#''he must be screwing around at some other club's tent''

[aclowntiny]

The Dancing Effect- Best Friend!Dino x Gender Neutral!Best Friend!Reader (College AU)

Word Count: 3,434 | Fluff, Best Friends to Lovers, College AU | Warnings: 💋 hehe

“Admit it, you love it.”

You turned to meet the eyes of your best friend, upturned in pleasure as he grinned at you, shaking your head in amusement as he ran a hand through his bleached-blonde hair.

He’d invited you to join a dance class with him, just a beginner one rather than the advanced stuff he did for his major, and out of need for an elective you’d agreed. The class was a mix of styles, ranging from swing and waltz to some fun Latin steps. Partners were assigned and you got given a guy named Jihoon who wasn’t exactly the tallest guy in class, but really shocked you with his strength when he effortlessly dipped you each salsa round. As you twirled around the smooth studio floor, you could see your own reflection passing the mirrored walls with a grin. There was no denying this was your most fun elective yet, even if you didn’t want to give Chan the satisfaction.

“I guess it is pretty fun,” you conceded mock-grudgingly, relenting into a grin at the pure joy radiating across Chan’s face.

He must have really wanted you to enjoy dancing. “What’s your favorite style so far?”

You swerved around a skateboarder, arcing around to return to Chan’s side. “I don’t know, there’s something cute about the swing,” you replied.

Your best friend nodded thoughtfully, squinting slightly at you as if in scrutiny. “I see.”

You just giggled. “What? Why, what’s your favorite?”

“I don’t know, the waltz is kind of romantic.”

“Oh yeah? Thinking of your partner, eh?” You couldn’t help but tease him. You didn’t know the girl he was paired with, but she seemed nice and no matter what his reaction would be funny.

“Ew,” Chan’s nose wrinkled, his face screwing up hilariously, “Minkyung is my friend’s sister! No way!”

You put your hands in the air, palms up. “All right, all right, just checking.”

“Yeah, she’s totally not my type.”

He always said that, but you’d yet to hear what was Chan’s type. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d just assume he wasn’t ready for a relationship, but he was a great guy, so probably just picky. Or looking for someone who could be as sassy as him, you reflected as the two of you continued teasing each other.

~

Chan’s club was hosting a little ‘fall bash’ outside of the student union. They were putting up one of those big shade tents with snack tables and setting up speakers, lights, and banners for some icebreakers and dancing. All students were welcome of course, so not majoring in dance didn’t exclude you in the slightest.

Free food and new company was all it took for you, a recent transfer to campus, to be sold, but the light show sounded like it was going to be bomb, too.

“Yeah, they’ll be dancing over us as we move! In fall colors of course almost like leaves! I tried to get them to actually make leaf-shaped formations, but they said-”

“Whoa, slow down there, Passion Boy.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“What are you going to wear?”

You cocked a brow. “Why, are you supposed to dress up? I didn’t think this was prom.”

“Nah, it’s wear whatever you want.”

“Then frankly I have no clue. Maybe that orange sweater I got? That's fall-y."

"Orange sweater. Got it."

~

You weren't sure what Chan had meant until you showed up to the party and saw him dressed in a burnt orange blazer, which was buttoned smartly over a black turtleneck and matching jeans and boots, just a hint of fall color that perfectly matched yours.

"What is this, Sadie Hawkins?" You teased, tugging at Chan's sleeves.

Your best friend just shrugged, pinching a peach ring out of a nearby candy bowl and bringing it to his lips. "Thought it might be fun."

"That is a cool blazer. Is it comfortable?"

"Here," he unbuttoned it immediately, shrugging it off his shoulders, "try it on."

Chuckling, you removed your jacket, then pulled the sleeves on over yours, buttoning yourself in and inhaling a big whiff of Chan's scent. A unique mix of cologne and that faint, perpetual bit of dance sweat. Whether it was a good or bad smell you couldn't even tell at that point because you were so used to it, it just smelled like home to you. Ever since you guys had your first class a year ago, you were inseparable, sharing car space and visiting each other's dorms all the time. In all honesty, you were a bit surprised you could still smell it after this long, but the blazer seemed to hold an extra concentrated Chan essence you found yourself wanting to inhale just for the comfort.

"So," your best friend raised his eyebrows, "like it?"

With a nod, you answered "I do. I might just steal it."

He teasingly unbuttoned it and pulled it back off you, onto his own chest once more. "Alright, then no more. Go get your hand stamped, (y/n)."

"Get my what now?"

"If you wanna dance, you have to sign the waiver and get a stamp. Campus liability and all that."

"Right, in case our swing dance rager gets us grievously wounded," you rolled your eyes, making your way to the table where two guys stood, one on either side.

One of them, a guy in white with black hair and a sweet smile, introduced himself as Soonyoung, gawking when you signed in as (y/n) because 'oh my gosh you're the friend Chan is always talking about'. He gave you an incredibly pleased grin as he pressed the stamp against the back of your hand, leaving a little orange cartoon of a fall leaf on it.

"Do you have any other stamps?" The other guy, a tall, trenchcoat-and-sweater-clad figure with sort of long hair, asked.

"We don't and you know it," Soonyoung shook his head, nudging him teasingly, "you international students think you can come in and tell us what to do, huh?"

Tall Guy put his hand over his heart in mock offense, and Soonyoung reached over to quickly stamp it, sticking his tongue out as he did so.

"You're an international student? Where are you from?"

"China," he answered with a wide smile, looking directly at you but batting at Soonyoung blindly from behind with one hand, "Guangdong, to be a little more specific. My name is Junhui."

"See, I may be the (y/n) Soonyoung heard about, but I've heard a ton about your dancing skills from Chan! He says he wants to go to China, you and the other guy are so good! What's the other guy's name?"

Junhui waved off your compliment. "Minghao is a way better dancer than me. And if you want dirt on Chan, he's the one you want to go to," he added with a devilish little smile.

"I'll remember that," you reply, mirroring his expression before wandering back over to the snack tables to grab a few of your favorite candies, squinting a bit in the dim purplish ambience and nighttime air to find them.

Your classmate Mia was at the snack table too, gingerly grabbing some chips as you stuffed your own face, so you busied yourself with asking how her math test went until a lilting, old-fashioned tune poured forth from the speakers.

You gasped. "Time to dance!" Tossing your candy wrappers, you shuffled excitedly over to the wide open area of student zone concrete that was the dance floor.

Being members of the hosting dance club, Junhui and Soonyoung each grabbed you for a dance first, and wow, was that two different experiences. Junhui led you so smoothly, fluidly, and gently you felt like you were being glided on clouds, dancing just as well as your instructor did. You almost felt like you were back in class learning the best pace for each triple-step. He was so nice about it, you forgot to feel embarrassed at your own novice skills. Following that, Soonyoung was a whirlwind, twirling you exuberantly and performing crossovers and turns you'd never even seen before; your feet could barely keep up, but you were laughing the whole time. Mia asked you to teach her what everyone was doing, so you did your best to lead her despite usually performing in class as a follower, clumsily giving her a lesson before taking her for a turn around the spotlight-dotted dance floor, the sidewalk a glittering, wonderful mess of dancing duos and even singles doing their own thing.

You stopped to drape your jacket on a chair, grab a soda and recharge, and that was when you saw Chan. He was doing the same thing as you, catching your eyes with a smile and nod of his head. His blonde hair was thoroughly tousled by the wind now, all the fast steps of the last song clearly being taken as a challenge.

A new song started a few sips later. "Come on, it's my turn now!"

The moment you obliged, Chan took your hand. Close as you guys were, you'd never really held hands before. It surprised you how delicately your best friend intertwined your fingers, taking your hand slowly as if reaching for something behind a door that might close. He held your hand like that, gently connected, until you reached the floor, where he let go, sliding his right hand down to your waist as you rested your left on his shoulder. He joined your other hands, extending them out a bit before glancing off, clearly mentally counting the song's pace.

Chan swayed you so gently, leading you carefully into each step of the turn. Much more warning than Soonyoung, and a little more care somehow than even Junhui, who moved like it was second nature to him. Chan seemed to take his time, savoring every motion and smiling widely at the joy you got from each turn. When you went to each side and even as you stepped back, his eyes never left yours. Maybe it was the spotlights dancing over the makeshift floor, but they looked extra sparkly tonight. Or maybe it was what you called the dancing effect. Jihoon was always cuter to you when he was dipping you.

That had to be it, but you'd never looked into Chan's eyes so deeply, so intently before. You knew if you looked at your feet, gazed too long at another pair dancing, you'd lose time, falter in your footing, so your best friend's gaze was your anchor, the center of your every motion. There was no reason to look away, especially when the twinkling green and white lights reflected so well in them. You'd never felt the warmth of Chan's hand against your waist either, the way he softly pulled you closer to his chest after you strayed too far from a twirl. It was getting harder to convince yourself that your heart was just beating faster from the exertion of dancing to six songs in a row.

"Are you glad you came?" He asked in between songs, tilting his head and keeping you swaying even in the momentary silence, as if you'd run away from him otherwise.

What a time to ask that question. "Yeah," you breathed, giving a simple nod, "this is really fun."

"I was hoping you'd enjoy it," he replied. No teasing for once- you could tell by his tone how genuine he was being.

You felt his hand flex ever-so-slightly above your waist, the dancing effect sending your heart jumping. "Of course."

They'd snuck some Latin songs in before the night was over, and you were beyond frustrated upon your brief partner switch that Jihoon was no longer all that cute to you, even when he dipped you.

~

"Well, I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."

"Whoa, whoa," Chan jogged to keep up with you, "oh no you don't, I'm walking you back."

"I know my way back to the dorms, Chan," you replied with a light laugh. The glittering spotlights had been once again replaced with almost eerie mystic purple ambiance, casting shadows on the concerned frown crossing Chan's defined features.

"Yeah, but it's dark. I'm getting you home safe."

There was that flutter again- he'd done that before, though, countless times. You'd walked between your buildings more times than you'd needed to keep record of. This was nothing new.

You relented anyway. "Alright, yeah, thanks. You're right."

"I know I am. Campus can be dangerous. You need someone to keep you safe."

"Oh, my knight in shining armor," you teased, giving his shoulder a little push and drinking in the smile you received in response. Why wasn't the dancing effect wearing off?

"Come on, let's go."

"The guys are still tearing down."

"Eh," Chan waved a hand, "They can fold a few tables without me. Right, guys?" He called a little bit louder.

Soonyoung gave him a thumbs-up. Junhui whooped, and the graceful guy you'd come to know as Minghao just remarked that no matter what they said he'd go anyway before cracking a mischievous smile.

"See? On we go."

Leaves drifted through the night air, carried in a dance of their own as cold air blew. Instinctively you wrapped your arms around your middle as you reminisced on the night's success.

"Here, you need this more than I do. Besides," Chan smirked as he removed his blazer again, "you liked it so much the first time."

You'd thought nothing of wearing his blazer the first time. Why did it make you so happy now? Maybe it was the way he draped it onto you himself, making you feel like a 1950s starlet or something. Maybe it was the way that as you took nearly-stinging breaths of cold air, still inhaling harder from exertion, you picked up that homey smell again, this time mixed with a skosh more dance sweat, but you didn't mind, knowing you had the same and Chan wouldn't judge you for it.

When you reached the door of your building, slowly drawing your key card from your wallet, you gave him his blazer back, hands dropping to your sides. "Well, thanks for everything. You guys really should have more parties. This was a lot of fun."

"Are you kidding? Thanks for coming! This was a success, so I'm sure we'll have an even bigger one next time!"

Your eyes didn't leave his. "That's the spirit."

"Always. Hey, well, good night."

"Good night," you breathed back as Chan pulled you into your customary goodbye hug.

You weren't sure if it was you, him, or just straight-up your imagination that held on a bit longer this time. When you separated, he kept a hand on your shoulder for just a second, leaning in a tiny bit and looking at you with those furrowed, scrutinizing brows, then just as quickly he pulled back away, scurrying off. You couldn't help feeling a very hard lightning bolt of disappointment zap you through the clouds of confusion.

"Guess I'd better go help. I'll see you tomorrow, though!" He ran off, waving like nothing different had happened.

You waved slowly, resisting the urge to lightly slap some sense into your head.

~

You were early to dance class that afternoon, feeling a strange anticipation of the whole event. You could tell as soon as you walked in, though, that you were going to have a hard time keeping your eyes off of Minkyung and how she got danced with, though.

That was the root of your anticipation. Ever since that dang party, that cursed blazer and the way Chan held you, it was like every muscle in your body ached to see him again. Despite all the time you'd gotten with him in the past year. It was like that had vanished completely, leaving a void more massive than you'd have ever guessed behind. Like even though you'd loved every minute of hanging out, you'd somehow took it all for granted.

"I'm surprised Chan hasn't come barreling in with your jacket yet," a voice commented at your side.

Turning around, you were met with Minghao.

"My jacket?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you left it behind at the party and Chan kept saying how he was going to have to remember to bring it back to you after letting you forget it. Seemed like he felt a little bad." That smile again. For all his calm, Minghao had a little streak of fire in him, it seemed.

And, if you remembered Junhui correctly, dirt on Chan. "Junhui said you know Chan pretty well, huh?"

That earned you a full-on grin. "Well, he's not my best friend or anything, but he opens up to me. Something you wanted to know?"

"No, Junhui just told me about you having something I could tease him about is all," you chuckled.

"Please don't." The slender dance major still sounded faintly amused, but something in his tone softened.

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Don't tease him about it, ok?"

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"He really likes you, ok? So don't give him a hard time. You should know better than anyone he's more sensitive than he gives off."

"He what?" You didn't mean to raise your voice as much as he did, especially with the reverb in the mostly-empty dance practice room, but you could barely hear anything over the roar of your chest's somersaults.

"Oh, wait, Junhui didn't spill the beans?"

So that was why no one was Chan's type? Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything, the door swung open, revealing the figure of your bleach-blonde friend stepping into the fluorescent light, casually dropping his backpack against the wall and waving brightly at you.

You, for your part, waved back, well aware that you were probably smiling like an idiot. The void in your chest filled so fast, it was like it barely existed in the first place.

~

After class, you guys grabbed your stuff, presumably to take your usual walk to the student union, but Chan stopped you. "You left your-"

"Jacket, yeah, I realized this morning."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Don't be," you chuckled, "I have more than one, you know."

"Yeah, but I like this one, so I wanted to make sure you had it. It's your old one. I didn't wash it, so it still has that (y/n) smell," he commented with a sheepish smile.

So you had a smell too. Something about that filled you with nearly as big a wave of confidence as Minghao's words, which had your chest soaring all through class and even Jihoon asking you why you were so giddy. You just told him you'd gotten good news. Either way, your heart pounded as you threw caution to the wind. No more taking anything for granted.

"That one's your favorite, huh? Tell you what," you quipped, stepping close enough to take the jacket out of Chan's hands and drape it over his shoulders, "you keep it then and I will steal your blazer."

"Why would I do that?" He asked, gulping at the way your hands smoothed the jacket over his chest.

"Call it something in the dance floor air," you said, giving him one last look in the eyes before your hands found your jacket's collar, tugging it forward until Chan fell into you, his lips meeting yours.

The moment you connected, Chan kissed back, hands wrapping around your waist far tighter than they had last night as yours slid up his chest and around his neck. You moved faster, then he did, and you both kept at it, challenging each other until you both needed air. As you pulled away, though, Chan caught the back of your head in his hand, pulling you back into him so your foreheads rested together.

"Man, if all it took was dancing with you, I'd have made Jihoon switch partners with me on day one."

"Minghao also may or may not have snitched on you."

"I'm going to fight him."

"But it was mostly the dancing."

"Charmed you, didn't I?"

"Something like that."

"What can I say," Chan commented, flicking forward just long enough to ghost his lips over yours, "I know you so well."

You smiled and shook your head, which fell onto his shoulder, bringing that homey smell up into your head with the fall breeze once more. For once, you didn't feel like sassing Chan back, your chest-void now overflowing with more serotonin than you knew what to do with. "That you do."

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #dino #dino x reader #dino x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #college au #best friends to lovers #fluff

[tinyfantasminha]

Vargas Camp Event spoilers without context

Jamil: Excuse me, we lost Ace, our fellow club member. Can I please make an announcement?

Vargas: Of course

Jamil leaning on the mic: Goodbye you little shit

#so for context #at the end of event ch 3 ace got attacked by something and didnt return to the campsite #and no one gives a damn lmao #JAMIL AND FLOYD ARE SO INDIFFERENT ITS HILARIOUS #''he must be screwing around at some other club's tent'' #HES BEEN MISSING SINCE THE LAST DAY AND NO ONE CARES??? #thats what he gets for being the first chara to get 3 SSRs/j #twst #twisted wonderland #vargas camp #twst meme #twst shitpost #twst incorrect quotes #jamil viper #ace trappola #floyd leech

[mintmatcha]

9 months, 28 days

Chapter 3 of 10 Months

CW: discussions of death

A/N: this is the end of the beginning! im not sure exactly how long this stories going to be but yolo

The cafe is almost empty, just like always. That’s why they loved this place so much as kids. No one they knew was ever here, sitting in the mothball scented booths- only the occasional elderly couple who didn’t give a fuck that the place hadn’t updated it’s decor since 1995. Clouds rolled in overnight, painting the town a somber grey. Mattsun feels like it should match his mood, but it doesn’t. He’s not sad, he just… is. There’s this weird, turbulent void in his chest where his despair should lie.

Hanamaki’s in the corner when he arrives, nestled into the booth with a mug. He watches the rain trickle down the window, tracing the paths of the drops with his finger tips. It’s very ‘white girl protagonist’ Mattsun decides. Like he’s the star of a Hallmark movie. The void in his chest pulses and he swears, just for a flash, it was warm.

“Hanamaki.” Mattsun slides in across from him.

“Well, lookie here at the big boy in his big boy suit.” Hanamaki taps his nails against the glass, not even looking at his friend. “Did your mom help you pick that out?”

“This is technically a business meeting, so I had to wear something nice.” he explains. “Or else my boss is going to think I’m just screwing around.”

That’s what it feels like. It feels like work. He’s just putting all of this into his little box, so he can file it away in the storage files of his mind. He’ll process it later, when the moment’s right.

Or never.

Makki tents his fingers together, like he’s some sort of super villain. He’s always had this casual, uncaring air about him, but it seems to have developed further into a chaotic mess. “Ah, so you’ve decided to plan my fun-eral.”

The black haired man sighs. “Only if you stop calling it that.”

The waitress wanders up, expecting orders in her typical, unfriendly way. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume it was the same woman from years ago, still equally sick of her job.

Neither of the men look at the menu. Mattsun orders a cheeseburger omelette and a coffee with six sugars, the same horrible thing he’s been getting since high school. ‘The American Experience’, they called it. Makki orders plain toast, notably not the same thing he’s been getting since high school.

“You should eat more,” Mattsun says, “You’re too thin.”

“Who are you? My mom?” he takes a long swip from his mug,

“If I was, I wouldn’t be-” Mattsun stops himself, much to Makki’s delight.

“Oh, please make a dead mom joke. Please.” Makki’s on the edge of his seat, leaning halfway across the table, “My mom would have loved you making a joke about her.”

Mattsun slinks down so far that his knees pump against the booth across from him. “That’s… yeah, you’re right. She would have loved it.”

Mattsun wants to say he misses her, but it doesn't seem fair. To miss Hanamaki Hana would be to miss Hanamaki Takahiro, and he certainly wasn’t allowed to miss Hiro.

Makki looks exactly like his father. He's there in the too thin nose, the gap between his canines and molars, and the clubbed way their fingernails grew.

but his mom's in his idiosyncrasies. She's in the laughter, the winks, the tiny things that make Takahiro himself. Truly a mama's boy, Makki taps his cup against his front teeth the same way she did. It's their thinking face.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Mattsun regains control. His notebook and reading materials jut out against his stomach from their spot in his coat.

“Are you really sick?” It surprises both of them. Maybe it was the thought sitting at the top of his head, maybe he meant to say it. All of this just feels too sudden, too random, Mattsun just can’t quiet his doubts.

This is why the time apart was good; Makki made him do stupid things, made his brain stop working.

“I- uh. Yeah.” Makki's face doesn't change, but his shoulders fall. The tension in his body deflates as he goes back to looking out the window. "You're such a dick."

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You really think I’d lie about all of this?” he laughs, but it's flat, "To do what? To crawl back into your life?"

"That's not what-"

"Newsflash, asshole- I've been doing great without you.” the mug slams against the table, “I've been really, truly, wonderfully happy since-"

The other man picks up one of the pieces of toast and examines it, before carefully ripping the crust off. It’s a delicate procedure, carefully peeling off the edge on one, long piece. Makki opens his mouth to continue, then closes it with a low, thoughtful hum as he rolls the crust into a little ball.

"Makki." Mattsun holds up a finger, pausing the conversation for a moment as the waitress approaches. They sit in silence, mumbling only a quiet thank you as she

drops off the plates. She doesn't seem to notice the tension in the air or if she does, she doesn't care. She pours the coffee carefully, counts out the sugar packets like she's rationing them. As soon as she turns, he sighs and curls his hand into a tight fist, holding it in the air for a second before letting it fall. "Continue."

“This was a dumb idea. Forget I even asked you to do this.” he tosses the bread ball into his mouth and chews, “I’m just gonna go.” Standing suddenly, he grabs his coat from the booth beside him.

This would be the third time he let Makki leave and, according to the time left, the last. Life is fickle, an unpredictable lace pattern made by the people in your life coming and going. Mattsun was used to dealing with the final goodbyes and usually found comfort in it. No more chapters to write, all secrets buried and forgotten- truly, nothing left but what you can see in rose colored glasses.

And yet some part of him- the stupid part, the crazy part, the self loathing part- panics at the thought of seeing this end.

"I know you're better without me." Mattsun sighs, "But I want to help you, if you'll still let me."

“Stop.” Mattsun’s heart pounds so hard, dancing across his skin, that he can barely recognize he’s touching Makki, holding his wrist down against the table. “Sit. Eat."

Makki just raises a brow.

Reluctantly, he complies, but not before he tugs his hand out of his friend's grasp, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a sneer. A boundary has been set- no touching.

"I'll let you." he turns his attention back to the mangled food on his plate, "But only because I want to finish my toast."

"We good?" They are not, but Mattsun prays for a lie.

"For now. But watch yourself." It's a win, albeit a half hearted one. Mattsun pulls a tiny notebook from an inner pocket of his coat and flips through the pages until he reaches the last page; it's the farthest out thing he's planning, of course. It’s marked ‘The Hanamaki Service.’

They let the silence sit between them as they pick at what’s in front of them. The terrain of this relationship is uneven, constantly changing. It’s like hiking a mountain in the winter, Mattsun decides, one wrong move, one noise too loud, and the whole thing will come crashing down,

Why does he even care?

Makki’s happy without him, he’s fine without Makki.

He shouldn’t care, and yet he stays.

The black haired man stabs a hunk of egg and watches the half melted cheese try to stretch. “So, to put it all simply: what our home does for you is the basics: Legal procurement, transportation, preparation, and disposition- you don't have to worry about any of it. We also offer a location for interment and service, depending on the type of service you require, of course."

"Location?"

Mattsun takes a bite. "For the service and for you to, um, rest."

"You mean rot."

Maybe eating wasn’t the right choice for this conversation. The texture of egg now feels wrong in his mouth.

"Don't say it like that." The preservatives slow that down, so the rot won't happen for a long time, he brain reminds him. It doesn't help.

"I already have those places picked out though." Mattsun waits for a joke to follow, but he’s surprised when his friend says, "Bury me near my mom and hold the service here."

"Here?" Mattsun asks, “There’s nicer places.”

"Save a dying business with a dead guy. It's irony."

"Okay, well. That's-" he sighs and scribbles into his notebook. This wasn’t going to be a traditional job, was it? "At least the catering is done then."

"Perfect." Makki pushes away his empty plate, "I'm a natural at this. You should hire me.”

"Long term positions only, sorry." It slips out before Mattsun can censor himself, but Makki just snorts into his tea.

It’s frustrating that they click together so well, especially because nothing’s been resolved between them. One minute everything threatens to break, the next they can sit here and joke with each other. The issues sit there, waiting in the corner of the room, cocked and ready to fire. If they just didn’t look, maybe it wouldn’t hurt when it finally attacked.

If they didn’t look, maybe they can pretend nothing happened.

Mattsun reminds himself that he doesn’t care. There's still that blank space inside him.

“Next step would be flowers.”

It’s not. They should discuss embalming versus cremation, but the words stick to his throat. He’s asked so many times before, stared forward as loved ones debated what to do without a care in the world. This time shouldn’t be different.

“I’ll think about it. Can’t say I know too many flowers off the top of my head.” Makki digs his phone from his front pocket and scrolls, looking through everything before tapping out a quick question. There's a twitch of his brow, barely furrow, but it's gone in a flash. Before Mattsun can even ask, Makki's gathered his coat in his hands. “Gotta go.”

“What? We just started-” The whiplash is what hurts. Just as Mattsun feels like he's found his footing, it's gone again, slipping out from under him. This must be some level of hell

"Something came up." he shrugs, "Don't worry about it."

"I won't."

"You're such an asshole." he says, "You're supposed to at least pretend to care."

Yeah, he knows. That's how life works. But he can't just pretend; it's a gateway to actually feeling.

"I'll try." Mattsun offers, "It was nice to see you."

Makki rolls his left shoulder over and over again, like he's trying to work out a kink. "Was it? Was it really?"

"Kind of."

"Thanks," there's a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "We'll do this again."

And like that, with no formal goodbye, he just starts to leave. Mattsun wants to protest, but he’s grateful. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been, how hard he'd been digging his fingers into his thigh. The void in his stomach somehow feels smaller and larger all at once. He kind of wishes it would just swallow him up and this would all be done with.

It's so easy not to care.

“Oh, and Mattsun?” Makki pauses by the door and picks out a familiar black umbrella that was leaning against the doorframe. He twirls in in his fingers like a baton before pressing the button and letting it unfold. It's bad luck to open an umbrella inside. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Mattsun just looks down at the table. His food is barely touched but he doesn't plan to eat anymore. With his heart in his throat for no good reason, he feels nauseous. Despite himself, he wonders if Makki still smells like cedar aftershave and the discount brand laundry detergent.

“That fucker didn’t pay.”

[charincharge]

Person A and Person B are co-workers who hate each other. They’re always competing with each other at work and they’re always getting into arguments. Then one day Person A is leaving an appointment with their therapist when they happen to see Person B waiting to see the same therapist in the lobby. I think one is perfect for rowaelin.

This was silly but fun. Word Count: 1,757

Aelin pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, a horrible mannerism she’d picked up from her least favorite person. She could see her boss bite back a smirk as he noticed Aelin’s mirrored position from across the table. Aelin leaned back, removing her hand from her nose, refusing to have anything in common with the man who made her life a living hell. Fucking Rowan Whitethorn.

When Aelin had first joined Rifthold Marketing, she’d been excited to meet her team. She’d been warned she would be the first female to be hired as a senior account manager, and that it was a bit of a boys’ club. But Aelin could handle herself. She was fierce and opinionated and refused to be bowled over by any sexist asshole. But it turned out she didn’t need to be worried, the team of managers, who referred to themselves as The Cadre, invited her to their weekly happy hour her first day on the job, welcoming her with open arms.

Well. All, except one.

Rowan Whitethorn was a prick extraordinaire. He scoffed as Aelin sipped her chardonnay at their happy hour, frowning into his beer unhappily at her presence, and he hadn’t warmed to her since. It’d been four months, and every day he’d made Aelin’s life a living hell. Which is why for the life of her, she could not understand why Dorian, the company VP had asked them to work together on a new account pitch.

“This is insane, Dorian,” Rowan grumbled from his side of the table, his fingers ever present on the bridge of his nose, between his furrowed brow.

“As much as I hate agreeing with him,” Aelin said, clearing her throat. “Rowan is right.”

“I am?” he asked, straightening up slightly.

“Of course,” Aelin scoffed. “Us working together is ridiculous. I have an existing relationship with the account. Orynth Hotel Group is only taking the meeting because of me. They want to rebrand with me. Rowan has no business pitching whatever nonsense ideas he has to them.”

“Except Rowan also has an existing relationship with the client,” Rowan said, speaking of himself in the third person. It was something he did all too frequently, and it made Aelin’s skin itch every time.

“The existing relationship should not count if it’s not professional,” Aelin jeered, and Rowan’s lips curled into a sneer as his fist pounded on the table. “Who is she? An ex? You screw your way into all your accounts?”

“Excuse me?” Rowan gaped. “Dor, come on, she can’t say that. Not only is it not true,” he ground out. “But it’s grounds for harassment. I’ve worked with Maeve on three campaigns, and she specifically reached out to tell me she’d just joined Orynth.”

Rowan glared at his boss, who looked far too amused at his discomfort. Dorian sighed loudly.

“Which is why I need you to work together,” he said, giving the pair a small smile. “Orynth is a huge account, and we would be idiots to lose out because you two couldn’t come up with a cohesive pitch. I know I can count on my two best account managers to come up with something spectacular, yes?” He paused and looked at them. “By Friday, please.”

Aelin groaned and slumped back into her chair, nodding feebly at Dorian as he left the two in the conference room.

“Coffee?” Aelin offered, hoping to thaw the icy glare from Rowan’s eyes, but it hardened even more as he shook his head.

“While you waste time on that, I’ll gather my notes for you.”

Aelin tried her very hardest not to roll her eyes as she made her way across the hall to pour herself a cup of coffee. She could get through this. It was one week of her life. Just one fucking week where she’d have to spend every minute of her day with Rowan. She paused. Thank gods she had therapy tonight. Her therapist had heard far toto much about the infamous Rowan Whitethorn, and she had a feeling she’d be hearing another earful tonight.

When she made her way back into the conference room, Rowan had spread out a series of boards he’d drawn up across the table. The intricate pitch proved he’d already put a lot of work into it, but Aelin had done the same prepping for this meeting. She knew it was going to be a long battle between them. As she glanced at the boards, she couldn’t help but admire some of them. She hated that he was actually pretty talented. If only his attitude didn’t suck so badly, they might actually be a pretty great team.

“So?” Rowan asked expectantly as Aelin took a sip of her steaming mug.

“Your illustrations are beautiful…”

“But,” he ground out between his clenched teeth.

“But,” Aelin continued. “Orynth has worked incredibly hard to launch themselves as a luxury hotel brand. Cozy, family stay doesn’t exactly say – luxury to me.”

“I don’t know,” Rowan countered. “Taking time off work. Having a family. Sharing a meal. Feels like a luxury to me.” His eyes were suddenly sad, and Aelin felt slightly uncomfortable seeing it. She looked down at her coffee and when she looked back up, his eyes were back to their usual cold glare.  “I suppose you have something much better?” he asked, his voice defensive with sarcasm.

“In fact…” Aelin laid out her own papers. Her boards weren’t anything close to Rowan’s meticulously drawn illustrations, but they got the point across. Rowan’s eyes flicked across them quickly, and she could see the eye roll he barely restrained.

“What?” she snapped.

“It’s just… sex?” he scoffed. “It’s so overdone. This isn’t a seedy Vegas hotel for a forbidden affair.”  

“No, it’s… a staycation for an overworked couple who deserve time to relax. Away from their family. Time for themselves. Between sheets or otherwise. The luxury of being yourself.” Aelin used her best pitch voice and watched as Rowan barked out a loud laugh.

“You think that’s going to sell?”

“You’re infuriating!” Aelin said.

“You’re not much better yourself, Ace,” he spat, using Dorian’s nickname for her.

“Fine,” Aelin sighed. “Let’s scrap them both.”

“Fine,” Rowan agreed, pushing all the papers off the table and making room for new scratch. She was in for a long night.

Luckily, at seven on the dot, Aelin called it for both of them. They’d made a list of general areas to explore and a few sub headers without murdering each other. She deemed that extreme progress.

“Where you going?” Rowan asked as she gathered her things. “Hot date?” he asked, glancing at the clock.

Aelin snorted, thinking of her weekly date with her therapist. “Something like that,” she answered.

Rowan stretched, clearly annoyed. “I would have put in another hour, but who am I to judge? It’s not like we have to pitch something to Dorian in four days.”

Aelin didn’t dignify his taunt with a response, her fury rising up in her as she sped off to therapy.

“I wish I didn’t have to work with him. He’s just… rude,” Aelin concluded for her doctor, who sat listening to her intently. “All the time.”

“And you’re not?” Yrene probed. Aelin rolled her eyes.

“He started it!”

“Aelin,” Yrene sighed. “We’ve talked about this every week for months. Someone needs to be the first to extend an olive branch, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be him.”

“Well, it’s not going to be me, either.”

Yrene gave her a warm smile. “Did you think maybe that you two spar because you’re so similar? Obviously, I only know what you’ve told me, but maybe Rowan needs you to be the first to reach out.”

“Unhelpful session, doc,” Aelin laughed as she stood, the timer beside Yrene beeping softly.

“It’s going to be a stressful week for you, I understand,” Yrene said. “But, you can do it.”

Aelin walked all the way down to her car with Yrene’s affirmations ringing in her head. Should she reach out? Say something kind? It would maybe make this week better. Or maybe not, she sighed.

As Aelin reached for the car door handle, it didn’t open. She dug through her purse only to quickly see her key wasn’t there. She realized she’d left her car key on the arm of Yrene’s couch. She’d been in such an infuriated rush when she got there she must have forgotten to put it back into her purse. Yet another thing Rowan Whitethorn was to blame for.

She stalked back upstairs to the second floor, and saw that the light on Yrene’s door was on, meaning she was already in another session. Damnit. Aelin couldn’t wait around for another forty five minutes while Yrene’s eight o’clock appointment received their therapy.

Tentatively, Aelin knocked on the door. The chatter stopped from inside the office as Yrene opened the door a crack.

“Hi!” Yrene said, her voice high with surprise.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Aelin began, “But I left my car key on your couch.”

“Am I hallucinating?” a voice called from within the office. Aelin would recognize tthat voice anywhere.

“No fucking way…” she mumbled as she pushed the door open wider.

There, on her spot on her favorite couch in the room, sat Rowan.

“Did I conjure you? Said your name three times, and you appear like Bloody Fucking Mary,” he scoffed. “Date went badly?”

“I forgot my key,” Aelin said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. All those times Aelin had complained about Rowan, and here Rowan was probably doing the exact same thing. Aelin couldn’t bear it.

Rowan’s eyes widened as he realized where Aelin had been. He reached over and grabbed her car key and walked it to her, handing it over.

“You know,” Yrene said softly. “You two are the only clients who sit in that spot.”

“Great,” Rowan sighed. “I’m going to need a new therapist,” verbalizing the thoughts that Aelin had just had.

“No!” Yrene called out as Rowan grabbed his jacket off the couch. “Rowan, don’t…”

“At least I get to keep something this week,” Aelin smirked, putting her key back into her purse. At her smug smile, Rowan growled and stalked back to the couch, plopping down on the opposite side. He flicked Aelin off, and Yrene gave her a soft smile.

“See you next week, Aelin,” she said, closing the door in her face.

No fucking way, thought Aelin. Never again would she be seeing the same therapist as Rowan fucking Whitethorn.

~*~

tag list: 

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@cityofchelsea16

#rowaelin #prompt #charincharge writes

[whumphoarder]

Do you have any 5 +1 fic recs?

Hoo boy. Yes. Yes I do. I have a LOT so they’re gonna have to be under the cut:

Five Times Peter Said "Sorry" to Tony Stark by AgentNerd

...and the one time he didn't have to.

this was not in the job description by @tonystarkstan

Sometimes Tony likes to check on Peter through the Baby Monitor Protocol. The results are usually amusing. (5 times Tony watches Peter through the Baby Monitor Protocol and 1 time he intervenes.)

5 Times Peter Saves An Animal and 1 Time He Can't by @tonystarkstan

Tony's penthouse turns into an actual zoo and it's all Peter's fault.

Five Times Tony and Peter Pulled (Mostly) Innocent Pranks on Each Other... by Scarlet_Ribbons

...And one time it was the (very) real deal.

Featuring pranksters Irondad and Spiderson, an Avengers team that finds itself all too invested in the prank war, fake injuries, and another collapsed building.

5 times Peter Parker's Enhanced Senses Caused Him Problems by The_Muses_Summer_House

... and 1 time that they saved him.

Alexa? Play Lose Yourself By Eminem by losingmymindtonight

5 Times Peter Passes Out Because Of Needles.

peter parker fainting like a victorian madame for ten minutes straight by @floweryfran & @peter-stank

5 times peter parker passes out in front of various friends and family members + the 1 time he passes out in front of tony (and tony flips his shit)

5 times Peter said he didn't feel so good by truewolf

May woke up to the sounds of wet snuffling and a tiny tug at the sleeve of her oversized t-shirt.

“Aunt May?”

When she opened her eyes, she looked upon a very pale, and very much crying Peter Parker

“I don't f-feel so, sniff, so good.”

5 Times Tony Thought Peter Was In Trouble by @jbsforever

And the one time Peter actually was.

Five Times Tony Couldn't Sleep (and the one time he could) by @xxx-cat-xxx

Sleeping at last

5 Times Peter Wrapped Something With His Webs by jessicagoddamnjones

+ 1 time he didn’t.

5 Times Peter Thought Tony Was Mad by @caraminha

... and one time he actually was.

5 Times Spider-Man Needed Help by CivilBores & starsinyourveins

...and the one time Peter Parker did.

five and one by cinnamontoastcronch

Six times Peter Parker finds himself in a hospital.

5 Times Peter Struggled with Spider Metabolism, +1 Time Tony Helped by @sickficlurker

Prompt fill for Sickdays Day 4: Not the Norm.

5 times peter clung to tony by @parkrstark

...and the one time tony clung to him.

Five Times Peter Parker Pretended to Be Asleep by @blondsak

...and the one time he actually was.

Or: sometimes, faking sleep can work to your advantage. When it comes to trying to fool a certain genius, overprotective, superhero mentor, Peter finds this to be doubly true.

5 Times Peter Didn’t Need Tony’s Help by @blondsak & @seek-rest

And the one time he did.

Or, Spider-Man is capable of handling a lot of the threats that come his way. Much to the terror and amazement of Tony.

Mayday by @friendlyneighborhoodsecretary

Seven times Peter calls on May for help and one time he doesn't need to: a slightly overgrown 5+1.

The Occupational Hazard of Being by @frostysunflowers

Five times someone took care of Peter, and one time he took care of himself.

Five times Gerald the alpaca was a menace... by @frostysunflowers

and one time he was just plain adorable.

5 Times Peter Parker Saved Tony Stark by @madasthesea​

And one time they saved each other

5 Times Tony Hesitated to Touch Peter and 1 Time He Didn't by @theoceanismyinkwell​ & @notaparty-trick​

Peter suffers yet another loss of a loved one and he and Tony must navigate their way around their fears and their tentative love for each other in the aftermath.

...And my own contributions:

The Five Times Peter Denies an Illness or Injury + the One Time He Doesn't

In which Peter is a little shit who can't admit when he's hurt or sick.

The Five Times Peter's Enhanced Metabolism Screws Him Over + the One Time He Gets Help 

Peter only knows how to be empty or overflowing. Nothing in between.

(Or, in which Peter's enhanced metabolism causes him to essentially develop an eating disorder.)

Plus some collabs between myself and @awesomesockes:

Five Times Bruce Banner is Not That Kind of Doctor™ + One Time He’s Perfect For the Job

Bruce Banner is not a medical doctor.

Granted, he has seven various advanced degrees—ranging in topics from radio and nuclear physics to biochemistry—and he is widely considered one of the brightest minds of his time, but aside from basic first aid, he has no formal medical training. He’s just not that kind of doctor.

Except for when he needs to be.

Five Times Bruce Banner Needs New Pants + the One Time He Doesn’t 

Given his tendency to turn into an enormous green rage monster, pants never last long around Bruce these days. That’s why Tony jokingly signed the man up for a ‘Pants of the Month Club’ subscription. Little did the poor, unlucky scientist know just how vital that shipment would become.

Welcome to Bruce’s week from Hell.

Five Times Peter Passes Out in Inconvenient Places + One Time it’s the Perfect Spot

In which Peter has a habit of fainting in precarious situations and a very exasperated Tony has to deal with it.

Five Times Tony Benches Peter on a Mission + One Time Peter Benches Tony

Tony has finally started allowing the kid to tag along on missions with the team. Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned.

Disaster Christmas: an Avengers Team 5+1

Five times the Avengers experience Christmas-related misfortune and Dr. Banner gets to show off his nursing skills + the one time everyone is miserable together.

#Anonymous #5+1 #5 plus 1 #fic rec #rec list #this is one of my favorite fic formats honestly #it's like a cross between one shots and chaptered fics #like a one shot bundle if you will #this fandom is RIPE with 5+1s so this is not even close to all of them #and i love a lot more than made this list #but i had to cap it off somwhere you know

[fluffy-lee-boa]

Tamaki’s Mission

Kyoya x Tamaki ticklefic

lee!Kyoya, ler!Tamaki

A/N: I’m writing for Ouran in 2020. Huh. I would ask how I got here, but a) I know exactly why, and b) I don’t have 90 minutes :p

Anyways I love these bbys and I hope you all enjoy!

— — - - — —

Kyoya Ootori didn’t laugh.

Whether it was because he refused to, or maybe that he just didn’t know how, no one had ever heard the host so much as chortle.

...Well, no one besides Tamaki Souh.

They were friends, of course, so it only made sense that the princely type had managed such a feat. But... that was the issue. He had only full-on laughed once, and not around any of their other friends! And that just wasn’t fair.

The creator of the Host Club knew he would have to remedy such a fact, for the good of the club and its patrons. And Kyoya! The boy deserved to let loose every once and a while. But the question of how was much more difficult. The Ootori sons weren’t exactly known for their sense of humor or expressive emotions, so he would have to think differently.

For that reason, Tamaki had been struggling with the question for quite awhile as he sat in the music room, waiting for his next client to arrive. He turned when he heard sharp laughter from the end of the room- Kaoru, he assumed- and saw the twins were... fighting?

Ah. I suppose the prince had found his answer.

— — - - — —

“Oh mommy~!”

Kyoya sighed, looking up from his papers with a deadpan expression, “Yes? You of all people should be able to tell I’m busy. Don’t you have clients waiting for you?”

Tamaki waved his hand dismissively, smirking in that same confident style that made the other’s eye twitch, “Oh, don’t be like that, they’ll be fine. If anything I think what I’m about to show them will more than make up for the time away from my beautiful face.”

Kyoya didn’t think too much about what the other meant, thinking it would simply be another trivial request for new cutlery or themes. Though the other’s actions swiftly caught his attention.

The blonde was suddenly much closer than he had been, basically trapping the other in his seat as he leaned on the armrests of the chair. Kyoya, although flustered by the mere inch in distance between them, simply glared, trying to convey annoyance rather than display the sudden rush of butterflies in his stomach.

“Tamaki, what are you-!”

“Kyoya, dear, I noticed recently you seem to keep all those emotions of yours locked up. I know your reputation is important such, but it’s getting so boringgg!”

“You know damn well-“

“-So I came up with a plan to help!” Tamaki interrupted with a beaming smile, a lot like a child proud of their mediocre artwork, at least to the megane type.

Kyoya sighed again, about to refuse, when he looked up and saw that Tamaki was pulling his famous puppy-dog eyes tactic. And of course he couldn’t refuse.

“...What exactly are you hoping to gain from this, anyways?” he asked tentatively, though Tamaki knew it was a signal to show he was on board.

“Oh silly, I just want to hear you laugh again!”

And that was the moment Kyoya knew he had screwed up. Big time.

“T-Tamaki-!” Kyoya choked out, feeling the other tweak away at his sides in such a tickly matter that he couldn’t even comprehend it for a moment.

The host just giggled sweetly in response, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead, which quickly silenced his previously stoic friend, “Shh. Just relax!”

Kyoya did his best to keep himself quiet, trying in vain to melt into the chair he had been unwittingly trapped in. His attempts only grew more valiant when he realized most of the patrons had their eyes on the two of them at this point. Of course. This was a planned attack.

He was caught off guard when he felt two sets of hands on each arm pull him into a more vulnerable position, exposing his sides better and only letting him squirm in the slightest. He cursed and turned back to see both Hitachiin twins, smirking away and shrugging as they spoke in tandem, “Boss asked for help.” “Yeah, we couldn’t exactly refuse, could we?” “I mean this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and all~”

Kyoya would have glared at the both of them, though Tamaki had rather unceremoniously dug under his arms with those damningly nimble fingers, causing the first few giggles to tumble out instead of a sharp-witted insult.

He shut his eyes as he heard the squeals around them, blushing brightly, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling lighter. Especially when he looked up and noticed Tamaki smiling so sweetly at him.

“Don’t hide those gorgeous eyes and smile of yours, mommy dear~”

“Ehehevery sihingle one of you ahare dead to me-!” He managed to squeak out, before falling into what could only be described as the most beautiful laughter any of them had ever heard.

“Aw, can’t take a little bit of teasing?” Tamaki cooed, making the other turn a brighter shade of red, “You're so adorable, Kyoya! After this I’m sure your schedule is going to be booked now that these ladies have seen you smile like this-“

“You’re such ahahan ihidiot-“ Kyoya snorted, leading to another soft laugh that made his stomach twist even further.

The blonde leaned in closer, his breath simply tickling more at the other’s ear and neck as he purred evilly, “I’m not that dumb. See, you haven’t exactly asked me to stop yet, have you?”

Now that was truly evil.

“I- Ah-!” Kyoya fell deeper into his ticklish laughter when Tamaki squeezed his ribs, spending extra time on the gaps and making his friend squeal childishly.

“No need to explain, I know you need more laughter in your life, and I‘m happy to help!” Tamaki added on more innocently, gasping when the other reacted so sharply, “This must be the spot, huh?”

“Seems like it.” “He sounds like a girl!” The twins interjected cruelly.

Kyoya would have continued to curse them all out, but he was too lost to his laughter and the blush in his cheeks. His hair was a mess, and he looked completely different from the formal character he usually embodied. As well as his appearance, his tone of voice and the light in his eyes showed a much more genuine, free-spirited happiness that Tamaki would give anything to see more often. He was almost lost in it as he kept on tickling the spot right under his ribs so teasingly.

Tamaki was brought out of his dreamlike state when he heard the other start to lose breath, so he let up, hoping he hadn’t overdone it, “Sorry, I got a little carried away-“

Hikaru and Kaoru let go and immediately booked it, not wanting to be a part of any sort of revenge scheme their victim had undeniably been planning. Though Kyoya merely curled up and continued giggling breathlessly, looking up at Tamaki once he regained himself.

“-You’re still an idiot... But... thank you.”

He sat up, keeping a somewhat cool smile on his face as his mussed-up appearance contradicted his fall back into perfect posture and poise, “I didn’t know I needed that.”

Tamaki was stunned into silence, before realizing how close they had become now that Kyoya was upright again in his seat. He quickly stood back up, his own cheeks taking on a similar red color as he responded in feigned confidence, “Well, I couldn’t just leave you in such a stagnant state, now could I? Now, why don’t we both go and take a break by entertaining these fine patrons. I’m sure they have some questions for you now that they know your little secret-!”

Kyoya stood, fixing his hair as he rolled his eyes. He surprisingly set aside his laptop and papers as he answered softly, “I think that’s a wonderful idea, daddy.”

Even through the sounds of cheering and squealing from their small crowd of fangirls, Tamaki could only stare in surprise at the other. And for a moment those unspoken feelings between them almost grew too difficult to bear the silence.

But they would have to wait for another time. Right now the two were content just the way they were.

#ticklish!kyoya #lee!kyoya #ler!tamaki #ticklefic #tickle fanfic

[angelesfm]

welcome  to  our  first  plot  drops  !  they  will  be  labeled  with  which  subplot  they  mostly  apply  to,  but  many  of  them  will  overlap  and  we  encourage  overlapping  plots  and  connections  for  these  ;  the  plot  drops  will  also  last  all  the  way  until  JUNE  28th,  with  events,  tasks,  and  perhaps  mini  plot  progresses  sprinkled  within  them.  please  give  this  a  like  once  you’ve  read.

A  STAR  RISES  AND  FALLS.   ⟨ 🔪  ⟩

it   was  one  of  the  most  talked  about  projects  of  the  year:  SPARKS!  is  a  sweeping  movie  musical  that  recalls  the  days  of  gene  kelly  classics,  something  fun  and  beautiful  and  clearly  leaning  towards  oscar  bait.  everyone  was  itching  for  a  part  of  this  production,  not  a  soul  was  surprised  when  one  of  the  lead  roles  went  to  the  son  of  harold  linkley,  the  ceo  of  MAVERICK  STUDIOS  and  massive  producer  around  the  city.  it’s  been  said  that  harold  dips  his  hand  in  the  darker  side  of  the  city’s  underbelly  of  crime,  but  everybody  has  thought  wise  not  to  ask.  that   was,  however,  until  his  ewan’s  body  was  dumped  under  the  docks  of  venice  and  his  daughter  stacey,  an  aspiring  pop  star,  has  gone  missing.  production  on  the  film  was  immediately  halted,  and  now  everyone  in  the  industry  is  wondering  exactly  how  deep  harold  linkley’s  criminal  connections  go,  and  how  far  they’ll  extend  to  everyone  else. 

SUMMARY  :  the  actor  son  of  a  prominent  hollywood  studio  head  has  been  murdered  and  his  daughter  is  missing.  both  have  connections  to  the  entertainment  industry  and,  furthermore,  both  have  had  brushes  with  the  city’s  organized  crime  and  dark  underbelly.  ewan  was  last  spotted  at  a  hollywood  party  TWO  DAYS  AGO  and  was  known  for  keeping  his  drug  dealers  close  while  stacey  was  performing  at  a  club  in  WEST  HOLLYWOOD,  but  only  after  an  altercation  occurred  at  another  nearby  club  -  which  happened  to  be  filming  a  new  reality  show.  

this  plot  will  heavily  need  detectives,  journalists,  club  owners,  drug  /  weapons  dealers  /  anyone  involved  with  criminal  practices. 

THE  SHOW  MUST  GO  ON.  ⟨ ✨ ⟩

after  the  linkley  incident,  the  industry  grew  wary  of  pursuing  the  film  -  would  it  be  in  poor  taste  ?  with  all  the  money  poured  into  the  project,  however,  there  was  no  dropping  it.  instead,  the  film  received  a  massive  overhaul:  less  of  a  central  focus  on  one  character  and  make  it  an  ensemble,  modernize,  get  a  new  screenwriter  to  help  update  the  script,  a  new  director  after  the  first  one  got  cold  feet  and  disappeared  under  odd  circumstances.  this  movie  is  starting  from  the  ground  up  again,  but  there’s  promise  in  what  it  can  become.  it  still  lurks  in  the  shadow  of  its  former  lead’s  death,  but  everyone  attached  believes  something  beautiful  can  come  of  this.

SUMMARY  :  movie  musical  SPARKS!  is  in  need  of  a  new  cast,  a  new  director,  composer,  and  new  screenwriters,  in  addition  to   the  countless  others  that  make  the  magic  happen.  casting  is  open  for  unknowns  and  prominent  names  alike.  it’s  been  said  that  harold  linkley,  so  disgusted  with  the  film  moving  forward  while  he  grieves  his  loss,  has  hired  a  few  people  to  purposely  disrupt  production,  most  of  which  are  undercover.

this  plot  will  heavily  need  actors,  directors,  screenwriters,  choreographers,  composers,  producers,  just  about  everyone  involved  in  the  film  industry,  along  with  a  few  lackeys  of  linkley’s. 

KEEP  THE  CAMERAS  RUNNING.  ⟨ 🤳 ⟩

GOING  PLATINUM  had  a  relatively  simple  start:  a  reality  show  centered  around  a  group  of  aspiring  musicians  and  their  friends  as  they  climbed  the  charts  and  made  their  names  known  throughout  los  angeles.  one  of  the  stars  was  stacey  linkley,  and  while  the  film  industry  had  some  mild  hand -  wringing  when  it  came  to  pursuing the  film  her  brother  was  attached  to,  the  producers  of  going  platinum  leaned  heavily  into  this  new,  darker  angle  ----  a  prominent  musician  gone  missing  while  the  socialites  of  the  city  vie  for  camera  time  is  material  nobody  could  reject.  after  the  first  half  of  the  season  filmed  with  stacey,  the  latter  half  is  currently  filming  while  the  focused  shifted  to  include  those  behind  the  scenes  of  the  entertainment  industry,  making  them  stars  on  the  shoulders  of  someone  else’s  grief.  it’s  a  little  bit  twisted,  but  hey,  that’s  hollywood.  from  wealthy  family  friends  of  the  luxleys,  pool  boys  who  partied  with  the  cast,  and   opportunistic  hopefuls,  everyone’s  working  to  get  their  fifteen  minutes of  fame.

SUMMARY  :  reality  tv  show  GOING  PLATINUM,  which  started  as  something  akin  to  making  the  band,  has  become  something  much  heavier  with  the  disappearance of  stacey  luxley.  equal  parts  reality  tv  drama  and  a  character  study  into  los  angeles’  music  industry,  it’s  a  program  that  has  oddly  enraptured  those  who  catch  wind  of  it.

this  plot  will  heavily  need  reality  tv  producers,  socialites,  anyone  involved  with  the  entertainment  /  music  industry.

FESTIVAL  SEASON.  ⟨ 🎧 ⟩

coachella’s  outs,  the  WILD  ROGUE  festival  is  in.  started  by  aspiring  musicians  that  saw  themselves  continually  getting  screwed  over  by  major  festival  promoters,  this  grassroots  event  invites  musicians  of  every  different  genre  in  a  celebration  that  feels  less  commercial  and  hollow  than  the  influencer  obsessed  festivals  that  have  saturated  the  market.  no  VIPs,  no  special  access,  just  come  for  the  music  and  have  fun.  looking  to  take  place  in  WEST  HOLLYWOOD,  the  festival  is  still  in  the  early  stages  with  a  tentative  launch  date  in  midsummer.  word  is  spreading,  and  even  big name  artists  are  starting  to  grow  interested.  more  than  just  a  music festival,  WILD  ROGUE  wants  to  bring  in  local  business  owners  and  merchants  to  show  the  glowing  warmth  of  los  angeles.

SUMMARY  :  a  new  festival  is  taking  shape,  the  anti - coachella  and  the  counterculture  of  whatever  the  fuck  fyre  festival  was  supposed  to  be.  originally  meant  for  up  and  coming  artists,  jaded  musicians  have  found  their  interests  piqued  and  have  started  lending  their  support  . . .  and  their  money.  this  festival  will  occur  in  late  june.

this  plot  will  need  musicians,  event  promoters,  music  industry  vets,  managers,  merchants,  and anyone  involved  in  the  music  /  festival  /  entertainment   industry.

#ang.admin #ang.plot #subplot rp #city rp #oc rp

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

Be My Garden of Eden Ch.3

I kinda screwed up. I didn't realize it, but I ended the last chapter too early, so this is more like ch. 2.5, but I'll just post it as it's own and call it good. I'm still new to Tumblr, and I have to use my phone, so if the format keeps changing or I do weird things, it's because I don't know what the f*ck I'm doing. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!!!

.....

He didn't want to disturb you, so he left, moving to the couch. Turning on the tv, he flipped through the channels, ensuring the volume was low. A cooking show popped up and he paused. An older woman promoting independence from androids giving step by step instructions on how to make crepes. He watched with rapt attention, the end result looks quite beautiful. It seemed simple enough.

An idea occurred to him. He moved to the kitchen, forming a list of ingredients he would need. He was... Giddy. He had never cooked before. It wasn't a program required for a sex android, particularly one from such a low-grade shack as Mimosa. He was happy to discover you were fully stocked, quickly finding all the items and tools he would require.

You awoke the next morning, a jarring sound waking you. Jumping up, you almost ran out without a top on, rushing to throw on your robe.

"Connor? Are you alright?" You looked around the living room, seeing no sign of the android. Hearing another banging sound, you rounded to the kitchen, peeking inside.

"Wow." You gaped. Your kitchen was an absolute mess. What looked like pancake batter was splattered everywhere, a large puddle on the floor, and from the skidmark in it, you'd guess the sound that woke you up was Connor falling. You could see the scorchmark around one of the burners, baking soda adding to the mess on the floor and counters. Good to know you could have burned to death in your sleep. The pan in question lay abandoned in the sink, doused in the white powder and still smoking a bit.

Connor stood by the stove, just as messy as your kitchen, batter all down the right side of his jeans. Guilt made him look far too much like a kicked puppy, head down with his doe-eyes staring up at you through his long lashes. Next to him was a plate of crepes, in various states, some looked undercooked, while others were completely burnt. The best looking ones were on a separate plate, topped with strawberries and whipped cream.

"I'm sorry, I promise I'll-"

"Looks tasty," you giggled. His eyes shifted up, "did you make it for me?" You gestured to the plate.

"Uh, y-yes, I did," stammering, he handed you the plate.

"Thank you," you grabbed a fork and moved to the small breakfast nook. He watched with bated breath as you took your first bite. He relaxed when you hummed happily.

"This is really good, thank you, Con!" You really were surprised, considering the mess. His cheeks tinted a light shade of blue. Was he... Is that how androids blush? It looks absolutely adorable on him.

"I'm happy you enjoy it," he beamed, solidifying his puppy appearance in your mind. If he had a tail, it'd be wagging. You're not sure what you're enjoying more, the food or the sight of the delighted android. It's definitely a great way to wake up in the morning.

You couldn't help but wonder if this is how couples felt in the company of their lover, but you quickly stopped that train of thought. He's not staying. You can't afford for him to stay, and even if you could, he would go to Canada to start a new life. Without you. Still, it's nice to dream.

You ate while he cleaned the mess. you offered to take over from there, since he did cook for you, but he adamantly denied. Letting you clean would completely undo what he was trying to do. Not to mention, he was certain that, at your height, you would not be able to reach the splatters on the roof. You laughed when you noticed. How did he even manage that?

"You might want to clean yourself up as well," you jested, trying not to laugh at how the crepe mix kept dripping from his hair onto anything he was cleaning. he glanced down at himself, seeming to have just noticed how filthy he was, grimacing. The showers at the club were more identical to high-pressure decontamination chambers and lately it's been bothering his synthetic skin. He tries not to be in there any longer than necessary, but this might take longer to remove. When he just stood there, you sighed.

"Come on, there's still a couple hours left," you dragged him to the shower, "just leave your clothes outside the door. Hope you don't mind my girly soaps," you chuckled as you shut the door.

He stood, baffled for a moment, before he scanned the bathroom. He often wondered if the other androids felt the need to scan a room every time they entered one, or if it was none of their concern. Still, he took in the multicolored bottles of various bathroom supplies, noting nothing of significance.

He began to strip, realizing he could see himself in the mirror. He looked over his body, seeing the many imperfections along his skin. They were healed as well as they could be, but there were still marks, synthetic skin raised in a similar way to scar tissue, but tinted in a way that hid them well, at least, until they were touched. The most recent one, a strike to his hip, was still healing, the white chassis visible. Tentatively, he touched it, flinching away from his own fingers as a jolt of unpleasant tingles shot out from the wound. Pain. Why could he feel pain? He tore his attention away from it, pushing his fear away. He can't think about it now. It was too… real. He can't make it real.

Connor turned his attention to his face, bringing up the memory of your painting. He looked similar to the man, but where the man's eyes held a sense of serenity, his own looked empty, devoid of something. How could you see anything in such a vacant stare?

Looking at himself, he finds, is ruining the illusion. He was making things real when all he wants to do is pretend that this was his life. That there was no outside world. No Club Mimosa. No humans using him as a sex toy. No owner beating him. Just him and you, watching cartoons. He turned away from the mirror.

Just him and you.

When he exited the shower, smelling wholly of you, something he quite enjoyed, he realized he had no clothes. You had taken them to be washed after he left them outside of the bathroom. He tried knocking on the door, but you didn't answer. You were a modest person, so he figured you would not appreciate him walking out naked. He took a towel, noting its small size, and wrapped it around his waist before walking out. After a quick search, he found you rummaging around your closet.

"Y/n?" You jumped.

"Shit! I didn't hear you…" your voice trailed off as you twirled to look at him, coming face to face with six-foot of dripping android, muscular chest bare for the world to see. Your cheeks flared and your mouth suddenly felt parched. You turned away, returning to your search. Connor would be lying if he said he didn't like how flustered you looked.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," your voice was a tad jittery.

After a moment, you called "Ah-Haa!" Holding up a large pair of sweatpants, far too large for yourself.

"Some of my last roommate's clothes were thrown in one of my moving boxes. They should fit you, at least until your clothes are done in the wash." You tossed him the sweats and a sweater you had already placed on the side, finally emerging from the closet. "You go ahead and get dressed, I gotta make a phone call." He nodded, watching as your cheeks flushed again while you made your exit.

The material was soft on his skin, and he didn't feel constricted as he had in his android labeled clothes. The sweater was quite large on him, but he liked it, how it hung off him, burying him in its softness. The odd stripes on it were rather jarring, but the individual pigments are pleasant.

"…later on tonight. Thanks." You hung up the phone. "Well, I can't afford another night, but you don't have to go running off once your clothes are done." He smiled. Just a little longer. He doesn't have to break the illusion just yet.

"Thank you," it was all he could think to say, but it didn't come anywhere close to how much he truly appreciated what you were doing for him.

"It's no problem. I wish I could offer you better," the last sentence was said under your breath as you looked away, towards the window. "Wanna see the fish? I forgot to feed them yesterday, so they must be quite hungry."

He wanted to tell you how much this time with you meant to him. Every moment cherished. If he had to suffer a thousand beatings just to get one more minute with you, it would be worth it. You made him feel different. You made him feel…

Alive.

But, even as the words burned his tongue in their desperation to leave his lips, he only smiled, following you to the backyard.

The afternoon was spent enjoying the early autumn sun, watching the brightly colored fish, dashing to their meal, or simply floating along, letting the food come to them. There were even a couple of turtles, sunning themselves on the rocks. It was tranquil, like a dream.

And like all dreams, he had to wake up sometime.

The setting sun marked his time to leave, exchanging the comfort of your sweater for his stiff android uniform. You gave him a pouch of thirium, figuring he could find a way to hide it, before hugging him. You held on so tightly, hands clinging to him harder than the last time. He held on for as long as he could before breaking away, feeling an ache in his chest.

#connor x reader #rk800 connor reader #connor reader #connor fanfiction #dbh #witchjules #am i doing it right? #detroit become human #rk800 reader #dbh au

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 22: Cleansing Grimfire

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Coven Elders deal with the consequences of their actions. Taylor and Elric participate in a father-son activity. The Council takes some responsibility.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The bloodwraith’s neck cranes back at an unnatural angle and it howls to the wind, bloodstained talons reaching out and forward; compelled to attack.

His breath catches in his throat and Taylor squeezes his eyes shut. He braces himself—

For the pain that never comes. The icy grasp of a fate worse than death that he still can only imagine; still must only imagine.

Peeks a tentative eye open to the sight of Cassiopeia’s severed hand stretched out in Vera’s quivering grasp.

A firsthand witness to how the small and humble sparks in Vera’s breast ignite into a blaze that consumes her soul.

“You will not.”

The entire Garden watches in bated awe as the wraith obeys. Hovers back far enough where Taylor can breathe without the scent of rancid flesh in his mouth.

Oh he’s still scared shitless — and rightly so. But just like he can feel the bad things hovering in an aura around them so too can he feel the good.

And the sudden rush of adrenaline, defiance, bravery in Vera is incredible.

The Elders are still together, still united, but their understanding is unmistakable. They know whose hand Vera wields. They realize what has changed with its discovery.

The only thing that hasn’t settled in to their collective hive mind is that it’s over.

“You killed Cassiopeia because she was the necromancer — she was the one in control of whatever creature she summoned and you needed that control to be yours and yours alone. You didn’t realize that you screwed yourselves.”

“‘Cause they were busy screwin’ everyone else,” huffs Nik behind him.

Millet has gone pale, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced against her almost skeletal pallor. “Her body became a totem.” Is that a hint of resignation in her tone? Or maybe just wishful thinking.

“Specifically her hand,” Cadence confirms with a nod, “like the trophies Reimonenq kept in his mortal life. If you had conjured up any random malevolent soul instead of going for sick, twisted irony maybe it would have been different but…”

“But she who holds the Hand holds the power.”

There was a lot about the plan that had been left up in the air. When, or if, the Coven Elders would even arrive. If they would summon the wraith immediately or attack in some other form. If there was even the smallest chance they could be convinced to stop the needless violence; their grab for power stayed in favor of the cooperation that should have happened in the first place.

But the one thing they had all been forced to agree upon was the one thing no one wanted to think about.

They had the totem, now what?

An eye for an eye was the most logical, solved the most problems. But then how were they any better than the Elders?

They may have been forced to agree but that didn’t mean it was without argument.

Cadence had been the last one to exit the underground tomb, his gruesome work finally done. Cassiopeia’s hand had been wrapped in Cal’s flannel and held out between them all as an unholy relic.

It made sense for Nik to take it — for a Nighthunter to be the one to make the final blow whatever that blow may entail.

Instead he held it out to Vera; insisted she take it. “You’re the one who’s suffered the most here. He’s your kin.” And polite Vera, kind Vera; Vera who had been tangled up in this out of fear and a desire to save Kristin and had resigned herself to suffering a curse she could never lift, took the bloodied bundle and made her peace with accepting the burden.

Never said what she planned on doing — it was just assumed she’d send the creature after the Elders; wield the totem the way a hero wields a sword to deal the dragon a final blow.

Maybe it was something Vera didn’t know herself. Couldn’t know until she was in the moment and had to make the choice before hesitation was their undoing.

Well they’re in that moment now. Taylor watches her square her shoulders, her bare hands grasping real flesh for only the second time in her entire life, and knows she’s chosen.

The wind rustles her curls silently as Vera holds out the severed hand in offering to the bloodwraith.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” The words come out of Daniels’ mouth but they don’t sound like her at all — there’s no restraint in her fear now.

Vera doesn’t deign the woman worth an answer. Just watches, waits for the creature to move. But even it doesn’t seem to understand what her intentions are.

Vion sneers — but even that wavers. “Foolish mortal child. If you wish to live you will keep that thing away from its totem.”

“I won’t do it —” —she whips around to Taylor behind her, tears stinging where they well at her eyes— “— I can’t do it, Tay. I can’t kill them.”

She can’t. If she does, she’s no better than they are. She’s the monster her mother is, the monster her ancestor is. Whether it’s true or not it’s how she feels so he feels it too.

“Baby girl if there was ever a time to grow a spine… now’s it.”

Vera stares over his shoulder to her mother’s wavering figure straining down the garden path.

They knew taking her out of the hospital was a necessary evil. She was the wraith’s last true victim. Her presence made some of the uncertainties of the plan less so because they knew it would come to finish what it started. But the fight, rushing her out of the fray; it’s proving to be too much. Ashen-faced and every muscle in her body screaming let me rest but she doesn’t.

Lady Smoke does not run from her enemies.

“Momma…”

Yet even with everything they’ve been through, despite her daughter refusing to leave her hospital bedside, there’s the furrow of command in her hardened face. She looks at Vera in the same way she had back at her club. Not a mother; a mob boss.

“Tonya, don’t —” Katherine tries to stay her advance but she’s shrugged off; hand batted away like a bothersome fly.

“Your whole life you’ve been runnin’ from who you are, Vera Claire. I shouldn’t have indulged it, that’s my sin to bear; lettin’ you make yourself weak. But now there’s lives at stake, includin’ your own. Maybe you still ain’t got the sense to use your gift for me but would you forgive yourself if your weakness killed everyone else?”

Vera can’t believe it. Frankly neither can anyone else. “What — Momma, stop. Why’re you doin’ this now of all times?”

“Because you’ve always been too stubborn to see what needs to be done!”

“No one else needs to die!”

“Then they’ll kill you first!”

“I won’t do it, goddammit —” if Smoke thought scolding her daughter would shame her into acting she has another thing coming, every word pulls Vera back from the murderous edge, “— I won’t be you! I refuse! I refused then and I refuse now!”

Vera’s voice cracks and the dam breaks; tears down her cheeks with the hovering shadow of pure evil behind her and a lifetime of rage and loathing coming out at the wrong moment but it wasn’t she who chose to rip open these old wounds now — so why should she have any mercy, any sympathy for the frail woman who did this to herself.

“We were both here that night. But it went after you — and if you weren’t so obsessed with gettin’ back your damn Touch you’d realize why that is. I won’t do it. I won’t take a life, even like this. I won’t be you — I won’t be a monster.”

And it’s final this time; when she turns away from her mother to face her decision right in the bloodstained face. “Derek Reimonenq was a monster too. I won’t use him and I won’t become him to get what I want. I know there’s another way.”

“You know nothing of the craft,” all of Daniels’ malice shoved into one last push; one last attempt. Her hands twitch at her side but the witch knows better than to act. Acting runs the risk of losing the totem holding the bloodwraith bound — or the wraith itself.

All her power and all the misery she’s orchestrated up to now and she’s reduced to nothing but words. Words that cause Vera to look up at her with pity. The ultimate insult.

Taylor sucks in a breath as she takes a step closer to the creature; can’t help himself even though he trusts her. Trusts she knows what she’s doing and believes in the path she’s taking.

So he has to believe in her, too. Their lives depend on it.

“I know the misery it’s brought. And I know I won’t have a hand in it anymore.” On silent command the bloodwraith opens its ghoulish talons held aloft. And with all of her fear and grief and anger put aside Vera lays the dead witch’s token upon them.

The skin fades sickly pale and bloodless veins spread black and ruinous. A horrific sight not unfamiliar — and Taylor knows in a part of him that’s still tied to the grief of Cassiopeia’s misplaced trust that the unknown magics preserving her body in the tomb lift and allow her to finally rest.

Even accepting the reality that there was a tortured soul powering the bloodwraith like Satan’s battery — he still couldn’t think of it as something with thoughts; something beyond a mindless killing entity. Which probably explains the weird feeling that comes with watching the creature as it looks down at the totem with a curiosity that could almost be called human.

Behind it the Elders close even tighter ranks. He’s not entirely certain they shouldn’t be doing the same.

Then, like all living things the wraith crosses, the hand begins to wither. Flesh pulled taut against skeletal fingers before eating away at itself the way maggots do; reveals the muscles underneath and the tissue between bones until those desiccate too. Until all that’s left are pale off-white bones that fall in little thunk-thunks to the dirt at its… levitating burial wrappings.

Uncertainty hangs over their heads crisp and icy, prickles like needles at Taylor’s skin and tries to choke him from the inside with every breath.

Now what?

The witches strike first. Try to get the jump on the bloodwraith while its back is still turned with three right hands extended and three burning spheres of fire brought together in Daniels’ power and sent hurtling forward.

Like that’ll make a difference.

The blaze collides against the creature’s spine and even manages to set a few tattered edges of it’s billowing wraps alight. But fire is like all things; needs oxygen to breathe and live. And nothing lives that close to the wraith’s existence. Cassiopeia’s hand proved that.

What would have happened if they’d done nothing; if they had fled, or held their breaths and stayed very still? Would they have been spared? Would Reimonenq’s soul take its newfound freedom and flee beyond the Veil?

It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Because they act — they lash out first. So technically there’s nothing against the retaliation coming.

Maybe if they’d kept Cassiopeia alive she could have banished it before the slaughter.

And it is.

The ghastly, gleeful grin Taylor swears he can see twisted back upon its lips will haunt him for some time; whether it’s really there or not.

The bloodwraith makes quick work of the ones who bound it to bone. It may have enjoyed the hunt every other time before but this — this it has been waiting for from the moment it was birthed in blackness and greed. Taking no time to savor their screams.

Not that the Elders go quietly — each new barrage of magic changes the air pressure and makes Taylor’s eyes swim dizzy and confused. They send spell after spell and chant after chant at the bloodwraith’s face, it’s torso, the space between it and the ground. They try to swallow it up with a tear in reality, send blood from their open veins to slake its thirst; things magic might not even be capable of but are made real in those desperate last moments.

As if the universe, the forces Beyond, the things that bind The Fate in rules against intervention give the witches all the power their mortal bodies can hold. In the same way a death row inmate is given a feast for his last meal.

The wraith’s tainted touch is too good for them. Keeps them whole, maybe even alive long enough to continue toying with. It can’t have that.

So it plunges through Millet’s abdomen bodily. Cleaves her in two uneven pieces and the rest of her splattered on the stone wall at her back. The viscera is dark, almost black against the bleach-white bones that emerge like a butterfly that could only come from the mind of H.G. Wells.

Vion’s cloudy eyes are plucked from his skull with veins and nerves snapping like taut strings. His mortal mouth isn’t wide enough to fit the wraith’s claw until it is — but only after flashing the onlookers with the bottom half of the smile he never learned how to give. Like scooping stew out of the pot with knives his organs come out mangled, misshapen.

The smell is awful and Taylor wants to look away but he doesn’t. Forces himself to watch each new torture and indignity those husks are subjected to. Because they are husks now. There’s no way anyone could be alive after that.

Even when he feels Nik’s tension closer than before and a hand inches its way up to the corner of his eye he brushes it aside. “You shouldn’ have to see this,” the Nighthunter whispers. And he’s right. He shouldn’t have to.

But the Coven Elders only have themselves to blame for that. They were the ones who pulled him into the dark and horrible. “I will anyway;” his equally voiceless reply.

And then there’s Elder Daniels. Made to watch the evisceration and mutilation of her kin. The last witches to fall to The Bloody Hand. That’s her fault, too.

It backs her into the Millet-strewn wall but she does not cower. It rakes talons through her throat her gut her four limbs but she does not scream. It hovers in the air over the pile of her it created but she does not look away — eyes brighter in death than they ever were in life.

The hardest part comes after. Waves of nausea and anguish and the taste of blood at the back of his throat that leave him shaking, crying even though he knows there was no other way — that someone had to die. It takes time but the feelings and all their overwhelming wrath do fade.

Belatedly he realizes — the last of the Coven Elders, those tiny wisps of purpose and ill, have left this world.

The fallout of them remains.

The bloodwraith hovers there among its finest work. Takes them in maw dripping blood and tissue stained red and reeking of death and righteous revenge — but still, silent as the grave.

Without tether or ruling hand there is nothing left inside its hollow ribs. Its great work is done.

Elric is the first to speak, voice cracked from exhaustion, and Taylor isn’t the only one who jumps slightly at the broken silence.

“We must destroy the creature before its nature overpowers the echoes of its former self.” Not that he has to tell anyone twice.

“Think it’ll sit still long enough fer us to put it through a woodchipper?” Kristof isn’t joking.

But Elric shakes his head; doesn’t humor even outlandish ideas. “I… do not know.”

Katherine favors her left side as she hobbles close enough for Ryder to prop her up. “We could pursue another necromancer — but the odds of one being close enough to get here in time…”

“An’ I definitely don’ have enough arrows to banish it to the Veil.”

“So we’re fucked?”

“Every passing moment deteriorates its complacency. It will go rabid.”

“If we had the totem —”

“— the Elders would still be alive, so stop lookin’ at me like that mother.”

Through the din of arguments and ideas tossed forward and debunked Taylor sees their guest again. Watches as The Fate holds his gaze then looks out, slow and with purpose. Over the grass and gravel stained black that now shines like glass under the revealing moonlight.

The stars shine much the same but the trails left by Elric and Garrus’ valiant effort in cornering the witches are a different beauty. Something ethereal and as bright as it is dark. Scorched trails of obsidian creating beauty in destruction.

With all the weird and cryptic help they keep giving, he’s gonna need to get The Fate a fruit basket delivered or something.

“Do you have enough strength to do it one more time?”

Elric looks at him with a furrowed confusion — takes a moment to understand before he withers further. “I worry not even Garrus’ aid will be enough to burn the beast. Not alone.”

Taylor’s heart sinks, but Nik catches it before it gets too low.

“So help ‘em out, Rook.”

“Me?”

“You did it before.”

“Yeah but not on purpose.”

“So get Elric to channel it to you again.”

Then his father is at his side with pale palm turned up in offering. “You are not the same person you were then. You may not need my help.”

Everyone’s stopped arguing now; listening intently. Talk about stage fright.

“Yeah I — I don’t think so. The other fae, the ones inside…”

“Not all of us have the touch to do such wonders.”

And isn’t that just great. “Obviously. Why would it ever be easy?”

He throws a look to Garrus, still half-caught in Krom’s arms though looking far less on the verge of unconsciousness. Not that Krom worries over him any less. They catch him looking and their smiles are matched; happy, relieved, sheepish. Makes Taylor have the just-barely resistible urge to shake his head and say “those crazy kids.”

What’s the use arguing at this point?

“Okay. I mean — however I can help.”

Of course the stone troll is reluctant to let Garrus go, takes more than a fair bit of coaxing from Ivy but he does. “I haven’t stretched these muscles in a century,” comes the anticipated complaint, “and now you have me conjuring twice in one evening?” But Garrus doesn’t hesitate as he takes his position back up.

Elric directs Taylor nearest Isadora; doesn’t argue when Nik follows like an extension of him.

“I’ll be okay.” Not that he doesn’t appreciate the support.

“I know —” then, after a beat, “— still. Don’t have to leave you, so I won’t.”

A hush falls with the fae men in their positions. The outcast, the Lord, and the halfling in a triangle around the dormant wraith.

He knows he shouldn’t but that’s never stopped Taylor before. Cautiously reaches out with that feeling inside and tries, more out of curiosity than anything, to search for anything that remains of Reimonenq within its cursed bones.

But he’s just met with a void. Blacker than black — no revenge, no vendetta to carry out; nothing at all.

So he pulls it back… and feels the faint whisper of death like velvet on his cheek.

It’s as ready as they are for all this to be done with.

Not that he was expecting a lesson on a chalkboard or anything — Conjuring Grimfire 101 — but there’s a distinct lack of any kind of instruction that leaves Taylor more than a little lacking. Has him looking back and forth to mirror the men in everything he can see.

One minute the uncertainty is there; building inside of him a threatening mass of the unknown — and then it isn’t.

It’s just gone.

Whatever takes its place—not confidence, not quite—is enough, somehow. He knows it’s enough.

Looking down Taylor isn’t surprised to see wisps of black flame licking at his palms. Both enveloped and not, but not a burn in sight and so so beautiful.

It doesn’t take much. Barely even a gesture but moreso the power to let the grimflames take to the world beyond him.

Taylor, Garrus, Elric — they aren’t three people and three flames anymore. They’re one in the same; send their combined will forward. Rushing, racing on still winds lapping and hissing at one another until they seek home in the only thing they can.

A column of midnight fire erupts towards the sky as the bloodwraith is consumed. The last of its flesh, the tendrils of cloth, the thrice-burned bones engulfed in a fire that bathes the entire garden in light.

Taylor prepares himself — muscle memory — for a stinging wave of heat that never comes. And the sight is as captivating as it is terrible, as magical as it is destructive. Colors without names taking the wraith’s shape within the black — aberrant and awe-some.

Higher and higher the grimfire clamors for the abyss; seeks home in a darkness just as endless. The colors within grow to a blinding brightness as, within, the creature is devoured.

The Council of New Orleans watches as one. Blooded and bruised and alive. Shadows of light in lashes across every face like a ritual of cleansing.

Cadence shoulders the combined weights of Kathy and Cal; holds them up with tears in his eyes.

As Kristof watches, jaw slack, Octavia lumbers up to him with blood-matted fur and noses at his palm, turns a golden gaze up to the place where the fire and the heavens meet. Even Isadora finds herself held captive by the sight.

Vera’s hands cup her elbows, the glowing shadows catching on her curls and every teardrop that collects at her chin. Behind her Tonya stands shrouded in the dark of her daughter’s figure. The only one focused on something else.

But it makes sense. Don’t ask him how but it does. It isn’t just the bloodwraith that is forced to make peace in the fae fire’s glow. It shines on all of them and chases away every shadow left in the chambers of their hearts. Leaves within Taylor a feeling of profound peace; of understanding.

From tip to temple the remnants of the bloodwraith scatter upwards, rainbow embers scattering to every corner of the city — further even.

Upturned palms slowly close with curled-in fingers; Garrus, then Elric. Elric who looks at his son with pride to which nothing can compare. Taylor almost doesn’t want to let it go. Wants to let it build and stay in this beautiful monument to everything… everything.

Instead he closes his hands and snuffs out the light.

The curtains close.

Cade pulls away gasping; covers his mouth with the back of his hand with something akin to shame burned into his red eyes. Katherine gives him time; lets the vampire come back to himself with her bare arm still offered; just in case.

It isn’t lost on Taylor — or anyone, really — that the huntress was content to push half a wine glass of her blood towards Isadora de la Rosa. That the vein was a luxury only Cadence was allowed.

Cadence who holds her arm gingerly as he smears blood from his nicked thumb along the skin and lets it heal.

All around them the Mardi Gras decorations still shimmer with delight. Enticing them to forget their worries and relax; to enjoy themselves in a way they might finally be allowed, now. But the night isn’t done yet. Neither are they, no matter how much they might wish otherwise.

Two ashtrays pass between hands. Inside; a thin layer of blood shared among them like a church sacrament. The unspoken rule — take just enough to heal your wounds, because the likelihood that either vampire was willing to part with more than they could afford was slim.

And he cares about the rest of his friends — he does. He’s glad to see the bruises fading from Kathy’s ribs where her shirt is hitched up; to see Cal testing the motion of his arm where Octavia had helped relocate his shoulder. He’s glad — yet it doesn’t stop him from devoting the majority of his attention to Nik.

“No physical signs of a concussion,” mumbles Cade through his careful examination of the man’s pupils; flashes the mini-light from Taylor’s keys between them just in case, “and as any possible wounds would be internal there isn’t much my blood can do that it wouldn’t have done already.”

But Ryder will only humor them for so long. The frustration is already starting to tick in his brow. “Cool, then will you lay off?”

“Nik —”

“I’m fine Rook, see?” He gestures with arms spread wide and what is that supposed to prove? Can anyone blame him for worrying? Would anyone dare to try?

No, not like this. Not when the events of the night still hang over those gathered like an anvil on a very thin rope. Only when it drops it won’t be for comedic effect.

All they need is someone to cut the cord.

Good thing Nik Ryder has never been one to sugarcoat anything. Or hold his tongue for that matter.

“They weren’t wrong, you know, the Coven Elders.”

Which is so the wrong thing to say and gets a couple hundred pounds of angry sweaty werewolf in his face, growling; “The fuck’d you just say, Ryder?”

Even Isadora’s disapproval isn’t so easily contained. “Poor taste, Nighthunter.”

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. Looks Kristof square in the eyes with a matching frown and a set jaw.

“You could ignore it before, but you sure can’t now. Things around here have gotten way outta hand. Each one’a you only cared about what was right under your noses. I ain’t sayin’ they went about it the right way but to walk outta here with nothing changed would be almost just as bad.”

That he doesn’t end up with a broken jaw is surprising on its own. When Kristof actually steps back as if to listen? Well Hell went straight from frozen over to a winter wonderland.

“Continue,” prompts Elric then, since no one else is willing to offer the floor to him. Why would they? Who wants to be told everything they’ve done wrong? Especially when it leads to… well.

“I didn’ think about the state of things until I saw what was goin’ on inside Persephone. Told myself it wasn’t any of my business —”

“— which it is not,” Tonya interrupts, and meets the glare Vera snaps at her with a hard set to her jaw. “Nighthunters have always been a complicated party. No allegiances, no code of conduct but their own. And now this one wishes to dictate to us all of the things we are at fault for as though he stands on some sort of higher ground?”

Vera just shakes her head, dislike rotting into distaste on her tongue.

“Unbelievable. You still don’t think you have any blame to take in any of this.”

“Do you have any idea what I’ve done to keep this city safe?”

“Oh I’m well aware, mother,” the words lash out on the tip of her tongue; make Tonya recoil however slight. “In fact — that, that right there — that’s half the problem here! That’s exactly what Ryder’s talking about. You stand there actin’ like a martyr when all you’ve done—all you’ve really done—is bully, bribe, and threaten your way into power. How long do you think it’ll keep now?”

She’s no longer the woman who went running at the smallest sign of danger. It’s a thing to behold, really.

And Vera isn’t the only one. Even with all of his huffing and puffing Cal steps up and looks Kristof square in the eyes. There’s a set to his jaw and his eye is still a little purple but hell if he’s backing down now.

“Now don’t you go makin’ trouble for yerself, pup,” his kin warns, but what else could he possibly lose that he hasn’t already?

“Anyone who disagrees with you makes trouble.”

“Yeah, and?”

The younger wolf’s joints pop and crack as he cranes his neck from side to side. Both of them rearing to go even after everything.

“That’s no way to lead a pack.”

Kristof snorts through a cherry-red face. “An’ I take it you’ve got a lotta thoughts you been holdin’ in.”

“You could say that.”

“Until you’re an Alpha I don’t think you’ve got much of a say.”

“He may not, but I’ve a few thoughts, cher.”

There’s a very Et tu, Brute? vibe in how Octavia places herself in the familiar space between the argument. Back then and here in the now Octavia remains a voice of reason to compensate for the one her Alpha just doesn’t seem to have been born with.

His nostrils flare. “Tavvy…”

“I ain’t sayin’ the pup’s right, but you an’ I both know he’s got a point. Things have been good for us, Kristof. Good for the pack.”

“Yeah, why the hell d’you think that is?!”

“I’m not sayin’ you ain’t sacrificed to keep us goin’. An’ I’ve backed you up on every single thing to date. But Kristof Jensen so help me if you raise your voice at me again I will whoop your furry behind to kingdom come and that’s a promise.”

The Alpha and his Beta square off, eye to eye. She commands the space around her despite behind several heads shorter than him. Being part of a pack means something deeper than most can understand and it radiates out from them in viscous tension.

He’s an Alpha; he can’t back down. But she’s his partner — so she won’t.

And Cal, who can’t tell if he has the other wolf on his side or just not on Kristof’s, refuses to let himself be pushed out of the conversation.

“Uncle,” one word that snaps all attention back to him, “you picked up the pack when we needed it most. You know they’re grateful — you know I’m grateful —” and there’s something hidden unspoken in Cal’s words, something from before all this but can’t be held back any longer, “— you were the Alpha they needed when I couldn’t be.

“But the pack can’t be more important than the community it’s part of. You can’t pull away from the rest of New Orleans and call it keeping everyone safe. Not when it leads to shit like this.”

There’s so many emotions and reactions twisting on the Alpha’s scarred face; Taylor doesn’t even attempt to reach out to feel them for fear of empathy whiplash.

So he’s just as surprised as everyone — Cal and Octavia included — when the wolf deflates; sags his shoulders and reaches out for the Beta to find a home crooked under the weight of his arm.

“Now ain’t the time to get into the nitty-gritty.”

Before Cal can object, Octavia squares him away with a single glance. Maybe not now, but soon. And that’s more than before, so he’ll take it.

To everyone’s surprise Isadora steps forward with a steely eye.

“My father was no saint. Since inheriting his seat and estate I have come upon a number of… gruesome things; things he was content to keep from me, and no doubt from the rest of the Council.”

If anyone notices the way her eyes flick to Cadence, they don’t mention it. “But I think that is the point Ryder makes; we, this Council, are supposed to be the ones making decisions for the betterment of this proud city. Instead we have burrowed our heads in the sand, contented ourselves with turning a blind eye to one another’s wrongdoings lest our own come to light.

“We cannot continue like this. The Council will not survive it. New Orleans will not survive it.”

Murmurs of agreement echo throughout the foyer; Elric stands.

“We are tired; we are battle-worn. Yet we have ignored our obligations to the city for long enough I think. If we are to be the ones to bring about a positive change then the time to act is now.”

“Now?” asks Tonya in protest, “don’t you think we should postpone this — at least until Mardi Gras has settled?”

Nik drags two stools forward. Taylor takes the hint and he isn’t the only one — Krom and Ivy join him in grabbing chairs and other seats until everyone has a place to get comfortable.

“No time like the present.”

#choices nb #playchoices fanfiction #nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #cal lowell #vera reimonenq #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 6 The Wrong Shot

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

You and I both are nothing but thieves

We take what we want when we need

I had a chance for a better life

But all that I've known is to

Run, run, run, from a devil in disguise

Like a bullet, a bullet, a bullet into the night

Bullet  - Steel Train

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck! Rocket cursed rolling backward across the crowded workshop, hissing as the cybernetic panel in his back slammed into the unforgiving wall. Colors swam for a moment before his vision. The raccoonoid blinked several times, waiting for cybernetics in his optic nerves to recalibrate. He flicked his fingers, good still in tact.  

I’m gonna shoot that flarking humie, he thought begrudgingly, standing up and stalking out of the work room.

“Quill! What the hell kinda jump was that?! You’re gonna wreck my ship!” Rocket scurried to the engine room.

“Um it’s my ship,” the human stepped out into the main hall, one hand clutching his stomach. “And I didn’t do anything!”

“Then who the hell is piloting this thing?” Rocket pushed passed the human with a grunt into the cock-pit.  He halted in the door, an orange glow bathed the interior of the ship with hazy iridescence. Three large green asteroid rings encircled the planet. Kilvore.

“Gamora!” Drax boomed, stomping in behind Quill. “You are quite the pilot! You should be flying this ship!” Rocket suppressed a growl,

“Groot!”

The little sapling made a playful cooing noise from his place in the co-pilot seat. Rocket rushed over to him and growled at the right of the miniature flora, who, despite his seat belt had tumbled from his pot. Dirt scattered about the seat.

“What did you do?!” The raccoonoid growled, furiously packing the soil back around Groot’s base. Gamora bristled with the accusation.

“I didn’t do anything,” she keyed in the codes to approach landing.  “I strapped him in, he’s alright.”

Evidently Groot wiggled his arms as the raccoonoid hoisted him up on his hip-reaching to try and play with the straps of Rocket’s jumpsuit.

“He could’a been hurt!”  

“If he never get’s hurt he’s never going to learn how to protect himself,” she countered.

“Is that what daddy Thanos taught yah?”  He snapped, baring his teeth at the woman. He looked up at Gamora, a nerve pulsing in her forehead. Something snapped. Gamora stuck her arm out, instantly for the raccoonoid’s neck. Rocket panicked as his feet were whisked off the ground. Groot tumbled from his hold. Drax dove with surprising agility, catching the little flora who only giggled and wiggled in his pot. Rocket growled, claws digging into Gamora’s wrist,

“Oh yeah,” he snarled,  with a cruel grin. “There she is, there’s the daughter of Thanos!” Her fingers tightened around the scruff of his neck, hardly flinching even as he kicked and scratched, trying to reach for the gun in his belt.

“I’d  rip out your spine rodent, if you had one.”

“W...what the hell Gamora?!” Rocket wheezed out, trying to twist his neck out of her grip.

“I am not a daughter of Thanos,” she whispered dangerously.

“Yeah, you’re really proving me wrong. You flarking…”

“I could snap your neck,” she threatened, “it would be easy.”

Rocket focused his roving eyes  towards Groot’s plaintive wail.

“You can run all you want,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “But you can’t run from what he made you.”

“C’mon guys,” Peter whined, “I thought we were passed the point of killing each other!”

“At least I ain’t a hypocrite” he couldn't  stop himself. The humiliation of being held like some dangling thing, the escalation of Groot’s terrified cries. “Your no better than him.”  His tail thrashed madly, bite...bite her! Get away!

“Gamora,” Quill stepped forward tentatively, “let him go.”

Rocket swallowed down the animalistic yelp that nearly escaped him as Gamora dropped him to the floor. He glared up at her, trying to massage the throbbing in his neck.

“Like father like daughter,’ he wheezed, black nostrils flaring to catch his breath.

“Hey!” Quill snapped, pointing at him like some petulant child. Groot tried to inch his pot forward little arms reaching out for him, sap leaking from his eyes.

“I’m going after Nebula,” Gamora barked stalking from the room.

“Wait! Gamora!” Quill spared a disappointed glance at Rocket and darted out of the cockpit as the Benatar shook, locking into the dock on the main port of Yreka’a Kilvore’s largest city.

“Mmm, mmm Grrr!” Groot’s little face screwed up as he cried. Drax knelt down placing Groot’s pot in front of him. Rocket reached out to him, little wooden fingers grasping around his claws in earnest.

Groot teetered forward closer, burying his little head in the nape of the raccoonoid’s neck.

No! Don’t touch….

He jerked backward, still panting. Claws clenched against the metal floor. He stopped himself from the snarl forming in his throat.

“Small friend, are you alright?”

“I’ve had worse,” Rocket coughed, remaining on all fours. Groot tried to borrow against him, thin fingers wringing through his fur. “Watch it,” he spat, pushing the small flora away as one of the little hands hit against the metal bolts in his clavicle. “It’s not like either of you did anything to help,” his red gaze slid between the Destroyer and his miniature best friend. “You might be tiny but you could’ve at least tried to stop her!” He glowered at Groot who only pouted and reached for him. “Could’ve said something even if you couldn’t fight her.” He envisioned Groot’s  protective stance between himself and Drax back in that bar in Knowhere.

“You must not anger our assassin friend, she will kill you for what you’ve said.”

“Tsch, I’d like to see her try. Damn sadist.” Rocket checked the gun at his belt, and gripped the handle of it for reassurance, turning from the two of them.

“Where are you going?” Drax’s concern echoed down the hall as the raccoonoid stalked back towards his workroom. The heavy door slammed behind him with a satisfying clang. He snatched up the data pad, furiously pounding the keys.

“This is Sub…..Subject...8...8913, I have an update.”

The screen blipped and went fuzzy for a moment before a Nova agent’s face appeared on the screen, helmet obscuring her features.

“Subject, what is your…”

“Its Gamora,” he seethed. “She’s taken our ship to Kilvore, tryn’ to go after her maniac sister Nebula.”

“Has she threatened you or your crew?”

“She threatened me,” he snarled with contempt. I’d rip out your spine, rodent. Rocket hung up before the agent could continue.

“Animal friend, open this door!” Drax’s fists banged against the door, Groot’s whine sounded through the metal. Rocket snatched up his pistols and a few more rounds before opening the door again.

“Where are you going?”

“After Quill and Gamora.”

“What about Groot? He cannot go into battle.”

Rocket spun on his heel, glaring.

“Then you stay back with him.”

Without waiting he sprinted down the gangway, into the crowded sea of aliens bustling about Yreka’a.

---

Rocket darted through the crowds with relative ease, used to navigating the world of larger people. He kept one hand at his holster as he scanned for any sign of Quill or Gamora. Not that he wanted to see her. Not that he wanted them to see him. Not after being hoisted up by the scruff  like a misbehaving dog. The hair on his neck rose at the memory of it. Cold merciless metal clamped around him, cords that electrocuted him when he resisted. The gloved grasp around his neck. One hand restrained him, the other held a scalpel or a needle or some other device. The raccoonoid halted in his tracks, the legs and knees of the crowd becoming blurry in shadows. His vision tunneled and he shook his head, rubbing his paws across his snout.

“Small angry companion! Wait!”

Rocket sniffed once more, through the ochre of cooking food and thick smoke. The sweat and liquor. He sniffed again, arching his head upward through the throngs of bodies, rounding a corner and down another thoroughfare. Music pumped from a nearby club, merchants shouted their wares in dozens of languages.

Too many smells, still the lingering old too much axe flitted on his nose. He could tell Quill’s scent anywhere.

“This way, hurry up baldy.”

“Mmmgggrrrt!”

“I ain’t waitin’!”  

He darted between the long purple tentacles of a Ktavian, sniffing for any whiff of either Quill or Gamora.

“Watch it vermin!”

Rocket growled, one paw tightening around his pistol but he kept it in check,  it ain’t worth it.

“Quill! Quill!” The raccoonoid scrambled down another series of streets, pausing only to ensure that Drax and Groot hadn’t fallen too far behind.

Flarking...bipeds, he cursed almost tempted to cover more ground on four legs.

“Quill, damn it wa…”

Something flashed in the monotone sea of grays and muddled browns.

Shit that can’t be… Rocket sniffed, it was.  Nebula was here, he scrambled up a nearby market stall, onto the roof, keen eyes scanning through the crowd. There she was...moving in the opposite direction of Quill and Gamora.  She moved with complete economy, head down glancing around suspiciously at anyone who dared come close.

“Furry one! Why are you all the way,”

“Shut up!"

Rocket hissed, reaching for the gun at his belt and looked through the scope, tracing the women's movements as she weaved out of the main streets, back towards the ship docks. His grip fixed around the gun, pulling the trigger back. One shot, that’s all it’d take.  Nebula flagged down one of the Rskeven workers. Paying him handsomely by the grin he spurted.  Rocket adjusted his grip, it’d be an easy shot, right in the back of the noggin and that cyborg’d be done for good. He sucked a breath in sharply through his nose, watching her walk up to a crummy little Xandarian transport vessel. Must’ve stolen it after the battle.  He squeezed the trigger, back as hard it would go 3…..2… flark it! Rocket hit the safety mechanism, let go of the trigger heard the empty click.

“Rocket! What are you doing up there?!”

Out of his periphery the Xandarian ship sputtered to life. Quickly he reached into his belt, loading his gun with the tracking device.

“Rocket!”

Something hit against his ear. Instinctively his swiveled towards it, his finger slipping. A bang. He recovered in time to watch the projectile launch through the air at the body of the ship as it took off. He watched it hit against the left wing, through the dust and exhaust, only to teeter and slip, falling to the ground in the wake of the ship taking off. Through the haze, a miniature head in the cockpit, Nebula’s eyes fixated on the atmosphere above.

Fuck, the ship took off, vaulting through the sky and out of sight to join all the other transports coming and going, lost among them. Rocket shook his head, thrusting the gun back into its holster.

“Who through that?”

“Rocket,”

Quil, Drax, Groot and Gamora stood below, gazing up at him with expressions ranging from confusion, (Drax and Quill), to irritation, (Gamora).

The raccoonoid huffed, ears twitching and made his way back down, making sure not to look at the green assassin.

“What gives man? We saw Drax and Groot and assumed you were with them. Quill planted his hands on his hips like a scolding parent.

“I saw Nebula.”

“Really?” Gamora’s skepticism grated against his last nerve. “Where?”

“She was taking off in a stolen Xandarian transport. I was tryin’ to shoot her but Star-Turd threw off my aim.”

Gamora shifted her displeasure to the human man, only for an instant.

“Did you shoot to kill?”

Rocket smirked, kicking a rock with his boot.

“Nah Gams I didn’t shoot to kill. I was tryn’ to put a tracking device on it.”

---

Rocket was three sheets to the wind when he heard the knock on the workroom door. Trying to drown the humiliation of being shaken like a misbehaving vermin in front of others, trying to drown the feel of Gamora’s hand around his scruff. They’d regrouped on the ship and he worked out the calculations to approximate Nebula’s trajectory. Towards the Keystone Quadrant. Rocket thought, lifting another can of Uzbellian beer to his muzzle. He never imagined he’d be back in the same Quadrant as ...that place. But Quill, Gamora and Drax has insisted they follow despite his protests; and he sure as shit wasn’t about to divulge his tragic backstory to them like a sucker.

No, he’d hunker down and bare it, he wouldn’t let Groot out of his sight. He’d stay on the ship, claim to be doing repairs. He’d pack more weapons on him, well, more than usual. His mind spun into strategy mode. How large was the Keystone Quadrant? Where was Halfworld in relation to their current flight path? What if Nebula was going to that very planet? No there was no reason to go there. She wouldn’t. SHE WOULDN”T. But if she did….how many bombs had he made? How much ammo? How could he….

“Rocket?”

Gamora. He could tell by her scent and the sound of her footfalls.

Great, the last person he wanted to see.

“What?”

He snarled, finishing off the beer and throwing the can to the ground. She stepped in gracefully, looking around the crowded room of half-formed weapons and gadgets.

“Immm grrrrrot!”

Groot waved to her happily as she came closer.

“Rocket,” the word was heavy as she spoke it. “About my outburst earlier, I sor…”

He held up one paw, eyes unmoving from the work before him.

“I’mma stop you right there,”

“I’m sorry,” she continued.

“Well I ain’t,” this time he looked up at her with indignation. “You wanna snap at me? Fine.” Rocket’s ears pressed against his skull. “You wanna choke me out or cut me with those knives of yours, be my guest. I’ll fight you any day.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed with speculation.

“Do whatever you want,” he rasped. “But you don’t do it in front of them. Or Groot,” he gestured to the flora who had lost interest in the both of them and was trying to reach for a discarded magazine. Gamora bit the inside of her cheek, looking at the baby. “He’s got a new start on things. He don’t need to see that stuff yet.” He watched her nod in agreement and wiped his claws free of oil.

“I didn’t mean to do those things in front of Groot,” she started. “I didn’t mean to say those things to you.”

“Really? Cuz I did,” he countered. “Thanos might’a taught you to hurt in order to grow but Thanos ain’t taken care of Groot while he gets his growth back...and I ain’t as bad as Thanos.”

This elicited a surprising smile from the assassin.

“No, your not.”

“No killin’ each other in front of the plant capeesh? He’s had enough of killin’....” Rocket swallowed the sour taste of liquor, “and bein’ killed.” Gamora nodded with more vigor this time. He watched her hover on the edge of words, trying to find something to say.

“Thank you, for not killing Nebula today.”

"Wasn't my shot to take." Rocket waved a dismissive paw, turning back to his work. She nodded once more, waved to Groot and made to leave, stopping in the doorway.

“You have my word Rocket, I never call you those names again. Nor will I ever...miss-handle you in that manor again. I swear.”

“Why don’t you go miss-handle Quill?” He laughed.

“I’m serious Rocket,” she pressed.

“Tsch, so am I! He’d love it. He’s clearly in love with you.”

He looked up from the disassembled gun, a sardonic grin coming to his face for the first time in days at the woman’s face, internally waging the possibility.  She gave him a look he couldn’t quite determine and finally left, closing the door behind her.

Rocket worked long into the night, the booze eventually coaxing him into a fitful sleep.

And...I shouldn’t have called you Thanos’s daughter…cuz you ain’t. At all. 

When he woke up the next morning, he couldn’t remember if he’d said the apology aloud. Or if it were another one of his drunken thoughts of what he should’ve said.

#the body keeps the score fic #my writing #gamora #rocket raccoon #gotg #Guardians of the Galaxy #groot #baby groot #peter quill #star lord #nebula #Drax The Destroyer

[chubbymompantylingerie]

Learning to Hide

In my previous story I told via the best of my memory how mom and started down the path of panty and incest fetishes. If you read and think it is to be good to be true and must be fiction. It was a close to the truth as I can remember might have exaggerated parts and simplified other parts. At times we were tentative and hesitate, but there was never regret on my part or my mother’s to my knowledge. I think the combination of dad traveling so much to create his company let mom and me true develop this and let it run its course.

Mom and me spent most the rest of the summer with me draining her boobs and her riding me us both wearing panties. We didn’t in almost every room to change it up but doing the same thing over and over started to get old. On top of that since mom had got off the meds that caused her to lactate. By the end of summer she had all but dried up. So I was back wearing mom’s dirty panties and sucking myself off. After my last tutoring session for the summer I was looking forward to a good sucking session I had a pair of mom’s panties that had an amazing smell. Once we got home I ate quickly and then rushed to my room. I got the panties on and assumed the position. My dick rocking in and out of my mouth. The smell of my mom’s musk on her panties. I was getting close picking up the pace. When I felt pressure on my ass pushing me harder down. My eyes opened and mom was push on my ass. She said cum in your throat and smell your mom’s pussy on her panties. She pushed and pulled and as I started to cross over the edge. Mom pushed I raised my head and between us my dick was in my throat and the gag caused me to cum from the pressure. Mom grabbed my hair keeping my dick in as deep as possible. I gagged as I shot my load straight down my throat.

Mom released me and I unfolded. Gasping for breath mom said watching you do that makes me so horny. She took off her shorts and said see how wet I am. I could see her bush through her white panties they were so wet. I smiled and blurted out I bet those smell amazing. Mom smiled and then straddled my face and said so do they smell good. I buried my noise in the crotch and inhaled deeply. I moaned god mom you smell amazing. She pushed her crotch down on my face and started grinding. I grabbed her hips and instinctively started licking and sucking on her panties. The taste of mom’s pussy caused me dick to throb against my belly. Mom rolled off my and thinking I had screwed up. I looked over to see mom pull her panties off fast and before I could say anything she was getting back into place. As soon as my mother’s naked pussy touched my tongue my dick started bouncing. When mom moaned yes right there lick my clit son. I constructed right there and mom started grinding hard. Mom’s moans got longer, louder, and then she screamed mom son is eating my pussy and making me cum. Mom’s pussy juices flooded my mouth. She fell forward riding out her orgasm. Then I felt her mouth close around my dick. I moaned into her pussy and continued licking her pussy. I didn’t last long in moms mouth and as I moaned and started cumming. Mom moaned on my dick as she swallowed my cum and her orgasm hit. Mom rolled off me spun around and kissed me deeply. When the kiss broke mom said you taste good. I said you taste amazing.

Mom thanked me and said she was going to go clean up. I did the same and once I got back in my room. I started to grabbed all the dirty clothes and realized mom had left her soaked panties. I grabbed them put them up to my noise inhaling her musk. I then shoved them into my mouth savoring her taste. Right as I was about to start another play session mom yelled up for me to come down. With her panties still in my mouth I headed down. When I walked in the kitchen mom was at the stove cooking dinner. She was just in a matching set of satin bra and panties. She saw the panties in my mouth and smiled. I dropped everything in the laundry room. Mom said she was going out with some friends tonight to see a movie and shouldn’t be home late.

When mom came out of her room to leave she said I left you a present on my bed. She then cane over leaned down to me giving me a very gentle kiss on the lips. The second I heard mom drive away I bolted to her room. On the bed was the panties she was wearing earlier. There was a note that said not a juice as earlier but hope you enjoy them. I raised the panties to my noise and then into my mouth. I suck all the smell and flavor out of them real quick. I didn’t want to suck or play with myself after having mom’s mouth and hands on me. So instead I pulled the panties on. I went wearing just mom’s panties and watched Tv. I rubbed my dick through the satin panties teasing myself. When I heard mom pulling into the driveway a couple hours later I was leaking a ton of precum.

Mom came in the house and saw me sitting there in her panties with a huge wet spot. Mom smiled saying looks like my son is already for mom. She went into her leaving the door open. So I flowed her in asking how the movie was and general small talk. She started getting undressed and when she pulled her dress off I saw she was wearing a satin lingerie set. I felt my dick twitch against the panties I was wearing. Mom went to hang her dress up in the closet. When she came out she went and leaned over her dresser looking in the mirror. I couldn’t control myself and I walked up behind her pushing my satin panty covered cock against her satin panty cover ass. As she ground back and I pushed forward. Looking in mom’s eyes in the mirror I pulled back reached down and pulled my panties to the side. Repositioned and slide my bare dick between her big satin covered ass cheeks. Still with our eyes locked in the mirror I pulled back far enough for my cock to fall between her legs. I pumped my throbbing dick against her satin covered pussy.

After a thrust or two leaking even more precum I felt moms hand press me harder against her pussy. Mom moaned and I pulled back a little to far one time. When I thrust I hit mom right in her panty covered pussy enterence. She moaned louder and pushed back some. I groaned and made the move to break the last barrier. I reached down and pulled her panties to the side and thrust my dick for the very first time into moms pussy. I groaned lost control and started to cum. Mom moaned cum in mommies pussy baby boy. I then started slowly thrusting and when I opened my eyes finding moms in the mirror. I saw the lust and passion in hers that matched mine. Mom started meeting my thrusts and soon she was slamming back moaning she was close. I felt her pussy gripping me and when she moaned I’m cumming. I lost control again pumping another load into her. When we both finished and I slide out of mom. She put her hand between her legs catching our mixed juices. She brought it to her mouth and sucked her fingers in moaning a little. She the dipped her fingers back in her pussy and turned around putting them in my mouth. She said we taste good mixed together. We showered together fucking again.

Once we were showered and dressed for bed mom in a satin night gown and matching panties. Me in a pair of mom’s panties. We went up to my room and sleepers together in my bed. The next morning when I woke up and mom wasn’t there I was worried that mom had second thoughts. So still wearing panties and the hardest morning wood I had ever had I headed down stairs. I found mom still in her night gown. She was leaning over picking something up and I could see that her panties were wet. So I walked up behind her grabbing her hips and pressing my throbbing dick against her. She pressed back hard grinding against me. I pulled my dick out she pulled her panties to the side and I buried my dick in her and we fucked in the middle of the living room. I cummed twice and mom had one orgasm. She stood up and tuck my dick back into the panties. She said let’s have breakfast and talk.

Mom made me a big breakfast and as I ate she talked to me. She started with making me swear that I would never tell anyone. I agreed and she continued with that we are leaving to go get our brother and sister after breakfast. She said we will have to be less affectionate to each other when they are around. She than said when dad is home we can not play at all. She said when there are times that we can’t play I will leave you gifts in your hiding spot in your room. Because I don’t want my little motherfucker to forget my scent or flavor. She said a lot of other things but I don’t really remember any of them. We did leave to go get my brother and sister. When we got to our grandparents house I hung out hearing about all the crazy things my brother did especially what he did with girls. I caught myself several times before I blurted out something wanting to one up him. He never noticed because he was so caught up in his bragging.

After we had dinner at the country club and got back home mom told me to shower in her room while the others use the other showers. I was just getting I the shower when the bathroom door open. Mom held her finger to her lips telling me to be quite. She pushed to sit on the toilet sucked my dick a little. Then stepped over me and rode me as I sucked her nipples both of us cumming twice. She then got in the shower with me and we fucked again and then bathed quickly. I had just sat down on the bed mom in her fluff robe when my sister came in asking for mom. Then sis looked at me angrily trying to get me to leave. So I did and found my brother and listen to him brag more how much a ladies man he was. That is how I spent the remainder of my night. Mom was occupied by my sister as well. The next morning we were up and out heading home.

When we got home and were getting settled in. Mom grabbed me for a quickie in the laundry room. I had just zipped up my shorts and mom had fixed her dress when Sis walked in saying there you two are. What are you doing. Mom turned to me said thank you for helping me. Sending me on my way. Well to our surprise dad came home that night. The next morning mom grabbed me and told me we have to be very careful. Sis is getting curious abd in mid thought stop. Then said we might need to avoid each other for awhile. Upset but understanding not wanting to loose future chances to fuck my mother I agreed. We made it about a week before mom came to my room one night. She whispered you can’t cum in me but you can cum on my big ass and panties. Before she could finish I was bending her over and slide my dick into her and pumped twice pulled out and shot a massive load all over her. Mom started to say something but only grunted as I slammed back into her. This time I lasted long enough for mom to have an orgasm. This happened two more times. When mom pulled her panties off and saw all the cum. She smiled and asked when did you cum last. I told her it’s been a couple of days.

We decided that late at night was the only time we could get together when anyone was home. This is how it went for mom and me fucking late at night or when we were sure when we were alone. Occasionally when we hadn’t been able to get together we would sneak a fuck in if Sis was the only one home never when my brother was there and defiantly never when dad was home. Mom endulged my panty and lingerie fetish as well. When I was 13 things changed again. I will start working on that story next.

#mom

[cygnetofthesea]

Speak of the Trapped: Chapter 5

Westallen AU: When Iris stops responding to her messages and doesn't show up to school, Barry is desperate for answers.  Her return leaves him just as lost as Barry tries to understand what happened to the girl he loves in those days she was gone.

On AO3

Barry does end up spending the night at Cisco's. They were lucky his mom was fast asleep when they snuck into the house at three in the morning.

"I'm so beat," Cisco groans. "I'm about to skip first period tomorrow."

Barry rolls out his sleeping bag and throws Cisco’s spare pillows on top of it before settling in.

"Hey, can you do me a favor? Can you get your girlfriend to pretend to be my mom and record a message?

"She's not my girlfriend," he says, his voice muffled by his pillows. "And sure, I'll ask. Wait, what kind of message?"

"I'm ditching tomorrow and I don't need my parents worrying about me more than they probably are."

There was a moment of silence in the darkness. "I'm pretty worried about you myself, dude."

Barry lays flat on in his back and looks out the window where the moonlight casts shadows in the room. He could feel the exhaustion in his body, in every cell, but couldn’t will his brain to give into it.

"I'll be alright when I know Iris is."

The next day, Caitlin follows through and leaves a message for the attendance office. She’d naturally had some questions, but after Cisco’s urging, she called anyway. He wasn’t there, but had gotten Cisco’s text confirming she did a great impression and that Barry was in the clear.

With that reassurance in mind, Barry takes a left toward Neptune Avenue instead of heading straight and toward the school.  

Barry knocks twice and it isn’t long before the front door swings open, revealing Mrs. Fennel.

"Hi Mrs. Fennel,” Barry greets her, putting on his best boyish look that he hoped disguised his ulterior motives. “I should've called before coming over, but I have study hall in the morning, so I figured now was a good time to tutor Alan if he's up for it?"

Mrs. Fennel looks at him bemused.  "Uh, yeah I suppose so. He's still waking up, but I'll get him up. Come in."

Barry carefully steps into the house, looking around the decor. It was certainly nicer than his home, but then again, all the home in this neck of town were significantly nicer. Barry’s parents did pretty well for money considering his father was a doctor and his mother was a successful real estate agent with her own firm, but his parents had chosen the relatively humble neighborhood, simply because it felt like home when they first saw it years before Barry was born.

The Fennels, on the other hand chose to live in Neptune, where there were rumors of curfews and actual gates that closed at night to barricade outsiders from entering the neighborhood after midnight. But, Barry supposed it was no surprise considering who Alan’s grandfather was.

He’s interrupted from his musings by Mrs. Fennel who had come back downstairs.

“Alan is just about ready, you can head on up. I have to head out, but there are some extra eggs and toast in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

Barry nods, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulder before heading up. He didn’t know exactly how he was going to approach this but, he figured bringing some homework was a good start.

He tentatively knocks on the last door at the end of the hall, suddenly feeling nervous. Iris was the aspiring journalist and if there was anyone that could get answers out of anyone or anything, it was her. He just hopes he could gain some lead, even if it’s small.

“Come in,” Alan calls out.

When Barry swings the door open, he’s met with Alan sitting on his bed, fixing Barry with a curious stare. Alan was a known athlete, but at the moment, dressed in sweats and his skin paler than Barry had ever seen them, made him look small and weak.

But that wasn’t the only thing that surprises Barry. What he had thought was a curious stare was actually suspicion as Alan narrows his eyes.

“Um, hi,” Barry mumbles. “I’m your uh, you’re tutor for today…”

“So I hear,” says Alan. “Although, this is the first I’m hearing about this considering Principle Albert already gave sent home the tutoring schedule. With the assigned tutors and your name wasn’t on it.”

Barry fidgets with the strap of his backpack before clearing his throat. “Oh yeah, actually I was a last minute add-in. I had to sub in for one of the tutors who won’t be able to make it this week so…” he shrugs lamely, hoping it was enough. But apparently not.

“Who was it?”

“W-what?”

“Who’s the tutor that can’t make it this week?” Alan asks. “Because I don’t have one come in on Mondays and definitely not this early.”

Damn. Barry tries to think quickly.

“Oh well, um, they didn’t tell me. They just said that I needed to help you out with chemistry and bio at some point this week.” He nods to himself, satisfied it was a believable enough answer.

Alan still looks at him skeptically so Barry rushes to pull out the books from his backpack. He holds out his chemistry textbook to show Alan. “See?”

“Uh-huh. Right, see I’d maybe believe you except for the fact that you’re holding out an AP Chem textbook and I’m only in honors chem. No way in hell would I choose to take AP Chem.”

Barry looks at his textbook, feigning surprise as he scrambles to think of another lie. Damn, he really should have prepared more for this.

“I must have forgotten the other textbook, but it’s ok because I can still—”

He starts digging through his bag to unpack more books, but Alan’s words stop him in his tracks.

“Why don’t you cut the crap and tell me why you’re here? Did your girlfriend send you because she wasn’t satisfied with my answers?”

Barry looks up at him with wide-eyes, his heart jumping in his chest.

“Iris came to see you?”

Alan rolls his eyes.  "Don't pretend like you don't know. Why else would you be here? You’re not exactly the best liar. She told you didn't she?"

Barry hesitates, considering his options. On one hand, he could betray Iris and mar her journalistic integrity by making Fennel believe Iris gave him up…but on the other hand, he needed answers fast. And the jig was up.

"She might have mentioned something."

Alan nods.  "Fucking figures. If this shit gets out, my parents are going to have my ass."

"Hey look, the only reason Iris even said anything to me is because…because my dad's a doctor. She thought maybe I'd know something."

Alan lolls his head to the side to look at Barry with a glare.  "Just because your dad's a doctor, doesn't mean you are.  And anyway, I'm fine.  I took one, just one pill."

Barry’s mind starts racing. Pill? He had thought Alan had been hospitalized because of some infection from lake water. He tries to hide his confusion and play along.

“And yet it screwed you up so badly you had to be hospitalized.” Barry moves closer and sits on Alan's desk chair. "What kind of drugs were they? Where did you get them?"

"Are you serious right now? Dude, why the hell are you and your girlfriend interrogating me? There are plenty of other stupid kids who’s all kinds of messed up."

"Yeah, but you were the one who ended up in the hospital. And why the cover-up?"

"Um, do you know who my grandfather is?" Fennel asks with a roll of his eyes. "President of a growing publishing company in Central City and my uncle is running for mayor. A story like this gets out and our reputation is on the line."

Barry nods in understanding. He could see why the family wouldn’t want a story like their underaged grandson and nephew getting involved in drugs to get out, but why was Iris investigating drug use? It wasn’t exactly the most riveting subject considering how it was all too common with kids their age. Unless there was something unique about these in particular.

"Right. So what kind of drugs were they? Where did you get them?" When Alan says nothing, Barry grits his teeth and sighs. "Look, you either tell me, or I come back here every day until you do. And when you do finally get back to school, I'll be shadowing you. You don't want that, believe me."

Alan gives him a bored smirk. "Please, like you intimidate me.”

“Maybe not, but I can be really annoying and like you said, the last thing your family needs is this getting out. Now, I’m no snitch, but the fact that I’m trailing after you is going to look suspicious and your buddies are bound to ask questions. So why don’t you make both our lives easier and just answer my questions?”

Alan glares at him, but Barry’s gaze doesn’t waver for a moment as he stares back with steely resolve.

“Some club in Keystone,” Alan finally says. “A lady was selling some blue pills that I thought were ecstasy up by the DJ box."

"What club, what lady?  What did she look like?"

"It was Amunet’s and the lady had one of those masquerade masks on pink hair. Really tall and had a cool silver bracelet. Couldn’t tell much else since I was a little buzzed already at that point.

“What was cool about the bracelet?”

Alan shrugs. “I don’t know, it had some kind of weeping willow design on it. I don’t really remember, just that I noticed it flash under the strobe lights.”

Barry tries to mask his frustration.  "Anything else?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, man, anything. Some kind of distinctive characteristic."

"Um, was the pink hair not distinctive enough? Besides, why don't you ask your girlfriend? She already led you to me."

The guilt settles in his stomach. "Look, you can trust Iris. And me. We're only looking to help, that's all."

Alan flops back to rest against his headboard and flips on the tv. "There's nothing you guys can do, so you might as well drop it and while you're at it, leave me alone."

Barry looks at him for a long moment, feeling more unsettled. “You really don’t know anything else?”

“I’m telling you, I just took one pill and it fucked me up. There’s no way in hell I’m ever trying that shit again and I suggest you and Iris don’t try it too. I don’t know if that’s what you guys are after, but I would not recommend. Take that as my official Yelp review of the whole damn place too.”

Barry sighs and nods.  "Yeah sure. Look, I’m sorry. If you think of anything else, can you let me know?"

Alan waves him off, already turning away and grabbing his game console from his bed. It wasn't exactly a promise, but he'd take it. Barry drops some of his notebooks on Alan’s desk.

"If you feel like catching up on schoolwork,” he says. “Feel better, yeah?"

Alan barely acknowledges him as Barry walks out.

Barry lets out a sigh as he rubs his eyes. The tension had long since built in his temples and his eyes were begging for rest, but he barely lets himself take even a bathroom break.

After leaving Fennel’s house, Barry drove straight over to the university Tracy Brand had attended. He had scoured the entire university library for hours and even drove the hour distance to the graduate school campus in the hopes of finding something—anything—but all he could find was some study on extra-dimensional energy and while it was an interesting read, he couldn’t figure out what it had to do with Iris and what she was looking into. Brand’s study was pure theoretical physics while Iris’s notes looked as though she was investigating some new drug on the market. How the hell did any of it connect?

“Goddamnit,” Barry groans.

The ringing of his phone startles him and as always, he hopes it’s Iris, calling to assuage his fears once and for all. Disappointment floods his body when he sees it’s Cisco calling.

“Hey, Cisco,” he rasps, his voice rough from disuse. He clears his throat as he props his phone against his lamp.

“Hey, you finally made it home.”

“Yeah, about an hour ago, but it was bust. I didn’t find anything useful.”

“What about Fennel?”

Barry leans back in his chair, conflicted. He didn’t know if he should out Fennel after assuring him that both and Iris could be trusted.  “There might be, I don’t know. I have to do more research.”

Cisco hesitates. “Do you think maybe we should try the cops again? This is-I mean, Barry, we’re not detectives and this is beyond us at this point.”

Barry grits his teeth. “Look, I—”

“Barry.”

Something in Cisco’s tone makes Barry pause. The silence between them is tense and he dreads the words that will come out of his friend’s mouth.

“This isn’t something I want to be saying and it’s definitely not something I want to be saying to you of all people, but Barry, the reality is that something isn’t right here. This is out of our scope of abilities and we need to be smart about this.”

He feels like the air left his lungs and he needed to make a conscious effort to breathe in. A quiet voice in the back of his head knows this is true, but he can’t...he can’t abandon Iris. He can’t give up on her.

“This is the only thing I know to do.”

“Bar—”

Just then, the sound of a car door slamming shut catches his attention. It had come from next door.

Ignoring Cisco, Barry scrambles toward his window. If that was Joe, then there was no way he would miss the chance to corner her. And when he looks out the window, the sight before him nearly knocks the wind out of him.

Iris was walking up to the front door, her father’s arm around her. She looked unharmed but her face was drawn in a way he hadn’t ever seen before.

“Iris!” he calls out.

Joe and Iris both look up, but he doesn’t give them time to say anything before he runs out of his room, completely forgetting Cisco was on the phone.

He races down the stairs and practically barrels past the front door, but by the time he makes it outside, only Joe is waiting for him.

“Joe,” Barry exhales, already searching for Iris. “What’s going on?”

Joe looks at him with a grim expression and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Now’s not a good time, Bar. Give her some time.”

“T-time? What do you mean, what happened?” he stammers. “Is she ok? Is she hurt?”

The flurry of questions spills out of him as confusion takes over the relief. The weariness is heavy in Joe’s voice when he speaks.

“She and her mother had some trouble on their trip. Iris is fine, but she needs some rest. You can stop by tomorrow if you want, but for tonight, let it be.”

And without another word, Joe walks into the house, leaving Barry with more questions. What kind of troubles had Iris and her mother gotten into and why wouldn’t Iris want to see him?

Nothing made sense and he was at a loss, but as he looks up to see the light flicker on in Iris’s room, he lets himself exhale. She was safe. He needed to know more, but at least she was safe and that was enough for now.

So sorry for the long wait, guys! But now that Iris is back, I’m working to wrap things up soon.

#Westallen #Westallen Fanfic #Westallen Fanfiction #WA Fanfiction #WA Fanfic #WA AU #Westallan AU #HeroSavesPeople #Speak of the Trapped #I'm never again writing a multi-chap fic or at least posting it until it's all done #Wouldn't blame anyone for quitting this story lol hell I want to quit this story

[edsbrak]

let the light in

pairing: Steddie word count: 3k summary:  Eddie wants to have his first kiss. Stan unexpectedly volunteers.

Read on Ao3 here!

(a short n sweet little steddie drabble bc I love them and I couldn’t stop thinking about this prompt for weeks! I hope you guys like it! enjoy! xx)

Being in the Kaspbrak household always keeps Stan on edge – mainly because of the woman downstairs he and their group of friends all call ‘The Terminator’. Not in front of Eddie though, of course. Stan knows that even with how crazy she is, Eddie would still take offence to it, his small stature figuratively growing in what Stan believes is just Eddie defending himself instead, not her.

It’s only himself here at the moment, perched precariously on Eddie’s desk chair as said owner of the chair sits comfortably on his bedsheets, legs crossed as he nibbles absentmindedly at the end of his pencil. Stan wants so badly to rip it out of there, watching as the thin layer of mental bends with each bite of Eddie’s teeth.

Eddie had asked him earlier that morning at school if Stan could come over and help him with an assignment. He’d agreed, knowing Eddie must really be struggling if he was asking just Stan.

They’d ditched the other Losers and watched as they made their way over to the Aladdin as he and Eddie turned the other way. These days Mrs. K only ever let Eddie have friends over if it was for study purposes, and they’d both shown their math textbooks as proof when they’d walked through the front door not an hour ago.

“How are you going with question five?” he asks after a few minutes of silence have passed. Stan himself finished up 10 minutes ago, but Eddie hasn’t written anything down in that time, which Stan guesses means he’s struggling again.

“Fine,” Eddie lies.

Eddie knows how Stan feels about lying, so he must really be determined to work this out by himself. But it would only defeat the purpose of inviting Stan over to help him in the first place, so slowly Stan gets up to walk over to the bed and sit down on the edge.

“Really?”

Eddie huffs quickly before shifting his book up further to his face. Stan sighs gently and reaches out to lower it.

“Where are you stuck?” he asks.

Eddie’s mouth twists, and that’s one thing about Eddie that is like Mrs. K: they’re both stubborn in nature.

“Here, let me show you…” Stan says tentatively, trying not to sound pitying, knowing Eddie hates it whenever anyone treats him incapable of doing things.

He begins going over the numbers, being cautious not to talk too fast. The Losers were all in junior year at the moment, and both he and Eddie were taking advanced mathematics. Eddie because Mrs. K had it out for the other maths teacher at school and demanded he be transferred, and Stan because his parents discovered how well he could calculate when he was 10 and in his dad’s study counting up the bills.

When he’s done, Eddie mumbles out a small ‘thank you’ before he tries his hand at it. Stan watches on, shifting sideways on the bed so his back isn’t twisting uncomfortably anymore. Eddie’s nose scrunches up as he works, the end of his tongue peeking out occasionally as he writes down each equation. It’s endearing enough that Stan becomes distracted and misses the moment Eddie finishes writing the answer and he’s looking at Stan with a proud smile, eyes deep and wide.

Stan clears his throat before reading over Eddie’s reasoning, finding that it all checks out.

“Nice job,” Stan smiles back. “Pretty soon you’ll be making linear inequalities your bitch.”

Eddie fake gasps. “He swore.”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m funny either, or else I’ll have to kill you,” Stan whispers dangerously, and it only puts Eddie in a state of giggles. Stan finds he enjoys it very much.

They work on finishing up the next 4 questions together, each one longer than the last, their shoulders touching as they lean up against the wall. Eddie thinks if he can get them done quickly they can still meet up with the other Losers and maybe head down to the quarry and soak up the remaining hours of daylight. In a perfect world it might be possible, but Stan isn’t sure about Mrs. K letting their little club interrupt her son’s precious dinnertime.

By question 8 Stan gets up to use the toilet, going through the process of washing his hands three times before closing the door behind him. As he’s walking back, Eddie appears stuck again, looking anywhere but his textbook as he chews on his bottom lip.

“Everything okay?”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to meet his, and he looks away just as quickly. Stan frowns, wondering what could have happened in the time he was in the bathroom.

“Nothing, ‘s fine,” Eddie mutters.

“Clearly,” Stan challenges.

Neither say anything else for a beat, until Eddie’s shoulders unclench and he releases a deep sigh. He looks slightly uncomfortable and Stan can’t help but be a little on edge about it.

Finally, Eddie says, “Have you had your first kiss yet?”

Stan blinks, not expecting that to be the cause of Eddie’s stress. “What?”

“I feel like I’m the last one in the group to have a first kiss,” Eddie continues as if Stan hadn’t said anything. He’s twisting his pencil around, obviously nervous. “We know Bev, Bill and Richie have all kissed someone, right?”

Stan sighs softly. He sits down again where he’d been before, thinking over his next words carefully. “Well, I can’t say for sure about everyone. But…” he stops to swallow. “No, I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

Eddie doesn’t react with surprise like Stan had thought he might. He’s still biting his lip as he looks at something across the room, as if deep in thought. Stan is about ready to move on with this conversation and return Eddie’s focus to his homework, but Eddie isn’t finished with it yet, apparently.

“Stan, I…” he starts, gaze darting every which way before he shakes his head. “Um, never mind.”

There’s a feeling deep in Stan’s gut, an inkling to what might have been on the tip of Eddie’s tongue. It sends a shiver up his spine; unexpected, but not unwelcome. Mind working a mile a minute, he goes through all the ways in which this could be damaging territory; instincts yelling at him to let it go. But there is a small part of him, hidden deeper; a part he isn’t sure he was even aware of until right now, as if Eddie had unlocked it with his perfectly innocent question.

Breathing through his nose, Stan exhales with a tremble before uttering, “We can try it.”

Stan’s suspicions are confirmed when Eddie’s expression morphs into surprise.

“We can kiss.” Stan isn’t sure why he repeats his statement. To assure Eddie or himself, he doesn’t know. “That’s… would you like to?”

Almost in slow motion, Eddie nods in answer. His eyes are still blown wide, like he’s waiting for Stan to yell ‘Ha! As if I’d kiss you, weirdo!’ To show he’s serious, Stan removes the textbooks in Eddie’s lap and places them carefully off to the side out of harm’s way. Eddie is still frozen, and Stan stops to ask, “Eddie?”

Instantly he’s snapping out of it, but still looking unsure. “Right. Yep. Okay.”

“We don’t have to,” Stan offers gently.

Eddie is shaking his head again before Stan even finished. “No, I want to.” And he sounds genuine this time, eyes set as he glances down to Stan’s lips occasionally. “I trust you.”

Stan feels another thrill, trying to keep it under wraps because it seems like he’ll be taking the reins on this one, despite the both of them being unfamiliar in this area. The most Stan has ever seen of kissing is from his parents and the various movies they all watch together. Eddie on the other hand, Stan thinks, is less aware, only having Richie’s less than tact descriptions about him and some girl going at it behind the school’s sports shed.

“Okay, well…” Stan stops to think again. “Let’s get comfortable first, right?”

“R-right,” Eddie answers, but when he makes no move Stan takes initiative and scoots back to the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground. Eddie follows, his hand brushing against Stan’s as he goes. “Now what?”

“I guess we just… kiss?” At Eddie’s small noise that directly translates to ‘And?’, Stan clears his throat. “Alright. Well, when kissing, you close your eyes just before your lips touch.”

“Right,” Eddie nods, licking his lips almost subconsciously.

“And it’s best of your lips aren’t too wet, either,” Stan adds, hating when his aunts greet him at family gatherings with a spit-slick kiss on his cheek. Immediately Eddie is wiping at his lips with the back of his hand and Stan inwardly smiles. “Okay, we’ll start with a small kiss first; closed mouth.”

Eddie releases a slow breath, hands fisted into the sheets by his sides. Stan keeps one hand in his lap and the other on the bed next to Eddie to maintain some balance. Tentatively, he leans in, eyelids dropping halfway as he watches Eddie copy his movements. There’s no denying how badly Stan’s body is shaking right now, not wanting to screw this up as he puts on a front of faux confidence.

When their noses brush his skin tingles, and this close up, Stan can see Eddie’s freckles ever clearer than usual. Before he can chicken out, Stan closes the remaining gap and blindly finds Eddie’s lips in a soft kiss.

It lasts maybe 3 seconds, but for Stan, at least, it felt like a lifetime. A good one at that.

Simple, quick, foolproof.

They both draw back, and Eddie still has his eyes closed when Stan opens his.

“Was that okay?”

Eddie’s eventually flutter open, and Stan notices his cheeks are slightly flushed, eyes practically sparkling. “Yes.”

That one simple word is enough to have Stan boasting on the inside, completely chuffed he was able to give Eddie a nice first kiss after all. Feeling accomplished, he pulls back further to give Eddie his space, only Eddie doesn’t look relieved that it’s over, more like he’s shocked that Stan is moving away at all.

“Wait,” he says, his hand landing on Stan’s forearm quickly.

Stan gives him a curious look, trying not to linger on the heat emitting from Eddie’s skin. “What is it?” Perhaps he read the signs wrong and Eddie actually isn’t satisfied with that being his first kiss experience.

“Do you think…” Eddie’s hand grips tighter, almost fidgeting. “Can we… do it again?”

“You… want to do it again?” Stan repeats, more so making sure for his own sake.

“I mean, we don’t have to—” Eddie murmurs, withdrawing.

“No!” Stan interjects, lowering his voice when Eddie jumps slightly. “I mean – yes, I – I would like to.”

Eddie almost appears to sag in relief, energy giddy if Stan had to describe it somehow. They resume their previous positions, this time slightly closer than before.

“I know people begin to move their lips when they get more confident, right?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Stan says. Despite having just kissed each other, the thought of kissing Eddie again suddenly has Stan even more nervous than before. “Keep it slow and steady. Remember to breathe through your nose while you do it.”

“Okay.”

Stan’s pulse quickens when Eddie grabs onto his arm again, shifting in as close as they can possibly be while sitting side by side. They begin to lean in, eyes slipping shut when their lips are close enough, and it’s just as electric as before when they press together.

Stan tilts his head marginally, his free hand twitching with a need to grasp something. And then Eddie opens his mouth slightly and Stan follows suit, lips parting as his bottom lip slips in between Eddie’s own naturally. He can feel Eddie’s breath hitch, obviously forgetting to breath with his nose, but Stan can’t bring it in himself to stop and remind him, so incredibly overcome with glee as he slowly becomes lightheaded from the feeling of… everything.

He can hear the small wet sound when their lips separate, slow and intimate, and without realising what he’s doing, Stan reaches up to cup Eddie’s cheek to angle Eddie to his other side. Stan reconnects their mouths again, working in tandem as he guides Eddie through the motions of it. Stan can’t believe they’ve managed to get this far, and from the sounds of it, Eddie is pleased with the results.

Eddie makes another small noise, a happy one, Stan’s sure, and Eddie’s other hand moves up so he’s gripping both of Stan’s arms tightly, like he’s scared he might fall.

Only when an unexpected touch appears in the form of the tip of Eddie’s tongue does Stan draw back, slightly startled as he looks at Eddie questioningly. Eddie seems embarrassed until he starts to panic at Stan’s expression.

“Sorry, I’m—” he says through short puffs. “I didn’t know if – I – I thought that was the next step. At least, that’s what Bill and Richie say—”

At the mention of their friends names, Stan can’t help but fixate on it. The entire Losers club, sans Bill, are all aware of Eddie’s childhood crush on their unofficial group leader. Stan’s never stopped to ask Eddie if he still likes Bill, and now he’s wondering why that’s even something to worry about at all. But the thought of Eddie kissing someone else after this, of maybe just using Stan as a means to show Bill that he’s more mature and grown up now doesn’t sit right with Stan.

Mind clouded with Eddie and Eddie only, Stan shocks himself and reacts purely on impulse as he dives back in to claim Eddie’s lips. He ends up hitting the corner of Eddie’s mouth, and there’s a small struggle as they rearrange for a better fit, lips moving more urgently than they need to be as a wave of need and want washes over Stan unexpectantly.

Eddie releases his grips on Stan’s arms to grab the collar of his shirt instead, pulling him in impossibly closer as Stan cups both sides of Eddie’s face.

Lips detach and reattach, sharing breaths and teeth accidently bumping together. Feeling bold, Stan tries what Eddie had done and pokes his tongue out, slowly grazing over what he thinks is Eddie’s top lip. Eddie produces a noise that makes Stan’s blood pulse, buzzing all around him. Finally their tongues both touch, not delving deep but sliding together occasionally as Eddie’s hands roam up closer to Stan’s hair.

Stan doesn’t know how it got to this point and isn’t sure he cares. “Eddie,” he manages to whisper between their mouths, and Eddie takes this as a sign to draw his feet off the floor and twist, desperate to keep their lips connected as he moves.

Stan isn’t sure where he’s going until Eddie is trying to get one leg over Stan’s to land in the middle. Instinctively Stan allows it, nerves overwhelmed as Eddie towers over him and sucks all of the air out of his lungs, fingers pin-points of warmth along his skin.

It’s nothing like Stan thought it would be and everything he’s glad it is.

Just when Stan’s sure his heart is about to jackhammer right out of his chest, a shrill cry booms from downstairs.

“Eddie! Dinner!”

They practically jump apart as if they’ve been burned, Eddie stumbling back on the carpet as Stan stays locked on the bed. They’re both panting hard, faces flushed and lips shiny with spit. When Eddie makes no effort to answer his mother, she predictably calls up again.

“Eddie-bear!”

Eddie visibly swallows. Stan is thankful Mrs. K never wants to trek the short walk up the stairs, otherwise she might have caught them in the act, and there is no way that could ever end well.

“Coming, ma!” Eddie manages to get out.

As if his ass is suddenly on fire, Stan shoots up from the bed and begins to pack up his things at the same time he tries to calm his body down.

“I’ll, um…” he begins, zipping his bag all the way over and hiking it over his shoulders. “I should go.”

“Right,” Eddie says, voice small.

Neither make a move for a few seconds, just staring at each other like their brains were just now finally catching up on everything that just transpired. It honestly felt like a fever dream, like stepping out of the twilight zone and back into reality after years without it. Stan can’t believe his first ever kiss was with Eddie of all people, and even more surprising he can’t think of one single fault in that knowledge now. It just feels right.

Clutching his backpack straps, Stan nods and begins the walk downstairs with Eddie in tow. Mrs. K is in the lounge room, dinner set up on the small table next to her, and she looks over at the two boys when they pass.

“Did you get your homework done, Eddie?” she asks.

“Yes, mommy,” Eddie mumbles.

“Good boy.”

There’s a lot Stan wishes he could say but knows he can’t. Instead, he says his goodbyes to Eddie before reaching for the doorknob, heart still beating fast even when he steps outside into the fresh air. He takes a moment to compose himself, straightening out his collar and hair as he sucks in several deep breaths.

As he starts to walk away, the shocking revelation in the pit of his stomach only seems to grow, desperate to find out exactly what was going to happen now that he and Eddie shared a moment together that Stan would argue was anything but a friendly lesson of kiss-and-tell. And before he can fester anymore on it, he hears the familiar creek of the front door opening and small, fast steps running after him.

“Stan!”

Stan turns around, about to ask Eddie what could be wrong, but his words are silenced when Eddie leans up to kiss him swiftly.

“Oh,” Stan says when it’s over, unable to think of anything else.

Eddie is already stepping away, expression shocked like he’s surprised by his actions, and he leaves Stan with these parting words: “See you tomorrow in class?”

Stan simply nods, watching as Eddie disappears back up into his house.

Maybe it’s not the exact answer his fast-working mind wants right now, but in his heart, he knows it’s the best one he could have gotten.

Stan smiles all the way home.

#steddie #my fics #pure fluff honestly #spread the love!!

[tinkdw]

Purely speculative, but Crowley takes Cas and Dean out clubbing (Sam wisely stays home, because hell no, he's not opening that can of worms). Tell me all about what happens.

I don’t know how, this turned into my like 2nd ever ficlet. Don’t judge me.

Dean tells Cas theres no way he can go dressed like that, so he takes a good 30 minutes fussing over him, making him change his shirt so often Cas thinks he might as well go shirtless, given how long it takes Dean to actually pass him the shirt each time. Cas is a little exasperated because “Dean, I don’t want to impress people I don’t know”, but really he loves this intimate time together, he’s able to stare into Dean’s face unquestioned the whole time he is fixing his hair from the front and Dean’s smile when he’s done and happy with his work is definitely worth it.

Crowley picks them up, looking totally smart and even gets a “looking good!” from Dean and a little scowl from Cas, so he knows he must do.

Crowley gets their drinks, a bottle of premium imported beer for Dean, Cas doesn’t know what he likes yet, he’s only been human a week and didn’t really drink much last time, so he ask for the same as Dean but Dean insists he “live a little, try something new” so Crowley chooses for him and goes for something middle ground, not too sweet, not too sour, a Mojito. He, of course, gets his traditional Pina Colada and when they don’t have an umbrella, cos it’s not the classiest of joints, he sighs and conjures one himself, it’s just not the same without one.

They sit for a long while and Cas gets a little jittery, “Dean why is this deemed fun? It’s just loud, we could have stayed home and drank beer, although this mojito is excellent, thank you Crowley”. So Dean explains that people usually come to these places to do a little dancing and hook up with someone they find, Cas is a little crest fallen but suggests they do that then, if that’s the point then it must be why Crowley and Dean wanted to come in the first place.

So Dean leads the way to the dance floor, Crowley following and Cas pulling up the rear a little sullenly. Crowley of course has excellent moves, the other two are a little surprised but not really. Cas is so stiff it’s unreal, he looks totally uncomfortable and like he’s hating every second. Crowley takes pity, he knows the situation, he knows the three of them have a strange dynamic and even if he does, partly, think wistfully of Dean and their time together, he knows it would never have really lasted and that these two really need a shove in the right direction, Hell, maybe it would help him move on too seeing them finally address it.

So Crowley shoves Dean towards Cas and yells over the music “just put him out of his misery and show him what to do will you? He’s showing us all up!”.

Dean looks a little torn but, seeing the look of concentration on Cas’ face as he tries to awkwardly move his hips in some kind of bad karaoke impression of Crowley and Dean’s moves, looking thoroughly adorable. Dean takes on his resolve and grabs Cas by the hips, Cas’ face takes on a look of surprise, softening into gratitude.

They sway and move for a while, Dean’s face also softening and although he tries so hard, dammit, he can’t help but raise his eyes and look deeply into those shy but resolute blue orbs and his breath catches. 

Inevitably though, Dean catches someones eye.

An attractive brunette sidles over and taps him on the shoulder, as he turns, tearing his eyes away from Cas’ she comes in close to his ear as says “wow, you’re such a good friend! that’s so… hot”. Dean raises an eyebrow and she continues, trying desperately to tear him away, while Cas looks on and decides that this must be what Dean meant, to meet up with someone was the goal right? To shag Dean Winchester…

By the time Dean has gone backwards and forwards, repeating himself a few times and politely turned her down he turns back and realises Cas is gone. He sees Crowley dancing with a pair of what seem to be friends, a young man and woman, who then turn to each other, smile, then both wink at Crowley. He must have sensed Dean watching as he turns back to Dean and winks himself with a brilliant smile on his face. Typical, Dean thinks, but he’s glad his friend can have this, it’s been too long since he’s seen him really embracing life like this and with all he’s done for them and the world he’s glad for it. Crowley gestures towards the bar and mouths “that way”, then turns back to his new ‘friends’.

At the bar, Dean can see Cas, head bowed and rolling in his hand what seems to be a shot glass, then Dean notices the 3 other shot glasses in front of him, empty. He strides over and slides an arm around Cas’ shoulder, to which Cas nearly jumps off the bar stool and still looks shocked when he sees Dean taking a seat next to him.

“So, are you going to go home with her?” he asks, his face looking crestfallen though he is trying to hold it back, Dean can tell, he knows Cas and Cas is not that great at hiding his emotions, being new to it and all. Dean sighs and replies “no, she wasn’t really my type”. Cas looks up at him, a little perkier and puts the shot glass down, his hand subconsciously dropping to Dean’s knee, before he realises and pulls it away quickly, looking away again. Dean thinks, Hell, we’ve beaten around this bush for long enough, so he decides to go for it “and anyway, why would I choose someone I don’t know over someone I care about, who let me fuss over them and choose between a zillion shirts, just to see me smile”.

Cas raises his eyes looking pretty awestruck and Dean gives him his most dazzling smile, which Cas returns so immediately that Dean can’t help himself, he leans forwards, pulling Cas in by the arm he still has draped over his shoulder. He hesitates for just a moment, he realises he’s leading this so far and Cas has just downed who knows how much alcohol. He really shouldn’t take advantage of him, so he hesitates, thinks, maybe it’s best to leave it here. He starts to pull back and it’s Cas who finally finds his way to him, just before their lips touch Dean thinks he hears a low, rumbling “Deeeean”. 

It’s tentative, just a peck really, they pull back and search each others’ eyes, then Dean thinks, screw it, we know we both want this and we’ve wanted it for so long, sober and drunk, dead and alive, he remembers having lost Cas so recently, that he is now human and can experience this all for the first time, it’s Deans duty to make it a good and memorable moment for Cas, they know it’s going to last, this is it for Dean and he has a strong feeling that is reciprocated, so he grabs Cas by the shirt, the painfully chosen shirt that shows Cas’ arms and chest of just right, and pulls him in, this time for a rougher, more insistent kiss. 

Dean feels rather than hears Cas’ moan and feels hands fly up, one to his cheek and the other into his hair, giving it a little tug that drives Dean wild. Without even realising what he’s doing he slides from his seat and crowds into Cas’ space, pushing between his bent legs, kissing, kissing, kissing, until they breathlessly part, he looks up into a huge smile plastering Cas’ face.

“So boys, it didn’t take much did it? I thought I’d have to wait at least an hour, you didn’t even make it past 30 minutes!” Crowley smirks at them, having rocked up and clearly witness at least the last part of this exchange, an arm around each of the pair he himself is clearly taking home. Dean points at him “You watch your mouth” but smiles freely back. It is so freeing, being here with these two, Crowley clearly having a good time and moving on, Cas just so… perfect.

Crowley tosses him a key “Here, I reserved you a room, it’s a classy joint so don’t ruin my reputation ok? It’s plenty provisioned, I’m taking these two there myself, we can meet up for breakfast” he winks and exits, an arm around each of his conquests.

Cas leaps from his chair, drags Dean in for a long kiss and grabs Dean’s hand with the key, tugging him towards the door “come on Dean, we’ve waited long enough, we’re going... now”. Dean’s mind races with anticipation and exhilaration as to exactly what he’s going to be in for. Whatever it is, Cas is definitely keen to get going as soon as possible and Dean feels like he’s positively skipping with happiness behind him.

He’ll thank Crowley in the morning.

#destiel #destiel ficlet #kinda? #gosh i never do these I'm terrible at them #what happened #it just came out! #drowley #crowley #the love chevron #tinks ficlet #thayerkerbasy

[lolcat76]

This is definitely not Mia and definitely not a request for a Bill/Laura vampire au. But you should write one anyway. NOT THAT YOU HEARD IT FROM HER.

Ok, anon who is definitely not @okaynextcrisis, have some vampire fic.

The worst part about being undead in Los Angeles was thefood. Oh God, the food. It had been centuries since Laura first claimed a homein the dusty settlement of Los Angeles, and in that time, she’d seen an entire,sprawling city of immigrants sprout up around her. Each neighborhood rich withhistory and flavor and culture, and the spices…they perfumed the air, anise andchipotle and basil, and a hundred other spices she’d never had a chance totaste.

She walked through the streets of Koreatown, Little Tokyoand Echo Park in the early evening, stopping before nondescript storefrontswhere people stood in lines for local favorites. She could have gone to BeverlyHills to catch a whiff of the latest celebrity chef’s newest vanity project,but it was the local haunts that drew her in. Sometimes she wandered for hours upand down Highland, waiting for the Hollywood Bowl to let out and the hot dogvendors to fire up their makeshift shopping cart cooktops, the scent of grilledonions rich and heavy in the air.

If she tried hard enough to remember, she could almost taste it.

That’s the part they always left out about becoming avampire – eternal youth and beauty were all well and good, but blood tastedlike blood, thick and salty and metallic, no matter who it was from or whatthey’d eaten for dinner. If she knew then what she knew now, she’d have justdied of smallpox like the rest of her family and taken her chances in theafterlife. She bet Heaven had hot sauce, at least.

***

She left the Cinerama Dome after the late showing of thelatest girl power movie. Sunset Boulevard, this late at night and this fareast, was sketchy at best. The only people on the streets were the homeless,trying desperately to get comfortable for the night in the doorways of closedsouvenir shops, and the creeps drifting from one strip club to another.

She was hungry – the lingering scent of buttered popcornclinging to her hair was almost enough to drive her mad – but she wasn’t monsterenough to kill someone who society had already done its best to destroy, andshe just didn’t have the stomach to get close enough to the overly cologned,greasy assholes with a wad of dollar bills in their pockets that were stumblingout of the Seventh Veil.

She’d just have to skip dinner and head home. Laura strolledup Cahuenga, sharing the sidewalks with the other poor, unfortunate souls whowere forced to walk, rather than drive. Most of the people she passed didn’t botherto make eye contact. LA was, even in broad daylight, a cordially unfriendlytown, and her ivory skin – far too pale and cold for Southern California –marked her as enough of an outsider that people gave her a wide berth withouteven giving much thought to what exactly it was about her that made them shiver.

Funny that they consider her the stranger, since she’d livedin Los Angeles before California even gained statehood, but it had been decadessince she let that bother her.

She made her way up Cahuenga, past the fancy hotels andhipster bars that were still going strong. Past the CVS and the 7-Eleven (she’dalways wondered what a Slurpee tasted like), past the few people she’d knownfor generations who were just looking for their next meal. She nodded at them,and they nodded in return. They had an unspoken agreement – she stayed out oftheir way, and they stayed out of hers, and the bodies they racked up were foundfar from their neighborhood.

Of course, the vampires who took up residence in the Valleyprobably had a problem with that, but that’s what they got for settling in the armpitof Los Angeles.

She was just coming up to Franklin, just a block from therent-controlled walkup where she’d lived for decades (and thank heavens forslumlords who never bothered to knock on her door when it came time to renewher lease), when she caught a whiff of cumin in the air.

A heady, fragrant aroma, cutting through the reek of cookingoil. Mmmm, Mexican food. There was no shortage of Mexican in LA, but somethingabout the little shop on the corner drew her in. Why where they still open at2am?

Unlike the cheap pizza places on Hollywood Boulevard, theshop didn’t have a line. She was far enough into residential territory that shewas fairly certain that the bulk of tonight’s menu was being prepared fortomorrow’s breakfast rush. Still, it smelled almost heavenly, and she hadnothing else to do with her night, so she went in.

The seating area was bare bones at best – cheap plastictables and chairs, but the floor plan was open enough that she could stand atthe counter and watch the cook flip meat on the grill and pull fryer basketsout of the hot oil. His face was heavily scarred – could have been from acne,could have been from spending years standing in front of a deep fryer. She usedto have scars too, once upon a time, but now her skin was perfect, a completelyblank canvas.

She wanted to know what stories those scars would tell.

“Menu’s on the counter,” he said.

Food, right. She could order something, take it home, andbreathe it in until the smell of rot overpowered the cumin and cilantro. Or,when she got home, she could give it to Gina, the woman who lived in a tentjust outside her building and babbled about the end of days.

Or, she could forget about the menu altogether and sample adifferent kind of food. He wasn’t young, but he looked healthy enough. He wasclearly strong, but he didn’t have the wiry build that got stuck in her teeth.He was solid. Comfortable, shethought, before she brushed the word away.

Comfortable was her sheets and the mattress she’d stolenfrom a producer that was too drunk to notice that she didn’t want to screw himbefore she drained him of blood. Comfortable was things, not people.

“if you see something you like, let me know.” He flipped thechicken on the grill. “We’re closing soon, but I could be persuaded.” He tosseda grin at her.

So many men had used variations of the same line, so manytimes, and so many of them had ended exactly the same way. She made a show ofpatting her pockets. “I can’t find my glasses, and I can’t read the menuwithout them. Can you help, Mr….?”

“Adama. Bill Adama. Sure,” he said. The part of her thatused to be alive envied how easily he came to the counter, leaning into her ashe pointed out the house specials. He had no fear of her. Didn’t even noticethat her mouth was watering as he talked.

Oh, to be a man.

He was just launching in to his description of his family’srecipe for menudo when she struck, lightning fast. She sank her teeth into thethick cords of his neck.

Just as quickly, she pulled back and wiped at the stingingon her lips. Garlic. Good God, did the man bathein the stuff?

He brushed at the side of his neck as though he was swattinga fly. Didn’t even notice the two tiny droplets of blood forming.

“Garlic,” he said pleasantly. “Good for the immune system.Keeps you alive, or so my abuela told me.”

“Smart woman,” Laura conceded with a huff. She crossed herarms and glared at him, and he mimicked her pose.

“So, I guess you’re not here for the food?”

“Well, not anymore.”

His lips twitched.

She was over three hundred years old, had killed countlessstronger, younger men, and he was laughing at her. She was half tempted tobreak his neck out of spite, or to drain him anyway and let the garlic knockher out for as long as it took to work its way out of her system. She lickedher lips again. Garlic, yes, but underneath that, a hint of cumin and…was that…cinnamon?

“God, you’re delicious,” she whispered before she could stopherself.

His grin became a full-on belly laugh, and because Laurastill had a sense of humor after all these years, she laughed with him. Helaughed until he couldn’t breathe, and Laura, who hadn’t drawn a breath since thedays of Junipero Serra, patted him on the back until color finally came back tohis face.

“Been a long time since a woman told me that,” he said.

“I’m sure,” she said demurely. It had been a long time sinceher dinner had flirted with her, but he was most definitely trying to charmher. She hated to admit it, but it was working. “Garlic, huh? Your abuela musthave had some interesting stories.”

“Not nearly as many as my abuelo. Came back from the GreatWar a changed man, to hear him tell it.”

The bell over the door rang, and Laura glanced over hershoulder to see a very familiar, if unwelcome, face. She was still on the fenceabout killing Bill, but she wasn’t going to let this smooth-talking upstarthone in on her territory. Again.  “Lee.”

“Laura.”

“Abuelo.”

Laura’s head snapped back. What?

Bill shrugged and grinned at her again. “LA. What can I tellyou? It’s a strange town.”

#spaceparents fic #lolcat fic #Laura Roslin #Bill Adama #spaceparents au #who doesn't love a story about food? #Anonymous

[akiameokami]

Finals? What finals?.....

Rhys is a college student struggling with finals. Feeling the need for something other than studying Rhys goes out to a grungy club.

That is where Jack comes in, well not litterally yet.

"Aaaghhh!" Rhys exclaims as he shuts his computer, not caring about whether it saved the paper or not. Let's be realistic, that paper was forced and it sucked. It was also due by midnight tomorrow though so he had some time. He looks around at the books, notes and crumpled papers scattered around him. It looks like such a mess but at the same time it screams "College Finals Week!". Rhys scrunches up his nose in disgust. To hell with this. He pulls his phone over and makes a few calls.

"Vaughn! Bro, hey I was wondering. You wanna go get something to drink?" Rhys asked into the line in his most annoyingly charming voice. He heard a snort from the other end of the line.

"Don't blow off your finals Rhys. I have to study and so do you. Goodluck!" He called and then hung up. That twit. I mean, sure he is right but that isn't what Rhys wants to hear right now.

"Yvette? Got any new clubs you want to check out?" Rhys asks tentatively to his other best friend over the phone.

"Rhysssss, you know the answer is yes. BUT not right now. Do you have any idea how to deduct and analyze Michelangelo?! This lunatic has no articulable thoughts in his paintings! I just... UGH!" She ranted from the other end. Rhys muttered his apologies and said goodbye. That was obviously a no.

He called a couple more people but they were all doing what he should be. He was almost tempted to call Vasquez just because Rhys knew he'd get him into some trouble. Wait, is that what he is looking for tonight? Trouble?

Sounds good to me.

Screw friends! Rhys could have fun on his own, or pick someone up along the way. After a quick shower, some hair gel and some atrociously colorful pants (teal with a yellow belt) he was ready to go! Except, he wasn't sure which club he was heading to. After a quick google search of some fun new clubs he decided with one named "Fake it". The website looked very edgy and just gave a lasting impression.

One taxi ride later Rhys was walking into Fake it with a grin on his face. He could feel the base before he even got inside but once the doors opened the base was shaking him to his core. Good choice, Rhys, good choice.

 POV switch

Jack was sitting in the corner by the bar, minding his own business (Okay, he was really watching the door looking for fresh meat) when he couldn't help but gawk at the pair of legs that just walked in. He follow the teal skinny jeans up, noted the stylish bright yelled belt wrapped around that slim waist, thought about how easy the buttons on that shirt would come off, but damn. He was not prepared for the face. The kid was hot. A mixture of giddiness and frustration on his face, Jack could tell what type of night he was looking for.

Before Jack could navigate to the kid some predators had already moved in. A greasy looking guy led him onto the dance floor and started bouncing along to the music. It didn't take long for him to close the personal space between them and he started reaching his hands into places hands shouldn't be if they aren't wanted. Jack clenched his jaw at the sight, already feeling possessive over the gangly cupcake of a kid, but he wasn't gonna be a dick. If that kid wanted to dance with the slime ball, he could. So Jack would restrain himself until he saw signs of discomfort. If he could manage, that is.

POV switch

"Hey beanstalk, wanna dance? My name is Gabe." An older man with a wiry smile said, extending a hand to Rhys. He was skeptical but he did come out for a good time, so Rhys went with him. The music in this place was pretty good and Rhys was really getting into the rhythm when he felt Gabe grab his waist. A little weird but what ever, Rhys kept dancing. Then Gabe slid one hand down to squeeze Rhys's butt cheek. This caught his attention. Rhys stopped bouncing and push away from him, but he kept a firm hold and tried to pull Rhys even closer. "What's a little foreplay, hmmm?" The guy whispered in Rhys's ear before he tried licking behind it. Okkayy! That was a turn off. Rhys reached his hand back and grabbed the wrist of Gabes hand that was on his butt and whispered into his ear, "Get that OFF of me and get off to some one else tonight." He squeezed the guys wrist and felt him pull away a little; however, the look on the mans face wasn't one to mess with. The hand that had been on his waist moved up and grabbed his throat, gripping tight enough to leave a bruise. "You don't seem to understand what's going to happen tonight." He said in a threatening voice, the look in his eyes were dead serious.

POV switch

There it was, the sign he needed. The kid pushed the slime ball away. Jack was taking his time to get over there until he saw the man grab his throat. Jack was not having that. Jack grabbed Slimy's hair and yanked his head back. "Get your hand off of his throat before I slit yours wide open!" He growled in the mans ear. The hands instantly fell as words of apology started leaking out of his mouth. Jack just rolled his eyes and started to pull him to the floor when the kid kneed the slime ball in the balls! Jack just stared at him amused and let the other one go. He promptly crawled away as Jack introduced himself to the kid. "Hey there, Pumpkin. My name is Jack but you can call me Handsome."  He gave a huge smile and extended his hand. Oh, how he wanted those legs wrapped around him till morning.  

POV switch

Rhys was seriously about to woop this grown mans butt until a devilishly handsome man pulled him away and did a much better job at threatening him than Rhys had. One quick look at the newcomer and Rhys knew what he was doing tonight. Remembering what had just happened, he felt the need to add his own damage to Gabe. So he firmly planted his knee in the older mans balls. The pained squeak that left the man's mouth made the new comer give a toothy smile.

"Hey there, Pumpkin. My name is Jack but you can call me Handsome." The man said as he walked a little closer to Rhys. The nickname sent a chill down his spine as Rhys wrapped his arms around Jack's neck, pulling him into him.

"My name is Rhys but you can call me anything you want." He said as he started to dance again. Jack just laughed as he started dancing along.

It didn't take long for the two gentlemen to start grinding intensely against each other. The foreplay was fun but Rhys really felt a hard-on coming and didn't want it in the middle of a dance floor. Jack must have been thinking the same thing because he whispered low into his ear, "Want to go somewhere else?". Rhys nodded his head in response. Jack lead him outside and up to a... Motorcycle. Nice.

"Where to, cupcake?" Jack asks as he passes Rhys a helmet. Rhys is slightly surprised by the helmet, Jack doesn't seem like a guy who likes to play it safe. "Uh.. Anywhere you wanna go?" He asks unsure of whether it's okay to say "your place!" or not. Jack raises an eyebrow at him and pulls him in by the waist. He whispers in his ear with a slight growl, "Don't make this my choice if you are ready for the consequences." His lips slightly brush Rhys's ear as he speaks. He is ready, yep, so ready. Never been more ready in fact. Rhys kisses Jack and nips at his lips, the look of surprise on the older mans face makes his heart race. "Oh I'm ready, Daddy." Rhys teases with a smirk as he pulls back and makes a show of getting his gangly leg over the motorcycle. He wasn't sure how Jack felt about being called daddy, it was a risk but he got the feeling that Jack may have been into that type of thing.

"Fuck..." Rhys hear Jack exclaim as a result of the teasing. Rhys looked the man over and he seemed to be a little speechless, he was definitely pleased. As Jack mounted the motorcycle he gave Rhys's knee a rough squeeze. "You ever rode one of these before?" Jack asked as he started the bike up. "Nope! But I love riding things!" Rhys yelled into Jacks ears. Jack shot him a stern look, but he had a twisted smile on his face. What? Rhys didn't care about being forward.

A fast ride later Rhys is left breathless as Jack pulls through a gate and drives up to an impressive private studio apartment. Surprisingly it was actually very near to his college, which was pretty perfect if anything went wrong.

Rhys followed Jack up the stairs and into the building in a somewhat awkward silence. Why the sudden awkwardness?

"Alright cupcake, welcome to my house. Sorry if it is kinda messy. I don't usually bring people home so... yeah. Want anything to drink?" Jack said, a little uneasy. He kept eyeing Rhys like he wanted to rip his clothes off but he was trying to be polite. Screw that. Rhys strode confidently (or at least that's what he wanted it to look like) over to Jack and grabbed the collar of the mans shirt, pulling him into a kiss. It was rough and their teeth knocked a few times but that was all the invite that Jack needed. Soon he took charge, grabbing a handful of Rhys's hair and supporting the kids back as he kissed him. Jack is a good kisser. Rhys was breathless and a little wobbly in the legs by the time Jack pulled away.  Jack brushed some hair out of Rhys's face as he stared at him. The mans mismatched eyes were intimidating but their stare lit a fire inside of Rhys. "Where should we start?" Jack asks as he pulls Rhys until he is pressing against him fully. "The kitchen?" He asks as he kissed Rhys forehead. "The living room?" he says with a kiss on the neck. "The shower?" He asks as he slides his hand under Rhys's shirt, brushing over he stomach softly until he finds his nipples and teases them gently. "The bedroom?" Jack says with a slight growl as his other hand fondles Rhys through his jeans. Rhys is clinging to him for stability and doesn't want to wait any longer. "Let's start there." He says before Jack gives him another option.

Jack leans forward and picks the kid up at the waist. He smirks as Rhys wraps his legs around him and holds on while he moves them to the bedroom. Yeah, those are some nice legs.

Jack sat Rhys down on the bed with a thud and then went to get the condoms and lube. Rhys was already undressing when Jack got back in the room. "You weren't kidding when you said you were ready, huh?" Jack asks with a pleased voice as he starts to rustle his own shirt off.

"Nope." Rhys says as his helps Jack with his pants. Rhys pulls down Jacks boxers and gets a good look at the massive cock that's perked up in front of him.

"Wanna taste?" Jack genuinely questions him as Rhys licks his lips. Rhys nods his head as he slowly leans forward and begins what Jack will remember as the best blow job he's ever had. The way the kid moved combined with those mismatched, teary eyes looking up at him. It really did it for Jack. Jack ran his fingers through Rhys's hair, gripping tightly and pulling his head back before he came. Jack came with a slight grunt as he released all over the kids face, that wasn't exactly his kink but he didn't want Rhys trying to swallow it. Rhys pouted up at him a little as he waited for Jacks queue. "Don't worry kitten, it's my turn to spoil you." Jack says with a growl as he slides Rhys onto his back while planting traveling kisses along his jawline and neck. Rhys was very surprised with how gentle Jack was. The man was full of fierce and wild energy, but the way he caressed Rhys and fucked him gently was something out of this world. It almost felt as if Jack cared about him and Rhys needed that. Jack was the type of lover who worked Rhys open nice and slow, just to watch him squirm. He nipped the inside of his thighs, leaving red marks as Rhys moaned at the little sparks of pain. When he finally pushed into Rhys, he did it nice and slow so that the kid was begging for him to hurry. Once he started thrusting in, he had a rhythm to him that was almost beastly to Rhys, not that was in the frame of mind to think about it. And that was just the first round. Jack get Rhys moaning and gasping all night as they took turns finding each others sweet spots. Rhys had been looking for trouble but he found something better.

 Rhys woke up to two muscle bound arms wrapped warmly around him. He snuggled in slightly to Jacks test. Finally, this is what his life was missing. Finally... Finall.. FINALS! Rhys sat up in a fluster, looking for his underwear, as he remembered that he had a thesis to finish! Jack sat up and looked around with a sleepy haze in his eyes. "Where's the fire?!" He says in a grumpy voice. "Uh no... sorry there isn't one, I just.. I am a college student and I have a thesis and.. sorry." Rhys says distractedly while he tries to find all his clothing. Where is his damn belt?

"Wait... you're a college student?" Jack says, wide awake now. Rhys slows down and sees the alarm in his eyes. "Yes? Is that a problem?" he asks with concern. "What class are you trying to finish your thesis for?" Jack asks with curiosity. "Uh... my sociology/psychology hybrid course. It is online and the teacher is a dick." Rhys says with a frown as he thinks about the rigorous assignments that he has almost died doing this past semester. Jack flops back in bead and cackles loudly while holding his head. "This is ridiculous.." He mutters after his wild laughter.

"You think my agony is funny?" Rhys asks, pretty offended. Jack sits up with a stern look on his face.

"No, I think it's funny that last night you were sucking my dick and this morning you're calling me a dick." Jack manages to say with a straight face.

Wait a second... WAIT A SECOND! "You're my teacher?" Rhys questions as he sits down on the edge of the bed. "Fuck.." he exclaims as he puts his head in his hands. This wasn't good, he was gonna fail that class now. Not to mention he thought he'd just met a nice guy and turns out, he hates him. Jack rubs his hand up and down Rhys's back in a comforting manner as he slides over to the kid.

"Rhys, you're a good student. You have A's and enough extra credit to pass without a thesis. I don't know why you're so stressed about the final." Jack says in a soothing manner. Rhys looks at him in bewilderment.

"Are you serious? Do you know how hard I've tried to please you this semester?! And I was actually succeeding?!" Rhys yells in frustration. This teacher had killed his social life, sent him into severe depressed mood swings multiple times and made him question himself as a person multiple times and here he is telling him that he did good?!

"Rhys, I know this is awkward but yeah, you are an amazing student and have real promise in both sociology and psychology. I have really enjoyed having you as a student." Jack sits up so that he can have a proper conversation with the unstable kid sitting in front of him. "I didn't know that you were my student when I brought you home last night, just so we are clear. BUT, I would like to keep seeing you once you submit that final." Jack says confidently while holding Rhys's hand captive. 

Rhys looks up at Jack in surprise, "Hell yeah!" He responds in excitement. Jack chuckles a little and gives Rhys the "You sure?" look.

"Yes Jack, I mean, you're actually an awesome guy and... I just.. Please? Can we?" Rhys asks back to him as he gives him his best puppy dog eyes.

Jack leans in and kisses his forehead and whispers, "Anything for you Rhysie."  

Needless to say, Rhys got an A- on his thesis. Professor dick thought that it felt "rushed" but considering Rhys typed it up on the professors private laptop in the final hour before the deadline, that made sense.

#Rhack #Rhys #Handsome Jack #Borderlands #College student AU #Aki writes stuff #my writing