because of his protection through her. Nymphadora survives through her mother and school. They have been able to stay under the radar for the most part because the Dark Lord isn’t keen on spilling pure magical blood. Ted may be more of a target than she - but they’ve made it work. She has her job, which pays incredibly well (though it’s no Black vault) and she has Ted (who is a fine husband, all considered) and she has her daughter (something she never asked for, becoming a mother, but loves all the same). Compared to many other people, Andromeda has it easy.

RELATIONSHIPS:

(All of these are just ideas that can be changed once discussion with players has happened!)

Andromeda’s main connection is to Ted Tonks. She loves him, of course, but it’s not that desperate sort of love they once had. When they were sneaking around at Hogwarts, meeting up in the stacks of the library, letting him touch her underneath her robes… that was undeniable passion. Once upon a time, Andromeda had lust for her husband - now she’s stuck with old married love and the occasional scheduled shag because it’s Tuesday. She doesn’t know Ted has joined the Order - he’s already decided to get a job! - and she doesn’t plan on telling him about her decision to help out her wayward cousin. It puts a dull on things - a strain. But she’s not cheating on him or anything. That’s something in her world!

Sirius Black is the person from the Order she speaks to most. No one else really knows she’s helping out - but she meets up with Sirius once every other week to pass along information. He’s been trying to convince her to take the next step and join in on a meeting and she’s considering it. Maybe there’s a bit of Gryffindor in her, after all! While Andromeda wouldn’t say they’re particularly close any longer, Sirius is family. And since she can’t have Bella or Cissy, he’ll have to do.

(The next few things are for when she becomes more involved in the Order and sees who else is there…)

Andromeda doesn’t trust Ainsley Abbott. They girl is hiding something - someone in the Order who’s sister is marrying a Rosier, of all people? Andromeda doesn’t buy it. She also doesn’t bat at eyelash whenever people call her a hypocrite for it (Your sister is married to a Malfoy, Andromeda, come off it!) because she knows she’s right.

Isla Selwyn-Macmillan is a strange addition to the Order, but not an unwelcome one. Finally someone who gets where Andromeda is coming from! And, after all, hadn’t Druella taught her daughters that pureblood witches should be strong, independent women who made their own choices? Isla is just a walking description of that.

Andromeda could care less about Quidditch, but maybe shouldn’t have told Lucinda Talkalot that. After all, the girl is nice, but she really shouldn’t take her name so literally - Andromeda just wanted her to shut up!

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I have no set ships for Andromeda. She is obviously coming into this roleplay married and I’m guessing that will stick around for awhile. There is love for Ted - but that doesn’t mean things will always work out. Her love isn’t very passionate anymore - there is no longer that sort of desperation when they were sneaking around at Hogwarts and she wanted him so badly. He’s still gorgeous, she still feels something. But it’s not nearly as obvious as it used to be and it wouldn’t be surprising to me if someone strayed. They are already keeping secrets from one another, after all.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Andromeda has a lot of privileges - she comes from a white, wealthy, pureblood family. She grew up in classic pureblood society, with one of the most well-known surnames of all time. When she was sorted in Slytherin, no one batted at eye - not like her cousin only a few years later. Even as a woman, though treated differently than her male family members, she was told how important she was - how proud she should be to be who she was. She did not have it hard growing up and didn’t care to really be aware of what it was like to not be her. It wasn’t until Ted that she truly began to understand why things looked different to other people not in her same position. But, even then, it has never truly sunk in.

She knows not to call people mudblood (sure, she slips up sometimes, but it’s an accident!), but doesn’t really get what the big deal is. After all, she’s heard muggleborns say that about themselves before. Ted has! And then there is the money situation. Now that they actually need the money, she’s lost the privilege, but still eyes those expensive toys that she wishes she could have - annoyed she can’t. Ted has helped her see the world in a different way, but old habits die hard. She was with her family a lot longer than she’s been with him and those views still fit with her sometimes. She misses her family - something Ted will never understand - but she left them for him! She left her privilege to make a family and that should be enough.

She’s biased about a lot of things - she’ll never understand muggleborns or why they just don’t assimilate more. She doesn’t realize it’s her blood status that gives her husband protection - not the fact that he can just act like a wizard. Forgets that “acting like a wizard” implies he’s not actually a wizard - which he fully is, just like any other muggleborn.

Half-breeds are beneath her. She won’t tolerate werewolves thinking they deserve more rights when they’re already allowed to kill children. She thinks what they do deserve is a cure - and she’s working on it! - because it’s crass the way they behave otherwise! There’s a lot she doesn’t understand - and a lot she’ll never try to understand.

But, on the other hand, the people that she now surrounds herself with out of necessity don’t get her, either. And they also don’t try to. Instead of trying to help her educate herself, they often shame her - and why would she want to change then? It makes her miss her family more. They, at least, thought she was a person of value.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

What brought me here is that I started this rp! All silliness aside though, I am having so much fun within this roleplay already. The players are amazing - the activity is great! And I just wanted to bring another character into such a wonderful group. I really love all the ideas that flow through the ooc and I’m truly humbled to see this group grow.

What I’m most looking forward to Andromeda, specifically - getting her more involved in the Order, Ted discovering her secrets, the conflict with her family. And the fact that she is still incredibly prejudiced. The Order aren’t a bunch of non-biased saints… I want to show that explicitly with her. Also - they aren’t really teaching her. They’re just lecturing her, berating her, getting angry with her… and that doesn’t create change. If anything, it’ll only make her dig her heels in more. I want to play that out!

PLOT DROP IDEAS: Anything with Andromeda’s prejudice, please! Also, Andromeda getting more inducted into the Order, since we can’t just have Sirius as her main contact!

ANYTHING ELSE? None.

#homenumaccepted #marauders era rp #marauders rpg #bio rpg #harry potter rpg

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fidemcanem · 5 years

Note

❛ ♡ ❜

send ❛ ♡ ❜ to suddenly hug my muse (not accepting) | @eccentricauror

It’s 1975. Nymphadora is three; Sirius is uncertain, and Andromeda is doing the washing up (by hand).

“I just don’t know how much longer I can bear it,” Sirius says glumly, and reaches out to tweak Nymphadora’s nose. She laughs, and he lets her catch his fingers the next time he tries. He doesn’t get to visit often—between school and Walburga, he’s not exactly at liberty—but he never passes up the opportunity. Andy has always been his favourite cousin, and (actual complicated familial ties aside) he’d claimed Nymphadora as his honorary niece almost at once.

Mostly, he’s just sort of sad that he can’t play with her as Padfoot. Andy would go spare, if she found out what he’d done, though, so that’s off the table. Perhaps one day when she’s old enough to promise to keep a secret, and Andromeda and Ted are elsewhere.

“Puppy,” Andromeda sighs—she’s called him that since he was five or six, and the irony isn’t lost on him—and dries her hands off. “You’ve got to stop acting like your mother rules the world. She doesn’t, you know.”

“She might as well,” Sirius mutters. “Until I’m seventeen, anyway. Get off, you little monster, that’s my hair.” Dora laughs again, tugs the handful of hair that she’s caught in her fist, and screws up her nose. All at once she’s wearing Sirius’ hair. He grins down at her, and the fondness in his chest is almost an ache.

“Well that’s only, what? A year away?” Andromeda points out.

“Almost two. Hey, who wears it better?” Sirius lifts Nymphadora so that they’re side by side.

“Mum, I got Sirius’ pretty hair!” his little cousin chimes in. She pronounces his name Sirrus. He kisses her face, and when she squeals, he does it again and again and again, scattering affection over.

“You look lovely, darling,” Andromeda says.

“Thanks.”

“I was talking to Nymphadora. She has less power over you than you think, Sirius.”

“Nymphadora?”

“Stop being deliberately obtuse. Your mother.” She puts her hands on her hips, and Sirius settles Nymphadora onto his lap, hoping that the sight of her own, beloved child might shorten the lecture that he’s clearly about to receive.

No such luck, apparently.

“How do you think I ended up here, Sirius? With Ted, and Nymphadora?”

“Well, one had quite a lot to do with the other, I imagine—”

“Sirius.” He rearranges his features, replacing his lascivious grin with an expression of rapt and somewhat unconvincing attention. Nymphadora squirms in his lap, arms outstretched, and Andromeda scoops her up. “It was all me, Sirius. I didn’t wait for my family to stop expecting me to marry well and play their blood-purity games. I didn’t wait to be allowed. I know it might seem scary, but the only person who can get you away from your mother is you.”

She’s probably right, but Sirius is fifteen and not as brave as everyone seems to think he is, and the idea of standing up to his mother is one that he can’t quite bear. It’s nice enough to imagine—grand gestures and pithy parting remarks—but thinking about the reality of it makes his stomach turn.

“She might still get struck by lightning,” he points out, mutinously. Andromeda sighs, and Nymphadora reaches back out for Sirius. He stands to kiss her head and she latches onto him without warning, tiny hands wrapping around his neck to hold him close. She’ll never feel like this, Sirius knows, and is almost unbearably glad of it.

It’s 1977. Nymphadora is five; Sirius is uncertain, and Andromeda is making a Christmas wreath.

Questionable ‘help’ arrives in the form of Sirius and Nymphadora, hands full of leaves and twigs, other bits and pieces scavenged from the garden that the precocious five-year-old had decided would suit being added to their Christmas decorations. Andromeda looks at the pile and them up at Sirius, who shrugs and grins.

Taking a seat, he pulls Nymphadora up onto his lap with an oof. She’s grown since he last saw her, and today she’s sporting festively red hair, framing her face in a hundred finely wrought curlicues.

“It’s weird,” he says. “Knowing I’ve had my last Christmas at Hogwarts.”

His tone is light, but there’s a fierce and aching sadness at the thought. As they get steadily closer and closer to the end of his seventh year, he finds himself desperately clutching at the days as they pass, unwilling to let them spiral away from him. Andromeda doesn’t miss a trick, and her hand rests—briefly, comfortingly—on his for a moment.

“Next year you’ll get to make your own Christmas,” she says.

“With James and Lily, I s’pose,” Sirius agrees. “If they’re not honeymooning somewhere.”

“Oh!” Andromeda says, delighted. “Are they engaged?”

“Might as well be. ‘Dora, pass me a pinecone, will you?” She leans across the table and takes a long moment to select the perfect one, which she tips into his hand.

“This one,” she says, decisively, and then she watches him with wide, grey eyes as he flicks his wand, and the pinecone shivers and turns a deep red. He hands it back and she laughs excitedly. “Now remember. Red is the best colour.” He tugs at her red hair gently and she looks pleased.

Andromeda, on the other hand, flicks a berry at him.

“You can always come here,” she points out. Nymphadora lights up.

“Yeah!” she echoes. “Uncle Sirius, stay for Christmas!”

“You just want another present,” he says, mock-accusatory. She doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed at the fact, grinning a gap-toothed smile and plastering on her best innocent face.

“Maybe if you didn’t spoil her so much,” Andromeda mutters, but it’s fond.

“Next year, maybe,” he tells her, and is secretly pleased at the invitation. He catches sight of his watch, and grimaces. “Right now, Uncle Sirius has to go and find all the presents he hasn’t bought.” Which, if he’s honest, includes all of them that aren’t for Nymphadora, Andromeda, and Ted, which were all picked up on the way here. Andromeda’s amused look suggests she might have guessed it.

Nymphadora hugs him tight when he says goodbye, face pressed into his leather jacket.

“You smell nice,” she tells him.

“Not as nice as you,” he tells her, and swings her around until she’s laughing, and kisses Andromeda on the cheek.

It’s 1980. Nymphadora is eight and had decided she wants to be called Tonks; Sirius is uncertain, and Andromeda is wearing worry on her brow that wasn’t there a few years ago.

“I just don’t want you to do be reckless,” Andromeda is saying, low and urgent and concerned, when Nymphadora—Tonks—comes charging in through the door, cardigan buttoned up wonky, and long, dark hair streaming behind her. She’s breathless, cheeks stained pink from exertion, and she barrels towards Sirius at a run.

“Uncle Sirius!”

Andromeda’s face is all at once smooth and smiling, as if the conversation they’d just been embroiled in hadn’t even happened. Sirius struggles to switch it off so quickly, but catches Tonks when she hugs him and squeezes her tight.

“Is that your motorbike outside?” she asks. “Can I have a go?”

“Depends,” Sirius says. “Do you want your mother to skin me alive?”

And Tonks turns a hopeful face to her mother who’s already shaking her head vehemently. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Nymphadora—”

“Tonks,” comes the stubborn interruption.

“—when you’re grown up, you can make your own bad decisions.”

“Oi,” Sirius says, indignantly. “Are you suggesting that my preferred mode of transportation is a bad decision?”

“Until then,” Andromeda continues, as though Sirius hadn’t said anything, “I’m vetoing this one.” Tonks stamps her foot and rolls her eyes, and Sirius fishes something out of his pocket; his fingerless biking gloves, dark leather and still new, edges stuff and unyielding.

“Better keep these until then,” he says, and tosses them to her with a wink. She pulls them on—a little big for her hands—and holds her hand up for a high-five. He obliges. “Go on. Go show your dad.”

She takes off at a run. Sirius watches her go with a soft smile on his face, but when he turns back to his cousin, he finds her looking utterly, absolutely wretched.

“Andy,” he says, taken aback at the way she looks like she’s about to cry. “What? C’mon. Promise I won’t teach her to ride it until she’s at least ten.” She half-hiccoughs a laugh, shaky hand rising to cover her mouth.

“I just need you to be careful, puppy,” she says, imploringly. “I need you not to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not doing anything stupid. I can’t just—sit at home and do nothing.” Her expression sours, brow pulling down low and dark, and for a second, she looks every inch a Black once more.

“Like me, you mean?” she demands.

“No!” Sirius reaches out for her shoulder. “Fuck, Andy, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Fuck is a bad word.”

There’s a long, drawn-out moment where they stare at each other in faint surprise, and then Sirius turns to see Tonks in the doorway behind them. She’s got her hands on her hips, and Sirius’ gloves still on, and she’s wearing her mother’s face, every detail perfect but a slightly smaller scale. She’s even got the glare down.

Sirius ducks his head, and chokes down a snort.

“Sirius!” Andromeda hisses, and smacks his arm. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s pretty funny,” he says, his voice a little strained from holding down his laughter. Tonks grins, unrepentant, and it’s clear enough that whatever else she might have inherited, the edge of rebellion that lurks in his and Andromeda’s blood is there, too.

It’s 1995. Tonks is 22, or maybe 23—hard to remember, when so many birthdays have been missed—and Sirius is uncertain.

“You used to look way cooler,” Tonks tells him, with a tremulous smile tugging at her lips.

“You used to be way nicer about me,” he counters, with a hard swallow.

When she reaches up to hug him, to grab him with a fierce relief, he can’t help but notice that she’s wearing leather gloves: fingerless, dark, well-worn. They fit her now, but when he closes his eyes and returns the embrace, he remembers an eight-year old with loose gloves and a mischievous smile.

Certainty settles like snowfall, blanketing and muffling all the doubts and qualms and questions. Everything’s changed, and Sirius barely knows from one day to the next who he’s expected to be, and what he’s expected to do.

But Tonks hugs him, and he knows: he’s lost too much, but he’s still got family.

#eccentricauror #;drabble: m #i've been hugely presumptuous here ok #but i happily wrote sirius tossing tonks his gloves #and then remembered that she's wearing gloves in the movies #then i got deeply distressed that they might be the same gloves #that he'd given her #the last thing she got from him before azkaban #hhhhhh #anyway i hope this is ok #catch me crying on the floor

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tonystarktogo · 6 years

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Five Times The Avengers Didn’t Hunt Down Dean Winchester (And The One Time Thor Threw Him A Party)

For @tangodancer91 and everyone else who was interested, here is the SPN/MCU crossover I’ve promised you all. You can also read it on AO3. All mistakes are my own. Happy reading!

One

It takes all of three seconds for the mission to go completely off-the-rails. Which, granted, isn’t unusual in Clint’s line of work, but fuck, three seconds? This has to be a new record, even for him.

What’s even more concerning though, is the way things have gone wrong. Or maybe batshit crazy would be a better description. Clint mentally notes that down. Coulson always appreciates it when his reports are more detailed than strictly necessary. He might appreciate it even more if Clint leaves out the part where he may have kidnapped a drugged teenager and then proceeded to not bring him to a hospital like common sense would suggest.

Yeah.

This is gonna be one of those missions.

Coulson will be an unbearable pain in the ass when this is all over. Clint just knows it.

It happens something like this:

Not only does Clint’s contact turn out to be a turncoat, who takes him down in a couple of seconds flat — which is just insulting, seriously, Clint is better than that, except apparently he isn’t. He blames Coulson for restoring some tiny shard of faith in humanity in him. ‘Unreasonable paranoia’ his ass — but Clint wakes up in what he at first assumes to be the delightful care of the drug-dealing ring responsible for the newest nightmare on the streets. Sadly, Clint’s initial assessment proves overly optimistic.

Instead of a wanna-be drug cartel trying out new chemical formulas, he’s found himself hanging from the ceiling of an old, abandoned warehouse, among at least six other people, with the growing suspicion that his captors’ true passion lies less in reliving old chemistry classes and more in squishy human experimentation.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

There’s a creepy-as-fuck dude with greying hair, thick glasses, and the stubbled remains of a beard, who’s clearly doing his level best to ace every single crazy doctor stereotype there is. He’s pretty good at it too, Clint has to admit. He’s definitely getting chills just from having the guy standing there right in front of him, close enough to feel the man’s puff of breath on his face —

“Dude, personal space! ” Clint wants to say, but his tongue refuses to cooperate, and what comes out is more of a slurred, “Uhd esual schaze?” Which sounds funny actually, and Clint spends the next minute or two sounding the odd vowels out in his head.

He’s been drugged before, concussed before, but this right now is an odd mixture of clear thoughts and sluggish muscles that simultaneously sets loose a twinge of panic in Clint’s gut, and makes him crack a couple of jokes. Sadly, he’s too out-of-it to share them with the class.

Then again, are creepy scientists even allowed to have a sense of humour? Clint votes no.

— peering at him like he’s some bug under a microscope or something. Clint would be disconcerted — ha, dis-con-cer-ted, he does know big words, suck on that Coulson — by those huge, blue eyes taking him apart, except Clint is confident this guy isn’t gonna like what he finds underneath the mouthy shell that never misses a shot.

People never do.

Used to be, Clint would angst about that like a thirteen year old with his first crush, but it turns out angsting doesn’t actually stop others from leaving you, betraying you, shooting you in the fucking chest — thanks a lot, Barney — and so maybe Clint hasn’t fixed himself so much as pierced the worst pieces of him back together without bothering with the best, cause those were shattered beyond repair, but hey, he’s still standing — metaphorically speaking, considering he’s currently hanging on a rope, and damn, his shoulders are killing him — so Clint doesn’t think anyone can fault him for his methods.

Yeah, Clint is past that crappy teenage angst. It’s high time, too, considering he’s well into his late twenties. But better late than never, right?

Right.

The crazy-ass doctor slaps him. Could be, he doesn’t like being ignored. His type never does. Could be, Clint just has one of those faces.

It’s a hard slap. At least, Clint assumes it is from the way it echoes in the room. A sharp sound that hurts his ears more than his cheek because he still feels vaguely disconnected from his body. What registers the most is the way his head is moved sideways too quickly to be comfortable, his left cheek suddenly smudged uncomfortably against his aching arm.

Clint thinks the doc is talking. Probably asking him some questions.

Newsflash, if you want to interrogate your prisoners, make sure they’re in a state to be interrogated, Clint thinks spitefully. It doesn’t seem like the psycho gets the message though. God, he’s been kidnapped by amateurs. Coulson will never let him live this down.

With his head tilted sideways at a probably uncomfortable angle, Clint gets a good eye-full of his fellow captives. Their bodies have been strung up like Clint, though unlike him they’re also naked. It could be a nice view, if not for the multiple IV lines in their veins, filled with something that doesn’t look look like any medication Clint recognises, the sickly sheen of their skin. Their tattoos are awesome though. For a brief moment, Clint wonders if it would be worth it to stick around, just to get some of that ink himself.

Of course, Coulson would actually kill him. But it might be worth it. The ink even glows in a sickly, blue-ish light. Although that could just be Clint. He’s pretty sure he’s seeing double, too.

Clint blinks. Slowly turns his head back around.

In his moment of distraction, the good, old doc has tripled himself — or not. Clint blinks a second, and third time, before he realises that what he’s seeing are actually the doc and two of his minions. The identical lab coats, totally out of place in a dirty warehouse like this, threw him off for a moment.

Clint doesn’t feel a sting, can’t tell if he’s getting injected with something or his body is simply inevitably shutting down, not yet ready to handle reality. All he knows is that he’s staring into the doctor’s blue eyes, wishing they were hazel or green or brown, even if he isn’t entirely sure why, and feeling the twinge in his uncomfortably stretched muscles that tells him his shoulders are gonna hurt like a motherfucker when he gets out of these bindings, and then the world sort of tilts on its axis, and Clint stumbles, slides, loses his foothold and —

Pain. That’s the first thing Clint registers. For one, breathless moment, everything hurts and it’s all he can do not to trash, not to let his breath hitch, not to tense. Then the first wave passes, and Clint welcomes the sensation instead, lets it flow through him, let’s it burn away the last remains of unconsciousness and haziness. Pain, he knows from experience, is better, clearer, sharper, than the cottony numbness he’s been stuck in before.

Pain is motivation. Pain is being alive.

Clint prefers staying that way.

With his eyes still closed and his face relaxed in apparent unconsciousness, Clint focuses on what his body is telling him first. His upper body is just about killing him, having been strung up for far too-long, especially with the way he’s sagged into himself, forcing his bound arms to carry all of his weight. His toes just about touch the floor, and it’s tempting, so damn tempting, to shift, to stand and let his legs carry some of the weight. But being unconscious is the only advantage Clint has right now, so he grits his teeth and breathes through it instead.

Clint focuses on doing what he does best, second only to taking impossible shots and making them work — and boy is he gonna enjoy shooting these bastards when it’s all over — he listens.

He listens to the soft tap-tap-tap of people moving around him. The advantage of a huge, but mostly empty warehouse: the acoustics are fantastic, Clint thinks with only 60 percent of sarcasm. Five people moving around freely. Probably the doc’s minions, and maybe the doc himself. Clint has no idea how big this operation is. But if it’s limited to one warehouse then it can’t be that huge.

He hopes.

There’s the distinct noise of class vials clicking against each other, the sound of fluids getting mixed, the rustle of machinery Clint associates with hospitals instinctively — he remembers the IV lines now, and wonders what it is they’re pumping into these men, wonders how much time he has before — soft murmurs that he hears but doesn’t truly understand, about mixtures and dosages. He’s got a pretty good idea of what’s going on though. Apparently, all those dead addicts weren’t planned. After all, what’s a druggie worth when they don’t come back for more?

They’re experimenting. Perfecting the composition. Clint doesn’t swallow, but his determination to get out of here surges. He has a very good idea what’s going to happen to him once these people realise he won’t give them whatever answers they’re looking for. And Clint doesn’t fear death, never has, but there’s something about drugs, about losing control, about possibly ending up in one of those hospital beds, unable to do more than drool and stare at the ceiling, that twists Clint’s insides around with unease.

He’d take a headshot over that any day of the week, that’s for damn sure.

Clint is still trying to come up with a plan — he’s got five already, but he needs a damn distraction to free himself first, and besides it’s not like he has anything better to do than think over all his options a seventh time — when he hears it.

There’s a commotion outside, the sound of three approaching footsteps, one of them stumbling. Also cursing.

In the previous quiet of the warehouse, the annoyed, “You’re one hell of a handsy sonofabitch, you know that?” stands out quite drastically.

Clint risks a quick glance, just to confirm that the creepy experimentation club is otherwise occupied. Which they are.

By the loud-mouthed guy, who’s dragged inside by two of the docs minions — at least, Clint assumes that’s what they are— and making his displeasure known. Clint feels something suspiciously like a sliver of uncomfortable foreboding slithering through the cracks between his ribs, where he stuffs all the emotional shit he doesn’t want to deal with right now. Or ever.

Because despite his crass words — which Clint very much approves of — and reckless bravado whilst staring down the crazy doctor, this guy is too fucking young to be in a place like this.

It’s a stupid thought. Clint knows that. He’s seen enough shitty missions that involved people too young to understand the choices they made. Choices that can’t be taken back. Choices that, more often than not, end with their bloody death. Clint carefully doesn’t think about the times he was one to deal out said death. The times he knows he’ll have to do it again.

There’s no true innocent in their world, that much Clint learned long before his descend into the depth of human depravity. But sometimes there’s no true guilty either, and that — it’s enough to turn a man inside out. Enough to break your spirit, enough to fall over the edge of a very, very thin line.

It’s a good thing that Clint has perfected balancing on slim ropes long before he killed his first man. Hard to disillusion a guy when there are no illusions left, and all that.

That doesn’t make it easy to see this — this kid, because that’s what he is, can’t be a day over twenty, and that’s only when Clint squints with both eyes, vision still blurry from a heavy blow to the head. He shouldn’t be here, in this place, anymore than any of the other victims. But it’s easier to see grown men here, and a part of Clint is pleased that he’s still got some of that humanity left. He buries it under the ruthlessness needed to get through this mission. A mission that may not include saving this kid’s life, if it comes down to it.

But Clint isn’t just Clint, hasn’t been since he was sixteen and Barney put a gun in his hand and said ‘Aim for the head.’ He’s Hawkeye and this kid’s fate is out of his hands.

Although his snark — “Personally, abandoned warehouses are more of a third date location, but whatever floats your boat, I guess,” thrown out with a careless smirk that dares the doc to hit him, and shit, this kid’s got worse self-preservation instincts than Clint — is amusing. And helpful.

It’s exactly the kind of distraction Clint needs to finally work himself out of his bindings. Really, who uses rope to tie people of up these days?

Across the room, the kid’s eyes flicker to Clint for a brief moment. Clint immediately stills, but the kid must realise more about his situation than he had first assumed because he immediately focuses his gaze back onto the freaky doctor, features set into the kind of defiance that promises to be amusing and dangerous at once.

Clint isn’t in the least surprised, when the kid’s next words are a whole lot more confrontational than the last. He’d feel a little bad for the poor bastard, knowing that upsetting their kidnappers won’t lead to anything good, but he hasn’t asked for help. And with any luck the psychos will be dead before they can retaliate.

In that precise moment, one of the doc’s minions rams his fist hard into the kid’s gut, causing him to double over — or try to, anyways — with a breathless groan. Clint almost winces in sympathy. Or maybe not, he acknowledges drily.

Focusing once more on twisting his hands free, ignoring the added strain to his shoulders, the burn where the rope digs too deep into his skin, Clint redoubles his efforts.

Across the room, the kid chuckles raspily, which thankfully shuts the mad doctor’s rambling about perfecting heaven for humanity up. Seriously, how did Clint’s ordinary-as-you-please drug case turn into yet another megalomaniac determined to rebuild humanity? That’s what Clint would like to know.

“You talk a great game and all, but this isn’t my first rodeo and you’re just like every other Dr. Markoff rerun I’ve come across,” the kid sneers with an impressive amount of venom. “You talk big about science and advancement and improving human life, but that’s not what this is about, is it. This is about what you can get out of your bullshit improvements, and fuck how many people are gonna die in the process. You may be human, but that doesn’t make you any less of a sick bastard!” The last words are almost a shout, spat out with all the force of a flying fist that lands its intended target. They neatly cover the squeaky sound of Clint’s robe sliding through the metal ring on the ceiling, dropping at his feet.

The kid is good, Clint thinks appreciatively. He’s glaring down the doc hard, with furious hatred burned into his face, struggling against the two minions holding him back. All eyes in the room are on him, this kid that can’t be older than twenty, is bloodied and beaten and not at all afraid — or not showing it, in any case —, standing here in this warehouse, doing whatever he can do keep anyone from noticing Clint’s movements.

Clint isn’t the biggest advocate on teamwork, but when it works, it works. And with this kid, it definitely works. Better than the last time Hill tried to paw off some useless newbie recruits on him, and isn’t that a sad statement for the state of their organisation overall.

Grabbing the biggest knife he finds on one of the nearby tables, which isn’t as big as he’d like it to be, Clint slinks into the shadows.

Taking out the first two guards is easy. They’re both distracted by the kid, and not expecting an attack at all. They never see him coming.

He takes their guns. They’re not an adequate replacement for his bow, but they’ll do in a pitch. That said, the rest of the doc’s people are all standing close by the kid, in a loosely formed circle, watching the show. That’s the downside of the distraction: Clint will probably be able to shoot them all before they reach him — but he won’t be able to do it before they reach the kid.

Clint hesitates. He shouldn’t — his priorities are very, very clear, alright, and the kid doesn’t even make it into the top five — but getting him killed now seems like a waste of genuine talent. And Coulson is always on the look-out for new recruits, so really, Clint would be doing him a favour if he brought home a stray.

Problem being that there isn’t a better, easier way to take his targets out. And damn if Clint isn’t glad that Coulson doesn’t need these guys alive. Usually he isn’t the type to take assassinations personally, but being drugged is a big no-go in Clint’s book. That the doctor makes his skin crawl doesn’t help.

What it comes down to is this: Clint doesn’t have a lot of choices, and no real interest in getting drawn into close combat with anyone else if he can avoid it. His arms feel numb enough as it is — though it’s only a matter of time until he’ll feel the fizzling and burning, like flames greedily licking along his muscles, disintegrating them completely. Shooting will suck. Punching a third person might actually kill him. Or feel like it, at least.

It’s a gamble — the kind Clint doesn’t like at all, involving a life that isn’t his own — but it’s one he’s going to have to take if he wants to make it out of here. If he wants the both of them to make it out of here.

Which he apparently does.

Clint takes in his surroundings more carefully, lines up the first shot. If he’s quick about it — with his protesting muscles he can’t count on it — he can take out two of them before they realise what’s happening. Not the doctor, the kid’s in the way, but that might not be such a bad thing. If Coulson wants to have a chat with any of these guys, it’d be with the brains of the operation.

Clint pulls the trigger.

One of the remaining guards falls to the ground, dead. The recoil almost makes Clint scream. His whole arm is shaking, but Clint pushes through it. Lines up a second shot.

There’s yells and screams. One minion reaches for his gun. Another dives towards cover. Ironically, the chaos serves as the distraction needed to free the kid. Who is moving as soon as he’s got his hands free. Slams an elbow into one guard’s side. Ducks out under the grip of the mad doctor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint notices movement. He throws himself to the left just in time, a bullet whizzing past his ear. He really doesn’t like melees like this. Within half a second the warehouse has become a glorified killbox. There’s only so much skill can do in the utter chaos of such a dangerously contained battle.

Then there’s all the tables with odd, chemical mixtures around them. Clint wonders if they’ll blow up.

At least the kid’s holding his own.

Clint finally gets close enough to tackle the asshole who keeps trying to shoot him. He’s not in top form — pretty damn far from it, actually — but punching the bastard’s face a couple of times makes him feel a little better. SHIELD’s psychologists have no idea what they’re missing.

“Lawrence, watch out!” someone — the kid — shouts suddenly.

Clint responds instinctively, reacts more to the underlying panic than the words themselves as he rolls over the ground. And yup, there’s asshole number four, determined to drive a spear through Clint’s gut.

Clint shoots again. Misses. (Again, not in top form here.) The bullet hits one of the huge glass cylinders on those improvised lab tables instead. It shatters. Glass flies everywhere. Some of the see-through substance hits asshole four, who screams in pain.

Don’t touch weird experimental shit. Good to know.

Another shot hits the writhing man in the forehead. Clint likes to be sure that his enemies don’t get up again in inconvenient moments. Then he’s on his feet again, gun pointed straight at the head-asshole of creepy medicine, who is — predictably — using the kid as a shield.

There’s blood dripping down the kid’s nose and Clint is sure he’s got a whole lot more bruises to show for than half an hour ago, but he’s still breathing. So there’s that. And now they’re here, in the exact standoff Clint was hoping to avoid.

Because he knows how this is going to end. He’s Hawkeye, first and foremost, and he isn’t here to play hero. From the kid’s pinched lips, he knows it too. But he meets Clint’s eyes without fear, only determination and a sort of grim satisfaction Clint recognises all too well.

It’s a damn shame, seeing that sort of knowledge splayed out on a face that young. Good thing that this isn’t a typical hostage situation.

Trust yourself, Clint remembers one of his first tutors, back at the circus, half a lifetime ago. Trust the shot.

It had been his mantra for a long time. Trust in the shot. You can’t trust people. Can’t trust anyone else in the world. But this, this he could trust in. Even back then, when his world had been a whole lot bleaker than it is now.

Trust the shot.

Clint doesn’t wait for the mad docs ridiculous stipulations. He pulls the trigger. The bullet goes straight through the left eye.

“Nice shot.” The kid whistles, looking genuinely impressed as he shrugs off the sudden deadweight.

Clint grins. Or tries to, anyways. “Probably not the best time to tell you I’m seeing double, eh?”

The kid’s eyes widen, but after a moment he catches himself and snorts. “Better apologising than asking for permission, huh?”

“Something like that.” Clint nods. Wonders if he’s supposed to feel this easy camaradie — if this kid is gonna turn around any moment now to shoot him. Paranoia sucks. But not being paranoid enough sucks worse.

“We should probably—”

That’s when the screaming starts.

There’s no upbuilt to it, no gasping draw for breath before the sound. One moment, there is silence. The next, the high-pitched wail of pain is deafening.

Clint is on his knees, hands pressed protectively over his ears, instinctively curled into himself. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, has no recollection of even crouching down the way he clearly is. But finally, after an eternity and a half, the only thing ringing in his ears is blessed quiet.

“What the fuck?” Clint blurts out, though he isn’t sure who he is addressing.

“They’re dead.”

Oh, right. The kid.

Wait, what?

“They’re dead,” the kid repeats, voice caught somewhere between incredulous and impatient. He’s gesturing wildly at something behind Clint, so Clint decides to take a fucking clue and turn around.

To come face to face with the other men — victims — the doctor had strung up on the ceiling next to him. Right. He’d forgotten about them. But now that he’s half-way steady again, Clint takes the time to take them in. Properly. All five are male, have a strong build, and are covered from head to toe in tattoos. A vivid memory of those same tattoos, glowing in a bright, blue light, briefly flashes through Clint’s mind, but he’s probably got the concussion he most certainly has to thank for that.

The kid pokes the closest one, clearly checking what they both already know. Those five men are dead.

“Must’ve been bound to Dr. Markoff over there,” the kid mutters.

Clint wants to ask him a couple of questions, What the hell are you talking about? , What are you even doing here? and Who are you? among the top five, but he’s kinda hoping the interrogation can wait until he stops swaying. Maybe even until his head stops feeling like it’s wrapped in cotton. That would be nice.

But even as out of it as he is right now, Clint is damn good at his job. Damn good at surviving. And even before the kid’s head suddenly snaps around, eyes wide with horror, even before he yells, “Lawrence! Watch out!” Clint feels the tell-tale prickling sensation at the back of his neck, and he knows the danger hasn’t passed yet.

He turns, ducking as he does so — though ‘legs giving out under him’ might be a more accurate description, not that Clint will ever admit that, fuck mission report accuracy — and has just enough time to catch sight of a slim woman wearing a lab coat and a furious snarl and wielding a syringe like a katana before the kid barrels into them.

If the kid’s a double agent, he really goes all-out to convince Clint otherwise. Including several vicious punches before he manages to slam the woman’s head against the unforgiving floor a couple of times.

Only when he rolls of the now motionless woman — and Clint really couldn’t give less fucks whether she survives or not — does Clint notice the syringe in his arm.

“Fuck!” he says emphatically as he stumbles forward, keeps the kid upright with a tight grip on his shoulders.

“Son of a bitch,” the kid hisses, grabs the syringe and pulls it out with one harsh tug. They both know it won’t do a thing, but Clint kicks the damn thing further away all the same.

The kid reaches towards him suddenly. His hands are far too clammy for Clint’s peace of mind. “The bodies,” the kid forces the words out like they hurt. They might. Clint has seen the autopsies of some of the drug addicts they’ve found over the past weeks. Whatever this shit is, if it’s even the same stuff, it’s not a nice way to go.

“You gotta burn them.” The kid’s face is chalk white and his eyes are losing their focus. Clint is kinda impressed how authoritative he still manages to sound. “Find sodium chloride and—” The kid chokes on a groan that does nothing to drown out the fire still burning in his eyes. “B-burn them all.”

Having said his piece, the kid’s grip is slackening. Clint tries, but he’s feeling like he’s been run over a couple of times and there’s no supporting the kids’ full weight once consciousness fades. Although the kid manages to pull Clint down with him, even lands half on top of him, so he figures they’re about even.

Maybe.

It takes an eternity — almost seven minutes — for Clint to get his shit together. And his body out from under the crushing weight of the kid, who might be young but definitely isn’t light. Or small.

Then, in a stroke of madness Coulson will never learn of, Clint walks — stumbles — through the warehouse on his search for sodium chloride.

He’s not sure why exactly he’s obeying the kid’s strange demand, but hey, the kid may have just died for him. Clint figures he should be glad the last request wasn’t anything weirder.

Clint finds a few vials of what he thinks is the correct, chemical abbreviation, but those are broken beyond repair and probably already mixed with a dozen other fluids Clint doesn’t care to identify. This homebuilt lab really is creepily well-equipped.

He does find an old canister of road salt, and decides it will have to do. Cuts down the bodies from where they’re dangling in the air like puppets, whose strings have been cut, and throws some salt over them. Then he dozes the whole artwork in gasoline.

It’s not his best handiwork — and Coulson won’t be happy, what with the destroyed evidence — but the mission was to take care of this new drug, not to fucking recreate it. Frankly, Clint thinks the world is probably better off without it. And if SHIELD doesn’t see it that way, though luck.

They should know by now that explosions follow Hawkeye wherever he goes.

He has the foresight to drag the kid out of the warehouse before he lights the match. He doesn’t give the still unconscious-possibly-dead woman the same courtesy. Clint really doesn’t like people who attack children. And nobody has ever made the mistake of calling him forgiving.

Anyways, for a warehouse filled with all sorts of chemicals, there’s surprisingly few explosions. There is however a smoke so thick and poisonous, Clint decides it’s high-time to get himself a car and hightail it out of here.

After a moment of contemplation — as well as checking the kid’s still-beating pulse — Clint puts the kid in the passenger seat.

They’re gone before the local authorities arrive — but it’s a closer thing than Clint would’ve liked, considering he’s kidnapping a possible minor and all. Perhaps he’ll leave that part out of the mission report too.

There’s a couple of reasons why Clint doesn’t drag the kid into the nearest hospital, and most of them aren’t even selfish. A significant one may or may not be the fact that, as things stand now, this kid has the only evidence left in his blood. And Clint isn’t naive enough to let SHIELD or anyone else catch wind of that fact. Maybe that’ll get the kid killed. But there are things worse than death — and most of them Clint has seen in one lab or another.

So he gets them a room in a beat-down, sleazy motel that probably won’t even notice anything out of place if they leave blood-stains behind on the bedding, and gets the kid onto a bed.

His skin is waxy, nothing healthy about it at all, and his eyes are flickering restlessly under closed lids, but other than that he seems fine. No convulsions, no stomach suddenly tearing itself open from the inside out — yeah, maybe the kid’ll live through this after all.

Clint finds himself kind of hoping he will. Maybe he’ll get around to asking why the kid kept calling him Lawrence. It’s a nice thought to fall asleep on.

Clint wakes up to rain pelting against the window, sweaty, bloodied clothes sticking uncomfortable to his skin, and the sight of an empty bed across his own. It takes him a moment to realise why that last part disturbs him, but then Clint is on his feet, tearing open the bathroom door before he’s fully processed the movement.

The bathroom is empty. The kid’s gone.

It’s only when the injuries of the last few hours catch up with him that Clint is forced to sit down — falls — back onto the cheap bed, that he notices the note on the bedside table -- one that looks like it’s been used as an ashtray for most of its life.

Thanks for the help. You’re a mean shot. Sorry I couldn’t stick around.

If you’re ever in trouble: +1 XXX-XXX-XXXX

Dean

Phil Coulson has worked at SHIELD for a long time. Long enough to know how to handle obstinate agents, ruthless killers, and psychotic megalomaniacs. One would think this has adequately prepared him to deal with the likes of Clint Barton.

One would, of course, be wrong.

There is nobody in the office except for him, so Phil pinches the bridge of his nose in an outward expression of exhausted disbelief he wouldn’t usually allow himself. But allowances have to be made where Barton is concerned. In more ways than one.

“Agent Barton, could you please repeat that last part?” Phil keeps his voice bland and without inflection through sheer force of will.

On the other line, Barton sighs impatiently. “My contact was a mole,” he repeats with exaggerated slowness. “He knocked me out. I woke up in a warehouse. Got the standard super villain speech. One of the other victims and I got out. We fought. The stupid henchmen kept shooting, blew the lab right up around us. We got out. They didn’t. The end.”

Phil doesn’t sigh. Barely. “You have been busy,” he says instead. “I assume the investigation of the local law enforcement will correspond with the more detailed report you’ll hand in upon your return?”

He already knows it won’t. From the short pause on the phone, so does Barton. But he’ll have to cross that bridge once they reach it. For now, there are other things that require Phil’s attention. For example:

“What about the other victim?”

Barton hums distractedly. “What? Oh, he’s fine.” Another pause. “Well, I think so. Wasn’t here when I woke up at le— son of a bitch!”

Phil raises an eyebrow. That’s a new one.

“Agent Barton?” he asks, thumb hovering over the emergency button.

“That bastard stole my car!”

Clint considers hunting Dean down for about thirty minutes. He liked that car, damn it. Who cares that he technically stole it himself?

The point is, Clint doesn’t appreciate other people taking his things.

Still.

The post-mission report he hands in two weeks too late — much to the exasperation of one Agent Coulson — doesn’t mention a green-eyed kid with too much courage and too much experience in hand-to-hand combat. Doesn’t mention glowing tattoos and burning down crime scenes. Doesn’t mention the note or sodium chloride.

It does however mention the car Clint stole in great detail. Complete with current market price and a ten point list on why agents in general and Agent Barton in particular should have one during their next mission.

After all, there’s more than one way to get his hands on the right car, and Clint figures hunting Dean down is hardly the most practical one. It’s got nothing to do with the unsettled debt between them.

And that’s the story of how Clint first met Dean xD I hope you like it!!! Please let me know what you think!! Next up: Steve.

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