#I’m skittering across the floor on all fours

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

heartslabyul washroom

Yes, I am making a whole separate post for this—

WAHHHHHHH 😭 WhAt THE hECKIE, IT’S SO CUTE????????!??!?????????!!!!!???????

It seems the washroom was modeled after the scene where Alice meets the talking flowers. The curved ceiling being patterned like the sky, the floor resembling grass, and all the floral and foliage decorations really give the sense of being outdoors!! I especially love how the flowers are incorporated; they act as lamps (you can see that their centers are giving off light) as well as mirrors. The leafy wall in the back seems to be washing machines or dryers?? The whole washroom has such calming, relaxing vibes, and I bet it smells nice too :0

The jars underneath are also so interesting—they of course resemble the Drink Me bottles from Alice in Wonderland, but it seems they’re serving as sinks here. The mouth of the bottle is actually solid and forms a bowl, and it seems like water might flow from the silver leaves between the bowl and the mirror. I’m guessing that the bottles drain into whatever sewer system NRC has from there. Or maybe the liquids inside the jar-sinks is hand soap…? (But I like to headcanon thar the petals of some flowers are soap strips… You just rub your hands on them to get some.)

I want this washroom… Move over, Heartslabyul 😭 I’m about to camp out there every day and make your washroom my new home…

Edit: I don’t know why this post blew up, but I find it very funny that we’re scrutinizing and evaluating the washroom so hard 😂 Imagine the Heartslabyul boys staring at us as we examine the room all over to understand how tf this stuff functions…

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ a hazy shade of winter | angus tully *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2

ship: Angus Tully x fem!OC

warnings: Angus is literally so mean, but he's like that in the movie anyways.

summary: Carol's parents send her to spend the winter break with her uncle at Barton Academy, and a certain curly-haired boy takes an immediate (dis)liking to her.

word count: 2790

a/n: I watched the Holdovers like 2 nights ago and I’m obsessed with it now so here’s this! Maybe a second chapter coming?

Misery. Absolute fucking misery. That’s all Angus could see for the foreseeable future. Just an ocean of black, sticky misery, stretching out to the horizon in every direction. As he settled his bony rear on the hard edge of the ping-pong table and listened to Hunham gleefully dole out their sentences, he thought he would vomit any moment, or drop dead. He kind of hoped he would. He scoured his eyes over the pitiful creatures he’d be bunking with this winter break; two little boys: a religious fanatic and a foreign exchage student, the school’s star quaterback, and fucking Kountze. Five little Christmas orphans. Angus would blame karma, if he believed in that hippy-dippy shit. The most unbelievably unfair part of all this was that he wouldn’t even be able to jack off in peace since all five of them would be bunking in rooms one and two of the infirmary, with Hunham in room four. God knows why they couldn’t use room three, but Hunham seemed determined to avoid any questions pertaining to that.

Just when he thought his holiday couldn’t get any worse, the girl arrived. She skittered in like a mouse, out of breath, red-faced and shaking like a handbag dog. Six little Christmas orphans.

“Ah, you’re here.” Hunham extended his hand welcomingly, and gestured to her to step forward.

She crept over, giving the ping-pong table and couch full of boys a wide berth, then nervously shook Hunham’s hand and scuttled away to sit on the floor and tuck her knees up under the frumpy men’s jumper that swallowed her whole, like a turtle retreating into a shell. She waved at the five of them, cherry lips curling into a tight smile.

“Is that a girl?” Kountze said, loudly.

“Indeed, it is. Students, this is Miss Carol Hunham, my niece. She will be joining us at Barton for the winter break.”

“Teddy Kountze.” The little freak said, practically falling over himself to shake her hand. He looked ridiculous crouching there beside her like he was about to accost a rabbit at a petting zoo. If brown-nosing was a sport, he’d be a world classer. “Wonderful to meet you. If you need a tour guide, come to me. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

She nodded in thanks, regarding him with huge puppydog eyes. Angus thought she must be dumb or tongueless. Five-foot-nothing, wearing unfashionably tapered plaid pants and Chelsea boots that were all the rage a decade ago, huge turtle-shell glasses that made her brown eyes bulge out of her head like a salmon… the only cool thing about her was her dirty blonde shag haircut, but even that came across as trying too hard. With that, and those round cheeks and fat mushroom of a nose, Angus was almost unsurprised to hear she was related to Wall-Eye. Almost.

“You’ll be taking her nowhere without a chaperone, Mr Kountze. Now, gentlemen, and lady, off you go to the infirmary building.” Hunham’s one good eye roved over the room, then settled on Angus. “Mr Tully.” He addressed him in his weasley way, voice dripping with schadenfreude. "Be a gentleman and help Miss Hunham take her bags to room three."

Now it made sense why they'd been forced to leave it empty. The little fuck had a whole room to herself.

"I'm not a gentleman." He responded, insolently as possible.

"Then play the part."

"Fine." The ping-pong table screeched backwards as he stood up, grabbed his case and stormed over to the girl who leaped to her feet, eyeing him warily as he marched her out of the room and collected one of her ridiculously heavy suitcases and set off outside with the puppy in tow.

"Um." She began, her voice a pathetic whimper. "I'm Carol Hunham."

"I heard."

"And you?"

"Angus Tully. Are you deaf or something?"

"He d-didn't say your first name." Angus grunted in response. "So, you're- you're holding over?"

"What?" The question was so insipid it made him stop in his tracks and gawk at her. "Of course I'm holding over! Are you stupid?"

"Sorry." She whispered, averting her eyes. Angus felt a rush of regret as her lip trembled, but he swallowed it and marched on.

The air was biting cold, and Angus wished he had two jackets on- or better yet, a hot-blooded model on each arm- but unfortunately he was stuck between this girl making goo-goo eyes at Kountze and her machiavellian gargoyle of an uncle. As the rest of them caught up, his simmering rage suddenly bubbled over and he broke the silence in a voice thick with hatred.

“This is the most bullshit ever! If we have to stay, why’d we have to draw Wall-eye?”

“Uh, y’know he used to be a student, right?” Quaterback drawled.

“Yeah, that’s why he knows how to inflict maximum pain on us, the sadistic fuck.”

“Yeah.” Quaterback agreed with a giggly laugh. “I mean, no offence Hunham, but your uncle sucks.”

“I don’t know him.” The girl had retreated to the fringe of the group, and when she spoke up her voice didn’t command much attention.

“At least we didn’t draw Decker, he’d be perving all over us.” Kountze sidled up alongside her and let his arm brush against her. “And we wouldn’t have Carol here with us.”

Angus rolled his eyes, but felt vindicated when he noticed her pull away from him, almost fearfully.

“Hey, guys, hold up for a second.” Angus leaned up against the pickup at the side of the road and lit up a cigarette, eager to relieve all this tension.

“No, I got something else.” Kountze pulled out a stinking doobie and gestured for his lighter. “Gimme that.”

“Hey, don’t smoke that out here.” He chided. “I don’t wanna get busted by Wall-eye.”

“Don’t be such a pussy.”

“I’m not a pussy.” Angus felt his blood pressure rise. “I just don’t want to get up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”

Kountze didn’t bother responding, just blew out a fat drag and smiled in satisfaction.

“Teddy Kountze.” He said, offering the joint to Quaterback and trying to sling an arm around Carol but she sidestepped him to Angus’s amusement.

“Jason Smith.” Quaterback responded with a sickeningly charismatic smile.

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Fucking bootlicker. “You wanna hit this?”

He cast a glance up the road, but Wall-eye was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, yeah.” 

He took a puff and offered it to Carol.

“No, thanks.” She held up her mittened hand. “I-I hear pot can give you the heebie-jeebies.”

“The heebie-jeebies.” Jason repeated, grinning. “Cute.”

She was sort of cute- Angus begrudgingly admitted now that he’d seen her up close- in that pitiful way that those fucked up little pug-dogs are cute. He wondered if she had asthma. Besides, it’s not like he cared. At least, if somebody like her could be cute, maybe he was too, with his hawkish nose, narrow eyes, five o’clock shadow, gangly limbs, scraggly hair… No, that’s ridiculous. Unless… He wondered if she thought he was.

“It’s mellow stuff, babe.” Kountze assured her.

She blushed and shook her head, then turned her massive obsidian orbs to Angus.

“C-can I…?”

He sighed heavily, arranging his face into a scowl before he handed over the cigarette. She took a dainty puff, then handed it back. He took a drag himself, savouring the knowledge that his lips were touching the same place that a girl’s had just rested.

“More?” He offered it back.

“No, thanks. I don’t really… y’know.”

“‘Course you don’t.” He scoffed and stuffed it back in his mouth. “Such a pristine girl, I bet you never did anything wrong in your life.”

Flushing, she averted her eyes.

“So, how’d you get stuck holding over?” Kountze queried, his demeanor forced casual.

“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack,” Jason said cheerfully. “But my dad put his foot down, said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”

“So why don’t you just cut your hair?” Angus snorted, feeling a fresh rush of anger. How could you throw away a perfectly good winter break just because you’re sentimentally attached to your godamn freak flag?

“Civil disobedience, man.” He grinned.

“I dig it.” Carol spoke up suddenly. “Conformity is a dangerous thing.”

“See, she gets it.” Jason put his arm around her shoulder.

“You like Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young?” Her blonde lashes fluttered as she gazed up at him. Angus could have puked all over the sidewalk, and Kounze looked like he might actually do it.

“Man, I love ‘em!”

“Almost Cut My Hair?”

“My anthem.” He nodded solemnly. “That album was my whole life last summer.”

“Neat.”

Angus noticed her head tilt to rest on his shoulder as he offered her the joint. This time she took it, allowing herself a long drag. He gritted his teeth and fought off the urge to deck that filthy hippy then and there.

“Anyway,” Jason waved his hand, as if clearing the conversational slate. “My dad’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was kinda hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”

Jason’s hand made its way into Carol’s hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. Angus’s fist closed involuntarily while Kountze’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, lip slightly curled in frustration.

“What about you, Mr Moto?” He said, locking onto his target. “Why are you here?”

“Uh, no. My name is Ye-Joon.” The boy explained innocently. “Uh, my family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken.” Kountze laughed and looked around for approval, to which he found none.

“Uh, wh-what’s a rickshaw?” Ye-Joon seemed genuinely baffled.

“You’re an asshole, Kountze.” Angus said darkly. “Your mind’s a cesspool, and a shallow one at that.”

“Who’s the asshole, Tully?” He sneered back. “You’re the one who blew up history.”

“Hey.” Jason held out his hand gently, then turned to the other kid. “What’s your story, man?”

“Alex Ollerman.” He responded, his voice stronger than the other boy’s. All that faith in a higher power, I guess. “I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS.”

“Mormons, right?” The kid nodded proudly.

“Don’t you guys wear some kind of, like, magic underwear?” Kountze gawped.

“That’s a common misconception.” Alex began. It seemed he had all his bases covered, and he turned to address the Korean kid too, as if he might convince someone to join. “Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when we-”

“Hey, what’s up with the townies?” Kountze interrupted, already distracted by something shiny. Angus was mildly relieved he wouldn’t be hearing any more panty-talk- he’d had quite enough for one day, what with his bathing suit and all- but, his relief quickly turned to annoyance when he noticed the two men coming down the road, hauling a Christmas tree between them.

“Hey!” He hollered. “What are you doing with our Christmas tree?”

“The school sold it back to us.” One of them responded. “Scotch pine, still fresh.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna put it back in the lot.” The other explained. “We do it every year.”

Angus turned back to the group and shook his head darkly.

“This is the most bullshit ever.”

______________________________

Angus didn’t think he’d ever be so happy to be in the infirmary, but when they stepped into the heated building, he might have sighed in relief if he wasn't in such a black mood. His arms absolutely caned from carrying that stupid suitcase, and Kountze had been smack talking the whole way up the hill. He thought the only thing worse than bunking with the two kids would be sleeping in with Kountze while he tries to tickle Jason’s balls. He’d much prefer to cosy up in the girl’s room, irritating as her face may be. He abandoned his luggage outside room two and hauled Carol’s down the hallway while she pattered along at his heels.

"Why do you need two cases, anyway?" He sneered, stealing the comfort of silence. "You can't have that much shit to carry."

"It's-" She paused and cleared her throat. "Well... well, why should I tell you, huh? You're- you're-"

"What? An asshole? A jerk? A philistine, as your mole uncle says? Y’know, I'm pretty sure there's a faculty rule against targeted insults towards pupils."

"You're mean." She admitted in a small voice. "And I don't know why."

"Yeah, well get used to it sweetheart. Just wait till Kountze gets over your gyno-gimmick and starts treating you like he does everyone else, you'll be begging for 'mean.' And by the way, you’re just antagonising him by hanging all over Jason all the time.”

“What’s Jason got to do with it?” She snapped, raising her voice for the first time.

“Aw, I hit a nerve, huh?” He delighted in watching her face turn scarlet.

"Y-y'know, when you stood up for Ye-Joon earlier, I thought you might actually be cool. I'm disappointed."

She said nothing else, just ducked her head and ran ahead to open the door for him. Baffled, he barged past her and dumped the suitcase on the nearest bed.

“Thanks.” She whispered.

"Why are you even here, anyway?" He rounded on her, suddenly tired of the way she let him walk all over her. "I mean, other than to ruin the ambience with that hideous sweater-"

That did it. She let out a choking sob and made for the door.

"Hey, hey wait!" He flailed out his long limbs and caught her around the arm, but she wrenched herself from his grip and made off down the hall, away from Hunham and the other boys to Angus' relief. "Carol, wait I didn't mean it."

She didn’t respond, just sped off and careened around the corner. Angus caught up just in time to see the door of the broom closet swing shut. He clucked his tongue and sat down on the hard floor outside, feeling a wave of disgust as he listened to quiet weeping. Gently, he rapped the door with his knuckles.

“Carol?”

“Go away.”

“Carol, I’m sorry.”

“Go away!”

He paused for a moment, and considered his options.

“Your sweater isn’t actually ugly, by the way. I was just ribbing you, y’know? Horseplay?”

“No.” She said firmly, voice muffled through the wood. “No, I know ribbing and that wasn’t it. Y-you were being cruel, and you wanted to see me cry, I know it.”

“What? No!”

“You enjoy it, don’t you? You’re so miserable, the only fun left for you is making everyone else feel as wretched as you.”

He swallowed thickly, feeling a lump of shame coating his Adam’s apple. He took another long moment to collect himself. He resented how easily she read him, but if he wanted to keep her from finking, he’d have to choose his words carefully, and eat a large portion of his pride.

“It’s true.” His stomach roiled in revulsion as he grovelled to her. “I’m sore about holding over, and I wanted to take it out on someone, and you looked like easy pickings. I’m brash, I’m rude, I hate everyone including myself, and I make it everyone else’s problem.”

She paused her sniffling, as if sizing him up.

“Well.” She said thickly. “Thank you for admitting it. That was very… self reflective.”

“I go to a shrink, I kind of have to be self reflective.”

“Ah.” She sniffled. “You can leave me alone now.”

“I would,” Oddly, it felt good to tell somebody… Good enough that he was able to go back to being sly. “But this closet doesn’t open from the inside. Every time we get a new janitor they get locked in here. Happens like twice a year.” She said nothing, but Angus heard her breathing pick up in pace. “I mean, I can always leave you in here.”

“No!” She said urgently. “Let me out, please.”

“I will, if you promise not to fink.”

“I-I won’t fink. If you leave me be, I won’t fink. Pinky promise.”

“Alright. I’ll stay as far away from you as humanly possible.” He clambered to his feet and opened the door for her. She was already standing, and as soon as she saw the light, she tried to scoot out beside him, but he moved his arm to stop her. “Pinky promise, remember?”

Begrudgingly, she curled her finger around his, then slipped out past him and returned to her room. Angus watched her go, and something broke inside his chest as the door closed behind her.

[wreckedandpolemic]

forgive me? - matty healy

prompt: lovers' quarrel

(mdni) and we continue ahead with valentine75!! ok pls do not look too closely at the argument here i suck so hard at angst i cant even half ass it as a setup for porn lol

warnings: oral (f receiving), hand stuff, idk there isn't huge amounts to this

The silence in your flat is deafening, stretching between you and Matty like a chasm, your anger welling so deeply at the bottom that you want to drown him in it.

“I’m sorry?” he ventures, and you whip around to face him. The sheepish grin he wears is, admittedly, distractingly adorable; usually, it’s enough to melt you at least a little, but this time you can barely see it through your blinding anger.

You scoff. “You’re sorry, huh? Oh, well, I guess that makes it totally fucking fine, then!” You kick off your shoes with more force than necessary, sending your expensive heels skittering across the floor. “Tonight was important to me, do you even realise that? Are you so up your own arse that you think everyone wants to be on the Matty show twenty-four seven, or do you just not care?” A sense of sick satisfaction spreads as he processes your words, expression crumbling for a split-second and reforming into a sharp sort of anger that warns that Matty isn’t going to make this easy for you.

Which suits you just fine. You’ve never been one for an easy win. Never been much for losing, either. You fold your arms as Matty rounds on you. “I’m up my own arse? That’s fuckin’ rich, comin’ from you, treatin’ me like a fuckin’ toddler all night!” He’s gesticulating wildly, accent thickening through his frustration, and it takes a tremendous amount of your self-control not to laugh. “Matty, don’t touch that. Matty, don’t talk to him. Matty, come back here.” He puts on an affectation of your voice and accent that’s equal parts insulting and hilarious, and you’re lucky he doesn’t pick up on your quiet snort of laughter. “You actually said come back here! Like I’m a damn dog!”

“Dog would’ve been better behaved, probably,” you mutter. “Wouldn’t have got belligerently drunk and accosted the press, either.” Matty steps closer, breathing hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips tantalisingly. Your traitorous eyes flicker down to his mouth, soft and pink and wet and tempting, and it’s a mission to haul your mind back on track.

“I didn’t fucking ‘accost’ anyone. I told them to get the fucking cameras out of my face, ‘cos I wasn’t gonna give them a fuckin’ story at your fuckin’ event.” Matty defends, and, okay, the sentiment is there, but he had just made everything endlessly worse.

Groaning, you bury your head in your hands. “I told you. I fucking asked you, one time, just nod your head, smile, say you’re proud of me. Was that so fucking hard for you?” You hadn’t meant to admit that part. That it stung not to have his approval.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Matty snaps. “Of course I’m fucking proud of you. You’re a fucking star. Just wish you weren’t so embarrassed of me,” he adds, and whatever part of your anger that had crumbled at first sharpens in your chest again at his attempt to guilt-trip you.

He’s not being fair — of course you’re not embarrassed by him, but his behaviour fucking embarrassed you! “You told a fucking crowd of journalists that Jamie, who I have been on a fucking months-long press tour with, and I quote, ‘acts like a massive wanker.’ And he fucking heard you!”

Matty shrugs. “Well, he does. Don’t like the way he talks to you. Could’ve called him a rude cunt, too. Would’ve been even more true.” he mutters sullenly, scowling at the ground.

“God, Matty, you are so— mmph!” You’re cut off by him surging forward, crushing your lips together in a bruising kiss. You pull his lower lip into your mouth and bite down on it, iron spilling over your tongue as the skin tears beneath your teeth. After a long, indulgent moment, you force yourself to shove him away, gasping. “You never fucking listen! You can’t just kiss me ‘cause you don’t wanna hear it,” you snap, pushing down the heat that wells instinctively between your legs.

He’s flushed, breathing hard, unfairly gorgeous like this. “You look so pretty when you’re mad, baby,” he murmurs, tucking a wisp of hair behind your ear, the gentle touch making you shudder. He’s a master at this; resolving your arguments with doe-eyed pouts and wet, needy kisses.

Your resolve is crumbling. “Matty, don’t,” you warn feebly, lust spinning dizzily in your mind and swelling until your rational thoughts are dissolved. Matty grins, predatory — he has you pinned, and he knows it.

”My pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My little star. Forgive me?” His eyes are wide, faux-innocence shining down at you as your last thread of self-control breaks. It isn’t lost on you that he hasn’t actually apologised, but as his lips press against yours and his tongue sweeps into your mouth, you can’t remember why you care.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours as he walks you to the sofa. Your stomach swoops as he pushes you down, desire thrumming in your veins. Every last thought falls out of your head as it knocks against the armrest, your back arching up towards him. “C’monn,” you whine, reaching out to him where he stands above you, his gaze hot as it roams eagerly across your skin.

Matty climbs over you, adjusting your legs so he can kneel between them, goosebumps breaking out where he slides a hand up your thigh, agonisingly close to where you need it. “Lift your hips for me, love,” he instructs, sliding your dress up your body until a puddle of satin pools around your waist, cool and slick against your heated skin. His warm fingers crook around your panties and he drags them down your legs, exposing your dripping cunt. A soft moan escapes you as he rubs a slow circle into your clit, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “So much better than fighting, hm?” he teases, and a flash of annoyance cuts through the lust as you remember exactly how you got into this position.

”Don’t push it,” you hiss, raking a hand through his curls and tugging harshly. He whimpers deliciously against your skin, a pulse of heat spiking deep in your bones. “I’m still mad at you,” you warn, searching your rapidly-blurring mind for your long-foregone anger.

“So take it out on me,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your cunt, your body tingling under his gaze.

”What?” Your mind is already hazy, the sight of his head low between your thighs infinitely distracting, the promise of his tongue unfathomably tempting.

“I’m going to put my mouth on your sweet little pussy, and I’m going to listen to everything you have to say until you come. Call me names, if you want. Tell me everything I’ve ever done in my life that’s fucked you off, and I won’t say a word.” It’s such a Matty way of resolving an argument that you can’t find a response. “You get to yell at me and you get to get off. Pretty good deal if you ask me.” Matty’s smirk splashes you with a bucket of cold water, latent frustration blooming under your skin — a sudden need to slap the smugness off his face overtakes you.

You beckon him, waiting until his eyes are closed and his lips are parted, a gentle breath brushing against your mouth. He relaxes, expecting a kiss, expecting to be off the hook, and you crack a hand hard across his cheek with a grin. “God, that felt good,” you say as he recoils, rolling your eyes theatrically at his punched-out moan. “Such a fucking slut. Put your mouth to better use before I change my mind.” He shouldn’t make it so easy for you to take back the upper hand.

It’s almost comical how quickly his tongue is buried inside you, a thick pulse of heat sent kicking in your cunt. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you swallow a moan as you bury a hand in his curls. “Wish I could fuck your pretty mouth. Shut you up proper for once.” Matty moans into your cunt, the sound deliciously gratifying as it vibrates through you. “That’s your problem, you know,” you continue, the effort of keeping your voice level monumental against the waves of pleasure rising inside you. “You never fucking shut up. You’re— mmh, so fucking arrogant. You act like— ah!” His teeth scrape over your clit and you cry out, grinding your hips against his face as heat throbs sharply under your skin.

”Go on,” he says, grinning up at you with wet, slick lips. He hisses as you yank his curls harshly, dragging his mouth back to your cunt. He licks at you like a starving man, heat pooling in your belly, your limbs trembling and toes curling.

”You act like the fucking world revolves around you,” you continue, struggling to drag the words to the forefront of your soupy mind. “You’re so fucking— God, Matty, fuck!” you whimper, the rest of your sentence lost in the mind-numbing pleasure swirling through you. Matty isn’t playing fair, licking and sucking and kissing at you sweetly, your world blurring around him.

He pulls away and quirks an eyebrow at you, like he’s waiting for your surrender. As fucking if. You take a moment to catch your breath, fingers digging into the edge of the sofa to anchor yourself before he dips his head again, licking a broad stripe along your cunt that makes you whine pathetically at him. “You’re ridiculously pretentious,” you bite out, gasping as his tongue fucks into you in an obscene, glorious rhythm. Ecstasy coils in your limbs, your body heavy at the edge of oblivion. “Disrespectful. And you just. Don’t. Fucking. Listen.” You punctuate your last words rocking your hips against his face, your cunt fluttering around his tongue.

Matty presses wet kisses to your thighs, sweet and teasing as you whine. “Are you done?”

“Repeat it back to me,” you order as he licks his lips, framed prettily by the V of your legs. “So I know you were listening.”

“I’m irresponsible.” He kisses your inner thigh. “Arrogant. Inappropriate at the worst times.” He licks at your clit and you buck your hips against his face, fighting to hold at bay the flood of heat waiting to overwhelm you. “The people you work with think I’m white trash.”

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging hard enough that you feel him hiss in pain against your skin. “Don’t be a smartarse.”

You can sense that he’s about to argue, but thinks better of it at the last second. “I’m pretentious. Disrespectful,” he continues. “And I just.” He laps at your clit. “Don’t.” Heat floods your body as Matty slides two fingers into your sopping cunt and crooks them at an angle that has molten pleasure spilling over you. “Listen.” He sucks gently on your swollen clit, the pleasure enough to pull you over the edge, ecstasy coiling deliciously around your insides. You whimper, grinding down against his face as you come, your cunt fluttering around Matty’s tongue.

You sigh contentedly. “Good boy,” you murmur, savouring his shudder. “So good when your mouth’s full of my cunt. Like you so much better when you’re not talking.”

Matty looks up, eyes wide and face soaked with you. “Forgive me?” he asks, wearing the same sheepish grin that had failed to sway you before.

You sigh dramatically, the seeds of an idea taking shape in your mind. “Come here,” you say, a fond smile tugging at your lips. It’s a struggle to keep it from turning cruel as he takes the bait. “Silly boy.” Eagerly, Matty climbs over you, cupping your jaw and pressing his lips to yours, gently at first, turning hungry as you swallow down the taste of yourself. He moans into your mouth, grinding his clothed cock against your sensitive core. “Needy, are you?” you tease, a faint edge of danger lacing your tone. “Want me to get you off?” Glassy-eyed, he nods down at you, sweet and pleading. “Use your words.”

He swallows thickly, blinking hard. “Want you to make me cum,” Matty murmurs, casting his eyes down like he’s ashamed. You raise an eyebrow when his gaze lands back on your face, and he adds a reluctant, “Please.”

Sliding out from under him, you lead him into your bedroom, laughing derisively as he strips out of his jeans and boxers before the door even shuts. “God, you’re pathetic,” you scoff, smirking as his eager expression falters slightly with the realisation you haven’t let him off the hook.

“Mhmm,” Matty agrees, switching tack and plying you with sweet doe eyes.

“Get on the bed,” you order, kneeling in his lap when he obeys. His hands wander to the hem of your dress, brushing over your thighs as he starts to lift it, and you swat him away. “Think you deserve to fuck me after the way you acted today?” You glare down at him, pulling at his hair to tip his head up towards you. After a long moment, his internal war clear on his face, Matty shakes his head mutely. “No. But you’re being good now, so…”

Matty inhales sharply when you wrap your hand around his cock, flushed and sticky with want. You pump him slowly, spreading precum over him, and he trembles with the effort of holding himself still, sweetly pliant under your hand. “Thank you,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly.

You lean down to press your lips against his, swallowing his needy, suppressed moans. “It’s okay, baby. Being so good. Can fuck my hand if you need to.” You’re being cruel, now, knowing how you’re going to leave him, but it’s sickly thrilling having him in your power like this.

Murmured thanks fall from his lips between sweet little whines, his hips bucking into your fist as his cock leaks over your skin. Languidly, you press your tongue into his mouth, trading long, sloppy kisses broken up by Matty’s pleasured moans.

Taking Matty apart under your skilled hands is easy, now; you’re practised in everything he likes. You dig your thumb into his slit, twist your wrist just so, swallow every sweet noise he makes. His body tenses, his groans deepening, turning rhythmic, signalling his orgasm. You let him chase his release up until the very last second, pulling away and smirking meanly down at him.

Confusion clouds across Matty’s face as he looks up at you, reeling from his ruined orgasm as if you’ve slapped him. You let him catch his breath before you take him in your hand again, working over him, pulling him to the edge again. “Do you have anything to say, baby?”

Matty’s mouth falls open, the struggle to pull any meaning from your words plain on his face. “Please?” he tries, face falling when you shake your head, a moan escaping him as you flick your thumb over his slit. “Thank you,” he mumbles thickly. “I love you.”

You cock your head, appraising him. “That’s nice. But not quite. Try to think a little bit harder, yeah? I know that’s tough when I’ve got you all stupid for me, but try,” you croon, tone sympathetic and deriding all at once.

Matty’s face scrunches in concentration. “‘M sorry!” he chokes out, whining when you press a kiss to the head of his cock.

“That’s it,” you breathe, kissing him softly in reward. “Good boy.” Arousal coils in your belly at the sight of him, breaking into a thoughtless mess under your hands. You stroke over his cock a few times more, watching his stomach tense and relax as his orgasm builds. Then you stop, letting him whine desperately into your mouth.

He hasn’t wised to your game, still hopeful through his lust-hazy gaze. “You embarrassed me today,” you chide. “Why?” You dip your head, lapping over the tip of his cock, letting him thrust into your mouth, a spit trail connecting your skin for a brief moment. You kiss the salt of him back into his mouth, devouring his desperate moans as you stroke him. “I asked you a question,” you murmur against his lips.

There’s an answer forming on his tongue, you can see, watching him struggle to swallow it down. You pull away, lifting your hand to lap the taste of him off your fingers, giving an exaggerated moan. Matty whimpers, desperate, hips rocking against nothing as you batter against his defences. A burst of pleasure licks up your spine when you drag your fingers through your still-soaked cunt. Matty’s answering moan as you wrap your wet fingers around his cock is nothing short of pathetic, low and thick with lust. Clicking your tongue disapprovingly, you repeat your question, the ensuing silence thick with the unsaid. You know the answer, but it’s no fun not to pry it out of him. “I was jealous, okay!” he gasps out. 

He won’t meet your eyes, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Aw, I know,” you croon sympathetically. Your touches turn tender, coaxing. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t need to be jealous. Don’t want anyone but you. I’m yours, yeah?” you promise, lifting his head to deliver your words into his shadowed eyes.

“Mine,” he echoes faintly, rolling his hips up into your hand and whining. Your thighs clench at his possessive tone; you love being his, being the only one who gets to have him like this. “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum, fuck!” The last syllable crumbles into a sob as you pull away, ruining him for the final time. “‘M sorry, ‘M sorry, please let me cum,” he whimpers, so sweetly pathetic that you almost want to let him cum.

Almost. Matty’s chest heaves, struggling for breath and sanity as you climb off him, smoothing your dress down nonchalantly. Pouting down at him, you click your tongue condescendingly. “Poor baby. You don’t get to cum tonight, okay? How are you gonna learn a lesson if I give you what you want now?”

He gasps, chokes, twitching as he fights to stay still. “Please?” he murmurs, so quiet that you aren’t sure whether he’s addressing it to you or subconsciously voicing his need.

Either way, you shake your head at him with a shrug. “Get control of yourself and we can watch a movie, yeah?”

Matty gives a shuddering nod as you turn to leave, squaring your shoulders so you don’t look back at him.

After a few minutes, Matty slopes into the living room, dressed but still looking fucked-out, hair wild and eyes downcast. You rest your head in his lap when he comes to sit beside you, smiling blithely and uncaringly up at him.

“Are you still mad?” he ventures, petting your hair tentatively.

“Depends,” you answer, feeling his body tense at your words “Are you gonna pull that shit again?”

“No,” he replies without hesitation, shuddering at the thought of what you just put him through

“Then no,” you grin, and Matty relaxes under you. “But you still don’t get to cum,” you can’t resist adding.

He pouts down at you, but his eyes are shining with mischief, any lingering tension fully faded now. “Can I make you come again, then?”

Sitting up, you climb into his lap and kiss him for a long, luxurious moment, heat swelling between you as his tongue slides against yours. “Say please.”

[yiplee]

Yes! Please write the Kyle and Stan vs Tweek and Craig fight when you have time! Talk about an epic battle! And seeing Tweek and Craig being tickled to death at the same time would be so cute!

Yes omg

Them rn:

Stan&Kyle vs. Tweek&Craig leeets get it 😍✨

Sorry I’m not getting to the other requests I’m just having writers block with them but this I wanna do. Keep the reqs coming!

———————————————————————

Stan, Kyle, Tweek and Craig were all hanging out at Kyle’s house. They were sat on the couch in front of the TV, arguing over what to watch.

Stan and Kyle wanted to watch Terrance and Phillip, while Craig insisted they watched Red Racer. Tweek thought the idea of choosing a side was too much pressure, so he stuck with Craig’s choice as they were usually a pair with things.

“It’s my house, Craig! I should get to choose what to watch!” Kyle argued, pointing an accusatory finger at his monotone friend.

“You invited us over to watch ‘the greatest show of all time’, I didn’t think you meant the dumbest!” Craig retorted.

“Dude, we all like Terrance and Phillip! You’re the only one who likes Red Racer!” Kyle argued back, getting a scoff and eyeroll from Craig.

“Guys, guys, I think there’s only one way to settle this.” Stan interrupted, cocking an eyebrow at the two other boys across the couch.

Tweek jumped in his seat. “AGH! What do you mean?! Are you gonna fight?! GAAH! That’s too much pressure!!” He cried, pulling on his hair.

“No, no! Not like that!” Stan shook his head, cracking his knuckles and sharing a glance with Kyle, who understood instantly and nodded back to him.

Craig blinked in realization. He quickly turned and whispered into Tweek’s ear, and winced as Tweek yelled back into Craig’s ear.

“AHH! That’s WAY too much pressure!!” Tweek shook his head violently. Craig put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“Well? Are we doing this?” Kyle asked, slipping his green gloves off. All four boys looked at eachother, nodding.

“First side to give up loses?” Craig guessed, getting a nod of approval from Stan. And with that, they charged toward eachother like the dramatic kids they are.

Kyle lunged at Craig, digging his fingers into his ribs and getting no reaction from the blank-faced individual.

Meanwhile, below the couch, Stan was trying to hold Tweek still, who was thrashing wilder than an angry piglet.

Back on the couch, Craig grabbed hold of Kyle’s arms and swiftly turned the tables on him. He scribbled his fingers into Kyle’s sides, getting a loud squeal from the boy.

“FUHUHUHUCK! CRAHAHAIG WAHAHAIT!!” Kyle squealed, as Craig began mercilessly scribbling his fingers up and down his sides.

“Oh shit! Kyle!” Stan let go of Tweek, climbing up to the couch to help Kyle. He left Tweek just laying on the ground, panting.

Stan grabbed Craig’s arms from behind and began pulling him away from Kyle, who was thrashing and squealing below him.

Craig proved too strong at first, but when Stan dug into Craig’s armpits, his arms shot back from Kyle to his sides.

“Oh?” Stan raised an eyebrow with a smirk, quickly holding Craig’s arms still. “You go handle Tweek, Kyle. I’ve got this one.” Stan nodded to Kyle, who was already on it.

As Craig was resisting Stan’s fingers, the loud shriek of Tweek was heard as Kyle’s fingers attacked him.

“GAAAHA!! CRAHAHAHAIG HEHEHELP MEHEHE!!” He cried, Thrashing wildly under Kyle’s arms.

“I’m kind of busy, Twee-EEHEEK!” Craig cracked, squirming urgently away from Stan as he scribbled his fingers into his armpits.

“Well? Still wanna watch Red Racer?” Stan called, as he spidered his hands down Craig’s sides, earning a stream of low giggles.

“Yehehes!” Craig said stubbornly. He knew he could outlast Stan, but it was Tweek he was worried about.

Down on the floor, Tweek was shrieking and thrashing as Kyle skittered his fingers along his ribs. “GAAH! STOHOHOP IT! AAAH!!” He screamed, grabbing Kyle’s wrist and biting down on it like an animal.

“AH!” Kyle retracted his hand, rubbing his wrist in pain. “What the hell, dude?!”

Tweek took this opportunity to dash away, climbing onto the couch and trying to separate Craig and Stan.

Kyle climbed up on the couch, him and Stan nodding to eachother. Tweek and Craig were now cornered next to eachother, as Stan and Kyle suddenly skittered all of their fingers across both of them.

“GAAAHAHAHA!! WAHAHAIT!!” Tweek cried out, pulling on his hair and thrashing back and forth. Craig turned away, biting his lip as he fought against the sensations, but they ultimately proved to be too much.

“Okahahahay!! Okay we give uhuhup! We’ll watch your dumb shohohohow!!” Craig conceded.

“GAH! YEAHAHAH! WE GIHIHIVE UHUHUP!!” Tweek shrieked, agreeing with Craig on the movement.

Stan and Kyle moved away from the other two, sharing some smug grins. “Soo, Terrance and Phillip it is then?” Stan said, picking up the remote.

“…Fuck you.” Craig sighed, catching his breath as he sat next to Tweek, who was practically buzzing from the action, as Stan put Terrance and Phillip on.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Tattletale nodded, “Faultline’s crew does anything short of murder.  You can say her personality sucks, you can say her powers suck, but I’ll admit she’s very good at finding hidden strengths in the people that work for her.  See those two guys?  When it came to powers, they got a bad roll of the dice.  Became freaks that couldn’t hope to pass in normal society, wound up homeless or living in the sewers.  There’s a story behind it, but they became a team, she made them effective, and they’ve only messed up one or two jobs so far.”

5.1 is a pretty textbook exposition chapter, get a round-up of all the other baddies we haven't met yet, get the shape of the villain scene for Brockton Bay - these are the guys that Skitter and Friends are going to be taking on, over time, one by one, or just about.

So as a chapter, it is a bit dry, but it's dry with purpose, and it's good to have a bit of a slower bit, and it's not so dry it feels too lecture-y.

Plus, the earlier bit where Coil walks in (is that a body double? I feel like I read that was a body double somewhere? Like, he has his two-timelines ability and all, but even if he's just staying home doing paperwork in one timeline, if he decides to collapse the paperwork timeline... that paperwork needs to get done again. That's actually got to be annoying as fuck, doing the paperwork twice.

And this is the man who wanted to have like three or four jobs by the end? Coil, PRT director, secret ruler of the city and he's a CEO of something, right? Man, Thomas Calvert things both big and incredibly small. If he wasn't, like Kaisar, so monofocused on one city he could still have a great deal of money and influence across more than that.

Of course, that may be while Cauldron was cool with him having a vial, knowing he'd just focus on one city. Does Cauldron manipulate things to tend to make more villains focused on one locale rather than trying to operate over a broader space?

Another group arrived, and it was like you could see a wave of distaste wash over the faces in the room.  I had seen references on the web and news articles about these guys, but they weren’t the sort you took pictures of.  Skidmark, Moist, Squealer.  Two guys and a girl, the lot of them proving that capes weren’t necessarily attractive, successful or immune to the influences of substance abuse.  Hardcore addicts and dealers who happened to have superpowers. Skidmark wore a mask that covered the top half of his face.  The lower half was dark skinned, with badly chapped lips and teeth that looked more like shelled pistachio nuts than anything else.  He stepped up to the table and reached for a chair.  Before he could move it, though, Kaiser kicked the chair out of reach, sending it toppling onto its side, sliding across the floor. “The fuck?” Skidmark snarled. “You can sit in a booth,” Kaiser spoke.  Even though his voice was completely calm, like he was talking to a stranger about the weather, it felt threatening. “This is because I’m black, hunh?  That’s what you’re all about, yeah?” Still calm, Kaiser replied, “You can sit in a booth because you and your team are pathetic, deranged losers that aren’t worth talking to.  The people at this table?  I don’t like them, but I’ll listen to them.  That isn’t the case with you.”

Ah yes, the most pathetic villains canon ever gave us. Though wtf is this Moist guy? He's never been mentioned anywhere in fic or on reddit. I know about Mush and Trainwreck being Merchants, but who is this guy?

Though is this Skidmark being more presentable than usual, or does his usual reputation for being super filthy and whatnot just standard flanderization? Is it based on much more than this?

Also, really, Skidmark. Really? That the best name he could come up with?

[clumsiestgiantess]

Part 6 of the poll story; choice D D)“I don’t mind you staying, but I do mind you harming the neighbor’s cat,” you tell him.  “We can go out tomorrow and find you another form to take.”

“Tomorrow?” Ralyr thinks for a moment, “Alright, I suppose one more day like this won’t kill me.  It hasn’t since I’ve taken this form,” he adds with a chuckle.  Stepping around you, he clambers up an electrical cord towards an an outlet in the wall.  “Wait!” you call confusedly.  The little being turns to you with the cover popped halfway off the wall.  “Yes?”  “What are you doing?  Why are you opening a hole in my wall?”  Ralyr blinks, slowly lifting his hands off the cover.  “I.. I’m going to find a comfortable place to stay the night.  Unless-  Would you rather I go make a burrow in someone else’s walls to keep out of yours?”

Baffled, you slide over beside him, gently reaching around him to shut the cover back against the wall.  “Ralyr, you don’t have to go make camp hiding between walls!  I told you you’re welcome to stay here.  I can get you a bed to sleep in.  It won’t be so hard for me; all you would need is a blanket and a pillow, being so small.”

The gears are turning in his little head.  Ralyr slides down the cord until his feet hit the top of your fist that holds it, landing expertly on the uneven surface.  Your heart skitters at the feeling of his little padded feet against your hand.  His eyes never leave yours, but the fur along his bottom half bristles as you touch.  “A.. bed?  Like a human bed with feathers and fabrics?”  You nod.  “You’re not joking?”  You shake your head.  “Wow, I.. don’t know what to say!  I haven’t slept in a bonafide human bed in…  I don’t think ever.  I’ve wanted to, though.”  A small smile grows on your face, “Well, now’s your chance.”  Gently, you open your hand and he adjusts, stepping onto your palm.  You’re about to lift him up, but he slips smoothly over the edge of your hand and slides down the electrical cord, gracefully coming to a halt at the floor.  “I don’t like to be manhandled,” he tells you simply.

Later that night, there’s a little bedroom made up across the floor in a newly-emptied corner of your room.  You’d offered to make him a place on a shelf or tabletop, but he’d declined.  Ralyr didn’t feel comfortable sleeping somewhere so high up.  “If I had wings it’d be a different story, but I don’t.  I know a girl who does, though.”  You had to step away for a moment just to process how casually he’d said that.  The both of you say your goodnights, Ralyr thanks you one last time, and both of you drift to sleep.  

You’re up before Ralyr the following morning.  On your way to the shower, you pass by his corner of the room.  The little being is curled up in the center of one of your pillows you’d given him, clutching a blanket to himself with only his head and the tip of his tiny tail sticking out of the side.  You have to admit, if only to yourself, that he looks rather cute sleeping cuddled up like that.  

As you get ready for the day ahead, you brainstorm some ideas as to where you can go with your little guest to get him a new form.  Four places come to mind.  There are two parks nearby, one a little further out of the way than the other.  There’s a national park that spans deep into a large forest about thirty minutes away which you have a pass to, but there’s also a neighborhood park down the road.  Even further away, there are two buildings that collaborate with eachother — a farm and a nature center.  However, you only have enough money to get into one of those places, which are on opposite sides of the road.

Will you go to: A) The large protected park

B) The neighborhood park

C) The farm

D) The nature reserve

[jotunkhiicha]

One ending away from getting 8/8 and 8 achievements away from 100% completion on steam! Needless to say, I’ve fallen in love with this game.

So more writing for it!

“𝐽𝑢𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒’𝑠 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.”

How had everything good in life fallen with her? How had the darkness weaved its way through every interaction, every single movement and every single light fixture? Why was it so painful to be seen to exist and be something more than the absence of her presence?

How had it come to this? Stuck in a prison beneath the heavens and left to collect weights, personifications of his guilt as it feels like a thousand hands are pushing him down, a thousand angels using their palms to pray for hell to swallow and take him away for what he has done.

Each weight claws at him, drags him closer to that damnation with each step, each thundering step across the metal floor. The sound comforts him, in a strange way, it reminds him he is still real inside this impossibility. It grants him something to focus on, aside from the monsters that skitter across the ceiling, their legs like little pinpricks of terror that inject their venom into his ears as he speeds up to a light jog, but not before stopping to check on her.

When he stops, he hears the scuttling come back and he draws his rifle, searching the darkness and, in a swift movement, he shoots down a creature that comes cascading down from the unfathomable heights of this place, only to crumble in on itself like when a spider is stepped upon—all legs, not much else.

“Sorry,” He mumbles out with a sigh, lowering the rifle as he turns to look at her, “You doing okay? Need anything?”

She shakes her head and smiles slightly at the warmth his questions give, that was a gift in of itself. “Just… want to get out of here. Are you okay though? You’ve been running backwards and forwards.” She tilts her head and steps closer, a warning wail from the darkness echoes as she does so.

He grimaces at her comment. “I’m fine, Yariv, just looking for a way out.”

She frowns. “You’ve called me that before. That’s not… my name. It’s Eliona,” She furrows her brows in thought, “How do you know that name?” Her inquiry is as probing as the shining moonlight upon his sins as he lay in bed—alone—wondering what had become of him.

His gaze dithers, his attention unfocused as the last weight is heaviest in his hand, dragging him deeper, deeper until all he can possibility reconcile with is how he dies; after all, choosing how he dies is the last freedom afforded to a prisoner.

“James?” She calls hesitantly.

Her voice is akin to the light that moths pine for and he’s drawn to it as such, but she feels like a burning flame, too hot to touch and too risky to be near. She threatened the very structure of his thoughts and the smell is strong like gasoline, a roaring fuel to the fire in his veins. It frightens him, this burning finality that she is, the very thing that Prometheus was scorned for, but he could understand why, he could make sense of it in his mind. He could piece together the fragments of his psyche to put something concrete—something tangible beneath his fingertips like the fragile silken delight of expensive sheets.

He steps back from her, realising he’d come to close.

“James? Are you okay?” Eliona looks concerned for him as he rolls back into his steps, tentative but assured in his decision.

“I’ll… come back.” He trails off, his mind racing a mile a minute, much like his heart, and his eyes still do not meet her as he turns back.

He breaks off from temptation, off from the war between man and heart, from beast and jailer and from heaven and earth, and he moves towards those two metallic doors that clang each time he passes their threshold.

This time, however, is different.

There’s a light of the promise of sunrise on the cusp of the four walls in the yard, like a dusting of hope sprinkling over his bristling despair. Would the light of dawn, the promise of a new day, bring with it Mary? His beloved sent from the heavens and come to rouse the evil from within the depths of his depravity so that he might come with her to those gates that he prayed for.

Would she wait for him? Would she call to him?

As the doors clang, a curtain call as the gallows come into view, his name is sung from angels far and wide, but the angel rests in a cell he left it within.

Eliona.

“James!” Her voice breaks with fervent panic and he runs back, he regrets every choice he made that landed her in the position where he is in this yard with the nooses begging him to give their construction a purpose, and she is in there, with the antithesis of his very self pulling rusted metal bars apart with practised ease.

The glow of the red light, the broken lights atop those ornate doors, bathe its mask in the colour of blood and, as James stands here, unable to do a single thing about it, he fears that its form will drink her blood—bathe in her ichor to feel something real.

James throws all of his weight into doors that do not budge, begging them to move so he can do something, so he can die trying to save something that has meaning in this hapless circumstance that has befallen him.

“Eliona!” He calls as he shoves the doors, powerless and left to watch this horror, tuned just for his bewailing, through those impossibly small prison windows as a white hand, gloved and stained in black soot from the blood of all the creatures it slaughtered along the way, snatches her from where she has scurried to.

“No—get off of me!” She screams vehemently, her cry like a thousand needles come to rend the life from his worthless corpse, “James! Help me! James!” She reaches out to him as she is dragged back by the scruff of her collar, like pathetic trash, to bring his palm into hers, interlace their fingers so that she might be pulled free from death’s claw.

In her eyes, he sees terror as the tears slip from her eyes and her screams, though far, bounce back to his ears like a thunderous percussion. Her presence fades, its presence fades, but her gut-wrenching fear plays clear in his mind like a rewound tape with a notch, constantly replaying in his mind to remind him of his weakness and his inability to reconcile with himself.

She called out to him to save her, and what did he do? Nothing.

He did nothing.

Left with nothing but the rain above and the heavy consequence of his actions, his mouth falls agape at the absence of her presence, of her gaze from afar, and he’s infuriated by his own self for leaving her to rot there—to decay amongst the ruins of life as a white flower should.

Perhaps the gallows are precisely where he should be, for he had become nothing more than a criminal, set to die for his actions and allowing those near him to come to harm.

First, it was Maria, in that impossibly long hallway that stretched on for all eternity and, no matter how many times he plays it over in his mind and upon the back of his eyelids, the result is the same. He can still feel her blood upon his cheeks and the clumps of her flesh and bone stuck in his blond hair.

And, now it was Yariv—Eliona—the woman he had met in the fog and come to know as a restless soul in this prison beneath the sky. She hadn’t recalled their conversation in the thick of the fog as she danced amongst the creatures, deftly weaving between them to lead him to a prize amongst the rubble of civilisation. She had only remembered flickers of their interactions when she would bleed through the surface and those eyes, green like luscious foliage that he missed the supple feeling beneath his fingertips, and the time in Heaven’s Night where it turned up again.

What kind of man is he? is he a man at all?

Is he Charon, ferrying people down into hell in exchange for his own life rather than golden coins?

What has he become?

This town has changed him, changed Mary—it has changed everything. Nothing is the same anymore.

And, as his feet carry him to a noose, marked by the Roman numeral 6, he wonders if she stands at the lever, watching to see how he will struggle as he dies.

He pulls down, yanks it with a fervour so that he can meet rapture.

These hands that create,

The hands that take.

[crankycreates]

Untitled fic, a.k.a

"I AM NOT WRITING THIS GODDAMN COFFEESHOP AU" ~Cranky, 23-04-14

AO3 link

Pagan Min x gn!Reader 845 words Coffeeshop AU, barista!Reader, businessman!Pagan, flirting (sort of?), humour (or I tried at least), prologue to a story that may or may not get written...

“Shit!”

You stared at the plate. Or, well, ex-plate. It wasn’t really recognisable as kitchenware after hitting the floor. Pieces had skittered off across the tiles in every direction, like a very sad starburst, made out of shards of probably very expensive china. How the fuck could you be so clumsy? Mindlessly, you dove after the ex-plate, crawling madly around the floor, sweeping your hands over the tiles to gather up the remains before anyone arrived, uttering a string of curses.

“Fuck. Fuck! Shit shit fuck!”

“Such colourful language! Yet somewhat lacking in … vocabulary breadth.”

You whipped around — still on all fours — and were met by the sight of a pair of slightly worn but expensive-looking slippers. Above them, plaid pajama pants. And your eyes travelled up, and up, and past the pajama pants there was an expanse of skin that made your mind white-out for a moment before you took in the face above; its eyes twinkling with what might have been faint amusement. It was very hard to tell from this angle, especially since your mind suddenly snagged on a detail it overlooked before, and your eyes slipped down again — past the chest with its patch of dark hair and down the trail from his navel to the—

“Enjoying yourself down there, hm?”

You squeaked something. There were meant to be words in there but exactly what, you had no idea. You tried again: “I’m sorry— Uh— I broke this plate— I’ll pay for it, of course!”

Which was an utterly ridiculous thing to say to a billionaire. But you were feeling utterly ridiculous at the moment, so.

Pagan, mercifully, twitched his dressing gown closed, and settled back against the kitchen island behind him. Less mercifully, he said, “What if I told you that plate was worth a fortune?”

You stared up at him. Some part of you was a little bit grateful: now that you were blanching at the idea of owing Pagan Min money, you no longer had to worry about him noticing you blushing after having checked out the bulge in his pajamas. From the floor. On your knees.

Fuck.

Okay, alright, okay — backing up for a moment. How the ever-loving fuck had you ended up here?

You’d woken up early, alone in a guest room in Pagan Min’s house. Mansion. Estate? Whatever these things were called, this side of the pond. You’d been cranky and hungry and maybe a bit sad, and absolutely appalled at the notion of approaching the man about breakfast. Or, even worse, using the room phone to call ‘the help’. (’The help’ had been his word for it. He had servants. Fucking servants! In 2014! Jesus.) Like this was some sort of hotel.

So, you’d gotten out of bed and thrown on yesterday’s clothes and shuffled off in search of the kitchen. Or a kitchen, anyway. For all you knew there were more than one. And when you found one, you’d gone looking for a snack, and somehow—

Okay, but none of that explained how you ended up spending the night in Pagan’s guest room in the first place.

“Relax,” Pagan said, lips curving into an amused smirk. “I’m only teasing.”

“Yeah,” you said vacantly. You were still busy reviewing all the questionable life choices that had landed you in this mess.

He cocked his head. “You’re awfully high strung, aren’t you?”

“What?”

Wow. Seriously, smooth. Not like you had any particular hope to impress him or anything — that ship had long sailed, by this point. You felt rather like a stray he’d taken in for the night. Here’s how it happened: Pagan had found you crying outside the Golden Path Café. You were his favourite barista, so of course he would offer you a place to stay after you had been so callously evicted by—

Except that didn’t explain how you came to work at the Golden Path, or why he — the owner of King’s Coffee, the most popular chain of coffee shops in the United Kingdom — frequented the establishment of his competitors/sworn enemies.

“Come on, get up, kid. Can’t have you crawling around on the floor like this. Breakfast and Omelette might get jealous!”

He was smiling now — a nice, friendly smile — and offering you his hand. A perfectly gentlemanly gesture. A host attempting to put their guest at ease with an innocent joke and helping them off the goddamn floor. The way you stared, it might as well have been a tentacle he was holding out to you.

You said, “Uhh,” and took the proffered limb.

So anyway. This would in fact only be the first time Pagan Min rescued you from homelessness, and mortifying as the whole ordeal was, the next would be worse. Perhaps it could all have been avoided if you had come better prepared — if your mother had actually told you anything useful before she died.

Because in truth, for you, it all started with loss. With grief and ashes. With a promise to your dying mother: to bring her back to the UK, and to Lakshmana.

Read it on AO3

[thejostenator]

Golden Boy Orange: Chapter Five

Holy shit, I can't believe it's been so long since the last chapter of this bad boy!

For those of you who don’t know, this is my project to tell AFTG from Matt’s perspective, and this chapter is almost entirely fully original scenes (fun fun fun)! If you haven’t read the first four chapters (or if you need a refresh since it's been aeons since my last update) you can read them on Tumblr, or on Ao3.

Tagging those I know were interested last time (@youhaveahomeinmyheart, @pipebomb-malewife, @accal1a, @sickbunsbro, @tntwme, @shayebutterrrr & @stay-because-now-you-have-a-home) but if you want to be added (or removed) to (or from) the tag list, just let me know!

Wednesday, June 12th:

Wednesdays, Matt decided, were the worst days of the week.

He was aware this was a somewhat controversial train of thought (see: the existence of Mondays), but at least on Mondays Andrew was there to keep Seth at bay. On Wednesdays, Andrew left practice early to grace their therapist, Bee, with his loveable presence, and as soon as he was gone, metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan.

Kevin watched the door swing closed as the Monster left, and waited a beat to let it settle.

"Right," he said bluntly. "Renee, we'll switch you out for Andrew. Matt, if you could move-"

Seth cracked his knuckles loudly, stretching his palms out in front of him, and let out an overlarge yawn, cutting Kevin off mid-instruction.

Kevin raised a single eyebrow. "You have an issue?"

"Yeah, and his name's Kevin fucking Day," Seth answered. "Fuck you think you're playing at, cripple?"

Kevin stepped closer to Seth, atmosphere electric. "Excuse me?"

"You're not the captain, stop trying to tell us what to fucking do."

"I'm from the Ravens. Who, may I remind you, we are going to face in-"

"Fuck. Right. Off." Seth spat.

"Guys," Dan thundered. "Drop it. Both of you."

"If you want to do nothing and get absolutely destroyed," Kevin said through gritted teeth, "go ahead. Be my guest. Its not like the team will make it past the first elimination with him in it anyway."

Seth swung, hitting Kevin with a punch that sent his head jerking to one side while he was still looking at Dan. Low blow. Not undeserved, but still low.

Kevin whipped around, dodging Seth's next punch, and thrust his racquet in the direction of his ribs. All the ways that the situation could go violently, dangerously wrong flashed before Matt’s eyes, and he burst forwards, grabbing Kevin’s racquet from his hands and flinging it away.

It skittered across the floor, scraping the sleek surface, and Kevin seemed to blink back into focus.

“Don’t touch my racquet,” he snapped.

“If you cared about it that much,” Matt shot back, flexing his fingers, “you wouldn’t be using it as a weapon.”

“You hear that, Day?” Seth jeered. “Fucking good-for-nothing cripple.”

Matt moved on instinct alone, putting himself right between Kevin and Seth, grappling them both apart with his bare hands.

“Woah,” he grunted, pushing them both back, then echoing Dan's words, “drop it, both of you!”

Glowering, the two of them backed off in opposite directions.

“Shit, man,” Matt sighed, rubbing at his arms—there was no way he was getting out of that skirmish free of bruises, “I shouldn’t have to offer myself up as a meat shield to get you two to just stop fucking fighting!”

“Now, are you two going to hug and make up?” Dan asked coolly.

“Don’t patronize me,” Kevin scoffed, at the same time as Seth spat out: “I’m not a fucking child, Wilds.”

“Then don’t act like one.” Dan snapped her fingers. “Back to practice.”

Matt stayed rooted in place as the sounds of practice resuming trickled in around him—he got the unnerving feeling that someone was staring at him. When he turned around, it was to find himself in the midst of Neil’s dark gaze. Their new striker watched him, and Matt couldn’t help but shiver at whatever he saw in his eyes.

Saturday, June 16th:

The first thought Matt had was that he didn’t remember setting an alarm. Groaning, he rolled over and fumbled for his violently buzzing phone. Rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand, he squinted at the glowing screen. It was hard to believe it was actually his phone he was holding and not the sun, considering the light streaming from it. 

The time read 9:48AM, and he was getting a call from an unknown number.

If only to yell at whoever was calling him for having the gall to do it so early, Matt answered.

“Who’s this?” Matt murmured. It came out pretty much unintelligible. “Why’re you calling so early?”

“Matt, it’s Neil,” came a tinny voice, hoarse and drawn, barely more than a whisper. Like he’d lost his voice screaming, or just been winded. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I’m up,” Matt said, fighting back a yawn as he sat up in bed. “Where’ve you been? I didn’t hear you come back last night.”

“I’m in Columbia with Andrew.”

“You’re—” Matt was awake in an instant. “What?”

He burst up from bed, letting the sheets fly in every which direction, and scrambled for the door to his room. He couldn’t help the images flashing through his mind, flickers of memories from when Andrew took him to Columbia. Flashing neon lights, bass so loud the floor beneath him pulsed, and pain. So, so much pain.

“Jesus, Neil, what the hell did you do that for? Did he—” He couldn’t even stomach asking the question. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” came Neil’s simple reply. Something in his tone didn’t ring true.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Matt ground out, and he meant it. He really did.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Dan asked, groggily rubbing her eyes from where she had passed out on Matt’s couch. “What’s happening? Is it Neil?”

“He’s in Columbia,” Matt answered, angling the phone away from his ear.

Dan rocketed up from the couch, half-staggering, and leant against the back for support. “Jesus Christ.”

The doubt was worming its way back into Matt’s mind. Neil really hadn’t sounded truthful when he said he was fine. 

“Seriously,” he pressed, speaking into the phone again, “are you okay?”

"I’m fine,” Neil repeated, exasperated this time, “but I need a favour.”

Matt nodded, even though he knew Neil couldn’t see him.

“I think Andrew’s going to come looking for something of mine today,” Neil continued. “If I’m not there, can you keep him out of our room? I’ll owe you one.”

Matt could barely believe his own ears. “You won’t owe me anything,” he replied slowly. “Didn’t I tell you I’m good for it?”

“Thank you,” came Neil’s tinny reply. There seemed to be genuine relief in his voice.

Matt decided in that instant that he wouldn’t just fight the Monsters for Neil. He would do anything.

Matt spent most of the day before the Monster’s return just sitting on the single, dirt-green bench in the campus car park, just waiting for Neil to come back. Renee came out with a hot chocolate at one point, and then she stuck around to give him some company.

“You know that, whatever they did, it was something they needed to do?” Renee asked softly.

Matt’s grip tightened on the metal ridge of the bench. He refused to look at her. “Neil posed no threat to them,” he gritted out.

From the corner of his eye, Renee shrugged serenely. “We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do,” Matt spat out, eyes staring dead ahead. Neil’s gaze earlier flashed through his mind, but he dismissed the thought. Neil was innocent as a man could be, dark gaze or no.

Renee paused, opening her mouth to say something, then seemingly thinking better of it. She went back inside without another word.

Matt didn’t turn around to watch as she left. If there was one thing Renee was good at, it was reading the room. She didn’t pick sides. It was her thing. But she also knew that, one way or another, she’d have to now.

When the Monsters arrived, Neil wasn’t with them.

“Come on, my dear Matthew, Mattathias, Mattholomew,” Andrew said slowly, head tilted to one side, manic grin lighting up his face. “We’ve known each other for so long.”

“Then you should know by now I’m not going to let you in,” Matt said coldly, arms crossed over his chest just to stop him from reaching out and choking Andrew on the spot. There was no way in hell he was letting him through the door.

“This is cruelty,” Andrew responded, hand splayed out over his chest. He leaned forwards conspiratorially, voice lowering. “If I were you, I’d spare everyone all the fuss and just let me in. Neil asked me to collect something for him, and I am only too happy to oblige.”

“Since you’re apparently so close now,” Matt hissed, “maybe you can tell me where he is.”

Andrew dismissed the question with an airy wave of his hand. “Out and about.”

Matt snorted. “Get your ass out of here, Minyard.”

Andrew twitched. “It sure would be a shame if all the shots I deflect in practice tomorrow just happen to rocket towards your ankles, wouldn’t it? You might break something.”

“Like you could be bothered to raise an arm in practice,” Dan snorted from behind Matt.

“With the right motivation,” Andrew replied slyly. “And Matt is being very motivating right now? O Captain, my Captain, perhaps you could—”

“If I’d have known this was all it took to motivate you, I would have done it long ago,” Dan replied. “You’re not getting any sympathy from me, monster.”

“Oh, you wound me,” Andrew said. “But it's your loss, really, it is.”

“Andrew,” came Renee’s sweet voice as she appeared behind him. “Hello.”

Matt whipped his head up to face her, and they just stared at each other for a beat, standing on opposite sides of Andrew. Matt glared, and Renee stared back at him coolly.

Something indescribable flashed in her eyes.

“Renee,” Andrew grinned. “You remembered my name. I’m honoured. Now, if you would be so kind as to get these two to just let me in, for I am but a weary traveller who—”

“Actually,” she said gently, “I think it would be best if you went back to your own dorm.”

Everyone froze. Renee had chosen her side.

“Oh,” Andrew said. It was as if the smile had been struck clean from his face. “Oh, this is different.”

“It is different, Andrew,” Renee said. “Thank you for understanding.”

Andrew looked her up and down like he was seeing her in a new light. Matt couldn’t help but feel like he was doing the same.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Andrew said.

“I hope so,” came Renee’s serene reply, and she watched calmly as Andrew turned and left.

Matt was left lost for words

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Beyond the Blood Tie - Chapter Twenty Three.

Big thanks as usual to my loyal besties who are enjoying this! Your comments give me life :)

Previous Chapters - One  Two, Part One Part Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen  Twenty  Twenty One  Twenty Two

Words - 5,996

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Edie's POV

“What are you?”

“A vampire dick tease.”

“And what do vampire dick teases get?”

“Pounded?”

His hand smacks my ass, the other winding my hair around his fist, his hips moving so rapidly, his body is but a blur of flurry. Yanking my head back, he pulls me up from my position on all fours, my back sliding against his chest, “Damn fucking right, they do.”  His fangs pierce my neck, drawing back a feed as he slows, and I watch a trickle of blood run down my sweaty body in the mirror he’s fucking me in front of.  

For this moment, though, as he seals the wound in my neck, it’s slow, his thick cock dragging my walls in a slow rhythm, glimmers skittering through me as he nudges against every last sweet spot inside of me, growling that carnivorous groan in my ear, his dark eyes watching our reflection intently. He lays kisses over my throat, one hand keeping my head pulled back, his tongue chasing the smear of blood left behind, bloodied fangs still bared, his other hand sliding down my sweat slicked body, fingertips beginning to rub at my clit.  

Each circle gains momentum, each stroke speeding up, until his hand is moving at vampire speed, but his cock still trawling me slowly. This is how he makes me come apart, sugar coated embers burning through me, my heart crashing wildly against my chest as I cum with a long, feral cry. “Mmmm, good girl.” he praises, kissing my neck, before biting me again. Yeah, I think I’m doing a good job in taking his mind off of Ursula’s as yet unknown predicament.

His growl and full body tremble are the indicators to his own burning release, just minutes after his last. God, I maintain, watching Angel cum is the sexiest thing I have ever witnessed. “I can feel how tight you still are on my cock, you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

I pant hard, nodding, Angel licking the side of my neck as his fingers begin to move rapidly again, his hand but a blur. “Yeah, you do. Come on, mamas. Cum for me.” It strikes, bouncing from nerve ending to nerve ending, a rolling delight that warms through me right to my marrow, the slow, hard punch of his cock sending it right up my spine, making me feel drunk on it. “Woah, hey, Edie? You okay, baby?”  

I feel myself loll forward slightly, my body weak and boneless, Angel’s arm securing at my waist, my brain foggy. Did I just... “I think I passed out for a moment.”  

He chuckles softly, eyebrows rising as pride spreads across his face. “I think you did.”  

Taking a few deep breaths, I get my bearings, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “You could try not to look quite as pleased by it as you do,” I chide softly, Angel laughing a quiet little laugh through his nose.  

“I can’t help but take it as a massive compliment, as long as you’re okay.” I guess I see what he means. Fucking show off!

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Alright to carry on?”

My nod is all the indicator he needs, his huge cock cutting through the glaze of wetness, my walls tingling pleasantly as I watch the two loads of cum he’s shot into me beginning to drip onto the floor beneath us, pink tingled little glistening pearls glinting upon the carpet in the low light. Oh yeah, vampire cum is kinda pretty to look at. It’s pale pink because of course, their diet is solely consistent of blood. Same with their saliva, too.  

One more ascent into euphoria, and our trembling bodies finally come to rest, crawling back onto the bed to curl around one another, blissed out, my vampire lying on his side next to me, stroking my stomach while I drift in and out of sleep, but find a certain discomfort makes it hard to actually drop off.

"Feeling better now?" Angel asks, about five minutes after I've taken a little blood from his wrist.

"I am, thank you. At least I get to pass out in a semi-comfortable way," I reply, turning onto my side and kissing his chest.

"Just so you know, I do plan on waking you up to do everything all over again. I'm not going to tire of the huge thrill that is having sex with you any time soon.” I wouldn’t want him to, either. We curl around each other, Angel kissing my neck before sleep tows us into its blissful embrace.

When I wake up again at 4pm, I don't want to move out of the warm embrace I’ve awoken in, Angel’s body warmed nicely by mine. I’m glad I don't have to either, since I haven’t got to be anywhere until 7.30pm, when I meet with my girls as usual for a night out, so just lie here next to my gorgeous, big vampire and watch him sleeping. It’s still so bizarre to me, to see him like this, essentially just a dead body. Of course, he won't move or wake until sundown.  I only have an hour to wait until he wakes up, and so spend the time dozing before deciding to go and read my book in the bath until he rouses.

"Get that stupid smile off of your face, Bailey. Actually no, keep it. Suits you." I tell my reflection in the mirror while tying up my hair, the water steadily filling the tub. I'm so happy of late, I can't believe this is my life. Work is going great, my friends are all happy and content, and my love life is going so well, I'm permanently on cloud nine. While I wait for my bath to run, I head out and drink back half a bottle of kiwi juice while I'm waiting for my coffee machine to get going, and make a slice of toast to tide me over until later. We're going for something to eat before heading to an all-night bar tonight, no night clubbing for us this weekend. We need a change of scenery from Hell's Gate almost every weekend, even though we always have fun there.

"Evening, gorgeous. Is there room in there for me?" Angel asks, wandering into the bathroom naked just after me and my cup of coffee have got into the tub.

"Hmmm, I'm unsure if there's room for me, you and Martin Luther King," I joke, gesturing to the book that I put down. "It's too narrow to fit you in behind me, but if you sit at the other end there should be enough space." I then add while he steps in and sits down, pulling my legs up onto his shoulder while he rests down with his knees bent so he can fit in. We're a little wedged, mainly since he’s so damned tall, but it's not too uncomfortable.

"I'm dying for you to finish that so we can sit and discuss it. The last time I stayed here, I actually wandered out into your lounge while you were sleeping and sat and read it from cover to cover so we could talk about it once you're done," he reveals, while I smile. That's really sweet of him to do that, so we can share our thoughts over it.

"Then I shall devote some time tomorrow doing nothing more than reading it. Did you want to see me tomorrow, by the way? I'm going for breakfast with Vic in the morning, and then after tidying my back yard I was planning on reading, but I can be free by the time the sun goes down again?" I ask, while he picks up my bottle of bath wash and a razor, beginning to lather one of my legs.

"Do you mind if I do this for you?" he asks, gesturing to my leg with the razor.

“Not at all,” I smile, picking up my coffee and taking a careful sip. Before he grew a beard all those years ago, he was likely much more competent with a razor than I’ll ever be.  

"As for seeing me tomorrow,” he begins, gently sliding the razor down my leg. “Well, you might not have any choice since I haven't heard from Ursula yet, and she told me to stay right where I am until she contacts me." Ahh, of course.

"Is she okay, can you feel?" I ask, resting my cup down on the edge of the bathtub again.

"Yeah, she's absolutely fine other than being pissed off. I'd even go so far as to say that whatever she's being kept away from home for, she isn't worried about it. I'd just like to know why she's being kept away.” He looks thoughtful for a few moments, before his face turns blank again. "If I hear from her while you're out, I'll head home and let you know. Then you can just come to mine tomorrow at dusk." He then adds.

I agree to that, and we continue to enjoy our slightly cramped bath together, with him finishing shaving my legs and moving on to a more intimate area, one he has to give a thorough examining with his mouth under the water when he's done. Hmmmm, sub aqua oral sex, I've never had this before but then again, I've never been with someone who doesn't need to breathe while he's underwater either.

"Damn, you look so hot," he enthuses with an approving whistle a little later, when we're out of the bath and I'm just finishing getting ready. I have on a nice, strapless dark blue dress, sliding my feet into the jewelled strap, cork wedge shoes I found a while back during a closet clean out. They look perfect with this dress.

"Thank you. So, what are you going to do with yourself this evening while I'm gone?" I ask, picking up my large, white gold hoop earrings and putting them in.

"I'll wait for Ursula to contact me, and while I'm doing that, I noticed you so happen to have a box set of all the Alien movies, so I'm going to sit and watch those since I haven't seen them in a few decades. I'll also be making a mental list of all the things I'm going to do to you when you get home, should my creator not get in touch," he replies, kissing my head and wrapping me in his arms. "We look good together, you and I, don't we?" He then adds, looking at our reflection in my full-length mirror.

"We do, honey. We do." I confirm, enjoying his affection before gathering my stuff and giving him a big kiss goodbye on the doorstep, ready to enjoy my night with my girls. I have to say, most of me does hope Ursula gets in touch so he isn't worried over where she is or why she isn't home (and I can feel that he is, more than he's letting on) but at the same time, it would be nice to find him there waiting for me when I return later tonight. As soon as I arrive at the restaurant, my girlfriends are at the bar waiting for me, and I can see before I even arrive at their side that I'm going to be questioned mercilessly. Of course, I haven't seen either of them since Angel and I finally became carnally acquainted.

"Get your ass over here and tell us everything, girlfriend!" Sasha shouts as I approach them, holding out a drink for me that I take before giving her and Miley a kiss each.

Taking my seat, I can’t help but snort a giggle at their expectant faces. "Well, we did it, and he only needed to be silvered once because he told me after the first time he came, he didn’t feel anything murderous, and that he knew his theory about not being able to kill anyone he loves as much as he does me was right. So, I happily unchained him and then enjoyed nine hours of sex so good, I couldn't close my legs afterwards," I reveal with a smile before sipping my drink.

"Nine hours? Damn!" Miley exclaims, looking shocked. "But what he said to you, about loving you too much to kill you, awwww! So sweet!" she then adds, grabbing my arm and bouncing about enthusiastically. "But really, nine hours? Continuously?"

"Not totally continuously, but we didn't stop very much either. Sasha knows all about that, huh girl?" I say, reaching out and poking her in the chest.

"Oh yeah, Eric lets me catch my breath, maybe have a cigarette and he's back on me again. Damn, that guy can fuck!" she exclaims. "Here's to the old Mae West quote, it's not the men in your life, it's the life in your men, and for dead dudes, they've got life pouring out of 'em!" she adds before we touch glasses in toast.  

"It all sounds so fascinating, but I just couldn't, I couldn't!" Miley exclaims, holding a hand over her mouth and shaking her head rapidly.

I raise an eyebrow over my glass, thinking of what Sal mentioned to me the other night while Angel was tattooing still. ‘I’d fuck your friend right through my bed if she’d let me. Damn, she’s fine as hell.’ She should let him! I mean, yeah, he isn’t hugely friendly, and he’s a little scary, especially being a former high-ranking member of MS-13, but he isn’t unattractive. "You should, you know. Just for the experience of having the most mind-blowing sex you're ever going to have. Seriously, Angel has totally killed it for any other humans now. If we ever break up, well I can't go back to the living!"  

"Now you totally see where I'm coming from.” Sasha’s words are coupled with a very big wink before laughing. It's just the beginning of what ends up being a wonderful evening. For the duration it, I receive no messages from Angel letting me know that he's gone home, which means Ursula hasn't been in touch. I know I said I would like it if I had Angel to go home to, and it looks like I will, but now I can't help but begin to wonder where in the hell Ursula actually is at right at this moment, and why she’s being kept away from her family.

"Eric just called me, he said Angel had cancelled his appointments for the night. Is he alright?" Sasha asks as she comes back in from inside where she ducked out to answer her cell.

"Yeah, he's fine. He's just got to do something important for his creator tonight, that's all." I assure her, telling the absolute truth but not revealing anything. Ursula said he needs to stay where he is until she gets in touch, and that's exactly what he's doing. Truth is, I have nothing really to reveal, but I won't speak of his business with my friends. It isn't my place to do so. When I check my phone at 2am as I'm getting my friends into a cab, then running for the next one in line, I still find no messages, gladly finding a shirtless vampire there waiting for me on my couch when I enter my lounge fifteen minutes later.

"Still nothing?" I ask, poking out my bottom lip a little as I pause in the doorway to remove my shoes.

"Not a thing. EZ hasn't heard from her either, but he did tell me she'd told him and Charles the same thing, to stay away from the house until she gets back. He came by from where he's been with Charles, dropped Icarus and Thor off here. They're in the kitchen. Oh, no they're not," Angel replies, looking away from the movie at the end of his sentence to see his wolves have found me already, since Thor is licking my bare feet and Icarus is standing on his hind legs, massive paws on my shoulders as I rub his ears.

How perplexing, that she’s being kept away for a second night in a row. "Do you have any clues yet, or does EZ, over what it could be, what's keeping her away from home, and why the three of you can’t return?" I question, walking over to seat myself across his lap. He pulls me close and kisses me deeply before he answers my question. Instantly, I get butterflies. I always do when he kisses like that.

"Something related to the AVA, it has to be. What it is though, I don't know. I know she's tired, but she's okay, she's sending that out to me loud and clear because she can feel I'm worried. I've been trying to lose myself in these movies, but it hasn't worked. So, I'm going to lose myself in you instead." I'm more than happy for him to do so as well, especially when I see him move to kneel in front of the couch, push my dress up, yank my thong to the side and... oh, yes. There’s almost nothing that feels better against a clit than a vampire tongue.  

Angel's POV

Damn, she’s so beautiful. Yeah, I know that from my vantage point, I might be slightly biased right now, since I’m beneath her while she’s riding me into the bed, moving her hips in an almost hypnotising way that has my cock hitting her at every last angle and depth it could, but I maintain my stance. She’s so beautiful.

And I love her. I love her so fucking much, it stirs chest echos within me, just like now, her nails dragging down my chest as she leans to kiss me, helpless little cries tumbling from her mouth to mine. I long to hear her tell me the same, but I shan’t rush her. Linda left her with a lot of damage where love is concerned, and I know it’ll take time because of this, Edie of course confiding in me that she’s never really trusted anyone enough in her past where relationships are concerned to truly love them.

I feel it changing in her, though. I can feel that she loves me, it’s just that her heart and her mouth cannot quite connect the words to the sentiment yet. And that’s okay. It’s okay because she shows me, speaks it silently, tells me through her blood without even realising that she’s doing it. There’s something very beautiful about that.

"Can you breathe yet?" I ask, about two minutes after she's come crashing down on top of me, completely out of breath from the last three hours of near nonstop sex.

"I... I... no." She gasps, making me laugh as I wind my arms around her. I had expected to hear from Ursula by now, and the fact that I still haven't does stir further trepidation, even though I can feel she's okay. It'll be another hour before sunrise, but I do hope that before I fall asleep, I get word that she's returned home. At ten to six when Edie and I are finally settling, my phone begins to ring.

"I'm home, my boy. Stay where you are for now, Charles has rushed home before the dawn with EZ too, but there isn't time for you to make it now. You're further away than they were. Stay with your lady until sundown, and then come home right away so I can fill you all in together over why I've been absent for two days," she advises, while I feel my insides breathe a massive sigh of relief. She's home.

"I will, I'll be straight there at first dark. See you soon." I reply, before hanging up.

"Ursula?" Edie asks hopefully.

"Yeah, she's finally back. I'm heading back tomorrow at dusk right away to see her.” The fucking relief I feel right now.

"Of course, and I'm so pleased for you that she's home. Mainly because I can feel you've relaxed and you aren't worried any longer.” She smiles, reaching to stroke my neck, blue eyes twinkling at me.

"Yeah, true. I just want to know why she was away, but it can wait." We then entwine with each other, lying all curled up, kissing until we fall asleep.  

As soon as the large ball of fire in the sky falls to let the darkness envelop the sky, I'm up and out of bed, dressing quickly and then heading out to find Edie sitting in the back yard under all her twinkly lights reading and drinking whiskey.

"How's your day been?" I ask, as I check I have everything with me.

"Great, thank you. I'm almost finished reading this now, too. Do you still want to see me later?"

"Yeah, I'll call you as soon as Ursula is done talking to us all. See you later, love you," I tell her, bending to kiss those beautiful lips a couple of times.

"See you later, miss you already." She replies before I leave with my wolves in tow, smiling at her softness. She's such a cutie underneath the tough punisher exterior. In fact, when she's away from work you'd never really guess that that's what she does. She likes dresses and sparkly things, she says she isn't a girly girl, but she is to a degree. She doesn't gush or squeal about things, though, which me and my eardrums are glad of.  

Moving quicker than human pace, but not at maximum vampire speed, I rush through the streets along with my wolves until I'm coming to the house at the end of the final street I turn onto.

"So where have you been then, and why?" is the first question out of my mouth when the front door opens to reveal Ursula.

"Patience, Angel," she replies, hugging me on the doorstep before we head inside and straight to her sitting room, being joined by Charles and EZ soon after.

"I've already told Charles, he nagged it out of me before we went to sleep this morning,” she begins, taking a seat. “So, to explain my absence. for the past two days. I can sum it up very succinctly. I was held at the AVA headquarters, being thoroughly interrogated over my alleged involvement with the TVM.” EZ and I share looks of disbelief, staring at Ursula with slightly open mouths, then at Charles, then back at one another. We then laugh. Loudly.

The TVM, they're an underground alliance, the abbreviation standing for the True Vampire Movement. They're the ones who go against socialisation. The fact that this is so funny is because Ursula likes humans, is constantly striving to enforce the importance of socialisation with them, and also works within human relations in her career. Oh, and teaches history at college to human students. Can you see now why we're laughing?

"Shit, that's the most fucking absurd thing I think I've ever heard! No wonder you were so pissed off," I snort, as she moves to sit next to me.

"With the work that I have done within this state, I was quite insulted at first, to be accused of somehow being involved with such an extremist fraction as the TVM. They thought I was lying at first, and my god did they put the pressure on me to talk, but when they began to see how truly clueless I was over their claims and the names they were asking me if I knew of, they eventually released me without any charges of conspiracy, which they told me I'd been brought in under. Needless to say, I smell a massive rat here," she reveals, making the laughter EZ and I share cease.

"Elias?" I ask, referencing the chief of Nevada. He hates Ursula, he's never trusted her on account of the fact he can’t comprehend why such an old vampire, one who has around five hundred years on him, would continually refuse to take the chair as vampire chief of the state. It's a massively difficult and demanding job, and she just doesn't want it, or the headache that comes with it.

She nods, combing a hand through her hair. "I'd like to think that he'd know better, but I suspect so. Why he's done it though, well, I don't know. If I had been found guilty of conspiracy, then I'd have been sentenced to the final death. I honestly didn't think he hated me that much, but I do think he bears a large enough grudge to make others suspicious of me. I could lose my place within the AVA on suspicion alone. I could be fired for that, if tongues begin wagging enough, and we all know what gossip mongers can be found within the association. One of them is Dawn Cavendish, for example, who was apparently on the phone to virtually everyone she knows within the hour over my being taken in for questioning. I don't know for definite that this did come from Elias, but he's the only vampire who distrusts me. I'm determined to try and get to the bottom of this as quietly as I can, save rousing any further suspicion.”

"Dawn Cavendish,” EZ grumbles, shaking his head. “I hope that one day, I get a call asking me to take her out. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to finish that bitch.” He's always hated the woman, and I don't blame him for it either. She's a cunt, to put it bluntly. Actually, no she isn't. Cunts have a pleasurable use, and they look and feel amazing. She's something else entirely.

"Listen, the reason I told you both to stay away from the house was because I knew it would be being watched, and they'd have tried to rope you three in for questioning, should you have been around. That's why I told you to stay with Edie, Angel. No vampire could have entered her home to have taken you in, had they tried, of course, and why I advised you two to stay with Angela," she explains, referencing one of her human friends. "I think we all need to be on our guard for anything else like this happening. I have a feeling Elias is going to have me watched, and my family, too, so you both must be on your best behaviour where humans are concerned. He's going to be looking for the slightest slip up just to haul me back in again."  

"Well, you're okay there. I know if I fuck up again with my temper around humans, it's you who'll pay for my crime, and EZ has more control over himself than any other vampire I've met at our age, so don't worry about us. Just worry about getting to the bottom of this bullshit as quickly and quietly as you can. I suppose you’ll have to be quiet about it, as with the gossipy nature of certain members of the AVA if they hear you're trying to pin this interference on Elias, they'll automatically assume you've something to hide," I state, watching Ursula nodding with a smile.

"That's exactly it, my son. Other than that, we carry on as normal, but keep extra vigilant to anything out of the ordinary. If as I suspect this has come from Elias, to show me under a bad light, then I cannot imagine it'll stop at me just being questioned for two days.” Her line of thinking is correct, I should think. They’ll try and come for all of us in an attempt to smear her name.  

After our talk is done, EZ departs, telling us he'll see us all again in a couple of days since he has to travel out of state on a job (someone in Idaho will end up with a bullet to the head) and Charles departs for work, leaving just me and my creator.

"Do you have any plans for this evening, then? I should be at work, of course, but I was told not to come in until Monday evening on account of the length of time I was kept for questioning," she asks, getting up to move to her writing desk, picking up a pencil and taking a sheet of paper out of her folder.

"Yeah, Edie is coming over. I have to call her right now actually, and tell her any time from now is good for her to arrive," I say as I move over to her desk as well, standing behind her and watching as she continues the sketch she's doing of the roses in the vase in front of her. Near enough every single room in the house contains a vase or two full of flowers, yellow roses being Ursula's particular favourite. Charles has them sent here daily for her.

"Oh, good!” she begins, turning back to me with a warm smile. “I have to ask, would you mind if I stole her from you for a time when she arrives? I'd like to get to know her better, just me and her sitting down to talk if that's okay with you both?”

"I'll ask Edie, but if she doesn't have a problem with it then I don't either." I then take that moment to call her, Edie telling me she’s on her way as soon as she’s locked up. Once I'm done, I take a seat at Ursula’s side, my creator resting a hand to my forearm. She can feel my anxiety over this suspicion surrounding her before I’ve even opened my mouth to speak.

"Are you worried about this at all, this finger that you think is being pointed at you by Elias?" She seems so calm, but then again, why wouldn’t she be? She's done nothing wrong. We vampires, we can be sneaky, though. I wouldn't put it past someone like Elias to be underhanded.

"Not at all, my lovely. I have nothing to be worried about at this moment," she replies at first, turning to stroke my cheek with her hand. "I am, as ever, touched by your concern. I've done nothing wrong, though, and I have absolutely no ties with the TVM, so there truly is nothing to worry about for now. I'm just going to prepare myself for the fact that I think this is just the beginning, but you know me, I will find out who is behind this, and when I do, they're going down." I’d expect nothing less. For all her softness, the darker side of Ursula’s nature is truly formidable.

"What will you do if it is Elias?" I ask her, intrigued.

"I shall have no choice but to expose him and his plan, and then help find a suitable vampire to take the chair of the chiefdom," she shrugs simply.

"You wouldn't be tempted to take the chair for yourself still?"  

Her jaw sets a little, but she then softens. "For the four thousandth time, no. I remain resolute in my disinterest. I didn't mean that to sound harsh, but I just do not want the bother of it.” Her kind smile shows she meant there to be no anger behind her firmly stated words.  

"I'm sorry. I know we've all gone on and on about it over the years, but that's because we know you'd do such a good job. I gotta remember to be more respectful to the wishes you've made very clear."  

“Thank you.” Reaching for me, she gives me a hug, kissing my head. “I love you.”

It makes me beam, whenever she says that. “Love you too, mom.”  

I leave her to it, letting Icarus and Thor back out again so they can go and hunt down their dinner before I head into the kitchen and read today's paper while I wait for Edie to arrive. With every step she takes nearer to my home, I can feel our blood tie becoming stronger, picking up on her happiness and excitement to see me clearly as I sit grinning like an idiot, concentrating on that more than the stories in the paper in front of me. When I feel that she's just minutes away, I go and wait for her on the doorstep.

“There she is, mi amor,” I speak, watching Edie let herself through the gate. I feel an immediate wave of lust hit me as how she looks. She’s done her eye makeup dark and smoky, yet still minimal, her hair is all wavy and pinned up, loose strands framing her face and neck, a large pair of silver (that’d better be plated!) hoops, and a grey dress that hangs off her slender shoulders. Fuck. And that’s my woman. God damn. “Come kiss me, right fucking now. Look at you, could you get any sexier?”

I’m granted her lips, the feel of her body pressing into mine arousing me instantly, her fingers undoing my shirt, nails tickling at my chest. “I could, if I stripped naked. So, how about you take me upstairs, and we can let that happen, hmm?” She kisses me again, her hand trailing down to give my hardening dick a firm squeeze, suddenly pulling away with a wide eyed look. “Fuck, I’m so mannerless! How’s Ursula?”

“You’re not mannerless, mi dulce,” I begin, moving my lips to her neck, my fingers stroking gentle circles at her waist through her dress. “You can ask her yourself, eventually. She wants to talk to you, get to know you a little better, if that’s alright?”

She hums in acknowledgement, her fingers still continuing to undo my shirt, our thoughts much more consumed by the exact same desire. Her tongue circles my nipple, teeth biting it, sending a jolt through me like an electric current, my need for her escalating with rampant fury. “Yeah, that’s fine. Eventually. I need something else much more first. Fuck, Angel,” she gasps, my teeth biting into her neck, taking a greedy feed that I don’t truly need, but want. “The things you stir in me. Please, fuck me. Right now.”  

Oh, she got it. Or rather, she will. We kiss with furious want, Edie jumping up to wrap her legs around my waist as I move her to the side of the front door, a guttural growl rattling my throat when I feel that she forwent her underwear, pinning her against the bricks with the weight of my chest as I reach to stroke her, my fingers skimming through pure, slick heaven. God, I love how wet she gets for me, impatiently pulling the buttons of my fly apart, freeing my cock.  

Her cheeks flush instantly as I drop her down on it, her lips parting on a soft gasp, mine crushing against them in a blazing kiss as I grip her thighs, holding her spread, taking deep root into her, those hot, slick muscles closing in around me as I begin to fuck her against the front of the house. And it isn’t calm or modest, her nails clawing at me as she cries out repeatedly, my mouth in a relentless pursuit of marking her with sucks and bites at her neck as I pound the tight clutch of her cunt, adrenaline fuelling us both, unbothered over whether anyone walks past and happens to view it. 

It’s absolutely feral, and I just hope Ursula understands the good reason she’s being kept waiting for. Fuck, when you can’t wait, you can’t wait...

Ursula’s POV

“Good fucking grief!” Usually, I’m able to tune out Angel’s emotions, but the lust ripping through him at the moment borders on barbaric. “And right there at the front of the house, you naughty children.” I then chuckle, shaking my head as I my ears pick up on the sounds of their carnivorous sexual escapades. “You are a beast, my boy.”

I’ll see Edie at some point this evening, I suppose...

[shady-scripter]

Whumptober Day3

(Solitary Confinement)

Did…did you guys expect levels of silly? Well damn, you were kinds very wrong. However, I still remain silly

Anyway, if Someone has read The Sunbearer Trials, PLEASE TALK TO ME AND/OR RECOMMEND ME FANFICTION BECAUSE OW-

Crazy? He was crazy once. He was locked in a room, a rubber room, a rubber room with rats. Rats made him crazy. Crazy-

He didn’t know how many days it’d been. Four? Seventeen? Fifty? All he knew was that these guys were going to pay and pay hard.

He hadn’t eaten in so long, he was actually tempted to eat the slob they set down for him. He stayed in his corner wondering if this was what all of them got. Is Nico okay? Is Hazel okay? Frank? Leo? Piper? Annabeth…?

He tried to shake those thoughts away, the impending doom looming over him. He could worry about them as soon as he got this chain off and he could escape. He didn’t want to be alone again.

The same vicious saying circled around in his head. It was once an annoying joke at camp, coming from the internet and all, but damn was Percy feeling it right now.

Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room, a rubber room, a rubber room with rats. Rats made him crazy. They skittered across the floors when he was most quiet, poking at the food he refused to eat. He let them, but their constant squeaking was going to make him go insane.

He already heard the voices of his friends. He already saw mirages of his mother’s blue chocolate chip cookies. He missed them…his friends, but mostly those cookies.

The ones he hated the most were the ones with Annabeth as the center. She coaxed him with hope of escape, saying that they’d see each other again. What if they didn���t? What if he never got out of here? Would she hate him?

He knew that she shouldn’t, but what if she did? What if his mother heard about something that he did and didn’t tell her? What could he go back to after this? Would Camp take him?

Percy chuckled at his own thoughts.

Camp? What camp? Camp Half-Blood was gone. He was there when it was attacked. He didn’t want to kill those people, they were only doing there job. He wish that he killed them. He should’ve killed every last one of them. Especially because of what they did to Leo.

The thought hit Percy like a bus. They have Leo too…

And all he could do, is cry. He’s cries for hours upon hours a day. He cries for his friends, his family, himself. He rolled in self pity. Part of him was disgusted by himself, the other part was just tired and didn’t care.

“Percy?” It wasn’t real. He begged himself not to look, but he did anyway. His wise girl…

She was just as he remembered her. Tan skin, blonde hair, gray eyes. By the gods could he get lost in those eyes of hers. “We can do this! Just as we always have. Let’s do this together, yeah?”

He turned his head away, covering his ears. “Not real..” he croaked, his tears only falling faster.

“Percy, how could you say that I’m not real? I thought that you loved me!” Her voice was cracked and broken as if he had put a spear through her chest.

“I-“ he choked on his words. Of course he loved her. Most of the things that he had ever done was for her! “Leave me alone!” He tried to close out all of the surrounding noise, but her voice was still so clear it hurt.

It was all a lie! Nothing was real! He was alone! She wasn’t here, but fuck he wished she was. He wanted to hug her, to feel her, to kiss her…

“Percy!” Another voice screamed. It wasn’t Annabeth’s, it was the voice of a friend long gone.

He let out a choked up sob. “No! Please!” He didn’t want to hear his voice. Sometimes he found himself wishing that he did, but why did it take this to make him hear.

He was scraping at his ears, begging them to rip off. “No, no, no, no, no!” He curled himself in a ball, crying into his knees.

He felt like a kid again, crying to his mom about the things he went through. About fighting monsters three times his size or those times that he almost died or when Annabeth almost died, when Jason did die…

He felt like he was reliving that trauma. From the Minotaur, from Chronos, from Gaia. The things he grinned and beared because he had to be strong or no one else would.

“No, no, no! Please! MAKE IT STOP!” He screamed.

He heard no more voices, only the sound of silence.

[gaydepressedtheatrekid]

What One Drink Starts Chapter 3: No Evidence

Plants with dark leaves swayed from the wind entering the shattered windows. Hundreds of plants staked their claim in the main greenhouse after years of not being cut back. The interconnected buildings had been abandoned by all but one person.

The main greenhouse was several hundred feet long, and a few dozen wide. Dirty windows were shattered with pieces of glass glittering in the rising sun high in the sky, or frames were completely empty. The iron frame that originally held the frame in position was rusted into pieces, leaving the plants curling on the ceiling and roof to hold it together.

An old radio played crackling music as it strained to connect a signal, this deep in the forest. The radio sat on the floor covered in dirt and fallen leaves. Bugs skittered across the floor as nightfall came like a whisper.

Deep in the guts of a smaller greenhouse, two people feared for their lives. They were tied to the ceiling by rope made of bark and hung like pigs ready for slaughter. They struggled against their bonds as ants crawled up and down their bodies.

The sound of metal being sharpened behind them was as ominous as a flickering lightbulb in a basement.

Florence smiled at her guests as she sharpened an arrow. “Good news, I’m letting you two run.” She tightened the straps of her arm guard and kicked the switch to slowly lower the captives to the ground.

Seconds later, they sprawled together on the ground. Their ropes were cut and Florence watched them dash as fast as they could from the sum of everything of the past five days holding them at a disadvantage.

She watched them run out of sight and switched off the lights. She pulled her bow from its holster and took in a deep breath. “Bad news, I’m in the mood to hunt.”

She gripped the bow and loosely nocked an arrow without drawing it back. A sadistic smile creeped onto her face as she started to hunt.

Florence nodded along quickly with the music screaming from the radio moved to be on a rotting shelf as a chainsaw roared in her hands. Dark splotches were splattered across the plants hugging the walls and white shavings were strewn across the floor. 

She set the tool down and took off her sticky apron. After tossing it in the back of her truck, she picked up the limbs (Soymida Febrifuga) she cut and tossed them in the bed of her truck. The jars full of dark liquid siphoned from the limbs before they had been chopped off were set there as well in boxes of two, four, and six. A tarp was thrown over the back of the bed to keep them from flying out. She grabbed the paper stained red from the mess and put the folded up paper in her pocket.

The old sleeper crankily woke up when the key was shoved into the ignition. The engine roared to life as the driver cranked up the music and started to drive away from her home.

Her hands pounded against the wheel as the music sunk into her bones and her lips mouthed the words. This song, the Nightcore version, always got her blood pumping after she finished a job.

No other headlights were on the back road she was on, making her put more pressure on the pedal. She cracked the window and took a deep breath of all the clean air she could get as she went in the direction of the polluted city.

Her hands slowed as the song changed to a slower, but still upbeat one. She made it to the narrow bridge she used to drive over the river. She glanced to over the barrier of the bridge and out at the boats splashing across the water.

Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!

The red and blue lights blinded her in the rearview mirror and the siren howled over the radio. 

Florence rolled the window down all the way and stuck her hand out the window in acknowledgement. After making it off the bridge, she pulled to the side of the road.

She glanced in the side mirror to watch a cop make his way to her truck. She turned the truck off and leaned against the door.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the cop asked when he made it to the window. His eyes scanned the inside of the truck as he leaned against the top of the door.

“I do not, sir,” Florence responded, looking up at him. Her eyes flicked to his nametag.

‘Officer Bender?’ She thought with a hidden grin.

He nodded at the bed of the truck. “What’s the red stuff leaking out of the back?”

Florence pulled into the drive way of the unassuming house with a smile on her face. She hopped out and cracked her knuckles. Grabbing the paper stuffed in her pocket, she checked the printed address.

She walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. Her hands adjusted the box.

The door opened a few moments later to show a middle-aged man behind the screen. He smiled brightly at the sight of Florence holding the box.

“Hello, Mr. Fairfax. I’ve got your order here.” Florence held up the box. “Would you like me to bring it inside?”

“Yes, please,” he said, opening the door all the way and holding it open. “Again, thank you for this on such short notice. I couldn’t find any other way to get this red gold in the winter.”

Florence walked past him and set the box down gently. She pulled out the paper and smoothed it out on the counter. She grabbed a pen and held it out to the man. “Of course, no problem. I know I could never live with myself if I kept all the goods of my hobby.”

Mr. Fairfield signed the paper and walked past Florence to the fridge. He opened it and scanned it quickly. “Would you like a slice of pie my wife made? She made it with our last order from you.”

“That, Mr. Fairfield—” Florence opened the box and pulled out the jars— “would be wonderful.”

After a bit of time just talking to catch up and eating pie, Florence bade her customer goodbye to deliver the other orders.

“‘Mr. Fairfield, four jars of Red Currant Jelly without the seeds.’”

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

Isolated Scene for Perusing and Consideration

look i only write so fast. consistent uploads are the devils work and his good soldiers are struggling alright

S/n’s wandering fingers single out D/n’s jugular in a second, and pull it free of his neck, caressing the band of flesh, before they begin to pluck on it. Shudders rack D/n’s body, but S/n’s expression never twists out of their soft, patient smile, shushing D/n as whimpers start to slide from the intact portion of his throat, legs swimming against the floor.

“Don’t squirm, pet. If you think this is torture now, you wouldn’t like how it feels when fingers go through this pretty little vein of yours,” they whisper, letting their gaze wander onto X/n and R/n, staring on in unfiltered horror, frozen in place for fear of instigating an unrecoverable outcome.

S/n begins to run fingers up and down the vein, D/n choking out sobs as tears well below his eyes, desperately muting himself as S/n croons into his ear. 

“Very good, pet. You’re learning. Let’s hope your friends do the same, yeah?” X/n and R/n stiffen as S/n gradually stands, pulling D/n upwards with their off hand, steading his shaking legs as they start to circle towards the door. S/n rolls their head to the middle of the room. It is a command, but X/n and R/n hesitate nonetheless. S/n’s gaze tightens, but it is far less notable than the movement of their fingernails, red-streaked enamel rolling a sleeve of rubber taut.

The noise that seeps from D/n’s lungs is thoroughly human, a broken, wet sound that echoes over the creak of floorboards as his companions dive to the center of the room. S/n smiles, cruelty pinned between their teeth, and continues to back towards the hallway, eyeing X/n and R/n’s attempts to follow, but leaving them mostly uninterrupted. Anytime they get particularly bold, S/n merely returns attention to the vein between their fingers, letting a shaking D/n bring half of the room to a shuddering stop.

It judders similarly when S/n reaches the door, shifting D/n’s weight to their non-dominant leg and contorting towards the handle, maintaining balance with a palm still threaded through D/n’s throat. He eyes warily as his partners creep forward, desperation wracking through silent steps, biting further into his tongue as S/n whips back into the room, pressing their face alongside his.

“Well played, everyone! Especially you, pet, we’re all very proud. But I’m afraid we’ve run out of time, and I really must run.” The fingers in D/n’s neck untangle in a single, messy second, an arc of scarlet flicking over his shoulder as S/n throws him forward. X/n and R/n pitch forward to catch him, a warm flowing mass pressing into X/n’s shoulder as S/n disappears around the door. His shirt turns damp as they ease D/n onto their side, blood seeping through fingers as X/n cradles spasming muscles to his chest. R/n is teetering, half-crouched and frozen, eyes flicking between the doorway and D/n’s heaving body, skittering onto X/n’s when they register movement. 

The swaying tightens to shakes, skin nearly vibrating as R/n claws down the instinct to ricochet across the room, biting into their tongue to hold their eyes still as well. X/n finds it within himself to nod, forcing his jaw downwards in an arc that makes to bones creak a little. R/n barely hears it, the slam of the door bouncing away from the wall drowning it out. Their body is clipping walls and railing and doorframes, patchwork bruises decorating their arms as they search, but it doesn’t matter. Limbs ache and spasm and pain is a memory because R/n is a live-wire, and that could carry them to the ends of the universe, gliding -fallingstumblingscreaming- down three and four and five flights of stairs and into the crowds of a bar street on a Friday night. 

A scream roars up a cement stairwell, beating against the freshly laid stairs, echoing up and up and into the top of a sky scraper with its intestines waving at the pressing, humid night.

[scuffle-with-spirals]

Helter Skelter Sleeper

Trigger Warning: Brief description of a cat-caller

Word Count: 1,000

Notes:

Oh boy!! Finally got something posted for a @flashfictionfridayofficial piece! I hope you guys like this. Laika is an OC that’s lowkey been kinda brainrotting in my head?? But either way, I’m glad she’s in here, although she’s clearly not the focal point at all here, lol.

I’ve reaaaally wanted to try writing absurdist fiction, lmao. Big inspiration for this was Alice in Wonderland and Matoryoshka.

I hope you guys enjoy this! \3v3/

 __________

Laika hated public transport.

The bustling conversation, frequent drunks, the pervasive eyes glued to her like a child's messy handwork, she couldn’t stand it. The last thing she needed was to be irritated unpaid.

Her mind stuck on the catastrophes, she grew lost in thought.

She arrived at an empty train station. The fluorescent lights shone a sorry, orange flicker on a lifeline.

In time, the train made its stop. Like clockwork, she reached into her purse to pay the fare.

“What's this?” The conductor asked.

“I'm paying.” Laika mumbled.

“Nonsense!” He shouted. “Deary me, are you rich? Save the buck and comedy, doe — sit, sit!”

Laika could only manage a mental blessing. She hadn’t realized the lanky, well-spoken deer in his clean-cut black uniform wasn’t a friendly man of exception.

The trains gears began to work in tandem. Outside, a loud cough hacked and cursed the conductor four rings down. Then, with a resounding squeal, the ride began.

She planted herself in the nearest seat; one forfeited as a termite queen skittered away.

“Here you go,” Her frail voice offered, her free leg outstretched as the other gripped a small purse.

Laika recognized her elderly tone. “No, please, you have it.”

“Oh, honey and chambers of wood, no," she replied. "You’re a young one. You’ll need all the vigor you can get.”

Laika didn't protest. Her back reclined into the seat so cushioned it ate at her like quicksand.

The smell of lavender and cigarettes wafted across the commute. Laika didn’t see or question the clique of horses conversing amongst themselves, the clickity-clock of their clog box gossip a language only they could understand.

Toward the back, his sullen face pale as a corpse, a desperate businessman with only bone at his hands and feet spoke to a zombie about the perks of joining his pyramid scheme. Once denied, he gave one more strained grin and disintegrated into dust.

“Deary me!” The conductor exclaimed through the low-quality microphone overhead.

“Clean-up, Pamela!”

The front door flew open. Quiet as a guest at a stranger’s wake, Pamela-Poet glided across lukewarm glossy floor. Her bleak patchwork maid dress allergic to jewel tones swiveled around her waist to conceal nonexistent feet. A trail of smoke from a nonexistent eye trailed behind her.

“Heeey,” A flytrap who reeked of cheap booze and musk from a lack of rainfalls growled.

“Heeeey Poetry-baby—“

His catcall was grabbed by the tongue as he was decapitated at the stem. The horse ladies neighed and clapped their hooves together.

Pamela-Poet stared down the pair of shears she’d retrieved from her missing eye.

“Say, I think there’s a million messes!” A ghost that danced with indecision corporeal forms screeched, her figure akin to the static flickering across an old television.

Silent, she took her broom and flung the trash to the ceiling.

“You should clean it all! Why don’t we all go into the ceiling!” The ghost screamed like anxiety-inducing broadcast alert. As the ceiling opened up to free the garbage, she too flew out like a paper bag.

Pamela-Poet scowled, her face a vivid apple anger as she glided away. Laika’s face wrinkled as she passed. She cracked her eyes ajar too late to notice where the smell of animal meat had come from, much less see it sewn a tell-tale taxidermy partially onto her dress.

More passengers came onboard. Laika didn't budge, not even as as orphan stars flew down. Despondent and bratty, their warm, stardust-coated tears flooded the train as they were ignored.

“Goodness game!” The conductors voice returned.

"Oh boy!" A rebellious penguin shouted. From their sleek leather jackets, they all fished out barber-pole straws to share a drink.

“How's the taste?” A tortoise asked. He sat atop his two brothers, all hidden in a small raincoat athirst for the fare privilege.

“Delicious!” One said.

“We got extra straws!” Another informed.

In a moments notice, everyone helped themselves to a meal of tears. The stars incessant raged ended once their meteorite caretakers found them. Rejected by them too, they'd ran away and conducted a homeless fiction to get what they wanted. The meteorites threw the stars into the atmosphere to dissipate as punishment. They exploded like fireworks to loud, celebratory fanfare.

Laika was fast asleep.

The horse ladies were first to go. Their gossip ended in favor of friendly goodbyes and wishes for good health.

The zombie next, he gave the conductor a light pat on the back. The deer knew he'd throw his suit into the chimney fire later.

Quiet the entire ride, a kākāpō stopped to give prayer to the businessman and hoped he finally found rest. He wished the fly trap could at least learn manners in a much-needed tsunami limbo until the Gods could decide his fate.

The penguin gang left, unable to convince the termite queen. She saw through the liars trick however and left before the tortoise trio.

"Rise and shine, deer!” The conductor announced. A gloved hoof rustled Laika awake. She looked up to him.

"What?! Who are y—"

“Ha-ha!" He could only laugh. "My dearest, doe deer dumb child." The conductor sneered.

He cleared his throat.

"Clean-up!"

Again, Pamela-Poet barged out.

"Who are you?! Get away!"

“'Sorry about this" She apologized. "I’ll try to aim so you hit a sweet spot.”

Laika couldn't ask. Pamela-Poet grabbed her and chucked her through the open ceiling.

Defenseless amidst the night sky, Laika feared the inevitable pain. She gazed at the soft satin glow of the moon, and a few distant meteorites huddled around a group of bright stars.

She noticed her house. A structure she would soon crash into.

In a last, ditch-effort, Laika extended her hands. Instead of pain, she fell straight through onto her bed.

Her adrenaline fresh, she wanted to make sense of it all. But like a predictable show that never deviated from formula, she slept. She had work tomorrow, anyway.

And besides, she kind of liked the ride.

Maybe she’d find that station again.

[monstersandmaw]

Male ‘yautja inspired’ alien x gender neutral reader - Part Eight (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Content: violence, threat, some minor injury to the reader, blood. Wordcount: 4311

Your comments on the last one - tags and reblogs especially - made me cackle with pure delight. Thank you. As an early birthday present from me to you, here’s the next part. I hope you enjoy it! It’s been a while since I’ve written ‘action’ like this, so I hope it works! Can’t wait for you to let me know, as always.

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (nsfw), Part Seven (nsfw)

Don’t scream.

Don’t fucking scream.

Do not be that person. Do not. Fucking. Scream.

With cold sweat prickling down your spine and your heartbeat thudding in your throat, you inched your hand over for the tranquiliser pistol that you had set near your pillow only a few hours earlier, just in case. Thank god it was a specially-engineered military issue one, not the unwieldy kind of rifle that vets use on safari from the safety of the back of a jeep.

God, since when did sleeping bags make so much fucking noise?

Was it still out there? You couldn't hear it any more, but it was hard to hear anything behind the pounding of blood in your ears.

The machete lay in its sheath beside the gun, and you picked that up too. Glinting steel slid easily over leather, and then you froze again. The hilt felt clumsy and awkward in your hand. Your fingers refused to hold the grip of the tranquiliser gun properly out of sheer terror. Nothing was working right; you couldn’t see; you couldn’t think. Your finger refused to close on the trigger.

Fuck. The safety was still on anyway.

“Shitshitshit…” you hissed.

In a vain attempt to get your thoughts out of tail-spin, you sucked in a deep, sudden breath and held your lungs at their fullest capacity for a good three seconds before silently exhaling to a long count.

A single, muffled footfall outside sent pine cones skittering against the thin, insubstantial canvas of the tent, and the growling began again in a low, teasing taunt.

It was playing with you.

You genuinely thought you might piss yourself with terror as you just crouched there in the dark, shaking and clinging to your ineffectual weapons.

The footage that Red had showed you of its black, articulated tail going right up through the tough, thick hide of his companion flashed once again across your mind, and you kept on replaying the way the tail had actually lifted their eight-foot tall body right up off the jungle floor like an offering on a spike, with the curved, obsidian talon at the tip of the tail buried deep in their flesh like a harpoon.

Shit.

Croc had been tough enough to survive having his entire left arm ripped off during the crash, but another warrior of his calibre had died to this enemy from the cold reaches of space in the blink of an eye. What chance did a soft, untrained human like you stand?

They cannot be destroyed by radiation. They cannot be poisoned or trapped. They can only be killed by the most skilled of warriors with the truest of aim and the deadliest weapons. The metals and alloys you currently use are insufficient to cause fatal damage to them. The voice of the High Elder rattled through the empty corridors of your brain and you barely stifled a yelp of terror as you stared at the gun and knife in your shaking hands. It wasn’t even a proper gun. There was no doubt about it; you were alone, and you were going to die.

Something pressed down on the canvas of the tent above you and you shrank away against the back wall with a strangled scream. Three black, glittering claws punctured the material and dragged long, slow slices across the fabric with a horrible rending sound. As the rips in the tent widened, out in the deeper darkness beyond, something glinted.

Teeth.

A drop of foaming, acidic drool melted through the polymer canvas and dripped onto the mat between your legs. It etched a small, frothing divot into the surface before the reaction burned itself out, and you tilted your face up to find a maw full of cylindrical teeth bearing down on you like a shark about to attack. Moonlight glanced off the shiny carapace of its elongated head, and a low, delighted growl filled the air as it regarded its trapped prey.

Without even thinking about it, you raised the tranquiliser gun and unloaded two darts directly into the creature’s open mouth. The darts sank deep into its soft palate and it staggered back with a screech that tore at your eardrums. It flailed wildly and crashed into the underbrush nearby, and you seized the opportunity to get out of your tent, lashing out blindly with the machete and tearing the rest of the fabric open before lurching off into the clearing. Out in the open, you felt like a mouse driven from a hole by a snake.

The creature writhed in a patch of brambles for just a moment before it found its feet and rounded on you.

Six feet tall, lanky, bipedal, and composed of a glossy black carapace, flashing teeth, and a tail measuring half as long again as its body, the thing darted at you through the darkness faster than your eyes could follow. It seemed to disappear completely into the shadows only to reappear on your left with another shriek of rage and an open, attacking maw.

You fired the gun but it missed wildly. You only had six shots and you’d used half of them already. Each dart apparently had enough in it to tranquilise one of Big Red’s kind in five seconds flat, but it didn’t seem to have had any effect on their enemy beyond a moment of fleeting annoyance and discomfort.

In another flash of moonlight on shiny, black chitin, it was onto you. It barrelled you backwards into the wreckage of your tent and you landed hard enough that all the air was knocked from your lungs in a stunning blow that left you wheezing. In a tangle of tent poles and canvas, its claws began tearing into your clothes as well before it spun away to extricate itself from the collapsed and splintered tent and start its attack anew.

As it left, it lashed at your face with its scythe-like tail. Searing pain shot across your cheek and you instinctively brought your palm to your face. It came away slick and hot and your skin burned in the aftermath.

With a cry you never would have thought yourself capable of making, you screamed a defiant challenge at the creature, like some kind of berserker before a last stand. You raised the gun and held the machete level in your other hand. If you were going to die, you were not going to go down without a fight.

The creature seemed slightly amused by your reaction.

As it bounded off the nearest tree trunks like a playful cat hunting a small bird, you squeezed the trigger again and caught it between the plates of its armoured throat with your fourth shot.

You just barely flung yourself to the ground in time as it lunged at you, half hoping to slash at its underbelly with the machete as you did, but the blade just glanced off it like a child playing make-believe knights with sticks and dustbin lids.

The edge did sink deep into its flailing tail as it sailed past though, and the creature hissed and screeched. The momentum of its leap ripped the weapon right out of your hand, but the machete stayed lodged in the tail and the creature roared and landed hard in a spray of dry pine needles on the other side of the clearing.

“Oh good, now I’ve just pissed you off,” you muttered as you staggered to your feet again. Now you had fifty percent less weaponry at your disposal, and, thanks to your efforts, the creature had acquired a new and deadly spike in its tail. Wonderful.

Two shots left.

It flipped itself upright again onto its hind legs just as a cloud scudded across the face of the moon, plunging the forest into darkness. The creature took full advantage of your sudden and complete blindness, and launched itself at you.

With another scream you raised your hands as it collided with you again, knocking you to the ground. You crossed your forearms in front of your face just in time to catch it under its lower jaw and deflect the attack. A heartbeat later and it might have closed its mouth around your throat. You shoved at its neck as hard as you could while snapping teeth filled your face and its claws raked into the dirt on either side of your head.

It was still toying with you; cat and mouse, dragging it out for its own entertainment. If it had wanted you dead, it would have simply ripped you to ribbons the moment you left the tent.

Somehow though, you got the gun up with one hand and fired twice more into its horrible mouth in quick succession before the futile ‘click click click’ of an empty magazine made your heart stop beating. That was it. You were out of options and the thing was showing no sign of slowing down.

Desperately you struggled to keep its bear-trap maw out of your face, but you knew you couldn't keep it up forever. Your fingers were slipping, losing purchase on the shiny, chitinous body and the useless gun dropped to the forest floor beside your head. Acid burned at your fingers and slick palms. Spittle sprayed from its array of teeth, hitting the ground around your face and fizzling as its acid drool hit the pine needles. Desperately you tilted your head to the side, closing your eyes instinctively as flecks of it landed in your hair and on your forehead. Adrenaline kept the pain away for the time being, but you supposed a few freckles of acid burn weren’t going to matter much when it was chewing you to pieces in a few minutes’ time anyway.

With one last, long, desperate scream of defiance, you shoved everything you had into one final push against its throat. In response, its injured tail lanced down out of the night and embedded itself in the forest floor beside your ear, just nicking the skin, though you barely felt it.

Oddly enough, the creature seemed enraged to have missed your head with its tail — perhaps the machete had damaged some nerves after all — and it reared upwards in confusion, giving your exhausted arms a moment’s respite. Then you blinked in surprise as it staggered and lurched to one side and brought its clawed fingers to its mouth like it was trying to pull the darts out. So those four tranquiliser shots had done something after all.

It shook its head, perhaps trying to clear its vision, and dropped down to all fours to advance on you again like a hyena, gnashing its jaws and spitting everywhere. While the tranquiliser had clearly done something, it would not be enough to take it down, and you were out of options.

Just as a part of you prepared yourself to die, something whistled through the air and the creature was blown back off its feet to land with a thud two metres away across the clearing, near your ruined tent. You could just make out a long, javelin shaft protruding from its stomach.

A wild, furious, screaming roar sounded from the trees behind you an instant later.

While you just lay there on your back, stunned and shaking, a shadow leapt right over you, briefly silhouetted against the face of the moon. As you watched, as if in slow-motion, you realised they were missing an arm.

“Croc?”

A heartbeat later, as the enemy staggered back to its feet with a now-familiar looking spear still sticking out of its torso, a second missile soared overhead and embedded itself into the chest of the already impaled creature, accompanied by a deeper, more primal roar. Red.

They’d come for you.

Somehow, they’d known.

You started to cry.

Seemingly heedless of the two harpoons that had stabbed massive holes in its chest, the creature tore itself free of them, dragging the spear points out through its own chest and stomach, before hurling itself at the second figure who had come charging out of the underbrush like death incarnate.

Big Red stood over you and bellowed a challenge at the creature. His mandibles flared as wide as they could go, and his arms and chest and shoulders heaved with barely-contained, protective rage. Each step he took towards it and away from you, you felt the ground tremble. He hunched forwards, ready, focused, and Croc circled the enemy on the other side. It was like their sparring match but now they were working together, and the creature had two, fresh warriors to face down while phosphorescent, blue blood spurted and seeped down its shiny carapace.

Even with the tranquiliser in its system, the enemy wasn’t about to give up easily, and even injured, it was still fast and agile, using the trees and the intermittent darkness for cover. It soon sensed that they were protecting you, and it kept trying to circle back to you. It slipped from a branch though when Croc shot it down with a blaster, and it landed with a thud in the leaf litter almost right beside you.

You scrambled back and Red charged forwards with another ear-splitting roar. He caught it around its middle with one arm and slammed his whole bodyweight into it, driving it back with his big shoulder and ramming it into a tree as it reached its wicked claws out for you. To your horror though, you watched as it changed its mind, scrabbled to get a good hold with its claws on Red’s arms, and then sank its festering, foaming jaws deep into his neck.

Big Red screamed in rage and pain and raised both hands, trying to rip the creature’s head right off its neck where it was latched like a leech to his jugular.

While he struggled and staggered backwards, the creature thrashed its tail, but Croc raced forwards, dodged inside the reach of the whip like appendage, and stabbed upwards repeatedly under its elongated skull with a twin-bladed knife until it sagged and loosened its hold, and Red finally tore its head clean off its shoulders. The carcass sprayed some more of its violently-blue, glowing blood around the clearing and then tumbled away to lie twitching in the dirt.

Croc wasted no time and surged forwards for Big Red who had sagged against the tree trunk, grabbing something from his belt and immediately raising his arm to jab Red directly in the throat with what looked like a glowing green syringe. Big Red staggered, slipped sideways, and fell to one knee beside you, heaving and gasping.

Trembling all over, you eased yourself to sit upright, wide eyed with horror. “Red?”

His own luminescent blood was spattering down onto the pine needles too, mingling with the blue of the enemy’s.

Neither one of them responded and you stared, transfixed, as Red keeled over and started to convulse even before he fell to the ground. Croc let out a single scream of horror and distress, his mandibles wide, and he cradled Red’s head in his remaining right hand as Red juddered and shook and bled all over himself. Horrible sucking sounds escaped his foaming, closing throat, his eyes rolled back behind pale membranes, and his limbs went rigid as the creature’s poison hit his system.

“Red!” you screamed and tried to crawl closer but Croc warned you off with a terrifying roar. He didn’t have a free hand to keep you back, but his expression did the job well enough and you froze. “Red…?”

Overhead, a searing white light blasted down out of the dark sky, illuminating everything with a painfully bright glow. The treetops then began to whip and lash about in the downdraft of the approaching vessel, and your ears popped under the sudden boom of engines as it came to a hovering halt above the canopy.

A single figure then descended on a black rope, and for a moment through the adrenaline and delayed shock, you couldn’t figure out whether the new arrivals were Croc and Red’s people or your own until a massive figure crouched down beside you and chittered something at you.

A second later, they were shoved bodily aside with a protective snarl, and Croc’s familiar face filled your vision as he crouched.

“Red?”

“He’ll be fine,” Croc said, though he still sounded panicked. “He’s fine. They’ll take care of him. Are you badly hurt?”

Mutely, you shook your head and tried to see past Croc’s body to where Red was lying eerily still. “Not really. Just… maybe some acid… and a cut…”

“Come here,” Croc said, and he drew you into his one-armed hug while the unfamiliar alien turned from staring at Croc in amazement to dealing with Red with the calm air of a paramedic.

“Croc,” you sobbed, and the events of the last few minutes swept over you.

You were shaking uncontrollably, but he held you close. “We’re here,” he crooned. “You’re safe. You’re safe. It’s dead. You fought with honour. You’re safe. I’ll protect you.”

“Croc, Red…?”

“Shh,” he said, and drew back. “Come on. We need to get you out of here. Take what you need from your tent… and we’ll take care of you.”

You rose on shaky legs and grabbed your rucksack from the wreck of your little tent, stuffing your water bottle and phone into one of the side pockets. There was only the sleeping bag and mattress left, but you didn’t grab either of them before you staggered out into the clearing again. The gun lay empty somewhere among the pine needles, and you had no idea where the machete had gone in the chaos.

In the harsh lights of the ship, you saw Big Red lying completely immobile on the floor, with the newcomer bending over him. “Red?” you whimpered, taking a step towards him. A hand grabbed your wrist and you instinctively twisted out of it. “No! Red!”

Croc growled your name and grabbed for you again, holding firm this time and turning you physically away to face him. “Let them do their job,” he said. “They will heal him. The antivenom won’t take long to work. They got here in time. Let them work.”

“Red…”

“Come,” Croc said, and he led you away to the dangling rope that hung between the trees from the silver ship above. As you cricked your neck up to stare at it, you saw that it was exactly the same as Croc and Big Red’s ship had been, except that it was whole and undamaged, and flying.

Croc clipped you mutely into a harness while you just stood there, and you soon found yourself being drawn up into the open belly of the ship. About halfway up, you realised how much your hands and face were hurting.

Inside, another of their kind stared openly at you before shaking themselves and helping you out of the harness. This one was much shorter than Croc and Red, and was completely white with red eyes and pink ‘dreads’. The third member of this crew, you presumed, was flying the ship.

“Hi,” you said stupidly, and the leucistic alien stepped back a pace before flaring their mandibles at you in something resembling a wary threat display from a cobra. From behind you, another hissing started, and you whipped around to see Croc being winched through the hatch to land in a perfectly-balanced fighting stance. He un-clipped himself and then stepped between you and the other alien, looming over them to growl something at them in their own language. Whatever he said clearly had significance, because they looked at you anew, then bowed their head.

“Come on,” Croc said, guiding you to one side as the alien who had been tending to Big Red lifted him through the hatch on a special stretcher. Their ghostly companion helped to get him to one side and you stared at Big Red’s still, limp, bleeding body lying on the cargo bay floor.

“Croc,” you whispered. He looked so vulnerable.

“He’ll be alright,” Croc said again, though he sounded tense.

You staggered, your knees suddenly going out from underneath you, and before you had even realised you were going to pass out, everything warped and blurred, and you fell backwards in a dead faint.

Waking was a slow process. You clawed your way back to consciousness through a thick, groggy, cotton-wool fog that filled your mind and made everything slow and hard to process.

You finally opened your eyes to find yourself lying on a firm but comfortable surface, with low, warm lighting illuminating smooth, carbon-fibre walls and what looked like a carved amber panel on the opposite wall.

You were surprisingly comfortable, cosy even beneath the blankets, and there was something breathing steadily next to you.

You blinked. A familiar pattern of cream and ochre and iron oxide skin came into focus and you gasped and sat bolt upright, staring. You were lying at Big Red’s right side, and his chest was rising and falling with a regular, healthy rhythm. He had a squashy-looking poultice of some kind over the left side of his throat and bandages around his collarbones, and you gasped softly when you saw that a couple of his ‘dreads’ had been bitten off halfway down their length, but he was alive.

Bowing your head to touch your forehead to his chest as relief washed through you, you stifled a sob and slid your arm around his torso, squeezing. He inhaled more deeply and turned his head with a low, repeated clicking sound in his throat.

“Red…” you whispered and looked up to find him blinking slowly at you. “You ok?”

Carefully, he nodded and turned his head back to stare up at the ceiling. His right arm tightened around you though, and he pulled you down to lie almost on top of his chest. He closed his eyes again, apparently exhausted, and began to purr.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, clinging to him, but some time later, a door opened nearby with a soft hiss, and you startled and snapped your head up. Croc strode in and ‘smiled’ his mandibles at you when he saw you, and you relaxed.

“Hey,” you rasped. You hadn’t noticed how thirsty you were until then.

He bowed his head. “Are you alright?” he asked and you nodded. He spoke to Red in their language and Red clicked something back at him. “Good,” was all he said.

“Croc, what’s going to happen now? Where are we?”

He nodded and adopted an easy kind of ‘parade rest’ stance while he talked to you. “We are back at the clearing where we crashed. Our commander has given us orders to take you to your facility directly.”

“Croc, you can’t! They’ll shoot you down!” you blurted, sitting bolt upright. “They won’t be expecting it.” You paused and said, “I can try to contact them once I get back in range. I think something on your ship disrupted my GPS equipment on the way out here. My maps stopped working, and I didn’t test it but I’m fairly sure my satellite phone wouldn’t work either. If I can get in touch with them, I can tell them not to attack…”

He nodded. “Are you well enough to come to the bridge and speak via link with our commander?”

You blinked. “Croc, I’m not… I’m not a diplomat or anything… I’m just a researcher…”

He clicked reassuringly at you and Red moved his hand to the small of your back.

“We aren’t here to start a war,” Croc said. “We just want to return you so that you can tell your people the High Elder’s message. With communications open, we can find a solution. You have seen first hand now what you’re up against.” He paused and tilted his head a little. “You need our help.”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, we do.”

“You fought like one of us though,” Croc grinned. “We saw you as we approached.”

Red clicked proudly at you and stroked another circle across your back before his hand fell softly away. He was too tired to keep it there.

With a sigh, you slid carefully off the bed and looked down at your ripped and torn clothes. Only then did you remember the way the creature’s tail had cut your cheek too, but when you brought your hand to your face, you found only the slightest bump across your skin.

“What…?” you asked, looking at Croc. “And the acid too…?” You stared at your palms that were both smooth and only a little marked in places.

He grinned and gestured towards Red’s poultice. “It is not just our weapons and technology that is superior to yours. Turns out our medicine works on humans as well.”

“Tell me you didn’t just find that out?” you said. “I’m not a guinea pig…”

Croc didn’t seem to know what a guinea pig was or the significance, but he shook his head. “We knew already,” he said.

“Right. Ok, well, I guess I’ll come and talk to this commander of yours and see if we can figure out how to contact my boss.” You turned to Big Red and placed your palm in the centre of his ridged, muscular chest. “Get some rest,” you said. “And… thank you for coming for me. I don’t know how you knew, but… thank you.”

Red didn’t seem to have the energy to form human speech, but he clicked something at Croc who nodded and turned to you.

“Come,” he said and you followed him out of the room, casting one last look back at Red, who already seemed to be asleep on the low, comfortable bed.

___

Am I forgiven yet? Did we like seeing the lads in action? Do we like the glimpses of the new friends? Is Red gonna be ok?

Next Chapter -->

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[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

29 with the Spidey boys :)

29. Tickling the other one

“And it’s coming down to five…four…three…two…and time!” Peter Three announced, springing up from the couch with an expectant clap of his hands. “Come on, Peter Two, you said you’d be done with that commission within an hour and an hour it’s been. Time to kick back and relax!”

“An hour was maybe more of a guesstimate,” Peter Two murmured distractedly without lifting his head from his drawing pad. “I’ve almost got it. I just need to finish the highlights, okay?”

“Dude, we already had to put the ice cream back in the freezer cos we’ve been waiting so long!” Peter One groaned, flinging himself across the couch to stretch a pleading arm out. “It’s still gonna be there after the show! Come on-n-n, be with us!”

“Look, I’ve got a track record of falling behind that I’m trying not to compound anymore. Somebody’s paying me to get this piece done on time.”

Dropping his arm with a dull thump, Peter huffed petulantly. “Do we have to pay you to hang out with us? Isn’t our love payment enough?”

“Hey, now, don’t be overdramatic. I’ll polish this up and then you’ll have me for the rest of the weekend. It just needs a couple more touchups over here and…” Two trailed off, slipping back into his hyperfocus mode.

When he was this intent on his work, it was easy to lose track of his surroundings—which was why he didn’t sense Peter Three sidling up behind him until dexterous fingers skittered across the back of his neck and behind his ear. A squeaky yelp burst out of him as he lurched, highlighter skidding haphazardly across his portrait.

Both of them froze, processing the angry white streak through carefully blended color, and then Peter Three stuttered a curse as he recoiled. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I was just trying to mess with you, I didn’t mean to—”

Inhaling deeply, Peter Two slapped the drawing pad onto the desk, hauled his chair back and rounded on his middle brother. “Okay then. Fine. You want my full attention? You got it! Come here!”

What followed was a blurry scramble of flailing limbs and panicked curses as Peter Three dove headlong for the bathroom, the only sanctuary in the apartment that could put a door between him and his doom. Peter Two wasn’t having it, slinging a web at his retreating form to reel him back into a wrangled bear hug.

“Do you know how much time I spent on that piece?!” he demanded, shaking him briefly before jamming a hand into his shirt to scrabble at his stomach. “Oh, that’s right, you were timing it down to the minute! How about I make you pay for every minute I just wasted on that, huh?!”

“No, no, no, no! I said I’m sorr-hh-hee!” Three wailed, fruitlessly pedaling to curl in on himself but that only trapped Two’s tickly fingers against him, wriggling across his ribs. “Aghh! Help! P-Peter One, do someth-hh-ing! Help me-ee-hee-hee!”

“Fat chance, man! You’re on your own!” Peter One shot back, peeking with wide eyes over the back of the couch. He had opted to take cover as soon as Peter Two came out of his chair.

“T-Traitor! I’m gonna remember tha-ha-hat!”

“You’re gonna remember all of this!” Peter Two assured, opposite hand viciously digging into his underarm to earn a startled screech. “You’re gonna learn your lesson and never pester me while I’m drawing again!”

“Okay, okay, okay-ha-hay!”

“You pester me, I pester you! You got that?!”

“G-Got it!”

“We’re clear?”

“Crystal clear-hee-hear!”

“Swear it to me!”

“No more p-pestering, I prom-hi-hi-ise! Jus’—Jus’ let me breathe!” Peter Three pleaded.

Finally satisfied, Peter Two took pity and let him melt into a boneless heap on the floor. For a moment or two, his gasps for air were the only sound in the room, then Two folded his arms and sent a pointed look at Peter One. “And as for you…”

“W-Wait, what? What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do, you little stink bug. You were sitting right there with a clear line of sight; you knew what was about to happen. Did you do anything to stop him from messing with me?”

“Um…no?”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, that makes you an accessory to his scheme.” Peter One couldn’t help but gulp, shrinking down as Two offered him a thin smirk. “You get five seconds to run.”