#I still don’t know what the fuck the tags for the novel is god save me

[demonpopstar]

Hello my friends…! I haven’t posted art in a while… I’ve been super burnt out again but I’m slowly getting my groove back. I don’t have a lot of MOTHER art to share, sadly. I’ve been drawing my ocs a lot… (I’m shy but I might share if anyone is interested.) BUT I have some Ken drawings! I love you Ken mother 1 novel ..

[rou-en]

lmfao the fuck are you on, a tesla is still very much a symbol of being rich as fuck. shut up and listen to actual poor people for a minute and maybe you'll gain some critical thinking skills. or maybe you'll just go back to being a bootlicker. who knows?

Oh wow another first - anon hate!

Also welcome, it’s very weird to be interacting with people on this hell site after so long, but hello!! To me this is all very hilarious to come about from just venting in tags about Watcher drama but I guess that’s this place for you eh?

I could just have not swiped and answered this one, and tbh I hesitated a bit on the first anon as well, but it does feel exhilarating to be speaking to the void and getting a voice back (any voice in fact!)

But first to this second anon (coz I’d guess from the tone that you’re not the first), I hope you’re doing alright in the real world - that as frustrated and angry as you might be about my take on Teslas (very much a shitty car), you are alright and safe,

Since I seem to have a captive audience (of at least two that I can tell of so far, how novel!), I guess let me soliloquy about thoughts on wealth and the complex nature sometimes of the whole “poor vs rich” dynamic, which is also a bit of why I even waded a little into responding to you amidst watcher drama,

Second anon, I recommend dl;dr (don’t like don’t read) -

I come from a generation where that’s what we did for things we didn’t like. For all I’ve said you’re a captive audience, you’re actually not (again, this is all very funny to me right now I can’t believe this is over ghoul boi drama still jfc) - one person’s opinion will always be just that, an opinion.

I think anon, we might be in different areas of the world, but at least where I live (please check prev tags on the post you were referring to, I’m also too internet-old not to hide in tags as much as I like) it’s become an increasingly common sight to see even soccer moms drive a Tesla, their bloody SUV model is the bane of my existence,

Does that mean everyone can afford them? No. Does it mean a middle-class family could afford them? If they wanted it enough, yes. Does it mean there still aren’t people suffering here from poverty in my part of the world? Sadly, no.

And therein lies an interesting problem (well at least to me as a former economics student) about signalling and truly knowing where in the whole class wars business you’re on, because it does make a difference if you ever have to figure out which rich to eat,

Is the 1% who get to fly on private chartered space flights and book out the whole of Disneyland for themselves (I’m looking at a shitty Amazon CEO there) the first to the guillotine? Oh yes.

But what about everyone else? Are we going to burn everyone who has multiple iPhones? God forbid anyone ever treats themselves to a seven-course degustation? Would not recommend, but I don’t think it guillotine-perfect, and I don’t think everyone that drives a Tesla where I am in the world can begin to count as that,

Those people live a daily life here, second anon, it’s so middle-class here it’s almost funny and why saying to me “Steven owns a Tesla” makes me shrug and go “would not recommend but you do you”,

I understand that can be different to you, because oh, turns out my own thoughts and circumstances can be very different to yours indeed.

Fun fact, I grew up first in a developing country, and had the privilege to move to a “first-world” country because my family was dedicated and sacrificed to make sure I could live the “better life” so to speak,

So I know there’s an inequality in the world when an exchange rate could mean the difference between something being a “rich” vs “normal” thing - I buy a Switch here for about 450 bucks (I saved and then got it on sale) as an achievable treat; for my sister who still lives in my home country, it’s almost two grand and definitely ridiculous to spend on for any normal family,

On one level, where is the fairness in that? But I live with it, and I have to choose some treats or if not what’s the point in life,

What does this all mean in the face of the original ghoul boys/watcher drama that’s occurring now? If anyone has read this for long enough is probably wondering at this point,

(I hope you’re both with me still my two anons, I’ll cherish this even if nothing else ever happens to me on this hell site)

I guess I wanted to try and say: life is complicated, and everyone makes complicated decisions, even your favourite comfort YouTubers,

It means I can only see the exacting vitriol at Steven for liking nice things but not Shane for also liking nice things and wonder whether people are barking up the wrong trees, very racist trees in fact,

It means that I keep thinking of shitposts about when the time comes, we’d likely just start offing our neighbours for being “rich” then anyone actually rich, because we seem to not understand the difference between nice things and things no nice person should have (holding also the complicated element of environment and geopolitics to account),

In the process of writing my first response to anon #1, I did have a moment where I wondered, “what if the Watcher boys did think about this? What if they did have some level of number crunching and still looked into their souls and decided that it wasn’t what they wanted? That they knew they could keep doing what they’re doing now and be financially stable, or risk it because of what they believe?”

I and you or anyone can wonder, can or cannot understand, but I sure as hell wish the Watcher team the best of luck, and like you anon, their days will be safe, content and filled with nice things, because why else would I want anything else for anyone,

That’s my one opinion at least, take that as you will anon on the bootlicking quotient for that - if being someone that would just like us all to take a chill pill is being one, then meh - you’re welcome to your opinion too,

But thanks to anyone that’s somehow come to my Tedtalk that started with my random thoughts on Watcher drama and ended with me finding people are still around (it’s not just all bots huzzah!)

[immacaria]

Tea and Books Asks

@sonata-ix tagged me on this, so, of course, I have to do this!

1. What period of history do you enjoy learning about?

  (My sibling is going to be so made about my answer, oh God) Sincerely, I never really cared much about history periods? I liked to learn about their culture, mythology and such, especially the aztecs, mayas and incas. The only lessons I paid attention because I was creating stories with the aspects of their culture.

2. Who is your favourite fictional character and why?

  A hard one, let me think... I don’t know really, to be honest. Mirabel and Luiza Madrigal because I can’t help but seeing myself in both of them. Merida too, to be fair.

  Mirabel is the youngest one, but she is there for every single one of her family, she listens to them, she is the one who notices the family is broken and wants to make it better and I can relate to that.

  Luzia because she is the one who does everything the others don’t want to do, she is the strongest, she is their rock, she is the one that will catch them if they fall and I also can relate to that.

  Merida is because 1. She doesn’t want to marry and I can relate to that. 2. Despite everything, she loved her family and she loved her mother, she didn’t want to harm anyone of her family, She wanted to be free, she wanted to be herself, but she still wanted to have her family’s support and I don’t think that’s bad. Merida is who I want to be.

3. What do you order at a café?

  Cake, I love cake. Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, I love them all, just don’t give me the lemon one. Hate that thing.

4. Libraries, botanical gardens or art galleries?

  Libraries and art galleries because if I went to the botanical gardens I would be sneezing so much and so hard I would knock myself out. Tragic, I know.

5. Do you have a favourite film soundtrack?

  I do! Like Kai, I like Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron soundtrack, but the brazilian version because Paulo Ricardo fucking rocked on that movie (The scene where they are trying to tame him and Não Toque Em Mim starts to play altered my brain chemistry forever) and the Brother Bear soundtrack as well, but the brazilian version as well (Espíritos Ancestrais is simply amazing and the one where Kenai tells everything to Koda always make me cry)

6. What does your dream home look like?

  Cozy, honestly, big enough for my two dogs and my cat and my mom and my sister to live with me. Cold but soft tiles on the ground because I like to walk barefoot around the house, a library for my sister, a garden for my mother and somewhere quiet where I could read and write in peace. Somewhere that felt like home.

7. What makes you feel better on gloomy days?

  Curl up on my bed under my favourite blanket, put my earphones on and listen to music until I’m feeling better. If I get some sleep, that’s a bonus, if not, that’s alright too.

8. What are your top three films? Books?

  Films: 1. Encanto                       

            2. Whispers of the Heart     

            3. Kiki’s Delivery Service  

  Books: 1. Women who run with wolves

2. The Cat Who Saved Books

3. Anything by Caitlin Doughty

9. Are you an organized person?

  I am, yes, but like chaotically organized

10. Do you have a favourite classic novel?

  Yes, Pride and Prejudice, just like my mother.

11. What character archetype or trope is your favourite?

  Caretaker. I love the caretaker character when they are, well, taking care of others, makes me feel complete.

12. Do you prefer baking or cooking?

   Cooking! Though I would like to try my hand on baking some time.

13. Which season do you feel more at home in?

   Summer! Because I can go to the beach and see my friends and my wrists don't hurt because of the wind

14. What is your opinion on poetry?

   I like it. There is something about displaying so much emotion in so little words (most of the time) that always gets me. The hidden meanings, the hidden feelings, it's always so interesting to see and try to comprehend.

15. Do you speak formally when texting and emailing?

  Depends on the level of intimacy I have with the person, but most of the times yes, I do.

16. How do you organize your music playlists?

   Genre, artists, mood, artist's nationality, soundtrack or not, instrumental or not, based on characters or not. I have a lot of playlists, if you couldn't tell.

17. Who is your favourite author?

   Rick Riordan, Clarissa Pinkola Estes and Caitlin Doughty.

18. Chai or hot chocolate?

   Since I never had chai, I will hot chocolate because my sibling made it to me sometimes and I like it, even though it was a bit too sweet for me lol

19.Do you prefer forests, sea shores or meadows?

   Forestes and sea shores. I like to feel surrounded and see powerful things working. When I go to forests I feel at peace, I see all those tall trees, hear all those sounds and I feel peaceful. Same thing with sea shores, I look at the sea and something inside me relax, something inside me takes a deep breath and say 'I'm home' . Unfortunately, I do not feel like that with meadows, for some reason they give me anxiety, a part of me thinks it will be attacked while standing there.

20. If your were to cultivate a fruit orchard, what would you grow?

   A lot of things! I love fruits! I would grow apples, oranges, pineapples, watermelon, grapes, acerola, cajú and a lot of other ones! Me favourite fruit is pineapple (even though I'm slightly allergic to it lol)

Oh, boy, this got long. I'm sorry 😂. I will be taking @mathomhouse-e @aquilathefighter @firemandeanbuck @the-cloudy-dreamer and all of the Dreamling nation children I can't tag right now. Love all of you 😘😘!

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright Part Four

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: OOOOH the development of this story makes me so excited for the rest!!! Loki is def in this part babies;)

Warnings: angst, language

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

Request Guidelines

MASTERLIST

PART FOUR

The evening sun bore down onto the horizon, coloring the sky a myriad of blue and yellow and pink. Like vagabond brushstrokes upon the canvas of the sky. A few, wandering birds called from a distance, lazily gliding in the wind. 

The door behind you opened and closed. You turned away from the darkening horizon and saw your brother offering two cups of steaming chamomile tea. 

“Steve says they might have a point of entry for you,” he said, but his tone wasn’t into it, as if the week’s dealings bore on his shoulders alone. 

When Tony had announced your role as the bait, Bruce had thrown himself at your side. No one would hurt his baby sister, he’d said.

“I don’t think he’s going to fall for it,” you said halfhearted. 

Bruce sighed, handing you the cup. You wrapped your hands around the burning warmth. “I think you still don’t fully understand the soulmate bond,” your brother said.

“Huh?”

He sipped on his tea, clearing his throat. “At least for men, it’s not really about how you feel towards that person, albeit that yes, there’s passion.” He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly coughing. “It’s more the protection you want to have on this person. Their wellbeing is of utmost importance. It’s hard, sometimes, to differentiate between protection and possession.”

A lump formed in your throat. Possession?

“And knowing Loki,” Bruce went on. “Knowing his nature of envy and greed, he’s for sure feeling the effects of the bond as just that - possession. He feels like you belong to him.”

Astonished, you turned away from your brother, both to hide your flaming cheeks and the awkwardness forming between you. 

“Has he made anymore...” you hesitated, “demands?”

Bruce shook his head. “No.” Then he looked at the horizon. “But he’s looking for you. He went to your apartment. Your daytime job. Even the school you used to go to part-time in the summer.”

That seemed like so far behind. Like someone else. Not you. That life you’d had barely more than two weeks ago, when you’d accepted to help Bruce. That girl, living alone in a somewhat nice apartment, going to work on public transport, and studying in the summer - that girl seemed like a stranger now. The girl who used to see in black and white.

“So what happens when he finds me?” you asked tentatively. 

“We swoop in,” Bruce answered. “We get him. We hand him over to Thor, and he brings him back to Asgard and makes sure he never comes back.”

That word. Never. It rung like a Cong inside your brain. The prospect of never seeing Loki ever again, never talking to him, stroke a cord in you that you wished you could ignore. 

During this whole week of scheming, no one had asked you how you felt about all this. He was your soulmate after all. And the idea that, after all this time, you’d finally found him and he was bound for eternal life in prison made you want to scream.

Bruce put his hand on your upper back, as if sensing your discomfort. “Let’s go to bed,” he said soothingly. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

Yes, tomorrow was a big day.

***

You strolled through downtown New York, trying your hardest not to look over your shoulder. It had been a week since you’d been in a huge crowd, and returning to the crammed streets of the city made your belly buzz.

Nat sounded in your ear. “Make it look authentic,” she said. 

Right. Because luring a thousand-year-old demi-God into a quiet corner to trap him was the easiest thing in the world. Nat had tried to teach you a few things when they’d all cooped up at Tony’s secret forest getaway, but now, living it, you couldn’t remember how to act benign. 

You tried to pretend to be listening to music, the airpods in your ears actually being comms with the Quinjet hidden overhead. You stopped at Starbucks. You pretended to look through the windows of clothing stores. You stepped into a bookstore and bought a novel. 

It had been an hour that you were “baiting” and nothing. 

Not even a glimpse.

You sighed in defeat, pushing your hair behind your ears. The day’s heat was boring down on you, and you knew your nose was burnt. Your tank top was soaked, your jeans sticking to your legs. Totally uncomfortable would be an understatement.

You saw a glimpse of something gold in the Macy’s window and looked over your shoulder. 

“Y/N,” Bruce sounded in your ear. “Come in.”

You remained silent. The crowd before you changed, people walking past you in a hurry. You turned back to the window, muttering to your brother, “I’m fine.” 

“Get away from Macy’s, you have enough clothes,” your brother muttered back.

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s funny?”

You jumped, yelping, staring up into Loki’s green gaze. Heart hammering, blood roaring in your ears, you tried to focus on calming yourself. Your hands were sweaty as you reached up to take out one airpod.

He smirked. Under the sun, he was glorious in an all-black ensemble, his raven locks freshly cut beneath his chin, pushed back behind his ears. 

“Fancy a stroll?”

You gulped, looking at the elbow he offered. Something shimmered there, around the edges of his forearm. As if he glowed.

He’s not really here. 

You remembered from your briefing on Loki, that Thor had said the jester loved his illusion tricks.

“I presume I have to pretend to hold your arm?” you answered, feeling the knot of anxiety dissolve in your belly at the sight of his grin.

“Clever.” He retreated his arm, looked around at the crowd swiftly moving past him. “May we talk somewhere private?�� he asked. 

Nat had told you he’d say that, and your job was to not look too eager. He’d smell a trap before you’d even agree.

You forced yourself to frown. “You want to get me alone?”

He huffed, his lips pulling into a dashing smirk. God, he really was beautiful. The sun, so warm and overbearing to you, seemed to grace his entire being as if he’d been crafted by the hands of the gods themselves. 

“If I wanted to get you alone,” he said, dropping his voice to a lower octave, stepping closer to you, “I would have gotten you out of Tony’s little wayward cabin much sooner.”

He stood close, not close enough to smell him, but close enough that you had to tilt your head to keep eye contact. 

There was a quiet turmoil building inside you at his words, someone whispering “Shit” in your airpod. A slight tremor began at your core, echoing out into your limbs. He’d known where you were. He knew what you were doing.

At the sight of your face - you, who could barely hide your emotions - he grinned wildly. 

“I am the God of Mischief, or did you forget?” He tilted his head, squinted his eyes. 

Your mouth was dry when you answered. “That’s why you’re casting yourself as an illusion?”

“Clever,” he said, again. Then he licked his lips, erasing the comical expression on his features and replacing it with something akin to stone. “You’re mad if you think you can fool me.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He would have laid hands on you if he wasn’t incorporeal. His eyes darkened, chin dipping so that he stared at you along the length of his nose. 

“You’re a chipper little thing,” he said, voice laced with venom. The tone, his expression, the way his illusion made the edges of him tremble instead of glow, made your heart speed with fear. “I’m sure the Avengers trained you well. I’m sure your brother thinks he can save you.”

Bruce whispered in your ear, “Son of a bitch.”

Loki’s unmoving expression slipped enough for him to smirk maniacally. “In fact,” he said, “tell him right now that I’ll win. I’ll win this battle of wits. This fucking planet. And I’ll win his sister.”

And then he vanished, leaving you to hear nothing but your drumming heartbeat, like a sea of swarming insects. The only thing that lingered behind was the smell of pinewood.

I PROMISE PART FIVE WILL BE LONGER!!!!!!!!!!

Tags:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki your tag doesn’t work bb

[castielle-deanna]

Destiel fanfic masterlist

My Destiel fanfics in decreasing word count order:

Hold me tight or don't (Explicit, words: 37,677)

Tags: Canon Compliant up to 15x13 // First Kiss // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker // Conversations in the Impala // falling!Castiel // New Relationship // First Time // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love //Art Embedded //soundtrack

Summary: With Jack’s soul now back, the four inhabitants of the Bunker are working on establishing a new routine. Between hunts, God’s wrath hanging over their heads and Castiel’s dwindling grace, the angel is not particularly eager to mention his deal to the Winchesters. With everything that’s going on, allowing himself to be happy sounds impossible anyway, right? Wrong…

With art by the fantastic @lizleeships

“Why now?” The angel asked quietly, taking a small step back.

Dean's fingers tightened on the tie he'd been holding onto as if it was a lifeline. “You said we were real. I want to believe it.”

“Even if it ends in pain?”

“Cas, everything I do ends there, eventually. There is always a bigger, heavier, smellier shoe waiting to drop. Holding back in fear of it doesn't make it any smaller, lighter or... or... “

“Less odoriferous?” Cas offered.

“Is that even a real word?”

“It is, indeed.”

“Sometimes you sound like you eat dictionaries and Victorian novels for breakfast,” Dean shook his head, grinning.

My unintended (Explicit, words:10,202)

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending // Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On // FUCK CANON! // Saving Dean Winchester - Retconning the finale - The fangirl business // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex // Slow and Romantic Sex // Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester

Summary: At first, Castiel is ready to honour his part of the deal with the Empty, but then Jack shows up with distressing news...

With art by the fantastic @jeanne-de-valois

Cas heaves Dean into a bridal carry, struggling under his weight, but still he shifts slightly when Sam moves closer to help. He knows he needs to stop keeping Sam away, because it’s not fair, and it’s not what Dean wants anyway, but Sam accepts it and simply hangs back with a nod before he speaks again.

“I also know it’s not my business, but… do you think you could talk to Dean once he’s up for it? I’m not blind, or stupid. You two have to stop only holding each other like that when one of you is hurt or dead.”

Love me right (Explicit, words: 2,436)

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Porn with Feelings // Dean Winchester Wears Panties // Light Bondage // Panty Kink // Wing Kink // Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester // Light Dom/sub // Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester // Light BDSM // Dean and Castiel watch porn then recreate it

Summary: Dean asks to be tied up - who's Cas to say no to that? Written for a prompt by @winchester-reload on Patreon: "Thee Pink Panties"

“I want you to tie me up,” Dean blurts out one morning, closer to being asleep than awake still. He has no idea if Cas is even in the bedroom with him - for once, the angel is not curled around Dean with his whole body, their limbs entwined to the point where they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins, cliché as it is.

There’s no reply, so Dean lifts his head and blinks the grogginess away to look around. Cas is in the room, sitting cross-legged on the green couch by the wall with an open book in his lap but he’s staring at Dean with eyes so comically wide Dean would think it humanly impossible if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“For fun,” Dean adds in hopes that Cas catches his meaning. The angel looks slightly less taken aback at that, but he still appears confused and tilts his head as if a slightly different angle would help with unraveling the mystery of Dean's words. “During sex, Cas.”

Rewind the exit (Teen And Up Audiences, words: 2,408)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Fix-It // Grief/Mourning // Angst with a Happy Ending // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Grieving Dean Winchester // Grieving Sam Winchester

Summary: "Rewinding the exit wound, I'm holding on to you 'Cause I need words like anyone, and I need love like everyone With those words I'm strong enough, and I need love like everyone." (Rewind the exit by Volbeat) Obligatory 15x18 fix-it.

The Bunker is haunted. It's haunted by two faint apparitions of humanity who mostly pass each other by in the corridors like ships in the night, silent and distant.

Dean prays. Every morning, every evening, and most waking hours between the two, he prays. He doesn't know if Cas can hear him, but the faith that he can is all Dean has, so it has to be enough.

It's not enough. Yet Dean clings to it, because if he doesn't have that, he doesn't have anything.

Bite me (Mature, words: 1,407)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence // Vampire Dean Winchester // Mild Blood!Kink (comes with the territory) // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: After Dean gets turned into a vampire during S06E05 - Live Free or Twi-hard, instead of going to Lisa's, he prays to Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Vampire!Dean having a Cas snack"

“I can get you through this, and then we’ll burn any other bridges as we get to them,” Cas says earnestly.

“That’s not how the saying… you know what, never mind. I don’t want to get through this! I told you to kill me!” Dean pushes Cas away, but the angel holds onto both of his shoulders to stabilise him until Dean shakes him off in defiance. “Fucking stubborn angel, why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

“Because I’ve decided to disregard stupid orders!” Cas shoots back, and his previous stoicism is gone entirely. His eyes flare faintly with the light of his grace as he shrugs off his trenchcoat and goes to work on loosening his tie.

I wanna get you back again (Mature, words: 1,176)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Canon Divergence // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: Dean breaks into the Empty to save Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Come on and lay it down/I've always been with you/Here and now/Give all that's within you/Be my Savior"

“Am I wrong in assuming that our friend who has the fashion sense of a flasher wasn’t the only one in love?” Balthazar smirked.

“Huh?”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Bit slow on the uptake, aren’t we? You know what, don’t answer that,” he shrugged, rolling right over Dean’s indignant splutter. “I’m talking about Castiel.”

“I know!”

“So which part of my question was confusing then?”

“Fuck you, Feather Boa, the Empty is trying to push me out and you want to chat?” Dean scoffed, trying to stomp his way past him.

“Your trenchcoated boyfriend is that way,” Balthazar said dryly, pointing to his left.

Forward is just the way ahead (General Audiences, words: 1,091)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor // Baby Jack Kline // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester // Single Parent Castiel

Summary: Tattoo artist Dean falls for client. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Cas getting tattooed by Dean (or the other way around)"

“So,” Dean began, “It’s a simple black design, correct? Four rows of symbols?”

“Yes. It’s actually a warding-slash-protection spell in Enochian, the language of Biblical angels. There’s… well, there’s a story to it,” Cas chuckled.

“Is part of that story that you were named after an angel?”

Cas’ chuckle changed into full-blown laughter. “Yes. I have to say I wasn’t expecting you to know that. In fact, all my siblings have angel names, except for Luke, but only because they wouldn’t allow my parents to officially name him Lucifer…”

Waffles or kisses (Mature, words:1,026)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural)

Summary: Cas tries to make breakfast for Dean - it doesn't quite work out... Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Great British Bake Off contestants with fewer clothes and lots of flour!" I have nefariously tweaked the prompt to allow me to play in the canon!verse.

“You look like one of the Great British Bake Off contestants, but with fewer clothes... and lots of flour, what the hell are you even doing?” Dean guffaws.

“Is that Dean?” A slightly tinny female voice comes from somewhere underneath the bowls, and it takes a moment for Dean to recognise it.

“Hi Jody!”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Yes,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. Dean finds that his behaviour is not unlike Miracle’s after the dog got caught chewing Sam’s 3rd pair of slippers to shreds, and the comparison draws another laugh out of him.

“Hi, Dean,” Jody says warmly. “Nice to hear your voice, though it would be even nicer if you were the one calling, rather than hijacking a conversation between Cas and I…”

Dean ducks his head as Jody’s “mom voice” tries to work its magic on him. “I’m not hijacking anything! Can someone explain why my kitchen and my… Cas are head-to-toe covered in flour?”

“I was trying to make waffles for breakfast,” Cas replies barely audibly, looking down, shoulders drooping.

With those words I'm strong enough (Mature, words: 703)

Tags: Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy // Dean Winchester's Birthday // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Non-Explicit Sex // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Dean Winchester Says "I Love You" // Pillow Talk // Dean Winchester Lives // fuck 15x20

Summary: It's Dean's birthday and Castiel doesn't waste a single second to wish him a happy one (Utter finale denial and slight sap below.)

“Where did you go, my love?” Cas asks, ruffling Dean’s hair, curling a longer-than-usual strand of it around his index finger.

“Thinking.”

“Uh-oh, that’s never a good thing,” Cas deadpans and Dean whacks his upper arm with very little force. “Ow.”

“Sarcastic asshole in one moment, drama queen the next,” Dean grumbles, and he fully intends to kiss it better, but before he could get around to it, he’s pushed onto his back and there’s a former angel of the Lord straddling him with a grin on his face.

Domestic (General Audiences, words: 462)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Fallen Angel Castiel // Suptober 2020

Summary: Middle-of-the-night Destiel chat. Just a lightning-quick ficlet as my first and possibly only entry to Suptober 2020. The prompt was 'domestic'

“Of all the human things, the constant need to urinate is the worst,” Castiel complained as he slid under the covers with a yawn.

“The worst?” Dean huffed in sleepy amusement. “Being shot is worse. Broken bones. A toothache…”

“They are worse, but they are temporary. Urinating is permanent. I will have to put up with it for the rest of my life.”

[jeonqquk]

tattooing | jjh

Pairing- Jaehyun X Reader

Genre/ Tags- fluff, crack, bi jaehyun, lucas royally fucks up, tattooing

Age rating- 13+

Word count- 2.6k words

Summary- Tattooing doesn’t go as planned.

POV- Third person

Your whining wasn’t gonna get you anywhere, you were well aware of the fact. But you supposed that you might as well give it a shot. The ‘it’ here being the fact that you really wanted Jaehyun to get a tattoo. It wasn’t that you wanted to somehow blackmail Jae into getting a tattoo. Oh god, no. You’d never want that. It was just that you had always been fond of tattoos, the meaningful ones, not the totally unnecessary, really weird looking, out of the world ones. Jaehyun with a tattoo would be fucking hot though, that was just a plus point- not the main reason as to why you wanted him to get one. 

You were thinking a sweet quote or something, but that would only be possible of he was willing to get one.

“Jae, baby, what do you think about getting a tattoo?” your boyfriend of 3 years sighs, rubbing his hand on your knee that had been placed on his thigh. “I don’t know..maybe later. Why are you so intent on me getting a tattoo though?” he wiggles his eyebrows, suggestively or whatever, and you look at him in confusion, trying your level best to stop the blood threatening to creep up your cheeks. You clear your throat and reply simply “I feel like a tattoo would be beautiful. Just permanently inked onto your skin. It should be something purposeful though. I don’t want you going bald and tattooing a zipper on your scalp.” 

A snort is heard from him “Don’t worry, I’m not going bald. Although it’s a very tempting idea.” Rolling your eyes at his lame comment, you sit up and move over to cuddle closer to him on the couch. He wraps his left arm around you “Why don’t you get a tatto Y/n?” he questions and you look up at him in mild shock. Well, you could get a tattoo. You are of legal age and stuff but the thought had never crossed your mind. You don’t know why.

“....I could...” Jaehyun smiles, his dimples popping out and you can’t help but mirror the sweet action. “So why don’t you? We’re not even doing anything and I know for a fact that you have a lot of designs saved on your Pinterest board. Even if they were for me, you can try finding one that suits you too.”

Suddenly feeling giddy, you quickly grab your phone from the coffee table and unlock it, clicking on the app you needed. As you find the board, you see that you’ve gained 18 followers in the time span of 2 weeks. Huh.

As you scroll through the pins of small intricate designs that could be engraved onto a finger or hand, Jaehyun points out one that looked like watercolour art and was in the form of a small flower with red petals. It did look quite cute, to be honest. “Hmm, this does look nice. Won’t it look good on my collarbone?” Jaehyun nods in agreement “I was thinking that too.” Smiling up at him, you look into his eyes “Well, should I get this?” Your boyfriend chuckles at your excitement, and pats your head in adoration. “I know that you’re excited, sweetie. But don’t you wanna try looking at other designs before deciding?” Humming, you scroll a bit more as Jaehyun reads a novel. But you don’t find anything that captures your attention a lot. Sure the sweet quotes, couple tattoos and nature-related  designs are great ideas for a tattoo but you were set on the one with the rose.

Jaehyun coos when you tell him that, squishing your cheeks and telling you that the two of you could go to a shop tomorrow and get design inked onto your collarbone forever. 

It’s 9:28 am when you wake up from your slumber and turn to give Jaehyun who looks like he had also woken up just a few minutes ago a peck on his lips. His dimples are visible as he smiles and greets you. The two of you get up and freshen up before you’re sitting at the dining table to eat blueberry pancakes. 

The clock shows that it’s 10:30 am by the time you two leave the house and head for the tattoo store you had researched last night. It takes 15 minutes to reach said shop and Jaehyun parks the car before looking at you with concern evident on his face. “Y/n, you are sure about this right?” Smiling fondly at his worry, you keep your hand on his cheek “I’m sure Jae. Don’t worry.” One kiss is enough to relax him and you pull away before you get too carried away and end up dirtying his car again. Oops.

You enter the cosy shop hand-in-hand with Jaehyun and see someone sitting at the reception wearing an oversized blue shirt. Definitely not the vibes you had expected to get from a fucking tattoo parlour but oh well. You had expected everyone to be intimidating and were ready to hide behind Jaehyun as soon as you entered. But it seems as if that wasn’t happening because all you had deciphered from the shop called Inkphoric was that it was built in a way not to scare the people who had gathered the courage to even stop foot in it. 

The receptionist, she said her name was Nara, leads you both to a room in a corridor. Your hands are sweaty and thankfully she allows Jaehyun to go inside as well. When you’re seated on the chair comfortably, Jaehyun grabs a stool to sit beside you and you wait for the tattoo artist. The wait isn’t long because a minute later, a man who looks about your age is walking towards you all. His all black get-up matches the tattoos littering his arms and he also seems to have a piercing in his right ear, a silver dangling. 

“Hello, I’m Lucas. I’ll be tattooing…” he introduces himself and looks between the two of you, silently asking which one of you he would be tattooing. Honestly, you would have expected him to at least  know who he would be drawing on but quickly brush the thought off as you greet him, telling him that you would be the one getting the art onto her skin. He smiles cutely and nods, and you look at Jaehyun, his comforting smile relaxing your tense body. 

Nara talks to Lucas for a minute or so and then walks off, shooting you an encouraging smile before closing the door behind her. 

“So what is it that I’ll be tattooing onto you, ma’am?” Lucas speaks and you show him the image of the flower. Jaehyun is holding your left hand in his, the warmth seeping throughout your entire body and you’re grateful for Jae’s beautiful ability of being able to calm you down in only a matter of seconds- no matter how serious the situation would be. 

“Oh, that’s very pretty.” “Thank you.” you smile at him, and he prepares his stuff. You’re pulling down the hem of your shirt slightly and exposing part of your left collarbone, where you want your collarbone. 

Lucas says that he’s tracing the design out first and you wait patiently. 

“Now, don’t be scared. It’s gonna hurt at first, especially at the bone but it will soon go away. You can hold your boyfriend’s hand.” he instructs and gives you an encouraging look as Jaehyun moves to your  right to give Lucas space, his large hand completely enclosing yours. 

“Okay, here goes…” the sound of the gun whirring to life fills the room that has tattoo designs filling the wall. 

“Fuck!” your voice pierces through the air and you jolt from the sudden pain. It felt as if someone was impaling you with a sword- which was partly true- but they were doing it continuously. Jaehyun is shocked from your sudden movement and struggles to catch you in his arms. Lucas quickly tears the gun away from your neck and you whimper out, the pain searing through your entire being and Jaehyun tries shushing you, his attempts all going in vain. 

Shitshitshit. This is torture. It’s only the first touch of the needle against your skin and you’re already this close to crying. How the fuck do people get those huge ass tattoos?! Trying your best to calm down and ignore the pain spreading throughout your entire being, you squeeze Jaehyun’s hand hard enough for it to pain but you don’t really care at this point, the throbbing of your collarbone enough to send you flying. He’s stood up from the stool by now, standing behind you.

“Okay..sorry sorry, you can continue.” you whisper out and clamp your lips shut so as to not let out any more weird noises. You’re sweating by the time Lucas gets the gun closer to you and bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood when the feeling of the needle pressing against your skin fills you up again.

Holy heck, I can’t do this. 

Your face is an accurate representation of agony, your entire body tensing as Lucas tattoos your collarbone with his long hair slightly brushing against your neck. You try leaning your head back and lean against Jaehyun. He’s whispering soft comforting words as countless profanities leave your mouth and you feel sad for Lucas, having to hear the shit you were spewing. 

“It’s alright, baby. Just think about other things, happy things.” your boyfriend pecks your cheek and hugs you lightly, trying not to disturb Lucas.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale inh-

“I think I just popped a boner.”

You gasp. Lucas chokes. He moves. You shriek.

“Ah, shit!” the gun’s needle scraped against your skin, it was all so sudden. The pain suddenly shoots throughout your entire body, tears filling your eyes. Nononono. 

“Jesus! It’s paining too much!” you’re sobbing by now, Lucas is frantic and Jaehyun..well..he is burning. He’s too busy regretting all his choices to even notice what’s happening around him. Jaehyun bends down to fix his problem and emerges 5 minutes later, when you’re still twisting in torment. Everything is red, your lip being abused by your teeth in order to calm down.

“Y/n! Ma’am! I’m so sorry! Shit, no!” Lucas apologises and sprints over to get a cloth to wipe something you feel trickling down your chest now. Blood. You’re bleeding. 

Writhing in agony in your seat, you clench your hands as if that would somehow reduce the sting, and pant, trying to relax. Your eyes are widened at an attempt of keeping it all in but the throbbing just doesn’t seem to dissipate.

Oh God…

Lucas is now carefully dabbing at the source of blood with panic written clearly all on his face. You look at Jaehyun through the ache to see that he is now coming back to reality and upon seeing your state, a gasp tears his throat and he’s looking at you with his eyes widened. 

The distress prevents you from speaking properly but you manage to call out, “J-Jaehy..Jaehyun.” Said man is desperately looking between your blood gushing out and your face twisted in discomfort. He figures it out and as soon as he does, takes your whimpering form into his, murmuring endless apologies and if you could, you would stop him from saying that but the sting is still there, only lessening a tad bit.

It’s hell, trying to clean the blood away and getting it sorted out. You cried a bit during the process as well but you were perfectly entitled to do that, the gun had pierced your skin quite deep when Lucas had jolted upon hearing what Jae suddenly said. 

30 minutes later, you’re hiccupping slightly and trying to breathe normally after the mad incident. Surprisingly, no one had come in during that time and you were thankful for that, not having wanted anybody to see the mess that had been caused because of Jaehyun’s unexpected confession. Speaking of which, you wince and turn around to look at him and when his eyes meet yours, ask him what he meant “What was that about you popping a boner?” the incredulity just hit you now and you wait for his response impatiently.

“Nothing babe...just forget it. I’m so sorry for saying it so randomly, though. I should’ve thought before speaking. I’m so careless.” the look on his face melts  and you are about to pull him into your chest when you realise that you can’t.

The pain has subsided by now, it’s bearable and you turn to look at Lucas who- when he catches your gaze- immediately walks over to you and starts speaking. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry! That was so sudden and I messed up your tattoo. It’s all my fault, please forgive me if possible.” he looks scared, and you understand why. He probably thinks you’ll sue him or something but you weren’t planning on doing anything of the sort. “It’s alright Lucas. I’m also not gonna tell anyone. We’ll just tell everyone that as soon as the gun touched me, I chickened out and told you to stop.” you keep your hand on his head that’s bowed and he looks up. There are tears brimming his eyes and you don’t know if it’s out of fear or the fact that he genuinely feels terrible for what he did. It really wasn’t his fault anywhere though. You didn’t understand why he was so stressed. 

“I’m sorry Lucas, I just said something stupid without even thinking before. You don’t need to take nay of the blame.” Jaehyun’s voice fills the room and Lucas’ features relax a little before he smiles forcefully. “Well, if your cuts get better, then maybe I can continue the design?” he jokes and you laugh along, knowing all too well that you wouldn’t be coming here again. Your first tattoo and this had happened.

“So do you wanna tell me about that boner-popping now? Lucas isn’t even here.” you’re sitting at the dining table, having just finished your dinner with empty bowls of pasta in front of each of you. Jaehyun shifts slightly in his seat and you wonder if you made him uncomfortable, although you don’t understand why- the reason couldn’t have been that  bad. As soon as you start to backtrack, Jaehyun’s voice is heard.

“Well..just..you know when you were getting the tattoo?” you nod slightly “Lucas was just, his black clothes..and he was bending over and I don’t know. You were whimpering..” “So the scene was too hot and you popped a boner?” you complete his sentence and he meekly nods before you’re howling with laughter, almost falling iff the chair and forgetting about the pain around your collarbone. The bisexual in Jaehyun was showing and he was afraid to admit it, you don’t now why. He had told you about this when you started dating, and you were totally fine with  it, because you knew that he wouldn’t cheat on you. 

“Hey..” your boyfriend half-heartedly attempts to stop you but you’re too far gone to realise that he may be feeling bad. When your laughing fit is over, though, you look at him for any trace of sadness but are relieved to see that he’s only blushing lightly, his dimples showing when he smiles. 

“So, do you wanna get a  tattoo now?” the answer is obvious, given the fact that today did not go as planned. You’re surprised when he answers.

“I don’t think so. My body is a shrine and a tattoo will take away its chastity.”

“Shrine indeed.”

Ty for reading! Yes lmao ik the ending is weird asf, as is the entire story, but nvm

Feedback is always appreciated!

this was supposed to be a drabble for jae’s birthday 😭excuse the typos they’re terrible and i’m literally the most impatient living being you’ll ever encounter

also, the shop name lmao i just got it from google- not creative i know

Tagging: @neoculturedtrash , @jeongjeffrey , @orange-lemon-cross , @nanasimp , @bluejaem​

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming Bonus: Part 4.5 (Rowan POV)

Link to Masterpost

As promised for my celebration of reaching 100+ followers, here is the bonus from Reluctantly Rooming! This takes place during Part Four, and uses two entirely new prompts. Enjoy!

Prompts:

“What do you mean you don’t read my texts if they’re over four lines…”

and

"You're very endearing when you're half asleep"

~*~*~

The moment Aelin hung up, Rowan rushed into action. Thankfully, he always made it a point to keep his things organized in such a way that leaving the apartment never took longer than a couple of minutes. The only other thing he had to do was call his work, and he did so as soon as he got in the car, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as the dial tone rang for what felt like entirely too long.

Finally, a soft click interrupted the ringing. “This is Salvaterre,” drawled a bored voice.

Thank whatever god was choosing to listen, he had picked up. “Lorcan, it’s Rowan. I’m going to need to work from home at least for today, if not longer.”

He heard the faint sounds of Lorcan sitting upright. “Why? And why are you telling me this over the phone and not in writing?”

“Because I’m not at my laptop right now, and if I texted you you’d send a novel. The last one included paragraph breaks, Lorcan. I don’t have time to read your shit on top of everything else, so if you send me a text that’s over four lines it doesn’t get read.”

“What do you mean, you don’t read my texts if they’re over four lines? You do understand that you report to me, right?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Yes, but if it can’t be said in two sentences or less it’s better off as an email. We’ve had this discussion before, and I’m not hashing it out again on my way to the hospital.”

“The hospital? Rowan, what the fuck is going on?”

His fingers started drumming against the steering wheel once more as he came to a red light. “My roommate broke her ankle,” he finally said. “She didn’t have anyone else to take her home, and you know as well as I do that I can do my work as easily from home as I can in the office. I don’t even have any meetings this week, so that makes it all the easier.”

A sigh crackled over the phone line. “You’ll be picking up Fen’s work next month in exchange. Your current project should be done by then, and he has a vacation in the works already.”

Rowan bit back a groan; the books Fenrys edited were far from his normal preference. It would have to do, though, and there was every chance Lorcan had planned on dumping it on him anyway. “Fine.”

As the light turned green once more, Lorcan hung up rather than say goodbye, but Rowan knew that was simply how he handled calls. He hadn’t been bothered by it in quite some time. Not to mention, it was a welcome relief to not have to keep splitting his already-fragmented attention.

When he arrived to Aelin’s room in the hospital she was almost entirely asleep, likely a combination of the painkillers they were sure to have given her and the late night she had worked. A gentle hand on her shoulder resulted in her blearily blinking up at him and then smiling. “Rowan.”

Rowan carefully ignored the fluttering sensation in his chest at her smile, instead helping her transfer herself into the wheelchair that sat beside the bed. A set of papers sat on the table beside her, and a brief glance showed them to be her discharge paperwork and care instructions. Knowing those would be important later, he grabbed them and then began to wheel her to his car.

She had fallen completely asleep by the time he’d managed to get her into the car seat, and he shook his head as he buckled her in. Frankly, he was amazed that she’d made it this long, knowing the long day she’d had. Therefore, he didn’t bother with attempting to wake her, but instead quietly drove them home.

It was somewhat awkward to lift her into his arms from the seat, but he managed. Opening the door was another feat, and he still wasn’t quite sure how he’d wrangled it, but then they were in the house and the door was closed behind them.

Even though Aelin was stirring now, carrying her up the narrow staircase was absolutely out of the question. She would have to get comfortable on the couch until he could rearrange things so she could sleep in his office space.

There were a few throw pillows around that had to have been Aelin’s addition to the house; he didn’t believe it likely that Aedion had thought enough about interior decorating to do so. When he had first moved in they had been an annoyance, all bright colors and bold patterns, but now he was thankful for their presence as they allowed him to help elevate Aelin’s ankle.

When he had finished with his task, Aelin opened her eyes. She was struggling to focus on him, however, and when she spoke the words were almost unintelligible. Rather than ask her to repeat herself, though, he reached for a throw blanket that was old enough to have possibly been Aedion’s. “You must be exhausted,” he said quietly. “Sleep now. We’ll talk later.”

She mumbled again in reply, but it was even less understandable than her first attempt at speech. As he spread the blanket over her, her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing evened out. Good. She would need all of the sleep she could get.

There were several things he needed to do in order to have the house ready for this new situation, and he could feel each task weighing on him. But as Aelin sighed and her head shifted, he allowed himself an extra moment at her side to carefully brush her long golden waves away from her face.

One of her hands shifted, then, and her fingers wrapped around her wrist. With a thrill of panic at being caught, he glanced at her face, only to see that she was still obviously asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief was soon replaced by a different kind of thrill when his hand was moved and…

Gods. Was she… nuzzling his hand?

To save them both from guaranteed embarrassment later, he tried to remove his hand from her grip, but she only whined and tugged it closer. He sighed. “Aelin, you’re very endearing when you’re half asleep, but I have other things I need to do.”

Whether it was his words that swayed her or whether she had simply fallen into a deeper sleep, she mercifully loosened her grip on his wrist enough for him to free his hand. Still, though, he lingered for a moment longer, telling himself it was just to make sure she was truly asleep before he began his reorganization of the lower level of the house.

He carefully didn’t examine why it was so important to him that he not wake her while he did so. That would only lead to a conversation he wasn’t ready to have yet, not even with himself.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee @swankii-art-teacher @rowansfirebringer

[alloftheimaginesblog]

interests tag

tagged by the lovely @sheimagineddragons

MUSIC

Fave genre?

Depends on the mood I’m in but most of my music is Indie/Emo/Pop Punk with some 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, classical, musicals and pop thrown into the mix.

Fave artist?

My favourite band of all time is My Chemical Romance. Billy Joel, The Maine, Wallows, Hobo Johnston are my current faves.

Fave song?

Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers, a classic

Most listened song recently?

transparent soul by willow / not into you by brooksie 

Song currently stuck in your head?

21st Century Vampire by Lil Huddy

5 fave lyrics?

“I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone.” - Famous Last Words by MCR (mcr saved my life ok)

“Tell your boyfriend if he says he's got beef, That I'm a vegetarian and I ain't fucking scared of him” - Don’t Trust Me by 3oh!3 (such a good line)

“Slow down you're doing fine, You can't be everything you want to be before your time.” - Vienna by Billy Joel (hits me hard in the feels)

“I fell apart, But got back up again” - Alibi by 30 Seconds to Mars (i’ve seen this band 6 times, MCR and 30STM saved my life and these lyrics are why. I don’t like Jared Leto but my god, he did a lot for 16 y/o me)

“Everything is temporary. Even the sorrow that you carry.” - Flowers on the Grave by the Maine (this band done a lot for me too and still does)

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | louder or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

  BOOKS

Fave book genre?

Fantasy/adventure/young adult/coming of age. Yes, I am desperately trying to cling to my teenage years and live vicariously through characters.

Fave writer?

I don’t think I’ve read enough books to have a favourite writer. I like a lot of authors because of their different styles but don’t have a favourite.

Fave book?

The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien and The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald... does Hamlet count? I know it’s a play but still... it’s amazing

Fave book series?

Gone series by Michael Grant + Harry Potter series 

Comfort book?

The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien , The  Far Away Tree series by Enid Blyton (I read these religiously as a child and have so many fond memories in my head of them)

Perfect book to read on a rainy day?

Harry Potter

Fave characters?

Gandalf the Grey, Remus Lupin... can’t think rn 

5 quotes from your fave book that you know by heart?

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past ” - The Great Gatsby

‘Where did you go to, if I may ask?' ‘To look ahead,' ‘And what brought you back in the nick of time?' ‘Looking behind.’ - The Hobbit

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” - Harry Potter

“To live will be an awfully big adventure.” - Peter Pan

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” - The Hobbit (just comfort vibes, you know)

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary | rereading or reading just once

     TV AND MOVIES

Fave tv/movie genre?

Anything with action, superheroes, a mystery, an unruly bunch of teenagers trying to find out the truth with stupid jokes and nice views, anything with a bunch of Hobbits, Dwarves and Elves going on an adventure... Anything musical and Disney.

Fave movie?

Can’t say just one. I’ll do you top 5

Captain America; TFA, Tangled, Mamma Mia, Little Shop of Horrors, Mary Poppins, Back to the Future

Comfort movie?

... all of the above and also, Indiana Jones, Avengers, Hercules, Luca, 

Movie you watch every year?

all of the above? :))) i love movies... i love watching Love Actually, it’s probably another comfort movie and i suppose I only ever watch it in December so that’s an every year one!

Fave tv show?

if it holds up to the standards i want it to... probably the new Lord of the Rings series. If not, Stranger Things is one I can watch again and again? daredevil/the punisher i loved them too, the haunting of hill house

Comfort tv show?

Friends, How I Met Your Mother, Scrubs, One Tree Hill

Most rewatched tv show?

stranger things or how i met your mother

5 fave characters?

aragorn, indiana jones, steve rogers, bucky barnes, 

 tv shows or movie | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more)* | one episode a week or binging | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 4

The Meaning of Home Chapter 4

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Dinner is the very next night. Conor packs a bag before they leave the house, because even though it’s a Wednesday, he’s determined that he can sleep over. He doesn’t seem to care about permission, assuring Pawel that they do this all the time and it’ll be fine.

Pawel figures he’ll make sure Colt and Leo are okay with it at some point.

Somehow. If he can get a word in edgewise.

The Papa/Harrison household is sheer chaos. They arrive at six, a lanky boy with a mop of light brown hair yanking open the door before Conor reaches the doorbell. He stands as tall as Pawel’s shoulder, but his face still has a soft roundness. His gaze stays on Pawel, brows slightly furrowed as he says, “Emma’s in her room. Jennie’s been bugging her.”

“Thanks, Matt.” Conor slips by him and disappears down the hall Pawel can see to the left.

Pawel can’t step inside without going through Matt; he’s blocking the door just enough. “Can I come in?” Pawel asks.

“Matt, let Pawel through the door!” Leo’s voice comes from somewhere deeper in the house.

“He stinks like Conor.” Matt steps back, pulling the door open. “Can I go over to Luke’s tonight?”

“We’re having dinner, and you already know that.” 

That’s not Leo speaking. No, definitely not. Slightly shorter than Pawel, his hair perfectly coiffed, his cheekbones softened from the sharpness he’d had as a teenager, his tie askew and his lavender sleeves rolled up… Pawel catalogs all the similarities and differences in Colt after a decade.

“Fine.” Matt disappears and a long-tailed grey rat slinks out of the room between Colt’s feet.

There’s a shriek and a clatter from the room beyond. “Jesus fucking Christ! Matt!” a girl yells out. “Do that one more time and I’m going to step on you if Duke—no, Duke, please keep stirring, oh God, we’re already late, and I promised we’d get everything done on time, and this was going so well.”

“It’s okay, Nevaeh. And language.” Leo’s low rumble shakes Pawel out of his stillness.

Pawel turns and carefully closes the door, and when he looks back, Colt is still there. He stands in the doorway, shoulder against the jam, arms crossed.

“What?” Pawel asks.

“The first time I saw it, I thought I was imagining things.” Colt’s voice is deeper than Pawel remembers, a low rumble, musing as Colt tilts his head, staring at Pawel. “On the other hand, the first time I met Conor, I knew he had to be your son, even before Emma introduced him.”

Pawel is not used to being the one off-balance in a conversation. “What?” he asks again.

“Your aura is distinct.” Colt unfolds himself. Every step towards Pawel is deliberate and slow, as if he’s being stalked. Colt might be a couple inches shorter, but he still manages to give the idea that he’s looking down at Pawel when he’s close. “Most people have one dominant underlying color, with flickers for their current state of mind. You’re a constantly shifting shower of opalescent sparkles, like you’re trying to be invisible, and be the brightest thing in the room at the same time. It’s disconcerting. I thought I was going nuts when we were in high school and you started shimmering.”

He might be following this. “You Emerged in high school?” Pawel asks. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you,” Colt points out.

“I, uh,” Pawel waves a hand at his head, not sure exactly where Colt’s seeing these sparkles. It’s not like Jennie, that’s for certain. Pawel rarely sparks visibly, unlike Conor, who does it all the time when he’s with Alan. “It’s very possible I was Talented before I knew it, but as far as I’m concerned, I really Emerged when I got to PHU and was surrounded by a very large amount of both Lineage and Emergent Talent. The start of fall semester wasn’t easy for me, and if it weren’t for—”

Colt raises an eyebrow when Pawel cuts off. He’s apparently oblivious to the banging in the kitchen behind him or the constant stream of chatter from someone Pawel guesses is Nevaeh. “If it weren’t for…?” he prompts.

“Long story.” The last thing Pawel wants to go into detail about is Chelsea, when he’s currently standing in the house owned by both his high school sweethearts. “I met a Lineage Mage who helped me get through my Talented growing pains and get myself under control.”

“Glad you had help.” Colt turns as he hears his name from the kitchen.

“Set the table,” Leo calls out. “We are actually almost done. Nevaeh, the bread is fine. Please go find Matt. He might be in the crawlspace again. Duke, carry the butter out to the table; do not attempt to float it again. Nevaeh, after you find Matt, get the kids from wherever they’ve disappeared to. Tell Jennie that yes, we expect her to eat dinner. Donuts were not dinner.”

Pawel follows as Colt heads towards a room that looks like it was once a porch, built off the side of the house. It’s cool and bright, windows open and ceiling fans hanging from the sloped ceiling, blowing down on them. As a dining room, it’s a little cramped. Built-in benches line both the longer walls, the table fit between them, and there’s a door at the other end of the porch as well. Squished as it is, Pawel can see that they can likely fit 10-12 people around the table; there’s just no space for much else.

Colt pulls a stack of plates out of the cabinet at one end of the room and hands them to Pawel. He has to slide down the bench to be able to reach and lay out enough plates, napkins, and silverware for the six children and three adults. He assumes that Leo and Colt will take the chairs at either end of the table, so he leaves himself a plate on one long side of the table.

“I take it Jennie has a sugar problem,” Pawel says. It’s not really a question; he saw how she devoured the donuts at the store.

“It’s not so much a problem as a need.” Colt takes a pitcher from a solemn-faced teen who appears just long enough to make the delivery before he disappears again. “We’ve had her checked several times; the doctors are concerned by the amount she consumes, but it seems to be a part of her Talent. She’s a real-life animated sparkle princess.” He puts the pitcher on the table, sliding it as close to the center as he can get.

“It’s—” Colt cuts off, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m glad you’re okay. When I heard about—we were worried. Leo and I. Conor’s a good kid. He’s welcome here any time. Not like he’ll add much more chaos to the house.”

“I add just the right amount of chaos,” Conor says, sliding onto the bench on the other side. He moves all the way to the middle, Emma next to him, and Jennie next to her. “You love me.”

“Conor,” Pawel warns.

“It’s okay. Like I said, he’s welcome here any time.”

“I like him better than Matt and Duke.” The girl is at his elbow so abruptly that Pawel wonders if she teleported in, like Mac. This must be Nevaeh. She’s wearing an old PHU hoodie, despite the warmth already encroaching in late May. Her hair is pulled back in braids, held in a twist low against her neck, and the shape of her dark-skinned features reminds Pawel abruptly of Jennie. For all that there’s a dozen years between them, it’s clear what Jennie will grow to look like as a teen.

She leans past Pawel to put a large bowl of risotto, laden with broccoli and colored a bright yellow, on the table. “Hi. I’m Nevaeh. You’re Pawel.”

“Mr. Szczek,” Colt corrects her.

“You have to major in Magical Studies at PHU before you earn the right to call me Pawel.” The joke falls flat when he says it, Nevaeh staring at him with a studied gaze, while Colt rolls his eyes. “I’m a professor,” he says. “I’m also a believer in learning to pronounce names and use them correctly. They have power.”

“That’s a fairy tale,” Nevaeh scoffs. “Most of what we know about magic is just a fairy tale.”

“Fairy tales come from somewhere,” Pawel replies. It’s easy to settle into this mode, even though he can hear a long-suffering sigh from his son. “The question is: what are the roots of most fairy tale magic? How do the stories we learned as children tie into what we know about Talent today? And what don’t we know yet, that we might be able to learn by listening to the words of those who took the time to write those stories down? We found one of the keys to unlock the secret of how to save the world writ in the lines of a Clan folktale.”

“Da-ad,” Conor whines loudly. Emma snickers next to him.

“Nevaeh.” Leo’s voice is soft, but Nevaeh still straightens up, turning on her heel when he speaks. “Go help Duke bring out the rest of dinner. Pawel, why don’t you sit down next to Conor. Since Nevaeh couldn’t, I’m going to hunt for Matt, then we can eat.” Leo’s gaze falls on Colt, and Leo reaches to bridge the distance between them, fingers tight on Colt’s shoulder.

Pawel looks away.

“Sit,” Leo says.

The chair scrapes as Colt pulls it out and falls into it. When Pawel glances at him, Colt has a hand over his face, fingers pressed against his eyes. “Sit.” Colt echoes the phrase, the single word muffled by the palm of his hand.

Fine.

Pawel sits on the edge of the bench, aware of Conor next to him, turned to be forehead to forehead with Emma as they talk quietly. At the other end, Jennie sits, her feet kicking hard enough that the bench sways slightly with every movement.

Leo returns to drop a mouse on the end of the bench nearest his chair. Matt reappears, scowling as he leans on the table, then sticks his tongue out at Jennie.

“If you make enough faces, I get two desserts and you get none,” Jennie says mildly.

Duke must be the solemn-faced silent boy. He slides into the center of the bench Matt already occupies, setting a platter in front of him. When Matt reaches out, Duke pushes the platter closer to Pawel.

“You can wait,” Leo says, and for a moment, there’s a glint of amusement in Duke’s expression.

“I did two whole loaves of bread.” Nevaeh slides one basket down the table, and as soon as it settles to a stop in front of Matt, he grabs out a slice of bread and rips into it. “I hope it’s enough. I mean, Matt can eat half a loaf on his own and Duke’s always hungry and you’re all boys so you all eat a lot, but it’s not sugary so maybe—Jennie, put that down, it’s not dessert yet, how did you even get that?”

Jennie blinks, a brownie in her hand. “It was on the counter in the kitchen. I brought it with me in case you forgot.”

Leo holds out a napkin spread across his hand, and Jennie places the sweet there. Leo puts it down within her reach, but not in front of her plate. “Dinner first.”

“Yes, it’s always like this.” Colt smiles when Pawel looks at him, and there are laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, too. Pawel remembers Colt laughing, but it was always in those rare, unguarded moments. Now it looks like he might laugh more often. The smile seems easy, too, as Colt watches Nevaeh take a piece of chicken from the platter, then nudge it closer to Colt. “We thrive on chaos in this household.”

“Conor fits in perfectly,” Nevaeh says, pointing a fork at him. “He eats too much, runs everywhere, and he almost caused a fire once.”

“Conor—” Pawel starts.

“I did not!” Conor protests. “She’s exaggerating. There were a few sparks, and they don’t make fire, there was just all this confetti around because Jennie was doing a project, and Duke helped, and it was like it exploded just when I sparked.”

Nevaeh jabs her fork in his direction as if to say, “see?” 

This is absolutely alien to Pawel. He’s never been to a family dinner this large. His life was him and his father and mother. He has vague memories of his father’s parents before they passed away when he was small, and he never did know his mother’s parents. She claimed to have emerged from the forest created from magic, and these days he wonders how truthful that might have been.

Probably not, but all the same, he thinks she had her reasons for cutting ties, even if he doesn’t know what they were.

Once his mother was gone, it was him and Dad, and they made do.

It was never anything like this. Not even close.

Pawel accepts the food passed to him, adding risotto, chicken, and bread to his plate. He lets the conversation swirl around him, not trying to focus on any one particular thread but instead letting it all trickle into his brain and take root there. He was never known as a child for sitting quietly in the corner, but he’s learned how to observe since then. How to sit back and absorb information for his subconscious to parse for him.

He may have no idea what’s going on in the moment, but chances are he’ll wake up in the hours before dawn with a sudden hypothesis.

Not that this is academic research that he needs to pick apart and find a solution for. This is merely a family dinner. For a family that is not his own.

Duke and Matt seem to race to see who can finish first. Nevaeh wasn’t exaggerating about their appetites; between them, an entire bowl of sliced bread disappears, along with healthy servings of risotto and chicken. As soon as he’s done, Matt grabs his empty plate and Duke’s and slides from the bench, announcing, “Gaming,” as he walks off. Duke waits half a beat before following him.

“One moment they’re mortal enemies, the next they’re best friends,” Colt murmurs. “I think it’s because we make them share a room. Don’t worry, you’ll hear Matt yelling again soon enough.”

“Does Duke…?” Pawel’s not sure how to word it politely. He trails off as Leo and Colt exchange a look. Maybe he should drop that line of questioning.

“Bedtime!” Nevaeh announces cheerfully. “Or well, time to get ready so you can play before bed.”

Conor looks up from his still half-full plate. “I—” He stops abruptly, making a face. “Fine, no talking, just eating. I know.” He and Emma both tuck into their dinners.

Jennie nibbles delicately around the edges of her brownie. Her plate is clean, but Pawel has no memory of her eating any actual food. “I need another brownie before I brush my teeth.”

“You do not need another brownie,” Colt says firmly. “And you do need to brush your teeth.”

“You’re sparkly enough for tonight.” Leo slides a hand over her head and she smiles up at him. “Any more and you’ll shine so bright you’ll keep Emma and Conor up.”

“I’m a star,” Jennie whispers. She tucks the remaining half of the brownie in her mouth in one go, chewing as she slides off the bench. She says something that might be “let’s go” but Pawel can’t tell for sure through her full mouth.

“Done!” Emma says, slapping her fork on the table at the same time as Conor. They both slide off the bench and under the table, emerging on the other side. “We’re going to get brownies. We’ll see you upstairs.” She grabs Conor’s hand and races out.

A moment later there’s an annoyed shriek. “Matt! Duke! You took all the brownies!”

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. Pawel wonders if anyone’s going to intervene, but Colt sits there cutting another bite off his chicken, and Leo just glances at Nevaeh.

“I’ll make sure no one dies, and that Jennie doesn’t steal another brownie from the boys,” Nevaeh replies. “They’d better not have eaten them all. I haven’t had one yet and I made them.” She holds out a hand and Jennie tucks her hand into it. “Oh and—tomorrow I have my last driving lesson and Mr. Storm thinks I ought to get more practice before I get my license so we need to make the appointment for my test and I need some help because I can’t practice on my own, so maybe think about who wants to take me driving, okay? I really need a lot more night-time practice, and probably some regular daytime practice, too. And he said if I’m going to be driving the kids around at all I should practice with them in the car, because kids are distracting.”

“Colt’s in court tomorrow, so I’ll take care of getting in touch with Mr. Storm to get the details,” Leo promises. “Kids ready for bed now, please. And stick around upstairs and make sure no fights break out, and that homework actually has gotten done.”

“But I could—” Nevaeh makes a face halfway through the sentence and she grumbles under her breath. “Adults only. Got it.” She makes her exit quickly, yelling, “You’d better still have a brownie for me!” as she races up the stairs.

“She thinks she’s an adult,” Colt says, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

“I remember what I was doing at her age, and right now I’m glad she doesn’t have her license yet,” Leo admits. “But yeah, we’re going to need to talk about that. We’ll squeeze it in somehow. At least she managed to get through driver’s ed with the school.”

“I can help.”

They’re both staring at him before Pawel realizes he’s the one that said that. Well, shit. He’s not supposed to be getting involved, and taking their eldest foster out driving is definitely involved.

Then again, his kid is practically living here. He’s already involved.

“You’ve taken in my kid half the time,” Pawel continues, trying to get this back on track. Colt’s brow is furrowed, like he’s waiting for Pawel to name a price. He can’t read Leo at all, but then, Leo perfected that blank expression long ago so it isn’t that much of a surprise. “I owe you. And if I learned how to drive a Jeep, I can help teach how to drive a normal car.”

“She needs practice in the minivan,” Colt says slowly.

“I drive a sedan, and I’m assuming you’ll both have your cars at work,” Pawel replies. “She can start with my car. If it’s better for her, I could walk down and pick up Leo’s car from the station. It’s—” He spreads his hands. “Conor’s apparently staying over tonight. You’ve helped a lot. I owe you both.”

Colt’s brow furrows deeper, the lines etched across his forehead. Pawel wants to reach out and smooth them. This is fine. It’s all going to be fine. There’s no need to stare at him like there’s a thunderstorm brewing over his head.

“Thank you.” 

Leo’s soft words seem to break Colt’s concentration. Colt sits back, looking down at his plate. “Yeah, thanks,” he echoes. “It’ll be a help. We’ve both got long hours, and while we’ve balanced it as much as we can, it’s usually one of us being overrun by five kids. I get them on the buses in the morning, so Leo can get in early for his shift. Nevaeh and the boys take the bus home, and Leo picks up Emma and Jennie after school. We don’t have a lot of extra room for new activities.”

“Between teaching, grading, Coven, and the PHU taekwondo club, I’m running ragged when it comes time to get Conor to and from school, as well as to his taekwondo classes. I lean on our neighbors a lot,” Pawel says. “You know me. I hope you still trust me. Feel free to lean on me while I’m here.”

“While you’re here,” Colt echoes.

That is a point. Pawel will go back to PHU in the fall for classes. But that’s several months away.

An enraged, shrill shriek cuts through the house. “I need to sparkle!”

Colt and Leo exchange a look. Leo bellows, “No more brownies, Jennie. Brush your teeth!”

Pawel doesn’t even try to hide his snort of laughter. “So,” he says. “You have five kids. Talented kids.  I’ve heard a little about how this got started from Dad. I uh… Dad and Leo both mentioned Lucy and Rowan, and I know them, too.” At the confused look Colt leverages, Pawel adds, “Their kids are at PHU. I’m planning to go see them in concert this weekend.”

“We’ve told Lucy that we’ll take any more kids she sends our way, but if there are more, we’re either going to need to have them start sharing beds, or get a bigger house.” Leo glances at the stairs. “We’ve already got Matt and Duke in together, and Jennie shares with Emma. Nevaeh’s got her own room, because we moved into the old playroom over the garage when Emma arrived.”

Colt rests a hand on the table, Leo mirroring the gesture at the other hand. Pawel’s fairly certain that if they were next to each other they’d be touching.

“I know what it’s like to Emerge,” Colt says quietly. “And I know what it’s like to feel adrift in a sea of normalcy. My brothers aren’t Talented, neither are my parents. I’m the only one.”

“Did they…?” Pawel can’t imagine Colt’s parents kicking him out over it, but he also hasn’t talked to them in years. He doesn’t know how they feel about the Emergence and the knowledge that magic is real.

Colt shakes his head. “No, but things were awkward. Still are, sometimes, but they’re good with the kids. I think my mom considers Nevaeh a daughter she didn’t have. She’s only six or seven years younger than Jacob.” He pauses, and Pawel nods to say that yes, he does remember Colt’s youngest brother. Colt glances at Leo, with a soft huff. “Leo’s parents are better, of course. I mean. What’s another kid or five in that house?”

“There were only seven of us.”

“Spanning fourteen years. Nevaeh and Bri bonded pretty well.”

Pawel doesn’t want to think about their families. About the large, welcoming families that he walked away from when he walked away from Colt and Leo.

“Conor seems to think you’ll adopt Jennie and Nevaeh,” he says.

Leo rises and slides down the other bench, ending up opposite Pawel. His legs are long enough that his feet bump Pawel’s under the table. It also lets him twine fingers with Colt on the table as they exchange a slow smile.

“It’s complicated,” Leo says. “We would, if we could, but I don’t think we will unless we can give that option to all the kids. Right now, Duke’s the only one without living parents.”

“Matt’s parents gave him up when he Emerged, and Nevaeh kidnapped Jennie from their parents because she was afraid of them. They’ve been declared unfit. And Emma… you already know,” Colt adds. He turns his hand under Leo’s, thumb sliding along the side of Leo’s palm. “She’s sure everything will change and she’ll go home.”

“And I offered to help. I—” Pawel glances at the stairs. “It’s quiet. Does that mean they’re getting along, or that they’re trying to listen in on our conversation.”

“Depends on the kid. They’ll be coming downstairs soon—” Colt cuts off at Pawel’s expression. He points to the stairs. “Those lead to the attic, which has been finished as much as we can, and is the new playroom. There’s a hall from to the old playroom over the garage, which is our room now. The kids’ rooms are all on the main floor, in the back.”

“So if you have conversations you’d rather have away from prying ears, this isn’t the time for it,” Leo murmurs. His head tilts, eyes closing for a moment. “Matt and Duke are playing games. Jennie’s talking to them. Emma and Conor are at the top of the stairs with his tablet, pretending not to listen. Nevaeh’s further down the stairs. They aren’t even trying to hide it.” His voice is low, and amused.

They haven’t talked about anything Pawel would be upset about them overhearing. But his theories on what might have happened to Emma’s parents aren’t something he wants to discuss in front of her. “Then we should save some topics for another time,” Pawel says. He takes in a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he exhales slowly. 

He doesn’t want to talk about the past.

He doesn’t want to talk about what he’s been doing for the last year, and how that might relate to where Emma’s parents are.

He pastes on a smile that he’s sure doesn’t fool either of them. “So. Colt. I hear you argue for a living now. How does that work with the whole aura thing? Which I’d like to hear more about.”

“I’m not a research project,” Colt says as Leo’s eyebrows rise.

“What has my dad been telling you?” Pawel’s not that bad. Is he?

“Everything,” Leo says dryly. He squeezes Colt’s hand. “Catch Pawel up,” he tells him. “It’s been a while. We’re not the same people we were in high school. None of us are.”

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[skinks]

Is there a lighthouse keeper Eddie fic???

If there is, I don’t know about it :0 I just searched the tag on ao3 and there’s exactly ONE lighthouse keeper Eddie fic that I can see but it’s one chapter, unfinished, and was posted in May, so it doesn’t look like it.

I’d like to see it though. An Eddie Kaspbrak who self-isolates to an offshore Maine rock he can control entirely himself, control who and what comes on and off his island. He wears knit sweaters and yellow oilskins but still refuses to grow a beard... he’s hiding from people and his mother and attachment and danger, even though he does have an objectively fairly dangerous job - it’s all about being king of his own island, serving a purpose.

Maybe Richie is the first mate of Ben’s fishing boat that comes once a week, or every other week, to resupply Eddie’s lighthouse. Thinks he’s a real fucking comedian. His hair curls out from under his beanie and Eddie totally doesn’t watch them sail away every time and go back inside to think of something he could have said to make Richie laugh.

God, Richie has an eyepatch (technically for his left eye astigmatism but he milks the fuck out of the pirate thing) and he absolutely makes a ton of Rapunzel jokes about Eddie’s tower. Rapunzed, Rapunzed, let down your dick—

Eddie doesn’t get cell reception out there, but his radio does tune in all fuzzy to the closed harbour frequency. Richie uses it to bug him and also he brings Eddie all kinds of junk to keep him entertained, along with regular supplies. Puzzles, books, CDs.... nudie mags... Eddie’s like, “I don’t....... need those,” and they have a weird Not Conversation conversation about it and it’s all very tense.

Richie wants him to use the lighthouse to do morse code to shore but Eddie’s like “you’re aware that would sink like, a dozen crews at any one time, right? You know what my ONE job is?”

“Ooh, is it being bewitched by mermaids? Writing the great American novel and then going nuts out here? I should bring Billy along next time, you can go full Shining on each other—”

“Who the fuck is BILLY - OH my god get back in your stupid boat, stop leaning out!!!”

Richie always pokes around the lighthouse during resupplies, keeps invading Eddie’s spaces to find out if he’s lonely or not. Eddie is lonely. Eddie is so lonely that a lot of the time it doesn’t feel like he’s a real person in the real world until that boat comes putting over the horizon, but for a long time he had figured it was a worthwhile trade-off for feeling safe. It takes Eddie months to figure out Richie’s rota and even longer to muster up the courage to ask if he’d like to hang out and keep Eddie company during his free week.

Eddie also screws up the courage to put in orders for a couple of lobsters and some wine in the resupply, even though it’s just two bros chilling in a lighthouse playing cards, cooking, spitting off the light deck, talking, sunbathing, laughing, stargazing... Eddie even lets himself grow a beard...

Nothing happens during the week and Eddie’s so frustrated. Fishermen are almost always straight but he’d THOUGHT Richie was into it. He keeps catching himself in all these maudlin thoughts and he hates it - maybe he’s spent too much time on the damn rock if he’s started comparing himself to the lighthouse but that’s how he feels. He hasn’t ever felt like this, like he’s shining at Richie with everything he has and saying notice me, notice me, please. What a fucking juxtaposition, to be the light that saves someone by only ever pushing them away.

Anyway, it’s fraught. Richie leaves at the end of the week, things go on as steady as the tides. Eddie does come ashore once every quarter to deal with finances and his mom. Either he stays near her assisted living complex or in a motel, but he gets word that she’s passed away, and has to come early. Richie offers to put him up in his place while Eddie handles everything, the will, the funeral. He meets all Richie’s friends, not just Ben from the boat.

Metaphorically, Eddie comes back to the (dry) land of the living and of course Richie’s in LOVE with him but couldn’t do anything about it because a) he was scared and b) he can’t live on a rock, even if it did work out, and Eddie was hiding from what his mother did to him so compromise didn’t seem like an option. But she’s gone. Eddie’s letting himself feel things. Richie might have had more people around him, but you can be achingly lonely even in company if you still make an island of yourself. They get a beach house, or maybe go somewhere warmer and drier, but not before they bang each other’s brains out in broad salty daylight on the deck of an otherwise empty boat, the end

[youareunbearable]

Catch me not having a clue who any of these gods(?) and people are, but still sitting here like, "I ship that pretty one with the gruff one, and that brown haired one with the other(?) gruff one?" without knowing names or what this is except the fanart I see you reblog, because this fandom apparently has lots of nice art

Fam i have no idea what ur talking about or when u sent this im so sorry asfkjhfkjhf but i thiiiinnnkkkk??????? it’s “Heavens Official Blessing” or  Tiān Guān Cì Fú (TGCF for tagging stuff) its originally a chinese gay novel that is soooooooo long by the author  Mo Xiang Tong Xiu (MXTX) who wrote 2 (two?????) other novels that I know of that are also gay historical fantasy but i personally havent actually read TGCF???? im just watching the anime and looking at the wiki and reading fanfics so i have a vague idea whats going on but not really???? so i cant really give a good review BUT i LOVE THE CHARACTERS MXTX WRITES SO MUCH AFHAFKFHKFAKF IM SO SORRY IM SHIT WITH TAGGING SO U HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IM HYPER FIXATING ON BUT

LISTEN

LISTEN 

LISTEN

Pretty one and the gruff one im THINKING is He Xuan (or Ming Yi/ Ming-Xiong/Ming Bro) for the grumpy one and Shi Qingxuan for the pretty one and both are kinda gender fluid?? (more Shi Qingxuan but they both change their forms to be both women and men which is Iconic and the anime put her in the TRANS FLAG COLOUR instead of her canon white and green which is ICONIC) AND THHEYRE SO TRAGIC AND HOT AND I CRY JUST THINKING ABOUT THEIR STORY LIKE AFHDFKJAFDSGS like i want to kinda read the book just for them, the two super minor characters, but i also read somewhere that their story doesn’t really have a clean ending so im also holding back from just getting Emotionally Hurt because im a cancer and i know it’ll wreck me

I think The Two Gruff Idiots are Feng Xin (dark haired gruff boy) and Mu Qing (brown haired gruff boy) and theyre both martial gods and both knew each other for over 800 years and both tried to take care of Actual Human And Heavenly Disaster Xie Lian, failed, and tried to do it again 800 years later but with stupid glasses with moustaches in hopes that Xie Lian cant figure out that they care about him but OOPS Xie Lian does in fact have the braincell of the three of them fajfafjajf 

Heres the link to watch the anime, there are 11 eps rn but it updates every weekend (I dont actually know when but i watch it on sundays) Make sure u have ur ad block on tho lol there is a manga too and the art style is TO DIE FOR like its GORGEOUS but its roughly at the same pace as the anime so eh

Heres where to read the whole thing online, just a warning its BIG AS FUCK like 244? plus extras I think?? 

I’d also recommend MXTX’s other books!

Mo Dao Zu Shi (or Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation/ The Untamed/MDZS) is both a Book as well as an Anime (the whole thing is on youtube) , a Live Action which you can watch on Netflix (look up Untamed, also a warning, the plot is a little different from the book and anime cause of uhhh censorship?? also i guess to make it more live drama friendly, my friends an i binged it and really liked it, but some of the fandom doesn’t), a manga which is not finished I think???? idk im not caught up, and a fucking chinese AUDIO DRAMA LIKE BITCH ITS SO WELL DONE but i have to stop listening sometimes cause like there is a difference between watching/reading characters kiss, and then like just hearing them, i get so embarrassed i have to skip the kissing scenes and god forbid i accidentally click on the smutty extras alfjajlfjalfjaljf u can find it on youtube, i linked the one i listen to but i havent finished it and i don’t think it’s all of it, but you can find other episodes/chapters easily

Its about 1 Dumb Yet So Smart gay/bi man (Wei Wuxian) who honestly tries his fucking best, fucks up everything, dies for over a decade, and then is forcefully brought back to life to solve a murder mystery with the guy who has been in Super Gay Love with him since they were teens (Lan Zhan), a bunch of teens Who Are Just Honestly Here For A Good Time And Yet (Lan Juniors, Jin Ling, and Best Boy Ouyang Zizhen ) while badly hiding his real identity from all the people he knows, including his foster brother (Jiang Cheng) who is out for blood and hunting his ass down with a whip and also Lan Zhan who is travelling with him. Also the Killer. There is a killer on the loose and is willing to murder whoever to keep their secrets. Also Nie Huaisang. I adore him and his brother Nie Mingjue, if there is one bitch u gotta remember from this summary it’s this little twink (he and his brother also have a fucking spin off movie from the live action drama THAT I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO FIND A ENGLISH SUB VERSION AND ITS BEEN KILLING ME SINCE I STARTED WATCHING THIS SHOW LAST YEAR. GOOGLE GIVE ME MY FAVOURITE TWINK AND HIS BEAR OF A BROTHER HAVING A FUN FAMILY ROAD TRIP!!!!!!!)

My Personal Current Favourite is Scum Villain’s Self Saving System (SVSSS) which is SOOOOOOO FUNNY Like it’s not as popular cause the comic was discontinued, and the anime looks like its from 2005 with the weird 3D animation but its my current comfort media!!! 

Its basically about a spite reading millennial (Shen Yuan) who died after reading a REALLY awful popular cheesy smut harem novel (think like 50 shade series but worse cause the protag had 600 wives) and was forced into the body of a minor but important villain (the protagonist’s teacher, Shen Qingqiu) from the novel who was fated to die with all his limbs cut off and his eyes and tongue plucked out and is told he has to fix the story so its not trash, he reasonably freaks the fuck out and hugs the protagonists (Luo Binghe) thigh so hard he turns him gay without realizing. Sadly, he does have to make sure certain plot points happen, which fucks him over a lot,  and he thinks Luo Binghe still wants to kill him instead of love him cause he has the Emotional Intelligence of a Rock, but its so funny reading about him handling all the awful tropey stuff, like imagine u have to be a character in My Immortal But With Porn?????? without breaking out of character too much?? I wouldn’t be able to handle it ajhakfkfhjfj He also finds out that he’s not the only transmigrator in the novel either, but it doesn’t matter cause theyre both So Fucking Stupid Collectively but everyone would honestly die for the both of them

warning for this story though, the main relationship is a teacher/student relationship, but nothing happens until the student is in his 20s and also kinda not his student anymore cause he’s running hell??? but if that squicks u out i totally understand and offer you to PLEASE still enjoy some of this media, and instead of the BingQiu ship, I offer you the LiuQiu one, where both me and the main character cry over how a beautiful man/fellow immortal lord loves the main character so much that he literally fought every day for 5 years to be by his side and I Think Thats Beautiful and I kinda like this ship more than the main one tbh PLEASE just look at the art for Liu Qingge because i love him so much, he’s like if you took Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng from MDZS and mashed them into one beautiful man the author is trying to tell me is straight but u take one look at him And Tell Me Otherwise

[melon-wing]

Dread Part 2

[Pirate AU Masterlist] There are trigger warnings in the tags, but they might be a little spoiler-y. Just be warned. Pirates ain’t the nicest people. ~~

Doc sat in his cabin on board behind a massive wooden desk covered in countless maps. He needed to plan their next route, calculate in all of the navy’s and other pirate’s routes and be prepared in case anything went wrong. He loved this part of his pirate life just as much as the fighting and plundering. Nothing was better than seeing one of his well thought out plans come to fruition.

He made a thoughtful noise as he picked up the document one of his spies had leaked to him, containing the planned routes of the navy’s ships, staring at one line in particular on the map. He knew he shouldn’t… But maybe he could plan a course that would accidentally pass their route. He would probably be able to arrange a stop to refill their resources in the same port as they did. And then Doc would be able to see him again.

Rushed steps ran up to his cabin and the door was flung open, hitting the wall behind it hard. Doc didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. There was only one person on board daring enough to make an entrance like that into the Captain’s cabin.

“Ren. I hope you have a good explanation this time. And no, Etho being mean to you doesn’t count.”

When there was no answer Doc finally looked up. He froze at the expression on Ren’s face. It looked pained. He obviously was the bearer of bad news and a face like that couldn’t mean a lot of things.

“Ren? Did something happen to one of our crew?”

Ren shook his head, walking up to the desk, a piece of paper clenched in his hands.

“We got a message from one of our allies. He says word’s going around that Bdubs has Captain Doc’s little pet in his possession.”

Doc frowned at that, turning his head to look at the basket in the corner of his cabin, where two small foxes were resting, both peacefully asleep.

“Well as you can see that is nonsense. Hans and-”

“Doc…” Ren sounded exasperated, like Doc was making this hard for him on purpose. “Not your foxes. Bdubs has captured Lieutenant Grian.”

Doc felt like he couldn’t breathe for a second, his blood running cold, emotions welling up inside him he wasn’t ready to feel yet. So he did the only thing that seemed right at the moment and pushed those thoughts aside, closing his heart off. His gaze darkened as he glared at Ren, eyes practically glowing.

“And why would I care? It’s the navy’s problem. Not mine. They formed him into their little star to look good on posters. They painted a target onto his back, not me. If they can’t take care of their own, good riddance. One dog less to worry about.”

“But it’s Grian…”

Doc stood up, slamming his hands onto the table. Maps went flying everywhere and his foxes awoke, running up to him while making worried sounds.

“He isn’t different from all the others. He is our enemy.”

“Doc… I don’t think Bdubs captured him to get back at the navy. He is boasting about owning your pet. He knows there’s something going on between the two of you. He knows you enough to tell.”

Doc balled his hands into fists, throwing a deadly glare at Ren, who at least had the decency to flinch a little.

“There is nothing going on between me and that Lieutenant. I asked him to join because he is an amazing fighter and we could use him in our crew. And as far as I remember he declined and called me and the whole crew a few choice words. So no, there are no feelings involved and I’m not going to endanger all of your lives for that one idiot.”

Ren looked like he wanted to protest, but when Doc kept glaring at him he nodded, giving him a lazy salute and turning around. When the door was almost closed, Doc could hear his voice drifting over.

“You should know the crew would be willing to fight for him…”

Doc took a few calming breaths. He wouldn’t act out.  He was fine. Everything was alright. Why would he care about Grian? Why should he?

Sure he was intrigued by Grian. He had been the first person to beat him in a fight after all. But that was all there was. The crew was his family. He couldn’t risk their lives, no matter what Ren might think wise. The navy would already be on their way with an armada. They didn’t take kindly to stunts like that. Even Bdubs couldn’t keep a Lieutenant captive for too long. He just hoped that Bdubs wouldn’t decide Grian was more trouble than he was worth.

An image flashed through Doc’s mind, of Grian’s dead body, bloody and broken being thrown over the side of a ship to sink into the depth of the ocean, getting lost in the endless depth…

Doc groaned, letting his head fall onto the desk. What was he supposed to do?

~

Grian didn’t know how much time had passed since they had thrown him into a cell below deck. The only light was coming from a small lantern hanging outside of his cell next to the guard’s post. It must have been five days at least, going by the times they had given him something to eat and how often the person guarding him had changed.

It was annoying to be under surveillance at all times. What did they think he could do? He might be a good soldier, but he couldn’t perform wonders. They were in the middle of the ocean on course god knows were. By the way the boat rocked they were going pretty fast. Jumping over board to flee would be a death sentence for him. His hands and legs were chained together and on top of that his shoulder wound felt like it had become infected. Fleeing would be suicide.

Maybe it would be better, to just jump and swart Bdubs plans. Without any hostage there would be no trap. That way Grian could at least save one last life before he died. Even if it was the life of a stinking pirate. Well… If he died to save a pirate, Doc might not be his worst option. But he’d rather not die at all. Damn! That’s what he got for almost changing his opinion on pirates. He got thrown into their mess.

The door to the cell area opened and the guard sitting in front of his cell jumped up. That could mean only one thing: The captain was honouring them with his presence. Grian slowly stood up from his rack, chains rattling as he did. He tried to stand as straight and proud as he could considering his circumstances.

Bdubs walked up to the cell, sending the guard away with a wave of his hand, looking Grian up and down, a grin appearing on his face.

“You know… I get it. Doc does have a pretty good taste. Pretty being the key word. You really are nice on the eyes, Lieutenant”, Bdubs drawled out the last word mockingly and Grian just glared at him.

“You’d make a fine pirate. If you weren’t his lover, I’d recruit you.”

“I’d rather die than become a damn pirate. You are all animals.”

Bdubs laughed at his angered reply. “Oh poor Doc.” Bdubs eyes lost all trace of humour and he looked coldly at Grian. “He doesn’t know how to properly train a pet, I see. But I don’t like rebellious little kids, navy boy.”

“Yeah I noticed. Your type are little slimy ass-kissers. How’s that snake Keralis?”

A shot rang out. Grian could feel the bullet flying past his face, leaving a tiny bleeding scratch on his cheek. But he didn’t flinch. He just stayed there, trying to look as unimpressed as possible, even though his heart was beating like crazy. Bdubs wouldn’t kill him. He needed him after all.

“Don’t you ever dare to talk about Keralis like that or you’ll regret the day you decided to join the navy.”

Grian shrugged, eyes darkening, holding his chin up high. “There’s not a moment I’m not regretting that day, so don’t worry, you can’t really make it any worse.”

He knew his dismissive attitude was angering Bdubs and that it was possibly the worst idea he could have. But it made him feel like he had at least a sliver of control left in this situation. If he would just bow down and let everything happen to him… He couldn’t bare that thought.

“So tell me, high and mighty Captain Bdubs. What makes you think the navy will let you get away with this? They must be on your trail by now. They’ll sink your ship for what you’ve done. Before this week is over they’ll have you hanging.”

He thought reminding Bdubs of the navy would make him even angrier and maybe in his anger he’d give Grian some information. But no, the anger faded from Bdubs’ face and he chuckled a little.

“Oh. You still think the navy will save you? That is cute, boy. You really trust them. But they won’t. You see… They are just as easily controlled as everybody else. If enough money passes from one hand to another they’ll look for you everywhere but here. And they want Doc’s head just as badly as I do. So if they have to sacrifice you for it, so be it.”

“You are lying!”

“Nobody will come for you, Grian. Nobody will save you. We are just waiting for the main character of this tragedy to arrive and then your life will end.”

Grian balled his hands into fists. He shouldn’t believe anything coming out of Bdubs mouth right now, but he couldn’t help the uncertainty rising inside him. What if it was really true? What if the navy wasn’t coming to save him? Should he really hope on Doc trying to save him? But if Doc came, he would surely die…

“He won’t come. Whatever you heard about me and him? It’s wrong. We are fighting constantly.”

Bdubs just shrugged, still smiling. “Oh, but Grian… Did you forget? That is not what you told Keralis. From what he told me both of you sound like you have one fucking huge crush and are to scared to admit it. I also heard about the two of you sharing a dance in the neutral zone. Really cute. Like in some cheesy romance novel, isn’t it? He might not come running as fast as I hoped, but we can wait a little.”

Bdubs took out a key, opening the door to Grian’s cell. Grian threw a calculating glance towards it. His hands and legs were still chained together, so running probably was a bad idea. And he had no clue where they were at the moment. Could he overpower Bdubs and get his crew to drop him off somewhere? Probably not. And Bdubs wouldn’t make a very cooperative hostage. Damn. He hated being so helpless.

The only thing he could do was stand his ground. He stayed were he was, looking up at Bdubs out of defiant eyes as the Pirate Captain walked up to him. A hand grabbed his chin, forcing his head back.

“So Grian, what do you say about making this a little more… interesting?” Bdubs voice was dark and Grian didn’t like where this was going. No matter what would happen, nothing that guy deemed interesting would mean anything remotely good for Grian.

“You are going to kill me anyway. Don’t think I’m going to play your games just to make this more entertaining.”

Bdubs chuckled and his fingers dug painfully into Grian’s skin, sure to leave marks later. "That wasn't a question, dear. You are in no position to refuse any offer, because depending on your behaviour your death might be more or less painful. So you'd better do what I tell you to. If I tell you to jump, you do. So now-" Grian spat into Bdubs face, silencing him abruptly. For a second Grian got the satisfaction of seeing Bdubs’ surprised face. That guy probably wasn't used to defiance. But after that second of shock was over, Grian almost regretted doing it. Bdubs hand left his chin, to grab him by the neck, slamming him painfully against the wooden wall behind him. The hand was pressing down hard and Grian gasped for breath. He tried to pull the hand off, his fingers uselessly scratching at the arm holding him. Tears were starting to fill his eyes as he kept gasping and struggling. "You really shouldn't make me angry", Bdubs whispered, but Grian could barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. His vision started fading, his legs buckling below him. Just when he thought he was about to pass out, the pressure was gone. Grian fell to the floor, gasping for air and coughing harshly. A boot was pressed under his chin, the threat clear and so Grian slowly raised his head, to look up at Bdubs, staring at him out of teary eyes. The angry face on Bdubs turned into one of pure delight. "Well, well, Grian, who would have thought, you could look even more pretty? So can we talk like civilized people now... pet?" Grian felt disgusted at that title. Nobody, not even Doc, ever talked that degrading to him. He took a deep breath and then smiled. "Kiss my ass, pirate." His head snapped back hard, as Bdubs kicked his chin. All he could hear was a ringing sound in his ears and his whole skull seemed to hurt. Before he could recover, a boot already pressed down painfully on his chest, forcing him to stay on the floor. "You’re really starting to piss me of, navy boy. And you are going to regret it. You only make me want to break you even more, leave nothing but an empty shell for Doc to find. He'll be devastated, knowing that I broke his little toy."

"He won't come...", Grian spat back, glaring at Bdubs, "He isn't dumb enough to fall for the trap of a second rate pirate. You'll never manage to beat him."

Bdubs glared at him and then the foot left as Bdubs walked back to the cell door. Grian dared to heave a sigh of relieve, slowly raising himself into a sitting position. That relief only lasted for a few seconds when Bdubs left the cell and shouted an order through the hallway.

"Prepare the prisoner for a whipping. Make sure everyone can watch."

Grian's heart sank, but he had known that resistance would end in pain for him. He had made his decision and he wouldn't back down now. He was a proud member of the navy.

When two pirates came to get him, he struggled and fought with renewed vigour. He managed to land a few hits and scratches, but a blow to the head left him feeling dizzy and gave them an opportunity to grab him. He was pulled up onto the deck, blinking as the sunlight hit his eyes. He only had a few seconds to take in their surroundings. They were in the middle of the ocean. Not even a bit of land in sight. Fleeing was out of the question then. He was manhandled towards the mast, his face being pressed against the wood. They unchained his hands, but the body holding him against the mast was unrelenting, not letting him get away. And only a few seconds later he was chained to the mast, his arms seemingly hugging the wood, with no room to move. There was the sound of hollering and amused whistles. Grian turned his head to the side, glaring at them. Pirates. They were all the same after all, vile and evil.

Someone was walking up to him, gently caressing his back and then a body was pressing up against him, making him tense in anticipation of what might happen next.

"I hope this makes you change your mind on how to behave while you are our guest, Lieutenant... Oh and please. Do scream. It makes this far more entertaining", Bdubs’ voice growled into his ear, before letting go of him.

Grian tried to brace himself for what was about to come, grinding his teeth together, not ready to give his captors the pleasure of hearing him scream. The first hit still seemed to come out of nowhere, stinging like hell even through the fabric of the shirt Grian was wearing – why they let him keep it on, letting it soften the blows, he didn't understand. Another hit followed, just as strong as the last one, making Grian flinch, his hands trying to grasp something to hold onto, but unable to find anything. He could bear this. This wasn't the first time he had been whipped and it probably wouldn't be the last time.

"I might stop if you beg, boy."

Grian just huffed at that. "My captain hits harder than you."

There was a pause between the hits, as if Bdubs hadn't expected those words, but he didn't say anything about it, only making a thoughtful sound and then continuing. Hit after hit rained upon his back and Grian was almost relieved when he noticed that the strength of the hits seemed to decrease. Bdubs had to be getting tired. Grian had managed to hold in his screams until now, but he was already breathing hard. His whole back felt like it was on fire and he was pretty sure his shirt must have been ruined by now. Finally, the hits stopped and Grian took in a deep breath.

"Your turn, darling."

Grian could hear a delighted giggle and his blood froze as he could hear shuffling.

"Make him beg. Do it for me."

The whip came cracking down again, with so much more strength than all of the hits before. The strength was so unexpected that Grian didn't manage to hold back, a scream tearing itself from his throat.

"Well... You already made our little navy boy sing after one hit. I know why I love you, darling."

Grian was gasping for air, trying to calm down, but Keralis didn’t give him the time. Two more hits followed in quick succession and he whimpered, his legs beginning to shake. “Oh, I’m gonna make you drop down and beg, Lieutenant”, Keralis delighted voice accompanied another hit. There was no real break in between hits. Sure, Bdubs had been unrelenting and hitting hard, just like all the other whippings Grian had been used too. But this? This was on another level.

He could feel tears running down his face and after another few hits his legs finally gave in as he sank to his knees. He could hear laughter all around him, voices cheering Keralis on.

He was pretty sure, there was blood running down his back now. His wrists were also burning from him tugging so much on the bindings.

It just went on and on, hit after hit. It felt like hours passed and the hits still didn’t stop or become softer. Suddenly through the haze of tears a face appeared in front of him. Someone grabbed his chin as another hit struck him.

“That look suits you, Grian. So what do you say. You want more?”

Another hit. Grian shook his head.

“You know. You can make this stop.”

The whip cracked against his back again, he could feel his skin splitting apart.

“Sto… se...”

Bdubs chuckled darkly, caressing the side off his face in mock gentleness as another hit made Grian scream. “What was that, pet?”

“Please… No more. Please stop”, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to be enough. There was a pause in the whipping, but Grian couldn’t focus properly to listen to Keralis’ movement and didn’t know whether he had stepped away completely or not.

“That is a good pet. It really isn’t that hard to behave.”

Grian averted his eyes in shame, but apparently that was the wrong move, the fingers digging painfully into his skin.

"Look at me, pet. Or we'll need to start all over again."

The whip was back at his back, not hitting, but tracing down his skin, underlining the threat. Grian's eyes practically snapped back to Bdubs, who was grinning in satisfaction, his touch becoming gentle once more.

"I wonder why Doc had so many problems controlling you. It isn't that hard... I guess he was always too soft. If I wouldn't kill him anyways, he should thank me for training you to become so obedient."

Grian was shaking. His heart was beating frantically as Bdubs got closer and suddenly there were lips on his. His shaking only grew stronger. He didn't want this. Images of Doc flashed in front of his mind. Doc laughing at him, Doc teasing him and flirting playfully with him. Determination struck Grian once more and without hesitation he bit down on the tongue entering his mouth. Hard. Bdubs Screamed and pulled back, blood running down the corner of his mouth. Grian grinned weakly at the hateful glare.

"Seems like I might have underestimated you. But we still have a few days together, pet. And believe me after that stunt, I only want to break you even more", Bdubs growled in a threatening voice, wiping the blood from his face. He turned away to his crew. "Leave him tied to the mast. We’ll continue later. Oh, and get rid of his shirt. Make sure it reaches Captain Doc. I bet he'll be happy about such a nice present."

[brooklynboysficrecs]

Ria’s Top 10 Shrinkyclinks Fics

I will admit this isn’t my preferred AU -- I won’t immediately jump on a fic just because it’s pre-serum Steve and WS Bucky. I gotta like the plot, or the premise, or be really, really intrigued by the tags, but to be fair, that’s how I am with everything that isn’t Modern Bucky and Cap Steve, so. That being said, I have read some truly fantastic shrinkyclinks stories, and I do very much love Steven “Fight Me” Rogers at his scrappiest. And these fics also tend to feature protective!Bucky which is another personal favorite of mine. Oh, but also: shrinkyclinks generally refers to pre-serum Steve with actual Winter Soldier Bucky, but a lot of people use the tag just to imply body types, and when they say WS Bucky they mean he’s all huge and muscled and sometimes has a metal arm, though that isn’t required. That’s the definition I’m going with as well, so hopefully nothing’s confusing!

1. If Wishing Made It So by leveragehunters. Before I get into anything about the actual fic, let me say this: leveragehunters is probably my favorite stucky writer. Like, hands-down, I read almost everything they write, and they’re big into fantasy stories, which is a great bonus for me personally. So, so, so many good shrinkyclinks fics by them (Even Underneath the Waves, a mermaid AU that features equal amounts of pre- and post-serum Steve, and A-mage-ing Grace with mage Steve are two of my other favorites, and they would’ve been on the list, but I try not to put more than one story per author, ya know? And IWMIS kinda wins out above the others for me, so). This story features jinn!Bucky who finds himself in the baffled hands of Steve Rogers, who is perfectly prickly and stubborn and good. Bucky’s got a terrible past with humans in general (and Hydra in particular, what a shocker) that he and Steve have to overcome as their relationship progresses, but that progression is frankly beautiful to watch unfold. I come back to this story time and time again because of how much I love these versions of Steve and Bucky getting to know one another, learning to trust each other, supporting each other through the worst the world has to throw at them. Plus, there’s a few more stories in this series if you get as hooked as I am, which is always great!!

2. Roots Have Grown by AustinB. I remember reading this and just... completely feeling what Bucky is going through. Not everything -- he’s an agoraphobic veteran, and I can’t relate to either of those, really, but he’s so... awkward about his crush on Steve. And that’s -- that’s relatable to me. But it’s precious, really, how he tries to help Steve even though he’s afraid to actually meet him initially; he becomes Steve’s sort of... anonymous benefactor? Guardian angel with money? Like, it’s definitely a sugar daddy type deal originally but I doubt Bucky would describe it like that. I don’t know, it’s cute, though, and I loved seeing Bucky opening up to Steve as they became closer. 

3. Through The Woods by VenusMonstrosa, alby_mangroves. Okay, hear me out: werewolves. I fucking love werewolves in fiction; I mean, not really the romance novels you’ll see in the grocery store, but. Werewolf mythology is one of my favorite things, so seeing it in fanfiction almost always manages to lure me in. And I was so not disappointed with this story! Steve’s living alone in a cabin in the woods, which of course sounds like the opening to a horror movie, but here it leads to love. Werewolf Bucky is both charming and terrifying, to a degree, he’s a wolf, but he and Steve are fantastic together. This is another story that goes in on the trust aspect of their relationship and I for one am a big fan of that. There’s some violence, minor character death and the like, but it’s definitely not undeserved so. If you can handle that (and the sex, because there is sex in this) then I highly recommend this one!

4. The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat. And so we move from werewolves to dragons. Yup. Dragons. Another of my beloved mythical creatures that I obsessed over when I was kid. Bucky’s capable of shifting into a human in this, but primarily he’s a big ol’ dragon that surprisingly doesn’t want to eat the scrawny sacrifice from the local village. Steve ends up working for Bucky, instead, and from there hilarity ensues. Steve’s obviously wary of Bucky, but Bucky isn’t at all what he’d been expecting, and they grow closer the longer Steve’s staying in Bucky’s caves. There are a couple of stories with Dragon!Bucky, but this is my personal favorite; it’s cute and heart-warming and, well. I just really like it. 

5. I Just Want to Love You in My Own Language by agetwellcard, inediblesushi. So this one has Cap!Bucky (Bucky!Cap?) but again, sometimes it’s more about how Bucky looks rather than his role as the Winter Soldier. Anyway, I remember my biggest take away from this story was how adorable Bucky was in his quest to win the affections of sassy Nurse Steve, who patches him up after missions and is probably playing hard to get. Bucky uses terrible pick-up lines, absolutely awful, and he is completely unashamed of that fact. Which is, as I said, adorable. Steve, initially, does not agree with my assessment, but he gets there eventually. After some requisite drama, of course.

6. Tint & Shade by forestofbabel. Oh, god, this one hurt me, I remember that pretty clearly. Bucky is the Winter Soldier in this, and Steve is a 21st century art therapist who just so happens to resemble his late grandfather, Captain Joseph Rogers, who fought in -- you guessed it -- WWII. Like I said in the intro, if I really like the premise of something I’ll usually read it regardless of the configuration of pre-/post-serum Steve and pre-serum/WS Bucky, and this was definitely one of the fics I got into for that reason. Having actual WS Bucky interact with a modern pre-serum Steve is always interesting, given how much they don’t have in common, generally (there isn’t even really the veteran status that modern Bucky sometimes has in fics), and it’s a journey to see how and why they connect. Having Steve resemble his WWII era grandfather caught my attention, and the fic itself made me grateful that I decided to go for it in the first place. This is another one where is trust is key to their relationship, considering the mental/emotional state Bucky is in at the beginning. Very good story overall!

7. Fourth Floor by dirtybinary, mithborien, picoalloe. So dirtybinary has written some amazing stucky fics, which is why I was so excited when I saw this being posted initially (a few years ago, but still). There’s magic! Mystery! Suspense! Some NatSharon! Looking this over, I’m wondering if I should’ve saved it for the Urban Fantasy list I wanna do (and If Wishing Made It So, if I’m being honest) but I do like it for the shrinkyclinks list. The writing is great, the characterization of Steve and Bucky is great, and like, they live in what is essentially a magical apartment complex, so what’s better than that? 

8. my heart tells me you are lonely, too by FanGirling. Alright, so I read this one as it was being published, and the slow burn about killed me. You know, in a good way, though. Bucky lives in Steve and his mother’s apartment building, trying to figure out where to go with his life now that he’s broken free of Hydra and gotten his autonomy back. He’s obviously wary, skittish, but he takes a liking to Sarah Rogers when she reaches out to befriend him, surprised anyone wants to be near him let alone take the time to get to know him. Steve... is not so easily sold on Bucky. And I’m not gonna spoil anything here, but the shit these two go through is intense, and I cried a lot during this fic, sometimes out of frustration because they’re both ridiculous about their feelings (of course Bucky’s fears are valid, the man has been through literal hell, but also I was internally screaming a little as Bucky continually talked himself out of getting closer to Steve.) I wanted to wrap the both of them in about thirty blankets for pretty much the entire length of the fic. God. They’re just -- they’re so incredibly sweet in this one, once they work past their issues (Bucky and Steve are both more than a little messed up from their respective circumstances, but they make it work). Mind the tags on this one, also, especially because there is a chapter that deals with attempted sexual assault against Steve (obviously not with Bucky!), but Bucky handles the situation before anything truly nasty happens, that I can promise. 

9. Local Raccoon Befriends Angry Chihuahua by charlesdk. This is yet another author I really love; they have a fantastic farmer!Steve/Modern!WS!Bucky story that I love to bits, as well as other great fics. But anyway, this one. The title sold me the second I saw it, honestly, I can’t even pretend that wasn’t the deciding factor in me reading this. I don’t think I can really do any better than the summary in explaining why I recommend it; feisty tiny Steve and lovestruck grumpy Bucky are a winning combination in my book. This one does feature the boys dealing with homophobia and ableism, though I can’t recall how severe it is. So I’d just mind the tags, and if you’re alright with them, thoroughly enjoy this story. 

10. The Road to Hell is Paved with Tony’s Good Intentions by pinlilli. Bucky as a mail-order Russian bride. That’s the detail that pretty much demanded I click on this fic, and oh my god, it was even better than I ever could’ve expected. Tony, in a bid to help Steve get over his awful ex-boyfriend (fuck Brock Rumlow in every universe, honestly), literally orders him a husband -- in the form of beefy James Barnes, who is a fucking gem and I will not hear one bad word against him. He does chores, it’s lovely and adorable, and you will definitely fall just as hard as Steve does. There’s some canon-typical violence in this one that relates to James’ past, but nothing super graphic as far as I remember. Again, Rumlow is a dick and should be treated as such, but he’s hardly the most important part of this fic and I urge everyone to take a look at it if they’re as intrigued by Bucky being a mail-order husband as I was. 

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: General Audiences (Although they do swear quite a lot, lol)

Summary: Simon makes a VERY stupid mistake while showering. Cue, Baz coming to his rescue.

Carry On Countdown, Day 19 - Misunderstanding @carryon-countdown​

Tags: Fluff and Humour, Misunderstandings, Simon Snow is an Idiot, (Not really  but man NEEDS to learn to read the label), Protective Tyrannus Basilton ‘Baz’ Grimm-Pitch, Stroppy Baz, Crack, Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 19

Words: 719

Baz

Crowley, he’s absolutely coated in mud. Again.

Ever since him and Shepard started their ‘wrestling’ sessions, this has (Unfortunately) become a weekly occurrence. Of which, our white carpets are not thankful for.

When I say wrestling, I do of course just mean throwing each other about in a muddy field, with no formal rules or care for their own personal safety. (Bloody idiots, the pair of them). But, in spite of its appalling organisation, I have to admit that it’s been good for him - Having a physical release. And I can hardly complain about the mess when he comes home smiling, each time.

But, I did just clean those carpets, so …

He sees me glaring, and grins. “Don’t even start, neat freak. Imma’ have a shower so don’t fuss!”

“Make sure it’s thorough, Snow. You’re not getting into bed with me if you’re all … grimy.”

“I know, I know,” he laughs, heading into the bathroom.

“And use some of my toner,” I call after him. “It’ll get anything the face wash misses.”

“Fine, fine. What does it look like?”

“Blue liquid in a clear bottle.”

“Will do, bossy!”

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

I’m perfectly relaxed, enjoying my novel on the settee, when everything goes wrong.

“Baz!” He calls, panic plain in his voice. “Can you come here a sec?”

I do. And, when I enter the bathroom, I falter at the sight of him - Face red and tears streaming down his face.

“Is it supposed to sting?”

“What? No!” I worry, coming to his side and tilting his face towards me. Shit. Maybe he’s allergic to it? Maybe I need to call Dr Wellbelove? Maybe he needs … It smells like a fucking industrial plant in here - Chemicals burning inside my nostrils and throat. What the …? Oh God!

I look down at the counter, in horror, where Snow has half emptied a clear bottle of blue nail varnish remover.

“Simon, you moron, you should’ve read the label! Merlin and Morgana, you’ve used fucking nail varnish remover!”

“What?!” He asks. “But you said-”

“I know what I said! Just … keep your eyes closed, alright? I’m going to walk you into the shower and help you get this off. You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Carefully, I grab onto his waist, and push him forwards, following him into the still-steamed cubicle. Turning the tap, and plunging us both into ice-cold water.

“Baz,” he whines. “It’s cold!”

“I know,” I wobble, leaning down to pick up our face wash. “It’ll heat up in a moment, we just need to get you cleaned off.”

I spend the next ten minutes, scrubbing at his face, with shaky hands. Washing and rewashing his skin until it’s red raw. Praying to all possible deities that he hasn’t given himself some kind of chemical burn. (Crowley, I’d never be able to live with the guilt.)

I press a kiss to his forehead, and scrape his sodden curls back from his face. “Alright, love. Do your eyes sting at all?”

“No.”

“Alright, I think that we’ve got most of it off. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Simon

When I open my eyes, I’m met with a very worried looking Baz kneeling in front of me, soaking wet and fully clothed.

He smiles, nervously, and I know that I shouldn’t, but I just can’t help it. I burst out laughing. Cackling into the fall of water.

“What - What are you doing?” He asks, pouting.

“Oh my god, mate, look at you! You got your fancy suit all soapy. And you - Your hair, Baz! Oh my god. You have to let me take a picture.”

“Sod off, Snow” He scoffs, standing up and attempting to wipe himself down. “A smarter man would’ve just left you to melt your own face off! It would have certainly taught you a well-deserved lesson!”

I turn the shower off and stumble after him, wrapping my hands around the back of his waist and burying myself against his neck. Pressing a quick kiss to his dampened skin.

“Thank you for saving me from myself, darling,” I whisper. “I love you.”

He doesn’t say it back (Since he’s much too busy stropping and rolling his eyes). But, I know that he loves me too. And, I know that he’ll tell me so, later. He always does, in the end.