#I didn't say who but they popped into your head didn't they

[poguehearted77]

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to your gullibility and you all fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up to Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

-

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

[writerwrabbleswords]

Bongos (but male) (part 2) THANKSGIVING SPECIAL | Logan Howlett X [DILF] Reader

He didn't mind waking up early... This time.

Quick Notes :  Enjoy this thanksgiving special between Logan and DILF! Reader! As a direct continuation of the original ‘Bongos (but male)’ oneshot, I decided to expand a bit more on Reader as well as Logan’s relationship with Reader. Please ignore any spelling mistakes, as I wrote this very early in the morning.

  Story Notes :  1400 words or so, Dilf! Reader referred to as ‘You/Your,’ Reader has twins, Readers children are animal mutants (bear), Readers children are named ‘Jett’ and ‘Hogan,’ Reader is about forty to forty-five, Logan is whipped for Reader, Reader knows how to cook, Reader’s clothes are lightly described, Logan keeps ogling reader, and lastly, lots of fluff and cute moments.

 Logan didn’t want to be awake at seven o’clock in the morning. He preferred to sleep in until noon (or later, if he could get away with it), which meant any time before that left him grumpier than usual. Most of the kids at the institute knew to leave him alone until he’s up on his own, bothering Scott or Hank rather than risk listening to him threaten them. 

  A grumble left the mutant, who ran a hand down his face in irritation; what the hell woke him up? He threw his legs over the side of the bed, a prominent scowl on his face as he glared daggers at the wall. The thought of going back to bed ran through his head, but he was stopped by the sudden smell of food. 

 As much as he wanted to say fuck it, Logan found himself standing up and throwing on a shirt - whatever he could reach - before running a hand through his hair. It smelled like cranberries, shallots, and sweet potatoes. With a deep sigh, he exited his room and made his way towards the kitchen, mumbling complaints to himself the whole way. 

  When he finally entered the institute kitchen, he paused upon seeing you. He hadn’t had a chance to really talk to you since that night a month or two prior, and here you were, sleeves rolled up as you cooked. It made Logan’s mouth water - and it wasn’t because of the food.

  “Morning,” You called out, dragging the man from his thoughts as he blinked, “You wanna’ help?”

  Logans’ scowl had softened considerably, his mood shifting as he shook his head in amusement. Of course you’d be asking him to help with… whatever you were making. He took in the sight of the kitchen; the counters were full of different foods, trays, and utensils, a pot on the stove bubbling as cranberries popped and turned the water red.

  “What’s the occasion?” He asked in return, stepping closer as his eyes roamed your form. You were like a damn treat, dressed in a turtleneck and those slacks he’d seen you in months earlier - the ones that hugged your ass. 

  The mutant let his eyes raise to your face, where your gaze was fixed firmly on him, a charming smile in place with a raised brow. If you could read his thoughts, Logan might just be embarrassed. Maybe. 

 He felt his heart thump at the chuckle you let out, your focus returning to the glass dish of whatever you were making.

  “It’s thanksgiving, Howlett,” You rumbled, amusement coating your words like a damn oil spill.

  The way you said his last name near made his legs weak, and the olders’ mind immediately supplied instances where you’d be saying it in an entirely different way. Those lips parted, eyes closed in pleasure as his hands roamed your-

  He was cut off from his daydream by the sound of feet pattering against the floor, giggles echoing down the halls as two rambunctious children entered the kitchen, their ears twitching as they latched onto your legs.

  “Papa!” Jett called out, his tail twitching as he peered between you and him, “Want berry! Give berry!”

  Right; the twins were bear mutants. Berries were probably one of the few fruits you could get them to eat.

  Despite himself, Logan let a small smile tug at his lips, the expression softening the hard lines of his face as he shook his head. How you dealt with twins, he’d never know. In that moment, however, the mutant let himself simply enjoy your presence.

 His smile grew when you rolled your eyes, your hands dipping into the pot of water as you plucked out two unpopped cranberries. It was clear in your every movement that you loved the boys, letting your hands drop down to press the cranberries into the twins’ mouths. Hogan let out a pleased hum, smacking on the berry with his mouth open as Jett munched on his own. Despite it being rather gross, Logan felt a fondness rise in his chest. 

  The feeling left him feeling off kilter; he didn’t like kids, and yet here he was, thinking about what it’d be like to raise the bear cubs as his own. What a world it was, if he was here with you.

  “I’ve still got to make the turkey stuffing. You know how, Logan?” 

  Your words brought the man from his thoughts, his eyes raising from the two boys as they met your own. Turkey stuffing. He felt a grimace rise to his face - that shit was disgusting. 

  “I know how,” He grumbled, shaking his head in annoyance before he stepped forward, approaching the sink, “don’t like it, though.”

  A laugh left you, the sound suddenly making up for whatever disgusting food you wanted him to make. If he was doing it with you, he found he didn’t mind it as much as he usually would.

  There were growls from the two latched onto your legs, the bear cubs swiping at one another with furrowed brows and angry pouts, drawing his focus for a brief moment. They were cute, Logan admitted begrudgingly, though he kept the thought to himself, unwilling to admit it. Kids were normally a pain in his ass, but Jett and Hogan weren’t as bad as the rest (he ignored that his reasoning was because they were your kids).

  A silence fell over the kitchen, the bear cubs eventually letting go of your legs and running off to, likely, go cause mischief for any other adult awake. You would occasionally look over at him, giving him that smile that made the crows feet by your eyes more noticeable. Each glance sent his way made Logans’ heart beat just a bit faster, and little by little, he found himself loosening up. 

 By the time noon rolled around, he was laughing along to your stories and shaking his head at every stupid dad joke you made. The mutant felt… at home, which was a stupid thing to admit considering he was living at the institute and hadn’t known you for longer than eight hours total. You just had that effect on him - made him feel like he belonged. He didn’t know if that was because he had the hots for you, or if it was just that you were a dad. Logan found he didn’t care about why you made him feel that way; he cared that you did.

  Most classes were out for the day considering it was a holiday, but he knew Rogue and Remy were running a few danger room drills. When one o’clock hit, most of the X-Men had joined you and him in the kitchen, laughter and conversations filling the air with a pleasant atmosphere. For once, he was annoyed with Scott; for once, he didn’t care that Jean was in the room. His attention was on you, not her.

 That stupid crush he’d had on the woman faded into the background, the sight of you cooking with ease and going along with every joke drawing his focus instead. Logan wanted more - more than just a quick fling - more than a one-off thing. He wanted to know you, wanted to wake up with you in his arms. 

  “You know, for a dad, you’ve pulled this off,” He mumbled to you once you’d taken a break from making food, your gaze on one of the many windows and the sun that was slowly sinking.

  The smile you gave him - with that stupidly attractive laugh - made his heart do flips.

  “Figured I should pull my weight,” came your reply, your words light and full of good humor, “Since you folks are caring for my boys.”

  Your eyes were looking outside, but Logans’ attention was only on you,

  “They’re good kids.”

  It fell quiet, the silence comfortable but full of an unmistakable tension. Finally, after what seemed like forever, you turned to look at him,

  “Thanks.” You gave him a look - he didn’t know how to explain it - a look of thoughts and consideration, “For helping.”

  Instead of brushing off your gratitude, something he was well known for doing, Logan shrugged, crossing his arms as he looked out the window,

  “No reason not to.” 

  He grumbled in return.

  “Well, I appreciate it,” He felt his heart thump when you stepped closer to him, his gaze tearing away from outside as he watched you, “A lot.”

  Logan felt himself freeze, the sudden realization of how close you were making his head spin in that funny way only you knew how to do. You stepped closer still, one of your hands reaching out to rest on his arm. He didn’t know how to respond other than a shaky exhale.

 When you leaned closer, barely a foot away from him, the sudden pounding of feet on the floor made you pull away; the bear cubs.

  Damn kids.

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter One: Blue Hydrangeas- Gratitude

Summary: Your job as a florist has been the highlight of your day for years. It becomes even more exciting when a certain new customer becomes a regular.

Word Count: 2286

Author's Note: Hey guys! My first multi-chapter fic, i'm so excited!!! i don't have a strict posting schedule, but I won't go more than two weeks without an update. please bear with me here because I have no idea what it's like to be a florist. I hope you all enjoy!!

p.s. special shoutout again to @deprivedmusicaljunkie for beta reading, i can't thank you enough!

fic below the cut :)

You were a part of the small minority of people who actually loved their job.

The concept of this was strange to most people — strangers making small talk, men asking introductory questions on dates, even your own parents. Maybe because it wasn’t exactly a career; more so a job that someone has as a way to make rent while getting their degree, which is how you originally began to work at Earth's Laughter Florists. College had been years ago for you now, and yet you stayed behind the counter, making bouquets for customers with a genuine smile on your face. It got to the point that when the old owner decided it was time to retire, she chose you to take over. Of course, you immediately accepted; this job was the best part of your day. While all of your friends were going insane with their office jobs, you… admittedly still went insane from time to time, just in a much prettier workplace.

You had even taken it upon yourself to learn flower language: different types of flowers having different symbolic meanings. It was almost like extra credit. It gave you a new challenge of arranging flowers while keeping both color and symbolism in mind, and helped you create bouquets and arrangements with more meaning. This, in turn, gave your customers a new incentive to buy different flowers for different occasions based on what they meant. More business for you, more smiles on people's faces, and more money in your pocket. Everyone wins.

Another benefit of the job — your favorite part — was that it gave you small glimpses into the lives of other people. Flowers had a multiplicity of sorts. They were so versatile that people bought from you for almost every occasion. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, dance recitals, you name it. It made you more appreciative of others. Every day was a new insight into whatever your customers had going on. And today was no exception.

You arrived an hour before the store opened, as usual. You went into the back and threw on your apron, adjusting your name tag. Thoughts of everything you had to do before opening ran through your head, and you quickly began to busy yourself with everything from giving some flowers new vases of water to following up on an order for a wedding. Your two coworkers came in around a half an hour after your arrival, donning their aprons, saying their hellos, and also beginning their day. When the time finally came, you flipped around the sign hanging from the door, telling everyone outside you were open. You stood behind the counter and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

One of the only downsides of your job was that it required a lot of patience.

It's not like you were just staring at the clock, biding your time until a customer entered. You still had work to get done, mostly tying up loose ends from what you didn't finish before. Your coworkers were occupied with a tall order of arrangements, so they stuck to the back, with the occasional popping in to ask if you needed assistance. Politely, you declined.

Mundane was the word that kept repeating itself in your head as you did your odd jobs around the store. Not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, mundane meant nothing horrible was occurring (even though it meant nothing was occurring). Of course, mundane never does last long.

You had just finished creating an arrangement to put on display when your first customer of the day walked in.

The bell above the door rang, and you quickly walked back over to where you were supposed to be standing, not even bothering to see who had walked in until you were behind the counter.

The first thing you noticed was that he was taller than you had expected, with long brown curls that fell down to his shoulders. His outfit, a black turtleneck, a brown leather jacket, and black jeans, was the right mix of formal and casual; you could tell he had somewhere to be, but with people that wouldn't mind if he laughed a little too loudly.

To top it all off, he was handsome. You couldn't pull your gaze from him if you tried.

He walked forward, slowly looking around at all the flowers on display until his gaze locked onto you. He broke the silence between you.

“Hello. I need some flowers.”

You maintained your composure and brushed off your previous thoughts. You started your usual routine, asking him the same questions to get to know the situation (and him) better.

“What's the occasion?”

“It's my mum’s birthday.”

“Does she have a favorite flower?” You asked. He replied with no hesitation.

“She loves hydrangeas. Blue hydrangeas. She always has.”

His immediate answer brought a small smile to your face. You nodded intently and began to think of all the possible combinations of flowers that would work well.

“You're specific. I like that. That makes my job easier. Usually guys say something like ‘I don't know’ or ‘the purple ones’ or just ‘roses’. It's like some people don't even pay attention.”

“Well, that's all I know how to do.”

“A blessing and a curse, I imagine.”

“More of a blessing, believe it or not.”

“I have a similar blessing, though it seems to be laser-focused on plants of all things.” You joked. “Speaking of plants, let me start on your bouquet.”

You left your spot, walking over to the wall of flowers on display for you to pick from. You stopped and stood next to the man, fixated on the wall as you tried to decide what flowers would go well together, in meaning and in visuals. Mumbling, you thought out loud.

“Alright. For his mother. Blue hydrangeas… that's gratitude. What can go with that?”

The customer tilted his head in confusion, clearly having heard you.

“I don't mean to interrupt, but what's with blue hydrangeas and gratitude?” He asked. Your eyes widened, and you turned to face him as you started your explanation.

“Oh, it's flower language. I learned about it to help me make more symbolic bouquets. Back in the Victorian era, people would use bouquets of flowers to convey messages they couldn't say out loud. Most of the time it was a love confession, though you could also reject someone if you picked your flora wisely. Individual flowers have meanings, too. Blue hydrangeas, your mum's favorite, symbolize gratitude. There was even a change in the meaning based on which side the ribbon was on, or if they were given upside down, and…” You cut yourself off when you realized you’d been talking for much too long, your excited expression dropping. “I’m rambling about something you definitely don't care about. I’m sorry.”

He gave you a confused look, and a small laugh of disbelief escaped him.

“What? Don't apologize. That was fascinating. I don't know if I’ll ever see flowers the same way again. In a good way, of course”

The fact that he was actually invested in what you had to say pleasantly surprised you. People — not just customers, people you actually choose to surround yourself with — would often tune you out after the first two sentences.

You knew this man for two minutes and he was already raising your standards.

“Well then, I’m happy to give you a new perspective. I’ll get started on your arrangement.”

You stepped back to get a better look at the flowers lining the walls of the room. You already had a vague idea of what you wanted, you just needed to put it into action. Hydrangeas were grabbed first, and made the focal point of the bouquet immediately. Other flowers were picked up and put down, a trial-and-error of sorts until you found which ones truly matched.

Occasionally, you looked over your shoulder to find your customer still standing there, spectating you from a few feet away. He watched you with a certain gleam in his eye, one you would attribute to admiration if you didn't know any better.

Once your selections were made, you picked out a plastic sheet and took the flowers into the back, where there was a smaller room with a much larger table surface for a workspace. The wrapping was laid out, and meticulously, flowers were laid down. Rearranged. Shifted around. After a few small touches, everything was in the exact place you wanted it.

You finally finished up, wrapping the flowers in the silver plastic and tying it up with a blue ribbon. You went back behind the counter and held the bundle of flowers up, pointing at each one as you described the meaning of each specifically selected flower.

“There's the blue hydrangeas for gratitude, white roses for loyalty and beauty, and belladonna delphinium for protection and well-being. You're basically showering your mum with compliments with this thing.”

“It's gorgeous,” he replied, the look of astonishment from before lingering on his face.

“As nature tends to be.”

“I mean, you can't argue with that, but the way you’ve arranged them, it's… stunning. She’ll love it.”

His compliment surprised you; it wasn't too often you got such a compliment for a simple bouquet. It caused your heart to flutter in your chest in a way that definitely crossed the border of the employee-customer relationship you had going on. Frightening. Maybe if you kept acting unaffected, it would magically stop.

“Let me ring you up.”

There was no true cash register, and you instead relied on a pen, a yellow legal pad, and mental math for customers’ totals. It took a moment, but you calculated what he owed you.

“That'll be $54.”

He muttered in agreement, and you watched as he reached into his coat pocket. His hand stayed there, fiddling around. After a moment, he reached the opposite hand into the opposite pocket. He felt around for a second, pulling his hands out and placing them on his hips. His content expression was replaced by one that was much more panicked.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s the matter?”

“I…I forgot my wallet back at my house. Do you take any online payment?”

You shook your head.

“No, sorry. We're old school. That's alright though, I can put these to the side and you can run home and get your wallet.”

He let out a frustrated sigh in response, angry more at himself than anything else.

“That's the thing. I live thirty minutes from here and I’m meeting my mum in fifteen minutes, and I have specific instructions to be on time. I might just…”

He stopped his sentence, paused, and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’ll find something else. Thanks for all your help, though. You have a gift.”

You caught the sincerity behind his now bitter tone, and it made your heart ache. He turned to leave and took a few steps forward. You didn't process that you had said anything until his reaction.

“Wait.”

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned around, and you realized your impulses led you to call out for him even though you had no plan whatsoever.

Biting at your lower lip, you thought of an idea. You genuinely wanted to help this man give his mother flowers… The fact you found him attractive was merely an added bonus. Besides, the pity you felt for him overrode that. Once the metaphorical light bulb lit above your head, you spoke again, leaning in closer and lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Okay, I’m not supposed to do this, and this definitely isn't a good business practice, but I can tell you're not just doing this to steal flowers from me, so I’ll make an exception.”

He leaned in as well with a look of intrigue. You continued to explain.

“You can take the bouquet for now, and then within… I don't know, two days, you have to pay me back. I’d just need a name and phone number so I can contact you if you don't show up.”

You snatched one of your business cards from the display and flipped it over so the blank side faces upwards, leaving a pen in front of you so he could write. He picked up the ballpoint, seemingly scribbled for a moment, and then slid the card back over to you. Written in surprisingly beautiful handwriting, you read his name aloud.

“Andrew… Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“I know.”

This caught you off guard. For a second you wondered if maybe you did accidentally give a free bouquet to a shady guy.

“Excuse me?”

Andrew’s mouth went agape as he realized the connotation behind what he said, and he quickly muttered an explanation, flustered. “Oh my god! No. Not like that. You… your name tag.”

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and you gave him a nod.

“Right. Forgot that was there for a second. Alright, take your bouquet. Happy birthday to your mother. And remember, two days.”

He gave you a gesture showing his gratitude, pressing his hands together.

“Thank you. So much. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.” He said, grabbing the bouquet.

“Hopefully with money in two days,” you joked.

He let out a laugh.

“Money would do the trick. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

You watched as he left, the smile of your face growing as you noticed his appreciation of the flowers you had arranged by the doorway. He paused for a moment before opening the door and leaving, and you caught him humming a tune you'd never heard before.

You hoped he would come back much sooner rather than later.

[xhunnybeeex]

Hayden christensen character music/playlist headcanons 

playlists at the bottom of sections :3

❥ ~ Sam Monroe ~ 

Sam Monroe ~ mainly listens to mall goth/ metal, that's just cannon. However, he DEFINITELY got really into other goth subgenres while finding cds. 

Sam Monroe ~ would have to be forced to admit he loves riot girl movies. 

“Is this bikini kill in your mixtape?” you ask Sam as you dig through his cds. “I didn't know you were into riot girl music.” “I'm not,” he grumbles. 

Sam Monroe ~ loves angry midwest emo music. He loves the emo whine. 

Sam Monroe ~ doesn’t have a very diverse taste. He only really likes alt genres, but every once in a while you'll see him nod his head to pop songs on the radio. 

"this is clearly a differnt genre what are you talking about" sam protest. "Theyre all just screaming how is that different!" you yell back.

Sam Monroe ~ is the type to say “name three songs”, but only in front of other alt people to look cool. 

Sam Monroe ~ loves the goth culture but doesn't know how to become part of it, especially without getting bullied. 

Sam Monroe ~  loves making mixtapes with songs he likes to pair together, even if they sounds the same 

Sam monroe playlist done by me ⇦ ⇦ ⇦

❥ ~ Anakin Skywalker ~ 

Anakin Skywalker ~ obviously doesn’t have any cannon music taste so the following playlist is all what I PERSONALLY think Anakin would like to listen to or are him “coded”. This one was the hardest for me to do and is honestly probably the most inaccurate. 

Anakin Skywalker ~ is clearly pretty when he cries, and very lana del rey coded

Anakin Skywalker ~ would have a very open music taste, he listens to what people show him

Anakin Skywalker ~ likes classic rock and acoustic music from obi wan, sad girl music from ahsoka (oh you know she showed him mitski), and softer popy music from padme. 

Anakin Skywalker ~ never knows the names of artists, always has to hum songs for people to know what he's talking about. 

Anakin Skywalker ~ always asks Ahsoka to play her music when flying, but he'll always deny that he does. 

“Why don't you pick your own music for once!” Ahsoka groans in annoyance, rubbing her face in her hands. “Cause i'm flying! "Anakin yells back in protest. “Just admit you like my music.” Ahsoka smirks, plugging her comlink into the ship and getting her playlist on. Anakin stays silent. Pretending not to hear her and stares off at the stars in front of him as he flys. 

Anakin Skywalker playlist by me ⇦ ⇦ ⇦

❥ ~Stephen Glass ~

Stephen Glass ~ has a very diverse taste in all sorts of funky music

Stephen Glass ~ who lives for folk music but also is obsessed with pop music 

Stephen Glass ~ can’t not have Lady gaga on his playlists and knows all her songs. He yells at people who don't know summer boy because that's his favorite. 

Stephen Glass ~ who grew up on bob dylan and the beatles

Stephen Glass ~ was always a Brittany defender and refused to do journalism about her. He would never lie about the queen herself. 

“Did you guys see that britney spears-” his co workers gossip. “I need to be excused.” Stephen immediately stands up and walks anywhere from the conversation. He doesn’t want to hear what they say, and no one wants to know what he would respond with. 

Stephen Glass ~ loves to relax to calming 70s music. 

Stephen Glass ~ is a huge music nerd, but isn't even aware of it. 

“This is Joni Mitchel, she's super cool. She's canadian. I just found that out. I’ve been listening to her for years but I just found out. Crazy huh?” Stephen rambles. You chuckle in amazement on how much he knows and how fast his lips move. “Jeez you sure know a lot about music.” Stephen shakes his head and smiles. “Oh no, not really. I couldn't even play anything if I tried. But anyway did you know-” 

Stephen Glass playlist made by me ⇦ ⇦ ⇦

A/N///: OMGGG im very happy to fianlly have stuff posted again. i have been so out of it lately. this is my first time ever writing headcanons so go easy on me. i have had this sam monroe playlist made for a while now and it gave me the idea to make a lil post about it. i hope yall enjoy and maybe even have a listen. happy thanksgiving and stay hot. - beee!

[girlwithwolftatoo]

What is chained -Chapter 2

Warnings: None

Summary: Boys like party

Words: 3525

Quo tendimus?

During the campaigns, the soldiers' bundles, regardless of their rank, carried more or less the same thing: crackers, a portion of spicy cheese, bean paste. They took it in the breaks, the proper meals were mostly for the evening, and the pungent and intense aroma of the broths in the pots - patchwork broths, Acacius called them - gave him a melancholy that he could not name.

In the palace, the breakfast table was so exuberant that the general could not believe it was for only two men. And it certainly wasn't; emperors usually lunched with one or two men they trusted, weak senators who complied with their whims, foreign merchants who sought to curry favor with them, and the like.

The twins ate, as was the ancient oriental custom, lying on their sides between fluffy cushions lined with vibrantly colored fabrics; Geta was already fully dressed, Caracalla on his side, was wrapped in a gold-embroidered tunic that slipped off his shoulder, still in bedclothes, and at his side, fastened by his long solid gold chain, his monkey.

A servant approached to offer him water for the lavatory, and the younger twin made a gesture of displeasure, holding a hand to his head. When another servant poured him wine, his face changed to a relieved smile.

“This I do like,” he commented, contentedly, raising the glass to his lips. Geta reached out to take a couple of ovis hapalis, one after the other, popping them whole into his mouth, and only then did he see Acacius arrive.

“Ah, general!” he said by way of greeting, his mouth full of egg. He chewed with the delicacy of a cow and gestured to the nearest cushions “Please...have breakfast. You're up very late.”

“Actually I've just come from the stables” replied the general, sitting down with his legs half crossed. Caracalla, busy emptying his second cup, didn't even look at him. “I had a very enlightening night, your majesties, I would like to share my findings as soon as possible...”

“We don't discuss politics while we eat, do we, brother?”

Caracalla did not reply to Geta, but stared into his goblet, thoughtfully. The older twin cleared his throat.

 “Brother?”

“This wine is sour” Caracalla muttered. Geta snorted, grinning sarcastically.

“Can you hardly tell? It's your second glass, isn't it?”

Caracalla gestured to the servant with the decanter, and when the servant bowed, he grabbed him by the collar of his robe with such force that he almost threw him face first into the table.

“This wine is sour” he hissed in his ear. Geta watched with silent reproach, Acacius for his part stirred, almost on the verge of rising.

“Majesty” he called to him with the firmness with which he would address a clumsy soldier.

“Send some wine that's good!” the twin spat, releasing the servant only to add, ”And somebody whip this one!”

“Majesty!” Acacius raised his voice, and this time Caracalla faced him, shrugging.

“They've brought bad wine,” he excused himself. Acacius frowned.

“Majesty, though you may not like it, it is through servitude that people know masters. If a servant is constantly mistreated, people will think the worst of you.”

“Well simple, we cut out the gossipers' tongues.”

Geta decided to intervene, addressing his brother more than the general:

“Servants should not talk about their masters behind their backs, slaves much less, they know it so what's the problem, are you implying that they are the ones inciting the people, general?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Acacius replied, making an effort not to become impatient. He searched for a way to explain himself, for he noticed the venomous eyes of the two brothers upon him. “Consider a horse, your majesty. A well-kept horse takes notice, his coat is clean and shiny, his mane smooth, his legs are strong and light, his head is proud. A horse will never say a word about his master, but whoever sees him will know, by that alone, that he is in good hands or not.”

Silence, on Geta's face appeared a sign of understanding, but Caracalla, indolent, jingled the monkey's chain and remarked:

“Dondus looks very well, if the people see him they will know he is happy here. And the servants should be too.”

“Brother, the general has spoken a truth” Geta rebuked him, taking another ovis from its bowl “A wounded servant is obvious to anyone's eyes, even if they don't see his marks.”

“Who cares about that? I'm talking about Dondus” insisted Caracalla with a childish grimace.

“Honestly no one gives a fuck” Geta whispered, shoveling food into his mouth. Something exploded in the head of his twin, who stood upright like a snake about to bite.

“What did you say?” he whispered, squinting, and receiving no immediate response, he picked up another ovis and threw it in his brother's face.

“What do you think you're doing?” mumbled Geta, and the two began to argue loudly. Acacius sighed, pouring himself some sugary globi and trying to ignore the quarrel; if he were in the army, he thought bitterly, he would send those two rowdies to be tied up in the sun for a while, but even his new appointment allowed him no such chances.

It was not possible for him then to speak to the emperors, and at noon the parade of audiences began, where he remained standing in the midst of the thrones, seeking to whisper some advice to them when he noticed, shrewdly, that neither knew what to say; the day was brief, an hour at most, and then they both retired to their quarters.

“Ah, by the way,” jumped Geta ”we will send you to one of our dressers, general. You will come with us.”

“Where to?” asked Acacius, frowning.

“There will be a nice get-together this evening at Scylla's house, I'm sure you've heard of him. You are invited, in our name.”

“No one informed me of a party, and besides, I thought I told you about it” growled the general. Geta smiled, and his brother, having forgotten the morning's grudge, hung on his shoulder.

“We're not giving the party, general, that's out of the norm, isn't it?” Caracalla pouted. “You're coming with us, and you'll have a lot of fun. You can tell, with all due respect, that he hasn't had any fun in... a long time....”

Caracalla let out a chuckle and left with awkward steps. Acacius wondered if it would not be wrong to stick to the original plan and better, taking advantage of the party, take the heads of those two unpresentable.

Scylla was, as Thraex explained to him, the master of immense vineyards in the south of the empire, and he had a family engaged in those same duties in some provinces of North Africa, so in short, he was an immensely wealthy peasant, in the senator's words. But in addition Scylla was a quirky, fancied himself an artist and was, in short, a suitable pontifical friend for those depraved twins. Acacius took that in the best way, for one does not defeat the enemy by attacking and already, one must have a proper idea of the terrain where battles will be fought, so he accepted with a false good face to go in the same chariot with the emperors, who had chosen for the occasion really unusual fabrics: Geta was all dressed in blue and gold, Caracalla however, sported a long tunic of thin linen and on top, a pink cloak embroidered with pearls and natural shells.

“What do you think, general?” he asked, cocking his head coquettishly. Acacius found no kind words so he repeated:

“Is there any reason for this special occasion, your majesties?”

“Don't you know? It's a bacchanal. Our dear Scylla has just won a fortune through his third son in Caesaria, and we're going to celebrate.”

Acacius had understood that bacchanals were forbidden but imagined that, emperors being what they were, they had no compunction about allowing them as long as they were invited. The carriage rattled through the city in the twilight to a centrally located villa, the interiors of which were lit by a host of lanterns, some decorated with expensive tissue paper in shades of pink. The servants who greeted them bowed deeply, and were bare-chested; Acacius sighed, it was going to be a very long evening.

There were already at least two dozen guests, all dressed in the same bewildering extravagance as the emperors or even more: there, one man wore a grotesque Greek mask and a crown of thistles on his hair, there, another wore a diadem with real ram's horns entangled in ivy.

“The theme of the feast is the gods,” Geta explained to him as he took two goblets in passing and handed one to Acacius. “I am Helios, see, lighting up the dark sky.”

Caracalla was already lounging on a mountain of cushions, pampered by more half-naked servants offering him viands and wine, his monkey, who for the occasion wore frightful golden wings, was pacing back and forth as if fleeing from the crowd.

The host appeared soon after, also dressed in blue and with vine leaves on his head. Scylla was precisely the kind of man Acacius could not stand: goofy, petulant, self-satisfied, he knew it just by looking at him and above all, by the way everyone applauded him as if Jupiter himself had come to Earth; the rich landowner went to the emperors and bowed deeply to them.

“My majesties!” he exclaimed in a strangely shrill voice. Dondus leaped upon him and tried to snatch some of the grapes he was carrying among the vine branches, and let out an anxious chuckle. “Welcome to this humble abode! I pray the gods you have everything you want.”

“Everything, yes, as always, Scylla” Caracalla reached out a hand to stroke the hair of one of the servants surrounding him. Acacius pretended that the statue beside him was fascinating, but Geta pointed it out, raising his voice:

“Scylla, let us introduce you to our beloved general Justus, Marcus Acacius.”

The man waddled over to the general and clapped his hands, delighted.

“Oh, it's quite a pleasure, general! He is much taller in person, yes, and more wonderful!”

Acacius feigned a smile as he gazed at that made-up face with rudely red cheeks.

“How did you persuade him to come, your majesties? I always hear that the general is very secretive.”

“The general has been promoted... to royal advisor,” Geta explained, giving Caracalla a warning glance; no one outside the senate knew Acacius' true role and so it was to remain.

“How, a general? He sure knows a lot about wars and conquests, of course...” replied Scylla. “Does that mean he will no longer fight?”

“There will be more victories for Rome, of course, but for now he delights us with his keen mind and prudence.”

“What do you think, Scylla?” Caracalla leaned forward, resting an awkward hand on Acacius' shoulder. “He's come dressed for the occasion, can't you guess who he is?”

“Why certainly, no... uh, let me think, majesty...” The tubby landowner cocked his head like a deaf dog “Jupiter, perhaps?”

“No, no, Mars! Take a good look at his mantle...”

“Ah, ah! Of course, Mars” Scylla chuckled ”How else? The god of war who has benefited him so much, yes. And he looks very good, if I may, just the other day I met a bronze artist, he's on the lookout for models here in Rome, our general could well pose for him...”

Soon Acacius understood why Scylla was the favorite of the emperors, he gave them everything they wanted and he knew their weaknesses very well, so they paraded before them the most exotic dishes, wine in abundance and servants who, especially with Caracalla, let themselves be done without complaining. The lightness of the atmosphere was due above all to the absence of women, and that gave the general a clue.

“I hear this feast is in honor of your family's good fortune,” he told him when they had been listening to the musicians for a long time and the emperors were entertaining themselves in a game consisting of the guests imitating scenes from the myths and stories, each one more ridiculous than the last. The host smiled, clearly blissful that he was addressing him.

“Oh, sort of. Wine, general?” with a curt gesture he called a servant over and took two glasses. Acacius accepted and took a sip, smiling to pretend he loved it.

“Exquisite. From your vineyards, I suppose.”

“That's right! A unique vintage, from my campo magno near Herculaneum. That's where my ancestors used to vacation, until, you know...” he made a noise with his mouth that simulated an explosion, and drank from his glass in large gulps. Acacius squinted.

“You've said something about your family before, haven't you? Something like that, were his words...”

“Well, well, General, what do you want me to tell you?”

Scylla invited him to sit down, and Acacius spent a while pretending to enjoy the talk, and discreetly emptying his cup each time it was refilled, unlike Scylla, who was already somewhat drunk at the beginning of the party but was now at a loss.

“I had five children, all boys, glory to the gods!” he exclaimed, raising what was like his eighth cup. “Three of them are married here in the empire, the others in the provinces, and I have about twelve grandchildren. That's more than enough for me, when my Bellona died I swore not to marry any more, with once I had already been criminal.”

“Criminal, to marry?”

“I don't like being a liar” he explained with a pout ”I don't like women. I understand that you find them pretty and all that, who would deny, for example, the loveliness of two firm breasts? But I did my duty, and I don't want any more whores in this house... Or what do you think, general, do you lean more towards Mercury or Venus?”

Acacius smiled out of commitment.

“This party is of a high standard, sir” he commented.

“Scylla, please, General, call me Scylla. There is nothing... that would make me happier right now.”

“All right, Scylla” Acacius made a toast gesture, and that ended up disarming the landowner. “You must have spent an awful lot of money for this... lovely evening.”

“Not a talent out of my pocket” the man hiccupped, smiling mischievously ”This party, as I told you, is thanks to my son... or rather at his expense.”

“I don't understand.”

“You see...” Scylla leaned in to whisper to him, his breath laden with the scent of fermenting grapes “My dear Septimius died a short while ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Acacius voiced quickly.

“No, no, please, it's the best thing that could have happened to me! Septimius was ungrateful, he wanted his vineyard to be just for himself and his despicable little half-breed children. My children, they pay me every year two hundred talents each, as compensation for my help, and so we keep in touch and I make sure their future is good. Well, me and their majesties...” he raised his glass with trembling hand towards the mountain of cushions where the emperors were resting.

“Two hundred talents per child, that makes... a thousand talents a year minus taxes” mused Acacius aloud.

“Taxes?” Scylla let out a chuckle and, with the same hand that held the cup, gestured around him “This, general, is my tax! Their majesties enjoy it very much and I... I keep my well-earned money without interference. Of course, now that Septimius is dead, all his goods pass to me, do you know why?” A servant poured him more wine and half of it was left scattered on the cushions, Scylla no longer supported himself.

Acacius squinted and shook his head uneasily.

“Well, because I killed him!” Scylla smiled exhibiting severely damaged teeth. “I paid some mercenaries, they got rid of him and received, as promised, a quarter of his earnings. And ah, the bastard sure was living the good life. After the cashing out I'm left with a little over two thousand talents, isn't that fortune, general?”

“Indeed it is,” muttered Acacius. He was disgusted, that man murdered his son out of greed, and he found it commendable, he wished to teach him a lesson but it wouldn't be wise to rebuke him in front of the crowd, his reputation was at stake, he had to be careful and....

“General!” Geta approached him, reeling from the drink.  “You're having a good time, aren't you? Sorry but you must help me find Dondus, my brother has lost sight of him and...”

Caracalla was even drunker than Geta, if that was possible, and was crying his eyes out as guests and servants tried to comfort him. Grateful to have an excuse, the general abandoned Scylla and went out into the gardens, in search of the monkey; to his surprise, Geta was with him, muttering something about his brother's stupidity in taking the animal with them.

“It's always the same, he gets drunk and lets it loose out there, then he can't find it and thinks it's been eaten, the beasts or the slaves. He has this crazy idea that slaves eat monkey.”

“Hungry anyone would eat whatever they could find,” punctuated Acacius, who was using a long-range torch to peek through the leaves of the trees.

“General, I would like to... ask you a great favor, now” Geta bowed his head, dizzy but aware. “I know what people believe, that my brother and I will one day slit each other's throats, but that is not so. I recognize his faults, which are many, but I love him. We've been together since... since our mother's womb, yes? I haven't spent a day without him. If anything were to happen to him, I...”

The emperor's eyes filled with tears, Acacius found it pathetic but, gentle, he patted him on the shoulder as if he really wanted to comfort him.

“Your Majesty, it is my duty to protect you both, but to achieve this, I need your trust, and your understanding. I am nothing... without Rome at my back. If I too am lost in the eyes of the people, there will be no one left to aid you.”

He dared to be this blunt because the emperor was drunk, and to his relief he took his words calmly, nodding meekly.

“I understand, general... yes, we will... we will do as you say...”

Acacius felt that battle would be lost as soon as the effects of the alcohol wore off, but for a moment he saw himself undefeated.

Dondus was high up in a Thracian palm, it took three servants, a pole and a fruit to force him down, and Geta reluctantly handed the golden chain to Acacius, who had to act as guide. Caracalla, seeing him return with his pet, exclaimed as if he had just been stabbed, and threw himself on the ground.

“Dondus! My dear... precious... sweet little friend!” he sobbed, hugging the monkey with devotion. Then, he looked at Acacius and hugged him too. “General, you're such a hero, you're returning my adored Dondus to me safe and sound!”

“Brother, calm down,” Geta told him, obliviously oblivious.

“Oh, General, I'd kiss you if I could! What do I say, of course I could!”

And to the mute amusement of the crowd, Caracalla planted a kiss on his cheek before Geta pushed him away. Acacius was livid but kept a hieratic face.

“I think their majesties need to return to the palace. It's been a long party and... surely Dondus is exhausted” he added to get the younger twin to agree to his suggestion. Geta agreed, and the two had to be half carried back to their carriage.

Acacius had to endure sitting in the middle of the emperors, Caracalla was sound asleep against his shoulder, Geta nodded, peering out the sleeping city through the holes in the wooden window.

“It's pretty, isn't it? Rome” he mused.

“Yes. It is,” Acacius affirmed.

“Our father adored it. More than he loved us. Actually I don't think he ever loved us” he added bitterly. “Mom loved us, but she's gone too.”

“Losing a mother is painful.”

“She would tell us stories until the wee hours of the morning...she said that, since I was older, I should take care of him.”

Geta motioned with his head toward Caracalla, who snuggled more against Acacius in his sleep.

“Do people really hate us?” the elder asked, looking at Acacius with an expression he had never seen on him before, that of childish anguish. He hated them both, with all his heart, but he couldn't help but imagine them as children, two spoiled brats who nevertheless looked at the world and took it as an enemy, or as treasure.

The general bit his tongue.

“Actually... I'd like them to love us,” Geta continued in a weak voice, her eyelids drooping at intervals. “I really would like...”

Drowsiness got the better of him and finally, the carriage fell silent.

[syntheticavenger]

Let Him Loose (Preview)

As promised, here is a preview of what I am working on. A slow build to be sure but it's been a while since I posted something and I'm still working on closing up some fics but life has been extremely busy!

I'll also be responding to those in my inbox - I didn't forget you, I promise!

Dennis Baker x Female Reader

Word Count: 925

Warnings: None for now, just some world building.

-

He keeps his eyes on the road, lifting a shaky hand to bring the insulated mug to his lips, swallowing down a sip as an 80’s synth pop song plays faintly in the background. Dennis has always been a nervous sort but today he’s much worse for wear, talkative at first about his new promotion until the city became a distant past, the highway stretching longer than before, his silence almost unnerving. His fingers grip the steering wheel tight, a cheerful commercial breaking through as you strain to listen to it.

“Come on down to Delilah’s Discount Deals! Where there’s something for everyone,” the upbeat spokesperson invites before the music starts again.

Enough is enough.

Your boyfriend’s jaw is clenched so tight that you wonder if he’ll break a tooth, placing your hand on his over the gear shift as he looks down under his clear framed glasses.

“Hey,” you begin, seeing him smile for a scant second. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he answers, his eyes going back on the road. “Why?”

“Because you’ve barely said two words since we left?”

“Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

His phone alerts with another incoming text message and then another before he exhales loudly.

“She won’t let up,” Dennis says forlornly. “I’m driving as fast as I can. Why they need me there before tomorrow is ridiculous, it’s not like we’re part of their plan.”

He accelerates slightly, your fingers pressing into the plush leather armrest as he begins to slow.

It’s not a secret that he doesn’t want to see his family for the holidays. He’s been putting it off for months – years even – but a promotion, even one that he had excitedly told his parents, had been a cause for a celebration that ended up becoming mandatory, by his family offering to host you both for the holiday, not taking no for an answer.

There’s not much you know about his family. Ever since you started dating, he’s been careful to navigate how he speaks about them to you. It wasn’t the best upbringing, that much you know as he’s shared that much. He grew up poor, bullied for his glasses and calm demeanor, ostracized for leaving the small town he grew up in for a scholarship for college and never looking back, let alone to visit. His parents, Dennis had told you, were proud people – proud of who they were and where they came from.

It was obvious that Dennis didn’t agree and knowing how stressed he was, it didn’t make sense for you to push the issue, not when you knew that topic is one he still tries to avoid.

“We don’t have to go,” you speak up, Dennis shaking his head slowly, eyes still on the road.

“That won’t go over well. Just better to get it over with.”

“Dennis,” you admonish, seeing him reach for his coffee again. “They’re your parents.”

“I know. They’re gonna love you, you know.”

As much of a comfort as that gives you, it’s the sadness in his voice that almost feels envious. Still, you don’t press, quietly looking at the window as the trees whizz past.

“You don’t seem excited.”

“I’m not,” he answers matter-of-factly, picking up his phone to glance at the text message before he places it back down, a look of dread appearing on his features.

“What is it?”

“My brother will be there.”

“Oh?” you ask, watching him take another gulp of coffee. “You haven’t seen him in a while, right? Sounds like a family reunion.”

“I wouldn’t call it that but sure.”

“What’s your brother like?” you ask, trying to get him to open up. Whatever the text message was, it didn’t please Dennis in the slightest, seeing him turn the phone face down in the cup holder.

“The favorite.”

“The favorite?” you repeat, Dennis still looking straight ahead, his fingers flexing slightly.

“Yeah.”

That’s all the response you will get, you realize, Dennis giving a short shrug. You know nothing about his brother, only that he has one, something muttered when you were first starting to date but the subject was dropped quickly.

“He’ll like you,” he says, almost bitterly. “You’ll like him too.”

“How do you know?”

You sound accusatory but you don’t mean it. Dennis seems so resolved that he’ll be cast aside that you find yourself getting defensive, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t be on his side.

“Because he’s the rugged type. I’ve seen the books you read,” Dennis chides with a slight smile that is gone before you can appreciate it. “He’s like that.”

“Books are books, they aren’t you,” you remind him, flashing him a smile. “Those books don’t have your self-deprecating jokes, your thoughtfulness and care. You know that.”

He smiles finally – a real smile with a flash of pearly white teeth – before he settles back into his seat.

“Just promise one thing,” Dennis says after a short pause, slowing to look at you for a moment. “Stay inside when it starts to get dark when we get there. Probably a silly superstition but it’s important. Promise?”

You want to make a joke but you know better, especially with how serious Dennis has become again. You’ll ask your questions later, when he’s not so agitated.

“I promise,” you recite.

“Good,” he says with a sigh of relief. “My family loves their traditions, Ari even more so. Let’s just ease you in slow so you don’t get overwhelmed.”

“Who is Ari?” you ask.

“My older brother.”

[the-bat-writes-imagines]

Scars - Part 1

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Soulmate AU)

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader

Story Type: Angst/Fluff

Warnings: Violence, Discussion of Past Trauma, Reader with Visible Facial Scar

Summary: Soulmate!AU Where werewolves can have soulmates, and they can feel each other's pain. It's very subtle until you're near each other, then the closer you are the stronger it becomes. This will only stop once soulmates have their first kiss. The reader is Derek's Soulmate and moves to town to teach chemistry at the local high school. Derek knows who you are as soon as he sees you because of a distinctive scar, but he is afraid to let you know. Of course, it becomes harder and harder for him to hide it.

First day as a teacher, no big deal, right? Nope, it's going to be easy! At least that's what you keep telling yourself. Except somehow this feels exactly like walking into high school for the first day did. Which means you are literally shaking with nerves as you down your second cup of coffee and make your way into the chemistry lab. This is your first ever real teaching job. No more TA'ing for a middle school science teacher, no more grad school classes. This is it. You are responsible for whether or not these kids succeed in this class. That pressure coupled with the fact that your predecessor was murdered by serial killer the previous semester really was not making it easy to put forth a facade of calm.

Then there was the scar. It ran from just below your left eye, down your cheek to just under your chin. Almost like a tear running down your face. You didn't like talking about how you got it, it's a horrible memory to relive. You can handle people staring at it and even talking about it behind your back. As long as you don't have to tell them how you got it. You concocted a lie with your friend years ago about getting scraped by a nail in broken fence post. It may not have been a perfect lie, but once you made it clear the story was boring people usually stopped asking about it.

You shake out your shoulders trying to pull your focus back to the task at hand. You write your name on the board in chalk and turn to arrange the few items that you brought on your desk. As you're placing your last desk trinket, a little rock with a wolf painted on it gifted to you by a student from your TA class, the first few students start to filter in. You smile at them as they enter the classroom. Once the bell rings it's showtime.

"Welcome everyone! My name is Miss (Y/L/N) and I am going to let you in on a little secret." You take a quick breath looking around at the class. "You are my very first class. So, I'm going to make a deal with you. You take it easy on me and I'll make none of my quizzes pop quizzes, I'll let you pick your own partners for any collaborative work, and I will keep the number of class presentations to the absolute minimum required by the accreditation guidelines. Deal?" You ask. A few of you students look around at each other before a boy in the back with slightly spikey hair speaks up.

"I mean, sounds like a pretty good deal to me!" He says and the other students either mumble their agreement or nod their heads. "Alright, looks like we're in agreement. Stiles, by the way. Under Stilinski, on the attendance sheet there." He introduces himself. You look down at the sheet to check off his name and are immediately glad he introduced himself. There's no way you would have been able to pronounce his actual first name.

"Alright, that's one off the list. Let's find out who the rest of you are." You start going through attendance.

The rest of class goes well, and you are already feeling better about taking this job. No one asks about the scar. As nervous as you have been it feels right to be here for some reason. Little do you know just how much you really are meant to be here.

...

You are woken in the middle of the night by a pain raking its way through your chest. You sit up nearly in tears due to the pain. You have had these pains for as long as you can remember. They pop up often and have seemingly no rhyme or reason. The only explanation a doctor could give you was a mild nerve condition. Since there was nothing else that could explain it and the pain was usually very mild you accepted it and learned to live with the occasional pain. However, this was significantly more painful than ever before. As you consider making a trip to urgent care the pain starts to fade leaving you with a mild tingling feeling across your skin. Just like all of the other times. So maybe no trip to urgent care, but you make a mental note to set up an appointment with you doctor to talk about your nerve condition getting worse.

...

Your first few weeks at Beacon Hills High School have been going well, and you are starting to feel at home. Tonight is one of the first lacrosse games of the season and you got invited by a couple of your fellow teachers. You are making your way to the stands to meet up with your coworkers when you run into someone.

"Oh! I'm sorry, excuse me." You apologize quickly.

"No that's my bad! I'm sorry." He responds. You finally look up at the man in front and you and he is easily one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen. You almost forget how to speak when you look into those eyes of his. He is staring back at you. He looks caught off guard, almost even a little scared?

"Umm... I'm (Y/N)." You say, extending your hand, hoping to politely break the tension.

"I...I'm Derek." He stutters back before taking your hand. He shakes your hand slowly, still looking kind of shell shocked. It takes a noticeably long time for him to release your hand. "Umm... What brings you to the game?" He gestures at the field.

"Oh, um, I am a teacher at the school and a bunch of us thought it would be nice to support our students on the team and get into the spirit." You tuck your hands into your coat pockets trying to hide your nerves talking to him. "What about you? You look a bit young to be a parent and I think I would have noticed you around school before." You panic as you realize how that sounds. "Not that you're super noticeable..." oops! overcorrected! "I mean your noticeable, just I... What I mean is it's not a big school. I've met everyone on the staff." You make eye contact with him knowing you are bright red with embarrassment. He chuckles softly, smiling at you.

"I'm here to support a friend. Scott McCall. I'm sort of friend slash mentor of his so I come to the games occasionally."

"Oh, that's nice of you." You respond. Lame you think to yourself immediately.

"Yeah, I guess." He pauses. "I should let you get back to your coworkers." He takes a step by to that you can pass him.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." You say as you step past him. "Enjoy the game."

"You too." He smiles gently again before walking away from the stands and toward the players.

You join your coworkers at their place in the stands, accepting a warm cup of cider from Mrs. Martin. The next couple of hours pass quickly as you watch the game. Every so often you feel drawn toward the front of the stands. Whenever you look down toward the front your eyes immediately fall on Derek sitting with the sheriff and a dark-haired woman that, if you had to guess, you would say is Scott's mom. You count yourself doing this no less than fifteen times over the course of the game. During several of these glances though, you catch Derek looking back up at you. He looks away quickly and so do you. Mrs. Martin elbows you gently to get you attention. When you look at her, she's smirking at you.

"Finding another reason to like Beacon Hills?" She nods in Derek's general direction. You blush immediately.

"Maybe..." You mumble, suddenly very interested in your now empty cider cup. She chuckles at you before turning back to the game.

...

Derek's POV

Goddamnit! He thinks to himself as he walks away from you and toward Scott. Derek had never really thought much of the soulmate bond he had. He barely felt any pain from his other half, and it was almost always so faint. He figured you had to be far enough away that you would likely never meet. Then, when things are at their worst you show up.

He would recognize you anywhere. He remembered the night you got that scar. It was nearly a decade ago, but he never forgot the way that hurt. Whatever made that cut moved slow and ran deep. It hurt him more than any other pain from the bond had, it had to have been agonizing for you.

The fact that you had come to town now felt ominous. Derek was losing his power, there were assassins hunting down supernaturals all over beacon hills and now you were in the middle of it. Then there was the thing he had not been expecting when he met his soulmate for the first time; you were not a werewolf, you were human.

All of this is swirling around Derek's head, distracting him. He almost ran directly into Scott. Scott put out a hand to stop him.

"Whoa, Derek. What's up?" He asks.

"Yeah man, you look like someone shit in your cereal." Stiles adds. Derek just glares back at him for a moment before turning back to Scott.

"Do you remember what I told you about werewolves sometimes having soulmates?" He asks Scott.

"Vaguely." Scott replies. "You told me it was very rare, and that soulmates could feel each other's pain, but only like a little bit. Until they get close then it gets stronger." Scott shakes his head. "But that's it. I don't really remember anything else."

"Did I tell you that I have one?" Derek asks.

"WHAT?!?!" Scott and Stiles shout at the same time, garnering the attention of several of their teammates.

"Keep your voices down!" Derek growls.

"Sorry. It's just, you definitely didn't mention that." Scott responds much more quietly.

"Yeah, well I didn't think it was ever going to come up, until now."

"Why are you telling us now?" Stiles asks him.

"Because she's here." The eyes of both Scott and Stiles bug out in surprise.

"You mean here right now?" Stiles points at the ground in disbelief. "Here? At this game?"

"Yes, I literally just walked into her on the way over here."

"Where?" Scott asks as both he and Stiles start looking around over Derek's shoulder.

"At the base of the stands. She said she was meeting up with her fellow teachers to watch the game." He sighs.

"Wait, she's a teacher?" Scott responds.

"Yes, she is." He looks over his shoulder quickly to see where you ended up sitting. He turns back to the boys. "She's up in the fifth row, next to Lydia's mother. She has a scar."

"Miss (Y/L/N), the new chemistry teacher?" Stiles is looking repeatedly between Derek and you in the stands as he speaks.

"(Y/N)." Dereks says your name quietly, almost to himself.

"She's your soulmate? Our chemistry teacher is your soulmate?" Stiles' words are still riddled in disbelief. "How do you know?"

"The scar. I remember the night it happened. I knew who she was the second I saw it."

"But wait, if she's a wolf, shouldn't the injury have healed without leaving a scar?" Scott looks like he trying to do complex math thinking about it.

"That's just the thing Scott. She's not a wolf." Derek shakes his head. "I could tell the second I smelled her, she's human."

"So, does she know about us? About everything?" Scotts asks. Derek shakes hid again.

"I don't know. I doubt it. Most people don't grow up knowing about our world unless they're in it." Derek looks back over his shoulder at you. "I don't think she knows anything." He turns back to the boys. "And it's going to stay that way." He adds sternly.

"What? Why?" Scott is shocked.

"Why? Look around us Scott. We are constantly fighting for our lives. There are hired killers all around this town hunting us. If she's not involved, I'm not dragging her in to get her killed." Derek's voice rises a bit as he speaks.

"Well, if she's human, then the hired killers won't be after her. Right?" Stiles adds, unhelpfully. Derek glares at him.

"She may not be on the Dead Pool, but do you think any one of the people hunting us wouldn't be willing to hurt her to get to me if they had the chance?" Derek snarls at him.

"Well, when you put it that way, no. I don't think any of them would have a moral crisis over it." Stiles looks a little ashamed as he answers.

"So, what? Are you just not going to tell her about any of it?" Scotts gestures generally around he asks. Then he points to Derek. "Not even your bond?"

"No, it's better if I leave her be." Derek says. He didn't know this was where the conversation was going to go when he told Scott about you, but he knows it is the right choice. Bringing you into this would get you killed. He cannot do that.

Before the boys have time to respond they are cut off by a sharp whistle.

"Stilinski! McCall! On the field, now!!" Coach's aggravated voice rings out. It's clear neither Scott nor Stiles wants to end the conversation here.

"Go." Derek says, before turning to go back and join Melissa and Noah in the stands. He sits next to Melissa. All throughout the game he is trying to make himself forget where you're sitting. Trying not to think about you, just a few rows away. He can't help it though. He keeps looking up to where you are. Physically unable to stop himself. A few times he even catches your eye and has to look away immediately.

One thing was very clear to him; leaving you alone was going to be very, very hard for him.

[freakymcnastys]

hihihi!! idk if you’re taking request but i LOVED ur 10 things i hate abt you one shot!! i would love to see a part 2 💝💝💝

“are you bored yet?” - katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

━━ . ˚₊ ꒱ "will you tell the truth so I don’t have to lie?"

NOTE: there will be 2 more parts after this! (sorry it’s so long 💔💔)

content: 10tihay au, quirkless au, american au, regular bakugou stuff, PART 2 WHOOP WHOOP! (part 1 here )

"WAIT WHATS THAT?" Iida asked Kirishima who held a yellow stack of flyers. "My revenge.." He said with a smile before throwing the papers down the staircase of the school watching as the students grabbed them. "Mineta's having a party?" Iida questioned, confused. "No but now he is!" He responded with a wink before walking off.

While walking out of school, Iida noticed Ochaco walking by herself. "Hey Ochaco!" He quipped, sliding next to the burnette. She quickly greeted him with a smile. The pair walked off together ultimately deciding to have Ochaco show Iida around while talking about the plan with her sister and Katsuki. "Are you going to the party" Iida asked. "Yeah of course I really really wanna go but I can't unless my sister does.." Ochaco sighed hopping off a statue the two were climbing. "Um I'm working on that but your sister is not going for the guy." He explained before a question popped into his head.

"So are you sure that your sister isn't a-"

"K.D. Lang fan? Nope." Ochaco shrugged. "Found a picture of Fatgum in her drawer once." She continued. "Oh so she's into guys like that? Like pretty guys?" He questioned, looking down at her. "I guess. I mean you can't expect me to dissect the inner workings of her twisted mind!" She ranted, not forgetting the theatrics while she spoke.

Kirishima's bike compared to the rest of the bikers made Iida sink into himself as he walked into the bar, looking for Bakugou. Once they spotted him they went to him. "Should you be drinking that if your don't have a liver?" The red head asked, stupidly, earning a smack from Iida. "So we got somethings that might help you win over y/n."

Katsuki just raised him brow, taking another sip from his beer. "Uh first off y/n hates smokers..so uh--" Iida then processed to take the cigarette from Bakugou hand and put it out on the floor as Kirishima nodded along. "So yer telling me that I'm a non-smoker?" The blonde let out slowly. "Well just for now! and well here's another problem.." Iida led on. "Ochaco says y/n likes pretty guys.." He finished as the two friends looked to each other then at Katsuki.

"Are you telling me I'm not a pretty guy?" He asked almost offended, getting up from his spot that was leaning on the pool table. This causes the two teens to scramble to defend themselves and to compliment Bakugou. "This is a very pretty guy! This is a gorgeous guy!" Kirishima retorted as Iida quickly agreed with him as Bakugou went back down to listen to the rest of what they needed to tell him. Katsuki knew he was a pretty guy but he loved to mess with this guys..

As Momo and Ochaco tried to quickly sneak past her dad to leave for the party, he just called out to them. "Should've tried the window!"

"Now where are you two going?" He interrogated them as Momo just looked at her friend with a nervous smile. "Well if you must know we are going to a..study group!" The youngest daughter lied, terribly. "Other wise known as an orgy?" He raised an eyebrow from behind his newspaper.

"Oh come on daddy it's just a party!" the burnette attempted to use her charm on her dad but he still didn't seem to budge. "You know you can't go if your sister doesn't." As if on que you came down the stairs, on your way to the kitchen.

"Come on y/n! Can't you be normal for once and go to Minetas party!" Ochaco huffed, practically begging you. Although you REALLY didn't want to go, you really did feel a pang of guilt after seeing how much your sister wanted to go to this stupid party. Fuck it.

“Fine I’ll make an appearance.” You shrug before heading back upstairs to fix your hair and grab a leather jacket. As you were on your way to your room you hear the door close and your dad say to himself, “what just happened…?” in disbelief. Which made you laugh a bit.

The party was booming once you got there. Of course now looking around the atmosphere you feel regret creep up on you as you soon bump into Monoma.

“Woah hey there kitty cat!” He spoke with his usual self righteous tone which caused you to scoff. “Whatever just stay away from my sister.” You warn the blonde. Before walking away he says this. “Can’t promise she’ll stay away from me!” Suddenly this party started to suck even more than before.

And just as you thought things couldn’t get worse the guy who seemed to be harassing you showed up once again. “Dear god, what do you want..” You let out a sigh. “What not enjoying the party?” The blonde scoffed. This guy is now starting to seriously piss you off.

Just as Katsuki was gonna say something back, Monoma and Ochaco walked past the two with his arm around the girl and saying something along the lines of, “guess who found me!”. This seemed to set something off in you as Katsuki watched you throw back two shots of whatever was on the table. “Woah slow down..” The boy said, rather uncharacteristically, concerned.

“Come man I’m enjoying the party!”

[peppermintquartz]

Kyle is sweet and willing, pliant against Tommy, but when they're lying side by side in bed, all Tommy can think of is the way Buck leaned down to whisper in the woman's ear. His curls were still unruly. His shoulders were more defined.

Thankfully, Kyle doesn't take it personally in the morning when Tommy says it was nice, but he doesn't think he is ready for another date. Kyle kisses him on the cheek and walks out to his Uber, whistling.

--

Now that he's seen Buck, Tommy can't stop himself from checking up on him. He goes to Buck's Instagram page and he sees her showing up from about four months ago. Before her, a lifeguard - three weeks. Before him, a stylish older man, who lasted one month.

But with her, Buck looks happy. His eyes are alight and his smile is huge and he looks happy.

She's probably the one, then, Tommy thinks, sick to his stomach with jealousy.

He has no right. He has no right to be jealous.

He wishes. He wishes he has the guts to go to Buck, to Evan, and beg, "Evan, love me instead. Love me instead, please."

He gets drunk instead. Maybe alcohol will drown the ache within.

---

He wakes up to sunlight stabbing into his eyeballs and a breath so foul he thinks something died inside his mouth.

Picking up his phone to check the time, he sees a few messages. It's from Buck, except on Tommy's phone it's still Evan 💕, because Tommy has not really moved on, not really, even when he has put himself out there.

Evan 💕: I saw you the other night with a date

Evan 💕: how have you been

Tommy: I'm ok

Tommy: saw you and your date too

Tommy: she seems nice

Evan 💕: she is. Girlfriend, actually.

Tommy feels the knife twist. He takes a deep breath, goes to wash his face and brush his teeth and down a Tylenol with water.

Tommy: she makes you happy?

Evan 💕: happy enough

Evan: you?

Tommy: I'm ok

Tommy: I'm glad you're happy, Evan. Don't worry about me

He closes out of the app and turns his phone to silent mode. He's not on call and even if he were, being as hungover as he currently is, Captain Chang won't let him work anyway.

Half an hour later he gets someone knocking on the door.

He opens it without looking, expecting Jake or Alejandro from down the block popping by to borrow his truck since theirs is in the shop, and instead it's Evan.

"Hey," he says, struck by how good Evan looks.

"Hey." Evan shifts from foot to foot. "Can I come in?"

Tommy steps to the side and lets Evan in. He's still using the bergamot shampoo and the same aftershave, Tommy realizes with a visceral pang in his throat.

Evan stands in the middle of the room and swings his arms aimlessly. "I... I came here to talk, actually."

"Okay." Tommy motions to a chair. "What about?"

"You called me Evan."

Tommy blinks at him, his brain not quite functioning at its best. "What? When?"

Evan unlocks his phone and shows him the last message Tommy sent. And then Tommy realizes that, in his head, Evan is back to being Evan, not Buck, and it was so easy to go back.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Did you not mean to like the Instagram posts too?"

Tommy stares at him, and then unlocks his phone to look through Evan's posts, blushing when he realizes he did like two of the posts where Evan was grinning into the camera.

"You looked happy," is all he says.

Evan leans forward. "I am."

"And I'm happy for you."

"Are you really?"

Tommy sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth, Tommy. Are you really happy for me? Or do you feel something else?"

Tommy can't look at him. He stares at his knees. "She's your girlfriend. She makes you smile like you're lit up from the inside. I can't... I can't be angry about that." Taking a deep breath, he adds, "I'm sorry I called you the wrong name-"

"It's the right name," Evan interjects. "She doesn't call me Evan. No one does." He swallows audibly. "I won't let them."

That means something, doesn't it? Tommy's gaze slides up from his knees to Evan's face. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I-I don't know. Feels important." Evan rubs the side of his neck. "Tommy... I can't move on completely, not unless I know... I need to know."

"Know what?"

"Are you happy? Not about me or my life or my girlfriend, whatever. You. Are you happy?"

Tommy can lie. He can. He owes Evan nothing. All he has to do is lie.

Flame

@118dailydrabble, day 1

“Tommy?” Kyle says, and Tommy tugs his gaze back.

“Sorry,” he says. “I- got distracted. What were you saying?”

But Kyle’s already turning to look over his shoulder at the crowd of firefighters who just entered the bar, one broad blue-eyed man among them.

“Friends of yours?”

Tommy chuckles. “Old flame, actually,” he says. Casual.

Buck’s at a new station, and Tommy doesn’t recognize any of the others. His hand is on a woman’s back. Friendly? Familial? Buck leans down to whisper in her ear, and she giggles. Not friendly.

“Ah.” Kyle grins, unbothered. “You want to get out of here, then?”

Tommy grins back, stomach twisting, knives under his skin. Chokes it down and says, “Of course.”

[sadraccoon061]

when you see a tiny plant pot and it's like 69k poly.

[killerandhealerqueen]

It always amazes me when I go into the comments of a video (idk why i do it, it's just a habit that i really need to kick) showing context for a scenario but people try to give context for another scenario to fit what's going in the video

[nightlark100]

Consequences (Pt 8)

Thank you for everyone who voted on what the next part should be :)

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

After they got Grace situated at the Lauter house, which Steph fortunately still had access to after a lot of hours spent with her father's lawyer Gary, Peter headed back to his apartment. Ted and Charlotte's on again off again relationship was currently going through an on again phase so he knew his brother likely wouldn't be there. In fact, he probably wouldn't be around much until Charlotte decided once again to try and focus on working things out with her husband and the whole cycle started again. Still, it meant that, as long as Peter sent texts to check in, he would be left to his own devices. In the past he would have stayed with Richie, and more recently with Steph (she wasn't handling the empty house too well. Even if her father and her hadn't been close, she was still used to his presence), but he needed some time to try and sort his head out. He felt bad for leaving Steph alone with an emotionally distraught Grace but with everything that had happened, he was at his limit.

So he went home.

He ate a chocolate bar and then took a shower, mentally sorting through his DVDs to pick one he could happily doze off to. He knew that the Lords in Black would want an answer from him at some point but he was pretty sure they couldn't just appear without being summoned. Well... hoped.

Unfortunately, the same rules didn't apply to Wiley, as he found out when he left the bathroom. The man was perched on the foot of his bed, the picture of ease.

"Gah!" Peter tried to cover his chest while also holding onto the towel around his waist. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd pop in and say hello."

"Hello. Goodbye."

"Now there's no need to be rude Petey."

"Don't call me that." Wiley only chuckled in response, his green eyes fixed on Peter as the boy gathered his clothes and headed back towards the bathroom. Peter paused in the doorway. “You'll stay in here until I'm done?”

“Don't you trust me to behave myself?”

“Would you trust you?” Wiley laughed and inclined his head in agreement. Peter slipped back into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Even though he was fairly certain it wouldn't inhibit his uninvited guest in anyway, it made him feel a little bit safer at least.

Once he was dressed in sweatpants and one of Ted's old tees, he reluctantly returned to his bedroom. Wiley was in the exact spot he'd been left in and as Peter tentatively approached, the man stretched, eyes slitted. There was something strangely feline about his movements, and Peter was reminded of a trip to the zoo he'd once gone on. The jungle cats, the graceful strength that they exuded in every languid movement. And just like a jungle cat, Peter was positive Wiley could tear him apart if he wanted to.

“Feeling a little less… vulnerable?” He asked, raking his gaze over Peter and patting the spot beside him on the bed.

“Can't say I do…” Peter muttered, taking the offered seat. “Is this about that… offer?”

“Smart boy”

“I'm still not entirely sure about… well, everything. I'm not making a decision if I don't know the details of what I'm agreeing to.”

“Ask your questions. Let's see if I can assuage some of your doubts.”

"Why us? Why drag Steph and me into this?”

“Partly punishment. They don't take kindly to people trying to cheat them. And while that was mainly Grace's fault, you two are still a bit of a sore spot.”

“But why can't Grace be the prophet?”

“Well for one thing, I think people are more likely to listen to Miss Lauter than they are Miss Chasity. Just better marketing. And for another…” he smirked to himself. “I'm not sure how long little Gracie will be around for once the baby is born.”

“What…why?”

“That child has a little bit of all of them in it. Including the great devourer. Nibblenephim. Do the math.” He snapped his teeth in a mock bite. Peter felt bile rise in his throat and had to take a few minutes to push back the desire to vomit. “Now that little tidbit? That stays between us. No point in scaring the little lady.”

Peter wanted to protest but he could tell by the look in Wiley's eyes it wouldn't do any good.

“What's the difference between what they want Steph to do and what they want me to do?”

“They want Stephanie to be their prophet. They want you to be their disciple. A prophet is the mouth. A disciple is more like the hands. Or at least that's the way it is on the surface. The true difference is want. Deep down all the prophets want one thing, a thing that they crave but can never quite grasp. For some it's love. For others it's adoration. For your little Steph-A-nie it's belonging. Family. Prophets are all about temptation and desire, it draws them in and sinks hooks deep into their soul. A disciple, well that's something very special. A disciple can want, yes, but it's all secondary. They get to witness the raw power of the lords… they bask in their majesty… and crave its presence.” His voice had grown hushed as he spoke and a hand snaked up Peter's arm, brushing over his shoulder and coming to rest on the curve of his neck. “Every beat of their heart is granted to them by the lords. Every second they are not reduced to atoms is a delight and a mercy. A disciple is beyond life and death, beyond earthly desires. They are merely an extension of something greater. Stripped down to the raw clay and remade by the hands of Gods.” His hand grasped the back of Peter's neck, drawing the boy closer so their foreheads rested against one another. “You will see. You'll have everything you could desire and you'll want none of it.”

“You're insane.” Peter whispered.

The effect was immediate. The hand, once firm but gentle on the back of his neck, grasped at his flesh painfully and he was tugged backwards. With a shove, Peter found himself lying on his back on the floor with Wiley standing over him. Before he had a chance to scramble back to his feet Wiley had knelt down, resting one knee on Peter's chest.

“You really don't wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna fuck with me Petey.” He pressed down, his knee digging in and cutting off the boy's oxygen. “I was a colonel in another life”

Peter pushed weakly at the man's leg but the movement only prompted him to catch both wrists in one hand and hold them still.

“You should be grateful for this opportunity. Without it, you'd spend the rest of eternity in the bastard box enduring your worst nightmares, fears and memories over and over again. You'd go mad before the first cycle was over. Instead you could be part of something so much bigger than yourself…” Wiley moved so he was straddling Peter instead of kneeling on him. Peter sucked in a grateful desperate breath as Wiley fisted his free hand in the boy's hair, pulling up so that Peter was forced to awkwardly arch his back. “All you gotta do is open yourself up to their love…”

“Get off me!”

To his surprise, Wiley did as he asked but instead of fully releasing him, Peter found himself trapped with his back against the man's denim clad chest. One hand still grasped his hair, positioning his head on Wiley's shoulder, while the other arm was wrapped tight around his waist to keep him still.

“Do you see him?” Wiley's voice was soft and husky, his breath warm against Peter's ear.

“Do you see him?”

The room seemed to throb around him, fading into a pulsating blackness that grew with each beat of his heart.

“Do you see him?”

Peter felt like he was drifting in a cold empty seat and despite his fear of the other man, he found himself clinging to the arm at his waist. It was the only thing that felt real, that existed in the strange emptiness that was seeping in.

“Do you see him?”

In the darkness two brilliant spotlights appeared and Peter found himself under the gaze of something monstrous and ancient.

He saw.

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

Me: Wiley, behave yourself

Wiley: proceeds to punt Pete across the room and climb all over him

Consequences (pt1)

In which the Lords in Black aren't fully satisfied with Grace's sacrifice (or, the pitfalls of an abstinence only sex education)

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

She hadn't wanted to kill them, Grace thought numbly as she stared down at her dirt streaked hands, unable to shake the image of her latest victims from her mind. Yes, she believed that the behaviour she'd witnessed from the young couple, drunk and making out in the park, was dirty and perverse but she didn't want to kill them. And yet when she had gotten near, it was as though she was seized by a terrible hunger and she just couldn't stop herself.

She slipped to the ground, resting her head against the side of her bed and felt tears burning her eyes. It had been a few months since everything with Max... since she had given in to the primal temptations and sacrificed her chastity to send him to hell. She should feel... something. Relief? But her insides felt like they were rotting. She'd done so many terrible things and she didn't even have her unwavering faith to fall back on anymore, not after what she'd seen in the school gym. She didn't know if the colourful figures had been demons or if they truly were gods but it felt like jagged claws had slashed apart the fabric of her soul, leaving jagged doubts behind. Doubts and hunger.

At first she'd been able to ignore it but it had gotten stronger. It would rise in waves, crescendoing down onto her when they peaked and leaving her scrabbling for purchase as her mind crumbled.

Even the brief moments of peace she usually got between the waves had been lost to her now as she found herself battling daily with nausea, sometimes barely making it from her bed to the bathroom in time. She had tried to hide it as best she could but she knew her parents were concerned, had heard them whispering while she lingered in doorways. If it continued much longer they'd want to take her to the doctor, but she knew medicine couldn't help her. Her soul was sick, that was the cause. She would just have to pray harder. Maybe she could ask Stephie and Petey for help? Surely her friends would agree to pray with her when they saw how bad things had gotten.

Struggling to her feet, feeling her stomach twist painfully as she did so, she retrieved her phone from her bedside and sent Steph a text asking to meet up.

Her friends would help. They had to.

[werewolfmonkie]

My ideal ship dynamic is autistic homosexual foodie and narcissistic bisexual jock

[ambreiiigns]

so...... he's coming back for real

[entropy-sea-system]

help I literally made a '(description of person) I didn't say their name but they popped into your head didn't they' post about my headmate in my head...

[ask-jiro-kirisaki]

Jiro carefully refills Daniel's water, giving the injured bird a gentle stroke on his head. He seemed to be quite calm in his temporary home now. Jiro smiles. "So it *was* you. I wasn't sure at first, but after the lavender bouquet, I had a feeling. I didn't want to make any assumptions though." The ghoul takes a seat next to Alli and Stefan. "I really liked it. The ribbons for a single bouquet was a bit much, but that gave me something to add to the others you gave me. Some, I set aside for medical purposes - at least one being for Towa's good behavior. The rest, I'd dry and hang along the wall of my office. The ribbons gave them the pop of color that was lost in the drying process." A simple yes or no would usually be his go-to, but he wanted to ease her nerves - especially as someone coming out of an abusive relationship. Jiro didn't know much about it, but most victims didn't get the chance to really express themselves without consequence. "The quote - especially knowing you were the one who gifted the flowers - is quite appropriate, I think. The world rejects us, so we find solace and companionship in one another. I could tell you put a lot of thought in that." And then there was Daniel. Like Doves weren't exactly a rarity on campus, but seeing one brings certain omens - good omens. For one to be hurt during an act of showing one's love doesn't bode well for the superstitious. "I'm not one to believe in signs or the divine, but even if I did, I wouldn't see this as a problem exactly. Sure, he got hurt, but we were able to come together to solve the problem. I don't know what that says about your love life exactly, but I hope that shows that there's at least one person you can rely on."

He wasn't able to find much information on short notice about Like Doves, but from what Alli said, it wasn't too bad off. Between his medical knowledge and her animal handling expertise, they should be able to figure something out. He stands at the door to Alli's room, bag of medical supplies in tow. In normal Jiro fashion, he doesn't even bother knocking. She was expecting him after all. Why would his unannounced arrival be an issue? "A brought a variety of supplies in case something else comes up." He gives a sideways glance at Kithy. They had been trying to get some kind of blood sample from it, so he had to be prepared for any given opportunity. "So, where is our little patient?" - @ask-jiro-kirisaki

"Jiro?! You should really knock before entering a ladies room!"

Alli playfully pouted before losing face and bursting into a short giggle. She motioned for Jiro to come over as she slowly pulled a blanket off a cardboard box. The box- presumably a makeshift cage, sat on top of her messy vanity littered with makeup and accessories.

"I've been keeping Daniel- that's what I've been calling him- in here. You can take a look at him, I gotta get a snack for Kithy."

Alli disappeared into her bathroom and returned with a deceased eel in her newly gloved hands. She placed it in the clear plastic tub that Kithy was sitting in and watched with motherly awe and he devoured the long fish. She gave him a few strokes on the head, the anamalous octopus letting out somewhat of a cooing sound, before turning back to Jiro.

"What's the verdict, doc?"

She giggles once more at her own joke as she stands beside Jiro and peers into the box to make sure "Daniel" is still behaving cooperatively.