#( replies later maybe. peanut gallery for now )

[doyourequirefirstaid]

[dropping spidersilk cloths on Megatron from a lower branch]

[risingphoenix761]

Going Up

Summary: "One aspect of humanity it was taking time to get used to was how bloody slowly they had to move."

Pairing: Dean x Crowley

Word count: 1,863

Tags/warnings: Show-level shenanigans. Bickering. Innuendo. Post-cure Crowley. @spnquotebingo ("I don't sweat under any circumstances") Belated fills for Rare Ship Bingo and Dean Bingo. 

A/N: Thanks to @slytherkins for looking this over and @firefly-in-darkness the fancy divider. Gif credit to @slashersivi . Incidentally, you can blame Slytherkins and @demonologist-in-denim for their combined influence in putting this in my head in the first place. It's finally finished!

One aspect of humanity it was taking time to get used to was how bloody slowly they had to move. He had gotten used to the ability to blink himself anywhere on the planet, and now every form of transportation left to Crowley seemed to move at half the speed of eternity. Admittedly, things were a lot faster nowadays than they were in Fergus MacLeod's lifetime, but they were still a downgrade from his time as a demon.

The adrenaline rush that came with taking out a monster, one of the better parts of hunting, was as close as he could get to vanishing from one place and rematerializing in another. Before they got to that point, though, it was a long slog of research, followed by an even longer road trip to the case itself, which left Crowley plenty of time to decide how much he disliked driving.

"You know, we could fly and be there in less than half the time," he remarked as he stowed his duffel in the trunk of the Impala on the morning of their second day on the road.

"Or," Dean replied before he slammed the trunk shut on their luggage and the arsenal hidden underneath, "we could not fly and not worry about getting half our gear through security."

Fair point.

"We'd make better progress on literally any major highway," he argued hours later as they moved along some podunk back road lined on either side with fields and one-traffic-light towns.

"I make better progress when I'm not staring at the same set of tail lights for hours on end," Dean argued back.

Fine, so maybe the scenery was a little better than what the interstate offered...sometimes. It still ate up more of his existence than he cared for. It was insulting, really, to go from teleporting from one side of the globe to the other, to needing to stop and gas up before crossing certain states only to pull over for the night halfway through the journey.

"Would it really kill you to get on a plane once in a while?" he asked after their journey finally saw them parking outside a high-rise in a reasonably sized city. Their first interview was with a wealthy heiress whose father robbed his own bank two days after he dropped dead of a heart attack, and according to the address in Dean's hand, she lived on the top floor.

"I don't trust planes," Dean groused. "I trust my Baby, and she's never let me down."

"Trains, then? Something, Dean. Think of it. Time, efficiency, fossil fuel and emissions, save even more than the innocent public."

"Don't listen to him, sweetheart," Dean said over his shoulder as they walked away from the car. "He's just cranky that he can't pick the music."

"Well, while we're on the subject…" Crowley muttered.

"If I'm going anywhere," Dean insisted, "my Baby is taking me. And no commentary from the peanut gallery about going faster is going to convince me otherwise."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. When we're done with this case, I'm taking a cab to the airport."

"You know what? You do that. You enjoy the delays, and the crowded terminals, and the bad food, and the kids that keep kicking your seat or the lady in front of you reclining back into your personal space or the guy snoring and farting next to you, and Baby and I are going to enjoy the open road, just the two of us. And you know what?"

Crowley turned to Dean, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Dean drew out the answer far longer than was necessary, clearly relishing the fantasy in his head. "I'm...going...to love it."

"Honestly, Dean, I worry you'd love it too much," Crowley replied. "And rather than tag along as a third wheel, I'd rather fly home and leave the two of you to your…" He paused for consideration, then finished. "Fascinating affair."

Dean's brow furrowed for a moment, then he rolled his eyes with a grimace. "You know, I'm not even gonna ask…"

Crowley smiled and they entered the building. It was everything he expected it to be on the inside: sleek and pretentious without an iota of elegance.

"I suppose you want to take the stairs," he remarked as they crossed the lobby, "given your commitment to the path slowest traveled by."

"Actually…" Dean thought it over, then gave a pleasant smile. "We should take the elevator. Why go slower than we have to every time?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows in surprised amusement. "Oh, indeed? Without the slightest fuss? I didn't expect such character development." They reached the elevator and he signaled it, then stepped inside the car and stood aside to let Dean on.

Dean made to follow as Crowley hit the button for the top floor, then ducked back out. Crowley did a double take, then started forward. "Dean! What the hell are you--"

"Race you to the top, smart ass," Dean replied with a sly grin as the door slid closed and the elevator began to move.

Crowley threw his hands in the air, exasperated, then leaned back against the wall of the car. What, was he going to take another elevator?

Bloody Winchesters.

A soft ding sounded and the car shuddered to a halt, called to a stop on the second floor. The door opened and he stood aside to let the newcomer in, but the hallway revealed itself to be empty. Crowley glanced out just in case, and there was no sign of anyone at all.

The door slid shut again and the sudden motion of the car nearly threw him off balance as it resumed its journey up, but he recovered and returned to his place against the wall. He should have known by now that taking shots at Dean's precious car was a surefire way to ruffle his feathers, but was Crowley to blame if Squirrel made the business of feather ruffling so bloody easy? And was it too much to ask that they shave some time off their commute once in a while? He was prepared to argue his case again, but that damned fool had jumped ship at the last possible moment.

He snapped out of his reverie as the elevator stopped again. He heaved a sigh and let his head fall back against the wall and the door opened, but there was no sound of anyone getting into the car. He lifted his head and frowned slightly, in search of whoever called the elevator, but there was only silence.

His eyes narrowed and the elevator began to move. A glance at the readout above the door told him he was on the third floor out of fifteen, and he would already be nearly to the top if it wasn't for--

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor. 

"Oh, for the love of--" He broke off with a huff of annoyance, folded his arms, and tapped his foot. A sneaking suspicion introduced itself in his mind, and it was a stupid, childish, ridiculous idea, but so very Dean…

When the elevator stopped at five, he leaned out far enough to listen, but there was no sign of the bowlegged menace. At six, he could almost hear retreating footsteps in the distance. At seven, he distinctly made out labored breathing and heavy footfalls, and it became more and more obvious. Dean was running the stairs and calling the elevator on every floor.

At the ninth floor, he leaned against the wall beside the call button and bent nearly double as he gasped for breath by the time the elevator stopped. Crowley slid his hands into his pockets and raised an eyebrow at him. "Can I give you a lift?"

Dean didn't seem to have the air to answer.

"I don't know how long it's been since you ran stairs, Squirrel, but if you pass out halfway to this interview, I'm going to leave you here and talk to Little Miss Heiress on my own, then maybe pick you up on the way back down."

A dismissive wave was the only reply.

Crowley put out a hand to hold the door open. "Dean," he said sharply, "get in the bloody lift."

Dean rolled his eyes, but got onto the elevator.

"Stubborn arse," Crowley muttered. They made the rest of the trip to the top floor uninterrupted, leaving precious little time for Dean to catch his breath and plenty of time for Crowley to roll his eyes and shake his head at the absurdity of it all. They paused outside the heiress' door and Crowley smoothed his hands over the wrinkles in Dean's jacket, straightened his tie, and gave him a pat on the cheek. "Given the varying states you continually put yourself in, you clean up rather nicely," he remarked. "Have I ever told you that?"

Dean blushed slightly and knocked on the door.

"It's remarkable, you know," Crowley said as they left a quarter hour later. "You ran nine flights of stairs and winded yourself so severely you nearly lost consciousness, but you didn't even break a sweat."

"I don't sweat under any circumstances," Dean scoffed as he called the elevator.

"Is that so?" The elevator arrived and they stepped on, and Crowley added, "I seem to recall you were a bit hot under the collar a few nights ago when, in quite the role reversal, I wasn't moving fast enough for you." He glanced sideways just in time to see Dean shift awkwardly and swallow hard, and he grinned to himself. "How long did I keep you on the hook? I'm afraid I lost track of time, I was so entranced by the way you whimpered, squirmed, and begged--"

"I don't beg, either," Dean cut in gruffly.

"Not in so many words, darling, but trust me, there wasn't a single, glorious inch of you that wasn't desperate for that sweet release I just wouldn't let you have. From the way your toes curled, to the tension in every muscle, to the twitch and throb of your swollen, needy, much-abused co--"

Dean grabbed him by his lapels and forced him back against the wall. He leaned in until there was only a scant inch between their faces, and Crowley could smell the morning's coffee on his breath. "You know, you've been running your mouth an awful lot the last few days," he said, low and serious, "and I'm getting kinda tired of it."

Crowley looked from those plump, perfect lips to those Disney princess eyes, and down to the fists clutching his jacket. "And manhandling me in a lift is your solution? Come on, Dean, you know I'll enjoy it too much."

"Not hardly," Dean replied. "I'm thinking we should finish this hunt, get you somewhere I can go as slow as I damn well please, and we see how long it takes until you're begging for it."

Crowley smiled. "Well. You certainly know how to get a girl's attention, don't you. But you forgot one thing."

"Yeah? What's that?"

He leaned to the side and hit the emergency stop button. "Patience isn't one of my virtues."

[thefanficmonster]

Kick Some Ghost Ass

”Until Dawn Gang x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Sex jokes (excuse my bad humor)

Genre: CRACK, Humor

Summary: It’s one thing when trouble finds this gang, but why don’t we take a look at what happens when they go actively looking for trouble. Needless to say, chaos ensues and no one is spared. Some are more affected than others, and some are dead-ass traumatized, but isn’t that just how life is in general?

Requested by my dearest ever - Until Dawn Anon. Hi lovely! I’ve missed writing your requests and I’m really happy to be back, creating another chaotic fic! I’m sorry it has taken me so long to post it but here it finally is - crazy as ever! I hope you enjoy it! Love you to Blackwood Pines and back baby ❤❤❤

I don’t know how I’ve found myself in this situation but I’m not complaining. If I get to do dumb crazy shenanigans with my crew, I’m ready for just about anything. Not to mention I’m no stranger to ghost hunting. I’m that kid that made DIY Ouija boards and took them to cemeteries with their terrified friends. You should’ve seen us leaving after capturing no ghostly activity - my friends relieved as fuck, and me pissed as fuck.

But today, I’m not expecting nor will I be accepting any disappointment. Especially not with Jess swearing on her Chanel purse that she wasn’t making things up when she said she had a haunted house she wanted us to visit. I must say, I appreciate this group’s enthusiasm when it comes to the paranormal. Never have I had someone who catches my vibe on the subject so well, let alone an entire gang all sharing the same opinion as me - that ghosts, demons and poltergeists are so fucking cool. Sure, Emily took a bit of convincing and Jess is not one to give a shit about the other world creatures invisible to the human eye, but something allegedly happened that changed her mind.

Her a-hundred-and-something-year-old great-grandmother passed away recently and though the death itself didn’t shake Jess up as much as it probably should’ve, the events that followed led to this moment right now - the eleven of us pooling out of two minivans that have pulled up to a terrifying looking house in a wooded are of the suburbs. Jess literally gathered us all on an ‘emergency meeting’ in the courtyard of our college just so she could explain the situation in detail - she doesn’t do well with explaining things in general, let alone when she’s hysterical - so we only understood what she was trying to say when she mentioned the word ‘ghost’. That’s when we all started listening more closely, with the exception of Emily, Beth and Sam but the latter two were intrigued despite trying yo hide it. You can only imagine how excited Josh, Chris and I were, Mike and Matt following a close second behind. Ash was a tiny bit more hesitant but Chris convinced her to give in. And just like that, a week later, here we are.

“I gotta ask, did your great-gran own a VHS player? Or a chest in the attic? Bonus points if there’s a creepy, child-sized doll in there.“ Josh asks as he yanks all the equipment he insisted we bring out of the trunk of the minivan.

“Quit fucking around, Josh! This is serious!“ Jess complains from the spot she’s standing in, shivering in the cold autumn breeze.

“Yeah, Josh! VHS players, creepy dolls, that’s all child’s play.“ I scold him as I pull on my jacket, wrapping it around me more tightly, “Shit gets serious when there’s a secret basement.“

“Y/N!“ Jess shrieks in exasperation. Honesty, how am I supposed to NOT bother her when doing the opposite is so much easier and brings more amusement? “You’re not helping!“

“Wasn’t trying to.“ I wink at her, driving her into a new level of fury that almost leads her to chuck her phone at me. If it weren’t such a prized possession of hers, I’m pretty sure she would’ve chucked it with the intention of knocking me dead. I’m lucky she has the aim of a drunk toddler that spun around fifteen times.

“Hey, quit pissing my girlfriend off, will ya?!“ Mike, who is basically halfway inside the trunk of the other van calls out to us.

I roll my eyes but choose to let it slide. However, someone else doesn’t. Emily does a dramatic turn on her heel, turning to face Mike, or at least the only part of him which is visible. You can imagine how hard it is arguing with an ass like THAT. I don’t know how Emily does it but oh well, I guess I do it too, in a way.

“So it’s girlfriend now, huh? No space between the words?“ Oh that smile she’s flashing him, it could make the Devil himself shiver. I find it kinda hot though - it means shit’s about to go down or hit the fan, either way, the rest of us will be entertained.

Mikey boy straightens up, gracing the rest of us by-standers with his dazzling features. Nah, I’m capping. I honestly think Mike is as attractive as I am patient - very little, almost not at all. It’s surprising how him and Jess are now apparently together since I always pegged her to be the superficial type.

“Got a problem with that, Em?“ He asks, eyebrow raising, head tilting to the side. Oh yeah, it’s on now. But, as someone who’s been quite excited to do some ghost hunting, and also as a representative of the peanut gallery formed of the rest of us who find it amusing and annoying, I feel the need to cut it short before it goes where it shouldn’t. I came to see some exorcist shit, not Keeping Up With The Bitter Exs.

“Jess, I sure hope your grandma is a blood-thirsty ghost cause I can think of at least two people I’d serve to her on a silver platter.“ I snatch the keys the blond has been jingling nervously between her fingers and jog up the stairs to the front door.

Ok I maybe overexaggerated the eeriness of the house. It sure wouldn’t sit right with you if you saw it around sunset or at night, especially not if it’s foggy, but a horror movie house it is most certainly isn’t. It’s pristine and well kept, not a single crack in the walls, the only reason it’s unsettling is because: 1) We’ve all seen a few too many horror movies; 2) There’s been reports of ‘ghostly activity’ - as far as Jess is to be trusted.

While I’m surfing through all the keys, checking each and every single one of them on the door because the real key is unmarked, I can’t help but overhear the conversation going on behind me on the porch.

“Can you believe we got all this in a single day and for a discount on top of all?! Whoever says Craigslist sucks isn’t doing it right.“ Chris’ enthusiasm over the deal him and Josh got on the ghost hunting equipment has been what’s keeping a wide grin on his face this whole time. Though I’m proud of my boys for not getting murdered by the Craigslist seller, I must say I hate that I lost the bet we had - I had to pay them each ten bucks if they didn’t get scammed/kidnapped/murdered and I’m now twenty bucks poorer. I’m not saying I value those twenty bucks more than my friends, though my broke ass needs all the bucks it has and all the dollar bills it could get, but Lord knows I hate losing.

“Yeah, and the guy was only mildly sketchy.“ Josh adds just as excitedly and proudly, “To be honest, Cochise and I were probably the scary looking ones in that parking lot.“

A look over my shoulder shows the twins, Sam, Matt and Ash giving the duo skeptical and somewhat disappointing looks and shakes of their heads. I’ll admit, the equipment is in very good condition and it’s the complete set for ghost-hunting, according to BuzzFeed at least. I’m impressed with the purchase - probably had something to do with how scary Chris and Josh actually look. The all-nighters we’ve all been pulling lately have taken a toll on them worst with the dark circles and bags under their hollow eyes, pale faces and brains turned to mush. I know I’d give them a discount to avoid them pulling out meat cleavers on me.

“That’s all fine and dandy guys, but do you know how to work any of this?“ Sam asks, hesitantly lifting the EMF reader and turning it in her hand, analyzing it with a curious gaze. 

Josh and Chris exchange a look before the former replies, “Just the cameras and voice recorder, the rest falls on them.” He points a finger at me and laughs, “Though they aren’t able to work something as simple as keys, they are more than qualified to be a ghostbuster.”

“You know, Josh, jokes on you, I can work keys! Jess, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be able to work well with organizing things, hence my problem with these keys.“ I hurl the bunch of keys connected my a scarlet keychain at Josh, “Lemme demonstrate my true skills.“ I hop down the flight of stone stairs and approach the pile of equipment the guys have created smack-dab in the middle of the house’s driveway. 

“Oh, I gotta see this!” Mr. Ex-Class-President all but runs over, frowning when we all turn to look at him just as I pick up the spirit box to show off how it works, “Oh that’s what you meant. So you aren’t taking your clothes off?“

Jess and I are alike in one thing - the need we feel to chuck objects at people who piss us off. “You’re girlfriend is, like, right behind you, Munroe. Have some decency!”

“I was gonna enjoy a show as well, but I’m guessing we won’t be getting one.“ The girlfriend in question replies, looking at me quizzically as though that’s gonna convince me into discarding my outfit.

“No, unless you’re a ghost.“ I point the device I’m holding at Mike, “But if your boyfriend here keeps acting up I might turn him into one.“

“That sounds kinda kinky.“ Beth’s comment surprises me. The wink she sends me even more so. “And I kinda like it.“

Ok, ok, ok, hold on. 

Flirting with Munroe is one thing, but Beth is a completely different story. I can be threatening Mike with a knife one moment and cracking sex jokes with him over cold beer the next. While Beth actually has the ability to get me flustered and blushing, and my close relationship with her brother doesn’t help. Mother fucker can just whack me upside the head every time he catches me fussing over my silly crush on his sister.

“Ew, you too! Keep it in your pants or at least get a room.“ Emily doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to being herself. She’s truly a garbage bin full of treasure.

“We’d do the latter if SOMEONE could get the door open.” I glare daggers at Josh who is making hopeless attempts at what I was doing earlier - unlocking that damn door.

“I’d be more than happy to come through for you ladies.“ Mike says, getting in a stance of a runner before a race, his body directly opposite the door.

Oh I can’t wait to see where this is going. I SHOULD RECORD IT.

“Mike, it’s still breaking and entering and it’s still against the law even if the person’s dead.“ Sam points out, entering her mother-like mode, ruining the fun and causing me to pout at her. She gives me a look of disappointment - one worse than I’ve ever seen on my parents - so I just shut my trap before she can also express said disappointment through words and have me feeling guilty for the rest of the day.

A loud crash suddenly echoes causing us to turn our heads to look for the source of the terrifyingly startling sound. One glance is all it takes to put our minds at ease and a second one is enough to provoke different reactions in all of us - the broken window telling the story of where Josh has disappeared.

“What did I just say about breaking and entering?!“ Sam shouts after him while the vast majority of us are cracking up like hyaenas. Jess is just gaping at the broken window next to the front door in disbelief. She obviously can’t decide whether to join in on the fun or serve as back-up to Sam. Josh did technically damage private property that’s partially hers, but if you ask me it serves her right for not marking her keys.

“Sorry, I was too busy breaking the window to hear that part of the conversation!“ Josh’s apologetic smile appears on the other side of glassless frame. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely sorry or holding back laughter but either way, he looks innocent enough for Sam to let him off the hook as long as he doesn’t cause any more trouble - in which case: tough luck. Chris, Josh and I are nothing if not troublemakers, especially when we’re together. Chris tones it down when Ash’s around, and the same goes for Josh with Sam while I’m simply problematic regardless of who’s watching. My chaos is untamable, it’s a blessing and a curse and I love it, even though it’s landed me in hot water more than once. It’s nice to be around people on the same wavelength - chaos resides within this group and not a single one of us can hide it.

“At least we have a way in now.“ Ash offers Josh a helping hand in this argument after she recovers from the overwhelming fit of laughter. “I hope the broken window doesn’t anger your gran, Jess.“

The blond snaps out of her trance briefly, “No, she was a very sweet lady, but damn is Josh creative!” She hurries to correct herself, “Destructively creative.”

I hurry to correct her once again, “Chaotically creative.”

“Guys, do you mind coming in? It’s very creepy standing here alone!“ Josh calls out to us, looking over his shoulder at the interior of the house, “I’m expecting to be snatched and dragged to that secret basement we mentioned.“

“Mention it one more time and I swear to God-!“ Jess screams, fists tightened.

Before her angry wrath could crash atop us, we all make our way into the house through the broken window, carefully avoiding the shards of glass strewn about. One step inside and we’re met with the upmost of horror clichés - a drop in temperature. We’re all wearing thick hoodies because the weather outside is chilly in and of itself, but said hoodies aren’t as efficient at holding the house’s cold at bay and away from out skin.

Chris and Matt make their way in last, carrying the equipment consisting of three cameras, flashlights for everyone, an EMF reader, a spirit voice box, a voice recorder and a motion detector. I help them hand a light to each group member as well as a ghost-hunting device before we venture onward.

“If I were your grandma’s ghost, I’d be ten times more pissed about that window. It looks to me like that lady payed a lot of attention to keeping things in order.“ Matt comments while he examines the expensive looking painting hanging in the hallway.

I hear Emily scoff, “Unlike some.” but the remark is said so quickly and quietly I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who heard it.

Jess laughs, “She did like things in order, but she was never as strict as you might think. As I said, she was very sweet.“

“So do you just not take after her at all or were you adopted?“ Emily’s remarks are no longer a mumbled jumble of words, “No, nevermind, of course you’re not adopted. Your parents are smart people, they wouldn’t have chosen you if they had the chance.“

Jess laughs again, much more menacingly this time, causing me to exchange a look with Hannah who’s walking beside me. “Twenty bucks says one of them isn’t making it out of here.” It’s just a matter of time, to be honest. If not the lodge, or any party we’ve ever attended as a group, this haunted house is the perfect opportunity for a murder. We could even argue it was a ghost.

Luckily, the two cats clawing at each other’s throats don’t overhear, “No, my parents aren’t stupid, but your boyfriend clearly is. He chooses to date you! Or are you holding him captive or something.“

Ok that’s enough. I can tolerate a lot of things, but people calling one of my best friends stupid is not something I’m about to put up with, “How dare you call one of my hoes stupid?” I sneer at Jess, eyes narrowing.

“I thought I was your hoe too!“ She fights back, looking almost offended.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t have called him that! I don’t tolerate my hoes not respecting each other.“ 

I don’t get to see where this argument goes because Ashley’s shriek echoes throughout the hallway, stealing mine as well as the attention of everyone else. 

“There’s a ghost in here!“ Making it to the doorway of the room she’s in first, I peak my head inside and see the EMF reader she’s holding going nuts as if it’s detected something.

“Don’t worry, Ash, there’s a dead cactus here. That’s not the ghost we’re looking for, is it?“ Chris, my amazingly bright friend says, quirking an eyebrow suggesting that remark was nothing short of dead-ass serious.

“Chris, darling, that’s not how it works. Cactuses are plants.“ I point out as sweetly as I can as to mask my laughter.

“Don’t the same ghostly rules apply?“ The genuine look of confusion he gives me almost makes me lose it.

“Ok children, leave the room, we need to set up a motion detector to be sure.“ Beth says with a tone that suggests she’s more than over our insanity. Jeez, count on her and Sam to start parenting us through our chaos. They are of high authority, must admit - one genuinely feels bad if they don’t comply to whatever these two girls demand.

We all pile out in the hallway while the twins set up this interesting motion detector with green dots. I don’t know what Jess’ granny looked like, but I bet that even the most unattractive of people would look hella good with this lighting. Thankfully the room is dark enough with the shutters closed and the curtains drawn, allowing the dots to be perfectly visible.

We stare at the minimalistic room littered with fluorescent green dots on every surface for maybe a minute or two but not much happens to the disappointment to some and relief to others. However, as if not wanting to let us down, the ghost makes a shy appearance if the shift of the green dots is anything to go by.

“Oh shit, is that a ghost?“ Chris whispers, sounding as amazed as I feel in this moment.

“It better be.“ I mutter in response, refusing to blink and risk missing anything important.

The sudden presence of the obnoxious noise of the spirit voice box makes us all jump. As I turn my head to glare at whoever’s using it, Josh speaks up. “Are you an attractive ghost?”

“Josh, that’s my great-grandmother, you ass!“ Jess barks with disgust in her voice.

In the meantime, I catch glimpse of Mike rolling up his sleeves. Oh shit, this ain’t good.

“I’ve been waiting for this!“ He shouts victoriously, cracking his knuckles.

Knowing this won’t end well, the first thing I do is snatch the camera from Chris’ hands and turn it on.

“Um, Mike, what do you mean?“ Sam’s back to being concerned, turning to the rest of us when Mike doesn’t give her a response, “What’s he gonna do?“

“Fight it.“ I answer as though it’s the most normal thing to ever have been done, “Or, ash he calls it - kick some ghost ass.“

“A freaking ghost?! He’s gonna try to tussle with something he can’t see?“ I can’t tell if Matt’s tone is disbelief, amusement or disappointment, but I believe he isn’t about to try and stop or dear ex-president in his pursuit and that’s all that matters. I ain’t about to let someone stop whatever’s about to go down from going down.

“That’s still my great-grandmother, you dumbass!“ Jess shrieks with something alike terror.

“Don’t worry Jess, I’m sure she’ll go easy on him.“ I say in an attempt to reassure her but I can’t even be bothered really, I’m too laser-focused on the circus that’s about to take place in front of me.

Mike, as if encouraged by my words, charges into the room. Much to his dismay, before he could even reach the ghost, he’s met with a much more vigorous enemy - the carpet. The rascal trips him up and Mr. Munroe falls flat on his face.

The group stays silent, looking at the glorious aftermath of the glorious fall. Told ya these lights could make everything fabulous. Must say, it’s truly an honor for me to have been able to catch all that on tape.

“10/10, would ghost-hunt with Mikey Munroe again.“

[willow-salix]

(Fluffember prompt :Young - or as I'm calling it 'Scott being a complete shit for an hour)

Day 7 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

It started with Gordon, which it generally does, but this time it actually wasn’t that bad, although I do think he was very brave to start things the way he did.

We were all lounging around in what Grandma 'affectionately’ refers to as our ‘melting ice cream’ poses. By this she means that we have effectively melted all over whatever we were sitting on, spreading ourselves out in an attempt to take up as much room as possible. I had been lying across both Gordon and John but now I was sitting between them while Scott sat in front of the couch between my legs as I tried out different hairstyles on him because, in my infinite wisdom, I’d decided he needed a new look. It wasn’t going well, he did not suit the Elvis look. Now I was attempting to brush it forward and up like Alan’s.

“Hey, John,” Gordon started, breaking the comfortable silence of the room. I couldn’t see John, since I was concentrating on the back of Scott’s head, but I could feel the power of his eyes roll as his concentration and peace was distrubed.

“Yes?” 

“Do you remember that game we used to play?”

“Which one? There were so many games that I’ve blocked most of them from my memory.”

“I mean the one you were actually good at.” 

Scott sniggered and I gently flicked the back of his head in punishment.

“Excuse me, I was very good at games and still am.”

I nodded supportively and received a gentle waist squeeze in thanks for my efforts. 

“I meant that one that you used to completely dominate us in,” Gordon continued. “I just can’t remember what it was.”

“Again, there were many games…”

“Scott, do you remember?” I asked, trying to head off a potential argument before it started.

“I’m trying to think of one that John was good at-” I flicked his head again, making him duck out of the way as he laughed.

“I’ve never been so insulted,” John gasped.

“Give them time,” I muttered, dragging Scott’s head back into place and attacking him with my brush again, fluffing up his hair by backcombing it, let him try to brush that out later…

“We used to play it on long journeys to pass the time,” Gordon continued, clearly frustrated that he couldn’t recall exactly what it was.

“Ask Virgil,” Scott suggested. “He might know.”

The chonky one was duly summoned, Alan coming in with him, Kayo trailing in behind.

“You comm’d?” Virgil greeted, sinking down into one of the launch seats.

“What was that game we used to play on journeys? The one John always beat us at,” Gordon asked, not bothering with the pleasantries of a hello. “When we were kids.”

“John played games?” Alan asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Hey!” John protested. “Why is everyone picking on me today?”

“Because you’re actually here?” Scott shrugged like that explained everything.

“You’re on your own,” John huffed, dragging me onto his lap and away from Scott, leaving him with my brush stuck in his hair. “Can’t be nice, you don’t get my wife. That’s the rule.”

Virgil, who had been pretty quiet the entire time, finally spoke. “I went to the park.”

“You what now?” I asked. Had he finally cracked? We weren’t allowed to go anywhere, no unnecessary journeys, and I doubted that leaving the island to go to a park counted as necessary. 

“That was the game,” he explained patiently. “Someone would start and say ‘I went to the park’ or wherever it was we were going that day.”

“Oh, yeah, now I remember!” Gordon cheered. 

“You made a game out of saying where you were going?” I asked, completely bemused. It seemed like a pretty rubbish game if you asked me.

“No, we said what we were taking,” Virgil replied.

“Am I being dumb here?” I really didn’t get it. What were they talking about? “Surely if you were going somewhere you would have to take things with you, that’s not a game, that’s just sensible.”

“No,” Gordon laughed, finding my dumbness sooooo amusing. “It’s a game.”

“I don’t get it either,” Alan said quietly. “I never played that, we never really went anywhere when I was younger.”

“It was a game that Mom used to play when she was little, her dad used to start it to stop them being bored while driving,” Scott told us as he wrestled the brush out of what was now his fringe, leaving it sticking up at the front like a poodle’s.

“I’ll start,” Gordon offered, thinking for a second before he spoke again. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod...an alligator.”

Everyone burst out laughing, both at his object but also the fact that he’d changed it to a rescue.

“Scott, your turn,” Gordon said.

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator and a baseball bat,” he said after a moment of thought. “If that alligator starts any trouble, I’ll finish it.”

“Sounds legit,” I whispered to John who smirked in response.

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat and a corned beef sandwich,” Virgil continued, taking up the reins of the game.

“Oh, I get it!” Alan grinned, catching on. “You have to remember what everyone else is taking and add your own! Can I play?”

“Of course you can,” Scott said.

“OK, OK, I’ve got this,” Alan paused as he thought about it. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich and a didgeridoo! John, your turn.”

“I’ll kick all your butts, you wait,” John warned them, then quickly rattled off the items followed by his own.  “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo and an ephemeris.”

“Oh, so you’re playing that move again, are you?” Scott snorted. “Sneaky. This is why he always won, he’s not smarter, he just knows weird words.”

“I resent that, I’m much smarter than you.”

“Kayo? Are you playing?” Virgil asked, trying to keep the peace.

“Sure,” she shrugged, not having anything better to do. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris and flight goggles.”

Gordon nudged me. “Your turn.” 

“No way,” I protested, shaking my head. “I’m useless at games like this, I have the memory of a goldfish with amnesia.”

“You aren’t that bad,” John said, trying to defend me. I appreciated the effort but I knew he was lying.

“Babe, I’m the one that forgot where I put my phone and started looking for it before I realised I was talking to you on it.”

“Well, there is that.”  Cue the sniggers from the peanut gallery. 

“I appreciate the fact that you didn’t laugh at me when you asked me what I was looking for, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, you have to join in, we won’t laugh, we promise,” Alan assured me. I’m not sure I believed it possible for them not to laugh at me, but there was a first time for everything I supposed.

“OK, I’ll try,” I sighed. “Let me think...I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat… something about a sandwich…” my brain protested the sudden workout. “ Corned beef,” I yelled triumphantly and continued. “A didgeridoo, a...effie...something that John said, and Kayo’s flight goggles. There, done.” I smiled proudly. “I remembered.”

“Good job,” Scott grinned. He didn’t actually laugh but I kicked him gently as a warning.

“You didn’t add your item,” Gordon reminded me. “You have G.”

“Oh, yeah..erm…a g…” brain fart. I had nothing. John whispered in my ear and I happily shouted it out. “Gyroscope.”

“Hey, no helping, that’s cheating,” Alan protested, clearly enjoying himself.

“Fine, grapes, I’m taking grapes, if Virgil can take corned beef I can take that.”

“You can take your grapes,” Gordon agreed, narrowing his eyes at John who stared back innocently. “I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes and a holopad in case I get bored.”

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad and an icepick,” Scott continued.

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick and a jackhammer," Virgil said. 

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick, a jackhammer and…a kayak!" Alan yelled as he thought of an appropriate word. 

“I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick, a jackhammer, a kayak and a llama," John continued. 

"Why would you take a llama?" Gordon asked. 

"So it can spit at people that get too close," John shrugged. 

"I went on a rescue and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a corned beef sandwich, a didgeridoo, an ephemeris, flight goggles, grapes, a holopad, an icepick, a jackhammer, a kayak, a llama and a machete," Kayo said, adding her to the list. 

"Why are you all so aggressive in your packing? I asked. 

"Always be prepared," Kayo quoted. "Your turn."

"I went on a rescue," I sighed, not in the least happy with my involvement, "and I packed in the pod an alligator, a baseball bat, a didgeridoo, A John thing," I got a little kiss for that, why I don't know, maybe just because he felt sorry for me. "Goggles, an ice cube, tablet, the llama and that machete that miss violence is taking to probably smack people with," I finished up. 

"Well, you did miss a few," Alan admitted, "sorry."

"Does that mean I'm out?" 

They all nodded sadly but I was secretly pleased. I mean, I did my best but yeah, not my kind of game. I settled back against John, more than ready to be a casual observer, that was much more my style. 

Gordon was out next, then Scott, followed by Virgil, with Alan, Kayo and John fighting it out for the title. They were on their second round of alphabet and had hit 'E' when Alan lost his train of thought. 

Kayo added keeper, the loop on a belt that the end tucks into but John threw out a Snellen Chart, the thing you had to look at in the doctors surgery decades ago, where he dredged that word up from I can only guess. I'm pretty sure he's got a box up in his brain that is just full of useless facts, weird words and probably the eleven times table or something. 

He won. He's sitting very smugly, having proved his point and retained his crown.

"See, I can play games," John grinned. 

"That was really fun," Alan said with a happy little sigh. "I sometimes feel like I missed out on a lot of the things you guys did before we lost Mom."

"Well, we've got plenty of time now to remember them all and tell you all about them," Scott promised him, ruffling his hair as he passed by, making Alan yelp and hurriedly smooth it back down again.

"Three…two…" I started, waiting.

"What did you do!?" Scott yelled from somewhere in the kitchen, there were many reflective surfaces in there.

"One," John finished for me. "Want to come with me to check on EOS?"

"Probably wise," I agreed, hauling myself up from the comfort of his lap. "Let's make it quick, before Scott finishes fixing the mess I made of his hair and comes seeking revenge."

[thebibliomancer]

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 15

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because HELLO NEW SPOOKY FRIEND

Last times in book: Kylan, Naia, and Tavra have traveled to the Caves of Grot to find a magic firca that will help them warn all Gelfling about the Skeksis. A Grottan gives them a startle by lurking above a tunnel entrance.

Chapter 15

Kylan and Naia meet with Maudra Argot

"Shadowling,” Tavra growled.

“Silverling,” the strange Gelfling replied, with a casual but equal distaste.

Huh! Time for more Gelfling prejudice.

Its hinted at later this chapter why the Grottan might be annoyed at a Vapran but I have no idea why the Vapran would have strong feelings about the Grottan.

So let’s get a look at our new friend, Amri.

Pulling back his hood, his skin was pale like moonlight, with silky silver hair like Tavra’s, shaved on one side and falling to his shoulder on the other. Had Kylan seen him aboveground, he might have mistaken him for a Vapra - except for his eyes. With his face hidden by the shadow of his hood, Kylan had at first thought he had no eyes at all. Now he could see two, large and black, with no whites in them. It was like looking into one of the inky ponds that dappled the cave’s basin floor.

He had to be Gelfling, based on the shape of his face and body but he held himself differently. Like a river plant, Kylan thought, or maybe even an eel or fish, eerily graceful as he gazed down on them with an unreadable expression. His movements were as fluid as if he were underwater, slow and seamless.

Maybe that’s why the Vapran and Grottan don’t like each other.

They both want to be the pale, white-haired pretty Gelfling clan and are like ‘one of us is going to have to change.’

Speaking of change, I wonder what did between the books and the show.

In the show, the Grottan have a greenish tint to their skin, like the Drenchen. On the topic, Spriton have darker skin in the YA continuity compared to the show. Not a big deal, things got changed around between show and books but I’m wondering if this was a case where the books were working off an earlier version of the series bible.

Having the Grottan be super pale actually does make a lot of sense, since they live in caves. Cave-dwelling creatures tend to be pale because they don’t need as much protection from light.

Naia introduces the group, although omits Tavra’s title since there’s already animosity without it being known she’s the All-Maudra’s daughter.

Amri just stares at the introductions then tells the group to follow him.

Kylan looked up as they passed through the center of the cavern, losing count of the tunnel entrances and walkways. Now that the silence had been broken, eh saw silhouettes of other Grottan Gelfling stepping out of the shadows, gathering in groups of twos and threes on the ledges to watch them pass. They were all ghostly, clothing in black cloaks like their guide. Only their faces, hands, and bare feet showed, slipping in and out of the shadows like starlight.

Ah, so that’s where the whispers were coming from. The peanut gallery.

Naia asks if this is really the Caves of Grot, which Amri confirms but says that the Grottan call it Domrak which Kylan translates as “Place-in-Shadows.”

“A fair translation in the common tongue. Others have called it the Cave of Obscurity. Land-in-Darkness. Hole in Ground. Either way, grot means crypt. Though in truth, nothing has died here.”

I love that one of its names is just. Hole in Ground. Hee.

Kylan decides that Domrak means home, not just place.

Home-in-Shadows has a nice ring to it.

But if grot means crypt, then Caves of Crypt. Which sounds weird.

And could you translate, Grottan as cryptid? Heh.

Amri takes them up a long spiraling stairway and like other parts of the cave, it is just lousy with dream-etching. Kylan reads bits and pieces of stories as they climb.

They reach a triangular archway carved to look like a colony of hollerbats, which sounds amazing. Amri goes in to speak with Maudra Argot and when he pops back out he says that Kylan and Naia can come in but Tavra has to wait outside.

Tavra snorted through her nose, and Kylan wished she hadn’t. If they wanted to gain the trust and alliance of every clan, they would have to be respectful, even if they did not get the same respect in return. Shouldn’t a daughter of the All-Maudra know better diplomacy? Huffing, she turned away and crossed her arms.

“I have no interest in paying respects to a Shadowling bat, anyway,” she said, turning her nose up. “Be quick about it.”

“Don’t start any fights,” Kylan said. “Please.”

Hope springs eternal, Kylan.

The maudra chamber has exposed crystal veins lacing the walls, but with the crystal still showing as clear and pure. The Darkening hasn’t seemed to reach this deep. Possibly the tree protecting them, as in the show.

Seated on the stone floor, cross-legged, was an old Gelfling woman. Her wings were sheer, almost completely transparent, draped out behind her like a crystalline pool. Her eyes were black, like all the Grottan, but bore the mark of time. Her kind, wrinkled face might have seen more than one ninet - if the greater seasons even affected the Grottan clan, so deep in the earth.

Apparently, a ninet is roughly one hundred trine. Wow!

Kylan and Naia very politely introduce themselves.

“It must be important, indeed, for daylighters to bother making the journey into the so-feared Grot. Amri here tells me you have a Vapra with you as well. Has the great Mayrin finally invited us to the Silverling capital? Ho ho hoo! Don’t answer that. I know it is not true. So tell me, children, why do you stray from the daylight?”

She seems fun. I like her.

And reasonably enough, the Grottan dislike the Vapran because the Vapran tend to pretend they don’t exist. Rude.

Kylan tells Maudra Argot that they’re looking for the firca of Gyr the Song Teller and that he read in a book that it was entrusted to the Grottan.

“Oh yes! That. What do you want with Gyr’s bone firca?”

“You have it here?” Kylan cried, forgetting all formality. “It’s real?”

“Of course it’s real. How else did you think all that dream-etching got on the walls? All of us can read here, of course, but it would have taken a whole ninet to do just half the caves the regular way. We don’t have time for that. Yes, yes, the firca is real. It is in the Tomb. Ho ho! But I’m not going to just hand it over to you younglings without an explanation first. Why do you need it? What will you do with it? And so on.”

Score one for a random story you read in a random book!

Of course, they now have the problem of explaining why they need it. If Argot is loyal to the Skeksis, they could be in big trouble. Heck, if she’s like Maudra Fara and just afraid to act, she might refuse to help.

The best way would be for Naia to dreamfast with Maudra Argot to show what she had seen. A conclusion that Naia also immediately comes to.

“Then dreamfast with me. I will show you what I’ve seen. You can decide whether it’s an explanation or not.”

“So you think I’ll trust your memories, no matter what they are?” Maudra Argot asked, tilting her head in the other direction. When she got a confused, uncomfortable silence in reply, she cackled again. “Ho! Don’t answer that, either. I am not afraid of your dreams, little Drenchen. Show me, and we will see where they lead us.”

Hey remember when I said it’d be boring to watch Kylan watch someone else dreamfast and that’s why he had to do it with Rian instead of Naia?

Well, I was wrong. Watching someone else dreamfast takes like a couple seconds.

The maudra let out a long grave hmmmmm.

“You have the gift of dreamfast, that is for certain,” she said. “Never have I seen dreams so vividly... It was almost as if I had my eyes back! Ho ho hoo! What a delight you are, my Drenchen daughter.”

Naia repeats some of the information aloud for Amri’s benefit and says they need the firca to warn all Gelfling.

“The Stonewood will be first, until the forest is empty of their tales and noisy dances. Then the Spriton to the south. Perhaps they will go west next, to the Crystal Sea - perhaps north, to take the capital itself. It is only a matter of time before they come for us, I suppose, even if we are the discarded relish on the banquet tray. Ho ho hoo!”

She described an ugly future, but her chuckle was so light, it was almost the giggle of a youngling.

“Nothing but a garnish on top of a Vapra delicacy!” Amri added. The comment sent the old maudra into a new fit, her little body shaking with laughter.

What a fun, weird old lady.

Kylan and Naia are uncomfortable with how funny she finds the extinction of the Gelfling clans and just sit quietly. Kylan reflects that maybe the situation is so horrible, that there’s nothing to do but laugh but can’t bring himself to join.

“Ho ho ho hooo! Oh, don’t sound so quiet. We’re not making light of the situation. This old maudra has heard many trine come and go. Just when I think I’ve heard it all, the Skeksis surprise me with something new and cruel. I can’t help but think Thra is telling a wicked song-for-laughs... Or maybe it is me who is old and mad and laughing when there are no jokes being told.”

Think about being so old that you think you know everything the world can throw at you and then hearing the most horrible thing you never knew.

I guess maybe all you can do is laugh.

Although, she’s a pretty laughy individual anyway.

Unsure of how to react to any of that, Naia just does Drenchen hard-talk and directly asks for the firca. And adds that its important that the Gelfling come together to resist the Skeksis because they won’t be able to do anything if they’re at odds.

“We Grottan have remained out of the affairs of the daylighters; ours was a different burden to bear, here in Domrak. But you are right. The Skeksis will never want the essence of an old maudra like me, but my children... even the lazy ones like Amri. We are all Gelfling. I’ll give you the firca. I’ll even give you Amri. He will show you to the Tomb of Relics and then go with you to Ha’rar on behalf of our oft-forgotten clan.”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!

New party member!

Amri is less thrilled than I am, protesting that he doesn’t want to hang out with snooty snoots in Ha’rar but Argot tells him to suck it up. She already knows that he sneaks out of the caves to gather alchemy ingredients and she’s tired of his disruptive experiments.

“Take your maudra’s offer, and come back when you are grown.”

Sweet dunk on Amri.

Then she picks up her weaving which is a polite indication that the conversation is over so Naia and Kylan leave, followed by Amri. Although they hear Argot talking to herself as they leave.

“Damned Skeksis. Your time has come, at long last. Ho ho hoo...”

This was a very productive meeting!

[badacts]

adrenaline

i knew what i was gonna write about for this prompt and this just gave me ammo i needed

Bruce sneaks Dick a granola bar while they’re getting ready, where it no doubt gets pushed in his pocket along with the one Alfred would have slipped him earlier. The big grin it earns Bruce is its own repayment, in addition to the intended lack of moaning about starvation later.

There’s not exactly a shortage of food at these galas, not really, but there’s not much for a nine-year-old who is as unadventurous with food as he is adventurous in every other aspect of his life. The granola bars will at least keep him satisfied, but no doubt he’ll still devour every crumb of the meal Alfred makes him later.

“I can’t even do a cartwheel in these,” Dick is saying, pulling at the waistband of his suit trousers with a frown.

“Cartwheels aren’t a requirement for tonight, pal,” Bruce replies, twitching his dinner jacket into place. “Need help with your bowtie?”

“Alfred does it better than you,” he says, which is true, but still amusing in its bluntness. “But thanks. Hey, can we get pizza later?”

Bruce pretends to think about it, tapping his chin. The truth of the matter is that Dick will happily eat Alfred’s pre-patrol meal tonight, and then a slice of pizza afterward too. Bruce at this point suspects Dick’s legs might be hollow, but the one time he mentioned it Alfred had just smiled and called Dick ‘a growing boy’.

“On one condition,” Bruce proposes after a moment. “I’d like for you to try three things off of the buffet table tonight.”

Dick makes a tortured face. “But B...”

“That’s the deal,” Bruce says. “Three things. No more, no less.”

“But what if it’s poisoned?”

This is Gotham, so that’s not a completely unrealistic scenario, but Bruce just gives Dick a look. “I carry several common antitoxins on my person. You’ll be fine.”

“What if it just tastes like poison?” Dick’s big eyes are piteous.

“Then you’ll have learned something, and earned that pizza later,” Bruce says, amused but unmoved. “Come on, chum. You might find you like something. And if you do, we can ask Alfred to make it for you.” After all, the kid surely can’t exist on two varieties of sandwich (tuna, and peanut butter) forever. Bruce is sure he ate more than that at Dick’s age.

Dick sighs, long-suffering. “Fine.”

Bruce holds out a hand. “Shake on it?”

Dick sticks his tiny hand into Bruce’s, which dwarfs it. His grip is firm. “Shake on it.”

*

The gala is a bustle of people and gossip and handshakes and cheek kisses. It’s the cheerful burble of Dick’s voice that keeps him grounded, these days. He’s a social child, pulling away from Bruce’s side far more often than Bruce would like in order to talk to someone or do something. He trails smiles in his wake, has people saying to Bruce how delightful he is.

“Hear that, Bruce?” Dick says in a lull between crowds. “I’m delightful.”

“You’re something,” Bruce teases, though of course he agrees. He’s watching Dick peruse the food set aside on the buffet table, the typical fancy finger foods caterers favour for events like this. “Did you pick something yet?”

“Yes,” Dick says, and then winces theatrically as he picks up a raw oyster nestled in its shell.

“Dickie, pal, you don’t need to pick the nastiest looking thing laid out,” Bruce points out. He’s personally fairly fond of oysters, but he can admit they’re not what he would have enjoyed at Dick’s age.

“Yes I do,” Dick says, eyeing the glistening thing with some trepidation. “I watched people having them earlier. I know how to do it.” 

“Well, you’re certainly upholding your end of the bargain,” Bruce notes as Dick shoots the oyster like a pro. There’s something to be said for his impressive observational skills. “How is it?”

Dick swallows, and then smacks his lips. “Huh. Not bad, really. Kinda slimy.”

“They are, a little,” Bruce agrees, gently scruffing his hair. Dick’s not old enough to scowl over it - he grins instead.

“Doesn’t taste much like tuna,” Dick says thoughtfully as he deposits the shell in the discrete trashcan under the table, “Oh, hello there!”

The next group of people is here, wanting to talk WE shares and expensive vacations. Bruce laughs over the stock market like he doesn’t spend the time each day reading the reports, and mentions skiing in Austria and tanning in Thailand like he leaves Gotham for anything that isn’t Batman-related.

Maybe he should look into a vacation, actually. Dick would likely love it, even if they went somewhere not too far from the city, but the opportunity to take him overseas to explore is almost too good to pass up. Dick would love London, he thinks, but there’s also any number of Italian cities where the weather is better. But then, he can’t imagine Dick would be interested in church tours and art galleries with dozens of paintings of Mother Mary...

A little hand tugs at his jacket. Bruce, prepared for the sweet piping of Dick’s cheery voice asking something, looks down a moment later when it doesn’t come.

Dick is looking back up at him with a faintly surprised expression. “I feel funny.”

His face is pale, his mouth parted while he breathes quickly through it. Bruce drops to a knee and feels for his pulse, finding it racing. He’s forced to steady Dick when he sways.

For a moment Bruce genuinely does think, poison. But then the paranoia retreats a touch and he asks, “Your throat, how does it feel?”

“Itchy,” Dick says. “Can’t breathe too good.”

“Okay,” Bruce says, and then eases him off his feet so he’s lying down right there on the ballroom floor. His own heart is pounding in his chest. He says to the people gathered around them both, the ones he’d forgotten about until now, “Does anyone have an epipen?”

There’s a rush of murmuring around him, but no immediate answer. Meanwhile, Dick is starting to audibly wheeze, and his expression is moving from confused to panicked. He grasps as Bruce’s wrists with unsteady fingers, eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” Bruce soothes, rubbing gently at Dick’s chest. He’s frighteningly aware of how fragile the boy’s ribs are, how easily they’ll break under the pressure of CPR. “Just stay calm, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

Dick, lips faintly blue-tinged, stares up at him and gasps. He looks as though he isn’t processing, and Bruce is already making half-flung plans of getting him to a hospital, or the possible necessity of doing a tracheotomy right here. He can do one, has the training, but he doesn’t want to.

“I’ve called an ambulance,” someone says from over his shoulder.

“Sir!” A wonderful, welcome, familiar voice calls just then. Alfred appears as if from nowhere, cradling a bright yellow autoinjector in his hand. He flicks the cap off and hands it over to Bruce, who jabs it into Dick’s thigh through his trousers without pausing.

Alfred kneels across from him, pressing a hand to Dick’s forehead as though checking for a fever. He meets Bruce’s eyes and murmurs, “Thank goodness for paranoia. I’ve been carrying that resuscitation kit in the town car for months now.”

“Thank god,” Bruce says, and it’s only because the danger isn’t over yet that it doesn’t come out shaky.

Dick murmurs, “Oh!” A little bit of colour is leeching back into his face already, and his breathing looks a touch easier. 

“The ambulance is here,” someone says, and Bruce hefts Dick up in his arms immediately to go to them rather than wait. His breathing sounds worse up close, but there’s a little strength in his fingers when he fists at Bruce’s lapel.

“Bruce?” he asks, sounding woozy. “I don’t feel...”

He gags and then vomits down his front, blinking afterwards as though surprised. Bruce doesn’t pause at that, but he does a little when Dick, after a moment, begins to cry.

“Hush, pal,” Bruce says lowly. “It’s okay. You’re not well, but you’re going to be okay.”

Dick clings to him harder. “I feel bad.”

“I know,” Bruce says. “It’s the adrenaline. Hey, up we go.”

He passes Dick up into the waiting arms of the paramedic, but is stymied when Dick doesn’t actually release him.

“Don’t leave me,” he bawls, tears running down his cheeks. “Please, B.”

“Hey, your dad’s not going anywhere,” the paramedic soothes. “He just needs to get in here without tripping and squashing you, huh?”

“I’m right here,” Bruce says, climbing up into the ambulance too. The paramedic lays Dick down on the gurney, and he instantly rolls up like a pillbug on his side except for the hand clinging hard to Bruce. Aware that he’s about to be in the way and not caring, Bruce kneels by the gurney so Dick’s arm isn’t at a bad angle.

“He’s had one dose of adrenaline,” he tells the paramedic, and then, “Hey, Dickie. What did you eat tonight?”

“Um,” Dick says tearfully. “Um, the oyster. And then I had another oyster, and maybe one more. Because you said three things, but you didn’t say they didn’t have to be different things, right?”

“That’s true,” Bruce tells him. “Clever. But I think we might skip the shellfish from now on.”

“They weren’t that bad,” Dick sobs. The paramedic is fitting him with an oxygen mask and a blood pressure cuff, and then putting a blanket over his legs.

“We’re about to leave, Dad,” the second paramedic says from up front in the cab. “You ready to go?”

Bruce casts a quick glance down at his hands, which are shaking like they never, ever do, and then says, “Yes.”

*

Once they’re at the hospital, things move fairly quickly, and not only because he’s Bruce Wayne. Dick, still leaking the odd miserable tear, is placed in a curtained cubicle and put on a drip of steroids and antihistamines.

As soon as the staff stop bustling around and leave them with promises to check in soon, Bruce hitches himself up on the edge of the bed beside Dick. Dick instantly leans into him, snuffling into his shirt.

“How are you feeling, pal?” Bruce asks gently.

“Itchy,” Dick mumbles, “But better.” His lips and cheeks are swollen and there’s a big rash across his abdomen, but his breathing is coming fairly easily now. “‘m sorry.”

Bruce blinks. “For what?”

“I, um, I made a fuss,” Dick replies, which Bruce translates into I got scared. 

“You had a good reason,” Bruce points out. “I’m not mad. I was worried about you.”

Internally, he’s feeling the tickle of guilt that tells him, sly, it’s your fault. He couldn’t have known, of course, that their little deal would lead to this, but when he’s cradling his usually fearless boy in a hospital bed it’s very difficult to see it that way.

“Okay,” Dick agrees. He sounds sleepy now, like the drama has worn him out. “Pizza later?”

“Yeah, Dickie,” Bruce says, settling him so he’s comfortable snuggled into Bruce’s side under the blankets. “We’ll get pizza later.”

[misssophiachase]

For Klaroline Valentine’s Bingo - Speed Dating - After a crazy bet ten years earlier, Klaus and Caroline find themselves speed dating together. 

Secret Love Song

Klaus

He’d almost left about five times. After all, there was nothing worse than sitting by yourself in a room full of people.  

It was crazy, right? He’d told himself that so many times but yet here he was looking like a creepy desperado trying to pick up younger women in a college bar.

The Heights Harvard to be exact. The same bar he’d frequented while at law school. It had been about nine years since he’d last visited but the place still looked exactly how he remembered it. 

Klaus was currently a successful attorney in New York City, a partner at one of the top law firms. A feat unheard of for his age. His career accolades had buoyed him considerably but the continuous one night stands and the revolving door of women had left him somewhat empty. 

Just like she’d told him all those years ago in this very bar. 

He wanted to prove her wrong and not bother showing up but Klaus also knew that deep down he had an ulterior motive.  And that in itself scared the hell out of him.    

He tore at his beer label anxiously wondering if this was possibly the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Probably so if the violent swirling in his stomach was anything to go by. 

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do nervous. 

Until right now. 

10 years earlier 

“Speed dating on Valentine’s Day, really?” Klaus wasn’t a fan of the Hallmark Holiday as it was but witnessing the room full of singles play musical chairs in the hopes of trying to find love was too much to stomach.

“If they want to speed date what business is it of yours, Mikaelson?” He knew that melodic but annoying voice without having to turn his head. 

“Who invited you, Forbes?” 

“It’s a free bar,” she shot back and Klaus could tell she was rolling those expressive but annoying blue orbs in his direction. “And it’s not my fault if my best friend, who happens to be your sister, and her boyfriend, who happens to be your best friend, invited me.”

“Lucky me,” he growled, his arm reaching for his date and pulling her towards him possessively almost as a shield against her usual animosity. “How about a drink, Chloe?”  

“My name is Amanda,” she scowled, her dark hair whipping around fiercely and grazing his cheek in the process. 

“Of course it is,” he mumbled, trying to come up with an excuse as to why he’d confused his current date with the one he’d had two days earlier. Or was it the girl from a week ago?

“I’d probably have a better chance of meeting a nice guy speed dating,” she hissed, standing up and stalking away. 

“What did you do this time, Nikalus?” Rebekah inquired, arching her left eyebrow curiously. 

“Just the usual,” Caroline chirped, obviously enjoying his frustration. “You really should come with a warning.” 

“There’s that cute banter we all love, it’s like we never left you twenty-four hours ago doing exactly the same thing,” Enzo offered, taking a seat beside Rebekah. 

“Oh please,” Klaus groaned. “Nothing stick-up-her-ass Forbes and I do is cute.”

“Yes, that would be rather difficult with man-whore Mikaelson here.” 

“It’s not cute, Lorenzo,” Rebekah agreed. “It’s outright nauseous.” 

“Here I was enjoying a date on my own and then the peanut gallery had to arrive and ruin it.”

“I think you were doing that all on your own, Niklaus,” Caroline mimicked. Klaus winced knowing she only did that to annoy him and it was working. “Why don’t you try your hand at some speed dating, it looks like it’s about to start.”

“Now that I would pay to see,” Rebekah chuckled. “Can we please get some popcorn to go with the show?” 

“Surely two minutes of Niklaus Mikaleson is enough to scare those poor, hopeful girls away.” Enzo teased, helping himself to the bowl of chips Klaus had paid for. He pulled them forcefully away from Enzo’s greedy grasp.  

“You three are bloody hilarious.” Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do relationships, let alone speed dating to eventuate in possibly being imprisoned in one. “I will never speed date as long as I live and that’s a promise. I’m not that desperate.”

“Maybe not now, but what about ten years down the track when you’re no longer mobbed by giggling, immature sycophants who don’t know any better?”

“I’ll be doing just fine, Forbes. Have you seen this face? Anyway, we can’t all be bitter shrews who haven’t been laid in forever.”

“Well, when the pool consists of asshats like you, Mikaelson, I’d take celibacy any day. In ten years' time, when I’m happily married this memory will be a blip on my college radar and you’ll still be sleeping with randoms pretending everything is fine and you’re not at all empty inside.”

“Oh really?” He asked, trying to ignore just how annoying but adorable she looked when she was being judgmental. 

“Really.”

“Fine, prove it,” he shot back, the confusion on her face evident. “We meet up here in ten years if life hasn’t turned out as perfectly as you seem to think it has.”

“For what exactly?” Klaus didn’t respond immediately, just gestured to the couples over the other side of the room.

“We speed date.”

“That’s crazy,” she replied, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re crazy.” 

“Yeah, even I think you’ve gone a little cuckoo, Niklaus,” Enzo shared.

“Scared?”

“What are we? Ten years old?” She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.  

“If you believe the future is going to be as rosy as you say then surely there’s nothing to be afraid of? After all, it is just a little speed dating with yours truly.” 

“Fine,” she conceded, reluctantly taking the hand he offered. Klaus didn’t miss the bolt of electricity he felt and judging by her reaction she hadn’t either. 

Present Day - Caroline 

“I’m not going in, this is nuts,” Caroline said into the phone, noticing her sentence end with barely a squeak. 

“You made this bet, Caroline,” she insisted. “The least you could do is go through with it.”

Caroline rolled her eyes wondering why she thought calling Rebekah was a great idea. She was his sister after all.

Klaus had actually made the bet but yet here she was readying herself for that sexy but annoying smirk when she walked through the door. Her mind traveled back to ten years earlier wondering why she thought putting herself through this humiliation was such a great idea. 

No, she knew exactly why.

Life hadn’t turned out at all like she’d planned.

She assumed Klaus would show, he was still a prolific womanizer by all reports and he had nothing to lose from showing up. Caroline knew the only reason he would be there was to torment her mercilessly because her unrealistic visions of a husband, two kids, a Golden Retriever, and a white picket fence had failed to materialize. 

She’d cry if it wasn’t so pathetic.

Caroline knew she was a workaholic; it was the reason she was currently a well-respected news anchor in London. After interning at the Boston Globe after college, Caroline had taken an assignment as an international correspondent covering anything from war zones to royal weddings.

Her recent promotion to news anchor of the most highly rated breakfast program in the United Kingdom was the result of hard work and long hours. The combination making it practically impossible for a personal life.

Even though every fiber in her being was telling Caroline not to meet him, there was an underlying niggling that had pushed her halfway across the world.

“I should have never come,” she murmured, forgetting that she was talking to her best friend. “You know he’ll never let me live this down.”

“You needed to find out, Care,” Rebekah replied honestly.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbled.

Her best friend had a perfect life, down to the four-legged canine (just replace the Golden Retriever with a Cavoodle named Sonny). Not that she begrudged Rebekah and Enzo for being the best married couple she knew, she just associated their nuptials three years earlier with the scene of a very messy crime.

“You do realize that the best day of my life was supposed to be about me right? Not you and my idiotic brother? I’m seven months pregnant, Care, and the way I see it you have two choices. You sort this mess out now so as not to overshadow the arrival of my firstborn or you risk ruining another life-altering moment with your indecision.”

“Wow, you really have that guilt thing down. I pity your future children.”

“Thank you but stop changing the subject.” Before Caroline could deflect like she usually would, her phone beeped signaling an incoming message.

“Oh, I have a message, gotta go BFF,” she replied chirpily before disconnecting. She was expecting a lead on her latest story so assumed that would be it.

You realize I can see you pacing outside, right Forbes?

Caroline closed her eyes momentarily, although she didn’t recognize the number she knew it was him. After the wedding, Caroline had changed her number thinking it was for the best. She certainly didn’t want to rehash events again or risk repeating them.

How did you get this number?

Why don’t you just come inside and I’ll tell you ; )

You are insufferable, Mikaelson. And since when do you use emojis?

Speed dating is about to start, wouldn’t want you to miss out.

I hate you.

Oh, there’s that unapologetic venom I’ve missed. A bet’s a bet, love.

Ten minutes later...

“Feeling a little less hostile now, sweetheart?” He asked, those annoying but disarming dimples making an unwanted appearance.

“Hostility and you go hand-in-hand, Mikaelson, I thought you’d know that by now,” she shot back. “Two tequila slammers are not nearly enough to numb the hostility.”

“Well, I couldn’t have you too drunk for speed dating, I mean what if you meet the one and you’re too inebriated to notice?”

“You can’t be serious? We are not speed dating.”

“I’m deathly serious, I even registered us before you arrived.”

“There’s that smug arrogance I haven’t missed. How did you know I’d even show up?”

“Besides you pacing outside the bar for fifteen minutes?” He asked, cocking his left eyebrow teasingly. “I assumed had you met the guy to go with the picket fence scenario I would have at least scored an invite to the wedding. I mean we certainly have a good track record when it comes to those sorts of events.”

“Unbelievable,” she scoffed. “I really shouldn’t be surprised that you are exactly the same immature guy from all those years ago.”  

“And you are still the same judgmental girl, it’s like we’ve been transported back in time.”

“Um, excuse me? Speed dating is about to start,” a nervous-looking guy approached them.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Caroline smiled, feeling suddenly invigorated. “I can’t wait to find a guy who is loving, kind and obedient.”

“It’s not ‘find your pet dog’ speed dating, Forbes,” Klaus growled. “Although it doesn’t surprise me that you’d like someone who’ll quietly put up with your constant attitude.”

“Says the guy who’d prefer a woman not to talk at all, wouldn’t want it to interfere with all of the meaningless sex, right?”

They were both looking at the organizer now for some sort of response. He chose that moment to scurry far away from their argument obviously hoping that they wouldn’t follow.

Ten minutes later…

“So, Chip, you like exercising?” Caroline was seated at the corner table trying to ignore Klaus making eyes at his current speed date.

“It’s, Chad,” he offered, his gaze following her distracted one. “And yes, I suppose being a personal trainer means that I enjoy exercising.”

“You don’t say, what a coincidence,” she smiled, trying to regain her composure. Klaus Mikaelson always had the annoying way of distracting her.

“I told you that when I sat down,” he reiterated. The bell sounded and he stood up, Caroline couldn’t miss the relief cross his face. Well, she didn’t like him much anyway, too many obvious muscles.

“I’m Chelsea.”

“Of course you are,” Klaus replied, trying to work out whether Caroline liked the guy with all the muscles she was currently paired with across the room. Why did he need to wear such a tight shirt anyway?

“But you called me Caroline,” she insisted. Klaus couldn’t help it. Sure she was pretty enough but he really wished it was Caroline sitting across from him, even if she was annoying.

Ten minutes later…

“I love dogs too,” Caroline cooed. “It’s great to find someone who likes the same things.”

“Because he’s the only guy in the world who likes dogs,” Klaus joked sarcastically. They were now seated at adjacent tables, only two minutes away from their very own speed date.

To say they’d both been distracted would be an understatement and everyone in the room had noticed. “Would you please mind your own business? Scott and I are trying to have an adult conversation, something you would know nothing about.”

“Excuse me? I have no interest whatsoever in your boring conversation. Hannah and I were talking about our shared love of parasailing.”

“You realize he’s scared of heights, right Hannah?” Caroline shared. “I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up about someone who’s obviously a compulsive liar.”

“Says the woman who lives in a dream world? Scott, don’t be fooled. You might both love dogs but she wants a Golden Retriever called Brinkley after the dog in You’ve Got Mail, that’s non-negotiable. Do you really want someone making decisions from bad movies for you?”

“It seems like you two know a lot about each other,” Hannah offered. “Maybe it’s time we switched, Scott?” He nodded in agreement and before they knew it, Klaus and Caroline were seated together.

“Way to ruin my speed date, Mikaelson,” she muttered, not bothering to look at him.

“You were doing that all on your own.”

“What are we doing here?” She huffed, finally raising her eyes to meet his. “We are both successful professionals who don’t need to speed date, especially at a college bar with people ten years younger.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, you were right,” he said, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. 

“Of course I’m right, we are too old for this,” she muttered. “I think the tequila has well and truly worn off.”

“No, I meant you were right ten years ago.” Caroline raised her eyebrows curiously, not expecting him to be so candid. Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do honesty easily. “I do feel empty.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said that,” she conceded. “I always have this way of speaking before I think.”

“You don’t say?” Klaus teased. “I don’t think I realized I actually felt that way until three years ago.”

“If you’re messing with me...”

“You and I both know that I don’t do vulnerable, Forbes. But yes, you annoy me a lot but for some reason I can’t stop thinking about you, about what happened between us.”

“Way to flatter me, Mikaelson,” she chuckled, despite the relative seriousness of the subject matter. “Sorry, I joke when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you here really?” He implored, those blue eyes boring into hers earnestly, surprising her. 

“Okay everyone, switch partners.” Caroline had barely noticed the bell let alone the fact an over-eager redhead was edging her way towards Klaus. 

“He’s taken,” she said, not meaning to sound quite so possessive.  

“Easy tiger,” he smiled seductively in her direction. “Best you keep moving darling, she can’t be held responsible for her actions.”

“You’re an ass,” she scoffed, once the redhead had moved for her own safety. “But as you so eloquently put it earlier, I don’t have the life I so naively envisaged all those years ago in this very bar.”

“And apparently I have the life you predicted for me,” he murmured, placing his hand over hers. “I meant what I said and I’m not here to say I told you so and I’m definitely not here to speed date,” Klaus said, warning away Caroline’s next speed date with his eyes. 

“So, why are you here exactly?”

“Because I love you, Caroline Forbes, so much sometimes it hurts,” he admitted, a slight blush crossing his cheeks. “I think I probably always have.”

“Well,” she grinned. “You’re lucky I happen to love you too but the golden retriever is non-negotiable, Mikaelson. So is making you watch You’ve Got Mail until you love it as much as me.”

“I’m willing to put up with Tom Hanks on repeat if it makes you happy, love,” he joked, placing a kiss on her hand. “But don’t think I won’t make you do things too.”

“How about we get out of here and you tell me exactly what you want me to do to you,” she purred, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before dragging him from the bar. 

When Caroline and Klaus announced their engagement three short months later, Enzo and Rebekah promised their speed date would get a mention in the wedding speeches. 

They didn’t mind given it was how they finally got together and lived happily ever after with their two kids and a golden retriever named Brinkley. 

[miss-oscurita]

I’ve got people asking what the hell is going on, since it seems this shit is getting twisted somewhere along the line and because I do not have the time or energy to engage with squabbling over this any longer, I’m gonna to take some time to state the facts from the get go (since some people apparently can’t keep track) and explain how I see all this one last time, and then I’m done with this shit. Let me be clear - I am not, and never have been, claiming to “own tropes”, as so many have accused me of. I have absolutely no issue with anyone using time-travel and the associated themes in their Red Dead fan fics. This is not entirely about that, I’m sorry so many of you can’t see the bigger picture. My primary issue with this is that someone mentioning me by name (without a tag) and saying I’d approved the content of their story when I was completely unaware of the changes they’d chosen to make to it until after it had been seen by dozens of people here. I do also have an issue with someone telling me they’re going to remove something to avoid drama going forward, only to then upload it to a second site a week later with the additional changes and mention of my name/approval. Changes which stem from someone claiming that they’ve never heard of my story one day, and then a week after discovering it, going ahead and changing their story to include a necklace/stone too. Which is the same plot device that is the very foundation of my entire fic! Coincidence? Maybe. You be the judge on that.  Now for everyone who’s jumped on the bandwagon while missing the start of this drama, this is what actually happened....

On September 8th - I was alerted to a story written by Charlee (previously @the-charlee-monstah) under the pen name GracelessTevy that was posted on AO3, called Fast Forward To Redemption. The story was about Arthur jumping through time into 2020, which is the same loose premise as my story Wish Upon. So what? Right? Right! There were enough differences for me to have zero concerns about this story existing. The main female character in FFTR was completely unaware of who Arthur was in relation to Red Dead, unlike my story where both the OC and Arthur know he’s a fictional character in modern reality. While the plot of FFTR appeared to follow the same path as my story with the OC helping Arthur find his feet in the twenty-first century and such, I didn’t feel it was that notably similar in any other sense. Now, this all came to my attention because apparently someone had commented on FFTR claiming that it was the same as my story Wish Upon. Due these comments on AO3 Charlee came forward, commented on WU, and the @’d me in a tagged post on here about the messages she’d received, and asked for my thoughts on what had been commented, because it appeared these comments were in defence of me. (There were a couple of other comments on the story that didn’t mention my story specifically but cried copying on some level. I’m unsure if that was in regard to my story or something else, since Charlee’s camp have repeatedly told me my idea is unoriginal and “been done” already....) At that time Charlee claimed she had never even heard of my story Wish Upon that random people were accusing her of copying. Concerned by this, for both my story and Charlee potentially being dragged unnecessarily by random strangers - I took some time out of my day to find her story, read what was posted. At that time I did not see any similarities beyond the element of Arthur existing in the modern day. There were some vague similarities, in the sense that Arthur arrived during a storm, and that the chapter began with the female character speaking to her friend about cowboys in a novel, but nothing that concerned me in any significant way. I responded to Charlee publicly and via DM’s and told her that what I saw was fine, and that I had no issue with anything she’d written at that point. Charlee repeatedly claimed to have no prior knowledge of my story but must have found it on AO3 in order to get my contact information from my profile to bring the matter to my attention on here. (Since AO3 still doesn’t have a Goddamned private messaging feature!) Charlee said in a comment she left on Wish Upon, that she would delete her story to avoid any further confusion or drama over it.

I thought that was the end of it, but since this began on AO3 I deleted the comment from my story because I wanted to avoid encouraging drama in the comments on my end, and I went on with my life.   Skip to last night (Sept 14th) a week later, and someone comes to my inbox here and tells me that Charlee has decided to completely change the name of her story, to reference a stone, and had also made changes to include a mention of a necklace that would obviously be relevant to the plot going forward. (For those of you who don’t follow WU, the concept is that Arthur is bought out of the game and transported to 2019 into the life of a young woman who made a off-the-cuff wish about him being a real person, while wearing a magical necklace her aunt had given her for Christmas.) More surprisingly was that Charlee had also posted the story on here in the Red Dead tag, under the new title of Tempest’s Stone. Despite not having posted it here as FFTR. In the posted chapter on here and AO3 she included a mention of what had happened last week, including my Tumblr username (which is different to my AO3 ID) but didn’t actually tag me so I could see it in my notifs. Despite tagging me last week when coming at me for comment over the responses she’d received. She mentioned that I had given my approval for the story and that I saw no similarities to my (unnamed) work, and that any similarities were coincidental.

Seeing the anon message coming in to my inbox, about a necklace made me think I was going crazy, because I hadn’t seen any mention of any stone/necklace in what I read last week. I initially wrote all this off as just someone trying to start shit here again, so I approached Charlee to politely via DM’s to query if there had been a change or if this was just more of the same trouble making from nameless individuals. I was concerned about all this, because if I had seen any mention of a stone/necklace in what I read last week, I would have raised concerns with it right away to avoid drama falling on her going forward. The initial response I get is Charlee denying any copying.

While waiting for further elaboration from Charlee, I get a few anon messages. One of which offers to provided me with a PDF version of what was originally posted by as FFTR last week, which showed there was no mention of a necklace or stone. It was late, I’m constantly tired at the moment, I’m going through some serious shit in real life, so I wasn’t going to sit up waiting for another reply from Charlee, I accepted her response, put the rest down to being anon drama nonsense, decided I’d deal with it when I saw the PDF, logged off and went to bed. Next thing I know I get woken at 5am by my phone blowing the fuck up with responses to this issue, from Charlee and people from her side/hateful anons attacking me for daring to question the new addition to Charlee’s work.

Then I am inundated with friends of Charlee’s (on and off anon) attacking me in asks and DM’s, saying I have no right to be questioning any of this because my idea has been done before and time-travel stores are common and anyone is entitled to use the concept of a magic necklace, no one owns tropes etc etc etc. I never once claimed or implied that I “own” any tropes. Again, for the peanut gallery, I have no issue with people writing Red Dead timetravel stories! I do however, think it’s highly questionable that someone who apparently had “never heard of” my story a week ago, suddenly changes her story to include a necklace after publicly discovering my work. Also, I’m not claiming any ownership of tropes, but I do not think it’s unreasonable for me to claim ownership of a very specific alternative universe. My fic is an AU, tropes are just something that occur in a chapter but the over all fic is very much an AU, which has very specific elements. But whatever... Unfortunately there is no arguing the morals of this turn of events with these people attacking me in Charlee’s name, because when you try to question their angle of defence they just block you. (Then unblock you later on to continue telling you how wrong it is to have an opinion on your own work!) To elaborate a little on my concerns, I’ll say this... YES! Mother fuckers! I know I did not invent timetravel, or any devices used to facilitate that! Change the Goddamned record! I do however feel it is not unreasonable to have an issue with someone claiming not to know of my story one second, then just so happening to add in a plot point to their work that is the very cornerstone of my entire story, a week after admitting to learning of my work. Then on top of that, going ahead and changing the title, and posting it here -after having said they’d delete- AND claiming that I’d seen the story and approved it AFTER the changes have been made. Changes that I was COMPLETELY unaware of! Changes that would have continued to go unknown to me without an anon tipping me off! Because I was not tagged in the post that Charlee made with her story either on here or AO3, and I made it clear in my first response to Charlee last week that I do not read any fics or following the RDR fandom. The biggest issue in all this for me is that Charlee claimed I was okay with the stories content, when I was completely unaware of the changes she’d made. In the bigger picture it is also somewhat concerning to me that Charlee’s story is a reader insert, which predominantly gain more attention (especially on Tumblr) than original character fictions. Which, for the record, I have no issue with in general, we’re all just trying to enjoy ourselves with words. However, I’ll admit, I was concerned about Charlee continuing with her story in its revised form since we’re both playing to the same audience, and Charlee would have potentially been attracting a different/wider viewership on a reader insert (posting both on AO3 and Tumblr) and how that would potentially lead to people to accuse me of copying at some point down the line. For a bit of context... I have over two hundred thousand words of Wish Upon in first draft, waiting to be edited and posted. I have over one hundred and fifty thousand words already shared on AO3. There’s plenty of eyes out there to read both our work, it’s not an issue of who gets more attention or any other shit you lot would like to throw. I’d take one kudos and heartfelt comment over a 100 likes any day.  The issue is that there’s a good chance that by the time I get to publish, let’s say, chapter thirty, that Charlee could have already explored the events of that chapter of my story. Which would then potentially cause her readers to come for me, claiming my work is a derivative of hers, when in fact the story I’ve spent two years writing is already finished in first draft, and is just awaiting final editing - which I cannot do quickly enough due to real life pressures! Is it wrong of me to be concerned about and want to avoid that kind of finger pointing bullshit, after having put so much time and effort into this story? Yes, it’s possible that it was a coincidence that Charlee decided to add a stone/necklace to her story, no one can prove it one way or the other beyond reasonable doubt. However, I am not going to pull punches on this one, and I’ll say I find it extremely questionable that this change to her story occurred AFTER finding Wish Upon, and AFTER the story views on AO3 went from 1042 to 1158 (with no new kudos/comments added) between this drama starting and as I type this. Someone was obviously reading my work over the past week, and with no update/bumps on it, I have to question who it actually was and how my work was discovered since it’s way down on the recent updates on AO3.... Anyway, the bottom line is Charlee claims she didn’t copy, I claim it’s a possibility that she may have, either consciously or unconsciously. BUT I gave her the benefit of the doubt on the vague similarities last week. But like I said, this isn’t just about copying ideas. It’s about claiming I’m okay with something that I was completely unaware of, and did not give my approval to. Whatever the case, I do not think it’s unreasonable for me to have issues with what’s occurred in regard to how Charlee has handled this matter. As a result of this drama being bought to Tumblr, I have been inundated with messages. Some from strangers showing support and raising concerns for my story and welfare, which I appreciate. Unfortunately, however, I have had even more people sending me increasingly hateful and combative messages. Attacking me for daring to question Charlee (who’s apparently been in the RDR2 fandom since August) and paint me as the bad guy over the issue of these changes Charlee made of her own freewill.  My blog is now getting likes/reblogs from a bunch of people who I do not know, do not follow me, and have no reason to find my blog other than because of this drama! So it seems obvious to me that links to my page are being shared around somewhere out there and hate is being encouraged in my direction. Back to the matter at hand... Early this morning I politely suggested that Charlee come forward and make a post on her own blog, for her followers, to explain what had happened with adding the necklace and changing the title etc. While I waited for her to do that, I made a post of my own to address anyone following me who may have been involved provoking drama. Charlee decided not to make a post explaining the introduction of the necklace in her story, giving me a bunch of excuses as to why she didn’t want to, and some point today she decided to delete her account entirely instead.  I’m now getting blamed for that, with people saying I had a hand in chasing Charlee off this site. When you can count the amount of messages (all civil and even toned) I sent her/regarding her on both hands and have still have free fingers. When I logged off early this morning her blog still existed. The first I heard of her deleting was an hour ago when I came on to find yet more drama had graced my inbox/DM’s in the wake of her flouncing. I couldn’t even interact with her if I wanted to, because she blocked me last night for reasons I do not understand, after I requested she explain the situation on her blog to square all this away once and for all. (I’m happy to share the full DM’s she sent me which are not polite and seem slightly combative from her end.) If the court of Tumblr want to come hang me for being concerned and questioning someone using my story concept AFTER being made aware of my story’s content - then go ahead, because I did that directly with Charlee in private. I did not bring this matter to Tumblr. It could have been dealt with privately or just on AO3. Charlee chose to highlight this for other people to see on here, why I do not know. But she tagged her original post last week so the entire fandom could see and jump on it. I didn’t have anything to do with that, so don’t any of you faceless haters fuckin’ dare come at me saying I encouraged or orchestrated harassment over this because I had absolutely fuck all to do with it at any point!!!! I’m wise enough to know attacking someone over plagiarism is pathetic, because plagiarism is solely an academic standard. This issue would be a matter of copyright. And you cannot copyright a fan fic, because by definition fan fic is copyright infringement. You cannot copyright tropes and I have never claimed dominion over any tropes in my story. This is fundamentally a moral issue, and I do not think it is unreasonable to have concerns about someone changing their story to use the exact same elements of a story to the one I’ve been writing for nearly two years. Especially in a fanom as new and as small as Red Dead is. And THEN claiming that I’m perfectly fine with the changes they made that I was TOTALLY unaware of! But if it makes me the bad guy for not being supportive of someone who for all I know saw my idea and ran with it, then fuck it - What can I say? I’m obviously the bad guy! Go get your guns! If you can’t accept it’s an appropriate response to be concerned by seeing someone do that to your ideas (and going on to add more of them to their work after you’d  written the first concerns off as a non-issue) then it’s not my place to convince you. To the best of my knowledge I am “persona non grata” in the Red Dead fandom. I have thousands of followers, from various older fandoms since I’ve been here since 2012, but I do not interact with anyone with an interest in Red Dead beyond responding to comments on my work on AO3 and the occasional ask on my story blog. I do not have a support network on here. I do not post my work here, because every time I have it’s been ignored. I do not have fandom or followings that I can call upon to defend me, or people I can tag to come to my aid. However, I do truly appreciate that strangers out there have taken it upon themselves to alert me to what’s going on, since I do not follow fandom in any respect. However, I ask that they take a moment to consider HOW they go about addressing matters like this now, and at any point in the future, and that if anyone is still sending messages to other people on my behalf about this issue then I ask them to stop now.  It’s between Charlee and I. Not Charlee, me, five of her friends, and twenty trolling anons showing their asses! Yes, Charlee also chose to add a necklace/stone into her story after admitting to finding my work. That could have been an innocent mistake, it could have been deliberate, who knows! I gave the benefit of the doubt once, only to wind up getting shit on and attacked by people defending her actions! Yes, maybe Charlee didn’t have any ill intent with saying I’d approved changes I didn’t know about. All we have is her word, and I don’t know her from Adam. I gave a pass the first time round, only for this to end up happening. Whatever the case really is, it’s not my fault that Charlee chose to include a necklace/stone in her story after discovering my story. She claimed to never have read my work, even after being made aware of it, but perhaps if she had made that effort to read it this could have been completely avoided. It’s also not my fault that Charlee decided to publically post about the drama that kicked all this off last week. Calling her dogs to come and attack me over comments people I do not know made on her story. And finally - for all the anon’s from Charlee’s camp, or any other, sending me actual hate and shitting on my writing, and pulling the old Tumblr classic of bravely telling me on anon that I should kill myself because Charlee deleted - fuck the lot of you! This is the last I’m going to say on this matter, I am fuckin’ done with this shit. I will not be deleting my blog, I will not stop writing my story, and I will not be engaging in anyone else who wants to keep prolonging the life of this particular unnecessary bullshit drama! The facts are there. It’s up to you to interpret them however you wish, but let’s be grown-ups about it, please? We’re all just here to try and show some love to a virtual cowboy who hates himself. There’s enough shit in the world right now, we don’t need to be adding to it over a Goddamn fan-fic!

[goldheartofsteel]

apologies to my heart - a Moceit Soulmate AU

Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series)

Characters: Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sleep | Remy Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani

Relationships: Morality | Patton Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - College/University

Tagging:@omgsomeonesomewhereonearth || @patient–zer0 || @kawaiikat54 || @uniquedonutland || @sanderssides-angst || @wellhellothere09

CHAPTER 10:

Janus gently cups Patton’s face with both of his hands and smiles as he watches a blush blossom on Patton’s face in response. He rubs one of Patton’s cheeks with his thumb, simply taking in the moment because he’s finally where he’s meant to be. However, he also knows this will change everything for them so it shouldn’t be rushed. 

He presses his forehead against Patton’s as he keeps his gaze locked with his soulmate’s. 

“May I kiss you, Patton?” asks Janus softly. 

Patton beams up at him.

“Yes, Janus. You may,” he replies just as softly. 

Slowly, the distance between the soulmates disappears until Janus feels Patton’s lips beneath his. 

Oh, how he’s dreamed of this moment. 

He presses his lips firmly against Patton’s then when he’s sure this isn’t a dream then drops one hand from Patton’s face to grab him around his waist and pull him closer. Patton smiles against his lips at this. Then Patton wraps his arms around Janus’ neck, playing with the hair at the base of Janus’ neck with one of his hands, sending a shiver down his spine. Neither one wants to end the kiss but breathing won out in the end as they rest their foreheads against the other’s while keeping themselves wrapped around each other tightly. 

This is what had been missing with Emile and Remy. A warmth fills Patton from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet as Janus holds him close. 

“I’m sorry, Janus,” says Patton.

Janus blinks in confusion, unsure about what brought on the apology. 

“Darling?” he asks.

Patton sighs then shakes his head before meeting Janus’ eyes with a sheepish smile on his face.

“If I hadn’t been so silly, we could have been doing this a long time ago is all.”

Janus gives him a chaste kiss, internally squealing that he can kiss Patton whenever he wants, within reason. He’d never force anything on Patton, he’d die first. 

“Oh love, I could have said something but I didn’t. Perhaps this happened right when it was meant to. Besides, what matters is we know now. I do have a question for you though,” Patton kisses his cheek then looks at him in anticipation of his question, “Will you, Patton, do me the honor of officially becoming my boyfriend?”

Patton grins brightly.

“Yes! There’s nothing I’d want more.”

Janus smiles in response, something settling in his soul but that’s as far as he gets as Patton kisses him enthusiastically which he returns in equal measure.  

They probably would have continued in that vein for sometime, to make up for lost time and all that, if not for their friends. 

“About fucking time. I thought I’d have to take some drastic measures to get you two to see the light,” Remus grins, obviously happy for his friends. 

They jump apart at the unexpected noise. 

Logan rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s antics.

“While I may not share Remus’ dramatics, I too, am happy for the two of you,” Logan smiles at them.

Remus may be Janus’ best friend but Janus’ hasn’t wanted to kill him more than he did in that moment. 

Kissing Janus’ cheek and drawing a smile out of him as he looks at Patton, Patton wraps an arm around Janus’ waist and snuggles close. Janus’ arm wraps around Patton’s shoulder and he gives him a gentle squeeze.

“So where’s my bro and Spidey?” ask Remus curiously.

“Virge’s room, i think. He wanted to give us the chance to talk without a peanut gallery so he dragged Roman off,” answers Patton.

Remus wiggles his eyebrows causing Janus and Logan to groan in response. 

“You know what? I gotta pee, be right back,” he says before quickly leaving the room.

Patton can’t help grimacing at Remus’ words. 

“Something tells me….he isn’t going to use the restroom,” comments Janus dryly.

Not two seconds later, a loud scream could be heard emanating from Virgil’s room. 

“I didn’t know Roman or Virgil could scream that loud,” confesses Patton.

“That wasn’t either of them, Patton,” responds Logan. 

“How do you….oh.”

Seeing the slight blush on  Logan’s face confirmed Janus’s suspicions on how he knows what Remus’ scream sounds and Patton seems to catch on quicker than expected if his blush is anything to go by. 

Suddenly, Remus runs into the room then tackles Logan onto the couch where he buries his face against Logan’s shoulder as he hugs onto him tightly. 

Logan blinks at his boyfriend’s behavior before he starts running a hand through Remus’ hair.

“Oh Lolo, it was horrible. Virgil was kissing Roman, that’s gross. Who’d want to kiss my brother?” 

He grimaces, causing Logan to bite his tongue so as to not laugh at his misfortune. Janus and Patton, on the other hand, had no reason not to laugh so they did. 

Looking over at his best friend, Remus sticks his tongue out causing Janus’ laughter to grow.

Janus guides Patton over to the loveseat, sits down then pulls his boyfriend down onto his lap causing giggles to erupt from Patton. 

Cue a melting Janus. 

“Uh, what’s so funny guys?” 

The quartet turn to look at the entryway where Virgil stands hand in hand with Roman. 

Turns out it was Virgil who asked the question.

Janus smirks at his friends causing them to blush while Logan sighs as he continues to comfort Remus.

“Uh, friendos...is there something you’d like to share because you gave Remus quite the scare?” asks Patton. 

Virgil rubs the back of his neck with his free hand as Roman squeezes his other hand in support. 

“Well, I wanted you two to talk, congrats by the way, so I dragged Roman to my room without much thinking. He frustrated me like he usually does,” Roman lets out a gasp at this causing Virgil to kiss his cheek, “then he dared me to make him stop talking and the only uh thing, my brain thought to do was kiss him. So, I did.”

Roman pulls Virgil close and hugs him.

“Uh yeah, turns out we’re soulmates. Isn’t that something,” says Roman. 

Patton claps his hands and squeals as Janus and Logan smile fondly at their friends. Sitting up, Remus stares at his brother for a few moments then sighs. 

“Well, I guess I can forgive you for scaring me for life because you found your soulmate and you couldn’t do any better,” says Remus seriously for all of three seconds before grinning at his brother. 

Roman sighs then returns the grin because his brother’s support means more to him than he’ll ever admit.

“Maybe try knocking next time, bro. Then you won’t end up seeing something you don’t want to.” 

Before a fight can break out, Patton whistles to get everyone’s attention.

“To celebrate all the awesome love in the room, let’s order pizza and watch a movie.”

[capandbuckysgirl]

You’ve Left A Mark That Won’t Erase - 4

You’ve Left A Mark That Won’t Erase (Chris Evans x Reader)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Chapter 4 - I’ve been trying to write for awhile but life has been hectic! I’m so sorry for the delay!

Warnings: nudity, foul language, nsfw, unprotected sex (this is fiction, wrap it before you tap it!), fluffy as fuck!

As always, gifs are not mine… And show some love, please?

I scrubbed and cleaned my apartment from top to bottom, trying to get Chris off my mind. Nothing worked, no matter how hard I tried. He’d managed to crack the wall I’d built up and slip through in the short time I’d known him.

This wasn’t typical for me, I didn’t just offer my heart up so quickly. But Chris was different; he was special. And something, somewhere deep inside me knew that.

It was times like this I wished I could call my mom. If only for a moment, to hear her voice one more time and ask for advice.

Peeling my pink latex gloves from my hands, I decided to weed through my wardrobe and pick clothes for the upcoming trip.

I managed to get through the clothes and get my makeup kits, nail kit and hair styling supplies condensed down to one bag for travel. Glancing at the clock on my nightstand I let out a heavy sigh.

Only three hours had passed, and now I had nothing left to do. Combing my fingers through my hair, I grabbed my purse and phone and made my way out to my car.

Driving always calmed me, especially when I had too much on my mind. I got in the driver’s seat and started the car, shifted into drive and made my way to my favorite spot near my house - Starbucks. The baristas knew me by name, and chilling out with a coconut milk green tea frappuccino sounded pretty fucking blissful at the moment.

I pulled up to the drive thru, ordered my drink and paid the cashier, Sam. She was super sweet, always had a kind word for everyone.

“Here ya go, Y/N. Had them put and extra scoop of matcha for you.”

“Thanks, you’re the best, Sam.”

I sipped my drink and drove around for a couple of hours, not really paying attention to where I was driving to. It didn’t really matter, I was feeling better about everything, including my newfound relationship with Chris. I started back toward home as my cell started ringing through the sound system of my car.

“Hello?” I answered as I flicked on my blinker to get on the highway.

“Y/N, Darren the bartender said he saw you leave with someone last night. A guy someone…”

“Ray, this is really none of your business since you and Ashley didn’t bother showing up.”

“Something else came up.” She said, offering no other explanation besides that and I had to grit my teeth to keep from unloading on her.

Raylin was selfish at the best of times, most times she could be downright mean. How I became friends with her was a mystery.

“Yes, well, you could have called or even texted me to let me know you weren’t going to be there. I waited for over an hour.”

“Sounds to me like everything turned out just fine. Darren won’t tell me who you left with, he says he knows who he is though.”

“Just let it go, please?” I wanted to be done with this conversation, but I also didn’t want to be rude. No matter how upset I was with my ‘friends’, I wouldn’t be a bitch. After all, it had turned out to be a wonderful night.

“Why the big secret, Y/N? It’s not like you hooked up with someone famous or something. I mean, you’re so not Hollywood material.”

I bit my tongue - literally, the bitter tang of blood hitting me as I inhaled deeply through my nose.

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I know my place in the world, Raylin. Listen, I’m gonna go.”

“Don’t be like that, Y/N.”

My blood felt like it was boiling, how dare she talk down to me and act like it’s okay. Had I always surrounded myself with such shallow assholes?

“Like what? You just fucking insulted me. I’m good enough and pretty enough to get any man I want, I’m finally learning that. If you can’t see that, then maybe we shouldn’t be friends.”

There was no comment from the peanut gallery, so I hit the end call button on my steering wheel and smiled to myself. I was worth more than that bullshit, and there was no way I was going to throw Chris to the wolves. He deserved better than that, and I would treat him and our relationship with respect. When, and if, he wanted our relationship to be public knowledge, then people would know.

An hour later I pulled into my parking spot and grabbed the piece of paper with Chris’s number on it from my pocket. Without a second thought I punched the numbers into my phone, saved the new contact and sent him a text message.

Hey sexy, I told you I would text you later. How are you doing?

Almost immediately a reply came.

Hi baby, been waiting for you to text me since I dropped you off. I’m good, missing you already.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. If I hadn’t already opened my heart to this man before, I sure as hell would have with that comment.

I miss you, too. I cannot wait to see you again. I’m so glad we met…

Again, my phone chimed back a response almost immediately. He obviously had his phone close by.

I was drawn to you as soon as I saw you from across that bar. I was missing you before I even left you at your place. This has never happened to me before.

Me either, but I now know one thing for sure.

What’s that, babe?

I deserve to be happy, and so do you. I’m excited to see where this goes.

☺ Me too… I really miss your voice. Call?

I smiled again as I pushed the call button next to his name. He picked up after the second ring.

“Hi baby doll.” His voice sent shivers down my spine and a tingle between my legs.

“Hi to you, too.”

I got out of my car, grabbing all my stuff and headed into my apartment. As soon as I got to my apartment, I dropped my bag and keys onto the counter and sipped the last of my drink before tossing the cup in the trashcan.

“So what do you think about me coming back to your place tonight?”

“Chris, you can do whatever you want to do. I’d love to see you again.”

“I hoped you’d say that.” He chuckled on the other end of the phone just as my doorbell rang.

“Hold on, Chris. Someone’s at my door.” Pushing the intercom button, I asked, “Who is it?”

“Special delivery, baby.”

I laughed as I buzzed him in. I opened my apartment door and leaned against the door frame as I watched Chris round the corner. Watching him walk toward me like a man on a mission, I wanted to squeal like a fucking idiot. This man, this beautiful, gorgeous man, wanted me!

“Hi gorgeous,” Chris greeted me, his hands cupping my face gently. “I can’t believe this is happening, but you’re under my skin now, Y/N.”

“I know what you mean. You’ve managed to make your way into my heart in a very short time.”

The feeling of his thumbs caressing my cheeks had my eyes fluttering closed, and then our lips connected. His tongue running across the seam of my lips had me shivering with want.

“I can’t stop myself, I want you so badly, Y/N. I want you to be mine, and I’m scared half to fuckin’ death.” His hands were shaking slightly as he still held my face, his forehead against mine as his breath tickled my lips.

It was then that I knew, I was already in love with him. No matter what happened from here on out, I belonged to this man.

“I’m scared, too. You have me, Chris… You already have me.”

Chris sighed, his eyes finding mine as if searching for something and then we were kissing once more. I’d lost track of where we were, all I knew was this was right. Nothing else mattered. I was in love… For the first time ever.

Tugging on Chris’s shirt, I backed into my apartment, Chris shutting the door with his foot as we tore at each other’s clothes.  I led him to my tiny bedroom, still stealing kisses as I maneuvered my way backwards and landed on my bed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he climbed onto the bed, settling between my legs like he was made to fit there. He peppered my cheeks, eyelids, and finally my lips with kisses as he wrapped his arms underneath me, holding me close. I could feel every muscle as he moved, his cock sitting hot and heavy against my folds.

I didn’t move, I just wanted to feel him as he moved, his body crushed tightly against mine. Moving his hips slightly, the head of his cock pushed inside of me and I breathed a sigh of contentment. I was made for him…

I wrapped my arms around him, holding him as tightly as he was holding me as he started to thrust his hips. The drag of his cock inside of me was still almost overwhelming. I’d never been with anyone as big, or that knew how to use it like Chris.

Before him, I’d never even had an orgasm that wasn’t by my own hand or my trusty vibrator.

Chris shifted his hips slightly before pushing deeper, his moans so close to my ear sent another wave of pleasure to my core. I moved my hands down his back and grabbed his ass, pulling him as close as I possibly could as my legs opened wider.

I could feel everything, every flex of the muscles in his ass as he thrust inside me, the tip of his cock brushing against my g-spot, and every moan resonating in his chest as he clung to me like I was the very air he was breathing.

“Y/N,” he moaned, my name sounding so sweet coming from his lips.

“I know, Chris. I know,” I answered. We couldn’t say the words yet, but apparently we were both feeling it. This was something unexpected, falling in love with someone after only a day and a half…

He continued to thrust, in and out in a perfect rhythm that had my thighs shaking as my orgasm started. Not an explosion, a slow burn that increased as Chris thrust deeper still.

“Chris, oh… Oh, Chris!”

My nails found purchase in the skin of Chris’s ass as I lifted my hips to meet his as my orgasm finally began to wane. I wanted to make him feel as good as he made me feel.

We continued on, making love slowly into the early hours of the night. When we’d finally become too tired, and Chris had gotten me to come for him for the fifth time, he shuddered and came with a deep groan that had my toes curling. Collapsing to the bed, we slipped beneath the blankets and Chris kissed the top of my head as I snuggled back on his chest (my new-found favorite spot). Just as I was beginning to fall asleep, I could have sworn I heard Chris whisper something. But before I could be sure, I’d drifted off to sleep, completely spent.

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N…”

[citiesalight-writes]

Unwind

Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku no Hero Academia

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kaminari Denki, Sero Hanta, Ashido Mina, Kirishima Eijiro

Relationships: Platonic Bakusquad (Ashido Mina & Bakugou Katsuki & Kaminari Denki & Kirishima Eijirou & Sero Hanta)

This isn’t explicitly shippy, so take away whatever ships you want!

Rating: G

Tags & Warnings: Domestic Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Platonic Cuddling, Cuddle Pile

Summary: They're not sure how it all started, but one way or another they became accustomed to the constant touches, tangled limbs, the feeling of warm bodies pressed against their sides.

AO3 Mirror | Ko-fi

Dedicated to @matamisin Thank you for making me realize just how much I love the Bakusquad as well as all the amazing art you create

They're not sure how it started. Maybe it was Ashido and her penchant for cuddle piles, flopping onto whomever her current target was and not moving no matter how much they struggled. There's also Kirishima, draping himself over his classmates and allowing the tension to seep from his muscle, wrapping his arms around them in a hug to keep himself upright. Bakugou would just claim a spot as his, and if someone didn't move quickly enough he'd lounge directly on top of them with a few quick jabs to stop them from moving too much. And Sero would stand at someone's side so that if they were tired, they'd be able to lean against him and he'd carry them to a couch or their dorm if need be. Meanwhile, Kaminari had the habit of knocking on someone's door in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep, silently entering the room once given permission and curling up in their bed.

But no matter how it started, one thing lead to another and now they were often found tangled up on a bed or couch or, on one memorable occasion, in all the pillows and blankets from the spare dorms that came together to build a formidable pillow fort. It was Kaminari's and Ashido's idea, and they received a thorough scolding from Iida and promised to never do it again.

Currently, they were curled up on Kaminari's bed; Sero at the bottom of the pile, resting on his stomach and taking a quick nap; Kaminari tucked under his arm as Kirishima watched him play Pokemon over his shoulder from his position sprawled across Sero's back; and Bakugou and Ashido were back to back on Sero's other side, Bakugou using Kirishima's back as a place to set his school work as Ashido typed away on her phone, reclined back and forcing Bakugou into a hunched position.

A comfortable silence filled the room, only broken by the occasional scritch of pencil on paper, tap of a button, or light snore. It felt peaceful, something that was getting increasingly harder to achieve as the days wore on.

A few moments later, a gurgling sound shattered the quiet and Kirishima couldn't help the way his cheeks flushed.

"Sounds like someone's hungry," Kaminari joked, sending the redhead a teasing smile.

Setting down his half finished homework, Bakugou stretched and leaned back, forcing Ashido to curl into a ball and ignoring her disgruntled whining. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost 9," Ashido replied to the explosive blond, her pout audible.

"So who's making dinner?" Kaminari asked before a grin twisted his lips and he quickly called out, "Not it!"

"Not it!" "Not it." Kirishima and Ashido were not far behind and Bakugou couldn't help the tired groan that escaped him.

"I'll do it. 'Sides, who knows what you fuckers would try to pass off as food?" Climbing off the bed, he stretched his arms above his head and rolled his neck, letting out a quiet hum as his joints popped.

"And I'm making miso so I better not hear any complaints from the peanut gallery, got it?" At the sounds of agreement, he placed a hand on Sero's waist, shaking him in an effort to wake him.

"Hey Elbow Tape, get up. You're helping me with dinner."

The tape hero let out a groan, slowly sitting up much to the disappointment of everyone else on the bed. "'M up, 'm up." A yawn escaped him as he got to his feet, sending Bakugou a tired smile as the blond rolled his eyes before leaving the room, Sero not far behind.

The three remaining students curled up once again, Kirishima with an arm around Kaminari's waist, both of their heads resting in Ashido's lap as the all watched Kaminari continue his game.

Sero rested a hand on Bakugou's hip, keeping the boy steady as he leaned against him and waited for the soup to finish. Another yawn escaped the smaller boy and Sero couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled out of his chest.

Bakugou scowled, elbowing him but there was no real force behind the display.

"Grab some bowls and spoons." His voice was quiet, in heavy contrast with his normal loud way of speaking. But Sero did as he was asked, grabbing enough for the five of them. A brief glance at Bakugou sent a spike of worry running through his veins as he lifted the still hot pot with only his bare hands, but the rational part of his mind told him he was fine. After all, Bakugou's hands were calloused and used to heat after over 10 years of near daily explosions.

Few words were exchanged as they headed back up to Kaminari's room—pot and bowls in hand—Sero close by in case Bakugou felt the need to lean on him, his free hand on his hip to keep him steady.

After they'd finished off the miso soup and their dirty dishes were stacked by the door to be taken out later, Kaminari decided to fire up one of his consoles, sitting on his bed and starting Twilight Princess over for the nth time.

Ashido and Kirishima were sitting on the floor, the redhead draped bonelessly against her as his eyes darted between the TV and the mobile game on her phone. She's focused, brow furrowed in concentration and he tightened the arms around her waist as if in encouragement.

One misplaced tap and she groaned and dropped her phone, frustration obvious. Kirishima nosed her hair as she slumped against him, taking one wrist into his hand and drawing soothing circles.

Sero's reclined against the wall, only half paying attention to the game on the TV. A lazy smile pulled at his lips as his gaze drifted over the four others in the room before returning back to the screen, fondness obvious in his eyes.

And Bakugou...

"Move, Sparky." Kaminari didn't even get the chance to save his game before Bakugou shoved him to the bed and sat on his chest, eliciting a squawk from the electric hero. He tried to shove him off but all he got in return was a handful of swats as Bakugou made himself comfortable and rested against the headboard, starting once again on his school work.

Resigned to his fate, Kaminari groaned, glancing around him to try and find something to occupy his time until Bakugou decided that he wasn't the most comfortable chair.

His eyes landed on Ashido watching him from the floor, a smirk twisting her face with mirth.

Oh no.

"Wait! Ashi-"

"Cuddle pile!" With that, she all but vaulted onto the bed, tackling Bakugou as a harsh 'what the fuck-' escaped his lips before the air was pushed from his lungs.

Sero and Kirishima weren't far behind, jumping onto the pile as well as the three traitors' laughs filled the room.

"The fuck was that for, Raccoon Eyes?" He glared at her, the look on his face promising murder; but it was soon replaced by annoyance as he glared at Kaminari's hand as he patted him on the shoulder.

"Can you guys move? I can't breathe." He punctuated this with a gasp, struggling to wiggle out from under them but thoroughly stuck.

Giving him sheepish apologies, they crawled off of him, instead taking up space on the other end of the bed. Bakugou let out a quiet 'fucking idiots' before he shifted and gave him the sweet sweet freedom and air he craved.

He took deep breaths, gaze shifting between all of them in indignation. "You could've kill me, you know." The three laughed at his dramatics, and even Bakugou gave a small chuckle as a smile pulled at Kaminari's lips.

Carefully this time, they tangled themselves together until it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began, relaxing as a comfortable silence filled the room once more

Kaminari didn't know what time it was; all he was aware of was his knuckles rapping on a door. The corridor was dark, the other students having fallen asleep long ago.

He knocked again.

There was the soft pad of footsteps before the door in front of him opened, revealing an exhausted Bakugou. With only a quick look at him, he sighed before opening the door wider and allowing the other blond to enter his room.

Kaminari darted to his mattress, curling under the blankets before Bakugou even closed his door. More soft footsteps that stopped at the edge of the bed before another sigh resounded throughout the room. "Move over, Pichu."

Kaminari did as he was asked, shifting until the was just enough room for Bakugou to slip under the covers as well.

An arm draped itself across his waist before he felt himself get pulled closer to the body behind him, a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes grew heavy.

"Sleep well, Kaminari."

He didn't rouse from any dreams for the rest of the night.

They're not sure how it all started, but one way or another they became accustomed to the constant touches.

The tangled limbs.

The feeling of warm bodies pressed against their sides.

Somehow managed to write this in less than 12 hours without any sleep in the last 36. I’m pretty proud with how it turned out, all things considered

Also, you can pry physically affectionate Bakusquad from my cold, dead hands

Message me on my main ‘cause I’m way more active there, and check out Matamisin ‘cause they’re awesome

[nancywheelxr]

(our friends set us up on a blind date as a prank because we don’t like each other but neither of us wants to let them win so ) | Part 7:

( part 1 ) ( part 2 ) ( part 3 ) ( part 4 ) ( part 5 ) ( part 6 )

Weeks pass surprisingly uneventfully, but even amidst the dull boredom, something stays with Winn, nagging at him to pay attention. Alex hadn’t meant anything by her comment, not really, not this time, but it makes clear they have to step up their game if they want to keep this up for much longer. Soon, people will begin to wonder why they never seem to go on “dates”. And god knows the DEO loves a good gossip.

So when Kara asks if they want to go get drinks after work, Winn makes a big show out of telling her no, he can’t, actually, because you see, it’s date night.

The choice of words is important, too. He’s very proud of that. Date night, implying a routine, implying they did this before, implying they go out regularly.

And he thinks Brainy notices it, too, because he smiles from across the table, knowing and private, eyes shining under the lights, before going back to his conversation with Alex.

Kara grins, watching them. “Right, are you guys planning anything big for Valentine’s Day?”

“Sure,” he replies easily, “I’ve got reservations at that fancy french place downtown.”

She coos, shaking his shoulder excitedly, “oh my god, that’s so romantic! You’re taking him back to the place of your first date!”

“Yeah, well, not to brag, but I’m a damn good boyfriend.”

“You are constantly bragging,” Brainy comments, suddenly appearing at his side, “although you’re not incorrect. This time.”

Winn snorts, “thanks, babe.” A foot steps on his, and he has to bite back his snickers, “anyway. We were talking about how awesome I am, right? We should go back to that.”

“No, but seriously, how did you get that reservation? And at Valentine’s Day?” Kara says, gaping, “I heard there’s a month-long wait list.”

He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “two months long. But I actually made them back in December? I mean, I was already there anyway, so I asked just to see– who knows, right? And there was a table left, so I took it. Seemed smart at the time.”

“Not at all,” Brainy frowns, apparently not grasping the logic of that, “two months are too far ahead, what if we had broken up?”

“Nah,” Winn grins, swinging an arm around his shoulder, “I thought it was worth the gamble. ‘Sides, I have faith in us, man.”

The frown clears from his face, but Brainy keeps looking at him with surprise– no, that’s not right. Something surprised and disbelieving in his eyes that Winn wishes he had more time to figure out properly–

Someone makes gagging noises nearby, drawing their attention away from each other. It’s Alex, faking a disgusted grimace, “yeah, yeah, we get it,” she rolls her eyes, waving them off, “you guys are disgustingly in love.”

If she wasn’t grinning just like her sister, Winn maybe would be inclined to believe the annoyance on her words, but as it is, Alex isn’t fooling anyone. She’s just as happy for them. And maybe if he hadn’t meant it what he had said earlier– he did have faith in them at the time. Half-drunk and excited with their new plan, he had been absolutely goddam sure they would be able to pull this off– then maybe he would feel a little bad for tricking them.

“It’s a love story for the ages,” he says. His smile slips briefly, but it goes unnoticed.

“Absolutely revolting,” she shakes her head.

Kara elbows her sister, snickering along. “Let them live, Alex,” she keeps a straight face for about a second before adding, “they have a date tonight.”

“You know, I met thirteen-years-old more mature than you two,” Winn tells them matter-of-factly, then turns to Brainy, “are you ready to go? Or do I need to entertain the peanut gallery for much longer?”

“There are no peanuts here,” Brainy gives him a perplexed look, “do you want peanuts?”

Right, he should’ve seen that coming, this one’s on him. “No, it’s just an expression, it means they’re children and their comments are stupid.”

“Oh. It’s a very misleading expression,” he shrugs, “but in that case, yes, we can go now.”

“Great,” Winn claps, whirling around, “shall we?”

“Have a good date,” Kara calls.

“And bring him back before midnight!” Alex adds.

“Will do,” he laughs.

*

“I have a very important question,” Winn says with a serious expression. He’s just finished locking the door, and Brainy is still hovering nearby. “Have you ever played Mario Kart?”

He throws his keys in the vague direction of the dish by the door, and Brainy follows him into the living room, sitting down on the couch. “I have not. The only games I know of are the ones Kara has brought at Game Nights.”

“Yeah, right, right, she told me you were there a few times,” Winn says, hooking up his game system on the TV. “She also mentioned it was a bit of a learning curve?”

“There were no explosions and no kittens,” he complains, huffing forlornly, “everything is so misleading in this century.”

“Even Scrabble? I thought you would be good at that one.”

“We haven’t had the opportunity to play it,” Brainy says diplomatically and takes the controller passed to him, turning it around curiously.

“Seriously? Kara hasn’t lifted the ban yet?” Winn scrunches up his face, “but then again, we’re still strongly against Mario Kart during Game Night, so. That’s fair, I guess?”

Only sort of, though. Adding the letter s to every completed word on the board just to see Alex slowly go through all five stages of grief does not compare to breaking one’s favorite controller during Mario Kart. The thing was crushed. To smithereens. But he supposes some games are just not meant to be played by a group of very, very competitive people.

They haven’t banned Monopoly yet, though, for some reason.

“Nevermind that,” he shakes his head, focusing on the task ahead, “so. I figured since we gotta stick together for a couple hours, we could just stay here and chill? I’ve got Mario Kart, Netflix, and the pizza place on speed dial.”

“Not Massimo’s?”

“God no, that place is stricken from the records. Giorgino’s two blocks down– and before you ask, yes, I’ve checked and they’re willing to make your weird apples and olives pizza.”

Brainy smiles. “It is the only acceptable flavor of pizza.”

“And people think pineapples were the real crime,” Winn laments.

The familiar song kicks in as the menu pops up, and Winn does his best to explain the game. It’s fairly simple, after all, and it’s not as if they were going straight for the rainbow road. Brainy picks up on it quickly, choosing Luigi as his avatar. Winn, of course, chooses Yoshi because some traditions are meant to be followed. And, weirdly enough, it’s not so bad. Throwing shells at him is very entertaining, watching his confusion as to why he’s suddenly spiraling off the road turn into suspicion turn into really? And that turns into spite pretty quickly.

Because the thing about Mario Kart is that it’s so much more fun when you’re overly competitive– and not gonna lie, both of them are guilty as charged on that one.

“Fuck off,” Winn says, too busy to physically flip him off, “that’s cheating!”

“No, I am merely using the resources available in the game,” Brainy replies calmly.

“I don’t know how yet, but I know you are and I will figure it out,” he threatens, leaning to the right as he makes a curve, “in the meantime–”

“I’ve told you I’m not– wait. What happened? Why have I shrunk?” Brainy glares at him, “and I’m the one cheating?”

Winn laughs.

He had been so prepared for tonight to suck, it’s almost upsetting how well it goes. They don’t argue properly, no more than the usual bickering, which by now it’s mostly fun. Brainy accepts the beer he tips in his direction, humming pleased and somehow not swerving on the road while holding the controller one-handed.

That’s so cheating.

“So, you want that pizza now?” Winn asks, pausing the game.

“I could eat,” Brainy decides after a moment of indecision. He might have been aiming for a nonchalant, cool reply, but his stomach betrays him, growling earnestly, and he sighs, halfway amused, “I meant, yes, I would like that pizza now.”

Hiding his snickers, Winn digs around for his phone, lost somewhere in the mess they made of the coffee table. The pizza place is on speed dial and the teenager on the other end of the line apparently isn’t paid enough to judge his weird ass order.

“Appalling,” he says later, when the two pizzas are laid side by side and the olives stare back at his soul amidst the apples. “God really has left us.”

“Try it,” Brainy tells him, eyebrows raising in clear challenge. He picks up a slice for himself and nudges the box towards Winn.

And well. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that Winslow Schott, Junior cannot back down from a dare, so he sets down his own pepperoni slice and carefully takes the olive and apples, gingerly raising it as if it were a nuclear bomb about to go off in a crowded mall. A deep breath. He takes a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Eh, it’s not so bad. I thought it would be worse, to be honest.”

Brainy gives him a victorious smirk, “would this be a good time to say I told you so?”

“It’s never a good time to say that,” he scowls, washing down the taste with beer, “and it’s still weird.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” They eat in relative silence for a while, and Winn isn’t surprised to see him slowly working his way through the entire pizza. The game is soon switched for some very unrealistic action movie neither of them recognizes, but the explosions do look cool with the electronic soundtrack.

“It’s a shame there are no pizza places in the future,” Brainy comments idly.

“Oh my god, I know, right? I searched everywhere for one, it didn’t even have to be good, the bar was at existing.” Winn says, gesturing broadly with a slice, “and how come there are no bananas, either? And no one even knew what I was talking about, it was like they didn’t even exist! Like, I didn’t look it up because, you know, spoilers, but what happened? Did we all as a species develop a sudden aggressive allergy to bananas and had to destroy all records of the fruit? Is there gonna be another banana apocalypse in the next centuries– what?”

He stops, self-consciously wiping his mouth with a napkin, because Brainy is staring at him strangely. To be fair, everything about all of this is strange. But he caught him doing that before; sometimes at work, Winn will turn to say something, only to find Brainy already looking back. It’s odd and offputting, and honestly? A lot easier to just chalk it up to another one of his quirks and call it a day. That’s probably the explanation anyway. Now, though, Brainy shrugs, “nothing. Do you always feel this passionate about fruits?” A pause. “Did you say another banana apocalypse?”

“Dude,” Winn breathes, sitting up properly because it’s not every day you get to school Brainy about something. “It’s so much less exciting than it sounds, but here’s the thing– “

*

It’s a little after ten o’clock when he walks Brainy to the door, awkwardly stopping in the doorway. He scratches the back of his neck, “so. I guess it wasn’t all that bad, after all.”

“I suppose it was not unpleasant,” Brainy allows, his lips twitching, “although, I do have a request– next time, may I bring the movie?”

“Sure,” Winn says easily, then stops. He narrows his eyes, “am I going to regret agreeing to this?”

Now, Brainy grins openly, startlingly amused, “well, you’ll just have to wait and see. Good night, Winn. And thank you.”

It’s something in the way he says it that Winn wonders what exactly he’s being thanked for, too warm, too grateful to pass as simply politeness. Still, unwilling to overthink it, he shrugs awkwardly, “no problem, man. See you tomorrow.”

Brainy nods, slipping out the door.

Winn stays there, staring at the end of the hall for another long moment before going back inside.

[assassinwolf189]

Mah Dudes I did the writing thing.

Here is one of my favorite pieces I’ve written. Also some extra info, Linina and George are siblings.

“Dian Gilberts.” “Yes him, he is the Regele-Nenorocit.”They all looked at him. “English dad.”George demanded. “It’s Romanian for damned King.”He pulled his key off of his neck, pushing away the large fish tank. “What a lovely title.”Linina said sarcastically as the floor separated itself, leading with a staircase to the following floor. “Damn sir, who are you in your private time.”Sam questioned as the lights dimly lit the large room filled with with books , weapons and artifacts. “I am a Marine biologist ,druidery adviser and father , I have no private time.”His eyes were filled with wonder. “Stay here.” Quinten ordered. “Linina give me your sword, someone else is here.” He walked up to the door, and peaked through.

"Oh, it's you." Quintin said snarkely rolling his eyes. "Hi?" "What do you three want this time?" He glared. "We need help." Eric muttered through the hole. "Let me guess , you're here to file a complaint for the missing people?"They stood silently, Ivan walked up behind them. "Actually sir , I am here to see your son, I brought him flowers. " Ivan smiled brightly, Quintin grinned. "George , your boyfriend is here to see you." He opened the door letting him in, closing the door again as Peter tried to pursue inwards. "Excuse me."He growled, feeling a jab to his ribs. "Yes Peter Stormbard, you are excused from my Marina." He growled at Quintin, whom met him with a sharp glare through his spectacles.

"Remember what we are here for."Eric muttered. "SO...? What do you need help with?" "Peter over here got himself into a brawl with a couple of shadows and had a mark burnt onto his arm, and we wanted to check it out, and the even bigger problem of my brother being missing, and we were wondering if you could help us find out what happened to the both of them." The lad suggested with a smile, that complimented his short brown hair and hazel nut eyes. "Well Aiden, I will indeed assist you in finding your brother , and helping Peter and Eric with their shadow markings, on my terms though." "Fine."Peter rolled his eyes, Quintin opened the large door, leading them inside to the other room.

"Nice Marina,- "Eric guessed, Peter Scoffed at his remarks. Eathen rolled his eyes sighing. "Pitiful." Peter snarled I facing yet another Jab to his rib-cage,Quintin continued on with a Smirk Wiring Upon his face,

" But George how on this green earth do we get them back?" ''By Mining them out of the ground." "They are not-diamonds or bloody chunks of gold "Linina argued. ''I don't know, Shailen and Micheal's friendship are worth a lot more then that" "Wait they've been taken too?!" She questioned in horror.. "Micheal was taken from the hospital yesterday, Shailen Is still unseen, she just disappeared , Cole says that he knocked her into the pool and disappeared into the showers and just didn't come back out again." George said quite calmly. "How the hell are you this calm about your family disappearing?" "K9 is on the case, and I know that if she soldiers on like this, I know we can too. Clearly you forget that we all get into sticky situations like this all the time, and the SDA helps all of us. And in times like this its best to stay calm...It's so hard but it needs to happen." He gave a sigh.

"It will take time but they will be found."  Sam sat there in silence witnessing the two's conversation in the "dead language" of Latin, baffeled ever so slightly, Quintin joined them followed by the others. They stood, a strange relieve of tension lit the room. "George, did you see who dropped in for you?" The old man smiled. "Who dropped in for me ?"The lad grinned. "So George, I think it's best we go looking for him."Linina flashed a smile leading him out the door quite quickly. "Now that that's out the way, I suppose we need to get to discussing the elephant in the room; so when did the disappearances start to happen?" He questioned taking a seat. "Three weeks ago, Louis got taken followed by Mason a few evenings after." Sam answered quietly . "A few of the kids were taken a week ago, my brother being one of them."Eathen added. "Do you know where these abductions happened or the time of day?" Quintin wrote down the extra details. "Around early morning and late at night, it mostly targets the top athletes-" "Yes but Sam, if it was the only reason Louis and Mason would definitely be her and you would be gone." "Relax peanut gallery, Sam will probably get taken later. Or not at all, because he's probably one of the hero's of the chapter." Eathen snorted. "Oh don't start with your, we are all living in a book gizz again Eathen." Peter rolled his eyes. "You know it's true." He prodded, Quintin pulled out another large weathered book. "Sam please go fetch the other three, I kind of need them for the rest of this investigation." Sam nodded and ascended up the round curved stairs.

They sat on the side of  the tank, Ivan still marveling the dolphins. "So Shailen is safe right?"Linina asked tenderly. "Well yes, wait why do you care?" "Because....I had plans....and I have questions and homework , I need to have answered." "Umm hmmm...what kind of questions...." "Just questions." "You like her don't you....the one girl that wouldn't just be a make out buddy..." "Just because I have questions doesn't mean I like her." "Well what questions were you going to ask her?" "When she's available....if she would like to go on with me to the exquisite art exhibition....and afterwards to a movie and  dinner at the gallery." "So a date?" "No." "Yes, it's just a friendly gathering between the two of you, under moonlight, between two great friends, that you'd actually dress up for ....yes that doesn't sound like a date at all." "Fine....it is a date...and I am interested, and no I wouldn't ever treat her like a tongue buddy..." "So it's best we get her back then ."

"Also what actually happened?" "Well Cole said that after she tossed a phone at him she went into the bathroom for a couple of hours."She cringed. "Cole's very stalkery, well he's gross." "Yes a cockroach, well I must say I can't expect anything else. He does talk to you after all." Linina laughed, nearly falling into the tank.

"You clearly want me to stab you with this Gucci heel again."George grinned. "But blood is so hard to get out saturn." "Its red, you wouldn't see the stain."George retorted. "Yes but dearest Georgie, blood stains brown." "But its Patent Leather It wouldn't Stain." "It would be even harder to get out, this is an atroccity."Linina flicked her hair. Sam came up to the top of the Marina. "Uh, your dad needs you down stairs."Sam grimaced. "Thank you, you sweet bean."Linina smiled.

"Such beautiful fish."Ivan marvelled "You do know that a bottle nose dolphin, is a mammal right?"She questioned with her brow raised. "Well the tales go like this."He gestured a side wards motion. "No. This isn't a dolphin tale where the dolphin has a weird circular motion, this is a normal dolphin where the tale goes up and down."She turned away looking to George.

"Dense."She muttered rolling her eyes. "Let me guess he smelt nice?" "Yes, and he looks good, and he's got a lovely personality."George replied. "I didn't say he was tastless, I'm just saying that you can't base a relationship on some one with a smellilality." He laughed. "Clearly you have type." Linina scoffed rolling her eyes. "Are we seriously pointing fingers, because you can't talk." He laughed "Oh really?" She challenged. "Two words. Tongue Buddies." She found it hard not to burst into laughter. "You've got me there."

They got to the library, glaring and snarking eachother out. "Finally you two are here." Quintin squinted at his book. "Sorry for taking all your precious time thou royal highness." Linina rolled her eyes. "So what else is there to know about this whole situation?" "Well Micheal disappeared from  the hospital." "WHAT?!" Quintin jerked. "Micheal was taken...and in hospital, why was he in hospital?" "The schools ice rink collapsed during a demon raid, and hit Micheal and amputated James other leg."She explained Quintens eyes widened in horror. "This is that family I serve and no -one tells me shit." "Anything else I missed???"

"George stabbed me with his Gucci red heels....twice."Linina looked at her shoes. "George you wear heels now?"He nodded to his fathers question. "Linina punched a few boys....and dated one of the assistants."Linina frowned at him. "See but your sister is bent to the point of no return, I can still mold you."They rolled their eyes.

"Could we stop talking about your family issues and get to the part as to how to fix me and not get me driven to the inferno?" "Zip it." Quintin answered. "Your attitude stinks worse then you do."George prodded. "Yeah dude, you need a dive in the pond or something...although you'd kill the fish and posion the dogs....So maybe the sanitary showers?" Linina taunted. "They're right Peter, you could do with a shower." "Quintin you're with them on that?"They were all grinning. "They're my kids, and the most logical and observant people I know...so when they say you smell, YOU STANK." Quintin began to laugh, the other two high-fived eachother. "Really." "Ok now let us get to business-" "To defeat the huns." Ivan replied.

@alqulyndrys

@darksiders-fanfic-and-drabbles

 @sketchyfandomgirl

@madyson-delayne

@Bloodrayne-44

[talesfromthefade]

from the texts from last night prompt list: “[text] DO NOT READ THE LAST MESSAGE IT WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU” preferably someone drunk-gushing over their unrequited crush to their bff ;)

This turned into more of a messenger of some sort than a text. Or maybe this Hawke is just borrowing from the writer and sends novellas via text message, but once the idea took hold it wasn’t letting go. Hope you enjoy!

Hawke x Varric Tethras (High School AU), for @dadrunkwriting

It’s not funny, Varric reads curiously after opening his inbox to find a message from Hawke. Which is patently ridiculous, really, because well apart from himself, Hawke is probably the funniest person he knows. I’m just… he’s always so cool. Calm, collected, and just… cool. Alright, so maybe not always the most eloquent, but hey, they always find the right words eventually and they’re still not as bad as that hack that wrote Hard in Hightown 2 and tried to borrow from his success. At least Hawke can spell properly.

He’s smart and funny. And I’m not an idiot, but… ugh, I always feel like one around him. I seem to be good at making him laugh, and that’s great and all, but I do that with a lot of people. I just… I’d love to do more than that. To be more than that. We’re good friends. He’s probably my best friend, the message continues and Varric frowns slightly. He and Hawke share a number of good friends, but he supposes he always thought he was their best friend. It’s- well, it doesn’t have to be mutual, it’s not the end of the world, but Hawke is definitely his.

I don’t want to screw that up. He’s probably never even looked twice at me that way, but lately I just… I dunno. I’m lonely. I know that’s stupid. I know I said the dance was stupid. And it is. Is it some kind of right of passage that every class has to have an “Under the Sea” themed dance before they graduate? But I’d like to go. To at least one dance before we’re out of this place. I want that cliche high school movie moment. An awkward dance that’s mostly just tracing a square on the floor beside each other trying not to step on each other’s feet. The punch someone’s definitely spiked. All of it. I want him to ask me. I want him to kiss me. Except it’s never going to happen.

Varric shifts a little uncomfortably in front of the screen as he continues reading. It’s not that Hawke doesn’t confide in him with things like this, but it’s usually something they do in person, and with more than a few drinks put away between them. Their conversations are usually subtext, jokes just shy of the mark and counting on the other to fill in the blanks. This is… well, a hell of a lot more confessional than he’s come to expect from them. It’s a little worrisome. Maybe more than a little.

“Evening,” Varric greets with a slight bow, tipping his hat to the matron as she opens the door a short while later.

“Hello Varric,” Leandra nods letting him in. “They’re downstairs,” she offers with a gesture towards the door to the basement.

“Hey, Hawke.” He makes a point of keeping his tone light, but between the message and the way they’re sitting with their face buried in their hands, all but tearing their hair out on the old couch definitely seems to justify his concern and the twilight hike over rather than waiting until he sees them in school tomorrow.

“Varric,” Hawke exclaims, voice breaking a little with something he hasn’t quite figured out yet. “Maker, you scared the life out of me. What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you-” they begin to add hastily, as Varric waves his hand dismissively. He knows what they meant. He always does. Perhaps that’s why the message troubled him. Lonely, they had said. Hawke is his best friend, he should probably have noticed that. And this crush, whoever they are, is obviously eating at them. How is it he’s only just hearing about it? And who in their right mind wouldn’t be interested in Hawke? Most of their circle of friends has some level of admiration or crush on them.

“I got your message, and I… I thought maybe it would be better if we talked in person,” Varric offers with a shrug. “Are you alright Hawke?” Hawke collapses back onto the couch, head dropping between their knees with a muffled string of curses.

“Hawke,” Varric ventures again, even more concerned as he quickly crosses the room to sit beside them on the couch. He reaches out to place a reassuring hand on their shoulder because Hawke always seems to appreciate touch, the sensation of being physically grounded when they’re upset, but Varric thinks he must have miscalculated because if anything they stiffen still worse.

“You weren’t supposed to read that,” Hawke mumbles, ears going pink beneath the fringes of their sandy blonde hair.

“Huh?” Varric pulls his phone from his pocket to find a missed call, and a frantic caps locked message he must have missed on his way over here. DO NOT READ THE LAST MESSAGE IT WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU. PLEASE VARRIC. ANDRASTE’S FLAMING ASS PLEASE DON’T READ THAT. “Oh.” Varric bites back a chuckle because laughing now almost certainly won’t help anything, but if Hawke wasn’t clearly so miserable and distressed he might point out that a message like that would all but guarantee he’d read it. He’s nosey. And a writer. He’s never pretended to be anything different. And it’s not like he’s going to just ignore a message from his best friend. Whatever the content may be.

“C’mon Hawke, it can’t be that bad.”

Blue eyes peek out from between their fingers to shoot him an incredulous look, before hiding once more with a rather pitiful whimper.

“Just getitoverwith,” Hawke exhales, words spilling out in a rush. Varric frowns softly feeling frustratingly helpless and off-balance. Not once in all the time he’s known them can he recall Hawke being like this. It’s disquieting.

“Well, if you tell me which one of the peanut gallery it is that’s caught your fancy, maybe we can talk our way through this. Have you tried pulling their hair yet,” he teases, grasping for some way to lighten the mood a bit. Surely it can’t actually be this bad. “Is it Choir boy, because I don’t know you’ll get very far physically, but he’s definitely a little bit in love with you.” Hawke’s head lifts to stare back at him for the first time since he’s got here looking utterly bewildered. So, not Sebastian then. “Blondie,” Varric tries again. Anders is possibly one of the busiest guys in school with his commitments to various causes and community service projects, but surely not so impossible as to justify this level of despair. Hawke’s really not dramatic like this. Well, unless they’re being ironic about it. “Daisy,” he guesses. Hawke’s never made a secret of being equal opportunity when it comes to admiring people, whatever shape or gender they come in, but maybe they’re not so open about it with their siblings or Leandra? Hawke shakes their head, swallowing, brows still furrowed.

“You said you read my message,” Hawke manages finally.

“I did,” Varric nods. “Well, not all of it. But it was…” he stumbles, trying to find the words to explain exactly why it had felt important to come see them before he’d even finished getting through their note. “It didn’t sound quite right. Not like you, somehow. I- as your friend, I was worried,” he admits, feeling a slight flush to the back of his neck at the unusually earnest confession. Hawke, though, looks if anything even more crushed. Damnit.

He thumbs his phone for a second where he holds it in his palm considering. Hawke hadn’t wanted him to read it, but they’re not saying much, and he just seems to be making a hash of all of this. He unlocks it, pulling up his inbox and scrolling.

… I want him to ask me. I want him to kiss me. Except it’s never going to happen. Varric would never think of me like that.

Varric manages to tuck the phone back in his pocket, but it’s a near thing as fingers fight the urge to tremble. He’s pretty sure his heart is beating hard enough it may just break his ribs.

“Yeah,” Hawke whispers miserably, hanging their head and once more avoiding his gaze.

“Hawke,” Varric ventures finally, hand questing and carefully prying theirs from where it nervously grips their knee to thread his fingers through theirs. Surprised blue eyes dart upwards, but they don’t pull away. “Would you go to Homecoming with me?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Hawke replies, shaking their head with a frown. “I know you think it’s stupid.”

“So do you,” Varric points out. “But you still want to go.”

“Not just because you feel sorry for me.”

“Now you’re being stupid.”

“Hey,” Hawke protests, even as they laugh softly, turning back to stare at him. Varric shrugs then smiles.

“Hawke, I already think of you like that,” he admits as Hawke’s eyes go impossibly wide. “You aren’t the only one who was worried about fucking everything up with our friendship.”

“I- It still might,” Hawke whispers softly, biting their lip.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both too stubborn for that,” Varric replies, patiently trying to coax a smile and earning the first genuine laugh from them since he arrived. “So, go to the dance with me? We can dance, spike the punch with something that’s actually good… if it’s mind-numbingly boring we can sneak out and wander the halls and classrooms and see what trouble we can get into after-hours.”

“That- That sounds perfect,” Hawke smiles.

“Yeah,” Varric nods. “It does.” Any time spent with Hawke always is.

[sylvanfreckles]

Now Where Did That Come From? (Whumptober 2020)

Excuse me, who ordered the “All Along the Watchtower” AU? Oh, that was me. Right here!

Summary: Lucifer battles Sam, Dean, and Castiel for control of his unborn child.

* * *

“Dean! Stop it! You're no match for him!” Sam held on to his brother's coat, bodily holding him back from the rift to Apocalypse World. Cas had stayed behind to hold Lucifer off, to give them a chance, and even though Sam feared for their friend's safety as much as Dean he knew it would all be for nothing if they just piled back through.

The rift flared. Sam tensed, ready to turn and run for the house, but Cas stumbled through.

“Cas,” Dean's voice was almost a whisper and he slumped against Sam. Cas looked shaken but whole, and opened his mouth as though to say something.

Air gurgled out instead as the tip of an angel blade suddenly protruded through his chest, a few inches to the right of his heart. Lucifer's face appeared above Cas's right shoulder, face twisted in a sneer.

“Now, how did that get there?”

“No!” Dean broke away from Sam and rushed at the devil, only for Lucifer to yank the angel blade out and kick Cas's body at Dean. Sam pulled his own blade out of the back of his belt but knew he'd be no match, even as Lucifer stalked up to him.

“Where were we, Sammy?” Lucifer asked, almost teasingly. “Right, right. You were going to hand over my son, and I wasn't going to remind you what color your intestines are.”

Sam's gaze flickered to Dean, who was up on his knees with his hands pressed to Cas's chest. Was Cas alive? After an angel blade through the chest?

“Uh-uh,” Lucifer sidled around, between the brothers. “No hints from the peanut gallery.”

They were out of options. The plan had been to seal Lucifer on the other side of the rift, which was swiftly closing. There wasn't a backup. Nothing to stop Lucifer taking his son and decimating them all. “We can't,” Sam offered weakly. Even if it meant death, they had to stand up to the devil.

Lucifer sighed, tilting his head to study Sam. “How about if I spear big brother in the back, hmm? Pin him to old Cassie there? You know...together in death and all that?”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean spat, Cas's blood coating his hands. Lucifer barely jerked his head and Dean dropped to the ground, clutching at a long gash that had opened on his side.

“Frankly I don't know why I'm asking,” Lucifer continued, as though Dean hadn't interrupted him. He advanced on Sam, freezing the hunter in place, bloodied angel blade tapping thoughtfully against his chin. “Guess I just want one more guy's night out before I have to be all, you know...Daddy.”

“Get away from my boys!”

No, no, no. Sam managed to look to the side just enough to see his mother emerging from the house, gun leveled at Lucifer. He tried to tell her to run—maybe she had enough time to get in one of the cars and get away while the devil was distracted.

“Is this your mother?” Lucifer asked, practically giddy. “Oh, wow, I've wanted to meet you. The woman who sold her children to Azazel to save the love of her life. How's that going for you?”

Mary barely flinched, holding the gun steady as she advanced. “Drop the blade and back away.”

Lucifer chuckled and glanced over at Sam. “Isn't she adorable? Oh, I could just eat her up.” His eyes flashed red and he brought up his free hand, fingers held ready to snap.

Dean was on him in the next moment. Lucifer roared in fury as Dean jammed his own angel blade into the devil's shoulder, then the hunter was flying across the yard to strike a tree with an audible crack. “Why is he always in my way?” Lucifer demanded. He turned to glare at Dean, and in the faint light from the house Sam thought he could see the shadows of enormous wings. “Tell you what. Just this once—as a treat for me—I'm ending big brother first.”

He stalked toward Dean, blade in one hand and the other balled into a fist.

Mary struck next.

Sam didn't know where his mom had gotten the Enochian knuckles, but she landed a right hook that actually knocked the devil back a few steps. “I said,” she repeated, following up with a second blow to the devil's abdomen, “get away from my boys.”

Lucifer snarled and grabbed her by the collar of her jacket, whirling around to send her flying behind him...right into the rift. She vanished through it in a flash of light. The devil stared, then shrugged his shoulders. “That was easy.”

But it was Sam's turn. Lucifer's control had lapsed, which meant he was no longer holding Sam in place. Sam lowered his shoulders and charged, intending to catch the devil just under the ribcage and tackled them both back into the rift. It was starting to close now...he'd be trapped on the other side with Lucifer, but that was better than letting the devil loose in the world with his nephilim son.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans. There was a flash of brilliant orange light from the house, accompanied with a shockwave that shook the ground around them. Lucifer stumbled back a couple of steps toward the rift and Sam tripped just shy of tackling the devil. Instead he plowed into Lucifer, losing his own forward momentum, but still enough to send the fallen archangel the last few steps into the ever-shrinking rift.

Lucifer gave a last cry of rage before he was swallowed by the rift...and the rift itself vanished.

Sam lay on the ground, panting for breath, staring at the empty air where the rift had once been. Lucifer was gone, trapped in the other world...with their mother.

“Sammy?”

Dean. Sam pushed himself to his feet, staggering a little, and limped toward his brother. “Dean?”

“Get...get Cas,” Dean waved him off. The older Winchester was slowly picking himself up, though he was obviously hurting. “He was...he was still alive. When Lucifer...”

Cas lay crumpled on the beach, blood and grace leaking out of the wound in his chest...but no wing prints in the sand. Sam dropped to his knees next to the angel and bunched up a handful of trench coat to press against the wound.

This was bad. Angel blade wounds were tough to heal, and even if the initial damage hadn't killed Cas the wound itself might. “What do we do?” he asked, voice shaking, as Dean limped over to them.

Dean was holding himself stiffly, one arm braced across his chest. Probably a few broken ribs from impacting the tree. He shook his head, lowering himself to the sand. “If we had another angel, maybe...I don't know.”

His brother's voice sounded so helpless. Sam shook his head. “Don't give up on him,” he said. “He's come through worse.”

Dean was staring at the place where the rift had been. “She's really gone.”

“Dean!”

He flinched and turned to Sam. His eyes were dazed, unfocused. Sam mentally added concussion to the list of Dean's injuries. “Do we have anything in the house? First aid kit? Bandages?”

“I...” Dean was fighting to pull himself together. “I'll go see.” He turned to stand, then almost fell back. “Sam?”

Sam glanced over his shoulder, then half-turned in shock. There was a man standing behind them. He couldn't see much beyond a dark silhouette and a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

“Sam, why is he naked?”

Sam filed that under things to think about later. “Are you...Jack?”

The man stepped closer, coming under the street light behind the house. Now Sam could see that...yes, he was naked, as Dean had said, but he was also fairly young. Still too old to have just been born, but he wouldn't put anything past the son of the devil.

Jack—he thought it might be Jack—calmly walked up and knelt between the brothers without a word. He looked down at Cas for a long moment then held one hand out over the angel's chest. His hand began to glow, his eyes flared out even brighter, and Castiel sucked in a breath. Cas curled on his side, coughing, and Dean hunched over him to check his injuries.

“Who did this?” Jack asked, turning to face Sam. There was something otherwordly about him—well, that was probably obvious, being an archangel's nephilim son and all—somehow ancient and childlike at the same time.

“Your...your father,” Sam replied. Lying might be a bad idea until they had a better idea of who Jack was.

Jack frowned. “This is my father,” he replied, looking back down. “My father is Castiel. Who hurt him?”

Again, those golden eyes were fixed on Sam's face. Sam glanced over to see Dean slowly helping Cas sit up. The angel was obviously weakened, but the wound in his chest was no longer glowing.

“Jack?”

At Cas's voice Jack twisted around. There was a long moment where the nephilim regarded his angelic protector, then he was pitching forward to wrap his arms around Cas. “You're really here.”

Cas's face was pained, but Sam could see real joy in the angel's eyes as he returned the nephilim's embrace. “I gave your mother my word,” he replied.

Sam rocked back on his heels. So. They had Lucifer's kid, who had imprinted on Cas in the womb or something. Mom was in Apocalypse World. Lucifer was in Apocalypse World. And if someone didn't see to Dean's concussion soon he'd probably be sick and ruin the moment.

“Let's get inside,” Sam suggested. He stood to his feet and helped Dean up, steadying his brother when he stumbled to the side. “We have a lot to talk about.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 11

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

Updated 2019.01.29. (Minor name tweaks.) PTSD episode tw

Melancholy set down his coffee cup, and swallowed while he continued fidgeting with his Pipboy. Thus far nothing had spurred him to really acquaint himself with the nuances of its dials and buttons, and he sat there in the pharmacy break room skimming the lead-yellow, wrist-bound instrument’s menus in half-boredom, half-interest. The calibration of its global positioning system seemed reliable, as he presumed of its itemized annotation of the user’s vital statistics. The wrist-cuff padding contained sensitive diagnostic features which monitored the user’s vitals. Neither of these preliminary tabs of the menu seemed pertinent before. He knew his way to Concord and Lexington from Sanctuary, even on foot, and he felt more and more like the Pipboy would never correctly diagnose his critical condition from what limited scope of statistics it could scan.

There is no medical precedent for what is happening to you, Mister Carey, he told himself with a wry disinterest. I simply know you’re falling apart.

The third story bathrooms still had one in-tact mirror, the only left in the place he’d found yet. One page in the health section listed diagnostic returns of features he’d already learned of in this way: the device could not pinpoint what had oddly cataracted his hazel eyes, a shock of white now streaked his greying hair, and vitiligo mottled his jawline and various parts of his right and back sides where cryogenesis had, in its own way, frostbitten him. Another sub-menu in the health tab piqued his brow a moment: in the few weeks he’d worn the device, it had already inferred a rather detailed itinerary of his core proficiency and skills. On yet another sub-menu, the Pipboy let him know it knew of all the addictions he’d racked up in the same few weeks. He flipped tabs with a grunt, and bit his lower lip.

Since it seemed at first glance they required access to a terminal port for keyboard entry in order to be most useful, he skipped over tabs which looked useful for maintaining inventory invoices and for organizing correspondences. The last tab on the menu list queued up a series of local radio signals the Pipboy could pick up, and 'Choly’s hollowed eyes glazed. He set down his glasses on the table to look it over. Surely, these couldn’t be sophisticated radio stations. How could such things be maintained with the landscape as it had become? Dubious, he flicked the dial down to one whose frequency had been clearly labeled, and selected it: “Diamond City Radio.”

♫ ...and I wonder why everything's the same as it was. I can't understand. No, I can't understand how life goes on the way it does... ♫

“What kind of--” The chemist hushed himself and glared at his Pipboy as he recognized the song in disbelief. “Don’t they know... it’s the end... of the world...”

“Ah! You found some music to fill the place!” Angel stopped its skimming the cabinets to brainstorm meal plans, and came over when it heard its owner whispering along. “The tune’s a bit drab, though, don’t you think?”

The deejay came on, broken and awkward.

“Coming to you from. Ah. The jeweled green... I mean the green, the, ah, Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. It's... Diamond City Radio. That was Skeeter Davis. A name I still find confusing. Was I. Ah. The only one surprised that Skeeter Davis is, you know... a woman? Just. Aah. Didn't really sound like a woman's name. Ah-- anyway! Here's a real classic from good old Nat King Cole... ‘Orange Colored Sky.’ It's. It's a good one!”

“Great Green Jewel,” 'Choly repeated as the next song aired. “I wonder if this is just a recorded radio personality, or.”

“Only one way to find out, hm? Where is this Diamond City he mentioned?”

“Someplace in Boston, I’d imagine. I don’t know anyplace that was named that before the bombs fell.” 'Choly took another sip of his coffee and gave his Handy-bot earnest eye contact with its triplicate visual sensors. “Guessing we’ll have to work on becoming road ready sooner than later. It’s just dawned on me--General Atomics was working on cross-compatibility with RobCo in the years leading up to the nuclear exchange. I know the old model struggled with it, but this newer one I nicked in the vault seems capable. Let’s head into the stock room and see if we can’t interface you with my Pipboy. Update your hydraulics calibration, too. You’re far beyond overdue for maintenance, my friend.”

“Stars and garters, yes.” Angel caught up in itself. “Pardon the animation. I’ve simply... been unable to tend to my own upkeep all this time, and--”

“Hey, now,” the chemist grinned, putting his glasses back on. “You remember, don’t you, how much better I felt once I got to bathe after being frozen two hundred years? It’s your turn.”

“I-- Thank you, Sir.”

The tune of Mercer and the Pied Pipers' ‘Personality’ followed them to the next room over.

♫ ...Certain things, like sable coats and wedding rings...? ♫

+ + + + + + + + + +

♫ --The world’s gone mad today, and good’s bad today-- ♫

Like the consequence of a defibrillator, the building drew its first rasps in centuries. While the chemist had spent most of the last two weeks in an unreal soup of chems, the Handy-bot had spent the same time disinterring the back room in the first story, motivated by its recent repairs and recalibrations. Too, the second elevator’s doors on the first story appeared from behind the rubble, though like the other elevator, damage from the neighboring building’s collapse trapped it from access. Angel had shepherded its owner to do the honors, in the optimism that the effort could reinstate full electrical current to the structure. Though many lights and electronics no longer functioned from the combination of nuclear damage and centuries of disrepair, many others previously unaffected by the other floors’ breaker boxes still sprang up and brightened.

A coughing fit overtook him as the air ducts billowed bicentennial dust. The lower half of his face shied into the collar of his dress shirt.

♫ --Just think of those shocks you've got, ♫ ♫ and those knocks you've got-- ♫

“–Maybe this was a bad idea.”

♫ --and those blues you've got, ♫ ♫ from those news you've got-- ♫

“Oh, Sir! Coming right away.” Porting the tangle of bed straps its owner had tied all over it the week before, Angel rounded up behind the awkward cane-synecdoche which ascended the stairwell. “Wouldn’t you rather make use of the harness you outfitted on me? Be careful!”

♫ --and those pains you've got, ♫ ♫ if any brains you've got ♫ ♫ from those little radios-- ♫

The Russian-American had had enough of the Pipboy’s peanut gallery in the moment, and nearly punched it to turn it off. Evacuation to the second story yielded no better ventilation, and ‘Choly reclaimed the wheelchair as he took the elevator to the third story. Anxiety crawled up his body as he recognized the sounds of things inside the walls also stirring afresh. Reality had an unpleasant, rippling echo that late afternoon. Where could he find respite until the air system had evened out? Would the ancient filters yield results? He couldn’t open windows on a building with none. A flurry of draughty haloes refracted his path.

Among these dust-borne glories, he saw the operating light on the other elevator. Testing its soundness would take too long, and he didn’t know how far he could climb the stairs, either by their failing form or his failing function--he had outfitted Angel with the harness so he could ride it, but he hadn’t really practiced balancing on its back in this way, and the thought of urgency necessitating test runs only made his blood heave through his veins harder. He bit his upper lip and squirmed, throat and eyes burning, while he awaited the call button to retrieve the car.

“We left everything out in the kitchen. Dinner is ruined, though I’m sure you might have guessed that.”

“–Least of my worries right now–”

Another coughing fit silenced ‘Choly from voicing his irritation, from having tried to talk. He ground his teeth from inside his shirt and rushed inside, Angel following while he depressed the 'close doors’ button with a rapid desperation. Once shut in, he noticed cleaner air, albeit stale. He wheezed and inspected the operating panel. The elevator could no longer arrive at the first floor, but it could in theory go to the fourth through eighth. It seemed both elevators evaded the dust onslaught. Yet. Maybe…

“Are we to remain in the carriage, Sir? We can have a slumber party! Ha-ha!”

“No. We can’t just stay in here indefinitely.” As he caught his breath, he steeled himself with a sublingual Mentat from his pocket. “What all is still in your storage compartment?”

“Well!” the pale Handy replied in thought, rooting around behind inside itself, “I have your pistols and munitions. Seventy-three 10mm rounds, and twenty-six .38 rounds. A box of deviled eggs and a can of water. Your jumpsuit from the vault. Oh, and that odd cowl you took from that lass in Concord. We can stay in here a little longer, though, right Miss Sir?”

'Choly’s jaw tightened as he stared past the elevator’s wainscoting. He loathed the very notion of donning the vault suit again, even with what few foundations he now had. Paired with Angel’s verbiage glitch, he flinched at the notion, but he loathed even more the idea of staying longer than necessary inside an elevator, especially one of untested reliability.

The chemist leaned forward, and sweated pressing the button for the fourth floor. The elevator’s winch mechanisms groaned but hoisted smoothly otherwise.

“Give me the water. …And the hood.”

Angel complied, and the indicator panel announced their fourth floor arrival with a holographic voice and a bell-ding. ‘Choly panicked when the doors opened, and, frantic, he lunged at the ‘close doors’ button again. He sat, breathing heavy, with the items in his lap. The panic of having to evacuate was blooming into a recurrent theme. To the vault, as the sky threatened to fall. From the vault, as its artificial intelligence warned of impending loss of life-sustaining operations. And now, from the new home he’d begun to fashion for himself. He chastised himself for likening kicking up all this dust to the former situations which had genuinely threatened his life. Still, his head and heart throbbed, shooting pain down his left arm, and he was convinced the only way to quiet himself would be to step foot outside.

“Is… everything all right, Sir?”

The chemist motioned for his Handy-bot to can-open the water for him, and with it he doused the canvas sack hood. Moisture served to enhance its ability to block airborne particulates. He slipped it on and tucked the open can in the back corner of his wheelchair seat, under the cane beside him. The Mentats told him he had bounded upward rather than outward, and his face flushed at the mistake made in his state of alarm, but he did his best to reassure himself that entering the streets of Lexington at night stood to endanger him far worse than some musty air.

“We’re going to be fine,” he lied. “I need the 10mm. And the bullets for it.” It complied, though hesitant. “I’m just grateful there’s no apparent gas leak, Angel. Your thruster would have blown us up.”

“Silver linings, I suppose.” It failed to conceal worry in its intonation.

Melancholy opened the elevator and wheeled out to find a hall to either side rather than a lobby. Damaged fluorescent lighting flickered, and he could see several doors to either side of the elevator, as well as two across from it. Office floors, as he had predicted weeks ago. Having soaked the hood made breathing a heavier ordeal, but the barrier of moisture did as intended. Only one elevator accessed these floors, he noted, as he rolled to each end of the hall. The lone door to the left of the elevator provided access to the roof, it boasted. A breath choked him as he struggled to open the interior door, then the exterior. Angel helped once it grasped the desired effect.

Upon rolling out onto the rough paved roof and into the night air, Melancholy’s jaw slackened. Though the building tucked itself beneath the shadow of a multi-level overpass, across the way lay the Corvega assembly plant. The automotive facility’s iconic saturnesque globe and multitude of smokestacks still boasted to illuminate Lexington’s ruined cityscape. He squinted upward to see that he’d connected enough circuits within the wiring of the Walden Drugs’ pharmacy to light up the billboard sign at the top of it, as well as the sign at the front corner of its lower stories.

He sat back in his chair and caught his breath. Removing the hood, he allowed himself a dry, broken chuckle, and he quaffed at the can of water from beside him. Thoughts lost him as the stress slowly melted, but the sound of quiet commotion garnered his attention. When he looked up, he found humanoid silhouettes on the rooftop of the plant. Adjusting his glasses, he returned their gawking.

“Might we… return inside, Sir? Seems our refurbishment efforts have garnered some unwanted attention.”

“Hey, now. I don’t know if it’s unwanted yet. They might be different from those asses in Concord.”

“BRILLIANT,” one of them yelled sarcastically.

“–I,” he set his water between his knees and cupped his hands to his mouth, “THANKS.”

The group that had gathered gave him an unanimous chuckle, and he smirked to himself a bit.

“I think we’ll have dinner on the roof tonight,” he told Angel, as he turned the radio back on at low volume. The mellow, jazzy brass of Val Bennett’s ‘Soul Survivor’ greeted him, and he melted into his chair a bit with a smile. “Pass over those Yum Yums.”

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