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archies-litterbox · 3 years

Text

of poison, forest floors, and terrified wizards

Summary: Out all alone on what was meant to be a simple errand, collecting herbs for Merlin, Douxie is downed when some pickpocket throws a fistful of black powder in his face - a magic surpressant and poison to wizards, he comes to find out the hard way. Unable to move or use his magic, as attempts to do both cause nothing but agony, the moppet has no choice but to rely on the slim hope of someone finding him before the poison overtakes him.

A/N: This is my first toa fic! I’ve spent the past year mostly just doing fic for witcher, so this is a nice change of pace :) I had fun with this! I thought about what would happen if there was some sort of substance in TOA that acted as a poison/magic surpressant to wizards... and ofc it turned into douxie whump (but it’s moppet!douxie which is even more painful :( ). Enjoyyy!

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning/Sickness, Temporary Paralysis, blood mention (but no bleeding)]

---

All Douxie had been sent out to do was collect some herbs for Merlin. It wasn’t even in the uncertain ground like the Wild Wood, but a patch of forest he’d been sent to fetch ingredients from countless times. It should have been a simple enough task for the moppet, which is why he hadn’t woken Archie from his afternoon nap - which he was taking on Douxie’s bed - to have his familiar accompany him. And truly, the task itself was simple; it didn’t take Douxie very long at all to go into the woods and find a patch of the plants Merlin told him to fetch - something about a potion ingredient, the apprentice vaguely recollected.

Indeed, he found it without any trouble, but when he felt a figure speed past his back and steal away the little pouch of herbs he’d collected before speeding off into the woods, that was when the trouble started.

The rational part of him (which said exactly what he’d reckoned Archie would be telling him right now) told him just to pick more, but it was overshadowed by how downright insulting this woodland pickpocket was! Before he’d been taken in by Merlin, conning and using slight-of-hand to his advantage was one of his only means of survival, so to not only be stolen from, but in a way so lacking in cunning? The audacity!

It was the principal of the matter that sent him running after the thief, darting this way and that until he was lost in the thick of the woods, focused only on tailing the pickpocket.

“Hey! Stop!” Douxie panted, “You’re stealing from a master wizard!”

That didn’t seem to entice the thief to stop.

“Well… his apprentice, anyway!” he added for reasons unsure to even himself. Maybe honesty would help?

Well, thanks to his trusty, gangly legs, he caught up to the thief and got close enough to grab their wrist, and he thought it would be smooth sailing after that.

Yeah! Alright! I’ll just get my herbs back and deal with this thief and -

The thief turned around and threw a handful of black powder in his face.

Fuzzbuckets.

Douxie squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he felt them sting, coughing into his elbow to hack up the charcoal tasting powder that flew into his mouth and nose. That little trick stopped him in his tracks, but he wasn’t deterred. Not mentally. He still wanted to try to catch up…

...but his legs wouldn’t move.

No matter how badly he wanted - demanded his legs to obey him, they remained tense, frozen in that position of one in front of the other.

What?

One terrifying moment later, they did move. But not into the sprint he wanted to take - no, to do something worse: to buckle underneath him and send him falling onto his side against the forest floor.

And he couldn’t get up.

No matter how much he willed his body to do it, he couldn’t get up.

It was like when he’d have nightmares and he’d realize he was having a nightmare; it took forcing his body to toss and turn and shift from side to side as much as he could to rouse him back to the realm of the fully conscious.

But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t rouse himself from this nightmare because he couldn’t push himself up.

Wait.

No.

He couldn’t move.

Nearing complete panic, he internally begged and pleaded to find some sort of mobility, but his limbs grew numb by the second, and wherever he still had feeling, it ached - utterly, reprehensibly ached. Not only that, but it was cold. So, so cold, despite the warm atmosphere of the summer afternoon that hung around him so tauntingly.

He’d never felt more scared in his life. Not even being threatened at swordpoint by Sir Galahad and his men, knowing that he’d be killed for something like a measly alley trick, was as terrifying as this - not even that made his blood run cold (literally, it felt like, as well as figuratively) like this did.

And he was sure that was clear to the thief he’d tried to catch. They stood over him, and he couldn’t see their face from where his head lay on the ground, cheek against the grass, but with his glassy, wide eyes flickering between straining to look at his poisoner - because that’s what this was, a poison - and darting around wherever they could look without him moving his head - because he couldn’t even do that - as black strands of hair lay loose on his cheek because he couldn’t lift a hand to move them, he was sure looked every bit as terrified as he felt.

The thief laughed. Laughed.

“A master wizard’s apprentice, eh?” they spoke, their voice dripping with mock fascination that made Douxie wish that someone, anyone would come to help him, “And your great master never told you to pick your battles? He must not have, if you felt so inclined as to chase me all through the woods for a plant you could have just picked a little more of. It was right in front of you, after all.”

The realization which dawned on Douxie would have made his blood run cold if it didn’t feel like it already was. They’d pickpocketed him because they counted on him pursuing them, even to the point of ending up in the thick of the woods, far away from where Merlin or Archie expected him to be - far away from where they’d know to look for him.

Douxie finally tried to shout for help, but his throat was just as tense - as frozen as the rest of his muscles, and his jaw was too tight to open as much as he’d need to scream. All he could do was gasp and force shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs, which was still a trying ordeal - too trying for something like breathing to have been.

“Trying to scream? Really?” the poisoner-thief asked as if it was an absurd thing to do in the moppet’s position (which it wasn’t), “Next thing you know, you’ll try mustering a spell.”

Against his better judgement, for trying a spell couldn’t have been a good idea if his own assailant was suggesting it, he tried to force a little magic to his fingertips.

It burned. Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, it burned. His hand hadn’t even hurt this badly after he’d botched a lightning spell and scarred his wrist in the process.

Douxie wheezed at the sensation, and the thief laughed again.

“Oh, this is rich!” they exclaimed, “this has already paralyzed you hand and foot, and you thought some conjuring would help? What do you think this was made to diminish, Apprentice of Ambrosius?

Douxie couldn’t even think of a swear worthy of this (“fuzzbuckets” was too tame), his mind still flooded with fear and his hand still aching from his botched magic attempt. How had they already known he was Merlin’s apprentice? Sure, he’d mentioned being an apprentice to a master wizard, but he wasn’t that specific.

But he wasn’t worried about that as much as what this implied about his magic, and what this - whatever it had been - was doing to it.

“This,” His assailant bent down and held up their fingertips to his face, showing him the black powder on them. “Seeps away your magic. Or poisons it, or diminishes it, or eats away at it - I’m not a poet, and apt synonyms aren’t my strong suit.”

They stood back up all the way, and Douxie wanted to plead, but the words wouldn’t come out. They wouldn’t even form. This - he couldn’t lose his magic. Not on something as measly as an herb collection.

“All of this-”

They gestured to his paralyzed, twitching form.

“Is just a side effect. A byproduct of attacking your magic.”

Douxie tried curling his hand into a fist. Not only were his muscles so weak that he could only curl his fingers for a second in what looked more like a spasm than a conscious movement, but grabbing the wrong end of a knife would have hurt less.

The powder-tosser winced mock-sympathetically.

“Shame, really. I hoped the master wizard you served could be the one to deal with this.”

For a moment, in his agony, he wished he was. Douxie squandered the thought as quickly as it came up, hating himself for conceiving it. He couldn’t wish this on anyone, least of all the wizard who saved him, who plucked him off the streets.

But why couldn’t he save him now?

“Ah, well.” They reached down to Douxie’s face and put a strand of hair behind his ear.

Douxie wanted to cry.

“S’pose you’ll do. It’ll be a kick in the teeth for him anyway, when you don’t come back from your little errand after hours and hours, and by the time they send out a search party…”

The smugness and certainty in their tone made Douxie whimper, the first vocal noise he’d been able to make in all of this, after naught but wheezing and gasping. Where was he going to get dragged off to? The Wild Wood? Were they in league with trolls, hoping to get an edge on King Arthur? Or were they a bandit, hoping to take all his goods off of him (which weren’t much, unless they counted the black cat fur on his vest) and keep him in some rackety shack until a ransom note made its way to Merlin?

(Would he even pay it, considering Douxie’s incompetence?)

“Well, they’ll find you right here, I’m sure, but…”

Douxie could hear them mock-wince again, and their implication was worse than anything he’d assumed in the moments before. He couldn’t hear the rest of their sentence over his own panic that, combined with the poison, made his head swim.

He wasn’t going to be taken anywhere.

He was going to be left here, to - to - to -

His panic pushed him to try his magic again on impulse alone, and it felt like both his hands were on fire. His throat, as tight as it was, finally let him groan through his teeth.

“An exercise in futility, little wizard.” his attacker taunted, “In fact…”

They took his bracelet - only three fingers wide at this point in his training - right off his wrist, which made him squeak as he tried, tried, tried to shake his head, and threw it into a bush in what was both further assurance of his powerlessness and an insult to injury.

“I would say you should try to get comfortable…”

They stood up and took a few steps back, leaving the little field of vision Douxie had from where his head lay on the ground.

“...But I suppose that would be another exercise in futility.”

He heard the poisoner-thief run off, their footfalls fading as the pounding of his racing heart, which drummed against his ears in sync with their steps, drowned out the noise until they were out of earshot.

He was alone.

He couldn’t move, some poison was seeping away his magic - his very lifeforce - and tensed his body up so rigidly that he couldn’t even scream, and he was alone.

If he could’ve, he would have curled up into a ball as small as he could make himself in hopes that the dangers of the woods and the dire circumstances of his situation would pass him by.

If he could’ve, he would have screamed, even though he knew he was far away from the earshot of anyone who might have come looking for him by that patch of herbs where he said he’d go, and he knew that Archie, who could have tracked his scent here, was still sleeping because, in his arrogance, he hadn’t thought to wake him.

If he could’ve, he would have dragged himself to his gauntlet, wherever it had been thrown, because even if it wouldn’t have done anything to get him out of this, at least he wouldn’t have felt so helpless, even though helpless was exactly what he was.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and feel his tears run down the bridge of his nose as his lips contorted into a grimace, the only two things he could do with his body where the movement itself didn’t outweigh how badly he wanted - needed to do it.

All he could hope for, against hope itself, was that he’d be found here.

Before all that could be found was his body.

---

He wished he could just sleep.

The grassy ground underneath him was soft enough, and his position on his side could have been comfortable enough. Maybe it would have helped pass the time until the poison ran its course, whatever that entailed.

But whatever this was, it didn’t even grant him that luxury. Whether it was an effect of the poison or a product of his own adrenaline and terror, Douxie was wide awake.

Not only that, but after what might have been an hour or two (judging by the sunlight’s reflection off the dewey grass), his body would periodically twitch because of the poison. Sometimes his leg would kick out like a dog, or his shoulder would seize up to the point where it touched his ear, or his hand would ball into a fist.

But his poisoned body didn’t care which of his movements were voluntary or otherwise - it stung all the same. Not like the horrific burning that came with his attempts at magic, but a grating, awful ache right down to his bones. The spontaneous twitches never let him even come close to unconsciousness, and maybe that was a good thing - every breath was more or less of a laborious gasp, a conscious effort of his, and if he’d lost consciousness and stopped forcing them in and out of his lungs… he didn’t want to imagine it.

He wished his panic would quiet enough for him to get bored laying here - he would have preferred it to this, and it would have made sense, considering that he was stuck staring at the same blades of grass and patch of trees that he’d been staring at for the past hour.

And they weren’t even particularly interesting trees or blades of grass, not that they would have distracted him very well if they were.

He wondered if anyone had started looking for him by now. Maybe Merlin was growing impatient without the ingredients he asked for, and maybe Morgana had started to wonder why “Little Douxie” hadn’t come back to the castle.

He wondered if Archie had woken up from his nap and noticed Douxie’s absence yet. If anyone could insist that someone go out and search for him, it would be his familiar. He didn’t want to delude himself by thinking it would help though.

He wondered the importance of those herbs he was collecting before. Were they really that important to whatever Merlin had been working on? Were they worth chasing that thief down? Were they worth all of this?

He was pulled from his thoughts when a shadow cast over the grass he’d been staring at - the shadow of a creature flying overhead and hovering above him.

If he could’ve curled into himself, just to look as small as possible, he would have. What if it was a vulture, waiting to scavenge him? What if it was a monster, or a winged troll, here to carry him off to some trollish nest in the Wild Wood? None of the thoughts that came to mind were soothing by any means. As the creature swooped down, all Douxie could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope he wouldn’t be harmed any further.

Even when the figure landed in front of him and stepped closer and closer, he didn’t look at it. It wasn’t until he could feel it’s breath on his face, one of the only sensations of the past few hours that didn’t hurt, that he opened his eyes.

A face of black fur greeted him.

And yellow eyes.

And a round pair of glasses.

Archie!

He couldn’t even say the word, but a sob escaped his throat - a sob of relief? A sob of terror that this might have been the start of an onslaught of hallucinations, the first of which being a sign of rescue? He wasn’t sure. Either way, all he wanted to do was reach up and pet the cat-dragon familiar, or hug him and not let go, but he couldn’t. His arm felt like it weighed half a ton, just like the rest of his limbs.

So, he sobbed. It was all he could do.

“Douxie!” Archie cried.

Merlin’s apprentice could hear the worry in his voice as he stepped back a few paces, his ears back and his wings to his side. Of course, he’d shifted into his dragon form - he must have been able to track Douxie’s scent like that. But Douxie hated the thought of his familiar being in danger because he’d flown here. He was already suspicious enough as a black cat, since they carried the notion of being bad omens. What if he’d gotten taken down? He wasn’t worth that!

Douxie was too relieved - yes, he chose relief, not terror, because that’s all he could afford - to think about all of that though.

“Douxie, I’ve been looking for you! What’s happened to you?” Archie asked, “Merlin expected you back hours ago!”

The first thing that came to mind, despite everything, was an apology for his absence - an apology he couldn’t even say. He couldn’t even say what happened to him, not like -

A spasm cut off from his speeding, scrambled thoughts - a large one in his left arm (his right was still mostly underneath him) that reached all the way from his fingertips to his shoulderblade, forcing his hand to ball into a fist, his arm to fold so tightly that his fist touched his shoulder, and his shoulder to tighten so much that his shoulder pressed to his ear.

The sound of agony ripped from his throat was the closest to a scream he’d gotten yet.

Archie looked horrified, and Douxie could only imagine what the sight of him was like - black strands loose from his bun strewn over his face, his eyes puffy and tear-ringed, his lips contorted in a pained grimace. He imagined he looked as pitiful and helpless as he felt.

(In fact, he didn’t have to imagine it. He could faintly see his reflection in the lenses of Archie’s glasses, and he was right in what he pictured, save for the addition of smudges and speckles of that powder still on his face, the black splotches of dust contrasting his color-drained skin, pale as death.)

His arm relaxed again after a few agonizing moments, letting his hand fall in front of his face and leaving a throbbing ache down to his bones, and Douxie tried to collect himself. He had to tell Archie what was wrong. He had to try. If Archie knew, he could fix it. He could get Merlin to fix it. Right? Right.

“P-” he started, trying his absolute best to form words despite the constriction in his throat and lungs that barely let him breathe at all, “puh- poi-”

His own wheezing cough cut him off.

“Poison?” Archie asked, getting it right much to the little relief that Douxie could manage. He nodded - at least, as close to the motion as he could accomplish - and tried to hum a “mhm” of affirmation, since trying to talk hadn’t exactly worked. Far from it.

Archie stepped forward and sniffed his face. He immediately recoiled, his big eyes widening, and Douxie was proven wrong for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

“Oh, dear.” His eyes glanced to what must have been a few more clumps and speckles of dust on the ground, “Ohhh, not good. Not good at all.”

No. Archie couldn’t be scared. If Archie was scared for him, then this was so, so much worse than he thought. How could it possibly be worse?

Douxie squeaked out a whimper in fear, and Archie’s attention snapped back to him (as if it could have been anywhere else).

“Douxie, don’t worry.” he said, “You’ll be alright.”

Archie was never a good liar, much to Douxie’s dismay. If Archie was going to hide the truth to soothe him, he at least would’ve liked it to work. His immediately telling Douxie not to worry had the opposite effect of what was intended; it showed him his worry - his terror - was entirely warranted, which was the exact thing he didn’t want to know. Even if all he said was “You’ll be alright.”, the fear that seemed to bristle through his fur was indication enough of the contrary.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in the fur above his eyes, upturned as if in dread.

“...But I need to go.”

NO!

If Douxie could have screamed the word and reached out to hold Archie, he would have done it right at that moment, but all he could do was whine like a kicked puppy, his eyebrows raising as his head shook - an unconscious movement, minute despite his desperation.

“Douxie, Douxie, listen.” Archie said, softening his voice, “I can’t carry you back to the castle. I wouldn't be able to fly carrying you anyway, but especially not with your-”

Archie got cut off by another one of Douxie’s spasms - this one made his left leg curl up so tight that his thigh touched his torso, causing the apprentice to nearly involuntarily hit Archie with his knee, which the cat-dragon barely dodged.

“-that." Archie said, "Not with that.”

Douxie saw the sense in that, despite his panic. He did, he did, he did.

But -

He sobbed again.

-But he didn’t want to be alone.

Sweet heart of Avalon, he didn’t want to be alone.

The worst of his pain and terror wasn’t from the paralysis, or the aching, or the random twitches, or the burning that came from trying to use his magic, or even the tightness in his throat and lungs that robbed him of speaking or even screaming; it came from being alone in this - from wondering if anyone would come for him, or find his body; it came from knowing that there was nothing he could do but lay there, at the mercy of nature, the poison wracking his body with every beat of his heart, and the determination (or lack thereof) of someone else to find him.

And when he opened his eyes to find Archie there, all of that went away - all of that fear that told him he’d die alone here. He didn’t want it to come back. He would’ve rather the poison take him right now.

“I just need to go back to the castle and bring Merlin here. He’ll know what to do.”

Archie put his paw in Douxie’s limp, open palm. All Douxie wanted to do was hold it, and he so desperately hoped the next twitch would be in his hand so he could.

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

But what if it was too long, even if he hurried?

What if Merlin was too late, even if he hurried?

What if it took too long to convince his master to come here? Would the fact that he’d been poisoned and needed help be enough, or would Merlin refuse because it served Douxie right for his insolence?

(No, no, he wouldn’t do that. Merlin said that mastery over magic was mastery over life, and he had to learn how to live. He couldn’t learn to live if he died here in the woods.)

What if…

What if this killed him before Archie came back?

...No.

It wasn’t the same this time. Douxie wasn’t lost here, hoping against hope that someone would find him. This was hope - someone knew where he was, and help would come. He could handle a little bit more fear for that hope, he knew.

So, fighting the grating, awful ache in his bones, Douxie closed his hand around Archie’s paw and put on as brave a face he found himself able to muster, nodding as much as he could while causing as little pain to himself as possible.

He didn’t trust much in this - not even his own body to keep fighting the poison - but he trusted Archie, and he trusted his promise.

His familiar gently pulled his paw away before slipping it under the side of Douxie’s head, lifting it a little off the ground. The little apprentice was confused for a moment, until Archie reached behind Douxie’s head with his mouth. He could hear the sounds of the woods stifle as fabric came over his ears, warding off the now-coolness of the woodsy air around his head as Archie pulled the hood of his vest over his head and gingerly laid it back down.

Ah, he got it now - it was a little comfort, a little shelter from the world.

And of course he took it, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

He kept up his brave front as Archie turned away from him, something Douxie could tell he’d done reluctantly, and flew off. It wasn’t until he couldn’t see his familiar anymore - until the sight of the cat-dragon vanished behind the treetops - that he let it fall and shatter.

He just had to keep waiting. That’s all he had to do - wait and trust Archie to come back with Merlin. He knew that.

But he could still feel new tears come down his face.

---

Douxie wished he could see the sunset from where he lay. It would have been beautiful, he knew.

The spasms subsided a little while after Archie flew back, leaving Douxie limp on the ground - still unable to move without hurting himself or try to use his magic without thrusting himself into agony - with a lingering pins-and-needles sensation in his hands and feet that felt like it was crawling up from his ankles and wrists.

(Honestly, Douxie still wasn’t sure if the spasms had truly subsided for good, or if this was just a rather long interval between them. He hoped it was the former. The spasms never hurt any less as they went on, and he was so, so tired of the pain.)

Archie still hadn’t come back with Merlin yet, obviously, and at this point, it seemed like Douxie was fighting off his doubt more than the poison. At least he knew what the poison was doing to him - he could feel it every waking moment. But Archie… Douxie didn’t know what had happened to him, and he wouldn’t unless he came back.

(No, until he came back. Douxie had to keep that certainty alive in his mind.)

But how was he supposed to know that his familiar hadn’t taken a tumble? That he hadn’t been brought down by some witch hunter’s net? What if Merlin was being stubborn about coming for him? What if he’d been busy in another row with King Arthur?

...Indeed, he would have loved to see the sunset - to at least try to let it distract him from the tornado of worst case scenarios in his mind.

But he couldn’t.

For a bit, he tried distracting himself by thinking about how Merlin might’ve reacted to him being in danger - to hearing that he’d been poisoned. He sort of liked imagining how scared he’d be, for he preferred fear to indifference. The mental image of his master dropping whatever book he’d been flipping through and rushing to follow Archie… it was a comforting one, as strange as it might sound. That fear meant he mattered.

But Douxie soon grew tired even of that. He hoped he might’ve ran into a patch frequented by fireflies. Those would at least come low enough to dip into his line of sight, and they were always so beautiful, like stars visiting earth for a night before going back to the sky…

Douxie grew cold again at some point. Not just cold, but damp. Since it hadn’t started raining, fortunately, he rightly assumed that it was sweat. Perhaps he was finally sweating this out, like a fever, but that was too good, too fortunate to figure. This was another progression of the poison, he was sure. Just like…

Douxie noticed something in his left hand that lay in front of his face, something wrong…

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

His veins were black.

Hoping, begging, praying to be wrong, he pushed through that dreadful ache in his arm so he could pull it closer, but it only confirmed his suspicions - his dread - his terrors.

The veins in his wrist, in the creases of his knuckles - they weren’t deep blue anymore, just barely visible underneath his skin, but as black as that powder that got blown in his face. Ink could be coursing through them right now, and he’d have been none the wiser.

In that moment, Douxie was proven wrong once again for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

He gasped as much as his throat and lungs let him, and he didn’t stop gasping. But then his chest -

No no NO!

-his chest started to seize up.

He fought the growing tightness in his chest with every breath, forcing each one in and out like a wheeze, but it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t tell if it was from poison or panic, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d even started coughing, which was inevitable, but the black splotch that splattered into his hand terrified him all the more.

This was it. He was going to die here. He was going to succumb to this. He’d never come back to the castle - to Archie, to Morgana, to Merlin - from a trivial herb picking. Archie would come back here, but all he’d find was - was - was -

“HISIRDOUX!”

Douxie burst into tears.

He could recognize the voice of his master - his father - anywhere, but he was so, so scared that it was a hallucination. The fear in his voice already sounded so foreign, coming from the great and powerful Merlin Ambrosius, and if the sound of his voice and his footsteps coming near him came only from his desperate imagination, then he’d - he’d -

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him onto his back. Finally, he could look up at the sky, aglow with sunset, but his glassy eyes only saw Merlin kneeling down at his side, and Archie flying above him.

The terror in Merlin’s eyes was the exact opposite of comforting, but Douxie didn’t get to see it for long before Merlin conjured a damp cloth and wiped off his face what had to have been the rest of that poisonous powder. He hadn’t realized how flushed he’d been until that moment, when that rag felt so cold against his cheeks.

Merlin finished wiping off Douxie’s face and made the cloth disappear. Douxie missed the coolness on his face. He wanted it back.

“Hisirdoux, say something!” he demanded. But Douxie couldn’t - didn’t Merlin think he would’ve already been screaming his lungs out if he could?

“D-” he choked, “Da-”

He hacked up another throatful of black phlegm, whimpering as the violence of his cough made his torso curl up. Merlin dodged the cough, but put an arm under Douxie’s back before he could fall back.

An apology lay at the back of his throat - one he didn’t know the reason for, even if he could’ve said it.

Merlin brought his other arm behind Douxie’s knees and lifted him like he weighed nothing (and he probably didn’t weigh much to Merlin, being the gangly moppet he was). The edges of the plating of the master wizard’s armor dug against him uncomfortably, but it was the least discomforting thing about this, overshadowed near-completely by the comfort that came just by being held. But he was still scared - if more of that powder was on him, and Merlin touched it by holding him, then -

He stifled a cough, and his leg kicked out unconsciously like a thumping rabbit’s foot. He didn’t realize how badly he’d been tremoring until it was contrasted with the steadiness of Merlin holding him.

Yes… steadiness, safety - two things he’d wanted to cling to more than anything since all this had started. And now, he had them. He had his familiar, and he had his father.

His head, still covered with the hood of his vest, lolled back uncomfortably without any support, but he felt something soft push against the back of it- it was actually Archie, though Douxie couldn’t see it - until the side of his head lay against one of the shoulderpieces of Merlin’s armor, cushioned by the cloth of his hood.

He sighed as much as his tightened chest would allow.

He was so scared.

Douxie was still so, so terrified that Merlin couldn’t save him after all; that he’d die tonight; that he’d never use his magic again; that he’d never get to become a master wizard or get his own staff to wield; that he’d never again get to go back down to the marketplace and talk to that pretty girl who frequented the shops.

(What was her name? Zelda? Zona? Zola? Zo-)

He felt something warm settle on his abdomen - Archie had turned back into a cat and curled up on his tummy, purring as he nestled where Douxie’s legs curled.

At least, despite everything else he feared, he didn’t have to be terrified of being alone anymore.

---

Douxie wasn’t sure if Merlin used a portal, or the relief of being found by his master had finally let him lull out of consciousness for the length of the time it took to be carried back, but the next thing he knew, he was in Merlin’s study. Despite the fluttering of his eyelids, he could recognize the shelves, the desk, and the stained glass window letting in the last light of day.

Home.

He was home.

No matter what happened next, he was home.

“Douxie!” He could hear Morgana’s voice shouting his name in worry, followed immediately by her fast-approaching footsteps.

“Mmh…” Douxie whimpered. It wasn’t clear whether or not the noise was just a pained whine or an attempt to try saying her name - not even to Douxie himself. He couldn’t see her very well, but he could tell when she’d come to them, stepping to the side as Merlin walked forward to his desk.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Somehow, yes.” Merlin answered. Douxie hated that “somehow” and the fear it brought, but it was just a little more to add to the onslaught of the past hours. He could just add it to the pile, he supposed.

In the middle of the room, Merlin’s big desk was empty, so the wizard laid him down on the surface, having him lay flat on his back with his hands at his sides, his legs straightened out, and his head facing up. Now, he could fully see Morgana, the sorceress he’d come to see as something of a big sister just as he came to see Merlin as a father, looking down at him. Her face was upside-down from where she stood over him, but he could still see her upturned brows and glistening eyes, and the way she clasped her hands close to her chest so they didn’t even touch him. He hated that look of worry on her face. Seeing Morgana - always fearless, always grasping for more from the world than what others had permitted, always steadfast in her ruthless ambition - look so scared for him…

...It was worse, if such a thing was possible, than when he saw how scared Merlin was for him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he was still just focused on trying to breathe as deeply as he could.

Archie got off his abdomen and sat next to his head, gently headbutting his temple before putting a paw on his forehead. It was a little comforting, almost enough to distract Douxie from realizing that Merlin wasn’t at his side anymore.

Almost, though. Not enough.

Douxie tried turning his head to the side, but Archie gently kept it still with his paw.

“He’s just finding a spellbook, Douxie.” he assured, immediately knowing what the apprentice was trying to turn his head for, “He’ll be right back.”

Morgana looked down on the little scene and closed her eyes for a moment, as if to quell her tears, before opening them again.

“You shouldn’t have held him.” she warned, turning her head to wherever Merlin stood now, “You know what that can-”

“I’m well aware.” Merlin interrupted from wherever he still was, “And you know I’ve little concern for that.”

Douxie didn’t understand. There was still so little he understood about whatever was doing this to him, and he didn’t know how to ask about it - he couldn’t.

But apparently, his upturned brows and whimpers of confusion were enough to indicate - at least to Archie - how lost he was.

“Douxie, that powder - it’s called Draining Dust.” Archie explained, “It’s a magic suppressant, and… a poison, as you know by now.”

“Witch hunters would put this in shackles.” Morgana said, finally speaking to him, “To nullify wizards’ and witches’ magic on their way to the gallows. Or the stakes.”

“Trace amounts, yes.” Merlin came back into his view, an open spellbook floating near him with a signature green aura around it, “Pinches of it, cast in the metal. It would suppress the wearer’s magic as long as it was on their body, with a few side effects. Fatigue, headaches, nausea…” he started listing as he flipped through the pages.

Douxie remembered the handful of the stuff that had been thrown in his face. That was far from a few pinches. And those side effects he’d started listing - they sounded tame, menial compared to what was happening to him now.

“But direct contact with raw powder…” Archie started. Douxie knew he was hesitant to finish that sentence, and it wasn’t hard to assume why (but it was terrifying).

“It’s deadly.” Morgana said, “Few wizards have ever survived inhaling or digesting it. More sadistic witchfinders have used that to-”

“Morgana!” Merlin snapped, urging her to leave off. But she didn’t.

“He should know!” she snapped back, “It’s already in his bloodstream, old man. It’s killing him, and he deserves to-”

Douxie started crying again at Morgana’s brutal honesty, as if this all weren’t brutal enough. His eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his temples, but when he opened them again, it was darker, like he was looking through a veil. The sight made him want to cry even harder.

It was in his tears.

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, the poison was in his tears.

It made sense now, why Morgana was so scared to touch him. His own body fluids - his blood, his tears, probably his sweat soon enough - were turning poisonous from this. The only reason Archie was still touching him was probably because he wasn’t a wizard, but a familiar, and this wouldn’t affect him so badly.

(It actually very well could have affected Archie for the worse, but watching Douxie endure this without any comfort would have been worse than any poison.)

“It’s not killing him.” Merlin denied as if he was trying to convince both Morgana and himself, “His death is not certain. If it were, I would have already placed a sleeping spell on him by now.”

Douxie clung to that little hope and tried to watch Merlin scan for the spell he’d been looking for. Merlin had a way to fix this, of course he did; it’s as he said - he would have already put Douxie to sleep to grant him some peace if he didn’t.

Douxie watched his master’s page flipping stall as his eyes scanned over one particular page. His face fell - a minute, near-unnoticeable change in expression, but one that made Douxie’s pounding heart sink.

“Merlin?” Archie asked, “Have you found something?”

Merlin said nothing at first, only taking his place by stepping right to the table’s edge, coming right to Douxie’s side.

“I’ve found a spell to expel the poison and it’s remnants,” he explained, still only scanning the book, “But purging it from his body when it’s progressed this far will be…”

His eyes fell on Douxie’s.

“...quite excruciating.”

But Douxie was already so, so tired.

Not physically - the combined force of the poison and his own adrenaline warded off any chance of fatigue - but in his heart. He was so tired of being scared. Of being in so much pain. He didn’t want to do it - he didn’t think he could…

...But he remembered something Merlin said to him before.

“If there is a universal truth in this world, it is that struggle is the flame which forges one’s soul into steel.”

Well, if there was something tougher than steel, that’s what his soul would become.

Because wizards were strong. Brave. Unrelenting to pain or fear. That’s how Merlin was, that’s how Morgana was, and that’s how he would be.

He put on a brave face - as brave as he could possibly muster in the face of what he’d endure - and nodded. He could do this. He had to do this.

And he would.

The green aura around the spellbook faded as Merlin set it down. Archie lifted his paw from Douxie’s head and stepped back a few paces.

“Morgana, keep him still.” Merlin said, “His thrashing may cause him to injure himself.”

Morgana nodded and brought her hands up, an unsaid apology in her eyes. Seconds later, Douxie felt warm, gentle heat around his wrists and ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was unrelenting. He didn’t test the bonds, lacking the strength or any actual will to do so. Still under a sort of paralysis, he wasn’t scared of being pinned down, for he knew it was just a precaution; he was just scared of how bad the pain would be in order for restraining him like this to be necessary.

The precaution was far from unwarranted, he came to realize in the coming moments.

Merlin hovered one hand over Douxie’s chest and the other over his abdomen. Douxie watched him say some incantation, but he didn’t catch the words. He was too busy bracing himself for the pain as he saw the green aura of his master’s magic out of the corner of his eye, glowing above his torso.

Before Merlin even got to take a breath after the incantation, the pain started.

And no amount of bracing could have prepared Douxie enough.

The sudden agony in his torso ripped the breath from his lungs. He thought - hoped it would start small and get worse and worse, like a simmer that got hotter and hotter, but instead it was like a pot of scalding water got poured over his chest. No, even that would have hurt less. This… it started at the surface, but it bled deeper and deeper under his skin, and then -

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

-then it started to spread.

In moments, as if searing agony itself coursed through his veins, there was nowhere on his body that didn’t burn, not even his fingertips or the tip of his pinky toes. If he could feel it, it hurt, and it hurt unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

As the agony overrode his paralysis, he thrashed against Morgana’s magic that kept his wrists and ankles in place, arching his back one moment and curling forward the next.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to try to open his eyes. It hurt to keep them squeezed shut. It hurt to try to hear the voices of those around him - Morgana trying to tell him to be strong, Archie trying to soothe him, Merlin repeating the incantation. It hurt even to think - the pain, blinding and deafening, flooded out all other thoughts.

For a moment, like a fire burning so hot it feels cold for a fleeting beat, he stopped feeling the searing, searing agony.

But the moment was too, too fleeting before it wracked him again.

Finally, finally, he screamed.

It was a raw, shrill, agonized thing. He felt it come up from the base of his throat, and when Douxie realized, through his hysteria, that he was actually screaming, not wheezing or whimpering or anything he’d had to settle for tonight, he couldn’t stop. He screamed for all the torture of the day, all the fear of being alone, all the panic and terror and despair that he couldn’t let out in the woods, tense and spasming and paralyzed.

All the screams that couldn’t come out before, when his throat was so tight that it barely let him breathe, came out right now, bursting at the seams of his pain-delirious mind.

He didn’t stop screaming until he finally felt Merlin’s magic let off.

Even then, his screams settled only into groans and wails until the burning across his body finally cooled; until the pain weakened from a searing sensation all over him, like the most brazen of fires, to a low ache, like the embers of a dying camp flame.

Once he fully stilled, which took a few more moments, Morgana’s magic came off his wrists and ankles.

Finally, he came back to his senses and see Merlin, Morgana, and Archie still around him. Archie looked relieved and nuzzled the side of Douxie’s head. Morgana smiled a shaky, hesitant smile - still so foreign to see from her.

And Merlin…

Well, he seemed as difficult to read as usual, but at least he no longer had the expression on his face of a man watching his apprentice die. Traces of relief lay there, and Douxie gladly took them.

So… was it over?

Douxie groaned and lifted his arm. It didn’t hurt to do anymore - well, it did, but more like a soreness left in the wake of heavy lifting, a residue of what happened than a symptom of it. He brought it up to his face so he could see his wrist.

His veins were blue again.

Sighing, he let his hand fall on his face and wiped away some tears - lifting it to see they were purely clear, like before - before letting it slide off his cheek and fall limp next to his head.

“Master…” his voice was so little, so hoarse, “‘s it gone?”

“Every bit, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, putting his hand on Douxie’s shoulder, “It's over.”

He sounded weary. Douxie hoped that spell didn't take too much from him.

“Mm… my magic… 's it gone too?”

Merlin’s eyes said he wasn’t sure himself.

Douxie sought to answer the question on his own and willed forth his magic. He felt his fingertips thrum with the life of his sorcery. Lifting his hand again, he saw little specks of light, blue and true. It didn’t burn anymore, but it felt warm and gentle, like a heartbeat. His heartbeat. Exactly as it always felt.

He sighed. Not shaky, not fighting to keep his breathing level - a tired, relieved sigh. Despite how sore even the muscles in his face felt, he smiled a little smile.

“Thank you…” he said, “If you all hadn’t… I’d be-”

Merlin moved his hand from Douxie’s shoulder to his forehead.

“Don’t pay that scenario any mind, Hisirdoux.” Merlin urged, “You’ve survived, and although you and your magic have been weakened, both will fully recover.”

Douxie’s little smile fell.

“Wha… what about the poison? It couldn’t just be gone.”

“That it can.” Merlin assured, taking his hand off Douxie’s head, “As brutal as it is to the wizard affected, an unaffected wizard with strong magic can eradicate it from their body and return it to it’s untarnished condition.”

...Well, that was that, and Douxie wouldn’t question it. Besides, he remembered something.

“Mmmy bracelet… I lost it. That - they took it off. It’s in a bush out there.”

“I can see that. That’s alright.” Merlin said, “It can be retrieved.”

“And… and I'm sorry.” He said to Merlin’s subtle but obvious surprise, indicated by a little raise in his eyebrows.

“What for?”

“I… the herbs.” he answered, “I couldn’t bring them back. They got stolen.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, “They aren’t a rarity, you know.”

...Douxie sniffled.

“That… they only snatched those plants so I’d follow them deeper into the woods. So I’d get lost. So they could throw that dust in my face and - and leave me there, knowing I’d gone further into the forest than… than anyone would’ve looked, and I wouldn’t be found.”

“But you were found, Douxie.” Archie said, “They weren’t counting on you having a dragon that could track scents for a familiar.”

Douxie’s voice started to break.

“I should have left it alone - I knew I should have left it alone. There was more right there, I should’ve-”

“Hisirdoux, cease this.” Merlin said in a tone that left no room for insistence, “You must grant yourself some relief in you and your magic’s survival. I won’t have you fret over something as menial as a handful of herbs, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.”

Douxie sighed. That statement didn’t leave any room for argument. It never did.

Finally, a little normalcy tonight.

Morgana put her hands to the sides of Douxie’s head. After she’d been so scared to touch him this whole time, the feeling of her fingers against his temples, brushing his hair away from his face, was a final, true assurance that the poison had been well and truly purged.

“Sleep, Little Douxie.” she soothed, “I promise you’ll wake.”

He couldn’t tell if she cast a sleep spell in that moment, or if this was from his own fatigue, but he obeyed without hesitance as he was finally lulled away from the realm of the conscious and fell into slumber.

---

Merlin looked down at the boy lying asleep on his desk, the color slowly trickling back into his face as his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths.

“He’s a brave little moppet.” Morgana said as she kept her fingers against the sides of his head, her voice hushed despite the fact that the boy’s exhaustion had lulled him into a deep slumber, and he’d sleep like a stone until morning no matter what.

“...No, he’s not.” Merlin denied, “Not for this.”

Morgana snapped her head up.

“He’s just gone through more torment from that powder in one day than either of us have in all our lives!” Morgana she contested, “Not even you have endured effects that brutal from Draining Dust.”

“To be brave requires a choice - being faced with the ultimatum to either run and give up, or face your fight.” Merlin said, too proverbial and righteous-sounding as he stood over Douxie, “A choice was the exact thing he didn’t have in this. Perhaps if he’d been withholding something from that assailant, even with the threat of this, then it might be different. But as it is, even if he’d wanted to succumb to this before Archie had found him, his adrenaline hadn’t let him.”

“Maybe so,” Archie started, “but when I found him there in the forest, and I told him I’d have to come back with help, he was terrified of being left alone again. I could tell. But he put on as brave a face he could have. He chose that for himself, at least.”

“He did the same thing moments ago, when you told him how much that spell would hurt.” Morgana added, “He may not have had a choice in enduring this, but he did choose to steel his nerves when faced with every reason not to, and there’s bravery in that, old man.” She crossed her arms. “Even you have to admit that.”

Merlin almost found it endearing, seeing them both try to defend his apprentice’s honor when they felt it threatened, and maybe he could’ve seen the bravery they saw, if he’d been looking at anyone else.

But as he looked down at Hisirdoux… that’s all he saw. Hisirdoux. His apprentice. His son. His gangly little moppet who tended to cause more messes than he cleaned up, but smiled like the embodiment of joy itself.

If daylight decided to make itself corporeal and walk among humans for a while, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took the form of Hisirdoux Casperan.

So, the sorcerer didn’t see bravery when he found Hisirdoux writhing and gasping on the ground in those woods, he didn’t feel bravery when the boy trembled in his arms, and he most certainly didn’t hear bravery when the boy wailed and screamed his lungs out as that poison was taken out of him, black tears streaming down his face until they became clear again.

No, if Douxie had been brave, pride in that laid nowhere in Merlin’s mind.

After all, when fear for his son’s life flooded his mind, and hatred for whoever did this to him flooded out that fear, where, pray tell, could pride reside?

Morgana kept looking down at Douxie as he slept.

“How could you risk that?” she asked Merlin.

“Risk what, Morgana?” he asked, “Be specific.”

She snapped her head back up.

“You know what I’m talking about!” Morgana almost shouted, stifling her volume so the sleeping moppet wouldn’t hear, ““Eradicate” my foot, old man. I know the spell you used. You didn’t use a spell of eradication, you used a spell of transference!”

Arhcie had been staring down at his own sleeping familiar, but he snapped up when he heard that word, “transference”. First he looked to Morgana, then to Merlin.

“You told him it got destroyed, but you just - all you did was soak it up like a sponge!”

“Merlin… is that true?” Archie asked, obviously afraid that after all of this, Douxie would wake up without his mentor - his father - because he’d taken the poison for him. The little apprentice left without a master would never stop blaming himself, no matter how hard Morgana and Archie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Merlin sighed, an affirmation without words or nods.

“I spent the years since it’s conception,” he started, “building an immunity to the dust and its properties. It was too big a risk, potentially having a weakness to something so daunting - something I’d seen subdue and poison countless wizards. Too high a risk - a threat to the greater good.”

“So… the poison’s not having any affect on you?” Archie asked, stepping around Douxie to approach Merlin, “It’s not… he couldn’t have gone through all of this just to lose you.”

“And he won’t.” Merlin assured in confidence, “Much more than a handful of that powder would have had to be thrown at him to have any severe affect on me. No, this won’t need more than a night of rest to fix. Besides, what’s the good in spending all that time building up an immunity to Draining Dust if not to make use of it? A waste of time and tolerance built.”

“You couldn’t have known it wouldn’t...” Morgana said, “You couldn’t have possibly known you’d survive taking all of it like that!”

“I didn’t.” Merlin snapped.

Morgana’s eyes widened, as if everything about what the boy meant to him fell into place.

Because he hadn’t worried about his survival - the matter didn’t even cross his mind, not when he could still hear Douxie whimpering in pain with each page of that spellbook he skimmed. No, he only concerned himself with the likelihood that it would save the boy, his only worry being about how badly it would hurt Douxie when he’d already had to go through so much senseless, ludicrous torture.

Merlin always prioritized the “greater good”, some vast, staggering, intangible concept that encapsulated so much - the lives of thousands, the wellbeing of millions, the good of humanity.

But when he found his son writhing, hurting, suffocating, dying, he found he couldn’t spare any more regard to the “greater good” in that moment than he would a layer of dust on one of his books. If saving Hisirdoux’s life meant casting aside the greater good, then there was no question about it - he’d let the greater good rot.

It didn’t matter to him if his magic would’ve been permanently diminished by extracting the poison, or even if it killed him. Cast the greater good aside - the greatest good was the life in Hisirdoux’s eyes, and by all the heavens, he’d protect it.

And thankfully, he did just that tonight, at the cost of neither his life, his health, or his own magic. And that was the greatest good he could have asked for.

With another sigh, relieved that Morgana chose not to pry, Merlin looked down at the boy, still sound asleep, laid out on his desk. He put one arm under Douxie’s back and the other behind his knees, picking him up just like he did when he found him in those woods.

But this time, instead of trembling in his hold, Douxie made a little noise and unconsciously put his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, snuggling closer, if it were possible, to the master wizard.

Yes. he thought. There’s no greater good than this.

Morgana put her hands over her mouth and looked at the two of them as if the sight was something adorable, and Merlin huffed. Archie took his same spot curled up on Douxie’s abdomen.

“I’m taking him to his room.” he said, hushing his voice even though he knew the moppet wouldn’t wake, “And I’ll let him sleep in tomorrow morning. He needs to rest.”

The sun had set sometime during the painstaking ordeal, but torchlight along the walls of the castle made it easy to take his sleeping apprentice back to his room even once night has fallen. After using a simple spell to swing the door open while his arms were in use carrying the boy, Merlin walked in and used another little spell. The green aura of his magic glowed around the blanket on Douxie’s bed as he folded part of it over using his magic, providing room to lay Douxie down on his bed with head nestled right in his pillow’s usual dent. Once Archie stepped out of the way, Merlin reached over and laid the blanket back over him.

Douxie stirred a little, but only to turn from his back onto his side, his back to the wall and his front facing Merlin. Once the boy settled again, Merlin tentatively reached behind his head and let his bun loose so it wouldn’t get tangled if he moved around too much in his sleep. He doubted it would, considering the exhaustion and soreness in his muscles would probably enticement enough to stay still, even unconscious, but the gesture couldn’t hurt.

Archie crawled right underneath one of Douxie’s arms and nestled against his chest, and the moppet unconsciously held the bespectacled cat a little tighter.

And that was Merlin’s unspoken cue to leave Hisirdoux to rest for the night, so that’s what he did. He needed rest too, after all - his built-up immunity may have saved his life, but the poison, like everything else in the onslaught of the evening, left him weary.

Tomorrow, a search would begin.

Tomorrow, Merlin would find out who was behind this.

Tomorrow, the greatest and most powerful wizard in Camelot would not relent until he found the monster, human or trollish, who almost killed his son.

But tonight, Hisirdoux lay curled up in his bed, sound asleep as he kept his familiar close. Tonight, his life was saved.

And tonight, that was enough.

#tales of arcadia #toa #mine #toa fanfic #whump #hurt/comfort #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #moppet!douxie #archie toa #toa merlin #toa morgana #toa wizards #fic: of poison forest floors and terrified wizards #draining dust

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loverhymeswith · 2 years

Text

What a Wicked Game | Eighteen

Pairing: Rick Flag x OFC

Summary: It's time to deliver on Rick's deal with the devil...

Word Count: 4,820 words

Warnings: Canon typical violence, guns, angst, whump

A/N: Thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta reading!

Taglist: @rexorangecouny

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Angel

The scent of expensive cologne, sickly and sweet, fills the air. It’s the first thing Angel notices when she enters the great ballroom. Though her eyes are almost watering from the overpowering aroma, she scans the room carefully, casting her gaze over the swarm of magnificently dressed bodies, their identities hidden behind extravagant masks. This is going to be even more difficult than she anticipated.

Back in Belle Reve she used to dream about what her freedom might look like, what her future might hold. Of course, attending Gotham’s annual masquerade ball never made an appearance on the list.

Smoothing down the ruffles of the exquisite dress which she hastily squeezed into in the back of the cab, Angel starts to make her way through the crowd, grateful her face is concealed behind her own mask. Not that anyone here would recognise her. She’s equally grateful for the reassuring weight of the cold blade tucked into the garter around her thigh. Her powers are more than enough to get the job done, but it doesn’t hurt to have a back-up.

She feels like a fraud in this beautiful costume that doesn’t quite belong to her. But despite the source of the gift, she can’t help but appreciate the beauty of the delicate ivory and blush feathered gown. She’s never worn anything so lovely before. It’s a shame Rick’s not here to see it.

Her stomach jolts at the thought of Rick. He doesn’t know she’s here. Will likely be furious when he finds out. But he’s left her with little choice. For some inexplicable reason, The Joker wants these men dead, and he didn’t specify who had to be the one to kill them.

Somewhere in the room a live band is playing fast tempo music, but she can barely hear it over the buzz of conversation. Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, she continues her path through the ballroom, the skirts of her dress sweeping across the floor as she moves. Bringing the glass to her lips, she takes a long sip of the wine. She may as well enjoy herself while she figures out her first move.

Coming here alone without a clear plan is probably the very definition of a suicide mission, but Angel has had plenty of experience with those. Before, she wouldn’t have even contemplated this. But with Rick’s life on the line, any fear for herself has been replaced by the primal instinct to protect him.

No matter what the cost.

By the time she reaches the far side of the room, she’s already drained the glass. Discarding it on an empty table, she adjusts her feathered mask and pulls out the disposable cell phone. A few taps on the screen and she’s greeted by the familiar images of the targets. They’re of little use to her right now, not least because she’s had the faces of these men imprinted in the back of her mind for the last three years, but with everyone here wearing masks it’s going to be near impossible to locate them.

Angel surveys the crowd again. The upper echelons of Gotham’s society are out in full force tonight. So many seedy senators and dishonest judges. No small part of her wishes she had enough time to take them all down. A shiver of anticipation runs along her spine. It’s been so long since her last mission with Task Force X, she’d forgotten about the excitement. She’s been so busy trying to live a good life that she’d forgotten the forbidden thrill that comes from knowing she’s about to do something terrible.

In the past she’d been given no choice but to execute Waller’s orders, but tonight Angel is the one calling the shots. Alert, her eyes continue watching, searching. Every muscle in her body is taught with tension and ready to strike, a lioness in the grass, waiting for her prey.

Moments later, she spots one of the targets when he removes his mask to wipe the perspiration from his brow. That’s his first mistake. His second is going to the restroom alone. She trails him at a safe and unsuspecting distance, slipping into the men’s room behind him only when she’s sure no one else is around. Maybe this is going to be easier than she thought. An overweight old man having a heart attack in the bathroom – who’s going to question it?

He’s leaning over the sink, splashing cold water onto his ruddy face when she creeps up behind him. There’s no hint of recognition, only surprise in his eyes as he lifts his head to the mirror and sees Angel’s masked reflection staring back at him. “Can I help you?”

His voice, the last thing she heard in the court room before she was indefinitely incarcerated all those years ago, scrapes along her nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but she supresses the urge to shudder and simply smiles at him instead. “I think it’s too late for that, Judge Carmichael.”

At the mention of his name, the judge turns around and his gaze trails along Angel’s body. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Not anymore.” She’s still smiling when she lunges.

Her small hands don’t quite fit all the way around Carmichael’s thick neck, but it doesn’t matter. Her power feels like a freight train rushing through her veins and in less than a second the man is clawing at her fingers, gasping for breath.

This is payback, she thinks. You took my life. Now I’m taking yours.

She’s so singularly focused on causing the man’s demise that she almost doesn’t notice a heavy hand landing on her shoulder. With one of her own hands still gripping the judge by the throat she pivots around, her other arm outstretched and ready to inflict damage on her assailant.

“Easy darlin’. You don’t wanna do that.”

She knows that southern rumble better than her own voice. Her fingers release Carmichael with a jolt and his body slumps to the ground, still alive but unconscious.

Angel’s eyes flick up to the intruder and what a sight he is to behold. Suited in an elegant tuxedo that fits him just right, the upper half of his face is concealed by a velvet onyx mask, the twin to her own, but she would recognise that jawline anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” She hisses, despite the relief that floods through her body at his presence.

Ignoring her question, Rick slips his hand from her shoulder and pulls off his mask. He bends down to check the judge’s pulse and a flicker of relief crosses his face. “Could ask you the same thing.” He frowns up at her. “What the hell do ya think you’re doin’?”

Angel crosses her arms, preparing herself for his disapproval as she shifts her weight from one heeled foot to the other. Damn these ridiculous shoes. She’s been on the receiving end of Rick’s lectures enough times during their missions together to know one is coming her way shortly. “I’m doing what The Joker asked.”

Rick straightens, jaw set in a firm line. He’s not happy. “We talked about this.”

“No, we didn’t,” she reminds him. “We did everything buttalk about this.”

“So, what? You decided to take matters into your own hands?” Raggedly he runs a hand through the lengths of his hair as he takes in their current surroundings, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “Christ” under his breath.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Rick. Someone needs to.”

“You should’a told me.” It’s not quite a concession, but his expression softens when his attention returns to her, his eyes drifting over the expanse of skin she has on show tonight. He seems to be noticing the dress for the first time. Does she imagine it, or is that a flicker of heat in his hazel eyes?

“You would have tried to stop me”, she counters, fingernails digging into the bare skin of her arms as she tries to calm her power. The rush of the almost-kill still courses through her body.

Rick doesn’t disagree. Instead, he glances at the bathroom door. “C’mon. We need to get outta here before someone walks in.”

“Ok. Just let me finish this.” She starts moving towards the judge again, but Rick steps in, blocking her path. She doesn’t bother trying to hide the desperation in her voice when she adds, “If I don’t do this, The Joker is going to activate your bomb.”

Still, he doesn’t budge. He continues to look at her with that serious, thin-lipped expression of his. “But if you get caught, you’ll be straight back in Belle Reve. Not even my deal with Waller will stop that.”

“Then I won’t get caught.” She tries to side-step him, but he grabs her by the top of her arms, anchoring her in place. If she wanted to, she could break out of his grip. It would only take half a thought.

“I’m not lettin’ you kill him, Angel.” Rick raises his hands to cup her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. “There’s always another way.”

Rick

With the help of Angel, Rick manages to haul the unconscious man out of the restrooms and through a service door that he already knows leads to the parking lot. It’s nothing short of a miracle that nobody is around to see them, but Rick will thank his lucky stars for that later. If he makes it out of this alive.

Even with the mask hiding her beautiful face, he spotted Angel straight away. She’s breath-taking. A vision, in that cursed dress. And as he watched her silently trailing her victim across the ballroom floor, Rick couldn’t help but think she really did look like an Angel of Death.

He should have known she would show up tonight. Maybe he already did. Maybe he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. Because the truth is, having her by his side is going to make what he intends to do a hell of a lot easier.

Waiting by the service door as planned is the big black van. Supporting the man with one arm, Rick knocks three times on the van door. As it slowly slides open, he feels Angel’s grip weaken on the other side of their captive. She’s staring, open-mouthed in surprise, and Rick can hardly blame her.

“Deadshot?” She gasps at the sight of her old teammate. The hitman is currently sitting opposite another tuxedo-wearing man and is pointing a small black revolver at his chest. “What the hell?”

The stranger’s eyes dart to Angel. He tries to shout something through the duct tape covering his mouth, but Lawton shuts him up with a sharp kick to the shin. “Good question.” Lawton turns to glare at Rick. “What’s she doin’ here, Flag? Last I heard, she was still on the run.”

Even if they had time to discuss the events of the last twelve months, Rick would prefer not to. Hell, he wouldn’t even know where to start. So, even though neither of his accomplices remain on Waller’s task force, Rick slips back into the role of commander. “Just help me get him in the goddamn van,” he snaps at no one in particular. The longer they linger here, the more likely it is they’ll be caught.

After depositing the overweight man on the floor of the van, Rick stands back while Angel renders their first captive unconscious. Even in this precarious situation, he can’t take his eyes off her. Can’t tear his gaze away from the dress hugging her curves like a second skin as she bends over.

The sinful thoughts filling his mind are rapidly extinguished when Lawton jumps out of the van and comes to stand beside him, following his line of sight. “There somethin’ you wanna tell me, Flag?”

Scrubbing a hand over his across his face, Rick sighs. “Not particularly.” What he wants is for this nightmare to be over. He trusts Lawton, mostly. Wouldn’t have reached out for his help if he didn’t. But now Angel is involved, the stakes are raised. They can’t afford a single slip up.

Lawton continues to appraise him, a slow smile eventually spreading across his face. Rick doesn’t like it one bit. “Yo, it finally happened, didn’t it?”

“What happened?” Angel asks, starting to climb out of the van to join them. Conscious of her impractical footwear, Rick instinctively offers her his arm, helping her down.

“Nothing,” he grunts.

But Lawton is fully grinning now, even as he slides the van door shut. “Know I’ve been outta the loop since gettin’ released, but damn, you two took your sweet time. You see Quinn, you tell her I owe her fifty bucks.”

Before Rick can respond, Angel is tugging him away, out of Lawton’s earshot. The disbelief is evident in her voice, even as she whispers. “You called Deadshot. Why?”

“He owes me a favour.” A hell of a lot of favours, really. It was thanks to Rick that the hitman was able to secure an early release from Belle Reve. But they don’t have time to talk about that right now, either.

“And does he know why you’re doing this?” Does he know The Joker is involved?

“No questions. That was the deal. He’s just here as back up.”

Angel sighs and shakes her head. She’s clearly still pissed. “So, what exactly is your plan?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Rick sees Lawton leaning against the van, scrolling through his phone. He lowers his voice even further. “If The Joker wants these guys dead, he can do his own dirty work.”

“And we’re just going to deliver them to his door?” She raises an eyebrow. “What’s the difference between that and pulling the trigger ourselves?”

This is the question Rick’s been wrestling with himself. He’s done terrible things for his country, for Waller. He’s killed hundreds of people. He doesn’t want to do the same for The Joker. But even if it’s not by his hand, there’s a very good chance these men are going to die tonight.

“I’m sendin’ him a message. If he thinks he can control me, he’s wrong. Besides, what kind of cryptic demand was this anyway?” He pulls out the graffitied photos from the inner pocket of his tux. “Maybe it’ll teach him to be a little clearer in future.”

Angel takes his arm, sending a rush of warmth through his body. Sometimes when she touches him, he’s not sure if it’s her power or his own body’s reaction, but the effect is like magic. A wave of calm, washing over him.

“I don’t like this, Rick. You should do what he wants so we can get this thing out of your head.” Her hand rises to the back of his neck, fingers drifting over the spot where Van Criss implanted the bomb. His eyes shutter. “Let me kill them, babe. You’re only in this position because of me.”

Rick shakes his head, and Angel’s hand falls back to her side. “It was my decision, remember. You’ve already taken too many innocent lives ‘cos of me. I don’t want that for you. Not anymore.”

Angel squeezes her eyes shut and clenches her jaw. “They’re not innocent.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You saw those people inside, Rick. None of them are innocent. Not really.” Something seems to shift in her expression when she looks up at him again. It’s the same look she wore earlier when she had her hands around the second man’s throat. For the first time tonight, he realises it’s hatred he sees in her eyes. How did he miss it?

“You know them.” It’s not a question. “Who are these men, Angel? Why does The Joker want them dead?”

“You didn’t do your research?” A faint smile tugs at the corners of her lips, but it doesn’t stretch to the rest of her face.

Rick falls silent, but he can hear his pulse ringing in his ears. No, he didn’t do his research. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps then he’d understand exactly why she’s so desperate to spill blood tonight.

“I expected better of you, Colonel.” But the teasing lilt to her voice just isn’t quite there, and there’s no trace of humour at all when she continues. “Those men are the reason I ended up in Belle Reve.”

There isn’t time for the full story, Angel tells him as - masks back on - they leave Lawton with the van and return to the party. Rick feels as if he’s temporarily left his body, reeling from even the small amount of information she’s shared with him this evening. The man he stopped her from killing was somehow responsible for her indefinite sentence in Belle Reve. Maybe he should have let her finish the job. Shit, maybe he should go back there and finish the job himself.

But he promised himself he wouldn’t be The Joker’s executioner and besides, there’s still one more target to go.

“He’s a womaniser,” Angel explains as she leads the way back to the ballroom floor. Rick doesn’t want to imagine how she knows this, so he bites his tongue. “Once we spot him, you go back to the van. I’ll lure him outside.”

He wonders with a start, at what point he stopped giving the orders this evening. Is this really the same terrified woman he found in Waller’s cell all those years ago, looking like a deer trapped in the headlights? No, he thinks. They’ve both changed so much since then.

“You need to act naturally,” she reminds him under her breath as they find themselves in the middle of the room, surrounded by couples dancing. How many times has Rick told Angel the very same thing during their missions? He feels dizzy and disorientated by this sudden shift of command.

Grabbing his hands, she places them around her waist, and loops her own arms around his neck. “I know you don’t dance, but maybe at least move your feet?”

Rick does as he’s told, still not fully in control of his body. He tries to focus on the feeling of her soft warm body beneath his hands, but his mind continues to drift to the three men. The Joker choosing them as targets cannot be a coincidence. He must have known who they were to Angel. Must have known she’d be unable to stay away.

“You’re hurt.”

He looks down at her masked face and blue eyes shining with worry stare back at him. With a delicate finger she reaches up and traces a gentle path along his jaw, just visible beneath his own mask. The first target had gotten lucky, managing to land a single punch that split his lip.

Rick tightens his grip around her waist. “I’m fine, darlin’. Stop worryin’ about me.”

“You know that’s never gonna happen, right?”

His lips quirk up into a small smile. He can’t blame her for worrying. Not after what happened in Jotunheim. He can only begin to imagine how she must have felt, finding him fighting for his life in that hospital bed. If their roles had been reversed, he’d never let her out of his sight.

“I see him, Rick.” She squeezes his shoulder suddenly. “Go. I’ll be right out, ok?”

But Rick makes no move to release her, his fear refusing to be outweighed by the knowledge that she is more than capable of looking after herself.

“I’ve got this. I was trained by the best, remember?” She places a soft hand to his neck.

Rick nods faintly. God, how he loves this woman. He opens his mouth, the words ready to tumble out, but she’s already twisting out of his arms and heading towards the third and final target.

Rick watches helplessly as Angel sweeps across the ballroom floor. He remains where he is, needing to be absolutely sure she can handle this before he turns his back on her. A bitter taste fills his mouth as she places a hand on the stranger’s chest and whispers something into the man’s ear. Rick knows exactly what she’s doing. Knows that hand is strategically placed to slow the man’s pulse and make him feel relaxed. He’s seen her do it countless times before on missions. After all, it’s a plan they’d developed together.

Once he returns to Lawton and the van, Rick doesn’t have long to wait before Angel reappears with the third target in tow. He and Lawton observe without interference as she leads the unsuspecting man out into the night and pushes him gently against the wall. As the stranger pulls off his mask and leans in to kiss her, Rick feels his fists clench at his sides, but there’s nothing to worry about. Angel already has a hand on his pulse point and seconds later the man crumples to the ground.

Lawton begins a slow round of applause. “Damn. Never gets old.”

Stepping over the prone figure, Angel wipes her hands on the skirts of her dress, disgust flashing in her blue eyes. “Over to you,” she tells Lawton as she passes, only coming to a stop when she reaches Rick. She removes her feathered mask and smiles up at him “See, nothing to worry about.”

Ignoring Lawton’s presence, Rick pulls her tightly into his embrace. “Sometimes I wonder if I did too good a job trainin’ you,” he mutters into her ear.

Angel

The abandoned warehouse in downtown Gotham is just as Angel remembered, menacing and odorous with decay. After the first time, she’d hoped never to find herself here again, but as she’s already learned in life, nothing ever goes quite to plan.

Standing in the very same sickly green chamber with Rick by her side, she waits with a faint feeling of nausea for The Joker to appear. The three bound men lie in a heap at their feet, courtesy of the clown’s cronies. It’s fortunate, Angel thinks, that the henchmen were too busy bundling the prisoners out of the van to check her for weapons. On the short drive over, she swapped the knife in her garter belt for the small black pistol Deadshot was wielding earlier. The cool metal is a comforting reminder that she could blow The Joker’s brains out if she wanted to.

A harsh cackle fills the air. “Colonel, Angel. We meet again.” Slowly emerging from the shadows, the ghastly face that has been haunting Angel’s dreams finally comes into view. The hideous villain looks just as she remembered, sallow skin and psychotic smile. “Is it just me, or does this give you a sense of déjà vu?”

Angel bites down on her lip. She senses Rick tense beside her, but he keeps his mouth shut, too. They can’t afford to put a foot wrong. Not with The Joker holding all the cards.

The villain stalks closer, his green eyes dancing with unbridled delight as he surveys the sight before him. “A little birdie told me you died, Flag. Imagine my disappointment. We never got to have any fun.”

Rick shifts from one foot to another but remains silent. Angel can feel the anger and hatred rippling off him as he stares at their tormentor. She wishes she could take his hand but doing so would surely only give the clown further arsenal with which to torment them.

“And you, my sweet, sweet Angel of Death.” The Joker starts to circle the pair of them, his horrible gaze sweeping over her body. “Do you like the dress I picked for you? You look simply ravishing. It would appear I got your measurements just right.”

Rick’s restraint snaps. He withdraws the crumpled photographs from his jacket and drops them onto the ground. The clown’s attention quickly follows as they land beside the bundle of bodies on the floor.

“And what do we have here?” With a shiny black shoe, he kicks one of the prone men in the stomach before pursing his lips. “Not good enough, Flag. I wanted them dead.”

Rick folds his arms across his broad chest. “How about you carry out your own dirty work, clown.”

The Joker pulls a vulgar face. “And where’s the fun in that? What’s the point in having my very own toy soldier if he doesn’t follow orders?”

“I told you this wasn’t going to work.” Angel hisses.

They’d been naïve to think they could work around the clown’s demands. Why did she listen to Rick? Why didn’t she insist on going all the way? As she’d dragged each man down into unconsciousness it would have only taken a few seconds more to end their lives. She could have blamed it on a lack of control, could have called it an accident. But that would have meant lying to Rick and even if he believed her, she never wants to break his trust.

The Joker leers at Angel’s whispered outburst. “She’s correct. A deal is a deal. Do as I ask, or I kill you. I know you’ve never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, Flag. But I’m not sure I can make that any simpler for you.”

Rick flashes his teeth in a vicious snarl. “I’m not killin’ anyone for you.”

The Joker pulls out a small device from the pocket of his black pants. “I would have thought you’d be more compliant, considering my finger is hovering above this button.”

Angel knows that Rick wants to be a good man, just as she wants to be good herself. But what’s the point in living a decent life if the man you love is no longer part of it? “No.” She begs. “Please.”

“With a cherry on top?” The Joker cackles. “Lucky for the both of you, I’m in the mood for forgiveness. Consider this a second chance. Kill them. Now. Or I’ll blow the bomb.”

Rick continues to stand firm, his jaw set. Don’t be a martyr, she pleads with him silently. Don’t throw away everything we’ve fought so hard for.

“You obviously have a flare for the dramatics, Colonel. Would you like a countdown, perhaps?” The Joker flips the activation switch, his pale finger indeed hovering over the red kill button. One touch away from ending Rick’s life. “Three… two…one…”

Not acting entirely of her own accord, Angel slips the stolen gun from her garter and fires three shots in rapid succession. Exactly like Deadshot taught her, each bullet finds its target and crimson blood pools on the concrete floor of The Joker’s lair. Just as assuredly as the three men sealed her fate all those years ago, Angel has sealed their own.

Even over the ringing in her ears, she can hear The Joker’s manic laughter. Broad, familiar hands wrestle the gun from her trembling fingers, and she looks up to see the astonished face of Rick staring down at her, blood splattered across his tanned skin.

“Bravo, bravo my beautiful Angel.” The Joker claps enthusiastically, his wicked face etched with glee. “How does it feel to play judge, jury and executioner? I knew all you needed was a little motivation. Why do you think I chose these three chumps? I confess I’m surprised you didn’t end their pathetic lives earlier.”

Ignoring his taunts, she takes a step towards the clown wishing she still had possession of the gun, but strong arms wrap around her waist and Rick hauls her back, holding her tightly against his chest.

“I did what you wanted.” She struggles against Rick’s grip, glaring at The Joker. “Now get it out. Get it out of his head.”

“A deal’s a deal, clown,” Rick adds warily, and Angel realises The Joker’s finger is still hovering over the detonator.

“Get it out!” She screams this time, furiously wrestling against Rick’s hold as tears fall freely from her eyes. “Get it out!” She’ll kill the clown if she has to. No need for her power, no need for weapons, she’ll wrap her hands around his pale throat and squeeze the wretched life out of him. “Get it out!”

If The Joker can see the promise of violence in her eyes, it doesn’t faze him. “Oh, my darling Angel. I hate to have to break it to you, but this was just the practice round. You see, I needed to ensure you were committed. Both of you. Because what I really want is going to require you to work together, I’m sure of it.”

“This isn’t what we agreed,” Rick grits out, his arms still anchoring Angel flush against his chest.

“Don’t look so surprised, Flag. I’m a villain. Why would you believe a word I say?”

“What do you want?” Angel snaps, tears clouding her vision as she struggles to keep a grip on the power rolling through her veins.

The Joker smirks. “I want Waller’s drive.”

#rick flag #rick flag x oc #joel kinnaman #oc appreciation #the suicide squad #the joker #colonel rick flag #rick flag fanfiction #what a wicked game #dceu fanfiction

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touchmycoat · 2 years

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Are there any media or books that do good whump? I know you said you were not satisfied with the level in 成化。I feel spoiled by fanfic, especially if the whump cones with plenty of comfort, since pro media doesn't spend much time on comfort. Are there any novels or dramas that you think does a good job of whump?

oh boy yeah, I keep the last arc of 無雙 open in a phone tab for easy access at any moment specifically for whump food lmfao. I know what you mean, fic does such a phenomenal job of really indulging in both sides of the h/c. Yeah my primary complaint with 成化 was that it 1) didn't have enough whump, but 2) for the whump it did have it never leaned into it in a satisfying enough way.

But Peerless does!!! And Thousand Autumns for sure. The stabbing scene in Peerless is also really fucking good (with the escape-from-the-cave followup), so is the FX-tries-to-White-Fang-CBQ arm breaking scene. Thousand Autumns' whump is more specifically flavored with rapey vibes which I also appreciate a lot lmao. I know I reread the Mu Tipo bit, the Yu Ai reunion bit, the [REDACTED] bit, and all the noncon kissing a lot. All these specifically felt like Meng Xi Shi handfeeding me good food and winking, ykwim?

Along those lines, SQ's VA in the Thousand Autumns audio drama famously got lightheaded at the end of filming every day for the first good bit because he had to do so much breathless panting and noises of pain. So I highly recommend that too lmfao.

水千丞 is pretty famous for having 渣攻 characters, if you're into the emotional "he's into me but he's a dick to me" whump. I gave 娘娘腔 a try once upon a time but it wasn't really my thing. My mom recommends it tho!

OH OH OH NOT A DANMEI REC but one of my fav whumpy female lead romance hijinks novels is 桃花折江山 by 白鷺成雙. It's hot and sexy and I cried at the end. Novel begins with MC realizing ML is trying to kill her and it's about how she repeatedly survives his attempts by figuring out all the political impetus behind them and resolving it. 春日宴 is another really good novel by the same author, also whumpy and hilarious in the same way. 桃花折江山 is conniving man falls for clever woman, 春日宴 is grumpy babyboy has misunderstood his sexy indulgent jiejie this whole time. There is also ofc 春閨夢裏人 with its I'm-supposed-to-hate-you-but-you're-so-politically-savvy-and-capable-that-you've-become-the-only-one-I-trust-to-survive-my-love story. Also whump, but a lot more of it is the MC bearing it herself (though husband does try to repent for this for the entire last arc). Choose your fighter.

薄霧 has arcs that are whumpier than others (the world-falling-apart-running-on-the-train bit and the rubik's cube puzzle come to mind) bc the MC's got a special ability that pains him.

劍名不奈何 also definitely has a 好可憐的男主啊 plot, plenty of physical and emotional whump, and canon comfort!! (funny enough, I think canon kind of went to excess on the comfort, where it kind of felt like the MC just stopped doing anything after the ML realized the extent of MC's hurt. But it's still a good read!)

I NEARLY FORGOT 天涯客 but ig it's pretty well-known now 'cause of WOH. I reread the Puppet Manor scene where they sleep in the same bed and WKX realizes for the first time just how punishing nights are for ZZS. But also it has my favorite vibe when it comes to whumpees. My favorite passage:

那日周子舒在溫客行懷裡縮了半宿，以至於溫客行第二日都有些誠惶誠恐——他知道身上有傷肯定要受罪，卻不知道要受這麼大的罪，這一心疼起來，便將周子舒當成個瓷人似的，再不敢動手動腳地跟他瞎鬧了。

可誰知他誠惶誠恐地觀察了兩天，發現這周瓷人簡直沒心沒肺到了一定的境界，是個記吃不記打的，每天破曉，疼勁過去了，他就也好像撂爪就忘一般，該打趣打趣，該罵娘罵娘，洗把臉便能洗去一臉憔悴，早飯的時候繼續下箸如飛神采奕奕，絲毫不客氣，發揮完全正常。

心裡就明白，有些人天生不是嬌貴的命，憐惜他還不如去憐惜頭豬，真是浪費感情。

My coworker sent me this thread for physical whump reference hahahah. There's a handful of recs on there too.

#unfortunately i don't really watch dramas so i can't rec those TTTTT #these are the only books i've...read #kdsjfnkjsdf #long post #hope this helps....!!! and you haven't already read all of them lmfao #anon #danmei #chinese novels

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emcscared-whumps · 2 years

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@dang-i-like-whump because you got me onto the collapsed lung bullshit lmfao it's your fault ^-^ also @painful-pooch bc i added some extra tidbits lol

it's just a roughly outlined thing instead of actual writing bUT;

CONTENT and WARNINGS: uh, collapsed lung, drowning but not actually but it looks like it unless you Know Pete's a mer shifter so... oh yeah, and he'll effectively be rendered mute bc speaking is a lung thing

idek lmfao i dance on all the tw topics like a 10 year old doing the nutbush on a funky mat to the entire song

and i can't get enough

~*~

imagine Pete just, minding his own damn business, getting a collapsed lung for x reason (not injury related, he'd literally die lol), and just, eyes going wide, clutching at his chest and throat struggling to breathe properly, hyperventilating at an alarming rate as he drops to his knees, cane clattering to the ground

if anyone tries to help he'll probably shy away and almost end up flat on the ground, and you can very much see the decision happen behind those beautiful scared eyes when he see/finds the Nearby Water

he doesn't wanna but all previous inhibitions go yeet when you can't breathe

frantically, with shaking hands while still hyperventilating, he slips off his scarf and shrugs off his jacket

-- you can see him getting faint--

he clumsily dives in, in fact he half falls in, but it's clearly intentional

he'll be rendered mute because he can't use his lungs anymore, he can't get the air moving, he's reliant solely on his gills; so he can't communicate what's happened

I wonder though, who he's with… no clue, but bonus if they/one doesn't Know and it's all in an unfamiliar place (would be better if they're alone with him so they have no context tbh)

so he's struggling, panicking, and he jumps in the water and then doesn't surface for a solid fucking minute (that, and he's still recovering from the 'holy fuck I couldn't breathe and there wasn't even any water involved, I was totally dry')

imagine the heart attack the person Not In The Know would get I mean holy fuck lmao

Pete ofc will pop back up, or rather, get within an inch of the surface to see if they're still there, they spot him first, and he has to surface to let them know he's… okay… not really… he couldn't breathe yeah and they practically reach in and drag him back up lmao

anyway, bb is stuck as fish, and reliant entirely on water

ACTUALLY?? you know what would be fun??! if they jumped in after he didn't come back up after a few seconds :eblurryeyes:

and the water is cold af

and Pete has to try and stop them going after him and getting hypothermia >:3

#whump #oc whump #whump oc #mer whumpee #mer whump #merman whump #collapsed lung #the only reason he's not dead is because he has gills too ehehehe

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mcythottakes · 3 years

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C!Characters are free game in the MCYT fandom space, but what does that Mean?

Time to talk about C!Character and what you can do in a fandom space with them, specially about the more unwritten ‘rules’ of this kinda fandom. Specially for those not sure how to navigate a fandom space like this ‘safely’. (please keep in mind these are all my own opinions and ideas and shouldn't be taken as 100% law, as im interpreting ALOT of what the fandom regards as ‘unwritten rules’ into a format people can understand) First off, as it stands, c!Character (and by extension, some personas even) are fictional characters. Maybe of them, yes, are based on their irl counterpart, the cc’s, but there is a degree of separation between them! When doing fandom works or engaging in fandom, all works/talks pertaining to the actual cc’s boundaries should ALWAYS be respected, always. However, the c!Characters? As far as im concerned, they should be free game to do whatever with. They are not real people, they are characters, fictional people, and thus should and can be used just like every fictional character ever. Ofc if the cc has mentioned anything specific about the c!Character (not themselves) you should try to follow it (in the case of boundaries, gender, pronouns, age, sexuality, ect ect) but you dont really have to, that's what creative freedom is for! As long as you aren't changing them out of malice, then its okay! (for example changing a c!character to fit bigoted, homophonic, for outside political views, ect. ect with the intent of being an asshole and doing harm) What this can mean;

Hc/write the c!Character a different sexuality

Have a different set of pronouns

Be put in horrible situations (like a angst/whump story with pain and angst!)

Have them relationships (both platonic or otherwise) they dont normally have in canon

Explore types of relationships or reactions then dont have in canon

and so much more! Treat it like its a normal fandom in regards to the characters, troupes and story ideas abound <3

what this does not mean;

Sexualizing's minors. Yes I said before they are not real people and a lot of the people who do, in fact, sexualize minors are minors themselves (and minors having crushes on fellow minors who are ccs are very normal!) but the fact they are tied to real cc’s makes this line a gray area and one that really shouldn't be crossed in general, even more so if you aren't a minor and are an adult. So while id consider the characters fictional characters, this is just a line better not crossed.

If you make that sort of content? Keep it away from those who dont want to see it, nor shove it in our faces, Tag your shit and understand we dont want to touch it with a 50ft pole. That being said if you go looking for it, its your own fault for what you see. Its gonna happen regardless of if we want it to or not, better just pretend it doesn't then worry about it/be subjected to it.

Telling cc’s about it. Just leave them alone, its none of their business and if they want to come into a fandom space and read about their characters that's their business, they do it on our terms!

Dont apply these ‘rules’ to cc’s, like I said, they are real people and while most actual RPF I see about them is pretty good at this, RESPECT THE ACTUAL PEOPLES BOUNDRIES. This is literally only in relation to the c!Characters.

And if you come across someone who breaks these ‘rules’? DONT FUCKING TELL THEM TO KILL THEMSLEVES. Id rather sit through 1000 gross, nasty boundaries breaking fics then have someone kill themselves over this kinda thing. Its fucking harmless, even the more ‘gross’ stuff and while you and I dont like it, nobody deserves to be treated that way over it. Find something you dont like? Block them and move on with your day, you’ll find like is so much easier when you dont worry and needlessly harass people over things you cant really change.

So TLDR; Characters should be free range in fandom spaces since they are not the cc’s and thus not or should not be limited by the real life boundaries, however you should be aware there are gray areas you probably shouldn’t cross even then (This was brought to you guys mostly by the posts lately about ‘underage shipping’ and the shipping of cc’s lately in the fandoms, specially Tubbo and Ranboo and Tommy, as well as some of the adult people too)

#myct #MCYT fandom #dream smp #dsmp #hermitcraft #tubbo #ranboo #tommyinnit #yes i did character tags so this would spread #sorry not sorry tbh lol #some of you need to grow up #and some of you need to take a look inside yourself and chill #some need to do both #tw suicide mention

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piracytheorist · 2 years

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(laa) oh Ethan's far from my first obsession or hyperfocus (earliest RE were OG chris, Jill and Claire in early 2000s), but normally these last a month or 2 then fade to 'man I really like this thing' and I occasionally revisit them when something pops on my feeds or any tracked tags in some sites,,, but with these characters? so far it's been nothing but 'Ethan! Rose! classic!RE lore revisit! sometimes Venom! rarely the lords+miranda! then back to Ethan! Rose!' and and the whole loving a chara that *loves*? aw yisss

like I'm at work, and sometimes if there aren't any customers or things to write on the pc, there's just fanfic in my mind 'hm *Ethan doing mundane stuff I do at home - or teaching Rose how to play piano* ah yes happy hcs ♥' or 'enough of Ethan survived and was picked up by the Connections bc Lucas told them about him and/or their mole in the BSAA found out his moldy status and now Rose is going to find him while on a completely unrelated mission and they've experimented on him and hurt him so much during all these years she thought him dead (I need the whump (ʘ‿ʘ✿) ), she could barely recognise him, it was only bc of the emotion in his eyes when he looked at her and when he tries to whisper her name (and ofc the mold itself probably screaming at her that's Daddy!!) and she well she rains absolute hell on them and brings down the entire facility - chris being disturbed is a must, he understands why she did it but also serves as a nice reminder of how powerful she is and how much she loves her dad and how far she'll go for him ok just like that agent said 'you're a lot like him, you know?' (did this guy know Ethan or just heard about him? why say 'today of all days', was it a special date, what about? they both know chris (and she's not v happy w him) so whats with the sniper? i have questions! capcommm! these years of waiting - also i need sleep rn)

Oh, yeah. Like Ethan's a pretty simple character, he doesn't really need much to work as he does, but the things he does are so in sync with what I like.

Like on my first watch of a playthrough, at first I was both "He seems kinda boring lol" and "Aw poor dude. Don't worry Ethan, we're in this together. But your screams of pain ARE kinda doing it for me..." at the same time XD It was through his continuous refusal to give a shit and to accept he's in a horror game and through his love for Rose that moved him forward that took me from liking him straight into loving the shit out of him.

Coming up with fic ideas during boring work hours is a must. How else are we gonna spend our time? XD Ethan teaching Rose how to play the piano 🥺🥺 Im lov. I want this, sweet moments between a daughter and the father who fought like hell to save her 😭😭 But this:

"she could barely recognise him, it was only bc of the emotion in his eyes when he looked at her and when he tries to whisper her name (and ofc the mold itself probably screaming at her that's Daddy!!)"

sadafdsgfadgafsdgfdv!! I want this!! I want them to reunite so bad! And if it's after Ethan has been tortured and experimented upon... well, the more whump the better! Like you know, make him suffer hell and then give him a happy ending. That's how it works for us! They deserve to get to know each other 🥺🥺

I'd honestly love to see how Rose grows up to see Chris as. She says to that agent "I can show you things even Chris doesn't know I can do" so Chris knows a lot, and is supposed to be the guy who knows THE most about Rose, at least when it comes to her mold powers. And I'd really like to see the dynamic of those two.

About that agent, I've heard the theory that he was one of the guys who gave Ethan military training before re8. Otherwise, if he's just heard about Ethan, it doesn't make too much sense, because it's different to get to know a person and to just hear stuff about them. Or maybe Ethan's story became a BIG thing in whatever team they've got going on (I'm guessing it's not BSAA) and he knows a lot of stuff about him. He says "Today of all days" because it looks like it's Ethan's birthday. Like Rose says "Sorry I missed last week" when she puts the flowers down on his grave, but I don't know if that means that she missed his birthday which was last week, or if she missed her weekly visit to his grave, and the day she went happened to be his birthday.

And about the sniper, I'm pretty sure they're afraid of her. I don't think them having a sniper on her was approved by Chris - in fact, I have a theory that her working with that agent is happening completely behind Chris' back, like Chris has a team training Rose and this guy is with them and secretly working with her, perhaps because he's a Connections/BSAA mole and they want to use her or something - but in any case they probably think she may get uncontrollable and unpredictable, so they're having a failsafe in case she tries something. Super creepy, by the way. But it's also an awesome sequel hook, as soon as I saw it I was like "So Rose for protagonist on re9, right? Is it coming tomorrow or what??"

#Ethan Winters #Rosemary Winters #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 8 #re meta #long asks anon #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

In our own image... (10)

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters… My Masterlist

Word count: 2400 words. (Read it on AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up (PG) none.

"Look, if you hadn’t messed with the guidance system we never would have been in this mess," Dameron shouted over the clanging coming from the Falcon’s starboard engine.

"Me? Messed with? How dare you, you bastard son of a slyyyg."

Dameron popped his head out of the flooring grate. "What did you call me?"

"The bastard son of a slyyyg," Chewbacca repeated calmly, making a rude gesture with one hand. He had been trapped on this infernal trip with just the human for company for three days. Three days of incessant chatter and the man’s insistence on piloting even though Chewbacca had been flying the Falcon for close to fifty years now.

"That’s a new one," the human raised an eyebrow at him. "What’s a slyyyg?"

"Big, squishy, slimy… they stink to the Aboves as well."

Dameron glared, placing both hands on the floor to lift himself out of the lower level. "I am offended."

"You should be," Chewbacca grumbled back, resetting the auxiliary power to the engine and hearing it stop making that clanging noise. "Messed with. Messed with. As if I ever mess with anything. I perform needed repairs that keep this ship running-"

"Yeah yeah," Dameron waved a hand as he examined circuitry on the wall panel. "I’ve heard it all before Chewie. From you even."

"Well listen to me this time!" Chewbacca called after him as Dameron disappeared towards the cockpit, leaving Chewbacca alone with the human’s droid. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing Friend Chewbacca," BB-8 said quickly before following its owner out.

"Stupid humans and their stupid droids," Chewbacca mumbled to himself, closing up the panel he was working on.

"Are we ready?" Dameron called back and Chewbacca slammed a hand onto the control console, watching it reboot.

"We’re ready!"

He felt the stretch and snap of hyperspace, not even skipping his stride as he made his way to the cockpit, slipping in next to the human. "You owe me a crate of wroshyr syrup," he said without preamble.

"I know, I know," Dameron sighed, eyeing the controls.

Chewbacca slipped his headset on, "I could have kept that pool too myself. Had a little alone time. But I told you where it was-"

"I know Chewie," Dameron said with a laugh. "And I promise I’m good for it."

Chewbacca grunted, flipping through the landing checks. It was a short jump back to Ajan Kloss, only fifteen minutes in hyperspace.

"Did you consecrate it?"

"What?" The human practically shouted and Chewbacca turned to give him an incredulous look.

"Don’t shout at me, I can hear you just fine."

"No we did not 'consecrate' anything," Dameron stammered out.

"You didn’t?" Chewbacca asked with genuine curiosity. "I thought that was your whole intention."

"It was not-" the human started but cut himself off. "Chewie when you say 'consecrate' what do you mean, exactly?"

Chewbacca felt the hairs on his face stand up slightly, not that the human would notice. "That you would worship one another’s bodies in its hallowed waters."

Dameron choked on air and Chewbacca patted him softly on the back, listening to the whump whump noise and seeing the man jerk forward. When he regained his composure the human looked up, flicking through the landing checklist. "We uh, we didn’t quite get that far."

"Oh," Chewbacca leaned back in his seat, content to let the other man do the work in this instance. "Perhaps next time."

"Perhaps next time," Dameron said, trying to hide a laugh.

People always thought because Chewbacca wasn’t a human that he didn’t understand their facial expressions, their idiosyncrasies. But he was also 230 years old - or thereabouts, only children kept count past the first fifty or so - and living among the humans for nearly a quarter of his life by this point. There wasn’t much about humans he didn’t know. Had even written papers about their strange habits for the university back on Kashyyk. Not that he’d ever told any of them that.

Then again, no one had ever asked him either, if they had asked he would have told them.

Settling that in his mind, not for the first time, Chewbacca prepared himself for the drop out of hyperspace and the landing on Ajan Kloss. The planet reminded him of home, just a little. The trees weren’t the same, the ecosystem nowhere near as complex, but stepping off of the Falcon and seeing the branches and leaves towering above him - Chewbacca felt a little less homesick.

"You coming?" Dameron asked, heading for Command.

"Do you need me?" Chewbacca replied, already moving the opposite direction.

Dameron stopped, tilting his head at him. "Well, no. But you usually come."

"Today I do not," Chewbacca told him and continued on his way.

If Chewbacca could say one thing about the Droidsmith that eased him it was that she was one of the few people on this blasted planet that made her ceiling high enough for real people. He didn’t even have to duck the outer edge of the structure, could just stride in and stretch to his full height. He looked up first, hoping to see Rey but her hammock was empty. Sighing to himself, he crossed into the inner workshop.

He took a deep breath. Literally everything else about the Droidsmith made him nervous. Until her, he had never actually met a Treesinger before. They were holy, not to be bothered by the likes of him. She was sitting with her back to the entrance - something Chewbacca would never get used to people doing, no matter how long he spent away from Kashyyk - and tinkering with a bit of wiring. Chewbacca waited patiently for her to move her tools away from the delicate piece.

"Vaunted One, I come seeking your counsel."

She jumped, turning around and then smiling at him. She whistled a greeting and her little droid, no bigger than Chewbacca’s hand, looked up at him. "Hi hi. What need?"

Chewbacca popped one of the containers of his bandolier open, holding out the small parts he had found, not meeting her eyes. "I believe these belong to the sensor array of a T-7 droid, but I do not understand how they came to be inside the Falcon. I was hoping you might know what use they might have."

The Droidsmith looked at him, then at the pieces in his hand and hesitantly reached out. She whistled again. "No speak Wook. Both not speak."

Chewbacca looked at them, trying to parse out the phrase. "You do not speak Shyriiwook?" Both the Chasinian and the droid looked at him in silence. "Neither of you speak Shyriiwook? It did not occur to me…"

The woman whistled and K-0 translated. "Wish knew what say. Where 3PO? Bad droid? No bad droid." Chewbacca saw the Droidsmith glare at K-0 but the tiny droid was ignoring her - apparently off on its own tangent. "No. No. Not bad droid. No." K-0 darted little circles and then disappeared into the back of the shop.

The Droidsmith looked at him.

He looked at the Droidsmith.

"Well…" he said.

She whistled.

Chewbacca sighed, tucking the parts away again. "I will return with C3PO. Good day to you Droidsmith, I apologize for wasting your time."

He didn’t wait for her response - wouldn’t have understood it even if he had. Instead he ducked back out into the sunlight, sighing to himself and rubbing his forehead. That had not - he had not acquitted himself well to the Treesinger, not at all. He would have to do better next time. Grumbling to himself he set off in the direction of Command, glaring at Dameron as he passed the man leaving the structure.

"What’s up with you?" The man asked.

"I was attempting to converse with your concubine but we have encountered a language barrier," Chewbacca grumbled, scanning for C3PO.

"She’s not my-" Dameron started to say then glanced around the area before pulling Chewbacca to the side. "Chewie, she’s not my… I don’t know what we are but it’s not that."

Chewbacca looked at the smaller man, "I see. My apologies, I forget sometimes, it is not said with disrespect… You would prefer the term 'lover,' yes?"

Dameron laughed, "That’s better, but still…"

"Your lover then," Chewbacca cut him off, spotting the droid he was looking for and crossing over. "Droid, you will come with me."

"I will do no such thing, I am needed here." The droid backed away from him a step and Chewbacca felt a growl building.

"I have need of you droid, come with me." A pause and then, "Please."

Shyriiwook didn’t actually have a word specifically for 'please' but Chewbacca had long since created his own. A mix of the words for need and for gratitude. It worked well enough. And the humans seemed to expect it for even the most basic of things.

"Come on Threepio," Dameron said from next to him. "We could use your help."

"May I ask what for Master Poe?"

Dameron looked at Chewbacca and then back at the droid. "Translating?" He said hesitantly and Chewbacca nodded his agreement.

"Well in that case I suppose I can…" the droid said and Chewbacca restrained himself from pulling the golden man apart. He’d known C3PO for over thirty years, and liked him for exactly zero of them.

"What is it you need to talk to Kina about," Dameron asked as they made their way back to the Droidsmith’s shop.

"I have found some strange things on the Falcon I am hoping she may help me identify."

"What things?" The human sounded concerned and Chewbacca rolled his eyes. Let the man fly the Falcon a dozen times and suddenly he thought the ship was his.

"Things I intend to speak with your lover about," Chewbacca replied.

"Yeah about that," Dameron cautioned as they stepped into the workshop, "maybe don’t refer to her as my lover when you-"

A low whistle filled the air and Dameron cut himself off, a wide grin growing on his face as he crossed to the Droidsmith and pulled her into his arms. The human might not want him to use the word, but Chewbacca had seen enough human mating rituals to know two lovers when he saw them.

"Chewie you came back," Threepio translated in response to the Droidsmith’s whistles.

"Yes, I apologize for before, Exalted One, I should have considered we might have difficulties." Threepio was speaking even as he finished.

"Exalted one?" Dameron looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I should make you start calling me that," the Droidsmith said with a fond smile. "I see that we are observing the formalities. What may I help you with Chewbacca, son of Attichitcuk?"

Chewbacca stood up to his full height at the name, lifting his chin. Then he bowed low from the waist, one hand over his heart. "I did not know that you knew me, Revered One."

"I do not Child of the Forest - but I know the ways regardless. It was my honor to attend a singing many moons before. It is a distinction to meet you this day."

Dameron was glancing between Chewbacca and the Droidsmith, questions written all over his face. "You’ve met before, several times. Don’t you remember-" but the Droidsmith kicked him and Chewbacca used one hand to shove the man to the side.

"Please allow me to express my deepest grief," Chewbacca knew that words were little comfort, but until she asked he could not offer more.

"Your grief harmonizes with my own, Child of the Trees," she told him solemnly. "May their songs echo among the stars."

"Will you sing my greetings Esteemed One?" Chewbacca asked hopefully, and then felt his hopes fall when she shook her head. "My apologies, I did not mean to intrude on your-"

The Droidsmith took his hands, squeezing them. "You have nothing to apologize for. It would give me no greater joy." She sighed and he saw a tear in her eye, "But I am afraid the songs were stolen from me."

Chewbacca felt himself go into a rage, felt the primal shout rise from within him. He noted that Dameron put his body between his lover and Chewbacca, shielding the woman. A foolish move but one he admired nevertheless. He took a steadying breath, bringing himself back to the workshop, back to the moment. The Droidsmith had not so much as flinched from him.

"I am sorry to hear it, Honored One," Chewbacca said after a pause.

She smiled, slipping out of their formalities and patting Dameron on the shoulder. The man remained tense, eyes wide as he studied Chewbacca. "It’s in the past. I am not that person any longer. I am a Droidsmith." She shrugged, seeming to discard her former role as well. "What can a Droidsmith do for you today?"

Chewbacca nodded and handed her the droid pieces again. "I am puzzled as to how these came to be on the Falcon and what purpose they might be serving there."

She took them from him, turning to her workbench and pulling a magnifying glass down.

"What was that all about," Dameron whispered to him, watching her.

Chewbacca spoke quietly, shooting C3PO a glare to indicate he did not wish his words translated. "To take the voice of one such as she. One of the few who survive. It is a great travesty. If my people knew…"

"What do you mean take?"

Chewbacca turned on him incredulously, "Do you mean you do not know? You have not asked?"

Dameron shushed him, pulling on his arm. "If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you would I?"

Tilting his head, he gently patted the man’s head. "It is her tale to tell. Not mine." Stepping forward, he looked over the woman’s shoulder. "Do you know what this is?"

She gave him a confused frown and Chewbacca realized C3PO had not translated. "Droid," he growled, "do your duties here or I will see to it that you never do them again."

"There is no need to make threats," C3PO said huffily.

"Do not threaten them in my presence Child of the Forest," the Droidsmith cautioned, her formal tone returning. "The droids are as children to me. All of them."

Chewbacca hung his head, glaring at C3PO but mumbling an apology regardless.

"Can I keep these?" she asked. "I have a thought but I’m going to need to look a few things up."

"Take the time you need Illustrious One," Chewbacca replied.

"This is so weird," Dameron mumbled and then laughed when the Droidsmith hit him softly across the chest, catching her hand and drawing it up to his lips.

Yes, these two were most definitely lovers.

Chpt 11

#in our own image #poe dameron #poe dameron x ofc #poe dameron / ofc #star wars sequels #star wars fanfiction #writing

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bammtoris · 4 years

Note

hi gabi!! here’s an ask for you (i hate being stuck at home too): name three things you like about prodigal son! and you can add your favorite headcannons and/or crackhead theories about the show. i hope you’re having a good day despite the current situation. try and stay occupied - drawing or writing, music, anything to pass the time. feel free the reach out any time if you’d like!

Thank u so much nony!! it doesn’t seem like i don’t mind but i really do 🥺 hope this quarantine treats you alright too, definitely despise this, I’ve been super anxious about the whole pandemic thing, added up to the virtual exams and classes we’ll be having,, Anyways i appreciate you sending the ask a lot <3

- I love the Whump!!! a lot i don’t think i have ever seen my favorite whump prompts all in just one series and in the span of 15 episodes? especially psychological whump which i thrive more for rather than physical whump :) so that’s very neat.

- The background each character has!! i love how the writers don’t have this characters to just play in the background but rather each one of them have very complex stories, and depth something i completely adore and the main reason why i think this show is actually different to Hannibal (don’t get me wrong i love Hannibal) they make you fall in love with the characters and i adore that <3 you want to learn more about them they are not just a filler for the main character.

-Malcolm bright 🥺 man he is such a complex, round character and I love how they have been portraying mental health in the show.

about headcanons oh we going for a long one here

-Malcolm has a comfort sweater which at this point i guess is cannon (the one he wears after the lockdown in ep 7 and after the incident in ep 12) he wears it after a very stressful and tiring day since the touch of the wool makes him feel more connected and calm. uwu

-After the arrest, Ainsley did get affected by his father leaving home, but instead of knowing the real reason she was still aware of not being able to grow up with a father and not knowing where he went, Jessica told her the truth when she was older, she spent more time in the basement with Mr.boots (yes the creepy guy) as a way to cope with the lack of a father figure in her life.

-Ainsley told Malcolm about Mr.boots and how she believed he was a real person, Malcolm at first was skeptical about this but then began to believe taking into acc how nobody believed in tgitb either.

- Malcolm had a bad nail-biting habit, whenever he was feeling anxious or stressed he would turn to do it, and it became a frequent thing, Ainsley saw this and got him into using nail polish, and it worked for a long while, he would, instead of biting them, rub his fingertips against the polish.

-Malcolm and Ainsley used to accompany Gil and Jackie to church, despite not knowing a lot about religion, they just enjoyed spending a lot more time together even if it meant being quiet for 40 minutes, they did enjoy some of the songs after they would grab some ice creams and head to Gil and Jackie's home to spend the afternoon, and play board games together.

-Malcolm was very good at ‘Clue’ as a kid and still is ofc, he would play it on the afternoons with Gil, Jackie, and Ainsley and getting right who the killer was after just four turns.

-Ainsley got into Vaulting from a very young age (this hc is more credited to @2am-euphoria and Ainsley being a horse girl <3) it helped her to get away from her thoughts for a little while and be at ease with herself.

- Ainsley had a cooking phase, she enjoyed getting on the kitchen and making out different plates especially baking, she even made Jessica buy her that mini oven for cupcakes, Malcolm accompanied her after school whenever he didn't have any homework to do, and despite being a little bit on edge and having his shaking hand terribly glazed decorations Ainsley still thought they were the best looking cupcakes ever.

-Gil would make Ainsley and Malcolm compete to who is going to be the next to go on a stakeout with him, they would have to win him by being the best daughter and son, Ainsley making him cookies, Malcolm bringing straight A's report cards, just by making Gil happy in general, and in the end, he would decide which one of them was the designated winner of the week!

- Malcolm sleepwalked as a kid, one night he sleepwalked to the basement but tumbled upon with Mr.boots, he started to panic and he's screaming frantic, John made sure to knock him out and got him back into bed, The next morning Jessica told him it was all just a bad dream and a product of his imagination, and since he couldn't remember much it became a truth without much prove against.

- Ainsley’s Christmas gift to Malcolm was a weighted lap pad, that way he could carry it around easily whenever he was feeling anxious, that way he didn’t have to take out the whole blanket when he was going outside.

- Whenever Ainsley had her friends coming home she would invite Malcolm to her gathers, even if he was to be the only boy in the girl’s night, now bare with me,,, there was a time Malcolm definitely had long hair, (at least the medium length hair we love to see tom in) uwu, he would learn how to braid during those invites of Ainsley to her girl night with her other friends who would also braid his hair.

- When Jackie died, Malcolm traveled all the way back to New York to check on Gil and spend time with him during both their grieving, they would remember their night outs and afternoon games which would light them with pure joy, Malcolm made sure Gil was going to be ok after he left, keeping post-it notes around the house reminding Gil to eat something and to take care of himself, with some quotes of his daily affirmation cards stick in different places of the house for him to see them daily. Ainsley moved some of her contacts around the New York times (bc ofc she knows those people) and got them to make small column in honor of Jackie who was a wonderful woman, Gil still has the cut of the newspaper in his wallet and whenever she misses her she makes sure to read the kind, blissful words of her daughter for her wife. uwu

#oh shit this got LONG #see what happens when im left at home #sorry about the rambling xkx #anyways if you couldnt tell i love childhood headcanons alot #anonymous #ask response #prodigal son #prodigal son headcanon

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asunachinadoll · 4 years

Note

1, 4, 5, 6, 7 for the fanfic writers ask

1. who is the hardest character for you to write?

So far, I haven’t found any of my characters to be too terribly difficult,,, I think my problem is trying to get into the mind of a character that’s so different than I am in personality and having to figure out “would they really do this??” You can ask any of my IRL fandom friends, I constantly stress about writing characters OOC lol

4. Where do your story ideas come from?

Mostly from my brain!! But I also get inspired by various other fanfics and the actual source material too ofc :)))

5. Do you tell the people in your life that you write fics?

LOL only if they’re very very special,,,

6. What has been the hardest fic for you to write?

Oooo interesting... I don’t think I’ve come across a fic that was hard to write per se, I tend to make my premise pretty easy and concise. My problem is translating the scene in my head to the page, which can take a while depending on what it is. I’d have to say the sequel to my first Mando fanfic breathe in the stardust and feel yourself become whole. I started it knowing exactly what I wanted, even before I posted the first fic, but it took me so long to get it all written down TvT After over two months of agonizing over it, I finally finished it and it’s one of the fanfics I’m most proud of ^^

7. What fic of yours makes you the most emotional?

Well, so far, I’d have to say my love is not an illusion. It’s an IronDad fic I wrote after watching Spider-Man: Far From Home and obviously I was still in denial about Tony’s death in Endgame. I had a very clear scene in my head for that fic and I wrote the whole thing just for that one scene, and it hurt my heart writing it. Angst/whump is my favorite I swear T_T

Thanks so much for the ask my dearest @emiliaf25 :))

#chinadollanswers #love ya emilia!!

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

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Hello! I've been fumbling about them internetz and can't seem to find any good fics with a bit more lestrade, donovan and anderson(doesn't have to be positive at all). Have You per chance seen or read anything like this? Thank You!

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Hey Steph! , I Want to ask if you got any good fic with BAMF Mycroft / OFC (Anthea , Molly , or an original character), something hot !!!!! thanks !!!!

Hi Lovelies!

Ah, in regards to the Nonny ask, I don’t really have any other Pairings of a secondary characters with OC’s, etc., but since both of these asks are very similar, I’m putting them together in hopes you’re going to enjoy what I have for @givemeyoursoulplease!

That said, I’ve not many secondary character fics; I hope you enjoy what I do have! Not all of them I’m sure (I’m still going through my bookmarks), but that’s what “part 2′s” are for LOL. Feel free, my friends, to suggest your faves and your own fics!

SECONDARY CHARACTERS & OTHER CHARACTER POVs

Defining John Watson by StillWaters1 (K+, 660 w. || Friendship) – “Not good?” Two words and Lestrade realized just who John Watson actually was.

Realisation by Susie.Donym (K+, 957 w. || Sally POV, Pre-Slash / Friendship, Humour) – It takes her a while but Sally finally makes a huge realisation.

Devil’s in the Details (Isn’t that what you always say?) by Rae Himura (K, 976 w. || Angst, Sarah POV) – It was the little things Sarah noticed. (Or, some things even the world’s only consulting detective can’t see.)

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053 w. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

Sherlock Is Not The One You Should Worry About by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,077 w. || Sally POV, Character Reflection, Praising John) – Sally Donovan’s eyes are opened about a certain Doctor John Watson.

Secrets by 796116311389 (G, 1,084 w. || Drunk Sherlock, Drunk Confessions, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Pining Sherlock) – “He is the best person in the world and sometimes I get sad because I’m not. Not his best person.”

Wreckage and Rubble by grannysknitting (K+, 1,116 w. || Drama, H/C, Ambiguous Ending) – Lestrade’s point of view when he’s called to the wreckage of the pool. He doesn’t want to deal with the wreckage that would occur if London’s newest crime fighting duo are parted from each other.

The Simple Separation Will Not Come Between Us by The Circus (T, 1,278 w. || Hurt/Comfort, MCD, Violence, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Prose) – The choice is simple. Real, and No John. Or Not Real, and John. For a prompt that says ‘John dies and Sherlock loses himself in his Mind Palace’

Back in the Saddle by grannysknitting (M, 1,577 w. || Post TGG, Donovan POV, Observation / Introspection, Protective Sherlock, Injured John, Case-ish Fic) – Their first return to solving crime after the pool and the explosion.

With A Tilt Of The Head by StillWaters1 (K+, 1,636 w. || Anthea POV, ASiP, Character Study) – Anthea knew that she was witnessing the first of many meetings to come between John Watson and Mycroft Holmes. From the moment he had tilted his head, it was obvious that John wasn’t going anywhere: he was already more than “associated” with Sherlock – he was part of him.

In Which Lestrade Looks in on Sherlock and Observes by Aztecwarfareandcrumping (K+, 1,833 w. || Lestrade POV, Friendship, Hurt Comfort, John Whump) – John’s in hospital, which means Sherlock is, too. Lestrade takes it upon himself to look in on them.

A Sofa with a View by nondeducible (G, 1,855 w. || Domestic Fluff, Schmoop, Secret Relationship) – Lestrade loves football, John and Sherlock love each other.

Feed The Memory by Hekate1308 (T, 2,081 w. || Tragedy & Hurt/Comfort) – He could feed John Watson, at least. Angelo POV.

Only Human by BlackBandit111 (K+, 2,179 w. || Tragedy, Major Character Death, Sally POV) – Sally Donovan didn’t think she’d ever see Sherlock cry.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Rescue by missilemuse (T, 2,574 w. || Fake Relationship, Sherlock Whump, Irene Helps Sherlock) - If this was the way Sherlock Holmes loved, it was no wonder why he had avoided the damned emotion for over half of his life. Part 6 of Reichenbach To Return [[this isn’t really Johnlock, but it is… it’s non-ad10ck ad10ck. You have to read it to understand. It’s SO good and painful, trust me. Sherlock!Whump and pining]].

The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2,679 w. || Friendship, H/C) – Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when “John went out for milk” was followed by a terse “two hours ago,” Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.

Waiting and Recovery by A Wandering Minstrel (K+, 3,173 w. || H/C, Friendship) – Lestrade waits for news of Sherlock and John at the hospital. Mrs. Hudson looks after her boys. Two companion pieces.

It Was All Right There In Front of Him (A Five Times Plus One Story) by bees_stories (T, 3,191 w. || 5+1, Protective Idiots, Grooming, Bed Sharing, Lestrade POV) – DI Greg Lestrade is a good detective. But sometimes he doesn’t trust the evidence in front of him, until there’s a compelling reason to do so.

First Night Out by verityburns (M, 3,251 w. || Romance, Christmas, Dev. Rel.) – As John recovers from the effects of a brutal kidnapping, he and Sherlock attend the Yarders’ Christmas Party. There are… developments on the dance floor…

The Bee Charmer by dreadpiratewatson (M, 3,314 w. || Est. Rel., Captain / Soldier John, Idiots in Love, Domestics, John in the Army) – Greg goes to 221B to check up on Sherlock after a strange phone call pulls him away from an important case, and is stunned to find himself in front of a gun brandishing soldier with a sleeping Sherlock on his chest. John Watson is a doctor, a war hero, a husband, and the only one in the world who can soften Sherlock’s heart.

Listening By Ear by StillWaters1 (T, 3,384 w. || Friendship, H/C, John Whump) – Lestrade figured that anyone who thought John Watson wasn’t important, and that Sherlock hadn’t changed since meeting him, had to be completely, bloody deaf. Because it was all right there, in every sound Sherlock made. For anyone attentive enough to listen.

Paranoia by Ewebie (M, 3,789 w. || Humour, Drinking Games, Scotland Yard Gang, Jealous / Posessive Sherlock, Inappropriate Questions, Embarrassed John, Matchmakers) – John and Sherlock join the gang of Scotland Yard for a night of drinking, and it gets a bit personal and revealing.

Days Go By by Hummingbird1759 (T, 4,454 w. || Angst, Friendship, Post-TRF, Introspection) – The characters’ lives go on after the Fall… sort of.

Study in Mycroft by chappysmom (K+, 4,929 w. || Character Study, Canon-Compliant, Mycroft POV, Big Brother Mycroft) – A look at Mycroft’s thoughts and actions during a Study in Pink.

when Harry met Sally (and then Sherlock Holmes) by Etharei (T, 5,443 w. || POV Outsider, Kidnapped John) – Harry Watson hadn’t expected the Met, and possibly the British government, to be this keen on locating her missing brother. {{TO READ}}

The Refining Fire by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 5,451 w. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Friendship, Alternating Character POV, Worried Sherlock, Hospital Recovery) – Fire can burn things to ashes, but it can also burn things together.

Maybe This Christmas by feverishsea (T, 6,021 w. || Matchmaker Anthea, Anthea POV, Slight Mystrade, Holmes Family) – Anthea has given up her life, her own desires, even her name in service of something greater than herself. But that doesn’t mean she can’t see when someone else wants something – even if she doesn’t happen to care overmuch for that person. And it doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to help.

Observational Failure, or: Seeing is Believing by SilentAuror (G, 8,733 w. || Lestrade POV, Romance) – Lestrade is almost sure that Sherlock and John are together now. All the evidence is pointing to it, yet he just can’t seem to wrap his brain around the concept.

Observational Failure, or: Seeing is Believing by SilentAuror (G, 8,733 w. || POV Third Person / Lestrade, Romance) – Lestrade is almost sure that Sherlock and John are together now. All the evidence is pointing to it, yet he just can’t seem to wrap his brain around the concept.

Our Sudden and Strange Return by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 10,314 w. || Post-TRF, Friendship) – One year, eight months, and an odd number of days after the alleged fatal fall Mycroft gets a message from Sherlock saying that he’s back.

Sunset’s Wake by StillWaters1 (T, 13,136 w. || Angst, Hurt /Comfort, Minor Character POV) – It wasn’t until that moment, when the dazed man in the practical black jacket came pushing through the crowd and into her arms, that she understood why she had been drawn outside St. Bart’s that day.

Sympathy for the Devil and Mycroft Holmes by scifigrl47 (T, 18,535 w. || Family, Canon-Compliant, Meddling Mycroft, Big Brother Mycroft) – Mycroft has always protected his younger brother, but there are some things he just can’t control. Sherlock’s relationship with John Watson is one of them. Set during the first two seasons of Sherlock.

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn’t just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That “doctor” actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

Jack In The Box by Liketheriver (T, 30,785 w. || Romance, Case Fic, H/C, Lestrade First POV) – John’s been kidnapped, Mycroft has rules, and Lestrade has to do his best to keep up with Sherlock as they deal with a returning foe. Lestrade POV as he and Sherlock work to find John, even though that’s the last thing John seems to want. Part 2 of Bedtime Universe

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w. || Alternating POV, MollyxJohn [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon…or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly’s up to…but he knows he doesn’t like it.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit… (POV switches between multiple characters throughout the fic)

The Blog of Eugenia Watson by Mad_Lori (G, 95,026 w. || OC POV, Parentlock, Teenagers, Diary / Blogging / Journal, Family, Humour) – I like to think of this not so much as a blog but as the first draft of my inevitably best-selling memoirs. My Life In an Unconventional Family. How unconventional? Well, I live with my divorced parents and my dad’s husband. How’s that for starters? Trust me, it gets weirder.My name is Eugenia Watson, but you can call me Genie. I’m sixteen. This is my life. Note: Work is marked complete for now and is on hiatus, having reached a convenient stopping point. Additional chapters may be added in the future. {{HAVE NOT READ}}

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #character povs #givemeyoursoulplease

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lokikingofasgardslover713 · 5 years

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Helot: Relapse

Masterlist

Loki Laufeyson X Plus Size Torrin OFC

Warnings: LEMONS, Past torture, Violence, Loki fighting dirty

Summary: Torrin seems to be healing until she wakes up, wrapped in Loki’s arms after a Romantic night that had her fading in and out of the moment. Waking with Loki still buried deep in her, the celestial panics. It isn’t pretty, and leaves Loki making a decision he hopes he doesn’t regret.

A/N: More whump and angst.

Words: +2,100

A week adrift in space found Torrin healing, the scarring fading in her mind as well as she was speaking more fluently with Loki. Her entire healing process was amazing to him, she was celestial, and it had been centuries since the god had met one, possibly due to this very reason. He had taken to her, begrudgingly and dared he think it, would miss it if she ever returned to her own bunk.

She had begun to tell him of her people, what was coming back slowly as they would lay together and he had taken to petting her. Internally he would curse himself for getting attached to her, her touch, but as he laid here with the bare celestial above him he actually smiled in enjoyment as she sank over him.

The god drank in her smirk and whispery moan as plump hips settled to his, cock sheathed beautifully inside her cunt. Gently she rocked her hips as he reached up to pull her to his lips, the kiss deepening just as she pulled back, turning her head and shutting her eyes.

Where was she? Who was-? Loki? Correct, Loki. Was he forcing? No, this was what she wanted. This, she didn’t want, he was using her. Wait-. Her name? Torrin.

“Torrin, what’s wrong love,” Loki’s voice echoed, fingers lacing into loose locks to watch her eyes flutter open to look at him, not recognizing for a moment.

She blocked him out of her chaotic thoughts, trying to sort them as she shut her eyes once more. The man between her thighs shifting as she laid her head to his chest Loki sat up on his elbow as the hand laced in her hair caressed over her spine and tingled. Looking back up at him in recognition as she slowly rocked her hips.

“We don’t have to,” Loki began, but she shook her head no.

“I want to,” she echoed as she moved her hips but repeated the same actions as earlier, turning her head to close her eyes as if pained.

Why can’t she remember the one under her? Did he buy her? No, why would he buy her and from who? He was strong, she could feel him prodding at her mind as she kept him out. Loki!

Opening her eyes to realize he had laid her to their side, his cock still buried in her cunt. She tightened her leg over his hip so he couldn’t pull free, the god brushing hair out of her eyes and catching a tear with his thumb.

“This can wait. Lets rest,” he smiled at her, doing his best to mask the worry. This time she nodded in agreement and settled with him to the small bunk. The two of them crowded but comfortably wrapped in each other as calloused fingers soothed over a tortured spine once more.

The shift of the bed felt, different, to say the least as did the cock sheathed in side her. Forcing herself to calm before she opened her eyes to look between her and the raven-haired man before her. Both bare, he was wrapped tight around her, racking her brain for how she came to be here.

The last she remembered was, was, being on earth, meeting with SHIELD, it was the 1940’s. It was about the war? There was an attack? No, it was a slaughter. Screaming that quieted to leave her wondering what had been running her mind.

Who was this man. No, he didn’t sense as man, he was, a god? Why was he wrapped around her? Her heart began to thud, she couldn’t remember the events leading up to this. She just remembered earth, and now she was here, where ever here was and now he was waking.

In a panic she shoved the god out of the bed and onto the grating. To her horror he was faster than what she thought and quickly she kicked him in the face before springing to her feet.

“Torrin STOP,” the man, the god bellowed after her as she summoned clothes. Loki watching her almost stumble to the floor, looking at the deep greens that covered her form.

Torrin glared back at him as she found her feet. How dare he utter her name as if he knew her. The god getting up with blood pouring from his nose, that was until gold light healed and cleaned it. She felt weak calling her seidr to defend herself, that led her to trying to magically leave the ship, but it didn’t work.

“It's alright love, just a nightmare,” the god spoke calmly, clothing himself as well in the same colors as she.

“How did I get here,” she growled at him, taking step back as Loki made a step forward but stopped.

“You know how. Thor found you on Atiria. He brought you onboard-.”

“Atiria? Where the hell is that!? And who the hell are you!? And the Norse god, Thor?”

“Calm down,” Loki stressed as he eyed her close, he was trying to read her, this was wrong, why couldn’t she remember?

“I woke up with your dick inside me and you wrapped around me like I'm a whore and you expect me to just calm down,” she stressed, looking wildly at the god that made a step forward but within a thought she had a dagger in her hand, his dagger.

“You're right,” Loki admitted as he stopped his advances’ and decided he needed a better approach, a sly one. “I am Loki.”

Apparently that wasn’t what she was expecting as she stared at him for a moment. That gave him time to weave the illusion he was still before her. Carefully he kept her talking, more or less, Torrin was a panicking wreck.

Carefully he reached for the dagger but wasn’t expecting her to be ready and jabbing it into his side before she took off through the small craft. Rolling his eyes at the sudden change of events, Loki pulled the dagger free before taking off after her.

“Torrin enough of this,” he yelled after her, there was truly nowhere for her to go. If she was as confused as she appeared, then she may not remember they were on a craft let alone how to fly it.

The bad thing with her being celestial, she was more powerful, could throw his seidr off. She was dangerous in this state and had apparently resorted in hand to hand combat to conserve her seidr. The god managing to catch the weapon she wielded before it made contact with his gut, but just barley as he ripped it from her hands.

Without hesitation she kicked his feet out from under him before taking off to the bridge, but he was quicker and grabbed her shirt tail. The motion brought her chocking to her knees with a hard thud he knew had to bloody them on the grate. Though it was apparent she had extensive battle training, a barefoot kicking him square in the chest to force him to his back, hard.

The gods head hit the floor with such force it bounced, his hand still wrapped in her shirt that wrapped tightly around her torso. The hand holding his own dagger moved to place it at her throat.

“Torrin enough, we need to-,” Loki got out just as she jerked, making him move along with the dagger that sank into her ribs just under her right armpit.

In anger and pain, she screamed, pissed at herself for being so weak she wasn’t able to counter his move and hand gripping the wound in her ribs as she fell backwards. The hand in her shirt letting go as Torrin scrambled to her feet to glare at him, slowly her seidr healed the wound.

Wait, it hurt, it was hurting her, hazing her mind, she wasn’t used to pain was she?

Stumbling back, she glared at the one, the god, this Loki that had stabbed her. Whether it intentional or not, it still hurt as it healed, and she knew it showed in her eyes. Taking in a gasping breath to realized it had collapsed her lung, the reinflation causing it to burn and tears spring to her eyes. A cool hand slipped around the one she held to the healed flesh, the other slipping around the nape of her neck and swore he was pushing her to the floor until she slumped into a chair.

“Torrin? Why-,” Loki began, looking into red rimmed eyes for the answer to why she was suddenly feeling pain. She was having problems breathing, and she was panicking. “We are going to stop fighting and you are going to let me take you back to bed, to rest.”

“I'm going to let you!? No! I want to go home! I don’t want to be here! I don’t know where we even are and there is no way you are Loki!”

Letting out a flustered huff, Loki spun her to look out the front to the craft. He knew this was the wrong thing to do, that it could completely shatter her fragile state, but she need to know. The god pointing out to the glass and watching her struggle to realize what she was looking at. Her breath quickened as she uttered a quiet, “no,” before looking back at him as he squatted next to her legs.

“You're going to let me take you back to bed, understood,” Loki spoke up making her troubled gaze shoot to him a tear breaking free, this was just too much.

“No,” she whispered this time, the hand that laid over the one on the healed wound squeezed it lightly and he nodded in silence. Loki would give her that one, the hand he held squeezing again and lacing his fingers with it. Carefully he released her fingers as she continued to stare straight ahead and took the other pilot seat.

Keeping tuned to her, Loki began to transmit quadrants to Thor. They had searched long enough for whatever information was needed, now it was time to help her instead of use her.

Damn, more sentiment for the ruined creature beside him. Warily he looked at her, she was gone, lost to her thoughts as he figured it best he sat quietly and didn’t try to order her.

What did he do to her? The first thought that sprang to mind as she felt the softness of the bed and the furs she laid on. She was alone, warm, and the room was quiet, no drone this time, no one with her either. Slowly she opened her eyes, unmoving as she could study what was before her.

More furs, this was a large bed. Hearing picking up on the faint crackle of a fire as well as light shuffling around the outside of the bed, though it sounded muffled as if in another room. Sure she was alone, Torrin sat up, her body covered in soft off white linen decorated in gold thread done in beautiful knot work. Shuffling around she felt the bite of something on her ankle.

Pushing the covers away to see what it was, a golden bangle engraved in runes, possibly binding since she was unable to magic out of the room. Gingerly getting to her feet to test her steadiness to find she was OK and turning to look at the massive bed. It only looked to have been her in the bed, the light shuffling getting her attention to the door that entered the room.

Lightly she padded over to it, peering out the crack to note Loki was moving about near a butchers island, preparing a potion. She looked beyond him to the open door, the look of the lush green meadow outside looked like earth. Gaze going back to the god and waiting for her chance. A step away and she bolted form the room, ready to fight but she had made it to the middle of the meadow to realize he didn’t follow.

Well, that was unexpected. Pausing for an instant to look back to see no one coming after her and hurried on her way across the meadow. Loki wasn’t surprised as he looked out the door after Torrin and seen her disappear. It was expected, she thought she was on Midgard, home, but truth was, Torrin was still far from it.

Tags open! And re-blogs are ALWAYS welcomed!

Tags: @dark-night-sky-99 @gramaeryebard @reallyheckinggay @jovanna-shewolf @andiyholly @katstablook @nickyl316h @aslandia726 @moonfaery @furstinnajoelle @itsbqueenthings @lookwhatyoumademequeue @moonlightprime @bambamwolf87 @tomhardy41 @get-loki @drakonwild @alexakeyloveloki @devilbat @jazzieomega

#loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #loki (marvel)#loki #loki x plus size #ofc #mcu #marvel mcu #loki mcu #loki (mcu)#marvel fanfiction

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appalachianapologies · 3 years

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i just did like two hours of math homework it’s time for me to watch some whump

#it actually wasn't too bad #i just wanted to get ahead jeje #OH SO WAIT STORY TIME:#yesterday ppl in my wing were all trying to mingle and get to know people and all that fun stuff #and someone was making small talk with me or whatever #asking about siblings #pets #blah blah blah #anyway and then they go ''so like what are you guilty pleasures''#and ofc the first thing that comes to mind is ''whump''#(sadly im still embarrassed about it but tumblr has helped a lot <3)#BUT I DIDN'T WANT TO SAY WHUMP #so instead i was like ''hahaha bubble tea and sweets haha''#skfjldklsfjddkfsjl

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wincestbigbang · 6 years

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2017 Master Post

Prompt 1: The Spaceship Impala Artist: amberdreams Author: samsexualdeancurious Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrelated Winchesters, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Top Dean, Top Sam, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Android Castiel (Supernatural), Sex in Space, Alternate Universe - Passengers (2016), This is Passengers with a better ending, Near Death Experiences Summary: Dean Winchester is an engineer in hibernation aboard the starship Impala, journeying alongside five thousand other passengers to a new beginning. When his pod malfunctions, he wakes up ninety years too early. Art: LiveJournal Story: Ao3 Prompt 2: The Winchester House Rules Artist: emmatheslayer Author: puckity Other Pairing(s): Implied Sam/Jess, Implied Dean/OMC, Sam/Dean/OFC Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: N/A Summary: There are rules—there have to be rules—otherwise Sam and Dean wouldn’t make it out of this world in one piece. An exploration of tropes, kinks, and meant-to-be through the Winchester life cycle(s). Art: LiveJournal Story: Ao3 Prompt 3: Armageddon Game Artist: dreamsfromthebunker / hit_the_books Author: alulaspeaks Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Canon-typical Violence Summary: A year ago Dean watched Sam walk away from the life. A few months later Sam dropped off the radar completely, his last words to Dean a scribbled note. I just need some time. Don’t look for me. I’ll call if I need you. Now it’s 2009 and Dean finds Sam locked in a warded cell guarded by the Campbells. They say he’s running with demons, that they call him the Boy King. They say Sam’s up to something big. Dean and Bobby confront a caged Sam who is cold, and distant, and far too knowing. While everyone tries to tell Dean that the brother he knew is gone, Dean is determined to find the truth. Along the way he discovers angels, broken seals, a runaway apocalypse, and visions of another timeline that burned up his brother’s brain. Now all Dean has to do is figure out what Sam’s endgame is and how to stop it, or risk losing Sam forever. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Prompt 5: Synecdoche Artist: apataeavaca Author: samdeanddlyumptious Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: ABO, heat, knotting, brief consent concern Summary: The girls are on their way to meet their dad for a hunt when a heat hits D. Lots of fluff and sisterly teasing and passionate sex, with some angst and whump at the beginning to keep things interesting. (This is a timestamp, but can stand alone.) Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Prompt 6: A Shadow of What Should Be Artist: fridayblues Author: wetsammywinchester Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: None, Stanford angst, hallucinations Summary: Sam wakes up in a strange bed, a strange apartment, and living in domestic bliss with Dean and a dog named Mothra. Obviously, either he’s lost his mind or all of this is a dream. Art: LiveJournal Story: Ao3 Prompt 7: My Anchor Artist: kuwlshadow Author: backrose_17 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Top Dean, bottom Sam, hurt Sam, Hallcuifer tormenting Sam Summary: Death was the ending that endverse Dean had been waiting for what he got was anything but that. Dean finds himself in a rundown motel with someone he thought he would never see again his Sam. Only this Sam is broken tormented by visions of Lucifer and his Dean missing he is on the edge. Two broken souls each missing their other half find a peace and sense of belonging to one another. A love story between Endverse!Dean and pre-season 8!Sam. Art: LiveJournal Story: Ao3 Prompt 8: Howls In My Bones Artist: azziria Author: weefaol Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Underage, Top Dean, Bottom Sam, Angst, First Time Summary: When John gets a call to investigate a series of grisly animal killings, he drops Sam and Dean at an abandoned cabin two towns over. The boys find ways to keep busy — playing cards, watching movies, chopping wood — but with a howling winter storm on the way, there’s nowhere for Sam to hide his illicit feelings for his older brother. As the lure of desire threatens to devour him, Sam must learn to face the wolves that lurk outside and the monsters within. Art: Ao3 Story: Ao3 Prompt 9: Bolide Artist: weakspots Author: laughablelament Other Pairing(s): Sam/Dean/Jess Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: mild underage, non-con, early S12 Summary: A run-in with witches leaves Sam in a supernatural coma. Dean must navigate the broken, shifting landscape of his soul to get him back. Art: LiveJournal Story: Ao3 Prompt 10: Doesn't Matter What I Remember Artist: stargazingchola Author: smalltrolven Rating: R Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for episode 12.11,"Regarding Dean" Summary: Maybe it’s because they both almost lost each other again. That’s part of what makes Dean do it, but mostly it’s the essay he read in a magazine in the laundromat. Sometimes the right words find you just when you need to read them. Art: Tumblr Story: LiveJournal | Ao3 Prompt 11: Perfect, Twisted, Bloody Family Author: justanothersaltandburn Artist: emmatheslayer Rating: NC-17 Other Pairing(s): Dean/Ketch, Dean/Ketch/Sam Warnings/Spoilers: sibling incest, serial killer AU, police detective!Sam, butcher!Dean, serial killer!Dean, bounty hunter!Ketch, serial killer!Ketch, murder boyfriends, drunk sex, gore, violence, torture, murders, desecration of corpse, oral sex, anal sex, rough sex, bottom!Sam, switch!Dean, top!Ketch, threesome (M/M/M), bareback, coming untouched, dirty talk, polyamory Summary: Dean has a great life. He’s got amazing boyfriend and a successful business, lots of friends, and a smart detective for a brother. They have awesome dinners at each other’s houses, poker nights, and a relationship most siblings would envy. Dean also has a deep, secret lust he’s been harboring for said little brother. That, and the occasional murder of a pimp or drug dealer, just to keep things interesting. C’est la vie. Art: LiveJournal Story: Ao3 Prompt 12: That Time Dean Came to Stanford Artist: tx_devilorangel Author: runedgirl Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Pre Series, First Time Summary: Sam goes to Stanford carrying a secret about his feelings for his brother. Seven months later, everyone’s talking about the good looking guy with the gorgeous ’67 Impala holding court at the local bar. What sparks will fly when Sam sees Dean again? Art: LiveJournal | Ao3 Story: LiveJournal Prompt 13: Hold My Hand Artist: nisaki Author: meohmywhyohwhy Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Top Dean, Top Sam, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Established Relationship, First Time Fic Summary: Sam isn’t sure he can do this anymore–he can’t keep being Dean’s dirty little secret. A case in Missouri brings things to a head, while memories from the summer this all began keep bubbling to the surface. Art: LiveJournal | Tumblr Story: Ao3 Prompt 14: Reckless In Love Artist: loracine Author: paperann Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Explicit Sexual Content Summary: When Dean fought his way through the soil to an Earth he never thought he’d see again, he didn’t care how he escaped Hell. The only thing on his mind was seeing Sammy. It turned out to be harder than he thought, but with the aid of Bobby they found him: post-party, having a fuckin’ blast with some half-naked chick in a motel room. It was almost a punch to the gut when she asked the million dollar question—“if they were together” and Sam couldn’t say “they’re brothers” fast enough. Of friggin course, they never flaunted ‘it’, but Sam was acting cagey. Like he genuinely meant it. Dean knew damn well his brains hadn’t scrambled. He knew he hadn’t imagined Sam’s urgent confession the moment his one-year-left Crossroad’s Contract was revealed. And…his own astonishment, upon discovery, because Dean felt the same way. If there was helluva way to go out? God, it’d be that year—every day (every second) was lived with passion, freedom and without regret. But most important: they lived fearlessly with each other. Had Sam’s mind changed after Dean died? Was he humoring the last wishes of a dying man? Either way, if Sam didn’t feel the same anymore…maybe Dean should have stayed in the pit. Art: LiveJournal Story: Ao3 Prompt 15: The Golden State Artist: bluefire986 Author: soy_em Other Pairing(s): Sam Winchester/OMC Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Implied/Referenced Rape, /Non-con, Abusive Relationships, Domestic Violence, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Sam and Dean are still hunters, Hurt Sam Winchester, Getting Together, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary: A year after Sam leaves for Stanford, the Reckoning happens. Angels and demons descend to earth and destroy much of the planet in an endless war. Dean survives, living with Bobby in the survivor city of Sioux Falls, but he never forgets his missing little brother. Finally, after the world has stabilized a little, he decides it’s time to undertake the dangerous trip to California and try to find Sam. He finds his little brother in a settlement on the Californian coast, but all is not well with Sam, who is in an abusive relationship with the Boss, the settlement’s shady leader. Dean has to rescue Sam so that they can rebuild their lives in the safety of Sioux Falls, but the Boss is not going to let Sam leave easily. And Dean’s not even sure that Sam wants to leave... Canon divergent from the beginning: in this world, Sam and Dean are the characters we know, and grow up in hunting monsters with John, but are not the vessels. Art: LiveJournal | Ao3 Story: Ao3 Prompt 16: Never bet against a Winchester, even if you are a Winchester. Artist: stormbrite Author: milly_gal Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: No Spoilers, Cross Dressing, Sex Depravation, CRACK. Summary: The lack of sex is driving both Sam and Dean crazy, but neither brother will admit defeat and beg. What happens when you place a wager on your willpower and then realise you have none? Art: LiveJournal | Ao3 Story: LiveJournal | Ao3

#wincest big bang #wincest big bang 2017 #wincest #master post #mod post

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muchamusedaboutnothing · 7 years

Note

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

Thanks @oneshoeshort for including me. You know how much I love you.

5 fics is the majority of my work here on Tumblr that’s been shared so far. Adding some insights here to make this look like more than just my masterlist. Lol.

1. We Ain’t Never Getting Older -Dean x Reader. Dean’s POV. Song fic inspired by “Closer” by The Chainsmokers.

This one will always hold a special place in my heart. It was my first SPN fan fic. Ever. Yes, I’m that new to the club, even though I’ve been with the fandom since the pilot aired. This is still my ringtone on my phone. I LOVE THIS SONG. My son rolls his eyes when it comes on the radio because he knows I’m going to crank it up and sing at the top of my lungs. Sorry, not sorry. The whole idea of living like there’s no tomorrow just makes me think of Dean bean. The song is sexy, and the fic had to be, too. I wanted to write for months before I finally got brave and just went for it. Thanks to the encouragement from all of you when it posted, I decided to keep writing. I haven’t stopped since.

2. Heart of a Hunter Act I - doctor!reader, eventual Dean x reader pairing.

This is the heart and soul of my writing. My fascination with medicine and my love for some Dean and Sam whump led to this crazy adventure that has turned into an entire Saga spanning at least 4 stories. That’s right. 4 different stories all coming together, with this being Act I. There’s no promise I’ll stop at 4. This thing has taken on a life of it’s own, and I’m just enjoying the ride and glad that some of you are riding shotgun in the Impala with Dean, Sam and I. (Sammy and I will let you ride in the front ‘cuz we’re nice like that.) I can’t specifically where the inspiration for this saga came from, but I can tell you I wrote Act III first. Which led to Act I, and simultaneously writing Act II at the same time. Like I said, it’s been a wild ride. Currently posting Act II.

3. Hotel California -Dean x OFC. Dean’s POV. A series based on the song “Hotel California” by The Eagles.

This song makes my top 10 list of greatest songs. Ever. I’ve heard it so many times, but one random day on my way to work, way too early in the morning, I heard it on the radio and this entire series just came flooding into my mind. I hate to write it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Dean was in my head talking, refusing to back down until I put pen to paper. This is the most extensive Dean POV I’ve written, and I really enjoyed that aspect of it. Also, it’s a bit of a case fic. Monster-of-the-week style, which is a bit of a nod to the classic SPN of the early seasons. I just love those episodes.

4. Save Yourself -MoC!Dean x Reader. Dean’s POV. Song fic inspired by “Save Yourself” by Kaleo.

I can’t say for sure if Jared and Jensen’s love for Kaleo is the cause of the bleed-through and blurring of lines for me, but I can’t help but associate the entire record with Sam and Dean and their journey. This song was born from that. This is just how the lyrics spoke to me when I first heard the song.

5. Edge. - cardiophile!reader x Dean series. Reader is fascinated with heartbeats, specifically Dean’s. He’s only too happy to oblige.

Pure smut. Kinky as hell. This will be my first ever smut only series with a heavy dose of heartbeat kink. Expect lots of sexy times and focus on Dean’s and the reader’s heartbeats. Going to be sneaky here. I haven’t posted this yet. It’s still in the works. But I’m just having SO MUCH FUN writing it. I couldn’t resist mentioning it. I’m passionate about having a series completed before I share, since I tend to go back and re-write and edit like crazy until it’s done. I’ll add a spot on my tags list for those of you that want to be tagged when it goes live. ;)

#@muchamusedaboutnothing answers #my favorite fics #my fics #sneak preview #life of a writer

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lokikingofasgardslover713 · 5 years

Text

Helot: Evocation

Masterlist

Loki Laufeyson X Plus Size OFC (Torrin)

Warnings: Gore, torture, whump

Summary: We have set back after set back, but do we finally get a break through?

A/N: This is just pure whump. I'm not really sorry.

Words: +2,200

Sharp, hollow, cutting and bleeding. The device sunk under her sternum as battered body arched off the table to get away. Of course, she felt no pain, but it made it hard to breathe. A heavy, flesh toned hand laid flat to bare chest to press her back to the soft bed so it was easier to drive it into her heart. A praise for listening as something tingled over the back of her skull drawing blood from her as she fought the torturer.

“Relax,” he cooed calmly to her, the sound of his voice making her heart thud harder as she pulled against the restraints. “The more you fight the longer it takes. I know you feel no pain, celestial.”

It was hard to breath as he drove the hollow instrument further in, gasping out, screaming at him to stop. No pain, but the feeling of suffocating was making vision blur, she didn’t want to be unconscious.

“It appears I didn’t do a good enough job at preventing you from talking back,” the man chuckled as he paused, the needle still in her chest, sticking out as he reached to something out of sight. This time more pressure on the back of her skull as things wormed into the base of her brain, devouring the tissue.

Mind going blank, opening her mouth to… to … to what? Eyes staring blankly up to the man who smirked at her.

“That is better,” he smiled wide before pressing the needle deeper, then slowly retracting it. “The sooner you learn to listen, the sooner you learn to survive.”

The man turned away as he came back with another hollow device, his fingers dancing below her ribs, over left lung.

“Take a deep breath celestial,” he spoke the word once more as if it was her species. “This part gets uncomfortable for everyone.”

Breath hung in her throat, body arching off the bed trying to breathe, mouth open to scream… What was she to scream? And how did one scream?

Arms jerking in restraints until they were free, pulling the metal device free to ram it into the mans eye. More coming to push her back.

“Enora! Enora stop,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear, another heavy hand on her chest, pressing her into a hard surface.

On instinct, her hand wrapped around the wrist of the one on her chest, but they succeeded in holding her to the hard surface.

Loki stared into still milky eyes, but they were regaining color. That meant she had to see shadows, though unsure how well she could hear. Taking the flailing hand that wasn’t wrapped around his wrist to press it to his chest, so she felt the vibration.

“Enora, stop, you are dreaming,” he spoke, watching her fall limp the moment he had spoken, milky eyes focusing on the blur before her. A careful tug at his hand on her chest had the god allowing her to do as she pleased with it, lifting it to scent, then slowly sitting up to look at him best she could.

You still can’t hear me can you, his voice echoed in her struggling mind as flashes of the night mare flitted away. A shake of her head no as he released her to place the hand that held hers to his chest to her throat, thumb rubbing under her ear, assessing the healing. Well at least she wasn’t wobbling like a drunk.

It was a dream. That was all. You have never had them before have you?

Another shake no, followed by the weak echo of no in his own mind. That gave him hope they hadn’t done more damage and she was finally healing enough to speak.

They are very common, especially after all you have been through. We are a drift in space at the moment. Can you walk?

Yes, her voice echoed, unused and gritty. His hands releasing to help her to steady feet. The hazed surroundings making her give up, closing her eyes to focus on scents and vibrations.

The god leading her to the eating area to get her seated and offer her something in a mug to drink. Leaving her as he heard the comms ring in.

That will be Thor. Stay here.

With a nod, she could slightly pick up the faint ring of the comm as he left her hands placed around the warm cup. Carefully, she brought it close to scent of, the steam making her take in lungs full of the relaxing aroma. Perhaps that was what it was for, taking a sip of the hot liquid, there was a slight astringent taste, but a sweetness spread over her tongue to make up for it.

After sipping it until it was gone, she placed the cup on the table and ventured to her feet. Sensing around the room, having memorized the area and able to avoid the blurred objects as she made her way down the short corridor to the cockpit. The craft stirred and hummed as if it was moving and she casually made her way to the other pilot seat and sat.

Looking over the semi blind creature that sat next to him, Loki began to tell her to go back to the bunks but figured she would refuse. If she had begun to dream, and the first one had been a nightmare she would shrug off rest until she collapsed from exhaustion.

The man in my dream, he called me a celestial, her voice echoed through his mind. The god was shocked it was coherent and wasn’t one word, but had a feeling it had taken her until now to form it.

A celestial? No mistaking faint delight in the gods question. The woman, celestial, feeling she should now be nervous and cringe under his excitement.

It grew silent, turning hazy gaze to look out the window before her, the hum and vibration of the ship lulling, making her tiredness weigh on her more. Getting to her feet, taking a step around the chair to find her way back to the bunks but a cool hand wrapped around her wrist and made her pause. Breath hitching as she was jerked to sit across his legs and a quiet be still echoed in her skull.

Fingers lacing into her lose hair, this time he didn’t scratch across her scalp as he used the other to do the same on the opposite side. Gingerly he pressed his thumbs into her temples, that was when she realized he was searching, wanting to witness the nightmare for himself.

The lurid dream dredged up once again, making blind eyes squeeze shut. Loki cringed, witnessing the barbed, hollow needle shoved under her sternum. Just because she couldn’t feel didn’t mean he couldn’t. His own chest ached as it drove deeper, and the back of his skull felt as if it shattered as the man reached out of sight.

The creature, the celestial was lucky she couldn’t feel, it was all he could do to focus on what the man called her. She was right, he did call her a celestial, but the garb the man wore, it looked Midgardian as did the crude instruments he used.

It was nothing like he witnessed the others on the planet use on the recordings he was going over before she woke screaming.

Careful young celestial. A cool voice echoed, realizing he was finished, having drifted to a safe void in her scarred mind. Eyes opening to note he looked clear this close, though everything else had a haze around it still.

“Can you hear me now,” he asked out loud to which she narrowed her eyes as if calculating what Loki said. They had taken more from her temporal lobe, that would explain her slow reaction as she shook her head yes. “Good. A weeks rest should have you healing enough to speak, and it appears your sight and hearing will be back in a few hours. Go get some rest.”

He wasn’t cold, but he sounded as if he was trying to prevent emotion as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Settling instead to help her to her feet and between the chairs. Loki had a few more things to go over before he ever attempted rest.

Getting to his feet, Loki watched her disappear before turning to the control, bringing up the footage he had been going over. Choosing to keep the volume down, it was hard enough to watch, let alone his own memories dredged up from his own torture. Focusing on the instant she was brought in and listening to them telling her what her new name was. The woman repeating her real name, turning the volume up enough to hear what she spat.

“Your name is Larkin,” the orange skinned female spat, the steel table sat up to keep the celestial up right. With a sneer the woman, the celestial spat at her, yelling her name out as the orange skinned woman drove the glistening instrument under her ear.

“No,” she growled through gritted teeth, spitting blood. “I am Torrin, daughter of the celestials Airmid and Nuada!”

A spike drove further into her mind slowly and methodically in search of her subconscious to force angered features blank. A devious smirk on the orange females face at the change made him sick.

“Your name,” the orange bitch smirked in Torrin’s face, the male stepped forward to begin to cut the clothes from her body.

“Torrin… of… my name is Torrin,” she spoke, hanging onto her name, repeating it like a mantra.

Advancing the images to realize she chanted her name every time they asked, up until they had sold her, and that was years later. The dates on the videos showing much later, Torrin was all but a slab of meat on the cutting block, but at that point she was barely able to function without a command.

Letting out a huff, Loki couldn’t stomach it any longer and shut it off. Getting to his feet, he just hoped she hadn’t snuck up on him and witnessed it. Turning back for an instant to forward all the info to Thor who had asked what he found. Taking his time back to the bunks he stopped in the small mess area and made another potion as he had earlier but stronger since she was celestial.

The fuzzy outline of Loki darkened the door to the small bunk room. Opaque blue stared up at him, the god making sure strides before he paused before her, placing the hand before kneeling to look her over. Carefully she scented it before sipping the same as earlier but stronger as she met his gaze.

“Torrin,” Loki began as she cocked her head at him, a slight recognition but still a look of vagueness. “That is your given name. You are Torrin, daughter to the celestials Airmed and Nuada. You came from earth. Do you remember that in any way?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she studied him close as she sat on the edge of his bunk. Slowly she placed a hand to her chest.

“Torrin,” her dry throat gritted, the hand now going to rest on the arm Loki used to steady on his knee. “Loki,” she gritted, a careful smile painting her features at the fact she was able to voice his name while pulling her hand away.

“Right. You are remembering then?”

A careful shake yes hoping Loki wasn’t about to take it all away somehow. Taking another sip as she eyed him close, especially as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Loki studied her close, watching her drink while he thought of a book he had read of the Celtic people. It was one of the afore mentioned celestials, though he had wondered if they weren’t tales spun by the mortals like many of the ones of him.

There was always truth in tales, but he would have to wait for her to remember. Getting to his feet, he prepared to step away, but the hand that grabbed his wrist lightly made him still. Looking down at her as she finished the drink to hold the cup out to call to her seidr to place it on the counter in the mess area.

“Sit, talk,” she gritted, releasing him. Loki nodded and carefully perched next to her, looking her over.

“About what,” he asked without emotion, though the thought of trying to speak with her made him hopeful she was getting better. Damn, sentiment again and damn Thor for causing it.

She tried to form the word, her mind had it, but it slipped her grasp how to. A pressure behind her eyes from the frustration made her note it had to be the pain called a headache and thankfully she couldn’t feel it. Baring her teeth in frustration, Torrin wrapped the blanket tighter and moved to lay down in the bunk but he stopped her.

“Show me,” he hinted between them, then to the entirety of the ship. Frustrated, the celestial let out a huff and placed a finger in his chest but not harshly.

“Loki.”

“Me? What about me,” the god asked, then cursed himself as Torrin became frustrated at being unable to form the words. In surrender he held his hands out to her, making her pause her frustrated growl.

“How about I start with where I am from? About Asgard,” he bargained as she calmed and watched him close. A slight nod for him to continue, Loki noting the electric blue standing out more from the opaque pupil.

Tags open! And re-blogs are ALWAYS welcomed!

Tags: @dark-night-sky-99 @prettybubblesintheair @gramaeryebard @reallyheckinggay @jovanna-shewolf @andiyholly @katstablook @nickyl316h @beets1bears1battlestargalactica @aslandia726 @moonfaery @furstinnajoelle @itsbqueenthings @lookwhatyoumademequeue @moonlightprime @bambamwolf87 @tomhardy41 @get-loki @drakonwild @alexakeyloveloki @devilbat @jazzieomega

#loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #loki #loki (marvel)#loki x plus size #ofc #mcu #marvel mcu #loki mcu #loki (mcu)#marvel fanfiction

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