#And not some unscheduled problem

[familyofpaladins]

Noooooooo

[phantom-0-writer]

*standing menacingly at the door* i made u something

anyways lol. i had a lot of school work and was really busy freaking out and stress studying for a singular test that was 4 questions and would be over in like an hour and then i proceeded to cry about it in my car for various reasons.

but yk what that means!

time for our irregular and unscheduled update of

Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program

this episode featuring a fan favorite: Duke Thomas (aka The Signal - but thats kind of irrelevant for this)

you were supposed to read that like it was from a '90s sitcom and the off screen crowd cheers rly loudly.

some house keeping updates: this scene happens in the beginning of the school year (going by the american system should be september) danny meets damian (and upsurges tim on the same day) around midterm which is around october and then the stuff with jason and damian's drawing happens around december. i kinda accidentally burned the irl timeline for anything dc first scene so now im just gonna do whatever i want.

anyways with out further ado:

table of contents

scene 04: after school activities for normal kids

Duke stood around the corner of the classroom awkwardly, wondering if he had made the right call. Sure the bats and the birds had a plethora of hands on deck any time, but most of them specialized as night time heros. Not to say that they were incompetent or anything, they were some of the most skilled and innovative people Duke had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Sure if anything happened, they could handle it, at least until Duke could slip away and show up as the Signal- Alfred and Bruce had assured him so much. But Duke couldn’t slip the guilt of busying away more of his time to after school activities when he could be patrolling or studying instead, 

But Duke had wanted to do something outside of those things, which was specifically why he had made the difficult decision to join a few clubs and after school activities. He could use a break from being surrounded by people who worked the vigilante life-style just to remember how to be a normal civilian. Let himself take a break from constantly be consumed by one case or another, one disaster or another, not being able to do enough no matter how much he tried or how much time he spent patrolling. 

Duke needed to feel grounded, like his feet were on the ground and he could press the brakes and smell the fragrance of life. Even if the fragrance was a forgotten pile of dog s-

“Alright,” The instructor for their culinary club started with a weird German accent that sounded really fake. “I am Herman. You can call me Chef or Chef Herman or just Chef. I will not bore you all with the boring introductions, and let's head right into the cooking, yes. On this paper here I made the partners for all of you to cook with for the rest of the year. If you have problem with it then quit.” 

This Herman guy seemed like quite the character, and was definitely not helping any of Duke’s previous anxieties. Many of Duke’s clubmates seem to think so too, sending their friends various looks. But no one spoke out, and instead shuffled to the front to look at the singular sheet of paper that would assign them their partners. Duke finally made it to the front and saw that he was paired with a Daniel Fenton at Station 7. 

Crossing his fingers that Daniel had at least only a half-rotten personality, Duke made his way over to station 7. The station was already prepped with an assortment of ingredients and cooking equipment. Duke had already set his stuff down claiming the seat closer to the exit (in case) when a lanky kid comes over, “Uh, your Duke Thomas?” He asks hesitantly looking back at the front counter the partner assignment sheet was. 

It took Duke an awkward second longer to realize that this kid was probably his partner. “Oh yeah I am.” He laughed apologetically, “You must be Daniel.” 

“Danny’s fine.” The boy smiled, absentmindedly brushing his messy black hair out of his face, his glacier blue looking at the equipment. Duke couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about Danny. Not in Gotham’s usual psycho-maniac-out-to-terrorizer-the-city-and-kill-innocent-people kind of off, more in a he’s not in sync with the rest of the world off. While Chef Herman explained the general structure of various types of kitchen and kitchen hierarchy that Duke was already familiar with, Duke tried to get a read on him. 

Weird did not mean threat, after all many of the Justice League- heck even the local Wayne/Batclan were pretty weird- and they (usually) didn’t mean any harm. It wouldn’t be fair of Duke to jump the horse like that. 

Deciding he should try to be friendly with him, Duke leaned over, “Is it just me or is Chef Herman’s accent totally fake?” he whispered. 

“Oh, Ancients,” Anciets? “I thought I was just going insane.” Danny sighed in relief with a small chuckle. There was a moment of silence between the two of them where no one said anything for longer than socially acceptable and Duke debated using his powers to see if he could find a clue or something. That seemed kinda invasive, though. 

When the Chef had started instructions on making today's recipe, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Danny helped Duke measure out the ingredients. “So,” Danny tried again, “What are you in for?” 

“What am I…” Duke repeated confused, 

Danny chuckled awkwardly, “Like why you joined the club.” 

Duke seriously needed to get his head in the present; this was getting embarrassing. “Oh.” He nodded in understanding, “I’ve always liked cooking,” Duke shrugged, “When I was little my parents and I would always cook together, and it was always one of my favorite things to do. And I’ve kinda always liked it, but I fell off of it for a while with school and stuff,” emphasis on the stuff “I thought joining a club could help me get back into it and get away from… everything.” That was a little more candid than Duke had planned on being with someone he had met quite literally a few minutes ago, but it felt good to have that out of his chest. The pleasant memories of his parents swimming in his mind. Mixing the dry ingredients, “Sorry that was kind of a lot.” Duke laughed genuinely this time. 

“Dude, no it’s actually so cool that you like to cook.” Danny said admiration was easy on his face, and Duke couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. 

“What about you, then?” 

“Ugh,” He groaned jokingly, “You can’t seriously be asking for my lame ass reason after you pulled out the flashbacks.” Danny whined, letting the oven preheat like Chef told them to. 

“C’mon, it’s only fair.” Duke played along, already ahead of the other groups. 

Danny sighed, “Promise you won’t laugh.” 

“Okay, it can’t be that bad.” Duke could already feel the smile cracking on his face. 

“It is.” Danny drawlled, “So I live in the dorms right, and I got to pull some strings and room with one of my friends from back home this year. And well, let’s just say my family has a bit of a reputation for causing problems, and the kitchen definitely wasn’t an exception. One time my dad tried to make some soup for my mom because she got sick.” Duke nodded approvingly, that was a sweet gesture, “It was all fun and games until the bomb squad had to show up and long story short we had to move.” 

“You’re joking.” Duke gaped at the bizarre story, but at Danny’s solemn expression, Duke couldn’t help but be appalled, “A bomb squad over soup.”

“My parents were never really heavy on lab safety,” Danny added, as if that explained everything, “But I burn one pot of water and maybe make a few extra-crispy eggs, and suddenly its all ‘Danny you’re not allowed in the kitchen unless you start taking actual classes’ and ‘Danny that's a biohazard’.” 

“You burned a pot of water.” Duke echoed, Danny nodded innocently, “Water doesn’t burn.”

“Well, maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.” Danny sneered, trying to crack an egg on the corner of the bowl only for all the shell to fall in the bowl and the yolk on the counter. 

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.” Duke said, taking the bowl from him and expertly cracking an egg single handedly. Danny looked on in awe. “You said you live in the dorms?” Duke asked easily. 

“Oh yeah, all of the non-local scholarship kids have to.” 

Before Duke could respond, a girl from the station in front of them whips her head around, “You said you’re here on a scholarship?” She asked almost oppressively. 

Danny just as taken aback as Duke felt, “Uh, yeah.” 

“Me, too. Have you heard anything about the Mentorship Program here? Apparently we all have to join.” The girl’s partner was looking between Duke and Danny confused, but returned to their cooking uninterested. 

“Oh, yeah. They make us all join.” Danny nodded. 

“I heard from some of the older kids, that no one actually gets picked for that. It’s just like a weird formality thing.” The girl spoke animatedly, “What department are you in?” 

“Applied physics and engineering design.” The oven beeps that it was ready but no one moved. 

The girl seemed to deflate that answer, “Oh, I’m doing culinary science.” And with that solid conclusionary statement, she turned around and got back to her work station. 

Danny blinked, processing what just happened and slowly turning to look at Duke for proof that just happened. But the second the both of them met each other’s eyes, they burst into a fit of silent laughter. 

Bent vunuralably over the table, trying to catch their breath, they were accosted by Chef Hermon. “The two of you are having a comedy club, not a cooking club.” Chef crossed his arms at the edge of the table. Duke was pretty sure he was trying to sold them, but the fake accent was making it hard to tell. 

Danny cleared his throat and striated up, “Sorry, Sir.” He apologized quickly. 

“Chef.” Hermon peered at them, his hat looking comically large and lopsided on his head now that Duke was getting a closer look. 

“Sorry, Chef.” Duke amended, trying to keep his cool. 

“Yes, finish cooking your cookies.” He nodded satisfied, leaving their station. 

“Okay so,” Duke tried to recount what the last thing they did was, but one look at Danny trying desperately to hold in his laugh had ruined all of Duke’s efforts as well. Barely managing to get their cookies in the oven, over Chef’s fake german accent and floppy oversized chef’s hat. 

“So scholarship for applied physics and engineering design, huh.” Duke recounted from earlier, impressed. 

“Yeah…” Danny trailed off embarrassed, “It sounds kinda snotty.” 

“Dude. That’s literally one of the hardest departments to get into, and the scholarship is no sneeze either. There’s no doubt you worked your butt off to get that.” Duke assured Danny as they sat in their stools waiting for the cookies to finish. 

“Thanks,” Danny smiled sheepishly. They sat in a much more comfortable silence now before Danny spoke again, “What grade are you in by the way?” 

“I’m in 10th. General studies for now, but I was thinking of doing medicine. You?” 

“I could totally see you as a hot-shot doctor.” Danny nodded approvingly, “11th. Technically, I’m your upperclassman then.” 

“Technically?” Duke asked.

“I mean, how old are you?” 

“15.” Duke supplied confused. 

“Me too. I skipped a grade in elementary school, so we’re actually the same age.” Danny explained, sheepishly. 

“Dude, you're actually way smart.” Duke gaped in awe. 

“Hey medicine isn’t a day walk either.” Danny nudged his arm playfully, “I’m glad the mentorship thing is just for show, though. Now that we’re upperclassmen, y’know. I would not want my hands full with some random rich kid.” 

Duke laughed, “Yeah, that definitely sounds like a lot of work.” 

Easily unfolding the conversation into various topics and interests Duke found that he didn’t mind that the cookies were burnt. Or that Danny was definitely weird. But in a good way. Duke was glad they met and would get to hang out and cook with their weird not-German Chef every week. And if Danny and Duke exchanged numbers and planned to hangout outside of club activities, then well who was going to stop them.

[dravenscroft]

So my wife and I are working on a long fic that's a Terror modern AU set in a secondary school. My wife is a teacher and has experienced The Horrors of crappy schools being taken over by academy trusts and becoming weirdly corporate firsthand. We're like 50k into it and it'll probably be like 60k? I think? Anyway we're uploading it on my Ao3 soon but here's a brief rundown of some of the highlights:

Crozier is the new joint head of school, he's been moved there against his will to work alongside Fitzjames, the 'Head of Data', which Crozier thinks isn't a real job.

Franklin is the Executive Head but he's NEVER at the school, he's always busy at head office and has no idea what chaos goes down.

Fitzjames used to be a drama teacher until he got promoted up. He hasn't taught in years and so Crozier has zero respect for him...at first.

Little is the exhausted head of English and he is regularly being verbally abused by the children. He is having a Bad Time.

Hodgson is the music teacher. Irving is the art teacher.

Collins is the maths teacher...he has had a sniffle since the start of the year...he is maybe over medicating with Lemsip and cough medicine in an effort to keep coming to work.

Goodsir is the bright-eyed NQT biology teacher. He is still full of wonder and hope. Oh, to see the UK education system 'with eyes as an NQT...'

Stanley is the head of science. He is not full of wonder and hope. Obviously.

Blanky is the geography teacher who has been there since forever and doesn't take any shit. He's beloved by the kids but they also rightly fear him because he will tell them what for if they misbehave. He also has NO concept of professional corporate speak in emails. He will tell it like it is.

...Oh yeah, there's emails in there too. It's partly epistolary.

Jopson is the highly competent office worker for the school reception. He WILL find a way to schedule the unscheduleable, he WILL handle any difficult parent that comes his way, and he WILL answer every email in a timely fashion.

He works alongside Billy of course, who doesn't want to be there, except maybe for the gossip.

Bridgens takes on the work of several as is normal in a terrible school...he's librarian, and the first-aider, and a TA, along with his husband Peglar who is also a TA.

Tozer is the disillusioned P.E teacher who USED to enjoy his job until Heather left and took another job on the other side of the country and the Academy (Admiralty Trust) took over...now he hates his job and is totally checked out.

And then of course there's Hickey...a problematic parent who has made bringing down Crozier and the school his primary goal. It was very hard to imagine Hickey with a kid but we came to the decision that his daughter was born when he and the girl's mother were like 15, a one-time fling before he figured out his sexuality, and he has Regretted It Ever Since because good GOD this man doesn't want to be a father. He only has her on weekends and isn't in contact with her mother at all. He WANTED to run off to Hawaii like in canon but then his kid's mother said she'd chase him to the ends of the earth for child maintenance if he did. He is NOT a good father, this troubled, angry teenage girl lives off takeaway and pot noodles and they mostly just try to avoid each other when she's at his scummy little flat. HOWEVER, because Hickey is all about his ego, when there are Issues with his daughter at school Hickey takes it as a slight against HIM, and makes revenge his goal.

His daughter also features, she's a 'managed move' student who was nearly expelled from her last school for bringing in a knife. She's very troubled and terrorises the teachers (she's referred to as 'a little terror' in one of the emails...) but she also ends up bonding a little with Crozier, who tries his hardest to turn things around for her. It's just too bad her father wants to cause Problems rather than do anything to ACTUALLY help her.

Anyway yeah. It's mostly comedic but with a few serious issues tackled (like the obvious neglect this girl experiences, for one) - it's mostly been a way for my teacher wife to rant about Academy schools and just the general failings of the UK school system lmao. There is Social Commentary involved.

Anyway it's Coming Soon.

[hollowbutcanlove]

Words feel like… Part III

iso x fem!reader

warnings: NSFW, cunnilingus, Cypher knows a little more than the others, difficult experiences, pain, not very human experiences.

18+ only

words: 1828

a/n: the abilities of Y/N are taken from my OC. in short, she can take on the appearance of other people and creatures, as well as copy their abilities.

pt I pt II pt IV pt V pt VI

Sunday started with a call from Brimstone, who called you for an unscheduled assessment of your abilities. Since you have been in the protocol not so long ago and know little about your abilities and their implementation, before the mission they decided to call you for some kind of another test in the training area where the bot Max lived. You took your time because you knew they weren't going anywhere. But you wanted to rest for an extra couple of minutes before this event.

Nevertheless, closer to the appointed time, you still came to the site, where Viper, Bristone, Sage and… Omen? It's strange to watch him, because usually only these three and a few other people were present. Including Killjoy, which you haven't been watching right now.

"Here I am! " - a panting girl came in after you. If you remember the sun, that's a ray. She had some strange devices in her hands that you hadn't seen before. - " I have collected something that will help you track the change in vital signs in the process of your transformation into another person. As well as a few other important things, the names of which obviously won't tell you anything. "

"I can only assume that your ability to copy your appearance and abilities has something to do with the phenomenal rate at which your DNA transforms. And the radianite that created this anomaly gives you the ability to use your copy volume abilities as well,” - Viper concluded, - ”But that's for living people. Today we want to see if you can use your abilities to interact with… questionably living beings."

"Is that why Omen is here? "- you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yes,” - Viper nodded and continued. - "I've asked Killjoy to design a device. Now we'll hook it up to you and we can get started."

The dark-haired German immediately began unraveling the wires and attaching the analyzers to you: on your arms and legs in the form of bracelets, some in the form of suction cups attached under your clothes and on your head. You were a little uncomfortable. The suction cups felt like they were about to fall off, making you uneasy.

"Omen, Y/N. You may begin."

"Just a second,” - Killjoy said, then typed something into her laptop computer. - "It's okay now."

You exhaled, then walked over to Omen. He had always seemed kind of intimidating and mysterious to you, so you had little contact with him outside of general events. He stared at you for a while, waiting for you to act.

"A hand,” - you asked. Normally, touching any part of your body was enough, but you didn't know what was best, so you asked for his hand.

Omen silently held out his clawed palm and you touched it. As you concentrated on taking his form, you began to feel unpleasant goosebumps and shivers. Though the transformation itself took mere milliseconds, it lasted longer for you because of the vivid sensations. But something was wrong. You immediately began to feel painful tingles all over your body that seemed to grow stronger and stronger with each passing second. You felt as if you were about to be torn apart. Something began to beep loudly; you turned toward the sound and saw the red color on the monitor screen and an error sign.

"Oh, shit,” - Killjoy was trying to fix the problem, and you were staring around in bewilderment.

The voices were getting louder, then quieter. The intermingling of the voices made you shriek and clutch your hands to your head. Perhaps because you are human by nature, you felt Omen's every moment was like an eternal, all-consuming agony.

"Y/N, return your form! "- Viper shouted sternly.

You tried to focus on returning, but nothing was working. You backed up and almost crashed into Killjoy. Through the pain, you touched her. It was easier to take on someone else's form than to return to your old one. Within moments, you were relieved, though the pain still lingered throughout your body. You were breathing hard, your heart racing, your pupils fluttering. It was a sensation you couldn't forget. They were terrifying, frightening, unbearable. You felt empathy for Omen.

"The readings showed an extremely high exaggeration of norms,” -Killjoy began. - "Even the program gave an error. That's…something…interesting. I'd like to work on this device some more and repeat the experience."

"I'm not ready,”- you sobbed. - "It hurts like hell. I thought I was gonna die. How did I not faint from the painful shock?"

"Sage was your insurance."

"Thank you,” - you nodded. -" I think… It's… Ah… How to say… Because of the difference in our natures?"

"Because you're human, it's hard for you to take on the form of Omen. I understand,” - Viper nodded. - "Maybe it's a temporary effect and can be trained. What do you think?"

"I don't know,” - you shook your head.

"We'll find out. In time. When you're ready."

"Wouldn't that be cruel to her? "- Sage asked.

"This world is cruel, Sage. So why should we be? Especially such an interesting specimen. Perhaps we can better understand Omen's nature."

"If you want, we'll bring you something for dinner as an incentive,” -Killjoy asked, looking away from the computer. - " You need to rest and some sweetness will help with that."

"A milkshake and some cherry scones,” - you exhaled, starting to take in your appearance.

"Copy that!"

"You can go, get some rest,” Brimstone nodded and began to discuss something with Viper and Sage.

You didn't listen and left immediately. The pain you'd been through was still lingering. You had to stop sometimes to catch your breath. You wanted to relax and take your mind off it. And a crazy idea came to you.

When you reached the common living room, you looked around. Fade and Neon had just disappeared from the kitchen, talking furiously about something. You exhaled, marveling at how fortunate the circumstances were. You knock a few times, and the door opens. Iso shows up in front of you, in his house clothes. He was out of the shower, you could smell it in the room from the humidity of his wet hair and the smell of his shower gel, which admittedly was quite tasty. He let you inside and immediately closed the door.

"Sorry for the suddenness of it,” - you apologized and sat down on the bed.

"I see you've been somewhere,” - he nodded. - "Tense conversation or practice? You don't look so good."

"Sort of. I don't want to talk about it yet. Why don't you just help me de-stress, please?"

"Hmm,” - he said thoughtfully. - "I think there's a way. Short, but effective. I'll have to run some errands afterward."

You didn't question him, since you weren't that close, so you just nodded, putting the initiative in your boyfriend's hands. Iso ran his hands through his damp hair before sitting down on his knees in front of you. His hands gently traced your thighs over the top of your pants, and then he stopped at the elastic band. You understood him without words and lay back, giving him the opportunity to remove your clothes. And you seemed to understand what he was getting at. You didn't mind, and it was interesting to see if the “beginner” could do it so well that you could have an orgasm.

His fingers traveled down your already bare thighs, making goosebumps run up and down your body. Anticipation began to build inside you as the guy teased your thighs.

"Didn't you say you had things to do afterward?" -you asked. - "I think we should hurry."

"These things don't like to be rushed. Enjoy."

Finally he moved to a more intimate area and began massaging your clit through the fabric of your underwear. You waited with interest to see what he would do next. After a few circular movements, he pushed the fabric aside and began to massage the folds directly. Pleasant goosebumps all over your body decided to gather in one place, causing light butterflies in your stomach. And while the first hand was working on the outside, the second hand started on the inside. Iso's fingers begin to explore the space inside you. Probing your walls, he simultaneously watches your reactions, trying to catch the moment when he finds the most sensitive spot, where the nerves from your clitoris' legs run closest to the walls of your vagina. (There's a reason he's read so much about it.) And when he finally finds that vulnerable spot, you twitch slightly at the incomprehensible feeling of pleasure. A light moan escapes your lips. He smiles.

You feel the fingers that had been massaging your clit being replaced by something wet and hot. You exhale noisily. Because of the stimulation of the sensitive point inside you, your clit is slightly more sensitive than usual. His free hand, still wet from your juices that it has managed to collect on the outside, finds itself on your thighs and squeezes them lightly. He then lets his hand go and places one of your legs on his shoulder, you repeat the action yourself already with the other leg. This in a way lets Iso sink deeper into you. You begin to feel the butterflies in your stomach start to move in a special way. Little by little, the orgasm creeps up on you after just a couple minutes of Iso's manipulation.

"Oh, I think I'm gonna...I'm gonna..."

Before you can say anything, a wave of orgasm rips through your body, and you involuntarily squeeze your legs together, causing the guy's head to be held captive. He stops and rests his chin on your lower abdomen, watching you breathe heavily and clutch his sheet. It was too good. What the hell is wrong with this guy? Is he using some kind of cheat codes or something? You didn't know. But the fact that he could make you cum so easily never ceased to amaze you. Doubts about what he said about his virginity were still growing.

"How are you? "- He asked, still holding you close and stroking your thighs.

"Fine,” -you exhale and unclench your thighs, -”I'm sorry."

"It's okay,” - he licked his lips, which made you blush, because his face was still wet with your juices and his saliva.

"Let me guess, this is your first time doing this, too?"

"Not exactly. I've been practicing."

"I'm afraid to ask what or who,” - you laughed, realizing he meant some kind of fruit or vegetable.

"Trade secret,” he picks up his pants from the floor and puts them next to you. - "And now I have to get ready. Today it's my turn to fly to the store with Killjoy."

"Good luck,” - you nodded, pulling on your pants. - ”Then, important note, vanilla milkshake. Just vanilla."

"Hmm?"

"I ordered a milkshake and scones from Kj."

"I'll take note,” - he nodded.

You managed to get to your room without incident. Except for Cypher's messages.

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Clone Force 99 and their relationship with Omega:

Of all the brothers, Crosshair has the most "older brother" vibes (even if he is technically the younger brother - of ALL of them, amusingly enough). Like, he's super protective of her, but also frequently annoyed with her, but also lets her take the lead at times. Meanwhile, she gets easily exasperated with him and won't let him push her around, lending to the most sibling-like banter.

Hunter is, obviously, the dad: making Omega's safety his top priority, coming to recognize her independence and strength while still trying to protect her, basically juggling the need to give her room to grow while also controlling as many variables as he can. He's pretty much the dad of the whole group, so this is fitting; but since he's grown up knowing and being responsible for organizing his brothers and their skills, he's more concerned about Omega being in the line of fire compared to his brothers.

Echo, being the next most reasonable one in the squad, is what I like to refer to as the no-nonsense "mom sibling" of the group. He keeps track of Omega's whereabouts when Hunter isn't around, and he lets her stretch her wings while still guiding her and keeping her out of (too much) trouble. What makes this dynamic even more interesting is that Echo and Omega, being the two adoptees of the Bad Batch, also somehow end up being the most chaotic duo the majority of the time 😂

Wrecker fits more of the kid brother (or even fun uncle) dynamic - he teaches Omega some things, but also encourages seeking out more excitement/entertainment and loves to laugh and have fun. And he will ALWAYS watch his sister's back!

Tech has more of the "background supportive brother" dynamic with Omega: his more pragmatic and logical approach to most problems often contrasts with Omega's more sentimental approach, but he also serves as her mentor and tutor in a lot of areas and is unobtrusively supportive of her endeavors, keeping an eye out for her and her safety while also not being nearly as concerned as Hunter - and, on occasion, even Echo - are. I think the fact that he also has a pronounced chaotic streak (why wouldn't he, he has already calculated the risks and uses the chaos to his advantage) lends to him not being overly uptight or strict with Omega - he might normally insist on her keeping to her study schedule, but when crabs attack... cue the unscheduled study break.

[crystaltoa]

Interesting to think about what each Vahki stun staff power implies about what the perceived social problems with each Metru were.

Bordakh (Ga-Metru)- Staffs of loyalty. Perhaps it was thought that Ga-Matoran, being typically quite sociable and forming very close friendships, might prioritize loyaty to their friends over the greater good of the city, and would not report a friend that they knew was engaged in suspicious or criminal behaviour.

Rorzakh (Onu-Metru)- Staffs of Presence. Perhaps Onu-Matoran were thought of as overly secretive, hiding away underground out of sight.

Nuurahk (Ta-Metru)- Staffs of Command. Ta-Matoran are known for their hotheadedness and tendency to be outspoken, these staffs were likely introduced to divert them away from whatever the were unproductively occupied with and back to whatever they were meant to be doing. Alternatively, they may have been developed with one very specific Ta-Metru resident, known for his "unscheduled vacations", in mind...

Zadahk (Po-Metru) Staffs of Suggestion. Like Ta-Matoran, Po-Matoran are famous for being stubborn, the Suggestion staffs being used to make them easier for their superiors to handle. (A key difference from the above is that the Nuurahk give commands to the Matoran directly, whereas Zadahk makes them obey other Matoran. Interesting...)

Vorzahk (Le-Metru) Staffs of Erasing. This one is really bizarre, since turning someone into a shambling but mostly harmless zombie does not seem conducive to maintaining peace, order and productivity, especially in an area already as chaotic as Le-Metru. One possible interpretation is that Le-Matoran were considered such troublemakers that it was thought that temporarily frying their higher brain functions when they put a foot out of line would result in less disruptions than allowing them to do whatever it was they were thinking of doing. The other possibility is that it was largely a deterrent, not intended to be used often, but the threat of such a punishment being enough to maintain order. If it's the latter, the fact that "shamblers" were supposedly a common sight in Le-Metru means that this plan failed spectacularly. Either the Vahki were overusing the staffs for minor transgressions, or a number of Le-Matoran were utterly unfazed by the threat of getting their heads scrambled. Maybe some of them even did it recreationally.

Keerakh (Ko-Metru) Staffs of Confusion. It is noted that the effect is considered more merciful than the Erasing staff by the Ko-Matoran. That's interesting in light of the fact that the idea for the Kralhi, their predecessor, reportedly came from Ko-Metru. So the idea of law enforcement robots in general was put forward by Ko-Matoran, and they may have had some input into the design of the Vahki and the choice of Stun staffs for each Metru. The choice of Presence power in Onu-metru is particularly telling, since if anyone thought the Onu-Matoran should be spied on, it would be the Ko-Matoran. Kind of understandable given the tendency for new mining tunnels to "accidentally" destabilize Knowledge towers. Interestingly, you would think Ko-Matoran would be among the most orderly groups and therefore least likely to get in trouble with the law, but dazed, confused Ko-Matoran wandering around after being zapped by Vahki suggests they have the exact same problem as Le-Metru. Either the Vahki are over-applying their power instead of taking more reasonable actions to get Matoran back to work... or Ko-Metru just has a LOT of stun-junkies...

[pedroshotwifey]

A Real Man Frankie Morales x plus size!fem!reader - Frankie has you sit on his face. (1.2k)

Fucking Mine Dave York x fem!reader - You help Dave get out some frustrations. (839)

One Condition Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect) - You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition. (4.9k)

Cramped Innocent!Din Djarin x GN!reader - As you tried to explain, the two of you really don't fit in the cockpit. (927)

Bargian Javier Peña x male!reader - You and Javi play through one of your scandalous fantasies (2.1k)

Salty Sweet Javier Peña x fem!reader - Javi eats you out on your birthday---with a deliciously kinky twist (1.3k)

Better Ezra x f!reader - You join Ezra on his unscheduled break, not knowing you're in for the ride of your lifetime. (2k)

Good 'n' Deep Fat!Frankie Morales x f!reader - Fat Frankie can't be sated. (2.6k)

What Matters Older Joel Miller x f!reader - Your and Joel's first time together turns into so much more. (1.9k)

Needy Sub!Frankie Morales x dom!f!reader - Frankie gives you control for the night and you make sure he gets the most out of it. (1.6k)

Tease Sub!Dieter Bravo x sub!GN!reader x dom!Dave York - You and Dieter think it's fun to tease Dave, and Dave thinks he should teach you both a lesson for it. (2.4k)

Toeing the Line fwb!Marcus Pike x f!reader - Can you really just be "friends"? (740)

Stress Relief Pre-outbreak Joel Miller jacking off to some porn

Mini Skirt Javier Peña x fem!coworker!reader - You start thinking down on yourself---luckily, Javi's there to lift you back up. Nothing some praise and a good fuck in his office can't fix. (2.7k)

The Right Guy X-Men!Logan x f!reader - Logan tries too hard on a first date (mostly cute fluff with a smudge of angst kind of) (1.1k)

Song fic requests:

Haunted QZ!Joel Miller x afab!reader - Haunted by Beyonce

Taste Ex!Javi x reader - Taste by Sabrina Carpenter

Requested Drabbles

Want some help on what to request? Try one of these links! (Make sure to specify which prompt list you’re using or I will assume it’s prompt list 1 :)

Prompt list 1

Prompt list 2

Prompt list 3

Prompt list 4

I am also willing to write for JDM characters (love me some Negan 🤭) , Oscar Isaac characters, Cassian Andor, Hugh Jackman characters (Logan is my fav) and Rick Grimes! Feel free to suggest a different character and I’ll see what I can do! ❤️

Small letter about the requests (basically saying that this is a safe space for all of you to request whatever you'd like!)

[trulybetty]

promise.

pairing: goldrush!joel x charlotte word count: 1,463 warnings: nothing but domesticity summary: a festive slice of life before their world fell apart. ao3: linked

x. gold rush masterlist

a/n: sometimes, when you're in a slump, it's good to lean into the things you enjoy and indulge yourself, rather than worrying about producing something for its reception. so, I went into the archives, found the bare bones of something, and dusted it off. it's supposed to have a counterpart, but it was a little melancholy.

promise.

Charlotte cradled the tepid, watery excuse for coffee in her hands, revelling in the gentle warmth more than the barely-there aroma of the so-called caffeine.

“You could do a better job at hiding your disgust at my choice of coffee,” came the rumble of Joel’s voice behind her, the early morning light catching on the worn edges of his tool bag, followed by the clatter of its contents on the table.

“I don’t even know if you can legally call this coffee—eggs in the microwave,” she said, nodding to the dated appliance.

Joel punched several buttons and the microwave hummed grudgingly to life, “Sarah make these?”

“No, she’s still asleep, finally catching a break after last night’s late study session.”

Joel nodded, running a hand through his unruly hair, “I don’t think I can grin through more shells in my eggs.”

Charlotte laughed as she rose from the table, “Want some of this brownish water that’s supposed to pass as coffee to take with you?” she asked as she poured out the remainder of her cup.

Joel patted his pockets for his wallet, “Yeah, I’ll take whatever is going to keep me awake at this point,” he muttered, his gaze flicking between scattered mail and spare change as he searched the countertop.

Charlotte slid his wallet across the counter from where it’d been on top of the toaster oven, where Joel had left it the night before. He nodded a silent thanks as he pocketed it and then proceeded to pull his heated eggs from the microwave.

Charlotte placed a weathered travel mug next to Joel, a questionable dent in its side, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Big plans for today?” Joel asked around a mouthful of eggs as he leant against the chipped laminate counter, giving a reminder of another project that was waiting for him, he took a tentative sip of the coffee before wincing slightly.

“Ha,” Charlotte said, pointing a knowing finger at him, “Told you. And yes, we’ve got plans, remember? You, me, and Sarah getting a Christmas tree, remember? Tonight?”

Joel raised a brow as he shovelled more eggs into his mouth, “I thought we agreed last year we were done with the real tree thing. They’re a headache. Gettin’ needles everywhere, draggin’ it through the house.” 

Charlotte shrugged as she pulled at a loose, green thread on her cardigan, “You can take that argument up with Sarah. She’s the one who insists on the real deal. Says a fake tree is, and this is a direct quote, ‘lame.’”

Joel sighed heavily, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s stubborn as hell,” he stabbed the last of his eggs, making a dull scrape against the plate, “Wonder where she gets that from,” he wondered absently as he dropped his plate in the sink.

Charlotte raised both eyebrows at him, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, “I don’t think you’ll have to look far, Miller.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head, “Alright, fine. Real tree it is. But you gotta make sure she doesn’t pick one bigger than the damn living room like last year. Nearly broke a damn window trying to get it in.”

Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest, “Only if you’re home before dark to help pick it out.”

Joel glanced at his scratched watch, already feeling the pressure of the unscheduled day ahead, “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Ever the lawyer, Charlotte gave him a pointed look, “Shouldn’t or won’t? Because I’ve heard shouldn’t before, and that tree’s not going to strap itself to the truck.”

Joel rolled his eyes but held up a hand in mock surrender, “I’ll be home, alright? You got my honest-to-goodness word, darlin’.”

Charlotte tilted her head, unconvinced, “You promise? Don’t make me call Tommy or your crew to track you down.”

He looked down at her, a small smile softening at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you to have good intentions. Follow-through? That’s another story,” she said, leaning her hip against the counter.

He smirked, his free hand reaching out to tug lightly at a silky curl of her hair. “I’ll be home. Promise.” She eyed him warily, “Charlotte,” Joel started, his voice carrying a familiar mix of exasperation and affection.

Before he could argue further, Sarah’s voice carried faintly from upstairs, muffled by the hallway walls, “Dad! Don’t forget my soccer stuff in the truck!”

Joel groaned as they moved through to the living room to the front door, but stopping when Charlotte grabbed his arm. She looked up at him with a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite place—part skepticism, part amusement. 

“Promise,” she said again, this time softer, “Before dark.”

He opened his mouth to reply but stopped, his eyes catching on something above her head. A crooked grin spread across his face.

“What?” Charlotte asked, her brows furrowed. She followed his gaze, perplexed.

Joel tipped his head up slightly, “Mistletoe,” he said simply, his voice low with quiet delight.

Charlotte blinked and looked up, noticing the small bundle of mistletoe tied with a fraying red ribbon dangling above them. Her eyes narrowed, “Where the hell did that come from?”

Joel laughed, a low, warm sound, “I’ve got a hunch it might’ve been Sarah.”

Charlotte shook her head, smiling, “That girl, she’s been pulling out Christmas decorations since Thanksgiving.”

Joel’s gaze softened as it lingered on her. He reached up, brushing a soft, dark strand of hair from her face. “Well,” he drawled, his voice low, “seems like a waste if we don’t use it.”

Charlotte laughed, but the sound was cut short as Joel leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss started soft, tentative, and sweet, but quickly deepened as they both leaned into it. His hand found its way to the small of her back, pulling her closer, the scent of pine and old coffee mingling in the air, and her fingers curling into the flannel of his shirt.

The last month had been a series of cancelled dinner plans, chaste kisses on the driveway as they left in separate cars—passing ships in their own home, where silence often replaced conversation. Barely finding time for each other between work, Sarah’s busy schedule, and the chaos that was the holidays. That moment, that stolen sliver of intimacy, was a precious commodity.

But all too soon, Charlotte pulled back, her cheeks flushed, her breathing heavy as Joel rested his forehead against hers, “You’re going to be late, Miller.”

Joel smirked, his thumb grazing her jawline, his tired eyes shining with quiet satisfaction, “Worth it.”

After another lingering moment, Charlotte sighed, reluctantly stepping back. “Okay, go. Before I start locking the doors to keep you home.”

“Just another three weeks,” Joel replied, his eyes softening at the promise of two uninterrupted weeks of construction site shutdowns and office closures that would allow them to finally catch their breath. 

She gave him a bright smile, but it did little to hide the tiredness in her own eyes, “Can’t come soon enough.”

Joel patted his pockets again, frowning, his time looking for the car keys. Charlotte shook her head as she hooked the set of keys from the sideboard beside her around her finger. Joel was a man of many things, could MacGyver a repair of almost anything, organize a crew of two or thirty with ease—but the man’s ability to keep track of small items eluded him almost daily, declaring the objects had wills of their own.

“Thank you,” he said as he took the keys and quickly kissed her forehead, lingering a fraction longer than usual, “What would I do without you?” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes, “Surely forget your head,” she watched him slip on his jacket, “please don’t forget that promise.”

Joel held out his pinkie with a small, boyish grin, the same gesture he’d been using with Sarah since she was tiny, “Pinkie promise, Counsellor.”

Charlotte groaned, but her lips twitched into a reluctant smile, “Really, Joel? A pinkie promise?”

“It’s legally binding, come on Charlie, you should know that. Pfft, and you call yourself a lawyer, always questioning ironclad agreements.”

With a soft laugh, Charlotte hooked her pinkie around his as she rolled her eyes, “Fine, but if you’re late, you’re strapping the tree to the truck by yourself while Sarah and I watch, enjoying the show.”

Joel grinned as he grabbed his tool bag and stepped onto the creaking porch, “I’ll be there, and I’ll even call in dinner on the way home,” he called back, absently juggling the few stray pieces of mail he’d gathered, tucked under his arm. Without breaking stride, he patted his jacket pockets again—only to discover the keys clenched tightly in his other hand.

[thetrashbinseries]

— Fahrenheit Part Two ( bangchan x reader )

rated - mature | minors dni

parts - one, two, three

warnings - idol universe, name changed idols, mature themes, drug use, alcohol use, sexual themes, mentions of mental illness, slight angst, explicit smut, 'daddy' and 'babygirl' petnames, light spanking, heated physical domestic argument

x x x

Jake shot me a text as soon as he touched down in his hotel, leaving me to navigate the aftermath of our little gathering solo. I silently cleaned up the traces of the night, letting my thoughts swirl in the quiet aftermath. Shouldn't I be on cloud nine? Chris, I assumed, had already landed by now, maybe snagging his stuff from the baggage claim. Why the resistance to me picking him up? Couldn't he save some cash and avoid those Uber headaches? As I mulled over Jake's words from our earlier chat, a wave of guilt washed over me. If someone messed with my career, I'd probably cut ties too. 

But did it have to be face-to-face? 

Suddenly, two knocks jarred me, throwing my dogs into their usual frenzy of barks. Now? It felt too soon, like breaking a speed record from airport to doorstep, factoring in landing, baggage, and Uber waits. My motion light, unnoticed until now, flickered on as I was lost in thought. My palms got a little clammy as I fished out my phone, checking for messages from a friend dropping by. But all my friends were back in my hometown. 

Unscheduled visits are a rarity out here, that’s part of the reason why I picked such an isolated home. 

Scrolling through my phone, the doorbell rang out, setting my pets into a louder commotion. Activating the security camera app, I saw Chris on the screen—dark hoodie, black beanie, and chill gray sweats. Hands in his pockets, a visible exhale, like he'd been holding his breath. Just one piece of luggage, small enough to be a carryon. Skipping baggage claim altogether, I guessed. 

Maybe he didn't want to risk airport paparazzi, but at this hour, it'd be a ghost town anyway. 

I unlocked the door, slower than planned, giving it a cautious swing open. Stepping back, I left room for him to enter, the question of how to react buzzing in my head. Hug him? Kiss him? Do a little happy dance? God this is awkward. Chris sniffed, a hint of red on his nose, and began shedding his shoes and beanie, shaking out his curly hair. He looked wiped, but it had been ages since I'd seen him without the makeup mask.    His eyes told the tale of tiredness, the faint shadow under barely-there brows, and the shifts in his skin tone—all untouched by the glam squad. Even a touch of facial hair peeked through, a secret sign of the real guy behind the polished pretty boy image, something he religiously stayed on top of. All the things that make him very human.  The things not many people get to see. 

"What changed?" I threw the question at him, arms crossed in the entryway. Our eyes connected for the first time since he rolled in. I caught a flicker in his right eye, a giveaway of stress and insomnia. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, a nervous move, just enough to reveal a hint of his dimple near his mouth's corner. 

Undeterred, I pressed on, "Channie—" 

His eyebrows pulled together instinctively, a tough look in his eyes. "Don't call me that," he shot back, a stern expression etched on his face. 

Frustration bubbled up, my voice amped up involuntarily, control slipping away. 

"What the fuck is your problem? What? Did you catch a red-eye just to come argue with me?" 

"Yes! I caught a red-eye fucking flight to—"    Chris cut himself off mid-sentence, sucking in air sharply through his teeth, muttering something under his breath in Korean. He ran his hand down his face, eyes closed, releasing a breath before locking eyes with me again. The anger lingered, but it was transforming into something I couldn't quite put my finger on. 

I could feel hot tears threatening, but I held them back, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, refusing to show any weakness. Was this the end? 

"Of course, I hopped on a flight to have it out with you. Isn't that what you wanted?"    “Don’t you gaslight me Christopher Bang, I’m not your little fucking fans–” 

He looked exasperated, hands out, "What do my fans have to do with this?! You said it's simple, am I coming or not? I'm here, just like you wanted, because it's all about you, isn't it?" 

I turned away, striding off, the red haze building within me. I wanted to lay into him for talking out the side of his neck like this, but I wouldn't stoop to that level. His voice echoed down the hall. 

"Yeah, walk away. It's your specialty—running away." 

I halted, closing my eyes, back turned to him, grappling with the urge. I fought it hard; he was on the brink of hitting below the belt. Logic eluded me at this moment. 

"I'm going to smoke before I physically violate you." 

Attempting to walk away again, his footsteps echoed behind me. Chris wasn't the type to follow for an argument��that was typically my role. I expected him to detour to the kitchen for a drink or something, anything other than what he actually did. His hand seized my forearm, yanking me hard enough to turn me three-quarters around. I saw red, wind knocked out of me as my back slammed into the wall, caged between his big, loud hands thudding against the wall beside my head. A flinch—a moment of confusion. Had he struck me? 

Quickly assessing, no parts of my body ached except between my shoulder blades from the impact. 

Breathing heavier than anticipated, Chris mirrored the sentiment. 

"Physically violate me, then," he uttered, his voice dangerously low, just above a whisper. My body was confused, my brain a tangled mess. His intense gaze bore into my face, forcing me to look away. He tilted his head, compelling eye contact once more. 

"It's not rocket science, Y/N." 

The phrase echoed from our earlier phone argument, reigniting my hostility. I raised my head, meeting his eyes with a narrowed gaze. "I hate you," I snarled, trying to slip underneath his arm to free myself. Chris wasn't having it; he gripped my wrist behind my back, pressing my chest against the wall. His muscular frame kept me in place, his chest against my back. I twisted my wrist, but he tightened his hold. His breath grazed my shoulder, his words so close to my ear it felt like he was feeding them straight into my brain. 

"I hate you too, baby," he murmured. His free hand ghosted the tendrils of hair that had escaped my messy ponytail, tender and gentle unlike the firm grip on my wrist. As his fingers swept the hair away, soft lips pressed against my skin, eliciting a sigh from my lips. Each kiss left thorns of heat, moving along my neck, down to my shoulder. 

"I hate you," I repeated, losing my edge. 

"Mmm, shut up—I know," Chris replied.    Finally, he releases me, his hands finding their way to my waist beneath my baggy sweatshirt. Despite being in my home for a few minutes, his touch is still cold against my warmed skin. I feel a shiver as my nipples harden, and he seems to sense it, cupping them, squeezing. My knees almost buckle as I lean back, my head perfectly resting on his shoulder. Our bodies intertwine, fitting together like a perfect puzzle piece. His fingers pinch the pebbled flesh, drawing a moan from me and an audible sigh from him. 

He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and I can feel his hardness against my backside. It's not a gradual thing; he's already rock stiff, hips grinding into me as his hands explore my body with a passionate messiness. 

What were we arguing about again?    Lust swirls, making me dizzy with how good my body feels. My eyes lose focus and regain it with every recovery breath as he squeezes at the extra padding on my hips and waist. No part of my body goes untouched, and I try to shake off my reservations.     No, that was a hang-up of mine.    Christopher Bang is here to touch, lick, and squeeze every inch that belongs to him. 

A tap on my hip brings me back to reality—a gentle reminder between us whenever things heat up in unconventional places. 

Against-the-wall activities are actually pretty uncomfortable in real life. 

Who knew? 

He takes my hand, and I follow him like an excited puppy, almost stumbling over myself to reach his body once we get to the couch. It's my turn now; my hands have a mind of their own too, you know. 

Such a soft face without makeup, I'd almost forgotten the hardness of his body—had it become even more solid? My hands run over his abdomen, feeling something different—less lean, more meaty. Usually, I go straight for what's mine, but now I'm curious. Gripping the bottom of his hoodie, I can sense the muscle shirt underneath, so I yank them both off, the scent of his body wash, cologne, and deodorant hitting me all at once, etching the experience into my mind on nearly every sensory level, except for... 

Taste. 

As his clothes drop to the floor with a muffled thud on the carpet, he turns to face me. His skin is less milky, more sandy tan, and wheat-colored under my warm lights, unlike the artificial ones he's usually bathed in. He must've soaked up the sun in LA, and I can still see it reddening in the places where blood has surged the quickest. 

He's completely under the spell of carnal sensuality—deep in the well, unable to see anything around him, becoming the parts of himself he wouldn't dare confront in the daylight. I notice because I pay attention to things like that—I see the way he looks at me, as if I'm his most treasured plaything. His mannerisms change, slower, with certainty in every touch. He says things you wouldn't dare repeat once he's back to his Earth self, lest he deny, deny, deny, laughing loudly overtop of you, or cringing away from embarrassment. 

Yes, as I drop slowly to my knees, watching him, I see the way he stands in his masculinity, divine, a god in his own right. Just when I think the moment can't get any hotter or I might combust, I hear him—a puff of air through his nose, a lazy, almost entertained, but not quite—chuckle. His lip quirks ever so slightly upwards. 

"You hate me?" 

Heat radiates from my body; I'm certain I'm letting off steam at this point. I feel it, especially in my face, fingers wrapped in the waistband of his sweatpants, hanging loosely as I look down, unable to maintain eye contact, feeling regret building up in me. I can tell by the way he says it that he never believed it—but still... 

"I didn't think so," Chris' voice answers the unspoken questions in my head. His fingers graze the bottom of my chin, urging me to look at him. "Look at me while you do it." 

My engine roars to life without hesitation. I tighten my grip on his sweats, yanking them down with determination. He kicks them off, backing up to sit on the couch, but I'm not waiting. I take the caramel-colored, thick head of his dick between my lips, halting his retreat. The sweetness of his precum floods my mouth, turning bitter as it reaches the back of my tongue and throat. Flattening my tongue against the bottom of his girthy shaft, I open my mouth, letting him rub his sensitive, unsheathed tip against the warm, back wall of my throat. 

Obediently watching him. 

He likes that, making it clear by placing his hand on the back of my head, urging me to stay while he thrusts further, pulling out just a centimeter to plunge into my throat. Small gasps escape his lips every time my gag reflex spasms around him. I run out of breath, choking backward, and he lifts his hand, allowing me to right myself. 

"C'mon, babygirl—thaaaat's it—fuck." Chris grips what's left of my ponytail, guiding me back onto his dick, all the way to the back, with no true mercy. A few more tiny thrusts, and I'm coughing again, my mouth and jaw drenched with slippery saliva mixed with the constant ooze of his precum. He glances behind him, ensuring his seating, then lets himself fall back onto the couch, hand tangled in my thick hair as I wrap both hands around his cock—a pretty, deep brown, a stark contrast to his body tone. 

When I start focusing on stroking his sensitive tip, he drops his head back, emitting the most delicious groan. Pulling back on his sheath, dribbling spit onto his tip, I begin jerking him again, taking advantage of the smoothness the extra skin provides. I follow with my mouth, taking in whatever my hands can't reach, and when I start with the suction, another groan escapes him—this time, broken, his hips rising a little off the couch, encouraging me to keep going. 

"Oh God—that feels fucking—incredible; don't you—fucking stop."    His chest moves with each gasp as I twirl my hand a certain way. I try to stay consistent, but it's been a while, and my neck strains from the bobbing, lips growing numb. But fuck, he's so hot; I don't wanna stop. 

I engage in a slow rhythm, savoring the silky feeling of his dickhead against my swollen mouth and eager lips, pressing loud, wet kisses against it. He's lifted his gaze to watch, and I seize the opportunity to run my tongue along his length, exploring the prominent ridge beneath. 

"Oh my God—" His head drops back, words and vowels drawn out in ecstasy. 

I lean back on my heels, hands taking charge, a twist here, a firm grasp there. When I lean forward and start slurping again, with all intentions of taking this man’s soul—his hips withdraw, and he halts me with a breathless, "Fuck," sounding like he just finished a sprint. "You almost made me cum," He taps my shoulder twice, a signal we both understand, prompting another switch in our silent dance. 

I’m more than happy to obey, feeling how wet I’ve become when he pulls my sweats off as I climb onto the couch on my knees, my arms resting on the head of it that rests against the wall.   I can feel his hands, now warm, even hot almost against my ass as he spreads me open.  I curl my fingers into the couch with anticipation, and then comes the feeling of both of his fingers entering me first.  I let out an eager moan, reveling in the relief and satisfaction of being touched by someone so skillfully.  He’s curling two fingers, stroking my spot, I can feel his pinky and index splayed against my juicy, wet pussy lips.  The filthy sounds amplify as he increases the pressure, prompting me to move against his touch, the base of his hand firmly against my asshole. 

“Mmm, baby, you know how much daddy loves to eat this pretty little cunt—but the way you’re clenching around my fingers, fuck I—I gotta feel you.”  Chris slows down, he speaks again, reminding me of his proposition, “Is that alright babygirl? Hm? Can daddy fuck you now?” 

“Mhm, Mhm!” I can’t think straight, why was he asking? Of course he could fuck me ten ways from Tuesday in a handstand for all I care!  Just— 

“Fuck me.” I beg, unsure if I meant to finish that thought out loud. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” The weight of his knee presses onto my leg, his foot securing his position against my other thigh, his thumb against my asshole as I begin to feel his dick stretching me open, eliciting the weirdest, downright feral sound from deep within my gut. He’s raw, and I swore I could feel every vein, every ridge, and his head passing through every sensitive quadrant of my pussy until his balls tickled the lips covering my entrance.  It was then that my walls squeeze around him, desperate to feel him move.  I could almost make myself cum just like that—I begin moving against him, caught in the intensity of the moment, like a cat in heat, and he’s so deep, I feel him in places that make my eyes flutter. 

Thumb leaving my sensitive hole, Chris takes firm hold of the sides of my tummy, rutting into my heat, sending a shiver through my spine that puts me into an arch. He seizes the chance to hold the front of my neck, adjusting me for a slower, more profound connection, exploring every inch of me.  It takes a lot of stamina in the legs for this—of course he’s got that.  I rest my hand on his thigh beside me, feeling the firmness, digging my nails in as I grit my teeth together, the pleasure overwhelming me as our bodies, beginning to get slick with the fluids between us, rock desperately against one another. 

I'm released, and I lurch forward, barely snagging myself on the top of the couch. Just then, I sense it against my left hip— 

 tap tap 

My vision snaps back into focus as I hear him breathing as heavily as I am, flopping down onto the couch. I take the lead, hovering over him. We both gaze as his dick is swallowed up by my pussy, inch by beautiful inch.    I let out an incoherent sound, a mix of a grunt and a moan, my arm draped over his shoulder, fingers entwined in the curls at the nape of his neck as he thrusts. My touch shifts from gentle exploration to grabbing fistfuls of his thick, silky, curly hair at the base of his skull. Using my knees for stability, I sync with his rhythm, adding those addictive hip circles that set every part of me ablaze like a pinball machine. The alarms blare, the lights flash – this, right here, is my favorite way to connect with Chris, where we're on an equal playing field. 

As we delve deeper into each other's gaze, the intensity heightens, but there's always a moment when one of us surrenders, head lolling back, eyes rolling together. His hands work my hips in rhythmic circles, like a baker kneading dough on a board. Yet, I sense when he's had his fill as he takes back control, lifting me up and snapping his hips into me at speeds that defy reality. My cries become a constant stream, shameless screams of his name, erratic and desperate. 

"Yeah, thaat's it—"    I can feel my walls softening as my body begins to literally feel like it's filling up with water that’s threatening to consume me any second now.  I’m gasping, trying to form the words to tell him I’m almost there, that he can’t stop, or even slow up, he’s got to keep going, I’m certain if I don’t get there, I’m going to die. 

“D-Daddy, don’t—” I can’t say anything else, I can only hope he gets it. 

And he does. 

Chris always gets it. 

“Gonna stop---all your bitching, hm?”  He’s holding my waist to allow me the freedom to focus on my impending orgasm. “Gonna let me do my fucking job from now on, yeah?”    “Mm--yeah!”      “Say it,”    “Chris!” I whimper in protest, “I’mma s-stop fucking---bitching!” 

“That’s my girl.”    He slaps my ass, sending a shock through my body, but before I can recover, he strikes again, and again, and my body becomes quickly hyperstimulated. I start letting go, my breath held hostage in my chest as Chris lets out a stream of curses, hitting his peak and spilling inside of me.  I can feel it, it’s carrying my climax out even further, and when I finally collapse, with him still inside, I can feel my entire body buzzing, and I’m muttering something that doesn’t make sense to myself or him. 

We're both catching our breath, heart rates settling down, but Chris finds joy in this aftermath. He chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my lower back, exploring the dimples above my tailbone.    "What are you saying?" he asks. 

"I love you. I love you, and I never want us to breakup. Ever," I say, more composed now, my cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, the pull of sleep threatening to take over like it always did after a proper orgasm. His arms wrap around me, securing them with a grasp on his own wrist. I feel a sense of security. 

"I love you too. I didn't come all this way to break up with you," he reassures me. I lift my head, likely with my hair wild and untamed. 

"Really, Channie?" 

He laughs.  The nickname is cleared for use again. He kisses my lips.

"Of course not. Why would I cross the country just to break up with someone? That seems like a lot of...effort," Chris continues. He tilts his head back to gaze at me, tucking his chin in. Once he sees my focused attention, he looks ahead as he talks. "I want to be with you, or I wouldn't have made you my girl—" 

"You didn't," I interrupt, sitting up. I pull away from his lap, wrapping the knitted throw over myself as I nestle into the couch beside him. 

He looks puzzled, "I didn't? Really?" He shrugs, raising his brows. "I always thought you were." 

The relief floods in. 

So, we were on the same page. 

Curiosity takes over, and I inquire, "When did you start thinking of me as your girlfriend?" 

"Mm." Chris looks up in thought before locking eyes with me again. "The first time we had sex." 

I'm taken aback by the memory. It wasn't a smooth ride, ended up in a heated argument. "When I got caught outside the building after our studio session? Chris, you almost jeopardized your whole career after that." 

Chris tugs at the blanket's end, and I hand it over. As he slides underneath, he takes my foot into his lap, rubbing circles into the center. "That's not how it works—don't get me wrong, it was... difficult. It still is, which is why I couldn't just decide to show up when you asked. I've been allowed, by contract, to date for a few years now." 

"Then why are we sneaking around like you're ashamed of me or something?" I hug the blanket tighter, feeling exposed. 

Chris seems thrown by this revelation. "Ashamed of you for what? You're beautiful, talented. I don't—did I give you that impression, babygirl?" He shakes his head. "I'm protecting you. You've just been signed to a major label, and we've got a good thing going, yeah? Why mess it up now when we can wait for things to level out for the both of us?" 

He makes some valid points. It's reassuring to hear he's not ashamed of me. I start to feel the familiar peace his presence brings. It's been four months since we were last in the same country, let alone the same city. I grew impatient after he came in on business and then left again, making excuses not to see me. That's why this time, I escalated it and added pressure. 

"Level out, what does that mean?" I ask. Chris sits back, mindlessly running his thumb over the pads of my toes while looking at the coffee table's candle. 

"I think we'll know once we both get there." He looks up to me. "I'm sorry, babygirl. I wish I had a better answer for you right now." He sounds sincere enough. I believe him. He's given me no reason not to trust him before, right? His fingers stop on my soles, and he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to see something better. He leans forward, picking up the knitted beanie near the ashtray. 

My heart drops when I realize what it is. 

But why? I didn't do anything wrong.    RIght? 

"This new?" He turns it around on his hand. "Where'd you get it? I like it." 

Caught in the moment, I blurt, "A gift." I reach forward, taking it before he can spot any stray hair that doesn't match mine. He's not checking that closely, at least not yet. I turn it over in my hands. "I've been keeping it cold in the house, so it helps keep me warm," I say, tossing it onto the beanbag chair. I turn to him, nudging his shoulder as I scoot closer. 

"Sooo, how was KCON?"  - fin

[the-ace-with-spades]

WIP Wednesday for multiple hangster fics because I wrote a bit during my train rides this weekend but won't be able to write more for a while...

snippets for the hangster a/b/o mpreg fic, with arms wide open (idea overview here)

Bradley is—he’s tired. Constantly tired. His feet feel like they are filled with water, his calves look like they’re filled with water, he’s had a nosebleed and bleeding gums this morning, and whenever he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing spots for a couple seconds after opening them again.

He’s been trying not to complain too much, Mav and Ice would panic if he did, but it hasn't been the easiest few weeks for him. 

Something on his face must have shown as he grabs the two copies left on his desk because Nat just takes them off his hands as they enter the corridor outside the office, and gives him a pitying look. “They’re really giving you a hard time, huh?”

“It’s genetic,” he says dryly and Nat snorts.

She’s still smiling softly as she asks, “Do you want to talk to him?”

“Not really, no,” he admits. Even the idea of seeing Jake makes him nauseous. “I’ll have to, at some point, even just so we can get some things clear. I just, I’d prefer to do that after the fact.”

“You think he’ll just—wait, until then?”

“I—I don’t know,” he replies. He knows Jake — or he had thought he knows him — and he’s not one to be predictable. He likes to think that the Jake he knew, that Jake would try to make it right, even if it is too late for it now that Bradley knows how he truly feels.“He said he doesn’t want any of it so, not talking, it’d be easier for him. He’s just not—”

“—the type to do things the easy way?”

****

It's a different office and a different secretary, not like the ones Bradley remembers. The secretary is far younger than the one Ice had when he was a teenager, who had been older than Ice, and the office is far bigger and far more formal. He’s come here wearing his uniform, thinking it’d make it easier to move around base in it, and he’s so glad — he’d have looked so out of place if he just arrived in jeans and a shirt.

“Can you call him and tell him it’s his son?”

This is stretching it, he knows. Bradley’s been Ice’s nothing, on paper, Ice as the head alpha of Bradley’s pack, an archaic thing not considered for much in today’s world, being the only connecting part for them. He might have been his kid, years and years before, but now, Ice probably wouldn’t have much but nostalgic empathy and leftover possessiveness for Bradley.

“Son?” the secretary asks. “He doesn’t have a son.”

He feels like a fraud as he says, “Name’s Bradley,” but he doesn’t have much choice.

She looks at him for a minute and he relents from fidgeting from foot to foot. Finally, she picks up the phone handle and with one button, connects to the office behind her. The rooms are soundproofed so he can only hear her parts, not even a whisper coming from the office door.

“Sir, there’s an unscheduled visitor asking to meet you. Yes. I know, yes. He’s a lieutenant. I know, sir. Didn’t say.” She pauses, glancing at Bradley again, and he waits in silence. “He claims he’s your son, sir, your son Bradley. Yes, Lieutenant Bradshaw, sir.”

Bradley clears his throat and she suddenly straightens up, blinking idly at the phone, not a word leaving her mouth for a couple of minutes..

“Sir?” she speaks up, eyes glancing toward him, confused. “I understand.” She puts down the phone and tilts her head at Bradley, frowning. Then, slowly, she tells him, “Admiral Kazansky will see you now.”

He takes a minute to process, staring at the door to Ice's office long enough for the secretary to clear her throat.

He wants to throw up all over again.

snippet for slow down (you're doing fine) chapter 7

Jake had never wondered why Bradley liked to come to an empty bar to relax but he supposed nostalgia had something to do with it — either because of his dad or because of his godfather — military bars tended to look similar.

It was the center of the problem, Jake supposed, him either never wondering why Bradley did certain things or being too insistent for his, their own good that he needed to know why.

Jake sat down in front of him, on the other side of the booth, crossing his arms and leaning on the table. Bradley glanced up at him, raised an eyebrow, and went back to filling out paperwork. Like he hadn't given Jake back the ring Jake thought he had lost forever years ago a few nights ago. Like he hadn’t admitted he knew Jake wanted to marry him barely a few nights ago.

Like he didn’t break and mend Jake’s heart when he gave him that envelope.

“Did you really play Danny from Grease in high school?”

Bradley put the pen down and frowned.

“How do you—It was Mav, wasn’t it?” he realized, shaking his head and sighing. He was smiling softly, head slightly tilted like he wanted to avoid Jake’s gaze but couldn’t — he looked lovely, rosy cheeks, loose curls on his forehead and all. “Before you say anything, I’ll remind you that I know you like Dolly Parton.”

“I stand by that, she's a star,” he answered without shame, smiling back. “You never sing any of the songs from it. You know, You’re the One I Want or Summer Lovin’ and all that.”

“It’s Nights, Summer Nights," Bradley said and Jake grinned because he really did sound like a theater kid. "And most of them are duets, don't exactly translate well while done solo, even with a crowd.”

He turned his gaze down back to the table but he didn’t pick up the pen and Jake observed him when he said, “I sold the ring.”

A barely-there flinch of his eyebrows and licking his lips was all Jake could notice before Bradley said, “Good.”

the (sometimes I feel) like a monkey pilot chapter 8 snippet

"Have you done something like this before?"

"No," he admitted.

“You said—”

"I told you I flew in an F-14, not that I piloted it."

In fact, the closest to piloting an F-14 he came was playing the flight simulator — it was their main source of entertainment after his top surgery and when Ice was on house arrest when he had cancer. He read the nine hundred pages of NATOPS for the Tomcat only because they wanted to keep the game realistic as much as possible and for hours, Bradley had listened as Ice, and sometimes Uncle Slider, explained to him how it looked in reality. They had shown him the differences between the NATOPS and the sims because he missed flying, but he had never thought he would have to fly an F-14 and was doing his hardest now to remember those days.

The idea that Bradley could fly this museum piece solely on the knowledge he gathered from a former Tomcat pair, few short flights as the backseater when he was fourteen, and the days spent in a civilian-grade flight simulator was already far-fetched — but this wasn't going to reassure anyone, so his mouth stayed shut.

"And you want to—"

"You see any other choices here? If so, be my guest," he offered. “Last chance to swap the seats.”

"You're going to kill us," Jake remarked and honestly, Bradley preferred to die trying than just give up. He was raised better.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, honey."

He resisted the urge to bang his head on the board in front of him and tried to remember what was next.

[artmakerproductions]

BeFriend, The Blob? (#2)

The Blobs

Some space gunk fell to earth, government fucked around and it got loose. One was good, the other not so much. Going about feeding their appetite differently than the other. One passive, the other aggressive. Both living on a human host. Blah blah blah.

Over five years prior to the starting events of the story. From the deep reaches of outer space, hurdling towards earth was a meteor that housed Mother Blob. A pregnant individual of the blob species who are hermaphrodites. Much like a mosquito, to complete the pregnancy process she needed to feed… an unknowing Old Man curiously pocked the cracked open space rock. The then clear gelatinous mass striked and latched onto the old man. Consuming his flesh. Reaching the nearby town of Arborville, Pennsylvania. A small cozy little town that relies on the tourism brought in the winter for the ski resorts there. The old man barley makes it to the home of Dr. Hallen. Seeing the strange mass, he resorts to amputation and calling a higher up people who deal with diseases and other harmful stuff. By then the mass has engulfed his entire arm and reached beyond his shoulder. After being whisked away, by the time it reaches the hands of Dr Christopher Meddows, it’s completely consumed the Old Man. Within the Mother Blob are her two twins. The outer layer that is her dissolves as she splits in two. One red, the other, a milder lighter shade of red. Designated as Blob-1 and Blob-2.

..5 years later…

Blob-1 aka Irvin Edgar “Eggbert” Andrews:

Irvin is most like their mother in texture and colour. Though definitely different, both before and after Meddows’ experimenting and tests. Showed remarkable intelligence for an amoeba-like mass. From problem solving, facial recognition and even passing the mirror test. Can create complex eyes for themselves, though until later on after meeting Steve Andrews, remains an amorphous blob. Has even demonstrated the ability to be vocal and emit other noises. As a test for their endurance, he and Blob-2 (going on to be named “Russel” later) are placed in a satellite and shot into space. An unscheduled landing occurred after some stray space rocks hit it. By mother of all chances, crash lands near Arborville again. Witnessed by the 15 year old couple, Steve and his girlfriend, Jane Martin. Thinking it as nothing but a shooting star. Escaping the damaged container, both slime masses go their separate ways. Sensing the upcoming cold season, they both slink away to find shelter someplace warm and secure. Irvin towards the woods, and Russel towards town via the sewers. For the following week, and it being winter soon (though the chances of snow is at it’s lowest that year) Irvin had bunkered down at the Andrews Farm. Knowing it best to hide out and be as inconspicuous as possible. Consuming a few eggs, chickens/other poultry here and there. Even a fox once. From the sidelines, they observed Steve and his tending to the animals. A thing about Blobs is they lack a means of insulation from the cold. Unlike mammals who have fat and can padded up for long winter sleeps. Which means they’d need a host to act as their walking heat insulator. Think of a clownfish to a sea anemone or certain fishes and other critters with sea cucumbers. By accident one night while above Steve as he had began investigating the noises in the barn caused by Irvin, the wooden floorboard gave way to Irvin’s weight, BAM! 💥 The wood cracked and both landed right atop Steve’s noggin. Causing a crack in the back of his head. In a trippy sequence homaging the ‘58 films opening, representing Irvin making his way into Steve’s head and essentially replacing his brain. Though what makes up Steve’s mind/conscious is still there within Irvin and can split from it and leave it within Steve should Irvin need to leave. By the time Steve wakes up, he now has a Blob on his head and speaks to him seemingly telepathically at first, before moving on to outright talking aloud. thinking it’s just a hallucination of the head trauma, Steve just heads off to bed and sleep. Hoping to forget it by morning. Surprise surprise, it’s not a hallucination. It’s reality. Irvin strikes a deal with Steve to be his host for the winter months until around springtime/when the weather warms up. If by then he doesn’t wish to remain as his walking-talking insulator, he will depart (leaving with his body an amount of slime that makes up Steve’s mind) and find another, maybe willing, host. To satiate the blob’s carnivorous consumption, Steve feeds Irvin the eggs of their farm’s poultry. Earning him the name Eggbert at first. After a bit of time and learning more of human culture, he wishes for a more formal name. He is then christened, Irvin. The appearance of his face is the result of copying the doodles Steve does in class. Choosing it as to better express himself, especially as the knowledge of his existence among Steve’s friend group grows. With a steady consumption rate, Irvin naturally fluctuates with his growth and decrease in mass, much like a human. All the meddling around with the two blobs left them incapable of reproduction.

Blob-2 aka Russel “Wormwood”:

His differing and gnarled appearance is the result of the heavier tamperings of Meddows research team. He’s definitely got a bone to pick with the man. Far more aggressive, hungry and lacking of self control. All that’s on his mind is consume, consume, consume. After crash landing in Aborville, he slinked his way into the sewers. He found them subpar, but better than the environment beyond. Rats and whatever organic scraps that washed down there is not doing it for him. He’s REALLY hungry. While it was barley suffusive as a place to hold out for the eventual winter chills, like Irvin, he’d need a host himself… that would eventually be a poor sap by the name of Paul. Before that though, Russel had some unfinished business. He slinked his way to Dr Hallen’s and as payback for the doc’s hand in himself and sibling being brought to Meddows, he went in for the kill and didn’t even bother finish his food. Left a grisly sight of the body’s upper half dissolved and smouldering. Now to the how he and his host, Paul, meet. The teenager was about to get mugged by a man w/ a gun in an alley, when Russel (having been there by happenstance from the sewer) from the shadows he latches onto Paul pulling him backward away from the mugger and purposely knocks out the kid by hitting the wall. Mugger is stunned and before he can leave the scene of the would-be crime, becomes Russel’s meal. Cocooning the poor bastard. Russel’s central mind splits off from the slab and it slithers to the sewer to digest the rest. Russel’s got plans. When Paul finally comes to, Russel, having slithered on into the damaged skull he purposely caused, claims to have saved his life from the mugger’s bullet. “Scared him off” he says. In return, Russel needs a host for the time being, and skimps out on some details. Paul, in a sense of owing him, allows it. All “Little Shop of Horrors”-like. Much like Irvin and Steve, Paul and Russel strike up a similar dealing, but Russel is sleazy with the exacts like a used car salesman and wants to eat and eat at the expense of Paul’s own body, sucking up whatever nutrients Paul’s body takes from the food he eats. Russel is basically burning his own rowboat. He badgers the boy constantly into eating and eating, saying that if he wants him gone, he’s gotta step it up with the meals; but Paul doesn’t gain any weight, in fact the opposite. Paul becomes worse and worse for wear. To a point you can see Russel moving within under his skin. As to why the skull face? (Other than rule of cool and homage the melting of victims within the blob) Russel has a fascination and envy of vertebrates. Specifically the jaw. Unlike himself and his kind, who merely dissolves and absorbs prey items, animals can munch, crunch, bite, tear, rip, and eviscerate prey. So he copies the shape of skulls and longs for the day of having teeth and a jaw structure. He doesn’t simply wanna consume food, he wants to eat it, proper. To feel the sensation of ripping apart, chewing, and shredding of his food….

….

The names given to the Blobs are from the directors of each Blob’s respective films: Irvin S. Yeaworth Jr. for the 1958 film, and Chuck Russell for the remake in 1988.

Assistance with the ironing out the concept, @guthrie-odonto

[runnning-outof-time]

Dancing With the Devil | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @raincoffeeandfandoms ‘s 2.5k Follower Celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy Shelby arrives in London with one plan in mind, but quickly stumbles upon another when he meets (Y/N). After finding common ground, he makes the decision on which way to go in a rather unique fashion. A decision that leaves one person rather pleased and the other rather pissed.

Warnings: language, smoking, mentions of drinking

Word Count: 3613

A/N: it’s been a while since I’ve written Alfie, so I hope he makes sense and isn’t too ooc … I just had to include him in here for you, Flor!! I went with a ‘night’ theme of a party/event for this. Congrats on 2.5k - it’s so well deserved! I’m so grateful that you’re part of this community!

A/N 2: this idea was pulled from a book about the Gold Rush that I read; where a man and a woman went onto the dance floor to make a business deal so that they could do it out of earshot of another man that she was in competition with. I immediately thought of Tommy and Alfie and this came out of it. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"Beautiful day out, isn't it, Mr. Solomons?" (Y/N) asked with a smug grin as she entered the man's office, walking in like she owned the place.

"Wouldn't know it," Alfie answered her, clasping his hands together and resting them on his stomach as he reclined back in his chair, "see some of us actually have work that they do...but you wouldn't know nothing about that, would ya? Always going around and getting into others' business without a fucking care in the world," he took the opportunity to throw a shot back at her after he clocked her smug nature.

If anything, his statement made her grow even more smug. "Ah but that's where I've got you beat, Alfie...I'm able to go around and get into other peoples' business because I've delegated my work to people whom I trust."

"You saying I don't have trust in my operation?" Alfie questioned her, his one eyebrow raised.

"I'm not saying anything," (Y/N) responded, holding her hands up in defense, "you're the one who brought it up," she reminded him.

"What're you here for then? Besides goin' about another one of your plans to annoy the piss out of me?" he posed another question, wanting to get on with this unscheduled meeting. He had another prospective partner coming in any moment now, and he couldn't risk that man walking in on this.

"I'm here because I wanted to let you know that there's going to be problems if your men keep crossing the line and running your product to my buyers," she said to him, her smug nature dropping like a flick of a switch as her expression went flat.

"Who my runners choose to go with the product is no choice of my own, you know that, doll...I merely give them the product to run," Alfie told her, speaking in a voice that showed her he didn't care about the situation she was in.

"That's bullshit, and you know it," she countered, a glare on her face, "you'd be down my throat about it if the places were flipped."

"Ahh but they aren't, are they?" he kept his careless tone, a grin teetering on his lips as he leaned forward in his chair.

(Y/N) couldn't help but grumble a few obscenities under her breath as she tried to keep herself calm. After a deep, steadying breath, she spoke as calmly as she could, "just tell your men to stop dealing with my buyers."

Alfie cracked another grin at her. He could see that she was trying to restrain herself, and he debated whether he should continue poking the bear or settling the score...for now, at least. A quick glance at the clock on the wall made him choose the latter. "I'll see what I can do..." he trailed off, his grin growing. He could play with her a little bit, right? "But as you know...determined men only listen to a certain extent."

"Make them listen to you, Solomons," she demanded, glaring at him in hopes that it'd make her point stick. She stared at him for a few more moments before breaking away and turning to leave his office.

"Good day, Miss (Y/L/N)!" he called to her as she left, a taunting tone laced into his voice.

She shook her head and kept walking, right past the taller worker who had curly, brown hair and a confused expression plastered on his face. He was probably confused by how she managed to enter the facility, but she didn't care. She was leaving it anyway.

Without a word, she made her way to the main doors and opened them. The sight in front of her stopped her in her tracks before she could begin walking to her headquarters. A man was leaning up against the wall, working on lighting a cigarette with a match. (Y/N) noticed his struggle in getting said match to light, so she fished the lighter she owned out of her purse and walked up to him.

"Need a light?" she asked him, making him look up; his face now finally visible from under the peaked cap he was wearing.

"Sure," he answered in a gruff voice, leaning in slightly to light his cigarette when she set the flame alight. He took a drag and blew the smoke away from her before sending her a silent thank you through a nod.

"You look like hell," she was unable to stop herself from commenting on his appearance. His right eye was bruised and red, and he had cuts on his cheek and chin.

"Feel like it too," he offered a passive response. (Y/N) wanted to ask how he'd received his injuries, but the question died in her throat when he spoke again, "you work here?"

She chortled at the question. "No," she said, shaking her head; laughing again at the thought of it, "I'd sooner die a thousand terrible deaths than I would work for that man."

The man she was talking to raised his eyebrows at her exaggerated statement. "Bad at business?"

"No, he's good in his own right..." (Y/N) trailed off, hating to admit the fact. It wasn't that Alfie was bad at business, he just did things...differently. "He has his own way of going about things. You can't ever fully trust him. He's willing to play any angle he can in order to get himself something out of the equation," she added a bit of a warning onto her statement. She almost kept on talking; wanting to grumble about how he was letting his men speak to her buyers, but she decided against looping this random man into her troubles.

"I'll make sure to remember that," the man nodded his head, his words making (Y/N) realize something.

"Are you...are you about to go in and meet with him?" she asked, jerking her thumb back in the doors' direction.

"I am," the man nodded again.

"You'll find nothing but trouble if you go and do business with that man," she warned him before adding in a pitch for herself, "you should come work with me instead."

"What if trouble's what I'm looking for?" the man asked, her quirking an eyebrow upwards.

"Then you might just find some with me as well," she answered, a grin tugging the right corner of her lips upwards.

The man chuckled at her witty statement. "Thomas Shelby," he then introduced himself, sticking his hand out between them.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)," she returned the greeting before accepting his handshake, "my offer’s serious," she told him, looking him in the eyes as she held onto his hand for a moment longer before dropping it and breaking their eye contact as she did so. "I'll let you get to your meeting now," she nodded her head towards the doors, and he nodded in response before the conversation ended and they went their respective ways.

All of the frustration that had been built up by the conversation she had with Alfie mere minutes ago had now dissipated thanks to the run in with this new man. Sure, he looked like he'd wound up on the wrong end of a fight, but he dressed well and was looking to do business. Better yet...he was looking to do business with Alfie Solomons.

(Y/N) didn't intend for her life to turn out this way. Her brother, James, was the person who started the operation she was currently the head of. What started off as a small-time business quickly climbed to international levels thanks to James' ideas and (Y/N)'s charm and quick-wittedness. While she didn't exactly lead the charge with her brother, she did play an instrumental part in the deals being made as well as the back end bookkeeping. She knew about every little detail.

This knowledge was good for her to have. Without it, she wouldn't have been able to transition into the lead role of the operation after her brother died as a result of a business deal that went sideways in America. She was left with no other choice...she wasn't going to let all of their hard work crumble. Now she ran a tight ship, making sure everything stayed orderly and worked in the way James used to expect it.

Alfie Solomons was a constant thorn in her side. Being that they were in the same line of business, and operating around the same area, they always seemed to clash. James wanted to work with him in the past; and had even gotten close to it, but Alfie's strategy of keeping every avenue open for himself ended in him screwing James over and advancing in a deal with Darby Sabini. Those two were, of course, at odds again...much like (Y/N) and Alfie were. They were always trying to find ways to one-up each other.

Which is why meeting Thomas Shelby - and making an impression on him before Aflie did - excited (Y/N). He could be the avenue that (Y/N) needed to get a leg ahead of the game in London. Now she just had to find a way to make him join her instead of the madman that he was about to have a conversation with.

She could have just barged her way back into the 'bakery', but no. She wanted to make sure that this move was well calculated.

——

"Thank you, Marcel," (Y/N) thanked her driver as he offered her his arm for an escort to the event's main doors.

"You're welcome, Miss. (Y/L/N)," he nodded before he stopped and let her walk through the doors on her own.

The music was already in full swing as she made her way into the event hall's main room. Tables were strewn about with drinks and food on either side and a large, open space designated for a dance floor was situated up by the band. (Y/N) glanced around the room, looking for familiar faces, before she decided to make her way over to the drinks for a flute of champagne.

She took a sip from it then as she looked around the room once more, trying to find the man she knew would be in attendance; despite the fact that he absolutely despised these types of events. After a few minutes of searching, she was able to pick him out. It wasn't that hard...he stuck out like a sore thumb, sitting at his table with an unamused look on his face while the other partygoers mingled around him.

A grin formed on her face as she began walking a straight line in his direction. She was halfway there when he noticed her, making him noticeably exhale a sigh. Seeing his reaction only made her grin grow. "I see that you still don't like these functions," she spoke first as she arrived at his table.

"I see you're still in the habit of attempting to converse with people who are uninterested," he quipped back, raising his eyebrows as he looked up at her, a disinterested look on his face.

"You stick out like a sore thumb here...who in their right mind would want to do business with you?" she couldn't help but carry on, taking every chance she could to throw a dig at him.

"See there...there's where you're wrong. You see, those who want to do business with me wouldn't be frolicking around this fucking dance floor," he told her, nodding to the dancing people to accentuate his point.

"And yet you've decided to still attend the event."

"Easy fucking business, is what this event is," he countered, making her scoff and shake her head.

"You've not conned me into working with you," she pointed out.

"There's good reason behind that, you know...yeah, maybe it's because I don't want to fucking work with you," Alfie suggested another way of looking at it.

"You seemed interested until Sabini showed up," (Y/N) didn't back down from the situation, "how is Darby, by the way?" a ghost of a grin formed on her face as she asked the question. Alfie pressed his lips together in a thin line at the mention of the man he once worked with. "You could have had it good with me, Alfie...but you decided to fuck all of that over by going into a deal with the Italians," she reminded him, a knowing smirk now present.

"I know you didn't come for fucking reminders, yeah, so what is it that you're here for, hmm?" Alfie decided to change the topic once he realized he was on the losing end of it.

"The same as everyone else," she answered, clasping her hands together behind her back as she turned to survey the crowd, "networking, building relationships...just general business," she continued, hoping to spot who she was looking for in the crowd. It took her a few moments, but she did and to her luck, he was looking at her as well. A slight grin formed on her face as it became evident he'd spotted her. "And I've invited someone," she said, watching as Tommy approached her. She waited until he was a few steps away, and clearly in Alfie's line of view, until she addressed him: "Tommy! I'm so glad you were able to make it!" she greeted him, a smile on her face.

"Thank you for the invite," Tommy said to (Y/N) before he turned his attention to the man sitting at the table, "good evening, Alfie," he greeted him with a nod.

"Yeah, it is," Alfie answered, shock still apparent in his face, "or rather it was...fuckin' hell, mate, she's got to you too?" he couldn't help but voice his surprise.

"I have," (Y/N) was able to answer before Tommy could, a smug smirk present on her face, "met him before you, actually...right after I left your building the other day."

"And you've decided to work with her?" Alfie posed a question to Tommy, "that meeting was a bunch of horseshit and a waste of my time then, wasn't it?"

"No, Alfie..." Tommy answered, shaking his head.

Alfie spoke again before Tommy had the chance to continue, "then why entertain her ideas, hmm? Because to me it looks like you've got your fucking mind made up," he pointed out, gesturing between the two of them.

"I came here to hear her side," Tommy explained his reason for being present.

"Go on then," Alfie responded, waving them off like he was some child that wasn't getting his way, "but let me make myself fucking clear first...you go on and work with her, it's fucking over. You've chosen that over what we've spoken about, there won't be another go of it when she decides to fuck you over," he explained to Tommy, his voice pointed and eyebrows raised.

I could be saying the same of you, (Y/N) wanted to say back to Alfie, but instead she bit on her cheek. It wasn't worth having another blow up in public...not when she was so sure that she had Tommy right where she wanted him. "Shall we go and talk, Tommy?" she asked the man standing across from her.

"Join me on the dance floor?" he responded to her question with one of his own, his hand extended to her. (Y/N) glanced down at it as a smirk formed on her face. Alfie must've been fuming inside watching this interaction go down. She loved it.

"I'd be happy to," she answered him, placing her hand in his so that he could lead her out to the floor. They assumed the appropriate position once they found an open space. (Y/N) didn't wait long to get into what they were meaning to talk about: "so I take it you've put some thought into what I've offered?" she asked him as they danced.

"I have," he nodded, his expression not explicitly giving anything away.

"And?" she asked him, her eyebrows raised.

"I'm interested," he gave another short reply. That didn't matter to (Y/N) though...even a nod would have told her exactly what she wanted to hear.

"You want to move forward with the deal?"

"Yes."

"Why do it out here?" she couldn't help but question.

"Figured I'd keep it under wraps for now...let you be the one who breaks the news," he gave her his reason before a grin formed on his face, "and I wanted to take the opportunity to share a dance with you," he admitted, his words making (Y/N)'s cheeks heat up.

"I've heard bad things about you, Mr. Shelby," she said to him, hoping that her reaction to his previous statement would stay hidden.

"Likewise," he countered with the same sentiment.

"You have?" she feigned surprise, "well I'd advise you not to believe them," she finished her statement, grinning at him.

"I think I'll make my own decisions about you...assuming I'd get to know you better," he told her, his grin matching hers.

"So long as you decide to work with me instead of Solomons, you can get to know me as well as you'd like," she said to him, her voice dipping into a sultry tone.

"Noted," he nodded, his eyes roving over her features.

The two continued to dance once the main section of their conversation was finished. (Y/N) couldn't deny that this man was handsome. She was attracted to the confident air that was present around him, and wanted nothing more than to be able to jump into, and get lost in, the oceans that were his blue eyes. Having him by her side could help her in more ways than one.

"Are you staying somewhere tonight?" she decided to ask the question that was burning in the back of her mind.

"I'm not," he answered, searching her eyes as he spoke, feeling pleased when he caught the knowing glint in them. He knew what she was getting at, and if he was being honest, he wanted that too.

"Maybe we should celebrate the start of what will be a successful business deal?" she suggested, the glint growing more apparent with each word she spoke.

"I like the sound of that," Tommy agreed with her.

The two decided to end their dance there, and separated to go and mix about the party for some more time while eagerly waiting for the ideal moment to exit the event together. Alfie was left to his own devices for the rest of the evening at the table he was occupying while his rival and the man he thought he'd be able to work with went off and celebrated the beginning of a partnership; one that may or may not have had a few more avenues of interest than the partnership that he was offering.

——

"You went and fucking did it then, mate...didn't you?" Alfie asked the man sitting across from him, trying to keep his anger to a minimum.

"What have I done?" Tommy asked for him to elaborate.

"You went and fucking danced with the devil, and you did it not thinking that I would notice," Alfie was happy to tell him exactly what had been done, "you've made the wrong move."

"I'm doing what's best for business," Tommy stayed brief, clocking the other man's anger, trying not to smirk at the fact that he so clearly was getting on Alfie’s nerves.

"Best for business..." Alfie grumbled under his breath, scoffing at the words, "you shouldn't trust a word that comes out of her mouth, mate," he gave a warning, sitting forward in his chair so that he could lean against the desk he was behind, "she'll fuck you over...take everything you own and then leave you behind before you knew what in the fuck even happened."

Tommy exhaled a slight snort at what Alfie said. He let the smirk teeter on his lips for a few silent seconds before he responded, "she's told me the same about you, Alfie. Said you'll play every angle in order to get something for yourself."

"Because that's what business fucking is! Now why would I go into a fucking deal without there being something in it for me? That's fucking preposterous thinking!" Alfie couldn't help but raise his voice.

Tommy stayed level-headed despite the man wanting to get a rise out of him. His grin grew even more knowing he was pushing the right buttons to a reaction. "So what she's said is right," he commented on the response Alfie gave.

"Well I guess it fucking is then, idn't it?" Alfie responded, his voice level again, "you'll see you've made the wrong decision, but there won't be nothin' left here to come back to."

"I'll take those chances," Tommy began as he stood up from his chair, "thank you for your time, Alfie," he said as he made his way to the door of the office, not even waiting for a response before he began to walk to the exit.

Alfie shook his head as he lifted his hat from it, setting it down on the desk before he clasped his hands together and rested his chin on top of them.

Although the fact that he just lost business irked him, he knew that nothing good could come from dancing with the devil. However, he wasn't sure if two devils dancing with each other would level the playing field and cancel each other out. Only time would tell of how things fared out in the end.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

[samanddean76]

How To Accidentally Create Soulmates

Gabriel had been enjoying a leisurely afternoon spent shirking everything that even vaguely resembled one of his many responsibilities, when the frantic prayer made a previously unscheduled stop inside his head.  It was, of course, from his favorite little wayward angel, Castiel, and as he listened to the panicked words as they filled his mind, well, he knew that he was going to have to personally remedy the unfolding drama before it spiraled wildly out of control.  He rolled out of the hammock that had been slung between two palm trees on the shore of a lovely little volcanic island, looked around one last time at the natural beauty that he rarely found the time to be able to enjoy, and then ascended to heaven in a whoosh of magnificent wings. 

The specific nursery was easy to find, what with the high-pitched shrieking that was carrying down the hall.  That was very concerning, as the soul nurseries were the picture-perfect ideal for all things calm and serene.  Chuck was prone to planning ahead, and one day, with no warning whatsoever, all of the archangels were marched into a special wing of heaven.  They had needed to shade their eyes against the bright glow of countless souls milling about, waiting for the time that their body would be formed and that they would then go down and live out their destined lives.  The brothers had been informed that this wing was under their personal protection, as it also contained another nursery further down the hall.  That was the one that needed their defense. 

Michael had immediately volunteered to watch over the harmless little balls of light, feeling that as they were far behind the magnificent gates of heaven, nothing would ever be able to harm them.  Their safety was ensured by their location. 

Raphael had said nothing, just standing there looking bored.  Gabriel had worried that his big brother was plotting, but he couldn’t think of a single thing that Raphael could get up to that would require a vast quantity of souls in order to accomplish it. 

Lucifer had smiled that oily smile of his, the one that let everyone know that he was up to something, just not having worked out the particulars of his insidious plan just yet.

Gabriel had stood silent, looking down at the marble floor.  Just feeling that this was not a matter that merited his concern, and that his father would inevitably pick one of his glorious warrior brothers to see to the task at hand.  Leaving Gabriel to wander off and see to his favorite hobby, animal creation.  He was still miffed that no one had been excited about his platypus, cute little thing that it was.  Perfectly adorable as far as he was concerned. 

But no.  That hadn’t been what had come to pass. 

“Well, see, I mean, I called you here to let you know that I actually had one of you selected already.”  Chuck had been a little bleary eyed as he spoke, jittery from too much of his favorite drink, something he called coffee.  Said it would be incredible once the humans discovered how to make it for themselves. 

“But see, I think that this is a responsibility that will be perfect for you, Gabriel.”  All eyes had turned towards the diminutive Archangel, some curious, some jealous, and all now utterly bored with the topic at hand, as it no longer concerned them.  For if Gabriel had been selected, then it really couldn’t have been that important anyway.  The others had wandered off as Chuck had taken Gabriel on a guided tour.  Showed him all of the different rooms, pointed out all of the potential problems, as far as Chuck saw it anyway.  Gabriel had tried to show some interest, but he really couldn’t see the point of walking down a hallway every few days, peering in through a window, nearly being blinded as the little souls simply didn’t know how to dim themselves, and then wandering off, as it wasn’t even a practical notion that he might be successful in counting them.  So, what else could he possibly do? 

Once he had assured Chuck that he was very proud to have been given this great honor, Gabriel had made a beeline to Castiel’s quarters.  He found the oddball little angel as he usually was, meditating on some profound matter.  The reason that Gabriel liked him so much was because he always had the best ideas for new animals, or at least the best theoretical ideas, which Gabriel pondered and then produced some truly inspired creations from. 

Castiel had been honored at the thought that he could help Gabriel in such a momentous way.  Gabriel had simply shrugged, thanked him, gone off to design a seahorse (because pregnant males were so going to annoy his brothers), and had forgotten all about this newly shirked responsibility.  So that was why the frantic prayer was so worrisome.  What could possibly have gone so wrong that Castiel was unable to handle it? 

The answer smacked Gabriel right in the face as soon as he opened the door, literally.  The little soul, which seemed smaller than normal, had been wailing its little metaphorical lungs out, when it had glommed onto Gabriel and slid down to rest directly over his heart.  The purring sound that was wafting up was strangely soothing, but Gabriel couldn’t focus on that, he needed to know what was going on.  His honey-gold eyes caught upon Castiel, as he sat in the middle of the floor, with his own little soul happily stuck to him.  It also appeared to be smaller than normal, and before Gabriel could ask his question, Castiel simply announced the needed answer.  Or his version of it, anyway. 

“Gabriel!  Please, I don’t know what happened!  I was passing this room when I heard a disturbance coming from within.  When I looked through the window, this soul was glowing blue and gold while trying to break free, and then it, simply passed through the glass and won’t let go of me.”  Castiel looked down at his own little purring ball of light, and Gabriel watched as it strobed with each approximation of a breath. 

“Ok, but that doesn’t explain this.  Why are there two tiny souls?”  Gabriel waved a hand at his own very small soul, noted the look of dread on Castiel’s face, and inquired, “What?  What does that look mean?” 

Castiel was now chewing on his lip, before he swallowed hard, and then squeaked out.  “It’s this soul.” 

“Come again?”  Because, no, nope, bad, so bad, no good would come of this, oh for the love of dad!  Gabriel braced himself for the answer, knowing that no matter what it was, it was not going to make the situation any better. 

“It’s the same soul.  It tore itself in two.”  Gabriel could only stare at Castiel as his mouth hung open and he pondered what he could have possibly done to have earned such an insane punishment.  Not from Castiel, of course, but from Chuck once he learned that the one and only unbreakable thing in all of creation had been broken.  In less than three weeks, that which could never be destroyed had been ripped in two. 

Gabriel realized he needed to invent some expletives, because situations like these simply called for them to be used with vigor and a shocking degree of creative inventiveness.  And he was nothing if not a linguistic connoisseur.  But that was for later.  Right now, he needed to focus on cleaning up this mess. 

“Castiel, you’re absolutely positive that this was one, single soul.  That there weren’t two tiny souls that you overlooked?”  Were it not for the precariousness of the moment he found himself tangled up within, Gabriel would have laughed at the look of pure indignant annoyance that was framed on Castiel’s worried visage.  An entire forests worth of carefully documented paperwork appeared from out of the clear blue sky and landed near Gabriel’s feet. 

“I believe that if you refer to page 1,537,951,482,706 of my notes that you will find I have measurements for only one since the very first day I assumed this responsibility.”  Gabriel realized that he had underestimated his little cohort.  As he quickly perused Castiel’s meticulous notes, the little soul that had snuggled into him glanced back over its shoulder (and Gabriel would swear on everything holy and pure to the voracity of this fact), but that it then blew a raspberry at its other half.  That prompted a sound that if Gabriel had to hazard a guess, would become the basis of a future expletive. 

Gabriel needed a minute to think, to try to puzzle out a solution to a quandary that he hadn’t seen coming.  At all.  Not only had he failed in his duties, but his minion had also broken the unbreakable, and now the two little halves seemed quite content to stay with their chosen angel.  Which could prove to be rather difficult to explain to Chuck.  Because really, how does that conversation go? 

“Hey son, you seem a little extra bright today.  Anything different?” 

“Naw, nothing at all.  Hey!  Look over there!” 

Gabriel then pictured himself running away, not stopping until he was at least four galaxies over.  He was brought out of his dire thoughts by the little soul letting out a huge yawn and then beginning to drift off to sleep.  Must have tuckered itself out after the screaming fit, was all that Gabriel could think to explain the action.  But Castiel looked down at his own half, and Gabriel knew then that they were still connected.  Even though one was now two, they still shared a bond that couldn’t be completely severed. 

Castiel was looking up at him, big blue eyes full of hope that maybe he hadn’t inadvertently destroyed their father’s most prized creation, and it was then that Gabriel decided that a little Archangel mojo was called for.  Lest he end up being punished for something that wasn’t entirely his fault.  Yes, he had delegated, but how hard could it be to look after a few quintillion souls?  Really?  Gabriel let his grace flow out, helping to wipe away Castiel’s memory of this day, and then he picked up the sleeping soul and wrapped both halves around the other. 

Gabriel watched, utterly fascinated as a closed seam appeared where the soul had been torn in two.  On further inspection, it looked as if the seam could be opened with very little effort, meaning that this soul would be able to split into two whenever it felt the desire to.  Well, he couldn’t be having that, so with a snap of his finger he did the best he could to erase their memory of this day. 

It should work, right?  I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? 

Gabriel pulled the tall drink of water that was Sam Winchester closer to him, tucking his massive head into the hollow of Gabriel’s throat.  Wondered how he had ever been foolish enough to think that he would have been able to make this determined little soul ever forget about him.  The being that had helped to motivate it to literally rip itself in half. 

Castiel and Dean were in the next room over, quiet now, after they had gotten done rearranging the furniture.  Gabriel still chuckled every single time Castiel made a reference to that damn porno.  Especially since it wasn’t even one of Gabriel’s. 

Chuck had never said a word, just given Gabriel an odd look one day.  Like Gabriel had managed to surprise him.  Or that he had done exactly what he was supposed to.  Omnipotence at work. 

It didn’t really matter.  Not anymore. 

Because what more can you do after you accidentally accomplish the impossible? 

[triniteevee]

Hot and Cold

(grusha x reader drabble)

Grusha may have a problem with you showing up to his gym unannounced.

Calm. Cool. Collected.

Despite his tendencies to get slightly agitated in the midst of a close battle, Grusha is generally regarded as being the cool guy. Pun intended.

You were a threat to that reputation.

“Woo! Go Grusha!”

The sound of your voice has him whipping his head to the stands, and sure enough there you are in all your glory with a big grin on your face. The sheer ridiculousness of the sight of you chips away at his composure. You’re without your usual snow gear which leads Grusha to infer you had again rushed yourself here to watch another of his unscheduled battles. Sweet praises and unwavering cheer leaves your lips despite the chatter in your teeth and the shiver of your form.

You’re relentless, he thinks yearningly.

He feels the mask he usually wears slip away slowly. All too quickly, he’s doesn’t feel like Grusha, The Sub-Zero Shredder anymore. Now, he’s just Grusha who’d really like to take you out of this cold and into his kitchen for some hot choco.

Though his carefully placed scarf conceals the grin he couldn’t resist, his eyes shine with mirth. He recalls how you once described his “smiley-eyes” as “doll-like.” If it had been anyone else, he thinks he may have pushed them down a slope, but the sincerity in your voice had reduced him to a clumsy, stuttering mess.

The way the audience gapes at his face suggests that the scarf no longer serves it purpose, and that you had once again utterly wrecked his poker face. Despite all the snow, Grusha feels hot. Maybe it’s all the eyes on him, or maybe — and even more likely— just yours in particular. He feels like he’s on fire but he must be some kind of masochist because he just can’t stop himself from smiling.

He doesn’t miss the way you look at him so pleasantly as he approaches, nor the way your eyes widen in surprise as he takes off his scarf. He’s really glad that he also doesn’t miss your smile as he wraps the warm fabric around you. It lasts for only about a few seconds but it felt like it was just for him. He hopes you realize his own smile that he still can’t get rid of is also just for you.

The little private moment you two share is more than enough to get him raring to battle. The sooner he beats down this rookie, the sooner he can get you someplace nicer.

As he returns to his side of the court, he bitterly thinks, this snowy mountaintop isn’t good for anything besides battling.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you stare adoringly at the scarf he practically swaddled you in. Somehow you manage to sink the lower half of your face even deeper in the fabric.

He amends, well maybe one thing.

Maybe while he makes your hot choco, he can let you have free reign over the rest of his wardrobe.

[captain-eppe]

an Introduction

I loved the PJO series. The Kane Chronicles were the first books I read by Rick. Of course I grew up and learned more about the world and the problems presented by the portrayals. But I liked them, then read the Lost Hero and stopped. 

And wondered, why did I find Heroes of Olympus so lacking in comparison?

I decided to reread the first book, and write what I thought about it, chapter by chapter.

I will try to write what I think could be improved. 

I have read the Lost Hero once before, and stopped. I read it all in one go, so this time, I plan to stop and reflect on it, and my feelings. 

It does include roasting, not because I dislike Rick on a personal level, but some days I'm just straight up in a mood to be picky,  and this is a good way to do so in peace. 

I do like Rick Riordian's writing. If I didn't feel the energy to care, I wouldn't be doing this. Yes, it's probably going to involve roasting, AU imagine spots, and comparisons to other characters. The story was not created in a vacuum, and is in fact a sequel. I have expectations, based on his previous works, and one of the things that drew me into it was humor and ADHD. 

In the end, remember that this is a blog personal reflection, and you don't have to share the same opinion, and are welcome to block or unfollow if it makes your blogging experiences uncozy.

Fair warning, this blog will update on random whims, it is very unscheduled.

So that said, what do I remember of the characters? Let's see. 

JASON.

Who is Jason? Jason is amnesiac , for plot reasons, and a Roman Demigod, as well as Thalia Grace's little brother. Hopefully, there will be some nice moments between them down the road, despite their different alliances. We could have seen such a relationship between a sibling in camp, and a sister with the hunters, if the new hunter didn't die in the book she was introduced in. There were some interesting things that could have been done with her character if she were alive, such as exploring why she left Nico in camp to join a girl hunting party, practically the minute she could. Had she been thinking about her orientations, and left the minute she found seemingly like minded people? Was she desperate not to be responsible for him anymore? It just seems like it all happened, to hurt Nico, because she is not explored for very long, or in any particular detail, and it feels like she was killed for the sake of Nico’s character arc. 

But I've gone off topic. Jason does not remember, except when he stands up for the Romans who fought out of the blue, and his relationship with Piper that didn't happen. He's pretty out of his depth, and it shows throughout the book. 

PIPER.

Oh boy. This is a long one. Piper is the second female protagonist Rick has written from the perspective of, and I liked Sadie, a lot better. Piper feels kind of like "I'm not like other girls". One thing I found in the other books, that I didn't find in these protagonists, was a sense of humor, that frankly I didn't feel from the protagonists in this book. Maybe it will show up later. I hope so. 

Back to Piper. A daughter of Aphrodisiac and a native American Celebrity, Piper often feels lonely and wants more attention from her father. To this end, she uses her lvl 50 persuade… er charmspeak, to talk people into letting her do stuff, and gets into trouble, when it wears off, and they realise “wait wtf”. Like all children of Aphrodisiac,  she radiates beauty. On one hand, that's pretty cool, the most beautiful POV character thus far, is of mixed native descent. However, I have to wonder if it will be properly explored. 

*Aphrodisiac is a spelling mistake by spellcheck. I left it because it amused me

Do you remember why Carter always dresses his best, In the first book? His dad insists on it, yes, but they are black men, and he doesn't want to give the cops any more reasons to give them trouble, trouble they will have more than enough of with the colour of their skin. At the end of the first book, Carter moves to dressing more casual, a move that is supported by both Sadie and his parents. 

How does Piper deal with discrimination and stereotypes?  She's a girl, which means it might show up in different ways, and be aimed at her sex out loud? Does she, too, get set off by the term half blood, like Carter? Does it bypass her somewhat, by being a celebrity's daughter? Are people more likely to project spoiled rich kids expectations onto her?

*Do I want to touch her kleptomania here? Hard no. That is a bomb I will avoid going into in introductions.

Piper, like Carter, has thoughts on clothing. Carter wanted to wear normal clothes, and wondered what his life would be like if he grew up a normal kid. Piper has an unrepentant tomboy style, and is someone  who doesn't care how she looks, yet is gorgeous anyways. She seems to look down on girls who dress girly, and act like it, and intentionally does things differently. To me, this is a character flaw, in that she is being judgemental about people with different attitudes  from her, and I think in doing so she is being just as snobby as the people she is looking down on. I wonder if part of her future character growth will be realising that, and changing her attitude towards them, maybe even learning some of the things they can teach her. Even if it's not her thing, that doesn't mean she shouldn't respect people who do like makeup and whatnot. 

While I'm talking about beauty, I wonder if there will be any part in the books that explore the pitfalls of being beautiful. Particularly  as a woman. Women have a long history of objectification, and while things seem more equal among the demigods, children of Aphrodisiac seem to be something of an exception. Apparently, those campers have never been on a quest, and aren't shown to be learning any particular skill at camp. It seems they are stuck in being the stereotype of “the chick.” And are there any sons of Aphrodisiac? Does she just clone herself using males DNA to pad a difference? Or are there two separate cabins for them, and we have not seen them yet? Because off what I remember, the beauty standards seem to be patricary catered. 

Ah, I've gotten a bit off point. The pitfalls of being female, particularly a beautiful one. A big one is guys. You're trying to shop, or just walking, or watching a play, whatever, doing your own business, when a wolf whistle pierces the air. Or a guy asks you out. Or keeps following you, trying to get you to give him your number. Or winks at you out of the blue, groped you as you were passing him on the bus, sends you sexual harassment on a text, or shouts it at you. Or is a “nice guy” who drops you when you won't date him, after trying to pressure you. It's not just strangers. The world judges you on beauty. It makes you likelier to be hired, gives people a more favorable impression of you, and often takes a lot of maintaining. Beauty and brains is considered an exception, guys don't want to date people smarter than them, and can come to resent it in a partner. 

Do we see Piper, having struggles being a beautiful woman? A beautiful Native woman, (many of whom have problems with over sexualization?)Do guys bother her in public? Has she been friends with “nice guys” in the past? Does she have trouble trusting Leo at first because of experiences like that? Does she get frustrated at this treatment, and tell guys off, only to get slapped with the label “crazy bitch?” Does she have trouble getting people to take her ideas seriously,  because she's a woman? Scratch the last one, charmspeak possibly overrides those objections. 

Sadie Kane, was a bit boy Crazy. She had two guys into her, one a god, a conflict which was resolved by having the mortal boy she liked, host the god she liked. Is it a bit wish fulfillment? I won't disagree. But I didn't feel It got overtly annoying, and it was reciprocated, and they managed to make it work for them. I do wish there hadn't been a time skip, and we could have seen them develop more, but established friendships are given pretty good attention, such as Percy and Grover. His friendship with Rachel, was pretty well done, as was Annabeth. Rick knows how to build a relationship up, and Percybeth was well built, so what is he doing here with Piper and Jason? It was built on a lie, subbed in for Jason current relationship with another girl. 

From what I remember, Piper is upset that it was a lie, but also seems possessive about something that wasn't hers. Let's take a shot of water every time Piper thinks about Jason. Take 2 Shots every time she does something romantic coded with Jason, instead of building a friendship with the boy she is fixated on. Drink some juice ,every time she and Leo act like friends. Yah know,cause they were friends before Jason, I'm told. Rick wrote it fine with Percy and Grover. So why can I not recall it here?

I also remember thinking some things about Piper smacked of Mary sue. Now, I know that is unfair, women too should be allowed power fantasy, and sues are good learning experiences, but Sadie never felt that way to me, despite getting magic easily, from the goddess in her head, to the point leather boots didn't impede her. Or how her love subplot ended with essentially getting both boys. Rick knows how to write relatable women, so what's happening here? 

Yah, I have a lot of thoughts on Piper. Maybe more will come later. Idk. 

LEO.

I didn't actually remember much of Leo beyond Dead mom, mechanic, super Mechanic, angsting, and fire. All have shiney rare powers. He and Piper are supposedly besties. I would like to see it.  Still, I've heard hes interesting, so I'll try to keep a sharper eye out. 

[fandomfuntimem]

A Morgue With No Bodies

[This is a cutscene that would kick off the last act of the game.]

Leon falls through the trash shoot. His landing is rough and he rolls on the ground a bit. "Ugh," he groans. Swiftly standing up and dusting himself off he takes a look around. Today (yesterday??) Has been shit. After years of guilt and self pity he finaly felt good enough to put down the bottle, and face some of the sleeping dogs he let lie. IE his cousin Alex William's decades long missing persons case, and the sudden disappearence of his home town, Eastridge.

As it turns out the small town never disappeared! The local medical organization, however, had closed it off. With good and bad reasons. The good reason. A violent infection had spread resulting in extreamly powerful, and hungry, zombies. The bad reason? It was their fault. The disapearences, the infection, his missing cousin. Those tapes were not fun to find.

Standing up, Leon glanced around the room. Clothing, both clean and bloody, was left stroon about. Some in laundry carts, others wrapped in neatly labelled bags, paired with small files. Whoever was responsible for this room seemed to have left in a hurry. Picking up a discarded paper Leon took a look at it.

"Patient: [REDACTED]

Age: 34

Sex: F

Patient number: 66

Notes: Noisy. Uncooperative. Cries a lot. Has severe reactions to specimen 02's hallucinagenic effects. After her conversation with the rouge employee she has only became more of a problem. We can't keep her like this forever.

Status: TERMINATED"

'Terminated,' Huh...

Leon vigorously searches through the other files.

'Terminated'

'Terminated'

'Terminated'

'Terminated'

'Terminated'

'Terminated'

All of them were terminated. He placed the files down. Whiping a hand down his face he sighed. It was Umbrella all over again... it was Racoon City all over again. Then something caught his eye. A familier name. Hands shaking, he gently picked up and opened the folder.

"Patient: Alex Williams

Age: 30

Sex: Unlisted

Patient number: [REDACTED]

Notes: Former Employee. Caught snooping around on multiple occasions. Highly sensative to Specimen 02's effects. Their first meeting with 02 was unscheduled, but highly informative. Despite the horror of the situation Williams approached 02. 02 had no violent reaction. There was some sort of unspoken understanding between the two.

Then we whent to retrieve them. Thats when 02 became violent. Four caretakers were killed. Williams was left with the Specimen. Next time the doors were opened Williams was the one to attack. They bit one of our caretakers. The caretaker had to go home sick.

Status: TERMINATED."

'Terminated' Alex was 'terminated'

Leon leaned against the wall. Slowly sliding down, he sat on the floor. The file was attatched to a set of bagged clothes. Pulling them out Leon examined the old tattered jacket. It had that black goo one it, the same goo he saw on all the zombies. Reaching into a pocket he pulled out a crumpled set of glasses.

Leon felt his throat clog up with thick siliva, tears welled up in his eyes, he grit his teeth and pulled the worn items to his chest. Then he sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed, and then he wailed. An animalistic, heart-felt wail. He thought he was better, he thought everything was going to be ok. But here he was, curled up on the floor, in a morgue with no bodies.

------------------------------

Hehehehe I love torturing my blorbos~

Part of the story is partially inspired by the Folie of Deux au. Only a lil bit. For my discord besties i put more context in the ideas chat.