#The Rusty Fixtures

[badpanini]

venture bros mad lib i made by ripping a paragraph off of wikipedia and promptly had my boyfriend do. now i can’t stop thinking about dr. thaddeus “Oafish” venture

[nexus-nebulae]

had to clean my damn vents today bc the landlord Refuses to let maintenence do it for me (even though they also tell us we're not allowed to do it.) and one single vent has completely filled up my vacuum. also the vents were PAINTED OVER for some fucking reason so half of the vent was literally sealed shut with how thick the paint was!

[umseb]

The Day Sebastian Vettel Decided To Retire From F1 — Then Annoyed Aston Bosses With Climate Campaign

Two years ago, Sebastian Vettel decided to bring an end to his glittering F1 career, so picked up the phone to Matt Bishop, then Aston Martin comms boss. He details the ensuing scramble and Vettel's increasing determination to speak out

Just over two years ago, on Wednesday July 27, 2022, I was forced to do something that I really hate doing: at the eleventh hour I had to cancel a long-standing dinner arrangement with my husband and two of our dearest friends, who live in New York and were on holiday in London for a week. The reason was that, at 5 pm that afternoon, I received a phone call from Sebastian Vettel telling me that he had decided to announce his retirement from Formula 1 in the Hungarian Grand Prix paddock the following day. I was Aston Martin's chief communications officer at the time, and, when something as big as that is sprung on a Formula 1 team's most senior comms/PR operative, he or she has to drop everything and focus on briefing colleagues in confidence, writing press releases, planning social media content, arranging press conferences, and formulating comms/PR strategies designed to optimise the management of a tricky news narrative that in this case would surely unfold rapidly, and perhaps also trickily, over the next 24, 48, 72, and 96 hours. I have written above that Vettel had "sprung" his decision on me, but, although the imminence of his announcement was a surprise, its content was not. Four months earlier you will recall that he did not travel to Jeddah for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, since he was recovering from a bout of Covid-19. His place was taken by Nico Hülkenberg, who, despite race-rustiness caused by his not having competed in F1 the previous year, did a typically excellent job.

Seb had made no secret of his disapproval of the Saudi regime when we had all gone there the first time, in December 2021, and, not surprisingly, in March 2022 rumours soon began to spread to the effect that he had invented a Covid-19 diagnosis so as to avoid racing there a second time. The truth was that he had indeed had Covid-19, and that he was indeed still unwell; however, was he disappointed to have had to skip the 2022 Saudi Arabian Grand Prix? No, he was not. Two weeks later, in Melbourne, he was back. On the Thursday before the Australian Grand Prix, in the Albert Park paddock, I gave him his comms/PR briefing, as was my habit on the Thursday before every grand prix. We discussed media matters of moment, including his not having raced in Jeddah. "The truth is that I was ill, honestly," he said, "but I admit that I don't like or approve of the country, so if I was going to have to miss a race because of Covid-19 that's probably the one I'd want to miss." He paused, smiled, and added, "I'm pretty sure I'm never going to race there again." Then and there I realised that 2022 would probably be his final season as an F1 driver. Not only was the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix going to be a fixture on the F1 calendar for years to come, but also one of Aston Martin's principal sponsors was Aramco, Saudi Arabia's state-owned national oil company. Missing that particular race without a 24-carat excuse would henceforth therefore be impossible for any Aston Martin driver. So, axiomatically, it followed that the only way he could make sure that he would never have to race there again would be to retire from F1 at the end of the year.

On the morning of Thursday, July 28, 2022, having worked until 3 am the night before, my comms/PR team and I issued a video in which our much loved four-time world champion announced his F1 retirement in his own words, and he posted it on his then brand-new Instagram channel at the same time. It included the following sentences, which he spoke with his usual eloquence: "I love this sport but, as much as there's life on track, there's also life off track. Being a racing driver has never been my sole identity. I want to be a great father and a great husband. I believe in change, and progress, and that every little bit you do can make a difference. We all have the same rights, no matter where we come from, what we look like, or whom we love. I'm an optimist and I believe that people are good, but, in addition, I feel that we live in very difficult times. How we shape the next few years will determine the rest of our lives. Talk is not enough. We can't afford to wait. I believe that there's still a race to win." The race to which he was referring was his growing and accelerating commitment to doing whatever he could to leverage his fame and popularity for the good of the inhabitants of planet Earth. That may sound grandiose, but it is also entirely valid. In the two years during which I worked with him, 2021 and 2022, we won awards for the inspirational way in which he did just that.

Just before the 2021 Styrian Grand Prix, helped by local schoolchildren, he created an F1 car-shaped 'bee hotel' at the Red Bull Ring. Three weeks later, straight after the British Grand Prix, in which he had raced hard for forty laps until his Aston Martin's Mercedes engine had terminally overheated, he led a group of volunteer litter-pickers to clear the Silverstone grandstands of the trash that irresponsible spectators had left behind. A month after that, in Hungary, infuriated by that country's new anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, he wore rainbow-coloured sneakers in the F1 paddock, and he donned a similarly hued T-shirt bearing the legend #SameLove as he took the knee on the grid before the race. Throughout the weekend he had talked to journalists and TV crews intelligently, thoughtfully, and compassionately on the subject of LGBTQ+ rights, equality, and inclusion. In May 2022 he visited and spoke inspirationally at HMP (Her, or now His, Majesty's Prison) Feltham, a young offenders institution in a suburb of west London, formally opening a new workshop in which the teenage inmates could learn how to become car mechanics as part of their rehabilitation. Immediately afterwards he and I took a South Western Railways train to London's Waterloo Station, sitting among regular commuters, so that he could spend time with the pupils of Oasis Johanna Primary School, which is in a disadvantaged part of inner London, and after that we went by Uber taxi to a church in Hackney, in the East End, where the BBC's prestigious political television talk show Question Time would be filmed. As the TV cameras rolled, he conversed fluently on the subjects of Brexit, the UK's cost of living crisis, the then-Prime Minister Boris Johnson's 'partygate' shenanigans, and even Finland's desire to join NATO, consummately out-arguing one of his fellow panellists, Suella Braverman, who was then the Attorney General for England and Wales and the Advocate General for Northern Ireland.

In addition, as the months went by, he continued to speak out in support of what he saw as humankind's collective global responsibility to address the climate crisis, doing so with increasing regularity, vehemence, and fearlessness, with the result that he began to irritate the very most senior people at Aston Martin, even though what he said tended to please most journalists and fans. "I don’t care," he said when he learned of his big bosses' disquiet. "I must do what's right." Behind the scenes what he did was perhaps even more admirable. F1 teams receive communications from troubled people all the time. You try to do what you can to help them, but sometimes their difficulties are of the type that human kindness alone cannot resolve. I am thinking of recently bereaved people, terminally ill people, profoundly disabled people, people with debilitating mental health issues, etc. Sometimes all you can do is send them a team cap signed by a driver. It is not much, and it breaks your heart that you cannot do more, but it is better than nothing.

Yet Vettel always tried to do more. On one occasion, I had been contacted by a young man who was deeply depressed. I told Seb about him, and he said, "Let's do a Zoom call with him." So I arranged it. I had thought that Seb might speak for five minutes or so, but no. He chatted animatedly for more than twenty minutes, with touching humility and heart-warming empathy, and I feel confident when I say that those twenty-odd minutes were significant in expediting the lad's mental and emotional recovery. A few months later, Seb hand-wrote the boy a four page letter. He gave it to me at a grand prix-I cannot remember which one-and he instructed me to post it on when I returned to the UK. I read it before I did so, and the tenderness and beauty of Seb's prose brought me to tears. There are many other examples of his remarkable generosity and sensitivity: too many to mention, in fact. This column has been about Vettel the man, not Vettel the driver. He was fast and clever in the cockpit, and I may well write about that side of him one day. I could write much more about Vettel the man, too, for I have dozens of stories that I could tell on that subject, because I worked very closely with him for two years and, more importantly, because he is a truly great man. In my long career I am lucky enough to have spent time in F1 teams with four world champions-Seb, Lewis Hamilton, Fernando Alonso, and Jenson Button-and they are all fantastic guys in their own, very different, ways. But, in my 61 years on this planet, I can state with confident and emphatic certainty that Sebastian Vettel, from the small town of Heppenheim, south-west Germany, is one of the most impressive people whom I have ever had the pleasure and honour to know, whether that be inside or outside F1. As he is fond of saying, "You can't always be the best, but you can always do your best." As a maxim to live by, it is hard to beat.

article by matt bishop

[aceoflove]

The Bookshop of his Dreams - Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader

He wasn't like the rest of the daggers, always chasing the next hookup. Robert "Bob" Floyd wants to find a girl and settle down, and now that he is permanently stationed at Top Gun, maybe he can.

Fluff, 848 words

A/N: I'm a little rusty, so apologies if it isn't the best <3

Bob never considered himself a social butterfly, as he would rather read than go out to a bar on a roundy Friday night after work with his teammates, being left alone when they all find someone to take home. Even though he had been back at Top Gun for 3 months, being a back seater for Pheonix, he never really left the base, minus some small errands. After Maverick announced that the Dagger Squad will be a permanent fixture in San Diego, he could finally breath, knowing that he could get attached to his squadron and the town he has been living in. The military was always moving him around, as a top WSO, but a part of him wished he could settle down, stay in one place for a while and maybe find a girl, and hopefully this was his chance.

The clouds drifted over the sun and the rain began to pour, his feet hitting the ground at a steady place before the little bell above the door rings. He makes it inside a quaint bookshop, owned by a local family from what he had read. He was on his way over there, to find sanctuary for his aching heart when it started to bucket, drenching him to the bones.

“It’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?”

A soft voice drifts from behind the counter, a contrast to the sharp pitter patter of rain bouncing off of the shop fronts windows. Bob turns, spotting the person who spoke to him. The store was empty apart from the worker behind the counter. She was pretty, truly his type looks wise. A timid smile is plastered on both of their faces as he nods.

“Honestly it came out of nowhere. It was so peaceful on the walk over here until just now.”

A chuckle escapes her lips as she nods, her gaze drawn to the window where raindrops were racing down to the bottom. He was drawn to her eyes, her distracted nature endearing, he can’t help the smile creeping up on his face. She shakes out of it and looks back at him. “Sorry! Feel free to look around and if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.”

The comfort of the shop truly drew him in, the plethora of books adorning the shelves making him want to buy out the whole store (Although he doesn’t need to get any more books, his shelves were overflowing with poetry books, and any book that captured his interest). Each step brought him further into the atmosphere, each step bringing him into the enchantment of the fairytale in his mind. The shelves carved out of wood, the details making it feel like the shelves belonged in a cottage.

He can’t help but smile at how the book looks so amazing, the collection precise and diverse, curated with many interests in mind.

He comes back a few more times over the next month, getting closer to her, learning her interests, favourite books, and how the shop was her whole world.

His mind wanders back to the loneliness in his heart, how he wishes he could settle down, and have his own library, his wife curled up with a book, nestled into his side as his attention is taken away from his own book to her face. How her face lights up at certain parts and how he can’t help the love in his eyes.

Her face changes, warping into a different face from the one that was stuck in his mind. Her face turned up. He cannot think about this.

Bob was standing outside the bookstore, trying to work up the nerve to walk back in there after thinking of her for a week, his mind running in circles with different daydreams of what like would be like with her by his side, finally having the life he wished for.

Once again, the store welcomes him in, the warmth embracing him and her smile making him melt once more. “How’s my favourite customer?”

“Better now I’m back here.”

‘Now that I’ve seen you.’ The words were on the tip of his tongue, his heart pounding out of his chest as he flushed a little, heading back into the shelves he was familiar with now, as he could walk around there with his eyes closed.

The mind still wanders, seeing her at the front counter reading another book, flipping through the pages, most likely for a review from the shop. He could imagine her at his kitchen counter, reading and annotating while he cooked them dinner. Bob allows his mind to come back down to earth and he looks through the books once more, grabbing a few from the shelves, admiring the blurbs and the cover design. He makes his way to the front counter, back to the woman who captured his attention.

“Ooo! I love this book!”

She picks up one of them, scanning them for purchase. Her eyes lit up, his heart filled with warmth, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his chest, and he knew.

‘I’m screwed.’

[gloomwitchwrites]

Blood in the Garden Shed

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): Bluebeard Retelling, Fairy Tale Retelling, Biblical allusions, marriage, minor violence, horror, suspense, minor body horror, all hurt no comfort

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Requested by @id-get-sleazy-for-ron-weasley for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Free Space)

You have no memory of the time before your husband. Before—Simon. But why should you worry over that? Your house is perfect. Your husband is perfect. Everything is perfect. So why does the house feel alive, and why can you never enter the garden shed? Everything is perfect. Isn't it?

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

You have no memory of the time before your husband. Before—Simon.

You cannot even recall when the two of you moved into the cottage you call home. There was nothing—and then there was a garden, a kitchen, a marriage bed.

Days are for tending to the house and reading in the solarium. The interior is your domain. Every day you clean the floors and fixtures, bake fresh pastries for Simon to take with him to work, and when Simon returns, the dinner table is set with a hot meal.

Evenings are for him. To indulge and care for him.

And if Simon tucks himself away in his study, you do not bother him.

And you do not enter the garden shed.

These are things he’s told you, and you adhere to them, because keeping Simon happy is your purpose. You live for his smile, for his touches, and his gentle kisses.

In bed, in the dark, you welcome him in and tell him how good it was after.

This is your purpose—it always has been.

“I’ll be away for a few days.”

“For work?”

Simon grasps your chin, staring into your eyes. “You know not to ask questions.”

Your gaze casts downward. “The house feels empty without you.”

“I’ll be back soon. Won’t be long.”

“I’ll miss you. Miss you already.”

“I’m right here, love.”

On the third day, the house comes alive.

The windows creak as if expanding in their frames. Every time you enter the hallway, you feel a rush of air, as if the house is exhaling. There are phantom fingers that brush your scalp and pull at your clothes.

“I’m lonely.”

“I’m here now, love.”

You push the food on your plate around. “How was your work trip?”

“Good,” replies Simon after he swallows.

“Anything exciting happen?”

He shakes his head. “This chicken is lovely.”

You perk up. “I used herbs. From the garden.”

Simon stops chewing. Glances up. “You took from the garden?”

You blink. “I—I’ve taken before. You—”

The garden. The garden is Simon’s. He tends to it like you tend to the house. Sometimes, you’ll awaken in the middle of the night and find him out there, digging.

“Only take when I’m here. You know the rules.”

Tears begins to form in your eyes. You hate upsetting him—worse—you hate your quickness to tears.

“No, love. No need for that.” He gets up and comes around the table. “I appreciate the effort. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Your neighbors don’t give you the time of day. Mrs. Heron accepts your cookies but insists upon you returning home. Mr. Badger gives you a gracious smile but suggests that Simon would prefer you home.

Strange. Unsettling.

There is an emptiness.

And the house breathes whenever Simon isn’t around, as if it too holds its breath for his arrival and departure.

“This is new.”

“It’s for you.”

“You built this for me?” you ask, all breathy with amazement. Your hand rests against the polished wood.

“You needed a new one. For all your books.”

Simon has been in the garden. He’s been in the shed. There is dirt on his clothes and skin. You smell the flowers, and something…else. Like rusty iron.

“Thank you, Simon. I love it.”

“More than you love me?”

“Never.”

The floor is squishy near Simon’s office door. You inspect the area, tapping it with your foot, and tell Simon that he needs to take a look at it. He reassures you, but the squishy sensation only grows until the entire hall and connecting bedroom are affected.

“It’s nothing. You’re imagining things.

“Simon—”

“Why all the questions?”

“Do you not feel that?”

“Are you not happy?”

The question startles you. “Of course I’m happy.”

“Then listen to me and move on. The floor is fine. You’re imagining things.”

But you’re not imagining things. The bookshelf Simon built for you leans now, and when you touch it, the same squishy texture greets your fingers.

The neighbors won’t give you the time of day, and there is no one to listen. You are alone in this house, even when Simon dwells within its walls.

“I’ll be gone again. Three days. Like last.”

“I’ll miss you. Miss you even now.”

“I know, love.”

The first night, the wind howls outside, and something scratches at your window. On the second night it storms, and with it comes a ravenous bang, one that startles you out of bed. It is a torrential downpour, but through the rainfall, you notice the door of the garden shed. It stands open, swaying in the breeze.

You rush out, the ground becoming mud beneath your feet. The door swings wildly, and when you snag it, the wind threatens to tear it right from your hands. The garden shed is off-limits. You should shut the door and go inside. Simon will know. He will—

—there is a pit in the floor.

Lightening ripples across the sky, and you see it again.

A…pit. Not a drain. There is no grate. Nothing sitting on top of it.

It’s open, but not large enough for an entire person to fall in. But certainly, pieces of someone.

“You were supposed to be the last.” You hear Simon’s voice just over your shoulder. A whisper even over the roaring thunder. “The final creation. The perfect wife.” You spin and find Simon standing there. “He promised.”

Simon stares up into the sky, the rain soaking him further. “You promised!” he screams.

The thunder answers with a deafening boom. Behind him the lights in the house flicker.

“Who promised?”

Simon rubs at his face and then sighs heavily. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Simon."

He digs in his pocket. “Drink this. You’ll fall asleep. Won’t hurt at all.”

“No, Simon.” He presents a small bottle and you smack at it.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“You’re scaring me!”

Simon lunges and you are unable to resist. There is no struggle. His hands are vice-grips. They wrench your jaw open, spilling the liquid down your throat. You cough—attempt to push it back up but Simon massages your throat, forcing it down.

Tears burn in your eyes. This is your husband. Your protector.

How could he do this?

A lingering burn sits in your throat. Everything goes blurry after, but nothing hurts. It’s just…numb. A sense of floating.

Lightening flashes, and you notice the stains around the pit in the floor. The tools on the wall.

Floating. Drifting.

And then nothing at all.

He kept your eyes.

A trinket and a punishment.

He preserved them in amber and placed them in his office alongside all the other wives. There are ears and limbs. Hearts. Nails. Strands of hair.

The rest of you went into the pit in the floor. Your blood watered the garden.

There is a new wife now. A new Eve.

Simon waited for three days in the garden after the storm before she crawled her way out of the dirt. He sent his thanks to Him. Carried her inside. Washed her and dressed her.

He says all the same things he said to you.

You watch from your perch on the bookshelf he built for you, now moved into his cluttered office. Here you rest with the other wives, the hundreds of others. Sometimes, their minds touch yours, a brief flicker of agony and loneliness before departing.

When he tells his new wife that he’s leaving on a trip, he really means this room. Simon stays here, spending time with each of you. Now you know why you were never allowed to enter. What would you think of him had you known?

Maybe this new one will break free.

Maybe she’ll be the last.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@waves-against-a-cliff @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1890 home in New Orleans, LA is absolutely my favorite style and you don't come by homes like this very often. 5bds, 4.5ba, $1.35M. If only...

I love the time worn look. Apparently, buyers like the remodeled, all white look, though, b/c this home has been on the market for 275 days. Shame that no one who has the money to buy it appreciates it.

I adore this look. Wouldn't change a thing.

Love the fireplace and the addition of the cascading plants make it pop. Bet someone buys it and completely redoes it.

The pool room only has slightly worn floors and molding.

Love the faded grandeur of the sitting room. The rooms are surprisingly light and airy.

This kitchen. Amazing.

Vintage powder under the stairs is quite spacious.

Love this room. I think that the new owner should swear that they won't gut this home.

Great bath with burgundy fixtures and a clawfoot tub.

The lovely primary bedroom is like a suite with a sitting room. I like the spiral staircase.

The 2nd full bath is cute. It also has a vintage tub.

Bedroom #2 is very nice.

This bedroom is kind of a hybrid- it has a rusty tin ceiling and an exposed stick wall.

They've switched styles and I'm not sure I like that it's inconsistent. Bathroom #3 is completely renovated, even though it has a vintage tub.

There's a costume studio back here.

A lovely double porch and patio outside.

Large heated pool and Jacuzzi.

In this purple building is another suite.

It has a bed/sitting room with a small fridge.

Behind the folding screen is a pretty, vintage bath.

The home is on a 5,610 sq. ft. lot.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/1476-Marais-St_New-Orleans_LA_70116_M71059-45766

[my-own-walker]

Hiya!!!! I was wondering if you do peter maximoff smut? 😅😅😅 If you do, I have a request-but if you don't maybe you could make it like Tate or Kyle? <3

I was wondering if you could do something like Peter (if you can) like using his vibrations and going down on the reader(fem!) while making her read her smutty diary entries about him after he read what was in it? :) THANK YOU BESTIE MWAHHH

I Warned You

note: forgive me if this sucks. my emotions have been all over the past few days and i burned the FUCK out of my hand last night.

warnings: sm*t, oral f receiving, peter being a slut, etc

+++

It was a rather oppressive day, heat-wise. One of those sticky hot, thighs chafing, greasy bangs days. The sun shined down in a hazy way on the neighborhood I lived in. As I sat there in my denim shorts and big t-shirt, I reminisced on the days of summer as a child. How I'd spend them with my best friend, Peter.

He was the first person I met when I moved here. I was two, to be fair, so I don't remember much of it all. He's always been a permanent fixture in my life. Someone who was just...always there.

He lived next door. Just like a cliche movie. We would ride bikes and draw on the ground with sidewalk chalk together. He was my second-grade boyfriend. He decided to ‘ask me out’ on the last day of school. He learned in school how to say 'I love you,' in sign language just before he asked to hold my hand on the playground on that day in June. He signed it any chance he could. When his mom drove us home in her minivan that day, he held up the sign. Our little secret.

That summer was pure childhood bliss. Innocence. We really didn't 'break up,' per se. When we entered the third grade that September it was just mutual that we had crushes on other kids. We still stayed friends. I'd hang out at his house after school every day until my parents got home. When the weather was warm, I'd sit outside on my porch waiting for him after dinner. Then, like clockwork, we'd find something to do.

As we got older our activities changed. He taught me how to skateboard. I taught him how to trespass on the baseball fields that were tucked down a back street in our neighborhood. We'd swing on this old tire swing over the stream that ran through our backyards.

In our sophomore year of high school, he bought an old car with dreams to fix it up. A 1965 Ford Mustang. It was rusty, beat up, and had no engine. The windshield was shattered and the inside wasn't upholstered. The only working part of it was its radio. When I walked out of my front door on the day he brought it home, he slapped it on its hood, proudly declaring, 'I'm gonna take you to prom in this thing, baby!' We sat in the old thing all afternoon listening to the radio.

I had known about his abilities the whole time. I never got into foot races with him as a kid for that reason. He would beat me every time. Peter had it under control, for the most part, but only when he wanted to. He started getting brazen with it as a teenager. He'd take me on these wild adventures where he'd steal things. The first time it was just some candy from a convenience store. By the time he got that damned car, he was stealing entire carburetors. These trips took all of 2 minutes. Just the two of us speeding off to create havoc.

Somewhere along the way I fell in love with him. Or maybe it wasn't even that. I can't remember a time when I didn't love him. It changed, though. I started to feel things toward him I'd never felt before. When he'd hold my head to prevent me from getting whiplash as we were making our hasty escapes from his escapades, I'd find chills would run up my spine.

Our beautiful little romance blossomed once he finally got his Mustang up and running. Not that he needed it, really. He was leagues faster than any car. He just wanted to be able to transport more things. And his new girlfriend. We started dating in junior year. He had just gotten his license and took me on a ride one night. We parked down a backstreet in our town and our lips finally met. At long last, his fast fingers were allowed to explore my body in a way I had never allowed him to before. It was wonderful, awkward, and hungry. Everything a teenage love affair should be.

He ended up taking me to the prom in that car, just as he'd promised. He looked so smart in his little tux. We spent that entire summer simply enraptured with each other. Our hangouts transformed from outdoor antics to being tangled in my bed, fan on max speed, windows open to hear the mourning doves sing outside. I can still smell the fresh summer air and the smell of him combining to make something all-encompassing and intoxicating.

It was the next summer on this very hot day. Peter and I had been dating for a year. He was away, hanging out with his friends or something. I was home alone. I sat there on my porch, diary resting lazily on my lap, staring off at the hanging 'FOR SALE,' sign on my yard in front of me . I switched between twirling my pen in my hands and chewing the end of it, deep in thought.

It was always the deal in my house. As soon as I graduated, as the youngest kid in my family, we'd move away again. My parents weren't happy with the town. They knew I had made my life there, but a deal was a deal. I couldn't imagine a life without Peter.

When the sign went up on my front lawn, I began a diary. I was never a writer. I was horrible at keeping up with writing entries in a tiny book. But knowing my life was about to change, I began scratching down every small detail about my life. My time in this house. My childhood. My life with Peter. It was a passion project. I wanted to document everything so I'd never forget.

Peter interrupted my deep inner turmoil. Well, not exactly him. His loud-ass car pulled up, parking in the driveway next door. He stepped out of the car singing, keys jingling in his hands. Like clockwork, his head turned to see if I was on my porch. Our routine since we were kids. In a flash, he was sitting next to me.

'Hey pretty,' he breathed, kissing me gently on my cheek.

'Hey Peter,' I smiled, looking up at him. Whenever he was near me I couldn't help but get wrapped up in him. Swept away in his deep brown eyes and sea of silver hair. There was a palpable feeling between the two of us. Dancing around the topic of me moving away, even though the signs were all around us, literally. It was a tension that colored every moment of our time together, yet we tried in earnest to ignore it.

'Whatcha got there?' he asked, half-taunting, as he usually did.

'Oh, haha,' I blushed, clapping the book shut and tucking the pen inside. 'It's nothing, just a planner.'

'A planner? Y/L/N, when have you ever been the type to schedule things?' he scoffed. 'Gimme that.' He lunged for the diary. I curled my body up tight into a ball, the book nestled safely between my lap and chest. My arms secured it even further.

'Peter! Stop it! I gotta get my shit together,' I whined. 'Like, plan out packing!'

'Packing for what?' he asked sarcastically, still trying in vain to pry the diary from my grasp. In his desperation, he attempted the only trick he had left to get me to let go. He started tickling my sides. It was a surefire way to piss me off, but also to get me to let go. The diary clattered to the ground as I stood up quickly to get away from his hands tickling me at light speed. He paused for a moment to grab the diary off the ground.

'Hey, thanks!' he exclaimed, taking off in a flash inside my house, leaving only the wind behind to prove he was there.

I clamored inside behind him, calling after him as I stumbled up the stairs. He was already laying on my bed, on his side, reading my diary entries when I got to my room.

‘DON’T read those!’ I panted in vain. ‘They’re so bad!’

‘Oh, these little stories?’ he smirked, looking up only with his eyes. ‘I think they’re pretty good.’

My cheeks burned hot. I stepped into the room and slammed the door shut. He held the book up closer to his face and squinted. ‘Peter, please, I’m warning you,’ I pleaded.

‘His tongue slid into me. All of my insides felt warm and tingly…’ he read out.

‘OH MY GOD NO!’ I rushed over to him, trying to pry my diary out of his hands. I was on the bed on my knees doing what I could to get my embarrassing writing back. He and his super speed, though, had other plans. I gave up after minutes of trying, tired of grabbing at a person that wasn’t even there by the time my hands reached him. He stopped his motion and was right back where he started on my bed.

‘I think I got what I needed,’ he smirked. ‘Let me review the highlights with you…’

He moved quickly, without using his super speed, to lay me down my my back. I didn’t object. He was always gentle with me, careful not to use his speed unless I asked him to. Peter hated anything that took a long time, but with me he always had patience. Well, unless it was taking my clothes off.

Peter worked quickly to get every inch of fabric off my body. His smooth hands rubbed all over my skin as he kissed me passionately. He stopped to pick up the diary that had been discarded to the side on my bed.

‘Let’s see…’ he muttered, pinning my shoulder down with one hand, his legs straddling my lap. ‘He spread my legs slowly…okay I can do that.’

The diary was once again dropped so he could part my thighs. His hot breath hovered over my weeping cunt.

‘Right, right, then the tongue part,’ he reminded himself. He kissed all along the insides of my thighs, eventually making contact with my middle. My toes curled and my breath hitched. I was ready for what he was about to do. He slipped his tongue into me and my eyes rolled back. He flicked his tongue over my clit, making me yelp out.

He separated himself from me to grab my diary again.

‘You’re gonna have to read this next part, Y/N, I’m a little preoccupied here,’ he instructed. He passed the book into my shaking hands. I didn’t even have the energy to protest. I just wanted to feel his warmth within me again. His mouth reconnected with my pussy.

‘H-his abilities came in handy when giving me head,’ I panted. ‘He can do this thing- thi- this thing where he vibrates.’ I could only choke out so much in my pleasure.

I felt him take a few deep breaths before beginning to vibrate at sonic speed. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The first time he did it, I thought I would just about die. He pulled away for a moment.

‘Keep reading,’ he breathed. I whimpered, shaking hands once again opening the diary. He reconnected with my middle again and I let out a loud moan.

‘He kn-knows how to make m-me purr like a kitten. There’s n-nothing like it,’ I sputtered out.

I didn’t have much left in me. He, acting as my own personal vibrator, brought me to my limit. I came with a loud yelp, laughing immediately after. Peter stopped vibrating and laid on top of me, his face meeting mine.

‘You are SUCH a dick, Maximoff,’ I giggled.

‘I thought it was sexy, how you write about me and all,’ Peter shrugged. He peppered kisses all over my face and neck as we both caught our breath. For a fleeting moment, nothing in the world mattered. All we cared about was each other. For a moment, I wasn’t moving away. It was us and us only. ‘You’re a million miles away, beautiful. What’s wrong?’

Snapping out of my trance, I planted a kiss on his lips. ‘Nothing at all, Peter. Just really ready for round two,’ I smirked.

+++

I really enjoyed this one. Thank you so much for this request! I promise I’ll write more this week. It’s been cray cray on my end.

[silvercap]

for the prompt game: have you done darkness? if I missed it, weak works as well. hell if you do both that's cool too - go off silver!! (i reread a bunch of your drabbles JUST to see which prompts you'd already done - totally didn't get stuck in a lil whirlpool of silver fics there 👀) (if you've done both of these already and i missed it then im so sorry 😭)

<3<3<3

Darkness/Weak

The darkness of Leon's small house is almost soothing when he steps through the front door, the late hour leaving him bleary and irritable and slightly nauseous. The medics with the BSAA had diagnosed him with a concussion, he's pretty sure, but Leon isn't in the mood to be poked and prodded and treated like a patient while they interrogate him for mission details. Here, at least, he's free from judgement and watchful eyes; from the ready hands waiting to catch him like a child in case he stumbles. He just wants to sleep in his own bed. Is that so much to ask?

Every part of his body aches, the ankle he'd sprained proving to be a difficult opponent as he limps through the house. The set of lacerations slashed across his upper arm have begun to sting again, throbbing in time with Leon's ragged breaths, and he realizes tiredly that he's still covered in blood and filth. He'll have to shower, first.

He can barely remember the detour to the bathroom, brought back into awareness by the agony that courses through him the moment he begins to shrug off his jacket and jeans, groaning when the fabric rips away from bloody wounds and forces his protesting muscles to twist in ways that make them angrier. Under the bright lights of the bathroom fixture, he looks like a mess, eyes sunken and bloodshot beneath stringy hair and a layer of grime and blood. Not all of it his own---but most of it.

The warm water is a comfort, at least, enough to elicit a sigh as the steam begins to rise around him. It stings the wounds that have begun to reopen with all his struggling, but Leon doesn't pay them any mind. He watches the blood swirl around his feet in ghostly patterns of rusty crimson, too exhausted to do much else. Slowly, the pain creeps back in, his ankle tight with jagged spikes of pain the longer he keeps his weight on it. He's not clean, yet, though, he can't get out. God, it's hard to think.

Leon sits down hard on the cheap shower floor, leaning his head back against the wall. He doesn't have the strength to do anything but sigh, fingers trailing limp in the flow of water as he lets himself sag. That's okay, he can stay here for a while. Relax, take a load off....

He snaps awake with a shiver, aware only of the cold water pouring over him in torrents. For a moment, he thinks he's outside, until he catches sight of the shower handle and it all comes rushing back. Leon shivers again, noticing through blurry, swimming vision the goosebumps that have formed on his bare legs, stretched out in front of him. The cold is enough to make his injuries ache again, the slightest attempt to move prompting a bitten-off whimper of agony. He... he wants to go to bed. He should stand up and go to bed.

Leon's too weak to turn off the spray, though, his hand trembling and collapsing back to his side when he tries. He growls quietly in frustration, the sound trailing off into a whine. A wave of distress threatens to overwhelm him, panic prying at the edges of his awareness.

"Leon?!" The sudden slam of the bathroom door jolts him in place, eliciting a groan as his muscles twinge. Through the glass wall of the shower, he can make out Piers' dismayed expression, an automatic semblance of a smile curving Leon's lips.

"Hey," he says, watching as Piers shoves the door open and throws himself into the falling water to turn it off despite being fully dressed. What a weirdo. Leon blinks as Piers looks him up and down, expression tightening as he takes in the bruises and wounds on his skin. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You weren't answering your phone," Piers says roughly, an edge of some unreadable emotion in his voice. His gaze scans Leon's body again. "I thought something might've happened, your door was unlocked. Are you alright?"

"Couldn't resist checking me out, huh, Nivans?" Leon mumbles. His eyelids fall shut of their own accord, a sigh leaving his chest. Maybe now that Piers is here, he can actually get some rest. Strong hands slip under his armpits a moment later, and Leon groans. "Lemme sleep."

"Get up, Leon," Piers orders, but his voice is softer than before. He starts to lift, and Leon supposes he might as well try to cooperate---except that it feels almost impossible to get his feet under him, knees buckling every time he tries. He whimpers when his sprained ankle twists awkwardly. Piers pushes closer, an arm around Leon's waist, until he's practically supporting all of Leon's weight. "There you go. I've got you."

Somehow, he maneuvers Leon to the closed seat of the toilet, sitting him down so he can lean back against the tank. Leon prises his eyelids apart with effort, just in time to see the fluffy towel that descends to ruffle his hair and swipe gently down his nude body. Piers wraps it around Leon's waist when he's done, the cool fabric making him shiver.

"Just a little longer," Piers soothes when he groans again, "I've got the first aid kit, I'm going to wrap up some of your injuries. You're still bleeding a little bit."

"I am?" Leon blinks hazily. Huh. Maybe that makes a little sense. He winces as Piers begins to wipe down several spots with stinging disinfectant, slipping back into a daze as fresh gauze is secured to various parts of his body. The tensor bandage around his ankle is the worst, but it's not long before Piers is smearing antibiotic ointment on the cut Leon can feel on his forehead and covering it in a large bandaid, and suddenly all Leon can feel is hollowness.

"Piers," he says heavily, tongue thick in his mouth. "I think I'm gonna pass out or somethin'."

Instantly, steadying hands find his shoulders, pressure that draws Leon back into his body. A pair of warm eyes hovers in front of his face when he looks, eyebrows creased.

"Let's get you into bed, okay?" Piers says softly.

Leon staggers once he's upright again, but Piers refuses to let him fall. The next thing he knows, he's being laid out on a soft mattress, the sensation almost heavenly against his aching joints and the sharp pain that flares up every few moments. He buries his face in the pillow. Shivers. It's cold in here, too.

A moment later, a soft blanket is pulled up over his shoulders, Piers' gentle expression visible when Leon peeks out from the cage of his arms where they hold onto the pillow. He smiles, but it seems wan, his flesh hand reaching out to trace over a lock of Leon's hair. That feels nice.

"Get some sleep," Piers murmurs, and Leon nods. The chill is draining from his limbs, pain lost in the fog of fatigue, and it doesn't take long before he's out entirely.

[theclairvoyage]

Centrifugation: Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

The one where you finally meet Sarah, Tommy, and Maria.

Chapter warnings: blood, allusions to past trauma, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), alcohol consumption, mentions of cancer and death, fluff, pathophysiology discussion (it's not much, I swear!), lil bit of sub!Joel, lil bit of dom!reader

WC: 6.7k

Divider by @cafekitsune <3

Saturday, October 23rd | 0615

Tink.  Tink.  Tink.

The ground you lie on is cold, unforgiving.  You look toward the sound of what seems to be metal tapping on something, but there’s nothing there.  The only thing you see is blackness.  And fuck, your arm hurts.  You try to stand and slip on a puddle of something warm and sticky.  Thud.  Your left side hits the ground hard, and you feel whatever liquid was on the floor plastered on the side of your face, torso, arm.

Tink.  Tink.  Tink.  Louder, now.

What the fuck is that?  Paranoia ebbs inside you, heartbeat racing.  You can’t see a goddamn thing, but you know whatever is there is getting closer to you.  Standing on wobbly legs, you reach out for a wall, a railing, something, anything to grab.

Suddenly, you’re blinded by lights.  Bright.  White.  Fluorescent.  You hear the buzz of the light fixture and squint as you look up at it, hand blocking some of the light from your vision.  Your hand is covered in blood, sticky droplets plopping on the ground beneath.

Tink.  Tink.  Tink.  It’s right behind you, now.

You whip your head around and see Cedric.  He’s covered in blood, too.  He’s got three holes in his chest, sputtering dark red blood.  He’s tapping a rusty knife on the wall, the point painting specks of blood on the white paint with each tap.  His teeth are gone, eyes black as sin.  You look down at the puddle of blood between the two of you, touching both of you.  Is it your blood, or his?  He lunges at you with the knife, and you scream.

“Sweetheart, wake up!  You alright?” A deep voice startles you.  Warm, rough hands encase your face.  You blink a few times, finding yourself in Joel’s dark room.

“Deep breaths, baby,” the voice soothes you.  It’s Joel.  His face is illuminated by warm, amber light coming from a lamp on the nightstand.  His eyes are calm, focused on you, searching your face.  Your chest is heaving, throat bone dry as you try to speak.

“W-what happened?” you ask.  Joel smooths your hair from your sweaty face and reaches down to kiss your forehead softly.

“Y’had a nightmare, darlin’—you’re okay now, I gotcha,” he reassures you.  Your face contorts like you’re going to cry, but nothing comes out of your eyes.

“Please, Joel—hold me,” you beg, watching the concern grow on his features.  He pulls you into his warm, bare chest without hesitation and lifts the comforter over both of you.  You realize now that you’re shivering, your arms covered in goosebumps, pricking the edges of your stab wound as the hairs try to stand up underneath the gauze.

“I got you, baby, never gonna let anything happen to you,” he whispers into your hair as he rubs your back soothingly.  Your body relinquishes control, and you sink back into the darkness of slumber.

Saturday, October 23rd | 0830

Sighing deeply, you wake for the second time this morning and turn onto your right side, snuggling into your pillow.  You feel eyes on you and open yours.  Joel is propped up on his elbow, watching you with a soft gaze.  He’s opened the blinds a bit, enough to wash his features in soft natural light.

“Morning,” he murmurs, reaching a hand to trace your cheekbone.

“Hi… have you been up long?” you question him, covering his hand with yours and scooting closer.  He murmurs a huh-uh and pulls you on top of him, cradling your head in the crook of his neck.  It’s quickly become one of your favorite things—the feeling of being in his arms, being so close to him.  He kisses your forehead and sighs.

“Made sure you were sleepin’ soundly before I dozed off again.  Woke up maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago.  Wonder if the pills are givin’ you nightmares,” he speculates quietly as his hand sweeps distractedly through your locks.  You shrug in his arms.

“That, or PTSD,” you say, hearing him inhale sharply.  He doesn’t like that you’re in pain, mental or physical—it’s the caretaker in him.  You sit up and straddle his lap, looking down on him with appreciation.

“It’s okay, Joel—I’ll be alright… eventually,” you try to convince him, punctuating the end of your sentence with a goofy smile.  You feel a bit guilty, like your pain is causing him pain.  It is—but not in the way that you think.  He blinks up at you, using a free hand to push back the curls matted against his forehead.  He can’t get enough of how beautiful you are.  He takes you in, cock stirring at the sight of you perched on his lap.  You notice now that you’re only clothed in some panties.  He reaches a hand up to caress your sternum, stopping to palm one of your breasts.  You close your eyes and focus on his touch.

“So gorgeous,” he whispers.  You open your eyes to meet his hot gaze, cheeks burning from his praise.  His stare alone is enough to make your knees buckle.

“Joel,” you say, throat tight for some reason.  You’re overwhelmed by an urge to tell him you love him but can’t get yourself to say it.  He knows.  He wants to tell you, too, but the timing is off—you’re still vulnerable and healing.  He thinks you might find it insincere if he tells you now, while you’re still broken.

“Yes, baby?” he says, both hands now smoothing up and down your torso, savoring your soft skin.

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling pathetic and laughing quietly as you stare down at him.  Why can’t I just say it?  He chuckles, white teeth flashing at you—fuck, he’s beautiful, too.  He sits up and cages you in his lap, arms bracing around your back to pull you closer to him.  He kisses you, then, languidly and passionately.  Your fingers thread through his soft curls before latching at the back of his head.  He smells of coffee and sandalwood, warmth emanating from his strong body.  You’re consumed with him, never wanting to let go.

And then he makes love to you—slowly and lovingly—thrusting up into you as he stares into your eyes with so much adoration.  Nobody has ever looked at you like this, or even fucked you like this.  Your faces are so close, lips exchanging heavy breaths and reticent moans.  You’re perfect, baby, he says.  So beautiful, he says.  Feel so good, he says.  He’s holding you so closely to him, still on his lap, chests pressed together, heartbeats thrumming through each other’s bodies.  You don’t know how long it lasts, but it feels like forever as he continues to plunge himself into you—you don’t know where he ends and you begin, or vice-versa—you are one.  And as both of you come, you’re levitating, flying, soaring, eyes still locked on each other and breaths exchanging as your bodies navigate through euphoria together before collapsing back onto earth and into Joel’s bed.

He lies back and pulls you with him, cock still nestled inside you as he clasps you against his chest.  Your walls squeeze him, pulling a sharp inhale from his lungs.  You smirk and lift your head up to kiss him, arms bound behind his ropy neck.  He pulls his mouth from yours and stares into your eyes.  Lips and nose ghosting yours, he whispers, “You know how much I care about you, right?”

You feel your lips curl into a toothy grin as you look in his amber eyes.  “Yes, Joel.  Every day.  I just… hope I don’t overstay my welcome.  It’s a lot, taking care of me while running a business—I don’t want this to run its course too soon,” you admit, smile falling as you look away from him briefly.  You know that he wouldn’t do this if he didn’t want to, but part of you feels culpable for the role he’s taken so early in your relationship—you’re not even officially anything, and he’s taking care of you like a spouse.  His fingers splay over your jaw and turn your head back to face him, eyes stern.

“Y’know damn well that I want to do this, t’be here with you.  I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never moved so quick with someone, but I’ve never felt so sure about anything.  Real shit, baby,” he says, his curse making you giggle.

“I just worry,” you concede, fighting back tears this time.  He sighs and pulls your head down on his chest, rubbing your shoulder blades softly.

“My parents met when they were fresh outta high school and got married after a month.  They fought, sure, but they loved each other more than us, I think,” he says with a chuckle, the rumble of his laughter echoing in your eardrums.  “They were the best relationship I could’ve possibly had as an example, baby—you and I remind me a lot of them.”

“Yeah?  Did your mom get stabbed, too?” you say, and he bursts out into laughter and rolls the both of you over in one swift motion.  He leans down and gives you a quick peck on the lips.

“She was tough as nails, that lady.  Woulda put up a fight, just like you.  And she wouldn’t ‘a stuck around with my pops unless she felt certain that it was right… just like you,” he says.  You imagine what she looked like—if Joel has her eyes and charm.  He was right, though—you told him as much that night at the bar.  You don’t invest in people like this unless it’s the real deal.

“Alright… you’ve convinced me.  You know we’re gonna get a lot of shit for this, though, right?” you remind him.  You already know what your mother will say, and you can only fathom what his family might think.  He snorts.

“I’m too old to give a fuck what other people think, baby.  You’re someone that only comes ‘round once in a lifetime,” he says, his admission making your breath catch in your throat.  You press a soft kiss to his neck, feeling his carotid pulse under your lips.

“Yeah, you’re right.  When you find something good, you hold onto it.”  He squeezes you tightly, making both of you laugh.

Saturday, October 23rd | 0351

As dinner approaches, you find yourself in Joel’s bathroom, nervous and unsure of what to wear.  Joel booked a reservation at a nice steakhouse not too far from his house, and let it slip that he also invited Tommy and his wife, Maria.  He didn’t want to overwhelm you with so many guests, but his family had been begging to meet you in the short time since you’d met each other.  You’d promised him that it was okay, though you knew a good first impression was mandatory.  Though Joel made it clear earlier that morning that he didn’t care what people thought of your relationship, a nagging, countering voice echoed in your head.

She’s too young.

Just wants your money, Joel.

She could be your daughter.

Don’t you think this is a bit fast?

And now you’re taking CARE of her?

You shake your head, as if the motion dislodges the thoughts and banishes them back to the dark, dirty well they came from.  You look at the person on the other side of the mirror and hold her gaze.  She looks strong—formidable.  A glow dances on her skin—even with a bandaged, stitched forearm, she is rhapsodic.  Playfulness waltzes in her eyes, like her inner child is alive and well.  You nod at her, and she you.  There’s a mutual understanding here—her job is to show you what you have a hard time seeing, appreciating.  Removing the cloud of self-doubt that has settled in a haze over your mind and eyesight the last fortnight.  You know you deserve happiness, right?  She’s asking you.  You blink at her.  She’s right.

Exhaling deeply, you give yourself another once-over and call it good on the self-loathing for the day.  A full-length, open back royal blue sundress with puffed short sleeves drapes over your body.  The bodice hugs your torso perfectly, the bare skin of your back framed in lace, and your ass looks—well, Joel will certainly have a hard time keeping his eyes and hands off you.  You made a lame attempt at styling your hair, per usual, but it looks good messy—it complements the elegance of your dress nicely.

Knock.  Knock.

“Y’ready, sweetheart?  Sarah will be here soon,” Joel queries through the door.  Forgoing a verbal answer, you push open one of the doors and let him see you.  He’s got dark jeans on  and a gray button up that hugs his muscles superbly, curls tousled and curled behind his ears.  He takes two steps in before his eyes rake over your figure, stopping dead in his tracks.  He whistles lowly as he sweeps his gaze up and down your body too many times to count.  Grinning, you decide to twirl and give him a 360 view.  He sucks in a breath and groans at the sight of your back and ass.  When you return to face him, his mouth is slightly agape, rendered speechless.

“Are you gonna speak?” you say, devilish smirk playing on your lips.  He clears his throat and forces his eyes up to yours, dark hazelnut boring into your soul.

“Kinda hard to do that when you look—well, like that,” he growls, coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist.  Nose at your neck, he takes a deep breath in and moans softly at your scent.  You had some travel size perfumes stashed in your purse that you’d forgotten about, and decided today was time to use one of them—Angel by Mugler.  A musky scent, it was the perfect blend of bergamot, caramel, and patchouli.  Sweet, with some depth.

“Smell fuckin’ good, baby,” he murmurs into your neck, nibbling the skin there featherlight.  You tilt your head back and moan quietly at the sensation.  You feel his cock swelling at your ass.

“Ain’t got time to fuck you properly—but don’t worry, baby.  I’ll take care of you when we get back,” he threatens playfully.  His words shoot straight to your core and trickle out onto your panties.  You cross your legs tightly to try and stifle your arousal.

“Is Sarah staying here?” you ask, changing the subject and reaching a hand up to run through his curls.  He shakes his head.

“She’s got some big test on Monday, probably gonna be up all night tonight and tomorrow studying,” he replies.

“Sounds like nursing… really, anything medicine-related,” you say with a chuckle.  You don’t miss all-nighters from your college days—those organic and physical chemistry exams had you rethinking your entire life path.

“My smart girls,” he says, looking at you with pride.  Heat creeps up your neck.  The sound of the garage door opening interrupts your moment.  Joel smiles at you and kisses your cheek gently.  “She’ll love ya, I promise.”

“Party’s here!” Sarah yells from the living room, her loud voice echoing throughout the atrium.  You both chuckle.  Yeah, you’re going to like her—she just referenced Jersey Shore, the Mecca of trash reality TV, which happens to be one of your favorites.

“Be right down, baby girl!” Joel calls out from the bathroom.  You give yourself one last glance in the mirror.  He watches you.  Leaning in by your ear, he croons, “Can’t improve what’s already perfect.” You smile at his reflection in the mirror and follow him downstairs.  Sarah is waiting for both of you at the front door.

Sarah is gorgeous, which doesn’t surprise you, given who her father is.  She’s tall and lean, light-skinned with beautiful, coiled hair and brown eyes just like her dad’s—with hints of copper around the pupils.  The smile she gives you is huge, warm, and genuine—with perfectly straight pearly whites.  Joel pauses for a moment.

“Forgot my damn shoes, I’ll be right out.  Sarah, this is—”

“I know her name, Dad.  Remembered it the first time you told me,” she laments at him, greeting you as you make your way down the stairs.  You both go for a hug at the same time, giggles erupting from both of you at your telepathic connection.

“I’m so glad to meet you, Dad’s told me so much—only good things, I swear,” she says with a chuckle, raising both palms up in surrender.  You laugh.  Her positive, goofy energy is contagious.

“Likewise, although he wasn’t so nice about your coffee choices,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully.  She snorts.

“He’d eat coffee grounds if he could, I swear!” You both giggle.  “You’re fucking gorgeous, by the way, he did tell me that,” she says, taking your hands in hers and giving you the once-over.  “This dress is hot!”

“Language, Sar!” Joel calls from the bedroom, eliciting laughter from both of you.  You hook an arm in hers and walk to the kitchen.  You’ve still got some time until dinner.

“Want a drink?  Or are you not supposed to with your medicine?” she asks, opening the beer and wine fridge as she raises an eyebrow at you.

“I should be fine—haven’t taken anything since yesterday,” you reply, noticing now that your arm is feeling okay—no lingering stings or aches.  Joel might complain, but you decide you deserve a little treat.  She pulls out a bottle of white wine and holds it up, raising her eyebrows at you to ask permission.  You grin and nod in response.

Both of you are enjoying your wine and getting to know each other when Joel comes down.  He eyes your wine glass and raises one eyebrow in you, a stern reminder to take it easy.

“I know, I’ll be fine.  M’not driving, anyway,” you promise him.

Sarah watches the two of you interact with curiosity, eager to see the dynamics.  She can tell he’s smitten—the way he stares at you is unlike any other woman he’s had in his life.  There haven’t been many, but enough for her to understand that you’re different.  She wonders if he’s told you much about her mom.  Joel fishes his keys from a tray by the laundry room entrance and steps out into the garage to get the BMW ready.

“So, what exam do you have Monday?  Joel said it would be an all-nighter for you,” you ask, sniffing and then sipping the white bubbly in your glass—it’s Moscato d’Asti, your go-to.  She takes a heavy sip and rolls her eyes, sighing as she puts the glass down.

“Pathophysiology.  Jesus, it’s too much.  This test is over the cardiopulm unit—supposed to be like 60 questions, most of them short answers,” she bemoans.  You nod, remembering the pain that class brought to you many nights ago.

“That class is the fucking worst—especially if your professor sucks.  Ours didn’t believe in anything but short answer and essay questions,” you reminisce, shuddering at the thought of taking another one of those tests.

“Did you have Dr. Bricker?” she asks, eyes widening in fear.  You nod in disgust and scrunch your nose, causing her to groan.

“Please tell me there’s a light at the end of the tunnel,” she says with a whine, leaning over the counter as if she were crippled in pain.  You chuckle.

“Only when you’re done with his class,” you reply, giggles erupting from both of you.  “I still have my notes if you want them—I did manage to get an A, somehow.  Probably slept 4 hours a night during that semester.”  She claps her hands excitedly.

“YES, please please!! You’re my favorite already!” she squeezes your wrist in appreciation before she realizes what she’s said, both palms reaching to squeeze your shoulders reassuringly.  “Promise, there hasn’t been anybody for a long time—” she starts, peeking at the garage to make sure Joel isn’t within earshot.  “He’s happy as fuck with you.  I’ve never seen or heard him like this with anybody, swear.”  You smile at her admission.  She’s honest, no filter—just like her dad.

“It’s crazy, ‘cause I’ve only known him for an embarrassingly short time, and the age gap,” you concede, looking away from her eyes for a moment.  She takes another sip of wine and smacks her lips, giving you a look that says you’ve got nothing to worry about.

“Not embarrassing at all! When you know, you know.  And as long as you both are honest with each other, you’re good.  Plus, just means you’ll be around longer for me,” She says with a wink.  She’s wise beyond her years, which doesn’t surprise you.  You’re interrupted by the quiet roar of the BMW starting.  The car door shuts, and you hear Joel’s footsteps approach the entrance to the laundry room from the garage.  He sweeps his greying curls off his tan forehead, giving him a better view of both of you.  He locks eyes with you and smiles warmly.

“Y’all ready, or y’gonna keep jabbering?” he asks with a smirk and a wink, much like Sarah’s from moments ago.  Both of you roll your eyes at him.

“Can’t be gangin’ up on me already, that ain’t gonna work,” he teases, a single eyebrow arching up toward his hairline.

“Get used to it,” Sarah retorts, sticking her tongue out at him.  She clinks her wine glass with yours, her way of telling you to drink up.  You oblige, the bubbly liquid fizzling your throat as it goes down.  After setting the glass on the marble counter, you walk over to Joel, and he puts a warm arm around your shoulders.  Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Ready, baby?” he whispers into your hair.  You nod, turning to look at him. You briefly study the lines of his face and trace his crow’s feet with your index finger, finding yourself getting lost in his beauty. Wrinkles are seen as almost taboo these days, but Joel wears his better than anyone you’ve ever met. Symbols of continued laughter, anger, and expression.

“M’old, I know,” he says lowly, watching your eyes as you continue appreciating his features.

“Beautiful, though,” you whisper back, leaning in to press your lips to his.  He hums softly.  He exhales deeply through his nose as he pulls back, the warm air fanning your face.  His cheeks and neck are flushed pink, clearly embarrassed by your compliment.

“Let’s go, Tommy ain’t one for lateness,” he says.  Another clink interrupts your moment as Sarah places the wine glasses in the sink.  You forgot she was there, entranced by Joel.

“You mean you ain’t one for lateness.  Get a room,” she teases, elbowing your side softly.  All three of you chuckle as you head out to the car.

The ride to the steakhouse is comfortable—the Bimmer is magnificent.  Creamy, soft tan leather seats envelope your back and legs—they even have a built-in massage function. You bet Joel’s never even used it. The car doesn’t match him like his truck does—too high maintenance, too luxurious.  But you remember why he bought it—the symbolism of his trials and success.  The suspension is quite smooth, navigating the bumps and potholes of the crappy Omaha roads seamlessly.  You have the blessing of experiencing all four seasons here, but it’s hell on the asphalt.

Joel turns into the steakhouse parking lot and parks far away from everyone else, which makes you and Sarah chuckle.  Of course he’s that person.

“Nobody here can open a fuckin’ door right,” he grumbles, whipping into the spot seamlessly.

As the three of you step out, a black Mercedes SUV whips into a stall 2 spots away from the Bimmer.  The windows are illegally tinted—all you can see is the faint outline of two figures sitting in the front.  The driver’s side door opens, revealing a tall, dark, built man with long black curls, slicked back and sleek.   Must be Tommy.  He’s handsome as fuck, just like his brother. Tanned skin peeking out of his polo, arms and shoulders thick with ridged muscles, strong legs flanked by dark denim.

Tommy grins at everyone as he goes to open the passenger door of the Mercedes, his very white—almost luminescent—veneers blinding you.  He holds the hand of a stunning black woman as her smooth, long legs step onto the pavement.  Her hair is perfectly braided, cheekbones sharp enough to slice, skin glowing.  She’s slender, but built with firm muscle, like an Olympic sprinter.  She looks like a Nike model—and Tara Thornton from True Blood.  Is anybody in this damn family ugly?

“Hi, baby,” she greets Sarah, who approaches her for a tight hug.  Joel is next, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Maria, this is—” she holds a hand up to Joel, interrupting him as she approaches you.

“I know, I remember important things,” she says, holding her arms out to you for a hug.  You oblige her.  Her skin smells amazing, like Burberry Goddess—vanilla bean with lavender.  She grips you tightly, sending the message that she’s the welcoming one of this family.

“Baby, you’re gorgeous!” she says, looking you up and down as she lets go of you.  You’re blushing.  “This is my husband, Tommy,” she says, nodding over at Tommy, who pulls you in for a hug.  His grip is strong, body even stronger.  He smells good, too—hints of whiskey and sandalwood just like Joel, with some eucalyptus.

“Glad to finally meet you, how’s the arm?” he asks, putting an arm around your shoulders and leading the group toward the restaurant entrance.  You lift your bandaged arm and stare at it with a grimace.  Tommy laughs.

“Eh, it’s not the worst thing in the world,” you gripe.  “I’ve got the best caretaker, though,” you say, looking over Tommy’s shoulder and winking at Joel.  Redness blooms on his neck and cheeks and he rolls his eyes, corners crinkling as he grins shyly at you.  Tommy’s grip on your shoulders tightens, pulling you closer as he leans into your ear.

“’Tween you and me, I ain’t never seen him like this before—the hell are you doin’ to him?” he whispers with a chuckle.  You laugh and shrug.  Maria hears the entire encounter, sidling up to your other side and throwing an arm around your waist as she interjects.

“Well, look at her!  Best Joel’s ever gonna get,” she giggles, flashing her gorgeous smile at you and laughing harder when Joel groans in the back.

“Jus’ shut up and get in the damn restaurant,” Joel grumbles, eyes shooting daggers at Tommy as he releases you to open the door for the group.  Joel takes your arm in his and kisses your temple quickly as you enter.

“Grumbly Joel—I kinda like him,” you flirt, giving him a wink as he turns to glance at you.  He glares at you playfully and leans in by your ear.

“Keep it up, sweetheart—you’ll be swallowing your words later,” his deep voice rattles in your ear.  Fuck.  This man makes you wet just from his words.  You’re feeling bold in this moment and decide to test your luck.

“Not much of a threat when you know how much I like having you in my mouth,” you croon lowly in his ear, trying to make your voice sound as quiet and sexy as possible.  He curses under his breath.

“Gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, swear,” he speaks into your ear, hiking his waistband up to hide his growing erection.  “Now behave. Can y’do that for, like, an hour?”  You shrug, evil smirk playing on your lips.  You take a moment to observe the restaurant as your group waits by the hostess podium.

The steakhouse is huge and bustling with guests, though it is prime dinner time on a Saturday.  There’s various ungulate skulls and old western movie posters mounted on the cherry wooden panels of the walls, which are various shades of burnt umber and crafted beautifully.  Sinuous cries of a steel guitar and lively chatter echo around the large space.  The front of the restaurant is framed by large windows wrapped in rustic wooden trim, spilling pre-sunset natural light in.  Country vibes are oozing from this place—likely the closest thing to Texas the Miller boys have, minus large TVs playing whatever ball game is on.

Tommy cuts in front of Joel as he’s about to speak to the hostess at the podium, irritating Joel.  Typical little brother antics. 

“Reservation for Miller,” he says, flashing a smile at her.  You can tell she’s melting inside, unable to resist the Miller Southern charm and suave good looks.  She blushes as she grabs menus.  You wonder if Maria is so used to this that she doesn’t notice anymore—will you get to that point?

“Right this way, folks,” she chirps, ushering you behind the large wooden podium.  She guides you to a large, round oak table near the front corner of the restaurant, which is surrounded by big windows.  Joel takes the seat on your left, Sarah the one on your right.  Of course, the Miller brothers sit next to each other and immediately discuss business.  Tommy complains about a big client in Council Bluffs, Iowa that calls the office every day asking for updates or changes on her lofty beach house renovation on the shores of Lake Carter.  “High maintenance bitch,” he calls her, eliciting a laugh from Joel.

“But how much is she payin’, ‘cause sometimes that’s enough to put up with a lot,” Joel reminds him, wagging an index finger his direction.  Tommy shakes his head, eyes drifting off toward the window as he continues his fuming. His eyes are brown, but a different shade of amber than Joel’s. A gold ring, almost flaky in pattern, encircles his pupils.

“Can’t pay me enough to treat us like that,” he carps, echoing a similar tone to that of his older brother.  Joel claps him on the back a few times.

“Brother, you’ll find that there may be times when ya have no choice but to put up with shit like that.  At least she ain’t hittin’ on ya,” he teases, shooting a wink in Maria’s direction.

“Don’t give him ideas, Joel.  These women can’t get enough of you Miller boys,” she vexes, locking eyes with you as she shakes her head.  You lean in closer to her.

“Does it ever go away?” you ask earnestly.  She guffaws and reaches out to clasp your hand.

“No, baby—you learn to ignore it.  But he’ll never be able to ignore the attention you’re gonna get,” she says, squeezing your hand once before letting go.  Picturing Jealous Joel, huffing and growling, makes you squirm a bit and your core tingle.

The waiter comes over, finally, interrupting your infant fantasy.  He apologizes profusely for the wait, and the whole table is quick to forgive him—he’s got sweat dripping from his forehead, face flushed, clearly stressed.  Joel and Tommy order whiskey neat, while Maria, Sarah, and you order some cocktails.

Conversation—and playful insults—seem to flow effortlessly in this group.  The topics range from the Miller Contracting business, to Maria’s Pilates class and wrangling her and Tommy’s two children, to Sarah’s nursing class nightmares, to you—your upbringing, family, and job at the plasma center.  Joel scoots your chair closer to his so he can nuzzle you into his side, silently protecting you—though you feel comfortable here.

“Are your parents around here?” Maria asks, taking a long sip of her drink, eyes centered on you.

“Mom lives in Chadron.  Retired schoolteacher.  Dad passed a few years ago from lung cancer,” you inform her.  Joel pulls you in closer and kisses your temple.  Sarah squeezes your leg reassuringly.  Maria and Tommy offer their condolences.

“Losing family is hard, but it looks like you’ve got a backup one here in Omaha,” Maria says cheerfully, winking at you.  You smile warmly at her, feeling grateful.  They’ve essentially treated you like one of their own from the start, which almost makes you choke up.

“Yeah… I’m really lucky,” you reply, locking eyes with Joel momentarily before the sheer amount of affection in his eyes forces you to tear your gaze from his.

“No, baby.  That’s me,” he says quietly, holding up his glass of whiskey in a toast.

Your throat feels dry, scratchy at his words.  He’s stepped up his game from giving you that look, to doing that and saying sweet things.  Fuck.

Everyone clinks their glasses together.  You swallow, hard, before sipping your fruity drink from the skinny black straw swirling around it.  The strength of the alcohol calms your nerves a bit as it zigzags down your throat, leaving a burn in its absence.

Saturday, October 23rd | 1945

The rest of dinner blew by too quickly—the food was great, the drinks kept coming, and the conversation flowed freely.  Joel paid the bill, to Tommy’s dismay, and everyone said their goodbyes and gave hugs in the parking lot.  Joel held you close the entire walk to the parking lot, fingertips absentmindedly tracing the skin of your back.  Maria and Tommy told you to stop by whenever you’d like—they weren’t too far from Joel.  Maria poked Joel in the chest and made him promise to bring you over to meet the kids sometime soon, which he begrudgingly accepted.  Don’t wanna stress her too much, he’d said.  Both Tommy and Maria hugged you tightly and kissed you on the cheek before Tommy sped off in their fancy Mercedes.  Fuckin’ drives like an idiot, always has, Joel had griped as you watched them drive off.

Back at Joel’s, Sarah embraced both you and Joel before heading back to Lincoln to study for her test.  Don’t forget those notes, she reminded you.  You promised them to her by next week, but on one condition: that she had to come back to see you.  She agreed and gave you one last hug before taking off, leaving you and Joel alone.

Now snuggled on the couch and wearing Joel’s clothes again, you find yourself dozing off on his chest as he watches some football game.  He’s stroking your hair, your clothed back, your thigh, before a hand creeps under your shirt and traverses your bare back.  You feel good, warm, soft.  He inhales deeply, wondering how in the hell you get him so hard by doing absolutely nothing.  You feel his cock stir in his sweatpants and remember his threat from earlier.

Swinging a leg over his hip, you straddle him and crash your lips onto his.  He moans, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.  Slowly, you grind on his lap, feeling his length getting harder and harder with each roll of your hips.  He squeezes your ass as he helps guide your movements, groaning into your mouth every now and then.

You release your lips from his, relishing in his pants and the look of ruin on his face.  With a devilish glint in your eyes, you kiss his neck, running your tongue over his pulse point and sucking lightly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re good,” he bemoans, squeezing you closer as your mouth continues its trail down to his collarbone.  You sit back and tug on the collar of his shirt.

“Off,” you command.  He’s quick to obey, pulling it off his top half swiftly before he puts his hands back on you.  You kiss his strong chest, hands trailing up his arms to stop at his pecs and squeeze.  His head tips back in delight—he wants to watch you, but fuck, it feels too good.  Once you reach his navel, you slide off his lap and kneel on the carpeted floor.  The sight makes him suck in a sharp breath in anticipation of what you’re about to do.  Still maintaining eye contact, you lick a trail down from his navel to the waistband of his sweatpants, in line with his hipbones.  He grabs a fistful of your hair and leans his head back again.

“Look at me, Joel,” you order.  His cock twitches at your dominance.  He looks down at you, expression wrecked.

“Fuck—fuckin’ love you like this, darlin’,” he croons.  You slowly tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, noticing that he’s not wearing any boxers.  You kiss down one hipbone, then the next, before pulling his sweats all the way down.  His solid cock nearly hits you in the face as it escapes, making you giggle.

“Somethin’ funny, sweetheart?” he asks.  Eyes never leaving his, you swirl your tongue around one of his balls before pulling it into your mouth.  His head slams back on the soft couch cushion and he curses.  You rinse and repeat with the other one before pulling back to stare at him.

“C’mon, baby, please,” he begs, arching his back as he lifts his head up to look at you.  You spit on the head of his cock and watch his mouth drop open at the sight.  Using just your lips, you gather some of the drizzle and milk it up and down his length.  He moans and grips your hair tightly.

“Need you to suck it, baby girl,” he finally pleads, and your approving hum on his length makes him squirm.

“Just had to ask me nicely,” you tease before taking his thick head into your mouth.  He hisses and thrusts his hips shallowly into your mouth, but you stop him with two firm hands on his hips.  You pull off him with a pop.

“Sit still,” you instruct sternly.  He sinks back onto the couch and groans, bewildered at you.  He’s trying so hard to listen to you, his dominatrix. You give in.

Wrapping one hand around the base of him, you take him into your mouth until you reach your knuckles, sucking hard.  He’s moaning and cursing as you bob your head up and down, alternating between sucking pressures as you feel him getting closer and closer.  You’re gagging and crying, hot tears streaming down your face as he starts fucking your throat roughly.  His hips are twitching and he’s whimpering your name—he’s close.

You bob a few more times before he finally spits your name as he comes, curling over you and shoving your head down onto his length.  He’s emptying himself in the back of your throat, the hot release trickling down your esophagus.  You’re choking and moaning, delighted in the taste and undoing of him.  He finally leans back, pulling you off his cock with a gruff groan.  His hands cradle your tear-streaked face, thumbs swiping away the salty drops.

“Swallow, baby,” he says softly.  You do, with a loud gulp.

Holding your face like it’s a delicate work of art, he stares into your eyes for a few moments, calloused thumbs stroking the soft skin of your cheeks, before urging you up onto his lap.  He pulls you close until he’s clutching you against his chest.  Both of you remain there for a while, breaths and heartbeats in tandem.  After a few beats, he picks you up with a grunt and carries your tired body upstairs to his bedroom.  He lies you down on his firm bed, rotating you on your right side and propping your injured arm up with a pillow.  Sleepy eyes blink, trying to watch him pace around the room as he gets ready to join you.  You’re exhausted now, you realize—the events from today drained you, as fun as they were.

“Baby, remember you have your appointment Monday,” he murmurs, shuffling underneath the sheets as he tries to get comfy.  He moves closer, hooking an arm around your waist and scooting to spoon you.  Warmth radiates from his body, shrouding you like a second blanket.  Darkness envelops the room, save for some streetlight peeking through the blinds.  You urge your brain to nod, unsure if it translated to real-life.

“You awake, darlin’?” Clearly, your nod failed.  You mutter a groggy mhm.  Joel chuckles at your fight to remain awake.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispers, pressing a prolonged kiss to your cheek.  He nuzzles your cheek with his nose after, breathing in your scent as you doze off.

Taglist: @burntheedges, @syd-djarin, @anoverwhelmingdin, @danaispunk <3

PSA: Finishing my degree this coming Monday, so I will be posting more after that! :)

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (22)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19 / Part 20 / Part 21 /

Created: December 16th, 2023

Last Checked:------

Little Deer, Little Sun, Little Coincidence-orphan_account (ao3) Summary: Katniss is less than enthused when Prim all but forces her to spend the evening at the fair with Johanna instead of with the twins, especially when Johanna's friend-of-a-friend joins them under the Ferris wheel. That is, until she recognizes this friend-of-a-friend: Peeta Mellark, the personable boy who went away to some fancy, big-city college six years ago. Obviously there's some catching-up to do, and more than can be done on a Ferris wheel, too, but being a single mother for nearly five years has left her a bit rusty in the flirtation department.

Miles Cross-Mejhiren (ao3) Summary: ‘And they that wad their true-love win / At Miles Cross they maun bide.’ Katniss holds Peeta through a critical episode, paralleling Janet in the old Scottish ballad of Tam Lin (often told as a fairy tale in prose form). “Miles Cross” is the crossroads where Janet pulled her lover from his horse and, by holding him through his many frightening transformations, won him from the fairies. Canon oneshot, post-MJ; written for the THG Fairy Tale Fic Challenge.

Rebound Girl-Diana_Flynn (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen only goes for only one type of man. It doesn’t matter how tall he is, the color of his hair, or even his personality. What she wants is the man fresh out of a relationship. She likes being that temporary girl the guy uses to lick the wounds of his bruised heart. Too bad Peeta Mellark changes everything for her.

Refuel, Restore, Realign-JennaGill (ao3) Summary: Peeta and Katniss take a chance they missed in high school, changing life paths and testing family loyalties. “No son, it’s a family business. And blue means loyalty, family loyalty. It means obligation. It means duty. Values we Everdeens and Hawthornes hold high.” Mr. Everdeen takes a deep breath and looks me over once more. “I can see from your expression that you’re not following me son, forget the damn sign. It means my daughter will not date you. Katniss’ path is not with you.”

The Dreadful Beauty-Diana_Flynn (ao3) Summary: She watches him, the beautiful blonde boy who has become a fixture at the bar/brothel she buses tables at. He just sits there and waits, and she wishes she knew what gave him that chip on his shoulder. Mutt is her name, and no one cares to remember what her real one is, or even notice her. She doesn’t care either, as long as she makes ends meet . But her life will change when that boy with so much to hide notices her. Everlark Fanfiction Inspired by East of Eden. Takes place in World War I Era, Monterey CA.

The Mockingjay and the Mutt-Abagail_Snow (ao3) Summary: While taming a hijacked Peeta in District Thirteen, Katniss comes to understand a side of him that she had never allowed herself to see. Loosely based on Beauty and the Beast.

The Need for Speed-Peetabreadgirl (ao3) Summary: Race car driver, Peeta Mellark, is chasing his first racing title, but along the bumpy road he ends up lost, stuck in Panem Springs where he meets an enchanting, silver-eyed trophy of a different kind.

The Unexpected Message-Diana_Flynn (ao3) Summary: Years after the war has ended Katniss has a fight with Peeta, but she finds an a gift that changes her perspective.

This is Halloween-bubblegum1425 (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen has been in love with her best friend, Peeta Mellark, for nearly as long as she'd known him. They'd grown together, carrying on their yearly Halloween tradition of watching The Nightmare Before Christmas and other scary movies, but this year was going to be different. This year, Katniss is finally going to use their time together to tell Peeta how she feels…if he doesn't ruin her plans first. College Everlark. Modern AU

We will call this place our home-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: “She closed her eyes, trying to hold in the disappointing sting of being duped. This man was indeed Peeta Mellark, her husband.” An arranged married in three parts. Everlark.

[secret-fiction]

Sonic & Tails vs the Lingering Haunt One Shot Late-Halloween Story.

On the night following Halloween, Tails takes Sonic to one of his many Auxiliary workshops. However it turns out that a new Haunted "Ware-"House has opened in the next door abandoned factory. Seeking some spooky themed fun they head inside to check it out even though it should already be closed. However inside they find signs of an out of control accident and it becomes increasingly hard to tell if it's all just part of the attraction. If it isn't, then several lives may be on the line.

Flickering yellow lights illuminated a dilapidated asphalt road ahead. Rotten utility poles creaked as they strained to hold many thick cables against a light breeze. On either side stood tall red brick buildings, warehouses and factory plants strewn with cracks. Far ahead past the flickering lights and under an old electric substation was a small shed with an uncharacteristically well sealed metal door. This whole environment offered many interesting sights of old industrial technology. So Tails wondered why it seemed Sonic didn’t agree this was a good place to take it slow.

“Yet another hidden lair, one of many scattered around the world. What sort of machinations do you undertake here?” Sonic the Hedgehog stretched his arms as he strolled onward, giving Tails a glance of his cheeky grin. 

“Only the dark matters of sleep, microwave meals, and video games,” said Tails, “...and maybe some evil reverse engineering.”

Sonic chuckled, then started humming as he resumed meandering from side to side ahead of Tails. “You really chose a spooky place to put this one huh?”

“Well, I guess if you find cool mechanical computers and assembly lines scary, it is.” A nearby light fixture exploded with a pop, making Tails jump and sending a shower of sparks and glass to the ground. “...And I guess electrical fires can be scary.”

“Pfft, bring it on!” said Sonic.

Chuckling to himself, Tails rubbed his heavy eyes and pulled out a tablet device. It’d be a good idea to disarm his security system so he wouldn’t have to run a  gauntlet to get to bed. Of course there was no doubt Sonic wouldn’t mind that. 

As he watched his tablet attempt to contact the auxiliary workshop, Tails felt a tap on his shoulder. Sonic was pointing at the front office of the largest nearby factory. It was decorated with black and orange paint and a sign that read ‘Haunted ware-House.’

“Wanna check this place out?” said Sonic, “I’ll bet I can get through without screaming once.”

“I’d make that bet if Halloween wasn’t last night,” said Tails.

“I’m sure whoever set this up won’t mind us checking it out alone real quick,” said Sonic.

“You’re probably right.” Tails glanced at his tablet still trying to make a connection, then put it away. 

The two of them pushed through the front door, it was heavy but left ajar. All sorts of custom made spooky art and decorations adorned this office, now converted into a foyer to some scary times. Many decorations were made from rusty wires and shaped into classic skeletal imagery. Most notably was one wire-skeleton slumped back in a rolling chair, its hand pointing at a dark hallway surrounded by warning tape. The creepy vibes here were actually pretty neat.

Sonic had already started wandering around investigating the wire skeletons and copying their poses. His impression of a skeleton face down, fully dead, in front of a computer terminal made Tails chuckle. But after a moment Sonic looked up at the terminal. “Oh hey this things on.”

“It is?!” Tails ran over and leaned over the wire skeleton. The crt screen in front of him was indeed on, showing a list of green text. One glance at the ports on the terminal showed it wasn’t connected to a full computer anymore. Yet the terminal still displayed a history of input commands and responses between the last user and a computer. 

There were several commands to send power to machines whose names were completely corrupted. These commands ended with a mistyped command to shut everything down, followed by a notification that connection between the terminal and the computer was cut. Even then there were three more attempts to command a shut down with no response. A chill ran up Tails’ back as he noticed that at the bottom, one more shut down command was half-typed but never entered. 

“Must be pretty immersive, huh buddy?” said Sonic

“Oh! Yeah, this is so clever!” Tails couldn’t help but smile as he quickly recounted everything he’d observed. He then paused for a moment to articulate better to Sonic. “Basically this feed makes it look like some terrible accident happened here! I can’t believe they left this here, who’d even pay attention to it?”

“Well evidently they got one fan,” said Sonic.

Tails giggled, Sonic was right. He now really wanted to meet whoever set up this ‘haunted ware-house’. Upon noticing the slightly ajar staff room door nearby he figured maybe he could. He hurried over and took a peek inside, it seemed to be a dressing room. Many hangers were covered with mundane jackets and clothes. Nearby old mirrors were set up over tables with an assortment of makeup. 

“Tails buddy, It’s probably rude to just walk into a dressing room,” said Sonic.

Tails frowned and started to object, but he focused on the mundane clothes again. Those were definitely not the costumes actors would be wearing here. Those were their casual clothes. Several bags and other garments strewn about reinforced a growing notion in Tails’ mind that didn’t make much sense. “Wait, are the actors all still here? With no guests?”

Sonic stepped past Tails and looked around for a moment. “Any way this is another part of the immersion?” 

“...Maybe? Well no, it doesn’t make sense with the theme…” said Tails, “Unless, we’re supposed to think the staff here actually fell victim to evil machines.”

“Or they actually did,” said Sonic. 

They both glanced back to the dark tunnel leading into the attraction proper. A hum of electricity echoed from within the factory. 

“Hello?” shouted Sonic, His voice echoed and faded into the background hum. “Anyone in here?! Is this part of the act?”

Tails felt his ear twitch as he thought he heard something else, a distant scrape, or even yell? It sounded as though it could be part of the humming or Sonics distorted echo. Even still his heartbeat elevated slightly. He then saw Sonic’s ear swivel. 

“Did you hear something?” said Tails.

“I’m not sure,” said Sonic.

Tails felt his tails puff up slightly at Sonic's response. “Same here…”

“Well, let’s check it out!” Sonic turned to Tails and gave him a wide smile. 

Nodding in response, Tails followed Sonic into the dark hall.  If anyone was in actual trouble Sonic could help them. They moved quickly, finding just enough dim light from the buttons and bulbs on several large old terminals along the sides of the hall. Tails kept his eyes and ears focused on everything they passed. First he noticed that this hallway was ramshackled together out of spare metal sheets and bolts.  Many disparate extension cords ran in and out of the walls to the terminals as well. Clearly a lot of work went into moving this equipment around… and maybe an electrical fire should be a real concern. 

A crunch rang out from Tails’ foot. He stopped, and lifted his shoe to see a crushed lollipop. There were a couple other pieces of candy dropped on the ground. Not a good sign. He scanned the area closely and noticed the candy forming a messy trail down the hall. Surely this could be part of the attraction. Signs that some trick or treater had been dragged away, leaving only a trail of candy was a compelling idea. But the trail didn’t lead to a spooky set, it led to a wall. 

“Sonic!” said Tails, “There’s a trail here!”

It took a second, but Sonic appeared from around a corner further down the hall. He still didn’t look worried, which was comforting. But as he opened his mouth, he let out a gasp. In an instant he glared daggers toward Tails, his quills shooting up into spikes. 

Tails’ heart skipped a beat. He managed to dive to the ground and roll away in time to avoid a large shape that hit the ground behind him. It was a badnik.

It was, until Sonic slammed into it with a spin dash. Its body shattered instantly. Most of the shrapnel and Sonic himself tore through the ramshackled wall. The resulting cacophony echoed through the factory. Somewhere in Sonic's path of destruction he must’ve hit some wires as the little light they did have disappeared with a loud pop. All of the terminals and industrial control panels went silent and dark. 

“Are you okay?!” said Sonic from within the hole in the wall.

“Am I okay?!” Tails ran over to the hole and pulled out his tablet. Its flashlight illuminated Sonic, who was completely tangled up in wires and warped metal. “Are YOU okay?!”

“Watch for more!” said Sonic.

Tails knew Sonic was right. He swiveled on his heels and aimed the flashlight to the ceiling. Up in the old rusty rafters hung several dark light fixtures, many industrial sized wires, and more notably some sort of rail. There was a mess of cord all along this sprawling rail line. That was some high end tech for a factory like this. It was also exciting. Scanning his light over more of the rafters revealed that the rails seemed to form a grid. He stopped his light at a trolley wheel fixture that had a cord hanging from it. It was snapped halfway down, looming over the spot the badnik fell.

“Oh.”

Sonic appeared by Tails’ side, accompanied by flying shrapnel. “Are there more?”

“No… Not yet.” 

Tails leaned down and picked up a piece of the badnik. It was the head of a grabber, a spider like badnik. But some of the damage on it was old. He quickly gathered more parts of the badnik to examine the damage closely. Within a minute he had most of it laid out on the ground. It didn’t take long for him to recognize the signs of previous damage, as well as patches on its body. Then he found a cord hanging from a cavity on the badnik. It had been powered by the factory’s electricity.

“Hey bud I know you like this stuff but I think we’ve seen this one before,” said Sonic.

“We have.”

“Okay then let’s get movi-”

“No, we've seen this specific one before. You probably busted it a while ago.” 

Sonic squinted, then his eyes started to widen with realization. Tails couldn’t help but smile as Sonic picked up what he was getting at.

“They made this part of the attraction?”

“Definitely,” said Tails, “It doesn’t even have its brain. It was being run from whatever this cord connects to.”

“Wait…” said Sonic, “You didn’t set all this up to scare me, did you?”

“What, no?”

“It just seems up your alley, literally and metaphorically.”

“If I was trying to scare you I wouldn’t just explain how this works yet. Besides, I’dve put it together a bit better than this.”

“Okay I believe you on the point that you’re a better engineer.”

“But, I do think this came from my stash.”

“... your what.”

“Don’t be mad.”

It didn’t take long for Sonic & Tails to run outside and to his nearby workshop. If Tails was right, then the whole haunted ware-house was being operated from his computer inside. As they reached the secure metal door on the small shack entrance he whipped out his tablet. His security system was still not responding. He growled at this, if someone shut down his security system he was supposed to get an alert about it. 

“Sonic, can you use your spare key?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Have fun.”

With  a woosh Sonic dashed away. Then with a delayed boom Sonic returned and slammed into the door. He bounced backward and careened through the air as the door, and the wall around it, collapsed. Tails took note that he oughta remember where he got that security door. 

After Sonic shook off the impact he accompanied Tails inside. With the press of a button, the floor inside the shack lowered and became a rampway to a bunker below. The collapsed security door slid down the ramp and hit a tripwire. An alarm blared and a large net fell over the door, magnetic weights clamping it down. This was a surprise. His security system was online. Which was worse. 

Luckily none of the further traps and barriers along the path to the control room stopped Sonic as he sped through. This wasn’t by design, but Tails tried not to be bothered by that right now. It wasn’t long until he saw Sonic reach the door to the control room, where he should’ve been stopped by an energy barrier boxing him in. Instead nothing happened. Great. This was a good thing. Very good.

As Sonic forced open the last door Tails ran inside past him. Someone had definitely been here. Most of the space here had been reserved for storing mostly intact badniks, but only a few pieces of scrap were left on the pallets. 

“Oh shit.”

“Tails.”

Tails glared at Sonic, who was giving him a disapproving head shake. This didn’t last long as both started laughing. Things felt a little less tense. 

“Soooo, what were you doing with the badniks?”

“Nothing anymore…” Tails walked across the room to an area with several desks, a foldable mattress on the ground, and a ‘modest’ computer. “Sometimes I went back to help clean places up after we chased Eggman away. Back then I still wanted to know how his badniks worked inside and out. So I brought them here and reassembled them.”

“Without turning them on, right?”

“Duh!” Tails rolled his eyes. “I took out all of their brains. But, they could still be run by direct commands if you hooked a computer up to their empty heads.”

Sonic meandered over to Tails and patted his head. This was distracting, but nice.

“So why’d you think I’d be mad?” said Sonic.

“Because someone found them. Now people might be getting hurt.”

As Tails pressed the power button on his computer, the screen lit up instantly. It didn’t need to boot up. Cool. he also found that there was no longer a password necessary to access his operating system. Nice, very convenient. Tails knew he must’ve been glowering because Sonic nudged him and gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Well I know it’s not your fault.”

“How, my security system didn’t work at all apparently.” 

Sonic pointed to a nearby wall. Though it was dark, now that Tails paid attention he could see a large forklift shaped hole in the wall. The hole led directly into the dark basement of the next door factory. A bundle of cords laid across the floor to Tails’ computer, all plugged into a port on the back. 

“Huh.”

“Workplace accident,” said Sonic, “go figure.”

The solution here was obvious, unplug the cords. But, it’d be prudent to check what they were doing first. He dug around the task manager for a bit before finding a terminal emulator running. “Wait what?” Opening the window revealed a screen similar to that on the old terminal in the office, a list of green text. The last output from whatever computer he was connected to claimed to be running a ‘plant containment simulation.’

“So can you shut it down or do I gotta smash some stuff?” said Sonic.

“...Could you try cutting the power lines outside?”

With a woosh Sonic ran outside the workshop bunker. A second later Tails heard a distant snap. An echoing crack and winddown sound emanated from the tunnel into the factory. Then a following powerup sound echoed out accompanied by several bells and alarms. The piercing ringing made his ears twitch as he checked the terminal window again. 

‘ALERT. AUXILIARY POWER ONLINE.”

“How about you don’t,” said Tails.

With a gust of wind Sonic reappeared behind Tails. “Didn’t work huh?”

“I’ll keep trying here, you should probably-”

“Find if anyone’s in trouble, got it!” said Sonic before he ran down the dark tunnel.

“TURN ON YOUR COMMUNICATOR!” shouted Tails.

Tails’ wrist beeped, and Sonic's voice replied over the comm, “Oh yeah, gotcha!”

Typing at an admittedly incredibly fast rate, Tails attempted many generic help commands to find out more about what he was hooked up to. In short order he found it responded with a new window labeled security mainframe. It was sending a constant stream of indecipherable data. As he squinted at this, the computer automatically opened several more windows. Then in quick succession they closed. It was a very good thing he didn’t keep anything important on here. 

Distant echoes of crashes put pressure on him. Then he noticed outputs from the terminal window with each crash, ‘power redirected.’ This usually accompanied a new window opening on his computer that spat out garbage text or fuzzy visuals. “Hey Sonic, can you stop breaking the badniks for a second?”

“If they stop jumping me,” said Sonic over the comm, “can you get some lights on in here?”

“Uh, probably,” Tails entered a couple more commands, and suddenly a wave of hanging lights lit up down the tunnel and inside. “There you go.”

“...Buddy, how many badniks did you have?”

“Why?” Tails was refocused on his computer as he now managed to find a window that opened up a security camera feed. It was fuzzy but he could make out Sonic on the floor, he was staring up at the ceiling. “Uh, hang on.” Tails flipped between cameras, each with incredibly fuzzy feed, some completely black. All were looking at Sonic from different angles. “Hey, are there any cameras looking at the ceiling?”

“...There aren’t any cameras,” said Sonic. 

“Wha-oh…” Tails felt his hands shake. But not from fear. “Okay okay, I’m patched into the badniks. Let me have a look around.”

Tails started flipping through every available feed. Most were in the ceiling above Sonic and the ramshackled haunted-house path. As he found another black screen and went on to the next feed his computer let out a garbled noise. He paused, then went back to the black screen. The garbling resumed. Tails pressed his ear close to the speaker. Then he realized it wasn’t coming from his speakers, it was playing over the factory intercom.  

“Tails, what is that?” said Sonic.

“I don’t know,” said Tails. 

Suddenly a voice could be made out through the garbling. “Hey! Is someone Here? We need Help!!” 

As the voice spoke a garbled ringing escalated through the intercoms, eventually drowning everything else out. The piercing noise made Tails fold his ears down. Since Sonic’s inside it must be worse for him. Then with a loud pop, the intercom, and evidently the lights, went out. A fuse must’ve blown.

“Tails! Where are they? Tails!?” said Sonic over the comm.

“I don’t know!” said Tails. 

Down the tunnel Tails heard the echoes of combat resume. Flipping through the feed on his computer revealed the badniks chasing Sonic as he ran through the floor. Motobugs rolled after him as buzz-bombers swung down at him from the ceiling. 

“Shit, sorry Tails!” said Sonic, as one by one the visual feeds cut out. 

As before, the workshop computer went haywire. Windows opened all over making it impossible to use. Still he managed to reach the terminal window again and attempted several shutdown commands. Each was met with ‘unknown command.’ A growl rose from his throat. He wasn’t able to help at all from here. Screw it then. He reached around the back and pulled the cords out of the port on his computer.

The computer crashed of course. But in the factory all of the old machinery began turning on. With the sound of engines, the song of the factory drowned out everything else. This was bad, it was dark and now Sonic couldn’t hear. Why did the power redirect like that anyway? What was turning everything on? Tails almost dropped the bundle of cords in his hand, then looked at them closely. Oh, duh!

“Sonic! I’m gonna find the main computer, hold on!” shouted Tails into his communicator.

Sonic's response was completely muffled by the running machinery. Right, too loud. 

Plugging his ears with the closest rags he could find, Tails ran through the tunnel and into the factory. He kept his light on the bundle of cords as he followed it along the wall. This path took him behind the set of the haunted ware-house and up a pole to the ceiling. With his spinning tails he flew up into the rafters. There were many more cables here wrapped along the ceiling like old corroded roots. But with the light of his tablet, Tails could discern the bundle of newer cords from the rest. 

Ducking and weaving past cables and rails, Tails heard the occasional crash of Sonic breaking something below him. He glanced down at the dark for a second, seeing only bits of action from flying sparks. Suddenly his body hit a net of cables. He yelped and flailed, nearly dropping his tablet as his tails tangled up in the cables. 

“Ow ow ow!” said Tails as he scrambled to grab the cables above him. Soon he got a grip of one and shined the light on his tails. The knot wasn’t that bad. What was bad was the eyes of a buzz bomber on the other side of the mass of cables. 

“...Please don’t.”

The Buzz-Bomber came to life and fluttered only one in-tact wing. As it charged into the cables, Tails gasped and dropped his tablet. Several cables snapped, allowing the Buzz-Bomber to slam its body into him. They both fell down toward a spinning machine of many spikes and gears. But before they met that fate the cord on the Buzz-Bomber came taut and sent them both swinging back up into the Rafters. Tails kept a tight grip on its thorax as it carried him back up and onto a rusty beam. 

Now on stable footing, Tails kept hold of the Buzz-Bomber while reaching for the cable hooked into its head. It glared at him while trying to fly with its single wing. Tails gave it a smile back. “Thanks, and sorry.” With a hard yank he pulled out the cable and the badnik went limp. 

Now back to that dang bundle of cords. Glancing around, another flash from below showed Tails a large utility tunnel into the ceiling in front of him. Most of the cables and cords, old and new, ran up it. 

“HEY! Up here!” shouted Tails. 

Despite the deafening machinery and Tails’ earplugs, Sonic shouted back, “‘Kay! One sec!”

With a running leap Sonic landed onto the beam next to Tails. An odor of burnt rubber accompanied him. His quills were clearly covered in oil and fine metal dust. That had to be uncomfortable, and yet Sonic just casually stretched like normal. 

The two of them looked up the utility tunnel and saw more darkness. Spooky. Undeterred, Tails took Sonic's hands and flew him up the tunnel, being mindful of anything in his path. 

At the top, they were met with a large open room. In the middle was some sort of dark mass. From within the mass came a series of fuzzy speaker sounds. It’d be really nice to have a light here. As Tails waited and tried to discern what they were looking at, Sonic walked closer. Suddenly a series of red lights lit up the chamber, making Tails jump. Seeing Sonic stiffen up made him feel less embarrassed. But the mass of cables hanging from an Eggman capsule in the ceiling made Tails feel less relaxed. 

Inside the capsule was a small group of mobians. Most of them seemed to be unconscious, but one jackal looked down at them. “H-hey! Watch out!” she said, muffled through some kind of speaker.

“Hang on!” said Sonic. He immediately dashed a lap around the room and jumped up to the tangled up capsule. Then as soon as he touched the wires he seized up. With a flashing arc of electricity Sonic was sent flying off of the capsule. 

Heart jumping in his throat, Tails flew after Sonic and caught him just feet from the ground. He could feel Sonic grip his hand, which was a relief. It shouldn’t have been, Sonic is tough. 

“I’m good. But how do we get them out?” said Sonic.

“Uh…” Tails looked over the wires, they seemed to lower down from the capsule on the ceiling and form a curtain shrouding the middle of the chamber. He took a step toward it. The wires shook and parted, but nothing clearly came out from underneath. Yet cables on the ground shifted around. Each one getting nudged was closer to Tails and Sonic.

 “Sonic.”

“I see it.” 

Tails stepped aside and watched Sonic spindash in that direction. With a loud bong he bounced back. For the moment of impact a much larger than usual chameleon shaped badnik was visible. It was a Newtron, but with bounce pads on its head and back. It continued crawling toward Tails as it returned to invisibility. They could handle this. 

Sonic spun around and hit the Newtron a few more times from each side. Eventually he landed in its path and waited. After a few more steps, the Newtron reappeared with its mouth open toward Sonic who immediately rolled at it. But instead of firing a projectile, a vacuum in the Newtrons mouth sucked Sonic right up. Its tail extended to the curtain of wires and cables, where Sonic was shot into a vacuum tube of some kind and pulled up to the capsule.

Tails’ mouth was wide open as he watched Sonic get dropped into the pile of people inside the wrapped up capsule. 

“Tails,” said Sonic through the muffling of the speaker, “Coulda warned me that Badnik could do that.”

“I didn’t build that one!” said Tails. 

“Okay! But you can handle this!”

Tails made eye contact with the large modified Newtron before it turned invisible again. His heart started pounding more, but he didn’t need to panic. This thing wasn’t that fast. He watched for any cables hooked into its invisible body as he got some distance away. Then he saw it. One black cable rising into the air, the end of it fading into invisibility. He let out a slow breath, then dashed toward it. Using the momentum he flew up into the air right at the cable. But as he almost reached it, he hit the bumper on the Newtrons head.

Tails yelled as he careening up toward the tangled up capsule. Heart pounding, he swung around and used his spinning tails as a brake. His shoes stopped inches short of the exposed high-voltage wires. Looking up he made eye contact with Sonic, and gave him a shaky thumbs up.

“Watch out!!!” 

Tails looked down and saw the Newtron visible again, its jaws open. A powerful vacuum of wind into its mouth started to pull Tails down. He clenched his teeth and spun his tails as hard as he could. But the wind continued dragging him down. There had to be a way out! He was smarter than this. Yet he wasn’t able to fly himself away and the vacuum showed no signs of losing power. 

A series of loud bangs above Tails got his attention. It was Sonic, kicking the side of the capsule repeatedly. It felt awful to make Sonic worry like that. But as they made eye contact Sonic gave him a wink. With one last kick one of the wires fell loose, its torn end casting sparks around. That could work! Tails let the wire fall past him, then stopped spinning his Tails. 

Sparks flew as the Newtron choked on the hot wire. The vacuum in its throat stopped, and Tails landed right on its snout. It made eye contact with him, so he gave it a wink. He then jumped off of its snout and dived toward the cable in its head. The Newtron turned its body invisible again, but Tails managed to reach the cable. He gripped it as hard as he could and tried to fly up, but it was plugged in tight. Growling as he strained, Tails felt the Newtron trying to shake him loose. If it hit him with those bounce pads he’d be back at square one.

That was an idea though. Tightening his grip, Tails bit into the cable. Then he let himself drop. As soon as his feet hit the bounce pad the force shot him away, putting strain on his arms and jaw. Strain the cable couldn’t take. Hearing a snap, he opened his eyes to see himself swinging away from the now powerless Newtron. He’d done it. 

Tails couldn’t help but shout a muffled cheer through the cable in his teeth. This was interrupted by an impact into the ceiling, and a subsequent flop down to the ground. Taking only a moment to catch his breath, Tails cheered and laughed some more. Soon he saw Sonic standing over him with a relieved look on his face. Tails started to stand, but Sonic lifted him up under his arms.

“You good pal?” said Sonic.

“Yep!” Tails wagged his tails despite the soreness in his body, “just jostled.”

“Good! Let's get everyone out of here then!” 

While the others in the capsule were drowsy and thirsty, no one was badly hurt. The costumes most of them wore implied they must’ve been here since Halloween the previous night. One problem emerged as they got ready to lead everyone out though, the factory floor below was still running with dangerous machines everywhere. 

“Hey, do any of you know where the computer running all of this is?” said Tails.

“...Uh, yeah.” A dark green jackal lady with grease matted fur walked forward while rubbing the back of her head. She wore overalls that were pierced with metal shrapnel and blood stains. 

“Are you okay?!” said Tails.

“What? Oh yeah, it's a costume.” 

She led Tails to a wall next to an elevator on the other side of this upper chamber. A panel moved aside easily, revealing a massive computer room. Tails felt his jaw drop in awe, it was beautiful. Rows of ancient electrical computers the size of sheds buzzed and clicked. At the far back wall was one large control panel with a button for every function. As Tails approached and saw several new components plugged into this panel he realized what the problem was.

“You… you supplemented the processing power of the factory with computer chips from badniks?!”

“Yeah, I thought they’d be cool with it,” said the Jackal.

“That’s actually super cool!” Tails looked over at Sonic, “But reckless! So reckless. Irresponsible.”

“Also maybe don’t steal stuff,” said Sonic.

“Everything here’s abandoned,” said the Jackal, “also you look kinda like Sonic the Hedgehog.”

“Dude my computer was obviously way newer than all this,” said Tails. “Did you really think my workshop was part of this factory?”

“I mean it was full of old broken stuff,” said the Jackal.

Tails shook his head and crawled into the control panel computer. It wasn’t hard to find the power supply and unplug it. With that, the entire factory shut down with a whine. He looked at the badnik computers for a moment then left them plugged in as he crawled back out. 

“Okay, these Badniks should stop trying to kill us with assembly lines now,” said Tails.

“Oh before you guys go, did our Haunted Ware-House scare you at all?” said the Jackal.

“At most it was startling sometimes,” said Sonic, “but I’m used to danger, so I’m not a good metric for that.”

“I did like the aesthetic!” said Tails. 

With the danger passed, Sonic and Tails lead the staff and kids out of the factory. In that time Tails grilled the staff more about how they’d set all this up. Apparently the Newtron sucking people into a capsule was supposed to be the main attraction. But then it didn’t release anything it had sucked up afterwards like it was supposed to. Even still this ‘Haunted Ware-House’ seemed pretty neat, maybe they could run a safer version next year.

But not at this sight, as within minutes of everyone escaping out the front, the old factory became engulfed with flames. A strong scent of burnt rubber as it started told Tails exactly why. “Electrical fires spread scary fast. Neat.” 

“I guess the true haunting was the safety violations we made along the way,” said the Jackal.

“This is one awesome fire though,” said Sonic. “But yeah, you all could’ve died if we hadn’t showed up.”

[sofijaeger]

Pinehurst - Chapter 8

eren jaeger x reader

╰ summer camp au

words: 2.8k

warnings: swearing, partial nudity, inappropriate and suggestive topics, angst, injury, blood, religion? (mentions of the afterlife).

↣ BEFORE YOU READ! ↢

this chapter deals with serious injury! if you feel uncomfortable reading about such topics, you’ve been advised.

The moon had barely peaked its face through the clouds, grasping for clear air through the sky above acres of Pine trees. It's become quite dark, and frankly too foggy due to the summer's humidity for someone to be roaming the woods alone. The ignorant choices you'd made of storming off and finding your kids were past childish but underratedly foolish. You managed to navigate yourself to the ends of Pinehurst's territory, with no evident signs of light-toned voices, or youthful shrieks you most certainly could associate with a timid, young blonde camper. Now as you approach an aged, broken bridge, separating the gap between two, once amiable campsites, it's safe to admit your sense of direction only leads you this far. Digging your heels into fallen wood, you climb over the broken, tortured logs blocking off the walkway, scraping the soles of your cheap sandals as the bridges’ loose floorboards unhinge. It bewilders you to believe such a tattered crossover once stood as a monument in your childish eyes long ago, a symbol of peace and prosperity for all the coming years. 

How coincidental it was to see the bridge in such a poor, similar shape as the two camps' relationship was now.

"They wouldn't have wandered this far." you mutter internally, "...Surely Falco wouldn't have dared to follow Gabi if she told him they were going to climb through high grass and damp logs. He would've been more frightened over getting wet than injuring himself." The thought of what expression the young child could make over such little conditions brings a chuckle through your achy throat, distressed from the continuous yells of curiosity and uncertainty into the empty air. However the ambiance is still dangerously hollow, and the thought of it staying such a way without the playful shouts and banter of your kids irks you to your core. Your hand barely grips the rail of the bridge, inching your fingers over the splintering wood, but as you place your trust into the creaking fixture, it snaps at the base, pulling you off your balance. You attempt to find your stance, managing to carry your body back to a neutral position after letting it scrape alongside a rusty segment of scrap metal, most likely left behind by abandonment years back.

It burns terribly, and you can almost feel the corroding steel mixing with the fresh scar, beginning to moisten with blood. You curse under your breath, studying a hand over what mobile leg you have left. The night proceeds to freeze over, despite the season’s weather supposedly tricking you into thinking otherwise. It leaves you no choice but to tend to your wound over the current temperature of your body. Sorely but swiftly, you undress your top off of yourself, disturbing images of familiar actions flashing behind your eyes like they had been, experiencing the nightmare of this morning all over again. Reaching down to your leg, you avoid shutting your eyes again in sympathy for the reminiscent pain, wrapping the fabric around your leg and securing it tightly in a knot over the fresh gash. It stings dreadfully, disabling up past your kneecap, and you begin to wonder if you're being tormented by these fields all over again. Maybe if you squinted well enough, you'd barely be able to make out what bright, heavy fluid soak into your employee shirt. This could very well be manageable, no. this would be manageable if it meant you could find Falco and Gabi in any better state than you were currently in. You just needed to find them in one piece.

"What's your favorite shade of green again?"

Gabi perches herself a few feet off the ground, spine against an aging Pine trunk while she hovers over her male counterpart. He sits crisscrossed underneath the thick branches, back hunched from exhaustion over how far they'd run off, fully committed to whatever his friend's plan had been. It's beyond cold, and all Falco wants to do is find warmth, whether that be from the campfire or in his favorite counselor’s arms. There was no comforting feeling this far out from the camp grounds when the closest sounds of life happen to be the howls of wolves tens of miles away. He answers in a huff, cranking his neck upside down to find her wide eyes above him.

"Chartreuse Gab, I thought we went over this like a week ago."

"We did, I just like to hear you say it. ChartRUEse!" she articulates with a laugh, and it takes a bit of restraint for the young boy not to crack a smile upon his face, attentive to her lisp that pokes out every few sentences. He manages to pull himself back together, exuberating a more parental role as he moves his knees beneath him to stand. They’re wobbly and partially asleep, but he fights through the pin and needle sensation growing up his right leg, and he wonders, almost telepathically, if this is a sign. A random premonition that's trying to get his attention. But the feeling is soon disregarded as he eyes Gabi struggling to descend from the branch. He offers her his palm, and she slaps it out of the way, keen on saving herself from the minor situation. 

"Don't tire yourself out, bud, what if you aren't here one day? Gotta prepare to save myself in these situations." She smiles squarely, tilting her head to one side as Falco backs off, stepping over to the dirty, half-deflated ball they'd come across more than long ago. He squishes some of the excess air between his fingers, concentrating on what to say. "I think it's time we head back, I'm sure they've gotten a bit worried over us being out here for so long."

"Yeah I agree." the girl extends, "Eren's too big of a wimp to kiss you know who for this long."

The kids chuckle to each other, beginning to turn back down the path they had intentionally followed. Peacefully they find themselves following the clues of leaves or small colored rocks they had left for themselves just an hour ago, certain they'd need to rely on some direction to find themselves back at camp. The only minor difference in their journey back resulted in Falco practically walking along the back of Gabi's heels, startled by the mysterious fog and sounds of the summer night.

Is your vision becoming blurry? Or have your eyes been tainted by the night's fog so roughly that you're losing your sight? Whatever the case, it's gradually becoming worse, so much so that you can barely see the color of your blood-soaked shirt beneath your knee. Fuck, you didn't tighten it enough where the pressure could keep it from continuing to spill, leaving it to scent a dripping path along the progress you've made so far. You ponder how you fell into this state again, replaying what little memory you have from today in your head. How was it that your shorts kept your body temperature unregulated from being soaking wet, yet the makeshift bandage you created was still dry of any water? The strap on your shoes had loosened a while back, and you full-heartedly believe you've managed to walk across an entirely different state, traveling in and out of consciousness as the woods further deceive you. 

How far out you've traveled is a mystery, you're beginning to wander in search of another life form to aid you. The clear sky, complemented by a few clouds casts a black shadow across every figure below, you can't see your own hands in front of you, however, that may be from the cataract-like blurriness taking over your system. Now, you can't even see at all, walking blindly in patience, trudging footsteps that fail you when a stray dip in the road takes you off your balance, tumbling into the mixture of soil and grass. Your limbs fight in straining, constricting movements to stand back up, but the ground feels warmer than the wind that blows above, and your leg has become immobile from the pain if you even believe it’s attached to your body anymore. 

A thought flashes across your mind, a stupid, yet more reasonable thought you wish you considered hours before, that you're positive a special someone would've agreed upon no matter what. and you begin to wish you had told him to follow you, asked him to be by your side. You hadn't imagined this scenario occurring, but in its worst case, you're stranded, alone, and exhausted without his words to lift you back up. you want to hear his voice ponder your thoughts, coo you into believing that you'd be alright, that he'd take care of you like the love you wanted to reciprocate to him, but this was all for his sake wasn’t it? Switching your motives, you peer above your arms, slowly looking around at what familiarity this neck of the woods would bring to you in memories, before pushing yourself over onto all fours. Three limbs if you were being completely honest with yourself, for one was too weak to ask for service. Camp Marceign couldn't be too far, and this area seemed just as much familiar as it didn't. You were too tired to fully know. Frankly, you wished anyone could find you at this moment, lifting your limbs from the hard, flesh of soil, and into some form of comfort. Your body had different plans than your mind, for as you begged for help, it shut down until your eyes gently let unconsciousness take them over.

Eren's never missed you more than he did right now. 

It isn’t as though he hasn't felt such a way about you, believe him when he says he has. In the past, he had always lingered upon the thought of if you had been doing well, when you spent almost every hour of the day together, or when he had played with your silhouetted presence evident through his dreams in the years that followed. He's always craved your companionship, never felt like he could get enough of you. But now, since you've visibly been in his life the last month, and he's been able to watch you, take care of you from afar even as he let his immature, selfish thoughts keep the two of you away, does he regret not taking the time to talk to you more, run his fingers behind your ear again so he could engrave the feeling on his fingertips. It was dissipating in so much as an hour, meaning he felt more pathetic for wanting your presence so badly. He misses you so much and every time you leave his sight, he's worried you won't come back. He doesn't want to relive those experiences without you again.

He finds himself seated on a plastic, beach chair, one Levi must've bought and forgotten about for its creaky condition, barely holding the boys' weight. He rests his head against the headrest, gazing up into the clouds, mindless of the glares Jean gives him as he strolls back into his cabin, and oblivious to the way both Armin and Mikasa comfort him for a mere few minutes in silence before calling it a night themselves. All that's left is him, accompanied by his general counselor who measly sat on the decorative log beside him. The shorter man clears his throat, gaining the teens' attention despite his ease of movement.

"I can stay up for you, keep looking out for them. If they don't show up by morning I'll make a call to the police station, maybe even Mareign, if those bastards even care to answer."

But Eren only looks into the distance, further than the acres of trees to the mere glimpse of the darkened, practically invisible horizon His face sits stone cold, evident to how insufferable his heart beats at the thought of his closest reliability going missing all at one time, and being away from him when he had every chance to protect you all, his family. What would officials do, they'd search for mere hours, giving up with the belief that they had done what no other had to solve this problem, ultimately leaving the greater problem unsolved. Who cares enough to go after you, to fight with every fiber of their being to instill your safety? No one, except for the poor boy that slumps against the worn backrest of his chair. The crackles of the fireplace, accompanied by the rustling of stray leaves comfort his thoughts. Soft gusts of midnight's wind dry his watering eyes, defeating his ability to notice faint cracks of twigs in the distance. They grow louder, and it isn't until he finds the silhouette of two small figures cast upon the ground that he looks up, eyes widened in disbelief, but more so solace.

The young shadows approach the camp's main field, chuckling at some corny joke made by the other, ball flattened in the familiar boys' palms. Directly, they lock eyes with their counselor, proceeding to erupt into a burst of giggles. 

"Hope we gave you two enough time to... well, you know" Gabi smirks, reacting to Falco slapping her arm playfully, continuing to chortle with a loud "pfft." 

He pays no mind to the irresponsible children, ignoring the way their "plan" had made his stomach churn at the thought of what could have been his first romantic encounter in ages, if only you had thought selfishly for once in your life. He searches above and behind their heads with a lighthearted sigh, awaiting your return just a few steps behind them. And when your steps never appear, Erens smile drops immediately, transitioning to the children whose smiles had just recently faded into ones of pure ignorance. He grits his teeth, not in anger, but pure, underlying fear as to what the answer to his next words may be. 

"Where is she..?"

Gabi glances at Falco, unable to let go of his counselor's disgraceful look back at him. Only does Gabi fully understand the panic of the situation as the unexpected words flow past her lips.

"We thought she was with you."

It's too bright.

You can't comprehend any specific thoughts, just the ponder of whether you had made it into the afterlife, a mythical, foreign land for all who've lost their own fights in their lives. Your eyes adjust in squints, facing below a bright, medical light that shines from above. Its glow blinds you, supporting the headache which still pounds through your mind. The pain you recently experienced in your leg had improved in tolerability as opposed to just moments ago, making you question how it had already healed within minutes. Or, were you only unconscious for more time than you thought?

Without taking in your surroundings, you tug the white, linen bed sheets from on top of you, scented of gentle lavender, now revealing your bandaged leg to the crisp air. A few heavy-chested retorts of disapproval echo throughout the room, leading your head to finally adapt into your current surroundings. Two men, one blond and the other brunette angle their heads away from you with covered eyes of embarrassment hidden beneath their palms, accompanied by a smaller girl who practically stares into your soul with the only eye visible, the other covered by her outgrown side bangs that shine blondly under the bright light.

You understand their eyes had been on you, and peek down to judge yourself on what possibly could have been so avoidable and uncomfortable to their view. It doesn't process right away, not at least until you find your two breasts staring back at you. You tug the sheet rapidly over your upper half, swearing to yourself that you had worn undergarments before leaving camp. Your current situation all falls into place only after you process the woman, who you've reconfirmed as your old friend, staring right at them with a displeased look on her face. “We had to confirm you weren’t injured elsewhere”.

"Annie! I uh- long time no see." you laugh uncomfortably, consenting to the boys that you've managed to cover yourself again. Only then do they reopen their fatigued eyes. The shorter, yet more defined man raises his eyebrows in pleasure, a gentle smile gracing his otherwise defined jaw. He combs his fingers through his hair as if the blond, nubbed strands would hold shape when he attempted to fix it. You crinkle the thin sheet against your chest, presenting an awkward smile as another form of apology. "I really don't know how I ended up here.”

"That's alright, take as much time as you need to settle your thoughts, and we'll tell you our side of the story in the morning." Reiner places a hand on your shoulder, glistening at the sight of you in chuckles, which seems to be the only form of communication he can exhibit at times of bashfulness. "...But while you're here, better to start early than never, right?"

taglist:

@halparkebitch @emeren @prxttyguardian @erensslutt @purelydarling @bbyju @lagrimasdeglitter @plutowrites @characterswithtrauma @hannie2kay @juliescorner @earlesskitten @erenjaegersimp @ficsforeren @taetyrtot @solarwolf21 @scarlet-fantasies @coyloves @the-princess-button @kipani-snow-25 @claudevonstrukesblog @1-800-asuka @iloveflowers3

[aylen-san]

London for one night

Ichigo Kurosaki and Uryū Ishida meandered through the streets of an old London district. The evening sun, breaking through the clouds, cast a soft light on the cobblestone streets. The gothic facades of buildings, adorned with ornate elements and stone gargoyles, loomed over the narrow alleys like giant guardians of the past. The friends had come to Britain with a group of exchange students, and despite a packed schedule, they decided to take some time to immerse themselves in the authentic atmosphere of the city.

London seemed strangely calm that day. A light breeze carried the scent of damp stone and rain, while the sounds of distant cars and the rare footsteps of passersby mixed with the echo of their own voices. The city was full of mysteries, and every corner hid a story they could only partially guess. Ichigo, with his red hair, stood out against the dark gray walls, while Uryū, with his cool gaze, seemed like a natural extension of the architectural forms.

They occasionally stopped at antique shops, examining old books and maps or peeking into small cafes where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted out. Everything around them reminded them of a history they were only beginning to grasp, and this walk through London became more than just a sightseeing tour; it was a true journey through time.

"This place feels like it's from another century," Ichigo remarked, looking around.

"History is palpable in every stone," Uryū agreed, adjusting his glasses. "But I sense something strange."

They stopped at a street that immediately drew their attention with its unusual appearance. It starkly contrasted with the other streets they had seen before. Instead of picturesque facades and cozy shop windows, their view was of a narrow, almost inconspicuous alley shrouded in an eerie twilight.

People, already few in this area, clearly avoided this street. Passersby quickened their pace without even glancing in its direction, and those who accidentally found themselves nearby hurried to get out of sight, as if feeling an invisible gaze. The street lamps emitted a dim and unnatural light, as though the worn-out fixtures could not provide proper illumination, or the street itself absorbed the light, preventing it from spreading further.

The dark brick walls of the buildings loomed menacingly, and the windows were tightly shuttered, as if the owners preferred not to see what might happen outside their doors. Time here seemed to flow differently: old wooden signs with peeling paint, cracked sidewalks, and rusty grilles spoke of abandonment and oblivion. The atmosphere of the street was permeated with a strange and vaguely familiar sense of foreboding that made Ichigo and Uryū feel a slight unease.

Ichigo frowned, feeling the air around them suddenly become heavier. He turned to Uryū, noticing that he too had sensed the strange tension. Despite all their adventures and battles in other worlds, there was something in this place that elicited a vague anxiety, as if the street itself concealed something forbidden, not belonging to this world.

"Do you feel it too?" Ichigo asked, furrowing his brow.

Uryū nodded. A sense of anxiety had taken root inside him. Despite the foreboding, they decided to investigate what was happening and cautiously stepped into the dark alley.

As they approached, an unusual and ominous sight unfolded before them. In the impenetrable darkness of the alley stood a vaguely familiar Arrancar. His usual confident and arrogant posture was now broken, and he seemed utterly lost. His sword, the source of his power and pride, lay a few meters away, like a useless piece of metal he hadn't even attempted to retrieve. The Arrancar's face was contorted with despair and fear, his eyes wide with terror he clearly could not overcome. It seemed he had been cornered like a hunted beast, realizing there was no escape.

Shadows swirled around the Arrancar, dense and sinister, like mist wrapping around his body and draining his last strength. These shadows were alive, moving and whispering, creating an aura of hopelessness. Among these shadows stood a figure that inspired even greater fear. He felt like a Shinigami but was completely different from those they had encountered before. His appearance was much older and more horrifying, as though he had emerged from dark myths and legends.

The Shinigami was clad in black fabric, from which exposed bones, white and cold like marble, could be seen. His face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, but Ichigo and Uryū could feel his lifeless, piercing gaze. In one hand, he held a real scythe, gleaming in the dim light, its blade razor-sharp as if freshly sharpened for its grim task. In the other hand, he held scales, each bowl covered with dark stains.

This eerie Shinigami seemed to embody European concepts of Death, becoming a living nightmare for all who crossed its path. Shadows thickened around him, creating an unbearably cold ring that sent chills down to the bone. This cold was not merely physical; it seeped into the soul, freezing the will and making everything inside freeze with fear. It seemed that the very air around them had become heavy and icy, as if they had stepped onto the threshold of another, darker reality, where only death and oblivion reigned.

"Is this some kind of ritual?" Ichigo whispered, standing still, paralyzed by the sight.

"Looks more like a trial," Uryū whispered back, trying to suppress a shiver. "But it's not like anything we've seen before."

The scales held by the Shinigami were covered with complex and ancient symbols, engraved into the metal with astonishing precision. These symbols formed a tangled network of patterns, interwoven like a spider's web. The light emanating from the symbols was unnatural and gloomy, flickering.

As the Arrancar, trying to suppress his panic, answered the Shinigami's questions, the scales began to tremble nervously. Their bowls, suspended on thin chains, swayed smoothly, but each movement was accompanied by a barely audible, yet piercing creak. The sound was like rusty chains that hadn't been used for a long time, and now, brought to life, sent shivers down the spine.

It seemed that with each passing moment, the scales became heavier, as if drawing out Arrancar's last remnants of strength and will. This chilling process made Ichigo and Uryū grit their teeth in tension; they felt the air around them thickening and becoming dense, like a viscous fog slowly pulling them into an unknown abyss.

"Your actions in the past were serious violations of order," the Shinigami's deep, cold voice pierced the silence of the street. "Do you understand what you have done?"

Arrancar trembled, realizing his fate was already decided. The symbols on the scales flared brightly, and the scales began to inexorably tilt to one side.

"I... I didn't mean to... I was following orders..." Arrancar said desperately, his voice weak and broken, barely escaping from his dry throat. His words sounded as if he didn't even believe in his own justification, and this realization only heightened the horror on his face. He was cornered, without hope of salvation, and his pleas drowned in the deafening silence, interrupted only by the eerie creak of the scales.

Ichigo clenched his fists, feeling a familiar and unbearable sense of injustice rising within him. This scene embodied everything he fought against. He saw in the Arrancar not just an enemy, but a living being, helpless and desperate, like any other trapped. Among the Arrancars were his enemies, some had become friends and saved his life. Deep inside, he was boiling, feeling that he had to do something. Fate was pushing him again to intervene and be the one to disrupt the course of events.

"Uryū... I don't like this. We have to do something," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the scene. His voice trembled with tension, every muscle in his body ready to spring forward.

Uryū, always cautious and rational, also felt the tension of the situation. His sharp mind tried to assess what was happening, looking for weaknesses and options for intervention. But even he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, that they might be facing forces they knew nothing about. He was reluctant to contradict the local Shinigami.

"Wait, Ichigo. We don't know how their laws work here," Uryū replied cautiously, though he too was ready to intervene. He struggled to restrain his urge to act, knowing that their interference could have unpredictable consequences. But the sight of the Arrancar, increasingly resembling a bewildered and weakened beast, stirred mixed feelings in him.

The scales momentarily ceased their swaying, then creaked again, as if reacting to the emotions of outsiders. The air around them grew even colder, the tension rising to the point where it felt like it might explode. Ichigo and Uryū felt that every action they took could be the final boundary between life and death.

But before Ichigo could take a step forward, the Shinigami's voice cut through the air again.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," he addressed him directly. "You are a witness to this trial. Do you have anything to say in defense of this Arrancar?"

Ichigo froze, not expecting to be drawn into the proceedings. His heart raced. He looked at Uryū, who stood beside him, eyebrows slightly furrowed, but his eyes were full of resolve. A subtle nod, a barely perceptible movement of the head, was a sign to Ichigo that his friend would support him, whatever his decision.

Kurosaki gathered all his willpower and stepped forward, breaking the cold silence of the street. His voice sounded firm, though deep inside he still felt the tension and anxiety:

"He was subordinate to Aizen," Ichigo finally said, his words echoing in the cold air." He didn’t act of his own will. He was just a pawn in a game he didn’t control.

Ichigo’s words rang out like a tolling bell, causing a barely perceptible tremor in the surrounding shadows. His voice was filled with a truth born from a deep understanding of how often circumstances strip people and beings of their freedom. He remembered everyone he had met along the way, those forced to obey the will of more powerful forces and those who, despite this, tried to find their own path.

The Shinigami, whose figure was immersed in eternal darkness, remained still. His shadow appeared motionless, yet unbearably heavy, as if it held the weight of time itself. The scales in his hand continued to waver, their pans slowly tilting first one way and then the other, as if weighing the very essence of Ichigo’s words.

"We all make choices," the Shinigami said after a long silence, his voice low and echoing through the narrow alley. His words delved deeply, provoking thought about the nature of fate and free will." He made his. Arrancars are not devoid of choice. But I heard your word, Ichigo Kurosaki.

The Shinigami’s words sounded like a verdict, but there was neither accusation nor justification in them. His voice was neutral, impassive, as if he were merely an executor of the law, beyond the reach of time and feelings. But the acknowledgment of Ichigo’s name was significant. It was recognition that his intervention had been noticed and that his words carried weight. Perhaps Kurosaki’s struggle was not in vain and his actions had made a difference? It seemed as if time had momentarily stopped, and the decision about the Arrancar’s fate hung in the air.

Ichigo felt a slight easing of the tension in his chest. He could not stand aside and watch someone’s life disappear into darkness without the slightest resistance. Regardless of how the night would end, he knew he had done everything to give the unfortunate being a chance at justice. The light on the scales began to fade, and the scales stilled in balance.

"The Arrancar will be returned to the Soul Society. His soul is subject to correction and redemption," the Shinigami declared, turning to the Arrancar.

Ichigo felt a heavy sense of doubt swelling in his chest. He looked at the Arrancar, who, though freed, still appeared dejected and broken. Ichigo’s emotions were mixed: anger at the world’s injustice and fear of the unknown outcome of their actions. He sought solace in his thoughts but felt only growing anxiety. Kurosaki could not close his eyes to all the evil the Hollow had wrought.

The Arrancar, as if liberated from a hated yoke, slowly began to straighten up, though his face remained pale and frightened. Not hell, which many of the Espada had fallen into. The Shinigami swung his scythe, and Arrancar's figure vanished in a cloud of glowing particles.

"Did we make the right choice?" Ichigo asked, his voice quiet but filled with deep concern. He did not expect a clear answer but sought some clarity in this grim situation.

Ishida, standing beside him, turned to his friend, his gaze filled with soft resolve. He knew that every action has its consequences, and what they had done was the best they could do given the circumstances.

"We gave him a chance," Ishida answered quietly. His words were full of calm understanding, as if he had already come to terms with the fact that sometimes it is necessary to make difficult decisions without full certainty of the outcome." And sometimes that’s all we can do.

Silence enveloped them again, but now it was less tense. The air, though still cold, felt lighter. Before them now stood an ordinary human figure — a Shinigami who looked like a person returned from the world of shadows. But something in his gaze reminded of his true nature. There still lingered a shadow of that majestic and fearsome being who had just performed the role of the embodiment of death. His gaze was deep and inscrutable, like a bottomless abyss, a reminder of the darkness he carried with him.

The Shinigami slightly tilted his head in a sign of respect or farewell and slowly stepped back. His movements were smooth and graceful, but there was an invisible force, inexorably pulling him back into the darkness. Gradually, his figure began to dissolve into the darkness, blending with the shadows of the street, which began to close around them again. With each step, the contours of the Shinigami became less distinct until he vanished completely, leaving behind only silence and a deep sense of the unknown.

Ichigo and Ishida stood in the darkness, their gazes meeting, filled with the realization that this night had left an indelible impression, despite all they had already endured. Only now did they understand that the Shinigami was clearly not from Seireitei. His unfamiliar attire and eerie appearance made him more of an embodiment of darkness than a part of the system they were accustomed to dealing with. This Shinigami was not just a guardian of order but something much more sinister. It was not the usual battle with a Hollow but a genuine trial.

Ichigo took a deep breath, realizing that the encounter with this being, so different from what they were used to seeing, had opened new dimensions of reality before them. Everything that had happened seemed more like a scene from a work filled with mysticism and horror. Kurosaki very much hoped that he would not encounter anything like this during his stay in England. He even tried not to think about what the Arrancar was doing so far from Japan.

Ichigo and Ishida headed toward the nearest subway station, clearly relieved. Time seemed to return to its usual flow, and the familiar sounds of the city filled the air again: the hum of cars, the noise of street cafés, and the endless movement of city dwellers immersed in their daily routines.

The bustle of the city surrounded them, distracting from the heavy impressions left by the encounter with the Arrancar and the grim Shinigami. The temporary but vivid memories of the events gradually smoothed out and dulled, like footprints in the sand washed away by the waves. The sounds of urban life restored their sense of normalcy and familiarity.

[imnotasuperhero]

Of Sunsets and Sunrises - Wanda Maximoff

Sometimes a potential tittle comes out of nowhere and you crave to craft something from the ground up. In the middle of late work. Enjoy this angsty piece, pardon the rustiness. (Does this means my return? Who knows. Do I want it to be? Yes)

....

The body moaning under you chilled every cell of your body at the same time it fed the fire inside you, consuming every attempt to call it quits.

And how could you hate her, if she was the intoxicating air your lungs needed?

"Please, I beg you," Wanda cried between laboured breaths.

Latching onto her pulsepoint, you sucked and kissed her skin just to stop you from voicing your desires, your fingers acting on automatic, knowing the mechanisms to free that sweet sound you waited -wanted- to hear every night.

Sighing at every trust inside her warm walls, you found yourself looking at her. Eyes scaning every feature on her face, memorizing every single detail.

The way her brow furrowed just the right amount at every precise hit inside her, the almost imperceptible twitch of her jaw before a moan scaped.

Wanda huffed at the suden feeling of emptiness, just to gift your ears with a melodious moan as you entered her with the rubbery strap you both decided to purchase in one of your drunken shenannigans, not knowing it'd become a common fixture in your relationship.

The sharp pain in your back brought you back to the dark room you found yourself, only the moonlight surrounding you both.

Leaning down, you kissed her dreamy lips, swallowing the words wanting to escape. She didn't need to know. It wouldn't be of any use, afterall.

"Detka," Wanda's hand cupped your right cheek, caressing the burning skin with her thumbpad.

"Look at me," she commanded.

Inhaling deeply, you looked down at those greeny eyes, gasping at the wildfire they reflected. Almost as if Wanda was feeling the same consuming need to breathe.

"Yes?" You asked timidly, as if this was your first encounter.

The pregnant silence between you two stretched way too much, lightening the hope inside you at the look reflected in those burning eyes, never seasing the movements of your hips against hers.

"Sun will be out soon," Wanda moaned.

Without further ado, you increaced the pace. The sloppy sounds echoing in the room, a clear result of the violence of your trust, almost hurting your ears.

The loud moans escaping her did nothing to calm your rage at those words. On the contrary, it only served for you to push deeper, colliding against her gut. 

"Stop," Wanda cried, trying to push you away.

Grabbing her hands, you pinned her down on the bed, locking your eyes with hers as you grunted with every move in a dangerous game.

All of you hurted in that instant. 

You knew this was never something to be nurtured, to be shown to the world. But... it was in this right moment everything clicked. 

It was now, looking into Wanda's teary eyes, that every piece of the puzzle connected.

You simply weren't meant to be.

Kissing her guiltily, you slowed down to a pace that allowed her to find her path. Safely walking her to the cliff she was chasing seconds ago.

Your sweaty bodies dancing to what could be their last ballad together.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

OMG, my dreamhouse. This home in New Orleans is gorgeous, b/c I love 'em old inside, full of patina and character. It has 5bds, 4.5ba and is listed for $1.450M. Good thing someone bought it, b/c I can't afford it, anyway.

As soon as I saw this entrance hall, I fell in love. I love this look.

Crazy about these 2 rooms. I wonder if the plants convey b/c they're perfection. This is incredible, it's all original. I can't believe they didn't make it brand new.

They fixed up the pool room, but they left the molding and floor untouched. Maybe this room was in such bad shape they had to fix it.

The kitchen is fabulous. It's not renovated whatsoever. Look at the original sink and vintage stove. There's also a bed in here.

Oh, this room is glorious. It's like a conservatory. Love the flooring, too.

Wow, look at the guest powder room under the stairs. I don't really like that rusty sink, though. It's cute, but I would have to try to clean it up more.

The home has a courtyard and another wing.

This is lovely. Original shiplap, beautiful view of the garden, and I love the fixtures in the bathroom, plus the floor.

This is so nice. The bedroom opens to the courtyard and I love the fireplace.

Isn't this stunning? The main bd has a sitting room, a little mini kitchenette, a double fireplace, and spiral stairs.

The bathroom is small, but it's cute.

Wow, here's a spacious room with an en-suite. Look at the rusty tin ceiling.

What happened here? Who put up a new bath with vintage fixtures?

This must be an attic room.

Wow, cool workroom.

The courtyard is so nice- pool, hot tub, sitting area, and look at the lovely balcony.

They put a container in the yard, painted it purple, and made it a fabulous guest house.

Or, it could be someone's bedroom/bath. This is so cool. And, look at the vintage sink, plus how can you not love a Medusa shower curtain?

Wow, I didn't realize this home was so large, looking at it from the front.

[senjutsunade]

~Blind Incandescence - Head Canons~

Crap Apartment HC’s:

Note: T's the hellhole once rented by Tsunade and Kushina, and later becomes the shitty sanctuary of Tsunade, Kakashi and Itachi.

♥ They only have warm water for a fixed amount of time, so showers have to be super quick. 

♥ They also need to run the water for a bit until it runs clear, since opening the taps results in rusty, copperish liquid instead of water.

♥ They are also all aware whenever someone else within the building takes a shower, since the old pipes rattle and shake like a runaway train on a track. They usually solve this by just increasing the volume of whatever game show they are currently absorbed in.

♥ They always receive someone else's mail and theirs gets delivered to the drug dealer neighbors next door.

♥ They have a rat infestation in the building, the scurrying of little paws can clearly be heard in the walls. It got better when Kakashi started to bring his dogs around.

♥ The cupboards creak when you open and close them, each door has their own distinct sound and personality at this point

♥ The lights flicker whenever it starts to rain, even if it’s just a light drizzle - problematic, faulty wiring alert.

♥ The window of the living room has a shit view of the next building’s roof and the window in the bathroom has an even shitier view of a brick-faced wall - no scenic vibes to be had.

♥ The neighboring apartment building is close enough that they can climb out the window and onto the roof and start a little vegetable garden that nobody wanted or asked for- the pigeons appreciate it though, much to Kakashi’s chagrin.

♥ The apartment is always relatively warm, despite having no working heating, it’s one of the only things the apartment has going for it- until summer hits, then it’s a sauna.

♥ The front door lock is faulty, they have to Russian Roulette whether or not the front door key will fit or not. Most of the time, a few aggressive jingles do the trick, sometimes it opens with a slam and a kick, though there are some rare occasions where they have to use the neighboring building’s elevator and roof to slink in through the window.

♥ The wallpaper is atrocious and hasn’t been updated in the last 30 years (everyday a new face/wild animal can be spotted in the nauseating swirls and patterns- to them it’s a habit to point out the new find by now. 

♥ If the wallpaper has not been updated in the last 30 years, the carpets and the fixtures and fittings have not been updated in the last 45 years.

____

@konohagakurekakashi & @uchihaa-itachi