#[[also I love her fervor and can't wait to see more and more]]

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue -- [Prior]

"Silvaire has offered to escort me home, a gesture I am most appreciative for." She bowed her head respectfully for a moment. Knowing that too much social flair would easily set her tumbling to the ground if she wasn't careful. "My things, if you please." She placed her free hand on the surface of the counter to aid in keeping herself steady. "It seems I will not be staying as late as originally planned, but rest assured Momodi, I will return once I have recovered. And I won't forget to repay this kindness. Not many would do for me as you have." She offered the keeper of the Quicksand a pained smile as she continued to hold her suffering at bay.

A low huff of air escaped the woman as her lips tightened to threaten a scowl at the obvious overworking demeanour of the Miqo’te, each word ironing in that expression further as the minuscule hints of pain radiated from her person; obvious even to the uninitiated.

But Momodi was used to this wasn’t she, letting grown men and women choose their poison.

And as she met the hidden eyes of the man she named, it was clear to him the Lalafell saw him as that rumoured snake.

Bold declaration if any. For once there was no danger towards the person with him, He had no desire of such a thing. The irony was not lost on him.

“Mhm…” Momodi paused and nodded with a sigh, stepping down from the counter to grab the items she had laid off to the side for safe keeping, placing them atop the wood within a few moments with a comment to Cyra that was none-to-obvious towards her companion as well. “You make sure you get home safe’ye hear? You can think’bout repaying me then.”

Silvaire did not tempt her ire, knowing the social power the short woman held behind her, and offered a slight bow of his own with gentle thanks that seemed to soften whatever potential rumour she held in the back of her mind.

The trust in the choices of another.

Walking once his charge was ready, the Elezen brought a hand to the linkpearl that was clasped in the jaws of the metal snake at his ear and tapped it thrice, not a word spoken in turn for whomever was on the other end - that signal was all they needed to know for his request of transport. He’d worked hard enough to keep the amount of people who he talked too at a minimum, even for such matters.

“The carriage shall be at the gate for us.” Was his communication to her as they moved and it was more for the idle response of the matter than any conversational purpose. She seemed to be similar to him in that regard.

Two actors playing the part of normalcy within the halls of the Quicksand, pretending with idle smiles and a casual pace, yet even his step held the leashed pace of quickened excitement. To see a person’s fall from grace, it was a luxury that few understood.

The thrall that he followed was a scene all in herself. Bridled muscles coiled and ready, once slumped shoulders tightened as her invigorated dreams chained her onward into the dark. Even that swirling aether seemed to spurn and churn as tendrils of her emotions braided through the world around her.

Unseen by all but those who looked.

As he had stated (and instructed the pale driver) the carriage was indeed waiting by the outward entrance by the guild, easy within the distance for the somewhat recovering Miqo’te compared to the lengthy walk to the other side. Whether this change in posture was due to her medicinal abilities, or her own stubborn sense of will, he didn’t really know and honestly wasn’t privy to care. As long as she wouldn’t succumb to the claws that dragged across her skull he wouldn’t prod.

Compared to that of traditional caravans, the one that Silvaire had called for was one he himself owned and designed - much more private in the form of a well furnished walled box and safer from the heat of the sun with the inside a much more comfortable dark, a few crystals peppered here and there to facilitate the cooling wind for a creature such as himself. He would never get heatstroke like others of the world, but the light of it all burned far worse than he would like; many things within his domain estate had been adjusted with such a thing in mind.

Allowing her to seat herself first he followed, once more tapping thrice to the snake for the driver to begin moving, the seating having ample room for him to cross his legs and rest his temple against his knuckles as he took off the dark glasses to finally look at her properly. It was in the dark that his eyes excelled, and most of her details had indeed been washed away by the light of candles or skies. It was of course not pitch dark within the cabin, with veiled windows to allow her to see as any other would, but still it was more than most.

Silvaire was silent for a few minutes as his own tension subsided - granting her the peace to adjust to whatever pain she had left - before he tapped a finger against his knee and spoke; the tempo of his voice much more laxed and quiet in the solitude.

“Can you read Hingan Script, or any other languages?”

[muiitoloko]

I was thinking could you do another Phil Allen story, this time with a female character. I had an idea that his son’s girlfriend had a half sister and she comes over from the US to see her sister. She meets Phil because obviously her sister is dating his son. They get get to know each other and develop a connection, they embark on a secret relationship due to their fear of what his son and her sister’s reaction would be. They mainly meet up in her hotel room. Do what you want with that idea.

Title: Dirty little Secret

Summary: You knew this was worth it.

Pairing: Phil Allen (Blow Dry) × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I absolutely loved your idea for Phil! It's such a juicy premise with plenty of potential for drama and intrigue. I've crafted a one-shot based on your concept, and I can't wait for you to read it! I hope you enjoy the story—I put my heart and soul into it. Let me know what you think!

Also read on Ao3

As you lazily caress Phil's chest, your mind drifts to the complicated web of emotions that entangled the two of you in a forbidden love affair. You're tired of hiding your affection for Phil, tired of sneaking around like teenagers trying to avoid getting caught. But Phil's reluctance to make your relationship public weighs heavily on your heart, reminding you of the countless obstacles that stand in the way of your love.

Being Christina Robertson's half-sister only adds fuel to the fire, as you come from the lineage of Phil's rival, Raymond Robertson. The tension between your families is palpable, a constant reminder of the divide that separates you from Phil.

The fact that you're also his son's sister-in-law from Phil's son, Brian Allen, makes your situation even more precarious. Brian's relationship with Christina only adds another layer of complexity to the mix, as your very existence threatens to unravel the delicate balance of their romance.

Despite all the odds stacked against you, neither you nor Phil can resist the magnetic pull that draws you together. From the moment you met, there was an undeniable chemistry between you, a spark that ignited a flame of passion that refuses to be extinguished.

And so, here you are, stealing moments of intimacy in the confines of your hotel room, the only place where you can truly be yourselves without fear of judgment or reprisal. It's not the ideal situation, but for now, it's enough to sustain you, enough to keep the flame of your love burning bright in the darkness.

But as you lie there with Phil, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep up this charade. How much longer can you live in the shadows, denying yourselves the chance to be together openly and without shame?

With a sigh, you bury your face in Phil's chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne as you cling to him desperately. You know that the road ahead won't be easy, that there will be countless obstacles and challenges to overcome. But as long as you have each other, you're willing to face whatever comes your way, together.

When Phil gently tugs on your hair, turning so he's above you, a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. His breath catches in his throat at the sensation. You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, his touch sending waves of desire coursing through your veins.

With a soft moan, you arch your back, offering yourself up to him completely as he leans in to kiss your lips with a hunger that leaves you breathless. His lips are soft yet demanding, claiming you as his own with each passionate kiss, his tongue tracing lazy circles against yours as he explores every inch of your mouth with a fervor that leaves you dizzy with desire.

But as his lips leave yours to trail kisses down your neck, your mind reels with the knowledge that this forbidden love affair could spell disaster for both of you. The thought of being caught in the throes of passion with Phil fills you with a heady mix of excitement and fear, your heart racing in your chest as you cling to him desperately, unable to resist the magnetic pull that draws you together.

His tongue flicks out to tease your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body as he sucks and nibbles on each one with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath.

You arch your back, offering yourself up to him completely as he takes you in his mouth, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your hardened peaks as he worships your body with a devotion that leaves you trembling with desire. Each flick of his tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, your hands tangling in his hair as you urge him to take more of you into his mouth.

With a low growl of desire, Phil complies, his mouth closing around your nipple with a fierce intensity that leaves you gasping for air. He sucks and nibbles on your sensitive flesh, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer tugs, each movement driving you closer to the edge of oblivion as you surrender yourself completely to the ecstasy of his touch.

And as Phil's erection pressed against your thigh, a surge of excitement rippled through your body, your fingers tingling with anticipation as you reached between the two of you to grasp his throbbing member. With a soft moan, Phil released your nipple from his mouth, his gaze locking with yours as he watched you stroke his cock with practiced ease.

His breath hitched in his throat as he felt your hand wrap around him, your fingers trailing over the rough but well-trimmed pubic hair that framed his length. Phil took pride in his grooming habits, always meticulous in his attention to detail, especially when it came to his appearance below the belt.

With a grunt of frustration, Phil pulls your hand away from his throbbing cock, his desire evident in the way he grips your wrist tightly, his eyes smoldering with need as he gazes down at you. "I like your touch, darling," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "But I need more than just that. I need to bury myself in your sweet pussy, to feel you clenching around me as I fuck you senseless. Feel your taste on my tongue."

You whimper in response, the ache between your legs growing more intense with each passing moment as you watch Phil lower his head between your spread thighs. His fingers part your lower lips with practiced ease, his tongue flicking out to tease your sensitive clit as he explores every inch of your pussy with a hunger that leaves you breathless.

You cling to his hair desperately, your hips arching off the bed as you chase the exquisite sensation of his tongue on your skin. Each flick of his tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your breath hitching in your throat as you surrender yourself completely to the ecstasy of his touch.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, Phil pulls away with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips glistening with your arousal as he gazes down at you with a devilish grin.

"Sorry, darling," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I can't have you ruining my hairstyle."

You roll your eyes in amusement at his antics, unable to resist teasing him in return. "Oh, please," you retort, your voice laced with mock indignation. "Your hairstyle was ruined the moment you woke up this morning."

Phil feigns a disappointed sigh, his hand pressed dramatically against his chest as he gazes up at the ceiling in mock despair. "Oh, the cruelty of fate," he laments, his voice thick with sarcasm. "To be blessed with such natural beauty, only to have it marred by a simple touch."

You can't help but laugh at his theatrics, the tension between you dissipating in the face of his playful banter. With a playful swat to his shoulder, you pull him back down to you, your lips crashing together in a passionate kiss as you lose yourselves once more in the heat of the moment.

With a low growl of desire, Phil's lips find yours once more, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as he claims you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. You moan into his mouth, your hands roaming over his naked body as you revel in the exquisite sensation of his skin against yours.

But just as the heat between you threatens to consume you both, Phil pulls away with a reluctant groan, his eyes smoldering with desire as he mumbles something about getting a condom. You nod eagerly in response, your heart racing with anticipation as you watch him disappear into the bathroom.

Alone in the dimly lit room, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of what's to come. The anticipation coils in your belly, aching to be released as you wait for Phil to return to you, his cock hard and ready to claim you once more.

And when he finally emerges from the bathroom, a condom in hand, you can feel your pulse quicken with desire at the sight of him. His body is a masterpiece, every line and curve a testament to his raw masculinity as he stalks towards you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

With a wicked grin, Phil crawls back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself between your spread thighs. His cock is thick and swollen, glistening with pre-cum as he rolls the condom onto his length with practiced ease.

You watch with rapt fascination as he sheaths himself, a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins at the thought of him filling you completely. With a low growl of desire, Phil leans down to claim your lips once more, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself at your entrance.

And then, with a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, filling you to the hilt as you cry out in pleasure. Your walls clench around him, the sensation of him stretching you to your limits sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body as you surrender yourself completely to the pleasure of his touch.

With each thrust, Phil drives you closer to the edge of oblivion, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as he chases his own release. You meet him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in a primal dance of desire as you lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

As the pleasure washed over you, your mind couldn't help but drift back to the tangled web of secrecy that surrounded your relationship with Phil. Despite the intensity of your connection, the thought of being his secret weighed heavily on your heart, casting a shadow over the ecstasy of the moment.

"Phil," you whispered breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to him desperately. "When are you going to tell Brian about us?"

Phil paused mid-thrust, his movements slowing as he processed your question. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

But then, with a sardonic chuckle, he leaned back slightly, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked down at you. "Gee, darling," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I must be really bad at fucking if that's what you're thinking about at a time like this."

You scolded him with a playful swat to his chest, your voice laced with annoyance as you chastised him for his flippant response. "That's not what I meant, Phil," you insisted, your tone firm with resolve. "I don't want to be your dirty little secret anymore. I want us to be able to be together openly, without having to hide like teenagers sneaking around behind closed doors."

But Phil ignored your protest, his movements becoming slow and deliberate as he continued to fuck you, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered words of affection in your ear. "But you love it, don't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "To be my dirty little secret, to have me sneaking into your hotel room and fucking you on this fancy mattress before I have to sneak out again like some kind of forbidden lover."

You couldn't deny the truth in his words, the thrill of secrecy adding an intoxicating edge to your passion as you surrendered yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. With a soft moan, you arched your back, offering yourself up to him completely as you lost yourself in the heat of his touch.

"God, Phil," you gasped, your voice thick with desire as you clung to him desperately. "Fuck me harder, make me yours completely. I want everyone to know that you're mine, that we belong together no matter what."

With a sparkle of mischief dancing in his eyes, Phil held your hips firmly as you wrapped your legs around his waist, the heat of his body pressed against yours as he intensified his thrusts. The headboard rattled against the wall with each powerful stroke, echoing the rhythm of your shameless moans as you called out his name in ecstasy.

"Oh, fuck, Phil!" you cried out, your voice filled with raw desire as he buried himself deep inside you, hitting all the right spots with each delicious thrust. "Harder, please, I need you to fuck me harder!"

Phil's lips curled into a wicked grin as he obliged your request, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as he chased his own release. He knew just how to push you to the brink of ecstasy, his cock driving into you with a primal intensity that left you trembling with pleasure.

"That's it, darling," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he watched you writhe beneath him. "You like it rough, don't you? You like it when I fuck you senseless, when I make you scream my name until you can't think straight."

You nodded eagerly in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure consumed you completely. With each thrust, you felt yourself spiraling closer to the edge of oblivion, your body teetering on the brink of ecstasy as Phil drove you to new heights of pleasure with each powerful stroke.

And then, just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, Phil trapped one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it with a ferocity that left you gasping for air. The combination of his relentless thrusts and the exquisite sensation of his tongue on your sensitive flesh sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, overwhelming your senses with pure, unadulterated bliss.

"Fuck, Phil!" you cried out, your voice echoing through the room as you surrendered yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come so fucking hard!"

Phil's only response was a low growl of desire as he redoubled his efforts, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing with pleasure as he spilled himself into the condom with a primal roar of ecstasy.

As you tumbled over the edge into blissful oblivion, your body convulsing in the throes of orgasm, you knew that this forbidden love affair was worth every moment of secrecy and shame. In Phil's arms, you had found a passion that transcended the boundaries of time and space, a love that burned brighter than any flame, and as you clung to him desperately, you knew that nothing could ever tear you apart.

[adoriels-tears-if]

How would Ashlyen and Elianna's react would react if they encounter a person who said they predicted the future yelling in the streets saying that

‘ in the future their will be will a hybrid revolution born of fear and hatred and they will bring death and destruction and they will not stop until we all feel their pain’

and as they describe the leader of this revolution they all perfectly describe the MC and they also said

‘ wait I can sense one of the parents who is responsible for spawning this devil if you can hear us I hope you realise that your forbidden love had doomed us all’

Five meters is all that separates Elianna from Ashlyen as they both walk the cobblestone streets of the city overlooked by the Academy.

Five meters only. But it is much more than all the distances which could separate them these last two months. The subtle glances, and the hidden smiles became more and more insufficient to stifle the feelings of the young woman.

As she turned left onto a narrower street, Ashlyen was pulled close to her by the influx of a group of dwarves. The two lovers' fingers touch and a voice call them to order indirectly.

"A rebellion and death to us all! Can't you see that? That is what awaits us all if you continue with your idea of upsetting the natural order!" The man’s voice was a thunderclap in the serene afternoon, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot.

Elianna's blood ran cold through her veins. They'd have to turn back, she knew, but her feet refused to move.

She watched almost as if in a trance as the figure climbed the low wall and spouted what seemed to her to be nonsense. So concentrated that she almost doesn't feel Ash's presence beside her.

The man, disheveled and wild-eyed, stood atop a low wall, his arms flailing as he addressed the gathering crowd. "Hear me, citizens! The path you tread leads only to ruin! The stars themselves have whispered of the darkness to come. A rebellion will rise, and with it, the shadow of death will fall upon us all!"

"His gaze swept over the onlookers, eyes blazing with a fervor that sent shivers down Elianna’s spine. "The natural order is delicate! It is the balance that keeps our world from collapsing into chaos! Those who seek to change it, to twist it to their own desires, will bring nothing but despair and destruction! Betrayal lurks in the heart of our city, and blood will spill if we do not heed the warnings!"

The words echoed in her mind, mingling with her own fears and doubts. Ashlyen's touch grounded her, but her thoughts were still a whirlwind. A shiver ran down her spine.

Ashlyen tugged at Elianna’s hand, trying to pull her away. "We need to go," he whispered, his voice urgent. "He’s just a madman, but we don’t need to be here when things get worse." Elianna turned to him, eyes wide with fear. "Do you think he knows? About us, I mean?"

Ashlyen shook his head, his grip tightening on Elianna's hand. "No. He’s just spouting nonsense. But we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves." Reluctantly, Elianna nodded. They began to move away, their steps quickening as the man’s shouts grew more frenzied. The crowd around them buzzed with anxious energy, people whispering and glancing nervously at each other.

"Hey," Ashlyen said softly, pulling her into a side alley away from the commotion. "Look at me. Don’t let him get to you. We’ve been through worse, and we’ll get through this too."

Elianna took a deep breath, nodding. "You're right. Let’s focus on what we can control." Ashlyen smiled, leaning in to kiss her gently. "Exactly. Now, let's get somewhere safe and figure out our next move."

With a final glance back at the chaos in the street, they hurried away.

[violetasteracademic]

Favorite ships:

Of all time

Acotar

TOG

CC

Not Elriel (ACOTAR related)

Secondary fave ship

What ship would you want to live in real life?

Crack ship

A toxic ship you love?

Best fanfic for ship of your choice?

(feel free to send to others)

Meep! Thank you @nikethestatue for this!

Fave ships:

Of all time: Kanej

Acotar: Elriel 🌸🦇 with FERVOR

ToG: Manorian

CC: Night and Day

Secondary fave ship: Ahhhh this is tough. I love Feysand and Nessian for different reasons. I think both of their relationships have bright spots and flaws, but I feel Feysand edges out just because we have so much more perspective of their relationship and they are the OG's! I wish I could read their story again for the first time probably more than any other couple in the SJMverse.

What ship would you want to live in real life?: Genuinely, Elriel. The peace and quiet girlies get it. The house husband girlies get it. I am truly a person who requires a great deal of alone time and quiet time to recharge. I, much like Elain, enjoy a great deal of solitary activities. Writing, baking and gardening. I like filling my free time making something. It gives me a sense of peace and purpose outside of the capitalist hellscape we live in. I have yet to experience a romantic partnership where my "me" time or quiet time was treated as valuable or important. Nothing will ever be more romantic to me than Elain and Azriel simply wanting to be around each other, even if in silence. Sitting together quietly in the sun. Or Azriel listening to Elain talk about her gardening plans, because he is interested in the things she thinks about creating.

It's a special type of connection, to not constantly need high energy conversation to feel close to someone or learn about them. Being at peace with one another, being interested in each other's minds, and understanding what someone else needs to feel calm and grounded, that is really beautiful to me.

Crackship: Ansel and Rolffe, but also Gwyn and Fenrys!! I am a Twilight of the Gods theorist and genuinely believe the Valkyrie will play a huge role in the Ragnarok retelling. Fenrys is one of my fave SJM men, but he and Gwyn have a lot in common. Both were twins who got horrifically SA'd after witnessing their twins murder. Both have a sassy sense of humor, and a long complicated history being loyal to and in service of powerful and short tempered leaders (Maeve and Merril.) I personally see a lot of connections there, and see Gwyn and Fenrys both as side characters in their respective series that may likely become key characters in the multiverse!

A toxic shop you love: Klaroline 🙈 still not over it.

Best fanfic for ship of your choice?: Okay, despite the nearly 100k multi chapter fanfic I wrote in April, I am still brand new to the fic world and haven't read a lot of fics yet! So I'm still gathering recommendations and figuring out where to start! But I did read Pretty Little Angel by DottieLovegood after a friend sent it to me over a year ago, and it essentially became my religion. I can't wait to keep diving into all the talented writers in the Elriel community! I've read some great one shots by @tswaney17 and @bloomingdarkgarden (ehoney on AO3) and have years worth of fics to catch up on!! I'm sorry I'm such a newb 😭 and taking recommendations!

Tagging @faeprincesswarrior @enigmaticexplorer @nikachansstuff @gracie-rosee to see your answers!

[highhhfiveee]

Are you gonna finish your pornstar!mikeschmidt x Reader because I want reader to cuss him out and just shout how they feel 😔😔

(Totallly ok if ur not gonna finish it though it was so good anyways >_<)

yes!!! i've actually been on here today writing more [: we're halfway there officially and at 5806 words lmao. sorry to be taking soooooo long on this part, but here's a little [unedited] something to tide you over [hopefully!]:

a peek into safety net, part five

"fair point, i suppose. still, it wouldn't hurt to have a conversation, no matter how difficult. from what you've told me, mike seems to have a good head on his shoulders. he sounds generous, caring, gentle and though nowhere near perfect, of course, you've painted a picture to me that he's tried hard to cultivate a safe space for you. it's a safety net, your own personal nirvana."

dr. kelley's imagery has you transported; you find yourself in the sky, its deep, intentional brushstrokes of pink and orange surrounding you in an endless landscape. a bungee net stretches with moderate tension in four directions, leaving you in the slouchy center. a cool breeze crosses your face as you search around for mike, yelling his name into what seemed to you like a void.

"I understand that your trauma and experiences makes it a bit harder to acclimate and feel entitled to that kind of treatment. that is fair and fine, but what's not is refusing to communicate that to mike. you can talk to me about it all day, rack up on your invoice by all means, but it does nothing if you don't put in the work."

"but I did put in the work! from my anniversary to now!"

"how many days is that?"

"...five," dr. kelley sighs, fatigued by your green nature. she rarely took in clients your age, half her own and like toddlers exploring a brand new world, but something about your fervor had spoken to her. she saw that you weren't one to back down, and after a few sessions, she knew she'd been right.

yet, she was wise enough to know that stubbornness was both a blessing and a curse, and here in this moment, it was the curse that saw you from seeing the truth. "we've talked about self sabotage before. when you first told me of your relationship with mike, how it made you feel, i pointed it out instantly. if you're telling me that you've overcome every feeling you've told me about in five days, i might as well give you my credentials cause you're a better therapist than me, apparently."

very excited to write this last half [: it's very immersive so I can't wait [: see you all soon!

ALSO HAPPY FUCKING PRIDE! I LOVE YOU ALL, YOU’RE SO VALID AND LOVED AND WORTHY! QUEER FOLK 🔛🔝

[omegasmileyface]

The Foleys' Incredible Crisis

Chapter 1: Call It Stormy Monday

Call It Stormy Monday (But Tuesday Is Just as Bad) was written and performed in 1947 by T-Bone Walker. It is one of the most popular Blues songs ever, and has been performed and reiterated by countless other musicians. It has been credited with inspiring B.B. King to take up electric guitar, and it is included in the Library of Congress.

Happy Invisobang!!! This should have been posted earlier in the week but I couldn't make myself get to the computer to finalize/format it. Hehe. This year I had the INCREDIBLE experience of working with Shadow and Sharks, who were such wonderful artists— they have a whole smörgåsbord of art to please your eyes in this story! They have kept me on my toes— as I write this, the final, collaborated illustration is still a secret to me 👀 Lola is an OC I named once I realized Tucker absolutely feels like he has a little sister. Since then she's been in my heart and I can't let her go. My wonderful girl Lola. It's a treat whenever I get to see her in the wild— I almost had a heart attack when she appeared in Lex Luthor's Ascent from Supervillainy to Fatherhood by halfagone!

For a directory of all currently posted chapters and related content, check out the Table of Contents!

fic summary: After a whole week of vacation stuck together, the Foleys were more than happy to have some time apart. So when they each found themselves caught up in ghost business, that meant handling it alone. Angela wasn't planning on improvising a ghost conspiracy, Maurice was hoping to avoid working IT, Lola didn't think playing a hero would take her out of school, and Tucker would really have liked to focus on his own problems. But, really, what else did they expect from Amity Park? Home, sweet home.

words: 2269

AO3 link

next chapter [pending]

Tucker dropped his bag with a thunk. He was far beyond caring to be delicate, despite the electronics inside— he just wanted to shed his shoes and jacket and maybe the memories of the trip along with them.

"Ohhhh-kay," said his mom, grimacing at the trash can. Nobody had thought to empty it before they left. "What a vacation!" She laughed emptily. "I'm going to bed. You can fend for yourselves for dinner."

Tucker's dad popped back out from behind the bathroom door. "Before you go," he called over the rush of the faucet, "can we all just agree? Real quick, get in the den and then we can all ignore each other."

Lola sighed loudly and gave up untying her shoe, just kicking it off. Tucker agreed. He couldn't wait to wash his hands after the long trip.

His dad dried off his hands and joined them in the den, looking each of his family members in the eyes one by one. "I propose we never talk about this trip unless we have to."

Everyone agreed with as much fervor as they could muster after the fraught day.

"Also," said Lola, "I think we should try not to talk to each other for a whole day."

"Works for me," said Tucker.

His mom yawned. "Much as I love you all, I'm good with a day pretending you don't exist. Tucker, can you walk with Lola to and from school tomorrow?"

He looked at his little sister. She shrugged.

"As long as she plays nice, yeah."

His dad clapped. "Cool. Alright. So, unless one of us needs something, we all mind our own business tomorrow? Okay. I'm gonna order a pizza, and... I'll sleep in the guest room tonight. Pleasure doin' business with you all."

Tucker closed his eyes and sighed, pleased at imagining taking a shower and sleeping in his own bed in a few hours.

They had just wanted to see family in Chicago. What a disaster.

The library was quiet when Angela Foley came in. That made sense, she worked weekday mornings, so they usually only saw adults and the rare preschooler. As much as she liked helping the spread of knowledge, it was nice not to have too much to do at the front desk. Maybe she could get a crossword puzzle or two done.

She had made it about halfway through the puzzle (Angela knew a lot of things, but wordplay was never her specialty. What on Earth was she supposed to get from "gift for a blue lady"?) before someone walked in, paused, and went straight for the front desk.

She put on her smile. "Hi! Can I help ya with anything?"

The man was tall, wearing a clean white button-up shirt and jeans. His brassy skin and black hair caught strangely in the fluorescent lights, turning almost orange at their edges. She was pretty sure he was a ghost in disguise, but she had helped ghosts before. Usually, if one was asking for help using a library, they weren't intent on doing anything violent.

Usually. She still reserved a little caution.

"Yes, I'm looking for information on a very distant place. Where might I find something like that?"

"Well, what place is it?"

"It's called An Aghaidh Mhòr."

Angela blinked at the unfamiliar sounds. "I'm not familiar. Is that... Gaelic?"

The man fiddled with his sleeves. "Scottish, I believe, yes."

"Alright." Angela stood up and moved toward the computer monitor at the desk by the door. "I'm going to check in our catalog for books on Scotland."

The man watched silently as she searched. Angela hummed. "It looks like, in house, the only books we have on Scotland are travel guides covering the whole of the UK or Europe. I don't expect they'd have many details on smaller places— well, I'm assuming An Aghaidh Mhòr is small, since I haven't heard of it. If you'd like, you can check anyway, or I can contact another library in the system, and they can send over some more specialized books, but that might take a few days."

The man said nothing, but his eyebrows furrowed in thought. Angela recognized the face of a person with a wide, potent array of bad options.

"Or, if you're more pressed for time, we do have a few computers and Internet access here. I can help you find some web sites that might have what you're looking for."

"And this wouldn't take any longer than looking through a book?"

Angela smiled and headed toward the public computers. "Faster, even, if you know what you're doing. I can help you if you've never done it before."

They began their search, and the man caught on quickly to what Angela was doing and how. She helped him for a while, long enough to find out that An Aghaidh Mhòr was a place in the woody North of Scotland, usually called Aviemore, and was something of a tourist destination. Beyond that, she left him to do his own research and went back to her crossword.

She just had a pesky few clues left when the man started muttering curses in another language and walked back over to her desk.

With panicked eyes, he said "I have to be honest. What I'm looking for is, ah… evidence that An Aghaidh Mhòr has an open community of ghosts alongside its humans. I'm certain that it once did, and I know that it still must. But I have chased every tail of information I could find that led to pages on the computer, and none of them, regardless of detail or experience with the town, has mentioned it."

He looked down and seemed to weigh something in his head. "It must be some sort of secret. Whether to protect the ghosts or to protect themselves from ridicule, the living people of An Aghaidh Mhòr have hidden their ghost society. You have to help me find it."

The little hairs on Angela's body all stood up. Warning bells were going off in her head. There was nothing to do but remain calm. "If that's the case, I don't know about anything like that. I can send out a question to my colleagues to see if they know anything, but I'm afraid I can't–"

"No!" The man swung out a hand, and the inner doors swung shut, silvery light weaving across them like fishing nets to keep them in place. The lights dimmed and his skin faded to a deep, fiery orange, layered and complex like agate. His eyes glowed like the moon. The few library guests gasped and looked at him in shock.

"You are a keeper of information, from a city with a striking connection to ghosts. I need to know the truth about ghostly An Aghaidh Mhòr, and you must help me find it." His silver eyes were full of fear, but Angela couldn't bring herself to care how the ghost who just trapped and threatened her was feeling.

She had to think fast to get out of this safely. Something to keep his hopes up…

"Fine. Fine." Angela held up her hands. "I'm not confident in my own grasp of the situation, but I do know of some secrets like the one you're talking about. It'll take some time– say, a couple hours– to put together anything meaningful, and I'll need to call in an expert, but I can do it. I will do it."

She could only hope her friends were any good at improv.

Maurice was never one for early mornings, but he always made the best of his hour alone after the kids went off to school and Angela's shift started. That was his time to make coffee and goof around. He could prance around the kitchen in ways that would make Tucker gag if he were there, and as long as he couldn't see his neighbors, he could put them out of mind enough to sing as loud as he wanted.

Before work was the blues hour. Today he put on Lucille. Whole album, on tape, from the top.

If anybody asked why he started his days with the blues, he'd probably say something about the sad lyrics reminding him how lucky he was. How no matter how embarrassing the family vacations or boring the work or sleazy the boss, he still had a clean house around him and a faithful wife beside him.

In reality, though, he mostly just liked the beat.

Once he got into work, it was just the same as ever. Double-entries and journalizing. He didn't even get to mix up which accounts he dealt with. VLADCO was too big for that. It was Accounts Receivable, 140-180, day after day.

But at least it wasn't IT.

Then, after almost an hour of swimming through "Axiom Labs, Ltd. $1,300 Debit" and "Hey, Maurice, how was the weekend?" and "Nugreen Ectosuppliers, LLC $400 Credit" and "You get that last letter? Crazy what Masters is trying these days, yeah?", everything went dark.

(Or, at least darker than usual. The grainy white of every surface in the office never lent itself to anything deeper than a cloudy grey.)

After a few seconds of quiet shock, the lights came back. Now, however, there was a ghost floating in front of the door connecting the Finances and Supplies department to the rest of the facility.

He seemed to be well-muscled and of average height, though it was hard to tell exactly what a ghost looked like when they were putting off that much of an aura. His skin was dark green and rough-looking, like bark, and there was a reddish halo around his head like some sort of spectral hair. His blood-moon eyes looked over everyone in the room individually before anyone dared speak. Finally, he opened his mouth.

"This is the center of a company that arms humans againsts ghosts and similar threats. Yes?"

Shocked, a few people nodded.

"And you are all from the department keeping stock of supplies. I do not know where your weapons are kept, but I know that you do. Someone in here will retrieve them for me. I need them, if I am to bring my people, ghosts and humans, together again."

The tension finally broke the membrane freezing time, and several office workers started to move for phones.

"Don't bother trying to get help. I have severed all the lines of communication between you and the world outside this office. I will leave you alone, as soon as someone leads me to the armory."

Maurice glanced at the little LCD display on the phone on his desk. No signal. His computer, too, had nothing when he clicked over to the Internet settings.

No one said anything. Some kept trying with their phones, but not a single person offered to explain how scant and useless the actual in-house ecto-equipment supply was or show the path to it. Maurice imagined they were all thinking the same thing he was; yes, complying was generally the way to stay safe in a hostage situation, and panic was strong, but a ghost coming into town and getting their hands on even just half-assembled ecto-equipment never went well. And, maybe even more importantly, VLADCO had terrifyingly strict regulations on safe ecto-tech policy. Unless the immediate threat of being personally hurt for information increased, the consequences in the long run were the biggest monster here.

The ghost crossed his arms. "Fine. You have one hour to bring me to the weapons. I can wait. I have waited this long. If you take any longer, or if you attempt any trickery, then I will start going through with threats. Until then, you may have your time to panic and fantasize about ways out that don't involve giving up company supply. I will be standing here."

He leaned against the door, and his gaze stayed rock-hard on the workers and their cubicles.

Maurice caught the eye of his most tolerable coworker Jacob. Jacob widened his eyes in some silent look of panicked questioning. Maurice shrugged. He was scared out of his mind, but what was there to do? Freaking out wouldn't do anybody any good. He could wait here and see if any ghost hunter showed up, and once they got closer to the end of the hour, everybody could meet up and decide if it was worth giving up the ecto-tech.

For now... well, he certainly wasn't going to do more accounting. This was as good an excuse for a break as any.

He toyed around on his computer for a bit, fidgeting with whatever programs he had. Maybe if the ghost noticed him, he could say he was looking for office schematics explaining where the ecto-tech was held. Really, he couldn't think to do anything but let off stress.

He played around in the rudimentary E-mail client for a bit. Mimed sending goofy messages to his coworkers while he knew he couldn't accidentally send them. But there, at the top of his inbox, was the automated morning office update. It had just come in four minutes ago... after the communications were shut off.

Was there some kind of hole in the ghost's anti-communication measure? The intercoms weren't working, and normal E-mails weren't going through, even within just Finances & Supplies. But the daily updates worked on a different system than the normal E-mails, so nobody had to send them at a consistent time each day, just queue them up.

...Was there something about the different setup that made it immune to the ghost's blackout?

Maurice got to investigating.

[juliacoller]

helloo i don’t know fully what you are and aren’t comfortable with writing so feel free to say no but i was wondering if you would write rain x female!reader where she hasn’t used a dildo before so he watches and teaches her you to do it??

Hello, beautiful anon!

this idea is going to shred me to pieces, I will absolutely write this

To help going forward, I am open to writing most things the only thing that I definitely will NOT write is anything non-consensual. Everything in my work will be consensual.

Warnings: Sex toy use (dildo obvs lol), making out, dirty talk, cussing, ghoul x human, mentions of recording sex, masturbating (male and female), oral sex (female receiving)

Word Count: 1,875 words

When Rain came into our room holding a black gift bag, I wasn't too surprised, it's not uncommon for the water ghoul to come home bearing a small gift for me. A token of his gratitude. But, what was uncommon was the sly smirk gracing Rain's face as he found a seat next to me on our bed.

"I got you something," Rain says, shoving the bag into my hands. His eyes trace my face, waiting for some sort of reaction as I peer into the bag, my mouth drops open as I see a long white box with the words "Size Queen" written across it. "Rain, what is that?" I ask, "Open it up, baby" he coos.

My hands quiver as I realize what's in the box before pulling it out of the bag, a decently sized, light blue dildo is pictured on the front of the box. In large writing, the box reads, '7 inches, Unscented, Sturdy Suction Cup' and most noticeable, 'Fits Most Harnesses'.

Now, Rain and I are dating and have been intimate in more than a couple ways, but we have yet to introduce toys into our sex life. Which is quite out of the ordinary, considering some of the other things we get up to.

"What do you want me to do with this?" I ask coyly, he sighs and leans forward to kiss my cheek, then trails his lips down to my jawline. Leaving open mouth kisses against the sensitive spots that he has memorized so well, "It's for when I am gone, I can't have my girl getting desperate while I am gone for tour".

My breath hitches as Rain brings his hand in between my thighs, "Can't have my favorite girl getting lonely" he breathes right into my ear, his hand finding my clit and slowly rubbing the bundle of nerves. My head goes fuzzy at the attention, not quite expecting such a surprise from Rain on a normal Friday.

"C'mon baby, show me how you're gonna use it" He pleads, his breath hot and close to my ear, "I've never-, I don't know how" I respond with gasping breaths, trying to calm my excitement and nerves quicker than my body can handle. Rain grins and grabs my face with his free hand, connecting our lips with such fervor. The water ghoul takes his opportunity to push me back onto the bed and settle his hips between my legs, his hard length pushing up against my needy core. Rain ruts his hips forward and a small moan leaves my mouth, he also takes this opportunity to shove his tongue into my mouth. Sucking, licking, and exploring each other's mouths, the amount of saliva being exchanged is extreme as the water ghoul is known for getting extra wet and slick when he's worked up.

Rain drags my shirt off my body, his lips leaving mine only to reattach to my nipple. His spit is covering my tits by the time he is done playing with them, pinching the unoccupied nipple in his other hand, He moves down to remove my pants next, sliding the ministry-ordained pants down my legs, although they might not be the most flattering, they really do accentuate the ass. Rain gets my pants all the way down and groans at the sight of my panties, the bright red fabric staring back at him with the gusset clearly wet from my own arousal.

"Barely done anything to you and you're already soaking for me, knew you're perfect for me" Rain praises, he loves that he doesn't have to share his slick, but he loves taking his own wetness and spreading it across my body, particularly between my legs. He dips his head down to suck on my clit through my panties, tasting the wetness that has collected there, "So fucking wet for me, baby" he moans, the rumble of his voice sending vibrations through me.

Suddenly, Rain reaches his hand out, looking for the box that is sitting on the bed, ripping open the packaging and staring at the silicone that he holds in his hands. Quickly reaching into our nightstand and cleaning the toy with a cleaning wipe, and admiring how the toy stands tall in the open air of our room.

The toy is pretty comparable to Rain's actual cock, although it's a bit smaller in length, the water ghoul being blessed by Satan himself, but it is comparable in girth. Rain finds the time to pull his own clothes off, not allowing me to appreciate his narrow chest or his tantalizing hips, and pulling his length in his grasp. My eyes cannot leave his body, watching how his tail flicks back and forth behind him betraying his excitement and horniness, and watching as he gasps out from his own touch.

Rain ducks back down to rest his body between my thighs, his shoulder resting near my thigh and his hand playing with the opposite thigh, squeezing and appreciating the squish on my legs. He leans forward and nips at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, I yelp and roll my hips towards his face as he rolls his tongue over the bite to soothe the skin. My hands reach down to play with his hair and his opalescent horns, my fingers grazing over the area where skin meets horn, knowing that he is far too sensitive there. The water ghoul lets a moan escape his lips and dips his head to kiss my clit once again through my panties. He uses a finger to pull the red fabric to the side and licks his tongue from the bottom of my slit to my clit, sucking and placing a small peck on the nerves. I can't help myself from staring at the way he gets so invested, his eyes are squeezed shut and he is rutting his hips into the bed, his hair is tickling my thighs and teasing me even further.

Rain reaches for the dildo once again, getting a good hold on the base with one hand and rubbing my clit with the other, "You think you can take it, baby?" Rain coos, I nod my head and bite my lip. Although I cannot wait for Rain to fuck me with such a lovely toy, I miss the press of his body pressed against mine, his cool skin complimenting the overwhelming heat of my own, one of my favorites of his ghoulish features.

I feel the faux head press against my hole and I let a whimper leave my lips, a cool breath also escaping as he presses more of the length into my body. "You're doing so good for me, love watching you" Rain whines as he presses the rest of the dildo inside of me, I feel the tip of the toy pressing so deliciously against my walls and I only think of the way Rain fills me. "Only for you" I whimper, Rain sucks a deep breath in and lets a happy sigh leave his lips, he pulls the toy out only to press it back into me with a smooth glide.

Rain leans his cheek against my thigh, his gaze still directed toward the way my body practically sucks the toy back in. His wrist flicks forward as he pushes the dildo inside of me and I can feel the way he is tensing, clearly enjoying this just as much, maybe more, than I am. I can see the way he is pushing his hips into the bed, with no shame in his own pleasure.

"Can you do it for me, baby?" He quietly asks, his voice is raspier and deeper, and clearly his mind is foggy as well. I bite my lip and nod, my hand reaching down and meeting his at the bottom of the toy, holding it by the suction cup base. I get a good grasp and feel Rain remove his hand, he sits himself up on the bed and makes sure he has a full view of me. I push the dildo in with a bit more force and let a groan fall out of my mouth, "Rainy-" I heave.

I start a regular rhythm, attempting to mimic the way Rain thrusts into me, when I look up I see my water ghoul with his dick in his hand, matching the thrust of the toy. A loud moan leaves my lips as the head of the faux cock presses against the sensitive, spongy spot inside of me. My other hand dips down to rub against my clit as I continue to angle the dildo to hit my g spot with each thrust, feeling the tension and knot build in my stomach.

My building orgasm only progresses further when I look up to see Rain. His hair is messy, stray pieces of jet-black hair flip to the wrong side, evidence of him running his hands through it so often. His chest is covered in sweat, and his slight amount of chest hair is nearly an ornament to decorate just how gorgeous his broad pecs are. He is sitting on his knees and has his thighs spread so deliciously far apart, and the small line of hair that leads down to his cock is a tempting trail that leads to a sinner's dream. His face is the most notable though, his lips are spread apart as small moans and groans slip past and his eyes are hooded and dark with lust.

I am teetering on the edge of my orgasm when Rain only sweetens the experience, "want my girl to be satisfied when I'm gone, gonna have to remind you of who you belong to when I'm gone". With a gasping moan, I tumble over the edge and my orgasm pulls my stomach taught. I squeeze my eyes shut and submerge myself in the feeling of my pleasure, Rain lets out a loud groan and I open my eyes in time to see him cumming into his hand, which unfortunately also splashes onto our sheets.

Rain's eyes are screwed shut and his beautiful eyebrows are furrowed, his body loses some tension as he slouches into his own body weight. "C'mon over here, baby" I coo, I slide the toy out of my body and set it on the sheets next to me, no shame when they already need to be washed. He brings his body up next to mine and wipes his messy hand on my inner thigh, mixing with the sweat and wetness that has already coated me.

"Thank you" Rain whispers against my ear, wrapping his body around mine, post-sex cuddles being a necessity. "I should be thanking you, now I can orgasm without having to deal with you" I tease, Rain looks up with a betrayed look on his face, "I thought you liked dealing with me?" He teases back. I lean in towards his face, pressing our lips together and I whisper against him, "We're all wrong sometimes".

He giggles and presses a sweet kiss to my lips, his hand coming up to grab my jaw, "In all seriousness, I will need you to send me videos of you using that when I'm on the road"

[createacamillahect]

(Third installment! Sorry this took so long I’ve been busy as fuck. This one’s a bit of a choose your own adventure!)

You don’t see Camilla alone for a few days after you talk about Lyctorhood. You’re out of your mind with terror. You’ve half a mind to storm up to Sextus, in all your golden glory, and demand your lover back from his iron clutches.

Obviously, you don’t. That would give the game away, and secrecy was the one thing Camilla asked of you.

Being patient is difficult, but you wait for her every night for nearly a week. You pace the little corridor you always meet in, your eyes and ears catching on any shadow or creak that could possibly be her.

In the end, she comes. Camilla Hect can always be trusted to come.

When she kisses you, she does so with a fervor you aren’t used to. Her hands- those big, marvelous hands- grip your waist and she presses herself into the fat of your stomach. She lets you know, in so many little movements, that you are hers, only hers, and it is exquisite.

She’s a lot less tense afterward than normally. The muscles in her upper back aren’t quite so taut as they used to be. She does still look desperately in need of a massage, however, and she does not say no when you offer.

You dig your hands into her shoulders, and the question hangs in the air.

“I told him I wouldn’t,” she says simply. “He said he wanted to work out… alternative solutions, but I told him I wouldn’t and that was that.”

“Alternative solutions?”

“I don’t truly get it myself.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever heard her admit to not knowing something. It’s truly an astounding thing. You feel the urge to kiss her forehead, and you do not suppress it. You’re oddly gratified to feel her blush furiously.

“I think he knows about us,” she says. “I doubt he’ll mind in the long run, but-”

“But what, dearest?”

“Shh,” she murmurs. “I hear footsteps. It’s either him or your cavalier coming.”

“Oh, let them come,” you reply. “My moon, and my stars. You’re all that matters in the end.”

The swish of robes is a sharp contrast against the heat of her forehead again.

-🪷

Uno reverse! I was also busy and have finally reached this ask!! Thank you for your patience 🙏🙏🙏

Ps You don't have to apologize!💕 (I am working on apologizing less)

(Pss if you ever get asked your weakness in an interview Ive started saying I'm working on apologizing less and explaining myself more)

Also LOVE "Camilla's big hands"

The footsteps stop about 10 feet away from you two. You can't see who it is, keeping your forehead pressed to Camilla's.

"Am I interrupting?" Your instinct upon hearing such a question might usually be to snarl, but the question is asked so genuinely that you don't. Standing before you is Palamedes Sextus, who is watching you with a vulnerable expression.

"Technically," you answer, which is as polite yet honest as you can get. He grins.

"I was looking for you both." He answers. "I wanted to speak to you about Lyctorhood." Your grasp on Camilla tightens, and you can feel your eyes watering with emotion and from your nonblinking gaze. "Not like that," he says gently, as if speaking to a feral cat - which, fair, is definitely the vibe you're projecting. "I know you can't live without her, and" - here he holds Camilla's gaze - "her without you. I'm not here to separate you."

You're glad he said that first because you wouldn't have listened to him otherwise. Your shoulders fall with your tension. "Camilla said no," he continues, "and I respect that unconditionally. But there may be a way for the three of us to become one. And Camilla, if you say no, if either of you say no, I will never mention it again. But I thought it may be worth mentioning if the main reason you said no," he glances at where your hands rests on her, "is because you love her."

A soft smile breaks across Camilla's face. She glances from him to you. "Indubitably, Warden."

You feel a blush warm your face. Your fingers caress her skin and you wish you could get closer, be closer than this. You look back to him. "I'll hear you out, Master Warden."

[wulfhalls]

I HAVE FINALLY SEEN IT! I AM CHANGED! TRANSFORMED, I AM CLEANSED! THIS IS THE GREATEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME! I SAT THROUGH THE FULL CREDITS JUST TO LISTEN TO THE FULL SCORE BECAUSE I DIDN'T WANT IT TO END!

YES to all of the above!!!! like that shot of him an chani returning to caladan as conquerors????? chills (speaking of the fedaykin I want a sexi fanaticism infused oath taking scene in part 2!!!! I want the religious fervor!!!!) pauls tiny smile when he tells jessica he knows she pregnant???? pure and utter emotional devastation!!! (hope we get a significant time skip for part 2 so we can go ahead and cast adult alia! I want my precious priestess abomination saint and I want her NOW) wish we'd gotten more jessica x leto but then again no matter how much we would have gotten it would always have been too little lol, also genuinely loved what zendaya did with chani and the limited screen time she had?? can't wait for more!! paulie smiling at the tiny muad'dib mousie I'm weak and fragile and in pain!! (also him seeing it again in the projection basically saving him from the hunter seeker like!!!! OK universe!!! we get IT) someone: discourteous to jessica, paul: this is my line in the sand! death onto u and ur entire lineage

[purple-fireflies]

I'll give you a couple

🎵

For Gastina

Gastón and Nina sepparately

And Simbar

EXCITED FOR THIS ONE

so for Gastina, obviously we have, the iconic song, Come Back...Be Here

Stumbled through the long goodbye One last kiss, then catch your flight Right when I was just about to fall

I told myself don't get attached But in my mind I play it back Spinning faster than the plane that took you

I guess you're in London today And I don't wanna need you this way Come back, be here Come back, be here

Also, Joshua Bassett's amazing song, Anyone Else

Favorite Lyrics:

The world melts away when I'm with you And I know you're afraid to jump too soon, oh But I promise if you would I'd love you better than he ever could Girl, we'd have it good, we'd have it good

How am I supposed to think about anything else? How am I to go on keeping this to myself? I am done pretending I want anyone else Anyone else Anyone else

Again, Taylor Swift, our queen, has given us another song that SCREAMS gastina

You Belong With Me:

Walk in the streets with you in your worn-out jeans I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be Laughing on a park bench thinking to myself Hey, isn't this easy?

And you've got a smile That can light up this whole town I haven't seen it in a while Since she brought you down You say you're fine, I know you better than that Hey, what you doing with a girl like that?

For Nina, personally, I think the Kelly Clarkson song, "Behind These Hazel Eyes" works really well for her character.

Just thought you were the one Broken up, deep inside But you won't get to see the tears I cry Behind these hazel eyes

The general vibe of this song really fits Nina - she's the perfect student and the one thing (at least in s1) keeping her parents together and then the heartbreak of Gastón dating Delfi (and in general, her trauma that no one talks about) and how no one really sees the tears behind her eyes.

Or, for her, I think "Waving Through a Window" from Dear Evan Hansen also is good - the lyrics really fit how in her shell and shy she was in the first season, and how she slowly broke out of that.

I've learned to slam on the brake Before I even turn the key Before I make the mistake Before I lead with the worst of me Give them no reason to stare No slippin' up if you slip away So I got nothing to share No, I got nothing to say

There was this one scene in which Nina felt embarrassed for wanting to talk about her interests (slam on the brakes before she even turns the key) and then also how she doesn't use her own name when talking about her interests (aka, Felicity For Now)

Onto, Gastón.

Vienna by Billy Joel. Gastón has so much ambition and also this fervor for life and trying to do everything, even when he's so young.

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out You got so much to do and only So many hours in a day (Ay)

But you know that when the truth is told That you can get what you want Or you can just get old You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through (Oooh) When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

For Simbar - that's a very interesting one

Sk8ter Boi by Avril Lavigne

He was a punk She did ballet What more can I say? He wanted her She'd never tell Secretly she wanted him as well But all of her friends Stuck up their nose

Huge s1 Simbar vibes - Ambar as the preppy good girl and Simón being ridiculed by her friends.

This was so fun!!!

[heliosthegriffin]

@noneatnonedotcom, @lonesilverw0lf, @lar-mx, Keep the idea's coming boys I still hunger!

Anyway, nothing has slown me down except life, in a good way though. Went to see Alice Cooper live (He is excpetionally nimble for a 75yr old man!) and it was a great show! My sister came home, and my little brother came home, so I had a busy weekend.

Plus, I felt guilty about not updating Class of One for almost a year...

Anyway, with that taken care of I ready to move into Arc 2! ... After I put up a epilogue to Arc 1, as I forgot some important scenes to add... Todo with Jaune's influcene on the city, the millions of lien thef, the introduction of some important characters, and a sideplot going on.

Anyway, If Jaune gets a mount, it'll be this.

Magitek Motorcyle! For those long distance journeys through the webway with a certain Fae.

I have entertained the thought of using Air Gear in a story before, but None's right, the Boats of Spring and the Ring of Free movement take that spot. Though, the idea of the Goverments having higher levels of tech they keep from the public, yeah, I'm using that.

Sun and Neptune, yeah, I like those ideas. Them being a adrenaline junkie and his tag-along into deep to get out buddy is a my idea for them. Port will definately mentor them at some point.

Cardin and his gang are Jaune's eventual backup/Minutemen, as in they're going to act as his Goon-Squad, not very smart, but damn are they strong! I'm thinking each of them acting as a low-level barbarian, but instead of a rage, they have Fervor, kinda of like Rage, but instead they work themselves into a frenzy via sheer loyalty and determination to a cause.

I using that Grimm Ship idea, I love it. Reminds me of a Space-Hulk. No ... No.. I can't add Gene-stealers! That would awful! Unless... Mephiston? Nah, that'd be dumb.

Anyway, I'm thinking for Silver Eyes, they have like a generational power pool that each family draws from. As one gets older they lose they're connection to that pool of power, where as the younger member can drawn more and more power, with one Waxing and the other Waning. Summer is still a magical girl, but ever since Ruby was born her power has been shrinking, while Ruby's has expanded. It won't ever disappear completely, but she will lack her prime-level of strength, which explains why she has become less active, only acting on Patch, instead of hunting with Ruby and Yang. This is just talking about Silver-Eye's power, not Aura, though.

I'm going to give Jaune that doll-hive mind, it's too great to pass up for creepy mischief! That while each Automaton has it's own personality and 'sisters', and 'cousin's, they're all connected to the Hive-Mind, is great. A little Penny.

Jaune learning the Thuum/Enuncia, is a very old man Jaune thing, as in Old Wise King Jaune from a different timeline kinda of Jaune. Or maybe, his granpa has picked up a couple words, here and there in his travels. Encounting what the locals think are blessings or curses, with him seeing through the ritual and finding the working words.

Of course, if you know about Enuncia you know how dangerous it is, the horus heresy a space wolf used one word to kill a demon, but it also wounded him in the process of speaking it. Imagine that on a human.

Don't know much about Mist-born, so well wait and see on that. I'm scared to get into The Cosmere. I'll disappear for weeks, I just know it.

Magical girl discussion thread 2 electric boogaloo

@heliosthegriffin @lonesilverw0lf @lar-mx

new thread have a meme

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: This is it guys! This is the very end. I still can't believe it's over. I hope you guys liked it and I couldn't possibly thank you enough for reading and all of your amazing comments. Thank you also to @kmomof4 who has been invaluable during the whole process of writing this and just being an amazing support in general. And super huge thanks to the ever wonderful @courtorderedcake who created the beautiful artwork for this story. She deserves all the love. And away we go!

Epilogue

One year later

Killian Jones sat on his bunk and stared at the wall. The drab beige paint was peeling off the smooth concrete in several places, and Killian's mind began to imagine shapes in it, like one would imagine shapes while watching clouds. It had become a pastime for him, though he couldn't recall when it had begun. For the last year, his life had been reduced to a six foot by eight foot box, shared with another man called “Tiny”, though he was anything but. He didn't know where his cellmate was now, and he didn't care, his mind singularly focused. The slate gray polyester jumpsuit he wore felt stiff against the skin it touched, the thin white t-shirt underneath doing little to prevent the rubbing. He thought briefly about stripping it to the waist, but it wouldn't be much longer now.

The TV in the common area was tuned to a local news station, some of the older inmates having commandeered it for their recreation time, as they sat at a single table directly across from his cell. He couldn't see it but he could hear it, not that he was paying any attention. He scanned over the small space with sharp focus, ensuring that anything he had of value was tucked safely into the small box in front of him. Not that he had much. Just a few books, a couple of drawings and letters he'd received, a few plain, white shirts, nothing huge. The rest of them could fight over the remaining items he would leave behind for all he cared.

“And in other news out of Boston this morning, 62 year old Weaver Gold was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole after a long and arduous trial,” the reporter on the TV proclaimed, causing Killian's ears to prick up. He turned his head slightly so he could better hear, but remained seated on the bunk. “Gold was charged with several counts of assault, kidnapping, murder, and human trafficking, among other violations. This story broke last year when former BPD Detective Emma Nolan headed an undercover investigation into the head of one of Boston's most dangerous criminal empires. More on this story at 11. Let's go to Jackie with sports. Jackie?”

Killian smirked. It was the least the bastard deserved after all the irreparable damage he'd done to countless lives. He looked around his cell, the cramped space, exposed toilet, bars lining the only exit, and for the first time, the sight made him smile. He couldn't think of a more fitting cage for a crocodile.

The year since Killian had been sentenced for “racketeering” (in reality, the cash laundering scheme he had used to keep his operation afloat was the only thing they could connect back to him) was served uneventfully, for which he was grateful. He kept his head down and stayed mostly to himself, making sure that nothing would delay his release. He had made a promise to go on the straight and narrow and he didn't intend to break it. The police were more than lenient with him considering his own criminal operation.

As part of a plea deal including delivering testimony on Gold, he had received thirty six months in a minimum security federal penitentiary, and Will had received thirty himself.  Jefferson had stayed true to his word and helped them get the best deal possible but with the way everything had gone south, prison time became inevitable. Will had been released after eight months with good behavior to serve out the rest of his sentence on parole, as far as he had heard. He was glad for it. Killian had just had a parole hearing of his own, but he wasn't expecting any such miracles.

Until about an hour ago when a guard had stopped by his cell and told him his parole had been approved. And now he waited. His head was filled with images of his last day of freedom. It had been one of the worst of his life. He had killed a man. Watched other men (and a woman) die. He'd been beaten, broken, tortured for hours. But the thing that stuck out to him the most was Emma's pale and lifeless form in his arms.

It had been Milah all over again. Maybe worse, for he couldn't recall a time his soul had physically ached until that moment, like it had known immediately that it was missing its other half. She'd saved him, not only from the bullet, but from himself. He hadn't expected to ever walk away from the dark criminal underbelly alive. But here he was. Maybe he was a survivor after all. He didn't intend to squander a single second Emma had given back to him.

“Jones,” a sharp, commanding voice barked from just behind the bars of his cell. He looked up to see two uniformed guards waiting for him, an older seasoned guard called Spinelli, whom he knew, and a rookie officer that had just started last week. Howard, he thought he recalled. “Cuff up. Time to go.” Killian stood and obediently slid his hand and stump through the slat in the bars, smirking at the look of exasperation on Spinelli's face.

“Problem?” he asked cheekily, his eyebrow quirking up his forehead, and the rookie had to stifle a chuckle in a less than convincing cough, earning him a glare from the older guard and a grin from Killian.

“Be right back,” Spinelli muttered and stomped off towards the pod exit, leaving the rookie and Killian observing one another in silence.

“So…” Killian extended the conversation to the young officer, leaning up against the bars.

“No talking, inmate,” he replied, underconfident authority in his voice.

“Come, now. Who doesn't bend the rules every now and again?” Killian grinned, his tongue nudging his canine tooth mirthfully.

“Is that how you ended up here? All the fun of bending the rules?”

“Touché, Howard,” Killian agreed.

“It's Hendricks.”

“My mistake, lad. Didn't see a nametag,” he said. The younger man flushed scarlet.

“I forgot it this morning,” he admitted.

“Ah. Bit of a rule bender yourself then, aye?” Killian said with a wink and Hendricks bristled. “Don't worry, I won't tell. You'll do alright here, lad. Don't let these bastards get in your head and you'll do just fine.”

“No talking, inmate. Back away from the bars,” snapped Spinelli, who had huffed his way back in front of his cell as Killian finished speaking. Killian rolled his eyes and backed himself towards the bunk again. “Open!” he called out to the command center. A loud buzz rang out and the bars clicked, Spinelli reaching out to hold them shut for the time being.

“Palms, er, forearms flat on the wall, inmate,” Hendricks commanded. Killian complied. This was the very last time he had to do this. Never again. He'd promised her.

After a moment, the bars slid open and Killian was being fitted with what was called “the sleeve”, a mesh wrap with metal buckles in the back that wrapped around his body and secured his stunted arm to his torso, rendering it immobile. He was dressed with a chain around the waist next, a handcuff around his good wrist and the other end secured to the chain. The chain connected to another that hung between his feet where ankle shackles were added and connected as well. Spinelli stepped back, giving him a once over with a nod and a grunt, satisfied with his level of restraint.

“There we are, all nice and subdued and ready to leave prison,” Killian quipped. A thrill shot through him as soon as the words “leave prison” had left his lips. The rookie suppressed another chuckle.

“Just walk, Jones,” Spinelli grumbled, seizing him by the arm and leading him from the cell. Hendricks followed with his box of personal effects.

As they walked down the corridors, men yelling, cheering and jeering at him, he couldn't help but feel… excited.

When he got here, he was fresh out of spending the first three months of his sentence in the hospital getting physical therapy on his shoulder, two weeks of which was spent with his fractured jaw wired shut. He’d been arrested before, but prison was an entirely different beast altogether. And yet it was nothing at all, compared to what he'd gone through with Weaver Gold.

The day he had shown up at the docks, he had been so sure it was the right move. He had gone to Smee's with Emma and obtained a gun that couldn't be traced back to either of them. The plan was to slip in and kill the man, consequences be damned for the rest. He never expected to make it out alive. He had been so close to making it happen when he made one wrong turn and ran smack into Malcolm and Perdu.

He had fought a hell of a fight against them, but the two men eventually overpowered him when Malcolm wrenched his shoulder from its socket. Once again, he had underestimated Gold's influence, by extension to his henchman. It was when he was presented to the man himself like a wrapped gift that he realized just how far he had actually underestimated him.

Gold had wasted no time in his fervor to make Killian suffer. He nearly rejoiced in it. As soon as he was sunk to his knees, Gold smiled, offering a quick ‘Hello, Jones’ and cracking him across the face with the gold handle of his cane. Hence the fractured jaw. The older man was stronger than his looks portrayed. From there on out, it was a series of blows with the cane and taunts with a gun, his gun usually. He wasn't sure how long it had gone on for.

Then Will was led through the door and his stomach twisted. If Will was there, Emma was no longer safe. He had held on to that last mangled little piece of hope that she was still locked up where he left her, even as Will took a similar beating to the one he had. Right up until Emma marched out from behind those crates and everything went to hell.

He clenched his jaw at the memory as the door buzzed to let him in to the discharge area. Spinelli left his side, taking the box and setting it on a dented metal table next to them, but Hendricks remained, and he opened a locker to retrieve a standard set of street clothes for Killian. Jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and a set of laceless athletic shoes were set on the metal table beside the box as Hendricks worked on getting him unbound.

“Strip,” Spinelli instructed as soon as he was free of his chains and the sleeve. Killian had never moved faster to take off his clothes in front of two men in his life. Hendricks set about gathering his discarded jumpsuit and underthings, shaking them out and inspecting them as Spinelli stepped back towards Killian, who stood, hand clasped over his stump before him, naked as the day he was born.

“Arms out, mouth open,” Spinelli ordered. Killian did so, reminding himself for the hundredth time this was the last time he would ever have to do this. Spinelli searched his mouth with a tongue depressor, eyes scanning over every inch of his body to make sure he didn't have anything hidden. As if anyone would sneak something out of prison, but he was sure stranger things had happened. “Squat and cough,” he instructed next. Killian set his jaw and did that, too. Spinelli nodded. “Get dressed.”

Killian did so and Hendricks walked around him, putting things away. Once he was dressed, he picked up the box with his meager belongings and waited. Spinelli scanned his ID card and the metal door opposite to the one they had entered through buzzed and opened with a loud clank. They reached another door at the end of a short hallway. When Spinelli opened it, daylight flooded in from beyond the floor to ceiling windows that lined the room.

People milled about on the other side of the glass, waiting for a visit or for someone to answer their questions. The door at the end of the glass lined hallway led directly outside. He walked between Hendricks and Spinelli and they waited for clearance at the end of the hall before he stepped out the door into the yard. The two guards escorted him to the fenceline and opened the gate.

“Well, gentlemen, I'd say it was a pleasure, but frankly, I hope I never see either of you again,” he said, only half joking. Hendricks did chuckle at that and even Spinelli offered him a begrudging smile.

“Best of luck, Jones,” the older guard said and Killian nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes already set forward and searching for his future.

Killian Jones took his first free steps in over a year out the front gate, simply taking a moment to breathe it all in.

The rumble of a familiar engine had his head turning in a second, just in time to see a small, yellow Volkswagen Bug pulling up to the curb. Sunshine colored hair and a flushed face popped out of the driver's side door and Killian couldn't have held back his grin if he’d tried.

Emma's brilliant green eyes set on him and she smiled.

“Somebody order a getaway car?” she asked, walking around the front of the car towards him. Killian didn't care who was watching. He dropped the box of things that didn't matter to the pavement and rushed forward to the only thing that did, scooping her up in his arms and sealing lips over hers in a kiss that took both of their breath away.

His arms looped around her waist and he lifted her, her head falling back and laughing as her hands found purchase on his shoulders. He spun them around, resting his forehead against hers, refusing to let her go, not that she was even trying to escape.

“Hi,” she murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking over his less than immaculately groomed beard.

“Hi,” he replied, nuzzling into her touch, still a little disbelieving that she was here, alive, in his arms.

Emma had coded twice in the ambulance once medics were able to get to her and three more times in surgery to repair the damage in her abdomen. The last time had been the closest call. The doctor had been ready to call time of death, but Emma's heart inexplicably started beating again all on its own. No one could explain it. They had called it a miracle.

It had been a long road to recovery for her as well, but if nothing else, Emma Nolan was a fighter. She had completed grueling amounts of physical therapy and mental health evaluations, but she had never wasted a single second with Killian. Phone calls, letters, visits every weekend (with accompanying one hour drive both ways), Emma never complained, and Killian wouldn't be where he was without her. In every way possible.

Emma was released from the police force shortly after the incident, before she had even come home from the hospital. They had cited “medical reasons”, for which her resumé was grateful, but she had broken so much procedure it wasn't like she hadn't seen it coming. The women she saved had been worth it. Will was worth it. Killian was worth it. She and Will had set out to found a nonprofit for missing people, a sizeable donation from one Ivy Belfrey getting them off the ground, and she was happier now than she had ever been.

“You can't park there!” a voice shouted at them and they both turned from their embrace to see a stern looking woman in uniform on a golf cart motioning to her car. Emma waved at her in understanding as Killian set her back on her feet.

“Ready to get out of here?” she asked.

“Aye, my love,” he replied with a grin and another quick kiss.

“It's just you and me now.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way, agrà.”

The two got in the car and drove away, the scent of sea salt and jasmine following them on the breeze.

And when she brought him home to meet Ruby, the force of nature that was her best friend may or may not have actually passed out seeing the man from Emma's sketchbook come to life. But that was a discussion for another day.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Thirteen-One, part 5

Amy’s hands trembled like leaves in the wind. Even when she tried to suppress it, tried to focus, and tried to calm herself down—the coffee mug in her hand shook, and the liquid inside of it threatened to slosh over the edge after taking a sip.

She set it down and stared at the nondescript disc that sat on the surface of her desk. Seth had given it to her. In her heart of hearts, she knew it contained another strange video. And that she would not be able to unsee whatever it would show her. What it would show her about herself.

Amy dreaded to watch that video. A single tear dropped onto the transparent jewel case.

She switched her computer on and inserted the disc. Waiting for the system to boot up took way too long. Her heart raced. Her fingers tapped on the edge of the desk.

Finally she opened it up, double-clicked, and started viewing the video.

The image was black. Something rustled. The camera automatically focused on a face. Contrary to what she expected—to see her own face in the picture like the last time she had watched one of these bizarre videos—she beheld Seth’s face instead. He sighed and slumped into a chair in front of the running camera.

It was the same dingy room that she had seen herself in, on the previous recording that these psychopaths had given her. This too, showed her something she could not remember.

“Thirteen-One is here, and Scott is—he is dead. My rage with Sara was not as much as a drawback as he initially thought,” Seth spoke into the camera. His eyes glistened with tears and he croaked out some of the words.

“By the way—I hate that Amy doesn’t accept what she really is,” he continued. His voice shook with what could only have been sadness or rage. “Twenty-Four-Five and Twelve-Twelve have accepted it. I accepted it.”

He trembled as he screamed, the sudden outburst blending into his next words, “Why doesn’t she?”

Seth breathed, his chest heaved, he took what felt like an eternity to settle back down in this rickety old wooden chair. Watching the unsettling scene unfold, Amy hugged herself. She sat on the edge of her seat, absorbed by Seth’s monologue in this video.

“It doesn’t matter,” Seth sighed. “Now it’s just about—we gotta end the game, complete the pentagram, perfect the circle. I’m certain now—Thirteen-One is to blame for Amy’s fever-like states and dreams. Can’t expect any useful contributions from her, now.”

He looked away from the camera and stared into the distance. Almost as if he had heard someone or something. When his gaze returned to fixate on the camera’s lens, he said, “If you ask her what happened to Scott, she says he moved to France. I guess that means she’s suppressing the truth, or something. Like she doesn’t know what happened. So I’m beginning to wonder—is Amy the right one for Thirteen-One? Is Thirteen-One the right one for Amy?”

Seth set his jaw during the silence that followed. Outside Amy’s house, the rain set it—first tapping against the shuttered windows and roof with a subtle pitter-patter, then transitioning into a drumming downpour.

She refused to believe what she was hearing Seth say in the video. Scott was not dead. He was in France.

Seth and the other jerks from this weird cult had to be gaslighting her.

Right?

“We’re waiting for answers, but I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of waiting,” Seth said, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna scour the tomes, and see if I can’t get some damned answers myself.”

Before Amy’s consciousness could fully absorb Seth’s video, he got up and reached towards the camera. The video turned to a static of black and white, and the audio died.

Amy’s hand rested on the computer mouse, pale as a corpse once more, then moved the input device with the intention of closing the video and clicking everything away. But before she could close the player, the static ceased to display and made way for something else. A dark picture, a close-up of someone’s mouth.

Screaming. The video had no audio, but judging by the cracked lips and the way the mouth moved, it had to be screams of agony.

It looked like Scott’s mouth, which she knew intimately from all the times they had kissed in the past. Amy stared at the video, expecting to see something else, hoping to see something that would prove her instincts wrong, praying silently for this to stop on its own or someone to jump out of hiding and tell her she was being punked.

None of that.

Just more screams. Although no audio escaped her computer’s speakers while the mouth’s teeth gritted in pain before gnashing and then stretching wide open to scream yet more, she heard dark whispers in the back of her head. The whispers were not really there—she was not going crazy, at least not yet—but she felt like they should have been there. Like she could have heard the whispers in the background, chanting, while this poor person—not-Scott, she wished, over and over again—screamed.

Amy closed the player before the video ended. It had only a few seconds left, anyway.

She refused to believe.

She removed the disc from her computer’s drive with an almost eerie calm about her. Then she snapped it in half and, without looking, tossed it at the trash bin nearby. She missed and the plastic parts clattered onto the floor.

Blood dripped from her bandaged hand, soiling the wooden floorboards underneath her desk chair.

Walking through the fog and the rain, the world passed by Amy in a trance. A familiar yet distorted voice responded to her at the building’s intercom after she rang the bell to Seth’s apartment, but it was not Seth on the other end. It was the one she expected to answer, for some reason. Like this strange world she lived in was beginning to make sense, like everybody was falling into place within a strange, dysfunctional order.

Inside the apartment, she sat on the couch once more, the water dripping from her leather jacket, the fabric of the sofa soaking it all up in dark spots. She sat across from Adam, and had buried her face in her hands. She had told Adam everything she had experienced in the past few days.

“I don’t know what you could’ve done,” Adam told her. Unlike in their last conversation, he sat up straight. Did not distract himself with booze or smoking. “Don’t know if the cops could—or would—do anything right about this.”

“They know where I live,” Amy said. “They know what I’m thinking. They know what I’m afraid of. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, but why the hell did you come here, of all places? To Seth’s apartment?”

Amy looked up at him and shook her head, replying, “I don’t know. Maybe this is the last place they’ll look for me. Maybe I need to warn you, too. Maybe you’re in danger, too.”

Adam shrugged, but the contortion of his face betrayed the uneasiness that had claimed his heart.

“Eh, I have nothing to do with anything. Seth hasn’t been here in all this time, ever since the last little shindig here. Also, I’m not really part of the gang you all had together, back then, so, eh, y'know. Screw it.”

Adam scratched his head, first lightly, and then with more fervor and irritation. No itch made him do that, only confusion.

And fear.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, I feel like,” Adam said. His words and thoughts trailed off.

“I—I can't—I can’t really say,” Amy stammered.

“Go find Steve, okay? Tell him. Go take him somewhere, outside of this garbage town. Better yet, go to the big city together, or to his parents and spend some time there. Just take some vacation.”

“But—”

“No, I know I’m full of bad habits and worse advice, but this time, you should listen to me.”

A silence draped itself over them. It dragged on while Amy pondered his suggestions.

Adam asked, “Okay?”

More silence followed.

He asked again, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Amy sighed.

The doorbell rang. Not the doorbell to Seth’s apartment, but the one to Steve’s. Elsewhere. He approached the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

Amy stood there, greeted him wordlessly. Her eyes spoke volumes of desperation. They fell into each other’s arms, then they kissed. Amy’s passion suffered and Steve must have sensed her dwindling energy and broken confidence. He responded with all his affection.

She wanted to say something, but he placed his index finger upon her lips to shush her.

Amy spoke anyway, “I need to leave for a while. A few days. Maybe a week.”

Steve took his finger away and his brow arched.

“What? Where to?”

Amy slipped out of the embrace, but held his hands in hers.

“It’s gonna sound weird, but—just—away from here. Away from everything here.”

Normally, a confident sense of humor rode on every single line Steve uttered, but now he sounded like the words she said had wounded him when he asked, “Even away from me?”

Amy fought back the tears and her chin crinkled.

“There are people in my life. Here—I just—I just need some distance. It’ll just be for a little while?”

“Wait, is this some sort of break-up thing?”

“Please—this isn’t. No, this has got nothing to do with you.”

Steve shook his head, defied that, “What the hell? Of course it’s got something to do with me. I hear you talking. You’re telling me how you feel. Or are some sort of fairies talking through your mouth now?”

He gave her a lopsided grin.

“Alright, I guess I understand. I’m not gonna ask any more questions if you don’t wanna answer. Just, like, promise me you’ll explain everything when you get back? Or this all blows over? Whatever this is.”

Amy did not reply to that with words, only with a feeble smile. Heartfelt, but as feeble as Seth and the cult had rendered her now.

“So, when are you leaving?”

“I think right now. That would be best.”

Steve leaned left and then right, looking at her from different angles in a playful fashion.

“Gonna miss me?”

A feeble giggle escaped her, fitting the feeble smile that he had provoked from her. He returned a wide warm smile. He dragged her inside—she let him. He kicked the door shut behind them and they wound up on the couch in a loving embrace. Hands glided underneath shirts. Warm lips connected. Fingers interlocked.

Then the memories of Scott welled up. Amy started seeing Scott there instead of Steve. Instead of kissing Steve, she kissed Scott. The texture of their hands felt different, rougher, callused.

She felt like throwing up.

Steve pushed her up and away from himself. He stared at her in disbelief, sensing the distance and her growing discomfort.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Amy said. “Well, fuck, I don’t know. Too many fairies around, I guess.”

“Fuck those fairies.”

She snuggled up to him again and nuzzled his neck. Steve wrapped his arms around her and they lied there for a long and quiet minute.

“I’ll always be there for you. I just wish—I hope I can stop being afraid,” she said.

Steve stared her in the eyes and said, “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here for you, too.”

“But I’m afraid of myself, babe. This fear—I’m the only one who can take it away.”

Lost in each other’s gazes, lost in a sea of timelessness, they both spoke at the same time when they next whispered to one another, “I love you.”

Meanwhile, figures dressed in black opened the front door and walked into Steve’s apartment. Hooded and masked to conceal their features, the faceless intruders each carried something different with them—a metal baseball bat, a bike chain, a metal pipe, and a knife. The couple did not notice these four men sneaking up on them.

Until it was too late.

—Submitted by Wratts

[seth-kate]

- i can't look at the sky

request: could you write one where the reader is Jason and Cheryl’s sister? Loved Afraid of Heights tysm x

pairing: jughead jones x reader

a/n: okay so I am writing this during my shift at the sleep room where I should be monitoring and watching babies sleep but I’m doing this instead. I should be fired but oh well…...

also the title is a line from a poem that I love.

Jughead didn’t know how it had happened. But some strange and undeniable force had brought them together. He liked to think it had something to with their poetic souls and similar hating attitude towards the universe. But maybe all it had to do with was insomnia, cheap coffee and the promise of solving a murder case.

He remembered the first time he had ever seen her while sitting down the back of his elementary classroom. How she had the trademark Blossom hair, and that look that made everyone feel incompetent. He’d known Jason and Cheryl and had instantly felt like they were the type of people he never wanted to acquaint himself with.

How he had thought that she’d be the same, and how wrong he was.

Jughead was a writer, a spinner of words and a creator of imagination but when it came to her, there were no words. None to describe how she looked in the sunlight, red hair glistening and shining like a thousand strands of fire. There were no words to give her smile justice, or how to describe that aching feeling in his chest when she touched him, like a million live butterflies were flapping wildly inside him like he was a cage.

Different wasn’t the right word to describe her either. But she was. She was different from her siblings, different from her parents.

She read comics under her blankets, and climbed trees with scraped knees. She stargazed with Jughead and made up names for the constellations. She liked to pretend she was a princess trapped inside Archie’s treehouse, waiting patiently for the knights to rescue her. She wasn’t afraid to say how she felt and wasn’t afraid to stand up for her friends.

That’s what they had been. Friends. Her, Betty, Archie and Jug. That’s how it had always been. They had walked to school together everyday, her with her Captain America backpack and her red pigtails swishing above her shoulders and Jughead with his grey beanie and head full of stories and eyes full of adoration for someone who was more radiant than the sun that beat down every day.

It seemed that their quartet was fixed for eternity, that nothing and nobody would ever come between them. If Jughead had to think about it, he always guessed that it would be a fight that would break them up, or maybe Archie would grow up and get a girlfriend and forget about them. Maybe Betty would get accepted to college early and have to leave.

He never expected that the dagger to their friendship would be Riverdale High.

It happened so fast that when he looked back he couldn’t even remember how it had happened exactly. One moment they were walking through the doors together, ready to start a new chapter in their lives and the next they were pulled apart in different directions.

Jughead found himself in words, lost himself in creating and telling stories about the most mundane things and the most fantastic. Archie threw himself into sports and Betty strived to transform herself into the perfect daughter that the Coopers wanted her to be, and y/n became the epitome of the All American Girl.

Head cheerleader. Straight A student and Spring Fling Princess two years in a row. She was undeniably popular and Jughead wasn’t. He wasn’t even her friend anymore and that hurt like a thousand stab wounds. He felt as if he was looking at a different person as she made her way down the halls, but sometimes when she smiled at him as she passed he was reminded of that girl that made him climb up tree-houses to save her as she pretended to be the very thing she had turned into.

It seemed that their friendship had not been made for eternity after all, and so he slunk into the shadows and adored her from afar, constantly trying to shove her from his mind but it never worked. Life went on and time healed him, but they didn’t know that in a few years a horrific murder and a cheap cup of coffee would bring them together again.

Jughead liked the continuity of routine. He liked keeping his life as routinised as possible, so he could avoid unnecessary obstacles whenever he could. He liked how he woke up at the same time, and how he got to school at the same time, how he went to Pop’s every night and wrote while sitting in the same booth as always. It seemed that the people around him also respected his idea of isolation and seclusion from stereotypical American high school, because it seemed that they didn’t notice him very well and he wanted to keep it that way. 

They walked past him without smiles, never stopped to talk to him or ask his opinion on homework or tests but he was okay with that. That’s how it was, and it was just another fixture to his routine. 

What he noticed however was that one particular person was slowly gravitating towards him, smiling more than usual and looking at him with a look in her familiar eyes that almost made him speak to her. But he hadn’t yet. 

He hadn’t spoken to Y/n Blossom in years. 

She had only returned to school this week after the devastating and untimely death of her brother. The complete opposite of Cheryl who had returned with an almost vivacious attitude and a fervor to return to her normal ways. Y/n however slunked to her classes with a heaviness to her shoulders and never sat with her friends at lunch, disappearing into the library instead. Jughead hated that he noticed these things, but he did. 

He needed to get her out of his head, needed to stop worrying and over thinking the reason behind the dark circles under her eyes. He needed to get to Pop’s and write, let words and sentences take him to someplace different. 

The familiar jingle of the bell above the door to the diner clanged as he walked in, Pop’s eyes lifting to see who his new customer was and smiling when he seen the beanie clad boy in front of him. 

“Do you want the usual?” he asked Jughead as he walked closer to the counter. 

“Yeah please, Pop” Jughead sighed, running a hand over his face. 

“Rough day at school?” the older man asked, hands leaning on the silver counter top. 

“You’ve no idea” Jughead told him, appreciating the smell of the freshly brewing coffee as it took over his senses. He felt just a little more relaxed now at the thought of settling into just another part of his routine. Y/n wasn’t here to disturb his thoughts with her sad eyes and kind smile. She wasn’t here to remind him of how he had felt when he was younger. 

“Well I think the pretty girl that’s waiting in your booth might cheer you up” the old man winked, as if he was sharing in some private joke that both he and Jughead knew. But Jughead had no idea what he was talking about. 

His brow creased and furrowed with the weight of bewilderment he was feeling and he whipped his head around, his bright eyes scanning the diner for his usual booth. He nearly choked on the air around him at the sight of her. Her big eyes looking out the window that was shadowed by the neon lights outside. 

Y/n Blossom was sitting in his booth. In his booth. 

“I’ll bring this down to you, kid” Pop told him, sensing the discomfort that was radiating from the teenage boy. 

Jughead nodded his thanks dumbly, eyes still on the redhead that sat in his seat. He could just ask her to move, or sit somewhere else but his feet moved before he could stop himself and his thumping heartbeat drowned out any sense he had left. She hadn’t noticed him yet, still intent with looking at whatever her eyes could see but he was certain she must be able to hear how loud his heart was. 

He coughed quietly once, a hoarse sort of scratch against his throat but she didn’t notice him. He coughed again, louder this time and regretted it instantly. Her eyes, that looked permanently red around the rims, looked straight into his and right past his soul it seemed. He became frozen where he stood. A solid statue that would forever be an immortal remembrance of his adoration. He was sure his love sickness was written all over his face. 

“Y/n.....I um usually sit here” he felt lame as soon as the words left him. He was stupid, he thought, this was a free country, she could sit where she liked. She hardly knew this was the booth he liked to sit in. How could she have noticed something so small and insignificant about him while living her colourful life? 

“I know you do, Jug” her voice was like a whisper. So apparently she did know where he liked to sit. Was she just here to antagonise him with her presence? Did she know she was the most beautiful girl in the world? Like the brightest star in a constellation. 

“Then...why...?” he trailed off, not knowing how to get the words out. 

“I just wanted to talk to you” she shrugged, like it was something she always said to him. 

“To me?” he pointed at himself, eyes blinking with disbelief. 

“No, to the other Jughead standing behind you” 

He was almost tempted to look. Just to prove that it wasn’t really him she was talking about, that there really was another Jughead there and not him. These thoughts of disbelief were almost crippling him and he had to shake himself from the stupor he was slipping into and remind himself that he knew this girl. He was once her best friend, and no status of popularity would ever change that. 

“Would you please sit down?” she asked him, something so desperate in her voice that it made him fall into the booth right after she had spoken. 

Silence fell over them then, the sort that was buzzing with unsaid words that were trapped behind their lips. She dropped her eyes to her hands, fingers on one of them twisting a ring around and around. Jughead took the time to look at her properly, to study each and every line of her face. 

Her hair was unruly and thrown into a plait that was slung over her shoulder, wind swept wisps of it escaping like flames. Her eyes were red and watery and Jughead could tell she had been crying in the last hour, making his face furrow with care. He hated how he cared so much for someone who didn’t care enough. 

“So why do you want to talk to me?” he felt he needed to ask her. She hadn’t explained why. 

“Because I realised something a while ago, and I never done anything about it” y/n told him, her eyes locking with his in a way that forbade him to look away. 

“And what’s that?” he asked her, crossing his arms on the table top in front of him. 

“That I miss you” 

And with those words months and years fell away, and the world seemed a better place because of them. It was like he was waking up, as if Jughead had been asleep all these years while dreaming up a horrible nightmare where he didn’t have any friends. But y/n was real and she was there in front of him looking at him with those eyes that he could write sonnets about. His mouth opened once, twice, three times before he said anything. 

“I missed you too”