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touyaspeach · 3 years

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Body Mod Headcanons

Summary ; Tattoo and Piercing headcanons for Izuku, Katsuki, Shouto, Denki, Ochaco, and Eijiro.

A/N ; obviously just a hypothetical fun thing. I'm really into body mods and have numerous tattoos and piercings myself. Also if you want more characters or different shows lmk!!

Izuku

I honestly don’t think he’d have many.

An industrial on one side and maybe both lobes.

He keeps small black studs in the lobes and a simple silver bar in the cartilage.

As far as tattoos, I can see him getting a small, colorful flower on his neck below his ear that reminds him of his mom (maybe her favorite flower?)

And something on his shoulder down to his bicep. A traditional japanese style koi fish with water that swirls into lightning. This one is in black and grey.

Oh, if he’s your sub and you wanted him to, he’d get his nipples pierced, but he’d be reluctant at first.

Katsuki

Don’t tell me he doesn’t have stretched lobes, because you know he does. And he keeps black tunnels in them which he only changes out for orange when he’s in his hero outfit.

In addition he has a second lobe piercing right above them, in which he keeps custom-ordered grenade studs.

Despite his explosive attitude, he keeps his jewelry to a minimal so that he can wear them with everything.

Two micro-dermals on either side of his ‘v’ that are diagonal. Again, the jewelry is minimal and black.

Probably wants a prince albert but is really iffy about it.

Okay, hear me out. He’s either covered in tattoos or he has none.

A big upper back piece, black and grey that features a dragon skull split in half, and an anatomical heart in the center. The whole thing is surrounded by soft flames.

An armband tattoo on his left forearm that is one large black bar, and two smaller black bars beneath it.

Knuckle tattoos that say “hell bent” in old sailor style font.

On the back of his right hand, above his thumb he has a small black and grey rose.

Doesn’t have any lower body mods, he knows his arms and back are the stars of the show, so he’s focused on them.

Shouto

Another one who probably doesn’t have many. Not that he doesn’t want them, he just can’t decide.

A double conch in his left ear with simple silver hoops.

A high lobe on both ears, in the left one he wears a spiked silver huggie, in the other he wears a silver threader with a tiny circle on the end.

Also has a venom piercing.

Buys all of his jewelry from Maria Tash because he can afford it.

The only tattoo he has is a rib tattoo of a meaningful quote.

Ochaco

Has a triple lobe on each side with those dagger earrings that look like they’re stabbing through your ear on the lowest ones. The two upper ones have matching pave huggies.

Mid-helix in her left ear with a stud in the shape of saturn.

Daith in the other ear that is the same pave as the huggies, as well as a double helix with simple geometric posts, and a forward helix that’s a moon.

Also has a series of three dermals vertically down the back of her neck.

A watercolor style, small saturn tattoo on the inside of her forearm that is galaxy colored.

Okay, on her left shoulder blade she’s got a series of small dots that look like freckles, but they’re in the shape of a constellation. Subtle but there.

Denki

Tongue piercing!! And he has several different types of jewelry that he changes out. Ofc he’s got a vibrating one, but also one with a little rotating gear on it that’s fun to play with when you make out. He’s got a stupid smiley-face one that he insists is cool, and the standard steel one.

A dermal piercing on his cheek under his eye.

Low helix and high lobe both in one ear and with matching spike huggies.

Frenum. That’s all I’m saying.

Only has one tattoo, on his right bicep of storm clouds that he paid a lot of money for. It’s probably one of the most well-done tattoos you’ve ever seen.

Eijiro

Okay you know those “teeth piercings” that’s really just like rhinestones or whatever glued to your teeth? He gets little red ones on his canines.

A lobe piercing in each ear with anodized red captives. Stretched to a 10g, not very big but heavy yk?

Two dermals right under each collarbone running horizontally. These are black.

A tattoo of an arrow piercing through his forearm in full color.

The date he got his hero license in roman numerals running down his hip.

Definitely plans on getting more tattoos in the future.

#mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia headcanons #boku no hero academia headcanons #boku no hero academia imagines #todoroki shouto headcanons #midoriya izuku headcanons #bakugou katsuki headcanons #uraraka ochaco headcanons #kaminari denki headcanons #kirishima eijiro headcanons

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brownstonearmy · 3 years

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2021-03-06: Court Ordered Appearances, Pt. 1

Tuesday August 25 (morning, foggy)

On a foggy Tuesday morning, Disco and Spleenifer wake up in beds that are not their own. The pair appear to be in some sort of barracks; it's a bit nicer than military barracks, but not as opulent as Yula's guest quarters. A robed person enters the room and introduces himself as a court official. The two of them have been summoned to Swanmark to give expert testimony in a high-profile case. The other members of their adventuring party are supposedly en route to the location, but there were some logistical and jurisdictional hurdles that had to be overcome first. Spleenifer makes a remark about going to sleep resulting in free vacations to Swanmark.

A silver dragon is accused of murder for eating the reality-star celebrity adventurer, Anaxilas. Murder trials happen on a speedy timeline in Swanmark, and since Anaxilas hasn't been seen for a few days, things aren't looking too good for the dragon. There's only a short window of time before an automatic execution is scheduled, and there's not enough time for evidence to pass through draconic bowels in the conventional way.

However, the dragon has given her consent to have a party of investigators be miniaturized and search her insides for evidence. Such logic irritates Disco, who states "You don't have qualms about consent for putting someone to death, but you draw the line at putting someone up a dragon's butt!" Except the party isn't going through the metaphorical back door; they're going in through the toothy end.

Since there are no holding cells made to house a dragon, the accused is laying in the town square. Ropes are tethering her to the ground, and she appears to be heavily sedated. The court official gives Disco and Spleenifer a few potions to shrink them down to the proper size and bids them good luck.

As the two tread along the surface of the tongue, their steps trigger the dragon's swallowing reflex. Spleenifer and Disco tumble through a rough passageway whose walls are lined with spikes pointing the same direction, presumably to keep food from escaping. Disco manages to not get stuck, but Spleenifer gets caught between a few of the spikes. As she struggles to free herself, the court official yells that he forgot to give them something.

Falling through the passageway is an Adventure Gem containing the last known image of Anaxilas alive. It collides with Spleenifer, who catches it before it can get lost inside the dragon. The picture on the gem depicts the hero inside a silver dragon's mouth, wielding a sword and shield (and of course the belt that lets people see what he's up to).

Sounds of flapping and dragging reverberate from farther down the dragon's gullet. In the dim light let into the gullet through the dragon's mouth, Disco spots an undead hand clutching a sword that looks a lot like Anaxilas's sword. The hand is also wearing a metal ring with an emerald set in it. And since the party got shrunk down, that undead hand is the same size as each of the party members.

But it's a hand with no mouth (and it doesn't seem immediately hostile), so Disco tries to communicate with it via sign language. And it goes well!

"Not supposed to give up sword," the hand signs back. A soundless conversation ensues, and Disco learns that the sword is indeed Anaxilas's sword. The hand signs that it is Anaxilas and that there are no other body parts to recover from Anaxilas's corpse. It then signs for the duo to follow it, which Spleenifer and Disco do.

The hand drags its sword toward a passageway with lots of moving air. It stops in the middle of a chamber that appears to be a faintly glowing pouch of some kind. Disco's face begins to feel a little tingly. The hand signs that everything is fine from the middle of the chamber. But when the tingling turns to numbness, Disco reconsiders the logic behind listening to an undead hand.

With sudden fury at being questioned, the hand attacks. Spleenifer smites the hand with her quarterstaff, while Disco heats the metal of the sword to keep the hand from using it. Some of the fingers get ripped from the hand, but it still has its thumb and middle finger, which it uses to voice its discontent at the situation. The remains of the hand leave the sword and skitter to the corner to cower until the party goes away.

And the party does leave, though not without taking some of the spoils for their trouble. The two hold their breath and dash in to snag the finger holding the ring and the sword. Once the sword (also the size of our miniature party members) is picked up by someone, the voice of Anaxilas rings out from the blade:

"If you are hearing this, I am dead." There's a whole long speech that follows, something about truth and justice, and allowing time to grieve, and a request to tell Norbert that he was loved. It takes several moments of sword dragging before the dictated obituary concludes. Disco pries the ring off the finger and wears it as an armband, while Spleenifer uses the unadorned finger as a chunky walking staff.

As the duo leave the sac containing the dragon's paralytic breath weapon, Spleenifer spots the remains of another humanoid; this one appears to have been dead for some time, though their armor still seems to be pristine. The corpse has no use for armor at this time, so clearly they won't mind if Spleenifer relieves them of it. Although it does not provide the same level of protection as her normal chainmail, this armor seems to have resisted corrosion from the hazards of being inside a dragon's guts.

The pair trek back from whence they came before being tricked by the hand, and follow a different passage that leads to a smelly, acid-filled cavern that appears to be the dragon's stomach. An undead skull wreathed in green flame is tethered to the wall of the stomach by a thick chain. It cackles as the adventurers approach.

"Tell me a joke!" it demands. "I'm bored!"

Disco regales the skull with a zinger about Arthur Itus, which sounds like arthritis and is thus an acceptable joke to tell a flaming skull. The skull wants help getting free from the chain, but after what happened with trusting the hand, a little more skepticism is warranted. Negotiations happen, and the skull tells of the guy who tethered him to the chain. It's been a while since the skull came down the dragon hatch, so it doesn't remember names and just calls most of the creatures living in the dragon "Guy." Guy comes down every so often to drag food out of the stomach after the dragon eats and cooks it on the skull's flame.

And speaking of food, the skull reported that a few sheep got eaten recently. This isn't particularly noteworthy, except that one of the sheep had a shield, a sword, and a belt tied to it. Guy shows up like usual, takes the sheep and the goodies, and leaves. This is a strange development, and the party considers releasing the skull on the condition that they can be certain the skull will not harm them (even indirectly). So the party asks the skull how to get Guy to come over to hear his side of the story.

That part is straightforward: the skull screams that food has arrived, and a small shadowy figure emerges at the far end of the stomach. The figure seems to be of Drow descent, except he's the same height as the rest of the party: approximately 6 inches tall. That's Guy.

Guy's been living on a tiny raft in the dragon's bladder for about 200 years to avoid being tortured and enslaved by his sister for the unfortunate crime of being born a male. And also the crime of refusing to worship Lolth, the evil Spider Queen. So he got himself eaten by a dragon to escape an unfortunate and short life of misery. He's probably got about another 200 years left before he dies of old age, so things are looking pretty good.

Plus, it turns out that dragon urine has lots of residual magic in it, which enhances spell effects. He's got a rope trick that leads to permanent little pocket dimension. Well, it's permanent as long as the rope stays wet, if you know what I mean.

Spleenifer and Disco attempt to ascertain where the rest of Anaxilas's equipment is, as well as additional information about the sheep. And with good bread being in short supply in the dragon's stomach, Guy is willing to trade several of his possessions (including the Anaxilas/sheep stuff) for all the party's food. The deal is finalized, and the party comes away with what they've been looking for. All that's left is to find a way out of the dragon's cloaca, but that's where things get difficult.

There are potentially two major pathways to the cloaca, but Guy has no desire to leave the dragon and he's never gone all the way outside. Swimming through the bladder is one way, if you can hold your breath long enough. The other way is through the colon, though you would have to stimulate the walls of the bowels to trigger a release. And to top it off, there's a partially decomposed demilich named Monsignor Grylls who lurks somewhere near the cloaca.

Disco and Spleenifer opt for traversing the colon as the safest option, provided they don't light any fires in the area. Unfortunately, the sphincter is blocked by a sizable nugget of rock-hard poop. Nugget is probably not the most appropriate word for something that is (relatively) the size of a small apartment, but whatever. As Spleenifer collects a tithe and chisels a way through the blockage, a bejeweled skull unlatches its jaw from where it was clinging like a colon polyp.

It's Monsignor Grylls, and he is an even worse than the first skull. He unleashes a horrible wail that brings the party to its knees and stirs up a poopy dust-storm in the colon. Disco and Spleenifer avoid the blinding dust for the most part, and Spleenifer wields the giant finger like a quarterstaff (yeah, we didn't forget she still had it) and jams it into Grylls' nose cavity.

Disco casts Cloud of Daggers, trapping Monsignor in the whirling mass of blades. Monsignor starts up another dust cloud as Spleenifer readies her Wait Watcher and chucks the small stone into Monsignor's cackling mouth before it expands, dealing 2d8 bludgeoning damage. Although Monsignor is taking a beating, he's not out of the fight yet, and sucks a small bit of soul from both Disco and Spleenifer, healing himself in the process.

Before things can get worse, Spleenifer remember's Guy's advice about stimulating the colon for release. So she unleashes a powerful smite against the fleshy walls and the floor starts to rumble. Spells are flying, but Monsignor is too far away to reach Disco and Spleenifer as the sphincter opens up and sends them tumbling to freedom with evidence in hand.

Stay tuned next time for more!

#dragon #Dungeons and Dragons #shits and giggles #adventure log #bowel #demilich #skull #murder #undead #drow

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ravenvsfox · 7 years

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Ayyyy you wrote a prompt sometime and it was I think "can you just hug me" or something andreil,, and it was about Neil getting more comfortable with casual touches with his teammates,, WELL IT WAS GOOD AND A PART TWO WOULD BE BLOODY FANTASTIC (I think we all need Neil becoming comfortable with casual touches from his family and not flinch every time)

(one billion years later I have written a sort of sequel hello and thank you you’re wonderful)

When he wakes up on his 21st birthday, Andrew’s watching him over his glasses, wire frames flashing like lightning in the sun. He’s drinking spiked hot chocolate so sugary and boozy that Neil can taste the tang of it in the air. He spots a second mug on the bedside table and grimaces.

Andrew tucks a hand up into his own hair and rakes it back, taking a long sip from his mug. Neil smiles into his forearm, enjoying the over-performed nonchalance. There’s a tiny ’03’ printed in black on the white ceramic of his cup; it ends up looking like stark letterhead, completely leeched of enthusiasm. It’s Andrew’s version of a joke.

“They’re surprising you,” Andrew warns mildly, lips crowding the mug when he talks.

Neil rolls onto his back, stretching the comforter taut across Andrew’s lap. “I know. Nicky texted the group chat I’m in by accident.” He accepts the drink that Andrew passes him and holds it upright on his chest, letting the warmth brand his palm.

Andrew looks down into his face. “But you knew before that.”

“I did,” Neil says, pleased. “None of you are good at hiding things.”

Andrew gives him an unimpressed look, and scoops whipped cream into his mouth with his finger. Truthfully, Andrew is a professional at hiding things, but Neil’s just as good at uncovering them.

“What reason could I have possibly given you to think that they were doing this?”

Neil wriggles as far up onto their mismatched pillows as he can get without really sitting up, holding his mug away from his body so it doesn’t spill. “You told me they weren’t. Last week. I knew you’d never care enough to say anything. I still don’t know why you’re playing along now.”

“What happened to all your ill-considered trust?” Andrew asks.

“It doesn’t apply to birthday parties,” Neil replies wryly, and takes a careful sip of his drink — coffee, untouched by cream or sugar, lukewarm the way he likes it. “When are they coming?”

“They’re here,” Andrew says, and takes another pull of hot chocolate, eyes a bit unfocused. Neil juts his neck forward, sure he’s misheard.

“What?”

There’s a knock on the door, and Neil startles, coffee sloshing violently. He catches the run-off with his thumb and swings a glare on Andrew.

Nicky’s voice drones through the door, winding up on the word ‘happy’ until Neil tells him to come in and he trips into the rest of a lopsided rendition of ‘happy birthday’. Neil’s alarmed to find half of his original team pushing into their bedroom, singing and wielding a cake with a little plastic goal and exy action figures on top.

Matt climbs into bed with Neil and Andrew climbs out. The slipping moment where the scales are aligned and they’re on either side of him for a second is the strangest thing he’s ever experienced.

He’s disoriented to find himself both physically vulnerable and smiling, ringed with family and clutching a sweaty hand around his coffee. His armbands are crumpled on the bedside table but he doesn’t reach for them.

Matt swings an arm around his shoulder and smacks a kiss on his cheek, beaming, and Neil grins back without thinking too hard about it. Andrew takes one warning step towards Matt, but he has bedhead and glasses and sweatpants on. He’s a threat on his best behaviour, a human-shaped pulled punch.

“Surprise,” Nicky singsongs.

“He didn’t let you in,” Neil starts, incredulous. He throws an accusing look in Andrew’s direction like a grenade and waits for the explosion, but Andrew just looks cooly back at him. He has all his buttons covered so Neil can’t press them.

Neil can’t picture Andrew colluding with people that aren’t him. The thought of the team whispering their way into his apartment without Andrew hitting someone is impossible.

“The door was unlocked,” Matt says, smiling sheepishly.

“And we thought a great surprise would be home invasion,” Allison says, popping her gum. “Good fucking morning.”

“And a happy birthday,” Dan adds, cuffing his shoulder in a rough, sisterly sort of way before she snaps a party hat onto his head. Nicky coos from where he’s kneeled at the foot of the bed, recording Neil’s lacklustre response on his phone.

“We know you don’t like cake,” Renee says apologetically, setting it smoothly down onto the dresser.

“But we know you like goalies.” Allison’s mouth quirks, and she plucks the little masked goalie cake topper off and tosses it at Andrew. He swats it away.

Neil can taste the lump in his throat, but he doesn’t understand it. The foxes move his stuff and find their own perches, trying to hide how interested they are in the photos without frames splayed over open surfaces, the trinkets that mean more to Andrew and Neil than they’ve ever thought or said.

Aaron’s in the doorway, mouth sour, Kevin’s sitting on the only chair in the room with his fingers steepled on his crossed legs. Renee has her hands folded around an orange envelope, her expression held back just a little, like a crossword with a few words unsolved.

Andrew’s in the doorway of their ensuite looking stern, but the sun washes out his black shirt so the seams and cat hair show. Matt’s arm is a pin and Neil is paper, trapped and safe, only a little puncture necessary -- so small you can barely see it.

The moment he realizes that all the doorways are blocked and he’s not throttled by the thought of it is the moment he becomes aware of safety existing in a crowd, not a vacuum. Andrew watches him, knowing this, effecting disinterest like he didn’t pilot Neil home himself.

“We’re kidnapping you next,” Nicky says gleefully, and Dan shoves him.

“What did we say about language sensitivity?”

Nicky shrugs and leans in to pinch Neil’s cheek, but something thunks into the back of his head. Neil watches him flinch forward and steady himself on the bedspread, then looks beyond him to Andrew. He’s looking out the window, but the book on the dresser next to him missing.

“It’s fine,” he says, and it’s shotgun placation for Nicky glaring at Andrew and Dan glaring at Nicky; but mostly for Andrew with his expression screwed into his neck and shoulders instead of his face. “What are we going to do?”

“Exy,” Kevin says, looking alert for the first time.

“Casual exy,” Renee corrects gently.

“No such thing,” Neil says.

Dan groans and shakes him by the leg that’s still tucked up under the covers. “No stakes, Josten. Exy in the park.” She leaves her hand on his ankle.

He almost has more foxes in his bed than out of it now, and the cats are winding around the frame, sniffing cautiously. Andrew scoops Sir up when he starts clawing his way up the duvet.

“I won’t play if it’s high stress. I get enough of that in the hospital,” Aaron says. He’s taken to mentioning his internship at every pause in the conversation, and Neil’s patience for bragging is scraped thin.

“We only need six,” Neil replies pointedly.

Dan jostles him again. “Play nice.”

“No,” Neil says, enjoying himself a little. “It’s my birthday.”

“Breakfast first,” Allison cuts in. “I need a few mimosas if I’m going to spend all day with you.” There’s affection all over her though. She’s always been good at saying two things at once.

“Okay but we need to cut the cake first, I need him to do dumb birthday things,” Nicky says impatiently, climbing out of bed. “It’s carrot cake because, you know. You’re a health freak. And orange gets you off.” He sort of spins in a circle, searching, and then grabs at the armbands on their bedside and shakes them out. “Any knives in here?”

“Knife block in the kitchen, Nicky,” Neil says tiredly, and Nicky laughs his way out of the room.

“Were you surprised?” Dan asks after a moment, mouth quirked, and Neil shrugs, eyes wandering to Andrew again.

“By some things.”

______

When his mother used to hug him, she would pull him into her side without warning. Whatever wisp of a threat or suspicious shadow or harmless passerby would melt into the muffle of her hands curled over his head or sides, tight enough to shock his flesh when she let go.

She would treat him like something she was stuffing into a suitcase, and he would go limp and usable and try to be easier to fold.

He’s done with being something you roll up and wedge in, and the foxes never make him feel like last minute padding. He can see in their low-tipped, hopeful faces that they want him close but they won’t force him there. It’s enough to curl the edges of his heart and make consent well right up on the tip of his tongue.

He has to remind himself that he doesn’t have to tamp it down. He has to talk himself in and out of wanting affection just like he dithered over being able to afford a family or a locker with his name on it or a place in the margins of Andrew’s life.

It gets easier the more they touch him. Trust isn’t abstract, since Andrew, and he likes being able to recognize it.

Since it’s his birthday, he gets hugged and nudged and held between bodies and kissed with the caution of someone touching a dog’s favourite toy. Andrew hovers nearby, nonchalant enough that no one would look for his hand returning over and over to Neil’s thigh under the breakfast table or his steps hooking with Neil’s when they trudge out to the park.

The whole day is a splotchy mess of squabbles and drama and blue skies and sweet aching exertion, and Neil follows the rush of it with great fondness. They have omelettes for breakfast and play hard exy for almost two hours, letting high noon catch their clothes and slow them down with lethargy. Nicky naps in the sun, Aaron sits near him with his face tipped up and open.

Neil feels strangely older; his muscles sit comfortably with the heft of his heaviest racquet, his mind buzzes like radio drowned out by the rain, and his low tolerance for laziness is all but absent. He’s not his mother’s son, anymore.

“Having fun?” Dan asks, plunking down at Neil’s side, and he nods distractedly. “What’s going on up there?” she asks kindly, knocking gently on the side of his head.

“I don’t know,” Neil says, thoughtful. “Just thinking about how my mother probably never had a surprise party.”

Dan gives him a disbelieving look. “Very grim.”

He shrugs. “She didn’t like to be surprised.”

“But you do?”

He watches Renee offer Allison an earbud a few metres away, heads together, then lets his own head thunk back into a tree trunk. “Everything good that’s ever happened to me has been a surprise.”

“Neil,” Dan says softly, taking his hand. Neil squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his whole body prickle, pins and needles that only hurt you to wake you up. “You’d let us know if it was too much?”

He hesitates. Historically, if things got to be too much, he left.

“Maybe,” Neil says, and Dan leans her head onto his shoulder.

“Noncommittal bastard,” she says fondly. “You’re always so straightforward in interviews, where’s all that gone?”

“Where’s all what gone?” Matt asks, coming up and settling down between them, his hair wet from the public fountain.

“His big-shot starting striker persona,” Dan replies mirthfully. “He’s ‘I’m fine’-ing me over here.”

“Typical,” Matt grins, knocking shoulders with Dan first, then Neil.

“I’m just thinking,” Neil argues.

Matt makes a tsk-ing noise. “That’s never good.”

“I like—” Neil cuts off, annoyed when he gropes for words and finds none. “This.”

“This park?” Dan asks, her eyebrows raised. Neil looks away, out into the foliage that’s drooping over everything, the sun melting it back into the earth where it was born.

“Having birthdays,” Neil says quietly. He wants to say not being afraid, but he doesn’t want the words to come out silly and dramatic.

Dan pokes him in the calf, and smiles tenderly when he looks up at her. He looks back down at the grass he’s been uprooting and swallows thickly. Sometimes he looks at Dan or Matt and he hurts with loss until he realizes that he’s standing in one place, nowadays. His friends do things like cross countries to see him, and he’s just— still.

“We’re going to do up all your birthday’s like this,” Dan says, bright-eyed. “Or at least the next eighteen, to make up for your trash childhood.”

Eighteen years is unfathomable and tempting and possible and Neil shakes his head, overcome.

“I don’t know how we’re going to top exy though,” Matt says, looking around at the pylons and sticks and water bottles dotting their stretch of the park. “Lower your standards. Develop some more interests.”

“I have enough interests,” Neil says.

“You have two,” Matt says, deadpan. Andrew and Exy, presumably. He considers this for long enough that Matt bursts out laughing.

Andrew comes wandering up the path on cue, wearing Neil’s navy t-shirt and looking at the trio of them like he’s mentally dissecting Dan and Matt from the picture. Neil likes the way Andrew doesn’t try to hide his interest in Neil from their friends anymore. There was always Andrew’s lot, but now Neil’s on a rung of his own, snug to Andrew’s side.

He’s feeling flushed and impulsive so he reaches out for Andrew when he’s close enough. Andrew looks at his hand for a heartbeat, and takes it faster than Neil would have thought, palm to palm. Neither of them move to get down or up.

Andrew waits for Neil to guide them and Neil enjoys how uncomplicated everything is when his best friends are on one side of him and Andrew’s perfect hand is flexing around his wrist. A shiver creeps up on him and sluices down his back. He’s still getting used to the overwhelming warmth and relief tied to physical contact that asks first.

“Come here,” he says, very very quietly, and Andrew sinks down across from him, still holding his hand.

Dan and Matt have gone silent. Neil looks straight ahead at Andrew because things are always easier there; he knows Andrew will be looking back, clear as a window.

The others shift up onto knees and then feet, and Neil catches the tail end of Dan’s smothered laugh. Neil looks up expectantly.

“No, please, have your moment,” she laughs, tangling hands with Matt and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “It’s your birthday, Neil.”

Matt rumples Neil’s hair as he passes, and they tramp off towards Allison and Renee’s clearing. He doesn’t watch them go.

He has the persistent feeling that Andrew is letting him get away with things because it’s his birthday, which is such a charming, stupid idea that Neil has to grind his teeth so he doesn’t smile. He squeezes Andrew’s hand instead.

“Thanks for letting them do this.”

Andrew blinks. “Not stopping them is not the same thing as letting them.”

Neil smiles, can’t help it. “You unlocked the door,” he points out.

“You forgot to lock it,” Andrew corrects, and they both sit with the obviousness of the lie for a moment.

“You ate their shitty cake.”

“Cream cheese icing,” Andrew says simply.

They look at each other, holding hands, listening to Renee laughing somewhere else in the park, bees swerving over rose bushes. Nothing has a beginning or an end for a minute.

All the rest of his birthday’s stretch in front of him. He thinks about getting to watch his friends tick older and buying a dog and learning to hug first, and his future seems real enough to hold in his hands.

#im back from my accidental hiatus!!! i have had a WEEK let me tell you.... trips to montreal and prep for pride at work and NO SLEEP #but I've been writing this every time I have five minutes so here it fuckin is!!!#aftg #the foxhole court #andreil #tfc fanfic #prompt #mine #long post #im sorry this took so long guys i hope this fluff soothes you #also kev only says one word in this fic and it's exy i'm amazing at characterization #aarvnminyrd #ask

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an-anaemic-pen · 4 years

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Dance of the Little Swan II.i

Pas de Trois

Prelude || Overture || Dance of the Harpy

Summary: The Jötnar were thought to be long-since-gone within the mortal realm. Amidst all of her fakery, Mommy Fortuna holds Loki, trapped in birth from and far from what he once considered home, as well as another little treasure: a swan maiden.

(Yes, this is a crossover, but the Last Unicorn is fairly minimal plot-wise and it’s largely a Loki fic)

Relationships: F/M (Loki/Original Female Character, Molly Grue/Schmendrick)

Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content)

WARNING: Mild dub-con

At some point in the middle of the night, Annie had crawled over and wormed her way under Ceana’s arm. The swan maiden had no recollection of it ever occurring. When she closed her eyes, Annie had been adjacent to her; when she opened them again, the little one’s strawberry blonde hair was half-burying her nose.

The next thing Ceana noticed was the smell of cooking meat and greens. She picked up her head, rubbing sleep from her eyes to find Loki crouched in front of the fire and watching food cook on some flat stones. He looked none-too-happy to be so close to the heat.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but the slightly-light sky foretold its rising. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said as she stretched. Ceana did her best to hide the thick sarcasm. Whether Loki noticed on not, he showed no reaction.

The fire lit the surrounding area. It wasn’t until she tried to sit up that she felt the ache in her side. She winced.

“You would not wake up,” Loki simply said. His voice was rough from lack of use.

Ceana picked up her armband, slipping it on and nudging Annie awake. “Little one,” she whispered, “we must leave soon.”

Annie barely roused. Ceana lightly shook her until she lifted her head. “Mama? Where are we?”

Ceana’s heart panged. She smoothed Annie’s thin hair into a less disheveled style. “I’m sorry, but I’m not your Mama, sweetie, but I’m gonna help you find her.”

Annie lazily nodded her head.

“What’s your name?” Ceana asked.

“Marget.”

“Marget?”

The little girl shook her head and curls whizzed around her like a halo. “Marget.”

Ceana raised her eyebrow.

“She means Margaret, you dull thing,” Loki said. His voice was sharp for so early in the morning.

“Margaret?”

The little girl nodded her head. She attempted enthusiasm but ended up almost falling forward in fatigue. Ceana smiled down at her.

“Eat. We leave as soon as you are done.”

Demanding, Ceana thought and took some of the food from the flat stone. Her diet had since returned to its natural state, and she ate some of both. Annie— Margaret, she corrected herself—only ate the meat. She didn’t like the way the celery tasted—“like grass.”

Once they were finished, Ceana found a nice branch to use as a walking stick. It was clear of bark and without splinters and worked perfectly to alleviate the pain of her new limp. She allowed Margaret to climb on her back; the girl had a nasty cut on the bottom of her foot that she was complaining about. Once they found a stream, she could wash it and her own wound.

Loki set the giant covering of bodies alight, and they left just as the sun peeked over the horizon.

The sun was high. They were in the trees, following closely enough to the trail that they could see it, but far enough away that others would not see them. Not far ahead, she could hear a river bubbling along.

Once they reached their temporary destination, Margaret drank from the river while Loki helped Ceana out to a protruding rock in the shallows, letting her sit down while he inspected her leg. She held the skirt of her dress to prevent it from getting wet.

As she watched him, she decided she did not like having such a terrifying creature—especially one who was still threatening to eat her—holding her leg and examining her wound as if he genuinely cared.

Loki cupped his hand and allowed water to run down the burning wound. Ceana winced but allowed him to work away the old blood and dirt. “It is not as bad as I had first thought,” he said.

When he poured more water over her shin, he smoothed his hand along her skin. Ceana felt the water turn icy cold and shuddered in both shock and relief. “What magic is that?”

He cleaned the rag. “Jötnar have the ability to manipulate ice. Although, I have more skills than simply snow.”

Ceana wondered why he had not used them to escape. Outside her own transformation magic, she did not know how seiðr worked. “Can you show me, Your Highness?”

“No.”

Ceana blinked. “Why not?”

He wrapped her leg and practically dropped it back into the river, water splattering both of them. “The business of a god is not to be known by mortals.”

Ceana wanted to roll her eyes, but she knew the Jötunn would see.

She drank as much as she pleased before standing. He didn’t offer her help, so she walked out of the river herself, nearly slipping and falling on a mossy rock. Fickle Jötunn, she wanted to say, but she kept it in her thoughts.

It took a few days, but they eventually ended up on the outskirts of a small village. Ceana knew they were lucky the wound on her leg did not infect, but Margaret’s foot was now red and swollen, oozing fluid constantly. It was clearly so painful that she could not walk, and Ceana was forced to support the little one on her back—the Jötunn outright refused.

So, she now carried the small child and Loki’s cloak, constantly tripping on the frayed bottom of her own wrapping as the weight of Margaret dragged the fabric down.

Her entire body ached, but she refused to ask for any sort of relief. The first time she had, Loki scoffed, called her weak, and offered to give her the supplies so he could walk freely.

Ceana grit her teeth and looked at him. He, in turn, met her gaze expectantly, raising his brow and nodding towards the village.

With the ache in her muscles and his irksome behavior grating on her nerves, Ceana found herself to be more shrewd than usual. She knew she would regret it later, but she wanted to see the indignant expression on the god’s face. “Are you not going to lead the way, Your Highness?”

Loki simply sneered at her. “Must I remind you that I have not had a full meal recently?”

Margaret, who Ceana had thought was asleep, startled, and Ceana felt the girl wrap her tiny arms a little closer to her collar.

“Perhaps you should.” Ceana crouched before she could see his reaction, letting Margaret slid off her back and to the ground. She turned to face the little one. “Let me see your foot.”

Margaret lifted her foot as instructed, allowing Ceana to unwrap it. She ran her thumb along the dirty sole. Margaret whimpered, and Ceana winced in sympathy, but she had to keep watch of it.

After clearing away a few pebbles that had gotten caught in the swollen skin, she took a damp rag she’d recently cleaned and replaced the old one, tucking it away for later. She then pressed her hand to Margaret’s forehead, finding the girl far hotter than what the early spring sun would cause. “We need to take you to an apothecary as soon as possible.” She took her cloak, wrapping the girl up despite her heat.

Ceana had learned from both experience and her mother that although the little one felt hot to the touch, she shivered from cold, so it is best to keep her wrapped up in a blanket. “You’ll sweat out the sickness,” her mother would have said.

Ceana stood for a moment, stretching her entire body in hopes it would relieve the slight ache in her muscles. They’d been walking for a few days straight, and—

Her vision shook and pain spiked through the back of her head.

It took her a moment to recollect herself, and, after a few moments of the entire world seeming to shake, it registered that she was against the bark of a tree. Loki was so close she could hardly see his nose.

He bared his teeth, grey and sharp, and drew closer to her.

In the days Ceana had known him, he walked and spoke like a man rather than a beast, but now… now his eyes held a dark, feral look in them, and she turned her head away. His surprisingly cold breath caressed her cheek as he drew his lips to her ear.

Fear sped through her and Ceana tried to kick him, but he pinned her body to the tree with his own. When she tried to squirm and push him away, one of his hands, just as cold as his breath, found her throat and squeezed hard enough to make her breathing ragged, the other grasping her wrists and caging her hands against his chest. Once her arms were adequately pinned, he reached for her hair and pulled her so he could cradle the back of her head. He shifted, biting her earlobe and sending—oddly enough—chills down her spine, although not due to cold. When he pulled with his teeth, Ceana flinched, terrified he was going to attempt to rip her entire ear off; she had no doubt he could if he so pleased.

Just as the tugging began to hurt enough to warrant a strangled cry, the Jötunn withdrew, and Ceana thought that perhaps his attack was over. She trembled in an odd mixture of fear and relief, tensing again when he seemed to suckle the lobe.

His knee made its way uncomfortably between her legs, shoving her upwards until he managed to nestle his hips against hers. Her back scraped against the tree and the bark rubbed her skin raw.

Ceana could feel her heart thumping in her chest. It was horribly difficult to ignore the pressure he was creating between her legs.

She’d never even considered the thought of someone’s touch—whether it be hers or another’s—venturing between her legs, especially before she’d been wed; her own hand had never been there except when cleaning, and she hadn’t even thought to be thankful that no man had ever tried to force himself upon her. Until now, Ceana thought.

She tried to move to alleviate some of the pain, and felt the Jötunn—the beast, the… the monster—smile against her skin. “Concubine,” he muttered and removed his hold on her neck to explore elsewhere. His mouth moved lower to lightly bite her skin, his tongue lapping along the vein there.

Ceana squirmed. Although she now had the freedom to scream, she found the chill he’d left on her neck continued biting. Her throat was painful and dry, and she could only manage a graveled croak.

Just as his wandering touch was about to reach below her makeshift dress, he jolted slightly, his breath stuttering.

He retreated.

Ceana had shut her eyes at some point during the assault, but she opened them now, following the beast’s gaze down to see an angry little red-head. Her face was scrunched up in hostility, her hands in little fists.

He glared down at Margaret, bearing his teeth, but her gaze did not waver. Her fist, in fact, rose, and she hit his leg for what was presumably the second time. “Let her go!”

He smirked, confusing Ceana beyond belief. In one smooth movement, he stepped away and released her, causing her to fall and land hard at the roots of the tree. “I suppose I do still need you pure in order to find that Unicorn, don’t I? I certainly won’t be able to see her on my own.”

Ceana slumped over, still shaking and now on the verge of tears. She watched as Margaret ran at the beast, and began to claw and hit him despite her own injury, attempting to maul every vestige of skin she could reach. He merely rolled his eyes and placed his palm against her forehead, shoving her backward. Ceana felt the blast of cold he released upon the child from where she lay, the poor thing tumbling backward and falling; Margaret remained on the ground and began to cry.

The beast pulled her swan feather from behind his ear, walking over to Ceana and dangling it in her face. Ceana lifted her shaking hand, attempting to grasp at it. He easily snatched it from her fingers, snickering as he tucked it away. “Still, I own you, swan, and still, you must obey me, but I’ll give you a choice.” He stood to his full height, towering over her. “You may stay there, and I kill that wretched thing or quiet it and I will, for now, graciously allow it to live.”

She was a shaking disaster but managed to crawl her way over to Margaret, pulling the little girl into her lap and attempting to soothe her despite her utter lack of voice.

Eventually, Margaret calmed, and Ceana stood and turned to find him gone. She swallowed, doing her best to ignore the pull in her chest that told her to go into the woods. She kissed the little girl’s forehead and started to walk towards the tiny village, the sun setting behind her.

Ceana knew they were lucky to find a sympathetic woman who happened to have a bed to spare. Her son had only recently left to make his own homestead, and the bedding still smelled of him.

Teàrlach, his mother called him, and her name was Seonag.

Seonag lived without a husband—an illness swept through their village early on in their marriage. The woman resolved then to learn the ways of herbalism and became the village’s healer.

Ceana brought Margaret over to the bed, helping Seonag rest her down so she could be properly inspected. The middle-aged woman already had water boiled and a medicinal tea for her throat was steeping.

Seonag looked at Margaret's foot. “That’s a mighty infection, there.” She leaned close to Ceana so Margaret couldn’t hear her next words. “You’re lucky the girl’s still alive.”

Ceana nodded, worry creeping up into her chest. She hadn’t known how bad it was.

Seonag smiled. “I’ll do everything I can to help her.” After a bit of shuffling around her cottage, she found what she was looking for and started to make a poultice, instructing Ceana to watch.

It was fairly simple—marigold and lavender oil. The lavender oil was tedious to make, so Seonag gave Ceana a small jar wrapped in dark fabric. The poultice was crushed in a bowl and heated over a fire, then placed in the cloth used to wrap Margaret’s foot. “Heat it if possible and change it at least twice a day until the infection lessens,” she said. “After that, apply it only once. I’d advise you two stay here until it improves a bit.” She shuffled back over to the fire, sniffing the tea to check it. With a nod, she took out the little sack of herbs, squeezed it, and handed the mug to Ceana. “It doesn’t taste very good, but make sure you drink up and gargle it every few swigs.”

Ceana nodded. She did as instructed, cringing at the bitter taste.

Seonag lightly shoved her towards a chair by the fire. “Sit! Sit! Poor thing, do you have shoes for you and your little one?”

Ceana shook her head, taking another gargled gulp. The heat of the fire added with her tea left her sweltering, but she tried to ignore it. Seonag knew what she was doing. Besides, the heat was helping with her throat.

“Let me take a proper look at ye, now.” Seonag pulled a stool over to sit in front of her. “Throat, you said?”

Ceana nodded, lowering her mug. She ignored the tugging in her chest.

Seonag turned a bit, lightly gesturing for Ceana to follow until the glow of the fire fully lit her face. “Open wide!” Upon inspection, she nodded. “A bit irritated, but nothing too bad.”

Seonag nodded. “I’m going to feel your throat, just as a precaution. Make sure nothing’s the way it shouldn’t be.” She reached out without further ado, resting her fingers on Ceana’s neck for barely a second. “By Scathach!” she exclaimed, so loudly that Margaret jumped from sleep.

Ceana’s eyes were wide, but she set her tea down and got up, sitting down beside Margaret and soothing the poor girl. She felt her heartbeat to find it racing, and shushed Margaret and calming her. She looked up at Seonag while she rocked the little redhead.

Seonag was checking her own throat and cheeks now. She grabbed the tea walked up to Ceana, touching her own cheeks and the back of her neck. “Miss, my hands are in no way cold, but your throat…”

Ceana raised her eyebrows in reply, taking the tea and drinking more.

“It’s so cold it burns!”

The slight tugging at her body began to overwhelm her, begging her to leave the cottage and venture into the night. She did not doubt that it would lead her right to the Jötunn’s awaiting arms.

“If you’ll excuse me, I… I need some fresh air.” Ceana knew the excuse was lame at best, but she felt her body pulling her beyond her control. “I’ll be back before morning.”

She hurried out, not even accepting Seonag’s offering of a pair of shoes.

#fanfic #fanfiction #loki #loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson #marvel #norse mythology #Dance of the Little Swan #Dance of the Little Swan II.i #Pas de Trois

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