#Was I moving from WIP to WIP like I was playing hot potato with them deciding what I was able to write?
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Title: Build Me Up, Buttercup
Words: 4,473
Rated: General, there’s no smut. Idk, teen and up. There's Kissing and Thoughts but no smut
(pspsps it's on Ao3, too)
Creative liberties taken with/setup for this fic: Reid has an uncle who owned an old house 20 mins away from work. He passed, so it went to his mum, but his mum is in Bennington, so it’s fallen to Reid. Going by the age and poor state of it, it really might fall down though.
Dr. Spencer Reid needs some sort of builder.
Derek Morgan is some sort of builder.
Between the fees for Bennington, his own apartment and utilities, and his constant take-out when home (which isn’t nicely covered by a meal allowance from work), Spencer was stretched thin financially.
Finding out that he’d inherited a house a tolerable distance from work where he wouldn’t have to pay rent, or a mortgage, seemed too good to be true. Standing in the entryway now with flecks of paint on the floor that came off of the peeling walls and ceiling, it became a bit more believable for Spencer.
He walked around and assessed the house. He was a handyman by no definition, and wouldn’t dream of carpentry work by his own efforts, but it would be costly.
He’d be able to stay in the house now, and rent a storage unit for the bulk of his belongings. That’d be cheaper than rent at his apartment, and the funds saved could go towards paying someone who fixes houses like this for a living.
Returning home after a gruelling case, Spencer wanted nothing more than to fall in bed and not get up for maybe a week. Yet, he also didn’t want to get in the clean sheets without having a shower, and also didn’t have the energy for a shower. A tired, frustrated huff passed his lips before he fell onto the couch, bent his legs, and pulled his barely used laptop over to rest on his lap.
He pushed the screen back and started typing at an angle he knew would have his wrists protesting soon enough, and started looking for someone to help with restorations.
Spencer was growing concerned that restorations would cost quite a bit more than he’d bargained for. The companies he’d found initially hid a lot of their pricing in obscure parts of their websites. The most alarming were those with no pricing details listed anywhere, but incredible, old mansions in like-new condition splashed all over their pages.
With renewed energy, Spencer was pushed into researching and hunting until the sky started to show signs of lighter hues in anticipation of the dawn. But, he’d done it. He’d found an individual contractor who had good reviews in spades until a project five months ago. A negative review gained a lot of traction for a one-man business, and then there wasn’t much after that. They’d relocated, conveniently close enough to Spencer where he might be able to hire their services. Spencer sent an email that he’d deliberated over the wording of for 17 minutes before hitting send.
After, he found himself with enough energy to shower and finally collapse in bed.
It was after another case away from home that Spencer could finally meet the contractor he might be hiring, and he’d used all his free time studying before they were set to meet at his house.
He’d bought a secondhand bookshelf just to hold the books he’d bought and borrowed from the library. Behind the bookshelf, just incidentally really, were a few small sections of bare wall where old paint had been sanded away.
Spencer’s fingertips were still raw from handling the sandpaper for so long, and he hadn’t considered chemical paint stippers until the next day. He was keeping that knowledge to himself for as long as he could.
He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door. He’d almost ran to pull it open, and then decided it felt a bit strange to answer it so quickly, so had a purposeful slow breathing moment to himself before actually opening the door.
Somehow, he was embarrassed about having someone come into the house; there were paint flecks everywhere, and webs that he didn’t want to move because who was he to ruin the spider’s house? They were there before he was, actually. The floors were in some sort of state that he didn’t know how to explain, but they needed love and care he wasn’t skilled to give.
Additionally, parts of the floor creaked underfoot that made him think of a very budget nightingale floor. Suddenly, he couldn’t recall if they’d alerted his visitor to how fast he’d moved to answer their knock.
“Mr Reid, right?”
“Uh, Dr Reid, actually. But um, but just ‘Reid’ works fine as well.” The man before him raised his brows before nodding, then gestured to the house behind Spencer.
“Alright, Reid, I’m Derek Morgan. Care to show me around? I’d like to see what I might be getting into.”
I know what I’d like you to get into. Spencer almost choked at the thought; Morgan was a treat to the eyes, and he hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. He felt he might not be able to continue with his plan at this point.
“Y-yeah, sure. Uh, come in?”
The more he walked around the house, the more animated Derek seemed to become. His hands were non-stop as he smoothed them over old wood, pointed out craftsmanship time had not been kind to, and gestured a lot while explaining how he could fix these things for Reid.
It was quite a lot to take in for the academic, so unused to physical labour like that Derek did for a living. The dark cloud of concern was held at bay, however, by the bright excitement and energy Derek was exuding.
They made their way back to the front entryway when the tour was over, and Spencer’s fingers were twisting together in anticipation of a quote for the work.
“Alright, pretty boy, you got a lot of good here that needs only a little elbow grease to really stand out. But you’ve also got some things just shy of actual structural work that needs more careful handling. I think-”
“Ah, sorry, but before you go on. Would uh, would the cost be reduced by uh, an additional helper?”
The light dimmed a little, and a tinge of disappointment coloured Derek’s next words.
“I don’t play well with others, man, I wish you’d told me about other workers on site right at the start. I don’t-”
“Sorry to cut you off a second time but I-I don’t mean I’ve hired another business. I more mean uh…” He lifted a hand to run his fingers through his hair, embarrassed again. “I mean that this house requires a lot of work, even if in large part it’s only cosmetic. And that much work, well, I have a budget to work within.”
“Right.” Disappointment gave way to confusion as Derek waited for more information, his brow raising at Spencer’s hesitation.
“What I mean to say is, would the cost of renovations b-”
“Restorations; continue.”
“Yes, of restorations, would they be reduced if maybe I also uh, helped?”
Derek laughed then, the tension that had seeped into broad shoulders falling away. Spencer thought about other ways he could relieve tension for the man before him and forgot to feel offended.
“Pretty boy, you think you're capable with those skinny little arms?”
Ever the evader when he doesn't like the answer, Spencer almost scoffs while responding, gesturing to the bookshelf behind him. "Would a person with this many books on the subject not know how to do the work?"
In a shorter time than Spencer had planned on, Derek found that yes, absolutely, someone can have that many books on the subject and still not have the skills required.
But Spencer is paying him in instalments and the man is pretty and brings him snacks and mostly the right tools when asked (he only gets each wrong once).
“Spencer, man, come on. Why are you looking at the sander like you’re afraid of it?”
“I’m not afraid of it!” Spencer looked between the power tool at his feet and the smaller one Derek had left in the corner. “I just think that maybe that circle one might be a bit better to use.” It certainly looked less imposing, and like it might be quieter.
“You think a small orbital sander is gonna be better for you to use than a drywall sander?”
Spencer shrugged, a distasteful gaze trained on the contraption on the floor beside him. Derek watched him for a moment, looking like he was holding back a laugh before he moved to get the smaller sander.
“I’m gonna run you through a scenario real quick, alright?” He came up behind Spencer, leading the younger over to the wall. He put the tool in Spencer’s hands, guiding them to the wall. When he’d asked if Spencer was ready, his lips were near Spencer’s ears, so Spencer just nodded without really thinking it through.
When the sander was turned on, he jumped a little in surprise, and it felt like he could the deep baritone of Derek’s laugh reverberate through him.
He could hear that Derek was grinning. “Easy there, tiger. We’ll do a small bit, hm? Don’t push too hard, or the motor has to work too hard. Don’t move too fast, either. It’ll leave too many marks on the wood if you do.”
Spencer was taking in the information being given, but he was also taking in the press of Derek’s body against his. The heat of Derek’s body at his back, his smooth voice at Spencer’s ear, and his hands guiding Spencer’s along all seemed rather unnecessary, but very welcome.
He hadn’t been able to think of a single thing to respond with by the time Derek started up again.
“You feel that?”
Spencer could have choked, and he couldn’t even use the excuse of mess from the sander being the cause because a surprising amount of it was being pulled into the dust extractor. Thankfully, Derek kept going.
“Your arms will get tired holding this up against a wall. And I don’t know if you noticed, but every wall in this house is in need of some sander TLC.” At Spencer’s nod, he turned off the tool and stepped back, placing it down to pick up the larger, and in Spencer’s eyes more intimidating one.
“But this larger one, that looks heavier, will not tire me out so quickly?” Spencer was sceptical. When he put some thought into it, it probably would be better given its shape. But his limited experience with power tools, or even tools, had him shy away from them.
“Trust me, Spence. Now watch.”
He’d like it a lot more if he could just watch the man at work, but it’d do nothing for his bank account were he to follow through with the urge.
-
When Spencer was told he could use his hands and sandpaper, he was initially excited. This quickly vanished after less than five minutes of sanding skirting boards while sitting on the floor. Sanding was the worst.
Spencer and Derek sat back, an array of mostly plastic containers around them that had held different kinds of sushi in each as they looked at the freshly painted wall.
Personally, Spencer would like to eat outside because the smell of paint was getting a bit strong by this point, but Derek looked comfortable so he wasn’t about to usher him outside.
Outside. It’d be a whole other issue to fix the yard, one he didn’t want to think about yet. So he decided not to.
“I thought this would be done with a paintbrush instead of a roller.” He gestured to the wall the were facing, fumes making him scrunch his nose up.
“If you were rude, rich, and paying me by the hour? I just might.” Derek laughed, changing positions from sitting to laying on his side, propped up by his elbow as he looked over to Spencer. “The finish is usually smoother with rollers than brushes anyway, for this.”
Spencer smiled. His legs were crossed as he sat on the floor, and he’d hunched over with his elbow on his knee so he could prop his chin up in his palm. “So because I’m poor and trying to help instead, you’re being nice?”
“It doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes, either.” Spencer was glad his hair was long enough to cover his ears; he could feel that they were embarrassingly warm. “Even if you are covered in paint.”
“I’m what-?” Spencer straightened, bringing his hands up to touch his face, then dropping them down to his clothes to see small flecks of paint over them. He cursed.
“Wishing you took my recommendation of wearing less liked clothes for today’s work?”
Spencer sighed, nodding. “Yeah. I liked this one.”
Derek chuckled, “you might be able to get that out. Come on, time to get back to it. I’ll get one of my spare shirts from the car so you don’t make yours any worse.”
He did feel a bit silly; it was very clearly too large for him. Loose at the collar, and about everywhere else as well, it was well worn and sported a couple holes. He was conflicted about how many feelings he had wearing Derek’s shirt, too.
Did it only feel intimate to him?
By the afternoon, he suspected he wasn’t alone in the feeling. He’d caught Derek looking at him more than usual throughout the afternoon, and couldn’t hold back the shy smile he had each time it happened.
“Sorry I’m late!” Spencer rushed in through the front door, tripping but not falling over cords on the way to Derek.
“Less worm from you means more from me, and means I’m getting paid more.” They grinned at each other when Spencer walked into what would be the master bedroom. On Derek’s advice, they’d knocked out a wall to allow what was a separate bathroom be turned into an ensuite. Spencer was amazed at how much Derek completed while he was away on a case.
“So much has changed since I was last here.”
“Good change?” Derek looked mostly confident, but had a hint of uncertainty about him. Spencer liked that the more time they spent together, the better he was at reading Derek’s expressions and tones.
“Good change.” He reaffirmed, leaning in the doorway as he took in the now open space. “I never would have thought to do this on my own. How long have you been doing this for?”
Derek shrugged, taking Spencer’s arrival as an invitation to a break as he leaned against the wall to watch the curly haired man. “A while. Years. It started as a passion project on my own house, then turned into a job after a couple years of that.”
Spencer couldn’t stop the playful snicker. “Getting all sweaty and dusty was part of a passion project?”
“I haven’t noticed you turning up your nose at me all sweaty and dusty.” Having the tables turned on him, with the addition of the flirty glint to Derek’s eyes, wasn’t what Spencer had planned for.
“W-well, it doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes.” He was at a loss, but borrowing Derek’s comment from a few weeks ago seemed to be the right thing to do. Derek laughed, the full bodied laugh that made Spencer’s chest feel like a shaken box of butterflies.
“Don’t think that sweet-talking will get you more of a discount, pretty thing, because it probably won’t.”
“Only probably?”
Derek scoffed, taking a step closer as he tilted his head. “Well, flattery helps, on occasion.”
Spencer wet his lips nervously. He felt like if this conversation went on even a little bit longer, it might change the dynamic of what they’d built up. He hadn’t had something like this before, and he loved it. While the thought of advancing further wasn’t unappealing in the slightest, the fear of change was.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from dragging his eyes over Derek’s form. The man was built like he was based off of the god Adonis himself.
Derek seemed to note the hesitance, cocking a brow as he watched Spencer.
“Uh, I was meant to bring us something to eat, but the flight home was later than planned.”
Derek’s smile softened from flirty to something just as intimate, but in a way Spencer couldn’t explain, and he shook his head.
“Don’t stress that pretty little head of yours. You know I fed myself pretty often before I started working with you.”
Spencer caught his lip between his teeth, a coy curve to his smile as he dropped his gaze. “While that may be so, I’d feel better if uh, if I did still treat you to something. It’s a bit late for a lunch now,” despite how self-conscious he felt, he did look back up at Derek then. “So what about dinner?”
Fear of change shouldn’t get in the way of Spencer building on the best thing that had happened to him in a while, he’d decided.
“How could I say no to an offer like that?”
Unable to maintain the eye-contact, he dropped his head again, instead watching his shoe as he scuffed the floor underfoot. He tried to contain his excitement, pressing his lips together. But he could still feel it on his face, and it felt too obvious for Derek to miss it.
“Guess you’d better say yes, then.”
Spencer was losing his mind.
He was seeing Derek so frequently, and each time, their interactions seemed loaded and heady.
He’d learned a lot about restoring a house, and had acquired a bit of muscle, and one hell of a crush. If the girls saw how he interacted with Derek, he was sure Penelope would say something about puppy dog eyes, and Emily would call him ‘whipped’.
Each night where the two had spent some time together, he was torn between loving how they played off each other, and tortured they weren’t doing more.
Derek seemed to find excuses to get in his personal space, which was normally quite unwelcome. And the few times Spencer had given even half a reason for Derek to do so again, the man seemed to run with it.
One of the most replayed memories Spencer had was when Derek, probably not expecting Spencer home so soon, was working with his shirt off. Granted, the temperature was high that day, and Derek was absolutely doing hard work, so it was reasonable. But Spencer’s mind seemed to short circuit.
Surely, Derek didn’t miss how Spencer had reacted. He was only able to think straight once Derek put his shirt back on. Well, think at least a little clearer, at least.
For his own sanity, he was just hoping Derek would be fully clothed when Spencer got to the house today.
Even so, he was disappointed when Derek was.
“You know kid, we’re almost done with this.”
Spencer frowned. Looking around the house; he could see that Derek was right. An electrician had come in -one Derek recommended- and updated fixtures and added more outlets. A plumber had come in to do what Derek wasn’t certified for, again, someone Derek had worked with previously.
The thought of being in the finished house on his own was the original goal, but he felt uneasy at the thought of it. It must have shown on his face, because Derek looked a little concerned, even if his tone was teasing.
“What, you think we oughtta make more changes?”
He slipped his hands into his pocket, shaking his head as he looked anywhere but at Derek. “No. Are there any more changes you’d recommend?”
“None that are in your price range; I think we’ve done pretty well. Don’t you?” Spencer heard him step closer, shook his head in response as he leaned back on the wall.
If he couldn’t outright say that he wanted another excuse to keep hanging around Derek, then where did that leave him?
Derek came to a halt in front of him, head tilted as he tried to get Spencer to look at him.
“Something troubling you, pretty boy?”
Spencer took a breath and lifted his head, then let it all out in a stuttered rush when he realised how close Derek was. He wet his lips again, and saw Derek’s eyes track the movement.
“Derek.”He didn’t know what to say; what to do. His head was just filled with static while his heart was filled with feeling and it left him unable to do much at all.
“Spence.” Derek’s voice was quiet, brimming with the same emotion clogging up Spencer’s chest, and now he was looking at Derek’s lips as his hands twitched in his pockets with the urge to reach out to the man before him.
Derek repeated Spencer’s name, and he didn’t know what to make of it. Was it a question? A request for permission? It felt like a prayer.
Derek moved to press his palm to the wall beside Spencer’s head, and the status hum in his mind seemed to fizzle out with a pop.
As soon as it did, he was rushing forward to press his lips to Derek’s. The man didn’t stumble back or hesitate, but instead brought his other hand up to hold Spencer’s waist.
His grip was firm, like an anchor to Spencer’s roaring emotions. He slipped his hands out of his pockets and up to Derek’s chest, then slid then up a little further to curl around his shoulders.
The moment was ground to a halt by Spencer’s phone ringing. His fingers at Derek’s shoulders gave a gentle squeeze before slipping back down the man’s chest. While they were no longer kissing, they hadn’t pulled away from each other, and Spencer’s quick breaths seemed to be matched by Derek’s.
“You have to answer it, don’t you?”
Spencer hesitated, then nodded, eyes still closed as he curled his fingers into the front of Derek’s shirt. Afraid that if he were pulled away to work, this moment with Derek wouldn’t flourish into something more permanent.
He let his head fall back to the wall behind him, and missed Derek’s eyes roving over the column of his neck as he swallowed.
“Yeah.”
Derek’s thumb rubbed at the skin of Spencer’s hip, and even over his shirt, it left goosebumps in its wake. “Come on then, pretty boy. It’s probably important. You probably have to go.”
It’d happened more than a handful of times when he and Derek had been working together. But he felt like he might yell about it happening now, of all times.
It was important, and he did have to go. Not just to work, but for a trip on the jet as well.
Since he’d need to leave in a rush, he didn’t have time to talk to Derek, to try and figure out what they were doing going forward.
His frustration didn’t go unnoticed by the BAU.
“Come on now, I want to see Reid’s hunky builder.” Penelope was quick in her bright yellow heels, rushing the grinning pair of Emily and JJ.
“And not the house he’s spent months restoring?” JJ tilted her head in question when Pen turned around to wave a hand in exasperation.
“Well obviously that too, Jayj. But come on, Reid’s been talking about this hotshot handyman for far too long; I have to see if he’s meeting my expectations. Given how Reid’s talked him up, I’m expecting Eros.”
“Eros? Why specifically that god?” Emily laced her fingers with JJ’s as they stopped walking and took a moment to admire the front porch.
“He’s the god of love, girlies. Passion and physical desire. I have a feeling he’s struck our beautiful Super Brain with an arrow.” She looked between the two women before waving her hands again. “Eros is also Cupid.” With that, she turned and knocked on the door, a wide smile of anticipation delightfully shaping her lips.
The case that pulled him quite literally out of Derek’s arms was a rough one, and he wasn’t able to return home before the house actually was finished.
He didn’t know how to talk to Derek without using the house as an excuse now, and maybe Derek hadn’t either - the two hadn’t spoken since Derek last updated him about the house and Spencer paid his final instalment to Derek.
With the girls inviting themselves over though, Spencer grabbed the flimsy excuse for what it was.
“They want to see what we’ve done with the place.”
“And you need me around to give them a tour of your house?” Spencer heard the teasing smile in Derek’s voice, and suppressed a smile even though Derek was on the phone and not in the room with him.
“Well, there was a lot of work done. I won’t be able to explain it all, but you could.”
“Alright, handsome, I’ll be there.”
Spencer, who was wringing his hands nervously in the doorway with Derek waiting nearby, was mortified. Derek raised a brow at him while out of sight of the ladies, mouth opening to say something Spencer decided that no, he didn’t want to hear.
“Garcia!” He dutifully ignored Derek’s laugh in favour of a tight hug from Penelope, shooting a look at Emily and JJ they didn’t know the meaning of.
Spencer’s flimsy reasoning of having Derek over was highlighted by the fact that the girls mainly just ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed without wanting to know much about the technicalities.
Derek was telling them little bits, though, and Penelope let out a noise of surprise. “Wait, you actually had our boy genius working with power tools?” She was looking between an embarrassed Spencer and a grinning Derek.
“Yeah, I’d say he handled them well.”
Spencer thought he felt a bit faint when, in an obvious stage whisper, leaned into JJ saying “I bet that’s not all he got a handle of.”
Spencer may have squawked, tripping over barely started sentences as Derek laughed.
-
“Your friends seemed to like the place.”
“My friends are terrible. I hope they got a good look around because I might not have them back here.”
He was joking, but embarrassed. He and Derek were leaning on opposite sides of the front doorway, the door only just having been closed after watching Penelope, JJ, and Emily drive off.
“Come on now, they weren’t that bad.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes at Derek, his cheeks flushing. They looked at each other for a moment, then Derek stepped closer, a sly look on his face as he spoke again.
“Although Emily wasn’t entirely wrong, you didn’t get too much of a handle on me there.” Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, a shocked laugh the only reply he could get in before Derek continued. “Not as much as I would have liked, at least.”
It was quickly reaffirmed, many times that day and in those following, that Spencer didn’t need an excuse to contact Derek, to see him in person.
But that didn’t mean either of them wouldn’t take any excuse they could get and run with it.
#Was I moving from WIP to WIP like I was playing hot potato with them deciding what I was able to write?#Yes#And did I stay up late again writing?#But did I edit this one before posting?#Fuck no. I'm tired and I want to sleep and it's been in my drafts since June last year gosh darn it#She DESERVES to be POSTED without delay#Moreid#Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid#Criminal Minds fanfic#Pls don't let this one flop like my last one did what a greivance#/joking#(mostly)#CM fic
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8, 12, 50?
ooh thank you so much for the ask!
8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a WIP
12. Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?
50. How would you describe your writing style?
Answered below! I'll put them under a cut since they got a little long ahaha.
8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a WIP
Despite Shen Qingqiu's withering glare, Mobei Jun gathers Shang Qinghua up in his arms.
"Oh my god," Shang Qinghua whispers, being lifted about like a small bag of potatoes. "Oh my god, is this really happening? Oh my god. This is so hot. How are you so strong? Your arm muscles are like big…big melons. Huge melons." He squeezes Mobei Jun's bicep through his robes with a look on his face like he's ascending directly to the heavenly realm in the arms of a busty babe.
Mobei Jun is too busy fastidiously supporting the back of Shang Qinghua's neck to notice, holding him with affectionate resignation, like Shang Qinghua is a very small and slightly pathetic foster kitten who can't even hold his own head up. Shang Qinghua cups his palm over Mobei Jun's knuckles in open awe, tilting his head back to look him in the face. "Your hands are so big," he says dreamily. "My entire head fits in your hand. Like a cantaloupe. A honeydew melon. You could crush my skull like an egg! I can't even break an egg into the pan without it falling apart on me." He immediately looks crestfallen. "Wait. That's not hot…"
"It's fine," Mobei Jun reassures him hastily. "I will cook the egg for you."
"Yeah?" Shang Qinghua asks hopefully, looking heartened.
Mobei Jun nods earnestly. Shen Qingqiu didn't know that Mobei Jun was capable of making such a besotted expression. He wishes desperately that he could return to that blissful state of ignorance. System! Shouldn't there be a limit on how OOC the key NPCs can get?
12. Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?
Oh yeah, absolutely! But I don't think it's a conventional outline per se. When I decide I'm gonna commit to a fic and flesh it out fully, I give it its own document and start filling it up in as much detail as I can manage lol. Usually by that point, I have several major scenes already established, so I fill in around those scenarios as needed (transition scenes, my beloathed). My 'outlines' usually end up being the entire story minus the parts I don't feel like writing at the time which have placeholders like //wake up or //reincarnated with a big empty space waiting accusingly behind it. Thus, these docs are extremely detailed and I basically don't deviate from them at all, I copy-paste directly from the doc into the AO3 editing mechanism when I'm ready to publish lol. I do usually end up adding a ton of stuff while editing for publication, but usually the shape of the story is set in stone by that point and the edits are just transitions that need to be elaborated upon.
Things that haven't been given their own docs live smushed together in an ungainly superdoc as a loose arrangement of scenes in unrelated universes until they pick up enough headspace to move out of the superdoc and get their own house.
50. How would you describe your writing style?
Hmmm I never really know how to answer this because I feel like most of my stories derive from 1 particular scenario that I want to see play out and everything else is built up around that. I really like to Put That Guy in Scenarios.
I don't focus on plot really, only as much as necessary to drive the story forward. Many ideas of mine have stalled because of this bc I was like wow! 👀 Cool scene!! Started drafting it, realized many many things had to happen to get to that point, and then gave up 🙃
I really enjoy setting the scene in overly descriptive detail and also focusing on emotions from a tight POV, trying to stay in-character as much as possible and also (essential) thinking of ways to make it funny.
#mytext#asks#obstinaterixatrix#ty for the ask!#should i tag w the ship for the snippet..? nay. i shant
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Incorrect Quotes Tag Game
ty for the tag @wherearetheplants and @void-fireworks!
Rules: use this quote generator & list as many quotes as you like using characters from your WIPs, then tag as many people as quotes you listed.
I got carried away and had a lot of fun with this but then I had wayyyy more quotes than I had mutuals so I unfortunately had to trim it down to pre-war Immor-Strendthras-Cadaea trios, which, to be fair, their dynamic was perfect for incorrect quotes, so I'm fine with this lol
Cadaea: Yesterday, I overheard Immor saying “Are you sure this is a good idea?” and Strendthras replying “Trust me,” and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life.
Cadaea: A party is a celebration of a life, bringing people together to let the guest of honor know how much they’re loved. Immor has done so much for us. This is our chance to do something for him.
Strendthras: By forcing him to have fun at a party that he doesn't want to be at?
Cadaea: I knew you’d understand.
Cadaea: Yo dumbass, get over here.
Immor: Okay-
Strendthras: *gleefully runs past* I’m coming!
Immor, sadly: I thought... I was dumbass...
Strendthras: Any advice before Immor and I fight?
Cadaea: Don’t wet yourself in public.
Strendthras: Not the kind of advice I was looking for!
Strendthras: We’re about to do the taser challenge. You want in?
Cadaea: What's the taser challenge?
Immor: We tase each other, then drink.
Cadaea: How do you win?
Strendthras: What are you, a lawyer? You want in or not?
Cadaea: Do you think different paints have different tastes?
Strendthras: They do.
Immor: ...Why did you say that with such certainty?
Cadaea: Welcome to Fucking Applebees, do you want apples or bees?
Immor: Bees?
Cadaea: HE HAS SELECTED THE BEES!
Immor: Wait-
*Strendthras approaches, shaking a jar of bees menacingly*
Immor, talking to Cadaea: Well Cadaea, whenever I’m about to do something, I think ‘would Strendthras do that?’ and if he would, I do not do that thing.
Cadaea: …
Strendthras, from the distance: He's not wrong though!
Immor, about Cadaea: She's speaking some kind of French.
Strendthras: Let me handle it. I speak Spanish. It's the same thing.
Immor: What is everyone for Halloween?
Cadaea: I’m superman.
Strendthras: A clown.
Immor: So I’m guessing we don’t need to get you a costume then?
Cadaea: Immor, get that hidious thing out of the living room, would you?
Immor: Strendthras, Cadaea wants you to get out of the house.
as you can see they played hot potato with the braincell and 90% of the time Cadaea had it
anyway I uuuuh still got carried away with these lmao I do not have many mutuals (and two of them already tagged me) so I'll tag a couple and then anyone else who wants in can feel free to take this as a tag too :)
tagging @tryingtimi and @annarts05 with no pressure!
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Antiquated (FE3H)
Sylvix | Post-Canon | Established Relationship | Explicit
Felix loves him and all his aged faults. From the soft laugh lines around his mouth to the crow’s feet around his eyes. Time has been kind to them in some ways, terrible in others, but Sylvain deserves this small pocket of peace that they’ve stumbled their way into.
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A/N: Have some good 'ole established relationship, somft, old man smut. Otherwise known as my favorite. Thanks to Satodee for the idea. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and you can follow me here on Twitter for more updates and wips!
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Sylvain’s so handsome like this, spread out underneath Felix, sighing deeply into the night as he grasps onto him with wild abandon.
It isn’t a rare sight. It’s been seared into Felix’s mind over and over through the years but it never gets old, it never means less. Every time is worth just as much as the one before.
“You look ridiculous,” says Felix instead of waxing poetically. He has an acerbic personality to portray even if he’s softened over their years together. And Sylvain does, his hair curling wildly about his head, shots of gray sparkling in the low candlelight. It knots so easily. All he has to do is drop his head onto the pillow and it takes a half-hour to comb out in the morning.
Sylvain huffs. “Like you can talk. Have you seen the rat’s nest you’re sporting?”
Felix doesn’t need to look to know he’s a mess. His hair is a travesty; he washes it with harsh soaps, brushes it out rudimentarily, and then ties it into a knot when it’s still wet. He’s old enough to not care much anymore.
“It’s not as though I have to impress anyone.”
Sylvain hums at that, hands sliding down Felix’s sides, thumbs playing with the skin there. The contact relaxes Felix as he sinks into it. “I suppose that I don’t count, then.”
“I don’t have to impress you,” says Felix. He’s teasing, mostly. Felix could be wearing a potato sack and Sylvain would still find him the most handsome man in the world. And he’d brag about it publicly, sing it from the rooftops.
Sylvain doesn’t sing well.
“Should I stop trying then?” Sylvain’s only musing, he doesn’t mean anything by it. But Felix pauses above him, looking down, a hand pressed against Sylvain’s chest. Thinking. His fingers scrub through Sylvain’s chest hair, scratching at his skin lightly, relishing in the downy feel of it.
Felix loves him and all his aged faults. From the soft laugh lines around his mouth to the crow’s feet around his eyes. Time has been kind to them in some ways, terrible in others, but Sylvain deserves this small pocket of peace that they’ve stumbled their way into. And managed to somehow keep.
“You’ve always preened for only yourself,” says Felix.
Sylvain smiles, wide and easy, and his hands slip further south. His fingers dig into Felix’s ass, pulling him closer. Sylvain’s already half-hard against him, something that causes Felix’s mouth to curve into a dangerous little smile.
He drags his hand down in response, fingers dancing along Sylvain’s cock teasingly. “What’s this?”
“Don’t act surprised,” says Sylvain.
“We’ve already done this once tonight,” says Felix. Earlier, before they’d fallen asleep. Felix on his hands and knees as Sylvain pounded him into their bed. Felix can still feel the satisfied ache of it even hours later.
Sylvain laughs. “Is once enough?”
Never, thinks Felix. They’re married and utterly in love, and have been for decades. Sylvain will share a bed with him for decades to come and it’ll never be enough. Felix doesn’t tell him this, though, so rarely vocal about his sentimentality. Instead, he reaches down to curl his fingers around Sylvain’s cock, feeling it fill out within his grasp.
Actions speak louder than words.
Sylvain moans softly, cheeks tinting pink as Felix slides his hand along his length with practiced ease.
“Aren’t you--”
“Quiet,” says Felix as he lets go, pressing his hips forward instead to grind their cocks together. Earlier they fell asleep unclothed. Sylvain’s naked skin is already painted with a healthy flush, and Felix eats up the sight as he drags a hand down his chest.
Felix wants to indulge.
“Slowly,” says Sylvain. “Let’s take our time.”
Felix doesn’t want to take his time, he wants to devour Sylvain right then and there. So he does, leaning forward to latch his mouth against Sylvain’s neck, sucking on the tender skin there. Sylvain responds immediately, arching into the touch, fingers digging into the meat of Felix’s ass where he holds him.
It’s always so delicious, the way that he reacts. The way that he falls into their shared pleasure. Sylvain has always been handsome, even more so now that he’s older and more distinguished, but this is when he looks his most beautiful. Underneath Felix’s biting kisses, and scarred and calloused fingers as they work him to the edge.
Felix runs one hand across Sylvain’s chest, thumbing at a nipple and the other goes south, scratching through the trail of hair just below his belly button. Sylvain grasps him by the wrist, holding it there and Felix pauses, pulling back slightly. Sylvain smiles at him lazily as one hand rises to cup his cheek.
Then Felix is thrown to the side, effortlessly rolled onto his back. He doesn’t put up a fight, settling into the pillow as Sylvain looms over him, mouth twisted into an annoyed little frown.
“Slowly,” repeats Sylvain, leaning forward to press a kiss to Felix’s forehead. A gentle murmur against his skin, a soft request.
“I suppose that I can allow that,” says Felix.
Sylvain laughs, pressing another kiss to his ear. Then to the juncture at his neck. Sylvain’s hand finds his chin as he tips it upward and claims his lips in a slow, thorough kiss. Felix raises a hand to Sylvain’s hair, curling his fingers into tangled tresses. He opens his mouth in a plea to deepen the kiss. Sylvain responds eagerly, tongue slipping into his mouth.
Felix has a lot of love for moments like this, these lazy and indulgent things. Teasing each other as they bask in pleasure together, limbs so tangled that they can’t tell where they even begin. When they were young and at war, they never had time for this, to cultivate that fire that burns between them.
It was always fast and hurried and to a point. Dirty and sweaty, wherever you could get it. In a dingy tent on the field. Behind a tavern in a dusky alley. Never in a soft bed, surrounded by comfort.
Never a long enough pause to just relish the moment.
Sylvain takes his sweet time, nibbling at Felix’s lips. Sylvain’s hand slips down and across his chest, thumb circling around a nipple. He presses it flat against the nub as it stiffens under his touch. Then Sylvain’s hand shifts down further to wrap around Felix’s cock, holding him in a tight grip, coaxing him to full hardness.
Felix huffs a laugh. “I thought you said slowly,” he teases. This seems to be the exact opposite but he isn’t complaining. Felix has never been a patient one.
Sylvain licks a stripe up Felix’s neck, laughing against his skin in return. “This is slow,” says Sylvain, tugging at Felix’s length with a leisurely pace. Infuriating. “I know you, Felix. This is just enough to make you squirm.”
Felix wants to kick him, roll him back over and slide onto him in one go, just to stick it to him. That idea is lost the moment Sylvain moves down towards the foot of the bed, pressing a kiss just below his belly button. Then at the juncture of his thigh and hip.
At the base of his cock. Sylvain has Felix’s length in hand, staring at it like it’s his next meal. It’s Felix’s turn to feel the burn of the heated blush that takes over his cheeks. Then, Sylvain swallows him down with little ceremony, lips stretched tight around his cock as he takes him in.
Felix’s head snaps back into the pillow and he punches out a moan, unable to cut himself off.
Sylvain’s mouth is hot and wet around him. He tongues expertly around the crown of his cock, hand working alongside to cover the rest of him. It’s a leisurely pace, more of a gentle sucking than a frenzied blowjob, but it’s enough to make Felix’s toes curl nonetheless.
His husband is just too damn good at this.
Felix’s hand finds those unruly, salt and auburn curls, fingers tightening against them. Pulling just slightly, scratching at his scalp. Trying to ground himself as he tries not to buck deeper into Sylvain’s mouth.
It’s agonizing, the languid and unhurried way that Sylvain drags his mouth along Felix’s cock. Licking around him carefully before sucking him right back down, inching down just a little bit further with each press.
Sylvain can take most of his length, he’s done it plenty of times before, but he seems to have no plans to do so this time. Instead, Sylvain’s fingers slip into the cleft of his ass, teasing at his rim. It’s already loosened, already so pliant, already waiting for more. Sylvain presses the tip of his finger in ever so slightly.
Felix heaves a sigh, pressing against his hand, forcing the finger deeper.
Sylvain pulls off. “Felix,” he warns. But makes no move to pull away.
Felix can’t bring himself to beg, but he gives Sylvain a pleading look before bucking against his grasp. Sylvain smiles crookedly at him, huffing a laugh.
“Alright,” he says, pulling out and away. Sylvain shuffles around slightly and when he finds Felix’s hole again, it’s with two slick fingers, carefully coated in oil. It’s unneeded but Sylvain’s the kind to take care, even when Felix wants anything but.
Still, Felix delights in the burn of his fingers as they slip in again, gingerly scissoring at his entrance. Felix wiggles his ass against Sylvain’s hand, trying to meet his movements. Ever so impatient even when Sylvain wants to take it slow.
Sylvain’s mouth finds his cock again, harder than it was before. Pink at the tip and leaking precome. Sylvain laps at it, tongue swirling around the head of his cock before swallowing it right back down.
It’s near too much; the soft warmth of Sylvain’s mouth as he sucks at him, the stinging drag of his fingers in his ass. Well memorized motions of a man who knows the exact way to bring him to the edge quickly and efficiently.
They’re predictable, the both of them.
“Off,” murmurs Felix, tugging at Sylvain’s hair. “I said off.”
“Felix,” says Sylvain, his breath puffing against the skin of his groin, pressing a tender kiss there. “Are you--”
“Inside,” cuts in Felix. “I need you--” He groans as Sylvain pulls his fingers from him.
“Impatient.”
“Yes,” agrees Felix. Then he wiggles his hips again. If Sylvain doesn’t do something soon he’s going to find himself hung out to dry while Felix takes care of himself in the washroom. He’s had enough teasing for the night.
Sylvain slicks his cock quickly in whatever oil he’s got stashed under the pillow. He teases Felix’s entrance with the head of his cock, making him wait. He’s insufferable even now of all times.
“Goddess, you’re infuriating,” says Felix.
“But you love it,” says Sylvain cheekily, pressing in closer. His face hangs just over Felix’s, waiting for a kiss. Felix gives it to him, nipping at his mouth playfully, telling him to get the show on the road.
But yes, he does it, he loves everything about Sylvain. His dumbass expressions, his shitty jokes. The way that he teases and tortures Felix for fun. Even on the tougher nights when the memories are alive; when he has the night sweats and terrors, or when he lays awake forever instead to avoid them.
Felix and Sylvain are two sides of a coin, utterly inseparable and always one of the same.
Sylvain finally presses in, easily, and Felix keens at the feel of it. It’s home and comfort. They belong like this, Sylvain buried in him to the hilt. Shaking and shuddering as he slides out and then back in. Fingers digging into the meat of Felix’s thighs, overcome with the feel of it.
Felix is so full and it’s perfect, better than the hard and rough fuck they’d enjoyed earlier. He’d never admit to it aloud, but Sylvain knows. He knows that he prefers it like this, soft and loving, taking their time.
“Goddess, Fe,” Sylvain mumbles against the skin of his neck, heavy breaths tumbling from his mouth. “You always feel so perfect around me.”
“Isn’t enough,” says Felix, contrary to the bitter end.
Sylvain presses a kiss against his jaw, and then another, tongue snaking out to trace along the bone. Felix moans, a soft breathy thing, fingers finding Sylvain’s hair again. He tugs, a reminder that he wants, needs more. Sylvain hikes Felix’s thighs up, changing the angle, slipping in what feels like deeper.
It’s the perfect spot, the one that has Felix arching into his touch, toes curling into the sheets. The coil in his gut burns brighter as Sylvain fucks into him with more force and perfect precision.
“Fuck,” murmurs Sylvain into Felix’s ear, losing himself in a crass little moment.
“So good for me,” says Felix, a hand settling against Sylvain’s neck, guiding his mouth back to his once more. When they kiss this time, it’s messy and unhinged, teeth clacking against each other as Felix jolts with every thrust.
Sylvain’s cock feels so good, fills him up so perfectly. Felix will never get enough of this feeling, of this sensation. Overcome by mounting pleasure as his husband takes him so thoroughly.
It takes a lot for Felix to give in, but for this moment, he’s utterly lost.
Sylvain tips over the edge first, hips stuttering as he comes deep. Heavy breaths against Felix’s neck as he languidly kisses the skin there, hand reaching for Felix’s cock. He works him steadily, his hand warm around his length as he squeezes tight.
Felix bites at his lip, slightly overwhelmed. The slide of Sylvain’s hand along the heated skin of his cock, the way that he grinds into him despite his softening cock. The knowledge that he’s been claimed again. Sylvain whispers soft words near his ear, coaxing him to the edge and Felix grows closer and closer, the fire in his gut nearing a fever pitch.
When he comes it’s loud, fingers yanking tightly at Sylvain’s hair as his cock jerks in his grasp. Felix makes a mess of himself, come slick against his belly. But he’s satiated and boneless, melting into the mattress.
Sylvain laughs against his hair, pressing a quick kiss against it. “What was all that about?” he asks after a moment of catching his breath.
Felix doesn’t answer immediately. Sylvain watches him for a beat and then pulls himself out gingerly. Before he can leave the bed for a rag, Felix reaches out to grab his arm.
“It’s fine,” says Felix quietly.
Sylvain smiles that crooked smile of his and settles back beside him. Felix turns, tucking into his side, face resting nearly Sylvain’s collarbone. “I was just thinking,” he says finally.
“I woke up to you staring.”
“Thinking,” repeats Felix. About a lot of things. Their past, their future, the war, and now peace. But mostly-- “About how ridiculous you looked. Did you even brush out your hair?”
Sylvain laughs fully this time, a deep and rumbling thing. Then, his hand finds Felix’s hair, tugging out the tie that holds it together. Fingers glide through his locks, pulling at the knots. “You’re even worse,” he says.”
“Yeah,” says Felix. They both know this conversation isn’t about their hair anymore.
Felix is bone-tired, but they're both weary in their old age. Antiquated. Still, it’s a life that they never thought would be offered. Felix is determined to enjoy it for as long as he can.
“I love you,” says Sylvain into his hair.
Felix replies with a kiss.
#fire emblem three houses#felix x sylvain#sylvain/felix#sylvix#sylvain jose gautier#felix hugo fraldarius#fire emblem fanfiction#fe3h
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I can’t even find the post where it says you are doing he wip meme, but because you are answering some, because I have a headache and need to be cheered up and because names do count as words 😇 - ”Joe”
Sneaky! Aww I hope the headache gets better and this cheers you up :
Michael was busy shoving the hot greasy mix of potato hash and eggs into his mouth when he heard the normal sounds of conversation drop into a hush as the front door to the bunk house swung open. Paul Foster stepped inside and immediately headed toward Michael, causing a flare of alarm until he realized that Joe had claimed the seat next to him. That set off a different type of signal in Michael.
The memory of misinterpreting things between them still cut sharply into his chest when he thought about it too long. It was too close to the ache he held for Alex.
“Hey Joe, got a new task for you,” the young foreman greeted. Michael could tell by the tone, that whatever the task was, it was sure to be unpleasant if it was getting shifted to them. The grandson still had soft hands and very few callouses despite the nature of the work he claimed to do. “We had a small plane fly over the other day. They said they thought they saw some strays of ours up on the other side of the canyon. That’s too close to the reservation. Do you think you could ride up there and check it out?”
“Sure thing boss,” Joe agreed, amenable and light. “You think you can keep the boys busy for a day or two? It’ll be kinda rough to ride up there and back in one day without making camp for the night.” Then, aware that Michael’s fork had started to slow as he listened in to the conversation between them, Joe added, “Guerin and I can take care of it no problem.”
“What did the kid do wrong that you’re making him camp out rough with you? Nevermind, I don’t want to know.” Paul asked jokingly as he got to his feet. “All right, I’ll keep the rest of them busy checking fence lines and moving hay.” He waved, the rest of the men groaning at the task. Walking the miles of fence line in the sun was tedious but a needed chore.
Michael wiped his mouth, his plate finally clean and turned to meet Joe’s watchful dark eyes. He couldn’t help but feel suspicious at the sudden inclusion after the last week of careful professionalism between them. It felt like a trap, that Joe was looking to spend this time away from everyone in order to reinforce just how normal their working relationship was. He could take a pass on that, even if it meant missing out on a chance to explore the crash site more fully. “I used to sleep in back of my truck, so if this is supposed to be some kind of punishment-”
“Oh it is, but who says it’s for you?” Joe smirked, inviting Michael to share in the joke with him even as he confused Michael thoroughly. He pushed himself upright, taking his plate and Michael’s empty one, “Nah, it’s actually supposed to be a treat for you. You think I don’t know that you sleep outside sometimes under the stars? And that you’ve been walking the back pastures at night? Figured this was something you wanted.”
It was something that Michael wanted, just not everything, but he should be used to that by now.
Michael closed his mouth belatedly, both nettled and warmed by how closely Joe had been observing him. He had a lot of wants, he was used to shuffling through them like cards he could never play, but lure of the night sky and what fell from it in 1947 was only one of them.
#wip meme#extra long for extra special person#prettier and younger but not any better off#arielana#the making of Cowboy Michael#prequel to last years wishes
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Destiel Fic Rec List Part 4
Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity. Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.
This part of the list contains: 31 fics.
Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].
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The Shadow at My Window ❤ by Zombiecat
E | 141k | Hot, AU, Underage, Wing!kink
As a fledgling angel, Castiel is not allowed to interact with humanity. He should be strictly observing and concentrating on learning to be a warrior of Heaven. Even so, he cannot seem to stop himself from visiting the human boy that leaves his window open at night. At first, it's only to get a glimpse of their world.. but all that changes the night he saves the boy's life.
AMAZING!!! I'm a huge fan of both wing!kink and the underage romance trope, and this hits the spot. I read this from when it was a WIP (on chapter 12), and it was so worth it.
Fearson's floating cigarette. by orange_crushed
M | 11k | Fluff, Magicians AU
"That son of a bitch," Dean says. He strangles the handful of french fries he’s been holding, and one by one their warm, helpless, potato-y insides crumble over the tops of his fingers. He feels a brief burst of irrational, almost homicidal rage. "That floppy bow-tie wearing son of a bitch.” Dean is gonna kill Jimmy Wonderman. He’s gonna shove a never-ending string of scarves down his throat. He’s gonna make him eat balloon animals until he floats off into space.
This was so sweet and charming I'm going to cry. Castiel's gentleness and pure heart is really explored in this fic, and I LOVE it.
Sweaters & Cigarettes ❤by lemonoclefox
E | 149k | Hot, Fluff, High SCchool AU, punk cas, nerd dean
Dean Winchester is in high school, crushing hard on Castiel Novak, the unbelievably hot goth who Dean does his very best to convince himself he hates, despite the fact that he can’t really stop staring at him. Dean tries, but when the two of them finally cross paths, their first conversation takes a surprising turn. And suddenly, they both find themselves falling harder and faster than they ever could have expected.
LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS FIC! The trope reversal is perfect, and in short, this is one of my favorite high school AUs EVER.
Shortskirts 'Verse by twentysomething
E | 22k | High School AU
So, they're in high school, and then they're in college, and it's mostly not about Taylor Swift, except when it is.
Leave My Body, Moving Up to Higher Ground by triedunture
E | 17k | Alt!canon, Genderswap
Castiel must take a new vessel to return to earth, so he strikes a deal with a woman who isn't as willing as Jimmy had been. But Dean's in a bad way and Leviathan needs to be smote, so what else can he do? Wonderful and heartbreakingly lovely. Gender swap, of a sort.
A Treatise on Longing by araftatsea
T | 8k | Angst, Alt!Canon, Aging
Set post-8x23: Cas falls and is reborn as a human infant. Dean waits for him. He wonders how he's going to explain to this guy that he was an angel, once, and he wonders whether Cas will still want him. Or if he ever did.
Oh god, this fic huuuurts. But in a good way.
Santorum Will Pry My Porn From My Cold Dead Hands by AlreadyPainfullyGone
E | 41k | Pornstar AU
President Santorum bans all pornography, and Dean decides to start his very own prohibition racket. Unfortunately, the only person he can find to 'perform' is Castiel.
Lots of porn. Complete with in denial!dean and confident!cas.
One Night at Club Radiant by octoberskyfall
E | 16k | Hot, Stripper AU, Dom!Cas
When Charlie showed up at the garage with a six-pack of El Sol and an order for him to chug them down before they reached the bar, Dean knew he was in for one hell of a night. Featuring Stripper!Cas and light Dom!Cas because of reasons. Happy Birthday, Dean!
Damn. Just um--yes. Please.
Gargoyles on Motorcycles by mandraco
E | 24k | Office AU, Socially Awkward Cas
After the latest in Dean's long string of one night stands steals the Impala and totals it, he makes a bet with Sam that he can abstain from sex while he repairs it. But Lisa and Matt's wedding is coming up and Dean needs a date he'll never be attracted to. Enter Castiel.
Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives by cymbalism
E | 14k | Fluff, Alt!Canon
After the apocalypse, Dean's living with Lisa and earning his keep by cooking dinner. Cas likes that Dean can cook. Dean likes Cas's company. But they could use a little alone time, and Dean has a lot to learn about what the rest of his life really means.
Smoke in the Mirror by letters_of_stars
M | 52k
It begins with the flier hung in the library: art model needed for thesis project, will pay. Castiel figures it's an easy way to make some extra money, but modeling for Dean Winchester ends up complicating his life far beyond anything he could have imagined.
Selfie with a stranger by somuchforbaggles
T | 1k | Fluff, AU
Cas lied to his family about having a boyfriend, and now they want actual photographic evidence. There's only one thing he can do - take a selfie with a stranger.
This is just adorable. Instant feel-good fic.
Paper-Thin by snarkymonkey
E | 15k | Fluff, Hot, College AU, Dom!Cas, Sub!Dean, Professor!Cas
Dean is finishing up his master's program, heading on for a PhD in Engineering but spends most of the time silently ogling his gorgeous next-door neighbor, the new adjunct professor of English, pursuing his dissertation.So, really, no reason the two should ever interact. Except...the walls between their apartments are just so thin. And even though he swears he's seeing the guy all over campus, there's no way the exceptionally friendly Professor Novak has a thing for Dean. Right?
The Pumpkin Pie Started It by twerkstiel
E | 8k | Hot, AU, Baker Cas, ABO, Omega!Dean Sub!Dean, top!cas, alpha!cas
Dean Winchester is your ordinary college student. He does his work, fixes cars, complains about being broke. Except when he visits the new campus bakery, he ends up getting more than the pie he asked for.
Just what I like in an ABO short fic: cute, porny, and hot sex ;)
Leave My Body, Moving Up to Higher Ground by triedunture
E | 17k
Castiel must take a new vessel to return to earth, so he strikes a deal with a woman who isn't as willing as Jimmy had been. But Dean's in a bad way and Leviathan needs to be smote, so what else can he do?
Wonderful and heartbreakingly lovely. Gender swap, of a sort.
Scratchmarks by bookkbaby
E | 11k | Hot, canon!verse, endverse, threesome, bottom!cas, kink
Sometimes, sex isn't a goal, but a method. A method to escape, a method to forget, or a method to communicate, and Dean doubts that his future self is listening to what Cas is saying.
Porny 2009!Dean/2014!Dean/2014!Cas with bonus feelings towards the end.
Halfway by anythingtoasted
E | 29k | canon!verse, s8, pining!dean
A Fallen!Castiel bunker fic; Castiel arrives back at the bunker after six months of being missing, with eighteen of his newly-fallen brothers and sisters in tow; shameless schmoop and angel-care ensues.
Bunker!Fic. Castiel has a flock of brothers and sisters to care for. Always a fan of the way anythingtoasted writes the dean/cas relationship development.
Home is Where by chasingrabbits
E | 15k | AU, Mental Disorders
Casual vagrant Dean Winchester blows into Palo Alto to check on his little brother. What is meant to be a quick visit ends up drawing out when he meets and accidentally ends up clicking with Sam's strange, grad student roommate Castiel.
The Graveyard by amarillogrande
E | 18k | College AU, bottom!dean, tattooed!cas
The premise is simple. You finish the bottle, you stick it up on the shelf. When you move out, you can look up and remember all the good times you had. Right?
Smooth Operator!Verse by wannaliveindeansdimples
E | 15k | Fluff, Hot, AU, Long Distance Relationship, Phone Sex
Castiel is a phone sex operator and Dean is a first time caller.
Messenger Number 3 by gamesformay
M | 23k | Theatre AU, Fluff
Opening night is closing in at the Lawrence Shakespeare Festival, and the play is cursed. As if that weren't enough for Dean, the head of the tech crew, to have on his mind. A tale of love, family, and iambic pentameter.
Dark Side of the Moon by imogenbynight
E | 37k | Angst, Astronaut AU, PTSD, Minor Character Death
Five months into his six month mission, an accident leaves Flight Engineer Dean Winchester stranded on the moon. It comes down to a man he has never met to bring him home.
Give All My Secrets Away by morganoconner
T | 2k | Fluff, H/C, Canon!verse
When Castiel needs to stay with Dean while the hunter is vulnerable and unable to defend himself, he doesn't expect it to end with confessions Dean doesn't mean to give.
Convenient Husbands by Scaramouche
E | 39k | AU, creature!cas, wing!kink
"It's only temporary, right?" Dean says. "Just until you're healed up, and then we'll never have to see each other again. So what do you say, Castiel, do you want to marry me or not?
Every Word a Piece of My Heart by smilla840
E | 10k | Dean/Jimmy/Cas
The war is over and Jimmy is finally free to go back to his family. Everything should be perfect – then why isn’t it?
The Parts of Our Sum by scaramouche
E | 55k | AU, Friendship
Castiel, a former soldier, has worked for the Company his entire life. They've been good to him, providing clothes, shelter and new body parts whenever necessary. Now the Company's gearing up for a space exploration voyage, and Castiel's volunteered for the research team. During the preparation period, he meets Dean Winchester, who makes Castiel wonder about the things he's missed out on.
What Has Eight Tentacles and Isn't Allowed to Eat Pie? by Scaramouche
T | 16k | Fluff, Canon!verse, tentacles
Dean watched an anime porn about this once, but real life turns out to be way less interesting. Or, the one where Dean gets turned into an octopus.
Shorten the Distance by APenToMyHeadandImDead
T | 43k | Fluff, AU, Teacher!Cas
"Nerdytr3nchcoat" and "Impala67" weren't looking for romance on the dating website called 'dateangels.com'. Castiel was looking for friends and Dean was just looking to get his nagging brother off his back. What they didn't expect to find was each other. [a long distance, online relationship fic]
Jump the Track by alysian_fields
E | 83k | High school AU
It's Dean's senior year at Lawrence High, and he's already given up on himself. It takes the arrival of the strange, intense, awkward Castiel Delacroix at the school to prove to Dean that maybe his life is worth saving after all.
Blackbird Fly ❤ by artsyunderstudy
E | 163k | Angst, High school AU, Sam/Jess, Drug Use, Mental Health Issues
In the wake of a mutual tragedy, the Winchester brothers befriend loner Castiel. Both brothers find something in him to hold onto as they try to remake their own complicated relationship and the home they've lost. Struggling with his own recovery, Sam finds himself drawn to the strong and lively Jess, while Castiel and Dean find comfort in one another. As consequences of their past emerge and threaten to tear apart what they've carefully rebuilt, they are all forced to reevaluate who their family really is, and what it's worth to keep it.
Oh the angst! This fic may be triggering for some, but the pros include a wonderfully portrayed sam/jess relationship, and stunning illustrations. Dean and Cas' relationship is heartbreakingly lovely and broken (but there is a happy ending).
A Broken Man & The Dawn by n_nami
E | 44k | Fluff, COCKLES, AU,
After his brother dies in a car accident, Jensen is left to take care of his newborn nephew - and he’s in over his head. Also, he has the feeling that the guy who just moved into the apartment next door hates him because of the crying baby that keeps him up all night. As it turns out, Misha not only has that set of mesmerizing blue eyes, but also a lot of intuition when it comes to fussing, cranky babies.
Jeté by cadniganv
E | 10k | AU, dancer!dean, photographer!cas
Castiel has been photographing their ballet company for two years now and he and Dean have barely exchanged six words, and yet somehow when Dean breaks his leg, it's Castiel who takes him home from the hospital and takes care of him.
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i was tagged by @jennlfercheck to share/discuss some of my current wip’s. under the cut bc it’s long. and you also probably aren’t interested in it~
some venom, some harringrove. [with the harringrove, warnings for homophobic language and drugs/drug-use]
i tag -- literally anyone who wants to do this.
01 -- chapter 3 of less defined as days go by (venom ot4)
[the next chapter of my ot4 fic. it’s at about 4k right now, and i haven’t had a good chance to work on it, but i’m really enjoying the four of them talking together. and the awkwardness. so much awkwardness.]
“Hey bud,” Eddie hears as his shoulder shakes a little, the warmth of a gentle hand nudging him out of a pretty deep sleep.
He blinks his eyes open and Dan’s blurry images comes into view, bright in the light of the day.
Eddie grunts and closes his eyes again. Five more minutes, right?
“We’re here,” Dan says.
Dan’s a very symmetrical man.
Eddie’s eyes snap open. Dan’s still looking at him through what can only be an expensive pair of sunglasses. Eddie blinks up at him and his cheekbones, at his own reflection in polarized glass.
He’s an excellent example of your species. Very proportional. Don’t you think?
“I just woke up,” Eddie grumbles. “Can you wait like, five minutes?”
“Uh,” Dan says. “We can leave you in the car, if you want?” The car keys jingle in his hand as he holds them out to Eddie.
Eddie groans again and pushes the keys back toward Dan with a sleepy hand that may or may not be more inky black than Eddie’s hands typically are.
“No, not you. Sorry. I’m -- I’m coming.”
02 - unnamed kink venom thing
But that doesn’t mean that it’s not sometimes frustrating as hell.
“Will you stop it?” Eddie asks, fingers tightening around the can of iced tea.
Thirsty.
Eddie rolls his eyes. He feels Venom wriggle around his spine in annoyance.
“You’re not thirsty. We’ve had, like, three of these this afternoon alone.”
Cheap and sugary herbal tea from the bodega. Venom’s new favorite thing of the week.
Tasty.
“Okay, but just because something’s tasty doesn’t mean you have to gorge yourself on it.”
We do that on people, though. When they are bad, you don’t have a problem with it.
03 - a v. rough harringrove thing
[the general vibe of this thing is that billy is very very very drunk and steve finds him at a party. anyway, i wrote it for the dubcon, but.i really need to rework a lot of this to make it more in character. and to make it -- better. ugh. i kinda hate it? so who knows if that’ll happen.]
Billy barely manages to shrug, because nothing’s really working right now. Not his mouth, not his shoulders, not his arms. He longs to touch, to pull Steve closer, to -- something -- but he can’t.
It’s frustrating as hell.
Steve slaps his face again. Billy opens his eyes. It hurts, a little bit. The sting of the collision of palm against skin.
“Billy,” Steve says, and it’s a little louder. A little harsh. A little biting. “You gotta stay awake for me.”
“King Steve,” Billy slurs. Because it is. It’s true. Finally. He’s dreaming, and this is the King Steve he was promised, the one he’s entitled to. The one he can’t stop fantasizing about.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” King Steve says, smiling like he does in all of Billy’s other dreams. “It’s me. How’re you feeling?”
Billy thinks there’s a hand in his hair, pushing it back from his face. He can feel the nails dig into his scalp and he follows the motion, tipping his head back, groaning.
“So good,” Billy says. “God, you’re so fucking --”
“Yeah?” Steve says, even though Billy’s not sure he even finished that thought, just that he trailed off into something slurred and stupid. “That right?” Steve asks, his touch alternating between gentle and rough. Sometimes stroking through Billy’s hair, sometimes pulling at it when Billy’s eyes start to droop.
“You want me to take you home?” Steve asks, slow.
“Yeah,” Billy breathes out. Then, on another breath, “No.”
04 - chapter 5 of i broke my bones playing games with you
[i NEED to finish this fic but, like, i also am finding it very difficult bc it’s dark and kind of depressing and it]
“Are you done avoiding me, Hargrove?”
He’s brave.
“Depends. Are you done being a fag?”
“Last I checked, I didn't exactly make any moves on you.”
Brave. Real brave.
Billy snarls. He gets Steve by the chin like he so loves to do.
“Careful, baby. I wasn't planning on hitting you tonight, but I could always change my mind.”
And he kinda likes the way the bruises are yellowing on Steve's face. If Billy gave him more right now, he wouldn't get to watch the change.
“Have I ever stopped you?” Steve asks, like he’s pushing, pressing forward a little bit. Stepping into Billy's space. Chest to chest. Nose to nose. His breath smells like booze. His tongue probably tastes like it, too.
All of Billy goes hot. His ears, his neck, his gut. It all just burns.
He wants to punch, to touch, to take. He wants Steve to never stop him.
“Gimme another line,” Billy demands. He lets go of Steve’s chin like he’s been scalded.
Steve does.
Coke still burning in his nose, Billy leaves Steve in the bathroom and loses himself in the crowd outside.
05 - chapter 2 of plenty of seeds in a lemon
[a little thing for @jennlfercheck that i’ve been chipping away at.]
“Oh, I made breakfast. Left some for you on the counter, if you want,” Billy says, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t come into Steve’s house uninvited, hang out while Steve was sleeping and then make breakfast.
Like he hasn’t been avoiding Steve for days.
Like people just make Steve breakfast like he’s the kind of person that fosters that kind of niceness.
Not that Billy’s nice, because he’s pretty much the opposite of that.
But.
But there’s a plate full of breakfast hash on Steve’s table and a bottle of hot sauce next to it. Steve is pretty damn sure Billy had to go to the store to make this, because it’s got potatoes and sausage and peppers and onions, and Steve doesn’t have any of those things -- much less a pan to really make it all in.
He probably shouldn’t eat it. There’s like, a whole thing about not eating or drinking things strangers give you, and it’s not like Billy would truly have a problem getting his hands on anything those warnings are talking about, considering he’s a drug dealer. He’s probably got a whole stash of creepy shit at his apartment.
But the potatoes smell really good.
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Moon River chapter 2 WIP
Notes: Very rough chapter. Lots is subject to change. Beginning and end are missing, but I have the main meat and potatoes of the chapter done, the important stuff. Things will be edited, and like 99% chance the cussing will be taken out. How much time has passed since the first chapter? Don’t know right now, frankly doesn’t matter. It’s mostly unconnected non-serious space adventures similar in style to lets say Space Dandy.
Quick Summary: First chapter here if you’re interested in context. Undyne is an ex-space pirate wanted across the galaxy. She travels the stars with her best friend Papyrus, new girlfriend/mechanic Alphys, and Sans in their spaceship the Moon River. (not sure if I’ll keep that name.) Muffet is a bounty hunter looking to make some money. She finds Undyne and wants to collect the bounty on her head, dead or alive.
Characters: Undyne, Sans, Muffet.
Musical Inspiration: This for some reason.
The teleporter wasn’t working.
A cold clammy hand clamped her claw. At first, the sensation was normal. Alphys was trying to get her attention. But wait, why was this hand so rough? At the same time, it was brittle, like a breeze could break the bones with ease. Oh, god.
“What the fuck!?” Undyne screeched, ripping her hand out of his cold phalanges. “What are you doing, you creep?!”
Sans shrugged, his smile strained now, as if painful to hold up. “needed a hand, i guess.”
There were so very few times in her life that Undyne had ever felt violated. This was one of them. Just the mere touch utterly disgusted her. His entire being burned into her scales, that lazy smile, that worthless sense of dread, his useless nihilistic outlook, ready to give up at the first sign of trouble.
“Don’t you ever fucking touch me again,” Undyne growled, wondering why Alphys wasn’t fussing over her right now.
Sans made the ‘ok’ sign with his fingers, like she wasn’t worth the breath to voice a single word.
Her blood boiled. A spear was already in her claws, even she had realized it. Undyne wanted to continue to berate the puny little bag of bones, but noticed something else wasn’t right. The Moon River was certainly a lot darker. Seriously, where did Alphys and Papyrus go? Were there always cobwebs?
“Ahuhuhu,” laughed a lofty voice. That. Was not Alphys. “And here I thought the Space Pirate Undyne would have put up a fight! Instead she throws herself right into my parlor. A bit disappointing, but delightful regardless!”
“How?!” Undyne asked dumbly. “Our teleporter was broken, how did…” she looked over to Sans, regretting it instantly. He just shrugged of course. This was hilarious to him, wasn’t it.
Muffet’s space suit hugged her slender frame. Her ribbons bounced as delicately as her laughter, teacups and teapot in one of her many hands. “I appreciate your playing coy little fishy,”
Sans stifled a laugh in his ribs. Undyne glared.
“But it’s clear your so called friends just handed you over to save their own skins!” Muffet stepped forward through her pitch black ship, tiny spiders skittering away from her feet, acting almost as cute shadows. She held a hand over her fanged mouth, as if to also hide her laughter, but doing a terrible job.
For a moment, that idea screeched through her mind. Alphys, Papyrus, would they really hand her over? Sans, sure. He was staying conveniently quiet for this. But no, there was no way. They must have gotten the teleporter to work.
“Fat chance!” Undyne roared. “I sent myself here to kick your disgusting spider butt!”
The insult landed squarely on her face. Disgusting!? Her grin faltered and she frowned. “Ahuhu,” she laughed again, strainted this time. “You’re even more a fool I thought!” She waved one of her hands absent-mindedly. “And here I was just about to cease firing on your little friends!” Her eyes narrowed, and her fangs gleamed. “You know, those skeletons may be tasteless, but that pale yellow lizard girl would make such a juicy donut.”
Undyne grit her teeth. “I’m the only one allowed to eat her!” Instant regret. Sans snorted. Undyne’s battle strengths lied in her spears and weapons, not pen and paper. “Ah, whatever, forget it! Let’s get this over with!”
She ignored the cute little spiders beneath her and charged forward. Luckily, they appeared to narrowly avoid her stomps, much to Muffet’s worry. Sans, of course, stood back, hands in his pockets. Worthless as always. She didn’t need him.
“Ahuhuhu,” Muffet cooed. “You must be green with envy of my ship and my quips! I think a nice royal purple will soothe those blues.” In the next instant, her eight hands pulsed with a purple glow, highlighting the skittering webbed walls. There was no time to dodge, it seemed to surround her at every angle.
Soft silky webbing wrapped around her scales delicately, slowing her movement to a stop just before Muffet. Soon, her entire body felt as if it were in a soothing warm embrace of a thousand blankets, yet a strong force kept her still. She struggled against the light fluffy magic, but its warmth stopped her, cooled her boiling rage. Her muscles felt weak, her eyelids heavy.
“Ngaah!” Undyne could only move her head now, her entire body wrapped tightly in this marshmallow fabric. Desperate, she looked back to Sans. He was sleeping! How!? How could he be so useless!? “Are you just gonna stand there and let her kill us!?”
His body jolted and a muffled sleep groan escaped his bony teeth. “you got this.”
She felt the webs rip and tear around her claws as she imagined crushing his pathetic skull in her claws. He’d shatter into a million pieces, and she’d be glad there’d be no chance at putting him back together.
Another soft laugh. Muffet sipped her tea with one hand, the others still glowing with power. “Your friend is smarter than I thought. Maybe I will spare them after all! Ahuhu, I will regret not biting into that juicy little lizard, but I won’t regret making you into a delicious sushi roll for my cute pet!”
Before anyone could object that a sushi roll doesn’t exactly fit a bakery sale, one of the ship doors opened with a groaning metal screech. The dark scuttled away, as a gross hairy leg stomped into the dim light. Undyne grit her teeth. She didn’t fear it. It was pretty disgusting, though. The giant spider lumbered in, its giant gaping mouth drooling with an endless hunger. It stared at Undyne, wrapped comfortably in her royal silks, realizing its master had brought it another tasty treat.
It moved closer, rancid breath melting her nostrils, the smell drifting through a dry throat. Undyne suppressed a gag, and looked back at Sans who apparently was content with letting her die a gruesome death. She felt no anger towards the monster, not even any rage toward Muffet who was willing to kill her own kind. At least her motivation made sense. She’d be getting a hefty reward. Sans, however?
“You worthless sack of shit!” Undyne screamed at the skeleton, her claws ripping the webbing still uselessly. “I should have known you’d let me die!” He kept his eye sockets closed, lost in that fake slumber of his. “At least have the decency to watch me die if you’re going to let me, coward!”
Muffet’s monster opened its gaping chasm of a mouth, the shadowy void of its insides beginning to envelop Undyne. This wasn’t her ideal death. Devoured by a spider. She’d hoped she’d have gone down fighting the demon lord of space. At least Alphys and Papyrus would be all right.
“guess i’ll throw ya a bone,” a voice sighed. Sans?! She must have died. No way in hell he was helping. Undyne heard the distinct specific sound of a bone bonking a creature’s head. It clearly struck with the force of a pillow filled with marshmallows, but it got the creature’s attention. The mouth left Undyne harmlessly, other than a bit of thick rancid drool here and there. Her vision back, she witnessed the lone bone Sans had lobbed pathetically bounce off the creature and just narrowly miss a surprised Muffet.
To their surprise, it struck the ships console and hit a button at complete random. Whirrrrrr. Speakers on the corner of the ship suddenly blasted music into existence, the beat drumming into her skull and her very being. The spiders all throughout the ship began swaying their cute little bodies to the tune, Muffet’s hip swaying in unison as well. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, how thoughtful of you deary! Dinner with a song! This meal will be all the more delicious now!”
Undyne’s eye witnessed the giant spider creature vaguely curve its mouth into a wicked, disgusting smile. Its abdomen also shook sluggishly with the music, and it began making its way towards Undyne again, mouth agape, happier than ever before.
Sans simply shrugged and scratched the back of his skull. “huh. done all i can do.”
Undyne couldn’t believe it. That stupid skeleton saved her, just to let her die three seconds later! He gave her the hope she might live, only to swipe it away again! What kind of sick freak?... How could he be so useless?! How!? Her mind reeled, her veins nearly popped out of her scales in rage. She tasted her own blood on her lips, finding she had bit down too hard. Her vision turned red, and soon she couldn’t even feel the soft silk holding her in place.
“You lazy little shit!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, the webbing near her shredded to pieces as if it were nothing but a stuffed doll. She forgot everything. She knew nothing anymore. She wanted only to kill the little skeleton, see his bones break and burst. She charged forward, spear in hand, dodging Muffet’s creature absentmindedly, much to her vocal dismay.
Sans was right in her grasp now. She used every ounce of her being, every bit of magic to thrust her weapon into him, her eye desperate to see his bones dissolve into dust, his soul shatter and fade away. She felt her weapon strike directly into hard metal, piercing the stuff like hot butter. Somehow, her attack had missed. Wires sparked and writhed from the wall, explosions rocked the entire ship, but the music still blared. The spiders didn’t care.
Muffet shrieked, somehow the only one able to comprehend what happened. Her arms still swayed in tune as she shouted. “Our shields! Come on! Come on, stop her!”
Where did he go!?
“looks like you tuff’d it out,” Sans said through a low chuckle. “ya know, like tuffet? since muffet and tuffet and … ah, well, you get it.” How did he get over there?! It didn’t matter! Undyne would still kill him. She’d fucking do it! The beat pounded in her chest, her boots pounded against metal in sync, as she charged forward toward him again, her rage unquenchable.
A hulking form got between her and Sans. She didn’t bother even looking its way. In a swift motion, she suplexed the thing, tossing it to the side like it were a mere pebble. There, Sans was back in her sight, his stupid grinning face just waiting to be punched.
“M-my pretty!” Muffet screamed as the ship rocked again from another explosion. Though her once pretty forehead began to sweat into her many eyes, she still danced, however her arms were now preoccupied. Each hand desperately tapped and clacked away at some sort of holographic keyboard, red exclamation marks blaring before her face, steam hissing at every angle. The other spiders seemed to love the smoke and light show, though.
Undyne ignored the chaos, still focused on that lazy blue in a sea of red. His hands stayed in his pockets, but a single slippered foot tapped along to the music silently, his grin wide and clearly mocking her. “nothin’ seems to get to you, eh fish face? your moves are silky smooth. if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re carapissed. ya know, like carapaces. like a spider.” He sighed. “these puns aint easy.”
Undyne wanted to tear her ear fins out. “Will you shut the hell up!?” Why wouldn’t the music drown him out!? Why was he everywhere she looked?! Why wouldn’t he leave her alone!? What seemed like a hundred bright green spears fizzed into existence, pointed directly at Sans’ thick skull. He couldn’t dodge all these! The next moment a shower of green shot forward like glowing lasers at a concert, piercing the ships hill with ease yet again. The spiders were in absolute awe.
Another bright red exclamation mark blared in Muffet’s many eyes. “Now weapons are down!?” Before she could continue working, a small explosion blew her back on her butt, her legs still trying to fight the music’s beat but failing.
Undyne’s mind was in a frenzy. He was dead now! He was dead! Surely! Finally! He’d be dead! She’d be dead soon too, of course, but at least he’d die with her, like he deserved! Her chest heaved as webs, debris, dust and dancing spiders cluttered the now thinning air. When everything cleared, she saw him. Sleeping. Standing up. Not a single scratch on him.
“I know there is no way you actually fell asleep!” Undyne howled, her voice nearly mad with rage. He mocked her, still! After all this! Still he mocked her! She couldn’t believe it! Would it take some kind of ultimate death laser to finish this guy!?
Undyne wasn’t quite sure if she really had succumbed to madness aboard this exploding ship of dancing and raving spiders, because in the next instant, that is exactly what happened. A blue blast of energy shot through the ship, cutting it in half with the heat of a thousand suns. The ship really rocked this time, it nearly flipped upside down, gravity finally lost completely.
Whatever just hit them knocked her back into her senses. The ship was falling apart. It’d be a heap of scrap metal soon, and the vacuum of space would suck her and everyone else out into oblivion. The spiders floated happily still, their limbs dancing forever. It was over. Muffet was through. But it looked like Undyne and Sans were through, too.
Thinking quick, Undyne pushed herself off whatever floor or wall she was near and swam through the sea of cute dancing spiders, noticing Muffet’s little pet struggling uselessly in the gravity-less environment. In the chaos, she found her way to this ship’s teleporter, hoping somehow, it might still be intact.
“God damnit!” Undyne roared, pounding her fists into the buttons and into the teleporter platform in a desperate attempt to get it working. The oxygen was leaking, and clearly the ship was not getting anymore. “Sans!” She cried out over the blaring of sirens and music.
“need somethin’, fishy?” he replied almost instantly, floating lazily in front of her with his arms behind his back.
She didn’t have time to kill him now, he was going to do that to himself in a second anyway. “Get the teleporter working again, quick!”
He didn’t even shrug this time. “nah.”
“Are you kidding me!?” She huffed, wheezing for air already as the ship creaked and distorted around them, soon to fall apart. “We’ll both die!”
“maybe you will.” He pointed to his skull. “bonehead, remember?”
“You…. you!...” Her vision was getting blurry again, she couldn’t think of anymore insults, and the music began to get distorted.
“tell ya what,” he interrupted, his sockets finally staring at her for once. “promise me something.”
“Sure, whatever!” Undyne coughed.
“promise me ya won’t ever hurt Papyrus.”
That was an easy promise! She’d never hurt him! Not that it’d matter, anyway, there was no way she was getting out of this one. “Of course, I’d never hurt him, you idiot! He’s the best friend I’ve ever had!”
Sans grinned at that, wider than usual. The music drifted away. Everything was exploding. “shake on it.” He held out his bony hand.
Whatever! She was dead anyway! Nothing mattered at this point. Might as well die proving she cared for Papyrus! No longer able to speak, she grabbed his sweaty phalanges and made to shake. Instead, she heard something over the explosions.
Pffffrrrrrbbbbbtt!!! A whoopee cushion. Mother fucker.
The ship exploded in a brilliant flash of light, bits and pieces of metal scattering out into the inky dark black of space, never to be heard from again.
Last Dumb Notes: A smart person would probably imagine Tuffet’s theme as the music playing here, but I am not a smart person. Music imagined was Splatoon 2 music for whatever reason, but I guess gotta take inspiration when I can get it. Also, I know the music is probably jarring and weird, but eh, that’s the only way I could have finally written something. We’ll see what happens, hopefully I’ll feel confident enough in what I wrote to give it some more polish it and give it a legit post.
#Undertale#fanfiction#Undyne#Sans#Muffet#Space#WIP#I know it's Sans/Undyne-ish#fairly intentional but don't expect much out of it
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I Went To Philadelphia’s Pre-Dawn Wing Eating Contest And Stared The Devil Right In The Face
New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/i-went-to-philadelphias-pre-dawn-wing-eating-contest-and-stared-the-devil-right-in-the-face/
I Went To Philadelphia’s Pre-Dawn Wing Eating Contest And Stared The Devil Right In The Face
Can the Wing Bowl, with its rampant gluttony, sexism, and debauchery, survive in 2015? I went home to see for myself.
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Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed / Mitchell Leff / Getty Images
“Sometimes in the projectile process, we become the object of that projectile.” —Angelo Cataldi, Jan. 30, 2015
It’s Jan. 26, 2001, and Matt “Sloth” Dutton has just consumed dozens of chicken wings in minutes. He doesn’t know it, but in just a moment he’s about to immortalize himself. His eyes glaze over and Dutton flashes the thousand-yard stare that’s graced the face of countless competitive eaters before him. He sits up straight, his clean-shaven face impressively unstained by orange sauce. In an instant his cheeks puff and his head bows.
What happens next should be unsurprising to anyone who’s been watching Dutton cram biblical quantities of chicken into his face at breakneck speed and yet, the meat geyser that sprays from Sloth’s mouth is astonishing. The force is so great it seems to propel Dutton up out of his chair. Sloth is a hero, and he knows it. Fourteen years later, Sloth’s Old Faithful-style emesis is now referred to as the “Reversal of Fortune” and it is, perhaps, the seminal moment in the event’s sordid 23-year history.
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Sloth’s famous 2001 “Reversal of Fortune.” youtube.com
For many, Sloth’s regurgitative tour de force is a nightmare that’s guaranteed to tickle one’s own gag reflex. But for tens of thousands of Philadelphians every year, his torrent is a cultural touchstone: a reason to create an unofficial holiday, congregate with friends, defy the body’s circadian rhythms, and quite nearly drown oneself in booze.
The result is the annual rite of gluttony and debauchery that is the Philadelphia Wing Bowl. Here are the basics: It’s a competitive eating contest (two 14-minute rounds, followed by a two-minute sprint round), it’s held inside a sold-out NBA/NHL arena and broadcast live by 94 WIP, a Philadelphia sports radio station. It takes place at the asscrack of dawn on the Friday before the Super Bowl (lots open at 4 a.m. for tailgating, gates at 6:00 a.m., and it’s all over by 9:45 a.m.). And it’s an infamous city tradition that, in many ways, has come to define what it means to be from Philly.
Those inside and surrounding the city limits are intimately familiar with the spectacle of the Wing Bowl. For many, attendance is more than a point of pride; it’s proof of citizenship. Growing up in the Philadelphia suburbs, I’d heard tales of the event’s 4 a.m. tailgates and scantily clad strippers and debauchery so many times that I recounted them as my own in college to prove myself as a true Philly native to my non-local friends. The truth is I never actually attended. It’s a lie that I continued to perpetuate even with my colleagues as I planned a trip to attend this year’s bacchanal. Let me be clear that I am not proud of this.
The point being: this lowbrow, binge-eating, binge-drinking, unabashedly sexist, blindingly white-and-male shitshow courses through the DNA of Philadelphia the same way that Patriots’ Day and the marathon does in Boston and Mardi Gras does in New Orleans. For better or worse, the Wing Bowl is a defining piece of the city’s culture: a raw and unapologetic ritual that separates its most dedicated locals from temporary residents. It’s rude and off-putting and fuck you if you don’t like it because clearly you’re not from around here.
But in recent years, some of the Wing Bowl’s defining traditions — drinking to the edge of oblivion, peer-pressuring women in attendance to flash the crowd on the Jumbotron, and fighting in the stands — have come under scrutiny from a growing legion of onlookers who struggle with the idea of celebrating sexual harassment, gluttony, and violence in 2015. Indeed, the event — which feels like the spawn of a wayward mating experiment between The Best of The Howard Stern Show and the Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest — has received appeals from outlets like Philadelphia Magazine to change its ways or, at the very least, get rid of the “Can Cam,” a Jumbotron custom where cameramen spot and zoom in on the chest of almost any woman in attendance. Oh, and it’s sponsored by Miller Lite!
So, in its 23rd year, I decided to return home in an attempt to earn my Philadelphia citizenship and try to see if Wing Bowl can or should be saved (or if it needs saving at all).
***
Thursday, Jan. 29, 2015
4:49 p.m.: It’s the afternoon before the Wing Bowl, and there are strippers everywhere at the pre-event weigh-in, which takes place at a local sports bar. While the event itself is sponsored by 94 WIP, the competition’s 27 contestants are almost exclusively sponsored by area gentlemen’s clubs. Inside the bar, the exotic dancers travel in packs determined by their place of work. Stripper gangs. Each faction is wearing some variation of their club’s logo emblazoned on “stripper-casual” outfits — tiny shorts and crop tops. Like me, they look overwhelmed and confused. A man in only a diaper wearing a Santa hat walks past me casually. It’s not quite dark yet outside.
6:20 p.m.: As I enter the back room where the contestants have gathered, each in their own booth (which double as pre-weigh-in holding pens), I can’t distinguish the eaters from the entourages, or the spectators, for that matter. I meet Dimitri, whose competition name is Ukraine Train, and his unofficial manager, Felix. Dimitri is quiet and polite. The competition is 12 hours away and he still needs to get some materials for his float (there is a pre-competition parade where each contestant, flanked by friends, family, and strippers, marches around the arena on a homemade float. What a country!) and somehow find time to squeeze in a nap. I ask Felix how he became Ukraine Train’s Don King. “It’s an excuse for me and my friends to come and participate in this whole thing,” he tells me. “My wife wouldn’t let me go anymore unless I was in it or found somebody to be in it. So I found Dimitri. Really, it’s just a way for my old friends I never see to get together every year and have some beers.” I wish them both luck.
6:54 p.m.: Al, a college softball umpire who goes by the name of Luv Handles, is missing a front tooth, which he lost while training for the wing-eating contest. Yes, Luv Handles jammed a chicken wing into his face so hard that he lost a tooth. At 265 pounds, Luv Handles has a head that looks carved from mashed potatoes and the most infectious personality in the whole damn bar. “I’m all butt and guts,” he says turning into profile and jutting out his rear while caressing his magnificently curved potbelly. He’s flanked by his best friend, who proudly tells us he’s known Al for 40 years.
Luv Handles seems to have been waiting for this moment all his life, which as he tells me hasn’t been easy (his daughter’s struggle with addiction has left him and his wife to raise their 5-year-old grandson). “But I have fun, you know?” he shrugs. “You make mistakes in life and you move on.” He puts his arm around his friend, who just moments earlier pulled out a set of false teeth to play a practical joke on Al (“I lost them to cancer, so I figure I might as well have fun with them!”). With mere hours until the competition’s 6 a.m. start, Al’s only regret appears to be that he won’t be able to get shitfaced like he did last year. After a moment of reflection, he laughs, “I guess I’ll just have to get shitfaced after!”
Luv Handles is as Philly as they come, and I hope he wins this whole damn thing.
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Luv Handles with his friend the night before the wing orgy. Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
9:49 p.m.: I pile into the elevator of the Philadelphia Stadium Holiday Inn, a hotel that quite literally sits in the middle of the Philadelphia Sports Complex’s parking lot, minutes away from where tomorrow’s wing orgy will take place. A man in his mid-fifties in Philadelphia Eagles gear engages my two female co-workers in conversation. “Here for the Wing Bowl?” They reply in the affirmative. “First one?” he says with a cocked eyebrow. They reply in the affirmative. A moment passes in silence. “You girls gonna show your tits tomorrow?” he asks with an earnest timbre reminiscent of a Barbara Walters interview. Between nine and twenty years pass in silence as our elevator climbs to the fourth floor.
Friday, Jan. 30, 2015
4:31 a.m.: Here’s a tweet I posted:
hi it’s 4:30AM and the holiday inn elevator is already covered in vomit and mopped up by USA Todays. this does not bode well #WingBowl23
— cwarzel (@Charlie Warzel)
4:54 a.m.: In the pre-dawn darkness the lots of the Wells Fargo Center feel unlike any professional sporting event tailgate I’ve attended. There’s an electricity in the air, but there’s an uncomfortable, foreboding darkness to it that makes it feel almost more like a refugee camp than a parking lot. People are drinking. A lot. Tendrils of grill smoke curl toward the black, icy sky. I approach a group of college students, notepad in hand and ask them how long they’ve been drinking. They ask me if I’m a cop and motion for me to leave.
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Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
5:37 a.m.: Fifteen men pile out of a U-Haul chugging beers and hard liquor. Inside the cargo bay are a dozen folding chairs. “We all get in the back and drink and drive around,” one of the U-Haulers notes. One of my co-workers asks if they’ve ever gotten in trouble for it and the U-Hauler flashes a badge. “We’re cops in New Jersey!” the U-Hauler guffaws before offering us a shot of Patron. The sun will not officially rise for another 105 minutes.
6:08 a.m.: Now inside the Wells Fargo Center, the voice of Angelo Cataldi, WIP’s morning radio jockey and one of the voices of Wing Bowl, fills the arena. He welcomes us to the event with a reassuring benediction: “We have no idea what we’re doing. We’re just hoping at 9:15 we’ll have a champ and everyone will make it out alive.”
6:15 a.m.: A rough estimate suggests the stadium is almost half full. The two-piece velour sweatsuits flow like wine. In my immediate field of vision I see a young man slumped in his seat, vanquished by the tailgate. Not nine hours ago, professional athletes skated on the ice beneath my feet. Now that same ground is littered with mashed up pieces of hot dogs and Mardi Gras beads. The goosebumped flesh of weary strippers jiggles in all directions. The Jumbotron prepares to show the first of many clips of Sloth’s 2001 “reversal of fortune.” Cataldi instructs first-timers to get out of the way of wayward vomit by dispensing this sage piece of advice: “Sometimes in the projectile process, we become the object of that projectile.”
6:20 a.m.: Luv Handles parades into the arena, flanked by family and strippers. He sports a smile so wide I fear it may split his face in two. The announcers criticize his entourage for its lackluster entrance into the arena but Luv Handles can’t hear them. Sitting on his float, which doubles as a throne, Luv Handles is King. He throws free T-shirts over the hockey boards to the plebes in the audience because they used to be him, once upon a time. Not today.
6:39 a.m.: My neck hurts. Every 10 minutes a deafening chorus of boos thunders from the stands, causing me to wrench my head back from my spot on the arena floor to watch 25,000 voting-age males harass women to offer a flash of their bare chests. “The Can Cam is the lifeblood of this event,” Cataldi says after a particularly chesty round of the Cam. The crowd roars.
6:59 a.m.: This happened:
This woman won’t stop flashing @cwarzel and me. Help #WingBowl23
— katienotopoulos (@Katie Notopoulos)
7:57 a.m.: It’s the middle of the first 14-minute round. Some of the best wing eaters in the world are here, including the 120-pound former Wing Bowl champion, Molly Schuyler, who ate 363 wings last year. But I have no time for pros. My eyes are glued to Luv Handles, who just finished his first plate of 10 wings. He’s quiet, the very opposite of flashy. His strippers, who are lined up behind him, leaning in as if to use their cleavage as a back support, are cheering him on without the slightest traces of irony. They want him to win. He is methodical, but he is slow. Even I can see that his chances aren’t good.
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Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
8:03 a.m.: “Sweet Caroline” pipes through the arena loudspeakers. Luv Handles stands up mid-wing and fist-pumps to the first “ba-ba-bah.” This is Luv’s world and we’re all just living in it.
8:04 a.m.: A local and veteran Wing Bowl-er named Ice Man, who looks like somebody’s grandfather, has his mouth full to the brim with drippy wing meat. The entire arena watches his neck and throat unblinkingly as it begins to undulate. On cue, the Jumbotron plays looped footage of Sloth’s “reversal” as Ice Man looks up. In one move, he swallows the wing meat, rolls his eyes at the camera, and waves off the crowd as if to signal that he was a professional. “Act like you’ve been there before,” I think I see him mouth. I can’t be sure, but I hope that’s what he said.
8:13 a.m.: A UPenn student named Stormin’ Norman crushes over 90 wings in the first round, making him the college champion. He can now choose to take his prize (a brand-new car) or continue on with the pros, where he will surely win nothing but an ulcer. He wisely chooses the car.
8:17 a.m.: This happened:
8:17am – I am hit in the head by a flying plastic cup full of beer #WingBowl23
— cwarzel (@Charlie Warzel)
8:32 a.m.: We’re in the second round — Luv Handles lost out on the top 10 by a single wing — and one eater named Qwazy is wing drunk. Reading his lips, I see him tell the ref, “I’m gonna boot,” to which the ref replies, “I don’t care.”
8:40 a.m.: I’m three feet from the reigning champion, Molly Schuyler, who is putting down a wing every 1.5 seconds. There are some things you shouldn’t see from three feet away.
8:42 a.m.: While the competition builds to its climactic finish, the Can Cam, seemingly following a new censorship directive, begins to cut away from women before they can expose their breasts. Boos rain down from the cheap seats. Between songs from the house band, you can hear the slurred screams of overserved jabronis who’ve been denied nipples. The crowd is restless as a Foo Fighters cover from the house band echoes through the arena. For first time I am overcome by the feeling that something terrible could happen if the collective drunkenness and sleep deprivation of the crowd is used for evil.
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Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
8:58 a.m.: The competition ends. Molly Schuyler is dethroned by another competitive eater, Patrick Bertoletti. From my vantage point near the stage I can hardly tell who won in the organizational mess. I try to make my way to the winner but I see Luv Handles from across the stage. His eyes light up. All told, Luv put down 95 wings in 14 minutes, a figure of which he is proud. “I’m glad I stopped when he did because I might have hurled,” he confesses. I ask him what he plans to do next. “I’m starting to belch,” he replies, “which is good because it sure helps a lot.” I ask if he’ll be back next year. “Damn right I will,” he says. “But for now, I’m gonna go home with everyone and go drink.”
***
As patrons file out of the arena under the newly risen winter sun, a battle-worn attendee expresses his frustration at what he’s calling “the worst Wing Bowl ever.” He blames heightened security — “they cracked down hard, man” — and a skittish Can Cam destroying the city’s time-honored tradition.
Indeed, for all the hype, the event felt watered down in the worst possible way. Rather than discontinue the Wing Bowl’s unsavory Can Cam, the event organizers crudely censored it three-quarters of the way through the event. They significantly beefed up security personnel but still let belligerent and near-comatose spectators through the door. It’s the sort of halfhearted reform that insults those calling for change as well as the event’s sordid history.
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Jon Premosch / BuzzFeed
The Wing Bowl is shockingly white, male, sexist, hedonistic, and, at times, violent. It affirms the worst stereotypes about class, race, and the city of Philadelphia. It is a backwards tradition tangentially linked to football’s biggest event that feels particularly troubling in the wake of the NFL’s domestic abuse issues. As Philadelphia Magazine noted, correct or not, it’s not hard to connect the sort of behavior celebrated at the Wing Bowl with a culture that still has years to go in how it looks at, values, and treats women.
And yet, somehow, buried deep inside all of that lies a tradition worth preserving. It’s what drew me so instantly to Luv Handles, and it’s what drives tens of thousands of hardscrabble human beings to stay up for days, take off work, and head to the sports complex in the middle of the night during the dead of winter. For a high-profile competitive eating event, there’s a surprisingly low barrier to entry — average local dudes can make it in (one guy ate two candles to qualify). To qualify, you can simply call up the station and suggest a stunt. If it’s approved, you go on air, and if you succeed, you punch your ticket.
After that, it doesn’t matter much what happens. For locals like Luv Handles, Wing Bowl elevates a collegiate umpire who, like any of us, has bills to pay and family crises to weather, to celebrity status. Google “Luv Handles and Wing Bowl” and you’ll see his face in multiple news articles as well as radio clips on the WIP website.
It’s hard to gain acceptance into Philadelphia as a local. I lived there for over a decade but always felt like a fraud saying I’m from Philly. But what instantly endeared me to the city, and what the Wing Bowl, at its best, preserves, is its very real, very raw humanity, which eschews any and all attempts at elitism and classism. It’s a city that treats Rocky like a documentary. A city where you can be inducted into a hall of fame for eating to the point of projectile vomiting. A city that, perhaps more than any other place I’ve lived or visited for an extended period of time, doesn’t just like an underdog, but actually values it.
Don’t get me wrong: The Wing Bowl is fucked up. I have serious reservations about the whole thing that give me pause when trying to articulate its merits. But for a ritual that seems to defy every politically correct sensibility, I’m not sure that Wing Bowl can be killed. And while I’m still conflicted, I’m not so sure that it should be killed. All the butt-and-guts, mashed-potato-faced Luv Handles of the world deserve their moment of glory. And, for all its many failings, Philadelphia is the one of the few cities that actually gives one to them.
Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/charliewarzel/phillys-pre-dawn-drunken-wing-contest
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