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theres-a-goldensky · 3 years ago

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30 More The Untamed Fic Recs

Here we go again. Another Wangxian rec list. Are you bored of me yet?

Were these recs helpful to you? If so, you can check out my other Wangxian rec posts:

Part 1 - 40 recs

Part 2 - 23 recs

Part 3 - 23 recs

As ever, feel free to reblog.

You can also head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

1. say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn - ~69,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian after he adopts a small A-Yuan, because Wei Wuxian also has a past with him. Lots of adorable family feelings and emotional hurt/comfort.

As often happened, Wei Ying’s voice preceded his entrance, calling to his co-worker through the open door, “Frankie, they forgot to order spoons again, can you hold down the fort a little longer while I —”

Lan Wangji was already looking to his entrance, head turning as if magnetized toward the voice, so he saw the moment when Wei Ying’s eyes landed on A-Yuan and the smile fell from his face. He looked stricken, and Lan Wangji immediately looked to his son in alarm. A-Yuan seemed fine. His small eyebrows were pulled together in a small frown as he looked back at Wei Ying, but that wasn’t surprising, given the expression on Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji had seen that face beaming, laughing, whining, wheedling, and occasionally angry, but never like this. He looked blank and hollow and it stirred something fierce in Lan Wangji: he wanted to rise up and obliterate whatever was making him look like that. Then his eyes lifted to Lan Wangji and there was a flash of something almost like betrayal, before he pressed his lips together and turned his back.

“I’m going to run out to the store and get spoons,” he said in a flat voice to his co-worker, and left without looking their way again.

2. the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships - ~41,000 words, mature - This is an AU of the novel where Wei Wuxian puts two and two together when Lan Zhan sneaks that kiss from him. It changes a lot of things.

Against his own will, Wei Wuxian found himself glancing at Lan Wangji’s hands. They were… certainly large enough that one of them could wrap around both of his wrists. And Lan Wangji was certainly strong enough, tall enough, broad-shouldered enough to bodily pin him against the trunk of a tree with no chance of him breaking free. Lan Wangji was the first person he’d come across in his slow comb through the vicinity of where he’d been so headily kissed.

Wei Wuxian drew a sharp breath. There was a connection to be made here. He didn’t think he was crazy enough to make it. Perhaps he truly was going slightly insane with demonic cultivation if he could believe Lan Wangji, the paragon of virtue and respectability, who lived unflinchingly under Gusu Lan’s three thousand edicts, who had at best only tolerated his presence as children, would sneak up to him while he was blindfolded, pin him against a tree, and steal a kiss from him in broad daylight.

3. and his wanting grows teeth by yukla - ~25,000 words, teen - This is a very interesting AU where Lan Zhan is a traveling cultivator and runs into Wei Wuxian and the Jiangs looking for shelter during a snowstorm. No spoilers, but this fic goes to a pretty dark place that genuinely shocked me, but I enjoyed. (Still ends well though.)

Without further ado, they are hustled past the entrance and into a smaller greeting area. Huang-bobo approaches the brazier in the center with his hands outstretched, warming his fingers in the heat, but Lan Wangji hangs back. As he carefully brushes the snow free from his shoulders, he feels the burn of a curious gaze trailing up and down his body, lingering at the guqin still strapped to his back; when the sensation pauses at his face and stays there, he lifts his head.

The boy with the ribbon lights up at the eye contact, flashes another dazzling smile, and gives a little wave.

“You must be new here,” he whispers, something like laughter threaded into his voice, eyes scrunching into winking half-moons. “All dressed up in white like that! You might lose yourself in the snowstorm!”

Something stirs to life in Lan Wangji’s chest. It’s—uncomfortable, he decides, and so he steps away. Teasing should not be encouraged with a response.

4. Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller - ~15,000 words, not rated - After Wei Ying's death, his spirit seems to linger. The story is told from Lan Xichen's point of view. I love an outsider point of view. I also love the way the author fleshes out his character as well.

Lan Xichen means to force his way inside, angry ghost of the Yiling Patriarch or no, but then his brother lets out slow breath, settling, the pain easing from his face as he falls back into a more peaceful sleep.

His hair is moving on its own, so subtly Lan Xichen might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking at Wangji so intently. It’s like someone’s running their hand through his hair.

The window frosts over suddenly, thick enough that he can’t see through it. Anxiety spikes through him so quickly he’s nauseous with it, but then the frost melts away and the opening notes of Healing start up again.

He can’t tell if it’s a warning or not. Maybe it’s just an acknowledgement. Wei Wuxian knows he’s there.

5. **leading tone by silencemostofall - ~32,000 words, general - This is a modern AU set in a world where people who love you leave a mark of color on you the first time you touch. Wei Wuxian has no color on him. So much emotional hurt/comfort. So much of Wei Wuxian's terrible self-esteem.

He can cover up his palms with his gloves, so that the blankness does not draw stares. But he has no marks on his fingertips, which he cannot easily hide, and none visible on his face or neck, the blankness of which is even more difficult to hide. People look at him and, with a single glance, understand the single most devastating truth that he knows about himself.

They assume that he does not have very many marks. He may be an eccentric, dramatic person, but the likelihood that an individual has all of their marks on, say, their feet or their torso or other places that are not immediately obvious-- that probability goes down as your number of marks increases. He can laugh as much as he wants about how he loves touching people for the first time with odd places, like the knee or the elbow, but it doesn't quite mask the feeling of other that he knows he exudes.

They assume that he does not have a lot of marks. This, while a heavy weight, is not unbearably so. It is okay that they think he is not much loved. It chafes a bit, and feels occasionally like something he has to furiously push down within himself, but it is not unbearable. What would be unbearable is if they knew the truth: that he does not just have very few marks, but none. That he is simply an individual who is not loved at all.

6. **pastel by antebunny - ~7,000 words, gen - This is a remix work of the above fic. It's from Lan Zhan's point of view and just different enough to be interesting. Still lots of emotional hurt/comfort. I love this concept a whole lot, and both of these fics are great.

It’s a simmering day in May, and Wei Ying is wearing long sleeves, long pants, and gloves.

His choice of dress isn’t unusual for many reasons. For one, there’s plenty of people who don’t like strangers seeing their soulmarks. There’s plenty of people who wish to keep them private by covering them up. For another, Wei Ying spends most of his day in various chilly computer science department rooms, He could just be wearing long sleeves for that.

7. one good thing by Yuu_chi - ~27,000 words, teen - Wei Wuxian has died (or did he??) and is haunting his old home. Lan Zhan moves in. This story has a happy ending! And so much yearning!

To the flowers struggling to grow on the other side of the glass, he says, “We’re getting a new roommate. Well, I’m getting a new roommate - you’re getting somebody who might actually be able to water you for a change.” The flowers outside sway a little in the breeze, and Wei Wuxian nods contemplatively. “He can’t be any worse than the last guy who lived here. Remember when I spooked him while he was cooking and he nearly burnt the house down? Of course you don’t. You’re fucking foliage, your memory is worse than mine. I remember though, so it’s cool.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him and Wei Wuxian looks up to see the stranger has entered the kitchen, setting the last of the boxes down on the table. Disgustingly neat handwriting declares the box kitchen - homeware. The stranger carefully brushes his hair back from his face and, without so much as a second of hesitation, cracks open the box and begins unpacking.

“Wow, you really don’t waste any time, do you?” Wei Wuxian marvels. “You literally just got here - who cares about unpacking? Sit down for a moment, breathe, have something to eat. It’s not going anywhere.”

8. with you, I am home by tellthemstories - ~47,000 words, mature - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is being forced to return home to entertain marriage proposals. So naturally instead he "convinces" Lan Zhan to pretend to date him. I love a good fake dating fic, and this one hits all the right beats.

Lan Zhan does that almost-smile thing that Wei Wuxian takes to mean he’s happy, or at the very least not-mad. “You don’t have any money.”

“Not true. I have the money from our last job, when we settled the vengeful spirit for the flower shop girl.” (He doesn’t. They have Lan Zhan’s money. Wei Wuxian spent his on a pack of loquats and three bottles of Emperor’s Smile wine.)

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian says. “Do it for me.”

Thinking back on it two weeks later, standing alone in the middle of Jin Ling’s graduation banquet and watching Lan Zhan walk away from him, Wei Wuxian realises that this, this was the moment when he should have known. He should have realised in the way Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate or negotiate and just says with that half-fond, half-exasperated tone he gets sometimes, “Fine.”

9. and in the spring i shed my skin by wvlfqveen - ~11,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying can't find Lan Zhan, but hey, there happens to be a rabbit here instead. Features a very slow Wei Ying, emotional hurt/comfort and accidental love confessions.

Immediately, his heart settles and he grins down at his new friend. “Oh, hello there,” he coos, reaching out to pet the fluffy ears. The bunny is very, very still under his hand.

“Did Lan Zhan bring you today?,” he continues cooing. “I’m sorry I missed that, but your Dad didn’t tell me he was bringing you.”

Lan Zhan rarely brings his rabbits to work since they are as tolerant of crowds and unnecessary noise as he is. They were probably relevant to today’s lesson but…

Wei Ying frowns. “Why would he leave you alone? And where is your cage?”

10. how, or when, or from where by sarahyyy - ~10,000 words, gen - Wei Ying wakes up in the hospital with amnesia and can't remember the last few years of his life, including his best friend and the guy he's in love with.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes so hard Wei Wuxian is surprised his eyeballs don’t just fall out of his eye sockets. “That’s the worst part. He did. Whatever mating ritual you both have going on is so fucking weird, Wei Wuxian.” He snorts. “If you’d stayed asleep for any longer, I’d have lost my shit and thrown my myself out a window just so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lan Wangji again.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “Is this a good time to ask who Lan Wangji is?”

Jiang Cheng glares at him. “Your Lan Zhan,” he says, annoyed. Wei Wuxian must look as confused as he feels, because Jiang Cheng’s annoyance bleeds out into concern. “Your Lan er-gege? Your soulmate, Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No bells are ringing.”

11. ** a shared plate by yukla - ~26,000 words, teen - This is an absolutely gorgeous fic about Wei Wuxian traveling the world post-canon to rediscover himself and restore his faith in humanity and eventually find his way back to Lan Zhan. The whole thing is great, but the last two chapters are just *chef's kiss*

Lan Zhan,

Just as the mountains stand unchanging and the green rivers flow ceaselessly, we will meet again — and between then and now, you cannot hope to avoid my letters, either! Haha! Lan Zhan, I’ve seen so many things and met so many people, and it’s only been a month!

I miss you already

It’s so hot that I find myself missing the wind in Gusu’s mountains. Your poor Wei Ying is I’m melting away, Lan Zhan...

I’m realizing now, sixteen years is a long time to be away — the world is vast, and quite a bit different than I remembered. And in sixteen years, a child can also grow up into a man! It’s your job to catch me up on A-Yuan’s fun childhood stories! I do remember hearing something about a pile of rabbits...

12. with your arms outstretched to me by annemari - ~14,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan finally gets up the nerve to ask Wei Ying on a date, but things don't go as expected. Features emotional hurt/comfort (are we sensing a theme with these recs??) and just regular hurt/comfort.

"Oh, man, I was hoping you had some water with you," Wei Ying says. "I totally forgot to bring any for myself. Stupid of me."

"There is enough for both of us," Lan Wangji says. He has another bigger bottle in the car, as well.

Wei Ying hums but he only takes a few sips. He presses it back into Lan Wangji's hand. "I don't need any more."

Lan Wangji is considering arguing, but then Wei Ying shifts a bit, moving his ankle, and gasps very, very quietly.

13. ** A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart - ~22,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian has finished traveling and returned to the Cloud Recesses and Lan Zhan. But their lives never do run smoothly.

“Lan Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, recognizing him after a moment. His heart slams against his rib cage. “Where is Lan Zhan? What’s happened?”

Lan Jingyi flaps a hand at him, gulping air. Wei Wuxian hands him the water, and leans back against Little Apple’s side as he waits impatiently for the boy to get his breath back.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Jingyi gasps, just as Wei Wuxian is about to throttle a proper answer out of him. “Hanguang Jun was in such a state when he woke up, we didn’t know if you’d come and gone already.”

“Where is he, Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, as evenly as he can. “What happened?”

14. So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend - ~14,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel extraordinary pain unless he's touching Lan Zhan. Yet more of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues and Lan Zhan's steadfast devotion.

“Are you hurt, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks, pressing his hand to Wei Ying’s forehead to feel his temperature. There is no fever, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate Lan Wangji’s worries.

“No—I’m not hurt,” says Wei Ying, sagging forward to lean his weight into Lan Wangji’s hand like he can’t help himself.

It’s so strange—Lan Wangji can feel what Wei Ying is feeling. Although the relief is still very profound, wisps of other things are making themselves known; happiness; wistfulness; guilt. It’s all so fleeting that Lan Wangji can’t even begin to deduce what has provoked those feelings, but he wishes he knew their source.

15. puzzle pieces by Anonymous - ~6,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are roommates, and Wei Ying has started borrowing Lan Zhan's clothes.

“Hm? Oh.” With sleepy eyes that does— things to Lan Zhan’s heart, he blinks and tugs at the lower hem of the shirt, which is riding just above the curve of his thighs. Does Lan Zhan’s mouth water? Maybe. Yes. Absolutely. “Ah, yeah, sorry. Laundry day caught up to me before I could catch up with it. I saw this shirt left in the washer a few days ago, and—“ He blinks up at Lan Zhan through dark eyelashes that Lan Zhan wants to kiss, maybe, and gives him an uncharacteristically hesitant smile. “Do you mind?”

I mind the fact that we are not married, Lan Zhan thinks. But he can’t say that, and his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything else. So he stays silent.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says after a moment. “If you—oh, damn, I should’ve known, this is like real silk, must’ve been super expensive. Fuck. Okay, here, uh, I’ll take it off—“

16. ** Nothing But Trouble by brooklinegirl - ~60,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Ying is trying to be a good brother and get Jiang Cheng laid. Somehow this plan involves pretending to date Lan Zhan.

"I won't!" Wei Ying insists. "I'll ask out someone...high stakes. I'll find someone. I'll...okay, how's this? I swear that I'll ask someone out and keep at it for at least two dates."

"No."

"Three dates."

"Nope."

"Okay, okay, five. That's fair! That's more than fair! One person, five dates." He points at Jiang Cheng. "You have to do it, too. That's how a pact works."

Jiang Cheng stares at him. "Five dates," he says flatly. "Five. And yours can't be Nie Huaisang."

17. i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) - ~43,000 words, explicit - This is a Modern AU and a Cherry Magic AU! (Side note: GO WATCH CHERRY MAGIC IF YOU HAVEN'T.) But in short, Wei Ying turns 30 without losing his virginity and gets the power to hear people's thoughts when he touches them. He gets more than he bargained for with Lan Zhan. The author does a good job of translating the story to these characters. Wei Ying is not forced to be like Adachi, the main character of Cherry Magic. He's still himself, and the same goes for Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s voice is so clear, so sudden that it’s as though it’s spoken, the slice of a sharp object through velvet.

He’s touching me.

Wei Ying startles for a moment, wonders if he’d somehow heard his own thoughts instead, but — no, that had definitely been Lan Zhan’s steady, factual baritone, loud and clear.

God, this is still so weird. It still doesn’t seem totally real. But how else can he account for hearing Lan Zhan’s voice in his head, as clearly as if he’d spoken to Wei Ying directly?

18. like blue flame over my fingertips by tangerinechar - ~37,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are roommates, and Lan Zhan just finds himself wanting to take care of Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s roommate. Is a problem.

He doesn’t get an answer to the roommate problem until the next morning, when Lan Xichen texts him telling him that the apartment he’d suggested (and helped pay rent for) to Lan Wangji said in the small text that it’d be two people per apartment, the second bedroom wasn’t actually a guest bedroom, sorry, Wangji, you can move in with me if you want, I have space —

No. Thank you for your kind offer, Brother, but I will be quite fine, Lan Wangji texts back.

19. ** some impulse of delight by handclaps - ~20,000 words, explicit - College AU where Wei Ying decides he needs to help Lan Zhan get used to touching people. Lan Zhan agrees. Wei Ying is dumb and in love. Lan Zhan is less dumb, but still as in love.

Lan Zhan shakes his head and fumbles, tries to push the cotton wool into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, realising. “Touching people, I know.”

He feels dumb. He thought he’d worn Lan Zhan down more than this, that they were friends now and that his whole no touching thing was mostly overcome. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand easily, right? He looks down at his belly full of scratches, dabbing at them moodily.

“Sorry,” he says, again.

Lan Zhan makes some kind of noise, but he is busy packing the first aid kit back, placing everything exactly where it was before.

“Lan Zhan, you’re going to have to do something about this,” Wei Wuxian complains. “I know you don’t like touching people and usually it plays as a kind of gentlemanly thing, but what about emergencies?”

20. And I Will Call You Home by Spodumene - ~43,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian returns after a year of traveling and rejoins Lan Zhan in the Cloud Recesses. He's doing a good job of pining and ignoring the obvious. Look, at this point, it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm a sucker for stories where Wei Wuxian deals with his ~*~issues~*~ and Lan Zhan takes care of him, whether he asks for it or not. This story has lots of that. I also enjoyed the case fic aspect of it.

“I do, I think,” Wei Wuxian admits. “Would be nice to see his face again after so long. And at least this time, I’m going to show up draped in finery. What do you think, Lan Zhan? I can’t possibly disgrace him—or you—wearing a cloak like that.”

“You could never disgrace me,” Lan Wangji says gently, that soft, affectionate look back on his face.

Wei Wuxian grins, warmed to the tips of his toes.

“I’ll remind you of that later. The next time I’m three jars deep and feeling especially shameless, you’ll have to remember those words, Lan Er-gege.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says simply.

Wei Wuxian smiles some more, overwhelmed by fondness.

21. darling, am i a chore? by martyrsdaughter - ~7,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian really, really wants Lan Zhan to call him 'gege'. Lan Zhan knows a trump card when he sees one.

“You know what I want,” Wei Wuxian purrs, reaching up on his tiptoes to throw his arms over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “Call me gege, won’t you? Call me and I’ll stop.”

Lan Wangji knows he will not stop, regardless of what he calls him. Still, he thinks about it. If there really is a way to make Wei Wuxian stop, should he not consider it? He doesn’t have any real interest in curbing his husband’s insatiable mischievousness, but he does like knowing things about him—everything there is to know.

If there’s something that persuasive in the world, that it can bring Wei Wuxian into submission when no one is under threat, could he stop himself from seeking it?

22. your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian - ~11,000 words, gen - Wei Wuxian & Lan Sizhui fic with the Wangxian in the background. Lan Sizhui wants another dad and Wei Wuxian wants a son, they just don't know how to explain that to each other.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

Lan Sizhui tucks his chin into his uncle’s shoulder, and lets his eyes fall closed.

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” Wen Ning whispers to him kindly.

Lan Sizhui takes a deep breath, and takes stock of all his aches, his ringing ear, his hollow chest, the way he had selfishly wanted Wei Wuxian to keep speaking to him in that careful voice, like he was just a child to be soothed and there was no real danger. How dangerous, to pretend. “No,” he lies. “It doesn’t hurt that much at all.”

23. when you're doing all the leaving (then it's never your love lost) by tardigradeschool - ~26,000 words, teen - AU where Lan Zhan with Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling's one-month celebration. Things go down, and it leads to Lan Zhan discovering Wei Wuxian's missing golden core. This obviously will not do, and oh look, the best doctor in the world just happens to be right here.

“How—“ Lan Wangji chokes. “His core —?” He looks at Wen Ning, half accusatory in his shock. “Jin Zixun could not have—“

“No, no!” Wen Ning says, holding out his hands. “He hasn’t had one for years, don’t worry!”

This is not as reassuring as Wen Ning seems to think.

“Please explain,” Lan Wangji says, pained. He feels for Wei Wuxian’s pulse instead; in the absence of a golden core, it will have to do as reassurance that he’s still alive.

Wen Ning is so anxious that the story comes out in a ramble, out of order. Lan Wangji wants him to hurry up, but he’s also not confident in his own ability to speak, so he just keeps quiet and lets him talk. His heart feels as if it’s about to fall from his chest, beating nearly twice as fast as Wei Wuxian’s does under his fingers.

24. A Match in the Making by lareine - ~30,000 words, teen - A Modern AU where Wei Wuxian sees his single and bad ass friend Lan Zhan and his single and bad ass friend Mianmian and gets some very dumb ideas.

To return to the point: Lan Zhan was peak adulting. Mianmian was peak adulting. And if they were both at the peak, then they were on the same level. What level? That mysterious level thing that everyone mentioned when it came to dating.

Whatever level it was, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were on it together. Wei Ying nodded to himself. So, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were allowed to date each other. The next question was: were they compatible? Did they have chemistry or whatever the fuck people called it?

25. Crack me open, pour you out by Tenillypo - ~16,000 words, explicit - Lan Zhan gets cursed to say whatever he's thinking. So his worst nightmare. Mutual pining, first time, all good stuff.

Lan Wangji freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, lifting his eyes to stare at Wei Ying.

"I know! Just completely paralyzed." Wei Ying mimes being still as a board. "I don't know how long I lay there. It must have been two days at least. Good thing for Little Apple. He wandered back to the village when he got hungry, and eventually a few of them got brave enough to come look for me. When they rolled me over, the figure fell out of my hand and I could move again. Cunning little thing." He shakes his head. "I was weak as a kitten for a little while after they took me back to the village, and by the time I recovered, they'd burned the whole place to the ground. Such a waste."

Lan Wangji slowly lowers his chopsticks, heart racing unpleasantly. In his head, a picture of Wei Ying slowly wasting to death alone in the middle of the woods, with Lan Wangji a hundred miles away and none the wiser.

26. Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller - 13,000 words, no rating - Lan Zhan wants to bring his boyfriend home to meet his family. There are some things he definitely didn't realize about Wei Ying.

“He has a life here,” he says down the line. He doesn’t say that he has a life here too, one he likes a lot more than the one he had before. He misses home. He’d miss Wei Ying more. But he doesn’t say that, doesn’t say how vibrant he is and how beautiful and how little interest Lan Zhan has at seeing him among the high society he grew up with.

“Well, your life is here, Wangji,” his brother says. “You can’t stay away from home forever. You’re going to have to see how he does with the rest of us sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”

It might as well be never, as far as he’s concerned. His family can meet Wei Ying at their wedding.

“I’ll ask,” he says.

Wei Ying has no interest in cultivation politics. They’re horrible, the five clans have an iron tight alliance that’s thirty seconds away from collapsing in on itself the moment someone from one sect steps on another sect’s toes. It’s the worst and he hates it. Surely even just the idea of it will be so horrifying to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan will be able to tell his brother no.

27. just our hands clasped so tight by electrum ~4,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan really, really, really just wants to give Wei Ying everything he wants.

“Despite your best efforts,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He shakes his head in mock-dismay. “How much longer do you think that will last if you keep buying everything I look at?” When this, too, fails to soften Lan Zhan’s resolve, he tries a different tactic. “We couldn’t even afford potatoes,” he says. “Back when I was with the Wens, at the Burial Mounds. Only radishes! If I survived that, I can certainly survive without another pretty comb.”

Lan Zhan’s expression is at once unmoved and yet somehow stricken. “I would have bought Wei Ying potatoes,” he says, like Wei Wuxian doesn’t know, by this point, that Lan Zhan would buy him anything. “If I had known…”

28. ** Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller - ~64,000 words, no rating - Jin Ling & Wei Wuxian with Wangxian in the background. Jin Ling is the best boy! And as he tries to rehabilitate his sect and his family and keep himself alive at the same time, he realizes, horrifyingly, that he has to be the mature one.

29. ** an act too often neglected by Ariaste - Lan Xichen / Meng Yao, ~61,000 words, explicit - The Wangxian is in the background here, but the main story is about Lan Xichen meeting Meng Yao on a dating app and getting immediately dickmatized. Meanwhile. Meng Yao refuses to be won over by Lan Xichen's charm. It goes as well as you'd expect for him.

The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.”

Lan Xichen feels a low simmer of arousal kindle in the pit of his stomach, and he gazes at that word-- demanding --for nearly as long as he’d stared at the photograph. He swipes right.

A few minutes later, a notification pops up: < Hm, the size of your hands is promising.

This is familiar. This is the flirtation stage. Lan Xichen knows the steps to the dance.

30. My Land Beneath Me by longleggedgit - ~30,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is cast out of his sect and out of China to America. And Lan Zhan just...follows.

Lan Zhan always waited for his tea to cool before drinking, which meant he had nothing to do but give Wei Wuxian a judgmental look. “No more McDonald’s.”

“You’re just bitter because you get indigestion from anything that actually tastes good,” Wei Wuxian grumbled.

Because Lan Zhan was insufferably mature and patient, he didn’t rise to the bait. “We have time to stop somewhere before class,” he said.

“Fine. But you’re paying this time.”

It was a bad joke, and predictably, fell flat; Lan Zhan was, after all, paying for everything, every time. Wei Wuxian frowned into his mug.

“You know,” he said, after another swallow, “you really don’t have to be here. I’m going to figure something out.”

Interested in 86 more The Untamed fic recs?

Part 1 - 40 recs Part 2 - 23 recs Part 3 - 23 recs

#the untamed fic #the untamed #master of demonic cultivation #wangxian fic recs #wangxian fic #mdzs #lan xichen/jin guangyao #lan zhan #wei wuxian/lan wangji #wei wuxian #jin ling #lan sizhui #mxtx novels

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dizzydancingdreamer · 5 years ago

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Sweater | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey Lovelies! Hope you're all doing well in this time of uncertainty, I know it can be tough. Never fear though, as always the Mikaelson boys are here to the rescue. I almost wrote another smut, like I had to put my laptop down and walk away, but alas I kept the tale on track. Kind of. None of my stories ever stay on track. Oh well, here you go loves, happy April 1st! Also, stay tuned for a master list that I will be posting sometime in the coming days!

Description: The Mikaelson household is a household that shares everything, something that Y/n finds out when she unassumingly picks up a sweater and puts in on without a care.

Pairing: The Mikaelson boys x Fem!Reader, definitely leaned this in Elijah's favour though

Warnings: None? Sharing? Is that a warning? They share Y/n there, I said it, you've been "warned"

Word count: 3798

Tags: FLUFF, very light smut, like not even just a heavy make-out scene,

(Photos do not belong to me but the mood bard does :) )

Life at the Mikaelson compound is, by no means, an ordinary one. It’s a lot of loud conversations, a lot of even louder fights, and a delirious amount of laughter. The kind of laughter that immobilizes people. It’s a life of never being alone, even when you want to be. Someone’s always around; chewing loudly when you want to read, sitting on your bed while you pick your clothes in the morning, hell even hanging outside the bathroom while you shower. It’s a life of love, the kind that fully consumes you.

Above all, though, life at the Mikaelson compound is a life of sharing. Food, books, beds, you name it. This house coined the phrase “what’s mine is yours”, literally. After two centuries of life with the Mikaelson siblings nothing surprises you anymore. Clothes are the main culprit. You don’t bat an eye these days when Rebekah strolls out of your room in a newly purchased dress or pair of pumps. You simply couldn’t care less. That’s just how things are.

That’s why it doesn’t cross your mind when you pick up a hoodie that someone had lazily draped over the back of a dining room chair. You were freezing and it was there. It’s probably Kol’s. Holding it up, it’s massive. You shake your head. Definitely not Kol’s. There’s a chance it’s Bekah’s but it doesn’t strike you as something she would wear. It's a cream white color with a Cambridge logo. Someone must be feeling sentimental. You settle on it being Klaus, the temperamental artist, pulling the hoodie over your head without a second thought.

You continue on your way to the den, padding barefoot in a pair of lounge shorts and your newly aquired hoodie. It has a familiar scent, one that riles your senses in the most delicious way, but you still can’t place it. Pine and nutmeg. You would think that a surplus of two hundred years with the same people would make you better at this but it hasn’t.

It’s unusually quiet. Considering you didn’t wake up cuddled next to Bekah, you’re already a little off centred. You haven’t woken up alone in years. By now you should have encountered at least two of the brothers and maybe a sister. Kol is usually up early. It’s kind of suspicious. You hear the slightest hum of noise as you get closer to your destination. Nothing crazy, but it’s there.

Entering the den, your questions are answered. Almost everyone is piled in, draped across the couches, sprawled on the floor, curled in armchairs. That’s more like it. Only one person is missing. Elijah. He’s been gone for a few days now. Your heart hammers at the thought of him. His smile flashes through your mind. Your veins sing. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s calling out to him. You seriously need to get that in check.

“Something on your mind, love?” Kol’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

Of course he heard your heartbeat pick up, he’s a millennium of trained vampire hearing, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

You walk over to the couch he’s stretched over, tucking yourself under the book he’s holding and into his chest. Cuddles are a big part of the Mikaelson household, just as much as sharing. He smells heavenly too, but different from the sweater. Sweeter, not as earthy. It’s just as lovely. Your mind falls from Eli as Kol places a kiss to your forehead. His arms are cool and you try and keep your pulse in check this time. This whole family has had you enamoured from the moment you first met them.

He nuzzles his chin against your hair, “that’s what we do, hun.”

“I know,” you murmur, your heart slowing back to normal as you pull a comforter from the back of the couch onto your legs. You’re still chilly, he’s not helping much with that.

“Hey, no fair,” Rebekah whines from the floor, “I want cuddles.”

You giggle from Kol’s hold, “guess you should have waited for me this morning then, huh?”

She pouts from her own pile of blankets, giving you puppy eyes. Bekah has perfected that look for centuries. Her blonde hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few strands trickling down around her face. She’s wearing one of your t-shirts, the blue one you got at the New York Zoo a few years back. She makes it look like a ballgown.

“Don’t pout, sister, it's not becoming,” Klaus calls from the armchair he’s sat in, his bare chest on display for your viewing pleasure, “besides, I do believe that it’s my turn.”

Klaus is no exception to the Mikaelson charm. He's mischievous and playful. Yes, he can be ruthless and, yes, he did have a reputation for boxing his family members when you first met him, but now he’s different. He cares recklessly, a page he must have taken from Rebekah’s playbook.

Not to mention he’s undeniably gorgeous and he makes your chest flutter every time his blue eyes sear into yours. You are in way too deep.

Kol grumbles, tightening his arms around you before whispering, “can’t I ever have you for five minutes before the wolves descend?”

Naturally, everyone hears his complaints.

“Vampires, Kol, vampires,” Klaus chimes in, a devilish smirk on his lips, “now hand over the girl, brother.”

“Y/n, babes, cuddles please,” Bekah intensifies her pouting and you giggle again.

They’re in an all out war for your attention, but what else is new. Your eyes dart between Bekah and her pile of blankets and Klaus’ outstretched arms. You hate to say it, but the choice is a pretty obvious one.

You rest your head against Kol’s chest, breathing his intoxicating scent one last time, “I promise I’m all yours next time.”

He gives you a tight squeeze in return, “whatever you say, love.”

You wobble slightly as you stand up, readjusting your sweater and pulling it down where it had ridden up. The chilly air nips at your exposed legs as you stumble over to Rebekah, whose arms are now open and waiting. There's a blanket around her shoulders ready to engulf you. You’re more than ready to jump into her little nest.

Klaus’ words stop you though, “that’s a nice sweater, doll, where'd you get it?”

Wait, what?

“It was in the dining room, I figured it was yours,” you more than figured; you had been certain.

His laugh sends tingles flying up your spine, “unfortunately no, love, but I’ll never turn down the opportunity to get you in my clothes.”

“Or out of them,” Kol chirps from the couch, his nose turned into his book without a care in the world about who heard him.

Your cheeks flush at his suggestive words. Not because you aren't used to them, though. Comments like these were quite usual in the Mikaelson household. It wasn’t a normal day if at least one of them didn’t make you want to squeeze your thighs together and jump one, or maybe all, of them. No, you blush because it's been two hundred years of not one of them having actually followed through on anything and it pushes you closer to doing it for them everyday. Especially lately.

His words made your legs tremble but you continued with the topic at hand, “Kol, is it yours?”

He pulls his head from his book, his eyes dark with something you can’t say you haven’t seen before, “I wish.”

The sigh that leaves your lips is not of your own volition. His brown eyes burn into yours, daring you to turn away. You do. Sorry Kol, now is not the time for a staring competition. You cross your legs desperately and put your hands on your hips, looking to Rebekah for relief.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not my sweater.”

You run a frustrated hand through your hair. You don’t know why this is bugging you so much. Your whole body feels like it's being pulled in every direction by every Mikaelson. Except Elijah, who’s not here. His name in your mind alone, though, is enough to add him to the rest. He doesn’t need to be here for you to feel his pull. Everyone of your senses is on fire right now. The earthy scent hits your nose again and you close your eyes, trying to soak up every last drop. It's driving you mad and you can swear it’s getting stronger, but it’s probably just your sanity wearing thin.

You can hear the flimsy distress in your voice, “then who, pray tell, does it belong to?”

“Me, love,” your head goes fuzzy at the sound of his voice.

You spin around on clumsy legs, practically falling into Elijah, “Eli!”

He catches you easily, pulling you against his hard chest. You don’t hesitate to throw your arms around him, standing on your toes to get closer to him. Even through his suit jacket you can feel how strong he is. You hadn’t heard him come in, too distracted by the other three Mikaelsons in the room. He smells exactly like the sweater, which makes sense now.

He laughs into your hair, squeezing his arms tighter around you, “I missed you too, baby.”

His words make you breathless. They’re so unlike Elijah. Well, not the ‘I miss you’ part. It would be unusual if he didn’t say that. But baby? That’s very much not a word he frequents often.

“Elijah,” his name is a whisper coming from your lips.

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest. Being so close to him makes you delirious. You struggle to keep from pressing your legs together. You know he can read it all over you, they all can, his lazy smirk giving it away. Your face flushes again for what feels like the millionth time today. His eyes darken, the same way Kol’s had, and drag all the way down and back up your body.

He takes your face in one of his hands keeping the other arm hooked around your back, drawing his words out slowly, “you look ravishing in my clothes, baby.”

“Eli, what-”

You’re cut off by a pair of warm lips colliding with your own. His arms wrap once more around you fully, pulling you closer to his hungry mouth. You kiss him back like you haven't been kissed in years, and you haven’t, lacing your fingers through his hair and feverishly pulling his lips harder against yours. It takes everything in you not to moan against his mouth in the middle of the den.

“Awe, no fair Elijah,” you pull back, shocked and breathless, at the sound of Kol’s whiny voice, “I wanted to be the first one.”

He glances over your shoulder, past your wide eyes, at his brother, “too bad, little brother. I gave you two hundred years. You had plenty of time.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m not the second.”

In the blink of an eye you’re in Kol’s arms, being dipped theatrically as he places his own lips where Elijah’s had just been. He tastes different, like berries and honey, whereas Elijah’s lips were peppermint. You kiss him back just as strongly, twisting your fists in his tee and pulling him as close to you as possible. All your senses are consumed by Kol, just as they were Elijah.

When he pulls away, your head is swimming, “I’ve been waiting for that for an eternity, hun.”

His eyes are shining, a huge grin on his pink lips. You haven’t been kissed this much in as long as you can remember. You feel lightheaded, like you’re walking on a cloud. When you peer up at Elijah, he doesn’t look upset. He probably should. You feel guilty for reeling at the new kind of attention.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you're pulled into a new pair of arms that scoops you into a firm chest.

“My turn, love.”

Klaus’ lips taste like chocolate. Kissing him is, again, different than both his brothers. Playful. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. You sigh into his mouth, your hands on his face. He spins you around, laughing against your lips. Your heart soars once more. All you can see is Klaus.

When he sets you down, you break away from the three of them, at a loss for both words and air. Your whole body is on fire. Somehow, you can taste all three of them on your lips at once. You can hear your heartbeat furious in your ears. Your eyes dart between them, like a deer in the headlights. Your hand finds your lips. Swollen. But what did you expect? Your legs start shaking again but less out of pleasure and more out of shame. The room feels like it’s shrinking. You wish it would just swallow you already.

You whip your head around to meet Rebekah’s eyes, who looks as shocked as you feel. She sends you a small smile, though, nodding her head. She doesn't seem disappointed, but, then again, you could go on a killing spree and she would still look at you with kind eyes. You grasp at your chest, trying to slow your pulse even slightly. You can’t breathe. Your eyes dart to the door and then back to her eyes. She nods again. Then you bolt.

The Mikaelson boys are fast, they're a thousand years old after all, but you’re determined, and that makes you faster. You just barely close your bedroom door before there's a knock.

“Y/n, it’s Elijah,” his accent flows like honey through the door right to your ears, sending traitorous warmth to your core, “please open the door baby.”

“Why, are you all going to kiss me again?” Your voice is shakey.

You can hear him try to stifle a laugh, “I can if you want me too.”

You huff, frustrated, “I am serious, Eli.”

“It’s just me, love. Let me in?”

That makes you feel the slightest bit better. At least you only have to face one right now. You debate just leaving him out there but he’d probably bust the door down. Elijah is a gentleman but when he wants to talk nothing can get in his way. You run a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look more presentable, less wanton. You pull the sleeves of the sweater over your hands, trying to hide the shaking.

Opening the door, you come face to face with a half worried Elijah. There’s a small smile on his lips but also a tinge of hesitance in his eyes. You step aside, letting him in before shutting it once more. He grabs your hand leading you towards your bed where he sits on the edge, drawing you to stand between his legs. His hands move to settle on your hips, settling under the hoodie and tracing small circles with his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your laugh is humourless. What are you thinking about? He can’t be serious. Each of the Mikaelson boys just kissed you, one after the other, all in front of each other, and he wants to know what you're thinking about. The weather Elijah, you’re thinking about the weather. God, you feel so dirty, which you know wasn't their intention but you can’t help it. You feel something for each of them. Something you definitely shouldn't feel. Something you had pushed down for a very long time. It’s hot and throbbing and you don’t think you could bear it if you had to choose between them.

You can’t look him in the eyes, “what do you think I'm thinking about?”

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you open your mouth, your words choppy and broken. As soon as you do, though, it’s like the floodgates have opened. You start sobbing heart wrenching cries, hands over your face, blocking out the now very concerned man. At the thought of losing any of them your lungs constrict. For someone who’s pretty indestructible, you feel like you’re suffocating. You barely register the curse that flies from his mouth before he has you tucked into his arms, his hands sliding over your hair and rubbing your back. Really, doing anything he can to get you to calm down even a little bit.

“Baby, shhh,” he’s frantic, trying to calm you down, “it’s okay love. You’re ok. We’re ok.”

“Eli,” you hiccup into his chest, “what happened out there?”

He holds you tighter against him, “you happened, Y/n. From the moment you walked through our door that’s been it.”

You pull back slightly, finally looking into his eyes, “what are you talking about?”

“We want you. All of us. Kol, Klaus, myself. Hell, even Rebekah is enamoured by you,” he picks you up before sitting back down, still holding you, “Am I too forward in assuming you feel the same?”

Your cheeks flame, the familiar heat returning to your thighs, which are straddling Elijah’s lap, a position you weren’t aware of until now. You wish you were still clueless, though. You positively ache for him, let alone the rest of his brothers.

“I shouldn’t Elijah, it’s not normal,” your hands rest on his shoulders, bringing you to his eye level for once.

He laughs quietly, leaning in close to your face, his breath hot on your lips, “baby, we aren’t normal.”

“How are you okay with this? You should think I’m easy. A tramp,” you cast your eyes downward, landing on his red tie.

He grabs your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him again, “I would never, could never, see you that way. Love, you’ve been with us for two centuries and haven’t touched us once. You are anything but easy. I have loved you for two hundred years. So have they. If sharing you means I finally get to have you then I am ok with that.”

Your lips are on him the instant the last syllable leaves his lips, your hands curled around his tie pulling his mouth to yours for the second time today. It’s not like you to make any sort of move but if ever there was a time it’s now. He groans into your mouth sending electricity dancing down your spine. You squeeze your thighs hard around him, reveling in the feeling of his hips bucking up to meet your own. His hands slide up underneath his sweater, grasping at your skin desperately. He pulls it up and over your head, tossing it on the floor without a care before attaching his lips to your neck.

“That's what made me cave, baby, seeing you in my clothes,” he mumbles into your skin, hands under your tank top, roaming up your sides.

“Mmph, Elijah,” you can’t stop the moans from flowing freely from your mouth, you don’t want to. You’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity.

Your hands tug on his tie, practically ripping it off his neck before starting on his shirt, pulling it open without a care for the buttons popping off around you. He leans back on his elbows, looking up at you with dark eyes. His hair is a mess, falling into his face in a very un-Elijah fashion. His shirt is wide open, putting his toned stomach on display for you. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling harshly with the air. He looks positively disheveled. Undone just for you. Sexy.

You slam your lips to his once more, pulling the shirt off his body before dropping it on the steadily growing pile of clothes. You wrap your arms around his bare shoulders, trying to get as close to him as you possibly can. Your fingers claw at the bulging muscles of his back, pulling a moan from him. The sound is music to your ears. You wish you could listen to it on a loop all day, every day.

His hands pull at your tank top, bringing it over your head and leaving you in nothing but a pink bralette and your shorts. His eyes devour every inch of bare skin, soaking up every curve and dip of your body on his. He looks exquisite. He looks hungry, his eyes pitch black and wanting. Elijah looks like a god.

His mouth attacks your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin at the base of your throat. Your hands land in his hair, tugging at the soft strands. You never knew he had this side to him. This dominant, hungry side. It makes the ache between your thighs grow. Two hundred years of pent up energy threatens to spill over now and you don’t want to stop it.

So, of course, now is when someone decides to knock on the door, “Surrender the girl, Elijah, you already got the first kiss. Time to share, brother.”

Make that ‘someones’; Kol chuckles at his brother’s antics from behind the door. Klaus’ voice is playful but you can hear the serious note at the end. It makes your already lust-clouded mind even foggier. You know you have to go out there.

You pull Elijah in for one last kiss, sighing into his parted lips, “that’s my cue I think.”

He presses a kiss to your lips reluctantly, “I suppose it is.”

You stand, separating from him for the first time since he walked into your room. You dig his hoodie from the pile of clothes, reveling in the way his eyes, which had only recently gone back to their usual brown, turn black again when you pull it over your head. That will never get old. You toss him a knowing wink before reaching for the door. When your hand hits the knob he spins you back into his arms in a dizzying kiss. Your head twirls from all the times his lips have been on yours today.

With a slight growl, he pushes you out the door, “hurry back.”

You stumble into the hallway, giddy and full of life, right into Klaus’ waiting arms. He doesn’t waste any time throwing you over his shoulder, giving you the perfect view of his gloriously sculpted backside. You can't help the giggles that fall freely from your lips.

“Finally,” he starts jogging down the hall, towards his room, “now, about that sweater, Love.”

You look over his shoulder at Kol who shakes his head but smiles nonetheless. You barely make out the ‘me next’ he mouths at you before Klaus kicks the door closed and tosses you on his bed. The last thing you think before his mouth descends on yours is that you should have picked up that sweater one hundred years ago.

#the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #klaus mikaelson #kol mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #The originals #to #rebekah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #imagine #reader insert

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loominggaia · 3 years ago

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New Fanfic by Anon: New York

Anon just submitted a new fanfic! This one had me on the edge of my seat, check it out:

“Seeing the post on the freelance good guys getting isekia’d I thought I’d drop this short little fanfic idea. On night Evan is on patrol with Lukus, Alaine and Elska doing their usual rounds when they hear a odd sound? Suddenly a giant, ethereally white vehicle comes barreling towards them at high speed! They attempt to run but not before Evan gets struck, having had no time to react. They stare in horror as the white machine sends evan flying and hitting the ground with a sickeningly loud thud.

The crew is mortified at having seen Evan getting ran over, seeing his unconscious body on the ground. Just before they can help the machine responsible backs up and opens its doors, Evans lifeless body starts floating into the back of the vehicle. The crew latch’s onto him and pulls hard, trying to resist the trucks hold and save their captain and close friend. Despite their best efforts the truck pulls him in, latching it’s doors shut with elska pounding furiously trying to break them down.

The vehicle speeds off with Evan as it’s prisoner. The three try to chase it down but with no avail, elska being the only one able to keep up. With great fury the centauress runs down the evil machine, determined to tear the ethereal contraption apart with her bare hands to save Evan. But as she’s gaining ground the machine speeds up, faster and faster until a portal forms in front of it and in a blinding flash of light the machine, with Evan inside, disappears without a trace.

Evan wakes up in a hospital bed, feeling groggy and not knowing where he is or where that weird beeping sound is coming from? He’s greeted by a human nurse, happy to see him awake. He figures he’s in zareen judging by the room and the weird medical tech attached to him but has no idea how he got their? only remembering getting struck by a unknown machine and blacking out. The nurse ask his name and goes to get the doctor so they may access the new patients condition.

The doctor comes in, another human. He ask Evan his name and tells him about their finds. He’s alright though has an alarming number of scars across his body, seemingly a heart deformity that recovered and other peculiarities but is overall fine and has no obvious signs of injury. The doctor then gets to what he’s really interested in, wondering who this strange man is that was found on the side of the road by passerby’s unconscious, in medieval armor with no wallet, phone, id or anything?

The doctor interrogated Evan heavily? Wanting to know where he came from, why he was on the side of the road? how he lost his leg and obtained so many scars? why he was dressed in medieval armor? Why he has no identification on him? Etc…? Evan answers each question honesty, really wanting to know how he got their himself. As he tells them about his crew and the freelance good guys but dodges the question on his leg, not wanting to reveal his status as a lycanthrope unless absolutely necessary.

The more he talks the more worried the doctor and nurse become, exchanging looks to each other that gets Evan concerned as well. He gets a massive shock to find out he’s not in zareen but some strange place called “American”, specifically New York. The doctor writes down that the patient is delirious; believing that mermaids, centaurs and dragons exist and believes he’s in some non existent country yet claims to be from another unknown country called “Evangline”. He was gonna a rough case.

On the Gaia side, Alaine and Lukus are freaking out as Elska tells them that the evil machine that stole Evan got away by teleporting. Returning to the hollow they break the news of Evans kidnapping to everyone’s shock and horror. Issac, Jeimos and a grieving, furious Zeffer joins them on the hunt for Evan. Guessing that the magic vehicle was of zareenite origin they gear up to travel to zareen to demand answers, leaving the rest of the crew behind to continue their duties until they return.

Evan finds himself still in the hospital, still confused as why he’s being held their? The doctors believing he’s suffered a serious brain damage or mental illness due to his “delusions”. The only answer they can come up with. Trying everything they can the hospital attempt to do background checks on Evan Atlas but continue to come up with nothing, wanting to confirm his identity and contact some family or close friends. Evan picks up rather quick that’s he’s not leaving anytime soon.

He also gets the sinking suspicion that something is seriously wrong. Everyone he’s seen so far is human and everyone acts like he’s crazy when he talks about his crew, job and adventures. The truth comes when doctors alongside immigration officers interrogate him and ask him to point out where this “Zareen” and “Evangline” are on a map. He’s absolutely confused as he doesn’t recognize anywhere on the map nor the language it’s written in, realizing that whatever happened to him he’s not on Gaia.

The rescue crew makes it zareen and immediate start searching for any sighs of who took evan. After a great search, causing a scene and nearly being arrested afew times their search turns up fruitless. However on their journey they meet a deranged looking dworf who’s heard their story and claims to know some information on the mysterious truck that stole Evan. They obviously don’t trust the crazy dworf but hear him out anyway, anything being better then their fruitless attempts so far.

The dworf divulges all he knows about the magic truck that stole their friend. Telling them it’s a mysterious supernatural, dimension hopping vehicle that that runs people over to deliver them to other worlds. He calls it Truck-Kun and shows them grainy photos and numerous testimonies and stories of humans who claim to be from another world being brought to Gaia. While sounding mad, Lukus, Alaine and Elska having witnessed truck-kun in action believe him with how it matches their encounter.

Multiple testimonies from these humans claim to be from a place called “Earth”, mentioning Japan a lot but some others places like America, Russia and so on. Jeimois with Zeffers help prepare one hell of a teleportation spell to take the crew to this earth place, hoping that’s where truck-kun took Evan. Jeimois has little faith in the spell, not knowing where earth is, the power requirement, and the extremely high probability of the spell failing and killing them all but goes through with it.

Having acquired enough magic ingredients and a big enough supply of magic crystals through “questionable means” Jeimos cast the spell. The rescue team is sent flying through the void between worlds at highly velocity in the portal, them all blacking out. When they come too their all thankfully still alive if abit groggy from the trip. They wake up in a field, looking out to see a massive city scape, the likes of which trump any they’ve seen before, that city being New York City.

Evan finds more trouble in his non consensual stay in the hospital as he’s transferred to the psychiatric ward for further evaluation. It isn’t any better when he finds out the full moon is coming and terrified of what he may do divulges the fact he’s a werewolf, trying to protect the staff and any other potential victim. This alarms his doctors as they believe his delusions are worse then they feared and they push off Evan panicked fears by telling him “werewolves aren’t real”.”

TO BE CONTINUED…? Thank you for this, I really enjoyed it! I’m impressed with your understanding of the LG characters and lore! I wish you weren’t on Anon so I could credit you properly. If you guys want to read more fanfics, I’ve been posting them under the ‘fanfic’ tag.

#fanfic #looming gaia

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wannabeauthorclive · 4 years ago

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Word Find I

Thank you @talesofsorrowandofruin, @zmlorenz, @vellichor-virgo, @fayoftheforest and @nikkywrites all the tags!! I think that each of you have tagged me in two tag games each, so this is gonna have a lot of words.

@talesofsorrowandofruin words: asleep, misplace, bake, invisible, orchestra, introduce, disagree and sea

Asleep

“What is this?” Silver asks, waving a hand at the candles.

“You were half asleep when I came in here, I thought that the main light would be too harsh when you got out.” Ira answers with a small smile.

Disagree

Ira places a light kiss on Silver’s lips, “To dance, we must have music.”

Laughing, Silver says, “I disagree with you,” She spins and dips Ira, “You don’t need music to dance. You just need the right partner.”

“We may not need music, Love, but I would certainly like it.” Ira laughs as she’s lifted up again.

Sea

She heads to the stern and crosses the main deck to find Tonya. On her way, she passes Braveheart where — she checks their wrist, no bracelet — he is keeping all the ropes in place. “Aye, Captain! Where you off to? Forester is manning ship.” He calls, pulling another rope and opening the sail so they can gain more speed from the light wind. Black doesn’t worry that Forester is at the wheel, just as long someone is, all is well.

“I’m looking for Tonya!” Everyone on the ship talks loud, there’s a lot of noise on sea, with lots of enthusiasm. “You know where I can find her?” Braveheart just smiles, points up, and continues working. Black looks to where he pointed, and sure enough, Tonya is up on the spar doing a handstand.

@zmlorenz words: master, cute, foreign, leak, bite, music, frown, and fresh

Master

“Not at all, gunner!” Soberski is the Master Gunner, he runs the canons and guns, making sure they’re always prepared for a fight. But he also is the resident joker, Black hardly knows if what comes out of him mouth is a joke or not.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working, Soberski?” Canta asks.

Soberski turns to her, “Aren’t you? I got some mental problems that could use some healing.”

“We all have mental problems, Soberski.” Canta is the Surgeon and healer, always there to fix up injuries. She’s also the most soft-spoken, her little contributions mean everything to Black.

Music - TW: implied nudity

She turns on the water on, filling the big ivory tub with warm water and goes to look for the scented soap. She turns on classical music to play in the backroom and she pours the soap in the tub. She sheds her clothes and steps into the tub of bubbles and water. She sighs, letting the warm water seep into her bones. With the low music playing and the scent of jasmine filling the room, she could stay there forever and never leave. She closes her eyes and tries to forget about everything, just for a bit.

Frown

Frowning, Ironside whispers, “Why must we take the job if the last time you lost everyone?”

The darkness on Black’s face turns to fire. “Because I can’t not go!” She snaps. “I don’t want to live in fear anymore! I can’t! Every job we take I am terrified. I can’t be terrified anymore, Sal. Because someone who is afraid isn’t someone you want guarding your back. Someone who is afraid shouldn’t be there at all because…” Struggling to find the words, Black snarls at herself and stomps away, yelling. “Take the damn wheel, Ironside, I can’t fuckin’ do this anymore!”

@vellichor-virgo words: air, safe, water, ache, ink, snap, drift, and braid

Air

“Unless… we…” Another idea starts forming in Black’s mind. “Unless… Unless we were already in the building!” She says excitedly, throwing her arms in the air. “We would have to be in the building. What did Ironside say? About disguises?” Her eyes go wide as realization hits her like a truck and she loses her breath for a moment.

Water

Black tilts her head up to stare at the great expanse of the sky. Mid day and the sun is the normal too harsh blue that never seems to end. Black much prefers the dark blue expanse of the water, constantly changing yet always the same. She sucks in a harsh breath and closes her eyes, trying to forget the sky, the sea, and her past. Just for a moment. A moment to collect her mind and then to stand behind the wheel as the Captain always should. It’s where she belongs.

Ache

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the wheel. She loves what she does, she loves her crew and each adventure they go on, she loves days like these as well, where there’s not much to do and everyone is enjoying the sun. But sometimes, her heart aches. As soon as she isn’t bustling about, her heart aches. A sad smile stretches across her face, sometimes she feels that for all that is perfect in her life, somethings missing. She shakes her head, deciding not to question what could possibly be missing.

Ink

Silver doesn’t respond. She uncaps the ink, unrolls the letter paper, dips her feather pen into the dark ink. She twirls the feather pen across the paper, her handwriting neat and proper as it dances across the paper. Something about the cursive calms her, possibly the way that it’s all connected with no room for errors. And Silver’s print has no errors. She’s done it too long for errors to even have a slim possibility of appearing. She pauses only to dip the feather in ink and to tinkle her chin with the feather in thought.

Snap

“Of course, what must I do?” Ira hands him a glass of wine and he takes with his left hand. His posture doesn’t relax and neither does Silver’s.

“I need you to go to Viras Treasury and steal—,” She holds up the faded paper with the drawing of the artifact and a little note in the corner. She found the paper in a metal box under her parents’ bed. Her eyes snap from the paper back to Desmond when he takes a sharp breath. “Do you know what this is?” She asks, a sharpness in her tone that — with normal people — would make them do her bidding at moments notice, whatever that bidding may be.

Shaking his head furiously, he says in a rush, “No, no,” He seems to regain his composure while Silver narrows her eyes at him. “I do not know what that is. Inform me?”

Drift

“Darling, if you stay in the tub any longer you’ll become a prune.” Ira teases after much time of quiet.

Silver opens her eyes — When did they drift closed? — and looks around the room, hating the thought of even leaving the still warm water. An aggravated sigh slips out her mouth as her pulls her self out of the tub. Ira is there the moment her feet hit the tile with a towel. She looks around as she drys off, just now noticing all the candles Ira lit when she was in the tub.

@fayoftheforest words: edge, cut, knife, point and trace

Edge

After hours of dancing but only felt like minutes to the two of them, Silver whispers, pressing her forehead to Ira’s, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? Is Desmond our best choice?”

“Darling, Desmond is our only choice. And we’re doing what we must.” Ira reassures.

“What we must.” Silver repeats, “And what is that?”

“Finding closure, love. We are finding your closure. After this, after we get the artifact, you’ll look forward and not back.” Ira assures.

“I don’t want to forget her, Ira, she was the one the saved me.” Tears glisten at the edges of Silver’s eyes.

Cut

Virow is a big city, getting to the mail post may be harder than Black thought. The further she walks from the docks and into the market, the more women and people dressed in fancy dresses and suits. Virow is the second richest place in Viras, right behind their capital, Strexmont. Captain Black stands out like a sore thumb in the sea of the rich dressed Virans bustling about their city. Their white skin and short cut dirty blond hair are their defining Viran features. Captain Black knows she stands out with her long dark blue hair, dark skin, and darker eyes. Her outfit — black trousers, grey loose tunic, long red overcoat, knee high black boots, long black leather gloves and two pistols tucked in the waistband of her pants — is also a far cry from the tight, form-fitting dresses of purples and light blue that most Viran women wear.

Point

They all get stuck in their heads, more often than is good, but Black likes to think that sometimes you need to get stuck in your head to clear it. But for many, their head is a dangerous place to be for more than a few minutes, maybe seconds.

Black stands and walks up to Ironside and gently shakes her shoulders. “Sal, Sal, it’s gonna be ok.” Ironside’s gaze is still set on a nonexistent point far away. Black steps back a few feet and snaps her fingers, not close to Ironside’s face, just close enough to startle. Ironside jumps slightly and shakes her head. “Ironside, Sal, head onto bed. It’s almost ten. You’ve been working all day, you need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

@nikkywrites words: knowledge, beautiful, wood, agree and lose.

Beautiful Beauty

The whole crew looks away from Black and shakes their heads. Black understands why they don’t want to stay on deck, they’ve been aboard for so long and they all have a little pocket coin that she is sure they want to spend. “No volunteers?” No response. Throwing her hands in the air, she says, “Golly, crew! Y’all gonna make your Captain stay aboard to make our beauty don’t get stolen?”

There was a long pause before, Lakoma raises their hand and says, “I’ll stay behind.”

Black shakes her head at Lakoma and the crew, “No, Oma, you will not stay aboard. You need,” She passes a full coin pouch into Lakoma’s hands. “You need to get us food. I’ll stay aboard, no trouble. Just be sure to stay on the look out for anything odd.”

Wood

“This is delicious Lakoma!” Black compliments. And it is, all of their food is. They’re a wonderful cook. To get them to relax a bit more, Black asks, “So what happened while we were caged up in here all day?”

The question works like a charm and the flood gates open. Lakoma is a story teller. Their passion is cooking but they are constantly telling stories without thinking about it. They start waving their hands, excitedly talking about everything that happened earlier that day. From what they cooked for breakfast to the jokes that Soberski told them. They talk about the herbs and medicines that Canta is mixing, the new wood sculpture Forester is carving, the punch that Braveheart was practicing, the tricks they saw Tonya doing on the masts, they talk about how everyone except them slept in. They mention watching people wander about the docks fishing and selling while their newest bread was cooking. Lakoma talks about anything and everything.

Agree

As soon as they leave the room, Black asks. “What do you think the person was looking for?”

“I don’t know, but it’s nothing good.” Ironside responds, her tone somber. They both know that whoever the person may be, he knows who they are and he might just try to ruin their heist.

“I agree.”

“This isn’t good, Black.” The tone of the room changes drastically. It is now rushed and worried when it was slow and nervous a minute ago. Ironside’s voices raises as she keeps talking. “What are we going to do? We can’t send y’all in there when we know someone could be waiting to ambush you! It would be a death wish!”

Lose

Ira stands a bit away, being sure to give Silver her space. While Ira can be close at all other times, when Silver is writing, she cannot. Silver has said that she can’t think when someone watches over her shoulder. Ira respects her wishes and stands far enough away that Silver can think. And only when Silver leans back in her chair and sets the feather down, does Ira go closer.

“May I?” Ira asks, waving a hand at the letter.

Whew! That was a lot of words to find! But I’m glad I caught up on all of them! I love these tags now that I have some writing that I can actually search through!

Tagging (with no pressure): @a-completely-normal-girl @fayoftheforest @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @tiredlittleoldme @teasenpaiwrites @baguettethebooklover @aligned-stars-writing @47crayons @alicewestwater and anyone else wants to!!

Your words are health, cancel, red, error and dear

#tag game #find the word tag game #wip. over land and sea #olas excerpts

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miracle-sham · 5 years ago

Text

Instead of Dead, Become Two Dragons in Red.

| {MaribatMarch2020 — Week 1, Day 5: Transformation} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| {Repost due to original post disappearing from the tags.} |

| Triggers/Warnings: Violence/Implied Violence, Animal Transformation, Explicit Language/Some Swearing, Implied/Referenced Character Death (but not really), Polyamory (not really a trigger/warning but if you don't like Polyamory then this isn't for you). |

| For Gotham vigilantes, rampaging magic-users always make for an interesting fight, that is of course, provided one doesn't get hit by any stray bolts of magic. However for Parisian heroes, it's just your typical Tuesday Akuma situation. |

| Word Count: 3232 |

==‹›==

| A/N: Hi! I'm not dead, sorry for how long I took to respond to comments, I got hit by a nasty cold then sinusitis so I lost basically all my Maribat March prep time thanks to that, so I just barely managed to finish this ficlet/oneshot for today, anyway I hope you guys enjoy, and if enough people enjoy it, I'll make a second part to this oneshot because I had to cut so much material and it'd be nice to be able to use it still. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or send me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==‹›==

Zzzzt-crackle-woosh, a purplish-black bolt of unstable magic flies through the air, just barely grazing passed Dragonbug's side as she flips across the gap between two buildings. Cheerfully, she calls out “Missed again!”

The villain, an amorphous black shadow with dripping molten gold eyes and donning a ruddy patchwork hooded robe (which suffice to say, looks suspiciously like a rip-off wizzrobe from the Legend of Zelda, that or a faceless Gregorian based cultist extra from a film or TV show), scowls furiously, “Oh fuck you! I'm trying my best here!” and blasts another bolt of purplish-black magic towards her.

Conveniently located on the roof she just landed on, is an air vent. She cartwheels behind it and manages to dodge the bolt by a good metre or so. “Well, your best sucks and so does your aim!”

The wizard-villain screeches in fury, “Well my aim wouldn't suck if you didn't keep moving like a goddamn Duracell bunny!”

Dragonbug snorts. “Yeah but firstly, I'm dragon and ladybird themed, not bunny-themed; the bunny theme's already taken anyway. And secondly, where's the fun in that?”

As soon as she says that, her earpiece crackles as Red Robin pipes up on the comms channel. “Ready to see some fireworks?”

“Oh, you bet!” She responds, all too gleefully.

There's a faint clink-woosh-woosh-woosh and out of the corner of her eye, Dragonbug sees a blur of a small round silver ball arcing through the air towards the wizard-villain who's quite stupidly standing in the same place. As the silver ball disappears from her view, she hears a clatter of clink-clink-clink followed by a bwoosh and a bright flash of white light. At this moment, Dragonbug is so glad the Miraculous suits protect against flashbangs of all things.

The wizard-villain screams and once the flash of light fades, Dragonbug can see that they've fallen to their knees, in the middle of the street.

Dragonbug frowns and eyes their form, then double-taps her comms. “Hey, is it me or does our rip-off wizzrobe-magic-cultist look somewhat unresponsive?”

Her earpiece crackles again as Red Robin answers, and really someone should give these things a maintenance check, the crackling can be so distracting. “Our wizzrobe-magic-cultist is looking pretty unresponsive to me too. It could be a trap though because I swear I didn't use one of my knockout flashbangs.”

She nods, despite the fact he can't see her; which upon realising this, she flushes red in embarrassment. After clearing her throat to compose herself, she tilts her head to the side. “That's concerning, unless our rip-off wizzrobe-magic-cultist is susceptible to flashes of light.” She pauses, frown deepening, “You don't think they've got epilepsy do you?”

There's a slight rustle before Red Robin responds, “No, that's not what an epileptic seizure looks like. Again this could be a trap, or they could just be stunned. Either way, we should hurry but be careful.”

“Right.” Dragonbug scurries over to the edge of the roof then flips her way down to the ground. As she lands, she just spots Red Robin vaulting across an overturned car. As he catches sight of her, she gives him a thumbs up, which he returns.

Dragonbug then nods to him and he nods back, silently communicating their plan. They both start to slowly approach the wizard-villain in a pincer movement, her to the left and him to the right.

Red Robin reaches to his bandoliers and whips out a pair of manacles. He skulks behind the wizard-villain and goes to handcuff when the wizard-villain starts cackling maniacally. The laughter is quickly followed by a forming orb of purplish-black light—the same light as the magic bolts.

Oh, fuck! Is Dragonbug's only thought as she immediately dives at Red Robin, who's started backing away; she uses herself to try and block him from the still-forming orb. Please let the Miraculous magic protect us both! She silently begs as the orb expands exponentially, unfortunately enveloping them both completely in a fraction of a second

The maniacal laughter is the last thing they both hear as they're violently launched backwards into an alleyway, and everything fades to black.

==‹›==

Kagami's lounging on the sofa at Tim's Nest and binging Netflix, when the red alert rings across all the comms units.

“Shit,” Oracle falters, “Red Robin and Dragonbug are down. Dragonbug's signature has disappeared from our systems and her comms aren't responding. All Red Robin's vitals are down, his suit isn't registering any more signs of life. But I'm still getting warnings that the villain they were fighting is still active, so everyone available needs to converge on Red Robin and Dragonbug's last known location.”

Fear immediately seizes Kagami's heart, no please, please don't be dead my loves. She double-taps her comms. “I'm suiting up as Kuro Neko, I'll be at the location in three.”

With that said, Kagami flings herself off the sofa. She glances around the room for Plagg who's halted in his eating of cheese and giving her a sad but cryptic look. Her eyes flicker to the window and he nods almost imperceptibly.

“Plagg, claws on.” There's a woosh as the poisonous green light washes over her, donning her in the Kuro Neko suit. She flexes her claws for a split second, tail whipping back and forth furiously, before darting over to the window and vaulting out of it.

As soon as she's out the window, Kuro Neko extends her baton down and begins pole-vaulting her way across the rooftops and over towards where her significant others were last.

==‹›==

When Dragonbug returns to consciousness, the first thing she notices is that she can't move, nor see, nor hear. But she can feel, and unfortunately that means she feels a strange painful pulsing throughout her entire body, as well as an excruciating aching sensation. The second thing she notices is that she's curled up on the ground and her head, or the world, is spinning somewhat. Anyway, I can safely say I'm not doing so good right about now, big ouch.

The first of her other senses to return is her hearing. Which immediately makes her hiss in pain from the sudden cacophony seemingly coming from somewhere above her? She pauses, then realises that something's not quite right, hey wait a minute, why'd my hiss sound so weird? Something's not right, although I suppose that's kinda obvious now, but still! Oh god, what if I'm dying, or I've been body switched, or—or—or—

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sudden scream of fury, ringing out from above. Which is good because it means Dragonbug doesn't get time to dwell on that particular string of anxious thoughts, but it's also bad because it's loud and causes her to whimper in pain from how loud it is.

“Where the fuck are they? What the fuck did you do to them?” A voice sounding very similar to Kagami yells out.

Wait a second, that doesn't make sense, Red Robin and I didn't call for backup, so why would Kagami suit up on her night off? Dragonbug muses to herself, brain immediately latching onto the next train of thoughts. As she muses, she slowly realises that she's starting to regain the feeling in her limbs. Which is another positive? However, the feel of said limbs, causes her mind to immediately blank and lose the train of thought. While her brain tries to figuratively perform an error message, she does finally manage to crack open her eyes, yay sight.

It's at that moment, Dragonbug's superhero experience/training kicks in. She quickly takes stock of her surroundings and quietly thinks to herself, oh fuck.

It looks like she's in a giant—no massive—version of Red Robin's suit. Have I been shrunk? She wonders for only a brief second as something moves, just out of the area of her view. She turns and squints at the movement. Not a second later, a roughly cat-sized red lizard shuffled into sight.

She squeaks in surprise, then has a minute of wait what because her squeak sounded weird and very concerningly not-human-like.

The red lizard tilts its head to the side and coos at her.

Dragonbug glares at the lizard and tries to back away. Emphasis on tries, because as she does so, she ends up tripping over herself? Confused and extremely concerned now, she glances down and oh.

What. The. Heckles. She slowly spins around, checking out her new form, because she's clearly no longer human. No, she's got a snout, scales, fur—well mane—, claws, a long snakelike body, and a tail. Spinning around, she catches sight of a gleaming piece of shiny silver metal. So does what anyone would in the same situation as her, and scuttles over to it to use it as a makeshift mirror.

The reflection that greets her is… frankly quite adorable but also she's now a tiny little lung/long dragon. Which to be fair, makes quite a bit of sense as she was using the dragon Miraculous and Longg is a lung dragon. Her scales are a pretty red with shimmery golden accents and her mane is a dark red-almost-black colour. Her eyes still have the golden yellow iris and sclera that the dragon Miraculous gives. And the rest of her is all done variation of the gold, brighter red, and darker red. So at least her colour palette doesn't clash. Okay, so the colour palette isn't the most pressing issue here, but also I don't know how to fix this or change back so y'know, I'd rather potentially be stuck like this permanently with a nice colour palette, than one that clashes. But also oh god please don't let this be permanent, there has to be a way to undo this!

In her panic, Marinette doesn't notice the red lizard slinking closer to her. As it reaches her, it gently prods her with one claw; startling her badly and causing her to squeak again, loudly.

The red lizard flinches back and Marinette realises that maybe, just maybe, that's not a random lizard. And that maybe the not-a-random-lizard is actually a drake. A European dragon that hasn't got wings. And Tim. Tim's surname is Drake. A coincidence? I think not! It's got to be Tim!

She stares at the probably-Tim dragon and makes a chirping noise because dragons don't have the same vocal cords as humans, so she can't exactly ask him if that's him or not. A minor nuisance, to say the least.

The red drake mimics her chirp. Then cautiously slinks up to her again.

This close, Marinette can see that she's probably around the size of a ferret, in comparison to him being roughly the same size as a cat.

He flops down half beside, half against her and makes a series of clicks and chirps. She can't help but to tense as he flops but as the seconds pass, she finds herself relaxing bit by bit until she's also flopped over.

Enjoying the peaceful impromptu not-quite-a-cuddle cuddle session with one of her significant others, Marinette does try to keep an ear out for any goings-on above, just in case. But all seems well.

That is until, not even three seconds later, the peacefulness is abruptly shattered by a cacophony of screams, yells, zaps, and loud bangs echoing shrilly from above, before ceasing just as abruptly as it started.

However, the unexpected cacophony still manages to cause Marinette to panic. She tenses with a low whine, hunching slightly, and holds her breath. Alert and anxiously vigilant, she can't help but survey the immediate vicinity again and again and again—looking for anything she missed initially or if anything's changed.

Tim shuffles and stumbles into a sitting position. He nudges her gently in the side of the neck with his snout. He makes a cooing noise, followed by a soft rumble—as if he were trying to imitate a cat's purr.

It takes a few seconds, but his actions start to help calm her down. She takes in a deep breath and mentally reassesses the situation. We've been turned into tiny dragons. We're inside-slash-underneath the Red Robin suit which is on the ground. Before we woke up like this, we were battling a magic-user villain who tricked us. We didn't get time to call in backup before we got hit but it sounds like backup arrived anyway. As far as we know, no one is aware of what happened to us or that we're in-slash-under the suit. We are currently safe for now.

As Marinette reaches the end of the reassessment, she feels much calmer. She makes a low trill-like-purr noise to signal to Tim that she's calmed down.

He sticks his tongue out in a blep and mimics the low trill.

Their second moment of calm is then also interrupted because apparently fate hates peace and calmness or something like that.

“I will ask you once more, Where. Are. They?” Kuro Neko questions.

There's a loud thump-snap, followed by the wheezing cackle of the Wizard-villain. “They're gone! Dead! Erased! Exterminated!” With its piece said, the wizard-villain continues to wheeze and cackle maniacally.

Marinette can't help but shiver in fear at the sound, barely able to squash the rising nausea.

A harsh snap sound echoes loudly in the street and the wizard-villain starts choking wetly.

Kuro Neko hisses something but the red robin suit muffles the words to the point of being indistinguishable.

The minutes drag by and the only sounds of note from above, are inaudible mutterings and the clattering of handcuffs and car doors. They must've handed the wizard-villain over to the police, Marinette thinks.

She's about to go nudge Tim to try and communicate that they probably need to go find somewhere to stash his suit and a place for them to hide until they can figure out how to turn back when a conversation between the vigilantes who arrived for backup catches her attention. Partly because of the topic, and partly because of how close the voices suddenly sound.

“They can't be dead, Red Robin's suit is still there.” Dick—or well more like Nightwing, since he probably arrived as backup as well—stresses.

“But Dragonbug an' her suit's gone. You'd think maybe that there'd be a little more left if just organic matter was destroyed.” Jas—Red Hood mutters, the vocal distorter in his helmet making his tone of voice sound strange.

Or maybe that's just a side effect of getting tiny-dragon-ified, thinks Marinette, things sounding stranger. Although I've not really noticed anything bar the distorted voice sounding weird.

“The Miraculous suits are made of magic, and anyway, Plagg says he can't feel Tikki or Longg's presence anywhere,” Kuro Neko admits, reluctantly. “If all living things in the vicinity of the orb were destroyed, then the Miraculous would have still been left behind.”

“And how d'you know that?” Red Hood asks, sounding both genuinely curious and mildly concerned.

There's a split second of almost icy silence before Kuro Neko responds with a clipped tone. “Akuma.”

“Ah, o'course.” Red Hood comments, voice getting closer again. “Hey, d'you think B will want to stick the Red Robin suit in a memorial case like what he did with my Robin suit?”

“Hood!” Nightwing exclaims in a horrified and almost scandalised tone of voice.

Red Hood snorts.

Marinette flinches, and so does Tim beside her, although probably not for the same reasons as her. I don't think I'll ever get used to how flippantly Red Hood jokes about his death. Even if most Parisians who've died in Akuma attacks use the same sort of gallows humour.

There's a few seconds of silence before someone grabs the Red Robin suit and yanks it upwards, causing Tim and Marinette to tumble out of it with a series of startled squeaks and clicks.

Red Hood is the first to respond to the situation, with an eloquent, “what the fuck.”

Marinette glances up and sees Kuro Neko holding the Red Robin suit and looking rather shell shocked, with Red Hood and Nightwing a few steps away.

“Oh, thank fuck they're alive.” Nightwing half mumbles, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation.

“My loves,” Kuro Neko murmurs leaning down and scooping up Marinette and Tim, “I'm so glad you're okay.”

They both squirm for a minute before relaxing into her arms.

Nightwing frowns. “We should bring them back to the cave, maybe call Zatanna and Wonder Woman.”

“To the cave then.” Kuro Neko nods, hugging Marinette and Tim carefully, making sure not to accidentally hurt or squish them.

Marinette looks up at her significant other and bleps. She then trills, content to be held for the journey back to the Batcave.

Tim however, wrinkles his nose and chirrups in protest, he squirms and tries to escape Kuro Neko's hold—probably wanting to return to the Nest and deal with this on his own instead.

Kuro Neko gives Tim a deadpan stare before expertly pinching the correct pressure point to temporarily paralyse him.

Red Hood gives her a quizzical stare.

“Akuma, as well as kwami.” She responds, sagely.

“Right…” He slowly mutters, shaking his head.

Marinette can't help but burst into laughter at that, only because she's currently a ferret-sized lung dragon, the laughter comes out as a stream of trills and chirps.

Red Hood narrows his eyes at Marinette. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, danger noodle.”

Marinette pouts, whilst internally promising herself that revenge will be swift and pasta themed.

==‹›==

When they finally arrive back at the Batcave. They're greeted by the sight of Batman and Robin at the Batcomputer.

Robin turns and sneers at them. “Of course, trust Drake to pull such an attention-grabbing stunt as this.”

Marinette immediately looks up from her snuggled up position in Kuro Nell's arms and hisses at Robin; Tim however, lets out a world-weary sigh.

“Robin.” Barks Batman, but the reprimand does nothing to quell Robin's hostility.

Fixing a glare at Robin, Kuro Neko starts to stroke Marinette's scales like an evil villain would stroke a cat (much to Marinette's delight). “Need I remind you, how you hesitated upon hearing Oracle inform us that Red Robin's suit ceased reading any signs of life.”

“That was not hesitation! I was merely preparing for Grayson or Fatgirl to become hysterical in their distress.” Retorts Robin, who then stalks away, scowling and red-faced.

Nightwing dithers between going after him or staying to check on Tim and Marinette.

Kuro Neko shakes her head. “Go after him, Marinette and Tim will be fine without you hovering like a mother hen.”

Nightwing flashes her a grateful smile and scampers after Robin.

Kuro Neko then heads over to the medical bay and gently plonks the two dragons onto a cot. “Batman, I believe we will need to do as Nightwing suggested earlier, and call Zatanna and Wonder Woman. As this is a magic situation and I am not as skilled or knowledgeable in regards to magic as my love is.”

“Hhrrm,” Batman growls, already calling up the Watchtower.

Kuro Neko smiles softly as she glances down at her significant others, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Let's hope they arrive soon, otherwise who knows what sort of trouble you two could get into.” She winks.

Marinette chirps, tail flicking side to side eagerly. Whilst Tim perks up slightly and tilts his head to the side, mind probably racing with hundreds of pranks and shenanigans they could pull off whilst in dragon form.

==‹›==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| @maribat-march2020 | | @vixen-uchiha |

#Miraculous Ladybug #Maribat #ML x DC #DC x MLB #MaribatMarch2020 #Timinette #MariTim #Timari #MariTimGami #MaribatMarch Week 1 #MaribatMarch Day 5 #MaribatMarch Transformation #Instead of Dead Become Two Dragons in Red #IoDBTDiR #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years ago

Note

Love your blog! Could we have a snippet of a starker good marriage au? Where Tony comes home one night to see his hiding place not exactly how he left it so he checks the Internet history (sloppy peter) and realises his husband has put it together. So he goes upstairs but peters there- in bed, not calling the police...or maybe from peters POV? Whichever you prefer! Super fan over here ;) ☺️❤️

Awww thanks nonnie!! You’re so lovely and I have utterly butchered your prompt, for that I am exceedingly sorry. This is not remotely good, whatever this is.

Warnings: Dark!Tony, mentions of murder, child abuse, dark fluff

———-

It’s long been said that home is where the heart is.

Whatever it meant, Peter had always found that the old adage difficult to reconcile with - after all, home was six years old, belt welts and whiskey breath. It was holes in his sneakers, cupboards that echoed and the purple and red on the side of his mother’s mouth. Home was something you carried with you to the principal’s office, the hot end of the cigarette and being firmly told that his red-raised knuckles are not pillars to rest on.

What was home if you didn’t choose it - if you were always trying to run away from it?

That’s what he’d always thought anyway - and that’s what he did. Threadbare hoodie, battered backpack and clutching the fifty he’d stolen, Peter ran. He fled into the warm embrace of his Aunt May who mended his patchwork heart with Sinatra on Sunday mornings and hot chocolate, Luke Skywalker nights.

Love for May was the sound of New York traffic and the smell of nicotine drifting from her bedroom window, overcooked spaghetti and the tickle of her hair on his skin. She wasn’t perfect but she made him feel like he had a place, a room with no conditions.

When she died a few years after, Peter ran again. He made a map of heart-lines all across the state trying to find himself in all of the people he came across. From the lonely girl with the curly hair who offered him a kind smile as he shivered around a steaming cup of coffee, to the boy with the brilliant brain and piercing blue eyes who made made grainy, chalk-masterpieces on worn footpaths.

He never knew most of them but their faces were like picture frames, their conversations his home movies.

The price of living in a place he was supposed to call home in New York never got cheaper and so he worked. He was working for eight dollars an hour and twenty percent off stock when Peter had first met Tony.

Tony Stark, he’d introduced himself as. An older man, dark suit, salt-and-pepper temples. Old school charm and eyes that were gentle.

It was easy to find a home in Tony.

The way his arms wrapped around Peter felt more like four walls than anywhere he’d found a roof overhead and so they dated. They dated and fought and fucked, dug themselves into each others skin. The furrow was so deep they had got married six months after their first kiss, neither of them had family except each other now - Peter didn’t look backwards from where he had ran from.

It was hard to want to when he walked home after a long day, trudging himself up to their single-room apartment with the leaking roof and the floorboards that squeaked in protest when you stepped over them, the tap that never stopped dripping - and Tony, the centre of it all.

Tony was there to massage his aching shoulders after an arduous day, to kiss his forehead, his cheek, his lips, to enter through the doorway into his body and whisper sweet-nothings into his ear like wind whistling against the windows. Tony was all finger-tracing, wit and he called Peter husband so fondly like it was a gift. It was easy to love him.

Eventually they started their own business together, moving out of the one-bedroom into something more quaint on the outskirts of town by the oak trees. A cottage he cared for because Tony was in it - an extension of them, but just a thing.

They tasted success as business bloomed, dealing and appraising rare-coins, combining both of their loves into a venture that made Peter feel like he was someone, like an explorer, like he was bringing together his half to their whole.

But success meant Tony was out of town sometimes for their clients.

It left them both somewhat vacant whenever he had to go, never more than a day or two, Tony stealing remorseful kisses in the lowlight of dawn as he leaves, taking the light with him.

For Peter there was not one place called home when home was a person - because when that person is not there it is just a house. A property. Just four walls whose roof isn’t as comforting as his husbands body wrapped around him, inside him. A house didn’t have a heartbeat he could feel thumping under his hand or look at Peter with an adoring smile, soft eyes that crinkled around the edges. A house didn’t breathlessly tell Peter they loved him, didn’t hold him when he wept through the afterimages of his nightmares, didn’t make him feel like he was a cathedral, worth more than weathered sneakers and the pink stitches of skin on his back.

Years passed, settling into their new community like the way that the smell of tobacco latches onto fabric in that weary what can you do about it kind of way. Peter didn’t mind so much feeling like an outlier, he had Tony and their work and passion for both that kept him warm.

He stayed in the shell they called residence when Tony was out on business and when he came back Tony made him remember that he was a temple. Tony’s tongue licked and laved and moved inside him, all reverence and repentance. Peter was only too eager to forgive for just one more loving kiss.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t immediately turn around and leave everything behind when he stumbled in their dusty garage, used only when either of them pretended to care about gardening. Maybe that’s why he didn’t pack up and run again when he found the dog tags and the ID card in a hidden compartment in the metal shelving.

Michelle Jones.

Steven Grant Rogers.

The names sounded like his heart jarring, like a baseball breaking through a window - he didn’t know what else to do except gingerly place the items back in the box and wander back into the house in a confused daze, because why, dust motes and orange sun rays in his eyes. Despite swearing never to drink the whiskey Tony keeps in stock Peter finds himself reaching for it. It always burns.

He’d always drank it sticky and smoky from Tony’s lips anyway.

The wind rattles against the windows and he remembered he needed batteries for the storm, the torches laying uselessly on the coffee table when the lights begin to flicker. But he still has signal on his phone and the light of his laptop to guide his hand to the bottle and the keys as he spells out their names into the search bar and what comes back up is deceased and mystery and suddenly the whiskey doesn’t taste too bad anymore.

The lonely girl with the curly hair.

The brilliant boy with blue eyes.

The whiskey emboldens him to keep typing furiously, misspelling often as his vision blurs and his throat burns.

Peter can trace a disappearance to every single one of Tony’s business trips, the dates, the locations. It all aligns right before him, like pages that had been missing all along.

The victims, at least five of them, are murdered with the same signature method: blunt force trauma followed by the post-mortem removal of the victims heart.

The cavity left in the deceased’s chest is always filled with pennies.

He doesn’t even realise he’s called Tony until the man answers, tinny and concerned on the other end of the call. Dwindling percentage blinks back at him, a shaky thumb pressing the call to speaker.

“…Baby? You there?”

“I’m here,” Peter swallows. “Just wanted to call you. Miss you.”

He hears Tony’s soft sigh as clear as the whistling wind. “Miss you too, baby. I’ll be home soon, promise.”

He sniffs. “When’s soon?”

“Soon,” Tony laughs, low and familiar. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, feeling syrupy, eyes glazing over. “Just wanted to hear your voice. There’s a storm.”

Peter doesn’t like loud noises. Doesn’t like metal clanging, glass shattering, doesn’t like how thunder sounds like belt buckles and upturned chairs hitting floors and fists on walls and how it reminds him that houses can only protect him from the elements. Sometimes when it storms Tony will curl up behind him in bed, and place his hands over Peter’s ears and press kisses to neck, other times he will stand with Peter in the shower until the water runs cold, their rapture echoing off the tiles.

There’s a pause.

“You sure you’re okay? Why don’t you turn some music on and get under the covers, sweetheart.”

“Good idea,” Peter lies. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

The thing with finding a home in a person is that sometimes there are parts to uncover and things you only notice when you stare long enough - secret rooms, hidden compartments and it’s just after that you notice the one floorboard that has begun to rot and ceilings that have cracks or the way the door hinges doesn’t work just right. Maybe he doesn’t work just right, either.

You can either pack-up and leave, or content yourself with the window that sticks and the dust-motes and say there aint no place like it.

“Love you too,” Peter whispers, shaking to his core as thunder rolls overhead.

——-

Tony comes home early.

His husbands eyes are dark when he finds Peter curled up in their bed later, late enough for the pale grey of early morning to filter through the glass. One of Tony’s business shirts is draped over Peter’s shoulders, curtain to everything outside of their bed as he rouses.

“You left your laptop open. You been doin’ some research, baby?” Tony croaks, jaw set, mouth turned downwards.

Peter doesn’t like that so he beckons, arms like open doorways when he reaches for his husband and takes him by the hand, wedding rings clicking togethers like locks latching. In Tony’s other hand is the ID and the dog-tags dangling by his side. He’s over being mad about being kept in the dark, long away off the initial burn of anger, too relieved that the vacancy is full again to mourn.

It feels like home when Tony kneels onto the bed and presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, like their bed is a pulpit, the heat of Tony’s body as he nuzzles into his side a sermon.

Peter turns his head to capture his lips, wondering how long Tony has been praying to him.

“Some” he admits. “I might need to pick your brain later. How did the trip go?”

Tony stills for a moment before the bristles of his beard scrape Peter’s cheek, a smile.

“Good. I found us a 1955 double die cent.”

“How much did the owner want for it?” Peter asks, raising their joined hands to kiss Tony’s red-raised knuckles, all copper and nickel.

The shirt falls loosely around his waist when he shrugs it off just to see how Tony’s eyes become a cavern, the slack of his jaw an invitation that Peter has always wanted to run into and curl up in. Maybe he should be running from the dark inside it, the unexplored territory, but he doesn’t. It just feels like a heartbeat, steadfast as a metronome, home.

“Just a few pennies,” Tony answers, eyes falling to Peter’s heart.

#starker #starker fic #good marriage au #dark tony #tw: murder #tw: mentioned child abuse #i don't know what this is #and i am profoundly sorry #how far can you stretch a metaphor

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spiderman-spoilerman · 5 years ago

Text

SPIDERMAN EXPOSED BECAUSE OF TAYLOR SWIFT ADDICTION: What Is Peter Parker to Spider-Man?

This shit that has been going on for months now has finally been solved. For the longest time I’ve been following Spider-Man oh so very closely, eager to find out his identity—not to expose it to the media vultures, oh no, our hero deserves more than that. But… to satisfy my own curiosity. He’s the only Avenger hiding his identity, you know? You’d think they’d be okay with it after all these other superheroes get to run around freely…

Anyway!

As you all know, countless names have been linked to Spider-Man. He seems close with Tony Stark, but that’s hardly relevant. There’ve been links to JD Slinger, the American Pop Singer, in a very poor attempt to sell records—you’re not Hannah Montana JD fucking Slinger! Stick to your trash music!!!

However untrue and disappointing Slinger’s attempt at fame is, he’s not the only one with musical elements that is linked to Spider-Man.

A few months ago, a viral video entering adorable and kind of pedos-get-the-fuck-out-of-here-territory circulated around the internet and into our nightly news, as does every baby goes viral video does. You can check it out on the link below for a good dose of endorphins.

[Link: Baby boy wants to be Taylor Swift, re-uploaded by djflash]

[Description: A six-year old boy is standing in the shower with a towel draped over his body like a makeshift cloak, he is clutching his tooth brush on and seems to be furiously lip syncing. The camera shakes as the person behind the camera stifles laughter.

May Parker, the original uploader and aunt of the then-toddler Peter, asks: Aren’t you tired Peter? From all the singing? You’ve been singing for two hours. Aren’t you cold?

Peter is intensely staring at the mirror as he lip-syncs but pauses to look at May. He says in a tired and raspy voice: Yeah, but, but my fans! I need to sing, Auntie May, for the fa— [looking harried] DROP EVERYTHING NOW, MEET ME IN THE POURING RAIN—

The sound of Peter singing is drowned by May’s scream as Peter falls on his butt, having jumped with his passion for the song, and tripping.

It cuts off with May laughing while taking Peter in her arms, phone capturing her picking him up and hearing Peter crying as he tries to get back to the mirror: It—doesn’t hurt May. Need to get back—my! My concert!

Video ends]

Now how does a viral video of a baby Taylor Swift fan connect to Spider-Man?

Well, May Parker posted it on Facebook when Flash Thompson, who claims to be a good friend of Peter Parker (although I highly doubt this, he’s only in it for the clout and Spider-Man’s love, click here for more on Flash), decided to share it to everyone. One of his reposts on Twitter propelled it to viral success.

Weeks later, May Parker decided to bless us again with more content by taking a video of her now teenage (17 years old—PEDO’S STAY AWAY) nephew singing, once again, a Taylor Swift song.

[Link: I’m so glad im seventeen and can properly thirst upon this wonderful hooman]

[Description: They are in the kitchen this time and May Parker is being discreet with her video-taking. A Taylor Swift song ends softly from his phone’s tiny speakers. A Spotify ad interrupts but the video cuts it off two seconds later for another Taylor Swift song to filter in.

We take in the scenario. Peter is in his pyjamas, shaking his booty while singing Stay Stay Stay. He flourishes his hands a few times, dramatizing, “That’s when you came in wearing a football helmet, and I said, [he changes voices] “Okay, let’s talk” [he finishes one pancake and pours a new batter in before using the ladle as a microphone, as if in anticipation for the moment, and, back bent, face scrunched up, belts: STAYSTAYSTAY I’ve b EEN LUH-VING YOU FOR QUITE SOME TIME- TI-HIME! YOU THINK THAT ITS FUNNEH WHEN I’M—OH MAN, I spilled batter on my shirt!”

The camera shakes with May’s silent laughter. Peter does not seem to notice. He looks side to side, almost as if he is looking for something to wipe the batter with, but there are no paper towels in sight and his shirt is dripping with the excess batter the size of his fist.

In the most compelling, and understandable, moment of decision making, Peter has chosen not to be responsible and strips instead, to the utter delight of seventeen-year old’s in the world (and ONLY those younger than that! Pedos, I swear to god, if I see you, I kill you, that last blog was the last time you make me burn my eyes!)—a wonderful set of abs and toned muscles you would not expect from a seventeen year old boy singing to Taylor Swift with the squeakiest voice in the world. Adorable. Ten points for my good boy ranks.

The video ends with Peter staring further at the shirt and licking at the batter before it violently cuts off to the roaring laughter of one May Parker]

It is peculiar, to watch May navigate the wonders of technology, too, because the first video was on her Facebook years unnoticed before Flash Thompson unearthed it for the world to see (Mr. Thompson, what exactly were your intentions going through a beautiful May Parker’s Facebook pictures?). But this time, she also apparently intended to send it to Peter’s friend’s Instagram account. However, the fluke came when she posted it and tagged them instead.

People who have followed her upon the first viral video have now decided it to be God’s work to distribute the video, making it viral within days. The very same people were the ones who noticed that Peter Parker’s singing style is the very same as Spider-Man’s.

I hear you gasp. Well, of course. I spit my tea as well, when I realized it too.

See, unless you were living under a rock, about a year ago, Spider-Man was exposed as a Taylor Swift fan when he saved a ten year old girl and began teaching her about the History and Influence of Swift’s discography and career, before proceeding to sing with her the hit song Speak Now. All of it was caught on camera, of course.

The people who spread this new video started a conspiracy theory that Spider-Man and Peter Parker are very similar people. One user @finn-man-the-aquaman pointed out that Spider-Man and Peter Parker’s voice are very similar. Another user @maxine_and_spider-man compared the dance moves from the two videos, putting frames of each steps beside each other, and found that it was so uncannily similar that it couldn’t have been a coincidence. It was an interesting point to make, because both Peter and Spider-Man had particular steps, all seemingly on a whim, but also matching each other perfectly. They are by no means good dancers, God no, but their whimsical dancing looks like two bad dancers following one choreography, couldn’t follow it technically but committed to it emotionally.

Twitter user @emiliar summarized it the best: the chest pump, the feet extension, the little jig, and the butt shake, before leaning backward and singing at the height of their emotions— apparently this is a common dance choreography?

To which @pissshitcry responded with a video that would bring us the wonderful breakthrough that I’ve been walking you all through.

[VIDEO uploaded by spidermansavedmetwice]

[Caption by @pissshitcry: No. Apparently: ]

[Video Description: Spider-Man is swinging through the buildings before stopping by Midtown High School, in front of a harried looking student, screaming frantically, and this is it folks: CAN YOU GIVE THIS TO NED LEEDS, TELL HIM SPIDER-MAN THANKS HIS FRIEND PETER! tHANKS! Before zipping away

Video ended]

Now. Okay. I know, calm down guys, I’m trying so hard not to run up the hills and do an Irish Jig, because I am so, so, so excited about all these new revelations! Nobody has quite documented this, too, so people, watch out for more of my content in a few weeks.

SO! Implication one: Spider-Man knows Ned Leeds.

Implication two: Peter Parker helped Spider-Man somehow.

Implication three: Spider-Man knows Peter Parker.

Cut, do it again, but with more emotions: SPIDER-MAN KNOWS PETER PARKER.

Let’s zoom back to a few weeks after the viral hits and Taylor Swift posts a video of her watching the video and then saying into the camera, with that iconic red lipstick and perfectly sculpted eyebrows: I have never thought this would be something that will happen to me in my career ever, but seeing a super-hero sing praises about me and teaching my [and she quotes from Spider-Man’s erratic explanation about her history] “unattainable song-writing prowess equal to that of the rock singing legends of ye old—” really does bring a smile to my face! More than that, Peter Parker is an absolute cutie too! He looks like such a sweetheart, baking those pancakes, apparently, for her aunt? Be sweet to your aunts guys! But also. I came here to cordially invite both Spider-Man and Peter Parker to come out to my concert in New York in two weeks! I’ll be there May 25th at the Lincoln Center, and maybe we can all sing together!”

She ends the video with the iconic Spider-Man wrist flip. The video has been circulated and has now gained over an estimated 100 million views.

It sparked a buzz of interest among the people, Peter Parker having received much of the spotlight. He hasn’t said anything in relation to Spider-Man but had reluctantly agreed to go to Swift’s invite. And I cannot emphasize the reluctant part. Kid looked so uncomfortable, but maybe he’s just shy!

Okay. Now, this thing is the most glaring indicator of what I will be telling you. The night of the concert. Everyone is there for Swift, but everyone is also there waiting for the much-awaited Spider-Man and Peter Parker saga. Halfway into her song list, Taylor Swift stopped to talk. The time has come.

Peter Parker walks into the stage, and the crowd welcomes him with adoring cheers, similar to Swift’s entrance herself. She introduces him, even though she absolutely does not need to, and the people scream their approval.

When Swift gives him his own mic, he almost drops it before catching it with his incredible reflexes. Swift calls for Spider-Man to reveal himself, much to the delight of the crowd, chanting his name as if it was a concert for him, which, in many ways, it kind of was. However, Spider-Man didn’t appear after that and the duo had to continue on.

It was a cute performance, with Parker stumbling a few times before getting the groove with Swift and belting it out as well. Everyone joins in on them singing and enjoying her old songs, Swift smiling and laughing the whole time.

Peter leaves the stage Spider-Man plushies and roses thrown for him, to which he received with a graceful bow. Swift resumes her concert after a few hearty jokes thrown in—but wait! What’s that?!

A screaming insect crashes at one of the large LED walls at the stage and the camera [and the collective crowd] is surprised to see the superhero—SPIDER-MAN!

“Ehehehe, hello Miss Taylor Swift, Ma’am!” He says, in a particularly deeper voice. Autotune? Before they sing it out, as they would—Swift laughing, and Spider-Man trying—Spider-Man explains that he was nervous meeting Peter Parker, before scrambling to correct that it was Swift he was nervous about meeting.

Swift then teases Spider-Man about a potential crush, which.

BRINGS US TO MY BREAKTHROUGH POINT.

TAYLOR SWIFT WAS ABOUT TO BRING US THE GAY COUPLE OF THE CENTURY, BUT SPIDER-MAN WAS TOO CHICKEN TO GET TO IT.

Okay, alright, I hate pedos, and we don’t exactly know Spider-Man’s age but we do know that he’s very young, what with all the pop culture references he’s been dropping with the intuition of an internet native. So, he’s young, alright? Possibly Gen-Z, even. Here’s a post you can see about his age analysis.

SPIDER-MAN. HAS. A. CRUSH. ON. PETER. PARKER.

[Insert hand chopping movements]

AND THEY ALMOST HAD A CUTE MOMENT ON STAGE HAD SPIDER-MAN BRAVED IT THROUGH.

PETER PARKER, AND I MEAN, PETER PARKER! SPIDER-MAN HAS A CRUSH ON YOU!

We’ve established that Spider-Man knows Peter Parker. They’ve met. Peter has possibly helped, or even saved Spider-Man himself. Now, saving a superhero is something that not just anybody does. And Parker himself is a student at Midtown Science High—he’s a smart kid! And seeing as these events just happened months apart, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to imagine them meeting again, perhaps, with Parker making pancakes in dewy mornings, and a tired (and yearning) Spider-Man is watching from the windows as Peter dances along to Swift’s songs.

The watching from the windows theory and thus getting to know the choreography might not be so creepy if you factor in the fact that Spider-Man might be hiding his crush for Parker’s safety!

It is like the modern incarnation of Super-Hero romance, only now, its more inclusive! To exist in such a beautiful world, and to watch such an innocent tale bloom in this cruel, cruel world. We could only hope to see more of them together, maybe as something... more?

COMMENTS:

reblogged by thunderstrike: this is like someone trying to overanalyze twilight for some depth—THERE ISN’T ONE!

thunderstrike reblogged by spidahmanna: come on, give them some credit at least for recounting the most batshit insane crossover in the universe as we know it so far

reblogged by skdfas: this person needs help, but very entertaining to read

reblogged by nedleads: oH MY GOD

reblogged by kliyon: new ship, age appropriate Spider-Man x Peter Parker

reblogged by ekeke: um yes, i need a dash of meet-cute with one cup of flavored angst—soda please, I like it to hurt— large fluff, a BFF serving of some of them yearning, and a happy sad-meal for one please.

reblogged by unaunann: im done with this site, who wants to burn the internet with me?

3, 000 reblogs in 1 day

Tony, reading the blog: Hmmm…

[Later]

Tony: Okay so I read this blog and I have remedied it.

Peter: Oh my god thankyoumisterstark I swear I didn’t mean to—

Tony: You are now the biggest shareholder for Spotify because I know you don’t want me to pay for a premium account, but if you’re gonna listen to those damn ads while singing to Taylor Swift, at least earn from it, you know?

Peter: …that’s what you took from the whole thing?

NEXT ARTICLE: The Avengers film a parody of Queen’s I Want To Break Free. Is Captain America is as beautiful as Rogerina, or is he too buff??? Tony Stark is an iconic drama queen, perfect for Freddie Mercury, and more!

#spider-man: far from home #Spider-Man: Homecoming #spiderman #taylor swift #tony stark #fluff #WHO WANTS A REACTION FROM THE AVENGERS FOR THIS #Spider-Man Identity reveal #parody #fake blog post #avengers #fanfiction

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destielharlequinchallenge · 5 years ago

Text

Coming soon from the DHC

Title: Now Trending!

Created by: PaperAnn

Summary: When journalist Castiel Krushnic goes to a Dodgers game with his actor boyfriend, his man bun, and his bros, the last thing he expects is a scoreboard proposal. Saying no isn't the hard part—they've only been dating for five months, and the fool can’t even spell his name correctly! The hard part is the silence after shocking a stadium full of disappointed fans… At the game with his family, Dean Winchester comes to Cas’ rescue and rushes him away from a camera crew. He’s even there for him when the video goes viral, when Cas’ social media blows up—in a bad way—doing his best assisting with damage control. Cas knows the wilds of LA (he‘s part of it) so there’s no way a handsome, up-and-coming doctor like Dean is looking for anything serious. That doesn’t mean they can’t embarks on an epic rebound as Cas gets his life back on track—right? As time goes on, their glorified hookups start breaking the rules—it wasn’t supposed to happen! One of them needs to be smart enough to speak up, to slow them down, if not end it completely before they’re too far gone…if that line hasn’t been crossed already.

Rating: Explicit

Major Warnings and Tags: no ao3 warnings apply; Rom-Com, Journalist Cas, Doctor Dean, Comedy of Errors, Awkward Situations, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn Romance, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean, Fluff, Humor and Light Angst

Where to find more work by this creator: ao3 and tumblr

Preview:

Castiel knew there might be paparazzi at the game, but seeing them pursue interviews during downtime was tacky—his boyfriend a celebrity or not. Still, it unbelievable they had the balls to rush in and additionally distract the other VIPs!

“This is ridiculous. I’ll handle it,” Cas assured and stalked off, scanning for trademarked logos. There was nothing delicate about how he pushed the group back and crowded them towards the sidelines. “Who the hell do you work for? Star? In Touch? Fuckin’ Fox News?”

He seized the boom pole, knocking it down as subtly as possible. “From one journalist to another, this is an inappropriate time to fish for a story. If you insist on invading people’s personal lives, keep your distance, or—"

His boyfriend insisting from behind, “It’s okay, babe, I’ve got a good story for him,” was both as frustrating as it was confusing when he took Cas’ hand.

What the hell? He was advocating for him! Cas didn’t get involved with movie deals, why should he interfere when Cas dealt with the press? One thing was certain: he was finished being well-behaved today.

Cemented in staring down the camera crew, he ordered, “You better pray I don’t find out what network you’re with!”

He was weighing the options of dismissal or threats of bodily harm when suddenly, something else very, very perplexing happened.

The, “Hey, Cas,” flanking him grated more than usual. The quality was off—wrong—within the words themselves.

They were….well, everywhere. Booming, echoing, surrounding him completely—projecting from the stadium's loudspeakers.

An explosion of applause, cheering, and other odd noises erupted from the crowd. What the hell—?

—Why wasn’t the camera crew leaving? Why his wrist being tugged? Why was the sound guy gesturing backwards, making Cas want to punch him in the fucking face—?!

One yank—the brute-force type—forced Cas to spin back. His boyfriend was grinning like a loon.

“I’m protecting you, your privacy,” Castiel hissed, but he wasn’t being heard, nothing was sinking in!

“I gotta say something—” This continual attempt silencing him wouldn’t end well... “Check it out, gorgeous!”

“What, is your team up?” he scoffed sarcastically, tearing his grip away.

As the field fell quiet, Cas realized his own voice was amplified. Desperate for answers, Cas’ attention darted where he’d been pointed—the scoreboard.

On the massive jumbo screen, it read: “Casstile - Will You Marry Me?”

Everything crashed down.

The camera crew’s persistence. His boyfriend’s finicky behavior. The volume—they must have mic’d him during the break—now in proximity to pick up Cas’ words—!

Cas turned to see him bow down to knee, “Castiel Krushnic, marry me?” audience ‘ooo’ing and ‘aww’ing.

The sad thing was...maybe he loved Cas. But this was fake—that smile was for the cameras. Not Castiel.

He should’ve acted like an adult: agreeing publicly and handling their affairs privately. But he was riled up and war-torn for today's shitfest, hitting his breaking point.

Castiel unleashed the bitter snarl of, “Learn how to spell my fucking name!“ ignoring the crowd’s shocked gasp.

Only after he’d furiously sent the box flying out onto the field with a well-aimed slapped, did he realized—

The game was live. The cameras made sure the world was watching. And real life didn’t cut to commercials.

POSTING IN AUGUST TO AO3 & TUMBLR

#destielharlequinchallenge #2019 promo #destiel fanfic #destiel fanart #destiel

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lapsed-bookworm · 4 years ago

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Archive Warning: Major Character Death | Rating: G [General Audiences] | Cat: Gen + Other | Ships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Others

Tags: Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, The Hunters Are A Family, Dean Winchester Dies, Dean Winchester in Heaven, Not Canon Compliant, Castiel and Dean Winchester Reunion, The Mechanics of Heaven, Dean Winchester and Castiel Need to Work Things Out, Fix-It, Based on a Pillowfort Post, Script Format, Playwriting

Title: The Photo Album

DEAN stands and sets the bottle of beer on the cooler. BOBBY speaks as DEAN walks around THE IMPALA, inspecting a copy of her, sitting in Heaven.

BOBBY: Don't forget to check the glove box.

DEAN: Hmm?

BOBBY: The photo album will be in there.

DEAN (scoffs): Photo album.

DEAN sticks his hand through the passenger window and the glove box's door flips down, revealing a brown leather book - worn around the edges, newspaper clippings sticking out of it, and tied shut just like JOHN's journal.

DEAN: It's just Dad's journal.

BOBBY: Well, they do look unique to each of us.

DEAN frowns and opens the book. On the inside cover, there are dark red symbols and lines forming a symbol of protection. SAM's handwriting scrawls along the bottom - December 25th, 2020. SW.

DEAN: Wait -- December?

BOBBY: Time don't pass the same up here.

DEAN flips through the first few pages. It is not JOHN's journal filled with monsters and lore, but a photo album like BOBBY said. A pyre lit in the background with EILEEN and more hunters blurred, out of focus for the image. A simple notation in SAM's handwriting - Dean's funeral - was surrounded by runes that revealed details on the page if DEAN touched them. Donna was in the house, making sandwiches and not letting herself cry around Sam. Jody was hugging Garth, who had brought his wife and kids (and most of his pack). Jack was unable to make it because he was a hands-off type of god, but Sam was sure he could feel a presence of sorts in the breeze as the lighter hit the first section of the pyre and the flames went up without difficulty. A trench coat had been laid over Dean, in a nod to Cas, because Sam didn't think a bottle of beer left out for him would actually be left alone. Not today.

A person laid out on a morgue's table with an empty space in their chest where a heart should've been - Last case. MIRACLE running through the yard of a house that DEAN didn't recognize while SAM and EILEEN carried in a few boxes from THE IMPALA - Move in day with Eileen! A small Christmas tree sits on a coffee table, and snow falls through a window. Stockings for SAM, EILEEN, and MIRACLE are hung from the windowsill because the mantle is taken up with pictures of loved ones already in Heaven; a bottle of beer sits next to a candid photo of DEAN from the bunker, smiling and laughing. It was no feast worthy of MRS. BUTTERS, but SAM and EILEEN are enjoying a spread of takeout - First Christmas. DEAN shuts the book quickly and blinks furiously.

BOBBY: It gets easier.

DEAN grunts noncommittally.

BOBBY: It's so you're ready when he comes.

DEAN drops the book on the passenger seat and shuts the door to the glove box a little more forcefully than necessary, walks around THE IMPALA a little faster than necessary, and takes a little more time getting situated in the driver's seat than was strictly necessary. BOBBY takes a sip of his beer.

DEAN: I'm going for a drive.

DEAN pauses, unsure of how to tell how long he'd been driving now that, well, time was all Heaven-y. BOBBY nods and raises his beer in acknowledgement.

BOBBY: Karen's making meatloaf. When you get back, we'll have Mary and your dad over for dinner.

DEAN can't think of anything to say. He had never met BOBBY's wife, and he still wasn't used to the idea of MARY and JOHN living together. Heaven was something, alright, but he had just arrived. DEAN turns the key, the engine of THE IMPALA roars to life, and "Carry On Wayward Son" by KANSAS starts to play.

DEAN (to himself): Atta Baby.

DEAN maneuvers down the dirt driveway until he hits the road, turns left, and drives, letting the calm of heading somewhere settle over him. The road twists and turns around hills, and the trees block out the sun at just the sweet spot of driving late in the afternoon and before the sun starts to set. It's just him - no leaf-peepers crawling along at a snail's pace and causing a line. It's familiar. It turns out that BOBBY was right - time doesn't flow quite the same in Heaven. His guts tells him that he should have a quarter of a tank left, but the gauge hasn't moved. DEAN still pulls over at a gas station, goes through the motions of filling her up, and idly reads the sign of the nearby diner.

DEAN: Anyone wanna try the sweet potato fries? That counts as your rabbit food - right, Sammy?

DEAN turns to THE IMPALA and freezes. It's empty. He glances around, relieved that no one's stepping forward as a witness or asking questions. DEAN sits in the driver's seat for a moment. He looks at the photo album sitting innocently on the passenger seat. He carefully opens it and thumbs a few pages beyond the Christmas photo. A room in soft pastel green with a crib with a chubby baby in yellow - He's named Dean! A photo of JACK surrounded by flowers - Eileen didn't think it was very funny to exchange presents on God's birthday. A photo of SAM and ANNIE in graduation gowns and caps; she has finished a nursing degree, while he has finished library science - Graduation. Only took 20 years, give or take. A boy around seven or eight proudly holding up a fish next to DONNA on a riverbank - Dean's first fish. SAM correcting his son's paper of practiced sigils and symbols, a paper with shaky pencil spelling out CASTIEL in Enochian, SAM's son carefully using a brush to apply his first ward to the doorway of his bedroom.

DEAN (muttering): Shit-shit-shit --

DEAN's eyes squeeze shut. Oh, it hurts. Worse than when he got impaled through the fucking chest. His baby brother is living, has a son named after him, is happy, and some sort of hunter librarian. It was everything Sam could've hoped for, really. DEAN swipes the tears away from his eyes. He knew on a certain level that he'd always go out in the midst of hunting, like their relatives, friends of the family - really, their Hunter family. It was what he was best at and what he was always going to do. No heart attacks from the cholesterol in all that red meat, not for him. It was an echo-y sort of hurt. DEAN could feel it, but he didn't feel consumed by it like he was treading water in a wave that was threatening to engulf him. He drops the open book on the passenger's seat and starts THE IMPALA. Maybe it wouldn't hurt as much by the time he got back to BOBBY's place.

A low voice from the backseat makes DEAN jump.

CASTIEL: It's rather difficult to find you when you keep moving in Heaven.

DEAN (quietly): Fuck!

CASTIEL: That was the tradeoff to restructuring the layout and allowing for more of a collaborative expanse --

DEAN: How long have you been....Um...?

CASTIEL: Time is an irrelevant means of reference in Heaven, Dean. I'm sure Bobby has already informed you of this.

DEAN: Yeah, yeah; time is fake. How long have you been, um, out of - you know - The Empty?

CASTIEL (dryly): Longer than a wing beat.

DEAN: Is this some sort of heaven-hallucination, or something?

CASTIEL: I'm not sure that's correct usage of hallucination in this case //

DEAN: // C'mon, Cas. (Beat.) Please.

CASTIEL: Jack needed to make some deep changes to the power supply of Heaven. There were so many Fallen Angels, and so many posts left unmanned, and a godly presence alone wasn't quite enough to stabilize Heaven while being restructured.

DEAN: Are you...back?

CASTIEL: I - I am restricted to Heaven. I cannot intercede in any requests from hunters below, if that's what you mean.

DEAN: This is all just a lot, right now.

DEAN glances down at the book. CASTIEL leans forward to look at it as well. Neither of them speaks, but THE IMPALA's radio starts up again, playing a snippet of the prior song:

<center>There'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more</center>

CASTIEL: Have you visited that place with the barbeque onion ring cheeseburger?

DEAN: That's gotta be an 11 hour drive. You know, in distance, or whatever.

CASTIEL: We have the time.

DEAN: What if I miss...?

DEAN and CASTIEL look at the photo album. It's remained open on the seat, but the photo has changed. GARTH's son and SAM's son are holding hands and wearing color-coordinated blue suits. They look happy, but still awkward in a teenager posing for a parent sort of way - Dean and Robbie's first prom.

CASTIEL (gently): It's okay. (Pause.) We'll know when Sam arrives.

END

#SPN #supernatural #shut up about supernatural #fanfiction

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wrestlinghasmelike-blog · 7 years ago

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Monday Night Raw Review- March 19th, 2018: First Half

Hey everyone! Happy Monday, and happy Raw night! Today was mostly alright for me, it was just a long day. My twitter timeline was not totally happy with the show, but I guess I’ll have to see for myself.

Also, there might not be a second half for the show posted? I have a dentist appointment tomorrow early in the morning, and I usually go to the gym after Raw, which is pretty late for me so I might post this and one thing for the second half, but I haven’t made the call yet.

Please let me know what you thought of the show! I’d love to hear what you guys thought of the matches and the segments, and please feel free to leave some feedback on this review. Any type of feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for checking this out!

Opening- Kurt Angle

Kurt has marched his way down to the ring, most likely to let us know about some plans for tonight’s show. He welcomed the audience, and immediately transitioned into talking about Roman Reigns’ suspension. While talking about Roman and Brock, the crowd went into an uproar as Roman made his way through the crowd into the ring. Roman told Kurt he did not care about the suspension at all, and wanted Brock right now. Kurt’s neck and forehead veins were popping out as he furiously reminded Reigns of his suspension.

Roman’s whole point for showing up was to make a point that even though Brock was promised to show up tonight, Roman will always be here to work. It’s respectable, honestly, that Roman stands by his job and will fight to stay, but the story would’ve worked better if Brock was out and Roman came from behind. The crowd would’ve eaten it up.

Kurt left the ring while Roman set up shop in the ring. He sat in a chair and waited for the beast, but was greeted by three members of the U.S Marshall instead.

..was that the only police outfit they had in the back? A Marshall outfit seems a little strange. But they really could’ve been officers of the law, who knows?

The officers put Roman in cuffs to get him out of the building, but Roman thrashed away from their grasp and threw them out of his way.

And then Brock raced down to the ring to begin the assault on Reigns. Brock was not taking things lightly as he gave suplex after suplex after suplex. He also hit Roman repeatedly with a steel chair. After a thunderous F-5, Brock leaves and watches as a medical team brings a stretcher over to Roman. The camera is zooming in on Roman’s bruised hands as he is rolled onto the stretcher.

Roman gets a lot of shit from the crowd, but this was maybe too excessive? There have been numerous reports on Brock’s feelings towards Roman, and they are mostly not positive, but Brock beat Roman up, straight up. And there were “You deserve it” chants at Roman. The segment went a little too far, and even though the crowd loved seeing Roman getting the shit beat out of him, they took it too far with the chants. It wasn’t disrespectful? It was just kinda gross.

Alexa Bliss vs. Asuka

Last week, we saw Alexa confront Asuka about her choice to face Charlotte at Mania this year, and Asuka challenged Alexa to one last match with her before Mania to prove once again that she is the best star on the roster. Nia Jax was supposed to come to Alexa’s aid, but was instructed to stay in the back by Kurt because she had a match next. Alexa sweet-talked Nia into helping her out, but during Nia’s match with local talent, Alexa and Mickie were caught talking shit backstage, comparing Nia to Shrek and other awful things. Nia, enraged, went to the back to search for Alexa and Mickie, but they dipped so fast. It’ll be interesting to see where this will take us. It’ll most likely be Nia and Alexa at Mania for the title.

What’s still a little confusing is why Mickie and Alexa are the best of friends? Mickie should be the one competing at Mania for the title again, and maybe she will insert herself in the match? Or maybe this will turn into another Mickie/Trish thing, and Mickie will turn on Alexa and take the title away.

The match has finally started and Alexa has taken control of the match right away. She seemed to have Asuka locked up, and she tossed her around the ring by her head. Alexa threw Asuka into the corner, and Asuka tried to break away, but Mickie James got in the way and Alexa was able to throw Asuka out of the ring, where Mickie again kicked Asuka in the face.

Asuka has finally built some momentum and is screaming at Alexa as she brings out her offence. She’s stomping around the ring, trying to knock Alexa down, but Mickie is right up again to distract Asuka, and she succeeds as Asuka is knocked out of the ring by Alexa again. Alexa tried to go for a pin but was unsuccessful, as was Corey Graves’ “Mean Girls” reference in regards to the friendship between Mickie and Alexa.

Alexa is getting angrier as Asuka continues to battle back against her. Alexa tried to hit a top rope move, but Asuka ran and met her at the top to try and attempt a superplex. It was unsuccessful as Alexa did a nice sunset flip looking move and slammed Asuka into the mat. Asuka finally countered and was able to get a hit on Alexa. Asuka has been trying for several pinfalls, but was unsuccessful, and she now has Alexa trapped in an ankle lock. Alexa finally got away, but she is now selling an injury to her ankle. She and Mickie are leaving the ring, giving the countout victory to Asuka.

Enter Nia Jax, who bulldozes through Mickie like she’s not even there. Nia finally caught up to Alexa, who dove over the barricade, but Mickie stepped in just in time to save Alexa. Nia tossed Mickie right into the ring post and ran after Alexa, and they both ran backstage.

Alexa confronted Kurt and demanded he do something about Nia, and he did, by making a match between the two at Mania. Called itttttt.

Braun Strowman

The tag division keeps getting more confusing as Braun won a Battle Royal last week to determine the competitors to fight The Bar at Mania. If they just want to put Braun on Mania wherever they can at this point, then they should find somewhere else to put him. Let another tag team who deserves a chance for the titles get their chance.

Braun doesn’t think he needs a partner for Mania, and The Bar didn’t like that, so they came down and told him that. They also told him that they are the best team in history.

Cesaro made a good goof when he said he and Sheamus sleep together, which earned a big smile from Braun, and Sheamus made a good Marvel reference, but Braun was done listening. He informed the Bar that he will find a good partner for Mania, and that one of them will have to face him right now.

Cesaro vs. Braun Strowman

Cesaro has already been tossed around by Braun. He didn’t even get a shot in as Braun continues to manhandle him. Braun violently threw Cesaro out of the ring, and Cesaro flipped over the ropes and landed hard on the outside.

Cesaro finally gets Braun under control as he delivers some hits to the face and head of Braun. Cesaro power throws Braun over the ropes and onto the barricade, but Braun catches a flying Cesaro and slams him into the barricade. Sheamus tried to distract Braun, but it ended up costing Cesaro as Braun picks him up again. The two get back into the ring and Braun goes shoulder first into the post, which allowed Cesaro to work in some forearms to the face. Cesaro keeps trying to hit the neutralizer, but Braun is waaay too big for him and he can’t quite lock it in.

Cesaro is fighting so hard to stay in this match and giving Braun everything he has, but it wasn’t enough as Braun picks Cesaro up for that running powerslam, ending the match for Cesaro. Who will Braun pick as his partner for Mania? Will it be Elias? It makes sense if it is since they’ve been feuding for the past couple of weeks. It could also be Big Show. He’s been out of action for a bit, and it would be interesting to see the two big men team up.

The Revival vs. Titus Worldwide

This match started without anyone knowing about it since neither team got a tv entrance. Both of these teams must be feeling some animosity after Braun beat all of them last week in the Battle Royal, and both teams have something to prove tonight.

Titus and Apollo are really in this match to hype the crowd up because they seem asleep for this particular match. The Revival have mostly been down for the match, due to the amazing athleticism of both Titus and Apollo. The Revival were able to get the sneaky tag behind Apollo’s back, and they were able to get the victory.

An interview with Charley in the ring led to the announcement of the Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal at Mania.

...Wrestlemania is gonna be a huge fucking show. There’s so many matches oh my god.

That’s it for the first half of the show! It was a bit touch and go, honestly. I will be posting for the second half, so stay tuned! Thanks!

Casey

#wwe #wrestling #monday night raw #review #wrestlemania #brock lesnar #roman reigns #the bar #sheamus #cesaro #alexa bliss #asuka #braun strowman #mickie james

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siverwrites · 7 years ago

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Dangerous Games Ch.1

First part of my potential draft of Dangerous Games. Something in order, gasp!

Just a WIP draft so I stop going over it again and again and keep going with the stuff continuing off it. If my ultimate plan goes through once I have enough I’ll start posting cohesively to AO3, but I’m still in things may change mode and will I even be able to actually finish - why did this take over so much.

Still not satisfied with a start. Multiple attempts later!

All related things tagged Dangerous Games

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

It had been a productive and satisfying day. Cabanela lounged in his sofa in a rare moment of peace and quiet. It would only be a short while as he would leave soon to spend a lovely evening in the company of Jowd and Alma for Alma’s Birthday. That ever rare peaceful moment seemed doomed to remain such when his phone rang shattering the silence.

Cabanela fetched his phone with gusto and the vague thought that maybe he would rescind his threat to chew out the next salesman trying to sell him useless rubbish in light of his good mood. He leaned casually against his wall.

“Hellooo, Cabanela here.”

“Detective Cabanela, this is Byrde.” Cabanela stiffened from his casual lean at the urgency in Byrde’s voice. “The Chief needs you back at the station. His office ASAP.”

“What happened?”

She sounded nervous. “There’s been an incident. It’s better if you just get down here. I’m sorry.”

“I’m on my way.”

Cabanela’s gaze slid over the tidily wrapped present on the end of his table as he dialled Jowd’s number. Unfortunately their evening was looking to be delayed. Hopefully it was nothing that wouldn’t take him too long to sort out though he was going to be late regardless.

The line rang and rang. He frowned at the phone. Jowd and Alma would long be home. He finally gave up, telling himself they only stepped out. This timing meant nothing. Everything was fine.

When Cabanela entered the station he hurried to Chief Gant’s office, but his haste wasn’t enough to prevent him noticing the tension in the air or the hushed voices. He knocked at Gant’s door, harder than he intended, and Gant’s voice summoned him inside.

Gant sat at his desk with a grave expression. He gestured at the chair in front.

“You’d better sit down, detective.”

“What’s goin’ on, Chief?”

“There’s no point in mincing words. Detective Jowd has turned himself in for murder.”

Silence fell over the office as Cabanela tried to absorb and process the ridiculous words.

“With all duuue respect, not a funny joke.” he finally said.

“I wish it were. Alma was shot in their home - fatally I’m afraid.” Gant sighed. “A sorry day for this station losing both of them like this. Jowd claims he did it.”

Cabanela stared at him blankly. Shot. Alma dead. Jowd… shot her?

“She…” Not that. One thing at a time. Counter the absurd impossibility before the simple one. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on here or what Jowd’s playing at,” Cabanela said, “but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.” She was… dead?

“The scene is being investigated. I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.”

A sense of unreality crept in. Part of him wanted to laugh. She couldn’t be dead and Jowd shooting her? Jowd? How could anyone take that seriously?

“I’m sorry, my boy,” Gant said. “I know this is harder on you than any of us, however I must ask you some questions. We’ll keep it private here.” He stood. “I’ll give you a few minutes first.”

Cabanela was only vaguely aware of Gant leaving and the click of his door. He stared at the desk without seeing it. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be. He was going to see them tonight. He wanted to leave now, head straight for the detention centre. There had to be some kind of mistake. He needed to talk to Jowd. Everything would be clearer. It was a joke. A cruel and stupid joke.

She could not be dead. He could not have shot her. They didn’t answer. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

A pat on the shoulder and the clink of a teacup on the desk startled him out of his daze. Gant circled back around to his seat.

“How has Jowd been lately?”

It took him a moment to comprehend the question enough to pull an answer together.

“Normal. No…” No… that wasn’t quite right. There had been something on his mind. Cabanela hadn’t been able to wheedle it out of him yet. He and Alma had been keeping hush about something… yes, something was brewing between them.

“No?” Gant prompted.

“Normal enough,” Cabanela repeated. “But there was something bothering him. Don’t know what it was. He and Alma…”

“Were they fighting?”

Cabanela shook his head and had to bite back his irritation. As if fighting would mean anything in the face of this, as if that would be enough to... “Nothing like that.”

“Did he tell you anything?”

“No.”

“And Alma? Anything you’ve noticed?”

“Nothing more than I already said. Otherwise they were fine… happy. We had plans tonight. Her birthday…” He stopped before he started rambling or worse. He should be there. They should be there.

“Can you think of any reason Jowd might do this?” Gant’s eyes bore into him.

“He didn’t. Jowd would never…” Gods help him, it took every ounce of control he had to finish the sentence. “…shoot Alma.

Gant’s expression softened. “I know this is difficult to believe. I don’t want to believe it myself! However, he admitted to it. We have a bullet matching his gun and only his fingerprints.”

“There’s something else. That’s not what happened.” Cabanela leaned forward. “Give me the case. I know him. I know their place.”

“I’m afraid there may not be much of a case. This looks to be one of the easier trials the courts will have to handle.”

Cabanela’s chair flew back as he jumped to his feet. He slammed a hand on the desk, knocking the teacup over. “No! He didn’t do it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Now, now.” Gant waved a placating hand. “I know you’re distraught, and you have every right to be, but this just shows me that you’re too close. Sit down, Detective.”

Cabanela stared at the spreading puddle of tea and tried to force back images of Alma… bleeding out…

He pulled the chair back, suddenly feeling unsteady and dropped into it. “Please, let me talk to him. Let me look into this.”

Gant said nothing while surveying him with an unreadable expression. They remained watching each other in silence until Gant finally spoke.

“Very well. I’ll give you three days to conduct an investigation of your own, starting the day after tomorrow once our team has cleared out. However, once those three days are up, that’s it. I need you back on your regular case load. Understood?”

“Perfectly.” That should be more than enough. Obviously some huge mistake had been made. He rose to his feet.

Another thought hit Cabanela that nearly knocked him back into his chair. How could he have nearly forgotten?

“Kamila! Their daughter. What’s happened to her?”

“She’s under the care of a family friend, Lynne.”

An inward sigh of relief. Lynne had a good head. She’d be fine there. As fine as was even possible under the circumstances…

“I am sorry my boy,” Gant added with a shake of his head. “This is a dark day for us all, but you were closest to them. If there’s anything you need you just let me know, all right?”

“Yes, Chief.”

Gant pulled out a cloth and started mopping up the tea. “You go on home now,” he said. He glanced up from his cleaning. “And, do take care of yourself!”

Cabanela couldn’t recall a time he ever felt so heavy when he finally entered his flat. Heavy, while his mind raced in circles over his talk with Gant, over Jowd and Alma, over his attempt to visit Jowd before leaving… damnit. No amount of furious demands let him in to see him. Well, if Jowd didn’t want to talk as friends, he still had his investigation to look forward to. They would talk one way or another.

He drifted over to his couch and his eyes fell on the gift still sitting on the table. He swallowed hard. How? How did this happen? She was dead. He was… under threat? Lost his mind in the brief span of a few hours? Wrong, all wrong.

He shuddered. While he sat relaxing here, she was being killed. He wrenched his gaze away from the gift and retreated to his kitchen. Get a drink, calm down. That was his intent. Instead he found himself gripping the counter.

Tomorrow… tomorrow he would see Lynne and Kamila. He could hardly question the young girl, though she might have something she could tell him. Maybe he could also look into Jowd’s files. If there was something in his last case, if there was something he missed… it didn’t have to be official yet.

Several hours of the night slogged by in endless pacing, attempts at sitting only to furiously fling himself back into wearing ruts into his carpet while his thoughts whirled, alternating between reasons that would cause Jowd to do this, careful avoidance of Alma’s absence and a hollow disbelief that this was happening at all.

He eventually eked out a few restless hours of fitful dozing on his couch and rose early in the morning with a plan laid out for the day. Leave early, stop by and see Lynne and Kamila before work. Plow through as much as he could, keep an ear and eye on the investigations, work out his plan of attack for the next three days. They would face the rest together after Jowd was out.

“Detective Cabanela!” Lynne peered at him in surprise from her door.

“Hey baby. Thought I’d stooop by, check on you both.”

Lynne managed a wan smile. “Thanks. Come in.” She opened the door wider and nodded in the direction of her couch. “Kamila’s awake already… still…”

Kamila sat on one end of the couch, her hands clenched in her lap and her head bowed.

He approached and took a seat beside her. “Hey there kiddo.”

“Cabanela…” Kamila’s lip quivered before she flung herself at him burying her face in his chest. “It’s a nightmare and it won’t stop. Stop it stop it stop it.” She dissolved into a sob.

Cabanela wrapped an arm around her and exchanged a look with Lynne. She gave him a helpless sort of half shrug with a mixture of sadness and sympathy. The room felt heavy with the feelings.

Kamila eventually pulled back, sniffling. Cabanela soundlessly retrieved a handkerchief from his coat and passed it to her.

“I’m scared,” Kamila whimpered. “Mom… I want mom. I want dad.”

“Kamila, look at me.”

She stared up at him with wide and reddened eyes. More tears threatened to spill out. He held her shoulder in a firm and what he hoped reassuring hold.

“I will get your dad back, but I need you to help me a little here. Can you tell me what happened?”

Kamila twisted the handkerchief. “B-bad dream, it was like a bad dream. Mom…” she squeezed her eyes shut. “Dad said he’d take care of it and now he’s…” she choked and started to cry again. “He’s gone too…”

Even as Cabanela started to speak the words he knew it was a mistake, but he needed answers. A clue. Anything.

“Did you see what happened to her?”

Kamila let out a loud sob. She shook her head wildly, jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.

“Kamila!” Cabanela and Lynne both called.

He sagged back into the couch as Lynne hurried after Kamila. Cabanela stared down the hall. Stupid mistake, but what did her reaction mean? Was it merely too much too soon? Had she seen something that was too much for her to say? Was there enough for the young girl to have even made sense of any of it?

How much sense was there in this mess?

Lynne returned shortly, shaking her head.

“Leave her alone for now I guess…” she said softly while still glancing back down the hall. “She hasn’t said anything more than what she just did.”

She approached Cabanela, her worry and nerves clear in her expression and clasped hands.

“Is it really true?” she asked. “Do they really think he did it?”

“So the evidence claims.” As if that meant anything. So he claimed and that meant just as little.

“He said… when he came to ask me to take care of Kamila he said he was turning himself in.” She shook her head. “But, there’s no way.” Her hands flew apart in a furious gesture. “There’s no way! Detective Jowd would never do that!” She wiped her eyes. “He wouldn’t…”

Smart girl.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Baby, I wish I knew, but I intend to find out.” Cabanela unfolded himself off the couch. “I have to go. Take care of her. Give me a buzz if you need anything.”

“I will, thank you.”

It wasn’t until Cabanela entered the station that the reality of the situation started to sink in in the absence of Jowd and Alma’s greetings. The tension in the air had faded compared to the previous evening, but was still palpable. One of their own dead and the other arrested…

Cabanela made a beeline for his desk while avoiding the gazes of the rest of the officers but kept his ears open.

He tried to focus on his report. As long as he could focus on his work he didn’t have to think of them. As long as he could get everything done he would leave himself with plenty of time to focus on Jowd’s case. All easier said than done while listening to the snatches of conversation around him.

“Detective Jowd, man I can’t believe it. There’s gotta be a mistake right?”

“I have to get this down to the evidence room. Just… can’t believe she’s gone, you know?”

Focus.

“Detective Jowd really did it?”

“Dunno but sure looks that way from what I heard.”

“No way. He was the best!”

“Hey you never know what people are really like.”

Focus…

“Yeah but Jowd? And she was his wife!”

“Sure and how much crap have we seen between couples? I’m just sayin’ maybe there was something nastier than we knew. Wouldn’t be the first time.” The cop took on a higher pitched voice. “But he was always good to me! He’d never do it!”

The scraping of Cabanela’s chair being pushed back wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chatter creating a suddenly awkward and tense silence.

“Coffee,” Cabanela said simply by way of explanation. His gaze fixed on the pair of gossiping cops. One more word, I daaare you.

The pair shifted and the loudmouth shrugged. “I gotta get moving,” he muttered.

Right.

Cabanela swept away. Another coffee would be good and a moment to quell the urge to punch someone. A few days, just a few days.

#ghost trick #ace attorney #gtxaa #cabanela #lynne #gant #kamila #ghost trick fic #ace attorney fic #dangerous games #writing

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lazilysillyprince · 6 years ago

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I Just Flew Cross-Country With American Airlines. I May Never Get Over It

New Post has been published on http://webhostingtop3.com/i-just-flew-cross-country-with-american-airlines-i-may-never-get-over-it/

I Just Flew Cross-Country With American Airlines. I May Never Get Over It

Absurdly Driven looks at the world of business with a skeptical eye and a firmly rooted tongue in cheek.

I admit it’s been a year.

I’d avoided the airline a little on my travels, but it was time to try again.

Gingerly, then, I booked an Economy Class ticket from San Francisco to Miami and then paid another $ 90 for an exit row seat.

Because, well, it’s a relatively long flight and, for some odd reason, the airline claimed it was flying a Boeing 767.

Airlines are mostly sending these old beasts to the Arizona pastures — or, perhaps, to marginal billionaires who build tasteless castles in Arizona pastures.

These planes, though, used to offer something so lacking in the latest models: air.

They’re wide-bodied, so you can at least fool yourself into believing there’s more space.

I used to go out of my way to fly American to New York when they flew 767’s there.

Things have changed. Now you are the sardine and the airline is the can-I-make-a-bigger-profit.

Would this be a strange throwback to a forgotten time?

Waiting For Godot-ful Disaster.

Flying involves worrying. Before you do the actual flying, that is.

When it comes to American, one of the primary concerns is whether the flight will be delayed more or less than Brexit.

Yet, as the day and the hour approached, no message from American that the plane was out of action, I’d be reseated on a narrowbody bus and driven to Miami.

I arrived at San Francisco airport. The luggage tag machines were working, The man at the bag drop even smiled and made a joke about my name. (If you don’t make a joke about my name, what is wrong with you?)

Still, I wasn’t comfortable. This thing was going to go wrong. It was just a question of how, how badly and when.

The departure board didn’t twitch. It was as if it had smoked a decent brand of THC pot.

Boarding was announced on time. People didn’t even crowd the gate area to distraction. This bordered on the haunting.

Who, though, would I have sitting next to me? That can make a flight enjoyable or dip it into unbearable.

My seatmate was on his phone. He ran a tech company. He needed one of his employees to know just how much he sympathized with her problem.

His drippingly unctuous tone told me that he was unlikely to do anything about it.

I sat down in my window seat and the first shock hit me.

Waiting For Bad News To Bear.

Yes, the tray tables were as yellow as a smoker’s teeth. The seats, too, looked like they’d supported a thousand passengers and ten thousand hurried cleanings too many.

As I lounged tentatively, an announcement from the cabin crew.

Here it was, the bad news. It had to be bad news:

Welcome on board, ladies and gentlemen. This is NOT a full flight, so you should have plenty of room to store your bags and stretch out.

My mouth opened, my jaw seized up and my eyebrows began to vibrate.

I can’t remember the last time I heard such an announcement.

So many times I’ve been on flights that were patently not full, yet the cabin crew announced this was a full flight and please think about checking your carry-ons, before we confiscate them and sell them on eBay.

Yet here was American Airlines being honest?

Suddenly, we were pushing back. The tech type next to me was still bleating into his phone.

No one came to admonish him. I tried to give him a sly glare.

He finally got off the call and began to furiously type into his phone. Perhaps these were his self-help notes, I’ve no idea.

And then we were in the air.

Wait, we were on time? It seemed like it.

After a few minutes, it was the pilot’s turn to make an announcement:

There’s normally a lot of planes lining up for takeoff, but when we got to the runway, there was no one there. So we took off. Looks like we’ll be in Miami at least 30 minutes early.

This was beginning to feel like a parallel universe. I had descended into some weird time warp. Had I inadvertently inhaled some of that THC?

Now It Was Going To Be Ruined.

Oh, but then my seat-mate began to eat lunch. A vigorous eater of a carry-on salad, he was. And goodness did his elbow jab into my ribs with every jerk of his plastic knife.

Did he say sorry?

Did I mention he was a tech type?

This is where it would all go wrong. I felt sure that, once he’d finished his lunch, out would come the laptop and in would go his elbow to my ribs for the rest of the flight.

I was mostly right. His MacBook came out. What was surreal is that, unlike most self-important men I’ve sat next to on planes, his elbows stayed in.

Not once in the next several hours did he jab me again. It was almost as if, having satisfied an employee with platitudes and his hunger with a salad, he became fully sentient.

Meanwhile, the cabin service was efficient, if not effusive. Just like the biscotti-type things they handed out.

The Flight Attendants performed their duties and then disappeared.

I leaned into my slightly dreary Canadian detective novel — I refuse to work on planes, save in an emergency — stretched my legs right out and wallowed in a peculiar calm.

American Airlines Really Let Me Down.

We didn’t have to divert to Albuquerque because of an engine problem.

My seatmate had excellent noise-canceling headphones, the sort that truly are silent.

A baby trying crying a couple of times and then realized that so much attention-seeking just wasn’t going to work.

The whole thing was eerily tolerable, verging on the pleasant. It was like a blind date that involved easy conversation and even a kiss at the end.

We were at the gate almost an hour ahead of schedule.

This was as close to perfect as I could have conceived.

Even my bag came out quickly, which anyone who’s ever flown into Miami knows is a bizarre event.

I walked away, talking to myself. I try to do it quietly.

I only had one thought: American Airlines, you really let me down. I could find nothing to complain about, because it felt like flying from a few years ago.

The pilots couldn’t even muster any turbulence.

How lovely it is when nothing goes wrong with a flight. And how relatively rare that seems to be these days, especially if you’re flying in the back.

When the airline, the staff and the passengers all conspire to make it a pleasant experience, flying can be genuinely relaxing.

If only these three could conspire to make it happen more often.

Tech

#Airlines #American #CrossCountry With #Flew #Just #Never #Over

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